#The Suits hide the mess beneath

[crimsonlyinglilly]

Sad Mikaelson hours

Wonder what it was like for Elijah to grow up in the cold, since he was born so soon after Freya’s was taken and it’s mentions that it wasn’t until Klaus was born that they recovered, for the first four years of Elijah’s life they grieved,  do you think Elijah realised he wasn't enough? 

Do you think that’s why he clings to his younger siblings so hard because he already knew he wasn’t what Mikael, Esther and Finn wanted but Klaus, Kol, Rebekah and Henrik, they didn’t know any better.

Do you think when Freya returned he was suddenly concerned they would find him wanting, they would see why Mikael, Esther and Finn hadn’t wanted him.

Also what was it like for Esther in the aftermath of his sister taking-stealing her first born to find the next child a copy of her.

Did she ever brush Elijah's hair and think of braiding Dahlia’s, see a flash of his dark hair and Klaus’s golden curls and think back of her own childhood.

Was she watching-waiting for Elijah to turn cold like Dahlia or did she push the younger children onto him to stop it. Did she ever notice he was her staring back from Dahlia's dark eyes?

You could almost understand why Mikael and Elijah's relationship was broken, why Elijah would always side against Mikael. Mikael came back to find a small dark hair baby in place of his golden girl, nothing Elijah could have done would fix that sin.

#mikaelson family #elijah mikaelson #dahlia and esther #esther mikaelson #Mikael #The Suits hide the mess beneath #What I'm saying is I wanted more of the Mikealson a from before Klaus was born. #Elijah should have been the baby of the oldest three #instead he was in the role of the oldest for a nearly thousand years.

[bizbat]

HEYY!! What about Jaybird with an s/o whos also a vigilante and she’s like super serious and quiet, Her outfit for fighting is like super duper revealing aswell so add nsfw :3

(If ur comfortable with it!!)

It's The Suit

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🐼JJK Masterlist🐼

~ Jason Todd x Fem!AFAB!Reader

~ Explicit Smut

~ Reader is mentioned to have "plush thighs", but appearance is otherwise not described.

~ Wc: 2.4K

~ You can find more of my works here.

C/W: Smut, Pet names (Angel, Doll, Slut, Baby, Princess) Mdom, Groping, Light Choking, Spit, Creampie, Cunnilingus/Analingus (Jason eats it from the back) Use of the terms "cunt", "mound", "tits", "slutty", "pussy", Pussy Smacking, Public Sex, Begging, Pussyjob

There's just something about that suit . . .

"You know, you are technically on my turf." His voice is crisp in your ear. It seems he only ever puts what Batman taught him to use when he wants to mess with you. "If you were anyone else I'd have dropped you off Gotham Bridge by now."

"How sweet . . ." You respond in a monotone voice. You're laid on your stomach, perched on top of a building with a set of binoculars in front of your face. You're more focused on the perp you've been trailing all week than your . . . boyfriend? Friend with benefits? Guy you sometimes go out to eat with, and have sex with regularly? Doesn't matter, you're doing your best not to pay any attention to him.

"Are you sure you're not cold in that thing?"

You wish he would do the same. He knows how much comments about your costume bother you, but he can't help it! It's just a little thing, barely big enough to hide, well, anything really. He can't tell you how many times he's seen it ride up between your cheeks, or be so taut against your body that he can see your nipples poking through on extra cold nights. Not to mention the cutouts on your sides and chest.

If it was made out of any other material you could probably wear it to a club and leave with a couple hundreds stuffed in it.

He's already reaching for your body before he even realizes it. It's too late to stop now, his hands are already stroking their way up from your calves. It's frankly beyond him at this point. "It's just so . . . tiny."

"Everyone always says that." You squirm, your leg subconsciously kicking up when he brushes over that sensitive spot on the back of your knee. "Black Canary basically wears the same thing, and no one ever says anything about her suit." You mumble, still not turning to face him. Jason can't help but be amused by your response. "No, she doesn't, and yes, they do." He presses his thumb into your skin, massaging the tense muscles beneath his gloved fingertips.

"Jay, I-I have to fo-" "Shhh, I know, I know," You try to push his hands back, your skin becoming more and more sensitive the higher he gets. It doesn't help that he's applying the perfect amount of pressure. "Just . . . focus baby, alright? Focus for me." It's hard to do what he says when he's slipped off his helmet and is now pressing feathery kisses to your exposed skin.

Still though, you try, pulling the now discarded binoculars back to your face and hoping he decides to cease his ministrations. Unfortunately for you, he's got no plans to stop any time soon. "What's he doing, baby?" His hands inch closer and closer to the dip between your legs, his hands squeezing and tugging at the fat of your upper thighs. "Tell me." He says sternly.

Your hands clench around the binoculars. You have to take a few breaths to calm yourself enough to answer him. "He-he's ah-" His thumbs are working their way under your suit, teasingly stroking your lips. "He's leaving n-now, probably headed-Jason!" He laughs again, he knows he's been pushing it. "What, doll? What's wrong?" He says, as if he didn't just have his face between your thighs, his lips gently kissing your pussy through your suit.

"I told you to focus," He says with a smirk, his hips almost grinding into the concrete below him. "Don't you worry 'bout what I'm doing, yeah?" He only continues, two of his fingers brushing against your mound as he plays with the band of your suit, tugging it away from your heat so he can get better access. Try as you might, he pokes at your folds with his tongue, the wet muscle barely dancing against your lips.

You can't stop your hips from swaying back to meet his face, begging for him to use more pressure. The tips of Jason's ears burn at your tiny gasps, the cute little noises only encouraging him to try and make you louder. His hand, the one not tugging at your suit, begins its attack on your ass, grabbing and squeezing your soft, doughy flesh. By now you've completely lost sight of the guy you were trailing, your hips chasing his face.

You moan his name, the binoculars once again thrown to the side, as you rise to your knees, your chest still parallel to the concrete roof beneath you. "Ohh, that's it angel," Jason finally stops toying with the stretchy fabric of your suit, pulling it to the side of your ass so he can finally see all of you. "Such a pretty pussy. So wet for me." He sticks his tongue out, pressing it flat against your folds, before licking a stripe all the way up to your asshole, circling it with his tongue.

He shallowly wriggles his tongue inside, just deep enough for you to reach back and push at his head with a whine. He laughs, lightly smacking your ass before kissing the puckered hole, and lowering his head back down to your pussy. "Alright doll, I get it, I get it." He uses two of his fingers to spread your lips, putting your dripping cunt for him.

He kisses you there too, before winding back and spitting a fat (unnecessary) glob of spit directly onto your clit. He works too well, sucking and licking exactly when and where you need him to, his pace slowly speeding up. The way he moans into you, it's as if it's just as pleasurable for him as it is for you. And it must be, the way his cock is straining against his zipper like this. God, you've got no idea what you do to him, especially in that tiny, slutty little suit of yours.

And dear God, he starts using his fingers, and your vision blurs and your back arches even deeper. Your chest heaves as he pumps his fingers in and out, curling against your g spot everytime, all while his tongue still swirls against your clit, flicking and circling the perky nub. Your hand finds its way into his hair, your fingers curling around the inky locks as he drinks up your juices. Jason groans at the feeling of your slick practically pouring down his chin.

It's a wonder how he's even able to breathe, his face so deep between your plush thighs. Not like he cares, though, if he could choose a way to go out again, it'd be with his face buried deep in your cunt. He's in heaven, he swears it. He can hear the sound of those pearly gates opening, though that might just be the sound of your sweet, sweet broken moans. That, combined with a lack of oxygen. Besides that, you can't tell him he's not eating out an angel right now.

Eventually though, he rips himself away, loudly sucking air into his lungs so he doesn't actually go to heaven. He curses his body for needing air to breathe. Maybe he can use "increasing his lung capacity" as an excuse to eat you out later, not now though. Right now, his cock is so painfully hard from being neglected, he's struggling to form proper thoughts.

"You ready for me, doll? S' this slutty pussy ready to take me?" He asks, ripping off his belt and shoving his pants down just enough for his cock to spring out. With the amount of spit and slick dripping down your thighs, it's a stupid question, but he absolutely refuses to fuck you unless you say you're ready for him. Part of you thinks its a consent thing, which is great, more guys should be like that, but part of you knows it's because he wants to hear you, little Ms. Stoic, begging for his cock.

You're on the verge of tears, your eyes completely unfocused at the feeling of his fat tip smacking against your weeping cunt. "Jay," You moan, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Jay . . ." He shakes his head. He's losing his mind, but the small bit he's still clinging onto won't let you get away with that, he's gotta make you beg for him. "C'mon, slut, I know you can do much better 'n that." He ruts against your cunt, his cock hard and red from waiting.

He smacks your ass again, hypnotized by the way it jiggles beneath his palm. Precum oozes deliciously from his tip, adding even more lubrication to your already soaked hole. He could cum just from the sight of your pretty lips glistening under the moon light and street lamps. He's so close to just giving in and making both of you feel good, when he hears your voice breaking through his clouded thoughts.

He feels like he's got water in his head, though your little "Please uck me Jay, need your cock," is loud and clear. Without further stalling, he lines his aching tip up with your hole, awestruck at the way it clenches around nothing, before he finally sinks in, after what felt like hours and hours of foreplay. You almost collapse, the only thing preventing your hips from dropping to the side is Jason's firm grasp on your suit, using the cutouts on your side as leverage to pull you back against him.

Even through all the wetness, he stretches you out, his cock filling you up so perfectly it makes your eyes roll back into your skull. Jason's head lolls back, a deep groan escaping the bottom of his chest at the feeling of your tight, slick walls gripping his cock. "Fuckin' perfect," He doesn't waste any time, his hips slowly moving to drag his cock back and forth inside you, his tip catching along your walls.

He's mindlessly babbling at this point, cooing about how good you feel, about how you were made for his cock, his hands white-knuckle gripping your suit. He speeds up, his cock tapping against your cervix in a way that has your stomach doing flips. "Faster Jay! Please, please please!" You pant, your ass bouncing against his pelvis as your hips chase after his.

How could he deny you when your voice is like honey in his ears, and your skin feels like silk. He feels his balls tighten at your moans, his body physically reacting to your sobs, your pleads. You've got no idea what it does to his ego, to hear his favorite, icy, little princess crying for his cock. Or at least, what it would do for his ego if he wasn't solely focused on cramming every inch of his cock deep inside your tight heat.

He thrusts faster, his tip smacking rhythmically against your cervix at a bruising pace. "So fuckin' messy, this pretty pussy's so fuckin' messy," He huffs, his chest tightening with every stroke as he feels your gummy walls closing around him tightly. Without even thinking about it, he reaches down and frantically rubs at your clit, already sensitive from his mouth. "Shit, baby, ya' close?" He pulls out without warning, flipping you over onto your back and pushing your knees up to your chest, before sinking back inside you.

"Can feel ya, ngh, feel so fuckin' good." He ends each sentence with his cock. He holds your legs down with his broad shoulders, his chest pressed against yours. One hand reaches back down to rub at your clit again, his ears ringing with delight at your moans. "Shit, shit, shit, shit," He huffs against your ear. "So close baby, so close." He nips and licks at your neck, his teeth occasionally tugging at your earlobe as his orgasm looms closer and closer.

Your tears run down either side of your pretty face, your skin so hot you're almost steaming in the cool Gotham air. You're just as gone as he is, if not more, your arms limply draped across your face as you mindlessly take all the pleasure he gives you. "Want-want it, Jay," You coo in his ear, or at least you think you do, your mouth is open but you can't tell if any words are actually coming out.

"Cum for me baby, let it out, need you to cum." He's begging you, his fingers losing any type of rhythm and structure, his hand grinding down desperately against your poor, tired nub. Is he crying? He feels something wet on his face, but he can't tell if it's from you or him. You aren't too far from him, lightheaded from the force of your legs pressed to up your neck.

You just need a little more, just a little more, you can feel it. You're right there, right there, right there! Are you yelling? Whatever. Your orgasm hits you so fast and so hard you're pretty sure you black out for a second. You feel like you're on a boat, the warm sun shining brightly on your skin, your body gently rocking along the tide. The waves speed up, but you're mostly numb by now, the heavy crashing barely disturbing your peaceful state of mind. The only reason you're brough out of your delusions is because you can feel something against your lips.

Your vision clears, though it's still a bit hazy. Jason's still on top of you, his eyes nearly cross as he peppers sloppy, wet kisses along your face, not even conscious enough to aim for your mouth as he begs you to cum, not realizing you already have. He's so used to making you cum first that his body won't even let him cum until he knows you have. That, of course, doesn't do him much good when he's not cognizant.

Realizing as much, you use the small amount of strength you have left in your face to hold his face still, pulling him close enough to press your lips to his. He thrust a few more times, before his hips still inside you, his thick, warm seed spilling out and staining both of your clothing with white. Sweat drips down his forehead, soaking his hair and tantalizingly trickling down his neck. He leans back, allowing your legs, which are completely useless by now, to slip off his shoulders, before he finally collapses on top of you.

You cradle his head in the crook of your neck, silently brushing the hair along his neck with your fingers, as you both rest in one anothers embrace. When your brain starts working again you'll chew him out for ruining your stakeout. For now, you'll settle with a raspy sigh. "You always do this." You sound more annoyed than you are.

He shrugs, dead serious with his response, his head still resting on your shoulder. "It's the suit, not my fault."

#bizbat #dc #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood #red hood smut

[grandlinedreams]

|| notes: first non-AS!reader thing for Azriel yeehaw

|| warnings: injury, mention of blood, pining, angst

Two fingertips prod at broken skin, elicting a burst of wildfire pain.

"Fuck," you hiss, teeth gritting as fresh blood leaks down your skin. It'd been poor judgement on your end that lead to the naga getting a lucky hit in before you could dispatch it, though you're almost grateful for the amount of the creature's blood that stains your gear ㅡ hiding the smell of your own beneath it.

Busy trying to scrub blood from your skin so you can clean it properly, you wish you could say that you don't notice your sudden company ㅡ but you do, eyes sweeping to meet hazel in the mirror of your bathroom.

"Ever heard of knocking?"

Azriel looks less than amused, eyes flicking over the mess of your clothing, then to the gash that stretches across your ribs. "You're injured."

You snort. "Nothing gets past you, spymaster." Azriel's eyes narrow, but he doesn't rise to the bait as he steps closer.

"You should've said something. Madjaㅡ"

"Is busy enough," you interrupt. "I can handle it myself." You eye him, then point at the doorway. "You can leave."

A muscle in Azriel's jaw jumps. You can tell you're getting on his nerves ㅡ and you wish you could stop, but it's the only way you know how to handle just how off-balance he makes you feel.

"Let me help."

Maybe you've lost more blood than you thought. Azriel stares at you, and you hide the urge to blush under a scowl. "Fine. Suit yourself."

The way you yank your ruined shirt up and over your head makes your side throb, but it's more than worth it for the deliberate way Azriel averts his gaze. You almost think he might be blushing ㅡ but there's no sign of pink on his cheeks when he turns his attention to gathering the supplies he needs from the mess you've set out.

You end up sitting on the basin with him standing between your legs ㅡ and the percieved intimacy of it makes your heartbeat stutter and ache in equal measure. You're not dumb enough to think that he'd be interested in you ㅡ not when his eyes have been on Mor for so long.

And you don't blame him ㅡ Mor is beautiful, quick on her feet and with her tongue. Dazzling and captivating ㅡ a rival for the sun in all her blinding intensity.

The brush of Azriel's fingers against your bare skin makes your breath hitch, and he freezes. "Am I hurting you?"

Yes. You can feel his eyes on you, assessing. You look away, fingers curling against the basin lip. "No."

Azriel reaches for the tin of salve. "You should be more careful."

"How very kind of you to tell me what I already know." Azriel stiffens at the edge to your tone. "I didn't do it on purpose, Azriel."

"Next time, take me with you." He begins winding soft bandage around your ribs. This close, he's hyperaware of the warmth of your body, your scent that makes him want to press his face to your neck.

You scoff. "Why? So you can tell me everything that I do wrong?"

Azriel's palms meet the mirror on either side of your head, caging you in. His eyes blaze, firebright with irritation. "Why," he hisses, "do you insist on being like this?"

Because the only time he pays attention to you is when he's scolding you. Because the only time you get emotion out of him is when you're intentionally trying to piss him off. Because youㅡ

Your expression goes unreadable. "Get out."

Azriel stares at you, looks like he wants to say more ㅡ but he pulls away, turning and leaving without another word. You wait until you're certain he's gone to sigh, leaning your head back against your mirror with a thump.

The wound is bandaged, but all you do is hurt.

#ㅡmine. #acotar x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x reader #az x reader

[dilemmaontwolegs]

And Carlos having to watch in Abu Dhabi as they get to publicly be together. Maybe that’s why he crashed out in FP2, she was on his mind…

This is now canon.

Can it be an epilogue?

Lady in Red {4} || CS55 & CL16

Summary: It's the final event of the season and plans are being made for winter, but first there's some mind games going on at Ferrari Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, bj, fingering, toxic behaviour WC: 2.4k One || Two || Three || Four

Charles felt your fingers slip away from his as you neared the entrance to the track. Confused, he reached for them again and looked at your reflection in the car window. Turning away from the lines of fans waiting for a glimpse of the drivers, you met his green eyes. “Sorry, force of habit,” you apologised sheepishly. 

You had confessed everything to him when he tried to kiss you at the end of the night in Vegas. Ever the gentleman, he had walked you to your room but when he leaned closer, just like you wanted him to, the words had tumbled out. He knew everything; how you had been played by Carlos and, even worse, what you had done knowing he was in a relationship.

Lacing your fingers tighter, he raised them to his lips and kissed them. “You don’t have to hide with me.”

You smiled at the truth and leaned into his side as the car came to a stop. “I know.”

It felt strange stepping out into the spotlight with all of your clothes on. You were used to the wind kissing your skin through the thin lingerie you were being paid to promote with your body, pretending you weren’t freezing cold when night fell. It was comfortable to walk hand in hand with Charles, in a fairly plain dress that you had chosen. You weren’t here for business, it was purely pleasure.

“What are your plans for the break?” you asked as he settled into his driver's room. 

He pulled his t-shirt off and traded it for the fireproof long sleeved shirt you had grabbed from the shelf. Your eyes lingered on the toned skin that disappeared beneath the shirt and he combed a hand through his hair that had messed up. “My plans or our plans?”

“I didn’t know we had plans,” you said coyly. 

He kicked off his jeans and smirked as you hid the fireproof pants behind your back. His body pressed to yours as he dominated your space, reaching around your back and catching your hands in his much larger ones. 

“Then we will have to change that, chérie. Unless you have something already planned?”

He pulled you closer and dipped his head to yours, kissing you until your body relaxed and your hands released his clothes. 

“I suppose I can clear my schedule for you,” you sighed jokingly, smiling when his lips tugged up again. 

“Don’t go out of your way,” he said sarcastically as he pulled his fireproofs up and jumped to get the tight leggings into place. “I would hate to be a nuisance.”

“Such a pest,” you noted, dropping onto his couch and tucking your legs up. You rested your chin on your knees and watched him sip from his bottle to keep hydrated. “What did you have in mind?”

“Do you like skiing?”

“Never tried. I’ll probably be terrible and complain about the cold,” you admitted with a laugh. “I hope you are a good teacher.”

“The best, chérie.” He winked your way as he pulled his racing suit on, shrugging the shoulders up so he could close the velcro collar. When he had his boots on and his balaclava in his hands, he bent down and kissed you goodbye. “I’ll see you after practice.”

“Drive safe.”

Charles had done well to avoid Carlos for most of the week. The two drivers had been on separate media panels and had barely spoken outside of team meetings or whatever silly games they were told to play by management. Those had been tense to say the least. 

There was no avoiding him however when they finished FP1 and spoke to the media. They had both finished their interviews at the same time and were heading in the same direction to hospitality.

“Did your girlfriend tell you about me? About the things we did?” Carlos goaded his teammate as they walked along. They both smiled and waved to the fans and the cameras but Carlos’ one was straining under the force of his.

“She told me everything, but we all make mistakes,” Charles replied calmly, his smile never wavering as he signed autographs for the young fans. “That’s all you are to her, a mistake.”

“We’ll see about that: once a whore, always a whore.” Carlos threw his arm over Charles’ shoulders and pulled him closer, slapping his chest patronisingly. “You’re vanilla, Chuck. Vanilla is boring once you’ve had a bit of spice. Why do you think they call me Chilli?” 

Carlos pushed away with a laugh and left the Monegasque with the words playing on his mind. Charles was still thinking about them when he met you in his driver's room. He closed the door a little too hard and you frowned at the change in him. He had been smiling in the media pit, proud of how the first practice went, but now he was sour as he started to strip his clothes off.

“Is everything okay?” you asked as you touched his back lightly, feeling his move out of your touch. “Oh, okay. I’ll leave you alone then.”

You grabbed your handbag and reached for the door but Charles stretched over you to plant his hand on the top, the press of his chest against your back. His lips brushed the shell of your ear and his other hand snaked over your hip, drifting down your abdomen. “Am I boring?”

Your head fell back to his shoulder as his fingers followed the shape of your body and slipped between your legs. “No,” you whispered as you remembered he had asked you a question. “Did Carlos say something?”

Charles' hand disappeared as he pushed away from you with a huff. “Were you seriously thinking about him?”

“I think you were,” you pointed out as you turned to face him and leaned against the door, crossing your arms. You stared at him for a moment and he looked away first, brushing a hand angrily through his hair - but the anger wasn’t aimed at you. 

“Fuck, he got in my head.”You crossed the room and caught his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over the beard he sported. “Forget about him, Charles, I’m with you. You’re good for me, healthy.”

“Vanilla,” he muttered as he twisted his face away and sighed. 

“I’m going for a walk,” you murmured as he sank into the couch. “Give you some space.”

“Wait,” he said as you opened the door. “Come back.”

“I will, soon. Promise.” You closed the door behind you before marching across the motorhome to the other driver room and pounding your fist on Carlos’ door. “Open up.”

It swung open quickly, like he had been waiting for your visit and smirked as you stepped inside. “Hermosa, you look disappointed. Does Charles leave you unsatisfied?”

“I am disappointed, Carlos,” you said as you crossed your arms but quickly unfolded then when his eyes fell to the swell of your breasts. “Do you really have nothing better to do with your time?”

“There’s one improvement I can think of, and it isn’t talking, cariña.”

Your hands turned to fists at your side as he undressed you with his eyes, his tongue rolling across his bottom lip. “Don’t talk to Charles, don’t talk to me, don’t even think about me, okay?”

Carlos shrugged nonchalantly. “Hard to do, he’s my teammate.”

“You’ll find a way, or Rebecca will find out the truth. Wouldn’t that be fun? Imagine that, Carlos, she would drop you in an instant and once again you would be all alone - because I won’t be answering your call,” you threatened coldly as you took a step closer. “I will be too busy on holiday with my boyfriend - the one I will fuck in every possible way so no one could ever call him vanilla again.”

“He’ll never be enough,” Carlos called out as you stepped towards the door. “That thrill, of knowing you might be caught, you’ll never get that with him.”

“There’s other thrills to be had,” you smirked over your shoulder. “Maybe I’ll take a page out of your book and mess with your girlfriend. I could send Rebecca that two piece you loved so much. You remember, the red one, delicate, lace. The one that had you on your knees begging to fuck me in. Yeah…I think I like this new game, it’s just so thrilling.”

“You're not wearing red today,” he muttered.

“No, I’m not being paid to support Ferrari, I’m here for Charles.”

You left him unable to articulate a response and closed the door behind you with a dark smile. Charles was where you left him, fidgeting with his rings, and his head snapped up when you walked in. 

“You went to him?” It wasn’t an accusation, merely curiosity that filled his tone and he patted the space beside him.

“I did,” you confirmed, taking the seat he offered. His hand laced with yours and he settled them on his thigh as he leaned back into the couch with a heavy sigh. “I needed to clarify some things that he didn’t seem to understand.”

“I didn’t mean to push you away, or pin you to the door.”

“You didn’t,” you assured him as you rested your head on his shoulder. “Was kind of hot though.”

Charles laughed nervously. “Yeah, it was. Would it be alright if I did that?”

You peeked up under your lashes to see him looking intently at you. You didn’t realise he felt he needed permission but your heart skipped a beat over the fact he asked. You hadn’t really had that before and your body burned in response as you shifted on the seat to straddle his hips. “Yes, Charles.”

“Not too vanilla,” he teased, but the laughter never reached his eyes.

“I don’t know why you are so hung up on that,” you tutted. “Vanilla isn’t an insult. It’s classic and timeless, and perfect for all occasions.”

“I suppose so,” he mused, half convinced.

“You know what wouldn’t be vanilla?” He shook his head and watched you sink to the floor between his legs. Your hands found the waistband of his fireproofs and dragged them down as he lifted his hips. You wet your lips at the sight of his semi that was growing harder by the second. “Letting me do this, with the door unlocked.”

His eyes widened and his lips parted but before he could think better and ask you to stop your lips sealed around his cock and the only sound that escaped was a sated sigh. “Putain, tu te sens si bien.”

You hummed at the taste of him in your mouth and you pressed your tongue against his shaft as you took him deeper. Incoherent French filled the room and you delighted in the sounds as you ignored the need to breathe. There was nothing prettier than rolling your eyes up his body to see the complete awe on his face as he watched you pleasure him, your name on his lips. Not a nickname or an endearment, your name, because you weren’t a secret to hide.

“Je vais…je vais foutre,” he moaned loudly. His hands gripped your head and he snapped his hips up, choking you with his cock as he buried himself in your throat. A thick stream of cum filled your mouth as he sagged back into the couch, his cock twitching as you milked every last drop on your tongue and swallowed it. 

You sat back on your heels pleased with yourself. He was thoroughly relaxed as he curled his fingers to draw you back up onto his lap. 

“Thank you,” he said softly, his confidence completely restored. “I’m sorry I have to get ready to go, chérie, or I would happily return the favour.”

“I can wait,” you hummed as he started to tease you with his fingers anyway. He eased one into your cunt to find it already wet and ready for him, then he added a second and pressed his thumb to your clit. “Someone might walk in,” you whispered, but it turned to a moan at the circles he drew around your clit.

“Someone might,” he chuckled, clearly enjoying the idea as much as you were. 

His fingers worked you to a frenzy and you rode your hips over them as you chased your release. He swallowed the cries of your release with a deep kiss, his tongue dominating yours and sharing the taste of his musk that coated your tongue. Lifting his fingers to his lips, he held your eyes as he licked them clean and your pussy clenched at the sight.

“That’s not vanilla,” you said as you bit your lip and climbed off. “Not vanilla at all, baby.”

He grinned at the compliment and tucked himself away before standing up too. “I’ll see you after practice.”

“Drive safe.”

Charles didn’t stop smiling that night. His practice may not have had the top time but it was still a positive indicator that he was going to have a good pace for the race and better yet Carlos had crashed out. They had passed each other in the media pit and Charles didn’t have the ability to hide his smirk as he watched his teammate saunter off with a scowl on his face.

“I don’t know what you said to him, chérie,” Charles laughed at dinner with his friends, Carlos’ table much more reserved on the other side of the restaurant. “But I haven’t seen him that quiet, ever.”

“I just reminded him of his values,” you said with a sweet smile, and you fluttered your eyelashes too. “And what will happen if he tries to fuck with us again.”

“God, winter break can’t come soon enough,” Charles said as he took your hand and kissed it before draping his arm over your shoulders. Carlos shifted in his seat, eyebrows furrowing at you before he did the same to his girlfriend. “I don’t know if I will even want to leave the chalet.”

“One ski lesson with me and that might be the wise decision.”

Charles shook his head. “You’re not getting out of it, I told you, chérie, I’m the best.”

You smirked as your hand came to rest high up his thigh under the table. “Yes, yes you are.”

#charles leclerc fanfic #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc smut #formula one imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

[nichirinpen]

A Through Z With Nanami Kento

Nanami Kento x Reader

Can also be read here on AO3

Word Count: 14,402

Synopsis- Snippets of your life with Nanami Kento structured through words listed A-Z. Memories in pieces, a mix of Fluff, Smut and a little Angst.

Content Tags: AFAB reader descriptions, Smut, penis in vagina sex, vaginal penetration, Shibuya incident mentioned, cunnilingus

Aftercare

You had one too many to drink at the company party. The drinks had been free and you were sad so of course you overindulged. It had been a send off for your colleague, he was quitting to pursue a different career path. The man was your favorite colleague, even if he didn’t know it.

Nanami Kento, a man who you secretly crushed on in the time he worked for the corporation. 4 years was too short and you had wasted a majority of them just silently gawking at the man.

He was tall, blonde and quiet, everything you could want in a man. Of course he had no idea you existed. At least that's what you thought.

Until you were drunk, on his bed and begging him to go faster. Nanami Kento had surprised you in taking you back home. He had surprised you with a quiet drunken confession. And now he was surprising you with aftercare.

It wasn’t like the two of you had done anything more than intense vanilla sex. The pair of you were too drunk for anything past the breathless fumbling then fucking that had occurred. But the man had stamina, much more than you in your drunk state. Your core ached and you swear you could feel it all the way in your ribcage. Kento hadn’t held back when you had asked for him to go faster, the man happily obliging your cries for more.

“This might be cold.” 

You shivered as he swiped the washcloth between your thighs, cleaning the mess he had left behind. Kento’s face was tinged red and you couldn’t decide if it was from the alcohol or if he was embarrassed. He was methodical, almost clinical as he cleaned you. 

“Thank you.” The words were whispered, greeted by him nodding as he tossed the used cloth into a nearby hamper. 

“Bathroom?” He stood, unbothered by his nakedness, one hand extended. Kento was built, the dull suits he wore hiding a god-like physique beneath. You paused, then nodded, taking it and allowing him to pull you to your feet. Your legs were like jello, trembling the moment you put your weight on them. Kento was quick to hook his arm about your waist, practically carrying you to the bathroom. After setting you on the toilet, he was quick to exit, allowing you privacy. It was surprising. A level of care you hadn’t really experienced before.

As you exited the bathroom he was quick to help you back to the bed. Your legs weren’t total jelly, but you still appreciated the gentle hand on your elbow. Flopping back on the bed, you let out a sigh. Despite still being drunk you knew the next step was the ‘walk of shame’ back to the train station. If they were even still running. 

You looked up as Kento sat next to you on the bed, the man passing you your phone. It was as if he were psychic. It was late and at this rate, there was no way for you to make it to the train without running. 

You jumped as his hands made their way back onto your skin. Kento’s large hands were warm and you made a noise of surprise as he began gently kneading at your right hip.

“I heard it pop.” He murmured gently, strands of blonde hair hiding his eyes. You flushed, letting out an embarrassed laugh. He had been drilling into you so relentlessly that you didn’t think he had heard. 

“Thank you.” Your tone was soft as you allowed yourself to settle back on the bed. In truth both sides of your hips ached. Working in the office left little time for working out and sitting at a desk all day meant tight hips. Kento had stretched you in more ways than one. You had known he was tall, but you had no idea how built he was until you were under him.

“I have tea if you’d like it before sleeping. Might help prevent a hangover.” He looked up from where he sat, one warm hand pressed flat against the soft skin of your stomach. You raised an eyebrow in surprise, still feeling a bit hazy from the alcohol churning in your system.

“You want me to stay?”

Kento shifted slightly, one hand adjusting his glasses as he stared at you. He seemed uncertain, the emotion looking completely foreign on his face.

“I was rough and it’s late.” He paused, swiping a stand of hair from his face. “But I can call you a cab if you’d like.”

You shook your head, quietly murmuring you’d love to stay. It felt strange. You had lusted silently for the man for ages and now he was asking you to stay the night. It felt domestic in a way.

Kento brought you tea, and a freshly baked muffin. He insisted you eat it, noting that you had had more alcohol than food at the party. Sheepishly you accepted, moaning as blueberry and vanilla met your tongue. As you lay in bed he murmured about the bakery he frequented, how it was small but always had fresh items. You ate as carefully as you could, not wanting to spill crumbs everywhere. Despite him insisting you didn’t need to move, you had noted how clean his home was and didn’t want to make a mess.

Despite his normally stand-offish and quiet appearance, Kento was sweet. A lot sweeter than any lover you had before him. After tea and a snack, he crawled into bed with you, murmuring it was lucky neither of you had work the next day. You fell asleep in his arms, feeling warmer and safer than you had in ages.

Biting

You hadn’t ever thought of yourself as someone who liked biting. It had never come up with previous partners and Kento tended to not initiate new things in the bedroom without first sitting down and talking with you about it. Not that your sex life was planned out, far from it, but the man wanted you to feel safe. An appreciated gesture given you had been surprised in other relationships before, unpleasantly so. 

Kento also made sure the conversations were lax. There was never any pressure for you to say yes. Nor did you ever feel like you couldn't bring up your own suggestions. He was always open to your ideas. It was just two adults conversing about their wants or needs.

So when he suddenly latched onto the back of your neck, teeth dully pressing into your flesh, you were surprised to say the least. He had you on your hands and knees, one hand gripping your hip with bruising force as he thrust into you. You nearly stopped the movement of your hips, the surprise hit you with such force. In part because he hadn’t ever mentioned it before and because it made you cum without warning.

You gasped as your orgasm hit you, arching against the man as he continued thrusting into your wet heat. His grip on your waist and neck kept you in place as you shuddered through the orgasm. Hips stuttering erratically, your walls fluttered about him, overstimulated as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your back was molded firmly to his chest, unable to move as his cock dragged back then slammed back to the hilt. Kento groaned against your skin, hips stuttering against yours as he quickly followed you, flooding you with his seed.

“Sorry.” He gasped, finally releasing your neck. You fell forward, gratefully curling against the pillows, ass still in the air. His cum dripped down your thighs and you shivered as the cool air of the room hit your still sensitive core.

“Sorry.” Kento sounded stressed, the man quickly cleaning your before gently helping you to your side. His brow was furrowed, fingers gently probing the red mark he had left. He looked distressed, eyes worriedly searching your face for any signs of discomfort. You offered him a sleepy smile, waving off his next attempt at an apology. 

“That was nice.” 

He seemed surprised at your response, hand frozen halfway to his face, his glasses dangling from his fingers. One eyebrow raised he sat still as you sat back up, stretching languidly. You moved closer, grabbing his glasses and setting them on the bedside table.

“You have time for another round right?”

The man blinked at you, then nodded, offering you a small smile before crawling back into bed with you.

Coffee

Nanami Kento was a man of habit. He woke up at the same time each morning, ate the same breakfast and had the same cup of coffee before leaving. Even on the weekends he followed the same schedule. You knew he did it for a sense of normalcy. All Kento had told you about his new job was that it was a teaching position and apparently his star pupil was also a bit of a delinquent. So the schedule was important and followed religiously.

Except when he slept at your apartment. You barely had a schedule. It was normal for you to snooze your alarm more than once. You often skipped breakfast and coffee was something you got on the way to work. The weekends were even more spontaneous. You woke up when you woke up. No alarm was set and you would often roll out of bed in the early afternoon. It was a schedule of sorts, but one you knew had your boyfriend on edge.

So you woke up as early as you could stand one Saturday morning. He had an odd weekend assignment and had fully intended on returning home after diner. But one thing led to another and the pair of you ended up tangled in the sheets, exhausted and satisfied. 

Thankfully, even sleepy and mind hazy from sex, you had had the wherewithal to set an alarm. 

It chirped, annoyingly happy as you slid from the warm tangle of sheets and Kento’s arm. He barely moved, the man apparently exhausted enough to keep sleeping. 

6:40 am. A cursed time you thought tiredly as you shuffled to the kitchen. The sun was just starting to kiss the sky, orange spreading slowly across the remnants of night’s purple. You flicked on the kitchen light, knowing that even though it spread down the hall, it wouldn’t be enough to wake the man. Coffee was easy enough to make silently, the small pot never making much more than a little bubbling noise. Eggs were a different story. You winced as the metal pan let out a small scraping noise as you removed it from its spot in the cabinet.

“You’re lucky I love you.” The words were whispered as you tiptoed about the kitchen. You hadn’t told him of course. Love was a word you were almost afraid to bring up. It had only been a week since the two of you officially started dating, despite months of passionate sex. In truth you might’ve been happy with just being his fuck buddy. When you originally had brought up dating he had balked at it, unnaturally brushing off the topic. But with time he eventually was the one to bring it up, quietly admitting his job made relationships difficult but that with you, he wanted to at least try.

So you were dating but you were still nervous about admitting to him that you loved him. So instead you were content with small acts of love.

The smell of coffee filled the kitchen and you smiled as you heard Kento’s alarm go off. The man was quick to rise, dressing before he entered the kitchen.

“What's all this?” He genuinely looked surprised, hands pausing before finishing the knot on his tie. It was the same suit as he had on yesterday and you made a mental note to ask if he wanted to keep an extra one at your place. You were certain his students couldn’t care less, but you knew your boyfriend did.

“Breakfast.” You smiled, sliding the two fried eggs onto a plate. He took it quietly, sitting at your small kitchen table as you quickly poured a fresh cup of coffee. Black coffee and two fried eggs. It was an incredibly simple breakfast, one that indicated to you he was always pressed for time. He had mentioned it only once but you remembered. 

“Thank you.” He shot you one of his rare smiles, sipping the steaming cup of coffee. You hummed in response, settling across from him with your very sweetened coffee in hand.

Dessert

“Are you sure?” 

You nodded, cheeks flushed. Propped up on your elbows, you stared up at Nanami. You were entirely naked, nipples erect and core already dripping wet. Kento was still mostly dressed, missing just his jacket and shoes. He looked serious, tie tossed over one shoulder and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. What was less serious was the can of whipped cream he held in one hand. 

The man was uncertain on how to proceed. He wasn’t one for sweets, he had advised as such ages ago. And yet he had been the one to suggest bringing a can of whipped cream into the bedroom. 

‘Something I had seen’ He had said. You assumed porn and had agreed wholeheartedly. It was something you had always wanted to try but the idea usually just bounced around in the back of your skull, half forgotten.

Kento shook the can, a look of pure concentration settling on his face as he began to spray a neat circle around your nipple. You inhaled sharply, the cold whipped cream sending goosebumps across your skin. Kento paused at the noise, then continued, cheeks flushing as he covered your other nipple as well. You bit back a laugh, the man looked vaguely concerned as he placed the can to one side.

“How do you feel?” He tugged off his tie, tossing it aside as he took in the already melting cream on your breasts.

“Like a dessert.” You couldn’t hold back the giggle, your laughter growing as the small mounds of whipped cream jiggled with each laugh. Kento smiled at that, a small huff of laughter escaping his lips. 

There was a moment of silence between the two of you. Anticipation built between the two of you until finally he leaned in.

As with everything, Nanami Kento was a careful man. You let out a low moan as his tongue lapped at one nipple, cutting a path through the light cream and flicking against your nipple. He leaned closer, warm breath against your skin as he wrapped his lips around your nipple.

You groaned, back arching off the bed slightly as his teeth scrapped against your skin. His hands were on your hips, pulling them up, pressing your dripping core against the front of his slacks. You gently canted your hips against his, the rough fabric sending a wave of pleasure coiling through your abdomen. 

His hair was coming loose, strands tickling against your skin as he sucked your nipple. Kento pulled free with a pop, laving his tongue across your chest to the other breast. Whipped cream was smeared against his left cheek, the messy sight adding to the erotisism of his actions. 

You could feel his erection straining against his slacks. The tent of fabric rubbing at your core as he rocked shallowly into you. The pants were certainly ruined, even without looking you knew he would have to throw them out. Your wet cunt was sliding against his erection easily, the grinding building the heat in your abdomen. It coiled, growing tight as you chased your release.

His grip tightened, pulling you closer as he ran his tongue across your nipple. You moaned, hips bucking wildly in his grip. Your clit scraped across the smooth button of his slacks, sending a burst of pleasure through your veins. Kento felt you shudder, moving your hips higher. He rolled his hips against yours, catching your clit again. 

Teeth scraping against your nipple he ground against you, the tent of his erection catching against your entrance. You could feel the slickness of your own arousal sliding down the back of your thighs as you opened your legs wider, the need to be penetrated fueling your actions.

Kento groaned against your breast, lips latching onto your nipple. Warm saliva mixed with the melting whipped cream spread across your chest as he sucked. The man grunting with each thrust against you. You moaned as his erection slid across your clit, shuddering as you finally came. Hips canting into his you moaned, cunt fluttering around nothing.

“Good girl.” He breathed, finally pulling away from your nipples. Kento’s face was bright red, lips smeared with whipped cream. 

You snorted, running a finger along his cheek before popping it in your mouth. It was sweet and tasted like Nanami’s kisses.

Eager

Nanami Kento was eager to eat pussy. It was something you honestly weren’t surprised to learn. While you hadn’t  been with many men, you had come to realize a constant in your life. Quiet men ate pussy like they were starving. You weren’t sure if it was something that was just a fact of life or an effect you had on quiet men. Either way, you enjoyed it immensely.

What was a surprise was how and when he would initiate the act. Sometimes you were at home, sometimes in the car. It was like he would get hit by lightning, eager and quietly asking for you to spread your legs.

This time was different. Nanami Kento was rarely ruffled by life, always well dressed, hair in place. But when you were asked to the main lobby of your workplace, you found a version of your boyfriend that was almost feral. His jacket was sitting awkwardly on his shoulders, hair mussed and tie shoved into one pocket. If you didn’t know better you would assume he had been in a fight.

He had asked if you could take the rest of the day and you had nodded, concerned something was wrong. Something was, not that he would divulge. His work was something he outright refused to talk about when you asked. You had gotten your purse and quietly followed him onto the sunny street. 

Down one street, then another. He had taken your hand so thankfully you didn’t get lost. But in your heels and at the pace he was walking, you found yourself stumbling more than once. Nanami was a man possessed. It was concerning but you were silent, knowing that eventually he would let you in, tell you what was troubling him.

And suddenly, you found yourself in a small lecture room. A map was taped over the chalkboard, a small tv on the lecture table. The room was empty, desks and chairs neatly lined up. 

“Kento whats wrong?” You were slightly out of breath, taking stairs in heels was already difficult. Adding in your over 6 foot boyfriend practically dragging you up the stairs and you were surprised you hadn’t fallen.

“On the desk.” It was a command, his voice was husky, eyes hidden behind the colored lens of his glasses. You complied, confused as you watched him strip his jacket off. His side was injured, you realized. As if he had been sliced by a large knife. You gasped, moving to stand and froze as he barked for you to stay put.

Nanami Kento was a strict man, a quiet rule follower. But he had never been this commanding.

“Just please.” His tone softened, the man taking in the rigid set of your shoulders. “Please let me do this.” 

You blinked as he kneeled before you, removing his glasses and handing them to you. Taking them gingerly, you searched his face, confused by the desperate look on his face.

“Just indulge me. Please.” 

You gave him a nod, setting his glasses to the side and running your hand through his hair. He was sweating slightly and your gaze again drifted to the blood staining his side. Everything within you was screaming to insist he go to the hospital. But his hands were already on your knees, pushing your skirt up.

You lifted yourself slightly, the skirt bunching around your waist. Kento let out a small sigh, large fingers hooking around the waistband of your underwear and pulling.

You squeaked as the fabric simply tore. He had had no intention of sliding them off. No, Nanami Kento had wanted quick access to the trembling heat between your thighs.

His strong fingers dug into the fat of your thighs, holding your legs in place as he inhaled deeply. You flushed, swallowing thickly as you waited for him to make his move.

His nose nudged against your clit as he pressed his tongue flat against your folds. You let out a low sigh, hips canting forward in response as he moaned against your cunt. Nanami licked along your folds, tongue flicking at your clit. 

Your fingers slid through his hair, pulling his face closer. His lips found your clit, sharply sucking the bundle of nerves. You moaned quietly, bucking against his face as he gently pulled at your clit. 

The quiet classroom was filled with the low noises made by Nanami’s mouth. His tongue lapping through your folds like a man starving. Teasing his tongue around your entrance, he dragged the warm appendage upwards, circling your clit before returning his attention to your entrance.

His tongue pushed gently into your wet heat, the spongy walls easily stretching to accommodate him. Kento groaned as you tugged at his hair, the tip of his nose nudging your clit as his tongue delved deeper within you. 

The heat in your stomach was building. Release was always quick when he ate you out. Nanami Kento was skilled with his mouth, the man’s determination drawing orgasm after orgasm from you with ease. Even now, your legs shook, breath stuttered in your chest. The walls of your cunt fluttered about his tongue and you moaned as he tugged your forward, your ass practically hanging off the desk as he fully sat you on his face. 

It had to be uncomfortable, but Nanami showed nothing but eager enjoyment. With his hands, he gently rocked you against his face, setting an easy pace that had your clit hitting the tip of his nose dead on.

You fell back on your elbows, hands leaving his hair as you bucked against the warmth of his mouth. Chasing your end, you opened your thighs wider, quietly begging him to fuck you. Nanami ignored the request, pressing his tongue flat against your folds and licking upwards, eyes closed as he drank you in. 

Low, husky moans of pleasure left his throat, gently vibrating against your flesh. Kento had once told you that the taste of your juices was like an aphrodisiac for him. The man couldn’t get enough. Each drag of his tongue was just as much for him as it was for you.

You grinded down upon his face, shuddering as his tongue swirled against your entrance, circling before flicking upwards again. His actions became more aggressive, the man licking and sucking at your clit with a sudden fever that had you cumming without warning.

You gasped as you came, legs snapping shut around Kento’s head. The man continued his actions, lapping at your cunt as you moaned and shuddered above him. 

“Fuck.” His lips left you finally, face wet and cheeks flushed. Kento swiped his face clean, wincing as he stood.

“Shit! Kento, Your side!” You shook off the afterglow of your orgasm, shakily getting to your feet and tugging your skirt back into place. The man looked at the now larger patch of blood and sighed, nodding once in your direction.

“I have a colleague on the way.”

It was all he offered. No explanation for either the wound or the intense need he had. You settled in one of the free seats, shaking your head when he advised you could go home. He could keep his secret but you weren’t going to leave until help had arrived. 

Fever

Some idiot had come to work sick. It had spread through the office like wildfire, making you question how much the people you worked with actually washed their hands. Half your department was out and here you were, head hazy as you squinted at the computer screen. Each word took two or three passes to read. Your eyes didn’t want to focus, the pounding in your head somehow also in your eyes. 

A fever. Not enough to be sent home according to your boss. The man had of course told you this via email, merely peeking at you through the privacy blinds in his office. 

Somehow he had missed this round of illness. Probably due to the fact that he was never in office. The man had more golf meetings then you had thought possible. No one liked golf that much. But apparently he did, the man practically skipping out of the office not 5 minutes after the email, golf bag in hand.

Normally you would be angry, the fire fueling your work and getting you through the day. But not today. Even blinking was getting to be too much. Each eyelid had to be at least 10 pounds. You found your head weaving slightly, the weight of your hair, your teeth, it was all too much. Letting out a sigh, you leaned forward, placing your head in your hands. It was only 1 pm, you had at least 4 more hours to get through. Your eyes slid shut, a small reprieve from the weight of everything.

“Shit.” You straightened, blinking the hazy fog from your mind. You had fallen asleep. Slumped awkwardly on your desk, forehead stuck to the keyboard. Peeling yourself free, you glanced at the clock.

5:15pm. You had slept past the end of day. Not that anyone had noticed, the few people left in the office were clearly doing as bad as you, sluggish typing away. Logging off, you stood, legs feeling like they were made of pipe cleaners.

Purse in hand you wobbled your way to the stairs and down to the first floor. It was three blocks to the train station. Then 15 minutes to your stop and 2 blocks home. Normally it was travel you enjoyed. End of the work day meant home, food and potentially Nanami. But today?

Today you prayed you could make it home without passing out. 

On your pipe cleaner legs, you shakily made your way home. More than once you paused to just breathe, the pounding in your head making it hard to even just exist. You missed your normal train, but thankfully only had to wait an extra 6 minutes for the next one. The train was the easiest part, an older man catching onto the fact that you weren’t doing the best and offering you his seat. 

Somehow, you made it to your apartment. You had the wherewithal to lock the door behind you and then you were on the kitchen floor. It was so cool, the tile like a kind hand against the heat radiating from your face. The urge to sleep over took you and shivering, you gave in.

When you awoke again, you were warm. Too warm. Struggling, you realized there was pressure all around you and you couldn’t move your arms. Panic swelled in your veins, overtaking the haze that still clung to you.

“Hey. It's me. It’s ok.” You relaxed as you recognized Nanami’s voice. He had apparently come over and moved you from the kitchen to your bed. Wrapped around you, the man had a book in his free hand, glasses balanced precariously on the end of his nose. It was sweet and you smiled lazily before stiffening. 

“You’ll get sick.” You moaned, trying to squirm away from him. Nanami ignored your protests, tucking the blankets more firmly about you. It was hard to fight him. Your boyfriend’s quiet insistence that you sleep was easy enough to indulge. The man was too big and too warm, like the world's best pillow. You found yourself drifting asleep again, head tucked in the crook of his arm. Nanami was the perfect man. He smelled of fresh laundry and bread. As you gave into sleep, you felt his lips against your forehead.

A kiss? Perhaps, but more likely the man was checking your temperature. Nanami was responsible like that.

Gentle

He was always so gentle in everything dealing with you. It was as if he were afraid that you were going to break if he made a single misstep. It was aspects of life you didn’t even always think of, like when he would gently move you mid-sentence a little further from the street corner. Sometimes it annoyed you. Like when he would never let you walk past the opening of an alleyway, making any walk you took a strange tango of you on one side of him then the other. Or how he insisted you wait for him if it were past a certain time at night. No more late night trips to the convenience store, at least not alone.

But as annoying as it could get. He was gentle with you. Soft suggestions, lingering touches, a look that set your heart a flutter. The small odd habits of his were easy enough to ignore. In truth you hadn’t had a boyfriend before that was so gentle. It made you feel special in a way.

So you accepted the gentleness. 

Nanami seemed to walk in a world full of harsh and hidden threats. It made you wonder sometimes. Sitting across from him on the rare dates you too made. There were moments between his gentleness where you could see the part of himself he kept hidden away. It was hard, lined with sharp edges and a sharper gaze. And then it would be gone, covered by the Nanami you knew. It didn’t scare you, whatever it was he was dealing with was clearly something larger than life. He had to be sharp to survive it.

“What has you so frustrated?”

You blinked as Nanami leaned forward, eyebrows furrowing as he took in your expression. You could feel the frown pulling your lips down and you let out a small sigh. He was soft again, his hand gently laying over yours on the table.

“Just thinking.” You offered up a smile. He seemed satisfied with that answer, leaning back in his chair and looking out the window again. All of Tokyo bustled by, the streets buzzing with life. You ignored it in favor of him, watching as the gentleness melted again for a second, the sharp look returning to his face. 

You hoped whatever it was he was facing, it wouldn’t steal what remained of his gentle soul.

Hair

His hair was always parted exactly the same, perfectly in place. Each strand had a place to be and knew to neatly sit. Had you not seen his morning routine and the careful combing and light gel he used, you would have assumed the man had a psychic hold over his hair. No matter if he had work or not, his hair was always neatly done. You could ask him to run to the store quick late at night and without a doubt, he’d fix his hair. 

Habit he had told you. Habit and wanting to still appear professional. Even though he wasn’t a salary man anymore, he still dressed like one. At a glance he blended in with the masses that shuffled through the streets of Tokyo.

His hair being let down was something reserved just for you. When he was sleeping, after a shower and of course during intercourse. You purposefully threaded your fingers through his hair every chance you got. 

He had the odd habit of swiping it back in place, even when in the midst of eating you out. It never went back quite right after you had mused it. Golden strands would still hang in front of his flushed face.

“You can leave it down.” You had laughed one evening, breathless from the two rounds of sex you had. Kento raised an eyebrow, gently setting the glass of water he had retrieved on the night stand. On his way to the kitchen he had again slicked his hair back as best as he could. 

“Leave what down?” He sat on the edge of the bed, sliding back under the covers. Despite having spent the last hour fucking your brains out he had already snatched his book from the bedside table.

“Your hair.” You laughed again, reaching up to ruffle his hair. Kento gave you a look, free hand already sneaking up to fix what you had undone. Even at his most vulnerable he was perfectly kempt. 

Insatiable

You don’t know what had happened that night. All you knew was he came over to your place, stitches along one side and a dark look in his eyes. 

“Can I come in?” For the first time ever you hesitated, worry chewing at your stomach as you took in his battered appearance. He looked tired and on the verge of passing out. 

“I need to relieve some stress. If that’s alright with you?” He was polite as always, asking for consent before even inside your apartment. You nodded, stepping aside and letting him in.

Stress relief for Nanami Kento was apparently as many rounds of sex as you could withstand.

Despite having his side stitched and bruises, he was a man starved, ignoring pain as he tried to satiate his hunger.

The first round was fine as was the second. By the third your hips were sore and you weren’t sure you could cum again. And by the fourth you were a mess, his cum dripping from between your thighs, drool staining one cheek. Your face was pressed into the pillow, ass in the air as he drilled into you.

“One more.” Kento huffed, the rough pad of his thumb pressed against your clit. You groaned, unable to tell him that you couldn’t, that it was all too much. You had already cum five times. Each one was more intense than the last and now just the sensation of his cock buried within you was too much.

You moaned as his hand left your hip, tangling in your hair and tugging you upright. It changed where his cock was hitting with each thrust. 

“You can do it.” His warm breath was in your ear, hips snapping in a ruthless rhythm. You let out a small whimper, hips trying and failing to keep pace with him. He shifted his hand from your hair to your breast, tweaking the nipple roughly.

It was all too much. The tight heat in your belly just kept building with no end in sight. Your abdominal muscles felt weak, stomach clenching weakly as he let out a grunt. The sound sent a shudder through you and you moaned as he brought his fingers to your mouth, sliding them in. You bit lightly on the digits, legs shaking as you struggled to remain upright. He had you locked against his chest, balancing you on his thighs as he thrusted upwards.

Faintly you wondered if you should ask to stop, to check his wound because surely he had ripped some stitches. But your mind was too hazy, drool dripping from your lips as he finally made you cum.

You let out a low groan, cunt weakly fluttering about his cock. 

“Good girl.” Nanami grunted, pulling his fingers from your mouth to pull your hips tightly against his. Somehow he still had energy. You fell forward, sighing against the pillow as he picked up the pace, slamming into you with low groans.

He was never very vocal in bed, normally you would get a low huff or moan. But this side of Nanami, the hungry beast who was fucking you like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do. He was very vocal.

Nanami finally came, letting out a low ‘fuck’ as he did so. You flopped onto one side, looking up at him through half closed eyes. His side seemed alright, red near the stitches but nothing seemed to be bleeding.

He was panting, sweat dripping down his chest as he stared down at you. Still kneeling, cum dripped from the tip of his still half hard cock. You noted that his thick patch of pubic hair was soaked from making you cum so many times. 

One hand swiped through his hair, pushing the sweaty locks from his eyes. The heavy look that had been in his eyes had disappeared. 

“Shower?” He was out of breath, hand going to the stitches on his side. You nodded and then laughed.

“I gotta wait till my legs work.” You laughed again at the expression that crossed his face. An odd mix of pride and apology. 

“Bath then?” 

You nodded at that, feeling as if your bones were made of jello as he picked you up and made his way to the bathroom. Despite how tired you felt, you let him fuck you again in the bath.

Jacket

You had fallen in love with him in your first week at the office. It was your first corporate job, and you had realized quickly that getting to the train and making it to the office on time required intense time management. On your 4th day, there was rain. You hadn’t bothered looking at the weather ahead of time. And like an idiot, you never bothered with an umbrella in your bag. 

Your walk to the train had quickly turned into a run. The sudden rain pelted you, an icy torrent that had you shivering as you skidded onto the train. Your skirt was mostly fine, the black fabric was damp. But your shirt, a plain white blouse that you wore every day, was now see through. 

It was a nightmare scenario and you felt frozen. People were staring, the train doors had already closed and you couldn’t stop shivering.

“Here.” A warm jacket was slid about your shoulders. You flinched, turning to see a vaguely familiar face. A tall man, blonde hair and silver glasses. His name was Ken? Or maybe Kensei?

He worked in your office, you had seen him on the same floor as you, often looking as if he hadn’t slept in days. You thankfully slide your arms into the jacket, buttoning the front as best you could. It made the shirt less noticeable and you thanked him quietly. He hadn’t said anything back, just nodded and adjusted his tie.

The rest of the day you found yourself wandering near his end of the department’s floor, hoping to find out what his name was. He was quiet and kept to himself. And it wasn’t until the next day that you found out his name.

“Oh you mean Nanami Kento?” Your colleague looked up from her computer screen. “Tall blonde right?”

You nodded, thanking her and quickly making your way over to his desk. He hadn’t noticed you at first, blinking up at you blearily when you finally mustered the courage to say his name.

“Your jacket, thank you.” You held the garment out to him, noting the dark bags under his eyes. The man took the jacket with a small nod, turning back to the screen before him.

As you walked back to your desk, you realized your cheeks were flushed and that you had a massive crush on Nanami Kento. 

Kisses

Your first kiss had been sweet. Kento had leaned in, warm hand tilting your head up to catch your lips with his. It was a quick kiss, you were too nervous to press for anything more. The man had fucked you not 24 hours prior but on your first date you were a nervous schoolgirl again.

Your second kiss had been on the train. He had offered to pick you up after work, the plan was to go to his house for dinner. You were tired, almost too tired to stand for the short ride to his apartment. Kento had been standing in front of you, blocking the crowd that pressed in behind two of you. He had leaned in without warning, pressing his lips to yours. The action surprised you for a moment before you leaned in, hands grabbing the edges of his jacket to keep steady.

Your third kiss had been later that night. After dinner and spending some time reading, you had found yourself in his bed, clothing scattered about the floor and the man buried balls deep in your pussy. You had been the one to initiate the kiss, hands sliding over his shoulders as you pressed your lips against his. He had accepted eagerly, thrusting lazily into you as your lips slid against each other. His tongue had slid into your mouth, laving against the roof of your mouth as you moaned against his lips. Back arching, you licked his teeth, tongue running along his bottom lip. He kept you beneath him that night for hours, his lips finding yours with a polite hunger.

Lace

You wore nothing but lace. The scraps of fabric barely covered your skin. Your nipples pressed against the scratchy fabric and you resisted the urge to move. This was a surprise and you had assumed what you thought was the perfect pose. It wasn’t a special day, you had just felt like treating the man. He was always exhausted and even if all you got was quiet and warm words in response, you would be happy.

The only problem was, Kento was late. Your phone sat on the bedside table, silent. There was the urge to grab it to call him, but in the back of your mind, you were certain the second you moved, he would enter the room.

Time moved slowly and you cursed the man for being so with the times that he had no clock in the bedroom. You had expected it of the man, some clunky square clock that would blare it's alarm. But no, he used his phone like the rest of the world. 

Without wanting to you found yourself flopping onto your back with a small huff. Your phone chimed confirming the worst. Nanami had to work overtime. You stared up at the ceiling, hoping he would be safe. Hoping that whatever he would fight would be weaker than him.

“Oh!” You had drifted off, despite being practically naked and on top of the blankets sleep had set in. But now you were awake, hazily clawing yourself from sleep as a wave of pleasure coiled in your gut.

Kento was between your thighs, tongue lapping at your wet folds. The crotchless lace underwear had been the right choice. You sleepy congratulated yourself on that, thighs opening wider to allow him more access.

Kento was naked, fresh from a shower, his glasses perched neatly on his nose. His cock hung heavy between his legs, dripping precum onto the bed. You shivered at the sight, bucking your hips against his face as he made another pass with his tongue.

“You got all dressed up for me. I couldn’t help myself.” 

Nanami was a man of few words when it came to sex. A command here of there, the occasional praise. But for the most part he was as stoic with sex as he was with the rest of life.

Tonight something was different. Face buried in your cunt, one hand came up, roughly squeezing your breast. The lace scratched at your nipple, sending a shiver of pleasure straight to your cunt. 

Kento groaned into your folds, his other hand sneaking between your thighs, a single finger gently sliding into your entrance. You bucked up against him, gasping as a second finger quickly joined, stretching your walls. Arousal slicked your thighs, dripping around his fingers and onto the mattress.

“Good girl.” He panted, his glasses were fogged, the heat of your core apparently enough to do so. You shivered at his praise, silently moaning as he lapped at your clit. His eye contact was intense, unblinking as he watched you squirm. The hand on your breast kept you in place, unable to escape the gentle thrusting of his fingers or the intent drag of his tongue against your clit.

Your legs shook, the pleasurable throbbing heat in your abdomen building. 

“Not yet.” Nanami barked, lifting his head from your folds. His lips and cheeks smeared with your juices. You whined, hips still canting against his fingers as you tried and failed to chase the orgasm that had almost hit.

He sat up, fingers leaving your cunt as he swiped a hand across his face. Kento’s hair had fallen from his perfect part, the messy look adding to the odd fervor thrumming in his veins. 

You shifted as he moved closer, letting your legs fall open further as he nestled between them. Nanami was warm, his thick cock standing upright, precum leaking down onto your clit as he steadied himself above you.

For a moment there was silence, Kento’s piercing gaze searching your face. The sharpness and exhaustion that lived in his face lifted for a moment and he offered you one of his rare brilliant smiles.

“I love you.”

You blinked, mind swimming from beneath the haze of arousal as you took in his words. It was a shock, it was exhilarating, you felt your heart in your throat.

“I love you too.” 

Miss

After everything that had happened. After all you had been through. Nothing hurt more than the ache of missing him. You had barely made it out alive. Your body had been badly injured, Shoko unable to repair some of the damage, even with her amazing ability. 

The joint aches, the burns, the nerve damage. None of it compared to the pain of losing Nanami. 

The worst part was how missing him was woven into everything. The simple act of waking up was painful. The bed you had shared feeling so cold and empty. 

Walking around the house he had bought, the house you had shared. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

The books that made you cry, their spines perfectly aligned, sitting on a desk that grew more dusty by the day. A shared closet full of suits and button ups that sat dark and closed. You had stopped wearing dresses and skirts, not wanting to glimpse the gray and blue that sat within.

Your heart ached whenever you showered, the bottles of shampoo and body wash sitting untouched, save for when you would dare open one and sniff it gently.

It was a pale imitation of the man who would wrap you in his arms. It didn’t carry the warmth he had.

You missed him so much that it physically hurt to be awake. Days were spent in bed, wrapped in one of his shirts until his scent wore off. Your eyes were puffy from crying, body growing weak from your neglect. And none of it mattered because he was gone.

Your rock, your tall blonde who always looked at you as if you were the most priceless jewel.

Shoko tried her best to tend to you. The tired brunette had lost her best friend, had seen her other best friend's dead body walking around, cursed. She was as broken as you were. And yet she persisted.

“It’ll always be there.” She let out a stream of smoke, looking out at the small backyard. You sat with her on the back patio, wrapped in a blanket. She had come over, offering up baked goods and a tired smile.

“It’s like a hole right in your soul. Heavier than anything in this world.” Shoko took another drag, glancing at you from the corner of her eye as she held onto the smoke for a moment.

“The trick is to not let it consume your entire being.”

You rubbed a hand across your cheek, staring out at the night sky.

“What if I want to?” The pain was throbbing, the void where he existed raw and agonizingly empty.

Shoko let out her lung full of smoke, shrugging slightly, “You’ll become cursed or maybe a curse yourself.” 

You didn’t say anything, staring up at the night sky. Nanami wouldn’t want this for you. But he wasn’t here anymore. 

You existed, in pain and missing him. And how you wished you didn’t.

Night time 

Since you had moved into his house, night time had become more enjoyable. Nanami was lucky, his small and tidy house also having a small and tidy yard. It was quaint, a small chunk of earth that felt separate from the rest of the city. 

It was better than the small balcony your apartment had come with. The rickety iron and crumbling concrete had meant you only felt safe putting a plant or two out there. For the most part you had ignored it, seeing it as only a means to have to listen to the sounds of the city and smell cigarette smoke.

“Outside again?”

Kento’s voice was low, husky with the remnants of sleep. He had been napping after a mission so you had come outside to bask under the stars.

“Some people would call it moon bathing.” You laughed, setting your book aside. Kento had bought you a nice wicker loveseat for the back patio and you were curled up on it, a heavy blanket wrapped about you. 

Shifting, you made room as he sat beside you, the man tugging a corner of the blanket over himself. His hair was down, the blonde strands looking silver tinted in the dim light spilling from the house.

“What are you thinking about?” His voice was low, one arm wrapping around your waist as you snuggled against his chest.

“How the world doesn’t seem real from here.” You looked up at the twinkling stars, hardly believing you were still in the city. This home was untouched by the vicious anger and filth that churned in the city.

“It really doesn’t.” He hummed, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Kinda feels like it's only us left.” You murmured, eyes sliding shut as Kento’s warmth soaked into your side. His smell, like clean laundry and warm bread, was lulling you to sleep.

Before you passed out, you heard his whisper of.

“I really wish it was.”

Overtime

You hated overtime. It was grueling, ate into your personal life and usually just fed into a never ending cycle of work that missed its deadline. Your manager was bad at time management, often coming to you an hour or two before the end of day with a project that just had to get done. It was never posed to you as optional. No, with your company overtime was expected and never rewarded. 

Nanami Kento hated overtime just as much as you did. It wasn’t often that he had to, usually only on the odd trips his job sent him on. Those weeks you already had it in your mind that you wouldn’t see him so it never bothered you.

But your job? It always ate into your planned dates with Nanami. You would often find yourself messaging him, a scowl on your face. It made you feel like an asshole and like you had no life. 

“So. We need this done before end of day.” The stack of paper was dumped unceremoniously on your desk. You somehow managed to keep a straight face, nodding once  before turning back to your screen. Your boss would no doubt leave early, the man never felt the need to assist with any of the projects he so conveniently forgot about.

As soon as he left, you texted Nanami, sending along an apology for having to cancel yet another date night. He didn’t respond, the man never usually did when working. With a sign, you took the first file, grimacing as you began.

11:43 pm. That’s how long it took you. Just 17 minutes before the day ended and you managed somehow to get everything done. You were furious however, stalking to the train station to catch one of the last trains to your stop. This job was a never ending cycle of you and others cleaning up the mistakes of your superiors. You stewed the entire train ride home, fingers clenching your purse with a white knuckled grip. 

To your surprise, the lights were on in your apartment. You climbed the flight of stairs to your landing and cautiously opened the door. A mixture of exhaustion and anger slightly clouding your mind.

The apartment smelled of warm miso soup and fresh bread. Kento shot you a small smile, gesturing at the spread of food he had set out on the kitchen table. Slice vegetables, miso soup, bread and thin cuts of perfectly cooked fish. All laid out in a way that only Kento would do. 

“I hope you don’t mind. “ Polite as always. You laughed, throwing your arms around the tall man. 

“Of course not!” Tossing your purse to one side, you sat down, digging in with a groan. You were starved, not realizing it till the first bite of bread practically melted on your tongue. 

Kento had already eaten, the man sitting across from you with a book. It was peaceful, the stress of the day melting from you as you silently watched the man. He looked up, catching your eye and making you blush.

“I’ve been thinking.” He set the book aside, reaching out and snagging a slice of cucumber. You hummed, sipping the warm soup slowly as you waited for him to continue.

“About us moving in together.” Kento leaned back, popping the cucumber in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I make enough, I have a house. You wouldn’t need to do overtime ever again.”

You stared at him, spoon halfway to your mouth. Was he being serious? Your heart was in your throat, excitement flooding your veins. This was new to you. Only 9 months into the relationship, but you were ready. You had been since he told you about cursed spirits. 

“I would love that.” You smiled, feeling a lightness in your heart. Nanami swept one hand through his hair, a gentle smile on his lips.

“I’ll start moving items to make space for you at home.” 

You beamed at that, popping a slice of fish in your mouth. No more overtime, moving in with your tall boyfriend who should cook. You were incredibly lucky. 

Pull

There was an odd pull to being around Nanami Kento. You weren’t sure what it was, but he had an air about him that made you want to get closer.

Maybe it was the safety in his height, how he was able to peer over crowds, guide you in such a way that you were never bumped into or stepped on.

Or perhaps it was his face. His sharp gaze and even sharper cheekbones. Being half European, he stood out in Japan, easy to find in a crowd. And his look was unique. Deep brown eyes and blond hair had a way of making him look softer in the right light. A balance against the sharpness of his other features. 

Maybe it was his voice. Deep and steady, never wavering. He spoke with confidence, always taking the lead in situations, even if he didn’t intend to. 

There was a pull to being around Nanami Kento. So when he vanished from the world, you felt it. A hole that would never close opened in your soul. 

Quiet

You were quiet, more so than normal. There was always a nice calm between the two of you. Both of you appreciate spending time together silently doing your own things, be it reading or working on projects. But the past few days you had been abnormally quiet. Kento wasn’t used to mere nods and hmms of acknowledgement. You were distant, eyes darting to dark corners of rooms, teeth worrying at the nail of one thumb.

Finally, Nanami broke the quiet. 

“What's wrong?” 

You were both in bed, you curled on one side trying to sleep, Kento sitting up with a book. A glance up at his face told you he was deeply concerned. Kento’s face was always lined, a mix of exhaustion and whatever secret it was that he kept weighing on him. But this was different as if all the sharp lines of his face were pointed at you. 

You chewed at your lip before sighing, looking away from his intense gaze. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to open up to him. Being open and honest was something you always felt you could be with him.

But the thing that had caused you to be so quiet in the past week just didn’t make sense. You felt insane and admitting it out loud was something you weren’t sure you could do.

“I’ve.” You began, shifting onto your back. It would be easier to tell the ceiling than your boyfriend.

“I’ve been seeing things.” It was barely a whisper. You felt your cheeks flush as you kept your eyes locked on the dull white of your bedroom ceiling. Beside you, Kento shifted, the warmth of his legs pressing against your side. He didn’t say anything for a moment, the quiet in the room stretching on unbearably long.

“What kind of things?” His question was soft, no judgment in his tone. It was as if he were asking you how your day was. You glanced up at him, searching his face for any hint of judgment. Of course he wasn’t judging you, far from it. 

“Like.” You gestured vaguely, unsure how exactly to put what you saw into words.

“Creatures. Strange creatures.” It was a lame description, one you knew didn’t do it justice. What you were seeing were absolute nightmares. The second you left your apartment you were bombarded with fuzzy shapes that seemed to plague the city. And the ones that weren’t vague blobs were the worst. Demonic twisted forms. Like ideas not quite fully formulated. Escaped nightmares that cackled, whispered and yelled. Every street corner had them, they clung to people like odd backpacks and strange hats. No matter where you turned, you could find one within arms reach. 

You had been ignoring them as best as you could. But it was really getting to you. The mental toll of trying to appear normal at work, while ignoring the things that clung to your coworkers and office equipment was too much. Whispers plagued you as you attempted to do your job, the odd creatures speaking their own language as they picked and stabbed at your colleagues. No one reacted. Not on the streets, not in the office. You alone were affected.

“They weren’t there a few days ago. But now.” You felt tears welling in your eyes, lip trembling. Admitting what you had seen finally brought the exhaustion and feelings you had been trying so hard to ignore crashing into you.

Kento pulled you against his chest, silently holding you as you sobbed. He was so warm and so normal, it added to your distress. Tears streaming down your face, all you could think of was how scared you were. How horrifying it was to leave your apartment anymore.

“I don’t know if I should see a psychiatrist or check myself into a clinic.” Your voice trembled as you spoke, breaking on certain words. Kento pressed a kiss against your forehead, thumbs rubbing comforting circles against your side. He was quiet, much too quiet and you lay in his arms, waiting for him to confirm that you were in fact insane. 

But he didn’t. Instead he shifted, clearing his throat as you finally made eye contact with him.

“I have something to tell you.”

Riding

“Kento.” You let out a breathy moan, hands planted on his chest as you grind your hips against his. The man had his large hands on his hips, trapping you against him as he thrust up into your wet heat. His cock hit differently in this position and you could barely keep yourself steady. Each thrust landing deep within you, the head of his cock dragging against your G-spot with surgical precision. 

Sweat slid down your back and you shivered as your clit caught against his rough patch of pubic hair. Your abdomen muscles burned. Riding wasn’t something you had ever done often, but when Nanami had asked, you had happily obliged. 

His hands slide from your hips, grasping the fat of your ass with a bruising force. The man’s face was flushed, eyes locked on your breasts as they bounced with each thrust. He was concentrating on you, hands guiding your hips as he watched your expressions. Kento wasn’t one to think of his pleasure first. The man made it his goal to have you cum first and any after were just a bonus. 

You shuddered above him, arms feeling weak as you bounced against him. He slid his hands up your back, gently nudging you to lay down. You obliged, sore arms and abdomen feeling a sense of relief as you lay flat against the expanse of his chest. Your sweat slicked skin slid against together and you allowed yourself to relax, twining your arms around his neck.

“I’ve got you.” His voice was low and warm, breath tickling your ear as he grasped your hips again, thrusting upwards slowly. You allowed him to take control, quiet moans bubbling from your throat as he brought you closer to orgasm. 

Not having to hold yourself up allowed you to concentrate more on the heat in your stomach, the building fire filling your veins. Your hips rocking against his, your clit rubbed against the rough hair at the base of his cock, quickly building the tight thread of pleasure within your stomach. 

The hard planes of his chest pressed against your soft breasts, your nipples rubbing against his skin with each thrust.

You ground down on him, lips finding the skin of his throat. Licking and sucking under his jaw, you nibbled gently at the skin. Kento let out a low huff of air, hips canting up into yours, his pace quickening.

Placing kiss after kiss, you ran your tongue along the jumping vein in his neck. His heart was racing much like yours, a shiver running through him as you bit down gently.

The bedroom was silent save for the lewd wetness of your juices between the two of you. The occasional breathy moan slipped past your lips as you felt yourself growing closer to your end.

“Cum for me.” A command, his husky voice sending a shiver straight to your cunt as he thrust into you. “Now.”

Kenot’s commands were gentle, but enough to tip you over the edge. You came with a small cry, hips locking in place as your walls fluttered around his cock. He groaned in your ear as your walls milked him, the man spilling inside you soon after.

Sad

He was sad. One day a year Nanami Kento carried a cloud with him. He never made plans on that day, never told you where he went. You didn’t question it, accepting the silent and morose day for what it was.

Those days he kept his distance and you realized that he was stuck in the past. Replaying some event in his mind over and over again. As an outside observer, you felt as if he were punishing himself. He barely ate on that day, too lost in his head to care for his body.

It was on those days, late at night, that Kento would finally show a sliver of the grief within him. Wrapping around you in bed, his head nestled in your neck, Nanami Kento would cry. It was silent, his shoulder shaking as warm tears slid from his face onto your skin. You never gave indication that you were awake, staying as still as you could. A silent rock in his sea of agony. 

Taste

He liked to taste you. Tongue lapping against your folds with the same eagerness each time. Kento loved giving but rarely ever asked to receive. You realized it 4 months into dating. The night before had been particularly passionate and as you looked back on it, you realized that with dating him you had become something of a pillow princess. Part of you felt a twist of shame, wondering if the stoic man was just too polite to ask. 

But then you thought of how eager he was to just dive in. The man devoured you as soon as you hit the bed, not really giving you a chance to offer anything past your moans.

That morning you showered slowly, purposefully taking your time. Nanami had awoken before you, going to his study to work on whatever it was his job had him do. You had to be careful with your plan of attack. The man had a tendency to sweep you off your feet before you could think.

Stepping from the shower, you were quick to towel off, deciding to forgo clothing as you stalked to the office. It was a bit cold, your skin breaking out in goosebumps as you hurried down the hall.

Your stomach was tight with excitement, a warmth thrumming through your veins as you quietly slipped into the room. Nanami hadn’t noticed, a book in one hand, his other on the computer mouse. For a second you felt bad about interrupting his work, knowing that it was important to him. But you quickly shook it off, crossing to his desk and offering a smile. 

The man let a noise of surprise, setting the book down as he took in your lack of clothing. You grinned at him, feeling butterflies of nervousness in your stomach.

Kento opened his mouth and you pressed a finger to his lips. If he spoke, he would have you on your back in his bed within seconds. 

You crouched, fingers deftly untucking his shirt and undoing his buckle. Before he could react again, you had unzipped his paint, freeing his growing erection with ease.

“Can I taste you?” You asked, staring up at him through your still damp eyelashes. Kento visibly swallowed, sharp cheeks flushing a light pink. The man nodded, leaning back in his chair, legs opening wider to allow you to nestle between his thighs.

You gave his cock an experimental pump, feeling a little more than pleased at the fact that he was already fully hard. Swirling your tongue around the inside of your mouth, you allowed spit to pool before opening and gently placing your lips on the head of his cock.

Kento let out a small huff of hair, head tilting back slightly as he watched you through half lidded eyes. You ran your tongue over the head of his cock, teasing the slit at the tip. He tasted salty and clean. The scent of soap mixing with his natural musk. 

You opened your mouth, sliding your lips and tongue along his length as you attempted to seat him fully in your mouth.

It was impossible of course, Kento’s cock was thick, normally stretching your pussy. In your mouth, you got about halfway down his length, jaw popping slightly as you reached your limit. You didn’t let that deter you, sliding your hand around the rest of his length. Gently, you began bobbing your head up and down, flattening your tongue along the underside of his cock.

Kento’s hand wound through your hair, a low moan escaping his lips as you set a quick pace. 

He tasted salty, precum dripping into your mouth and adding to the lubrication as you pumped his cock. 

The hand in your hair tightened as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking sharply. Kento’s hips moved slightly, bucking into your mouth. You shifted, allowing the saliva pooling in your mouth to spill out, lubricating his length. With the hand not wrapped firmly around his cock, you gently caressed his balls, squeezing experimentally. The man’s hips jumped at that action, his cock going deeper down your throat. 

You almost gagged, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as your jaw began to ache. 

“Can I set the pace?” Kento was out of breath, the hand not tangled in your hair, grasping his chair with a white knuckled grip. You hesitated, then let out a noise of agreement. 

The idea of choking on his cock was unpleasant, you weren’t a fan of face fucking. But you trusted him to be kind.

The hand in your hair tightening its grip, gently nudging you forward. His hips bucked forward, and he moaned as he tapped the back of your throat. You shuddered, fingers digging into his thighs as he began gently but firmly fucking your mouth. 

You watched his face through your damp eyelashes, taking in his heavy lidded eyes and parted lips. He was panting as he thrust into your mouth, the prickly hair at the base of his cock tickling your nose with each thrust.

Kento was close. His tells, the swelling of his chest, the tightening of his grasp, the way his nose scrunched. They were all converging. 

Kento came with a low grunt, thrusting into your mouth and letting his seed spill in. He tasted salty, the thick cum dripping out of the corner of your mouth as he gently pulled free. His spent cock lay limp against his pants as he leaned forward, gently grasping your chin.

“Was I too rough?”

You shook your head, swallowing his cum and opening your mouth, showing him it was all gone. Kento’s pupils dilated and you shrieked as he scooped you up, making his way to the bedroom.

Under

The world had fallen under the realm of reality. It was the only thing that made sense. It had fallen from the bright sunny spot it always existed in and flipped. Now the dark underbelly that roiled in the shadows was loose, running rampant on the streets.

You hadn’t meant to be in Shibuya on one of the busiest nights. Yuji had mentioned in passing a horror movie he liked and you had gotten it in your head to put together a gift for the three students that Kento worked with. All of them looked so tired all the time, more tired than kids their age should.

So like an idiot, you went out. The allure of a Halloween discount for horror movies had compelled you. And now, like thousands of other idiots, you were trapped. It made no sense an invisible barrier separated you from the outside world. All of Shibuya seemed trapped as if pulled from the very earth itself.

“They’re asking for some Gojo guy.”

You whipped your head around, trying and failing to find the speaker. Did they mean Satoru Gojo? Surely not.

You looked back at the barrier, running your hand along the invisible wall. Could curses do something like this? You cursed yourself, thinking back on how you had shrugged off Nanami, telling him that your lack of fighting ability meant that there was no real reason to learn more about cursed spirits you could see.

So so stupid. 

The barrier shifted to your right and the man who had been standing there stumbled back, gawking at the person emerging from the other side. It was Gojo. His eyes were covered and his mouth set in a thin line. You shivered, feeling oddly cold as he fully stepped into the barrier, glancing about.

He noticed you, hooking one finger around the blindfold he wore and pulling it to expose one eye. His iris was the most brilliant blue you had ever seen and it filled you with dread. He didn’t say anything, quickly jumping and literally walking over the crowd, in search of something you couldn’t see.

You fell to your knees, shopping bag sitting defeated next to you. The look had told you everything in just a second. There was no coming out of this. There was no happy ending for anyone in Shibuya. 

You sat there at the barrier for as long as you could, praying that Gojo would fix it, that Nanami would somehow find a way to help you escape. But then the screaming started and you began to run.

You could see them now, the large spirits that had evaded you for so long. They were hungry and violent. And you couldn’t fight them. You ran, breathless and legs burning for as long as you could.

And then the ground shifted and you were falling. Under the city where even worse beings lurked.

As you fell, you faintly wondered if Nanami was safe. 

Vibe

“The vibe is off.” Yuji sighed. You hummed in agreement, tilting your head slightly as you took in the store before you. To your right, Kento shot the pair of you a look. A mixture of exasperation and confusion. 

Somehow, the ever punctual and always perfectly scheduled Nanami Kento had forgotten a weekend training with his student. You had been almost to the train station when his phone had gone off. By the time you were on the train, he was mid conversation with the student, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as you spoke. When it ended, you knew what he was going to say. Cancel the date and attend to his work. So before he could you had cut him off and offered to tag along. Nanami hadn’t like that, but his quiet protests had been silenced when you tilted your head to the right. There was a barely visible blob, one hazy hand sneaking closer to your own.

The train was always full of cursed spirits. Now that you knew what they were, it was somehow easier to ignore them. It didn’t stop the disgusting little creatures from trying to touch you. 

Nanami had relented, his promise of teaching you to get rid of smaller ones had yet to be fulfilled.

“Regardless of the vibe this is the perfect learning opportunity.” Nanami huffed, arms crossed as he stared down his pupil. The boy shrugged, motioning around the room before looking at you.

“Want the big guy?” 

You took in the empty store, its many broken shelves and mannequins. It was in utter disarray, the condemned sign on the front door making you wonder if it was due to the cursed spirits or the very large mold spots that seemed to be everywhere.

“What big guy?” You asked, taking in the dusty store again. Little curses crawled here and there, their odd voices ringing out in the nearly silent store. They were watching your group warily, tensed as if awaiting an attack. But nothing you would consider big.

“Ah.” Yuji turned to Nanami, a look of pure concern on his face, “Nanamin, isn’t it a little mean to bring your girlfriend here if she can’t see all the spirits?”

You inhaled at that, shooting your own look at Nanami. While he had explained the existence of what you could see and how jujutsu sorcery worked, he had failed to mention there were curses you couldn’t see. 

A similar revelation seemed to be working its way through his mind and you watched as his cheeks went slightly pink. The poor man was no doubt mortified.

Later, after Yuji had fought what to you was a patch of air and the store had been cleaned of the spirits you could see, Nanami did admit quietly that the vibe was indeed off. 

Wake

There was a moment some days when you woke up before Kento did. On those days you would quietly turn in bed, nestling closer to him. When he was asleep, Nanami Kento was finally peaceful. The sharp lines and weight that plagued him melted and you could see the quiet reserved man in his entirety. 

In the summer, the first rays of light would leak through your blinds, streaming across your bed. They would hit his hair, turning the strands of blonde golden. In the sunlight he looked like he was sculpted from marble. A picture of perfection, wrapped in your blankets as if he were a piece of porcelain. 

Nanami usually woke shortly after the sun did, even before his alarm. In the warm sun, his eyes were a gentle brown, small shards of gold and hazel twining together to create a beautiful sun kissed color.

He was always surprised to see you staring, a light flush spreading across his cheeks. Mornings with Kento normally had little spoken between the two of you. Instead it was quiet kisses and soft touches before the alarm pulled you both from the softness of the morning.

Xenial

“This is a nightmare.” You huffed under your breath. Nothing was turning out right. The food looked barely edible and you were pretty sure the alcohol you had bought was just the worst choice. Nanami had, for some reason, wanted to introduce you to his students and a few colleagues. Like an idiot you had offered to host a dinner. 

At the time it had seemed like a good idea. Your place was always tidy and you had a game system the kids could use. Nanami had been hesitant at first, lips pressing in a thin line as he considered it. He had relented, seeing how excited you were to cook for his friends.

But now, you were regretting it. 

“Can I help?” Yuji stood in your kitchen doorway, rocking on his heels as he took in the haphazard mess you had laid out across the counter. You swiped a stray lock of hair from your face, straightening as you pushed the pan of chicken into the oven.

“It’s ok! I know you guys were having fun.”

Yuji informed you that he was in fact not having fun. The white haired professor, Gojo was apparently hogging the system, trying to ‘Kick everyone’s ass’ at Tekken. You decided to let Yuji help you. The boy seemed happy to be put to work. He told you stories of working with Nanami, the difficulties of learning to be a sorcerer. You listened quietly, smiling at how much he seemed to look up to Kento. 

Together you got dinner cooked and served. Your apartment was small so dinner was eaten in the living room. For once, you urge to keep things working in your favor. You dragged your kotatsu table from your storage closet, fluffing the blanket as you set it out. 

The night went well. You learned that Gojo was incredibly loud and enjoyed teasing everyone. The other professor Shoko was quiet, eating slowly as she took in the conversation around her. Nanami was a good mix of the two, talking with his students as they loudly joked.

You liked Nobara and Megumi. Together with Yuji they created an interesting trio. Perfectly balanced in a way. 

The food was quickly eaten, Gojo asking for seconds and then thirds. The man could really put food away, loudly proclaiming that Nanami should hurry up and marry you so the team could have more of your cooking. The night was a success despite your earlier worries. 

“I think everyone had fun.” You were tackling the mountain of dishes, elbows deep in sudsy water. Nanami stood at your side, drying each dish as you passed it over. He seemed more relaxed than normal, the stiff lines of his shoulders gone.

“My mother would call you a xenial person.” 

You blinked at that, Kento never talked about his family. It was a topic he avoided more than jujutsu sorcery. You didn’t comment on it, instead smiling and bumping him with your hip.

“Next time make sure I buy double the food.” You laughed as you passed him another dish, “Gojo eats enough for 4 people.”

Nanami rolled his eyes at that, a small smile gracing his lips. “He’s a thorn in my side.” 

He paused, placing the glass he had in one hand down gently. Kento seemed to be considering his words carefully. You watched from the corner of your eyes, slowly washing the last glass.

“He’s important. As annoying as he is, without him, the world would fall.”

His lips were pressed into a thin line, the man staring at his hands as he thought. 

Something was going on, you had seen it weighing on not just him but the kids as well. There were more curses around the city and they were more clear than they had ever been. But Kento wasn’t ready to tell you what was happening yet.

“Just tell me when and they can all come over.” You smiled at him, handing the last glass to the man. Kento smiled at that, offering you a small thank you.

Yelp

“SHIT!” You let out a strangled yelp, dodging the hooked arm that swiped at you. Kento had been trying to teach you to dissolve cursed spirits and so far you were having no luck. You had cursed energy, at least he said you did. But you couldn’t figure out how to channel it. 

There were wisps that would gather and then just as quickly dissipate. 

The curse let out a strangle snarl, the spines on its back shaking oddly. You again tried to channel the cursed energy, feeling the weak whisps at your fingertip. Flicking your hand forward, you focused, trying to imagine the curse just disappearing.

You let out another shriek, ducking behind your boyfriend as the small curse lunged forward. Kento clearly had a good grip on his abilities, backhanding the creature out of existence.

You relaxed, fingers still wrapped around his arm as you glanced about to see if there were more of the creatures around. The dingy alleyway was too dark for your liking and you pressed closer to Kento as a rustling noise echoed down the dirty concrete walls.

You stared at your fingertips with a grimace, as if they were alone in the blame for the failure. Kento patted your shoulder gently, offering you a thin smile.

“Not everyone with sight can fight them.” 

You sighed at that, vowing to do your best to just ignore the annoying beings. Following Kento back into civilization, you threaded your fingers through his, shooting him a wide smile as he led you towards the train station.

“Good thing my boyfriend is one of the most powerful sorcerers in Japan.” 

He mumbled a correction at that, flushing as you shook a finger at him, insisting he take the praise. 

Zest

Nanami Kento liked bread, pastries that weren’t too sweet. He had mentioned it in passing one night, clearly not expecting anything to come of it. The knowledge stuck with you however. You were deeply curious. What kind of pastry was his favorite? Was there any bread he disliked? 

Of course it was a week in which you didn’t get to see him. Between your own work and his, there was just no time. It was a tad depressing, until you were hit with the idea of baking for him.

It wasn’t something you had much practice in. Far from it given how much time your job ate up. But you were determined to do something nice for your boyfriend.

“How the hell do I zest a lemon?” You stared down at your phone, trying and failing to flick off the flour that was stuck to it. The recipe card gave you no indication, merely insisting you needed the zest of 1 lemon for the lemon curd.

Lemon Blackberry shortcakes had sounded easy enough when you had first glanced at the recipe. The items were easy to find. But zest a lemon?

“Everything alright?” 

You jumped at the sound of Nanami’s voice, whipping around in surprise. He was back early. Looking more tired than you had ever seen him. His shirt was dirty and torn in places, the accompanying tie was nowhere to be seen. 

“Yes.” You set down the lemon, swiping the flour from the front of your apron. “I don’t know how to zest a lemon.”

He smiled at that, tossing his jacket on the kitchen table. “I do.”

To your surprise he knew quite a lot about baking. Within minutes you found yourself sitting at the kitchen table, his torn work shirt on your lap watching him bake. It was the most domestic thing either of you had done so far. 

“We’ve been dating for five months?” You asked, trying to count backwards in your head. Nanami hummed, turning as he whisked the lemon cream, “Four months and 28 days.” 

You smiled at that, leaning your chin on one hand as you raked your gaze over his muscles. He didn’t seem to mind, concentrating on the task at hand.

“Do you ever think about the future? About where we might be?” You hadn’t ever really talked about it. Just a few weeks ago you had learned about the existence of curses. It was surface level and you knew that there was more to the situation. A part of you had been wondering if there was a future with the man. You enjoyed his quiet and serious nature. 

“I do.” Nanami set the bowl aside, adjusting his glasses. His expression was unreadable, eyes locked on to you. He seemed to be considering his words carefully as if hesitant to verbalize his thoughts.

“Kuantan.” His tone was soft, “A house near the beach. Long walks and reading in the sun.”

Nanami turned back to the pastries, continuing his earlier action. “Maybe a child. If you’re amenable to it.” 

You smiled at that. “Kuantan Malaysia huh?” Living outside of Japan wasn’t something you had considered. But the beach sounded nice, warm and peaceful. You glanced down at the torn shirt in your lap, running a finger along the loose threads. Did he think of his future when fighting the curses you couldn’t see? 

“I think I’d like that.” You smiled at him. “We can go there when you retire.” 

Nanami smiled at you over his shoulder, giving you a nod. The unspoken reality sat between the two of you. There was only one way to retire as a jujutsu sorcerer. 

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #nanami x reader #kento nanami #nanami x you #nanami smut

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Dandelion

Summary: You usually preferred the company of dragons to most people. The presence of a certain Targaryen prince threatens to upend your quiet life. Pairing: Soft dark!Aemond Targaryen/F!Reader (No Y/N, could be read as an unnamed OC)

Warnings: Familial abuse, negative self talk, canon typical violence, dub-con bordering on non-con, obsessive behavior, power imbalance, canon typical sexism. Please do not read if this will upset you. You are responsible for what you consume. NO MINORS ALLOWED A/N: No Civil War AU! I will borrow a bit from other events that will eventually happen in ‘The Dance’ but I give them a different outcome because I do what I want. Reader is from an original Valyrian house and the only physical characteristics they have are purple eyes and silver hair. She is also a few years older than Aemond. Enjoy!

Word Count: 21k :)

You’d never been good at running. You were too slow. Too clumsy. Too self-sacrificing.

No.

You were terrible at running. You couldn’t outrun your brother as he swore and raged and tugged at your hair. You couldn’t outrun your mother’s prized stallions when they turned course toward you in the field. You couldn’t outrun your father when he saw the mess you’d tracked into your family’s manse alongside your sister.

But you were able to hide her in her rooms and take the blame for all of it. She was so small. She didn’t need to be hurt like that. You could take it, couldn’t you? If you were feeling brave, you’d take her hand in yours and sneak out to the rolling valley that was always spotted with wildflowers.

“Do you know that you can make wishes on dandelions?” Your sweet sister, Vaella, asked one day, holding a bunch of dandelions in her hand. Most of the stems had started to wilt in her too-tight childish grip. But you eased them out from between her fingers with a smile and let her tell you about the “magic” she had heard about from her friend, a little lady from House Tyrell. You righted the stems as best you could, smiling as you did. Wouldn’t that be nice? To blow away a few petals and have your wildest desires come to fruition?

“Shall we make a wish then?” You asked, holding out a few for her to take again. Her jagged little nails, something your mother always scolded her for, caught on your fingers and you tried not to hiss as you felt your skin give way beneath them. Blood bubbled to the surface as your sister quickly apologized over and over again even as you waved her off. “Make your wish!”

Vaella dutifully shut her eyes and then sucked in a deep breath before quickly blowing away all the dandelion seeds. You knew her wish, Seven knew she had told you about it enough: a kind, loving husband, with enough gold to rival kings.

You followed suit but frowned as you tried to find a wish worthy of asking. But, as you heard Vaella’s melodic giggles beside you, you knew. You tightened your blood-tinged fingers around the flowers. I wish for Vaella to have everything good and beautiful in this world.

Then you heard your father on his horse barreling toward you. You knew it would only hurt more if you tried to escape his wrath and you’d never outrun him anyway—your mother knew how to breed and train the fastest horses this side of the Red Mountains and Dorne.

So, no. You weren’t good at running. But you were almost decent at playing the part most everyone else wanted from you. You learned what to say and how to act to stymie your parents’ rage and your brother’s annoyance. You knew how to do your duties as a highborn lady who had a fortunate Valyrian bloodline. Your family had always been dragonkeepers. Even before The Doom, your family had tended to the dragons that had conquered most of Essos, knowing their likes and dislikes, calming and caring for the animals and their riders. It had been a noble profession then and it was a noble profession now. Of course, not all of your bloodline had taken up the mantle, but it was expected that at least one of every generation, no matter their gender, would take up the duties as the decades passed, even before the Dragonpit had been constructed.

Loyal to the Targaryens and their dragons. Always. (Even if your family had tried to dissuade to no avail the royal family from constructing the Pit, saying that the dragons were never meant to be caged so.)

Your family had been adamant about the Valyrian blood in their veins staying pure. When they tired of marrying Velaryons or Celtigars, and House Qoherys died out, they sought spouses from across the Narrow Sea, from Volantis and the Old Blood who could prove unbroken Valyrian ancestry, or from Lys, the city where Valyrian Blood was (said to be) strongest. But never a Targaryen. They had never asked and your family had never reached so high. You were servants to no one but the dragons and the Targaryens. Your allegiance and skillset had made your House wealthy beyond measure, it was only bolstered when accompanying Velaryons on foreign voyages or devising new money making schemes with the Celtigars. Advantageous marriages with dowries worthy of princesses helped, too.

Being a Keeper was a family tradition you couldn’t run from. And, if you were being honest, it was one of the few things about your family you did not resent. Your duties in The Pit kept you away from your father’s anger and your mother’s sneers. Your elder brother Rhogar’s duties in The Pit were easily circumvented and you knew enough to steer clear of him. You found purpose and camaraderie amongst the dragons and hatchlings. They could not speak, true, but they were your truest friends since your sister’s wish had come true and she had absconded to Volantis to live the life of a noblewoman of the Old Blood with her doting husband. It was a quiet life. But you knew better than to ask for more. You still wished for something on dandelions every time you had the chance. For a friend. For love. For the continued prospering of Vaella and her growing family on the other side of the Narrow Sea. You knew better than to wish for the love of your parents or brother. No amount of blood or dandelion magic would ever grant you that.

However, when the war with the Triarchy and the man known as the Crabfeeder proved enough of a problem that the conflict-averse King Viserys finally started to treat it as a war, you were happy to accept the summons to Dragonstone. There were a handful of dragons now roosting there, ready to be flown out by their riders to aid the Velaryon and royal fleets. After you arrived, you had been handpicked by Lady Laena Velaryon to care for Vhagar. It had been the honor of your life, alongside being Laena’s handmaiden for the day of her wedding to Prince Daemon. She had been a fierce warrior astride Vhagar, an even fiercer mother to her twins, Rhaena and Baela. She was not but a three namedays older than you but it might as well have been decades. She was so different from you. So poised and lovely and kind—and her family adored her. Her brother, Ser Laenor, whom you also saw frequently with his dragon Seasmoke, had named Rhaena the heir to Driftmark just after Baela had been betrothed to Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin Strong’s firstborn son, Prince Jacaerys. The celebration Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys had thrown to mark the occasion was lavish and lovely. You had wished upon three dandelions that night, wanting the best for Baela and Rhaena.

“One day,” Laena said to you, climbing down from Vhagar’s saddle as you held one of the twins’ hands in each of your own, “you will make a fine mother.”

“Someone will have to learn to stomach the scent of dragon if they want to bed me, my lady.” Not to mention that you were nearly considered an old maid already. You were sure the only reason you hadn’t been married off was because your parents hadn’t deemed you worthy of the dowry they’d once set aside for you. They’d prefer to keep their gold which you added to with each moon. And their repeated, cruel comments about how you’d never marry because of your looks, ‘horrid’ personality, and court ineptitude and made you believe you would be alone for the rest of your life, only accompanied by dragons.

Laena laughed and let her twins leap into her arms. “You are the blood of Old Valyria, my dear. Anyone would be lucky to have you, smell of dragon or no.”

She had been kind to you. Effortlessly, so.

Then, when she had been killed by a scorpion bolt fired by devotees to the Crabfeeder, your world tilted on its axis. The twins’ hatchlings, Morning and Moondancer, had cried and trilled for ages, feeling her riders’ grief in their small nests. They only rested on the short boat ride to Driftmark as they nestled in your hold. You did your best to help them, to make sure they fed, as Daemon tried to prepare for the rest of the royal family who were descending on Driftmark for the funeral. Daemon himself was a mess. How could he not be? Everyone who knew the couple saw how in love they had been. How in love Daemon was still. You’d heard whispers that Corlys had blamed Laena’s death on Daemon’s pride. The Rogue Prince had flown out to meet the Triarchy’s forces alone and Laena had been the only aerial defense to keep him safe. And, perhaps a small part of you believed that.

The night before their arrival, Vhagar finally landed back on the island. You’d heard whispers of how she had raged against the Triarchy’s fleet after feeling Laena’s death and watching Corlys pull her body from the water. The old dragon had nearly destroyed the entirety of the enemy’s fleet singlehandedly before disappearing into the clouds. But now?

You took careful, slow steps toward her as the moon continued to climb higher into the sky. Her giant head swiveled as you approached and she grumbled, shaking the ground beneath your feet, before she recognized your scent. Laying your hand to the near-scalding scales on her neck, you tried to press all the love you could manage into the touch, your sorrow, your calm. “I miss her, too,” you whispered in Valyrian. “But it is good to have you here.”

The old dragon gave another rumble and it almost broke your heart at how sad she sounded. How much heartbreak could one beast endure?

“We will get through this together, won’t we?”

**

You stood behind Baela and Rhaena and watched as ships with black and red sails docked. Morning and Moondancer were coiled around their shoulders, finally sleeping after a night filled with more crying and your desperate attempts to feed them. Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin disembarked first, followed by their sons, Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys. King Viserys followed soon after with his hand being held by his youngest, Prince Daeron. Queen Alicent was next with her other three children, Princess Helaena and Princes Aegon and Aemond, following closely. The family was greeted solemnly but warmly by the Velaryons and Targaryens—aside from the icy stares you saw thrown in Daemon’s direction by Princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys, and Ser Laenor.

It would not be the first time you’d heard of troubles in the royal family. There had been rumors of a feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent after the latter’s marriage to Viserys. It had been quashed eventually, the pair falling back into their close bond soon after Alicent’s father, Otto, was dismissed from his position as Hand of the King and replaced with Princess Rhaenys. Apparently Otto had tried to convince Alicent that Rhaenyra would kill her friend’s children to keep her promised crown—which was preposterous because, even tucked away on Dragonstone, you’d heard how Rhaenyra had doted on her half siblings. You knew for a fact that it had been Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent together who had pushed for the new law which allowed daughters to inherit titles and lands. The princess had also been the one to pick the dragon eggs for each of their cradles, too. Only two had hatched, unfortunately. Aegon’s Sunfyre and Daeron’s Tessarion, but you had been told that Princess Helaena had claimed Dreamfyre just a few moons ago.

That left only Prince Aemond.

He was a few namedays older than the twins and offered them a small smile when he reached their side. His purple eyes flittered over to you for a moment and something passed over his face, something you could not name. But it was quickly over and he was offering a few hushed words of comfort to his cousins.

Princess Rhaenyra was the first to actually greet you, cradling her pregnant belly. “It has been some time, has it not, my lady?”

You managed to smile as you curtseyed. “It has. I hear Syrax is faring well; expecting another clutch soon, no?” You’d once been one of the half dozen of keepers tasked with the princess’ dragon and had been the most indulgent with Rhaenyra wanting to constantly be on dragonback despite the others knowing she was supposed to be humoring lords vying for her hand. You had also been the only one to be able to calm Syrax during Prince Jacaerys’ early birth while the Princess and her husband were visiting Dragonstone. Three other Keepers had perished, either burned or eaten, as the little prince was born but not you. You had calmed her. You had been the one to discover that Syrax had laid a clutch of eggs alongside her rider. The Princess had been kind and gracious when you told her of the news.

The Heir Apparent smiled, sweeping a hand over her stomach. “It is quite a blessing, truly.”

You continued to speak for a little longer, watching as Rhaena and Baela walked to their father’s side as he spoke to Alicent. Rhaenyra was just as pleasant as always. But, despite the important company, you heard something that nearly had you frowning.

“Who is that?” Aemond asked Baela. A quick glance to the side let you see the prince pointing at you.

Baela gave your name with a small smile, making sure to enunciate your House’s name, too. “She is Vhagar’s Keeper.”

The night continued and you were dismissed as the family gathered for supper. It was only when you were in the comfort of your chambers did you allow yourself to cry. Hot, giant tears slid down your face as you tried to muffle your sobs beneath your fingers. It felt like your ribs had cracked open to reveal your broken heart.

When you found little respite from your grief with sleep, you slipped out of your rooms and toward the shore where you knew Vhagar roosted for the night. She once again greeted you with a huff, nudging her head into your stomach and nearly bowling you over.

“I know,” you murmured, smoothing your hand down her dark scales. “Me too.” Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and it took you a moment to realize it was Prince Aemond, trying unsuccessfully to sneak back into High Tide. His shoulders slumped when he caught your gaze and he dragged his feet to your side after you waved him over. “It is late to be out of doors, my prince.”

His mouth pulled into an even deeper frown. “I know, my lady. But you are out at this hour, too.”

You nodded, continuing to lathe attention on Vhagar. “I am not royalty. The Triarchy may have been pushed back to Essos, but it would still be deemed unwise to be without an escort for someone of your status.”

The young prince looked down at his feet, digging the toe of his fine leather boot into the sand. “I just wanted to see Vhagar. Uncle Daemon said she was the biggest dragon in the world.”

His boyish countenance had you softening. You could only imagine what it was like to be the last Targaryen without a dragon, a birthright. “She is. The last of the Conquerors’ dragons. Come, stand by me. She is tired now; she’s usually much more agreeable like this.”

Even in the dark, you saw Aemond’s entire face light up and he was quick to do as you instructed. He followed your quiet guidance to let Vhagar learn his scent before touching her, placing his hand beside yours. “She’s a beauty.”

You hummed and Vhagar shifted the slightest bit, the sand spitting beneath her giant body. “She is. A great and terrible beauty. And she mourns with the rest of you for Lady Laena.”

Aemond hummed in response and you watched his shoulders slump the slightest bit, as if he needed to be reminded of the loss his family had just suffered, or the reason why he’d been put on a boat and shuffled away from his home. He had been so enthralled with simply being near Vhagar. And you knew it was foolish of you to do anything of the sort, but you smiled and shielded his eyes when Vhagar took flight again, sending sand into the air.

“Come, I have something else to show you.”

The prince followed dutifully as you led him toward the small patch of grass near High Tide’s outer curtain. Small white and yellow flowers had sprouted not a few hours ago and you were quick to grab two. You were even quicker to grab a knife from your belt and cut across your thumb when he was not looking, instead tracking Vhagar across the sky. You let the crimson stain the flower’s stalk before handing it to him.

“This is a weed.”

You laughed at how he scrunched his nose as he stared at the flower. “There’s magic in those petals, my prince, just as there is magic in our blood, in our words. Trust me when I tell you that you will have a dragon one day. You need only wish for it and wait.”

Aemond’s face twisted, like he was ready for you to tease him, or laugh at him. But you simply held up your matching, blood-lined dandelion and blew its petals away into the ocean breeze. I wish for him to have a dragon and be happy. He watched you for a moment longer before, almost delicately, blowing the petals away to float alongside yours.

A light coming on in the fortress had you turning. Someone was probably looking for the prince. “It is time for you to retire, my prince.”

The young prince nodded as he turned to you, the pale moonlight bleeding across his silver hair. “I would have no other hands tend to my dragon.” His hands curled to fists at his side for a moment before releasing, as if he were scolding himself. “We are the Blood of Old Valyria.”

**

It had been nearly six years since you saw Aemond. Much had changed.

The war with the Triarchy had fizzled. It still lingered, of course. There were whispers that the Triarchy was attempting to hire any and every sellsword company in Essos but nothing had come of those whispers though. Not yet, anyway. Most of their forces had been pushed back (again) by Princesses Rhaenys and Rhaenyra while Prince Daemon and Ser Laenor destroyed their food and weapon stores in the Disputed Lands. It was not a surrender, unfortunately, but Westeros was thankful for the reprieve.

You had become Morning and Moondancer’s main keeper, too, your duties shifting after Vhagar disappeared into the clouds and didn’t return. It was a blow, to be sure, to lose another link to Laena even after you and the twins were moved permanently to Driftmark while Prince Daemon stayed to command the armies from Dragonstone while also flying to the Free Cities of Essos to try to broker alliances (some whispered that Prince Daemon took his nephew, Prince Aemond, alongside during his mission but you could never know for certain). But Baela and Rhaena were growing into their own and you were so happy to guide them, in any way they needed. Their dragons were now large enough to be ridden for short distances and you had nearly cried when you watched them circle the island for the first time. The twins often came to you for anything they were too embarrassed to ask their father or too impatient to ask their septas or grandmother Rhaenys. Daemon doted on them, indulging their almost every whim and laughing alongside them on dragonback whenever he had a moment to visit. Seeing them together almost always twisted at something in your chest. They were a family. You wouldn’t have that, would you? You were far past the age of majority and had stopped attending any sort of function where you could even attempt to find a suitable match. What was the point? No one had ever been interested in you in that way and you had all but resigned yourself to simply being a Keeper.

It would be a quiet life for you.

But your quiet was disrupted when Baela and Rhaena were invited to the capital for King Viserys’ nameday celebrations alongside their father. They insisted on bringing their dragons—who were you to deny them? So, you found yourself wrinkling your nose as the large boat approached the capital, the familiar and awful scent of the city wafting toward you. After docking, you were met with a few familiar faces that helped you lead Moondancer and Morning to The Pit to be safely sequestered alongside the other royal dragons. The pair took to their temporary roosts well enough, recognizing the scent of Meleys and Seasmoke through the stone halls. As Caraxes settled near them, they were more than content.

“The lost daughter finally returns home, eh?”

The grip you had on Moondancer’s reins suddenly seized at the sound of your brother’s voice. Slowly, you moved to loop them around the chain on the wall before turning to face him. Rhogar had not changed much. His mouth was still curled in a scowl. His silver hair was still cut short. His periwinkle eyes were still cold as ice. And you knew better than to instigate anything. “Lady Rhaena and Lady Baela requested I accompany their dragons.”

Rhogar hummed. “They do seem fond of you. I was sure they’d send you away after Lady Laena’s demise and Vhagar fleeing your care. It seems they were taking pity on your failure.”

“Yes, they’ve been very kind to me.” He had always been good at cutting down to bone with few words. He’d also once literally cut you down to the bone after you were selected to be Vhagar’s Keeper. You could never win with him. Ever. There was no negating his hatred of you. It had started when you were born a girl instead of a boy and Rhogar thought it meant he was ‘forced’ to be the Keeper of your generation. If he had forgotten that your aunt had also been a Keeper until her death, you could not and would not say. He had wanted to be knight, apparently, despite his poor form with a sword and shield. “You forced this on me!” he had once spit at you. When you had taken up the mantle of Keeper, you’d half-hoped that his malice would fade. It did not. If anything, it grew like a raging fire. With every compliment from another Keeper or Targaryen directed toward you, he only hated you more. It was almost as if he stayed in The Pit to show anyone and everyone that he was the better Keeper. He tried. You would give him that. But the other Keepers turned to you for advice. They asked you for the balm you had created to soothe any wayward burns. They respected you. And the dragons preferred you. Before you had been moved to Driftmark, you could easily move between duties for all the dragons, each of them never minding your presence in their stall. You would never forget when Meleys had snuffed in Rhogar’s face before turning to you. And you had a feeling that Rhogar would never forget it either.

It had been Rhogar who had first called you a witch, the word dripping with venom. After all, how could one person, a woman, be so adept at caring for the dragons? The other keepers found it hilarious and adopted the nickname for you, too. They called you a witch. Sure, it was usually said with a teasing smile or an accompanying wink, but the moniker remained and endured. You didn't deny it. The blood you always knew to spill on dandelions was your secret. If you were a witch, so be it.

“Mother and Father will expect you home tonight.”

The small fortress built just outside the walls of King’s Landing hadn’t been your home for years. Hadn’t been a home since your sister sailed away and even then, you would make the argument that it had been Vaella alone that had been your home. Your one solace. Stepping through those doors again would not be a homecoming. But you knew better to deny them. “Of course.”

You had been surprised to have your pick of the handmaidens at the Red Keep after you spoke with Lady Baela about your family requesting your presence. You had been fully prepared to be ridiculed by your parents for smelling of dragon in their fine house, but you were bathed in a fine copper tub and then lathered in rose oil before Rhaena came in with a dress she promised would look lovely on you.

And the simple gesture nearly had tears coming to your eyes. Rhaena was quick to notice and all but threw the dress onto the bed before grasping gently at your hands. “What troubles you?”

“N-nothing, my lady. I fear I am just a touch overwhelmed. It has been some time since I have been in the capital.”

Rhaena frowned, a knowing look. “Do you wish to return here perma-”

Your grip tightened on her hands before you could even think to stop yourself. “No! No, never. I am happier with you and your sister than I have ever been in this city.”

The brilliant smile Rhaena gave you as she nodded was enough to calm your rapidly fraying nerves and she was quick to change the subject to the tourney starting tomorrow, the first part of the celebrations. “But mostly I am hoping that my toes will not be crushed each night—I’ve heard the men from the Riverlands are particularly awful at dancing.”

It was with Rhaena’s tinkling laughter still in your ears that you tried to brace for the hurricane that was your family. The smallfolk of King’s Landing called your family’s home the Little Red Keep for how your forebears had modeled it after the Royal palace. There were verdant rose bushes still lining the outer walls. There was still a small pond beside one of the turrets, filled with water lilies. There was still the large white dragon of your house’s sigil painted across the grand front door, gold keys in its mouth. It had not changed.

It was not home.

The door was opened by an unfamiliar servant and you were led toward the large hall where you could already hear your family chattering. It quickly halted once you stepped inside. You father stood from his chair with a placid smile on his face which you knew only meant he hadn’t had his first drink yet.

“There is my daughter.” He skirted around the table and hugged you, smashing your cheek against his chest. The medallions on his doublet were sharp against your temple, biting and cold. “It has been too long since you have been home.”

You hummed and tucked your chin to your chest as he held you at arm’s length. “You’ve been receiving the gold I’ve sent, haven’t you?”

He laughed and you tried not to recoil as his meaty hand curled over your upper arm. “Yes. You have been a dutiful daughter. It seems being sent away from the frivolities of the capital turned you into a respectable Keeper.”

There it was. The first sting. You knew better than to argue, to say that Princess Rhaenyra had often preferred you to care for Syrax, that Prince Daemon was always pleased with your care of Caraxes, that the other Keepers (aside from your brother) seemed to defer to you for any sort of special care that the royal mounts may need when you were still stationed at the Pit. “I am happy to have pleased you.”

“Come, come,” he said with a final squeeze to your arm that nearly had you wincing, “we’ve had all your favorite foods prepared.”

A single glance at the spread of food let you know, for the umpteenth time, that they didn’t know you at all. There wasn’t a single dish you favored in any capacity. There was your brother’s favorite roasted boar alongside your mother’s favorite lemon cakes, and everything else had your father’s favor all over it. You were nowhere to be seen. But you still took the seat your father pulled out for you and hoped for the best.

You only had to bite back tears twice and hadn’t needed to dodge a punch or a slap or even a fork thrown in your direction. Perhaps it was a good night. Maybe the years away had softened their disdain for you. That happy thought quickly disintegrated when you were pulled to a stop near the manse’s front door. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Father, Mother. You as well, Rhogar.” You smiled, almost convincing yourself that you hadn’t been sitting on needles the entire time.

“Where do you think you’re going? It is nearly the hour of the owl.”

While it may have been an innocuous and reasonable question from any other parent, this was your father. “Prince Daemon has been kind enough to have chambers reserved for me at the Red Keep-”

“So your family’s home is not enough for you now?”

Your eyes closed. You shouldn’t have come.

**

“Are you well?”

You nearly recoiled from the question but managed to smile instead. “I’m fine, my lady. Thank you.”

Baela frowned, amethyst eyes traveling across your swollen cheek and the way you were favoring your left side. “Are you certain?”

“Truly. Just a bit of a tumble last night.”

She didn’t look like she believed you and Rhaena who sat beside her didn’t look convinced, either. Thankfully or not, the doors to Baela’s rooms opened and a flurry of servants filed in and set out a spread of food on the table near the window where you all sat. One of the handmaidens who had accompanied you all from Driftmark, Isla, you thought her name was, turned to Baela with a smile as she set a plate filled with boiled eggs on the table. “Are you excited, my lady?”

Baela nodded, lips turning up a brilliant smile. “Of course! And I am so pleased that you will be at my side, too.” The pair spoke for a little longer before the group was dismissed and the three of you turned toward the lush breakfast.

You slowly spread a bit of cherry jam across a hunk of bread, eyes darting between the twins as they filled their plates. While it was normal for them to invite you to break your fasts together, you did not want to gain their ire, too, by prying.

Thankfully, it seemed Baela was happy to speak anyway. “I have news.” She set her utensils down and looked at her twin and you with another smile. “Princess Rhaenyra has invited me to stay at the capital so that I may spend time with Jace and learn the ways of court.”

Rhaena beamed, reaching to lace her fingers with her twin’s with a matching giggle. “Grandmother has said it is time for me to learn how to rule High Tide.”

Your heart felt like it was being crushed beneath a blacksmith’s hammer. While you always knew this day would come, you’d half hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. You listened as they laughed, excited about their futures, before they cried about being separated, before laughing again at remembering they’d never be too far away on dragonback. But you’d wished for them to be happy, hadn’t you? They sounded so happy. Both of them looked at you, matching smiles on their faces and you hoped your smile was convincing as you reached out to lay a hand over theirs on the table. “You both will be wonderful. I am so proud of you.”

The next morning, after another cruel night under the shadow of your family, only continued to squeeze at your battered heart as Princess Rhaenys pulled you aside with a small smile and quietly relieved you of your duties for caring for Morning as there were “plenty” of Keepers in the Velaryons’ employ on Driftmark. “I’m sure you understand,” she said, squeezing your arm.

You nodded with your bruised heart in your throat. “Of course, my princess.”

“You have been an exemplary Keeper to my daughter and granddaughters. But I would not ask you to choose, so I have made the decision for you.”

The compliment did give you a small bit of levity as you walked to the Dragonpit to see to your duties—you were an exemplary Keeper. Morning was not set to leave for another fortnight and you still had Moondancer to care for, didn’t you?

“I’ve been given orders to tend to Moondancer,” another Keeper said before you could even question her presence in the dragon’s roost. “Were you not informed of it, my lady?”

Apparently not. “Oh, my mistake,” you muttered. “I-”

“You would have your hands full, my lady. I am happy to be selected to be Moondancer’s keeper. It is not of your station, anyway.”

What did that even mean? It echoed in your mind as you listlessly moved through the Pit, finding mundane things to do now that you were unanchored. Morning was already being tended to by the Keepers that had sailed from Driftmark. The most fulfilling thing you did was helping a few of the newer Keepers care for the clutch of eggs Dreamfyre had laid two moons ago. You were willing to bet that the eggs would eventually be given to the babes that would be born to Rhaenyra or Alicent’s children. Being this close to the majority of the royal family once again let you be privy to a fair bit of gossip. Apparently there had been rumors that Alicent and Rhaenyra were using the lull in the war to strengthen alliances within the Seven Kingdoms. Most believed it would be Aegon to be married off first.

You just hoped they were happy.

“I thought you’d be out in the valley,” one of the Keepers said as you helped them fit the last egg into the crackling fire pit to keep it warm.

You frowned as you pulled off your thick gloves, pushing them into your belt. “The valley?”

The other Keeper frowned, too. “Have they moved? Seven Hells, no one tells me anything!”

Before you could ask just what they meant, your attention was pulled by the sound of metal on stone which you knew only meant one thing: a knight had been foolish enough to come into The Pit. Had they not heard the stories of men being boiled between breastplates by dragonfire? You never cared for the noise and you knew most dragons did not either, the grating sound too sharp for their liking. But soon enough, two whitecloaks rounded the corner and set their sights on you.

They called your name and you stepped forward, expecting to be summoned to the Great Hall or one of the twins’ chambers. “Prince Aemond requests your immediate presence.”

You wordlessly let them lead you away, fully prepared to be deposited into the Great Hall of the Red Keep. Instead, you were all but hefted onto the back of a horse and moved through the city that had all but cleared out to attend the first rounds of the tourney just outside the Lion Gate. You could hear the cheers from the crowd, a dull roar muffled by distance. The knights escorting you said nothing, two silent sentinels on matching white destriers on either side of your horse. They led you through the Dragon Gate and a little further north where the start of the unnamed valley started to slope. “We take our leave of you here, my lady,” one of the knights said. “The prince waits for you below.”

All of this just felt so strange but years of keeping your mouth shut and your head down kept you from asking any questions. You urged your horse down into the valley, dismounting when you reached the shade of one of the few trees. The valley was speckled with wildflowers and dandelions, not unlike the small valley that had been your sanctuary with Vaella during your childhood. The grass was high and soft as it brushed against your legs with each step. It was beautiful and empty. Prince Aemond was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, you thought of getting back on your horse and riding away, far away, until you passed The Wall in the North and then kept going. No dragons. No family. No bruises. No lies.

Just as quickly as the thought came, it left. The dragons were your life. Whatever duties you were to be assigned, no matter how low or asinine, you would welcome them. Then, something prickled at the base of your skull and you turned your head toward the sky just in time to see the sun blotted out by a hulking, winged form. The ground shook but you hardly cared as you finally set eyes on Vhagar again. A familiar ladder was unraveled and you watched a tall man descend as you approached the old dragon. Her massive head swiveled in your direction and you could not help but smile as she rumbled in greeting. She remembered you.

“Good. You’re here.” The voice was cool and raspy. Dangerous.

“Prince Aemond?“ You asked, feeling more and more stupid by the second.

As soon as his boots hit the ground, he turned to you, long silver hair catching the wind as your heart leapt into your throat. A cruel cut was jagged and slashed down his face, only broken by the finely crafted eye patch securely fastened over it. And while it embarrassed you to even think it, you thought him... handsome. Almost excessively so. He had all the refinement of old Valyria now with a hardened edge. The type of beauty usually reserved for portraits in the books your family hoarded and never touched, smuggled from a home long ago destroyed in The Doom. The barest trace of a smile pressed at his already upturned mouth as he strode toward you. “Do not tell me you have forgotten me.”

“I-I have not, my prince. I...” You shook your head as if that would stop the improper and impossible thoughts from turning and quickly dropped into a shallow curtsey. “It has been some time, has it not?”

“Six years,” he said simply, taking another step toward you. “You have not changed in the slightest. You are just as I remember you.” His remaining eye drank you in, moving from your silver hair to the tips of your boots. And you felt every inch of his gaze.

“It seems I have been left uninformed about quite a number of things. I had not known you had claimed Vhagar.” At the sound of her name, the dragon huffed. It brought a smile to your face and you reached out to press a hand to her giant neck. “She is a worthy mount.”

The small smile the prince gave you grew by a fraction. “Yes. I’ve heard a few of the smallfolk call her Queen of the Dragons.”

“A fitting name,” you said, smile growing. With a final pat to her scales, you turned to him again. “Now, I’m assuming you are wanting my opinion on the other Keepers at the Pit to care for her, no? So, I-”

“You have been left wildly uninformed, my lady.”

The ice in his tone had you freezing. “I apologize, my prince, I-”

“Did I not say that I would have no other hands tend to my dragon?” He took a single step toward you and the instinct to run immediately rushed down your spine. The only thing keeping you still was the heat of Vhagar at your back. “You are to be in the valley from now on. I have been told your other duties have been relegated to other Keepers.”

It all slid into place, the strange dismissals, the aversion. All of it. “Everyone knew of this assignment, my prince?”

And his strange smile widened. “Of course. I thought it polite to let you finish your time with my cousins, but everyone knew you were to be mine.”

**

You slowly shifted in your seat, trying to relieve some of the ache in your back from your father’s latest rage as you clapped alongside Baela and Rhaena for the winner of that round’s joust. The tourney was nearing its end and you were dreading every second that passed. Your entire life had been turned on its axis. Being reinstated as Vhagar’s sole keeper meant you needed to live in the Capital once again. Your family’s ire and disappointment had become daily battles, only broken by your escape to the valley or by invitation by the twins to accompany them to the festivities. It was a strange and almost sad moment for you to realize that a valley had once again become your solace and safe place and it had been less than a fortnight since you’d docked.

Despite Vhagar’s immense size and age, she had always been easy to care for. Her scales kept her from harm from anything manmade. You were sure even scorpion bolts would do little more than annoy her. Holes in her wings, from battles long since relegated to story and song, did not grow in size nor hinder her flight. You kept an eye on them regardless. The most pressing of your duties was actually maintaining the saddle atop Vhagar’s back, making sure it was still safe for the prince in any and every capacity. The only trouble you ever had with Vhagar was when she ate too much, ten aurochs instead of her usual seven, and her stomach protested. It was an easy enough fix. At least for you. Some of the other keepers called you insane for coaxing the old dragon to eat a large bundle of flowers you had collected from the valley and then spending an hour or so pressing at the hardened scales of her stomach to help her ache.

It was easy for you to settle back into a routine with her. Even with Prince Aemond standing, unmoving, beneath the shade of the valley’s tree with his eyes trained on you. He liked to watch, you found. Quiet. The day you had met him for the first time in the valley had been your longest conversation with him, even when he handed you new robes and requested you wear them when attending to Vhagar, he said less. The clothes were finely made, of course, and had the same treatment as your other Keeper robes to keep the heat and any accidental flames from burning too quickly...not that it would be of any use against Vhagar’s flames, but you still appreciated it. What gave you pause, however, was the strange crest stitched over the heart. It was the standard Targaryen crest except it was in an unmistakable shade of blue. Deep and bright. It was Aemond’s personal rendition of the signal, his personal coat of arms. You caught him looking at it a handful of times when you told him that you needed this or that for Vhagar, a strange gleam in his eye. But you would take his strange looks and almost unnerving quiet over your family any day. Every day. You learned that the whispers of him brokering alliances in Essos alongside Prince Daemon had been correct—and that was how he’d lost an eye. An overpaid assassin had come at him in the dark of his bedchambers in Qohor and had not expected the younger prince to be so adept at defending himself. For better or for worse, the blood spilt had gained Qohor’s favor and Aemond had allowed the mages of that city to work their strange magick on his face to keep the injury from hurting him as time went on. There were also whispers that the night the assassin came was the night Aemond had claimed Vhagar. “She could smell the dragon blood in ‘im,” one of the smallfolk had said, voice carrying across the stalls of food and linen of the early morning market just a few days ago. Was that true?

“You are fidgeting more than little Viserys.”

You immediately stopped your obvious poor attempt at moving discreetly and sighed, ignoring how Baela was looking at you. “Apologies, my lady.”

Baela sighed, shaking her head. “You have nothing to apologize for. I simply wish to know what has you so agitated.”

“Tis nothing. I think I am simply nervous about the feast tonight.”

At the mention of the feast, the last of the name day celebrations for the King, Rhaena leaned around her sister with a broad smile to look at you. ”You are finally coming? You have missed all the others.”

That was true. Every night after you finished your duties, you were all but summoned back to your parents’ manse, once again trapped within the walls of your family. But apparently, tonight they deemed you “enough” to be seen in such a public arena. Or perhaps they’d tired of the questions about your whereabouts and thought the last event would calm them.

You weren’t even sure if you wanted to attend. It had been too long since you’d been invited to anything of this level of pomp and pageantry and you were certain you’d either have absolutely no fun or you’d make an idiotic spectacle of yourself if you did manage to find a bit of frivolity in it all.

After promising the twins that you would save them a dance at the feast after the tourney’s jousting finished, you excused yourself, knowing you were expected back at your family’s manse sooner rather than later. It was almost a miracle that they’d let you attend this portion of the tourney anyway after learning that Prince Aemond had dismissed you for the day after his morning flight.

“I will see you this evening, my lady.” He had said it with such certainty that you didn’t even try to argue that he’d be much too involved with other guests to even notice you, so you simply agreed and thanked him again for the time away from your duties.

The trek back to the manse was short, much to your dismay, but you straightened your shoulders as you were let inside and heard your mother chattering away with one of the other highborn ladies of court in the solar. Just for a moment, you thought you could go upstairs to your chambers, unnoticed by anyone.

“Ah, there you are. You’re late.”

But the hope was all for naught. You turned and greeted the other woman at your mother’s side after dipping your head toward your mother. “Is there something you need of me, Mother?”

Your mother gave a tittering laugh and she pointed at a rumpled bit of cloth draped over an opened box near the end of the settee in the corner of the room. You moved toward it, pulling away the fabric that must have served as a wrapping for the box, and opened it to reveal a gown. Inky black damask fabric was lined with the deepest blue beads you’d ever beheld, stitched carefully to detail a three headed dragon over the breast. Crimson hued eyes were looped on each, twinkling in the dying sunlight spilling in through the open windows. The cut would show off your shoulders and the curve of your neck, dipping only slightly between your breasts, while your arms would only be slightly covered by loops of more black fabric, cut loose to give you freedom of movement. Simply put, it was gorgeous.

As you pulled it fully from the box, you noticed a small bit of parchment tucked into the folds of the skirt. You retrieved it, careful to have the dress’ bodice lay over your arm to avoid wrinkles, and unfolded it. A small token of my gratitude. The small note was not signed but there was only one person you knew it could be. A blue dragon. Gratitude. He didn’t owe you gratitude.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” The woman at your mother’s side said with a dreamy sigh.

“Yes, it is,” you murmured. After all, there was no way you could deny it. The gown was exquisite. You would need to speak to the prince about this. It wasn’t necessary. “I-”

“I was telling Lady Webber that we’ve decided that I will wear that gown to tonight’s feast,” your mother said, a smile on her face.

“But…” The rebuttal died on your tongue as you looked at your mother’s growing smile and the unknowing look on Lady Webber’s face. This was a trick. Your mother knew you wouldn’t refuse her in front of company because the consequences would be catastrophic. So, you pushed a smile to your face and nodded, swallowing your pride and argument. “Of course. And I know she’ll look radiant as always.”

Your mother’s chin tipped up, pleased. “I’ll have one of the maids bring Vaella’s gold gown for you.”

You nodded again. The gown was beautiful but nothing like the one you held now. But still, you carefully folded it back into the box and took your leave, hiding the note between your fingers as you trudged back to your chambers and tried to keep your head held high. Letting them know they had won by crying or screaming or pouting wasn’t an option. You weren’t a child anymore.

Handmaidens eventually filed into your room and lathed you with oils that made your skin soft and made you smell like the roses that were growing outside the manse’s walls. They tightened the corset on the back of the gown until you winced and only then gave a final tug to finish, saying, “the lady of the house said you are to look your best.” They then made sure you had a dainty gold necklace around your throat, golden dragon pendant falling just above your cleavage, to finish the look after you slipped into the soft soled shoes Vaella had left behind alongside the gown. You did look beautiful. There was no denying that—there was also no denying that this gown held no candle to the one Prince Aemond had sent. And you could not forget that the necklace around your neck had been discarded by your mother years ago for being out of fashion in her mind. Your family wouldn’t have you looking like a lowborn beggar, but that did not mean they would ever allow you to shine on your own. You just hoped Prince Aemond would not be insulted. But, again, you knew he’d be too busy to notice anyway.

But it was fine. This was what you grew up with—this is what you knew how to survive. This was them being almost kind. It was a kindness that they did not remark on your poor posture on the carriage ride up to the Red Keep as the setting sun started to bleed red over the city. Your family was announced as you walked in and your parents hissed for you to behave yourself, “don’t embarrass us more than you already do,” before getting swept away by their friends to enjoy the festivities. Rhogar quickly fled your side, too.

You managed to find a seat near the doors and the others at the table greeted you politely but largely kept to their own conversations as you picked at the food in front of you. Large crowds like this always made you nervous. Mayhaps that was why you’d never found a husband. As promised, you danced with both Rhaena and Baela but when you saw Prince Jacaerys walking toward his betrothed, intent on a dance of his own, and Rhaena had tugged at your sleeve and nervously asked if she looked all right when she spotted Lord Corwyn Corbray walking toward her, you assured her that she was beautiful, and quietly excused yourself back to your seat and another few bites of dinner.

You glanced up at the head table, unsurprised to see it filled with silver haired royals. Of course, Rhaenyra’s sons inherited their father’s dark curls, and Alicent’s auburn tresses were as beautiful as ever, but it was still silver silver silver as far as the eye could see. But there was one silver-haired prince missing from the table: Aemond was nowhere to be seen.

But you hardly had the time to think of his absence when Rhaenyra’s carefully braided hair almost seemed to sparkle in the torchlight as she and Alicent stood, each with a golden goblet in hand. A hush quickly blanketed the crowd.

“We thank you all for joining us tonight as we celebrate my father, the king’s, nameday. It has been a trying few years so to be able to come together like this is a blessing from the Seven themselves.” The crowd cheered, raising their goblets in response. “And we have more to celebrate.”

Rhaenyra looked to Alicent who was smiling softly at the princess, her goblet curled close to her chest. Rhaenyra whispered something to her, a matching sweetness in her gaze, before Alicent nodded and raised her goblet higher and you heard the crowd around you murmur, trying to discern what she was about to say. “It is my honor and privilege to announce that all of Westeros will be unified with the marriage of Prince Aegon to Prince Qoren’s heir, Princess Aliandra Martell.”

The crowd erupted in applause and, as if on cue, the doors beside the head table opened and orange and gold spilled out into the hall and a Dornish delegation swept in, headed by a man you assumed to be Prince Qoren Martell. At his side was a stunning woman, draped in similar gold and yellow with a golden headpiece fashioned to look like the sun settled over her dark hair—that must be Princess Aliandra. Prince Aegon rose from his seat and walked to Aliandra’s side and dipped his head before holding out his hand for her to take. She readily did and preened as he kissed her fingers.

The crowd cheered again and room was made at the tables for the Dornish company to join the feast as Qoren and Aliandra were given seats at the head table. King Viserys stood and welcomed Qoren himself before they sat beside each other. It was only then that Aemond reclaimed his seat on his mother’s right, leaning to the side only slightly to murmur something in Helaena’s ear which coaxed a small smile from her.

But it seemed that the announcements were not finished as Rhaenyra and Alicent still stood. Again, Alicent raised her goblet, “And I am blessed to announce that Princess Helaena and Lord Stark will be married, joining the houses of ice and fire!”

The crowd erupted, again, and you watched as Helaena stood while Cregan Stark moved through the crowds and up to her side. An adorable pink had settled on both their cheeks and you weren’t sure if anyone else would notice, but Cregan slowly held out a hand toward her, low and mostly hidden, and Helaena took it, curling her fingers over his. That simple bit of affection had your heart leaping. You knew Princess Helaena had an aversion to most forms of touch, so to see her happily accepting his hand was beautiful. The men of the North were known to be loyal and devoted—the look on Cregan’s rugged features made it seem as if he were already besotted—and that was what Helaena deserved, the gentle princess who always spared a kind word whenever you crossed paths in the Pit.

You joined in the raucous applause and raised your goblet along with the rest of the crowd before Viserys stood again and announced that Aegon and Helaena would take the first dance of the night with their betrothed and soon the hall was filled with music. Aliandra and Aegon were a swirl of black and yellow fabric as they turned about the floor, a command of the dance. Cregan and Helaena were more content to take up less room and smile at each other as they moved through the steps. It was entertaining to see how vastly different the couples were, but you thought it suited them.

Soon the floor was filled with more couples as one song bled into the next and then the next. You had no girlish hope that you’d be asked to accompany someone for a turn about the floor, so you happily took advantage of the extra room at your table and let your posture fall from its rigid line and indulged in a few more bits of cake, too.

Rhaenyra danced with her sons and Ser Harwin. Alicent was swept out onto the floor by Prince Daeron. There was love there. In that large, powerful family. Ser Harwin eventually took Helaena for a spin around the floor, making her laugh, as the Princess and the Queen regained their seats at the head table. You watched them between bites of cake. They bent their heads toward each other, whispering for only the other to hear with smiles on their painted lips.

They may both be married and they may love their spouses, but you knew there was something special, something other, between them. Something that usually only existed in song and story. Just for a moment, you wondered if anyone would ever look at you like the Princess was gazing at the Queen. You wondered if anyone would ever hold you like how the Queen was tugging at the Princess’ wrists, pulling her close, like you were something to be treasured, protected.

Probably not.

“My lady.”

You nearly dropped the piece of cake you were trying to bite. Turning in your seat, you saw Prince Aemond standing behind you, hands neatly folded behind his back. His purple gaze dragged across your face as you stood and curtseyed, hoping you didn’t have any cake smeared on your lips. “Prince Aemond.”

Without a word, he curled his fingers and turned, ordering you to follow him into the shadows behind one of the many pillars of the hall. You nearly slammed not his back when he suddenly stopped before turning to you again, close enough for you to feel each of his breaths against your hair and surround you in his scent of cold mint and dragon, tinged with steel. His thin lips were set in an even thinner line as he reached out and touched the edge of your golden sleeve before you had the chance to step back. “Was the gown I sent not to your liking?”

Your heart dropped to your knees and you resisted the urge to curl into yourself, as if you could hide your dress from him. “I…I adored it, actually. It is the most beautiful gown I’ve ever beheld. But, my mother requested it for tonight’s feast. And,” you cleared your throat, trying to pass the lump growing behind your teeth. It always felt wrong to speak of your family so kindly. And it felt wrong to lie to Aemond who had only been trying to treat you kindly. Hadn’t he? “And who am I to refuse my mother anything?”

But some small voice at the back of your mind was whispering that you needed to apologize and make sure it never happened again, for both your sakes. “I am truly sorry if you feel as if I have slighted you. It was never my intention and never will be.” You paused and tried not to recoil when Aemond’s gaze did not waver from your face. “I would not be comfortable accepting such a fine gift again,” you added, keeping your voice low. “I would not have you debasing yourself in any way-”

The words stalled on your tongue when his fingers skimmed up your arm before sliding across the ridge of your collarbone to pluck at the golden chain of your necklace. He pulled until the golden dragon pendant rested in his palm. “I will give you anything I deem suitable.” Then, before you could do anything, his hand closed over the pendant and he yanked. The clasp snapped against your skin and the rest of the necklace fell slack, broken. He pocketed the necklace before reaching into the finely constructed doublet stretched over his chest and pulled out a small silver chain. A necklace. Even in the dim light, you saw that it was finely crafted, its twisted rings braided together delicately. And, at the very bottom was a charm of a dandelion, no bigger than the nail on your forefinger. And Aemond was quick to fasten around your neck, long fingers sliding over your pulse and tapping—just once—against the vertebrae just beneath the base of your skull. “It’s perfect.”

The metal, warmed by being tucked so closely to his skin, was almost scalding. The dandelion charm slipped beneath the edge of your gown and hung between your breasts. Against your heart. “Th-thank you. But, I don’t feel as if I can accept it.”

“But you will,” he said, lilac eye burning into yours. “I had it fashioned in Qohor.” He whispered it like a secret.

“I…” What could you possibly say to that? Questions upon questions started to storm through your mind but the only thing you could say was an unsteady, “you were in Qohor ages ago, my prince.”

“I was.” Then he reached out his hand. “Dance with me.” His tone broached no argument. But didn’t you owe him that much? He’d sent you a gown that you didn’t wear. You’d once again tried to refuse a gift from him. This wasn’t…this didn’t feel right. You were just a Keeper. He was a prince. You’d overstepped with Lady Laena but that had felt different, almost reciprocal, in your affections for each other but you were always aware that you were a servant of sorts, no matter your highborn status and Valyrian bloodline. This didn’t feel like that…this felt different.

You couldn’t say no.

You placed your shaking hand in his and let him lead you out toward the dancing masses. You watched the crowd part for him as you took your places off toward the side as the next song began. Eyes were crawling all over you. You could feel them. The answering whispers sounded like a buzzing fly behind your ear but you could not discern what they were saying—not when Aemond looked at you, even as your hands dropped for a moment. You were quick to wipe your sweaty palms on your gown as the song began. The dance was fairly simple, one Vaella had drilled into you during your childhood, but as Aemond reached for you, long, roughened fingers curling over yours, you nearly forgot the steps. If he noticed your fluster, Aemond didn’t say anything, continuing to lead you through the dance with all the grace princes of your childhood stories possessed. As you spun beneath his arm, his other hand sliding along your waist, you tried to steady your heart with little success, his fingers searing through your gown to brand your skin. As he pulled you closer as the dance intended, your eyes shot to the long expanse of pale skin of his throat.

“Are you going to speak or should I be content with your silence?” He asked, voice low enough just for you to hear.

The barb stung and you tried to not flinch when he pulled you closer and then urged you backward in time with the song. “What would you have me say, my prince? I am sure I would bore you with my stories of my time in the Pit or on Dragonstone.”

“Will you not let me be the judge of my own feelings, my lady? Or will you rob me of that, too?”

“What have I robbed from you, my prince? If I have offended-”

“Offended? My lady, you have done more than offend me.”

Aemond’s grip on your hands tightened when you tried to pull back, continuing to drag you along in the dance. “I am sorry, my prince,” you whispered, the words cracking on your throat. “I did not know that my mother would take your gift. She is…she takes everything she wants from me.” You hated the words coming out of your mouth, hating how weak you sounded. “I never-”

Aemond yanked you to a stop, your chest colliding with his with each hurried breath you took. The song continued on, the couples dancing beside you were a blur of colors at the periphery but all you saw was Aemond’s light eye staring down at you as he leaned closer, wrapping his arm around your back to drag you ever closer, your other hand pinned with his between your chests. “Is that what you think? That a gown has soured your presence for me?”

Your brows furrowed as you tried to understand what he was saying over the roaring of blood in your ears. All of this was inappropriate. All of this was near scandalous. All of this was Aemond.

And, just for a moment, it was silent between you, only buffeted by the music continuing to play. “You alone have consumed my thoughts. For years.”

That didn’t make any sense but you still let him push and pull you through the next few steps as you tried to understand what he was saying. “If my presence has caused you discomfort, I shall remove myself from your employ, I swear to you. It was never my inten-”

The hand that had been holding yours swept to your face and his calloused thumb pressed against your bottom lip, robbing you of your thoughts and stalling the words on your tongue. The heat of him was near scalding, even through his leather and your fine gown, enveloping you, surrounding you, like a dragon’s fire.

He hummed, pausing for a moment to think—he always chose his words carefully. “No. No, my dandelion, you will not rob me of your presence. I have waited too long for this.” He pulled in a low breath, like he was trying to restrain himself. “I shall see you tomorrow after your duties finish. I expect you do not need reminding as to where, yes?” He asked, nearly demeaning.

You shook your head, his thumb sliding across your lip and heat burning your throat.

He hummed, again, and leaned down a little further, just enough for his breath to bloom across your parted mouth before he stepped back just as the song finished. He clapped along with the other dancers for the minstrels, never once taking his eye off you. He grabbed your hand and pressed a firm kiss to the back of your fingers before turning and walking away without a word.

It was not until you were home again, hours later, that you realized he’d called you my dandelion and your neck had bled from where he’d snapped your necklace.

**

How does one say no to a prince and keep their head?

Trick question: you don’t.

It had been nearly a moon since the feast and the dance you’d shared with Aemond. While he continued his silent watching as you tended to Vhagar, he would usurp any time you might have had to yourself. He had luncheon brought out to the valley. He would have you take tea with him and Helaena in the gardens if Vhagar decided she needn’t be tended to that day, searching for sharks to eat out of Blackwater Bay. He’d have you climb up into Vhagar’s saddle as they landed to see something that he thought needed tending to or mending. (And while he never moved to touch you, he burned like a fire at your back as you worked.) He had you inspect the hatchlings’ nests to make sure they were properly cared for (as he loomed behind you). He did the same with the clutches of eggs kept within the Pit as well.

It soon became something of a common occurrence for you to be “accompanied” by the Prince to the Dragonpit. While most of the Keepers took it in stride, having trusted you in the past, your brother once ground his teeth so hard as you halfheartedly looked over the chains on Sunfyre that you could’ve sworn you heard one of his molars crack.

And when Aemond asked why your eye was swollen shut the next day, you knew he didn’t believe you when you said you’d fallen off your mother’s horse. But you never denied him anything else. Anything he asked of you, you gave. That was what you were raised to do. Loyal to no one but the Targaryens and their dragons. If Aemond felt the need to investigate, he never gave you any indication other than a soft hmm rumbling in his throat.

You told yourself that you should be thankful the prince was doting on you so. If his strange affections at the feast had been any indication that he felt more for you (which was preposterous–you were nearly ten namedays his elder!), he had not acted on them other than the infrequent murmurings of the nickname My Dandelion. The heat you had felt vanished the moment he stepped away. The only habit of his you could not truly comprehend was his nickname for you.

Lucky. Yes, that was what you were, to know he appreciated your care of Vhagar. He cared enough to essentially install you as the overseer of the Keepers. Or perhaps it was making sure that the gold you were paid was being earned and he felt the need to give you extra duties as Vhagar was fairly easy to keep appeased. Lady Laena had doted on you as well, hadn’t she? Of course, her affections had been overtly platonic and familial, and Aemond’s were decidedly not in some instances. But there was no way you had garnered his attention in that way. How many times had you been told by your parents and brother that no one would ever want you in that way?

You scratched at your chin, trying to ignore your racing thoughts as the sky was starting to bleed an inky purple. It was the first light of dawn and you had hoped to check on the hatchlings before Aemond took his morning flight. One of the other Keepers had mentioned that two of the smallest dragons had been fighting and some blood had been spilled. While dragons were largely hard to kill, they were still not immortal, especially when they were so young. You’d wanted to make sure there hadn’t been any infection in the wounds and to see if you could settle them separately.

You heard whispers from the smallfolk as you passed. Whispers of the Targaryen madness, whispers of their dragons being an abomination to the Seven, whispers of how Rhaenyra would never be a suitable queen, whispers of the crown inching closer to the Old Gods instead of the Seven with the betrothal between Helaena and Cregan. Or how the blasphemous, bloody gods of the Rhoynar would come to usurp the Seven because of the match between Aegon and Aliandra. And you wished this had been the first time you had been privy to such whispers, but only having taken true notice of them a fortnight ago.

Whispers.

Whispers.

Whispers.

They unnerved you. They weren’t…right. You heard them too often to be idle gossip and too outwardly for them to be a true passing thought. Something or someone had come to King’s Landing and had started the whispers. Purposefully.

The whispers came to a head as you hurried toward the Pit. A crowd had assembled, far larger than you’d ever seen this early in the morning, filling the street to near capacity, all of them looking toward one man that stood atop the edge of a fountain, proselytizing. He was missing one of his hands and was wearing roughhewn clothes. His unkempt, grey beard swayed with each exaggerated word that spilled from between his half-rotted teeth.

“These Dragon Filth will lead us all into ruin! Think of your families! Think of your eternal souls!”

The words themselves had your blood turning to ice in your veins but it was the answering, near-gleeful shouts that had you running. And, as if on cue, you heard the crowd turn and start to follow.

You nearly fell through the Pit’s open floors as you careened by the guards stationed near the doors, shrieking at them to be ready, that an attack was coming. But you scarcely heard if they replied as you sprinted down, down, down. You undid the chains on Dreamfyre first, screaming at her to flee, to fly. Her dark eyes nearly blazed as she looked at you before she tore past you with a roar, stretching out her wings as soon as she was able. Screams from the crowd were nearly musical as you set about freeing Vermax, Syrax, and Arrax next.

“Go! Fly!”

The thundering footsteps of the crowd were growing closer. You could hear the scrape of swords being unsheathed, of axes battering against the door or sliding against the stone floor. They were coming.

Just as you were reaching for Sunfyre’s chains you were yanked back by a rough hand grabbing at the back of your tunic. You were thrown to the ground with a scream that quickly died as your skull bounced against the stone.

A man you didn’t recognize loomed above you with a rusted sword in hand. “Dragon filth!” He raised his foot and stomped it down onto your stomach twice before you could even try to move or defend yourself but you were able to grab his ankle and roll as he went to do it again. You felt his bones twist and break beneath your fingers as he screamed and you stood, your ribs protesting. A flurry of movement to your right had you screaming, matching the scream Sunfyre let out, snapping his chains before he let out a bellow of fire just as you ducked, reducing his attackers to charred flesh and bone in moments before spreading his wings and taking flight. You scurried out of the roost and toward the next, knowing that was where the hatchlings were kept, and your heart plummeted as you heard the sounds coming from within.

The hatchlings were screaming—dying. You threw open the door to see two men hacking away at the nest, their daggers bloody.

“Stop!” You wailed, throwing yourself forward and catching one of the men’s arms. Wrestling for control of his dagger was a short affair as the other man’s fist quickly connected with your cheek and nearly took you from your feet again. But you couldn’t, wouldn’t give up. Not when you could still hear the little dragons crying for help. You lurched toward the nest and managed to curl your hand around one of the small dragons before you screamed, a dagger thrust through the meat of your forearm. But still you curled toward the nest, trying to keep them safe—if you could just save them-!

Blood coated your tongue as you picked up the dragons and you barely had the wherewithal to look down to see the handle of another dagger buried into your side as the men beside you called you a “dragon’s whore!” and a “demon’s servant!” Your knees knocked together as the dagger was pulled from your side and you clutched desperately to the hatchlings as you teetered backward, heartbeat roaring in your ears, but they were cruelly ripped away from you.

For the second time, you hit the stone floor and a heavy boot collided with your cheek as a final cry came from the nest. Just as your vision started to blur, you saw the roof of the Pit shake, raining down stone and dust. There was a thunderous roar that you could feel in your marrow just before the world went dark.

**

The world swam back into focus slowly, in a swirl of creams and blacks and reds. It took you a moment to realize you were in one of the many chambers inside the Red Keep, carefully propped up against a small mountain of pillows with a blanket across your waist, embroidered with a familiar three headed dragon in black thread that shimmered like gems in the muted sunlight, seeping into the room from around the edge of a heavy curtain. You only had a moment to appreciate the fine furnishing before a stab of pain which seemed to pop and fizzle across every inch of your body had you wincing, eyes clamping shut as you bit your lip to keep your whimper quiet.

That’s what you knew how to do. Stifle your noises. Make yourself silent. It always helped. And you could not stop the flinch which shot through you when someone’s hand settled on your shoulder.

“Apologies, my lady. I did not mean to scare you!” The Septa at your side squeaked as she yanked back her hand.

Your eyes opened again and you had to breathe through the sudden nausea that rushed over you in a wave. “N…no apology necessary.”

“I will call for the Maester. And I believe your family has been waiting to see you, shall I let them in?”

Before you could answer–a polite but firm no–the door opened and your parents and brother stormed into the room. You briefly saw a handful of handmaidens trying to keep them back before the door was firmly shut behind them. Your mother burst into tears at the sight of you, fat droplets falling down her cheeks, before all but hurling herself toward you with a cry of, “oh, my daughter!”

You bit back a yelp when her hands, covered in rings, grabbed at your arms, poking and prodding at you as her touch moved higher and higher until she was grasping at your face. If she noticed your wince when her nail scratched against what could only be broken skin, she didn’t reveal it nor did she pull back.

“My lady,” the septa started gently, rising from her seat, “the maester said-”

“I do not care what that old man has said!” She screeched, nails biting into your skin for a moment. “My daughter has been…” The rest of what she was going to say, and you were sure it was going to be quite the show, was drowned out as more tears spilled and she shook her head.

You’d only seen your mother like this once before. It was when Vaella was getting married. Of course, those were supposed to be happy tears; she was sure to cause a scene so more people looked at her than at the bride. It was all a show. Crocodile tears dabbed away with a silk kerchief. Fanning her face. Whispering to anyone who would listen that she was the mother.

Despite the throbbing of each of your limbs and the stabbing pain behind your eyes, you looked to see your father and Rhogar standing beside the bed, doing their best to look concerned as the Septa walked out of the room. If you were an outsider, you may have believed their pantomime. But you knew. They didn’t care. All of this? All of it was for show for anyone who was watching. They were the distressed family of the person being cared for by the royals.

Your father stepped to yourself and pressed a flat, unmoving hand against your shoulder, a frown tugging at the sides of his mouth. “How are you faring? You look ghastly.”

“You look like you have nearly-single-handedly saved the Targaryen dynasty from an immeasurable loss.”

Everyone in the room turned to see Aemond stride in, shoulders back and eye entirely focused on you. Your family was quick to curtsey or bow and then shuffle back to make way for him to step to your side. Aemond paid them no mind before he cupped your face. His grip was surer as he touched you, almost familiar. The touch of his thumb skirting across one of your many slow-healing bruises had you shivering, or perhaps that was the way his light eye was focused entirely on you.

“You are healing well, my lady,” he said quietly, just as his finger looped around the necklace still at your throat, pulling the dandelion charm out from under the chemise (which was definitely not yours) you were wearing.

That same, strange heat started to smolder in your stomach as you looked at him, watching that small smile you saw so infrequently start to push at his lips. But now was not the time to ponder that–after all, it could just be a bit of nausea–as you had other, more pressing, concerns. “The hatchlings, my prince, did they-”

“You saved all you could, my lady.”

That meant some had died. Hot, angry tears immediately stung your eyes as you shook your head, only exacerbating the pain radiating across your body. “How many? H-how many of the little ones-”

Aemond moved to grasp at your hands, gently, softly, as he shook his head. “You need not worry about that now. They will be avenged.”

“We apologize for her childish tears, my prince,” your mother said, voice pulling you away from the prince’s gaze. Her comment only made the tears burn hotter as you tried to blink them away. Shouldn’t you know better? Tears gained you nothing. Tears changed nothing.

“They are not childish,” the prince said, still not turning to give them a glance. “She mourns with my family.”

The Septa swept in again and cleared her throat, thick eyebrow arching high enough to disappear into her habit as she looked at your mother for just a moment, before curtseying in Aemond’s direction. “The maester has been summoned, my prince.”

The prince nodded but did not move from his place at your side, long fingers sweeping lightly over the bandages you saw over your arm and then brushing against your temple.

“We are grateful you have extended your family’s maesters and healers for her care, my prince,” your father said as he stepped forward.

“As I said,” Aemond started, not pulling away from you at all, not moving his gaze from your face, “House Targaryen owes her a great debt. It would be in poor taste for her not to receive the finest care this land offers.”

Everything burned. The skin he touched, his minted breath against your lips, his unrelenting gaze on you. It burned. For better or not, you could not tell. All it was, was consuming.

“If we may, my prince,” Rhogar said, voice low, almost shaking as he spoke for the first time since coming into your temporary chambers ears, “I know my sister would be well rested in her own bed. We can never repay your House’s kindness-”

It was only then that Aemond looked away from you, dropping his hand to his side. “I would not have my lady withdrawn from her chambers until she has fully recovered.”

“We understand the debt you feel you must repay, my prince.” Now it was your mother’s turn to try, once again dabbing at her damp cheeks with her kerchief. “But it is unnecessary. We know she is but a guest here. We would not repay one debt with another for her care.”

“Tell him,” your mother said through gritted teeth, varnished smile starting to wane. “Tell him you do not need to be coddled so!”

There would be hell to pay if you didn’t. Your mouth opened and-

But Aemond simply waved his hand, a flick of the wrist as if he were batting away a gnat. “I will hear nothing of it. The Queen and Princess Rhaenyra both have ordered daily reports on her health.”

“We understand that, my prince.” Your father argued, tone low and placating, as his own periwinkle eyes bored into the Prince. “But we have been kept from my daughter’s side since the attack. She belongs with her family-”

“She belongs here.” Aemond’s tone was cold, broaching no argument. It was the tone of a king. The tone of a dragonrider. And why did something twist behind your ribs at the sound of it? Or was it because his simple sentence had your family looking as if they’d all been collectively slapped. Your mother’s mouth dropped and you saw your brother look to her, questions in his eyes, before they both turned to your father.

“The maester is due shortly. I would advise you all make your goodbyes now and I will have word sent when it is suitable for you to come again.”

After a stretched silence, your mother came first, pressing a too firm kiss to your temple and whispering a rushed, “do not embarrass us,” into your ear before stepping back. Rhogar was next, each of them murmuring his best wishes into your cheek just loud enough for Aemond to hear but not convincingly in the slightest. Your father was last, taking your hands in his in a strong grip that had you wincing, heat rippling up your arm to burrow beneath the bandage where you were certain dozens of sutures were holding your skin together. The look in his eyes had you instinctively trying to pull back, out of his hold, but he held firm.

You knew that look well. Too well. It had been the face of your nightmares since you could dream.

“Daughter mine, I trust you will-”

His words, threats or otherwise, were drowned out by the door opening and the maester being brought in, a flurry of other healers behind him. Aemond stood back, spine pressed against the wall as you were looked over, poked, and prodded. You learned that your stab wounds were healing well, possibly aided by the three days you spent unconscious. “You didn’t move at all!” The maester said with a smile. He also said that he would leave Milk of the Poppy at your bedside to help with any residual pains you were bound to have and that he would come back after dinner to check the mobility of your arm.

It was only when he and his entourage were finished that you noticed Aemond had not left the room at all during the commotion. He stood sentinel near the door, arms crossed over his chest. And, as the chamber door closed softly behind the last of the parade of maesters, you were left alone with him. Again.

A nervous tickle started to grow at the back of your throat and you tried to will it away, head a little lighter thanks to the few drops of Milk of the Poppy you’d been given beneath your tongue a few moments ago, as you awkwardly tried to push yourself higher onto the pillows with only one arm when he started to walk toward you. The effort was only marginally successful and a sharp pain from your side nearly buckled your uninjured arm anyway. By the time you settled again, you were strangely out of breath. But still, you knew you had to say something. “I am once again in your debt, my prince.”

“There is no debt. I would do it a thousand times over, Dandelion.” He then looked you over, something you couldn’t place in his eye, a look you’d seen a dozen times before and couldn’t name. “I will have the handmaidens tend to you before the maester comes again. Dinner will also be delivered. I am assuming you still like the honeyed chicken and carrots.” It wasn’t a question and the prince didn’t give you time to say otherwise before striding out of the room as a gaggle of handmaidens—who you knew usually tended to Queen Alicent—streamed in. They were quick as they helped you move from the bed with delicate, careful movements.

A shining tub was hauled in soon after and filled with steaming water. And, even when the group of handmaidens squawked about waiting for the water to cool a little, you were quick to submerge yourself in it, only relaxing when you were enveloped and sunk down until the water hit your chin. They eventually sat at your side and scrubbed you clean, mindful of your injuries, and added rose oil to the water and massaged more of it into your damp skin.

And while they seemed to be content to work in silence, you had to ask, the question pressing on your tongue like salt, “what happened?”

“Oh, it is just the most wondrous story,” one of the handmaidens said, punctuated with a dreamy sigh. “The prince himself carried you out of the Pit and flew you across the city on Vhagar to the Red Keep where he demanded the maester see to you immediately.”

“It was fit for song,” another handmaiden said. “I would not be surprised if artisans use the scene of him standing amongst the rubble and blood and fire for their finest paintings for years to come.”

“Prince Daeron has already commissioned a tapestry of it to be made.”

An embarrassed heat started to claw at the back of your throat as they continued to chatter away, only stopping their recounting of the Storming of the Dragonpit (as you learned the attack had been dubbed by the city) to sigh, wistfully. They eventually helped you out of the tub and into a silk robe with a blue, three-headed dragon stitched over the heart, just the same as your Keeper robes. Aemond’s sigil.

“But, what happened?” You asked again, ignoring the strange swooping feeling in your stomach. “Who were they? Why?”

One of the handmaidens gave a tittering laugh. “Oh, Sevens. Please excuse us, my lady. We thought you would want to know who rescued you, but of course you would want to know who nearly killed you! The Shepherd—that rag-covered old man—was a zealot who the Triarchy paid to come to King’s Landing. He believed he was doing the Seven’s work. But they knew he would simply cause a riot—apparently he’d already done so in Lys and they offered him freedom in exchange for listening to how King’s Landing was ‘in desperate need of his teachings.’”

The revelation left something aching behind her ribs. While the Triarchy may have been outmatched before, striking at the heart of the Targaryen dynasty’s power was a well calculated and cruel move. Truthfully, you cared only for the fate of the dragons.

The handmaidens eventually helped you back into bed after the maester deemed the mobility of your injured arm as “suitable.” He also made the passing comment that your “womanly duties” would not be affected by the wound on your side, nor the repeated kicks you had sustained to your stomach. “But you may want to hurry it along. You are far past the age of majority, my lady.”

And with that unhappy reminder, you slept fretfully despite your belly being full of your favorite foods and being surrounded by the finest bedding gold could buy. You woke the next morning before the sun, wounds aching, and let a few drops of Milk of the Poppy pool beneath your tongue. Your head swam unpleasantly almost immediately, like undercooked meat in unsalted broth, but your veins no longer felt serrated after a few moments. And it seemed it was almost fortuitous as you didn’t particularly feel embarrassed when the handmaidens came again and helped you into a gown you passively did not recognize and gave you a cheese filled pastry to eat as they guided you through the winding halls of the Red Keep. It did little to settle your sloshing mind and actually seemed to make you feel nauseous the more you ate.

“Where are we going?” You finally asked, essentially shoving the half-eaten pastry into the hand of the nearest handmaiden as your stomach gave an impressive lurch.

“The Prince has asked for your presence on the steps outside the Keep.”

Well, that didn’t answer anything and your next step had your side lighting up with a sharp pain. You gritted your teeth as they continued to lead you forward and through the winding Keep and its halls and courtyards until you were gently ushered outside. Kingsguard were set out in three lines on either side, flanking the steps, their armor shining in the growing sunlight. At the center stood Aemond, sunlight framing him in a glow so bright you had to shield your eyes for a moment.

“She has arrived, my prince,” one of the knights said, taking a step to the prince’s side.

Instantly, Aemond turned and set his eye on you and moved to grasp at your hands, pulling you forward to stand at the edge of the top step. The sudden movement had your stomach rolling and your eyes shuttered. “It is good to see in the sunlight, my lady.”

“I…” The words you wanted to say were heavy on your tongue, tangling behind your teeth. “My prince, what do you need of me today? Is Vhagar-”

“Vhagar is happily roosting in our valley. She only settled once I learned of your prognosis. I shall have you back at my side shortly, where you belong.”

You heard him step to your back, his scorching heat bleeding through your gown, and nearly jumped as one of his hands settled on your hip and you could feel his next exhale against your ear. Your stomach rolled again and your breath was ragged in your throat. You needed to sit down. Needed more Milk of the Poppy. The stabbing pain in your side started to splinter out toward all of your extremities and the swimming of your mind was growing more pronounced. “My prince…”

“Keep your eyes open, Dandelion,” he prodded. “I’ve kept him alive just long enough for you to see him die. All of them.”

His words had you frowning. Who? You opened your eyes and looked out, nearly retching at the sight of it all. From the steps of the Red Keep and down into the city, all of the Shepherd’s men were tied to posts. They looked haggard and hungry. Bloody and bruised. As you pulled in a breath to try to steady yourself, all you could smell was pitch. There were puddles of it beneath the feet of each man.

“What are you doing?”

Aemond hummed. “Dragon fire would reduce the city to ash. Uncle Daemon suggested a substitute.” He grabbed a torch from one of the knights and held it in front of you as he kept his post at your back. “Light the first.”

“I-I cannot, my prince. It is the King’s justice, not mine.” And could you kill a man? Truly?

“You saved the Targaryen dynasty from ruin and nearly lost your life in the process. The King, the Queen, my sister, they all know you have saved us. Protected our dragons at the cost of your blood.” The hand on your hip skimmed up your side, thankfully light in his touch over your covered sutures, to trail up and over your shoulder blade and to the delicate bit of skin hiding your rapidly beating pulse. “You deserve vengeance, my Dandelion. Let the world burn for the blood you spilt, just as our ancestors demanded in Valyria.” Aemond paused and the roughened pads of his fingers pressed into the base of your skull, an oddly soothing pressure. “Consider it a betrothal gift.” He then reached around you and made sure you curled your hand around the torch. Then, slowly, with deliberate but careful steps, he led you toward the first man on the right as everything faded to a high pitched ringing in your ears.

Betrothal gift.

You chanced a glance at the man tied to the pole and he snarled at you from beneath the gag in his mouth, eyes blazing.

Betrothal gift.

Then, with a gentle, guiding pressure of Aemond’s hand over yours, you dropped the torch into the pitch.

One by one white cloaks and gold cloaks stepped out from their formation to drop their own torches, each man set alight, consumed by licking red flames. Further on through the city, trailing up to the still-smoldering Dragonpit, the Shepherd’s men were strung. At the base of the ruins of the Pit stood the Shepherd himself.

Aemond had carefully set you atop the saddle of his favored steed, a Courser just as silver as Valyrian hair, and led you through the city so you could see all of it.

When the flames came for the Shepherd, he screeched like the hatchlings had in their tiny nests, drooling through the gag. But you couldn’t take your eyes away from the sight and the ringing in your ears had not ceased.

Betrothal gift.

Just as the smoke started to blot out the morning sun, you heard Vhagar’s distinct roar in the distance and your eyes rolled back in your head and you were lost.

**

The war had come again in the night. Boats had come ashore, striking under moonlight. They’d targeted the Isle of Tarth, Driftmark, Duskendale, Maidenpool, and Gulltown. Only Driftmark managed to push back the assault with Princess Rhaenys atop Meleys and Lord Laenor on Seasmoke, aided by Lord Corlys’ Velaryon fleet. The others were left in ruin and the marching bands of mercenaries and Triarchy soldiers pushed further inland, dividing the crown’s armies and raining terror down on low and highborn alike.

And you were shuffled off to Dragonstone with Vhagar and Aemond. From there, the Prince would help command the royal fleet which was now dispersed around the crownlands, to keep any other forces from arriving and to keep any from running back to Essos. Prince Daemon and Caraxes were there, too, and the Bloodwyrm had trilled happily when he’d noticed your presence on the island only to be snuffed at by Vhagar—just once.

And while you were happy to be away from the stench of King’s Landing and to say hello to Vermithor who still roosted in the depths of the volcanic mountain, you found it…boring. You had thought the war would at least be a bit exciting (and you knew you should use a different word but the notion still persisted) but it was strangely boring. There were meetings between commanders and the like with Aemond and Daemon and then more meetings between the Targaryen princes and the castle’s castellan and then the island’s sworn lords.

And you should have been thankful for it. You should’ve been happy that Aemond’s attentions were elsewhere. But it only left you more confused. He had called the pyres of the rioters a betrothal gift and then had said nothing else to give you even the slightest indication that he had meant it or was expecting something in return. And by the end of the first moon since you had relocated to the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, you had deduced that he hadn’t meant it and perhaps you had even imagined it, your mind altered by the Poppy. There was no plausible way a prince would be interested in you. But you were still thankful for the quality care you had been given for your injuries, the scars the only reminder of your brush with death with no other lingering aches. And something almost good came from the storming of the Dragonpit; it had been decided that the Pit would not be rebuilt and the dragons would no longer be confined to the stone roosts when not ridden and could roost anywhere they wanted outside the city. The Keepers would still tend to them and make sure they were well fed so no farmers would lose their livelihoods (and no one would lose their lives) because a dragon was hungry. It was good—dragons were meant to be free.

You also learned that Princess Rhaenyra and her son Prince Viserys had become the official dragon-riding guardians of King’s Landing. Helaena and Dreamfyre had taken to aiding Cregan and his armies in the northern border of the Vale and Riverlands. Aegon, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Daeron had flown out to burn any enemy encampments that had cropped up and had been successful, from what you had learned, while Baela and Rhaena were stationed at Driftmark with their grandmother and uncle, as another line of defense between Westeros and the Triarchy. You wished them well. But still…you were bored. Even news of Daeron’s betrothal to a young lady of House Lannister and Lucerys’ betrothal to the only daughter of Lord Tyrell had you excited for just a moment.

In an effort to have a bit of adventure and escape the gloom of the island, you would swim to one of the small islets that surrounded Dragonstone every morning when you weren’t tending to Vhagar in between her and Aemond patrolling out toward the Stepstones. Your favorite was just a small stretch of land with sweetgrass and wildflowers and a handful of looming trees, barely big enough to withstand the crashing waves of the surrounding ocean. Bodies of Triarchy soldiers would intermittently wash up on the shore and you would drag the corpses further inland in an attempt to help the fisherman nearby—no one wanted a dead man in their nets or on the end of their hook. You took a sharp stick and stabbed at their tattered clothes or armor and pulled them onto the wet sands, one by one, listening as the dragons roared overhead.

In the growing light of dawn, you tugged the last corpse beneath the tree you’d dubbed ‘the grave’ and haphazardly shoved it toward the rest of the mess of rotting skin and sun-bleached bone before turning away, letting the tall grass lick at your legs as it moved with the wind. The rains from last week had dotted the islet with flowers, and you stooped to pluck a dandelion. The stem was almost warm beneath your fingers as you twirled the wildflower in your grip, watching the early morning dew catch the first bit of sunlight and start to sparkle.

What would you wish for now?

You nearly yelped when you felt a sliver from your stick gouge into your thumb. And then a dragon roared overhead. By the sound alone, you knew it was Grey Ghost, one of the wild dragons of the island. He was free.

You switched the stick into your other hand, letting the smallest bit of blood smear against the stalk. You pulled in a deep breath and readied to blow the small seeds away and watch them disappear over the water. But just as you were about to exhale, something prickled at the base of your skull. A sensation you hadn’t felt since you started your Keeper training and it had your breath stalling in your throat.

Slowly, lowering the stick in your hand to a less antagonistic angle, you turned. Every curse you could have muttered dried on your tongue as soon as you locked eyes on the dragon looming at your back. Angry, blazing green eyes were locked on you. The rest of the dragon was as black as pitch with gnarled, grey scars littering his broad neck and chest, leading up to a mess of sharp teeth, left exposed on the left side by a chunk of missing flesh. The dragon rumbled and you could not look away.

This was the wild dragon known as the Cannibal. The fact that he hadn’t devoured you yet was a miracle, truly. The dragon huffed, bathing you in a green-tinged smoke for a moment and blowing away the small flower in your hands. Through watery eyes, you saw the bodies you had pulled from the sea, stacked messily together. Had the dragon done that?

When it didn’t look like he was going to eat you or burn you to ash, you slowly walked backward, keeping your head down. Submissive posture usually did wonders for an unruly dragon—it had saved your skin half a dozen times when Sunfyre had thrown a fit when Aegon was raging about something—and it seemed it worked with the Cannibal, too, because all he did was huff again before turning to feast on the dead.

And then you went back, again and again, pulling more bodies from the sea. But now your intention was less selfless and more selfish. No one had ever been able to get that close to the Cannibal and live to tell about it, their demise only being whispered by unfortunate bystanders or when their burnt husk of a corpse was discovered weeks later. But you survived. You came back to do it again, pulling more and more bodies from the sea and eventually stopped jumping when the large, scarred dragon nudged at your stick, urging you to fetch his meal from the waters. As strange as it was, you considered the large dragon a friend. Mayhaps your only friend on this side of the Narrow Sea. You would speak to him about your duties, point out the other dragons and their riders, telling him anything and everything that came to your mind. And then, when you, as delicately as you could, fed him another arm, you nearly shrieked when his jagged teeth suddenly sunk into your sea-soaked robes and all but threw you onto his back.

The scream that bubbled in your throat was short lived when he swiveled his long neck to look at you, as if making sure you were secure. He was mimicking the other dragons. The thought that this dangerous, old, angry dragon was playing pretend with you almost had you laughing. You adjusted your seat, slotting yourself between the large barbs and ridges down the dragon’s back and then grabbed at two of the curved spikes just at the base of his neck. Then, you spoke the word that changed your life irrevocably.

“Sōvēs!”

Fly.

And then he kept letting you up onto his back, letting you suggest where to go—he mostly listened. But you never truly cared if he wanted to go South when you had hoped to go North that day. He was yours. Truly, strangely, you felt as if his heart had wedged itself beside yours behind your ribs. The bond you had studied and kept sacred was now yours. You were a dragonrider. A dream, a wish you had never voiced. And you knew that if anyone ever knew, it would cost you your life.

But then you had a terrible, bordering on stupid, idea. You could see Vaella again. You could fly your dragon to Volantis and see your sweet sister again in days instead of the months it would take you to sail to her city. You could be free of all this. Of your family’s waiting wrath. Of the boredom. Of Aemond’s confusing actions. You had never been given even the opportunity to think of such things; your life was a series of going and doing what was expected of you. Pondering the possibility of true, if not brief freedom, and the repercussions that would surely follow, you stroked at the Cannibal’s flank as he ate the corpses you had piled for him earlier. The waning sunlight cast him in dark shadows as you both found solace in the seldom used western beach outside the castle’s curtain.

“Would you like to go to Volantis?”

The dragon rumbled between bites.

“Vaella tells me they have elephants there. You’ll have to promise not to eat them.”

He rumbled again and you couldn’t stop the soft laugh from escaping your lips. You could do this. Somehow. You’d offhandedly learned that Aemond and Daemon were considering flying to Braavos to meet envoys from the city to possibly form an alliance. You had heard rumblings about Braavos and Pentos both claiming dominion over the Stepstones and the Targaryen princes had hoped to resolve the issue and strengthen their armies and naval fleets in the process. It could be the perfect distraction.

A large, dark shadow suddenly washed over you in a wave and you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. But the angry bellow Vhagar let out had you freezing. You couldn’t fight her, you wouldn’t. Even if the Cannibal rivaled her in size and ferocity, Vhagar was still your charge: you wanted her happy and healthy. Having two dragons fight to the death would destroy you. You needed to leave now.

Vhagar landed, sand spitting into the air under her weight, just as you pushed at your dragon’s side and screamed at him to fly, starting to scramble up to your perch. But before you could even try to move or take to the skies, the great dragon’s maw opened and closed around Cannibal’s neck and bit down.

You screamed alongside him as you were thrown back down onto the sand from the force of the impact, green fire spitting out from between his teeth. It nearly burned you but just as soon as the attack came, it paused. The prince’s dragon held yours down against the charred and crystallized sand. Dark blood slithered down the Cannibal’s neck to pool near your boots as you stood on unsteady legs. In a singular moment, he had been subdued. Just as you had been. Atop Vhagar sat Aemond and even as the sun blotted his features out, you knew he was entirely focused on you.

“Please,” you whimpered. “Please, let him go. He has done nothing against you.”

“On the contrary, my dandelion. He has nearly taken you from me. Did you think I did not see you climbing on his back, day after day?”

Tears gathered at the edges of your vision as you shook your head. “I am not yours, my prince. I am not-”

“Enough.” Aemond’s voice cut over the grumbling of his dragon and the seething of yours. “You have tested my patience. It is time to put this charade behind us. You are mine. You have always been mine. Just as I have been yours.”

“When have I ever been anything more than a keeper to you? I have done nothing to warrant these feelings. You are misguided.” You tried to quell the tears to no avail. Not when you could feel your dragon growing weaker by the moment. “When were you ever mine?”

But the prince was undeterred and swung out of the saddle and down the ladder to step toward you, lilac eye nearly burning. “I have been yours since you placed that dandelion in my hand as a boy that night on Driftmark and swore to me that I would have a dragon.” His hand slid against Vhagar’s neck as he stepped ever closer. His dragon released her bloody hold on Cannibal’s neck but kept her head close to his, effectively keeping him pinned.

More blood pooled in the sand as you shook your head. “You just needed a bit of kindness. That was all it was. Nothing more.”

“But it was more.” His voice was ice. “It was everything.” He moved closer still. “My entire life I have been nothing more than a spare, falling further down the line of succession with each birth. No titles of my own. I have had to fight every day to simply have my father’s attention, to make a name for myself, to be anything more than a footnote in a history book. Tis I who studies histories and battle and who rides the largest dragon in the world and leads the charge against our enemies. I have pushed them back across the Stepstones and into the Disputed Lands to lick their wounds but it matters little. Everything I have ever wanted is beyond my reach or shared with others, divided up before I can claim what is mine.” His eye blazed as moved ever closer. “Why should I not have something that is entirely mine?”

Heat crackled down your spine at his words, at his unblinking gaze anchored on you. “My Prince…”

“Mine to have. Mine to keep. Mine. You always have been and you always will be.”

“Y-you don’t mean that. I am nearly a decade your elder! I am not… My family serves yours and your dragons. We do not marry,” you tried to argue, thinking of every reason why it should not and could not come to pass. “I have no court refinement. My family reviles me. You ar-are a prince! You are the one who rides the largest dragon in the world, and you are a learned warrior worthy of song. And I cannot be the one-”

Aemond was in front of you in a flash, long fingers curling around your wrist. “You are. No matter what you think of yourself, I have seen you. I have known you. You are my only equal. Your family will be dealt with and I will give you the option as to how for their mistreatment of you.”

Still, you shook your head. “Your family will never-”

“My family has known I would wed you since I was a boy. They knew you simply needed time to see it. While my mother and sister tie the Seven Kingdoms together, you and I will maintain the old ways. Valyrian. Fire and Blood. Do not try to hide yourself from me. I knew what you were since my time in Qohor and I remembered how your blood shone on that little dandelion in the dark. You said it that night: there is magic in our blood. You would not be able to tame this beast without it,” he said, inclining his head to your dragon. “And so easily. Just as easily as you calmed all the others. They sense it in you, as I did. As I do now.”

And what could you possibly say to that?

But Aemond did not care to give you time to formulate a response and tugged you away from your coiled dragons and toward the castle. And, just as soon as the heavy door closed behind you, your back hit the cold, stone wall of the corridor and Aemond’s mouth was on yours. The kiss was not kind. Not the stuff of songs and girls’ whispered dreams. It was all hard edged lips and searching tongues after his hand fell to your jaw, pressing until your mouth opened with a whine. He stole your breath in an instant, seeming content to have you gasp against his tongue as he plundered. And then he was tugging at the laces of your trousers until they fell loose at your waist before falling with a single twist of his wrist.

You turned your head as you felt it, letting his next echo of a kiss smear against your heated cheek. Fear and something else crawled up your spine like a slow-moving spider.

He rucked up the edges of your tunic to curl his long fingers over your smallclothes and pushed them down to hang uselessly around your ankles and join your trousers. The moment he touched your clit had you keening, your own hands fisting at the leather stretched across his shoulders. To push him away, to pull him closer, you could not know. “My prince, please, you will ruin me. I am not what you want.”

“But you are,” he said. “You are all I want.” His fingers trailed lower, gathering slick as he pressed into your folds and then curled them into you without preamble. Your body shook with the intrusion, a strange burning sensation bleeding out into a pleasurable pressure as he continued to push push push in and curl his fingers, then he retreated just enough to have you gasping before he pushed back in. Again and again he pressed in, dragging the flat of his hand against your clit with each pass until you were whining against his mouth. An embarrassed heat licked up your chest when you realized what you had done. How could you like this?

“There we go, my dandelion. You sing so sweet for me.” Aemond bent his head just enough to drag his lips across the hollow of your throat, the wet, sucking sounds of your cunt nearly drowned it out. A heat was coiling in your belly, winding tighter and tighter with each flick of his wrist but you felt him shift, just slightly, and his next press had your knees buckling, sparks rippling up your spine.

“My…” Your tongue couldn’t form the words. Every inch of you was buzzing, pulling tighter, inching towards something that-

You came with a cry and Aemond kept you upright by shoving his knee between your legs, his other hand coming up to press at the base of your throat. As he slowly, carefully pulled his fingers from your sopping cunt, you couldn’t look away as he pressed his fingers into his mouth. He let out a soft noise, eye closing as his tongue wrapped around the digits to get them clean.

“You are sweet everywhere,” he said before slamming his mouth against yours in a harsh kiss that tasted of you as he pried your lips open to lick inside.

Your tenuous grip on his shoulders tightened as your blood sang through your ears. A sudden, warm pressure against your thigh almost had you retreating but the wall and his grip falling to ensnare your waist halted any movement.

“I want it all,” Aemond murmured against your mouth. “And you will give it to me.”

“Aemond-” The rest of your rebuttal choked you, stalling like a rock in your throat, as you felt like you were being split in two as he sank into you. He pushed and pushed and pushed, seeming to go on forever, and punched the air from your lungs when his hips were finally flush with yours. The prince stilled for a moment as your body throbbed with an almost uncomfortable heat and his lips dragged against your pulse, humid breath wetting your skin.

“My perfect little dragon.” And then he moved. Sliding out just enough to punch back in, dragging a yelp from your throat, and then doing it again and again and again until your yelps turned into wet, pathetic keens as the coil returned. It looped around your stomach and pulled as Aemond’s thrusts had you shoving up onto the tips of your toes, completely at his mercy. Each drag and push of him was hitting that spot inside of you that you didn’t know could possibly exist, and brushed against your swollen bundle of nerves and sent more sparks up your spine. All you could do was hold on and sob as he took what he wanted and drove you closer to another terrifying euphoria.

And then it was crashing over you, seizing your body and making you shake in his grasp, but he was not done, continuing to thrust until he suddenly stilled and a scalding heat pooled inside you before you felt it start to slip down into the crux of your thighs.

Aemond did not pull out as you thought he would, but instead stood straight and smoothed a hand across the side of your face before pressing an almost gentle kiss to your quivering mouth, just a touch too firm to be truly careful. “Let us retire. I fear we have tempted fate too much by cavorting in such a place.” Only then did he pull out, hands squeezing at your hips as his release started to slide further down your legs. You burned with something almost like shame, but the residual tingling from your own kept it from truly consuming you. “Your body is for my eyes only, those little sounds you make are for my ears only. You are mine. And I plan to have you again before I call you my wife in front of the gods of our ancestors.”

And Aemond did. He took you apart on his featherbed and he had you screaming into the hand he cupped over your mouth as he drove into you until your legs were too weak to sustain your weight when you tried to stand afterward. But it mattered little because he still had you bathed and dressed in the traditional robe of a Valyrian wedding and he’d led you out to the beach like a lamb to slaughter where the priest wed you to Aemond in the Old Ways. He cut your lip and you cut his with unsteady fingers, knowing you could not run now.

**

Much had changed.

With the tenuous allegiance of Braavos and Pentos gained with careful political maneuvering by Daemon and Aemond, the war with the Triarchy was over in three moon’s time. King Viserys lived long enough to see it and welcome the entirety of his family back to the Red Keep again in victory before succumbing to his age.

Queen Alicent was the one to place the crown on Rhaenyra’s head and proclaim her Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in front of the crowds assembled.

Your lip scarred and your husband liked to press his mouth to it whenever you were alone and you could feel his smile against your skin. And, just as he had said he would before your wedding, he had his first heir growing within you. His warm hand would curl around your ever-growing bump at every opportunity, no matter the company present. Advisors, siblings, knights, low and highborn alike. All of them saw the possessive curl of his fingers over you. You had come to expect it, almost welcome it.

It was strange…to be wanted. And to be wanted to completely. It was stifling and terrifying and all consuming. When you had come into your shared chambers and murmured the news that you were with child, Aemond had taken you again but slower than he had ever before. It was almost as if he were nervous to move too quickly, despite the power behind his thrusts, and hurt you or your babe.

The next day, he had the tongues of your mother, father, and brother delivered to you, wrapped in the dress Aemond had gifted to you and your mother had stolen. Aemond had given you a choice as to how to deal with them. You had asked for them to never speak ill of you again but for their lives to be unaltered. Horrified, you realized he had done as you had bid. They would never utter a word against you. They would never try to use you as leverage in a scheme. Aemond had taken it a step further to have you known as a Targaryen Princess rather than your House’s name.

“You make him so happy,” Alicent said as she cupped your cheeks in her soft hands, a matching smile on her face. “I cannot thank you enough.” The Dowager Queen had been endlessly kind to you and the rest of the family had welcomed you with open arms.

As if they had always expected you to be one of them.

Your dragon healed, new scars to add to his collection. He still allowed you onto his back but only when Vhagar was near. Your freedom still had caveats. But you still felt the wind beneath you as you soared through the air with your husband at your side. You still knew what it felt like to fly. You still knew the taste of clouds after a storm. You still knew what the city looked like from miles in the sky. And Aemond had sworn that he would fly with you to Volantis to visit Vaella after your babe was born.

“I love you,” Aemond spoke the words first, just after your bump started to show, only a week before you were set to fly North to see Helaena marry Cregan under the heart tree in Winterfell’s godswood. “I love you,” he said again after watching Aegon happily kiss his wife in Sunspear under the blazing Dornish sun. “I love you.” And you wanted to believe him. One day you would. And, perhaps one day you would say it, too.

A few months shy of your suspected due date, Queen Rhaenyra summoned you both to the throne room from the chambers you shared. “You may have any land you wish, brother,” Rhaenyra said with a small smile. “You have fought valiantly for this kingdom, often without reward or gratitude. It is a paltry sum for what we and the crown owes you, but I hope this is a start.” She waved a hand and a serving man handed Aemond a small scroll. “If you wish to rebuild any castle or keep on that list, you will have any materials and skilled workers you may need. If you would prefer something built new, you shall have the same. You need only ask.”

Aemond unfurled it to reveal a list of islands, vacant lands, and ruined castles. You recognized a few; Red Deer Island in the Riverlands, Bloody Isle near Oldtown, and Whispers which was the ruined castle near the tip of Crackclaw Point. But the list was extensive. Aemond had his pick of lands. He could take you anywhere he selected. How far would he take you? And why did you hate that you didn’t care? As long as it was him? It would be just you and him—forever

A/N: thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!

#Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x oc #Aemond Targaryen #aemond Targaryen x ofc #House of the dragon fic #house of the dragon #hotd #female reader

[nerdpoe]

WELL, isn't this a bitch of an unsatisfactory situation.

It's a DC crossover I'm sorry I couldn't resist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny had never been the best at lying under pressure.

In fact, he tended to be the worst at it.

The only reason he hadn't been found out by his parent's was their obsession with their projects.

So when he got mobbed by the local reporters after souping Skulker for the eighth time that week, he may have felt a bit pressured.

They may have asked an unclear question.

And he just...reacted.

"So Mr. Phantom, what do you do with your free time?" One of them shouted, trying to get an answer before the GIW got there.

The sounds of said government agents was getting louder, he could hear the sirens on the GAV getting closer, and the reporters just looked so....like puppies? He couldn't just leave, that'd be rude!

So he pointed to the Well where blob ghosts tended to hang out, a great place for him and other ghosts to grab a quick snack, and fled.

Completely missing the horrified expressions on everyone behind him.

He may have, possibly, made a bad call.

Literally only two days later, there were teddy bears and flowers and notes of appreciation decorating the Well.

Danny stared down at it all, he could feel the eyes of some of his Phan club hiding in the bushes.

He...he'd just wanted a snack? Some nice little energy bar before going on patrol.

What was he supposed to do with this? Was...was he supposed to toss it in the well? What was the protocol for this? He didn't want to be rude!

Fuming, he sat down in front of the offerings and picked them up one by one, to inspect them.

Danny was unaware that this action alone made a fantastic photo shoot of him staring down at a teddy bear contemplatively, sitting in front of what all of Amity now thought was his final resting place.

The photo also caught a certain mayor in the background, glaring at him.

~~~~~~

Danny had been on patrol, per usual, and had been about to duke it out with Ember until she'd paused, looked down, and asked exactly what the fuck was happening to their snack bar.

Danny, knowing he would probably get decked if it was a distraction but also wanting to know, looked beneath them.

There...was a protest?

The GIW and his parents were attempting to push through a huge crowd of Amity citizens that were surrounding the well.

There were police cars, Vlad looked like he was frothing at the mouth trying to stop said officers from going to the well with some strange looking equipment, and some sad looking man in a trench coat standing next to the well, staring down into it.

"I...don't know? I think there may have been a misunderstanding."

"Oh."

Danny and Ember stared at each other.

Ember lost her patience first.

"Just go! Get down there and correct the misunderstanding!"

"No, I don't want to involved in that mess!"

"So it is your fault!"

"I panicked!"

"Baby Pop if I lose my favorite snack bar-"

No one on the ground paid attention to the spirits arguing above them.

~~~~~

"Listen to me, that lying little shit-!"

"Mayor Vlad, please step back; this is now an active crime scene."

John ignored the obviously guilty as sin Mayor as he stared down the well. There was....a lot of ambient death in there.

His only real purpose was to ensure that the many, many morons in this town did not anger their local ghostly hero. Angry ghosts straight from the realms were no joke.

There was also a clear violation being done as well, if those idiots dressed in white suits meant anything.

The 'Anti-Ecto Acts' they kept quoting did not exist. He would know. He was The John Constantine, stupid laws like that were something he regularly stayed on top of. Those laws, while proposed, had never actually passed.

He'd made sure of that.

It had been relatively easy to have Deadman overshadow the right politician and point out how they were clearly just a front to remove meta rights, and the Law never made it past it's first draft.

He'd already taken a picture of the men and sent it to the Dark Knight himself; let the worlds greatest detective take a crack at who was pretending to be a part of the government and figure out the why. John had enough shit to do.

"Oh, kid," he sighed, finally stepping away from the well as the cops got closer, "what a right mess you got yourself into."

A strange machine was lowered into the well; one of those things that could see below the surface, John supposed. A regular camera was attached to it as well, just in case it wasn't needed.

It didn't even take fifteen minutes.

The cop operating the larger machine called over a higher up. They stared at the screen.

Then they started corralling the populace away from the well, setting up crime tape.

John stayed a respectful distance away, but still stayed close enough to read lips.

Multiple corpses.

Adults and children.

Some animals as well.

Serial killer.

With so much death, no wonder there was so much activity in this town. No wonder Phantom was obsessed with saving people.

Most people.

There was at least one he Did Not Get Along With.

The occultist let his eyes slide over to the mayor, who was trying to stutter out excuses.

It looked like someone had been busy.

@bathildaburp @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @mimilikey @gabbypie64 @screamingtofillthevoid @thedragonqueen1998 @dannyphantomphan

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #i couldn't resist #i made it a crossover #also surprise there was actually a killer in amity the whole time #bah bah bahhhhhhhhhh #phanfic #danny phantom #john constantine #batman #danny fenton #ember mclain #vlad masters

[caelesjjk]

entangled | jjk&kth - teaser

⟶title: entangled

⟶au: marvel au

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ genre: romance, smut, love triangle

⟶wc: 1.5k for this

⟶banner: by meee, and yes I’m insane and made a new one

⟶warnings: mentions of blood, kissing, a boob grab and an ass grab, but no actual smut for this, Jungkook calls you Data

⟶ summary: Jeon Jungkook is Spider-Man.

He saved your life twice. But he’s also been your sweet lab partner in college for the past two years and now someone who is more than just a friend.

You care about him…maybe even love him. But something tells you that you aren’t quite sure what love even is. How could you when you have feelings for someone else as well?

Kim Taehyung is the handsome stranger you’ve seen around campus and somehow ended up dancing with at Club Onyx. You were upset that Jungkook had stood you up once again and Taehyung made you feel like you were on top of the world.

What you didn’t know that night, is the dark secret Taehyung is trying desperately to hide, but the closer the two of you get the more difficult that becomes.

⟶ authors note: hello darklings. I know a lot of people have been waiting for this fic, and you’ll have wait just a bit more. But in the meantime, I offer this little teaser to hold you over. A little glimpse of spidey kook. First chapter will be posted in just a few weeks!

Also, if you asked to be on the taglist just now that I tried messing with it for a long ass time and got annoyed lol. I may try again for the actual fic.

“What are you doing here anyways?” You shove against his broad chest and feel his arm release your waist. He sighs, following you inside your apartment.

“I know you’re upset I missed the study session…” Jungkook starts to explain, but you twist back around to face him.

“If my friends hadn’t seen you around campus now and then, they would think I made you up, Jungkook. You never show. It makes me look pathetic.” You cross your arms over your chest and wait for the next excuse.

“You aren’t pathetic, Data. I’m just…” Jungkook winces when he reaches for you, a hand moving down to his ribs in pain. “Sorry, it’s healing it’s just slow.”

“What’s healing? What happened to you?” You let the fight go for a moment, closing the space between the two of you and moving his hand out of the way.

Beneath his fingers is a large cut, bloody but half hidden by his suit. It looks angry and inflamed. What could’ve made a cut like this?

“It’s nothing. I’ll heal up in a couple hours.” He pulls your hand away, blood stained on the tips of your fingers.

“It won’t matter how quick you heal if it gets infected. Come in here.” Your hand wraps around his and you pull him into your small bathroom. You steady him against your bathroom vanity and move to grab your first aid kit from the cabinet above your toilet. “Take that off.” You gesture to his Spider-Man suit.

“Yes, ma’am.” Jungkook teases, gingerly working his top half out of the suit. He hisses through his teeth as he peels the suit away from his ribs and lets it hang at his hips.

You are not the universe's strongest soldier.

Your eyes drift over all the dips and curves of muscle. A perfectly sculpted chest and abs you could literally eat off of are scrambling every sense you have in your head. You need to focus. Stay focused on the task at hand and not his ridiculously toned body.

“You okay, Data?” He asks, humor in his voice. That horrid nickname he had given you in your first year as lab partners is feeling more endearing these days. You clear your throat.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? Just tending to Spider-Man’s wounds in my extremely tiny bathroom.” You try to laugh but it doesn’t sound genuine.

You take out some bandages and gauze and get to work cleaning him up. But even as you tape down the gauze, you can visibly see the wound getting smaller. Super powers were really something else.

“Data.” Jungkook’s voice brings you back to reality.

“What?” You sigh.

“Please come here.” His hands reach for your hips and you give in, letting him pull you until you’re flush against him, suddenly nose to nose. “That’s better.”

“I’m angry with you.” You whisper, heart pumping a bit faster in the close proximity.

“I know that you are. I’m really sorry…I swear I wanted to be there.” You look down to see him slip his gloves off his hands and sit them on the countertop before they’re coming up to cup your face.

“Then what happened? You need to tell me.” Your hands wrap around his wrists.

“There’s something out there, Data. A…monster that we can’t figure out. He’s strong…and fast. Nothing I’ve ever seen before.” His thumbs brush the corners of your mouth.

“What does it want?”

“It keeps breaking into the Lab across the River. It’s looking for something. But no one at the lab is being very forthcoming with information.” His forehead presses to yours, “but Mr. Kim is working on that part.”

Seokjin Kim, also known as Ironman. He was a mentor and a good friend to Jungkook. He had helped Jungkook navigate the new world of being a superhero and also gave him a job to help him pay for school.

“Hasn’t Mr. Kim told you to call him Jin over and over?” You tease, hands coming up to rest against his chest. Jungkook laughs quietly, pulling you closer.

“He has. Guess it just slipped out.” His hands move down to palm your ass.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” You raise an eyebrow in question of his actions.

“Just feels like I haven’t touched you in so long.” His warm mouth finds your throat and he presses kisses to the skin.

“Two days is a long time?”

“It is when it comes to you. Thinking about how much I want you gets so distracting.” He nuzzles into the crook of your neck making you giggle.

“So what I did for you two days ago wasn’t enough?” You let your hands slither down from his chest and over the planes of his stomach.

“Never enough.” His nose skims over your jaw until you’re back face to face and his lips are devouring yours. “I’d like to pay you back.”

“How?” You moan when you’re cut off by his tongue sliding into your mouth.

“Let me show you?” Jungkook pulls away from the kiss, taking your hand and leading you out of the bathroom.

Thinking he means to lead you to your bed, you start to pull him towards it but he seems to have other ideas, walking you back out onto the balcony. He releases your hand momentarily to slide his suit back up over his shoulders.

“What are you going to show me out here, Jungkook?” You start to feel suspicious.

“Do you trust me?” He jumps up onto your railing with ease, still holding your hand in his.

“Not if it involves you swinging me around off the side of buildings.” You start to pull your hand out of his, but his web shooter from the other wrist shoots a web at your torso, using his inhuman strength to pull you up onto the railing into his arms.

“I would never let you fall. Never. Just close your eyes for a few minutes. I promise it’ll be worth it, Data.” He touches your cheek gently, and even though you want to throw up every time he does this, you close your eyes and wrap your arms as tightly as possible around his neck and legs around his waist. “Ready?” He whispers in your ear, one strong arm wrapping around your back.

You don’t verbally answer, just nod once before burying your face into his neck.

And then the ground is no longer beneath your feet and the sickening feeling of free falling is very apparent. You try to breathe, squeezing yourself around Jungkook as you listen to the whooshing sound of his web shooters discharge and swing you between the tallest buildings in the city.

“You’re doing amazing.” Jungkook kisses your cheek, “just another minute.”

You keep your eyes squeezed shut until the curiosity becomes too overwhelming, making you dare to open your eyes just the slightest bit. You see the sun completely setting on the horizon, orange and purple hues slowly disappearing beneath the river. As long as you don’t think about how high up you are, it really is beautiful up here.

Jungkook shoots a web straight up into the air, letting it connect to the side of one of the tallest buildings, slowly pulling the two of you up until he’s reached the highest ledge, tapping your thighs so you know it’s safe to put your feet down.

“Why are we up here, Jungkook? You know the heights..” he kisses you before you can finish the sentence.

“Can we try something?” He smiles, and it’s infuriating. You’re too weak for this spidey boy. You sigh with exasperation.

“I’m already very wary of saying yes.” You look away from the ledge towards the top of the building.

“Let me make you feel good…up here.” His cheeks heat a little when he asks.

“Is this some kind of weird adrenaline thing? Why would you want that?” Your voice cracks and you sputter, disbelief heavy in your tone.

“I think it’ll be intense…feel so good.” His lips move down and his teeth nip at your jaw.

“It’s insane…” you melt into his touch and the way his mouth sucks at your neck.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll take you home. And I’ll get you naked in your bed instead.” He pulls your shirt over your head, fully knowing you’re about to give in.

“Bed sounds so good right now…”

“Please, Data…just try it.” He tosses your shirt to the side, cupping your breasts and kissing the tops of them.

“What do I have to do?” You feel too good to let the fear ruin the way he’s making you feel.

“Lie back on the ledge, with your arms above your head and your wrists crossed.”

You let him lead you down onto the ledge, every nerve in your body is hot and on the edge. Jungkook makes sure that you’re settled before he stands back up straight, looking down at you while you slowly move your arms above your head the way he asked.

“You’re perfect, Data.” Jungkook stares at you a moment longer before he aims his web shooter and traps your wrists together against the concrete ledge beneath you.

#bts #bts fic #jungkook fic #taehyung fic #jeon jungkook #kim taehyung #entangled teaser #jjk #kth #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader

[pochipop]

＃MYSTIC MESSENGER !! ♡ — BEING VULNERABLE WITH YOU.

#. synopsis! — how they show their trust .

#. characters! — jumin, zen (hyun), yoosung, saeyoung (707), saeran (ray), jihyun (v) .

#. warnings! — slight angst.

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — come join my discord server? it's newly opened with a fantasy bakery theme! we have emojis from genshin impact, honkai star rail, sanrio, overwatch, pokemon, mystic messenger, and more! a collection of funny stickers, channels to promote yourself, meet new friends, share your writing/art, + lots more! plus, our staff is very chill and friendly! we'd love to see you there! <;33

＃ JUMIN !! ♡

Jumin, who never really thought himself to be the romantic type, but loses himself so easily in his relationship with you that he’d do anything imaginable just to see you smile for him. This sophisticated, pressed-suit wearing, stone-faced man who just crumbles when it comes to you, —who once thought love was some sick ruse made to rope people in and keep them hostage to their feelings, suddenly realizing that this rush is marvelous, and he can’t quite clearly remember a time before his heart seemed to beat for you. This man who swore he’d never love someone enough to put aside everything else on his mind and just live in the moment who sheds that dry cleaned business attire at the end of every workday and lets himself come undone for you. His walls come down and he welcomes you inside, and for once, he’s not scared of what will happen when you see the parts of him that perhaps aren’t as pretty as others. He lets you see the beautiful mess he’s made of himself over the years, and it’s then that he begins to pick up all these tattered pieces, finally preparing to put himself back together again. And recognizing you’ll help him do so is the sweetest comfort he’s ever known.

＃ HYUN (ZEN) !! ♡

Hyun, who stops pretending to be perfect over time and lets you see him in all the stages of healing. This man who often shields himself from the world, hiding behind a mask of narcissistic confidence, who finally lets his imperfections seep through to the surface and breathes another sigh of relief every single time you stay in the aftermath. He lets you in on the insecurities that lap at his ankles much more often than he'd ever had liked to have admitted before. He lets you hold him when he shatters instead of pushing you away, —dulls all his rigid edges to feel your warmth surround him, as if lowering all his defenses for the very first time. The world can be a cruel place to those that have made mistakes, but Hyun feels like he's finally found someone who can look at him for more than just the pretty, well-kempt face he maintains for the public. There's no sense of shame he feels the need to drown in when you let him fall apart in your arms. There's no crushing feeling of disappointment or suffocating feeling of disdain. He's more human than he fears he's ever been when your thumbs wipe the tears from beneath his eyes and you whisper to him that everything will be okay.

＃ YOOSUNG !! ♡

Yoosung, who learns over time how to not let things fester until they’ve built up so much he can’t keep them in any longer. For all he is and might not ever be, he’s come to realize that it’s okay to express his emotions before they reach a boiling point. He comes to you at the onset of upsetedness, —allows himself to feel frustrated without stuffing it down and pretending the problem doesn’t exist until it explodes. He finds that it’s so much easier to be earnest when you never talk down to him or make him feel like he’s any less of a person in your eyes because of it. Sometimes he needs advice, and other times, he just needs someone to talk to. No matter the case, he seeks you out before anyone else, knowing that you care enough about him to value his thoughts and opinions without qualifiers or regulations. He holds grudges sometimes that aren’t good for his own sake, and being shut down when he tries to address them only adds fuel to the fire. Having someone who truly listens and tells him that it’s okay to feel the way he does goes such a long way, —perhaps longer than you’ll ever know.

＃ SAEYOUNG (707) !! ♡

Saeyoung, who lets himself be honest eventually, —who lets himself chip away and then lets you smooth him over. He’s done a lot of things he’s not proud of, and he doesn’t need anyone to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. Whether it was or wasn’t doesn’t matter as much as what he knows he has to do going forward, and the last thing he really wants is to be coddled out of pity. He just wants to be heard, no sympathy necessary, no fawning over the way he sheds the skin he used to wear when he felt like happiness was millions of miles away. He just wants to be listened to. To Saeyoung, it’s the ultimate show of trust to admit to all the things he regrets, let them spill out like word vomit and not have to worry about the consequences. He doesn’t need you to understand, and knows you likely can’t given the specifics of his life’s course thus far, but knowing that you’re keen on carrying the burden with him is such an insurmountable feeling of relief. Finally, someone knows every grimy little corner of his soul and they still love him, still hold him, still want him. . . There’s nothing quite like it.

＃ SAERAN (RAY) !! ♡

Saeran, who lets little things slip as time goes on, —stares a little longer when he passes twin popsicles in grocery stores because he knows you won’t ask why. As much as he likes to pretend that he can fix things by pretending they never hurt him in the first place, there are always scars that linger just below the surface, ready to burst at the first sight of mint-colored liquids or at the first sound of deceptively sweet voices offering commands from the shadows. He carries a lot around with him wherever he goes, and just loving him until the sun dies isn’t a cure-all. You can’t turn back time and shield him from all the things in his life that have left him feeling like a shattered stain glass window. All the love in the world can’t fix the past. But there’s nothing that means more to him than knowing he can lean on you, —even if he doesn’t always do it. There’s such a sweet comfort in knowing he can turn to you when he feels like he’s drowning. And if sometimes that manifests only in letting himself shed a few tears while he eats an ice cream cone outside next to you in the sunshine, then so be it.

＃ JIHYUN (V) !! ♡

Jihyun, who talks about it all a little at a time, —about the good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful; because it wasn’t always bad. There were times before you came in which he’d been so in love that he’d have done anything to stay exactly where he was, to freeze those moments up and keep them in a capsule that could never be shaken. And it’s important for Jihyun to tell you about those things every now and again, to let you in and reminisce on the way he’d once been so sure of it all, so ready to settle down and stay exactly where he was. But it’s equally as important for him to bare the remnants of the betrayal for you to kiss, and hold, and make peace with. He likes to think you understand him better in the wake of it, —that you’ve seen him in a new light every time he sits with you and tells you of the loss, the desire, the yearning, and all the ways he wishes things could have been different for everyone. In the end, he’s here, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger x reader #mysme x reader #jumin x reader #707 x reader #yoosung x reader #jihyun x reader #zen x reader #hyun ryu x reader #saeran x reader #ray x reader #unknown x reader #saeyoung x reader #saeyoung choi x reader #saeran choi x reader #yoosung kim x reader #jumin han x reader #jihyun kim x reader #v x reader #kim yoosung x reader #han jumin x reader #kim jihyun x reader #choi saeran x reader #choi saeyoung x reader #ryu hyun x reader

[14thcommander]

moment's silence || hange zoe x reader

cw: smut, 18+ ONLY. oral, dirty talk, age gap (8 years), reader is a baby gay, nb! hange, afab! reader. based on this post.

“Can I eat you out?”

The words escape from your mouth before you can stop them. Hange pauses the movie currently playing on the television before you – Jaws 2 would have to wait. It’s not like they were particularly invested in the narrative, anyway.

Hange was fine with this night going down a soft and romantic route, just cuddling on their sofa would be fine. Although this new path seems unexpected, they can’t hide the excitement in their eyes. They finally turn to look at you, eyes big and doe-like under the soft blue halo coming from the screen. They like you like this, soft and spontaneous. Youthful. The eight year gap that attempts to separate the two of you surely kicks in, sometimes. 

“Uh, sure. Why so out of the blue, though?” They ask, as a soft chuckle leaves their mouth. A soft hand finds its way towards your face, softly caressing your cheek. You shiver under the coldness of the silver rings wrapped around Hange’s thin fingers, and they pretend not to notice. 

“Um, I don’t know.” You giggle nervously under their gaze, aiming your stare towards the paused movie. There’s nothing special about thai night – except for the fact Hange is wearing a suit. The occasion called for it, apparently: a few hours earlier, you visited a new art gallery downtown.

After a beat or two of silence, you speak again: 

“I just really want to taste you.”

Your confession almost makes Hange moan out loud, which causes their teeth to sink on their bottom lip – not in a “I’m trying to seduce you” type of way, but in a “I have no words for this, and I don’t want to let my body react for me” way. 

Zoe is a few years older than you, much more experienced – in a few different ways. They’ve had their fair share of sleeping with beautiful women in their life… you, not so much. You were not a virgin when you met Hange, you just hadn’t realized until that point that your romantic and sexual interest went way far than just sleeping with men – and pretending to like it, most of the time. 

It’s been a couple of months since then: you’re taking things slow – or trying to. Hange wants to do this right, for you. They don’t want to scare you away, or overwhelm you. It does take a lot of self control when you pull shit like this, though. 

“So?” You ask, feeling your heart in your throat. There’s many thoughts clogging your brain right now: what if they don’t want this, what if I’m pushing them, was I too quick, or maybe too slow, I don’t know what I’m doing–

“Of course, princess.” They whisper, coming closer to you. 

Hange’s lips are soft against yours, delicate even. Their kiss never fails to sweep you off your feet, as you feel like you’re floating. You hum against the kiss, sliding your tongue against theirs. Eventually, you leave their lips unattained in order to place open-mouthed kisses on their neck. 

You climb on their lap, spreading your legs on top of them. This feels so good, Hange thinks. I should definitely say it out loud, let her know how good she is. Your curious hands travel through their body, warm and possessive: you travel this new territory with so much desire, it’s almost suffocating. All Zoe can come up with is a weak…

“Fuck” They whisper once you climb down from them, knees hitting the carpet beneath you. 

Shortly before opening their pants, you move the fabric of your dress down, so your tits are freed from its confinement. Is this the right move, though? Guys usually seemed to like it… I hope they don’t notice I have no idea what I’m doing, you think . 

“Is this okay?” You ask, looking up at them with darkened eyelashes. Hange can’t stop thinking about how they want to melt your makeup away, make a mess of you. Eventually, they think. Not tonight. 

“Yeah,” They reply, voice sounding hoarser than they intended “Go ‘head.”

With hunger dripping from your eyes, you move their pants down, along with the plain black boxer-style panties they were wearing. Meanwhile, Hange takes their blazer off and starts unbuttoning the white dress shirt they were wearing. 

“You’re so attractive.” You mumble, voice barely above a whisper, as you start heatedly placing kisses on Hange’s thighs. They sigh, as a pink tint starts blossoming on their cheeks. 

You mean it: Zoe has this unique appearance to them, one that just lures you in even more once you get to know them. Hange is everything you’ve ever wanted, but you still don’t have the heart to tell them that. 

Instead, what you do is place your hands on their knees, carefully spreading their legs and exposing what you’ve been dying to taste this whole night. Hange’s pussy is better than what you’ve been imagining for the past few months, better than what you’ve been picturing when playing with yourself. They’re not shaved or waxed, but they are carefully trimmed. You lick your lips in excitement when you realize how wet they are – and it’s all for you. 

You place a kiss on their clit, an experimental one. Then, another one. Looking up at them, you lick a single stripe from their entrance towards their needy clit. They taste good, so good. This is so much better than I expected, we should have done this before…

“Oh God, yeah, just like that.” They purr, voice sounding restrained and snapping you out of your thoughts, only to make you realize you’ve been making out with their clit. 

Experimentally, you suck on it, which causes Hange’s head to tall back against the sofa’s armrest. You part their lips to give you better access to their bundle of nerves, lapping at it – slowly, and then building up the speed and pressure. 

“Feels so good.” They whisper, hands gripping the back of your neck – and, for  a moment, Hange wonders if this is too much. Their worries go away as suddenly as they came when you moan against their pussy, diving even deeper between their thighs. 

Now, you’re sucking and slurping on them, nails carefully raking against the soft skin of their inner thighs, and Hange thinks – no, actually knows – this is what heaven feels like. With you, on your knees, willingly pleasuring them. They already feel addicted to you. 

Zoe looks like a mess: hair all over the place, glasses lowering on the bridge of their nose, and tanned skin sweaty. 

“Fuck, fuck.” they whine, moving their hips against your face – which seems to make you happy, given the fact you moan against their clit. “Yeah, I’m almost there, don’t stop.”

You tap on their thigh, showing you understand their request – you keep the same amount of speed and pressure, tongue moving against their now puffy clit relentlessly. 

A wave of white-hot feeling travels through Hange’s body, as their body convulses underneath your mouth. Their members go limp, relaxing underneath your touch. They cum choking on your name, letting out a final whine as you try to lick them clean. 

Hange grips your hair, removing you from in-between their legs. They pant, looking at you almost incredulously. 

“You good?” You ask, hair messy and face wet, smiling up at them. 

“Yeah. You?” They breathe, reaching for your body once again.

You nod, straddling their lap, as Hange pulls you in for a kiss. 

“Good. My turn now.”

#hange x y/n #hange x you #hange zoe x reader #hange smut #hange zoe smut #aot smut #hange x reader

[crimsonlyinglilly]

Reflection

Elijah meets his aunt and hates what he sees.

It’s like examining a twisted mirror.

When i give my word i keep it.

It makes a horrible sort of sense meeting her, the woman who had broken their family before he was born. The one mother had loved first, and betrayed first because he has learnt his mother’s love comes with pain and betrayal.

Dark hair, dark eyes, sharp features and cold intelligence.

I’m a man of my word. 

I make a deal, I keep a deal.

All his life he had thought it was his dead older sister that had damaged his mother’s heart so she couldn’t wholly love him, but no it wasn’t his sister’s absence he reminded her of, it was her own.

Dahlia smiles at him like she knows him and he hates he can almost feel the expression on his own face, hates he knows the pull of those muscles.

He hates her most, he thinks not just because of her threat to Hope, not because she stole his sister and left him to live in the shadow of her grief.

He hates her because it’s so much easier when he already hates himself.

#back in my Mikaelson pit #mikaelson family #the originals #drabble #my writing #Dahlia and Esther #Dahlia #elijah mikaelson #The Suits hide the mess beneath #Elijah and Dahlia #fanfiction

[peachesfather]

So here's the thing, I've been picturing Mizu (blue eye samurai) in a party, maybe an elegant party, wearing a suit staring at fem reader all night and reader noticing her. I just want Mizu to be seduced by reader with it ending in a subjective situation. If you could do that I would be grateful. Thanks!

- thanks for this request!!

UnMask Beauty ❦

Mizu x black fem! reader

Warning:+18, in a public bathroom, sloppy kisses, and pussy eating(reader receives) not proofread !!

Author note ౨ৎ

- please note this is a short blurb that will end with bang of porn filth, I quite tired and the asks that ppl be sending me are great n all but idk if I could write it in a one day, anyways thanks for enjoying my works.

While everyone else was dancing with their partners, I was sipping a glass of wine at a table by myself. Seeing everyone with their partners made me feel like I wasn't really enjoying my night at the moment. I had a dull expression on my face and continued tapping the wine glass.

Everyone gathered into a slow dance with their lovers when the slow jams began to play. I started to get really depressed and my eyes started to water, but then I saw this fine ass woman arrive at the ball party wearing a sharp black suit and perfectly fitting black pants. I couldn't contain my drool; I really wanted to dance with her, but I was too afraid to ask her.

I stared at her until she turned to face me and smiled, causing me to become weak at the knees. Her smile increased my desire for her.

She walked her way towards my table and i was hiding my face from the rise of embarrassment from being caught staring too hard, she looked at me with her blue eyes.

She approached my table, and as I covered my face to avoid looking out of place when I was caught staring too deeply, her blue eyes met mine.

"Would you like to dance? "It seems like you need it because you look so beautiful tonight," she said, gesturing for me to take her hand. I did so, and we held hands as the warmth of the dance floor filled the room.

she was searching for someone while she was holding my wrist while we were dancing i was such a nervous mess that i closed my eyes in the process, I smiled as I opened my eyes and she danced, she stopped what she was doing to embrace me. She tilts closer and plants a kiss on my lips, making me feel dizzy. I press her cheek and we swirl our tongues in our mouths, allowing her to prove her dominance, which makes me whimper beneath her.

She grins and reaches for my ass through my silk dress as I moan in her shoulder, praying that no one hears me. She then whispers, "I want to fuck you so badly right now," which causes my cheeks to slightly burn.

I boldly responded to the question, "Can you even handle all of me?" She pulled me into the bathroom stall by holding my hand, closed the door, and aggressively grabbed my wrist to make me turn around. She kissed my neck and then my lips, leaving me feeling wetter than before. I spread one of my legs while she holds me for her to have access to my clothed cunt.(my pum pum)

She grabs my neck to look into her lustful blue eyes while placing her fingers on my clothed pantie and pulling it to the side,She then dropped to her knees in the bathroom stall, wedged between my legs. She touched my clit and immediately began to lick my cunt at a rapid pace. i desperately moaned and grabbed a fist of her long hair while she kept face down onto my cunt.

She pauses in the middle and looks directly into my eyes while grinning through my clit. "missing my touch already, fucking brat" she said while pressing her thumb onto my cunt.

Although I can't deny that I wanted more of her, I was ashamed of how much of a mess I looked beneath her. She smacks one of my thighs, showing a dull expression that shows how unsatisfied she is right now with me.

I closed my eyes and whispered, "Touch me." She asked me what I wanted, rolling her eyes and grabbing my cheeks to look in her direction. "say that again with your property words" she said and i gulped and shyly guided her hand to my cunt.

“Please use your tongue on me, baby..” I murmured in a desperate tone, and that got her attention. She smirked and pressed her lips back on my cunt, while she looking up at me.

She stare up at me while latching onto my pussy, My cunt's drenching sounds fill the restroom stall as she pleases me, getting wetter with each lick.

She began slurring up my clit's fluids, causing you to squirm. You clenched around her tougue, causing your thighs to tremble with the close to orgasm."mmmm..fuck imma cum just like that.."

"i got you, please make that pussy come for me"She said as she gripped my thighs, pushed more against my heated cunt, and sucked me through my orgasm. I closed my eyes, came onto her mouth, and breathed slowly.

We exchanged a nervous glance and giggled at our current situation as I opened my eyes and stood up. I said in a mocking tone, putting my pantie back on my body, "Maybe you did know how to handle me, but whatever."

"This is the beginning, I can show you more what I am capable of other than my tongue," she smirked cockily and held out her hand with a card that has her name.

Imma think about that..Ms.Mizu??

She grabbed my wrist, kissed me sloppy but gently, and said, "You be calling that name everyday." She hurried out of the bathroom.

#lesbian smut #lesbian #black reader #mizu x akemi #mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #bes #bes mizu #blue eye samurai #taigen #taigen blue eye samurai #akemi blue eye samurai #wlw smut #mizu x you #mizu come home the kids miss you #bes x reader #bes x you

[ddejavvu]

hey!! i saw your post about step dad hotch… I AM RIGHT THERE WITH YOU. i wanted to share this idea i had in case you have the time and interest to write it: (somno + very light breeding in here too) reader is sleeping on her stomach in her room and aaron had a long day at the office (daddy works hard) and needs to relieve some stress, maybe reader’s mom is asleep or out of town, so he comes in her room, takes off his suit jacket off and neatly folds it on a dresser, ROLLS HIS SLEEVES UP, and then crawls on her bed and straddles the backs of her thighs, yada yada this is where you work your magic, then before he leaves he pushes his cum back into her where it was leaking out maybe murmurs something about it being “where it belongs”. idk if the reader would wake up or not but i would be super grateful if you have the chance to write this #WELOVEYOUSTEPDADHOTCH

this post is 18+ and dark, minors dni.

!!!!!!!! so this is consensual somno for those concerned, but still dark (consensual free use agreement), so don't like, don't read.

There's only one thing on Aaron's mind as he pulls into the garage, clicking the door sensor so that it lowers behind his car: you. Your mother is away for the week on business, though he's almost certain she's messing around with her secretary, so he'd proposed an arrangement with you.

Since you're not often able to be together whenever you want, typically hiding away or keeping quiet, Aaron suggested that you took up a free use agreement. You hadn't quite understood at first, but as he'd explained the concept to you, your thighs had clenched, and he knew he had you. Eagerly you'd accepted his offer, waiting with growing anticipation for when he'd need to use you.

Pity you wouldn't be awake to appreciate the first time.

Aaron doesn't even bother taking his jacket off, socked feet pounding against the carpeted stairs towards your room. Your door is left open only a few inches, and even though he knows your mother won't be home for days, he shuts and locks it after he steps in.

You're a vision, splayed out on your stomach, cheek pressed into your pillow. It means that the sleep shorts you have on are not only on display, but they're riding up to showcase the globes of your ass.

Peeling them off is easy, and Aaron sheds his own clothing, jacket draped neatly over your dresser. You don't wake at the sound of the button hitting the wood, and he rolls his sleeves up quietly.

He takes more time with your panties than your shorts, pressing one of his long, thick fingers against your slit. He makes sure to put the most pressure against your clit, the tip of his finger nudging it. It twitches under his touch, and he smiles to himself.

You don't stir as the mattress dips, Aaron's knees on either side of your thighs. You don't wake at the sound of his belt unbuckling either, or at the feeling of your panties being peeled away from your pussy.

His cock lays heavy and thick in his hand, hardening by the second as his eyes roam your figure. Your ass is bared, and the smallest glimpse of your pussy peeks out from beneath your curves.

Aaron slots his cock under your ass, pressing it just like he had his finger up to your slit. You shift at the warmth, brows furrowing ever so slightly. Then he slides a hand beneath your ass, prodding gently at the lips of your cunt and spreading them to allow for easy access. Normally, he'd watch, riveted, as your greedy cunt swallowed his cock. But because you're on your stomach, he can't, so he guides with his fingers instead. it means that, not only do you have his thick digits pressing at your core, but his cock, too, which slides in with surprising ease. Apparently you're even easier to work up when you're sleeping than when you're awake, which is saying something considering last night's makeout session had you dripping.

"Good," He breathes, voice no more than a whisper in the darkness of your room, "Good job, sweetheart."

What he's praising you for is, of course, nothing. You don't move, you don't whine, you don't delay his pleasure in the slightest. It's like you know you're meant for his cock, lying there and taking it without a hitch.

When he ruts into you, his hips give it steam he hadn't meant to. It means that you rock forwards slightly, head bumping the headboard. He dips down, still slowly getting a pace set, and kisses your cheek where it's facing him on your pillow.

"Sorry, angel." He murmurs, tilting his head to rest his forehead against your heated skin, "You're okay."

The more he dotes on you, kisses to your jaw, nose nuzzled into your cheek, a hand steadying your hips as they shake, the harder it gets to restrain himself. Until finally, he's jackhammering into you, concern for your sleep schedule be damned. He needs you, and he needs you now.

"Shhh," He rasps, watching your eyelids flutter momentarily, "S'okay, honey, 's just me."

He's not sure if you really register the situation, because you don't force yourself awake to enjoy it. The soothing sound of his voice must have had you drowsy again, because no sooner have your eyes drifted open than they shut again, a soft whine spilling from between your dewy lips.

He finishes with a deep, throaty groan, muffled through gritted teeth into the skin of your neck. He kisses up the side of your throat on the way back up, then catches your lips.

"Thank you, honey." He croons, nudging his nose against a flyaway hair and tucking it away from your face, "You make the perfect toy."

When he pulls out, his cum oozes from your cunt, threatening to spill over your sheets. He rushes to plug you with his fingers, reaching for your panties amidst your tossing and turning. Or, attempted tossing and turning.

"Hold still, baby," He coos, dark eyes meeting your drowsy ones as you peer blearily up at him in the dark, "Everything's okay. Just cashing in on our agreement. That okay?"

You nod, somewhat uncoordinatedly, "Thanks, Aaron."

"Thank you, sweetheart," He slips your panties over your legs, and you let him clothe you after he pulls his fingers out. He gives a soft pat to your mound, "There, right where it belongs. Now go back to sleep," He murmurs, leaning down to kiss you, and in doing so, pressing his cum-stained fingers against your jaw, "And tomorrow, you can be awake for everything I do to you."

#dark mei #stepdad!hotch #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut

[benkeibear]

⋆꙳✧༄ Slut

❖ Character: Ran

❖ Reader: female | AFAB

❖ Wordcount: 0.8k

❖ Summary: Ran knew exactly how to punish you for teasing him during a Bonten meeting

❖ WARNINGS: sub!reader, degradation, teasing in public, choking, thigh riding, office sex

꒰ ͜͡➸ Back to Kinktober Masterlist

You knew better than to rest your hand on his thigh, his bored gaze not once shifting towards you or letting anyone know what's going on beneath the table everyone was seated around. Unimpressed by the lack of reaction you started to stroke Ran’s muscular thigh, carefully stealing glances when his jaw started to clench and unclench in an effort to stop the heat bubbling up inside of him but it wasn't enough yet. Gently you started to squeeze his thigh, riding up further until you smirked to yourself when you found his cock was rock hard, thinking how tight it must feel in his pants right now. A single cough escaped his lips when you started to palm him through the fabric of the suit pants, silently praying for strength to sit through this Bonten meeting without bending you over the table and fucking your brain out for everyone to see.

The second Mikey announced the meeting to be over, you were dragged into your boyfriends office, the grip he had on your wrist borderline painful but you didn't complain one second. He shut the heavy door the second you both entered the room and pressed you against it, long fingers wrapping around your throat as his face came closer to yours “you think you're so fucking funny, huh? You fucking bitch” he hissed at you, his voice laced with venom as he applied more pressure on your throat and would you be anyone else, this would have scared you but it made your thighs rub together in anticipation. The little motion didn't go by unnoticed by Ran, a smirk growing on his face when he let go of your throat to walk over to his office chair where he patted the thigh you caressed only moments ago. “Take a seat if you're so desperate then” he ordered, his eyes having a dangerous glint but you're dumb enough to listen, taking your drenched panties off from under your dress on your way over to him and dropping them on his desk like they're a price for him to keep before you straddled his thigh obediently. “You wanted to behave like a bitch in heat, now act like one” he ordered cold, his hand returning to rest around your throat when you slowly nodded and dragged your wet folds over the smooth fabric of his pants.

You wanted to hide your face in the crook of his neck, wanting to forget that you're in fact in his office with his friends and colleagues just being a room further away but you knew he wouldn't let you, not after the little stunt you pulled. At least you tried to hold your moans back when your clit was stimulated so perfectly by the way he flexed his muscles beneath you but not even this he let you have “Don't go quiet on me now, sweetheart. Let them hear what a slut you really are” he mused, moving his hands onto your hips to drag you over his thigh faster and with more pressure, causing your jaw to go slack as the moans kept falling from your lips involuntarily. Satisfied with this he moved his hands away to let them roam over your body only to pinch your hardened nipples that showed through the thin fabric of your slutty little dress. Your moans grew in pitch from that and your legs started to shake, indicating that you were close and it seemed impossible to keep the fast pace up, aimlessly humping his thigh. “Ah ah… you can do better than that, babe” he taunts and helps you grind against him once more, your juices leaking onto his pants as you came with a loud moan of his name, letting everyone know what's going on behind the closed door.

“Such a little slut. I should punish you for the mess you made…” you barely registered his words from how your ears were still ringing but it wasn't necessary anyways as you were already bent over the desk, your cheek pushed against the cold material beneath when you felt the tip of his cock prod at your needy entrance. You were only able to nod, legs still shaking and your clit so sensitive when his balls came to slap against it from the harsh thrust which he bottomed out with. Ran’s pace was relentless as he fucked your body into submission, the room slowly filling with the sounds of skin slapping against skin alongside whiny moans falling from your sweet lips. It was humiliating how he knew exactly which buttons to press to make you into his favorite little slut as your arousal stained the paperwork beneath.

Networks: @enchantedforest-network @themovingcastlez @planetonet

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #ran x reader #ran smut #ran haitani #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani smut #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev smut #—Rhys Kinktober 2023

[bellafragolina]

Eevee!Ingo and Emmet evolve into Sylveons instead of Espeon/Umbreon because of Reader trying to hide it since they haven't confessed yet.

Awwww!! I suppose this would be like a childhood friends to lovers deal if they’re eevees <3

🍓🍓🍓

It’s the night after prom that it happens. You’ve since fallen asleep, still half dressed in your prom clothes, sprawled out on the various pillows and blankets. Flanking you are Ingo and Emmet, cuddled close as can be, because just before your untimely slumber, you had been stroking their ears and dragging your nails along their scalps to fluff up their hair. And your hands still reside on their heads, careful cradles that feel so very safe to the struck twins.

The night is quiet, save your soft snores and sleepy murmurs. Ingo can feel your heart’s gentle beat beneath his curled hand, his face squished against your shoulder and chest. He gazes up at you with such affection, such awe to see you, as though your presence was of divine influence. Mesmerized, he watches you sleep, body aching for him to follow you, but mind too active with daydreams and longing to allow him such rest.

Emmet is in a similar state. He curls around your stomach, head rested on the plush softness while his arms hold you against him not unlike a toy. His head rises and falls somewhat with the tempo of your breathing. It’s uncomfortable, the press of his half discarded suit, the twist of his spine, the way his neck stretches with each of your inhales, but he doesn’t move. He can bring himself to move away for a moment, to let you escape his grasp, to lose your warmth.

It’s a quiet night, left basking in love unexpressed.

Your nose wrinkles, Ingo notices. Your body tenses beneath Emmet’s cheek. You huff, hum, stretching your legs and adjusting your position to get more comfortable. Your hands twitch, curling into the choppy hair of each twin. Their eyes pinch closed at the sensation of your loving touch, subconsciously unconscious as it is.

And in that moment, the room alights with colors.

You jerk awake with a snort of confusion, blinded by the flashbang that has exploded. There’s a mess of frantic noises, bumps and thumps and frightened, clipped cries of your friends.

“Guys?!” You call, panicked. You’re not sure what’s happening, still rubbing sand from your eyes. “Ingo?? Emmet?? Where are you?”

“Nowhere!” Emmet shouts, followed by a loud smack and a yelp. You rub your eyes some more, blinking away sunspots. “Do not get up! Go back to sleep!”

“Everything’s alright!” Ingo says. You peer around, following the sound of shuffling and such towards the couch shoved into the corner to make room for the cuddle pile. “Don’t worry yourself! Emmet and I are doing a bit of maintenance! Go back to sleep, we will be fine!”

You climb to your knees, crawling towards the couch. You can see the soft shadows from the moon’s light casting strange figures onto the wall next to the couch. It worries you.

“Did something happen?” You ask, knelt before the couch. More shuffling is what answers you. “Are you two alright? Are you hurt?” You pause, and glance at the shadows again, eyes wide. “Wait, did you two evolve!?”

“No!” Emmet squeaks, but the guilt it carries exposes the lie.

“Guys!” You say, grabbing the couch to shake it some in your excitement. “That’s great! Congratulations! What evo are you both? Umbreon?”

A heavy silence hangs.

“No.” Ingo whispers. You’re shocked to hear him so quiet.

“Oh!” You say, thinking again. “Espeon?”

That would be strange, considering the time, but evolutions have always been strange. And nothing is ever certain.

Emmet whines. “No.”

Neither? You puzzle over it, confused as to why neither happened. Obviously they evolved, and you had heard them discussing the pros and cons of Umbreon versus Espeon should this day ever come. Now that it’s here, however, you’re sad to see them hiding away, no doubt upset they didn’t get either.

But if not those two, then. . .

You blush to yourself, but shake off the assumption. “Sylveon?”

A sob answers you.

No longer concerned about privacy, you scramble to your feet, shoving the couch aside to reveal your poor boys.

They’re beautiful, with their pink ears, decorated with bows, with the ribbons that cascade from them. They seem to sparkle in the moonlight, but you can’t focus on that now.

Ingo has curled into a ball, sobbing into his knees as he tries to cover his new ears and ribbons with his hands, to no avail. Emmet is tucked up next to him, eyes pinched shut as he shakes and tries to pull his shirt over his own ears.

Your beautiful boys, so distraught.

They easily fall into your grasping arms, clinging and whimpering as they pull you to them. Ingo cries into your shoulder, hiding his face, as Emmet presses to your heart. You pet their hair, hushing the sobs and apologies they spew.

“Shh,” you whisper as Ingo hiccups, “you’re okay. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes, you will.” Emmet whines, rubbing his face into your chest. “You know now. You’re gonna leave.”

“This wasn’t what we planned.” Ingo continues, before you can ask anything. “We wanted. . . We wanted it to be romantic. Beautiful! Because we wanted you to feel special. You make us feel special, and so loved, and we love you! We want you to feel how you make us feel, yet now we’re here! We evolved early and now you know and-”

You kiss his head. Ingo falls silent, eyes wide as he paws at the fabric of your rumbled prom clothes. You kiss his head, kiss his temple, then turn to kiss Emmet on the nose when he looks up at you. Then you kiss his forehead.

And you kiss them, careful pecks upon their heads, their new ears, the tips of the feelers they now have. You kiss them, until you’re intertwined with them, never to ever leave.

🍓🍓🍓

I love them! I love them!!

Hope you enjoyed!

~Renee

#ingo x reader #emmet x reader #pokemon imagines #pokemon x reader #submas x reader

[lots-of-pockets]

Let me take care of you

Pairing: Natasha x you

Words: 1798

Warnings: mentions of blood? Idk

Summary: Natasha has a bad solo mission, and it's up to you to fix up her injuries and make her feel better.

It was a little past four on a subdued, rainy afternoon when you hear the familiar sound of the apartment front door opening and closing.

With the knowledge that it must be your girlfriend, Natasha, returning from her two day solo mission, you turn down the heat on the stove before leaving the kitchen to go see her. It wasn’t often she went on solo missions anymore, especially not after messing up her leg a little over a year ago after a particularly bad fall, but director Fury was adamant no one else could get the job done as well as her.

It was a mission to retrieve a disc drive containing information on a critical government matter, and it required stealth and skill due to the amount of government officials involved. There were plenty of people capable for the job, as least that’s what you thought, but maybe you were just salty because you’d missed her more than normal.

You frown in slight concern when you see her still clad in her black widow suit, awkwardly kicking off her boots as she stumbles unsteadily in a futile effort to remain upright.

“Baby?” You question, stepping closer and placing a gentle hand on the small of her back. The red head startles at the sudden touch, whipping her up to face you. You couldn’t help but gasp slightly at the sight of the bloody, busted lip that greets you, reaching out to lightly graze the tip of your finger over the least painful looking part of it.

She gives you a pained smile as she finally manages to pull off her boots, stumbling forward into your arms. You were quick to catch her, a single arm around her waist as the other rises to cup the back of her head. Natasha’s hands seem to desperately clutch the back of your shirt, her trembling breath hitting the bare skin of your neck.

“It’s okay,” you murmur instinctively, craning your head down to press a soft kiss to her cheek, “you’re okay. Let’s go clean up, alright?” You murmur, and Natasha just barely nods, allowing you to bend at the knees before scooping her tired frame up into your arms.

Normally, Natasha would at least attempt to fight you. She’d go rigid whilst simultaneously voicing hostile words of disagreement. Stop that. I don’t need to be babied. I’m fine, and you’d roll your eyes fondly whilst telling her to just relax, and she’d comply, although she’d still curse in Russian beneath bated breath.

So when non of that happens and she instead falls limp in your arms, you knew tonight would be one of those nights. Where she’d leave everything up to you. Where she’d let you take full control.

*

No more than ten minutes later, you had Natasha sat on the closed toilet seat clad in nothing but a sports bra and underwear. Her body was littered with both bruises and scrapes, but those don’t seem to be bother her as much as her leg. The scar from her surgery stood out prominently against the pale skin of her thigh, and you lightly trace the pad of your thumb of the thick, raised line before leaning down to place a gentle kiss to it.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, looking up at her.

Natasha nods slightly.

“Bad?” You reaffirm, reaching for the warm, wet wash cloth you’d placed over the side of the tub before rising to your feet and gently cupping her chin.

She nods again as you begin to carefully wash the dried blood off of her face, and you notice her eyes become shiny with tears. Your heart tugs at the sight, because it was oh so rare your girlfriend allows herself to become this vulnerable with you. To show her pain and not hide behind a lie.

“I’m sorry baby. Will you take some medicine?” You ask hopefully as you toss the now soiled washcloth into the sink, reaching for the disinfectant and dabbing some onto her busted lip.

Natasha does no more than wince slightly, and you quietly apologise as you press your lips against her warm forehead in a tender kiss. She does however nod slightly at your words, and you knew then that the pain must be pretty bad.

The red head despised every single kind of medication out there and would often fight tooth and nail to avoid having to take it. She was somewhat okay with the traditional Tylenol so long as it was only a low dose, but anything unfamiliar was a no go, even when the pain eventually ends up reducing her to tears.

Even when she’d first broken her femur, the only way to get medication inside of her was through an IV and you’d better made sure she was sleeping. If not, she’d purposely rip out the line, and it took hours to convince her to let the nurse put other one in.

It was because of her past, you knew, so you never pushed her.

“What happened?” You ask as you place a hand on each of her thighs, trailing your fingers over the soft skin.

Natasha clears her throat softly as she places her hands over your own. “I jumped, and landed wrong.” Was all she offers, and you nod your head in understanding as you give the flesh of her thighs a gentle squeeze.

“Alright baby. Let’s get you showered and into bed, and then I’ll get you some medicine, okay?” You take Natasha’s hands and pull her to her feet, taking note of the fact she keeps the majority of her weight off of her bad leg.

“I need to take it now,” she murmurs as she clings to the material of your shirt, “otherwise I’ll back out.”

Nodding, you grab the medicine that had been given to her for her leg a little over a year ago and pour two pills out into your palm. You then hand them over; and Natasha only hesitates for a few moments before tossing them into her mouth and swallowing them dry. You tut at her in a light chastisement as you fill the glass kept by the sink with water, and Natasha rolls her eyes softly as she swallows down two large mouthfuls before handing it back.

You tip the rest of the water out and place the glass back onto the counter. “That’s a bad habit.” You voice your concern as you reach over to turn on the shower, checking the temperature with your wrist before hooking your fingers beneath the bottom of her sports bra.

Natasha sighs lightly as she brings her arms up, allowing you to pull the garment off of her. She watches as you toss it into the laundry basket. “I know.” she grumbles almost petulantly as she takes ahold of your shoulders to keep her balance as you tug down her underwear, giving her hip bone an affectionate kiss before returning upright. “It’s just easier.”

“I know.” you repeat her words with a understanding smile, placing your hands beneath her underarms to help keep her steady as you coax her into the hot shower.

“You too?” She murmurs as she leans against y the tiled wall holds out her arms, and you immediately nod your head as you wiggle out of your jeans and shirt. You could see that she was already becoming somewhat drowsy due to the strong medication in her system, and you weren’t about to risk her injuring herself further should you decide to leave her alone.

Not that you would ever admit that to be the reason. Natasha hates it when you worry about her despite the fact you’d reassured her that concern was normal in a healthy relationship.

You take ahold of her as you step into the shower, taking on the majority of her weight as her arms settle tightly around your bare waist. You cup the back of her head in response, fingers lightly combing through her damp tresses as your lips press tenderly against her hairline. You’d missed her so much. Her smell. Her voice. The feel of her body in your arms and the way she’d cling to you like you were her lifeline. You’d missed it all. And you couldn’t wait to take care of her.

“Alright baby. Can I wash your hair?” You ask as you break the silence, and Natasha does no more than nod her affirmative against your neck. You couldn’t see her face, but you could tell her eyes were closed to due to feeling of her eye lashes fluttering repeatedly against your skin. She was heavier against you now too, and you knew despite her best efforts to stay awake, she was slowly but surly losing the battle of consciousness.

Making sure to keep a supportive arm around her waist you reach for the vanilla scented shampoo and begin to coat it through her now wet hair. It takes two washes to rid the smell of sweat from her red tresses, but Natasha doesn’t seem to mind. She remains almost silent against you with the exception of her slightly hoarse breaths.

Man, you hoped she was coming down it a cold.

By the time you deem yourself done, the red head was barely holding on to consciousness.

“Okay, we’re done.” You ease her unsteady frame out of the shower and bundle her up in a large, warm towel, doing the same for yourself. You then take it upon yourself to scoop her up bridal style into your arms before carrying her into the bedroom, easing her down onto the end of your bed and kneeling down before her.

“Sleepy my love?” You question, reaching up to tenderly brush her wet hair out of her face.

“No.” Natasha grumbles as she instinctively leans into your touch, forcing her droopy eyes open.

“Okay,” you laugh slightly, the thumb of the hand still in her cheek gently grazing over the warm skin. “Let’s get you dressed and have some dinner okay? I made pasta.”

“Yummy.” Natasha murmurs with an almost dreary smile, and you smile softly as you lean up to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

Despite the fact your lips barely graze her own, she still winces in slight discomfort. Before you could pull away and apologise, her hand rises to cup your cheek, and your eyes flutter closed when you feel her lips brush against your nose. You return the sentiment almost immediately, the corners of your lips quirked up into a soft, endearing smile.

“Alright sleepy head, let’s get dressed.”

**

Nearly 600 notes on my touch starved imagine?! That’s literally insane!!

Is there anything you guys would like to see? I was thinking of a Natasha sickfic if that sounds good?

Thank you for reading!

#natasha romanov #black widow #natasha romanoff #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader #soft natasha romanoff #tooth rotting fluff #marvel #reader insert