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aebi12 · 9 months

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"Refuge in your arms" - Helaegon One-shot

An upset Aegon visits Helaena in her chambers after the family dinner.

***

"Except sometimes when he is drunk"

Helaena closes the door behind her, Aegon's voice reaching her ears from across the room.

The young princess walks slowly until she finds her brother sitting on her bed, a cup of wine in his hands, his gaze not fixed on her but on some point on the floor tiles.

What is he doing here? He had left as soon as the fight between Jace and Aemond had ended, his steps resolute as he left their mother and grandfather to deal with the aftermath of the altercation. Helaena had assumed that he was headed, once again, towards the houses of pleasure he frequently visited.

When Aegon hears her footsteps stop beside him, he lifts his face to his wife. His violet eyes locked on her blue ones, a menacing fire glowing in them. Still, Helaena isn't afraid as he tosses the cup to the ground and stands up, facing her.

"You only visit my chambers when the wine clouds your mind"

“Would you like it to be the other way around?” he asks, his breath mixed with wine reaching her, “Would you rather I be here every day, pestering you?”

“The children would appreciate seeing their father more often”

“I did not ask what the children would prefer,” he replies, taking her arm and pulling her closer to his body.

Helaena remains calm. Instead of trying to break free of his grasp, her free hand tentatively moves up to his face, caressing him with her fingertips, feeling him calm under her touch, his ragged breathing settling and his cheek resting in her palm. When Aegon finally releases her, she cradles his face in her hands, examining his expression. She knows her brother too well to know that there is something else bothering him, she just can't quite figure out what.

"What is it?" she asks in a low voice, still looking at him

"Why did you agree to dance with Jacaerys?"

His question takes her by surprise, as does the hurt, anger, and resentment she can hear in is voice.

“Because it would have been rude to refuse to do it,” she replies, adding after a few seconds, “And because I like to dance.”

Aegon chuckles unfunnily, his eyes hardening. Sometimes, he hates the sincerity with which Helaena always answers his questions. He hates that innocent look of confusion he catches a glimpse of on her pretty face.

“Would you have preferred to be his wife? Do you wish that mother had accepted the proposal that our half-sister made to her years ago?” he asks as he slips out of her touch

“It wouldn't have changed anything,” she replies, serene, “Dragons are meant to dance and…”

"Don't answer me with your damn riddles!" he interrupts her, although his voice, far from sounding angry, sounds tired. Why does she have to speak all the time in enigmatic phrases that he can't understand? “You enjoyed dancing with him. I saw you laugh, you looked…happy.”

Aegon swallows, remembering the way his wife had hopped up and down next to their sister's bastard.

“I was happy at the time, yes,” she admits matter-of-factly.

Since she was a child, she loved to dance, she loved music and poetry. In the Keep there weren't many opportunities to indulge in these worldly pleasures, as her mother called them. And for Helaena, for some time now, the only source of happiness was her twins. Getting to enjoy that moment with Jace had been a breath of fresh air amid the crushing routine that was her life.

Aegon catches his breath at her response, fire rising inside him, a fire that threatens to consume them both. Even so, and despite the anger he feels, his face betrays him and also reflects his pain at realizing that he will never be able to awaken such feelings in her.

"My words have hurt you," Helaena says, noticing the prince's eyes fighting back tears, "That was not my intention."

Except sometimes when he is drunk.

The words come back to his mind, why had she had to say them?

"It was not? Because you seemed to wallow in them after your toast,” he hisses.

Helaena blushes and looks down for a few seconds, "I just wanted to warn our cousins about the reality of marriage"

“About how disappointing I've been in your life,” he says helplessly, his voice cracking, “About how inadequate I am.”

Aegon knows his flaws. He knows that he is far from a good husband. He is not devoted to Helaena, not even faithful. But it's because...

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Helaena's hands return to his face, wiping away tears he hadn't even realized he was shedding, “I understand,” his wife continues in a whisper, “It is not our fault, we did not choose this. We have done the best we can”

Her hand moves up to his hair, massaging his scalp before drawing it to her chest, her other arm encircling his waist. Aegon sighed at her embrace, her lavender scent engulfing his senses and relaxing him.

He had done what he could.

He had tried to be as careful as he could on their wedding night. He hadn't meant to cause her pain, even though it had all been so uncomfortable between them, between two children forced to become adults.

And it's not that he didn't want her. He did. As much as he called her an idiot and said they had nothing in common, he was no stranger to her beauty. It hadn't been hard to get lost in her softness, her disposition, her sweetness, her serene demeanor as she received each hasty caress. No, on the contrary, it had been too easy to fall for her charms, for the subtle way she comforted him, for the peace he experienced every morning when he saw her sleeping next to him.

And that terrified him. And it filled him with doubts because what reason would Helaena have to want him by her side? What motive besides her duty to their family? He was a drunkard. A good-for-nothing brat. He was not as skilled with a sword or as intelligent as Aemond, he did not enjoy reading or delight in the Faith as his mother wanted so badly, even his status as the firstborn son was not enough because his father still considered Rhaenyra as heir.

No. Aegon was just a nuisance and Helaena would realize that sooner or later. There was going to come a time when the bubble of tranquility in which they lived after their recent wedding was going to explode. And just like his mother, who had simply given up on him, so would his wife leave him behind.

So Aegon had reverted to his habits. To his whores. To his drinking and his bets. He had pushed Helaena away before she had a chance to the same to him, to break his heart.

Because the truth was, he didn't deserve her. Because, as he saw every time her blue eyes met his, she was pure and incorruptible, while he was a villain consumed by his vices, by his pain, by the wounds that his parents' rejection had opened and that refused to close.

Still, he wanted her. And every once in a while, he would lose the fight with himself and return to her bed.

Except sometimes when he is drunk.

Yes, when the wine rose to his mind, it was easy to convince himself that -at least for one night-he could be the right man for Helaena.

He would then look for her in her bedroom. And she never said no. Out of duty? Probably. Though Aegon liked to think it was because she missed him, and wanted him as much as he did.

“I need you,” he hears himself say huskily, intoxicated by the warmth of her embrace and her familiar scent, “Be mine tonight.”

“I am yours every night,” she whispers back, feeling Aegon's lips on her neck.

His caresses are eager, desperate, his hands taking the skirts of her dress and slipping under them to touch the soft skin of her legs.

Helaena understands, as she always has, that Aegon seeks refuge in her arms. Refuge and oblivion. Of himself, of his reality, of expectations, of the court... she is no stranger to the feeling after having grown up in an environment that does not fully understand her.

“Aegon,” she gasps as his fingers caress the most intimate part of her body.

Her disposition seems to reignite the fire inside of him. His lips trail up her shoulders, her neck and jaw until they reach her mouth. Their gazes meet for a few seconds. Rarely, in these years, have they kissed. Sometimes, Helaena believes that her brother has no patience for such subtleties, sometimes – like now – she seems to sense that there is something else that haunts him in this regard.

“Helaena,” he whispers, closing his eyes when he feels her wife's fingers trace the outline of his lips, “Don’t…”

But ends up giving up. Like every night that he looks for her, he gives in to his crave for affection.

Kisses terrify him, but Helaena's kisses manage to save him.

At least for a few hours.

At least until dawn when he once again will hate himself for using her, for daring to touch her, for sullying her with his touch.

His greedy lips catch those of his wife, their tongues joining in a dance unfamiliar but natural to both of them. When the air runs out, they separate and Helaena watches his face as her hands tangle in his short platinum hair. Aegon opens his eyes under the pressure of her gaze, finding her flushed, beads of sweat on the freckles on her nose and cheeks.

She says something he can't make out, and moves away from his touch a bit, her hands going behind her back to work on the buttons of her dress, which after agonizing seconds falls at her feet, leaving her only in a white nightgown so similar to the one she uses the nights that he visits her.

Helaena feels her heart race at noticing her brother's desire, his violet eyes almost black, his ragged breathing. It's the first time in years that she's had a chance to really see him and not just feel him in the darkness. And she delights in the softness she finds in him. A smile tugs at her lips as Aegon winces at the feel of her hand caressing his neck.

"Helaena..."

He doesn't finish his words. His wife's hands working to remove his white shirt and pants. He pushes his boots aside and lets her guide him to the bed, sitting near the headboard and allowing her to straddle him.

Helaena feels his need, his hands once more eagerly running over her body under her nightgown, which he instantly removes, exposing her to him.

When was the last time they had been completely naked in front of each other? She can no longer remember.

Aegon is lost. He doesn't care about anything other than feeling her moving over him, rubbing against him, his lips sucking on her nipples with desire, her moans filling the stillness of the room…

Helaena knows there will be consequences. She knows that their actions tonight will seal her fate. Something inside of hers, a whispering voice she's heard since she was a child, tells her that this is just the calm before the storm. But Helaena knows that she can do nothing to escape her fate. That her story – and Aegon's – is written long ago.

And that both will burn together.

The princess takes his manhood and guides it to her entrance, going down slowly, allowing him to enter inside her, closing her eyes at the pleasant sensation of feeling him so deep within her. Aegon's hands cling to her hips urging her to move, allowing her to set the pace, slow, too slow... until she can hold it no longer and begins to move greedily, her hands cupping her brother's face and pressing their lips together one more time.

“I’m close,” Aegon murmurs, his lips once more on her shoulder, marking her.

She knows that he wants to be out of her. He has been doing it since the twins were born, avoiding leaving his seed inside her.

“It’s fine, it has to be like this…” she gasps, Aegon's thrusts driving her almost to the limit.

She doesn't know if he is listening to her, lost in his pleasure, but she feels him bury once more before spilling inside her.

A tear rolls down Helaena's face as ecstasy washes over her.

One more. They need one more.

And then they will burn together.

***

My other works: Masterlist

#helaegon #helaena targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #hotd smut #smut #lemon #desire #self esteem issues

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writersmorgue · 2 months

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Febuwhump Day 9 - alt. Lightning Strike

I legit couldn't think of anything to do for bees that wasn't too similar to something I've already written, so here's this instead.

TWs in tags || read on Ao3 || wc: 1,063

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“What kind of ugly ass scars are those?”

Denki hides his body for a reason.

“It looks like you were struck by lightning, is it from your quirk, Kaminari?”

They’re ugly, he knows they are.

“Kaminari, can you move? Your skin is freaking me out.”

People with mutant quirks are treated well at UA, especially the powerful ones like Shouji and Tokoyami. Physical differences mean little to nothing when you can kick anyone’s ass who gives you crap.

But Denki’s scars are different. They’re completely his fault.

Every time he goes stupid with overexertion, his quirk fires off at random intervals. Since he’s not conscious to prepare for it, it creates these lines in his skin. Lichtenberg figures, they’re called.

They’re raised, dusty pink lines on his skin, wrinkled and perpetually tingling. They stretch out all over him, centered on his inner forearms and chest, where his quirk focuses on output. They follow a senseless pattern, weaving across his skin. He used to have a lot of freckles on his body, but many of them have been overtaken.

When new electricity pulses through them, they get hot and irritated for days after. Denki has to sleep sitting up, leaning over his giant Pikachu plush. It’s tear-stained, looking just about as miserable as he feels on those nights.

He changes in the showers in the locker room, hiding away from his closest friends. People he trusts with his life.

Bakugo always looks at him weirdly when he refuses to take off his long sleeves. The guy has some pretty gnarly scars himself; All won in hard-fought battles. Each one tells a story of badassery that Denki could never dream of reaching.

Just yesterday, during training, he’d overworked himself again. The figure going up his back took the beating and crawled up just past his costume collar. Good thing Todoroki has single-handedly made turtlenecks come back in fashion.

He’s angry at his weakness and frustrated at his lack of control.

Shoving his costume in its case, he tugs his long-sleeved sweater down self-consciously.

A gruff voice calls his name, and he curses when the sudden movement his neck makes sends an arrow of pain down his back.

“Hey man,” He smiles, “what’s up?”

Bakugo’s eye twitches, and before he can so much as breathe, Denki is dragged to the empty offices in the gym.

“Uhh,” He falters, tripping at the last step before he’s gently (for Bakugo) shoved into a wall.

“Roll up your sleeves.” His classmate sneers, crossing his arms and glancing to the door as if expecting someone to interrupt and ruin whatever intervention is happening.

Denki frowns, tucking his hands behind his back and trapping them against the wall. “Kind of a weird request, dude. Do you mind explaining before I strip for you?”

Bakugo flushes, eye-twitching, “You’re stalling, fuckface. I’m not- fuck,” He sighs, glancing to the door again, “I’m not letting you walk out of here if you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Oh,” Denki blinks slowly. He’s not wrong, but he’s only doing what they all do during training, “It’s just collateral. I’m fine, Bakugo.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

“What the fuck about cutting yourself is collateral, you fucking moron!”

“Cutting my-” Denki mumbles, looking down at his arms. Is that what Bakugo thought?

Huh.

He looks up at Bakugo suspiciously, “Are you the one who stole my exacto knife and my scissors? Bakugo, I’m not doing that. It’s just scarring from my quirk, like Kirishima’s eye.” He sits on that for a second, “Well, I guess Midoriya’s arms would be a better analogy.”

He brings his arms forward and tugs his sleeves up, exposing his wrists for Bakugo to inspect. “See? From the electricity.”

Bakugo squints, aggressively taking one of his wrists as he’s been given a time limit.

“How come you cover them then?” He grunts, letting go when satisfied.

Denki rolls his eyes, “They’re ugly, Bakugo. I’m not blind.”

“Well, as long as you fuckin’ know. Loser.” Imaginary Bakugo jeers, shoving Denki into the wall again and exiting swiftly… Probably giving him a middle finger.

In reality, he just kind of… stands there.

After a few moments of silence Denki is far too weirded out to stay quiet. “Uh… dude?”

Bakugo blinks, looking back down at Denki’s arms and grabbing at one to pull up to his face again. He investigates them, eyes darting over the skin, where the thickest of the figure is. “It’s not ugly.”

Um, what?

“Um, what?”

Bakugo tsks at him, waving his own arm in his face, “I said they’re not ugly. Where’d you even get that idea?”

Denki sweetie, Haru’s mom said your arms scared him, so you have to keep the jacket on for the whole play date, okay?

What are you, fifty? What’s with the gross wrinkles?!

Do you, like, wear a full surfer suit when you swim?! If I were you I wouldn’t let anyone see me without a shirt!

No, you sit by him! If he shocks me I’ll look like that!

Denki sighs, leaning back against the wall, “Everyone says that, dude. Since my quirk manifested and I went stupid for the first time.”

Bakugo’s nose scrunches like he smells something bad, “They’re fuckin’ stupid. You’re just like anyone else with scars. Everyone in our class has some, it’s part of the damn job.”

“Yeah, but mine are-”

“Normal, dipshit.” Bakugo interrupts, waving his hand at Denki, “If anyone in our class says shit, I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em. Only thing ugly about you is your stupid face. Always smiling. It’s gross.”

Denki can’t help but blush in response. He thinks that’s the closest Bakugo’s ever come to complimenting him! Even if it was just followed by an insult.

“Aw, thanks Kacchan,” He grins when the tips of Bakugo’s ears pinken.

“You’re fucking stupid. Are you gonna quit moping now?”

Denki nods, grinning eagerly, “You bet, and I’ll show some skin just for you!”

Bakugo flushes bright red, “Wh- that’s not! Fuck you!!”

Denki giggles, skirting around his fuming classmate before he blows up the office they’ve borrowed. “See you, Kacchan.”

He pauses by the door, catching his hand on the frame, “And thanks, by the way, I appreciate it.”

Bakugo shakes his head, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Whatever dunce face, I better see you in the locker room tomorrow.”

“You know it!”

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whump-n-comfort · 2 years

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i love characters angstily refusing to look at someone

when they’re ashamed or guilty or scared and they want to keep the peace for just a little longer. they know it’s going to go downhill soon so they’re holding onto the last little shred of calmness they have even if it's fake

and then the character they’re worried about being mad gently grips their chin and says in a quiet voice “hey, can you look at me?” AAAAA then they hesitate. there’s no way that character isn’t mad at them, this is too good to be true. it just makes them refuse to look up more because they want this dream to last forever and ever

but after a few moments of holding back, they slowly look up, tears in their eyes, to see that the character truly isn’t upset with them. if anything, the character visibly relaxes when they finally make eye contact, confirming to the character that, maybe they’re not okay right now, but they will be eventually

bonus points if they’re injured somehow, esp on their face, and the person that’s holding them drags a finger near the wound in concern, examining it and making sure it’s not worse than it looks 😍😍😍

#whump #whump trope #self esteem issues #guilt #fear #worry #protectiveness #~my stuff~

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monstersandmaw · 3 months

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I'm literally in love with your chronic sad boi drow but i have a feeling that if our tav's were in the same room, my tav (tiefling barbarian) would bully him 😭

He'd definitely let himself get bullied 😭.

Kaerlyn only really develops a backbone when someone else (other than him) is being picked on or threatened (tiefling kids in the grovel, a goblin in a cage, even gnolls under mind control). But when it's him, sadly, he'll let people just walk all over him and trample him into the dirt. He's got very low self-esteem, and almost no sense of self-worth. If he's doing things for people, he's useful and valued, but he sees nothing of inherent value in himself worth standing up for. 😭

I kind of headcanon that Halsin rolls his eyes when he sees it start happening and literally picks Kaerlyn up by the scruff of his neck like a wet puppy and hauls him away before he can let himself get hurt or taken advantage of.

#kaerlyn #drow tav #bg3 #ghosti plays bg3 #self esteem issues #self worth issues

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rockingrobin69 · 1 year

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Wonderful

Warning: angst ahoy

Draco came back with this dreamy sort of smile, and Harry—

Harry frowned into his cereal bowl. He hated Weetabix. Didn’t understand why Draco insisted on filling their cupboards with the tasteless thing. Always making sure Harry got enough vitamins, or fiber, or whatever fucking—like he cared, which was the worst part. Because Harry cared so much, but Draco had to go on his bleeding date, leaving Harry alone in their flat to—to nothing, to himself. To stare at the telly and try to eat the damn Weetabix. And then Draco came back with that smile, with that look on his face, that unbearable one.

Harry’s hand shook around the spoon, then gave up. “Good night?”

“Wonderful,” Draco said. Leaned against the kitchen counter, eyes on the floor, but his face flushed. “Oh, Harry, he was wonderful. He took me to the museum, and we walked around for hours, and it was just…”

“Wonderful,” Harry grunted. Draco didn’t seem to hear.

“Then the restaurant had closed, so we got kebabs in that little shop behind the flat, and…” his hand brushed invisible tahini off the side of his mouth, pink with the cold. Those kissable lips, pouting, raspberry-flavoured, if the stick of lip balm Harry swiped a lick off was anything to judge by. Still better than Weetabix.

“So you’ll. Ah.” Harry coughed the roughness out of his voice. “Think you’ll see him again?”

Draco looked up, then back down to the floor, all in a matter of seconds. Felt like being slapped, a bit. The hesitancy.

“I don’t know if…” he bit his lower lip. Pained, why did he look pained? Harry had to fight to keep the growl from rumbling out. If that man hurt him, by god—“Just don’t know if I’m. Enough.”

Harry wasn’t sure he caught it all. Not with the way his mouth rocketed into his throat, rampant and bitter. “What?”

“He’s wonderful,” Draco said to Harry’s slippers, one fist rising to thump his chest, once, twice. “He’s so wonderful, and I’m… me.”

“You,” Harry agreed. Didn’t understand when it wasn’t taken as it should have been, a roaring confirmation Draco was enough, was more than enough, was everything. Instead Draco took it as a hit. Curled into himself, nodded, eyes closing.

“He’s so kind. And generous, and so fucking smart, and I never even graduated, and I’m… he’s… there’s so much I won’t be able to explain, so much I’d…”

Harry didn’t realise he got up until he had Draco’s hand in his own. “Hey,” so softly it ached, croaked out of him like it was carved out, “hey, Draco. Look at me.” He wouldn’t. Harry took his chin with his other hand, made him look.

“You’re incredible. He would be so fucking lucky to—so what if you didn’t graduate? Doesn’t mean anything. If he makes you feel like anything less than—”

A shake of the head, and Harry’s last, secret, selfish hope was lost. “He doesn’t. He’s…”

“Wonderful,” Harry murmured. Draco closed his eyes.

“So you think I should, that I could…” his voice cracked, and Harry couldn’t help stroking his cheek, the gentlest of movements, with the back of his hand. “You really think it could work? With me being—”

“You,” Harry nodded. “Yes. If he’s so wonderful, then yes. Because you—Draco, you know you are. Wonderful. As well.”

What else could he say? Even if his heart was crumbling in his chest. Harry wasn’t immune to Draco’s sadness. Nearly lost his breath when two arms came to wrap around him, heart beating a million miles a minute.

“Thank you,” Draco whispered in his ear. “You’re the best, Harry.”

“Yeah, I’m…” the words died on his lips when Draco’s head came to rest on his shoulder, hair tickling on his neck. He was so close. Smelled like jasmine and cedar, like smoke and tahini. The Weetabix Harry couldn’t swallow before came back up, jagged in his throat: god, how much he wanted to just…

But Draco’s happiness was more important than whatever this was. He closed his eyes and held him.

“Wonderful. You’re wonderful, too,” Draco murmured, and Harry only just stopped himself from crying.

#drarry fic #angst #jealousy #pining pining pining #self esteem issues #700 words #we're out for ouches #rockingrobin69

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aziraphales-library · 10 months

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Hi. Someone reccommended I send it to you. Can you help with this? I would be forever thankfull! "I am looking for a fic in which after going out of a big city and cleaning himself in a river, Crowley realizes that the bad smell in his skin is not the city sewages but himself. He then goes and goes about bathing in perfume across the ages, only to run out of each just before a date with Aziraphale. The angel, of course, does not mind and assures hin that the doesn't smell like sulfur and stuff, just like Crowley." I am pretty sure I read it once in Ao3 but what I can remenber os phrases and tags had not been helpful so far...

Hello. I believe you're looking for...

Through the smoke of you by TheGD (G)

In 17th century Versailles, Crowley becomes self-conscious about his own sulphuric smell. He attempts to mask it with perfume, thinking that Aziraphale probably finds him disgusting. A bottle of perfume runs out, a book is lost and found, palms are kissed and romance ensues.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #insecure crowley #self esteem issues #hurt/comfort #mod d

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clockways · 6 months

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Me when I post a lot: ._. I bet I'm bother people.

#self esteem issues

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femmefatalevibe · 9 months

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Hi I have always been super sensitive to people's comments. That is really annoying for me but I don't really know how to deal with those emotions and thoughts because somebody would just make a joke of me (maybe just a funny joke) but that stays in my mind for a long time. I don't want to take what people say personally so, can you please give me how to stop being so sensitive and start treating jokes just as jokes. Hope you have a good day.

Hi love. I'm sorry to hear that people are making jokes at your expense. Please know, though, that learning how to not take others' words personally and expecting others to treat you with respect are not mutually exclusive standards/boundaries to uphold in your interactions and relationships with others.

To not take others' words personally, remember that most people's comments about others are a reflection of how they feel about themselves. Individuals who frequently criticize others or feel the need to put others down for their own pleasure typically are projecting their own self-hatred, negative self-talk, and low self-esteem. Take others' sentiments are a reflection of their self-concept, inner world, thoughts, and experiences – you rarely have anything to do with you.

However, with that being said, you have every right to be upset at someone's "joke" about you and let the person know that their comment upset you. While I don't know the types of remarks people are making towards you and the intention behind these statements, you have every right to share that these comments make you feel upset or uncomfortable. If someone is actively making fun of you or trying to put you down, do not tolerate this disrespect. Stand up for yourself. Call them out.

Please start valuing your needs. While people are still going to do and say these please, you have the right to do the same.

If you're being triggered by very impersonal, benign comments, it's worth exploring why these comments are so triggering to you. Those remarks will come up in life and you just have to understand that it says more about the person making the "joke" than anything about you personally, your appearance, actions, or intentions. Some people will box you into a certain role to self-validate their internal life narrative –nothing you do or say will change their minds, so you just have to understand that this person chooses to have blinders on and has not done the internal work to deeply self-reflect/see outside of themselves.

However, especially if these comments are solely directed at you, once you let others know you're uncomfortable, you have every right to walk away from the situation if your discomfort doesn't make them stop and respect your interpersonal/conversational boundaries.

If you're ever unsure if you're taking a comment too personally, try this gut-check exercise. Ask yourself: If a friend or a loved one told you a similar remark was made to them as you just heard expressed to you, how would you react? Would you be more inclined to tell your friend they're overreacting or be appalled that someone would speak to someone you love in this manner? Let your answer to this question guide you to a more objective and self-loving interpretation/response to these comments.

Hope this helps xx

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