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Thank you for your answer. I would like to send a request for Maegor. I hope he has no problem. Dark Maegor Targaryen and second wife reader. (Reader can be Tyrell or Dayne. Or nobel lady from another house.) When Maegor starts looking for a woman to have an heir (37 Ac/earlier than the year he started in the original story) he meets the reader. When he gets , he is determined to make the reader his wife. He gets rid of Ceryse (maybe by poison or by accident) and marries the reader. The reader immediately becomes pregnant and gives birth to three babies. This causes Maegor's obsession to increase. Because the reader gave him three babies like the three-headed dragon in the symbol of his house. The reader is fertile enough to get pregnant every year.

Crimson Fate

- Summary: Maegor takes you as his bride after Ceryse fails to give him an heir.

- Paring: dayne!reader/dark!Maegor I Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Maegor’s eyes settle on you the moment he arrives at Starfall, and from that moment, there is no mistaking his intentions. You hear the whispers from the courtiers, the rumors of Maegor’s insatiable ambition to secure an heir, to further his line and strength. His first wife, Ceryse, has yet to bear him a child, and many speculate he has come south seeking a new wife—one capable of giving him what the Hightower woman could not.

The first time Maegor speaks to you, his presence is overwhelming. His tall, imposing figure clad in black and crimson, his eyes burning with something far more dangerous than mere desire. It is as if he has already decided your fate without consulting you, as though the idea of refusal is inconceivable.

“You are Dayne,” he says, his voice low and commanding, the words wrapping around you like chains. “From the blood of the stars.”

Your throat tightens, a shiver of unease sliding down your spine. You manage a nod, keeping your gaze lowered, though you feel the weight of his stare, lingering on you like a predator studying its prey.

“Tell me,” Maegor continues, stepping closer, “how many sons does your house expect from you?”

There is no answer you can give that will change your fate. In that moment, Maegor has already chosen you to bear his heirs, to fulfill the destiny of House Targaryen. You are no longer a daughter of the stars, but a piece in his game.

Weeks later, news comes from Oldtown—Ceryse has died. There are whispers, dark ones, that she and Maegor had quarreled, that the fight escalated, and her death, though unexplained, was no accident. The dread among the court is palpable, as many know Maegor is quick to wrath, but none dare speak it aloud in his presence. The timing is too convenient to be coincidental. Ceryse's death clears the way for what Maegor desires.

You know what is coming, yet you are powerless to stop it. When Maegor asks for your hand in marriage, there is no question of refusal. He does not ask out of love, nor does he seek your opinion. It is a demand cloaked in formality. And so, you are wed to the King’s half-brother, the man who would soon rule with fire and blood.

Your wedding is a display of power, of domination. Maegor does not look at you as a man looks at his bride, but as a conqueror looks at new territory. That night, you feel the true weight of what it means to be his wife. His touch is possessive, harsh, as if he is claiming you in both body and spirit. You are not just a woman to him—you are a vessel, the key to his legacy, the bearer of his children.

And soon, that is exactly what you become.

Your belly swells with the evidence of Maegor’s claim, and the court watches in awe as the rumors begin to swirl. You are carrying not one, but three babes. It is as if the gods themselves have blessed your union, gifting Maegor with a legacy befitting his house—the three-headed dragon of Targaryen. His obsession grows with each passing day as your pregnancy progresses. He watches you constantly, his hands never far from your stomach, his gaze intense, possessive, and burning with an unspoken madness.

When you finally give birth, it is as if the entire realm holds its breath. Three babes—two boys and a girl, each as perfect as the dragons their blood rides—are born to you. The court hails it as a miracle, and Maegor’s obsession deepens, solidifying into something far darker. He sees you not just as his wife but as the mother of his dynasty, the woman who gave him three heirs, who brought the Targaryen sigil to life in flesh and blood.

“You have given me what no other could,” he says to you, his hand resting possessively over your belly, even as you cradle your newborns in your arms. His voice is thick with pride, but there is something else there—something darker. “Three-headed, like the dragon. You are my wife, my queen. You will give me more.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air like a threat, and though your body is still weak from the birthing, you know Maegor will not wait long. He is not a patient man, and now that you have proven yourself capable of giving him heirs, he will want more. His hunger is insatiable, and his obsession with you—his vessel, his wife—has grown into something that feels like madness.

It is not long before you are with child again, your belly growing heavy with Maegor’s next heir. The court watches with a mixture of awe and fear, for they know that you are the key to Maegor’s power, the woman who can provide him the legacy he so desperately craves. He watches over you like a dragon guards its hoard, his eyes always on you, his hand always tracing the swell of your belly as if ensuring that his claim remains intact.

But there is no love in Maegor’s gaze—only possession. You are his, body and soul, and you know that you will never escape him. He is the dragon, and you are his queen, bound to him by fire and blood.

Blood of Two, Joined as One

Pairing: Jacaerys x twin sister reader

Tags: sibling incest, smut, public sex, painted table sex, p. in v. sex, voyeurism (Daemon walks in)

Wordcount: 2,490

As you and your twin Jacaerys work through your frustrations at being left on the sidelines of the war, Daemon walks in and challenges you to finish what you have started.

Jacaerys Masterlist

Ash in the wind, that was how Jacaerys felt as the bastards were brought down to the pit to face divine justice—and they had, for the most part, and most of them had been punished for their arrogance. Jace knew he was being cruel in his thoughts, but his cruelty only equaled his sorrows.

He had refused to see it, to witness the potential ascent of lowborns towards glory, only one step away from his own birthright, which was now being refused to him.

For years he had strived to prove the rumors about his parentage to be wrong, or falsely founded—he had trained with the sword, learned High Valyrian, forged a deep bond with his own dragon, a green-winged beast that had been born to him. Now he felt all this had been in vain, and that his claim to his own inheritance would be washed away like footprints in the sand, blown away by the wind or smoothed over by the waves.

Jacaerys also admitted he felt no small amount of fear for his siblings, the three dark-haired dragonriders that came after him—two now, his mind corrected cruelly, and it made him want to cling to his brother and sister, but Joffrey was hidden away in the Vale and you were cold to him these days, and distant.

He knew he had only himself to blame, as he had been so solely focused on his own losses and frustrations that he had forgotten to consider yours. Rhaenyra had been even more protective of you than she was of him, refusing you to leave the island, and he had been inclined to agree with her.

Now he understood how undermined you had felt, and how deep it must have cut, coming from your twin no less. The two of you were the equal parts of a whole, and he had grown up knowing you would be his queen one day. Yet when the time had come to welcome you at his side and allow you to take part in the war as he had—going behind Rhaenyra’s back to secure passage to the Stark armies, standing up to her at council—he had refused you. 

The loss of Luke had only highlighted how fragile life was, and how devastating Vhagar’s strength could be, and it had carved a pit of utter terror into his heart that he would lose you as well, if you were not kept away from it all. 

The hour was growing late, but he had refused to attend supper with the new dragonriders, leaving that role to Baela and no doubt to you, but as he paced the Painted Table hall, trying to channel his frustrations, it was your voice that interrupted the whirlwind of his thoughts.

“Jacaerys?” came the call, and he turned to see you approach gently, as you would a spooked horse. He had never admitted to it, but the way you resorted to his full name more often than not made his spine shiver and possessiveness curl in his stomach.

“I thought you would be at supper,” he replied as you took the last step into the cold room, the hearth having been extinguished. The candles on the table were cold as well, and he scratched at the hard wax drippings on the edge of it.

“I said I would check on you,” you replied gently, but not as warm as you could be, as you came to stand beside him.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, and your hand on his arm did soothe him slightly. You leaned against the table, almost sitting on it while he stood facing it, his head low between his shoulders—it would only take you a breath to lean in and press your temple to his, but you did not.

His dismissive behavior these last few weeks had wounded you, and you blamed him for that streak of arrogance he possessed that only came out at the worst times. However you saw no use reprimanding him for it, as you could tell his personal sorrows were torment enough.

“Mother looked aggrieved, I can tell you had words for her,” you offered, and Jace gladly accepted the space you held out for him to relieve himself of his burdens.

“What are we to become, if anyone may lay claim to our inheritance?” he hissed, but it lacked his earlier fury. Instead his words were wavering, much like his resolve, and he found himself yearning for comfort rather than an argument. 

You pressed your forehead to hiss, humming soothingly as he took a trembling breath. Your hand slid down his arm to his hand, which was flat on the table, and the feeling of your skin did calm him slightly.

“Allow me to stand with you, from now on, and we shall defend our birthright together,” you said, and his answer came in the form of a slow, deep kiss. Jacaerys had a tendency to make great declarations, which you found both sweet and incensing, but at this moment his lips spoke instead of his words as he pressed into you firmly.

He sighed as you accepted him, melting into his kiss and reciprocating his sudden passion. His plump lips and agile tongue made you shiver, even more when he stepped aside as pressed against you, nudging your knees apart so he could stand between them. 

The both of you folded into the familiar embrace that had often been yours this past year, since your coming of age and subsequent betrothal—his hands found your waist as yours slid into his hair, his slim hips slotting perfectly in the cradle of your thighs.

Your breaths were hot and loud in the empty hall as you parted for air, but soon it was taken from your lungs again as your twin’s hand followed the crease of your hip to the inside of your thigh, pushing past the lapel of your dress. “Jace,” you sighed.

“I’ve longed for you these past few weeks, I need you,” he murmured, his dark eyes searching your face—for comfort, for approval, for answering desire, you could not say.

“Surely not here,” you inquired.

“Everyone is at supper. No one shall come to fetch us,” he said slowly, allowing you the time you needed to make your refusal known, but you did not, and instead your knees parted wider over his hips. “Don’t you long for me?”

You swallowed the last word of his question with a passionate kiss, your fingers tightening in his mane of rich curls, and you surprised yourself with how eager you were. It was true, you had yearned for him perhaps just as much as he had for you, and this disconnect had left you feeling unmoored, like a boat barely floating upon choppy waters.

“You know I long for you, always,” you replied, and your confession was met with the utmost enthusiasm. 

You were less expressive than your twin, less prone to declarations from the heart, and your words seemed to have sparked a fire within him—he reached below your smallclothes to press his thumb in tight circles over your pearl as his mouth fastened to the side of your neck.

For a long minute you allowed yourself this simple pleasure, that of his undivided attention, rocking your hips into his hand as he pressed himself to your inner thigh, seeking friction. “Quickly, then,” you conceded when two of his fingers slipped between your folds and into you with ease. 

Jace’s hand was slightly wet as he unbuckled his belt, pushed his doublet aside and unlaced his trousers—you both panted into each other’s mouth, your tongues curling together almost obscenely until he pushed into you in short, tentative thrusts.

The illicit nature of your embrace seemed to incense him and you loved this newfound boldness in him, even though he remained careful and patient as he took you, going for slow, shallow rolls of his hips. You took what he gave you, sitting fully on the table and clinging to his shoulders for leverage, your own hips grinding into his to seek pressure at your pearl.

The slow, quiet rhythm that was usually that of your coupling was familiar and still immensely satisfying, but you could tell there was a fire under Jace’s skin that such an embrace couldn’t reach—he was still shy and too correct sometimes, but your own lack of experience hindered you, and you were unsure what to offer him instead.

“Jace, maybe we should—” you started before a quiet noise interrupted you, in hindsight perhaps that of a door sliding across stones, and the two of you froze. Trembling and unable to keep his breath steady, Jacaerys shut his eyes in frustration, and the both of you waited, no doubt expecting the sound to be a solitary one.

However, quiet footsteps echoed in the hall and before realization and panic could set in, the swaggering figure of Daemon appeared from behind the staircase.

“Well, well, now I understand why there was no one to greet me in the pit,” he chuckled, and you hid your face in your twin’s shoulder as he cursed aloud, reaching for his doublet to hide himself when he would pull away. “Don’t be shy, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“If you would give us a minute,” Jacaerys stammered.

“Come on now, show me what you’ve got,” Daemon said in a low tone, approaching slowly, almost prowling. “You were bold enough to start fucking her here, surely you’re bold enough to finish it. Or finish her, at the least.”

You hid your face in Jaceaerys’ shoulder, but he could tell you weren’t wary—simply waiting, no doubt curious of what he would do. Your knees tightened around his waist as Daemon made an amused sound and cocked his hip on the edge of the table. “I heard about what our queen has been up to upstairs,” he spat, visibly displeased and perhaps even disgusted at the prospect. “Is that why you’re hiding here, defiling the table where she plots her war?”

At those words you slowly pushed back from your twin’s shoulder, lying back until your weight was resting on your elbows—Jacaerys hissed as you moved, the angle of your hips changing, your core clenching despite yourself. 

“Show me what you’re made of, boy,” Daemon said, almost challenging. “Your sister certainly knows what blood runs through her veins.”

At that Jacaerys looked upon you again, your dark hair spilling on the tabletop like dark rivers, your eyes fixed on him as you waited, curious to see if he would finally unleash the fire you could feel rushing beneath his skin.

Yours was flushed a dark pink, from your cheeks down to your chest, but your gaze was almost daring—you hooked your legs behind his knees, pulling him in, and there was an air of arrogance to him as he went back to the slow rhythm you had been enjoying before Daemon’s interruption.

He pushed himself forward, one of his hands coming to rest flat on the table, giving him more leverage as he thrusted into you, and soon your breaths picked up again, strangely incensed by your unexpected witness. It was barely a minute before he was interrupting again, his words almost biting.

“She’s your future queen, fuck her like she deserves,” he said like an accusation, and to your delight, Jacaerys rose to the bait.

He had never been anything but tender and gentle, hiding his baser urges in the fact that you were promised to each other from birth, a right given to you by the womb you had shared, rather than your family’s decisions. Even though your mother refused to have you married until the war was over and she had ascended her throne, you fully belonged to the other. 

You were bound together, but not by a formal betrothal, rather by the laws of the Gods, of nature itself. You had entered this world together and would leave it together—and Gods willing, you would reign together in-between. In the meantime, your mother had meant for you to wait until you could be wedded as her heirs, and for your union to be witnessed by all the lords you would rule over one day.

“I would not hurt you,” your twin said, reaching where your bodies were joined to press his thumb to your core in counterpoint with the rocking of his hips, perhaps to soothe the sudden sharpness of his thrusts. 

You shook your head, stretching your back on the table until you were fully lying on it, and you closed your eyes to the sharp heat that rose in your stomach—pleasure came to you in sudden waves rather than a mounting pressure, almost like the crack of a whip every time Jace bottomed out. Beads of sweat were making curls stick to his temples and you would have licked them if you could raise your back, but you were speared to the spot by this newfound vigor.

Pride burst in your chest at his demonstration, and you could tell the same feeling was spurring him on, strangely eager to prove he was indeed of dragon blood, and able to claim his sister with enough force and assurance.

You matched him thrust for thrust, rocking your hips into him until your pants morphed into whimpers, and you clapped your hand over your mouth, lest they turn into wails.

However Daemon ripped your arm from your face and held your palm flat to the table. “Let them hear,” he thundered. “Let these mongrels hear what it sounds like when true dragons claim one another.”

Jacaerys made a wounded sound at that, and you lost yourself to the darkness of his eyes, and the two of you didn’t need words to speak. Your betrothal had been consummated time and time again, up until his peak when he always pulled out, spilling his seed on your stomach—this time he would not, and the mere prospect was enough to make the tension at your core snap.

You held his gaze as your peak took over, long enough to see his own eyes close as his mouth dropped open and his hips faltered, his contained moans turning into rough groans as he spent himself inside of you.

Your head fell back on the hard table as you panted, your knees falling open once more as you unhooked your legs from his. At your side, Daemon released your hand and turned without a word, barely a satisfied hum. 

You were left wondering what the point of this show of force had been as Jace bent forward and rested his forehead on your chest while he chased his breath. 

“You shall be married before you fly out to war and be stronger for it,” Daemon announced over his shoulder as he climbed the steps leading to the royal quarters. “I will see to it myself.”

Dividers by @/saradika

Thank you to @thenameswinter99 for her support ♡

Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, this is how we keep stories alive on this platform. Likes and comments are equally appreciated.

Comment to be added to my Jacaerys masterlist.

Jacaerys Taglist: @aegonswife @hobisinterlude @bunbunbl0gs @brevlada24

@thenameswinter99 @v0relino @jacesvelaryons @cookiesnfeesh

@maeriontargaryen @multyfangirl

What about one where the small folk of winterfell and the people of the castle make friendly, suggestive gossip from giggly women and knowing men about cregan and targ!reader. Their lord and lady are close with one another and it is often talked about and seen that they frequent the bed chamber (if yk what I mean 👀)

the folk of Winterfell feel at ease knowing their lord and lady seem to be in love, similar to the honeymoon period and young love.

You don’t have to use this quote i came up with, but it inspired me to ask for this idea “I’m sure our new lady will provide both Winterfell and our Lord with many Stark children. They are certainly not opposed to practicing their duty”

— 🐠

Winterfell's Warmth

- Summary: Cregan takes you to be his wife, a fire to his ice. And it's not long until smallfolk notice just how much Lord Stark is devoted to his Targaryen bride. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: This entire scene is from the perspective of the smallfolk.

- Rating: Mature 16+

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

- A/N: This is the last request that I'll be posting today.

Winterfell bustles with the hum of daily life, as it always does—iron clanging in the forges, boots scuffing over the ancient stones, and the soft murmurs of the smallfolk as they go about their duties. But today, there's a special kind of lightness in the air, a sense of warmth despite the looming chill that clings to the North. The hearths burn brighter, and even the winds seem to whisper with a mischievous grin.

The reason for this subtle shift? You, Y/N, the new Lady of Winterfell, and your lord husband, Cregan Stark. Since your arrival, the inhabitants of the castle have grown accustomed to your frequent disappearances with their lord—disappearances that always lead back to your shared bedchamber. The smallfolk know, of course, as do the courtiers. They know very well what goes on behind those thick stone walls, and the knowledge brings them no small amount of amusement. 

In the courtyard, a group of washerwomen gossip while scrubbing linens in the cold, frothy water of a trough. Their fingers are red from the chill, but their spirits remain high.

“Have you heard?” one of them, a round-faced woman named Ellyn, leans in, lowering her voice despite the fact that no one important is nearby. “Our lady was seen entering the lord’s chambers again this morning, not long after the first bell rang.”

A younger girl, barely past sixteen, giggles and covers her mouth. “She didn’t leave until just before the midday meal yesterday, either!”

Another woman, older and seasoned from years of service, cocks an eyebrow but smiles knowingly. “Winterfell hasn’t been this alive since…well, since Lord Cregan’s own parents. I’d wager the bedchambers have seen more use in the past fortnight than in the last decade combined.”

The women burst into laughter, their voices carrying through the open courtyard. Ellyn smirks, leaning in even closer. “I’m sure our new lady will provide both Winterfell and our Lord with many Stark children. They are certainly not opposed to practicing their duty.”

The young girl flushes a little but can’t help but join in the giggling. "It's true, isn't it? They’ve only been married a moon’s turn, and yet I’ve never seen a man so... devoted to his wife."

“Well,” the older woman says with a playful shrug, “the Starks may be wolves, but it seems our Lord’s heart is well and truly claimed by a dragon.”

Across the courtyard, a pair of stable boys are equally enthralled with the ongoing rumors. One of them, tall and lanky, leans against the stall door, shaking his head.

"I swear by the old gods, I’ve never seen Lord Stark smile so much," the boy says, eyes wide with the incredulity of it all. "He used to be all serious, always about duty, honor, the needs of Winterfell. But now? Every time I see him, he’s got that daft look on his face, like he’s already back in the Lady’s arms."

The other stable boy, shorter and stockier, chuckles. "Aye, I noticed that too. You'd think a man so cold in demeanor wouldn’t be so… warm in his private affairs." He glances around, as if Lord Cregan himself might be lurking behind a pillar. "But gods, can you blame him? Our lady is like a flame. She’s got the blood of dragons in her veins, and it’s like he can’t resist her."

The tall boy laughs loudly. "Well, Winterfell is colder than the South, and a bit of fire in his bed can’t hurt, can it?"

Their laughter echoes through the stables, joining the chorus of quiet gossip that fills the castle.

In the kitchens, the cooks are no less entertained. An older man, grizzled and stern-faced, chops onions with a practiced hand. "It's a good thing they’re so taken with each other," he grumbles to a nearby scullery maid. "Winterfell needs strong heirs, and soon. Better they start early."

The maid, a cheerful woman with flushed cheeks from the heat of the ovens, snickers. "Aye, I doubt that'll be a problem. They’re always together, locked away for hours. If they keep at it, we’ll have a new little Stark running about before winter comes."

"I’ve heard they’re inseparable," another cook chimes in, stirring a pot of stew. "Lord Cregan hardly lets her out of his sight. It’s almost sweet, really."

"Sweet?" the old man scoffs, though there’s no real bite in his voice. "It’s practical, is what it is. They’re doing their duty, ensuring the Stark line continues. But," he adds with a chuckle, "it doesn’t hurt that they seem to enjoy it so much."

The scullery maid laughs. "Oh, they more than enjoy it! I was passing by their chamber the other night, and, well…" She lets the sentence hang, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let’s just say, they were not quiet."

The group erupts into laughter, and even the old man can’t suppress a grin.

And so it goes throughout Winterfell. From the servants who clean your chambers to the guards posted outside the great hall, everyone in the castle is aware of the affection that flows so freely between you and Cregan. Even in the great hall during the evening feasts, there are stolen glances and soft touches between you, enough for the smallfolk to notice.

At one such feast, a group of bannermen seated at a lower table murmur amongst themselves, casting knowing looks up at the high table where you sit beside your husband. Lord Cregan’s hand rests casually on your thigh beneath the table, his thumb tracing circles through the fabric of your gown. You lean toward him, whispering something that makes him laugh softly—a sound rare enough in these halls that it turns heads.

One of the bannermen, a grizzled old warrior with silver streaking his beard, nudges the man beside him. "See how he looks at her? Like she’s the only thing in the world that matters."

The younger man nods. "Aye, I’ve noticed. Seems our Lord is well and truly smitten."

"Better that than cold and distant, I say," the older man replies. "Winterfell’s seen enough hardship. It’s good for the people to know their Lord is happy. And with the lady he’s taken to bed, I’d say we’ll be seeing Stark children sooner rather than later."

The younger man grins. "Aye, and they’re certainly not opposed to practicing their duty."

As laughter ripples through the hall, you catch Cregan’s gaze, and in that moment, the world seems to fade away. His eyes, as grey as the Northern skies, are filled with a warmth reserved only for you. And though you are surrounded by the murmurs and laughter of your people, all you feel is the pull of his love, binding you to him as surely as the ancient stones of Winterfell bind the North.

The smallfolk can whisper all they like. Let them. Winterfell is at ease, and your love for Cregan is as fierce and unyielding as the North itself.

Say It Again

This is my first Aegon Targaryen imagine, I hope you all like it. any requests and feedback would be lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn  @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps @justagirlthatlovedtoread

Masterlist

Summary: During an awkward family dinner, Aegon is willing to sit back and bite his tongue at his nephew's disrespect. But when that disrespect is aimed at his wife, he cannot stand by.

Enjoy.

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"Are you sure you are well enough to attend dinner?"

"Aegon… I know what you're trying to do." (Y/n) looked down at her hands before she dared to look up at her husband. She raised a brow when he only smiled before attaching his lips to her neck like a starved vampire.

It would be a more fitting excuse for Aegon to say that they couldn't attend dinner tonight because (Y/n) didn't feel well enough. No one would bat an eyelid at them being absent from supper, given that (Y/n) was eight moons pregnant. And it wouldn't be frowned upon if Aegon didn't attend either and stayed to care for his wife. It was a better excuse than saying the future King didn't want to be around his family and would rather stay in his room with his wife and a jug of wine.

"And I know what you are like, dear wife. I seem to recall the maids interrupting dinner last week to tell me you'd fallen." He liked the way (Y/n) groaned beneath him when he kissed her jaw and hovered his lips over hers before pulling back when she leaned up to try and connect their lips.

His hand roamed across the expanse of her stomach and squeezed her curved hip before he shifted off the sofa and stood up. If they truly were going to attend then they needed to leave now before they were late. His mother would have his head if they were late, again.

"They were fussing," (Y/n) mumbled quietly as she held her hands out towards Aegon, a pleading look in her wide eyes to ask him to help her up.

It hadn't been as bad as the two maids had made it seem and (Y/n) flushed in embarrassment from the panic she had inadvertently caused. She hadn't felt well enough to attend dinner last week and when her foot caught on one of the many tables in her and Aegon's chambers, she went down with a thud that alerted the maids. The most damage was done to the table which legs had snapped, whereas (Y/n) only had a bruise or two and a sore hip.

The maids insisted on getting Aegon when (Y/n) felt too sick and dizzy to stand and both Aegon and his mother had come running just as (Y/n) started to feel better.

Aegon had barely left her side since.

"You hurt yourself," Aegon corrected, but he indulged her with a charming smile and gently pulled (Y/n) up to her feet.

His arm secured itself in its usual place around (Y/n)'s lower waist so his hand, clad with golden rings, could spread out against the expanse of her stomach. As much as (Y/n) loved how close Aegon was to her now she was pregnant and how it made it hard for him to keep his hands off her, she was ready to have this baby now. The constant aches and pains, the burning in her chest and the sickness she was still feeling, were growing tiresome. (Y/n) wanted her baby in her arms.

(Y/n) felt her stomach fluttering as if the babe could feel her adoration when Aegon pressed his lips longingly to the top of her head before they entered the dining room, apprehensive of what was going to happen tonight.

Everyone else was just filtering into the room, but at least the King hadn't arrived yet. Then they really would have been late if they arrived after him.

(Y/n) took her seat next to Aemond with Aegon on her right and a soft smile formed on her lips when she noticed her husband inch his chair closer until their arms brushed when he sat down. It was almost laughable how ungentlemanly Aegon sat, he slouched as if he wasn't the future king but an errand boy already tired of his job. His back slouched down in his chair, he brought one foot up to rest on the bottom of his seat and he propped his chin up on his hand.

It was a very enticing pose, one that made (Y/n)'s heart skip a beat, even if everyone else around the table glared and glanced at him with odd looks. Of course no one would say anything, what could they say? He wasn't going to act with etiquette just because people frowned at him.

Just the sight of the food made (Y/n) feel her stomach do summersaults and she knew if she ate a lot tonight it was only going to come back up later. She couldn't eat much, she would face Aegon's wrath of worry later. When a waiter leaned between her and Helaena and placed down a rather large plate of meat, the smell hit (Y/n)'s nose in an instant and her hand moved to press to her nose to try and block it. The smell would usually make her mouth water but now it made bile rise at the back of her throat that was tightening and she was almost gagging at the sight and smell.

"Will you try to eat something, for me?" Aegon's voice was so quiet (Y/n) barely heard the words that dripped into her ear like melted butter. He knew how to tease her and worm his way around her and he wasn't afraid to show it in public, either.

He perched his chin on her shoulder and pressed a butterfly kiss just beneath her jaw, feeling the way (Y/n) held her breath when he did so.

The longer (Y/n) went without eating, the worse she was going to make herself feel and the more she was going to worry Aegon. He had barely gotten through the first few months when (Y/n) hardly ate anything and spiked his worry to a peak.

Everyone knew that (Y/n) was Aegon's one weakness. She could calm him down from the most sour of moods, make him smile when others had only seen him frown and make him laugh when people only saw him cry. When (Y/n) was happy, Aegon was over the moon and when she was ill, Aegon was reduced to worrisome thoughts and troubled nights.

(Y/n) put a few sweet meats and a small lump of potatos on her plate because she knew that as long as she picked at something and tried to eat, Aegon wouldn't worry. And she could feel him smiling into her neck already because she was doing as he so politely requested.

Before a servant passing behind them had chance to reach the table, Aegon reached over and took the jug of wine from his hands with a smile and a curt nod.

He already knew that he was going to need more wine than this to get himself through this dinner.

There was no point them all being here, pretending to play happy families and everyone knew it. Aegon knew his mother hadn't forgiven his father for his lenience towards Rhaeynera and her bastard children and Aegon couldn't blame her. Not that it mattered very much to him, if things went the way his father had always said they would, then Aegon would never be in line for the throne, it would pass to Rhaeynera and her bastard offspring. That was how he wanted it. But something always told him he might see the crown one day and it was a frightening thought.

Aegon filled (Y/n)'s glass and his own but kept the jug very close to his plate, he wasn't sharing when he was going to be consuming a lot of wine tonight.

"Here, cheers."

The sarcasm that dripped from her husband's voice made (Y/n) shiver and she could feel his free hand roaming over her thigh, at any moment he would probably hike her dress skirt up like he normally did just to tease her since they were with company.

(Y/n) took a few sips before putting it down and leaning back in her chair, rubbing her hands over her enlarged stomach.

It took all (Y/n) had not to groan or sigh when she listened to Rhaeynera give her little speech about Alicent. Of course she would now give her old friend praise, but it was too little too late. Everyone knew of Rhaeynera's misdeeds, it was evident any time someone so much as glanced at her disrespectful offspring.

(Y/n) was just pleased that none of them were here in the Red Keep for long, her sons were insufferable and their constant bickering and tormenting was tiresome. Especially when they riled Aemond up for no good reason and that in turn brought Aegon into his brother's defense and he could be crude and ruthless when he wanted to be.

"Let me know when you want to go," Aegon took the liberty to pour himself another glass while his lips tickled over (Y/n)'s cheek and travelled across the shell of her ear, making her shiver.

She wanted to leave already but it wouldn't be polite to go when everyone was in the middle of eating. Aegon always said it didn't matter what everyone else thought or said, he would leave with her from any event if she wanted to go. But (Y/n) didn't want the fuss or the glares or whispers of they left too soon.

(Y/n) found herself drifting off into her own world, all the noises drowning out into static while the only thing that kept her grounded was the feel of Aegon's hand rubbing up and down her thigh. Occasionally squeezing the flesh like he was moulding clay between his fingertips. Leaning to the right, (Y/n) tucked her face into Aegon's neck and hooked her hand around his upper arm. She didn't have to look up to see the smile that danced across his lips, she could feel it when he turned to kiss her head.

But her attention was brought back to the chatter around the table when she heard Aegon whisper something to Jace who was sitting on his right. He didn't mean to rile them up but whatever he had said was clearly taken the wrong way. (Y/n) wouldn't have bothered to listen if it wasn't for Jace who leaned forward so he could look directly at her.

"And what time do you return to the silk streets?"

He spoke quiet enough so that no one across the table knew what he had said, clearly knowing he would be in trouble for being so inpertenant and rude but he wore a smirk that made (Y/n) narrow her eyes in distaste.

She hadn't even been engaging in the conversation yet he had brought her into it to try and rile both her and Aegon and for a moment she thought it was working. She felt her husband tense beneath her and his lips left her head so he could turn to his nephew, but instead of spitting venom at him like (Y/n) thought he would, Aegon leaned closer with a placid, neutral expression.

"Why, do you need lessons in that department? You do know what to do, how to put it in, don't you?" Aegon watched his nephew turn a shade of beet red before a satisfied smirk came onto his face and he turned away to lean back into (Y/n).

He would let the insult slide this time, but he wouldn't stand for it again. They could say what they wanted about Aegon himself and he wouldn't care, he had no self esteem left in him to care what anyone said about him anymore.

But (Y/n)… she was different.

She was Aegon's world and he wouldn't stand for anyone disrespecting her or saying anything degrading about her like that. If his nephews didn't have respect for (Y/n) Aegon wasn't going to be easy on them. Just like with Aemond, Aegon wouldn't stand for them tormenting his brother when that was his job.

When yet more unnecessary food was brought out to the table, it set off another round of tormenting between the boys at the table and the high princes who were not in the mood for games.

A shockwave bolted through (Y/n) and she jumped, sitting upright when Aemond slammed his fist down on the table and stood up low, stooping over like a predator assessing his prey. For a brief moment, it looked like he was going to lunge across he table at his nephews but (Y/n) didn't like the smirk that overtook her brother-in-laws face.

"And a toast, to my nephews. Jace… and Luke." Aemond knew what he was doing. The smile he wore on his face and how he deadlocked his gaze with Luke showed he was doing this as a taunt, a little payback at them both. He raised his glass high while Aegon raised his glass for all of one second before he emptied it. Again.

"Aemond…" Alicent looked up at her son with such pleading in her eyes but it was overshadowed and overlooked before he rounded the table to be closer to them.

(Y/n) could feel him standing beside her chair and she dared not lean back to look at him. She didn't want to know what taunt he was going to press because he had every right to be angry with them, but this was not the place to start a fight. Not at the dinner table.

"What? I'm only giving you a compliment. Don't you think you're strong?"

Aegon lowered his foot back to the ground and pushed up a little higher in his seat, but he made no effort to get up and interfere. His hand moved from (Y/n)'s thigh to reach across and take her hand. Their fingers meshed together and he brought their hands to rest beneath his chin while he leaned to try and see the interaction happening behind them.

(Y/n) could feel the rage seeping through Aegon the moment Jace landed a punch on Aemond's jaw, who surprisingly didn't flinch at all. Instead, he smiled something sinister. And she could feel her husband straighten up in his chair and grab the arm of the chair with his free hand. He wanted to intervene now but he also didn't want to move away from (Y/n).

If a fight did break out then Aegon wanted his wife as far out of the firing line as possible.

The way Aemond pushed his nephew down to the ground with a swift, fluid motion made Jace look like a little child trying to play a grown up game. Aemond didn't want to fight him, he wasn't worth the effort and he wasn't nearly as capable or skilled as Aemond.

Keeping hold of (Y/n)'s hand tightly in his own, Aegon pushed his chair back and stood up, pulling (Y/n) along with him so they could move away from the table and towards Helaena. When they passed Aemond, Aegon reached out and placed a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. As much as he would enjoy seeing a fight take place and watching his nephews finally be put in their place, he knew this wasn't the time nor the place.

"Brother, this isn't the time."

"You've made your point," Sympathy pooled in (Y/n)'s eyes but it was overcome by relief when Aemond glanced at both of them and nodded. He took a step back and held his hands out in front of him, a sign to everyone that he wouldn't retaliate.

"He listens to the whore too. Tell me, how much does she charge you for her services?"

If they'd of just walked away, let the argument go then everyone could retire and the night would be over and done with.

"Aegon-" (Y/n) held her breath when her husband tore out of her embrace before she had chance to hold onto him tighter and pull him back. She didn't care about the slurrs they called out to her, they were nothing but petty little boys egging on for a fight they couldn't handle.

She could feel Aemond's hand wrapping around her upper arm and reeling her back towards him when Aegon lunged.

Before anyone could stop him, Aegon swiftly latched his hand around the back of Jace's neck in a viper grip that took the younger boy by surprise. And with venom flooding through his veins, Aegon threw him down onto the table so hard Jace's head rebounded and slammed back down into the wood, rattling the plates and tipping over a few glasses in the process.

He couldn't stop himself from digging his hand further into Jace's neck and forcing his face down until there would be splinters poking through his skin and rubbing into his cheeks.

"Say it again. I fucking dare you." He spat through gritted teeth, punctuating each word like they were poison dripping from his tongue directly into Jace's ear.

Who did his nephew think he was to talk about (Y/n) in such a derogatory way? Why was he aiming his malice at her of all people?

"Aegon that's enough. Let him go, please." (Y/n) curled her fingers around Aegon's shoulders and leaned over his curved frame until her chest pressed down against his back. He could feel her erratic heartbeat and her harsh breaths pounding against him and it dampened some of the fire raging inside of him.

"I have no qualms castrating you in front of an audience if you talk to my wife like that again."

With a final shove, Aegon slid Jace across the table before he let go and straightened up. He shook his head to rid the silver hair from his eyes and took a step back towards (Y/n) as his chest heaved and his shoulders tensed. He was done with this messed up family. He didn't want anything to do with his nephews or his half sister who could have the throne for all Aegon. He just wanted them and all their troubles, gone.

Aegon barely turned his head to look at (Y/n) who was stood partially behind him on his left before a sudden movement sent him off balance.

In the struggle, Aegon wasn't sure whether Jace had aimed for him or (Y/n) but his weak punch ultimately landed on (Y/n)'s shoulder before he gave her a direct shove, thrusting all of his anger onto her and sending her tumbling down.

A gasp broke free from (Y/n)'s lips and she couldn't help but snap her eyes shut when Jace pushed her back. It didn't take much to offset her balance when her weight was uneven due to the baby and the force of the shove took her feet from beneath her. Both her hands reached out and clamped down around Aegon's arm and shoulder, her nails piercing into his skin when she fell until her back hit the table.

Aegon slowed down the impact but he couldn't hold them both up and stumbled down to his knees. He watched in fright as (Y/n) collided with the table before she slumped down to the stone floor and leaned back into one of the chairs which stopped her from lying flat on the floor.

"Sweetheart? Are you with me?"

Aegon leaned forward and gently cupped her face in his hands and swept his thumbs across her cheeks. When (Y/n) tilted her head back Aegon clicked his tongue and made her look back at him before he pressed his forehead against hers. He watched her eyes switch from side to side until her focus finally settled on his deep violet eyes.

After a minute or two, he felt her hand twitch against his shoulder and her hands shakily move down to hold onto his forearms and a deep sigh rumbled past his lips.

(Y/n) felt his lips smother her temple in a longing kiss that caused his fingertips to press deeper into her skin but when he pulled away, the violence in his eyes was terrifying. Aegon had never been the type to lash out, he bottled everything up and drowned in his sorrow. At one point in his very young life, he had taken his feelings out on the women in the silk streets and he would shout at his mother when he was overwhelmed, but that was as far as it went.

He was too used to pain that the sting didn't even bother him anymore, Aegon would drown his sorrows and take anything life had to throw at him.

But he wouldn't settle for this.

His mother couldn't have kneeled down beside them a moment too soon for as soon as she was next to (Y/n), Aegon left her side, if only for a few minutes. He could see his little nephew backing away towards his mother like a scared little deer about to be hunted for sport and Aegon wasn't having any of it. Jace couldn't get swaddled and soothed by his mother for doing this, not like Luke who got hidden and protected for taking Aemond's eye all those years ago.

The small dagger hidden beneath the belt around his hips had never felt so heavy when Aegon wrapped his slender fingers around the handle and swiped it as soon as he got close enough to his petrified nephew.

A blinding gleam sparkled off of the polished blade in the candlelight and reflected up into Aegon's maddening eyes.

He thrust the blade's edge against Jace's throat and agonisingly slithered it up higher and higher until his head was tilted back as far as it would go and the tip was pressing up into his chin. A small scrape appeared against his otherwise clean, pale skin but Aegon was already envisioning the river of blood he wanted to see coating the floor and seeping into the cracks between the stones.

When he noticed movement out the corner of his eye, something twisted crossed his face and he pushed the blade into the flesh until a small wheel of blood started to pool and taint the reflective metal. Rhaynaera stopped in her tracks.

"Any last words?" Aegon snarled, revealing his pearly whites that matched his crimped hair and his lips widened into a sinister grin.

He had no problem slitting his nephew from throat to groin right here with an audience. If he couldn't learn some manners and he didn't know what respect was then he shouldn't be in line for the throne he had no claim to. He shouldn't be standing here in a family that wasn't truly his by blood and he shouldn't act the fool if he didn't want to risk the punishment he was going to get. Aegon had been lenient, he had let Jace say slurrs to his wife and punch his younger brother, but he drew the line at physically touching (Y/n).

"Aegon leave him alone, stop this."

His mother's words did nothing to apease the fire raging inside his stomach and burning up through his chest. But when he felt his brother's hand on his shoulder and Aemond's whispers in his ear, he could feel a small slither of reason coming back to him.

"It's not worth the chaos it would ensue, you should tend to your wife." Part of Aemond would happily watch his brother disembowel their nephew and see the grief that would overcome their wretched half sibling. But the other part of him, the more sombre and sensible part, knew it was not worth the hassle.

This would cause a scene, a battle between the family and the constant fighting and bickering and torments that would follow if Aegon truly killed his nephew, was not worth it. Not when Aegon had a wife who needed him this very moment who he should focus his attention on.

Aegon punctured the blade into the soft skin beneath Jace's chin and dragged it along the side of his jaw. He relished in the swallowed cry Jace didn't want him to hear and the tears that flushed his tense, shaking face and the way his jaw clenched and his cheekbones popped out. He enjoyed the suffering and his nephew's screwed shut eyes from the minimal pain Aegon was inflicting.

He finally tugged the blade free and swiped it slowly along Jace's tunic, cleaning the blood off before he lowered the dagger to his side.

"If you so much as look at my wife again, I will disembowel you," He sneered each word quietly in Jace's ear so no one else would know what made him whimper in fear. "Leave."

He scuttled away like a rat jumping from a sinking ship and it quelled a small flame inside Aegon.

When he turned around, (Y/n) was already back on her feet with Alicent's arms safely around her in case she needed support or took a funny turn. His mother had never looked more relieved than when Aegon walked back over to her and encased his arms around (Y/n) so he could take his wife into his own arms and out of hers.

(Y/n) let her head fall against Aegon's shoulder and the cool leather was welcomed against her burning skin. But it was his hands feathering up and down her hips that made her sigh and his lips pressed against the side of her temple.

"Are you alright?"

"Hm, I believe so."

When Aegon circled an arm tightly around her waist and slowly began guiding them both out of the dining hall, (Y/n) buried her face into his neck and curled her fingers around his hip.

Aegon wouldn't let anything like this happen again.

Intense Car Ride | Malachy Granger

summary: your boyfriend picks you up from school and heading back at you place to have dinner with your parents—which happens to be the first time Malachy would met them, until his drving was interrupted.

themes/warnings: smut (18+), the reader is 18 years old and Malachy’s 24 years old, age gap, cursing.

Malachy was inside of his Sabb 900 car waiting in front of a high school that his girlfriend attended. He looked down at his watch checking the time, it was 3:29, and it was only one minute until you got out of school. He heard a faint bell sound and saw kids coming out of the school building.

You quickly pushed the door open and hurriedly walked to search for your boyfriend’s car. Luckily, he parked in front of the school and you spotted it quickly. You saw him smile through the window, which caused your stomach to fill up with butterflies.

He saw you run towards his car and being a nice boyfriend pushing the door open from the inside of the car. You opened it all the way and got inside the car, closing the door right behind her.

“Hello bunny,” He greeted, he called you bunny because whenever you see him you jump like a bunny.

You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him on the lips, not caring about the students watching them. Malachy was caught by surprise but he did not mind it all. He rubs your cheeks with his warm hand and your lips while still kissing his girlfriend.

“I missed you.” You pulled away from the kissing, licking her lips. Malachy gazed at your lips wanting to continue but needed to drive. “Me too, let’s go.” He said to you.

You nodded and sat down properly as she put on her seat belt. Malachy started his car engine and looked at you to see if his girlfriend had her safety belt on. He looks forward to the street and then drives away from the school before school traffic begins.

It was going to be a long drive since you were heading to your place usually after school you guys would head over to his place, and hang out for a while before he took you home. Today was different because Malachy was finally going to meet your parents and have dinner with them.

Your parents knew about Malachy being 5 years older than you. But they don’t mind it all as long as you are happy in the relationship.

“Do your parents know that I am 24 years old, I don’t want them to think a 24-year-old is dating my 18 daughter.” Malachy was nervous to meet your parents. When you brought up that your parents wanted to have dinner with you and your boyfriend.

He was shocked by the words that were coming out of your mouth. He has not met your parents, even though he drops you off later in the day and then drives away.

"Have I ever told you the story of how my parents met?" you asked Malachy, resting your hand on top of his as he gently rubbed your thighs, causing your school shorts to lift back and forth.

Malachy quickly looked at you and gave you a look ‘how is this relevant’ before eyeing back to the road.

“Well, my mother met my father when she was 16 when he was 20. They both started when she turned 18.” You told him. Malachy somehow felt relieved and took a breather. “They are going to love you.” You happily said to Malachy.

You still saw how intense his body was, you did not him to be so intense. You eyed down to his lap where the pants zipper were. You undo your seat belt and turn your body to the side as Malachy’s falls off your thighs.

“What are you doing? Put your seat belt back on, bunny.” Malachy glanced at his girlfriend but you ignored him.

“You seem intense, let me help you.” Your hand guided down to his zipper where. Malachy felt you unzip his pants.

“Bunny, I need to focus on driving.” He lets out a shaking breath trying to focus on the road.

“Then focus.” You looked up with a pleading look and Malachy couldn’t deny it.

You unbuttoned his pants and tugged down with Malachy's help, he lifted his waist making a much to pull off his pants. Not down but down enough for her to take out his member.

Malachy tried to focus on the road but still could not help on get hard to the point that he was oozing in his underwear draws. You slowly take out his cock to see it hard as a rock and his cum already slowly dripping down. You licked your lips at the sight of it.

He could feel the cold breeze of his air conditioner. He quickly hits off the conditioner not wanting to feel the cold breeze and he felt his girlfriend’s soft hand on his cock. Malachy hits his head back on the seating, closing his eyes from the pleasure. You grab the hold of his cock and you opened your mouth then slowly take his cock inch by inch.

Malachy squeezes the steering wheel and continues driving. You bopped your head up and down taking his cock all in, his cock was hitting up your throat. You took it like a champ on going down on him. He hears your small sounds coming out of you making him more horny.

His hand slowly went towards the back of your head and helped you go faster. His stomach was twisted and turning feeling that his cock was going to explode in your mouth. He needed to stop before getting into a crash and parked in the middle of the road turning off the engine of his car. It was a good thing that no cars around them.

Your boyfriend lets out a groan and moans, it’s like music in your ear, he starts lifting his hips and thrusting into your mouth. Tears dropping drop your cheek. He let out a loud moan shooting cum into your mouth. He breathes deeply and tries to calm down. You lift from his cock and swallow his cum and looked at him with her innocent eyes.

“Bunny,” Malachy smirked and grabbed your waist placing you on top of his lap. He lifts your skirt slowly with his large hands and reaches for your black lace underwear.

“Fuck me.” You whispered into his ear. That’s all he needed to hear from you.

He pulled your underwear to the side and guided it down to his cock that already harden. You let out a whimpering sound feeling his member sinking into your clit. He watched you gape your mouth open, allowing him to down your mouth with his tugging.

You rocked your hips back and forth before bouncing on his cock. You moved your mouth down to his neck ducking his neck. Malachy helped you jump harder and faster onto his cock making his car bounce in the rhythm of your jumping.

You and Malachy were at your peak when your eyes saw the back of the car window to see a cop car driving your way.

“Shit, cop car.” Both of you guys and hissed as you lifted from him. You quickly out into your seat and sat down putting your seat belt back on. You wipe your mouth with your long sleeve shirt making no cum left on your face.

Malachy pulled up his pants and dragged down his shirt then quickly started the car before he could start the car. Cop car puts on the flashing lights blue and the sound, and Malachy curses out loud. He glanced at the side mirror to see the cop walking over to the car.

The cop reached over to the window and knocked on the window. Your boyfriend rolled his window and the officer leaned over to the level of the window revealing himself to you and Malachy.

“Sir, you are parked in the middle of the road, you do know that?” The Officer asked him. “Yes, I do know that, officer,” Malachy responded to him. He was silent a few seconds later.

“May I both see your IDs please?” The Officer ordered. You sighed and reached over for your backpack to look for it. Malachy reached for his wallet which was resting on the cup holder.

He gave his ID and you gave him yours. The Officer looked at the IDs and looked back at them.

“I’ll be back.” He stated walking off with your IDs in his hands to his police car.

“Fuck,” Malachy cursed in his hands, nervous as hell. Hoping he does not question why an 18-year-old girl was alone with a 24-year-old man.

“Mal, it’s going to be alright. I’ll just tell him that you’re my uncle.” You suggested to him, he snapped his head to you. “I am not going to lie to the Officer.” He tells you.

Malachy saw the officer walking back from his research.

“Mr. Granger step out of the car please?” The Officer asked Malachy nodded in response taking off his seat belt. You watch him get out of his seat. Shit.

The Officer how nervous the man was. Was there something he was hiding from or hiding something?

“Put your hands behind your head.” The Officer ordered Malachy. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, was he getting arrested for having an 18-year-old girl?

When Malachy placed his hands back off his head the officer saw that his button and zipper from his pants were down.

“Fix your pants.” Malachy looked down at his pants forgetting to zip it back up. He quickly shifted his hands and zipped up his pants.

The Officer turned him around grabbed the cuff from his belt and cuffed his hands. Malachy was going to be arrested and go to jail. You saw what was happening and quickly got out of the car. He saw you get out of the car and he did not want you to interfere.

“Daddy, you’re scaring him.” You blurted out, Malachy's eyes widened after hearing you calling the officer.

“Come on, it’s hilarious.” Your father answered as he un-cuffed your boyfriend from the handcuffs. “W-wait you her father?” He stuttered in his words.

“Yeah. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Y/F/N.” He greeted Malachy extending his hand out for a shake and your boyfriend shook his hand.

“I have to get back to work. Here, I’ll see you guys back home.” He gave you the IDs back and kissed your cheek before heading back to his cop car and driving away.

Malachy and you headed back to his car and got inside. He rubbed his head trying to process what just happened to them.

“Your father is a cop!” Malachy spoke up and you hummed. “Oh god, he knows I was fucking you in this car.” He adds on.

“This dinner is going to be fun.” You giggled and your boyfriend looked at you. Malachy couldn’t help but laugh also and then started driving to your parent’s house.

——————————————

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𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑

"said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me"

Aegon Targaryen II x Reader ; best friends to lovers

summary: aegon and y/n have been inseparable since they were 10, but as they approach adulthood they're confronted by new feelings. this is snippets of their relationship through the years as they explore whether two people can truly grow together, or are they destined to fall apart? because to fall in love with someone else and let himself be loved in return, aegon must first fight his own demons, and do some growing up. warnings: smut, addiction issues, tba. rating: 18+, minors dni

*inspired by one day very very loosely, and peter by taylor swift. title is from peter by taylor swift.

Series Materlist

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5 - coming soon!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 2

Summary: after your last session with Aegon, you always feel him behind your back, when you were at home you could feel him here. And when your next session come, everything just got worse...

Warning: dead animals, just a little sex scene, minors DNI.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language and I wrote this at 2 AM alone in the home. So I'm sorry if it's not good, I was scared and I couldn't think. Here's Part 1. Hope you enjoy!

That night, sleep came slowly to Y/N. The room felt colder than usual, the darkness pressing in from all sides. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind against the window sent her heart racing. She pulled the blankets tighter around her, trying to convince herself that Aegon’s words had just been that—a mind game, an attempt to unsettle her. But the weight of his gaze from earlier lingered like a ghost in the room.

He didn’t actually watch me, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. He was just trying to freak me out, trying to get into my head. That’s what he does.

But as soon as she closed her eyes, she imagined him standing outside her window, staring in at her with that unsettling intensity. She quickly opened them again, staring at the window across from her bed. The curtains fluttered slightly in the breeze, and for a moment, her mind played tricks on her, imagining a shadow behind them.

There’s no one there, she repeated to herself. He’s not here. He can’t be here.

She forced herself to roll over, turning her back to the window. But that only made her feel more vulnerable. What if he was watching her now, right behind her? She cursed under her breath, her skin prickling with the sense of being observed.

He’s not here. You’re safe. He just wanted to mess with you. That’s all.

But the thought looped in her head, becoming harder to shake. Every sound in the house became magnified—the creak of the pipes, the hum of the fridge, the rustle of leaves outside. Everything felt threatening. She tried focusing on her breathing, counting each inhale and exhale, forcing her mind to calm.

You’re a professional, she reminded herself, staring at the faint light coming through the crack in the curtains. You’ve dealt with difficult clients before. He’s no different.

But deep down, she knew Aegon was different. He was more than difficult—he was dangerous, unpredictable. The way he looked at her, the way he spoke about that dove, about watching her through the window... it was unsettling in a way that no other client had ever been. And that was what made it so hard to shake.

Hours passed before she finally drifted into a restless sleep, her mind plagued by half-formed dreams of shadows and cold eyes staring through the night.

The next morning, she walked to her office with a persistent unease in her chest. The street felt too quiet, and she found herself glancing over her shoulder every few steps, expecting to see Aegon trailing behind her. But there was no one. Just the usual early morning foot traffic—people heading to work, students with their heads buried in their phones.

He’s not here, she told herself again, quickening her pace. He’s not following you. You’re just being paranoid.

But every time she turned a corner, her heart leapt into her throat, expecting to catch a glimpse of his familiar figure. She tried to shake off the paranoia, but it clung to her like a second skin.

When she finally reached her office building, she sighed in relief, stepping quickly inside. The familiar scent of the lobby, the hum of the elevator, the bright, sterile lighting—everything felt like a small refuge from the gnawing anxiety that had been following her all morning.

But the moment she stepped into her office and closed the door, the unease returned. Her eyes immediately darted to the window, checking for any sign of movement outside. There was nothing—just the trees swaying gently in the breeze, the distant sound of traffic.

He’s not watching you, she reminded herself for what felt like the hundredth time. He’s just trying to scare you, and it’s working. Don’t let him get to you.

But even as she tried to focus on her work, her mind kept wandering back to Aegon. His strange, possessive words about the dove. The way he described wanting to clip its wings, to keep it trapped and close. It echoed in her head, too close to how he might feel about her. She shuddered at the thought, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for her coffee.

Later, as the day turned to evening and she walked home, the unease intensified. The shadows stretched longer, darker, and with every step, she felt like someone was just a few paces behind her. She forced herself to keep walking, telling herself not to look back.

He’s not there, she repeated, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. It’s just your imagination. He’s not following you.

But the urge to turn around became too much. She quickly glanced over her shoulder, her breath catching in her throat.

No one. The street behind her was empty, save for a few distant cars and pedestrians.

Her heart raced as she turned back, walking faster now, nearly breaking into a jog. She couldn’t shake the feeling, no matter how hard she tried. The shadows felt alive, watching her, waiting for her to let her guard down. And it was getting harder and harder to convince herself that it was just paranoia.

When she finally reached her apartment, she slammed the door shut behind her, locking it quickly. Her hands were shaking as she leaned against the door, trying to calm her breathing.

It’s over. You’re home. He’s not here. You’re safe.

But even as she said the words, she didn’t fully believe them. Every creak of the apartment, every shadow cast by the dim evening light seemed to take on a new, more sinister meaning. She jumped at the slightest movement, her nerves frayed beyond reason.

As she sat down on the couch, she glanced at the window, half-expecting to see Aegon’s face staring back at her from the street below. But it was empty, just the soft glow of streetlights outside.

He’s not watching you, she repeated to herself, her voice barely a whisper. He’s not watching you.

But the creeping feeling of being observed refused to leave, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere, somehow, Aegon was watching—waiting for the right moment to make his next move.

A week had passed since their last session, but it felt like months to Y/N. Every day, her unease grew, festering like a wound that refused to heal. The feeling of being watched never fully left her; shadows felt longer, eyes sharper. No matter how much she told herself it was just in her head, there was always a faint whisper of doubt in the back of her mind.

Now, sitting in her office once again, facing the man who had been haunting her thoughts, she forced herself to breathe. Aegon was different today. His usual agitation, the relentless tapping of his leg and biting of his nails, was absent. Instead, he sat eerily still, his eyes fixed on the wall to her left, as if he was watching something that she couldn’t see. His lips moved faintly, a soft, tuneless whisper escaping them. She strained her ears to catch it but could only make out fragments of sound—a hum, almost like a lullaby.

The silence in the room felt thick, oppressive, and she had to fight the urge to shift in her seat, to break the suffocating quiet.

I have to ask, she told herself, steeling her nerves. You have to confront him about last week. You can’t let him think he can do whatever he wants.

She took a deep breath and spoke, trying to keep her voice calm, even though her heart was pounding in her chest. "Aegon, last time we spoke, you mentioned something… odd. You said I looked good last night… in my pajamas." Her voice faltered slightly at the memory, but she forced herself to continue. "I need to ask, what did you mean by that?"

Aegon didn’t respond. He didn’t even seem to hear her. His eyes remained glued to the wall, his lips still moving faintly, whispering that strange song to himself. His hands rested on his knees, the skin pale and bruised, nails ragged from relentless chewing.

"Aegon?" she pressed, her voice tightening as her nerves frayed. "What did you mean?"

He stopped humming, but his gaze remained unfocused, distant, as if he were somewhere far away. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally spoke, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion. "Sunfyre died this week."

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "Your… your cat?"

Aegon nodded slowly, still staring at the wall. "He was my only friend. The only one who understood." His voice was monotone, lifeless, as though the words were being dragged out of him.

"I’m… I’m sorry to hear that," Y/N said cautiously, watching his expression for any sign of reaction. But there was nothing. His face remained blank, his eyes never leaving the invisible point on the wall.

"He was beautiful," Aegon continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Golden fur. Like the sun. That’s why I called him Sunfyre. He was always warm. Always there."

Y/N swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. There was something deeply unsettling about the way Aegon spoke—as if he was detached from the world around him, floating somewhere she couldn’t reach.

"And now," he murmured, his voice taking on a strange, almost dreamy quality, "he’s gone. And there’s just… noises." He finally blinked, but his gaze remained distant, as if the room had become too small for him. "The noises never stop."

"What… what noises?" Y/N asked cautiously, her fingers gripping the armrests of her chair, trying to steady herself. Something in the pit of her stomach twisted.

"Them," Aegon replied vaguely, tilting his head slightly as if listening for something. "The whispers. The sounds in the walls. They’re everywhere now, you know? After Sunfyre… they got louder. He used to keep them away, but now there’s nothing. Just them. Always talking. Always laughing." His face twitched for the briefest moment, as if suppressing a shiver.

Y/N’s heart started to race again, an icy chill creeping down her spine. "Aegon… have you… have you spoken to anyone about these noises? Has this been happening for a long time?"

"They’ve always been there," he said in the same flat, detached voice. "But it’s worse now. It’s like they’re closer. Watching me all the time. Telling me things." His eyes, still glued to the wall, seemed to glaze over. "I try not to listen, but sometimes… sometimes they make sense."

Her throat felt dry, but she forced herself to ask, "What do they tell you?"

Aegon’s lips curled into a slow, unsettling smile. It was the first time he’d smiled since he entered the room, and it was chilling. "They tell me the truth. About everything. About you."

Her blood ran cold at his words, her mind racing as she tried to keep her expression neutral. "What… what do you mean, Aegon?"

"They tell me how beautiful you are," he whispered, his eyes still locked on that invisible point on the wall. "How you care about me. How you don’t want me to leave. They tell me how you wear that soft panty to bed. The one with the little flowers on it."

Her heart stopped. How does he know? How?

She felt light-headed, her vision blurring at the edges as panic surged through her veins. "Aegon… how do you know what I wear?"

He didn’t answer. Instead, he tilted his head again, listening, as though someone was whispering in his ear. Then, with an eerie calmness, he said, "The voices see everything."

Y/N’s hands trembled as she gripped the chair tighter. "Aegon, I need you to focus. What do you mean the voices see everything?"

"They watch. They’re always watching," he replied, finally turning his head to face her, his gaze locking onto hers. His eyes were wide, unblinking, and filled with a strange, manic intensity that made her heart lurch in fear. "Just like I do. Just like I watch."

The room suddenly felt much smaller, the walls closing in around her. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to run, to leave, but her legs felt frozen in place.

"Sunfyre used to keep them away," Aegon continued, his voice a low murmur now. "But he’s gone. Now there’s just me. And you."

She couldn’t speak. Her chest tightened, her thoughts a jumble of fear and confusion. She had to end the session. She had to get out.

But before she could move, the clock on the wall chimed, signaling the end of their time.

Aegon stood up slowly, still smiling, his eyes never leaving her. "I’ll see you next week," he said softly, his voice dripping with a sickening sweetness.

And with that, he walked out of the room, leaving Y/N sitting in her chair, frozen in place, the echoes of his words reverberating in her mind.

The voices see everything.

The second Aegon left her office, she felt the walls pressing in, the whispers of doubt clawing at her. She packed up quickly, her hands trembling as she stuffed her notebook into her bag and threw on her coat. All she wanted—needed—was to get out.

By the time she reached her apartment, her fingers shook as she fumbled with her keys, her heart still hammering in her chest. As soon as she was inside, she slammed the door shut and bolted it, leaning her back against the wood as she tried to steady her breathing.

It’s just in your head, she told herself, her voice shaky and uncertain. He’s just a patient. He’s just trying to get under your skin. He’s not watching you… he’s not.

But the fear lingered. His words replayed in her mind, twisting around her thoughts like a poison.

With trembling hands, she pulled out her phone and dialed the number she knew by heart. It only took two rings before she heard the familiar voice on the other end.

“Hey, babe,” her boyfriend, Jacob, answered. His tone light and warm. “Everything okay?”

“No…” Y/N’s voice broke as the word slipped out. “Can you come over? Please. I—I need you.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be right there.”

The next twenty minutes felt like an eternity. She paced around her apartment, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on her chest. She kept checking the windows, the corners of the room, every shadow stretching a little too far, every creak of the floorboards making her jump.

When the knock finally came, she practically ran to the door. As soon as she opened it, she fell into his arms, her body trembling with the weight of it all.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Jacob murmured, holding her tightly. His hand gently stroked her hair as he guided her back inside, shutting the door behind them. “I’m here. What happened?”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “It’s… it’s Aegon. My patient. He—he said these things and I don’t know, it’s just… he knows things, things he shouldn’t know.”

Her voice broke as she recounted the details, her words spilling out in a frantic rush. She told him everything—Aegon’s strange behavior, his fixation, the way he talked about her. The voices. The watching.

Jacob listened, his face calm and reassuring as he nodded. “Babe, I think you’re just stressed. This guy… he’s messing with you because he knows it’ll get to you.”

“I don’t know…” she whispered, wiping at her eyes. “It felt so real.”

“I know, I know it did.” He pulled her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. “But you’re letting him get in your head. He’s trying to make you scared, but you can’t let him win, okay?”

She nodded against his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt. “You’re right. You’re right… it’s just in my head.”

“That’s all it is,” he said softly, his hands running soothingly down her back. “Just some creepy guy trying to push your buttons. But you’re stronger than that. You can handle it.”

His calm, rational voice slowly chipped away at the terror inside her. She breathed deeply, letting herself believe his words, clinging to them like a lifeline. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I needed that.”

“I’m here,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Always.”

The tension in her chest began to unravel as she melted into his embrace. Slowly, the fear that had gripped her all week loosened its hold. He was right. Aegon was just trying to get under her skin. Nothing more.

He pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on her shoulders. “How about we forget all about this guy, huh? Let’s just relax.”

She nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Yeah… yeah, that sounds good.”

Without another word, he took her hand and led her toward the bathroom. The warm steam from the shower enveloped them as they stepped inside, the water cascading over their skin, washing away the remnants of the day’s tension.

He pulled her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. She responded, her hands sliding up his chest, the heat of the water matching the growing warmth between them. His touch was gentle but sure, his hands slowly roaming over her body as he deepened the kiss.

In that moment, the world outside didn’t matter. Not Aegon, not the fear, not the shadows that had haunted her all week. There was only him, the steady reassurance of his presence.

As they moved to the bed, their wet skin still warm from the shower, he kissed her neck, his hands sliding between her legs, slowly caressing her. She gasped softly, her body responding to the comfort and distraction he offered.

He kissed her deeply, and as his hands roamed over her, she closed her eyes, letting herself forget everything. For just a moment, she let herself believe that everything was okay.

The weight of Jacob's arm draped over her gave Y/N a sense of temporary calm, her mind finally lulled into a fragile state of rest after the events of the week. The sheets clung to their bodies, still damp from the shared heat, their limbs intertwined in a way that made her feel, for the first time in days, safe. Protected.

But that safety shattered in an instant.

A loud crash from the other side of the apartment jolted them awake. The sound of breaking glass ripped through the silence like a scream, sharp and sudden. Y/N shot up in bed, her heart pounding so fast it felt like it would burst out of her chest. Her boyfriend sat up beside her, his hand instinctively reaching for her.

"What the hell was that?" he whispered, his voice low, urgent.

"IーI don't know," Y/N stammered, already pulling the blanket around her naked body, her hands trembling as she clutched the fabric tightly. Fear crawled up her spine like a cold hand, squeezing her chest. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

Jacob swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing a nearby lamp as a makeshift weapon. "Stay behind me," he said, his voice grim as he stood, leading the way out of the bedroom.

They crept down the hallway, the air thick with tension, their breaths shallow and uneven. The soft click of the floorboards under their feet was deafening in the oppressive silence that followed the crash. Y/N tightened the blanket around her, the fabric dragging across the floor as she followed behind, her senses on high alert, every shadow on the walls seeming to twist and warp into something sinister.

The moment they stepped into the living room, the metallic tang of blood hit her like a punch to the gut. She froze.

"Oh my God..." her boyfriend whispered, the words barely audible, as his gaze swept over the scene before them.

Doves. Dead doves, strewn across the floor like discarded dolls. Their once-beautiful white feathers were soaked in blood, their delicate wings from their bodies, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Some of them were headless, their necks bent at grotesque angles, the floor slick with their blood. Their wings were now broken, shredded, discarded in small, crumpled heaps.

The smell was overwhelming, suffocating. The stench of death and blood filled the air, thick and coppery, clinging to their skin like a second layer. Y/N gagged, one hand flying to her mouth as bile rose in her throat. Her eyes were wide with horror as she stared at the carnage before her.

It wasn't just the doves.

The walls were splattered with blood- thick, dark red streaks of it, smeared in long, jagged lines. Words. Horrible, terrifying words written in the blood of the doves.

"MINE"

"LEAVE"

"ALWAYS WATCHING"

The writing was erratic, desperate, the letters dripping down the walls like some kind of twisted arning. The word “MINE" was repeated over and over again, sometimes scrawled so large it stretched from floor to ceiling, other times tiny, scratched into the plaster as if done by someone who had lost control.

The words clawed at her brain, a primal panic bubbling up from the depths of her mind. They weren't just words-they were a threat, a message, twisted and dark, filled with rage. Her chest tightened, her breath coming in shallow gasps as her eyes scanned the room, wild and terrified.

"What the fuck.." her boyfriend whispered, his voice trembling now, his grip tightening around the lamp. "What the fuck is this?"

Y/N's legs were shaking, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her as she stumbled backward. Her eyes darted to the window, and that's when she saw him.

A figure in the shadows, standing just outside the glass, watching her.

Aegon.

His pale, hollow face was half-hidden by the darkness, but his eyes一those wild, burning eyes一were locked onto hers, unblinking. There was something feral in the way he stood, the way his lips twisted into a sickening smile as he stared at her, his head tilted at a strange, unnatural angle, like a predator stalking its prey.

She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Her throat was dry, her voice stolen by the sheer terror of the moment. Her body felt frozen, paralyzed, unable to move, unable to breathe.

Her boyfriend's voice cut through the fog of her panic. "What is it? What do you see?"

She tore her eyes away from the window, grabbing his arm with trembling hands. "He's here" she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "He's outside... it's him..."

Her boyfriend whipped his head toward the window, but by the time he looked, Aegon was gone. The shadowy figure had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but the echo of his presence behind.

"I don't see anything," he said, his voice laced with confusion andfear. “There's no one there."

"No-no, I saw him!" Y/N insisted, her voice rising with hysteria. "He was there! I swear to God, he was right there, watching us!"

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her as she trembled violently. "It's okay, it's okay. We'll call the cops. Someone broke in, this... this is some fucked-up shit, but we'll figure it out. He's not here anymore."

She nodded weakly, her mind spinning with confusion and terror. Her eyes kept darting back to the window, expecting to see those cold, unblinking eyes staring back at her. But the space was empty now, just an expanse of darkness and the dull glow of streetlights outside.

Jacob pulled out his phone and dialed the police, his voice low and urgent as he explained the situation. Y/N barely heard him, her thoughts swirling in a chaotic whirlwind of fear and disbelief.

The words on the walls seemed to pulse in the corner of her vision, the blood dripping down in slow, thick rivulets: MINE. LEAVE.

Her stomach twisted into knots, her entire body shaking as she collapsed into the nearest chair, her legs giving out beneath her. The doves lay scattered around her feet, their lifeless eyes staring up at her, empty and soulless.

She couldn't escape it.

No matter how hard she tried to convince herself it wasn't real, that Aegon wasn't capable of such madness, the truth was there-painted in blood across her walls.

This wasn't just in her head. This was real. Too real.

“There’s not much we can do without evidence,” one of the officers had said, his voice neutral but with an edge of doubt. “But we can check on him, just to ease your mind.”

And so, at 3 AM, Y/N, Jacob, and the two officers found themselves standing outside the grand Targaryen estate. The imposing house loomed before them, bathed in the glow of the moon, its towering facade as cold and uninviting as the man who lived inside. Y/N’s heart was pounding in her chest, her skin crawling with unease as they rang the bell.

It didn’t take long for the door to open.

Alicent stood in the doorway, her face pinched with confusion and irritation, her robe wrapped tightly around her. She looked from the officers to Y/N and her boyfriend, then back again. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Officers," Alicent greeted politely, though her voice held an edge of irritation. "May I help you?"

Y/N’s voice shook as she stepped forward. “It’s Aegon. He’s been stalking me—he came to my apartment tonight. He left… dead birds everywhere, and he wrote on the walls with blood. He’s been following me. Watching me.”

“I’m sorry, but what is this about?” Alicent’s eyes flicked between Y/N, her boyfriend, and the officers. “This must be a misunderstanding.”

“No, it’s not a misunderstanding!” Y/N yelled, her voice breaking as tears welled up in her eyes. “He broke into my apartment. There were doves—dead doves—and blood… He’s been following me, watching me! He’s dangerous!”

Her boyfriend squeezed her hand gently, trying to pull her back, but she yanked away, pointing toward the door. “You have to believe me! Aegon is sick—he needs to be locked up! He’s not right in the head!”

Alicent’s face hardened. “That’s impossible. Aegon’s been here all night.”

The officers exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to proceed.

Alicent’s eyes flicked to the officers, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “My son would never do something like that. He’s not… unwell. He’s just dealing with some personal things.”

Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribcage as rage and fear bubbled inside her, her voice rising as she lost control. “He’s a fucking psycho, and he’s trying to ruin my life! He’s stalking me, and you’re just covering for him!”

“Ma’am,” one of the officers cut in, stepping forward to intervene, “let’s all remain calm. We’re here to investigate, but we need to speak to Aegon himself.”

At that moment, the sound of footsteps echoed down the grand staircase.

Aegon appeared, descending slowly, rubbing his eyes as though he had just woken from a peaceful slumber. He wore a loose-fitting T-shirt and pajama pants, his blonde hair mussed, his expression calm, and his movements casual, almost lazy. He looked nothing like the manic, disturbed man Y/N had seen just hours before.

“Is everything alright?” Aegon asked, his voice quiet, soft, laced with concern. His eyes scanned the group, lingering on Y/N for a moment before turning to the officers. “What’s going on?”

Y/N felt a wave of nausea wash over her. How could he look so normal? She knew what he was—she had seen him, heard his madness—but now, he was playing the part of the innocent. She could feel herself unraveling, her emotions spilling out uncontrollably.

Her blood boiled at the sight of his calm, innocent facade. He wasn’t the same Aegon she had sat across from in therapy—the one who whispered disturbing things and stared at her with dark, empty eyes. This Aegon seemed so harmless, almost apologetic, as if none of the horrors from earlier could be traced back to him.

"Do you know this woman, sir?" one of the officers asked, gesturing to Y/N, who was on the verge of collapsing under the weight of it all.

Aegon blinked slowly, his expression softening into something almost pitiful. “Yes, she's…my therapist," he said, his voice low and even, a hint of sadness laced into his words. "But…I'm not really sure why she’s here.”

One of the officers stepped forward. “Sir, we’re here following a report. This woman has made some serious claims about your involvement in an incident tonight. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

Aegon’s face contorted into an expression of confusion, concern knitting his brow as he blinked at the officers. “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” he said, his voice even, smooth. “I’ve been here all night. I haven’t left the house.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes going wide. “What? No—no, don’t act like this! You know exactly what you did, Aegon! You’ve been following me! You were in my apartment tonight! I saw you!”

Aegon shook his head slowly, his eyes filled with what looked like genuine confusion. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I was home all night. I would never do something like that.” He turned to the officers. “I’ve been going through a hard time. I recently…broke up with my girlfriend, and I started seeing Y/N to help me deal with the depression. But…I don’t know where all of this is coming from.”

“He’s lying!” Y/N screamed, stepping forward, her whole body shaking with anger. “He’s making it all up! He’s dangerous—he’s not the person you think he is!”

Aegon didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped closer to the officers, his face calm, composed, but his voice took on a vulnerable tone. “I think… I think maybe she’s upset because I didn’t reciprocate her feelings.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror. “What the fuck are you talking about? That’s not true!”

Aegon glanced at the officers, feigning embarrassment. “She…she made some advances during our sessions. I told her that it wasn’t appropriate, but I think she may have misinterpreted our relationship. Maybe she’s just mad that I didn’t…you know, return her feelings.”

Y/N’s world spun. The rage and helplessness surged inside her like a storm, the bile rising in her throat. “That’s a lie! You’re lying! You need to stop lying!” She lunged forward, her hands reaching for Aegon in a desperate attempt to stop him from spinning the truth any further, but her boyfriend grabbed her, pulling her back.

“Stop it, Y/N!” he pleaded, holding her tightly as she fought to break free. “Just stop!”

Aegon’s face twisted into something almost sad. “I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to ruin her reputation, but…I’m worried about her. I think she’s struggling with some personal issues, and that’s why she’s saying all of this.”

The officers looked back at Y/N, their expressions unreadable, but she could feel their judgment. It was like a weight pressing down on her chest, suffocating her. They didn’t believe her. No one believed her.

“You’re fucking sick!” Y/N screamed, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face. “You should be in a mental hospital! You—” She was hysterical now, her words a broken mess of sobs and fury. “You did this! You—”

“Ma’am, we need you to calm down,” one of the officers said sternly, stepping between her and Aegon. “We’ll handle this, but we need you to calm down.”

“I’m telling the truth!” Y/N cried, her voice raw and desperate. “He’s dangerous! He’s going to hurt me! He’s—”

But no one was listening. Not her boyfriend, not the police, and certainly not Alicent, who stood behind her son, a look of quiet satisfaction on her face as she watched the scene unfold.

Aegon rubbed his eyes again, stifling a yawn as if all of this was just an inconvenience, just a bad dream he would soon wake from. “I just want to go back to bed,” he said softly, looking at the officers with pleading eyes. “I promise I’m not who she says I am. I just…I just want to move on.”

The officers nodded, exchanging a glance before turning back to Y/N.

“I think it’s best if we leave now, ma’am,” one of them said gently, but firmly. “We’ll follow up on this, but…for now, you should go home and try to get some rest.”

Y/N’s heart sank. She had lost. She had been defeated by his lies, by his calm demeanor, by the illusion of normalcy he had created.

Her boyfriend wrapped an arm around her, guiding her back toward the door. Her legs felt like lead, her body drained of all strength, her mind clouded with fear. But as they stepped outside, she turned back for one last look at Aegon.

And that’s when she saw it.

His eyes were wide now, bright and burning with a terrifying intensity. He stared at her, unblinking, a slow, twisted smile creeping onto his lips. And then, with a single finger pressed against his lips, he made a silent gesture.

Shhh...

Should I make a part 3?

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

the heir and the wolf

summary: Being Rhaenyra Targaryen's heir is a difficult thing, but what happens when you also become one of the Realm's most prized posessions?

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader, reader x platonic targs/velaryon

i. the dear daughter (2.8k) - At one-and-twenty and eight-and-ten, barely a year after their marriage, Ser Laenor Velaryon and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen welcomed their first child, a daughter, into the world. The girl immediately became dear to the whole court, coddled and spoiled by all, but mostly by her grandsire, King Viserys I. The man saw in his granddaughter her mother, and as the girl grew to look like his late wife, Aemma Arryn, it became even clearer that he doted on her more than he did to his own children or his other grandchildren.

ii. about children and trouble (8.2k) - It is reported that in the year 121 AC, when the Realm’s Jewel was only six summers old, her hatchling Merrax was eaten by the Cannibal in a strange turn of events that found him moving from Dragonstone to the Dragonpit in King’s Landing. Princess Rhaenyra demanded to have the dragon’s head cut, but as nobody ever tried nor dared to get close to the Cannibal, it was impossible to do it. Thus, her daughter took the matters into her own hands.

iii. little big lady (5.0k) - Court whispers tell us that during her third pregnancy, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen was particularly sensitive. She managed to cover it up pretty well, apparently, but she had one weak spot: her daughter, her firstborn and heir, who later on witnessed her little brother Prince Joffrey's birth by request of her mother. Despite openly disliking the experience, it is said that the Realm’s Jewel insisted on being present to future labours in case things went downhill — and she did, attending her mother in giving birth to all her future children.

iv. dragons' scars (6.4k) - And after the events that happened during Lady Laena’s funeral at Driftmark, two dragons were left scarred.

v. you'll change your name or change your mind (and leave this fucked up place behind) (5.3k) - When the King’s Justice — the royal executioner — died, the Realm’s Jewel proposed a perfect replacement: Nādrēsy, her dragon, the infamous Cannibal. Even if many eyebrows were raised at the Small Council, the King hastily agreed, happy to have an excuse for keeping his granddaughter close to him, even if it was for only a few days every moon. Or, as it always ended up, for a bit more than that.

vi. but I'll know, I'll know (tbd) - At the ripe age of ten, the Realm’s Jewel was nominated by her grandsire the King, despite all the protests of the Small Council, the official Royal Ambassador; thus, her voyages throughout the Seven Kingdoms started, and yet another nickname was forged for her by the Smallfolk: the Wandering Princess.

more to come!

extras:

pinterest board | spotify playlist

snippet cut from chapter three

sneak peak at reader and cregan's baby number #1

memes tag

the dragons from nādrēsy's perspective

the time line

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞…𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒.𝟗𝐤

𝐀𝐍: 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲'𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐜. 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞

𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It’s the faint, purposeful thump of leather boots on stone that pulls you somewhat lethargically from the crinkled tome before you. A deep breath, a relieving stretch of tired muscles, an exhausted slump over the ornate marble table. An empty moment passes, followed blissfully by several more, and then reality crashes back around you like a peal of thunder. 

Fuck.

The roaring fire that had been dancing and crackling merrily in the grate to your right has long since turned to ash, and the library is now illuminated in a pearly glow rather than a golden glimmer. 

You’ve done it again. 

Groggily, you run your hands over your tired face, caring little that they’re likely spotted with ink stains. You had promised him this wouldn’t happen anymore. He had been vocal on how it displeased him to find you shivering in the library at absurd hours of the night, and you had promised that you would bring your studies to your chamber once the moon began to climb. 

And you had kept that promise.

Well, until tonight. 

Tonight, the High Valyrian text has kept you stubbornly in your seat. It’s complex and dense and has evaded your blossoming translation skills for the better part of the evening. You had desperately wanted to make your husband proud - you had envisioned yourself returning triumphantly to your chambers able to boast that, even with your own patchy translation skills, you had managed to untangle the seemingly endless sentences.

The gods, it seems, are not looking upon you with favour.

A fresh wave of irritation bubbles within you. The text before you feels mocking in its complexity and you’re briefly overcome with the urge to tear the delicate pages from the spine.

The burning vexation with your husband’s mother tongue, though, doesn’t stay with you long.

The heavy footsteps that had broken through your studious stupor continue to grow louder as they approach the doors, and, unsurprisingly, it takes only moments before your heart feels as though it’s trying to echo their rhythm.

Because those footsteps are familiar and they can mean only one thing. 

Aemond has come looking for you.

The knowledge of such a simple fact sends excitement surging through your blood like a bolt of lightning. In your mind's eye you can picture your husband prowling around the castle in search of you, and growing increasingly frustrated when you continue to evade him. In truth, you really hadn’t intended to displease him, but, given how you’ve quickly become the prize at the end of a hunt, it’s impossible not to eagerly anticipate your discovery. 

You’re close to giddy when the colossal doors to the library finally heave open, but you force your eyes back to the pages strewn haphazardly across the table, feigning a deep interest in the intricate text. Even when the doors ease closed and Aemond’s determined footsteps come to a gradual stop at the opposite end of the table you still don’t look up, biting back the smile that’s threatening to unfurl across your lips. 

The seconds continue to tick by, the tendentious quiet of the library only broken by the sound of your own heart pounding in your chest. Under your husband’s heavy gaze - because you can feel how intently he’s watching you - you fight the urge to fidget, to nervously tap at the table, to do anything to channel the excitement that’s furiously rushing through you. 

Of course, it’s Aemond who finally breaks the silence. 

“The hour grows late and our bed grows cold,” he says in that silken smooth voice. “Haven’t I told you how it displeases me to find you here so late? I do not relish the thought of my wife freezing to death in a library chair.” 

The excitement bubbling through you finally escapes in a loud burst of laughter. You raise your head to look at him, but your smile only grows wider at the serious expression on his handsome face. “We are far from the ice of the North, husband, and the fire has only just died. It would seem I have cheated death once more.”

Aemond’s face remains impassive, but you don’t miss how his lips quirk with the ghost of an amused smile. His eye stays trained on you as he walks the length of the table, only stopping once he’s close enough to reach out and take your hand in his. The warmth of it seeps pleasantly into your cool skin, and, with that, you know he’s caught you.

“Do you think me a fool?” he asks quietly, tracing his thumb slowly over your knuckles. 

“I do not,” you answer, suddenly now craving the warmth of his embrace.

He hums a response, then turns his attention to the array of books covering most of the marble topped table. “And what is it that is keeping my wife so infuriatingly out of my reach tonight?” He asks, picking up a book at random to scan the page. “High Valyrian? I hadn’t realised you were so inclined, my love.” 

You offer him your sweetest smile. “How else am I to whisper filth in your ear when we break bread with our neighbours? I know how tiresome you find the ceremony of Court, I only wish to make it more tolerable as any good wife would.” 

Aemond smirks and tosses the heavy tome carelessly back atop the others. “Indeed? And how far has my little scholar progressed in her endeavour?” 

“A fair amount, though some parts are proving to be more challenging than others,” you admit. 

It’s impossible to hide the tinge of shame that wraps around your words. Your husband speaks High Valyrian beautifully and with an ease that you’ve long been jealous of. Each word of the ancient language drops from his lips as naturally as rain from the skies, all while your own meager attempts have been clunky and awkward. You know Aemond would never taunt you for it, but the embarrassment and frustration still burn like dragonfire within you. 

“Mhm.” It’s the only response he offers before placing your hand back in your lap. 

With the practiced ease of a seasoned predator, your husband takes the few remaining steps to stand directly behind your chair and places two large hands upon your shoulders. “Mayhaps you need a tutor? It would be a sin to let such a brilliant mind go to waste, no?” He poses the question quietly, almost innocently, but you know him well enough to hear the not so subtle ripple of debauchery beneath every word. 

You shift slightly on the velvet cushions as a pleasant tingle gradually fizzes to life between your thighs. 

“Mayhaps I do,” you answer thoughtfully, fighting not to react when the soft pads of his thumbs begin to trace the exposed skin of your shoulders. “Who do you propose, my prince?”

It’s a ridiculous question, you know, but you’ll happily play his game tonight. Already, your need for him is burning a fiery trail beneath your skin. Tonight you’ll be his, however he wants you.

As if there were any other option.

You hear the soft rustle of clothing, feel the familiar caress of blonde hair on your shoulder, and then Aemond’s forehead is resting against your temple. “Someone who understands how to properly motivate you.” His teeth nip playfully at your earlobe, and you’re powerless to stop the breathless moan that floats like a dream from your lungs. 

Your head hits the gilded back of the chair in tandem with one hand curling around the edges of the mahogany armrest. The other tangles loosely into Aemond’s hair in an attempt to guide his lips back to your neck, the eager tilt of your head a silent plea to your husband to begin his assault. It matters little that you’re in the library, that anyone could easily push their way through those doors and catch your shameless tryst. Such is your need for Aemond you’d happily let the entire kingdom watch as he made you his. 

The tip of his regal nose traces a faint line along the sensitive skin of your neck, and you hold your breath in wait for the press of his lips on your throat, but they don’t come. Your brow furrows, followed almost instantly by a soft whine tumbling quietly into the silence of the library. All until you feel your husband’s hot breath against your cheek. 

“Translate,” Aemond murmurs softly in your ear. “Kostilus bodmagho nyke, valzȳrys.”

Your mind grasps quickly at the threads of words, hastily weaving them together in what you pray is the right answer. “Please teach me, husband.” 

“Mm, good,” he replies simply, and your reward is the feel of his lips on your neck as he sucks his mark into your skin. 

Your sharp cry of pleasure echoes through the columns of the library, and melts swiftly into a shameful moan when you feel the wet heat of your husband’s tongue against your skin. Your hand twists deeper into his hair in another desperate attempt to pull him closer, because you always need him closer. Aemond is your heaven and your hell, he’s your every sinful thought brought to life, and you’d happily drown in him if given the chance. 

“Husband, please,” you breathe out, your head now fully resting on your shoulder and eyes fluttering closed. 

You never tire of your husband’s affections, whether they be brief and fleeting or whether they have you moaning his name long into the night. Each touch of his hands or press of his lips only makes you crave him more.

You can never get enough of him, but, this time, your desperate pleas go unanswered. 

Aemond untangles himself from you before you can draw breath to object. Instantly, you miss the comforting warmth and familiar weight of him draped around your shoulders, and you turn to him with betrayal shining in your eyes. Your husband only reaches for your hand with that perpetual smirk curling on his lips. With ease, he pulls you from your nest of cushions in a twirl of skirts so he can settle back comfortably in the chair. Just as easily he tugs you forward, guiding you closer until you can go no further, until you have no choice but to straddle him and feel the heavy weight of his hands resting low on your hips. 

“Mhm. Much better,” he purrs, pressing against your hips to slide you closer. 

The scent of him wraps around you like a favourite blanket - smoke and leather and, somewhere deep underneath, the faint, sweet smell of cinnamon. 

It’s Aemond. 

It’s home.

Loosely, you drape your arms around his neck, letting your fingers idly play with errant strands of blonde hair. “I must admit that I have never known my tutors to be so familiar with their students,” you tease him, watching the smirk grow on his face. 

Aemond’s lilac eye twinkles softly at you, and then his thumb and forefinger reach out to gently pinch your chin. “I should like to think not, wife, or they may find themselves soon without their heads.”

Your fingers curl into the soft material of his jerkin as something hot and primal stirs to life in the pit of your stomach. This is no idle jest; your husband is dangerously possessive of what he perceives to be his, and if some poor soul were to get too familiar…

His possessiveness doesn’t frighten you. Rather, it makes you crave him so deeply that you feel the ache right down to your bones. You need this man like you need the air that fills your lungs, and, instinctively, you begin to rock against the thick material covering his thighs. 

Aemond chuckles low in his throat, curling his hands tightly round your hips to hold you in place. His grip is like steel - hard and unyielding - and you know that tonight your release will not be easily granted.

He studies you silently and with such intensity that you wonder if he can hear the pounding of your heart. You feel his fingers dig into your hips - a warning in itself - and then he shifts his thigh beneath you at just the right angle to brush teasingly against your aching core. 

“Aemond, please!”

He quirks an eyebrow at your plea, but, infuriatingly, makes no move to offer any relief. “Zaldrīzes,” he says quietly, holding your gaze with that beautiful lilac eye. When several moments pass and fail to say a word, that familiar smirk pulls across his face. “Mhm. Mayhaps you tire after your hours of study, wife.” He makes as though to lift you from his lap, but, at the final second, the last piece of the puzzle slots into place. 

“No!” You cry out, not the least bit ashamed at how desperate you sound. “Dragon. That’s what you said, isn’t it?” 

Aemond relaxes back against the chair, lilac eye flashing with satisfaction. “Good,” he says simply, and you feel his large hands run along the length of your back and along your shoulders until he’s cupping your head firmly between them

His lips are warm as they meet yours and the sheer force of his kiss takes you by surprise. You melt into him easily, letting your own hunger for this man guide your lips. Your fingers tangle greedily into his hair, and every inch of you screams more, more, more.  Aemond’s kiss is slow and deep and lasts nowhere near long enough. You clutch at him and swallow a whine when he finally pulls away, peering at him with desperate, pleading eyes. 

The taste of him lingers on your lips - faint traces of honeyed wine - and you want nothing more than to get drunk on him, to have so much of him it addles your senses and strikes you dumb.

You want Aemond Targaryen, more than you’ve wanted anything in your life. 

“As I said, wife, someone who knows how to motivate you.” The soft pad of his thumb traces your cheek, and you can’t help but instinctively lean into his touch. “Dārys,” he then says, letting his hand fall to rest on the curve of your shoulder. 

“King,” you answer before the last syllable leaves his tongue, so eager are you for the coming reward. 

This time, Aemond’s praise doesn’t come. Instead, his lips latch onto the sensitive skin of your jaw, kissing and sucking until the silence of the library is filled with your moans of his name. His kisses are warm and slow and, when you feel the wet press of his tongue against your pulse point, you’re shamelessly arching into him in search of more.

“Jaqiarzir,” he continues, beginning to suck another mark into your flushed skin.

Your mind is half gone to the lavender haze of lust. All you know is the softness of Aemond’s lips, the firmness of his thighs underneath you, the silky feel of his hair twisted around your fingers. Against that, everything else feels so terribly unimportant, but a gentle nip to your jaw reminds you that your husband still expects an answer. 

“Glory,” you half moan, feeling a burst of pride surge through your blood when Aemond hums against your neck. 

“Clever girl,” he murmurs, taking your chin back between his thumb and forefinger to reward you with a single slow, deep kiss.

Once again, he pulls away long before you’re ready, and his eye is filled with a quiet dare to challenge him. 

You know better. 

“You’re becoming a tease, husband,” you settle on saying, hearing the evident breathlessness in your own voice. 

“If my love would prefer a different means of instruction, then I am nothing but willing to hear so,” Aemond replies smoothly, his one eye twinkling with mirth.

You fight to keep a neutral expression, but all too easily a grin is curling across your lips. “I would not dream of questioning your methods, my prince,” you reply coyly.

His hands have returned to settle on your hips, and somehow he manages to pull you closer still. The brief friction of his breeches against your smallclothes is equal parts glorious and torturous, and is enough to pull a deep, quiet groan from your lips. You aren’t sure how long Aemond intends to play his little game, but the strings of your resolve are pulled taut and threatening to snap with each passing second. 

Something he no doubt already knows. 

“Mhm,” Aemond hums, his face unreadable. 

You feel his hands once again slide along the length of your back until they reach the high neckline of your gown. He pauses for only a heartbeat, then begins to unlace your bodice with practiced ease, expertly pulling each lace loose until the rich burgundy fabric falls soundlessly from your shoulders. 

You inhale deeply as the cool night air hits your skin, peaking your nipples and sending a trail of goose pimples along your arms. You’re in nothing more than your silk chemise and, when your eyes flick back to your husband, he’s gazing at you intently, almost as if…

“Keep going. Please,” you say softly. 

Aemond makes the same short work of your chemise until it pools loosely around your waist, and then you’re bare before him. His eye trails appreciatively over your naked breasts, a new hunger sparking within it at the sight of your naked flesh. 

As though he hasn’t seen you like this a thousand times before. 

“Gevie,” he all but whispers, taking a nipple and rolling it firmly between thumb and forefinger. 

You cry out sharply at the heady mix of pleasure and pain, of teasing and torment, and your husband smirks proudly at the response his touch elicits from you. 

“Please, Aemond, I beg you.” Your voice drips with desperation, but you no longer care. You can feel the slickness of your thighs beneath the folds of your gown, and feel the need for this man burning beneath every pore you possess. 

If he wants you to beg, you’ll fall to your knees. 

He cocks his head mockingly to the side and gives your nipple another cruel twist. “Your lesson has only started, wife. Would you give up so easily?”

A frustrated curse slips from your lips before you can swallow it, one that you know Aemond hears but chooses to ignore. You want to say yes. You want to curse this damn language to the Seven Hells and take your husband to bed, but your stubborn pride rears its insufferable head. 

“No. I want you to keep going,” you say, arching your back to press more of your breast into his hand. 

“A wise choice, my love,” Aemond murmurs, then reaches forward to trail a path of slow, wet kisses along your collarbone. When you sigh audibly in content he wraps an arm snugly around your waist to press you closer, and soon his lips are moving against your skin again. “Vhagar's kipagīros iksis hae nēdenka hae issa handsome, se zȳhon ābrazȳrys iksis se olvie fortunate riña isse se sīkuda Dārȳti.”

You hear the soft drawl of Aemond’s voice, hear every hard consonant and soft vowel, but the words of Valryian barely register in your lust addled mind. Vaguely, you note that he’s said something about Vhagar, but with with the teasing press of his lips along your collarbone and the tops of your breasts, you find that you really couldn’t care less. 

You want him to devour you right here in the library, but your husband is waiting patiently for an answer. 

“Can…can you please repeat?” you ask when your senses slowly begin to return. Aemond quickly obliges and this time you try in vain to grasp at every word. “Vhagar is…handsome and…fortunate…because of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

You know you’re wrong before the last word leaves your mouth, but, in your current state of arousal, you’re proud to have even gotten that far. 

The confirmation comes in another cruel twist of an already sensitive nipple. “Wrong,” Aemond tells you softly, driving the point home with another sharp nip to your neck.

The raw need for him is simmering in your veins and pulsing between your legs, threatening to turn you half mad unless you get your fill of him, but all you can do is roll your hips against his thigh, though it doesn’t grant you even a modicum of relief. 

Aemond is in charge tonight, and you’ll feel that euphoric release only when he allows it. 

“Seven Hells,” you groan, letting your head fall forward onto his shoulder. The cool leather is a welcome relief against your flushed skin and Aemond allows you a moment of respite, but mercy is not on his mind.

You feel the tip of his nose trace softly along your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine, and then his warm breath is tickling the shell of your ear. “Again, wife.”

A shaky sigh leaves your lips, but you know you have no choice but to obey. “Vhagar…Vhagar is handsome and - fuck, Aemond!”

You arch into him until your breasts are close to crushed against his chest, because now his hand is beneath your gown and those long, practiced fingers are teasing your aching cunt through the material of your smallclothes. 

“Keep going,” he commands firmly, running a single fingertip firmly over your clit.

You swallow the whimper that’s beginning to rise in your throat. “Vhagar is handsome and the Seven Kingdoms are fortunate.” The words spill from you like a sudden downpour and, for just a moment, you bask in the blissful feel of your husband touching you where you burn for him. 

His touch is like water to a burning flame but, as quickly as his hand has slipped beneath the layers of your gown, it’s just as easily gone. This time, you can’t suppress a whine. 

“Wrong again,” Aemond says, taking your chin back between his thumb and forefinger. “Mayhaps I am not motivating you enough, my love.” 

“Your motivation is cruel,” you answer back petulantly, although you’re already missing the feeling of his lips on your skin and the taunting tease of a single finger. 

Aemond’s soft smirk only grows. “Mhm,” he hums, and then you’re suddenly in motion. 

His hands are curled securely beneath your thighs as he raises you from his lap and sets you atop the library table. From your vantage point you see the mischievous twinkle in his lilac eye as two large hands hold your legs apart, and your jaw falls slack when he then falls to his knees between them.

It’s a deliciously sinful sight that goes straight to your head. Aemond Targaryen, perhaps the most feared dragonrider and skilled swordsman in King's Landing, is on his knees before you and gazing at you as though you’re an oasis in the desert. 

“Gevie,” you whisper, echoing his earlier compliment. 

Even in the half light of the library you catch the faint blush that stains his cheeks, but his face remains impassive. “Sweet words will get you nowhere, wife. Again,” he says, and presses his lips to the inside of your knee. 

A shameless groan fills the quiet space as your fingers curl tightly around the edge of the table, It’s simultaneously too much and nowhere near enough. You hear Aemond’s elegant words of Valyrian, but only a handful more register in your lust-addled mind as his lips continue their journey along your thigh. Your translation comes forward on a shaky breath and is broken by moans and yelps as Aemond sucks bruise after bruise into the soft skin of your thigh. 

You bask in the feel of it - because little feels better than your husband marking you as his - and when he doesn’t stop, you believe that this time you’ve actually gotten it right. 

Aemond’s slow path of kisses continue until you feel the brush of his hair against your lower stomach. You inhale deeply, preparing for his strong hands to make short work of your smallclothes. The anticipation makes your hips tilt expectantly, waiting for the glorious feel of his warm mouth, his skilled tongue…

“Wrong,” he says softly, pulling his head back from between your quivering thighs. 

You’re ready to combust into a million little pieces with how great your need is, and the last of your pride slips through your fingers like freshly spun silk. “Aemond, please! I cannot bear it! Take me…please.”

Your begging is his weakness and you wait for him to crumble, but as your eyes meet his lilac one, you see only a steely determination. 

“Shh shh shh,” Aemond soothes you, running the pad of his thumb over your knee. Yes, you can, ñuha prūmia. Now try again.” 

Your husband repeats himself once more, this time placing intentional emphasis on the words that are still evading you. Slowly, the intricate words of Valyrian slot into place, the web of tangled knots unravels, and you can’t help but laugh at Aemond’s choice of words.

There are many reasons why you love the man between your thighs - his bravery, his protectiveness, his determination to name a few - but never has one person been able to make you laugh so easily. Others may see a monster, you only see the man who holds your heart in the palm of his hand. 

“You are demon, my love,” you scold him lightly, feeling him smirk against your inner thigh. “Vhagar’s rider is as brave as he is handsome, and his wife is the most fortunate lady in the Seven Kingdoms.” 

“Sȳz riña,” Aemond praises you, all while pushing your thighs wider apart. 

Warm hands slide over your thighs to your smallclothes, and one swift pull rips them roughly from your body. 

And then you finally feel the warm wetness of his mouth against your aching cunt. Tonight, he doesn’t tease, but instantly begins spelling out promises with his limber tongue.

You’ll hold him to every one of them.

Aemond licks a firm, slow line along the dripping length of your cunt, making sure to empathise each lewd noise of your arousal. You bite your lip as electricity crackles beneath your skin, trying as best you can to stifle the sounds that are bubbling in your throat.

Something your husband is having none of. 

“I want to hear you, my love,” he says from where he’s nestled between your thighs. He squeezes them roughly, informing you that his words are a warning and not a request.

The sound of his voice coaxes your eyes down, and you fleetingly see the shine of your own arousal coating his top lip. 

“Seven fucking hells!” You cry out, twisting a hand tightly into Aemond’s silver hair to push him closer. 

Your husband smirks and doesn’t take his lilac eye off yours as he buries his tongue back in your cunt.

It’s like throwing a flame to a funeral pyre.

Pleasure white and hot explodes through every inch of you, so blindingly intense that you have to throw a hand on the table behind for support. “Husband, please! Keep doing that!!” you plead roughly, beginning to grind against Aemond’s face in a desperate search for release.

He moans against your cunt and tightens his grips on your thighs until you’re sure there’ll be tiny bruises along your skin tomorrow, but you’ll welcome every single one.

“You’ll be the death of me, Aemond Targaryen,” you sigh, letting your head fall back on your shoulders to bask in every second of pleasure. 

You hear his appreciative hum from between your legs, and then his tongue settles wondrously on your clit, licking and lapping like a man starved. With each swirl and flick of his talented tongue the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, promising a blinding release on your husband’s mouth. 

“Aemond…Seven Hells, Aemond…I’m so close, please,” you plead with him, arching your back as the first tendrils of release begin to flick teasingly through your core. 

Your husband responds by pulling you closer to his mouth, clamping you tightly to him until you’re balancing beautifully on the very edge of pleasure. 

Less than a minute later a tidal wave of pleasure pulls you fully beneath its surf. 

The force of your release sends your eyes rolling in your head and Aemond’s name leaves your lips like a sacred prayer, echoing wildly off the high ceilings of the library. You care little - let all of King's Landing and beyond know that you belong to this man body, mind and soul. 

Aemond’s tongue doesn’t leave your cunt until you’re panting and mewling above him, practically boneless atop the table in the wake of a shattering release. He presses a quick path of soft kisses to your inner thigh, fixes your skirts around your legs, and climbs to his feet while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I believe that a successful lesson. What say you, wife?” he says with a smirk, fixing you with his good eye and reaching out to pull the bodice of your dress back over your shoulders. 

You shiver at his chaste touch. “I think another may be in order. It’s of the utmost importance that I master this language, wouldn’t you agree?” you tease him back, wrapping heavy arms around his shoulders. 

Aemond steps between your thighs and rests his forehead on yours. “Mayhaps a longer lesson is needed then?” he murmurs quietly.

You don’t fight the smile that unfurls across your lips. “I wouldn’t dare to question your methods, my prince.” 

He answers with a small smile and a quick peck to your lips. “Mhm. In our chambers would be wise. I fear your next lesson may last throughout the night,” he says, each word loaded with filthy promise. 

You take his offered hand and slide from the table top on shaky legs, feeling fresh excitement begin to bubble in your veins. “Then we must make haste, husband. Every second counts when such an important task is at stake.”

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+  ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off. 

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all. 

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it. 

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married. 

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags. 

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding. 

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times. 

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying. 

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance. 

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold. 

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income. 

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me? 

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.” 

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before. 

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.” 

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you. 

“Yes, my lady?” 

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?” 

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps. 

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you? 

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness. 

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing. 

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home. 

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come. 

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly. 

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning. 

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags. 

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle. 

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and- 

“Do you like them?” 

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie. 

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him. 

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained? 

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.” 

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.” 

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. 

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.” 

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling. 

“Of course… Satoru.” 

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet. 

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies. 

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.” 

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever… 

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.” 

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming? 

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.” 

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue. 

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?” 

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks. 

“Not tonight.” 

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch. 

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence. 

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone. 

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened. 

~  

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed? 

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense. 

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person. 

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all. 

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking. 

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver. 

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.” 

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.” 

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

~

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains. 

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in. 

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you. 

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again. 

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse. 

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas. 

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume. 

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.” 

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” 

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin. 

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.” 

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?” 

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.” 

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room. 

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough. 

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue. 

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.” 

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?” 

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?” 

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight? 

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you? 

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse. 

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone. 

~

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon. 

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare. 

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

~

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge. 

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

~

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he? 

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you. 

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right? 

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there. 

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”. 

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye. 

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.” 

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further. 

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages. 

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph. 

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe? 

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.” 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second. 

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.” 

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening. 

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.” 

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible. 

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru. 

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows. 

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense. 

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting. 

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine. 

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?” 

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.” 

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you. 

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further. 

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…” 

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you. 

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does. 

“About the estate?” he asks. 

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?” 

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.” 

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.” 

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-” 

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why. 

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him. 

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…” 

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch. 

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine? 

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?” 

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real. 

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point. 

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper. 

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in. 

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.” 

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him. 

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?” 

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.” 

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.” 

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight. 

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago. 

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?” 

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?” 

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be. 

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?” 

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe. 

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.” 

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?” 

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone. 

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin. 

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt. 

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.” 

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has. 

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less. 

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning. 

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long. 

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s 

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked. 

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity- 

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re– 

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature. 

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.” 

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper. 

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” 

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust. 

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb. 

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.” 

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?” 

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer. 

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?” 

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch. 

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.” 

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod. 

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth– 

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing? 

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire. 

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.” 

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is. 

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move. 

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop. 

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake. 

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision. 

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer. 

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done. 

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation. 

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.” 

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp. 

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts. 

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin. 

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants. 

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath. 

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments. 

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…” 

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come. 

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull. 

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens. 

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like. 

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants. 

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago. 

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave. 

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @keiva1000

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Honestly living for this rn

His Lady Love —Masterlist

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

tag list | if you'd like to be added to the tag list just fill out the following DOC ✨✨✨

summary | to escape your cursed lineage, you sail away to the ends of the world, where you discover a new world, one with only two continents instead of seven. you make a life for yourself in the court of kings landing, where you catch the eye of a certain targaryen prince.

warnings | violence; blood; targaryen incest; future smut (18+ mdni!); fluff; hurt/comfort; trying to follow canon plotline (major changes for some stuff); he falls hard, she falls harder but he's still the one obsessed.

i do not own any character from the book "fire and blood" or the following shows "the house of the dragon" or "the originals" except the reader (which is you)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 1

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 2

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 3

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 4

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 5

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 6

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 7

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x READER ) [ Final Part ]

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: King Aegon Targaryen x Little Sis! Reader prompt: Aegon would do anything, if it meant killing every ratcatcher or gold cloak in the city, he'd so. word count: 1, 000+ words

You wept and wept. Aegon feared that you would never be able to stop. Helaena was no better, locking herself up and shutting down. The two of you spiraled into madness and tears. It only made him drink and rage more. He hated to see you cry. You were supposed to be the happy one out of all of your siblings.

Aegon was the drunken mess, needing to be put in line. Helaena was the odd one, in a dream-like state. You were the perfect little angel, his perfect little angel. Aemond was the brooding one, face pulled into a stupid brooding look. Daeron was the forgotten one.

Now you were the broken one. Rhaenyra has stolen your smile. Rhaenyra had stolen his perfect little angel from him. She took the good from you, leaving him with a broken mess. A mess he wasn't sure of how to repair. So, he was going to do what he did best. He was going to get even.

If Rhaenyra wanted to take the one good thing he had in his life from him. He was going to burn everything she cared about to ash. Even if it made him a monster in the eyes of his own Court. Because you were worth burning the world down.

Blood and Cheese. Blood was one of his men, or now a former man of the City Watch. Cheese was a rat-catcher. That's how they knew how to get into the Red Keep. They were paid to kill Aegon's son. The worst part of all it had to be the fact that your son was "just in the way". They had no reason to kill him. He wasn't the one they had been paid to kill. They just killed him because he was in the way of things.

Blinking back the tears in his eyes, Aegon stares at the club in his hand, the metal rusted and jagged. Blood's words confession ringing in his ears. They killed his son for a debt, but yours because they thought of him in the way. Collateral damage. That was your son was, fucking collateral damage. Nodding his head for a moment, he thought of not killing the man, just leaving him to rot. But, another part of him truly wanted to see him bleed.

"You killed my son. You killed my sister's whole world." Aegon states, his voice cold. "My sister's loved their son's. And you just killed them."

"The Seven will never forgive you for this." Blood blubber's out, "To kill me.."

"Ah, yes, but the Seven aren't here, now are they?" Aegon mocks, adjusting his grip on the club.

Motioning around the Black Cell's, there was nothing but the rats and darkness there. No one to hear Blood's screams. No one there to help. It was just Blood and Aegon. Alone. Looking at the jagged end of the club, Aegon brushes his thumb over it, seeing it was sharp enough to cut. Though it would not be smooth or painless.

"You can fuck with me all you want. You can beat me. You can mock me." Aegon states, "Do as you please to me and I can endure it."

Blood sobs, the chains around his arms and legs clanging and jiggling loudly. Mercy was below, Aegon now. Mercy was not shown to his son or yours. Why the fuck should he show it to Blood?

"See, my friend. The thing is, you made my sister's cry." Aegon's face goes deadly cold, "I don't like bastard's that make my sister's cry."

Bringing the metal club down onto the man's head, he doesn't stop, unable to stop thinking of you. The way you wept, sobs full of heartache. The way you clung onto him, the blood on your nightgown seeping into his own clothes. The way the bastard made you cry. The way the bastard made you feel so unsafe in your own home.

The way the bastard made you doubt him. The way the bastard made you think he was a liar. Feeling a hand grab onto his forearm, he's pulled out of his daze, now realizing the man was now dead. His head caved in a bloody mess. Dropping the club, he takes a step back, licking his lips. He can taste blood on it, though it was not his own.

A son for a son. A son for a son. A son for a son. They got there son. Now a debt was now owed, on behalf of your son. The cycle repeating over and over again. Lucerys died, Jaehaerys died in payment. Your son died, now Rhaenyra would die in payment.

"Your grace?" A kingsguard asks, "What shall we do with the body?"

"Feed him to the pig's. I have to desire for time or a hole to be wasted upon him." Aegon spits at the corpse for good measure.

Hearing the door to the chambers open, you couldn’t find the strength to get up from bed, clinging onto the blanket. You could still smell your son on it. He smelt of lemon cakes and mud. He always loved to steal the frosting off the lemon cakes, just like Aegon did. He was just a boy. He was innocent. Why him? Why? Feeling tears bubbling up, you did not wish to ponder on your son’s death. It forced you to think of the sounds of a head being sawed off.

Feeling the bed dip for a moment, you look over to see Aegon there, his doublet and breech soaked in blood. Blood’s blood. Sniffling softly, Aegon leans over to you, tucking back a strand of hair from your face. It was comforting to be touched and tended to like this, like you were still a child and not a woman grown with responsibilities and duties. Like everything was still okay.

"It is done." He whispers, nodding his head.

You don’t say anything, not being able to find the right words. Even if you could, what would you say? “Oh, that is so amazing to hear from you, dear brother.” or some other bullshit. 

"You have my word, I swear it upon my life. I will burn everything down that Rhaenyra loves." Aegon pledges, "From her favorite tailor to her favorite child. I will avenge your son, sister."

"Aegon.." You croak out, trying to find your voice. 

"I will kill her myself. I’ll fucking feed her to my dragon.” He vows, “No one will remember the name Rhaenyra Targaryen, when I am done.”

“Aegon..” You try again, voice barely above a whisper. 

"She'd be a fucking myth. She'll be a fucking ghost of the Red Keep. No, no, not even that. I won't even let her haunt the Red Keep."

He doesn’t hear you, clearly swept up in his plots and plans for revenge on your behalf. His words left not a drop of comfort.

“I will do anything that you ask of me. Just tell me what it is that you wish and I shall do it. I’ll kill whoever you wish⎯" He rambles on and on. 

"Egg." You whisper, tears bubbling up.

The childhood nickname falling out of your lips naturally. You did not wish for grand words, for grand promises, or grand actions to be done in your name or favor. That was meaningless. Mayhaps when the grief dimmed, you would wish for revenge for your son. But, for now, at this moment. You just wanted your big brother to hug you. You wanted things to be back as they once were. Here you were just Y/n and he was just Aegon, your big brother. Not the King.

Feeling the tears bubble up more and more, you sniffle, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. You watch through teary eyes as he goes deadly still. You did not regret saying his old nickname. You just wanted to feel as safe and happy as you used to be in your childhood. You wanted to escape from the crushing reality that your son was dead and war was invincible now. Mayhaps it was childish. But, you wanted to be okay once more.

"Y/n.." He whispers, his face crumbling.

"Just hold me like you used to do." You whimper out, “Please.”

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

@lexi-anastasia-astra-luna 

Ahhhhhhhhhh

are you a lightweight nanami..?

ac: matchapichai

God I love Ron sm

hey umm ane fandom have this bc I actually folded to rins cuteness 😔👉👈 mephisto did a magic trick and the twins are 18yo here 🪄 established relationship, rin x reader.

A seemingly peaceful day has come around again.

A well-deserved, peaceful day, if you will - after the battle with Satan, a night full of sleep made Rin’s blood flow with a lot more vigor.

That’s why currently you’re straddling your boyfriend’s hips and watching him do absolutely nothing, but laying down with an arm over his eyes.

Rin’s chest gently rises and lowers, his other hand firmly holding you by the waist; for many, it’s boring. But for both of you, it’s finally, finally boring, instead of something happening yet again.

But doing all that nothing makes you act up on your intrusive thoughts - one of which being assaulting Rin in the best way possible.

You take Rin’s hand off your waist and intertwine it with yours, but he doesn’t say anything or moves an inch - he only begins to tightly hold your hand in his, smiling a little bit to himself. His tail swishes once in a while on the side of the bed, tickling your shins once it brushes against it.

In attempt to remove the arm draped over his face, you press a tiny kiss on the exposed part of his skin; still, the half-demon doesn’t budge, but lets out a happy whine, or at least that’s what you assume it is. He gives your hand an affectionate squeeze, but nothing beyond it.

That’s it - that’s when you’re no longer patient and begin your attack.

You take his arm off his face and again intertwine it, but Rin only furrows his brows and yelps at the sudden sun light gracing his eyes. While he moans agonizingly at the sudden intrusion, you kiss his eyelids gently, then his forehead, and the tip of his nose.

“Aww, look at you, practically glued to my face,” Rin tilts his head on the pillow as he opens his eyes and pulls you closer by your connected hands, lips smiling so much they show his massive teeth ever so slightly.

“So what if I am? Should’ve kicked Satan’a ass sooner, loser!”

You knew the topic was still heavy - Rin’s head was still going through the lives that have been lost - but he seemed to have cope a bit better with humor.

“Ha?! No way! I’m not a loser, if anything, you’re a loser if you’re still dating me!” He exclaimed proudly, smirking at you and blowing a nasty raspberry on your interlaced hand.

“Oh shut up, you brat!”

“But we’re the same a—”

Rin’s sentence was quickly cut off by your lips peppering kisses everywhere on his face - his cheeks, forehead, ears, the corners of his mouth, even the nubbins of his developing horns - meanwhile his tail attempts to stop you and wraps around your waist, failing miserably. Rin’s giggles and pleadings to slow down and stop filled the room, but you only kept going - at this point Rin’s gently wrestling with you to get you away from his face.

You knew he could just flip you on your back like a bag of potatoes and get on top. He also knew that - but he finds your tries to keep him in place way too adorable to actually do that.

“Alright, alright, fine, I surrender!” Rin admits while still laughing, his fangs on display and slightly making your head spin from the… rather unholy activities, effectively distracting you in the process. After a short while of rest for both of you, your face hovers over his own for the final time, looking in his beautiful, sapphire eyes and wiping the happy tears from his eyes.

Rin’s the one to close the distance between you by pulling your chin and connecting your lips in a soft kiss, then moving his hand to cup your cheek and caressing it with his thumb.

“Ew.”

Too bad none of you heard the doors open.

Yukio looks at you two with a grimace on his face, sparing himself from the scene in front of him and quickly diverting his gaze to the bag he’s holding. Rin and you pull away in the meantime, the older twin giving the younger a dirty look and an eye roll.

“Have you heard about knocking, dumbass?”

“I did knock, Rin. Maybe if you weren’t that busy making out in the broad daylight, you would notice, dumbass.”

“Makin— what?! We weren’t doing anything, four eyes!”

Yukio only raises a brow and looks at you, then at Rin, and then back at you.

“Surely.”

“For real! I promise! Ugh, just admit you’re jealous, damn,” Rin speaks the end of his sentence way quieter and pouts adorably, the pink dusting his cheeks making you laugh.

It’s good to have Rin back.

“I heard that!”

It’s good to have Rin and Yukio back.

You wouldn’t guess it, but more often than not, Sub!Eren loves when you’re mean to him. In fact, he might even prefer it. He’d definitely let you tie him up—bound his wrists together painfully tight, his hands situated behind him while he sits so prettily between your legs, your back to the headboard while his presses to your chest, his long legs spread wide…

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･

Long, disheveled strands of chestnut occlude his vision, his pained face contorted in sheer desperation—deprivation. His chest heaves as weak, shuddered breaths drag from his parted lips, your teasing hand working crudely at his heavy, swollen balls—slowly kneading them, rolling them between the pads of your fingers, squeezing just tight enough to force a helpless, guttural whimper from the depths of his chest. Fuck, you’re going to kill him tonight and he’s sure of it.

“Spit on it, ‘Ren.” You demand, kissing his temple sweetly, your free hand creeping up to tautly squish his cheeks, forcing his mouth wider. Not a second thought passes as he pools saliva behind his tongue, soon puckering his lips to messily drool onto the head of his own cock. “Such an obedient puppy for mommy, yes?” A cruel, bewitching smile graces your lips while he nods meekly, whimpering wantonly as his head lolls back slowly to rest on your shoulder.

His cock is so angry with you. It throbs in your hand, begging for something—anything more. The wet, sensitive head weeps in sinful bubbles of precum, obscenely dribbling down your slick fist in rivulets as you pump him languidly. Eren can hardly help the pathetic buck of his hips as he selfishly attempts to get more out of your teasing hand, but you’re quickly reprimanding him with a harsh squeeze down the length of his cock. It’s been nearly an hour of this torturous cycle and he’s completely delirious. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

“Fuuuuck, p-please jus’ lemme cum, mommy... m’so close. Been such a good, p-perfect boy for you,” he pleads fruitlessly, huffing out desperate whines as if to will you, “didn’t touch myself all day like you asked!”

Liar.

Your thumb swipes along the head of his cock, collecting the sinful mixture of arousal and saliva as you hum in feign contemplation, “I don’t believe you, ‘Ren.” He nearly sobs when you quickly pull your hand away, rudely denying him of what he craves the absolute most. Release. “Mommy hates when you lie to her.”

Eren knows you know. How does he expect you not to? Did he truly think you’d just turn a deaf ear to his obnoxious moaning when you came home from work? Were you just supposed to ignore the fact that his cock was practically leaking by the time you entered the room? It’s like he doesn’t even care enough to be discreet anymore, especially when you specifically instructed him not to touch himself until you get back.

Eren’s eyes are brimming with warm tears as he begs for your mercy, fat, briny droplets of utter desperation threatening to spill down his flushed cheeks, staining his pretty face. God, he’s so frustrated and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it this time. You’re being awfully mean, but what does he expect he disobeys to you? This is merely the deserved consequences of his actions—his punishment. The only thing you ask of him is to abide by your one, simple rule: Do not touch yourself while I’m away. Is that so hard?

You’re crudely taunting him as you wrap your hand around his cock like before, pumping his messy shaft at such a gnawing, ponderous pace that it forces a throaty moan from his permanently gaped mouth. “You’ve been such a bad boy lately,” you tut, directing his raptured eyes onto yours with a not-so-gentle tug of his face, “am I just supposed to reward that kind of behavior?”

“But it was hurting me, mommy—my cock, it was so painful earlier… m’sorryyyy,” his voice nearly quivers as he whines, thick brows furrowing while he desperately tugs at his restraints, “I didn’t mean to, okay? Couldn’t fuckin’ help it… just get so hard thinkin’ about you, m’sorry.” And almost, there’s a brief moment of clemency—a fleeting instance of your forbearance, almost.

His lips are pursing together as he pants through his nose, a painful whimper of agony sitting in his chest when you squeeze him again. “Eren, baby, I truly don’t care.” You’re so mean, yet still, the thick, protruding vein that adorns the underside of his cock throbs painfully against the palm of your hand at your abrasive tone. Absolutely ridiculous, you think. “You disobeyed me… again. You’re not sorry.”

"I am, mommy! I swear I am, p-please! I'll do anything... you know I will," his hips are rolling toward your fist, haphazardly meeting your teasing strokes, "f— fuuuck, you can sit on my face like last time if you want... don't even need to breathe, y-you can suffocate me 'n I'll eat you out like a good boy! I swear, mommy... pleaseeee?" His usual timbre voice breaks sweetly as he pleads for reprieve, craning his head to find your stoic gaze, jade eyes glossed over with a painful sheen of tears.

A single, searing droplet falls when you shake your head softly, humming as you decline his alluring offer, but it's when you’re teasingly removing your hand from his cock that turns one, fleeting tear into several and soon, he's practically sobbing, weeping a frustrated stream of pretty little tears, marring his crimson-flushed cheeks in a beautiful, gut wrenching sheen that has arousal pooling between your legs.

As you kiss his tears away, Eren winces, his ever growing frustration apparent and evident. "You don't deserve my pussy, 'Ren," you hum, slipping from behind him to stand to your feet, "not tonight. Mommy doesn't reward bad behavior." You remind as you begin to walk away, nearing the bedroom door.

"No..." he breathes, tugging harshly at his restraints, "no, no, no... p-please don't leave me like this. I'm sorry, okay?" He's completely bare, his poor, neglected cock twitching lewdly as he lies there helplessly, fat, swollen balls painfully full as he sobs, yearning for your touch. "Mommy, no…”

"Oh, my poor baby," You frown, feign concern thick in your tone, "think about what you did." Are the last words you utter before leaving the room, locking the door behind you.

He'll learn.

Have you reconsidered embracing ceremorphosis?

Omg this was amazing!!!!!!

hello!!! hope you’re doing great, I kinda wanna ask about Thomas x Sister Shelby if you do that ? And if you do I’m thinking she’d be smart, has a very quick tongue and she wants to get out of the Shelby business to marry the love of her life (alfie😝😍) so she fakes her death and ofc everyone is distraught and angry than after a few years Thomas sees alfie at his home and than comes his sister who he thought had died and he berates her than she says something like you’re a worse person than me always killing for money like he can’t live without a war. Also I am in the mood for a very angst ending

A/N: Hello my love! How are you doing? I am so so sorry that this has taken forever. Truthfully, I had no clue how to do this. I thought about this long an hard, and though some things I switched up, I hope you enjoy this. I feel like this got me to stretch my writing muscles, and it was really fun. Let me know what you think darling!

Run Away With Me Darling

Alfie Solomons x Fem! Reader; 3.8k words; fluff, angst

Warnings: language, contentious family relationships, arranged marriage???

It started innocently enough.

You bringing tea and biscuits to meeting rooms where the men started their schemes. Listening and taking notes alongside your ever watchful Aunt Polly. Sneaking glances at the big brute in the chair across from your big brothers.

“Thank you treacle. Yeah that’s real kind of you.”

That brute is the only man that would say thank you for the tea you bring by. And when you go to pour more for him, he’s the only man who says, “No need for that darling. Grown men can pour their own tea yeah?”

It wasn’t meant to be anything more than professional. But you should’ve known. Known from that first encounter outside those Shelby walls… you and Mr. Solomons shared a single soul… and heaven nor hell could keep you from each other’s grasp.

It was hot. London is not a tropical city by any means. But the sheer amount of bodies, activity, and warm rain, had transformed the city into a sauna. The wisps of your hair along your neck and forehead are plastered to your body. Rivulets of sweat sneak down your chest. The heat could only be described as oppressive. You were counting down the steps till you could go home.

On the one hand… it was strange having a home all to yourself. Truthfully, it was the Shelby homestead in London, where the family would stay when business needed attending to. However, when they all left, you stayed. Carrying delicate messages. Keeping a close pulse on the going’s on of the city. And perhaps most importantly… remaining a pretty show pony for the Shelby family.

You hated to admit it. But you were desperately jealous of Ada. She had the guts to sneak past Arthur, Tommy, and John. She had the foresight to marry her true love before Tommy could marry her off to the highest bidder. You had no such luck. No childhood love. No sweetheart to campaign for. The boys had made sure of it. Despite Ada and your protests, and Polly’s discrete ploys; Tommy had decided. The sweet, pure, and innocent youngest Shelby girl will be auctioned off to the richest and most lucrative partner for the Shelby Company. And she will remain pretty and docile. A prize.

The mere thought made your stomach twist and churn and burn.

You loved them. Your family. More than most love their family. But you could barely breathe under their watch. Even in another city you felt the reach of their eyes. Felt the whisperings of potential matches for your hand and womb. The sweat on your brow burned your eyes. Taking place of the unshed tears you long abandoned.

All you longed for was cold water. A cool bath. Anything to scrub off the sweat and dirt and exhaustion. However, shade covered your front door, casting a shadow over the threshold.

“Sweetheart! Been waiting a bit for you!”

No matter where you see Mr. Solomons, he seems to take up all the space. You don’t know how he is able to stand the heat, with his coat and hat and bushy beard. But he looks unfettered. Cool even. You finally felt the kiss of the breeze on your neck as you approached.

“Mr. Solomons. How can I help you?”

“You going to invite me in like a good girl?”

“I’m not in the business of inviting strange men into my home.”

“You think me strange?”

“Oh Mr. Solomons you are the strangest man I’ve ever met.”

“Makes you a little excited though don’t it? A hint of danger yeah? Big brute standing at your door.”

You stuck your chin out, staring directly into his stormy eyes. “I’m not afraid of you Mr. Solomons.”

His mouth quirks up in the corner. A twinkle in his eyes, and your breath hitched as he leaned into your space, “Oh I know sweet. You ain’t like the others ain’t ya? I saw it… the first time I laid eyes on you I knew you were different. Those boys… cold blooded little snakes… you… nah… there’s a flame in you treacle…and I look forward to see you set things aflame.”

Before you could respond in any way, he leaned away, smiling at your response. He pulled out an envelope from his coat and handed it to you, “Contract and information for your devious brother my sweet. Don’t worry, put a little something in there for you too for your trouble.”

You snatched the envelope from his hand. Unsure of how to respond to his… behavior. His rumbling laugh set a shiver down your spine, but you pushed it down as you appraised him, “This seems below your job description… don’t you have messenger boys?”

He further smirked, “I hope you’ll forgive me, that I want to keep you to myself.”

“I’m not a kept girl.”

“That you are not. Just have to inform your brothers of the fact don’t you?”

Hot shame rose in your cheeks. The envelope in your hands crinkling sharply. You felt the cool brush of gold rings on your cheek, “I have a standing dinner every Thursday evening. Let it be our little secret, hmm?”

Before you could react, a coarse kiss is pressed to your knuckles. As he started walking away, you called out, “And if I don’t show up? What then?”

He turned, with a boyish smile, “You’re not a kept woman treacle. Not my business. I’ll just send my messenger boys in my place.”

That was a year ago. Things were so simple then. Secret dinners. Secret mornings. Secret dalliances and outings around town. And when the family came to town, you placed that mask back on. Sweet, innocent, and docile Shelby girl. Ready at the beck and call of her family. And when they left, you ran right into the arms of Alfie. Because where it all started as something to feel disobedient, it grew into something deeper and more ancient. You felt your soul intertwine with his, as if it was always searching for him. In the evenings when he whispered his love for you and kept you close, you had never felt safer. Never felt more alive.

But dreams are not forever. Sooner or later the bubble must pop.

“You’ll need to come back to Birmingham dearest.”

“For how long?”

Everyone looked up at Tommy. Tommy didn’t even look up from his dinner plate, “Permanently. I’ve got a husband for you.”

Your fork dropped. Your heart stopped beating.

You faintly hear Aunt Polly call your name.

“Husband?” You whispered.

Tommy sighed, “That is what I said. High time you married, you’re old enough. Mr. Gorman has multiple factories both here and in the states, and his son is set to inherit them all. It’s a good match, it’ll be very beneficial to the company.”

“Tommy I don’t even know him.”

“You have your entire life to get to know him. Now finish your dinner.”

“So you just decided is that it? You just decided to that I’d belong to some man? Tell me Tommy… how much did you sell me off for? How much is my womb worth?”

“Watch your mouth!” Polly hissed, with Arthur wincing at the cutting words.

“I’m not going.” You stood from your chair. Preparing for battle.

“It’s not up for discussion.”

“I’m not going! You cannot make me!”

Tommy rose from his seat, John putting his head in his hands with Arthur knocking back a drink. Low. Deadly. Tommy always could command a room with his voice. Cold finger pointing at you like a deadly weapon. “You will do as you’re told. This is not about you. This is about the family. In a week, I will come fetch you. I will drag you back to Birmingham if I have to. And you will marry the young Mr. Gorman, and you will have as many of his fucking babies as he chooses. You will be rich. You will be safe. And you will be set. I am not about to argue with a child.”

You felt the tears well up in your eyes. Sorrow. Mourning. Hatred. “I hate you Thomas Shelby. I hate you.”

“You will get over it.”

You ran to your room. Weeping the rest of the night.

Because how can your body and name be given to a man, when your heart and soul belonged to another?

They left the next morning. Arthur knocking on your door to announce the departure, and trying to convince you, “He’s a good lad darling. Trust Tommy alright? Wouldn’t let nothing bad happen to ya, even though it seems like right shit. Don’t be too angry at us. We’ll all still be close. And anyway… it’s what’s good for the family.”

You didn’t look at him. Not even a hum of acknowledgment when he kissed your hair tenderly. A regretful sigh leaves his body as Arthur walked away, taking one last look at your quivering body on your maiden bed. Arthur always had a soft spot for you. Always defensive for you unlike your other siblings. He had tried in vain to get Tommy to rethink the arrangement. You didn't need to get married. The company didn't need such an alliance. They'd get by as they always have. But Tommy's sights were set much higher. He wanted that name of honor. And to get it, he was willing to play by the rules of old money. Tommy had convinced Arthur enough. Enough that you'd eventually forgive them all.

The orange sky illuminated your bedroom in a bloody hue. Your throat dry and head hot and pounding. The creaking and settling of the house had become a steady ring in your ears, you didn't even hear the bedroom door open.

"Treacle. What are you doing? Eden said you haven't left since last night. You ill?"

Maids hear everything, you think bitterly. But you couldn't be too cross with Eden. Not really.

"He's done it Alfie."

Alfie toed off his boots after the hat and coat. Sinking into the too ornate duvet. "Who treacle? What happened?"

You faced him, deep creases of the duvet threads divide your hot wet cheeks. Lashes clumped together and soaked. "Tommy... he... he finally did it. He's married me off. In a weeks time I'm to belong to some... Mr. Gorman. His father owns factories, and I suppose that's enough for my bride price."

You feel your body being gently tugged up and into Alfie’s embrace. Despite any protest from you about how it may affect his back, he shushes you instantly, “Now now my little dove. Nah you ain’t going back to Birmingham. You ain’t getting married to some prick. Nah you’re staying here with ol’ Alfie.”

You force your face under his chin, letting his unkempt beard absorb your sobs, “No Alfie it’s true! Tommy told me yesterday at dinner! He… he’s taking me away Alfie! I hate him. I hate him so much. I don’t want to marry some man I don’t even know!”

“I already told you darling, you’re not going to! It’s not happening.”

You push his shoulder, “You’re not listening to me! Tommy said-“

“I don’t give a shit what Tommy said! You’re not marrying the shit because you’re marrying me!”

Like an unpracticed magician, he pulled out a gorgeous diamond and sapphire ring. Its glimmer and fractals made it look as endless as the night sky. You felt the breath in your lungs catch, anger and fear simmering down and cooling. You dared not touch something to precious, “Alfie Solomons…”

“Was my mother’s. Gave it to me when I came back from the war. On her death bed. Made me swear that I wouldn’t give it up for any pretty girl on the street. Had to give it to the one.”

You struggled to meet his gaze, “And I-“

“The one treacle. If you’ll have me.”

He shifted you in his lap, fully facing him, “Now… I had a whole event planned out. Garden stroll. Drinks. Music playing. And I know I’m a sorry old monster and you have loads of suitor-“

“Alfie-“

“But I swear on my life treacle, you’ll never want for anything. You will have freedom to do whatever you would hope to do. We’ll go anywhere. I’ll love you till the stars go out-“

“Alfie! Yes! Yes yes yes! I’ll marry you! You silly old man!”

You pushed him back and kissed him fiercely. With all the passion you had been hiding from your family for years. Until the acidic burn of reality came down, “But what about Tommy? Alfie you hate each other, he’ll never let me go.”

Rough hands running up and down your thighs, gazing in awe at the fiery halo surrounding you. “I was willing to go in and threaten blessing or death.”

“I won’t have you put in danger for love. This isn’t Shakespeare.”

With a laugh and kiss to your fingertips he whispers, “You got any ideas? I’m all ears.”

You try to think, but kept coming across a wall. Any option you thought of ended in bloodshed. You fell into the bed next to Alfie, curling into his chest, “I wish we could just run away.”

His arms tighten around you, “What if we did?”

It would happen three days before Tommy would come to fetch you. You dismissed Eden with an oath to secrecy, and for four days you played the part of excited bride to be. Purchasing things for a new marital home, a wedding dress and new wardrobe. Who cares if the detail of the lucky husband was slightly off?

Whenever your family called, you lied happily through your smiling teeth. At first you felt a twinge of guilt. But in the end, they stood by as your brothers sold you off. They lost the right to the truth. They hated Alfie, said as much any time they came to the house. They would never understand. They would never allow it. But this was your life. And you would be damned before you were cleaved from your beloved.

The men from the distillery made regular visits to the house in the middle of the night, picking up your things to take to Margate, dropping off love letters and updates from Alfie. With each passing day, your heart became lighter. The binds lessening. Freedom was right on your tongue.

Three days before Tommy, Arthur, and John are to pick you up, the horrific news explodes through Birmingham. The Shelby home in London: set ablaze. No survivors. The beautiful bride, burned alongside her wedding dress hanging in the window. The youngest Shelby girl, an angel amongst demons, taken too soon from the earth from a horrific accident. The fire so destructive, not even a body is there for a proper burial. Just ash and a memory of that sweet face. The funeral is horrible. Wailing and weeping from all of Birmingham. Aunt Polly could barely keep it together, blaming Tommy for it all. Even business acquaintances from London and beyond come to pay their respects. The most shocking visitor, was Mr. Solomons, who paid for the funeral itself, “I’m sorry Tommy for your loss. I really am. She was a sweet girl. But… she’s in a better place I’m sure.”

And what a better place that is. White washed home right on the beach, windows open at all times, with the sea breeze billowing pristine gossamer curtains in the wind. You spend your days reading and writing to your heart’s content, strolling the beach, playing with Cyril like a child. As Alfie settles affairs in Camden during the week, he visits during the weekend, serving and worshipping you like a goddess. He never gave you information about the family. You didn’t want it. That was your old life. A you that you couldn’t recognize. Here, in this life, you were free. Free to speak. Free to argue and give your mind.

After a month, Alfie permanently moves to Margate. Home. Retired from the gangster life with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life, with more than enough to comfort when he’s gone.

And the years pass blissfully. Just how it was in the beginning. Kisses and dancing and laughter and arguing and love and joy. 3 years of absolute heaven, you had nearly forgotten how it all was almost taken from you.

But the past does have a way of rearing its ugly head doesn’t it?

It’s the dawn of summer. The final kisses of spring bringing crisp clean air through your marital home. Alfie had never felt better. The pain in his body had long left him, only flaring during the coldest evenings. The dark circles under his eyes have dissolved. His face and body, fuller, firmer with the glowing health of a man at peace who works for life not death. You were upstairs, searching for the a particular spool of thread you had been working with for a blanket you had spent days on. But it needed to be done soon. Alfie shifted through the records you both had been collecting. Symphonies had become his special interest in the recent months, and he was looking for a particular composition that he felt would make your heart sing.

The heavy knock on the door sent the hair on his neck stand at attention.

Only one demon knocked like that.

His eyes shifted to the stairs. He could still hear you moving things around. Searching tirelessly for that spool. You’d be missing for a couple minutes. Enough to rebuke the vile creature from the door without your discovery.

With a deep breath, Alfie tries to remember the armor of his past. The Mad Baker. Just as another round of knocks was about to come, Alfie opened roughly, “Tommy! What are you doing here? Gates of hell need their master don’t they?”

He looked thinner than normal. It’s been years since the men had seen each other, but the difference was still shocking. Those icey blue eyes even more haunting than they were at the funeral. Gaunt cheeks and pale skin made him look like a living corpse. A flicker of a flame winked behind those eyes. Hope for another fight. Something to set him aflame. “Hello Alfie. Enjoying retirement?”

“Yeah actually I am so whatever you have up your sleeve I want no part in it so if you’ll just fuck off.”

Before Alfie could slam the door, Tommy stuck his foot in the door, “Not that simple Alfie. Worlds gone to shit and it needs Solomons to set it to right.”

“Your world not mine. Now get out.”

“I’m not going to leave until you let me in Alfie.”

Your angelic voice danced on the breeze down to the front door, “I found it! Alfie you would not believe where it was! I swear I’m losing my mind.”

Tommy’s face some how went paler. As if he heard Satan’s whisper of condemnation. Alfie tried to push the door closed, but with the strength of a mad man Tommy pushed past the threshold.

Tommy almost fainted.

This must be hell.

He must have died.

It’s the only rational idea.

God chose to lock him in the home of his biggest agitation, with the ghost of his dead baby sister.

But this couldn’t be your ghost. Your swollen belly proves this.

“Holy shit.” You drop the tea cup in your hands when you see Tommy. Tommy who wasn’t supposed to be here. Tommy who saw you buried and dead.

Alfie rushes in, pulling you behind his broad frame. Through his linen shirt, you feel the ragged breath and hammering heart of your husband. You feel faint. “Tommy… you need to leave right now.”

“You paid for the funeral.”

“Tommy we can do this later but you need to get out right now. I’m asking nicely.”

“You knew she was alive… you knew.”

“She is very delicate right now she does not need any excitement.”

“You fucking made her delicate! You compromised her you fucking bastard!”

You cried out as Tommy lunged for your husband, “Stop it Tommy! Enough! Get out of my house!”

Tommy stumbled, pointing at you, “You… you’re fucking sick. You’re demented! You caused Polly a near heart attack. You are disgusting!”

You push past Alfie, who is left watching, “I’m disgusting! You sold me off to some man. And for what? To get people to see you as a big man? Guess what Tommy, you will NEVER be good enough for them! They’ll always see people like us as trash! But you don’t care. Anything to get ahead right?! You’ll stoop as low as you need to ahead.”

Tommy laughed bitterly, holding back the urge to spit, “And what about you yeah? So spoiled that you throw the biggest tantrum of the century. Whore yourself out to the Mad Baker, and get knocked up with his bastard.”

“I’d stop talking if I were you Tommy.”, Alfie snarled darkly. Fists curling in. Like a wolf ready to devour.

“I’d rather be his whore than be a part of any family of yours. You can’t leave well enough alone. Murdering and slaughtering for some honor so quick to tarnish and fade away. You tried to lock me away, never taking a care to what I wanted or thought. But you can’t do that to me anymore. I’m a Solomons, and I carry his child. You can’t touch me.”

Tommy settled, steel washed over his face. “They have a right to know.”

“You all have a right to nothing. I’ll see the family when I’m good and ready.”

His eyes shift to Alfie, “You are evil incarnate. You are cursed.”

No sign of mirth reaches Alfie’s eyes when he smirks, “Careful Tommy. You know what they say about curses. Especially when you curse family.”

Without another word, Tommy storms out. As soon as the door slams, shaking the lamps, you let out the breath in your heavy lungs, “Holy Shit”.

Your knees give out from under you, and cold shakes roll through your body. Alfie grabbed your body, helping you into a chair. “Settle my love it’s alright he’s gone. What do you need? Baby ok?”

“No I’m ok thank you my love. I just… I need air. I can’t believe he came here. He knows. They all know.”

“Hush darling, breathe for me, settle your nerves, you don’t need to worry. They know but they can’t touch you. You’re my wife and they can’t get to you. You are your own woman. You are safe.”

“But what are we going to do. What if they come?”

“Then we’ll deal with them. I’ll have some boys come in, set up a watch. We won’t be caught off guard ever again.”

You nodded. Trusting the words of your husband. You felt an affirming kick in your ribs. The rushing of your heart. You had paradise for three years. You couldn’t run forever, no matter how far you got. The bell had finally tolled, and it was time to face it.

As someone who lost their father to cancer I feel this is very important to share. Please vote in 2024, and vote for those who care more about the people rather than bullshit politics.

(I don’t typically talk politics or world affairs but this hit me hard.)