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thatdesklamp · 7 months

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January, 2011

intrinsic warmth, gojo pov. Tonally very similar to the end of 2012, Chapter 17, with similar content warnings (angst)

Satoru stares up at the ceiling.

It’s a good ceiling. It’s high, and tall, so tall that he can stretch his arms up and not even brush his fingertips on it. His old home always had high ceilings, which he thinks was a show of wealth back when it was built. His old room in high school had very low ceilings, which he understood, with the knowledge that it was made for people half a foot shorter than him. Satoru would complain about it with Suguru who, when they were still teenagers together, was the same height as him.

No. Satoru blinks at the ceiling. Suguru was taller. He was taller by exactly 0.28cm in their first year, and 0.19 in their second, and Satoru cannot remember the number from their third year.

The woman shifts in her sleep, and Satoru’s gaze is drawn from the ceiling. She is naked, but has the bedsheets bundled up to her collarbone. They drape in a way that is accidentally attractive; the white linen catches on the side of her breast, highlighting the curve, luxurious in the way that asks to be touched. Satoru does not. He doesn’t want to, for how much he touched last night.

The ceiling. This ceiling is taller than his room back in school. The woman, whose name he cannot remember, had commented on it; she had been awed, last night, at how large the rooms in his apartment were, and how expensive his furniture looked, and how high his ceiling was. She had walked around, her fingertips brushing against the back of his white couch, her eyes wide as she looked upwards and not at him. Satoru had not wanted her to wait around, or to make herself home here.

He had stepped forward. He had taken her hand from his furniture and moved it above her head, had backed her against a wall and kissed her, hard, until her breathing was frantic and her body was writhing and until she was gasping out his name.

Satoru, he had told her, in the bar, when she had asked for it. She had told him hers—Satoru can’t remember, damn, that’s not good—and he thinks that it was her first name, too, because he had told her his.

Satoru, she had moaned out, when he was fucking her. He had her on her back, her thighs wrapped tight around his hips, bracing his weight on one forearm by her head and teasing her clit with his hand between their bodies.

He had been mean, last night, making her beg for it, for his fingers and his dick and the permission to come. He had fucked her ruthlessly, until she couldn’t say his name anymore, and could only make weak gasping noises as she shuddered through another orgasm. He had left dark bruises on her neck, from his tongue and his teeth, and she had bared her throat for him like an animal trying to submit.

But in the taxi back from the bar, she had told him that she liked it, and that she always wanted guys to edge her and call her a slut and be rough, and she had giggled drunkenly and clicked on a porn video that showed him what she meant.

Satoru had paid attention, and he had become the man in the video, and afterwards, when he had kissed her and moved his hands to her waist and murmured comforting words in her ear, she had told him that she had never felt like that before, and that she had felt good, so good, and that she wanted to do this again sometime.

Satoru had been drunk too. He was probably more drunk than she was, even though he’d barely drank anything. He’s always been a lightweight; he can hide it now, but it was embarrassing when he was in school and experimenting with alcohol with Suguru and Shoko.

Satoru doesn’t like drinking. He doesn’t like the feeling of it, the fuzziness and zeroed-in vision and the waning voice in the back of his head telling him he’s doing something wrong. Satoru drinks because it’s easier to pretend with women when he’s drunk, because words fall differently and disgust falls away.

Mostly. Satoru is still drunk, even now he’s woken up. That’s another thing with alcohol: it disturbs his sleep, making it fitful instead of peaceful and deep. You would tell him—and Satoru feels the pain like a knife in his chest, searing and agonising and serrated, at the thought of you. The guilt is visceral, and he flinches away from it, instinctual, pathetic. There is the wrong woman in his bed.

He looks back at her. There are the hickeys, which seem teenage and shameful now, now he has thought of you. There is the white linen, which he wants to draw up further, until it is her face that it covers, not just her naked body. He wants to hide her from his view, and pretend she is not here, and he sees the bare skin of her hands that hold the blanket to her chest, and he knows that she is not you.

She had wanted him to call her a slut. Satoru had done it, because he had known it would put him even deeper, and because it had made her eyes roll back and her chest shake with pleasure. His stomach had twisted, revolted at the sight of it, of the words that were coming from his own mouth. He had said it, and he had fucked her, and he has done it all before so many times and he cannot remember her name.

Satoru can remember almost everything. It’s the worst thing about his Six Eyes, and the best. Satoru remembers details, details, details. The dust particles catching light in the air, the day he learnt Suguru had massacred a village of innocent people. The width of the lock of hair that fell against Suguru’s temple, the strand he never cared enough to tie back. The words of hatred you had said to him, verbatim, exact, when you told him you did not want to see him again, ever, and that he had made you cry just like your father always had. The shine of moonlight in your wide pupils, the night on the rooftop.

It is almost everything, not everything, that he remembers. Because Satoru forgets. He thinks, sometimes, that the things he forgets are more painful than the things he remembers.

How did Suguru say his name? His first name, the name you say so rarely. Satoru remembers it, and he does not. The memory has become distorted with age, has gone grey and lifeless, and Satoru cannot remember that which used to be so familiar to him.

How many times have you told him you love him? It’s not enough that he could forget; Satoru hasn’t become neglectful in their abundance, because you will not allow them to become abundant, and so has tried to capture each one in his memory. He didn’t know that he could forget things, when he was seventeen, still reeling from Suguru, still so raw from his betrayal. But, months later, Satoru had realised that he could not remember how much taller Suguru had been than him when they had last checked at the beginning of the year, and he had realised that despite his Six Eyes, Satoru Gojo was not infallible or omniscient, and that he had to try to remember the things he could not allow himself to forget.

How many times? The first, when he was seventeen, of course. Moments, later; sometimes, when he says it, you will say it back, and his heart will fill with love so much that it hurts him. Of course, sometimes you will not say it back, and will send him an exasperated look, like you think he is playing a game. This hurts more, but he will not let you realise it.

His eyes are growing tired. There is more than just the ceiling, in his vision; there always is. There is his cursed energy, both opaque and completely transparent, curling and undulating like a living being, or like fog, with tendrils like a scorpion’s tail. It surrounds him, and surrounds everyone he looks at, enveloping and encasing them and entrapping them without him being able to hold it back.

This is not his technique, which Satoru can control. This is his raw energy, powerful beyond belief, powerful enough that Satoru cannot bear to look at the ceiling anymore. His vision is clear and overwhelming, both simultaneously, and he cannot focus on one thing like normal when there is a sea of nothingness, of expensive modern lights that came with the bedroom and white plaster and nothingness, nothingness, and Satoru sees everything. His eyes sting, painfully dry.

He closes his fist around the blindfold he keeps on his bedside table, and places the material against his eyes. The room darkens, and twists, and Satoru can see again. This was the blindfold she had laughed at, before he had gotten her to cry.

The wrongness returns; that guilt, the disgust, that he feels whenever he thinks about the woman. Or the women: Satoru cannot pretend she is the first, or that she will be the last. Satoru cannot have you.

Satoru fucks the way they want him to fuck, and he will call them a slut if they want him to, and he will be the best sex they’ve had in years if he can get them to say something good, tell him something he cannot hear anywhere else. That was so good, this woman had said to him, and Satoru had lapped at it like a savage cat to curdled milk. Their words are empty and shallow, and yours are rich with time and knowledge and love. But Satoru will scavenge for what he can, now, carnivorous and desperate and empty.

The woman had laughed at the blindfold, when she had craned her neck to look around his room, and asked him whether he was going to use it on her. Satoru had shaken his head and kissed her, distracting her, and he had swallowed down the surge of loathing at the repugnant idea that he ever would.

Satoru remembers you putting on his glasses at the beach, and the innocence of it all, the way his stomach had flipped at the sight of it. And you, running your fingers over his blindfold when he had discarded it after a day at work, when you had brought it up to your eyes and told him that it was cool, really, how he could see through it like normal when to you it was just really dark.

His day had been pitiful, up until then, and he had been so tired, even if it was making him feel better to pretend that he wasn’t. But you had held up the very thing that kept him sane, and had made as if you would put it on, and Satoru had only had to watch you to feel better.

That’s all it takes, these days. Satoru only has to see you, and it’s better. You have his heart between your gloved fingers, and yet you do not squeeze it tightly enough for it to beat.

#intrinsic warmth #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo angst #i couldn't stay in the fluffy mood forever folks #written in one sitting because it's raining and i'm feeling contemplative and somewhat sombre #enjoy

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presiding · 8 months

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"Even as a kid, there was a quiet curiosity there, though curiosity is not quite the right word." -Daud's journal, of Billie.

billie by @lapinneok, commissioned for the contract

#billie lurk #dishonored #brigmore witches #LOVE love love love the colours & the mood of this #lapin's billie!!! every time!#her expression is so so good - thoughtful. sombre #what was brigmore like for billie?#i like to think she initially found it freeing compared to daud's regimental approach #her comment in dh2 in front of emily “delilah wouldnt piss on them if they were on fire”#interesting to think what exactly did she see #that lead her come to this conclusion #because that doesn't just speak to delilah's betrayal of her either #my commissions

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pkavoirpeur · 1 month

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euridise · 4 months

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second half of December

#goodbye montréal <3 #my last month in the northern hemisphere #a much more seriou and sombre mood to this half of December #so much happened #it was the dusk of my time there #a slow sure flash & intensification of light #my feelings feel deeper but in a more grounded way #now I know the friends who will stay for the longest #diary

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thefoulbeast · 2 years

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-a letter received with no return address or sender-

Dearest friend, I write to you now From that same horrible hole, Much like the bottom of a well.

I know what I said & remember what I promised, But it was out of my control That I arrived here again.

Please say you still love me And that you would hug me If only you could Visit me here.

Do you still miss me?

Would you kiss me on the brow & hold my sweat-cold hands in yours? Would you let me cry upon your shoulder Like you used to in my dreams?

Dear friend, dear friend, I hope with all my heart That this is not the end.

#the written words #sombre mood.............

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colnerys · 1 year

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st: pic era open!

❝ a lot happened on uh, frontier day huh? ❞

#open !#* 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 : ic #* 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 : pic #interpret this however kinda mood you want tbh #it can be funny or sombre #i kept it at one line in the open but don't count on it staying a one liner ever LMAO #no actions but you can assume she's just talking or she just read... the news LMAO

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mariocki · 2 years

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Infinite list of favourite lyrics: 212/?

George Michael - Freedom! '90 (1990)

"But today the way I play the game

Is not the same, no way;

Think I'm gonna get myself happy.

I think there's something you should know,

I think it's time I told you so,

There's something deep inside of me -

There's someone else I've got to be.

Take back your picture in a frame,

Take back your singing in the rain,

I just hope you understand

Sometimes the clothes do not make the man."

#favourite lyrics #george michael #freedom!#freedom! '90 #1990 #listen without prejudice vol. 1 #known variously as just Freedom! or with the '90 addition to differentiate it from the Wham track by the same title #an absolute anthem from Michael which became one of his signature tracks in live performance (he'd perform it at the 2012 Olympic closing #ceremony‚ among other high profile moments). the third single from Listen Without Prejudice‚ the song is an outlier on that album #there's a lot to take into account contextually here so forgive me if i go off a little. in 1990 George was still (as unlikely as it may #seem in 2022) publicly recognised as a straight pop idol and sex idol for teen girls everywhere. although his homosexuality was well known #in the industry he wouldn't be outed until the end of the decade (against his choice). privately tho here was a gay man dealing with the #fallout of the AIDS epidemic‚ still at its height. he was losing friends and colleagues. the following year he'd meet Anselmo Feleppa and #fall in love; the next year Feleppa would discover he was HIV positive‚ and the year after that he would die. these were dark‚ awful times #and gay culture was reflecting that. after the pop disco triumph of 1987's Faith‚ Listen was a sombre reckoning with modern life‚ with the #state of George's career‚ with his conflict over his personal life and his fears and guilt around AIDS and the rock star life he'd been #living. the album is a stripped down largely acoustic affair which reflected the artist's subdued mood; Freedom is the exception. an out #and out dance track‚ it's also perhaps the most openly and brazenly personal track‚ at least lyrically. on one level GM was making his #statement on his future and his art: Wham was dead‚ the easy pop rocker was dead‚ George Michael was here to stay. with barbed shots at MTV #and a pointed message to the mourning Wham fans to get over it and move on‚ this is a mission statement and a fuck you rolled into one #you don't like it? i don't care. this is me‚ sings George‚ and I want to be me. it's also very much a coming out song only a coming out #song that works in secret; again‚ publicly‚ GM was straight. it's hard not to be moved by his lyrics ('I think it's time I told you so') as #he nakedly equates honesty with happiness; he talks about the early years ('I guess it was good enough for me') but also his need to move #forwards; a very literal and metaphorical change of outfits. there's no direct allusion to his sexuality but the hints are there #('the way i play the game is not the same'). it's a powerful‚ deeply personal assertion of self‚ and all the sadder for the fact that it #couldn't (or wouldn't) be the whole truth. lyrically GM keeps a tightly wound rhyme scheme that at times becomes almost hypnotically #rhythmic ('toDAY the WAY i PLAY the GAME is not the SAME') and take on an almost prayer like chant quality. George wrote and produced the #entire album almost single handed and never was his wealth of talent or breadth of ability clearer. this was an artist at their very prime #who nonetheless was struggling with issues of identity and personality and place within popular culture; but who translated all that doubt #and pain and worry into one of the best albums and one of the all time greatest queer anthems of a generation. rip George.

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kaelula-sungwis · 3 months

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flickr

norm by James Drury Via Flickr: Cast portrait ‘Coppergate Woman’ Strobist Info: Single Godox ad200 pro in medium Octabox, camera right. Feathered and fired into large silver reflector below subject

#YBSpeople22 #explored #Coppergate woman #York theatre royal #costume #reflector #octabox #pro #ad200 #godox #pixapro #play #mood #sombre #85mmf14 #woman #portrait #theatre #flickr

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devertigozation · 3 months

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I wonder if theres a way to talk to somebody without wanting to kys immediately after

#&i swear the more cheerful the conversation the worse it gets. sombre mood i can kinda endure

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unapologeticmelancholy · 6 months

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autumnal wildflowers

#dark academia #light academia #chaotic academia #wildflowers #poland #cottagecore #flowers #meadow #autumn #fall #november #sombre mood #original photographers #野花

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juuggg · 1 year

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Putting a piano in the main hall is the best decision campus has ever made

#it's nearing finals and the weather is still dreary so it's all been very sombre music #all beautiful tho #really boosts my mood to listen to a guy going ham on the piano at 8pm on a tuesday

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imaginaryf1shots · 8 months

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Here For You | Lewis Hamilton

Words count: 1K - I considre this a blurb

Lewis Hamilton X reader (established relationship)

Summery: When Lewis gets a podium and his team is nowhere to be found, but you stand there in a sea of red

Warnings: none

A/N: unedited

it really broke my heart seeing Lewis so alone after the race, the way he sat down waiting for his turn, while Carlando had their teams there. He looked so tired and defeted, thanks to the Ferrari and Mclaren who congratulated him.

Masterlist

Singapore 2023, Sunday.

What an intense race, one of the best of the season so far. It was so close from start to finish, those last ten laps had you on your toes in anticipation. Leg bouncing up and down as you stared at the screen, Carlos, Lando, George and Lewis were stuck in a DRS train all for P1, George couldn’t overtake Lando no matter what he did. It’s under a lap left when the younger Mercedes driver drives straight into the barrier, your eyes open in shock, everyone is surprised, disappointment on everyone's faces in the Mercedes garage. Frustrated mechanics and just about everyone.

Your eyes don’t leave the screen, eyes on your boyfriend, but as the three round the last turn, he couldn’t overtake Lando, but he’s P3. you’re happy for him, so happy. You feel bad for George, he’s been doing amazing through the race, he was doing so good all weekend, and to end it like this breaks your heart. However Lewis is your number one concern, and he made it to podium after so long, and you knew given one more lap he could’ve overtaken Lando for P2.

Despite having one podium win, the mood in the garage was sombre. Everyone is so upset about George, you bit your lip as you waited for them to go to the barrier under the podium to meet their winning driver but no one made an effort to go and see him, despite them all going to congratulate George the day before when he qualified second.

You’ve been going to races for years, having been with Lewis a long time and every week you had free of work you were in the country he’s in supporting him every chance, sometimes you’d be there for a day or two, never missing an opportunity to be by his side, and you aren’t about to start now. So after two minutes you decided to just leave the garage, ignoring everyone, you couldn’t even see Toto anywhere.

Already Ferrari and Mcalren were at the barriers so you’d have to fight your way to the front. The heat had you a little sweaty as you squeezed yourself between the orange and red dressed people around you, trying to be heard as you moved but your voice fell onto deaf ears under the loud sounds and talking. Lucky for you Fred Vasseur Ferrari’s principal saw you struggling, the older man had talked to you multiple times, he and Lewis are on good terms and talk from time to time. He gestures for his team to let you through, and thankfully you make it to the front.

“God! Thank you so much.” You breathe out, huffing, you’re thankful you decided to have your hair in an updo today, feeling the heat from the crowd around you add to the heat of Singapore.

“It’s okay, it looked like you were about to die in there.” He joked, as you both turned to the front, Lewis was waiting to get weighted, your eyes stayed on him once they found him with a smile on your face as you answered Fred.

“Felt like it.” He laughs and pats your back, you look around the barrier for a moment, once Lewis is on the scale(?). No sign of a single Mercedes team member.

“What are you looking for?” Fred asks, also looking around.

“Mercedes.” was all you said, the man realises the absence of the team which is very odd. Lewis has been the forefront of the team for years, whether it’s a win or not, they should be cheering for him.

Lewis takes off his helmet and balaclava, he doesn't see you though. “Lewis!”

You call but your voice get drowned in the other sounds around you, your saving grace comes in Lando, he was walking to the wait for his interview when he saw and heard you, patting Lewis on his arm to get his attention, he points at you. The moment he sees you, you smile so wide at him.

Lewis also smiles, seeing you, when he got out of the car and couldn’t spot you or any of his team he felt crushed, he’s tired the race has been hard and having kept it together the whole race, doing better than the last few weeks, it definitely dampened his mood not seeing his team here for him. Seeing you now however brought him happiness that he’s grateful for.

Walking you to you, the driver wraps his arms around you, sweat and all, you holding as close as you could through the barrier, you close your eyes getting a tad bit emotional.

“I’m so proud of you my love, you did so great.” Kissing his cheek. Around you Ferrari cheered for you, making you laugh and pull back a little, but Lewis wasn’t ready to let you go yet, he held your arms in his.

“I couldn’t see you when I came in.” He tells you, you give him a sad smile.

“Fred rescued me, was fighting my way through to get to the front.” You say with a small giggle, he once again pulls you in for a second hug. “I love you so much Lewis.”

“I love you too… Thank you for always being here for me.” Lewis says low enough so only you could hear him.

“Always, I’ll always be here for you, you can count on that.” You run your hand up and down his back, hearing Lando do his interview. “It’s your turn soon, I’ll be waiting for you after the podiums.”

Lewis pulls back and quickly picks your lips, it’s rare that he shows PDA but in that moment he couldn’t help it. Lewis is a private man, and he likes to keep anything beyond the surface about the two of you away from the public eyes, so you know that your feed will be filled with edits and screenshots from your moment.

Watching Lewis on the podium with a proud smile you clap and cheer for him, as if it’s your first time seeing him on a podium, celebrating him as if he won a WDC. you couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel so you’d be alone with him and enjoy the night alone, just the two of you.

#lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #sir lewis hamilton #f1 scenario

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zephyrrr101 · 1 month

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Not like her

Pairing: Daemon x niece reader

Warning: Targcest/incest, DUBCON?, size kink and breeding kink light, mention of somnophilia, slight manipulation, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, first intercourse, sweet Daemon, Daemon being a soft uncle hubby.(Because I simp) All ASOIAF warnings. MINOR DNI (but do with hungry bitches care?) also not proof read. High Valyrian translation might or not be wrong.

You looked around the Throne Room which had now was filled with hoards of people, All the nobles have made there way to King’s Landing to attend your sider sister, Rhaenyra’s wedding to your cousin Ser Laenor Velaryon. It was a match made out of convenience, you had known that.

Father had not told you much, nor had your maids and lady companions, all having been sworn to silence by your father. But it didn’t take much for news to not get to your ears. Red Keep was never able to keep gossips.

Apparently, Rhaenyra had been seen beyond the walls of Rad Keep during hour of wolf with someone in unseemly situations. There were no proofs that anyone had, but it had been enough for your father to set this betrothal to push the rumours away.

They weren’t rumours.

It was your sister’s sworn shield who had been the man who Rheernyra had shared her bad with that night. She had spoke to you of this a week after, since you broth were always close, your mother’s death bringing you even closer. You did not mind. Several lords went around having bastards, women too laid with men before marriages, you knew of it, why must Rhaenyra be kept from something she wanted But your sombre mood was not for your sister’s situation. Rhaenyra was strong and she welcomed things in her life with courage, even this marriage. Your issue was that your father, after he had talked with Rhaenyra, had a conversation with you too. You will be wed by the next year to a man of your father’s choosing. He did not seem to want another one of his daughters going and finding trouble.

You had hoped your father would give you the same liberty of choosing your husband that was given to Rhaenyra. You would not had minded choosing, you weren’t picky. You were a second daughter, getting many in a good family was always supposed to be your job. But you would have rather preferred if you could have a little bit of choice in it.

Thank you, Rhaenyra, I love you. But you fucked it up for me, Fuck you.

“Something on your mind, sweet niece?” You turned to Daemon who sat on your right. You were given the seat beside the Queen Alicent, not your preferable place, things between you and Alicent were awkward. She was your sister’s friend turned step-mother. You didn’t talk much, it was weird.

You sighed, turning to your uncle, who had come back from his trip to Stepstones a few days back. He had proven is determination when it came to the barren land. He had won it and now with your father’s blessings looked after the protection of Westros from there, visiting the place some times. “Father is setting up my betrothal.”

Daemon frowned, you could tell he was not happy, Daemon had been a constant in your and Rhaenyra’s life even of he was banished half of the time, more to you. While Rhaenyra had your father, you had your uncle. “Who?”

“I cannot say,” You fiddled with your cup of wine, you had lost your focus, drifting off in solace of solitude. “Father has not told me. But he says I will be wed by this time next year.”

Daemon did not reply. And you turned your attention to middle of room, Rhaenyra and Laenor had started to dance. You tipped your cup up, finishing your wine in one go you did not notice anything after that.

You did not notice how Daemon’s hand clenched around his cup as he glared at anything he could see, how his lilac eyes would fall over you, locking at your distressed race, how he counted each line that marred your forehead, how your tongue had slipped out of your mouth to catch the stray drop of wine and how licked it, your red tinged tongue moving over your lips wetting them. And you certainly did not notice the way he gripped Dark Sister’s pommel when Ser Harwin had come to ask you for a dance and you had agreed, leaving with the large dark haired knight.

No you did not.

You danced with other lords but again found Your way to Ser Harwin, or he did to you.

He spoke something to you, learned down so only you could hear him, Daemon could only imagine how he would be taking in your scent of jasmines, such a calming fragrance.

You nod.

He could not hear you from the distance but he had been around you for a lot longer to imagine how sweet your laughter must be in Strong knight’s ears.

This was it.

Daemon slammed his cup on the table, gathering attention of a few people around him and walked away, his brother’s cautioned words, blurred in his ears.

Ser Harwin was telling you about his tales of City Watch, how he sometimes sees the most hilarious things. Your favourite being the one where a certain lord was hit and thrown out of a pleasure house by one the workers and Ser Harwin had found him crying drunk with a bruised cheek. You had not noticed Daemon’s presence until he asked Ser Harwin if he could have a dance with you.

Who was he to say no to a seasoned warrior and dragon rider who could burn him to ashes if declined what he wanted.

“Ziry issa?” Is it him? Daemon asked you, you had well spotted the frown on his face and anger that was flowing in his lilac eyes. Something you could not comprehend.

“Skoros?” What?

Daemon takes your hand his, you let him guide to where ever he wants to, which happens to the farthest part of the dancing area, lesser people are here and you understand that whatever it must be that he wants to speak of he doesn’t want other to hear.

“Harwin,” He looks away from you and you follow his eyes, finding them on your father. It takes a moment for you to realise what he is asking.

“gimin daor,” I don’t know. You sighed. “It doesn’t matter does it, kepus? I must trust Father in his choice.”

“Your father’s choice?” He whispered, you could feel his breath tickling on your neck. “Look at this choice of his. Laenor is a good man but he will bore your sister senseless. And let us not forget his tastes.”

“It’s not that I don’t wish to marry, kepus,” You mutter, you suddenly found his doublet more interesting than the music or the dance. “But...”

Daemon hummed, his hand softly drew circles on the small of you back, you felt a shiver going through you.

“I understand politics but... I’d rather not be used as a pawn for gain without my say. At least without me knowing who I will be tied to for my whole life. I love my father, I really do,” you sighed, your eyes fell on your father and Alicent sitting beside him in a green dress. This wedding looked more like a disaster. “Look how miserable Alicent is. I do not wish to be another Alicent, kepus.”

Daemon listened to every word that left your mouth keenly. He embedded all of them in his very soul. His niece, his sweet and young niece who had been nothing but kind to him despite everything he might have one that could have hurt her. Even when his brother had sent him away for giving a moniker to his dead nephew all those years before. She had come to say good bye to him. Told him how she did not care for a boy who she didn’t even knew and wished him a safe journey, His little doll who always came to him when she didn’t like the braids her maid would put in her hair and have him redo everything.

I do not wish to be another Alicent, kepus.

And he imagined you, sitting beside some very aged lord, with life span of no long than a few years, who didn’t seem to be caring about anything but the cup of wine in his hands, children standing beside you and one in your hands, all while you looked sullen.

No. He couldn’t let it happen, Not when he knew how marriages like that ended up being.

He smiled at you, one his hand grabbing yours and other one caressing the soft skin of your cheeks, He looked at you with such intensity, with such fondness that you couldn’t help but feet the heat crawling up your neck.

“You won’t end up like her.” He told you and you knew better than anyone that his words were not hollow. It was an unsaid promise.

The wedding did turn out to be a disaster. Rhaenyra’s sworn shield had murdered Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, an event which had led to a rushed marriage between Rhaenyra and Laenor. As soon as the chaos erupted, your uncle had pulled you away towards the doors of the hall since you both were closer to it than the royal table.

The stress had caused your father to collapse and another thing had come to light some disease was eating him alive and now he had lost his arm.

In all, the day had been a like riding a wild dragon.

From what you could tell it was past midnight. And you could think of nothing better than trying to put yourself to sleep. It hadn’t taken much too. As your head hit the pillow and darkness engulfed you.

You had been sleeping deeply and peacefully. The tiring and stressed moments of the wedding had lulled you like an infant after having drunk a tummy full of milk.

You could not understand what it was that had woken you up. You felt hot. Surely it wasn’t winter and days in King’s Landing were hot sometimes but not so much to cause her such bother. Though it was not enough to cause you to get out of your sleepy reverie.

You let out a whine when you felt something moving over you leg and your shoulder, making you pull your leg away and shake your shoulder to put whatever was causing you discomfort away. The point between your legs felt wet, making you a bit worried about your moon blood but you were too far gone in sleep to care.

It was the wine you had drank like water before going to sleep. Curse the fucking thing.

It was a sound, something like a chimes that hit each other when wind flowed, that made you snap out of our daze a little bit. You forced you eyes your to open as much as they could which wasn’t a lot. You were drunk and sleepy. But you could recognise that voice and figure even in your blurred sight.

“Kepus?”

Daemon smiles at you. There were very few people who had seen him really smile genuinely. You were one of them. But this smile was different. There was something different about it. You couldn’t comprehend it.

Daemon hushed you, his hand softly laying you back again, It was then when you slowly started to come to sense. He was hovering over you and you felt his other hand between your legs, right on your...

“Kepus, what are you doing?” You almost shrieked, understanding what was going on, “Kepus, what—"

“Be quiet, sweet girl,” Daemon whispered, and leaned down, his lips falling on your cheeks, so, so close to your lips. His fingers circling your cunny, a place that was not supposed to be bare to anyone but your husband. “You didn’t want to be a pawn, right?”

“But-but Daemon—” whatever you were thinking of saying was long forgotten when you felt his his finger entering you, your breath hitched at the foreign sensation. “We shouldn’t.” You whispered, you weren’t sure if you had spoken it or if it was in your mind only.

“And why?” His voice low, you felt as if you were speaking of some centuries old secret with him. “I promised you that I wouldn’t let you be married just like this. I will keep my promise, sweet niece.”

“Daemon,” you whispered, your denial was dying on your lips with him adding another finger in you, his thumb rolling around your nub and his lips on your neck. He hummed and those were the sweetest vibration you had ever felt on your skin, a shiver passing from the junction of your neck and shoulder to your core. Some cold wind had not caused this. This you know. It was him, your kepus who did this.

Your hands went to his shoulders, bare shoulders, he did not have his tunic on. Your skin touching his warm one. He was always warm. Like a dragon. “Please,” you gasped feeling his fingers go deep in you and you squeezed his shoulders.

His fingers moved faster in you, his teeth biting at your ear, “Is this what you are asking, sweetling?”

If only you knew what you wanted. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to let go of this feeling. “Yes-fuck-kepus!” You moaned feeling his fingers curl in you. And then another on being added.

“Don’t worry,” Daemon kissed your forehead, and you realised how really small you were in front of his tall stature. Even laying he could easily reach you forehead when his fingers were far down. “Kepus will take care of. Always.”

You knew he would. Mayhap, it was that fact that you had not called out for someone.

You felt your lower abdomen clenched, you weren’t sure it was. It felt as if someone was pulling at it but from inside. And somehow it felt good too. “Kepus, Kepus, there...”

“I know, sweet girl,” his fingers moved in you even more faster, and that was all you could feel. “Let go. Just let go.”

His thumb softly pressed on your nub and you gasped.

Something washed over you, something ecstatic. You felt free. Just like when you were on dragon back.

You panted, feeling as if you were knocked out of breath. Maybe you were. You look at Daemon, as he softly pulls his fingers out of you, putting them in his mouth, you couldn’t help the heat on your face when you remembered that it was your arousal that he was happily sucking off his fingers.

You looked at him in daze, everything seemed hazy for a few moments. Daemon leaned over you, his knuckles brushing your cheeks before his lips dropped on yours.

They were surprisingly soft, you had always imagined him having a hard touch but here he was, touching you as if you were made of glass, that you would break at the slight wrong caress. You felt his tongue on your lips, and you opened, letting his soft muscle of his mouth melt into yours.

You let him do what he wished to for some moments, unaware of what you were supposed to do but it didn’t take you long to catch up and you moved your tongue against his, you felt losing breath by every moment though nothing seemed to matter. It was heaven where Daemon was taking you. And you did not want to fall down from there.

“Fuck!” You heard Daemon curse as he parted from you, and his lips fell on your jaw and something hard rubbing your core. Your hips bucked up, unconsciously and you moaned. “Stop doing that, sweet girl,” Daemon spoke, his lips were moving down and down from your jaw to your neck, his hands pushing the sleeves of your slip down, his mouth leaving wet trails between your breast.

“kepus,” you were too lost. Your uncle looked like one of those Gods of Old Valyria. So beautiful, his burnt skin like stars on the dark sky. Your hands wrapped around his arms, feeling his full strong muscles, your finger traced the healed wounds, you felt your inside twist and turn. “kepus,”

Daemon pulled away, his eyes were dark, almost pitch black, he was sat between your legs. When did that happen you weren’t aware. You chest heaved as you took each breath greedily and watched his hands moving to his breeches’ laces, pulling them and he shed off them off. You eyes were on him, whole of him and your breath hitched.

So lost in the sight of him you didn’t know when he came back and kissed you, until his cock rubbed into you and you moaned. “Kepus,”

“Shh. It’s alright.” He whispered, his hips moved, you could feel him even when he wasn’t inside you. “Fucking hells, you are wet. You want this just much, don’t you?”

You didn’t get to answer him, feeling his head on your entrance, at this moment.

“This will hurt, sweetling.” Daemon kissed your forehead, his hands brushed your cheeks and hair just like when he wanted to comfort you at any peril of your. “but it will become better. I will make it all better.” And with that he pushed inside you, slowly, and you felt yourself stretching around him as he moved in slow, sucking in breath sharply and curses leaving his mouth, all faded to you.

He wasn’t lying when he said to would hurt. “kepus,” Your nails dug into his shoulders and he kissed your cheek with caressing your head all the while.

“Good girl, such a sweet girl, taking my cock so nicely.” You could hear his groans loud and clear even when he was speaking softly and slowly. “so tight, so firm. But you will take it, won’t you?”

You didn’t answer but hid your face in his neck, tightening your hold on him. You felt tore apart, yet you didn’t want to let go. “so big, kepus,” you whispered as he continued to bottom himself inside you and he kissed your neck saying words of praises.

It felt like hours when he stopped, Daemon by then had bit on your neck several times, you felt as if you’d had bled, but there was no worry about it. He won’t hurt you. You knew.

“Open your eyes, love,” He whispered and you did, he was just a hair width away from you and you could look at his eyes so clearly, his pools of lilac, light than that was your. You wished to have his eyes in your childhood.

He kissed you again and you kissed back. You couldn’t have enough of his mouth on yours, the taste of yourself and the wine mixed in both of your mouth was so sweet to you.

“Come to Dragonstone with me,” His forehead touched yours. Both of you were breathing each other in, “Take me to husband and I will take to you wife, in tradition of our house. You won’t be like her. Ever.”

You won’t be like her, he said. And you knew he was true to his words. He will be. He will not. Not like Alicent.

Not like her.

“Avy jorraelan, Kepus.” I love you, uncle.

Daemon smiled. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen in your life. “Avy jorraelan, donus rinus.” I love you, sweet girl.

Daemon moved in you, slow at first, so deep, you moaned at each stroke, every time his hips met yours, you couldn’t help but cry out first in discomfort and then in pleasure.

His lips descended upon your breast, taking your nubs in his mouth, he suckled at one like a babe hungry for their mother’s milk, his other hand playing with your other and his hips pushing into yours. You couldn’t hear anything but his grunt and groans and your moans and whimper.

Daemon held your legs, putting them around his waist. If you thought he was deep before, he was reaching way inside you.

“This cunt, your cunt was made for me, sweet girl. Look how good it take me. Even when you were asleep. Getting wet for me. It knows it’s mine. You know that too, don’t you?” you ought to feel humiliated and offended at such words. Being owned by some was not something you liked. But the way Daemon said it only made you clench harder around him making him groan, “fuck, yes. Yes, you do.”

“Yes. Yes, Kepus.” You whimpered at his fast pace inside you. Lost in the world of pleasure you were, you couldn’t hold your noises anymore. But of course you uncle would remedy it for you, putting his lips on yours, drinking every single sound in which left your mouth.

You clenched, your hands in his hair, pulling at them, feeling the tugging feeling as before in you. Daemon knew it all well.

“Going to give you my seed and you will swell with our child, sweet,” Daemon muttered in your ear. You felt yourself liking the prospect. Even imagining it in your head as your uncle rutted in you.

Our child.

“Yes”, you nodded, kissing his neck, “a babe, Kepus. With your eyes. I love your eyes.”

“Whatever, my sweet girl wants.” He grunted and you clenched on him again.

“Fuck, kepus.” You moaned, you were sure by now you had scratched his back bloody. “I... I feel it. It hurts.”

“I know, sweetling,” he muttered, “Let go. Just like before. Let it go.”

It wasn’t long you felt the same bliss wash over you and you felt warmth fill you in. Daemon’s seed, you knew it was as you both panted. Daemon stopped moving inside you after a few more strokes, but he did not pull out. He lowered himself to your bed and pulled you on him.

You rested your head on his chest, some silver hair, rubbing against your cheek, you took in the scent of his sweat, his skin glistening under the moonlight that fell in your room.

You felt him pull the sheet over the both of you, his hand running over your hair and exhaustion began to take over you. Your eyes drooped but you kept blinking the sleep away.

“Sleep,” Daemon kissed your head and you fell asleep just as quick as you had woken up, you hands wounded around his neck.

You prayed it not to be a dream.

#house of the dragon #asoiaf #hotd #targ reader #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon targareyn smut #rhaenyra targaryen #king viserys #alicent hightower #viserys i targaryen #house of the dragon fic #hotd fic

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