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sourwolf-sterek32 · 4 months

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The Dirt (Your Version)

Summary: Meeting Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee was a coincidence. Being friends was a choice. But falling in love with them both was beyond your control.

A rewrite of The Dirt with all the highs and lows of Mötley Crüe from your perspective.

Pairings: Nikki Sixx x Reader, Tommy Lee x Reader, Nikki Sixx x Tommy Lee x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Alcohol, tattoo needles, language

Previous Chapter

Chapter 5- Hickeys & Tattoos

When you woke up, you knew one of two things.

One, you were in Tommy Lee's bed.

Two, you had absolutely no idea how you ended up there.

Tommy was passed out under the blankets beside you. His mop of black curls covered his face while he snored softly in his sleep.

You stared at him for a few minutes while you tried to wake up and wrack your brain on what the fuck had happened last night, but after those fireball shots you couldn't remember a single thing.

Did you and Tommy hook up?

Surely you would have remembered that. Right?

Sunlight was streaming in through the curtains not helping your hungover state in the slightest as you squinted and looked around the room. The digital clock on the nightstand read 11:03am which was alarming because you were pretty sure check out was at 11am and you were most definitely not checked out.

"Tommy, ditch whatever girl you got in there and get your ass up! We're late!" Doc's voice shouted from outside followed by loud rapid knocking on the door.

Tommy groaned groggily in annoyance before he brushed the hair from his face and his tired hazel eyes met yours. It took his foggy brain a second to realise it was you but then his eyes widened into saucers.

"Did we..." You trailed off struggling to remember the events of last night.

"I-I don't know." He admitted, rubbing his face with his hands before he propped himself up on his elbow and looked around the room.

You sighed while sitting up and scanning the bedroom for your shoes so you could go to your own hotel room and pack up your suitcase, but then your eyes landed on a pile of familiar clothes on the floor.

They were your clothes.

"Umm, Y/N..." Tommy started to say but seemed unable to finish the sentence as he stared at you with widening eyes.

You were naked.

You were totally naked.

"Fuck." You hissed, grabbing the blanket and yanking it up covering your exposed upper body and Tommy quickly looked away, his cheeks blushing like a rose. "Are you... are you wearing any pants?"

Tommy sat up, lifting his side of the blanket a little before lowering it.

"Yes."

"Really?" You asked a little surprised.

"No. I'm totally naked. Sorry." He answered, glancing over at you with an apologetic expression. "I can't remember fucking shit from last night, dude."

"That makes two of us."

Neither of you said anything for a few minutes while you tried to piece together what happened between those fireball shots and this exact moment, but you came up short.

"Umm, I think I know what happened last night." Tommy suddenly said but by the hesitancy of his tone, you almost didn't want to know.

You glanced over at the drummer to find him staring at something at the far end of the bed and you followed his line of sight and your stomach dropped when you saw it.

A condom. A used condom.

Fuck.

"We had sex?" You asked, but it was clear what the answer was.

"I am so so sorry. I-I don't remember anything, I was so fucking drunk and... shit, Y/N, I'm sorry." Tommy frantically apologised and he sounded so genuinely sad and angry at himself for it.

"It's okay... well, it's not okay. But it's not your fault. I was drunk too. This is on both of us." You sighed, rubbing your face with your hands.

You had sex with Tommy Lee, and you couldn't even remember it.

What the fuck?!

Suddenly, the bedroom door opened, and you mentally cursed your drunk self for not locking the door even after you had shouted at Vince to do the exact same thing last night.

"T-bone, are you ready- Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me." Nikki swore coming to a stop in the doorway when he saw you in the bed with his bandmate.

"Uh, hey, Nikki." Tommy greeted awkwardly like he had just been caught doing something bad, which wasn't far off the mark.

Nikki looked between the two of you and if looks could kill, you'd both be dead.

He reached out blindly with his arm and slammed the bedroom door shut without looking away from the two of you on the bed. You stared right back at Nikki knowing your cheeks were blushing furiously while you clutched the blanket to your chest covering your naked body.

"Is this gonna be a fucking problem?" Nikki eventually asked motioning between the two of you. "Because if Vince finds out that you fucked his little sister..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but he didn't have to.

Vince would kill Tommy if he found out.

"He's not going to find out." You responded because Tommy didn't seem like he was capable of speaking at the moment.

"Good. Because I am not letting you be the reason for the downfall of the band." Nikki stated sternly his eyes glaring at you before flicking over to Tommy. "She ain't fucking worth it, man."

"Fuck you, Sixx." You mumbled too tired and hungover to retaliate any further.

"Seems like you're all fucked out, princess." Nikki shot back.

"Dude!" Tommy warned, shaking his head at his friend's words.

Nikki raised his hands, "don't get angry at me. I'm not the one who just put the band at risk!"

"Nikki-" Tommy tried to say but the bassist cut him off.

"Don't try and make excuses." Nikki shook his head before reaching for the door. "And don't let it fucking happen again!"

With that, Nikki marched out the room slamming the door shut harshly behind himself.

"I'm sorry about him." Tommy sighed, running his fingers through his knotted hair.

"It's fine. Let's just forget this whole thing ever happened, okay?" You said looking over at him as he nodded in agreement. "Can I borrow your bathroom?"

"Of course."

You pulled one of the blankets off the bed and wrapped it around your very naked body. Tommy politely looked away while you grabbed your clothes off the floor and disappeared into the bathroom locking it behind you.

Once inside you let out a deep exhale and leant your back against the door closing your eyes.

How could you be so irresponsible? No memories of last night were coming back. Nothing.

How much did you even have to drink?

Too much.

Definitely too much.

Rubbing your face with your hands you walked over to the bathroom sink and turned the tap on cupping your hands underneath and splashing the cool water over your face. You lowered your head over the basin allowing the water to bead off your skin as you grabbed the edge of the sink and took in a few deep breaths.

"I wish I could remember what it was like." You whispered softly to yourself.

There was no denying your attraction to the drummer. And you couldn't blame your drunk self for wanting to sleep with him. You just wished you could remember at least some of it.

"Y/N, are you okay in there?" Tommy's hesitant voice called out followed by a gentle knock on the bathroom door.

"Yeah. I'll be out in a minute."

You spared a glance at your reflection in the mirror above the sink taking in your messy makeup that drunk you had never bothered to wipe off. You leant forward and cleaned up the smudged eyeliner and mascara before pulling the blanket off from your body.

"Jesus Christ." You swore staring at the fresh hickeys along your collarbone.

You ran your fingers along your skin taking in Tommy's handy work from last night with a small shake of your head.

How the fuck were you meant to hide this from Vince?

"Is everything okay?" Tommy asked having heard you swear. "I-I didn't... I didn't hurt you last night, did I?"

Tommy's voice sounded so incredibly concerned and guilty all at once. He was actually worried that he had hurt you while you were both drunk.

Tommy was too good for this world.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N. I don't remember anything, but if I hurt you or-"

"You didn't." You said cutting him off before quickly putting on your clothes.

"Are you sure?"

You smiled at his question. At how caring and worried he was at the mere thought of hurting you.

You slipped on your tank top and grabbed your leather jacket before unlocking the door and pulling it open only for Tommy to stumble inside after having been leaning against it.

"Whoa." You shot your hand up to his chest stopping him from falling face first into the bathroom tiles.

Tommy now had pants on but hadn't gotten around to finding his shirt yet and you quickly removed your hand from his bare chest once he had gotten his feet steady underneath him.

"Thanks for the save."

"Thanks for the hickeys." You pulled down the collar of your shirt exposing the fresh red marks.

"What?!" Tommy practically shouted causing you to wince, his raised voice not helping your hangover in the slightest.

Tommy took a step closer, his hand coming up to your collarbone before thinking better of it and quickly lowering his hand as he stared at the two very recent hickeys on your skin.

"Oh, fuck." He swore softly under his breath before his eyes met yours. "I am so sorry. I-I... don't remember doing that. I don't remember anything."

"I know. It's okay." You insisted putting on your leather jacket and zipping it up covering the marks completely. "Problem solved."

Tommy glanced down to where the hickeys were now hidden before his worried hazel eyes locked with yours.

"Are you sure I didn't hurt you? Please tell me if I did-"

"Tommy, you didn't hurt me. It's okay."

A look of relief washed over him, "are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Oh, thank God." He sighed.

"I should go back to my room before Vince wakes up and sees me leaving."

Tommy nodded, "yeah. Yeah. Of course. Just... are we cool? Like... this isn't going to affect anything, is it?"

"We're cool, Drummer. Don't worry." You reassured. "Don't ever tell my brother about this though."

"Goes without saying." He chuckled before holding his arms out silently asking permission for a hug.

You smiled softly and accepted the hug as Tommy wrapped his long arms around your body and you hugged him back resting your head against his bare chest.

"I'm still sorry." Tommy whispered.

"I'm only sorry that I can't remember it." You admitted pulling away. "I'm sure we were great together."

Tommy's mouth opened but no words came out causing you to smirk as you turned and walked out the room.

Not even 48 hours later, you found yourselves back at the Mötley House drinking in the main room while going over ideas for the next show. The ideas ranged from guitar riffs to Vince's moves on stage to Tommy's insane drum solos.

The guys had many great ideas but many more stupid ones.

The idea that took the cake for the stupidest was to get tattoos. Matching tattoos.

Tattoo Mania was quite literally two buildings down from the Whisky a Go Go and walking distance from your apartment. So, that was how you ended up at a tattoo studio in the middle of the night with the guys.

They all argued about a tattoo design for the first 20 minutes while in the lobby of the studio still drinking the beers that they had bought from the apartment. There were no other customers inside the studio, so the guys were able to be as loud and obnoxious as they pleased while fighting over which design to go with.

The two tattoo artist working at the studio seemed to be entertained by their bickering and didn't try to rush them on the decision. The artists both began setting up their chairs getting ready while you leant against the far wall listening to your bandmates argue like children.

"Why do you need some cool design? Why not just get the band name tattooed?" You asked, speaking up for the first time since stepping foot inside the studio.

The guys all shut up instantly and turned to face you with a surprised look, like they hadn't expected you to come up with a good idea.

"I like that!" Tommy beamed excitedly.

"Of course, you do." Nikki muttered, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You questioned defensively.

Nikki shook his head, "nothing, princess."

Vince looked between the three of you sceptically but didn't comment on the clear tension in the air.

Nikki had been off ever since he walked in on you and Tommy in bed together at the hotel. He was angry at what happened, and you thought it was because he didn't want Mötley Crüe to be jeopardised but now you were starting to wonder if it was something else.

"Have you boys and lady decided on a design?" One of the artists suddenly asked.

The group looked around at each other with questioning expressions before everyone nodded in agreement.

"We have." Mick announced. "I'll write it down, so you spell it correctly."

Nikki and Tommy were the first to put their hands up to get tattooed. So, you, Vince and Mick simply watched while the artists turned their machines on and began tattooing. It wasn't long before they were finished and admiring their new ink in the mirror together which then turned into a flex off with their muscles.

You snorted in amusement watching them before they turned and showed off their matching tattoos for the rest of you to see.

In black bald letters below their left shoulders were the words...

'MÖTLEY CRÜE'

"Who's next?" One of the artists asked.

Vince glanced over at you and grinned, "come on, Y/N."

"Let's do it." You chugged the last of your beer before walking over and taking a seat in one of the chairs while Vince sat in the other.

You slipped off your leather jacket exposing your upper arm for the artist to place the stencil while Tommy and Nikki walked back over to watch the artists do their job.

"I can't believe I let you guys talk me into this." You commented staring down at the fresh stencil on your skin anxiously.

"I can't believe you actually agreed." Vince admitted with a smirk. "12-year-old you would be freaking out right now."

"Does it hurt?"

It was a stupid question. Of course, it was going to hurt. Literal needles were about to go into your skin. Obviously, it was going to hurt.

"It hurts, but it's worth it." Tommy supplied trying to ease your nerves.

You tilted your head up to the drummer who was now standing a few metres away watching the artist grab his tattoo machine.

"Just look at me." Tommy's hazel eyes met yours and he gave you a small reassuring nod. "Don't watch the needle. Just look at me."

"Ready?" The artist asked.

You nodded, "I'm ready."

You kept your eyes on Tommy taking in a deep breath as the artist turned on the tattoo machine. The loud buzzing of the machine made your nerves skyrocket even more, but Tommy's gentle eyes kept you grounded as the needle pierced your skin.

Sure, it hurt, but it wasn't anything bad. You've felt worse pain. This was nothing.

"Son of a bitch." Vince hissed from his chair nearby.

You spared a glance to your brother to find his face screwed up in pain while the artist tattooed his arm before you looked back up at Tommy who raised his eyebrows at you silently asking if you were okay.

"This is it?" You asked a little surprised looking down at the tattoo machine working on your skin. "This isn't bad at all."

Tommy's eyes flicked over to Vince before he started to laugh.

"Guess we know which sibling is stronger."

"Fuck off." Vince grunted.

You tried not to laugh not wanting to move and accidently screw up the tattoo.

Watching the needle of the tattoo machine was surprisingly memorising as the artist finished the outline of 'MÖTLEY CRÜE' before filling in the block letters with black ink.

"Uh, Y/N..." Tommy whispered subtly motioning towards his collarbone.

"What?" You frowned looking at where he was pointing before glancing down to your own collarbone and your eyes widened when you saw the bright hickeys that were now exposed.

Oh, shit.

Your head shot over to Vince in sudden panic, but your brother was too distracted watching his shoulder get tattooed to notice anything else around him.

Nikki Sixx, however, was not so distracted.

"Jesus Christ." The bassist swore softly under his breath walking over while glaring at you and Tommy.

"Jealous bass player?" You smirked tilting your head up towards him.

Nikki's eyes hardened in your direction while Tommy snorted and quickly covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

"Cover that shit up." Nikki hissed quietly.

That was probably a good idea.

You shifted your hair with your free hand until it was covering the marks on your collarbone and hoped it would be enough for Vince not to notice.

It didn't take long before the tattoos were finished, and Mick got his done as well.

The tattoos were all identical in the same position and font. Vince's was shaped around his other tattoo on his upper arm -a snake wrapped around a music note- but other than that, everything else was the same between all five tattoos.

It was perfect. Even though it was a simple tattoo, just two words, it held a lot of meaning.

Permanent ink was forever, and these Mötley tattoos were going to stay with you all for a lifetime.

Next Chapter

MASTERLIST pinned to profile

If anyone wants to be tagged, let me know.

#motley crue #nikki sixx #tommy lee #motley crue fanfiction #motley crue x reader #nikki sixx x you #nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx fanfiction #tommy lee fanfic #tommy lee x reader #mick mars #vince neil #the dirt #pov #imagine #terror twins

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gemini-sensei · 1 year

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I can't stop giggling at the idea that the terror twins would end up crying to Hawk and Reader during their second pregnancy, because they think “Mama is going to explode!!” because of how big their mama’s belly gets.

Omg that's the cutest thing ever!!! I love it.

They don't even know how big she got during her first pregnancy, which was a lot bigger with them than the single baby she has in her now. Reader is just sitting there, trying to comfort them because she hates to see them upset like that. Also, she's hormonal and it's so easy for her to start crying if they're crying.

Hawk tries explaining to them that mama isn't going to explode, it's all natural, blah blah blah. The twins don't get it, they don't understand. They just see their mama getting bigger and bigger. Once they get the idea in their heads that she's going to blow up, they are inconsolable. The poor things 😢

And if they feel the baby kick? They think it's the end of the world.

Hawk tries his best not to laugh when they hug their mama around her tummy, trying to keep her together. Reader is not amused by his nearly busting at the seams and that grin on his face. She just holds her babies close and rubs their backs and tries for the umpteenth time to tell them that mama's alright.

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fanaticbitchhh · 9 months

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brooklyn baby

modern!nikki sixx x reader

word count: 512

warnings: swearing and a mention of drug addiction but i think thats all.

lowercase intended!

you sighed as you got up off the couch, nikki had been gone for a while and you got bored. at first, the only rational decision you made was to watch some netflix but then, as anyone does, you got bored.

you walked into nikki and yours shared bedroom and getting changed for the day, sporting one of nikki’s t-shirts, some shorts with white socks. you walked down the stairs, a portable speaker in hand, ready to start off with mopping the floors.

after roughly twenty minutes, you had finished mopping up your home. then came the more boring part; waiting for it to dry. you paused your music, huffing in response to flopping on the couch and watching some random show you’d probably rewatched a thousand times but nothing could stop nikki from infiltrating your mind.

when’s he coming back? this would be so much better if nikki was here. you groaned, hands covering your face as you roughly brushed them up and down your face, as if you were cleaning the thoughts from your head. you hated thinking about nikki when he was gone, you felt selfish for wanting him all to yourself but also, you were worried.

you had been with nikki since the very start of mötley crüe, i mean sure, you werent in a romantic relationship but you were still there. you had helped him during his heroin addiction and helping him get help for it. you were beyond proud of the man you had stuck around to see become happy, you hated seeing him practically killing himself every day just for some temporary high.

once you had stopped thinking about the memories you had with nikki, smiling at some but tearing up at others, you had realized the floor was dry. you smiled slightly, walking over to the kitchen and cleaning the counter tops. you heard the sound of your favorite song so, giggling a bit, you danced, as any sane person would. the sound of your singing filling the house, mixed with the smell of cleaning products was enough to make nikki smile as he walked through the front door.

he strategically placed his leather coat on the hook and his boots softly by the front door as to not startle you. he walked up to the kitchen, leaning on the doorframe as he did so. he smiled at the sight before him, his wife dancing to her favorite song while cleaning, it was definitely his second most favorite sight. his first being, and i quote ‘the night we met, you were just breathtaking’ he had confessed this the night of your marriage. vince had asked what his favorite sight was and he simply replied with that. lets just say, it was enough to make tears spring to your eyes.

as you spun, you screamed at the sight of nikki, smirking and leaning against the door frame. “hey princess.” he has a shit-eating grin on his face while you start to go red from embarrassment. you walk up to him, turning the music off before kissing his cheek and bringing him into a hug. “im glad your home.” you say, nikki could barely hear it from your face being buried into his shoulder. “me too baby.” he smiles, kissing the top of your head.

he pulls away, catching your lips into a kiss filled with love and passion. just from the kiss alone, you could tell he missed you almost as much as you missed him. “now. lets go get frankie from school and grab some food yeah?” he asks, smiling at you. “lets go” you agree, placing the cloth down and putting some shoes on. you both walk out the door, hand in hand going to pick your daughter up from school.

you couldnt have asked for a better life with the man of your dreams.

#nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx fanfiction #mötley crüe #vince neil #tommy lee #mick mars #terror twins

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sunsetsixx · 2 years

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oh…..my god

#CAN IT BE 100° EVERY SHOW IF WE GET PHOTOS LIKE THIS???#JESUS #terror twins got me fucked up #nikki sixx #tommy lee #terror twins #motley crue #mötley crüe #motley crue live #the stadium tour #nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx smut #tommy lee x reader #tommy lee smut

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hopefulfuturenovelauthor · 1 year

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The World Was Wide Enough

Cameron Mahkent x gn reader (established relationship)

almost 1k words

warnings: maybe language and humor

You fell from your place floating in the air, exhaustion creeping over you. Stabilizing the reactor had taken all of your energy albeit your earlier concern was most certainly being made valid. You felt like you could sleep for weeks. A throbbing ringing filled your ears as the world became spotted. Your feet couldn’t find the ground, contact was imposible considering your position. Within an instant you knew you would be blacking out, you only hoped there would be someone to catch you.

—

“I swear to God, Luther and Thawne better be ready the next time I see them. Mage could have died from that.” Your eyes remained shut, as you held onto every word surrounding you.

“It wasn't on purpose,” the voice of the one and only Psimon filled your ears.

“Yea, Junior, them doing that just thickened up their skin. They’ll be more ready the next time,” the eldest Terror Twin said. His counterpart hummed in agreement in the background.

“How about we just let them rest,” Devistation offered to the group, “Icicle, you can shut off the lights and shit. We have things we need to do.”

Cameron grumbled as the others chuckled, walking out of the room. The sound of the heart monitor you were attached to beeped to your right. Slowly you opened your eyes after the ice meta turned off the overhead light. The lamp at your bedside remained on and you glanced across the room to the last member of your messy, unagreeable team.

“Yeah, if Reverse shows his face any time soon I’m going to pin him in the air and leave him there so he can’t phase himself free,” you said from the medical bed you were laying on.

Cameron’s head turned quickly, looking over you once, and then he bounded across the room. He swiftly lifted you up and into his arms. The embrace was cool and kind as you returned the sentiment engulfing his body with yours.

“You scared the shit out of me, babe,” Cameron pulled back to look at you.

“Yeah, well someone has to keep you on your toes,” you smiled back at him. Cool lips pressed against your own softly and sweetly. His hand traced your cheek carefully, still worried that you would fall away again. You pulled back just enough so that your foreheads touched as you nuzzled into his space.

“I think I’m kept on my toes enough,” he said in response as you hummed at his answer, taking in his presence.

“Maybe I just thought we needed something exciting to happen. However, I was not expecting that much kickback,” you chuckled lightheartedly.

“Why would you want to put yourself through something like that?” Cam asked. “I know you didn’t think it would go well and warned them that they were underestimating the job. You could have said no,” he whispered. His eyes were sad as he stared into yours waiting for an answer.

You brought your own hand up to his cheek. “Because I knew I’d be okay. Sure, in the moment I wasn’t fine, but I’m alright now, C. This is what we do. This is our responsibility-“

“I don’t want that responsibility. If you’re going to get hurt or pass out from shit then you shouldn’t do it and no one should fucking expect you to. I want you to be safe.” His hands grasped the one at your side.

“Cam, this job we do, it will never be safe, for either of us,” you said calmly, trying to cool the always cold criminal off.

“Then…” Cameron said, his eyes up at the ceiling as he bit his lip in concentration.

“Then?” you prompted softly, awaiting his answer. As his thoughts continued to race you patted his hair and left a gentle kiss on his temple.

“Why don’t we leave?” he asked, finally returning his gaze to you.

“Why don’t we leave?” you repeated. Your brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, we can just go. The world is our oyster,” he said giddily, grabbing your hands in his, “we could run away together. We could, we could, elope!”

“Cameron, babe, I love you. But do you even know what that word means?” you questioned gently.

“Yeah, we leave everything behind and run off into the sunset free from our responsibilities,” he replied innocently with anticipation. His eyes were wide and shined brightly for your response.

“Look, Cam, I’m-I’m all for leaving if you want to leave. I’d follow you to the end of the world. However, I still don’t think you completely understand the connotation of that word,” you admitted.

“Yeah, yeah, look, we can travel the whole world together. Hang out in the Caribbean, tour Europe together, visit Italy, and travel through Rome. Trust me, I’ll make that honeymoon worth your while,” he grinned smugly, sending you a wink.

You slapped his arm jokingly with a roll of your eyes as he feigned injury, “Dick.”

“That’s what I was implying, babe,” he smirked.

“Well,” you chuckled, dancing your hand up his arm finger by finger, tracing all the way up to his shoulder, “if you promise to take me to Europe, you won’t have to wait for the honeymoon.”

Cameron’s eyes widened as he shot up from his spot beside you, “okay, let’s go. Time to get a move on, up and out of bed, babe.”

You smiled at his antics, kicking your legs over the medical bed and rose from your place. Your hands easily found his, pulling him back in. The smile on your face held affection as the look in your eyes contained excitement for the future and comfort in what was to come. You brought him closer, reattaching your lips, looking forward to the rest of your life beside him.

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motley-nroses · 2 years

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Can you adopt me?

Pairings: Nikki Sixx x child!reader

Summary: Misty has been in Nikki’s life since her mother has died and she finally gets the courage to ask Nikki if he can adopted her.

Theme/warnings: sad asf, bandmates as uncle, the girlfriends/wives as Aunts (except brandi of course)

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(not my gif!)

It has been four years since Misty has lived with her father figure, Nikki. She has wanted to ask him if he wants to adopted her but she hasn’t had the courage to do so.

It was a normal day at the studio, in Canada, and the band was recording songs for their album Dr. Feelgood. Misty was sitting with Heather as she started to chatting with the 5 year old, “Sweetie, If you want him to adopt you, just go and ask him.”

“Really?” She asked. Heather nodded her head. “I feel like he’ll say no.” Misty puts her head down on the table. Brandi rubs her back, “I am sure Nikki will not say no, Sweetie. You’ve been in his life since you were 3.” Misty looked down and turned to the actress, “Are you sure, Aunt Heather?”

“Of course, dear. Do you want me and Brandi to go with you?” Heather asked as Misty nodded her head. The three walked hand in hand to the studio where the boys were practicing. The door opened and they all looked at the three, “Nikki, Misty has something to ask you.” Brandi told her husband.

Nikki sat his bass down, sitting down on the couch. Misty walked up to him, “Can you adopted me?” He looks at her in shock and then sighs. He places his head in his palms as he took the little girls head into his hands, “Misty...” She smiles as bit. “I’m sorry but I can not adopt you.”

Her smiles disappears and her eyes teared up a bit. “Wha-why?” She questioned. “Look, I have too much on my mind, I just got out of rehab, we’re making an album and I just can not deal with this right now.” Misty wanted to leave, “So you don’t love me anymore?” The girl frantically wondered.

That word alarmed him, “No, Misty, wh-where did you hear that?” Misty points at him, “You did.” Nikki suddenly then panics, “No, no, Misty, I do love you. I never said that I did-” The girl cut him off, “Then why don’t you wanna adopted me?” Clearly stressed, Nikki stands up and paces while he runs his hands through his hair.

He hears her cries and sees her about to leave, “Misty, wait!” She ignores him and leaves the room. Both Brandi and Heather left the room to go check on Misty. He felt an angry emotion come out. But he ignored it as he then sits back down on the couch and picks up his bass like nothing happened.

“Why did you say no?” Vince wondered. “Yeah man. Misty has been like in your life since she was 3 and you say no to her adoption proposal.” T-bone wondered. “When Misty was hurt who did she come to?” Vince asked. Nikki stayed silent. Vince pointed at him, “You did.”

“Who got sick when we were about to go on stage for a concert? Misty. Who canceled the show when she did? You did.” Tommy added. “Who takes her everywhere we go so you can keep on eye on her? You.” Nikki tries his best to ignore the two until Mick speaks up.

“Listen kid, that was a little fucked up back there. Tommy’s right, Misty loves you and you loves Misty. You would do anything for the little girl. Hell, I might even adopt her.” Mick comment. “Same.” T-bone joked as well. Vince nodded his head, agreeing with the two. Nikki rolled his eyes, “I just have too-” “Too much on your mind yea we know.” T-bone cuts him off.

“You got out of Rehab, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” Vince added. “Just please really think about her proposal.” T-bone told the bass player. After they finished the recording session, everyone, but Nikki, left the recording studio. He sat there thinking about everything what the boys have said.

“Should I adopted her?”

#Nikki Sixx imagines #Nikki Sixx x child!reader #vince neil #Tommy lee #Motley Crue x reader #nikki sixx #mick mars #motley crue imagine #nikki sixx fanfiction #terror twins #child reader

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tobybestupid · 5 months

Note

Would you be willing to write terror twins x reader smut? 🤭(PUH-LEASE)

ofc!!😽

Terror Twins X Reader, NSFW.

Tw: smut, mentions alcohol & drugs, drunk/high sex, bj, masterbation, watching fucking...ig?

They absolutely WILL. Rearrange your guts. Ever been to pound town? Welcome to pound island.

Oh you know they get needy, you know they get jealous. Obviously will be unfair to each other, will complain to each other's if one of them gets a longer time.

Tommy and Nikki will team tag you after, AND before concerts. Doesn't care if anybody walks in, will continue.

Will fuck you when high and drunk, and it'll be so sloppy.

Nikki likes to jack off to you sloppily sucking off Tommy, he gets off to it. (Same goes for Tommy, he'd just get jealous. They both get jealous.)

Nikki will definitely pin you to any surface that Tommy is near, and just start railing the fuck out of you. Wants to see Tommy jealous.

Tommy will definitely whine and grunt if he's receiving head. Small and quiet "o-oh- fuh— fuck.." or just simple vusd words.

Nikki grunts , Nikki groans. He never, EVER. Wants to seem submissive. Unless you and Tommy force him into submission, Tommy will make fun of him afterwards. + He cusses

If it's just you and Tommy fucking, Nikki watches and waits for his turn (sometimes he makes you suck him off.)

If it's just you and Nikki fucking, Tommy watches and waits for his turn (sometimes he makes you suck him off.)

Tommy or Nikki like to fuck you before the other gets home, just for them to get home and see them plowing the shit out of you.

============================

#x reader #80s rock #mick mars #nikki sixx #mötley crüe #tommy lee #vince neil #mick mars x reader #vince neil x reader #terror twins x reader #terror twins #nikki sixx x reader #tommy lee x reader

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sixxrock666 · 4 months

Note

Lovie, that platonic Mötley Crüe was absolutely amazing, thank you for taking the time to do it. <33. I’m definitely going to have to ask for more though. I also feel like if one of them were being chased by mick, they would sacrifice reader by holding them up like the scene from the lion king, y’know? Like this. Thank you, love <33

stop you’re so sweet ;)) the lion king reference😭 literally they would sacrifice the reader to save their asses

hope you’ll like it hun tried my best<333

Part 3

• they would definitely sacrifice you when Mick would get pissed because they knew he’d go soft on you…when you all do piss him off it turns into a hell house, like just straight up screaming and throwing stuff and running around

• for your birthday they’d for sure throw a big party, and you’d get such random gifts like Tommy would get you a random pair of boxers with cats on it and Nikki a spatula or some shit (╥_╥)… i think Vince and Mick might actually put some thought into it

•…teaching the boys to make brownies at one am because Vince was craving them. Of course you all ended up making weed brownies (￣^￣)ゞ

• if you’d get caught with another man and the photos would made it to some kind of magazine i feel like the boys would juts sit you down in front of them and would be like “what’s this young lady?” Not them playing the role of good protective mothers (¬_¬)

…would probably tease you about it later tho

• they would steal your clothes let’s be real

“Vince are those my fucking leather pants”

“They make my ass look better sweets”

•nicknames for u>>

★ Tommy would be cheesy of course, calling you bestie or some long lasting friendship bullshit

★ Vince would call you sweets

★ Mick would call you a little devil or something

“speak of the devil”

especially when you’d be hanging around Tommy and Nikki…it was never a good combination the three of you since shit always went down

★Nikki would call you whatever he felt like it on a particular day, sometimes just your name or maybe rockstar, kitty? etc.

• Nikki would ask you to do his makeup

• if you’d get nervous before the concert they would try to take your mind off by cracking jokes…they were never funny but that was the charming part honestly

• you and Mick would usually stay a little longer in the studio making up some guitar riffs, laughing all the time and sharing a joint

• you’d buy them deodorant for Christmas at some point…

• when Nikki would feel like he could trust you enough he’d share about his childhood, not intentionally only if you’d ask, and you’d rub his back through it

• Mick would definitely confide in you about his back pain sometimes :( you’d then baby him and take care of him…he wasn’t the biggest fan of it but he let you…he knew you cared about him and only wanted what’s best for him

• regular trips to the record store with the boys, just listening to music and picking out records to add to your collection

☆彡𐬿𐮚✧★𐬺

#mick mars #nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #motley crue #motley crue x reader #rockstars #motley crue fanfiction #nikki sixx x reader #terror twins x reader #vince neil x reader #tommy lee x reader #mick mars x reader #headcanon

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lazypanartist · 2 years

Text

Favorite Places to Kiss You

Ft. Onslaught

Came to mind.. one in the morning? If y'all couldn't tell, I'm writing a TON at once and posting 'em over a lil bit, just as a treat :p

Also I have villain brainrot, if that wasn't obvious from the other 'sleep deprived' posts. Whoops.

Notes: established relationships, if you couldn't tell I love having a power imbalance (vulnerability/weakness comes up a lot)

-----

Tommy Terror

Hands

Even though he's a large, highly feared villain,

He's at least somewhat of a gentleman

If he's bored of waiting to get called out on a mission or whatever, he'll turn your hand palm up and just. Kiss your palm

Also really likes holding your hands in his

He loves reminding you just how tiny you are in comparison to himelf

Tuppence Terror

Lips

You CANNOT tell me that this girl doesn't love the most basic option

Regardless of your height, build, or background,

She's stronger than you

So the ability to feel so open with someone; enough to share tender moments like this

Really makes her feel blessed to have you

Psimon

Your head

Mostly the crown of ur for head, or hairline

It makes him feel closest to you, both mentally and physically

Close second would be your temples, for mostly the same reason

It's a more 'exposed' spot; soft area in your skull

Feels further from your mind, though

Devastation

Anywhere on your spine, for the most part

She's a big girl, and loves having to duck down to kiss you anyways

But having to go that one step further?

Kiss you somewhere so potentially vulnerable, with your full trust?

She's been Sent

That, or you've been sent to her

Icicle Jr.

Your neck or collar

Loves making you gasp when he presses his frozen lips next to a pulse point

Temple is a close second choice

Especially when you have a headache

Still makes you gasp with the contact

Main goal: Achieved

Shimmer

Behind your ears

She's not used to any kind of softness, really, so such a gentle gesture means a lot to her

Will typically cradle your head when she wants to kiss you anywhere

Tilts your head forward to kiss you where she wants you, other arm around your waist

Will occasionally use this to her advantage.. and tickle you

Leads to a tickle fight that you lose by a landslide (she's still holding you; it wasn't a fair fight :p)

Mammoth

Kisses??

He just happy to touch you, really

After his transformation (before it, too), he didn't get loved on much

He'll kiss you anywhere he can reach

And with his strength, that means he'll kiss you pretty much anywhere you'll let him

Simplest place is your tiny face, esp your cheeks

Just loves the size difference, too ^-^

-----

^-^

Reqs open :p

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darkbluekies · 3 months

Text

Make things right? Or make them worse?

Yandere!doctor (platonic to his children) x twin daughters ocs x female!reader

Summary: Dr Kry’s children finds out their fathers dark secret, and he's determined to silence them.

Warnings: toxic household, yandere, favoritism, guilt, poison, mentions of murder (things along this way)

A/N: I have created my own poison for this story, so I choose the effects. Lol.

Word count: 6.2k

“Bye, dad”, Lydia says and closes the car door.

Her twin follows out of the car, almost hides behind her like a shadow. Lydia frowns confusedly. She’s been more silent than usual this morning. They turn to walk into school.

“Girls”, Dr Kry says through the open car window, catching their attention. “I want you here at three sharp, okay? I’m not in the mood for waiting.”

“Yes, sir”, Lydia answers.

“Good. Have a good day, girls, I’ll see you later.”

With that said, he drives off. Lydia turns to Nadia who finally raises her gaze from her feet.

“What’s wrong?” Lydia asks and fixes her backpack. “You’ve been acting off all morning.”

“I have to talk to you about something”, Nadia says hesitantly and looks at her with uneasy eyes.

Lydia blinked and frowned. “What?”

“I was meaning to talk to you earlier, but I didn’t want to do it when dad was around.” Nadia glanced at the other students swarming around the school grounds. “It’s about mom … and her sickness.”

For as long as they can remember, their mother has been bound to her bed by a rare disease. Thankfully, their father is a remarkable doctor and has been caring for her ever since the twins' birth. He works at a hospital in the city and travels forty minutes back and forth every day, dropping the twins off at school on the way there, and picking them up on the wayback. When they were young, they were put in a private school carefully chosen by their father — who has been very active in the administration.

Their father is a complex person. Although they’ve been by him their entire life, they still feel like they don’t know him. He rarely talks about himself, and seem to have a human side for their mother only. Very rarely, there’s a soft side for the girls … often they’re met by a doctor, rather than a parent. Despite that, Lydia has always been a daddy’s girl, while Nadia has clung to their mom for love and comfort.

“What about it?” Lydia asks carefully.

“I heard something …”, Nadia starts and licks her lips nervously. “I heard these noises, from mom and dad’s room-”

“Don’t tell me you heard them have sex”, Lydia grimaces.

“No …” Nadia shakes her head, eyes shaking. “They were talking. Mom was crying and daad was standing by the bed, holding her cheeks in his hands like this …” She cups her sisters cheeks in demonstration, “...while saying: ‘you’re never going back there, I’ll never share you like that again’.” She shivers. “I-I don’t know what that was, but it made me feel really weird.”

Lydia frowns, trying to picture the scene in front of her.

“Are you sure that it wasn’t just dad’s weird love language?” she asks carefully.

“I don’t know”, Nadia sighs defeatedly. “Mom seemed … scared. She looked up at him with eyes full of terror. She could have had a nightmare or something, but dad’s voice- … it was awful. I don’t know how to describe it, but it sounded extremely dark.”

“We could try to ask her.”

“What if dad hears?”

“I could distract him while you ask, if that helps you ease your worry.”

Nadia smiles gratefully. “Thank you, Lyd.”

Lydia gives her an unsure smile and grabs her hand and they walk into school.

Like Dr Kry had asked them to, they stand by the gates at three sharp. His white car rolls over and the two of them jumps in, Lydia in the front seat and Nadia in the backseat.

“How has your day been?” he asks and drives off.

He always asks about their classes, teachers and friends. If there’s a small detail he doesn’t like, he makes sure to contact the school and let them know his thoughts. More than one friendship has ended thanks to his overprotectiveness and the twins has learned to dilute the truth enough for him to be able to swallow it. So once again, they answer in the way he wants to hear it.

The car drives from the city, gets off the highway and enters a countryside road. The dirt road is divided in the middle with grass, creating enough space for the wheels of his white car to roll forward. Here, nothing can be heard except the sounds of distant birds. Their white, edwardian villa is surrounded by a deep, dark forest, close to a gigantic sparkly lake with the closest neighbor being a kilometer away. Despite the isolating upbringing the twins have had, getting away from the noisy, stressful city to the empty forest always cleanse their brains.

The white, Scandinavian, edwardian aged, wooden villa appears behind the trees like a castle. The house has two floors with a green atticroof, and a bushy, blooming garden in the same color, two glass verandahs on either side of the house and a white fence around the garden.

The twins get out of the car. Nadia gives her a look and Lydia nods.

“Dad”, she says. “I’ve been feeling a bit weird these last days … I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Really?” Dr Kry asks and frowns. He closes the trunk of the car. “Who have you been around? Are any of the other students sick?”

“A few.”

“Nadia, are you feeling bad too?”

“No”, Nadia replies.

“Could you please give me a check up?” Lydia asks.

“Alright, come with me”, Dr Kry says and nods at her to follow him.

While they walk inside, their father and Lydia walks to the living room and Nadia sneaks off upstairs. She moves carefully to their parents’ room and knock gently on the door before entering. Their mother, you, is lying in bed with a book in her hand. You look as weak as ever. Nadia shivers.

“Hi, sweetheart”, you smile and puts down your book on your chest. “Did you have a good day in school?”

“Yes …”, Nadia mumbles and sits down on the side of the bed, unsure on how to start this absurd conversation.

“What’s wrong, Nadia?”

“What happened yesterday? WIth you and dad?”

You flinch. Your smile disappears for a moment for it to appear quickly again, but this time in a fake manner.

“Why did he say that?” Nadia asks carefully. “Why did he say that he wasn’t going to share you again?”

“O-Oh, that …”, you mumble with an embarrassed smile. “It was nothing, don’t worry about it. It was just some adult stuff that me and your dad were talking about.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, honey. Why? Did it make you worry?”

Nadia nods slightly. Y/N gives her a smile and takes her hand.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, there’s nothing to be afraid of”, you reassure Nadia. “Whatever happens between me and your dad is nothing you have to be afraid of. We will always put you and your sister first, okay? There’s nothing you have to be worried about. I love you, darling.”

“I love you too, mom …”

You hug her, and Nadia hugs back, but she can’t help but feel that her heart sinks. Something isn’t right.

The very next day when they’re left off at school, Nadia grabs Lydia’s arm.

“Let’s go to the hospital”, she says the second their father’s car disappears behind the corner. She holds up a metallic key. “I have the key to mom’s old room.”

“What?” Lydia asks in confusion. “Why?”

“I have a feeling that mom isn’t really sick and I have to take a look around in her old hospital room. Something isn’t right!” She clears her throat and lowers her voice. “Mom and dad met at the hospital and that he was her doctor, that much we know, right?”

Lydia nods, trying to follow along.

“Isn’t it weird that a doctor as professional as our dad decided to start a relationship with a patient like that?” Nadia asks, sounding unsure. “And wouldn’t he have done everything he could to make mom feel better? Shouldn’t she be better now? I just … I want to know if he has done something.”

“Do you really think he has?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know. But something isn’t right, and I feel that. Mom seemed to be put on the spot when I asked her about the interaction I had overheard. She seemed scared.” Nadia grabbed her hand in hers. “Please, Lyd, can we go there and just take a look?”

Lydia hesitates and glances at the private school behind them, contemplating the consequences.

“Please”, Nadia repeats. “If mom is getting hurt, I want to help her.”

“Okay”, Lydia nods.

With that said, they hurry past the school gates before a teacher has the time to catch them. They take the first bus to the state hospital their father works at and hope that he’s with a patient while they sneak around.

They hurry inside the hospital and keep their heads down to make sure that none of the working receptionists would recognise them and report to their father right away. They stay silent until they get into the elevator.

Once out, they sneak over to the door. Lydia stands guard as Nadia presses the key into its lock. The click from the key opening echoes in the empty corridor. Nadia’s hand hovers above the door handle. Her heart twirls around uncomfortably. In a moment, she will be in the room where their parents met, where something happened that made their dad take the decision of stepping over the professional line. If that was good or bad is yet to be known, but she can’t help but feel worried.

The room is empty, in more than one way. The spirits of old memories haunt the room and they leave a sour taste in the twins’ mouths. Lydia looks towards the bed. Their mother has been lying here for months with a sickness that has kept her bed bound for years. But what happened while she was here?

“What are we looking for?” Lydia wonders.

“Anything”, Nadia shrugs and looks around. “Whatever that can help us is fine. Journals, reports, notes — anything.”

They start to rummage through drawers, in binders and notepads. Lydia finds herself holding a yellow paper binder with their mother’s name written on it, in their father’s handwriting.

“Nad, look at this”, Lydia says and holds up the binder.

They put the binder on the desk and start to pull out papers. Every paper is written from the top to the bottom in ink.

“He has documented her every day …”, Lydia says, perplexed. She shakes her head in denial. “Every single day, every single hour. Obsessively. Look, every little detail is written down. ‘12:35, eaten an apple’, ‘16:52, took a shower’, ‘22:30, called for me on the telephone’. What is this?”

Nadia picks up another paper, a smaller, clearly supposed to be hidden between the other sides. She puts her hand over her mouth as her eyes widens.

“Oh no”, she gasps and drops the paper. “No, no, no, no …”

Lydia frowns, bends down and picks up the paper. Her heart sinks as she reads the note. It’s a single word, but they’re familiar with it. They’ve found bottles of it in the cellar and the attic multiple times, and when they asked Dr Kry about it, he answered that it was a substance to kill vermin.

“He’s poisoning mom”, Nadia whispers in horror and looks at her twin with wide, terrified eyes.

Lydia feels the air disappear from her lungs. Suddenly, she feels nauseous. She sits down on the rolling stool and tries to control her breathing. Nadia sinks down on the bed with her head in her hands.

“What the fuck do we do?” Lydia breathes out with her eyes staring dimly in front of her. She has never felt this empty before, this helpless. “What the fuck do we do now, Nadia?”

“W-We have to call the cops”, Nadia gulps.

“The cops? Nad, he’s our dad!”

“But if he hurts mom …” Her voice dies out. “We can’t let him take more years from her.”

Lydia nods and wipes the few tears that have begun to run down her cheeks. With shaking hands, she unzips her backpack and shoves the binder down. They will need evidence if they have to prove to the cops.

The door behind them opens. Both girls fly up from their positions and scurry over to each other. Dr Kry walks in and stops abruptly in the door.

“What are you doing here?” he asks quickly.

He’s trying to force a smile, but the red eyes of his daughters and the trembling bodies of theirs are all he needs to see, to know that they know.

“How fucking could you?!” Nadia screams.

Dr Kry hurries to close the door as she continues to shout through sobs.

“What’s your deal with mom?!” she screams. “How can you keep her like this?! Where’s your fucking conscience?!”

She thinks that she’s going to explode in pure fear, anger and sorrow. Dr Kry clenches his jaw and sighs heavily.

“Your mother is a very, very special person”, he says slowly, as if he is talking to a ticking bomb. “It is all a misunderstanding, girls, I will tell you everything at home. Come, we’re going home now.”

“We’re not going anywhere with you”, Nadia spits and stands in front of her frozen sister.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” Dr Kry rolls his eyes when they don’t answer. “You’re my daughters, and you are not yet of age, you have to come with me.”

Nadia wants to refuse again, but she doesn’t want to leave her mother alone with him, not when he knows that they know.

“Now”, Dr Kry decides.

Nadia picks up Lydia’s bag and gives it to her sister. It looks like Lydia is going to throw up any second now. Nadia takes her hand and they follow their father out of the room, and out through a back door. For the first time, Lydia sits down in the backseat together with her twin. They hold each others hands tightly and keep silent the entire car ride home.

“Girls, I never wanted you to see that”, Dr Kry sighs and tries to meet their eyes in the rear view mirror. “I- … It’s hard to explain. Your mother is a very special person who I’m very lucky to have met.”

Lydia squeezes her eyes shut, but she can’t keep him out of her head.

When they come home, Nadia drags her sister into the house.

“Girls, don’t go upstairs”, Dr Kry says in that same dark voice Nadia had heard him talk in a few days ago. “I want you to stay down here.”

They halt, suddenly too scared to move.

“I want you to help me with dinner”, Dr Kry says. “Come on.”

The twins glance at each other. Lydia starts to drag her sister to the kitchen. They help in complete silence. Lydia’s hands are trembling while she cuts cucumber and it slips, cutting a slit in her finger. She yelps and drops the knife.

“Oh, honey”, Dr Kry breathes out and grabs her hand. “You have to be careful.”

She doesn’t look at him as he washes her hand under the kitchen sink and puts on a bandaid. Her entire body is in fight or flight mode.

When Dr Kry takes care of the final touches, the twins scurry up to their mother. Your face drops when you see them.

“Why is he doing this to you?” Nadia asks thickly as she tries not to cry. “We found out.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, girls”, you say sorrowfully. “I wish that you never had to know.”

“Why do you let it happen?” Lydia asks quietly.

“I have no choice … I can’t do anything.” You lower your gaze and voice to an ashamed whisper. “I don’t have the energy to run away, and if I managed to, you’d be in danger and I’d be dead. Your father has the only antidote to his self made poison. It’s safer for everyone if I stay here.”

“But mom …”, Nadia whimpers, “... he’s hurting you.”

“I … I know, dear.”

The door opens behind them.

“Girls, dinner”, Dr Kry says shortly and nods towards the corridor. “Go downstairs.”

The twins turn to you, wanting you to make their decision. You give them a reassuring smile and they leave. You look at the man who has become your husband, much to your dismay.

“Why did you let them find out?” you whisper with tears in your eyes. “You promised that they would never know!”

“I didn't think that they would.” He wipes the tears that roll down your cheeks. “I’ll fix this mess. Don’t worry, darling.”

With that said, he tucks you in and leaves to go downstairs. The twins have sat down by the dining table with their blank, staring eyes turned down into the table. Dr Kry sits down and start to eat, without seeming to care at all about the incidents that happened earlier. Nadia stares down into her plate with disgust roaring in her stomach. If she eats, she’s going to throw it all up in a matter of thirty minutes. She closes her eyes and sighs sadly. Lydia tries to eat a bite, forcing it down her throat.

“Nadia, eat a little”, Dr Kry says.

“I’m not hungry”, she mumbles.

“You need to eat a bit. I won’t allow you to leave the table before you have eaten. Look at Lydia, she’s eating.”

Lydia feels her cheeks heat up as the attention turns to her. She’s suddenly embarrassed over obeying. Feeling exposed and naked under Nadia’s look of disbelief, as if she’s just broken a silent pact. But instead of saying anything, Nadia picks up her fork and takes a bite of the white rice. The twins can agree that this might have been the worst dinner they have ever experienced.

Nadia puts her hand over her heart and clears her throat. There's a heavy feeling over her chest, something almost suffocating. She looks to the side, seeing how Lydia is frowning as well, trying to clear her throat. Nadia think that she looks like she’s going to faint. She wants to ask her how she’s feeling, but doesn’t dare talk in front of their father, afraid to start a conversation.

After dinner, the twins decide to go upstairs, but their legs suddenly feel weak enough to break apart.

“What’s going on?” Lydia whispers and grips the staircase railing.

“I think that he put something in the food”, Nadia whispers back.

“I feel really sick …”

She falls down on her knees in the middle of the staircase, still holding onto the railing. Nadia hurries to pull her up again and drags her over to her bedroom, lazily tucking her in.

“Don’t leave me”, Lydia whimpers and grabs her hand before she can leave the room. “Stay … please. Don’t go. I'm scared.”

Nadia agrees, not wanting to leave. She climbs down under the covers of Lydia’s bed. They lay in silence and look up at the tilted, wooden ceiling. For every minute passes by, they’re growing more and more sick. Every muscle in their bodies seem to ache, twist and turn.

“He’s doing it to us too”, Nadia whispers.

They hear the lock on the door click and give each other terrified looks. Nadia stumbles out of the bed and feel the handle. She gulps in horror and turns back to the bed.

“It’s locked!” she says and breathes out in shock. “He actually locked it …”

“Come back …”, Lydia begs and reaches for her.

Nadia returns to the bed, crawls down under the covers and hugs her. She wraps her arms around her sister and rests Lydia’s head on her shoulder.

“I’m scared”, Lydia whispers.

“It’s going to be okay”, Nadia replies, although she doesn’t believe it herself. “We’re going to be okay.”

Dr Kry removes his tie, about to go to sleep.

“I can’t believe you …”, you whisper from the bed, with her eyes down at her trembling hands.

“Darling …”, Dr Kry sighs and turns around.

You raise your tone, but keep it hushed enough not to exceed the bedroom walls. “You promised that they would never get hurt! You promised that they would never get exposed to this fucking substance!”

“They haven’t … yet.”

“Yet?! Don’t fucking tell me-”

“They figured it out, okay? They heard our conversation and decided to check out the hospital for themselves. I underestimated their intelligence … and their love for you.” He sighs annoyedly. “I’m not going to let their lack of understanding break apart our family — that I have fought so hard for. I put something in their food to keep them still for a while. It’s nothing dangerous, little one. I promise you that.”

“If I knew that you were going to break your promise-”

“I had to.”

He is about to caress your cheek, but hears sounds coming from next door. One of the girls is banging on the locked bedroom door, and calling for him. Dr Kry excuses himself and gets out of the room. He walks over to Lydia’s room, where the noise is coming from. Quickly, he unlocks, finding Nadia leaning on the wall right next to the door. Her eyes are full with tears.

“What’s going on?” Dr Kry asks.

“Lydia isn’t waking up!” Nadia cries.

Dr Kry feels his body turn cold. He runs over to the bed where his other daughter is lying on her side, and he soon finds out that Nadia is right — she isn’t waking up. He shakes her, gives her gentle taps on her cheeks and lifts her up. Nothing wakes her. He has to take her to the hospital.

“Wait, where are you going?!” Nadia screams after him as Dr Kry carries her sister down the stairs. “She doesn’t want to be alone!”

“You have to stay here with mom”, Dr Kry says over his shoulder. “I’m taking care of Lydia.”

He hurries out of the house and quickly places her down in the back seat. Dr Kry’s usual forty minute drive to the hospital took only twenty five minutes this time. He picked her up in her arms and ran inside through the backdoor, and didn’t stop until their reach the room you have spent many, many months in. Dr Kry places his daughter down on the very same bed you have laid in. He placed an oxygen over Lydia’s mouth and nose, turning on the machine. He hasn’t felt this scared in a long time.

Finally, after an hour, Lydia opens her eyes with a small moan. Dr Kry hurries over to the bed and removes the mask.

“How are you feeling?” he asks her and brushes the hair out of her face.

“I feel really sick”, she whimpers.

“Do you need to throw up?”

Lydia nods. Dr Kry picks her up again and moves her into the bathroom where she hovers over the toilet for ten minutes. Dr Kry holds her hair back and grimaces sadly. He does feel bad for putting her through this, but he has to.

“There you go”, he says and puts her down on the bed again.

“Why am I here?” Lydia asks weakly.

“You weren’t responding when anyone tried to wake you up. I got worried, so I decided to take you here.”

“Am I going to die?”

Dr Kry scoffs out a smile in a weird sensation of deja-vu. He has heard that question a lot, in the exact same tone and manner, but from the generation before her.

“You’re not”, he reassures her and strokes her hair. “You know that I would never let anything happen to you.”

“Why am I feeling like this?”

“I put something in your food to make you and Nadia calm down, but you seem to have reacted badly to the substance … weirdly enough. Since you’re identical twins, i thought you’d react the same, but it seems like you are a bit more sensitive than your sister.”

“Nadia ate less than me.”

“Yeah, you might have gotten more substance in your body, which is why you feel worse. It’s going to be okay, I will not let anything happen to you.”

“But you hurt me.”

His smile drops and his hand stops stroking her hair. He knows that Lydia shares half of her mothers genetics, but he didn’t know that she would sound exactly like you. She has never heard you use these phrases, and yet Lydia has chosen the exact same wording that you have tortured Dr Kry with years ago.

“I didn’t mean for you to end up here”, Dr Kry sighs and continues to stroke her hair. “That was my fault, I admit that. However, I had to keep you and Nadia a bit sedated because of how scared you were.”

“Why did you use so much?” she whimpers.

“I was a bit shaky myself, I wasn’t meant to hurt you, Lydia.”

Lydia sighs shakily and sinks down in the mattress. She wants nothing more than to go back home, to Nadia, but at the same time she knows that if she goes back home, she will be locked in her room again. Continuing with life now that they know their father’s secret will be difficult.

“How long do I have to stay here?” she asks quietly.

“Until you’re feeling better”, Dr Kry replies and stands up. “For now, I think that you need to sleep. It’s late.”

That’s the last thing she wants to do. She has always been Dr Kry’s (not so subtle) favorite, and she has always had a preference for her father … but for the very first time, she’s afraid of him. She can’t trust him anymore, especially about her health. Being unconscious is the last thing she wants to do.

“I don’t want to”, Lydia says pleadingly. “I’m not tired … please don’t make me sleep, dad.”

Please don’t make me sleep. Your voice echoes in his head, in the exact same tone. Dr Kry knows that he did a million things wrong when he kept you here, and now he has a second chance to fix things.

“Okay”, he breathes out and sits down on his stool. “You don’t have to sleep, darling.”

Lydia gulps and looks around in the room, trying to imagine how you had felt while being here. She feels a heavy sensation over her chest, like a heavy stone. She couldn’t see the poisoned air purifier that was mentioned in the journal.

“Did mom lay here?” Lydia whispers.

“Yes”, he answers quietly.

“How long?”

Dr Kry looks down at his nails, eyes faltering. “A, uh … very long time. Many, many months.”

She starts to look around again. “Where is the air purifier?”

“It’s not here … it broke, a long time ago. I had to throw it away.”

“Do you still use that kind of thing on mom?”

“No, I don’t. Not often.”

But he has his new way to make sure you stay.

Nadia runs her hand through her hair. Her poor sister. What should she do? Dr Kry left the rooms unlocked, which means that she can move around. She drags herself into your bedroom. You look at her with wide, nervous eyes.

“Is she okay?” you ask and take Nadia in your arms.

“I-I don’t know”, Nadia responds shakily while shaking her head desperately. “She wasn’t waking up and …”

“She’s going to be okay. I know your father can all of those medical stuff … maybe a little too well.” You sigh and caress the seventeen-year old girl’s face. “It’s going to be okay.”

Nadia shakes her head. “No fucking way things are going to be okay! He’s a madman, mom.”

“I … I know.”

“We can’t stay here.”

“Where are we supposed to go, Nad? We have no car, nearest neighbor is a kilometer away and we have poison in our blood. Sweetheart, we can’t walk far.”

“Mom, we have to leave. We can’t stay here with this psychopath!”

“Nadia …”

Nadia sighs frustratedly and hides her face in her hands. Something has to work. The farthest she has seen you walk is out to the garden when they’ve had picnic evenings. You take her hand, removing it.

“Sweetheart … you know dad loves you, right?” you ask carefully. You don’t want her to hate her him, after all he is her father … but you have to let her know the truth, no more living in the shadow.

“Fucking doubt it”, Nadia mutters.

“He does. In his … own little way. But I need you to understand that he has sides that he hasn’t shown you … a-and I don’t want you to see those sides.”

Nadia’s face goes blank. You’re trying your best not to get swindled back into old memories, but thinking about that murderous side of Dr Kry brings you back to a time you much rather would want to forget.

“Mom?” Nadia asks blankly and almost shouts in panic. “Mom! What sides?”

“He … He is a very patient man, but he can't take as much as possible, so please, whatever you do … cooperate.”

“What does that mean? Mom?”

Nadia goes cold. That’s it, she thinks, they have to leave.

“Mom, get up”, she says and grabs the blanket before ripping it off. “Now. Before he returns.”

“Nad-”

“We have to try, at least. Please.”

You hesitate before getting out of bed. Nadia grabs your hand and try to pull you out of the bedroom, but everything around you seem to spin. Your entire body is heavy and aching in all the wrong places.

“Nadia, wait”, you groan. “If I’m going to move, I have to move slowly.”

“Alright”, Nadia agrees. “I’ll go get some stuff and then meet you by the stairs.”

Nadia runs to her room to collect her wallet and hoodies for herself and her sister, then runs to get your jacket. She meets you by the stairs, helps you put your jacker on and then start to lead you down. You’re terrified of falling.

“Nadia, I don’t think that this is a good idea”, you mumble and think back of your numerous escape attempts, all ending with someone losing their life.

“We have to, mom”, Nadia pleads. “I can’t leave you here.”

“What about Lydia?”

“I’ll figure something out afterwards.”

Nadia unlocks the front door and leads you out on the glass verandah. You’re filled with fear. What if you can’t walk? What if you hurt yourself? What if Dr Kry finds out? Your body won’t be able to take his anger. Besides, you have barely left the house in eighteen years — apart from a few car rides here and there — what if the world has changed to something you don’t like?

“Mom”, Nadia says slowly. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I’m terrified”, you admit.

“We will be okay.”

They start to walk along the dark countryside road. There are no streetlight this far out in the forest, but the moon lights up enough for them to see where the road is heading.

“It’s been years since I was outside last”, you say. “I think the last time I was out walking was in the garden, last summer when we had that picnic.”

“Have you ever tried to run away from dad before?” Nadia asks.

“I have”, you answer quietly. “A few times.”

“Did you ever succeed?”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘succeeding’, because I’m still here, aren’t I? But I got away a few times … the only problem was that he found me again.” You sigh, realizing that perhaps you shouldn’t have this conversation with your underage daughter. “Forget that. Where are we going?”

“We need to go to our neighbors. They have to help us.”

Nadia has only spoken to the neighbors a few times, because of how rarely they run into each other.

They only manage to walk a hundred meters before bright, beaming headlights light up in front of them. Nadia wants to flee into the forest — in case it happens to be her father behind the wheel — but can’t seem to pull you with her. The car stops and to Nadia’s horror, her father gets out.

“What the Hell are you doing?!” he shouts, sounding both angry and terrified. “Y/N!”

You freeze in your spot and seem to crawl together like a hurt dog, sounding like one too. Dr Kry runs over to you. Nadia watches in horror and starts to panic, wondering what she should do. Stay here with you and get caught in Dr Kry’s claws … or make a run for it to try to get help.

“I’m sorry”, you shriek in fear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

Dr Kry hugs your shaking body in his arms and strokes your back, hushing softly.

“I know you didn’t come up with this stupid idea”, he reassures you. “Don’t cry, my dear, I'm here now. I know this wasn't your fault. I'm not mad at you. I’ll get you back home and I'll take care of you. It’s going to be okay.”

He helps you into the front seat. You don’t fight back in the slightest. Nadia looks back at the dark forest and gulps. Her eyes glues onto something in the backseat and realizes that he has come back with her sister!

“Nadia, get in, we've had enough of these childish outbursts”, her father tells her. “Get in. Now.”

“Is she okay?” Nadia almost stutters and points at her sleeping sister.

“She’s okay. If you don’t get in now, Nadia, I’m taking them both with me and you’ll never see them again.”

His favoritism has never been clearer, Nadia thinks. She can’t leave her sister … so she gets into the backseat. Nadia wakes her sister up and caresses her cheek.

“Are you okay?” she whispers quickly. “Did he hurt you?”

“I feel okay”, Lydia whispers back. “Just … tired. I had tro throw up a lot and I think that he gave me some sleeping pills or something. I insisted on going home … so he let me.”

Nadia breathes out. She glances over at the front seat. Their father holds the steering wheel with one hand and yours with the other.

“Please don’t cry”, he wishes.

Nadia watches on in disgust.

When they get back to the white villah, Nadia pulls her sister up to her own room and lays her down on the bed while Dr Kry takes you into the master bedroom.

“Here you go”, Nadia says and tucks her in. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“Some water”, Lydia says quietly.

Nadia disappears downstairs to get a glass of water. She meets her father in the stairs.

“Nadia, I’m not sure your sister will be able to leave her bed for a while”, he says warningly. “I wouldn’t try to leave, if i were you. If you do, I will take both of them with me, and you’ll never see them again.”

“Do you like to hurt your family?” she spits back. “What kind of sadist are you?”

“One to make sure my family stays with me. If you don’t want to end up in the same physical state as your sister and mother, you’re going to continue living as if everything is normal, got that? Go to school, come home, study, continue everything. No talking to anyone about this. Is that clear?”

“So everything as normal … but without Lydia?”

“Exactly.”

“Why aren’t you healing her?”

“Because I’m not going to let you, or anyone, take my family from me. Be glad that I’m still letting you live normally.”

Nadia glares at him and continues up the stairs. She holds the glass to Lydia’s mouth, watching her sip.

“What now?” she whispers.

“I’m allowed to continue living like normally … and you don’t”, Nadia says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“But … but I don’t want to live like mom!”

“I know. I’m sorry, Lyd.”

The girl in the bed sighs sadly. Naida takes her hand and gulps.

The coming weeks seem normal. Nadia goes to school, studies, returns to the villah, but nothing is the same. Without Lydia, there’s no use in being on top. She has no one to impress anymore. Her father is dead to her, and sucking up to him makes her sick. She barely talks to her friends anymore. They’re always asking her about Lydia, and why she’s not in school anymore. Nadia can’t come up with countless excuses … it’s easier to distance herself.

Life doesn’t seem that bright and colorful anymore. Nadia can’t bring herself to be excited about things that used to interest her badly. Now, every day is a chore, something she wants to get done, until something happens … but she doesn’t know what it is. A death in the family? Someone saving them? Someone killing someone?

Nadia walks out of school, seeing her fathers white car parked outside the gates, and him inside … waiting for her.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere fics #yandere oc x reader #yandere stories #yandere doctor #platonic yandere #yandere ocs #female reader #yandere oneshot #the younger generation

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gemini-sensei · 10 months

Note

Had this pop in my head and I had to share it with you.

I can see Hawk and his wife going out with the terror twins to meet up Demetri and his wife and son. They go to the mall to hang out and it's a great time. Just two couples and three little cute baby's just chilling. They end up in the courtyard eating, feeding the babies and talking. Reader ends up needing to go pee but at the same time apparently so does Hawk. Demetri and his wife tell them to just go, they can watch the twins who are basically in a boobie milk coma.

Reader and Hawk go off to the bathroom and just as Reader thinks they are going to part ways, Hawk pulls her into a family bathroom.

For the first time in months they finally get a moment to themselves. Hawk has her bouncing on his cock in the mall bathroom. He's busting a fat but right into her cunt within minutes. She's whimpering and grinding on him as he unloads inside her.

They come back to the courtyard, a little sweaty, Hawks's hair has seen better days and Reader is trying her best to clamp her thighs shut.

It's really anyone's guess if Demetri and his wife ever figure out what they were really doing in the bathroom.

Omg 🤭🤭 I love it

Demetri and his wife don't question it when they disappear to go to the bathroom, only when it takes them a bit to come back. They entertain the babies while Hawk and Reader do their thing. Whether his wife knows what's going on, Demetri sure wishes he could run off with her and have some fun.

Meanwhile, Reader is getting stuffed full. She's bouncing on Hawk's fat cock as he holds her hips, helping her stay upright. All he can do is look up at her and watch the pleasure on her face, listening to the way she moans and whines. She tries to keep herself quiet, but it's so hard and practically useless. Her cunt is sopping wet and makes so much noise, telling him how good he makes her feel.

When he comes, he makes sure she gets hers too. He rubs her clit with his thumb, making sure she gets all of his load too. He kisses her as she grinds down on him, rocking her hips against his while he's filling her up. When he pulls away from her, she's panting hard. And all he has to say is, "Such a pretty mama."

Then they try to clean themselves up in the mirror, however nothings going to hide the fact that they got it on in there. Hawk's hair isn't the same and Reader feels like she has to keep her legs closed or else she'll lose the generous load he gave her. They walk out and hurry back to their babies and the others.

When they sit down again, Demetri is just looking at them with that "I know what you did" face. Hawk acts like he has no idea what he's referring to as he picks up one of the twins, letting her rest against his chest with her tummy full. Reader takes their little boy up too and rubs his back, cooing at him as if nothing happened.

But demetri knows and now that nap time is almost over, maybe it's time for him and his wife to slip away for a bit...

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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

Text

❝I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage. I will not be swept aside.❞

[ The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should have known his wife better— or at least, her ire, for when his trysts with the bastard Snow reached the Spiders and soon, the ears of his Princess Consort, rage and war drummed for Winterfell, demanding heads.

—Maestre Kevan, Volume IV of The Bastard Eater, passage chapter under 'The Flame that Sung for the North'. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 10,062 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), one-sided aegon ii x reader, jace x sara snow

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader, targcest, smut, angst - post-vizzy t death, rhaenyra is queen - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - allusions to infidelity & character death(s) - targaryen madness, revenge, domestic violence (not jace), unhinge behaviour, intense use of 'bastard', profanity, gaslighting, guilt-tripping - this is basically gone girl, you gone girl jace - dark fic - mentions of depression (aegon ii), allusions to suicide (not reader) - nsfw: oral (f receiving), breeding kink, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i didn't think i was going to do the sara snow thing, but herewe are. also i just wanted an excuse to go absolutely ape shit. reader gets very intense, like thoroughly unhinged. this is literally me supporting women's wrongs. it is also quite insane that this reached 10k and it's still just the first part lmaooo + comment, reblog & like at will!

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! THAT GODSDAMNED, WHORE-FUCKING STRONG HALF BREED!"

Your shrieks echo stone and shadow, interrupted only by the things you pick up and hurl. Anything your hands grab, you throw and spit obscenities against, rage and tears ruin your pretty visage. The fury swept past your cherub features, a dragon breaking through the Hightower seams, upending fire and roar from the pits of your being.

"HOW DARE HE?! I GAVE HIM AN HEIR! I BROUGHT HIM PEACE! I BETRAYED—" you roar, pulling your pearl dagger— a gift from your Strong Bastard of a Husband — and throwing it to your vanity mirror, glass shards exploding. "— MY KIN!"

"DAUGHTER, PLEASE!"

Arms wound across your torso—hardened and chain-mail — as you fight against your bounds before a pain flashes to your cheek. Your rage quiets, hard breaths from your lungs. You turn your tear-stained anger to your mother and her palm, fright and terror on her regale visage.

Death of a spouse becomes the Queen Dowager in her pale blue robe and unbound spirals of auburn hair. Peace had begotten a realm that is balanced on the lineage you had produced for the Queen, her heir, and your own, as the new Princess of Dragonstone. With Otto Hightower for evermore banished to Oldtown, Kings Landing had been brought to a flowering kindness.

Queen Rhaenyra's ascension had been a wondrous affair, fit the for the first crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a Queen Consort, not a Queen Regent. An heir who rose for the crown always meant to be hers.

But the calamity that brewed in her ascension... no. You paved the peace. T'was you who wrangled the Great Houses that proved allyship to your twin brother's banner, you who blessed her with tranquility of a rule that will be known for ages that will precede you all.

And now her son... her son dared to destroy everything.

A conversation floats above your head, by your Queen Mother and her sworn shield, the Ser Cole, but you barely hear anything past the ringing in your head.

The Targaryen Madness the sheep so call it, an idle voice, faint and familiar, whispers in the niches of your brain. It has infected you so. It breathes, fuelled by the air wrought by your husband's betrayal. It sings, sweet love. It sings.

"—your grace, I urge to hold her—"

"—she is my daughter, Ser Cole, I am not in danger. Release her."

Justice, the voice shrieks? Screams? But it is so soft in your head, a wail of a memory, a woman or a man? must be had. No dragon falls in such disgrace.

The tight wound over your torso is unleashed but the knight is not far, tensed to cage you, when your mother grasps your elbows as you grab hers, nails digging into the thick fabric of her hem that she still winces, your grip steel-tight.

"My darling, please. I cannot help you if you do not speak what ails you." She brushes her hand desperately across your face, smearing your tears, trying to find the daughter she bore past the savagery and madness that beholds you now. "What has happened?"

You draw a tightened, harsh breath to your lungs, rattling your bones that you quiver in your attempt for sanity.

"I am being shamed, mother," you whisper. Stark, violet eyes meeting the worried round, brown of hers. "The Strong bastard is whoring himself to another, a Northern bastard."

A cackle falls your lips as alarmed gazes are exchanged above your head.

"Y-You cannot say such things aloud, sweet girl," your mother hushes your madness, pulling you close to her chest as she shoots a glance at the door.

Criston checks outside, but only your maids linger. Dyanna presses a finger against her lips, catching the knight's eye, and the rest scatter, surely to make sure that no one that need not know of their mistress' words is within reach. A shiver still runs his spine. He will never get used to the quiet, almost non-verbal way your connection worked and reached. Your Spiders weave webs all around, even as their mistress sunders with rage.

"Mayhaps you are mistaken, for sure the prince is loyal, and he adores you—"

You pull back against her, teeth bared. She flinches and Ser Cole steps forward, wary. "It is the third missive now that I have received. Did you think I would not have confirmed twice— thrice? I didn't believe it the first time! But three people have now confirmed that all this time, in the guise of rallying his mother's cause in the North, he is spending ample time with the Lord Stark's bastard sister. His bastard fucking sister!"

Your mother's horror catches that of Ser Criston's, but your fury is your own, you are a dragon trapped in the ruin of your own making, of the webs you had spun so cleverly to get to this point, and you cannot stop.

"I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage, my blood spilled the birthing bed for it." A cry leaves your lips as your grief and rage pools like ichor from your chest to the floor. Alicent is torn away from you— your nails had gone through her robe and she had cried in pain, a mimick of your own, a mother to a daughter to a mother to a daughter, a cycle, an Ouroboros — and you fall to the floor, grasping at your chest.

"I will not be swept aside. I will not be ignored."

A gasp falls from your lips as your mind moves to a quiet, still place. The tremble fades, your rage and grief whirls, collects, as you push it all back inside your chest.

Your madness must be sharpened for it be used as a sword.

And you cannot let him be happy in another's arms.

If you cannot drag them to the Hells, sweet dragon, the idle voice hums, hisses? Screeches. Your ancestors— all of those who have succumbed to dreamy madness — appears in the corners of your vision like soldiers. Awaiting for you to join them. Awaiting the blood that you will spill.

Then you must raise the Hells unto Winterfell.

"...my daughter?" Alicent calls, hesitant. Cole hovers but does not approach, standing guard in protection of the Dowager. It breaks her heart to see you this way, a young woman still, much older than she was when she married but only because you had always sought your future. You had always had a hardened scale, far stronger than she.

Even when you made your entrance to the world— the unmeasurable pain of bringing not one, but two heirs into the world, her firstborns, all at once — you had never cried. The maestres, maids, they worried for you, as your twin brother had not stopped crying, so alive and red, raw from the wound of being fresh.

But you... you had not made a sound.

The entire weight of your being— your mind, your emotions — even then, you wrangled them close to your very centre, never letting them stray too far from the edges of your fingertips. As if any release must be made with a perused thought. An incentive of reason.

Even then, you plotted every step you took.

Now, Alicent watches as her firstborn daughter suctions all her emotions— that Targaryen madness that plagued the blood of her husband, his ancestors — and made her ploy.

Against the husband that dared make a fool of her.

The silence beckons nightmare. Old fear flickers inside the Queen Dowager.

"Where are my daughters?"

"What?"

"My daughters," you repeat, a hair's breadth louder than the first time you spoke. Your eyes flutter upward. The deadened gaze curled Alicent's heart in fear. "Where are they?"

"In the nursery, with the twins and Maelor. Helaena and Aegon are watching them."

You offer your hand up mutely, and Cole exchanges one last, lingering look with the Dowager, before offering his own. You stand up, thank him softly, and brush and clean up your face to the best of your ability. An utter calmness over your visage.

"Tell no one of what I had told you," you say, fixing your hair and rubbing the red from your cheeks. One minute there is madness, the next there is nothing. There is only a girl. A woman. A princess. "No one knows apart the three of us, and if you ever decide, Ser Criston, that nigh is the glorious time for you to betray my mother or I, know that the last thing thing oyu will fear is the Stranger's hand when I am through with you."

Your mother shouts your name, horrified. "What are you thinking? What are you plotting?"

You cup Alicent's face, smiling ever sweet. "Your innocence will keep you safe, mother. All I ask, for the heart you keep for your children, that you keep this between sealed lips and tilted chin. You know nothing, yes?"

"... Yes. Nothing."

You place a tender kiss on your mother's head. "Keep Daenera and Aemma safe for me. Aegon and I are flying to Dragonstone promptly. Sweet Helaena does ever so get overwhelmed by watching all of the children by herself."

"D-Dragonstone?"

Your sweet smile touched with poison, stretches. "It is high time I take a dragon for myself, don't you think so?"

While an insecure obsession had fraught your younger brother about claiming a dragon, you had met it with indifference.

For how can you not mourn the loss of Aemond's sight, staring in quiet horror the entire time as the maestre did his best to salvage the muck mess of blood and nerve endings, before the old man had shaken his head, and you turned to the small bowl that contained your brother's eye, unable to look at anything else.

Not even when your mother's rage was met with apathy and anger, her demands for justice nothing more than a woman's insanity, a mother's grief that must be swept away, tucked under a chin and a sadness she will never get rid of.

"Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Your soft-hearted, darling, baby brother. None of his words had thawed the freezing of your heart, the grief under the swell of your breastbone.

Your own mourning was kept between teeth and tongue, as you had slept with your siblings that night. The four of you, tucked under the wing of the other, Aemond close to your chest as possible, as quiet, hot tears ran down your face. Every moan of pain or whimper he made in his sleep tore at each new vein inside of you.

"Dragons are the symbol of our House's power," Aegon had once said, windswept hair you tried to tame with your fingers, smelling fresh of Sunfyre and winds.

"And yet, there were no eggs in our child beds." He stiffened while you smiled sadly, curling your twin's hair away form his face, making him presentable and dusting the bout of sand that managed to find his leathers. You had been scolded long before by your grandsire of how you coddle Aegon, how you defend him, mother him more than your mother ever could, but you cannot stop. You were meant to care for him, tethered you once were inside your mother's womb together, you hold him steady now.

Whenever he was lost, whenever his sadness overtook him, wrung your brother dry of life, you bat the Stranger's hand and bring him back.

"But we have proved them wrong," he insisted. "All of us, even Aemond with Vhagar— the war queen, Visenya's dragon — we have claimed ours. Daeron all the way Oldtown has Tessarion, even Helaena has Dreamfyre. And yet you insist..."

You wound your arms over his torso, keeping him close in a silly hug where you sway and dance him around. A laugh escaped him while you inhaled the scent of smoke, soot, and that grime stench of beast.

Aegon on his good days lacked the bottle-edge of wine, of cheap salts from the waft of the soiled, Silk Streets.

This was your brother. No one else.

"I fare better without one," you whispered in his ear. "I appear innocent, sweet almost, without a beast in my command. They look at me with nothing but pity and the urge to protect me. Our father likes me like this, his poor, lovely daughter without a dragon of her own, listening so intently to his histories of Old Valyria. Our sister is eased, as one daughter is plagued by dreams and struggles with the real world, while the other cannot even claim a dragon of her own. Poor princess, Hightower blood must have thickened in her veins. She too, is no threat."

You pulled back, smiling at him. "They like me better like this. Pitiful, compliant, nothing but a sweet and pretty flower that sways in the Spring breeze. A beautiful decoration but no more."

He rubbed a thumb on your arm, a worry knot on his forehead. Aegon adored you but he struggled to piece together where your plot lies. You are a web-spinner, forever dancing out of reach, catching prey and lengthening your intricacies. "Is that why you hide your training with Aemond alone? Ser Criston is mother's sworn shield, he would not mind—"

"I will not place my secrecies to a knight with a soiled cloaked," you snorted. "No matter how tall he stands beside our mother. I trust no one but my kin. And I know that no matter how heavy you drink, sweet Aeg of mine, my secrets are your own."

He took your hand, kissing the back of it, stare impregnable. "As your blood is my own, our fire is one flame. I go where you tell me to."

You kissed his cheek, a reward, laughing. He smiles proudly at the sound. At this time, you dangled yourself to your brother as bait as the pressure from your grandsire to make him King started rising. You had been given notice that he had been talking to House Lannister, Wylde, even some Riverland lords.

You did not mind becoming Aegon's second wife. Just as his namesake, he will have his Rhaenys and Visenya. Unlike the Conqueror however, he would adore his Visenya more than a true flower. Helaena would enjoy that far better.

"And if I tell you to jump?" you half-purred.

"I will ask you how high."

Memories and choices break and tide as you scramble for hold on the rocky cliff face. Dragonmont in the dark is a behemoth beast, a screech or two breaking like lightning crackles, or the familiar drum beat of wings before the silence consumes once more. The stench of fire, of beasts and carcasses helps cloak the darkened night.

"Udligon ñuha brōzagon, Answer my call," you hiss into fraudulent emptiness, hands gripping rocky edges until your blood beads, "you fucking lizards."

"Have you gone mad!?"Aegon shouted, trying to pace with your run to the dragonpit.

A rocky laugh broke out from your being, not deigning that with a reply. Aegon huffed angrily.

"Alright, tell me this then. How are you so sure I'm not just about to put you on a bleeding volcano to die? We claim your dragon in the morn, sister. First thing before we break our fast. I'm sure by then, Vermithor or—"

You whipped your head around, pulling halt. "I leave tonight to claim my dragon. Whether it is you and Sunfyre who gets me there, or Aemond and Vhagar, is no matter to me. I will claim one tonight. It is up to you to decide now if we tell Aemond or not."

Aemond, whose anger is wounded tight, the barest excuse for war always at the edge of his hum. The misstep at Storm's End had cost him everything. Had cost your mother everything. Queen still, Alicent Hightower had bent the knee and offered her life in exchange for mercy. Before Rhaenyra passed judgement, Viserys I had passed.

It didn't matter that you had ensured a higher dosage from the Harrenhal witch in his usual milk of the poppy. Your spiders moving with ease through the silent channels you had established long before your own flowering.

The Red Keep had scrambled, the Heir with it. It was enough time for Lucerys to have come out of the red, confirmed to live through the worst of it without as much as a broken bone. Arrax however, had been badly maimed, and would no longer take flight. But he and his rider would live. Aemond would live. Alicent would have her son. Rhaenyea will have hers, and the crown.

Kevan had done his duty unto you while you settled the storms in Dragonstone. You rewarded him handsomely.

Aegon sighed. He too, would like your honour avenged, but not for the sake of war. "As you wish, sister. I hope you know what you're doing and I am not about to send you to your death."

Just like what you did to your mother, you reached forward and cupped his face. If before, your touch stills his heart and floods his cavities with warmth, a flash of fear strikes the twin son at the eerie smile on your face.

"Skoros morghot vestri? What do we say to the god of death?"

Aegon blinked. "Tubī daor. Not today."

You smiled. "Trust me, sweet Aeg. It is not my death the Stranger will take. Not until the fjords of the North are at my mercy."

"Iksan kesīr sir naejot māzigon ñuha sikagon pakto! I am here now to claim my birth right!" Your scream echoes and falls, repeating back to you. There is a hum, like an electric current that sizzles and pops inside your blood and marrow, and you scramble higher and higher on the rock. Your blood does not sing for the dragon lairs, but above. Up and up, jagged edges cut your skin and dress, the wind whipping with sea mist, but nothing, no one, can clamour you as you reach the peak.

At first you see nothing but darkness and hollow sounds. But you let your eyes adjust, a hiss breaking out of your dry lips as you stumble. You look down. What you first thought were rocks and wayward bones of cattle is bigger.

Whale? No.

Dragon. Dragon bone.

You look and will every sense that your eyes do not. The smell that is drowned— iron. Bones bigger than a person. Than cows and whales. Bones of fearsome beasts. Darkness moves, taking form, more than shadow. Scales hewn rough and jagged, as if stone themselves. Midnight black moving with the gentlest of sighs.

As soon as you realise what— or who — is in front of you, the eyes open with an intelligent gleam. Your heart jolts at the emerald irises that gaze back at you, slitting at the appearance of a human.

'The stench of death follows him', the voice of an old keeper hums into your ear. You no longer remember who told this to you, but the words ring true in your memory. 'Scales of midnight, as if hewn from darkness and death. A harbinger, your grace, an omen of the darkest nightmares.'

"Rytsas. Hello." You smile, ever sweet, ever charming.

This is a thread you had never felt before. Not one of your own making, but something older. A golden thread that led the eyes of Daenys the Dreamer. That spun the ties of Aegon the Conqueror. The voices that herded your madness had gone quiet in the mad rush to get here, but now their presence thickens. Words you cannot hear, nor understand, flood the silence as dragon met rider for the first time.

Keepers and historians have called him he, but every bone in your body tells you that the being before you is a she.

And wouldn't that make sense? A cannibalistic being is a woman?

She opens her maw, only ever slightly, smoke and fire crackling out of it. Molten lava in the belly of her insides tease the cool, night air and warms you.

Her version of a smile. Hello, she seem to say.

"Māzīs. Come," you say, giggling. "Dohaerās. Serve."

That night, you took your first flight.

That night, the Cannibal took her first flight with her first— and only — rider as well.

❝ . . . It is said that the formerly named "The Cannibal" had been entranced by the hunger of his new— first and evermore — rider. Prince Aegon the Elder who had escorted his twin sister that very night with Sunfyre, had looked up in alarm and fright to a maddened screech. Excitement and laughter pouring out from the newly bonded Dragon and Rider had soon turned fear into awe.

Gaelithox, she had been named as they had ridden until dawn broke by the rider who loved her 'till the end of their days, was said to have seen a mirror in Her Grace. The fathomless hunger for blood and organ from the same bodies of their kin. For Gaelithox ever hungers and satisfies for the same meat as her, at the height of her grief and ire that fuelled the Queen Consort to climb Dragonmont by hand, she too hungered for the throats of her traitorous blood.

Gaelithox will only have one rider in her whole life, as she found no same twin soul as akin in the Bastard Eater Queen. Their bond moved as if two bodies beheld one soul.

She shied from humans, and oft found too rough with other dragons. Vhagar was an exception, oft seen acting as an elder sister to the Queen's dragon when neither royal rode them and played in the skies. Smaller dragons were forbidden to approach her however, nor was she allowed in the dragonpit after almost devouring the flightless Arrax.

She died two moons after the Queen's death, delivering her final flames for her rider and would never more breathe her infamous green flames akin to Wildfire, ordered by the Crowned Heir, Princess Daenera Velaryon. It is said that the princess attempted to bond with the cannibalistic dragon but it refused.

The dragon spent her last moons in heartbreak, oft seen in Dragonstone and the Red Keep, circling her rider's most favourite places. Her final resting place is at the very top of Dragonmont from whence the Queen claimed her. It is said that the Queen's crown, the one the King Jacaerys had gifted her after the birth of their first sons, the Princes Laenor and Gaemon, is said to be placed there, as well as a portion of her ashes.

It is said that the King and the Queen's twin brother, the Prince Aegon, personally made the trek in remembrance.

It is widely suspected that Aelyx, Princess Daella's dragon, the youngest child of the King and Queen, may have been Gaelithox's only existing hatchling for he too is made of rough, midnight scales. The dragon that bred with her remains to be unknown. ❞

—Maestre Kevan Noratz, Volume X of The Life and Lies of the Emerald Flame, passage chapter under 'The Time of Hunger: Gaelithox'.

You leave Gaelithox to a mournful goodbye on Dragonstone, pressing your forehead against her hard, scaly head, promising to come back, of exchanging her diet for fat, juicy whales, for more wind-whipped rides, before riding back on Sunfyre with Aegon. The younger dragon would not rise from the beaches in fear of the cannibalistic elder, but you made ensuring promises to teach Gaelithox not to chew your dearest brother's dragon.

You had gone most of your life without the feeling of a bond beneath you, warm and alive and wild, and the roar and stench that though new, felt so familiar in your ribcage— you will fly again. And with your brothers beside you. With Helaena and her lovely Dreamfyre.

To think they had taken this from you too, to placate them. To play into their hands like a mewling kitten.

No more.

It is paces before fast is about to break when you both touch back down to Kings Landing. The Keep busying with its occupants, servants and maids bolstering with quickened feet to ensure the lords and royals are awakened with full, poached meals, dresses and coats readied for their lords and ladies, a new, glorious day under the Reign of the Black Queen.

"What now?" Aegon asks, trying to keep with your pace but he is fatigued, failing to stop his yawns. The excitement of last night had come upon him like a fog, and he is missing his bed. Hells, he is missing the bed he stays with his wife if it meant he would get a full night's sleep in the hours of the day.

"Now, we speak nothing of what happened."

He turns to you, frowning. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." You beam, nodding in favour of soldiers and maids who bow in reverence to the Crown Princess. You know you smell of dragon and night, and you need a bath. And to talk to Dyanna before you seek your daughters. "I will need time and people. The board must still be set for me to perfectly execute what I have in store."

"Alright." He yawns again. "I'll be in my quarters, passed out, if you need me. Please do not need me until sup."

You laugh breathlessly, grabbing his hand and giving it a wet kiss. "I will give you your rest, be assured. Kirimvose, dōna lēkia, Thank you, sweet brother."

The words are simple, said in a quiet murmur heavy with love and meaning. Aegon presses a loving kiss to your head, unable to stop himself winding an arm around you.

"Syt ao, va moriot, ñuha prūmia. For you, always, my heart."

As you break to each other's chambers— his, to sleep, you, already meeting Yna and requesting for a bath — you don't notice the lurker that watched the intimate moment between twins, humming in amusement before it moves to follow you.

Back in your quarters— your marriage quarters as Jacaerys had requested that you forgo having your own, not wishing to part with you — the maids are already busying themselves airing the room, moving to follow your usual routine. The only thing breaking it is the tub now in the centre.

"Thank you," you say to Yna as she picks out the pins from your hair, shrugging off your dress in the process as soon as the maids had untangled the lace behind you.

"Call for Dyanna," you tell them as they bow and leave, the door clicking softly behind them. Plans must be made. Bath for now.

With the world stifled for a second, left with only you and your thoughts, you plunge your body under too-hot water, sighing against the aches and pains in your body. Dragon-riding is a new endeavour to your muscles, and though enjoyable, was still too new.

You sigh as tears fall from your eyes, blinking exhaustedly against soft, humming daylight. You had always known that love, as it is, is a maiden's folly. A foolish, hapless play meant to fool young girls into thinking the world is kind; a pretty place.

It was an even farther thought from you, a princess of the realm. At a young age, it has been drilled to you that your womb is a rare commodity. Your body has never been your own, a piece meant to be moved in a bigger game that you are used for, not play.

You weren't stupid.

If there's a few things Otto Hightower had ever granted you, apart from gifting you his keen prowess in moving power beneath your fingertips, in hungering for more, for better— it is understanding what each person is, who they can be, how you can move them. A flatter, a flair, a push. As a man, there is much to be desired about your grandsire; he used people, used family to pursue power, but you can't truly fault him for that as you were the same.

You just took better care of the people under your wing.

And for Jace, you had banished him.

The worst part, you knew there was a good, fat chance you would care for the princeling. He was a kind man, a sweet man, and with a guiding hand, you could forge yourself the best husband for yourself as much as you can mould a great king and a wonderful father. Women's hands are ever carved to mould and prod men. We stand behind, a presence or a hand, an echo of power.

But your Jace had surpassed it all, and in the moons leading up to your present day, to giving him his heirs, two beautiful daughters, the promised full Valyrian colouring in the silver hair in Daenera, your eldest, the wide, violet gaze in Aemma— the name of his mother's mother, a request of him that you had kindly, graciously fucking agreed to — of course there is a part of you, the girlish, tender heart that you long thought you had buried to get here, would fall for the brown-eyed, wondrous man.

You sink deeper into the tub, sighing as you let yourself unravel—

When you feel it. A presence in your room. It's soft. Silent. Not a lot would feel as such, but as paranoid as you are, as you keep your spiders clean and pretty with your dewy-eyed webs— you know better.

Your mind runs with ideas on who it might be, and come to a few people. No true name rises. The Red Keep is flooded with spies and traitors. You test your luck, sitting up on the tub, raising an arm over the lip of it and flicking water with your fingertips.

"If you are here to kill me, I'm afraid it will be a lost cause."

He laughs, sardonic and edged and familiar, jetting a tingle down your spine.

Well. There's getting a calm bath.

"Perceptive as always, niece," he says, heavy footfalls approaching now that he has been caught. "I'm just here to say hello."

You raise your eyes, mouth curled but unsmiling at the man who acts as the biggest thorn to your plots. Daemon Targaryen has never fallen through your webs, on guard against your flatter, your push, or your flair. Of course, taking the position of his daughter might have forever burnt that road, but you would think he'd ease up just a little bit when his wife, the Queen, had warmed to you considerably.

Unlike your mother, you had never been hostile to your bitch of an elder sister. Just like your plots for Aegon and Jacaerys, and nodding along to thread your father had started but abandoned, foolishly thinking the realm would follow without him fully ensuring your sister's claim to the throne— you carefully maintained a polite farce with Rhaenyra.

Ultimately, this became a boon to you, as she had responded positively to your abrupt marriage to her son, even reminding her deranged guard dog of their own marriage. The cream to your lemon cake had been when you birthed Aemma, the Queen's most favourite grandchild thus far. When she was a babe, Rhaenyra was never far; almost, always holding your daughter, cooing at her cheeks, remarking her likeness to her namesake with pure fondness.

But Daemon Targaryen knew, in the deepness of his marrow, that there is something wrong with you.

"Hello," you answer primly. He laughs, leaning against the passage to your open balcony. "We could have had this elating greeting at fast, if you wish to break it with me and my own."

He scoffs, unable to hide his disdain at the thought. It breaks his stare of your naked visage. Men. "I would rather jump to the fighting pits, good daughter."

"How rude. Is that all?" You meet his gaze steadily, tilting your head. "If it is not obvious yet, good father, I am bathing."

An amused smirk. "I can see that." Lecherous fucking geezer. "No matter. I just have a... curious thought, a wonder I suspect you may be able to answer. See. Truly odd it is, for the keepers to alert me this morning that Sunfyre had taken a ride past the Hour of Owl." Your heart thuds in your ribcage and you do your best to keep your expression mildly irritated. "Not with one, drunken rider, but with another. It had taken them hours, only coming back when morning had already presented in the air."

He steps forward, slow, menacing, until he reaches the edge of your tub and crouches. Your gazes are still unmatched in height, defiant as yours might be.

"The distinct smell wafts them, a Keeper said, and one suspects that though one dragon left last night, two might have come back this morning for he had seen another fly away." His fingers dips into the water, swirling the steam without breaking eye contact. "I wonder if you know anything about it, darling niece of mine."

The mocking emphasis is not lost on you. If the Queen is the Realm's Delight, you were Darling of the Realm. A sweet, merry girl, the secondborn daughter of Viserys I who frequently fought for the plight of the small folk, who gathered friends of all kinds of lords and ladies no matter the standing of their houses to her own, visiting far lands and charming every person in any room. Who made any feast brighter, always sparkling, always the darling.

Less of a dragon, more of a fairytale.

You sit up, leaning, baring your breasts completely to him as you pull yourself up on the ledge he is crouched from. He leans back, only slightly, as you smile demurely. Sweet. Tart. On the edge of pulling his head and hitting it against the copper tub.

"I am unsure of what you suspect, or is accusing me of, kepus, uncle," you purr and there's a twitch in his mouth, a widen in his irises— men are so fucking simple — "I had been feeling down last night, as my husband, as you know, is beyond my reach at the moment as he rallies alliances for the good of the realm. My brother had simply offered to take me out riding, trying to quell my loneliness with an excitable flight I had never been afforded."

You tilt your head. "Even if there had been a dragon binded to my own, why why would I not regale the realm with news of my success? I have longed for a dragon of my own, but alas, I have not quite succeeded where most of the family have." You pout. His eyes flicker. "Mayhaps I am more Hightower than I am Targaryen."

A huff leaves his lips, the amusement in his smile arching to his dark, dark gaze. Before you can react, his hand had comes forward to hold your chin in a tight grip, your jaw aching soon enough at the fingers that dig against your skin, wanting to bruise, to break.

Though a tremble passes your body, you keep his stare, gritting your teeth as the pad of his thumb brushes your lips. Moments and desires thrum between a charged hatred.

The lust is twisted from wanting to fuck you to wanting to kill you. The line is not simple. Maybe that is your fate together.

But he can't. You are well too ingrained in his family now, loved by the people he cared about. You are untouchable. For now. This is a warning, waiting for you to stutter, to show your hand. Any show of your true intentions... he is more than happy to swing Dark Sister across your throat.

He releases you without another word, standing up and leaving through the front door, the door clicking shut.

You sink back into the bath, letting the water engulf you.

Your daughters are moons apart in birth, and there are only a few differences between them that people oft remarked they could be twins. Daenera is taller, spindly. Built like Aemond when he was younger. Her hair is spun moon and eyes of mullish blue. It reminds you of Daeron's eyes. You had named Daenera yourself, a gruelling birth that took the entire night. You promised Jacaerys he could name the second. He had chosen Aemma for a girl, Laenor for a boy.

Not a few moons later, you were with child again. Your husband pinked at the cheeks at the chiding from his family. When she cried into the afternoon sun—Aemma was born mid day, during a council meeting — he pain did not stop the laugh that came out of your mouth from the horrified expression from the Master of Coin as your water broke.

Aemma had a sweetheart face, cheeks much fatter than her older sister's, with a yellowish tinge to her hair, curlier too, reminding you of Aegon. And Aemma laughed more, her deep, violet eyes always half closed as she exploded in giggles and bright, sunshine happiness.

Sons they might not be, but you had given heirs for the throne. And for them, you would do anything to keep their futures intact. Bond with a dragon, face the Rogue Prince, upheave Winterfell. Anything.

You flounce to the nursery where you know the two would be, smiling sweetly at every person you pass as they bow in reverence. Most wore sights of confusion, their greedy eyes and wagging tongues drinking in the deep, emerald glisten of your gown.

It's an old dress, one you keep in the corner of your collection. It isn't as if you had forgo the colours of your mother's house, but playing court meant every movement, even the clothes you wear, can be meaningful. And since your marriage, your Jace liked you in Velaryon colours.

"A goddess come to bless," he gasped against your collarbone, keeping your legs high on his waist as he rutted into you before his teeth sunk on your skin. As newlyweds go, there is not a lot of teasing to be had for your husband to curl against you in a darkened alcove. Merely wearing his favourite colour on your skin has him panting like a dog. His favourite dress is a seafoam blue that dragged longer against the ground in a soft, almost-gossamer material with a silver belt.

Enticing him never took long, but you enjoyed the dance presented. You enjoyed the dark hunger that filled him until he grabbed you to take you because he just had to take you.

The fresh wound slices deeper as you imagine all the things Jacaerys is doing to the so called Sara Snow. The emerald green of your gown shimmers with your anger.

"Fucking bastards," you can't help but say aloud, nodding at the guards posted on the nursery as you hear the squeals of your daughter and the calm, even voice of your brother.

"Muña! Mother!" Aemma squeals, untangling herself from being pressed against Aegon's side as the children— Daenera and Jaehaera — cuddle around him, before running to you. Helaena is on the floor, entertaining baby Maelor. Your mother, hands twisting against her own, stands vigil by the window, staring far ahead.

You catch your secondborn, giggling as you pressed kiss after kiss on her face.

"I see everyone has started without me. Where is Jaehaerys?"

"You were late, sodjisto, aunt," Jaehaera grins gummily. Jahaera is only a year older than Daenera. Your daughters, five and a half and five respectively. "Jaehaerys is with kepus, uncle. They are training."

"Smart girl." You meet your brother's gaze, whose eyes had notably been staring at your dress, mouth turned down. "Why don't you three play with Helaena? I shall speak about Name Day gifts for your Uncle Joffrey for a bit, hm?"

As Aemma shrieks something about cakes, and Daenera dutifully kissing your cheek in greeting before she takes Jaehaera's hand, you turn to your brother and mother.

"Aemond?" you ask softly, keeping your voice out of earshot. Alicent shakes her head. You nod. "Good. We don't want him inciting a war before I have mine properly planned."

As the Dowager draws in a sharp inhale, Aegon grabs your hands, the worry pulled taunt in his eyebrows. "Are you seriously contemplating war, sister? Isn't there a better way to punish them?"

"What punishment does a man regale in?" you hiss, stepping close to him. "Or the Queen's heir for the bloody matter? When Aemond nearly killed Lucerys, and he confronted me as if I had ordered Vhagar to tear through his brother, I thought I had put to bed any doubts in our marriage. It seems that men stray, regardless. My daughters may be his heir now, but what is to say that bastard wildling he's found himself cock deep in produces a son? Will he shame me with a mistress? Or will he shame me with a second wife?"

Your mother's lips tightens, her fingers paling at how tight she is gripping her nerves.

"Bastard or not, if he takes her to wife, I will be nothing. Make that babe a son, and the realm will rally for it. Daenera is his heir. My daughters will not be forgone. I will not be pushed aside. This is mercy, brother," you say softly, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "My last one. It requires time, moons, to unfurl. It requires seeding doubt and unfathomable inadequacy. Better if Aemond is none the wiser, Helaena the same. But I will need both of you for this to work. It is the only time I will ever ask. For me. For my daughters."

"And you will punish Winterfell with a war?" your mother asks, frown pulled deep. "That is the plan?"

"I will not. I won't do such a thing so blatant, mother, you know me better than that. But this is my last mercy, and it will be the last. For the next time he offends me so, I do not care if Rhaenyra feeds me to Syrax. I will put a dagger through his heart, heir or not."

The Prince Jacaerys comes back not a week later. Though he comes back to the same castle with the same occupants— your shiny new threads gleam. The stage has been set, a play ready to act. You had sent more spiders in the North, keeping a close eye to every blasphemy your husband has been enjoying in the absence of his duties, and as the rage in you quietly grew with each new whisper, your determination hardens.

You mark each indescretion. You keep a tally.

You count for each fall your blow will land on him.

Vermax lands with a screech and a heavy thump, your husband leaping off him with a grin on his face, matching the one you own, waving your arm joyously with Aemma in your arm and Daenera beside you, holding to your skirt as she grinned at her father.

Aemma wiggles under your hold, and you let Jace get close enough before you set her down, laughing, "Okay, okay!" Her laughter carries through as she scrambles like a bull to her father. A squeal peals out of her as Jace picks her up just in time and tosses her in the air.

"Want to meet kepa, father, sweet girl?" you whisper to Daenera, running a hand down her hair before she nods, breaking out into her own sprint, hugging her father as he greets them with laughter and kisses.

You let them have their time, and this, at least, eases your heart truthfully. A kind reminder that Jace adores his daughters.

You stay at the edge of the entrance, your too-wide grin softens into a smile. You were dramatic, nothing new about that, but even in the pale, pearl blue of your dress in silky, Myrish lace, the emeralds in your heavy, golden belt winks. Green ribbons twisted in your hair alongside fresh flowers. When the trio of your family treks toward you, silver-haired babes clinging to your dark haired prince, you serve a wink at the girls and they untangle themselves from their father while you stepped forward.

A choreographed dance, not giving him time to think. To pause.

Every step is calculated, every item on your body— the silk, the small seahorse that locks your dress behind you, the tint on your lips to the oil in your hair and body — is made to perform. You engulf him in you as if you want to suffocate his senses, your arms wrapping around him with sweet kisses pressing on his face, his neck.

Most in the dragonpit looked away, others, scandalously amazed and enchanted, watch as the princess is undeniably enthralled with her lord husband.

His laughter rumbles across his body, infecting your own, smelling of dragonback and crisp winds. You wonder if your nose is more heightened, you would be able to smell his whore in him, but you don't. It's just him. Your Jace.

Your body moulds against his as his arms tightens around you. When you lean back, you sweetly press a chaste kiss on his lips, grinning.

"What is this?" he huffs a laugh, meeting your doeful gaze. Your fingers curl around his chin, his cheek, idly tapping and touching as if you are committing so much newness to memory.

"Kostagon iā ābrazȳrys daor jaelagon zirȳla valzȳrys? Can a wife not want her husband?" you ask softly, pressing a few more kisses before sucking the last one just under his ear. His body shudders. You hide your smirk. "Skori ēza issare qrīdrughagon tolī bōsa? When he has been away too long?"

A yearning look tints your gaze from under your lashes, and you have to stifle the winning smirk as guilt pinches his face.

"My apologies, my wife. I did not mean to be away from you for long. From the girls." As his eyes flick to his daughters, your mask momentarily sharpens into clear distaste. The urge to dig your fingers into his eyes until he is bleeding and screaming under you is one you tamper with great distress.

Did not mean...

Did not mean to have a dalliance with another woman?

Did not mean to fall into bed with a fucking bastard, you insidious cunt, while I await here with your heirs?

Your anger thrums, nestled deep in your heart, it breathes. You school your face the moment he turns back to you, bringing your hands to his lips, kissing each finger with reverent tenderness. His brown eyes smoulder, rubbing your bare— irises widening — back.

"If you wish it, I can be on my knees for my apologies, my princess."

Your mouth curls. "I'm afraid that might have to be quite later, my prince."

"Huh?"

"The Dowager Queen hoped to congratulate you on your successful campaigning. Reaching as far as the North so frequently, we planned a feast for your return." Eyes shinning, you cup his face. You hope the guilt eats him raw from the inside out. Like worms. Like termites. Hungry, hungry, hungry. "We have never been more proud of you, I have never been more proud of you."

You laugh brightly, ignoring the way he squeezed you just a bit harder that mere second the same time his eyes tightened. "The moment I told the girls of it, they had begged to dance with you." Then you bit your lip, frowning slightly. "I... I understand if you are tired, 'tis a long journey after all, I did try to tell them you might want to rest, we can sneak you—"

"No, no, my heart, of course I would be happy to, I— I want nothing more." He brings you close, face disappearing into your neck. "Thank you. I love you."

You hum, carding your fingers through his hair. "As I love you."

For the rest of the feast, you dance just at the edges of his fingertips, ensuring that you permeated his sights and senses despite it. A game. A dance. When he thanks revelries who congratulate him, who ask him of his adventures, you proudly stand beside him, dutiful as the wife that you are, spearing him with compliments as much as you can. Hands squeezing his arm, your oils swallowing him with your smell.

When dinner came, you take chances massaging his thigh, sliding a salacious grin that had him blushing, ever so sweet, green— making you wonder what kind of fucking bastards do that he finds your attention so swallowing.

You don't let up.

Whenever he, in turn made a move, you sidestep, flutter a smirk, a wink; always escaping, letting him grow frustrated as the night went on.

Your one respite from taunting him had been when he danced with his daughters, making a gallant show of asking them, even Jaehaera. Giggles and spins, the ladies of the court fawn and coo.

Even now, you're making him to be the perfect man. The endearing husband, the wondrous father, the brilliant prince, the perfect lord.

To execute your plan, it must be made with a surgical precision. A slice that guts him to his knees, that breaks his spirit and quenches the whispering, wicked madness nestling with your ire. On another cheek, he must remain upright and upstanding, as to keep your daughters' future in perfect order.

You catch the domineering gaze of Daemon Targaryen, idle as he is, on the side of his distracted Queen, talking to a highborn lady. You don't look away as you toast him your cup of Arbour Red before you pucker your lips for a taste. Your eyes move to where your husband is already looking, flushed red and sweaty from all the dancing, your girls, preening and giggling around him.

You tilt your chin at him, a challenge in your gaze, before you slowly pull your lips away from your wine, stained red.

His throat bobs.

It will be a long, arduous game. Full of pitfalls and tightened webbing. One trip can kill you. But once the machinations are in order, once everything and everyone is in their proper places... oh, you cannot wait for the dance the dragons will make.

A flutter, a simpered footstep. Then a rustle of a dress as one bows.

"My lady," Dyanna greets behind you.

"Hm?"

"The spiders in the ice have met the pup in the snow."

"And?"

"The pup is not suspicious, in fact, they might go as far as to say that the pup is lonely. Though others largely understand her existence... no one likes a bastard."

You snort. "No, they don't, do they?"

"The wolf cares for the pup though, and is largely protective of his only sister."

"Hm. Complicated, but not impossible. Have Meera change the tone of my missive. A softer edge. Sweet but not overtly. Ensure the prerogative of politeness. Then have it sent to the Rookery. The proper channels."

You sigh, taking the edge of your braid and twisting through the ribbons your maid tangled between them. Tonight, you had elected Targaryen colours. A black dress akin to scales and a low, exposed back and dipping front, held together in red ribbons and silver chains. One that might be too on the nose, but the constant, feverish stares from your husband made it worth it.

"We have to ensure a good relationship with the Warden of the North, don't you think so?" You have not looked away from your husband since your maid came, and as he whispered something in Daenera's ear, nodding off to her grandmother with Aemma towed, he turned towards you, one stride after another.

"Precisely what I thought, milady."

"Go," you order her for the last time, giving her your cup, just before Jacaerys reaches you.

Game, set.

Worshipping you has always been something Jace excelled at. At the least, his cock was much larger than most, and without the preparation of his tongue and mouth, it burned. At most, he oft found himself holding your shaking thighs, your head and shoulders left on the bed as he feasted on you like a man starved, hungered for your nectar, the sounds you make, and the shaking of your body as you reached your peak on his tongue.

"J-Jace, please, I—" Your breath stutters, a hiccup escaping your mouth, but he is not letting up. On his knees as only a lordling can with his back straight, he is holding your thighs, your lower back, eating your cunny for the third time of the night.

As soon as he had reached you, he grasped your waist, whispering against your hair in a rumbled groan, "You are torturing me so, my wife. We leave. Now."

"Now?" you echoed, amused. "This is a feast in your honour."

"My honour is already hanging by a thread. The revelry will go on without us. I want to have my fill of you."

And fill he had. He didn't even wait to get you out of your dress before he had pushed your skirt upward, gone on his knees, and got his tongue inside of you.

Now, you are overwhelmed, overstimulated as you are hazy, gripping the wrecked sheets as your peak reached you once more. A strangled, breathy cry of his name falls between your lips as your back arched impossibly so, and instead of letting up, this seemed to fuel him harder, the muscle of his mouth working harder inside of your cunt, hands digging into your flesh to keep you steady.

It builds with a stimulation unending, and just as you're on the throes of your last high, it builds again, quick and fast this time, shuddering gasps of, "o-oh gods, g-gods, Jace!" is the last thing you are able to shout before your fourth peak breaks against the shudders of your last one, your wetness exploding, and you start crying before he lets up.

Your blubber becomes laughter, and he is soft as he lies you down, massaging your thighs as you twitched. He hovers above you, running gentle hands across your arms, kneading through skin, before he reaches your face. He's still in most of his clothes, his long white shirt and breeches, but his mouth is covered in your wetness before he wipes it, obscene in the prettiness of his face and messy locks from where you had tugged and grabbed.

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, so close to your body, all too tangled in your soul, and can feel his hard cock upright and wanting against your belly, but he pays it no mind. Concern mars his features as he brushes down your hair.

"Are you alright, my love? Too much?"

You shake your head, brushing your hand down his chest. "N-no, I am well. I just never did that before."

He smiles, kissing your closed eyelids before he brings you close to his chest, cuddling you deep. "You deserve all the pleasure I can give you," he says against your hair. "I have been gone far too long. Consider it my apology."

You hum, eyes open. "Apology for what? You were doing your duty, nothing more, ñuha zaldrīzes, my dragon." You feel him stiffen as you keep your voice soft, caring. "I understand duty far better than you. It is what I love most about you."

You look up, taking his chin between your fingertips as you stared at those warm, brown eyes. "You, who carries your honour like a shield and your duty like a sword. I feel as if the gods had blessed me a husband far better than I should have had for I know I do not deserve you."

"H-how can you say that? You are—" He swallows. "— You are the most excellent woman. The mother of my children. You... You are the one I do not deserve."

Your head falls back against his chest, gripping his shirt. Only by your teeth had you stop yourself from screaming.

You curdle, you keep, you poise.

"My love?"

But you pay him no mind, pushing him on his back as you straddle him, your hands working quick to unlace his breeches until his cock slaps against his stomach, end red and swollen. A sharp hiss falls from his lips as your hand tugs on it once. Twice.

He calls your name, spits it really, eyes blown with lust as he holds your waist, unsure if he should lift you off him or grind you against his aching cock.

"I want you inside me," you whimper, plead, feeling his cock twitch at your words, your false, yearning gaze. He mistakes the burned tears of anger in your eyes as unbridled want. "I have gone so long without your warmth, your cock, swelling inside me, your seed nestling deep, taking root—"

"Yes," he gasps, fingers digging into your doughy sides, pulling you up, moving you around whilst you grabbed his length and directed inside your wet, hot cunt inch by inch, filling you so thickly you can feel him in your throat. It takes time, patience and grit, but you're wet enough and you're determined. Once he's fully inside of you through a choked moan of your own, his neck arches, head thrown back. "Fuck! Yes, y-yes, there you are, my g-good fucking girl."

You move slow at first, taking him, bracing one hand on his knee, almost testing the feel him of back in the familiar contours of your cunt. Veins pop between each groan and choke that shudders through him whilst praise, your name, the possessive titles— my love, my wife, my princess — is spit in between.

When the heat tightens in your belly, you shift positions, placing both palms on his chest, and riding him without abandon, bouncing up and down as you watch with a sharp eye as his release builds. His hips move on their own, fucking up in you as you meet his thrusts with equal vigour, and it's delicious. It's heated. You grind your swollen folds against his mon and your cries make him thrust up harder into you, calling your name, denting your doughy hips.

You don't stop, your pleasure at the back of your mind, wanting him to unravel, to break— a final cry of your name dissolving into a choked moan, spilling his seed deep inside, the continuous snap of his hips digging it deeper into your womb.

But your last peak is still tightening, so you press a quick kiss on his chest, a bite really, before you continue to chase your own high, a hiss slipping his lips but moving your hips with his iron-grip, stutters of, "d-do it, reach your high, f-fuck! fuck!"— Your head throws back, nails digging his skin as your cunt clenches his cock in a vice grip, forcing his hips to snap up once more, twice, until you fall, slumping against him.

When he kisses the top of your head, murmuring words you ignore, you close your eyes.

Your plan is in motion. The missive will be sent to the Lord Stark, in pursuit of an innocent friendship. The spiders you have placed on the Northern bastard are set, and a dragon flies in Dragonstone with your bond in its blood.

Your Jace is home. He will fall in love with you all over again. His wonderful daughters and darling princess, he will regret the events that have transpired in the cold. In his head, he will make promises to do better, to be better, that whatever happened is a blip. A mistake that will not happen again. but you know, he will trip. He will wander once more.

But you will make sure that the next time he does so, he will regret it for the rest of his days.

Because it is not you who will burn Winterfell to the ground.

It will be him.

Your plan moves, your web is perfect.

Now, the spider waits for the idiot fucking flies to feed on.

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