#I never imagined a quiet monster death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

comfortless · 4 months

Text

Deep Water

nix! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. no.. intentional harm done to reader but there are sporadic mentions of murder (drowning), König is kind of a creep here do you guys forgive me (say yes), implied sex; dubcon everything. König is wearing a fishing net rather than the usual hood because. it made sense to me sorry.

notes: yet again, i have found that i can not manage to write anything except for silly fantasy nonsense… bear with me this will pass (it will not). if you’re uncertain of what a nix is, i recommend skimming over this (or tl;dr— a shapeshifting water spirit).

You’ve always been told to beware of the river, especially on nights like this. When the singing starts up you were to run, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you. It would be the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, as well as the last. Whatever beast lies in wait along the silt of the riverbed luring people in with its haunting song isn’t kind. The drowned bodies resurfacing bloated and paled are enough for the townsfolk to assume that assuredly, a monster lies in wait someplace within the glassy water.

For all of the fear, town myths were just that— myths.

As always, there’s no singing when you seat yourself on smooth, mossy stones by the river’s bank. The moon hangs low, casting its brilliant reflection on calm, dark water. The air is alive with the buzzing of cicadas clinging to the trees at your back and night birds calling out to the wind. Nothing is amiss; it’s only peaceful, and that’s why despite the warnings, you often find yourself here when the temperature is favorable.

There are nights when the river isn’t calm, and currents are the most reliable reasoning for the deaths from past summers. The water is full of large rocks with sharp corners, teeming with plants that could so easily snare an ankle, and when the water is frothing and cruel it’s no surprise that one could be thrashed to unconsciousness if they weren’t careful.

You didn’t come here to take your chances on swimming, anyhow.

If anything, it’s a mere reprieve from the bustle of the town. No one wanders here any more since the myths gained traction, passed from mouth to listening ears time and time again, leaving this place entirely untouched. Occasionally the obnoxious teenager would cross your path on the walk here, declaring loudly to their friends about how they supposedly saw some slimy beast, eyes like moonbeams and scales like razors lying on the bank.

During your little adventures here, you often carry a snack with you, but not for yourself. Tonight, it’s just a small package of vanilla flavored cookies. In truth, they were awful— dry and near flavorless, but you suspect your friend here wouldn’t mind too terribly much, and if it got them out of your pantry without wasting it was a win for the both of you.

When the large dorsal fin crests over the water mere meters from the bank, you gratuitously crush the treats in a closed fist and toss the crumbs into the water. Time and time again, you’ve fed the large animal, watching as it thrashes about just below the surface before disappearing back into its depths. You’ve never gotten a good look at it, either, but you imagine it must stretch out past your height or further; some sort of gar or sturgeon.

Just as many times before, it glides further in, fin entirely out of sight now. The only evidence of it ever appearing at all were the small waves rippling in its wake. All is quieted once more as you embrace the placid bliss, readying your small flashlight and losing yourself into the book perched in your lap.

The next night, you’re greeted by a large snake basking over the rock you typically sat upon. It lies still, coiled into itself as it regards you, forked tongue flicking out for several moments before it simply slithers off, hiding itself away beneath the moss and stone.

“Best to leave you alone, huh?,” you ask to it’s retreating tail, feeling a bit silly for speaking to the reptile at all. It doesn’t respond, of course, nor does it bother to come out of hiding either.

You opt to seat yourself on the hill overlooking the water instead.

You find that after a day occupied by tedious tasks, there truly was no greater place to abandon your woes than here. Everything was peaceful; wild yet simplistic. Even with all of the death that seemed to haunt this place, you never feared the thought of ghosts. You’ve even entertained your imagination a time or two, that if you ever did meet one, you would only ask it not to disturb the wildlife you have grown so fond.

There’s a freedom and a mystery to places like this, places without the foot traffic of other people. It brings with it a sense of whimsy, especially when you glance towards the water and see the surface reflecting every twinkling star above.

The fish doesn’t appear, even as you listen to the water in wait, your head tilted as you lie back on soft grass to watch for ripples, for the swell of a large fin moving beneath. Nothing. You read your book as the night progresses, nearly completing it entirely before you make your way back home.

Weeks pass by like this— work, river, home and repeat. Occasionally it’s the same large snake that greets you when you wander there, more often it’s the large fish circling about waiting for crumbs of whatever treat you choose to bring. The bank and the small hill overlooking it have become a separate home to you, one where you can be away with the fairies, talking to your animal friends that never seem to stick around for long.

When the weather grows warmer, you even dare to take a swim.

You’re stood on the slick stones of the bank, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. It’s not proper swimming attire, but you reason that you’re not at the beach, not a soul is around, and it doesn’t really matter at all that you might look a bit silly. The prospect of swimming along that behemoth below is a tad terrifying, but you wouldn’t dare to wander too far in. Maybe the fish would even be intelligent enough to not attempt to eat you after you’ve been so kind to it.

It’s hot, and with a sticky layer of sweat glossing your skin, your worries seem minuscule in light of an easy way of cooling off. You toe at the calm water for a moment, testing its temperature before willing yourself to take a step forward, then another before you seat yourself in the vibrant expanse of darkened blue. Here, you realize, is the best place to stargaze, too; they shimmer all around you, within reach as you tap at the surface of water, watching it undulate beneath the pressure of your fingertips.

You could reach the moon, too, if you swam further out. A few meters from the bank and you would be directly beneath its reflection, bathed in that ethereal glow.

You watch for your friend for a time, trying to prioritize your wariness over your whimsy. When the fish doesn’t tread by you, the water remaining calm, you rise to your feet and take slow, metered steps as the water parts and flows against your shins.

Though the river is disturbed no matter how gently you stride forward, nothing slides out from its depths in pursuit of you. Nothing happens at all when you reach out to splay your hand out against the reflection, the water now gently lapping against your stomach rather than your legs.

You hadn’t expected any sort of shift in your reality, that would be ridiculous, but perhaps some sort of clarity; a further calm for a weary mind. It doesn’t come, and with a disheartened splash you wade your way back towards the shore.

This has been your sanctuary for some time. Excusing the snake, there’s not been any sort of threat to you, not here. A safe water world all your own. Though, that peace is shattered the moment that you make it to the bank and hear the water shift some small distance behind you. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of a man, the bulky muscular silhouette towering in the patch of moonlight you had just stood in. Bright blue eyes catch the light, reflecting like an animal’s as you scramble back to where you’ve left your shorts.

He stands there, silent and unmoving like an obelisk even as you hastily dress yourself with a thundering heart and breaths that sound more or less like gasps, senses heightened by your panic as you turn tail to run.

No one had been there. You were sure of it when you sunk into the water. There was no sound when this person had swam over to take your place. He was just there, as if he had been the entire time and you somehow failed to notice.

You make your way into the woods framing this place, hurried steps and untied shoelaces. You don’t even bother with your flashlight.

Finding your way back home with aches in every muscle, the desperate rampage you had taken to get away finally coming to a close when the door slams shut behind you, you quickly shower and mull over what’s just happened. A ghost, perhaps. It had to of been. Any other person would have made noise in their approach, especially being that big. The mind could play its tricks; what you had seen was likely not even there at all— a terrifying figment of your imagination. That sets you at ease, somewhat, but not enough.

You don’t sleep well that night, tucked beneath your blanket and staring at the filtered moonlight through your curtains. Work isn’t on your mind at all come morning until your phone chimes with a notification from your manager, questioning your tardiness. A languid crawl out of bed follows, another shower, an unsatisfying breakfast, all before you opt to send a text back to let him know you won’t be in today.

It could be excused, you’re reliable and decent enough at the job; not one to boast, but far more eager to please than the rest of your coworkers. You would be entirely useless if you went in on no sleep, you reason.

You don’t want to go back there, not under the veil of night, but you find yourself horribly curious the longer that you bide your time indoors. You had to know if the thing that you saw was really there, had to calm your nerves. What if he had always been watching each time, and you simply hadn’t noticed? The forest bordering the river is terribly dark at night, anyone could crouch behind the shield of a tree and remain undetected until they willed the courage to drag you in, cup a palm over your mouth to silence your cries.

Maybe it was the monster the people in town rumored about.

The thought of some strange, silent thing living beneath the water waiting for an opportune moment to take you by the neck and drag you down to the silty floor to watch you drown horrified you. Yet, that’s the one conclusion that sticks. Those eyes… so lurid and haunting, no human being had eyes like that.

You inhale sharply, steeling your nerves as reach for a pocket knife for defense, toss it into the bag slung over your shoulder, and storm out the door.

The trek there is nothing short of dull.

No matter where you look, what shadows rise up beneath the dim glow of a falling sun, there’s nothing out in the woods. The river is equally tame. The water babbles over rock, cicadas buzz off in the distance, and not a thing seems amiss. Your search for footprints that don’t belong to the soles of your shoes turns up empty. The only thing that suggests just maybe it wasn’t all in your head is the book you had neglected to retrieve in your fear the night before.

The cover, every page within, now warped as though it had been pulled into the water and spit out to dry. You pick it up, peeling through damp pages, running your fingertips over the smeared ink. It’s possible that a particularly aggressive splash could have sullied it, but something tells you that that isn’t the case. Either way, it’s unreadable now. You sulk a bit as you slip the ruined thing into your bag and step towards the smooth stones to watch the water instead.

Night creeps in slowly with you there, and you’re on high alert for a time before you begin to relax as usual. Even giggle to yourself at how silly it was you believed you saw a ghost at all as you entertain yourself by skipping small stones across the water.

No large snake, no massive fish, no titan of a man appears before you, only a calming crescent moon and a few wandering wood ducks, gliding down from the bank to splash about. A thought comes to mind as the calm emboldens you: what would happen if you got in just one more time?

There’s nothing to suggest that you’re playing with fire as you leave your shoes neatly in the dry sand. If the ducks could swim unbothered by fish or men, then surely you could, too. You watch the little creatures a distance away as they dip their heads beneath the surface and chitter away amongst themselves while you take your first step in.

You don’t dare to go as far this time, stopping when the water brushes over your knees. You wait there while time seems to slow to a crawl, expecting the absolute worst, glancing further down the river, dipping your hand below the glassy surface until your fingertips brush the sand beneath.

It’s horribly hot and you’re still exhausted from the sleepless night before. The water feels nice, and you feel as though you have some sort of claim to it as you’ve been here more often than anyone else would dare to. Ghosts and monsters be damned, you seat yourself and let the water lap over your shoulders, tilting your head back to watch the stars.

When the singing begins it takes a moment to register just what it is that you’re hearing. It’s not beautiful, not like the myths have said. It’s hissed, a low whisper, a mockery of what a human song would sound like. The voice is rasped, lilted yet cold. The realization that it sings words from your book of poetry is what terrifies you the most, the warped pages all making sense now.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, forward, before realizing the voice is coming from behind you. Cold spreads through your veins as you try to force yourself to stand, but in your fear you find yourself petrified, rooted in water that would surely become your grave.

You can’t bring yourself to turn around, to inevitably find your eyes locked onto the shadowy frame of a man far too large, his eyes glistening and pale like the moon hanging above.

The voice pauses when it finds you unmoving, and you can hear the rustle of the creature shifting its weight where it’s stood on the rocks lining the bank. You’ve no clue how deep the river gets, where the opposite side leads, but your only chance of escape seems to be swimming through in the hopes that this thing doesn’t choose to chase after you. A part of you knows that he would, that that is exactly what he expects you to do, goading you to flee deeper with his eerie song so that he can drown you just as he did the others.

You do the opposite as you squeeze your eyes shut and crawl back towards the bank, making sure to keep some distance despite your willful blindness. You wouldn’t look at it, wouldn’t talk to it, you would just go home and never come back.

“Best to leave you alone, hm?”

You still as your fingers brush against wet moss, the voice no longer a whisper but loud, loud as it echoes your words from days past just above you. Beating back your own curiosity proves futile, because you look up at the damned thing then, expecting to see an impossible terror before you, sharp fangs wet with blood and appendages too spindly reaching out for you. Instead, you see only a man.

He’s crouched, only a meter or so away, and you immediately recognize his broad figure. The same as the night before. From this distance you can make out the finer details, the length of net covering his face and neck, the webbing between each finger. Still a scary sight, but only in the way it’s unfamiliar and imposing rather than instilling any sort of primordial fear.

“Excuse me?” You pull yourself fully out of the water, rising to your feet and taking a tentative step back. You’re prepared to run, a coil pulled too tight on the verge of snapping.

The man, creature, whatever he may be just tilts his head, lets the silence hang in the air for a moment before he has the audacity to laugh whether to himself or at the strange, bewildered expression on your face.

His stare is assessing as he sucks in a breath, follows suit in rising to his full height. From the size of him alone, you know you’re not getting away. A mere stride for him would be two or more for you, a deliberate tug of your wrist from him could snap it in an instant.

Yet, he doesn’t reach for you, only gestures toward your bag lying on the ground with a subtle flick of a finger. You give him a quizzical glance in turn, not bothering to retrieve it. You could come back during the day with a friend, gather it and never return. Only, your knife sits somewhere inside, the only protection that you’ve got. The realization spurs you to bend over and toss the strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll be going now.”

The stare remains fixed upon you as you take another step back, blinking slowly every now and then as you both remain in some strange stasis.

It takes you a moment to put the pieces together. The reciting of words from the book, the mimicking of the words spoken to the snake, the hint at your bag… he’s expecting something and it’s not to steal away your life, only to be fed and have your company. It’s not charming, it’s awfully strange and eerie, but you find yourself giggling at the prospect of taming some murderous, shapeshifting monster with subpar treats and poetry.

You pull open the bag, searching for anything you may have brought along that he could eat, eventually prying out a small package and offering it out to him.

“Is this what you want?,” you ask, voice hushed and trembling.

He shakes his head, rustling the net cloaking him in the process. So, he understands, he’s just been willfully ignoring every other thing you’ve said prior. You store the package away with a perturbed expression crossing over your face.

“Then what?”

Any relief you had felt seems to dwindle when the giant takes a half-step closer. His skin is cool and wet as the river as he brushes his hand over your forearm, curling a set of fingers around it. The touch is gentle, but there’s a promise of violence lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

“Come with me,” he urges in that harsh whisper from before, delicately squeezing as he pulls you towards him, leading you back to the river with a tight grip and a step back over the stones. Though his touch is passive, there’s a frightening strength lurking someplace beneath his flesh, tacked to bone, and as your gaze trails lower to rest to rest at your feet, the space between you two, the evidence of a life prone to violence and strength is laid bare before you.

You don’t fight the hold as he leads you to water so deep it caresses the base of your neck, right below the milky glow of a waning moon. Deeper still, as you’re pulled below, pressed down to the very bottom with his body lain over you. You can only hold your breath so long before an involuntary gasp leaves you, and a wave is funneled straight into your lungs.

Panic is fleeting, but the adrenaline stays ever-present. You claw, push, kick, to no avail. Pinned down by a hand weighing like an anchor you feel your vision flooding and hazy as his head knocks against your jaw, mouth sealing tightly over yours. It’s not a gentle kiss, the net fashioned into a hood digs into your skin, teeth scrape over your lip until you feel the sting of blood drawn.

All at once, your vision darkens and it’s over.

You find yourself lying back on the shore as the morning sun warms your face, causes your dampened shirt to cling to your skin. Disoriented, but alive, brushing your thumb over your lower lip as you sit up to stare at the subtle waves lapping over moss and rock.

Just a dream, you tell yourself, knowing full well you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Just a dream, even though you avoid the river entirely now. Your route home from work changes too, avoiding even a glimpse of the path that leads down to that place. You don’t even replace the book, you toss what remains of it after fishing through your bag, murmuring something about it surely being cursed and entertain yourself with film at night instead.

Sleep remains tentative, you wake with every sound, and your dreaming is filled with visions of a figure pushing you down into deep water, his weight bearing down upon you so heavily that you can not move until you wake with a start, eyes searching your bedroom.

Several weeks, and the fear does eventually fade.

The morning that the rain begins to fall, you realize you haven’t even thought about the river in days. There’s no monster prowling your nightmares anymore. You lived through what may or may not have occurred, and that was the end of it, simple as it may have been.

A late shift at work has you wandering out into the rain, umbrella in hand. You’re grateful that you live close, that you’re not entirely soaked to the bone when you step inside of the mundane building. Your coworkers notice your change in demeanor immediately, chirping about how glad they are that you’re finally feeling better, looking more yourself as the hours pass you by. It brings a smile to your face, a real one that you haven’t had in place since that last night.

Even in the summer, there’s a chill to the air in the late afternoon as you hurry home from work and make your way inside, stripping out of your wet clothes and setting your umbrella aside. It’s darker outside than it should be, even more so indoors. Reaching for the switch to turn on the lights proves useless— the power’s out.

You light your way with your phone, ignoring the way your pulse quickens and your heart flutters with the fear that something just doesn’t feel right. Your skin prickles with the thought of some unseen pair of eyes watching you, blue and cold. You only relax when you slam your bedroom door shut, locking it and pressing your forehead to the wood as you sigh. The puff of breath that escapes your lips is not the only in the room, you find out when the light of your phone illuminated your bed. Crouched beside it, a towering figure with a face veiled by fishing net. Words don’t come when you open your mouth to speak, and your heart stutters in your chest as you stand shaking but otherwise petrified.

“You didn’t come back.”

Of course you hadn’t.

Most people wouldn’t have.

“No. I’ve been… busy,” you choke out the excuse, hoping to pacify whatever emotion you imagine lurked beneath his tone, undetectable through the hiss of his voice. “I’ll visit soon, promise,” you lie, back pressed against the door as your fingers curl over the knob.

Your fear seems almost unwarranted. He doesn’t move toward you, only stands to wander back to the window where he must have broken in.

“Tonight?,” he asks in a voice so soft, the voice he must use as a lure because tugs at your heartstrings immediately, makes you want to follow despite the threat this thing poses merely by existing, despite everything.

“It’s cold— I’ll get sick,” you murmur. “How did you even find me..?”

“I will keep you warm.” The question goes unanswered.

You find yourself stifled again as he lumbers towards you, brushing cold fingers across the side of your face. It’s not a mockery of a kiss you receive next but a firm bite where your neck meets shoulder, not yet hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make you shiver, to grip at the wall of muscle that makes up his chest.

There’s a desperation to his movements as he herds you towards the window, pushes you toward the path leading back to the river. You’re soaked to the bone in seconds, hardly able to keep your eyes open past the weight of dampened eyelashes. The rain is so heavy it feels as though every step is like the first you took into cursed water, your feet sinking into the mud along the path with each tentative stride. The realization that you’re there doesn’t even hit you until you’re chest-deep in the chill, violent waves pushing against you, each carrying the threat of toppling you over entirely.

The palm splayed out against your bare back keeps you upright, leading you to a smooth rock jutting out in the midst of what seems a sea of frothing white and blue. The sea above is just as dark, angry clouds roaring as you’re pressed down onto your back, shivering terribly.

He keeps his promise though, a tight grip on each thigh as he pries your legs apart, sinks in between them and blankets you from the rain. Even with the cold pressed to your back, you feel the warmth of a summer sun above you, scorching from inside, just as blazing as the look in his wild eyes. The last of any resolve slips when you’re pulled beneath the violent waves, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses coaxing oxygen into your lungs. Each roll and pull no less tumultuous than the waves overhead. A placid end when the rain comes to an impromptu halt, just as he stills over you. Hands rush to cup your face with one final, desperate and biting kiss.

When the morning sun pulls you from sleep, cool moss against your back and the weight of his head resting over your middle, the shallow water lapping lazily at your figure, you find that you no longer fear drowning.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction #cod fanfic #konig fanfiction #i have been mulling over this for an eternity sorry it needed to be extracted from my brain #he is absolutely more lycanthrope coded to me but whoosh whatever nix König be upon ye #also apologies to everyone for not writing much lately and the fact this is hardly a real fic #cursed by the sleepy i just need a 10yr long nap #<- in my ‘in denial about burnout’ era

567 notes · View notes

bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year

Text

Slice of Paradise

a/n My brain literally now run only on Joel... So here's a little something something. 🫧

summary: Joel dream of having a farmhouse comes true. What makes it even better is that he's not there alone. He has his own little family to enjoy this little slice of paradise with him.

warnings: just tooth rotting fluff, mention of reader being pregnant, mentions of morning sickness.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

If someone were to tell you that somewhere along the line you were going to end up at a place like Jackson in a farmhouse with a loving husband and kids, you would have laughed at them. Or brushed it off to the outback insanity. It seemed impossible. Safety seemed impossible at first. Then followed freedom and, of course, happiness. Those things appeared to be worthy of history textbooks. They could have a title like - at some point in human history, they were happy.

It was hard to move past deaths and past killings. Making sure you kept your humanity alive. Not to become a killing monster. Similar to clickers or any other of those fuckers. When Ellie happened, you had a feeling your life was going to change. You just never imagined it would change so drastically. You and Joel had settled for a dull day-to-day routine. Coming to terms with the fact that your life in QZ was as good as it could get. You never complained. You had one after another. Others didn't even have that kind of luxury.

But here you were now. In a little farmhouse with green shutters that Joel and Ellie had painted over for you because that's what you had always wanted. A garden - full of flowers that you tended to. Of course, to share with the town, but also for your own enjoyment. A couple of dozen of sheep were carelessly plucking grass in the fields around. Something that Joel wanted. Something that had helped him think clearer.

You hummed to yourself. Cutting up the last pieces for supper. The warm spring sun peeped through the windows, only making the smile on your face bigger. It still seemed surreal at times. Like all this was just a dream. One from which you never wanted to awaken. A little flutter in your stomach made you stop. Hand slipping on your five-month pregnant belly. Big enough to let everyone know that you were with a child but not big enough to make it hard for you to move around just yet.

Joel still found the walk to the house odd. It was weird in itself that he had a home to come to. And it wasn't the house itself that surprised him. Oh, no. You, Ellie, and now the baby that was on its was what made it home. A place where he could finally let go. Where the ghost of his past had a harder time finding him. Joel had finally been able to see the bigger picture. He was finally a part of a bigger picture.

With a gun still on his shoulder, Joel opened the wooden gates as he strolled towards the house. The dog on the side of the patio lifted his head, and Joel quickly reached to scratch his ear. "Hi, Brandy, why are you out in front, boy?", Joel questioned as the dog eagerly wagged his tail.

Ellie had come up with the name. She was eager for Joel to name the pup. No one else was allowed to pick a name. "Oh, come on, old thing! Think of something", she said, pushing for a thousand time. She wiggled a toy in her hand as the dog jumped around happily. "I don't know, Ellie. Just name it yourself," he grumbled, even though he knew that she wasn't going to drop the subject until he came up with something. "How about that nasty shit you always drink?", suggested Ellie, looking up. "Brandy?" Joel questioned, and the dog cocked his head at the sound of Joel's voice. Ellie's eyes grew big as she clapped happily. "You like it, boy? Do you like the name? He likes Brandy," she chirped happily. You leaned closer to Joel, laughing as he shook his head, and yet the smile was evident.

The house was quiet as Joel undid his jacket before hanging it up neatly. Knowing that you would be up his sleeve if he left a mess behind himself. He made his way through the house, stopping to listen in the living room. Hoping that he would pick up any sound that would lead him to you. And he did. A light humming came from the kitchen.

And you were indeed there; however, Joel nearly had a heart attack when he saw you standing up on the counter as you tried to reach for something in the upper cabinets. "Have you gone mad, woman", his voice started you, making you nearly drop the jar of spices in your hands. Joel's hands came off either side of your torso as he carefully lifted you off the counter. Your hands pressing into his shoulders.

"What are you doing here?", you questioned, not expecting him to be home just yet. Hence your little adventure. "The better question is, why were you up on the counter at five months pregnant?" You rolled your eyes at him. Appreciating the protectiveness but also slightly hating that now he thought that you were made of glass. "I needed this," you said as you fiddled with the jar in your hands. Moving to take off the lid of the pot before pouring some of it in. Joel's hands didn't leave your sides. "You get the step stool for that, love; we talked about it. You can't do this weird monkey shit; you're not ten." You turned back to your husband. Hands moving to cup his face as you looked at him, "You haven't seen half of my tricks", "I will tie you to the chair if you'll continue to do stuff like that", Joel warned you, and you couldn't help but laugh a little, "Don't forget your gun while you watch over me then".

His eyes altered as he glanced at you, and you couldn't help but let out a sigh. Joel leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, "I just don't want you both to get hurt." You moved your palms to run up and down his chest. "I know, honey, I promise no more jumping on counters," you said softly, kissing the tip of his nose. "Unless you're supervising me," you chirp, causing Joel to let out a chuckle.

"How are you feeling today?", Joel's tender palms slipped to run over your bump, and you hummed in delight as the warmth from his skin seeped through your flowy dress. "We're good. I didn't start my morning with a head down the toilet, can you believe it?", you cackled, and Joel gave you a knowing look. Morning sickness had taken its toll on you. To the point where he had rushed you to the doctor in town when you blacked out after vomiting for an hour straight. Joel refused to do any morning petrol after that. He wanted. He needed to be by your side. Even if every time you tried to usher him out of the bathroom, claiming it must be extremely disgusting to him.

"That's good, I was worried the whole morning," he admitted, focusing his attention on the bump. "Joel, we are all okay," your hand slipped on top of his, "She's been happily kicking away all morning," "She? No, it's a boy, aren't you, little guy?" Joel leaned down, pressing a lovely kiss and then the other on the swell of your tummy. Shortly after, a light kick followed up Joel's touch, making the male smile as he repeated the action once again.

"And where's El?", Joel asked, looking around the place. She usually sat by the island doing her homework happily by now, but there was no sight of her there. You hummed, "She said she would come a bit later than usual. She's out with a friend," you wiggled your brows, briefly turning your gaze to the food. "A friend?", "Yeah, Dina I think, and I suspect she likes her", a smile spread on your face as you thought about the little girly chat you two had.

"That's good; she deserves to have a friend. Good for her," Joel's arms were still roaming your skin as you turned back to him, giving him a look, "No, Joel. I mean, like, like her," Joel's face blanked as the realization dawned on him, and you hummed. "She brought in pancakes with fruit and cream to school to share with her", you giggled. Joel stayed silent as he stared ahead of himself. It felt silly, but Joel was almost jealous that Ellie suddenly had someone else in her life. Like he didn't want to share her with anyone else. You three had fallen into such conformable dynamics. It felt easy, and it felt right. To Joel, Ellie was still too young to date or have a crush. "Wipe the frown off your face; it's not like she's getting married already," you said as you nudged your husband's shoulder as he folded his hands over his chest.

"Mom," Ellie's voice echoed down the corridor. Your heart fluttered. It still did. Even after more than a year of her referring to you like that. She had sat you and Joel down after a month or two of you moving into the farmhouse. She was a stuttering mess as she tried to explain, or more specifically, ask if she would be allowed to call you her parents.

"Because we like live together, and then you let me stay, and I have my room. But the room, of course, means nothing, but you like wanted me to stay so…", you reached for her hand and then gave it a little squeeze as you cut her ramble off. "I'd be honored to be your mom," you said softly, and Ellie bit down on her lower lip in hopes of stopping it from quivering. Her eyes landed on Joel, who had his arms crossed over his chest. His usual stance - an unapproachable demeanor that he hadn't dropped even now. "Go ahead, just no daddy shit, or you're sleeping in the stables," Joel said. Ellie instantly rounded the corner of the table and launched herself into Joel's arms. Hugged his torso as she smiled. "Okay, daddy," she whispered, making Joel tickle her.

You smiled to yourself as the memory melted into your mind. "In the kitchen, baby," you shouted back. Joel's hand moved back to your hip as he and you waited for Ellie to appear. The footsteps sounded weird. Not as familiar. As if there were more than one set of them. And well, your hearing hadn't failed you, as another girl appeared on Ellie's left side. "Oh, dad, I thought you wouldn't be home." Ellie's face paled slightly, as she noticed Joel, but the lazy smile on his face made her ease up almost instantly. "I missed my girls; I thought I'd surprise you," he said in return. In a way, he was hoping that Ellie would run up to hug him like she always did when Joel returned from work, but he also understood that now that she had a friend here, she probably wouldn't do so.

"Ah… well, this is Dina, a friend from school," Ellie said shyly, and the girl by her side waved nervously at you two, "Can she stay for dinner?" Joel studied the girl. The girl who possibly Ellie liked. He tried to pinpoint the features she might have taken to her liking. "Of course, that would be lovely. Go wash your hands, you two, and I'll come to get you when it's ready." Stepping closer, you caressed Ellie's cheeks tenderly. She flashed you a bright smile as she took Dina by the hand, and the two ran up the stairs laughing.

You turned back to your husband, fanning your hands in front of your eyes as the tears parked up, clouding your vision. "Sugar, what's all of this for?", Joel stepped closer to you, embracing you once again. "Don't pay attention, hormones," you muttered, wiping away the tears. Joel chuckled softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "Didn't you just tell me that she ain't getting married just yet?", he teased, making you bite down your lip. As another wave of tears rolled down your cheeks, "Imagine her in a dress, no, a suit—she would do a suit, ahh," you whimpered, covering your face with your hands.

Joel shook his head, pulling you even closer to him, his hands running up and down your back, soothing you. Secretly enjoying this more sensitive side of you. That one that cried at Brandy bathing in the sun or Ellie's school project. Even Joel's neatly folded clothes had you shedding tears. Joel breathed in the scent of you. One hand slipped back down onto your bump. "Take nice, big breaths, honey. Want a glass of water?", he asked, shifting, reaching for a cup as he guided you to sit down on the chair. Quickly stirring the pot before turning back to you.

"Do you think this little bug will grow up just as fast?", your hand slipped over your bump subconsciously once more. Joel hummed, "Don't they all? We'll blink, and this one will be climbing up the countertops," you sniffed again, unable to suppress a grin. "Go to your sheep before you turn me into a puddle", you waved Joel away playfully. It had been his habit for some time. He had a little talk with his soft friend before he sat down for dinner. A way for him to digest the day.

"Do I at least get a kiss?", Joel cocked his head to the side, watching you. "Do you think you deserve one?", "For putting a baby inside you, yes." You let out a gasp, hitting his chest. "Joel, dear God, they might hear you", he lets out a deep belly laugh, stepping closer to you, "Shut me up with a kiss", you roll your eyes. Cupping his cheeks before you leaned in, as you pressed your lips to Joel's in a tender kiss. Yeah, this was home, and even if Joel often thought he didn't deserve it, he wouldn't trade it for anything else.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #the last of us imagine #the last of us x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you

2K notes · View notes

wordstome · 6 months

Text

the execution of lady jane grey

I got drunk and Tiktok showed me history_alice's video about this painting by Paul Delaroche. And since God has cursed me for my hubris and my work is never finished, have some medieval executioner König x fem mc. Also, Lady Jane Grey was executed by Mary Tudor (Bloody Mary), not by Henry the VIIIth (the one with the six wives), but I blended the stories just because I can.

1.3k words

König doesn't ask questions.

It's never been his job to ask questions. The king points, and he does the dirty work. Most of the time, he takes pleasure in it: thieves, rapists, murderers, they all answer to his justice. And sure, a true loyal citizen might argue that he's simply enacting the king's justice, but it's König who swings the axe, is it not? In the end, König decides their fate.

In theory, anyway. In practice, this is simply his job. He keeps his head down and does what he's told. He stays quiet about the king's secret executions, the ones that happen in the dungeons instead of out in the open courtyard where the smallfolk gather to watch. It's hypocritical, honestly. They all look at König like he's a monster, some spectre of death among men, but when there's a public execution to be held, are they not the ones clamoring and pushing to be at the front?

There are some times when the king's executions are more...dubious. An advisor who voiced dissent one too many times. A thief stealing barley from the royal stables to feed his family, made an example of. A young man, just a boy really, accused of murdering four grown men—convenient, considering all four men's wives had been found in the king's bed at some point or another.

Those are the executions König prefers not to think about. The ones that haunt him in his dreams anyway. Those are the ones that make him yearn for his days in the army: when the people he killed were as faceless as his hood was to them, when he didn't know them and didn't have to think about the loved ones they left behind. König's never claimed to be a good person, the opposite in fact. But sometimes when he brings the blade down, he imagines a different, more royal neck on the block instead.

He feels this way now, as he watches her make her way to the block.

She's ethereal in her petticoat, the soft silken material reflecting what little light there is in the cold stone room and bathing her in a warm glow. Gentle and obedient into her own grave.

The king's wife. Sent to the block for treason, of all things. But everyone knows the truth: he's only killing this poor woman because he plots to put his latest mistress on the throne. Just a few weeks ago, this sweet young thing was the king's main obsession. She stood no chance at all, the daughter of a local lord currying favor with royalty. And now, she's being put to death through no fault of her own. The injustice grinds König's teeth, and takes his mind to a dark, dangerous place.

If she was his, he would never so much as let another woman cross his mind again. He's seen her about the palace grounds, with her beautiful bright eyes and lively smile, skirts trailing behind her like the tail feathers of an exotic bird. Just watching her had made him feel young again, no longer the brutish old soldier everyone averted their eyes from.

He's only spoken to her once, but he'll never forget it. He had been in her way, but she was the one who apologized. Most people would have seen the hood and backed away in fear, but not her. He watched, frozen and unable to say a single word, as she curtseyed and looked at him with, of all things, a shy curiosity. For one still, breathtaking moment, he held her gaze in his, and he felt like they were the last two people remaining on earth.

Then her lady in waiting had touched her on the elbow, and the spell was broken as they continued on their way. But König had never forgotten.

That same lady in waiting is here now, eyes puffy as she holds the queen's elaborate dress and jewelry in her lap. She had chosen to take it off, so as not to stain the expensive fabrics with her blood. How can she be so considerate of others, when the whole world has failed her so?

She turns to him, trembling like a little bird, and meets his gaze. The words come out before he can help himself.

"I beg your forgiveness," he blurts out, and almost immediately mentally scolds himself. What right does he have, of all people, to ask for her grace?

"Of course, sir," she says, her voice clear and sweet. Surely, he can't feel any more wretched than he does right now...and then she speaks again.

"I only pray you dispatch me quickly..." She turns a fearful eye to the wooden block, sitting almost innocently on top of the straw laid down to soak up her lifeblood. "Will...will you take it before I lay me down?"

"No, madam," he whispers.

She nods, and with a sudden streak of iron will, ties the blindfold about her head. König knows this is a kindness: she'll never see him coming. And yet his heart aches to see her cover up those beautiful eyes.

A loud sob comes out of the lady in waiting, watching her young mistress fumble around blindly. König's heart shatters when she lets out a little cry of confusion as the lieutenant of the prison rushes to hold her steady. "What shall I do? Where is it?"

König feels a sudden streak of anger, at the gentle way the lieutenant lowers her to the ground. The man clearly knows this is wrong, and yet will not lift a finger to help her.

Guilt strikes him yet again as he remembers that neither is he.

Or is he?

He stares down at her, this vulnerable little lamb sent to the slaughter, her pretty neck exposed for his blade, and he knows what he has to do.

The lady in waiting cries out in anguish as the blade lowers to the queen's head, causing her to gasp as the cold metal brushes against her skin. But instead of cutting her head off, König slices through her blindfold with a deft precision.

"What is the meaning of this?" The lieutenant demands as the queen scrambles from her kneeling position. König offers his arm, and she takes it, her hands warm against his sleeve as she stands up. The confusion is writ plain on her face, but her eyes shine with an innocent hope that only steels König's resolve.

"You," König says, pointing his axe at the lieutenant, who shuffles backwards nervously. "You will tell the king that she has been executed. If he asks for a body, find one: I don't care which one. And if you tell anyone what happened here today, I swear to you that I will water the earth with your blood, and the blood of every family member in your line." His eyes narrow at the lieutenant. "Do I make myself clear?" The man nods, stuck still with terror.

The queen's lady in waiting rushes forward, pressing jewels into her hands. "My lady, you will need these," she says urgently. "For wherever life takes you next." She gives König a determined look. "Take care of her, sir."

The queen's eyes go wide and round as she looks up at König. "I don't understand."

He kneels to her height, taking her hands in his. "I am taking you away from this place," he tells her, his voice low and urgent. "But you need to trust me."

She closes her eyes, and takes one deep, trembling breath before opening them again. "I trust you."

"Good." She yelps as he picks her up in his arms, hands instantly darting about his shoulders. "I am sorry, my lady, but we don't have much time."

She giggles, giggles, in his arms. "I don't mind," she says, with a mischievous little look that invites trouble. God, he is utterly fucked, isn't he?

"I can give you time, but not much," the lieutenant says. "Go!"

König doesn't need to be told twice.

To be honest with you, I have no idea what this is. I wrote this in, like. An hour. I think a demon possessed me. I don't think I'm going to write more of this au, but who knows!

@danibee33 @kneelingshadowsalome @crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @keiva1000 @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @mantishymns @lexuria

#könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #konig x reader #könig x reader #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #könig x you #konig x you

764 notes · View notes

dinogoofymutated · 11 days

Note

Hi! so far I've loved everything you've written about Kurt, Logan and Remy. 🧎🏻‍♀️

Could you write something about Kurt? where together with reader they are in the kitchen of the mansion because they can't sleep, and she finally tells him her concerns about the magnitude of her powers and Kurt with his heart of gold tells her beautiful things to calm her down and make her laugh, the rest to your imagination, I would appreciate it, you write great! Thanks 💙✨

SFW! Nightcrawler/Fem!Reader

Ok so I will admit that I made this a leeetle self indulgent. I was trying to think of a power someone could really struggle with and a fun one that I thought of was having necromancy, but having such respect for life and death that it feels wrong. I thought it would fit well with a Kurt fic because it's something that almost feels sacrilegious, and it's good to have a fuzzy blue elf assure you that you aren't a monster :) I know its def not power ambiguous, but I hope this is okay :)

Also, I know my writing style is a little different in this one, And thats because the first few paragraphs set the tone for my writing when I start and tbh I think this one just flowed from my soul to they keyboard.

TWs: nightmares, necromancy, gross descriptions of rotting flesh. Extreme self-doubt and self-consciousness. Basically angst with a happy ending.

You’ve been having nightmares again. They hardly seem to stop, but after a break in between the terror, you'd become too relaxed. Too comfortable. You felt defenseless when they started to begin again.

It’s always the same dream, different font. Bones cracking, flesh ripping as it’s forced into place, natural or not. Skin rotting off of once human bodies, sockets where eyes used to be. It was horrifying. You’d see your family, friends, acquaintances, everyone. Dead. Brought back to life by your power, the power you were still so afraid of. You were always afraid of zombie movies as a kid. Anything rising from the dead, anything breathed back to life in some sick and twisted fantasy. It was ironic that your very own strength was the thing you had always been the most afraid of.

Of course, as you aged and the professor took you in, the fear began to wear off. Mostly, it did. The professor not only taught you how to control your powers but also how to work around your fear. You can remember the confusion you felt when he had set a box of ancient bones in front of you. Fragments of titans, dinosaurs who had long since passed. Bones that would never be matched to an accurate set, parts of them being crushed to dust by the cruelty of time. Bones that only you could breathe to life, to bring them together as a whole again. It was convenient, the professor had told you, that you only needed a fragment to do so. He spoke as if it were a service to them. Most importantly, he brought you a box of bones that weren’t, and never had been, human.

He had taken the fear out of your power. Given you an option you had never considered before. Bones without flesh, without living family. Fossils that would serve you as you were serving them. You were… happy, with that. You were content. You could handle bones. You could revive these ancient skeletons without fear, and fight with them without worry. That didn’t change the horror of knowing the capacity your powers had.

So the nightmares remained, and your sleep had become sparse.

This particular night you were restless. Unable to sleep despite how tired you have been, but it’s hard to rest when there is only terror waiting behind your eyelids. After a while, you decide to give up trying.

The path to the kitchen is one you have memorized, even in the dark. You’ve always been told never to eat sugar before bed, but the only thing you want to comfort you at this moment is hot chocolate- so screw it.

You try your best to be quiet while fishing out a pot out of the cabinets. The stove makes a click as you flick it on, filling the pot with milk before stirring it as it warms. The automatic task is comforting, falling into a routine you enjoy. You’ve just added the coco mix when the sound of a *Bamph* greets you.

“Guten abend.” Kurt whispers, walking over to stand beside you. You give him a tired smile that he returns with a yawn.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.” You say, face returning to a frown Kurt thinks you wear far too often. Maybe it’s good that he’s here because you realize you made far too much of the sweet drink than you had meant to. You get a mug for him, heart fluttering as his hand brushes your own when he takes it from you, thanking you quietly.

“You did not wake me, Schatz. I promise.” Kurt says, pulling out a chair for you with his tail as he sits at the table. You nod silently, placing the pot in the sink and filling it with water before you join him, leaning against his shoulder.

“Did you have another nightmare?” Kurt asks after a moment. His brows are furrowed in concern, and you fail to stop him before he takes a sip from the scalding coco, burning his tongue. He scrunches his nose as he sticks out his tongue, making you giggle for a moment. He thinks your laugh suits you much more than your frown, even if it happens to be at his expense. Your face falls slightly anyway, and he wonders if he could get you to laugh if he did it all over again.

“...No. Not tonight.” The words come out as less than a whisper, and you doubt he might hear it if it weren’t the middle of the night. Little did you know he’d block the world out if he had to, just to hear you speak a little clearer. He hums in response, and you feel his tail slowly wrap snugly around your waist, the very tip idly stroking you in a comforting manner.

“...Do you wish to speak about them?” Kurt asks after a moment. You huff slightly, feeling the hot steam from your mug warm your face as you do so. Still too hot, you think to yourself. Flashes of those horrid nightmares come to mind, and no matter how quickly you try to shake them off, they remain. You choose to think of Kurt instead. Sweet, kind, comforting Kurt. You want to bury yourself in his arms, sink into the feeling of his skin, and never let go, if only he would let you. He would without a second thought, if only you had known. You think carefully about your next words, and the visions of flesh and corpses hardly leave you.

“Am I a monster, Kurt?” You hear a quiet, cut-off gasp from Kurt, and he turns to you. His face is pained, and he sets his mug down to place his hand around your own, still clasped around the hot cocoa.

“Of course not. Only a fool would think so.” His words, although comforting, only leave you with a worse sting in your heart. You can’t hold eye contact with him, staring at the reflection in your mug instead. Only a fool would think so. You halfway wonder if you count as a fool, then.

“Liebling.” You let out a sob at the sound of his voice. Kurt is hunched over, pressing his forehead against your own as he desperately tries to catch your gaze- but you can’t. You can't bear it, and you close your eyes tightly. Kurt takes the mug from your hands. He cups your face as he wipes your tears, and you feel like even more of a monster as he does so. Sobbing as a man with a heart of gold wipes your tears away with love and care.

“I, just… My powers, what I do. What I am capable of doing. It’s not right.” You take a shaky breath in, desperately trying not to break down here and now. “It’s disgusting. It’s horrible. Every time I find myself comfortable with myself I am reminded of what is possible and I spiral. I don’t want it. I don’t-”

“Please, look at me,” Kurt whispers. You try to stop the tears, embarrassed as you fall apart in front of the man you hold so dearly, but it’s hard. It’s so hard. Your chest stings, your throat is sore, you’re sure your nose is running, and yet he still holds you so gently. When your breathing evens out just a bit, you convince yourself to open your eyes again.

Kurt’s gaze is simply concerned. There is no horror, no disgust, nothing but worry for you. Nothing but kindness. You wonder if you could be even half as good as he is.

“You are good. You are kind. You are strong enough to stand by your morals despite the nature of your powers telling you otherwise- and you have the strength to continue to use them and fight your fears anyway. You are one of the most incredible people I have ever met. Do not let your nightmares tell you otherwise.” Kurt’s hold is steady against your cheeks, and your own shaky hands reach up to hold onto his wrists. You sob again as he speaks. You know. You know this. Others have told you, but these words all felt like lies. All but the ones you’re hearing from his mouth. Your tears are slowing, and Kurt leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, leaving the skin tingling. You whisper quiet apologies for crying, and he shushes each one, gently wiping your face with the soft sleeve of his pajama shirt.

“I would not be here if I didn’t want to care for you, my love,” Kurt says softly. Your eyes widen, taken aback by his words. He called you many things. Liebling. Schatz. Love. But never my love. The words waken butterflies in your belly, and Kurt takes a moment to realize what he’s said. He swallows nervously, but he doesn’t pull away. You don’t either. The two of you are treading a line that you both desperately want to cross.

Kurt is the first to lean in. He does so slowly, toeing the line between you. His gaze remains on your own as he closes the space, nose nuzzling against your own as he gives you the time to back out if you wish. But you don’t. You want nothing more than to have what he is so freely giving.

Kurt kisses you softly, lovingly, and for once the horrors have quieted and are cleared from your mind. All there is now is Kurt, and his soft love. He kisses you a second time before he pulls away, still as close to you as he can be without falling out of his chair. You wonder how he can see beauty where all you see is terror. He wonders if you have any clue just how much of a good person you continue to be.

He knows he would gladly spend the rest of his life showing you.

#x men 97 #x men #x men comics #x men 97 x reader #x men headcannons #kurt wagner #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner headcannons #nightcrawler headcannons #nightcrawler x reader #xmen nightcrawler #nightcrawler

242 notes · View notes

downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 9 days

Text

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) - Chapter 3

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 2627 Warnings: death, violence, fighting, bloody wounds, angst, infuriatingly oblivious love interest, slowburn Spoilers: Young Justice Seasons 1-3 plot partially, but it ended in 2022 so catch up.

Y/N Prince - miracle daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor - and Dick Grayson - first adoptive son of the Batman himself - have been best friends since day one. They went to school together, trained together, kept each other's alter ego secret from everyone else, and they founded the Young Justice alongside their friends together.

But as time progressed, Y/N and Dick grew up and Y/N found herself wanting more than friendship with Dick. But he never seemed to indicate that he reciprocated her feelings. And when Wally died and Dick abandoned the team, Y/N realised he never would. So she heads to the one place she knows will help her become a stronger warrior so that one day she can take her mother's place: Themyscira.

Two years after his leave, Dick reaches out to his old friends to help him with a mission. But when he finds out Y/N left too, he chases after her in the hopes to bring her back.

However, when the two finally reunite, it isn't as warm as he hopes. Not to mention Themyscira becomes under siege as they go to war against Echidna, the Mother of Monsters in Greek Mythology, and her army of monstrous children.

Will Dick and Y/N be able to put their past behind them and save the Amazons' homeland? Or will they fall, unable to tell one another their true feelings?

~~~

'You are five miles from the estimated target, Master Dick,' Alfred said over the intercom of the Bat Wing.

Immediately upon entering Wayne Manor, Dick had rushed to his childhood room - the one he still used on the occasion he worked with Bruce as the Dynamic Duo, or he needed some space from his duties as Bludhaven's hero - and packed a small duffle of clothes and weapons and ran straight for the Bat Cave. As promised, Alfred had the Bat Wing waiting, ready for take off, and Dick barely greeted the old man before leaving Gotham far behind.

Dick had been flying for almost twelve hours and hadn't slept a wink. Sitting at the control panel with only a wide window of open sea to look at, Dick rubbed his tired eyes as the shadows of sleep flickered in the corners of his vision. He had to stay awake, just a little bit longer at least.

And then... Well, he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

'Is there anything else you need from me, Master Dick?' Alfred asked.

Dick shook his head initially, then remembered Alfred couldn't see him. 'No, thank you, Alfred,' Dick replied, sitting up straighter in his seat. 'I should be fine from here on out.'

It was quiet for a moment, and Dick thought Alfred had signed off accidentally. But then he spoke. 'Are you sure there is something out here? I know you and your friends' findings seem well-supported, but there is only open ocean. There isn't even an under water volcano or ancient mountain range recorded there.'

'Which makes it an even more suspicious place,' Dick countered. 'Trust me Alfred, there is something out here.'

'Let's just hope Miss Y/N is too, or you'll have wasted Master Bruce's fuel. And I will tell you now, he will not be pleased about that.'

The mention of her name caused Dick's heart rate to increase with anxiety. But he quickly recovered as he scoffed. 'I don't know why he's complaining,' Dick said nonchalantly. 'He's the billionaire of the family, after all.'

'Have you seen the price of fuel these days?'

That caused Dick to chuckle slightly, just imagining the singular raised eyebrow Alfred used to ask the silent question of Are you serious? In that moment, he was once again grateful for Alfred. He barely asked any questions as to why Dick needed the Bat Wing, he just trusted Dick that it was for a good reason. Unlike Bruce, where trust needed to be hard earned, Alfred had always given his trust and love unconditionally.

The Bat Wing suddenly jerked as it seemed to hit something. Or, maybe, something hit it.

'Master Dick, what was that?" Alfred asked, worry lacing his words.

Suddenly alert, Dick brought up the different cameras hidden in the ship to try and find what had cause the sudden shift, but sound nothing.

'I'm not sure, Alfred,' Dick answered, running diagnostics over the ship in case of damage. 'There seems to be no damage to the Bat Wing, and there is nothing on the radar indicating another ship or flying creature of sorts.'

The ship rocked again, and Dick gripped tighter to the control handles as he took the ship off autopilot. 'What in the world!'

'Master Di-,' Alfred said, but his words were glitchy and some parts were coming through slowly. 'A-re yo- all rig-' Alfred was cut off before he could finish.

'Alfred? Alfred,' Dick called, but he got no reply. He slammed the control handles in frustration. 'Damnit.' He was on his own now.

However, his annoyance dissipated at the site he'd only ever seen in books he'd borrowed from Y/N when they were children.

To say Themyscira stood atop a mountain would be an inaccurate description. It was more like Themyscira was the mountain, with a long staircase weaving and winding up the entire mountain from the ivory beach and cerulean waters at the base of it. There were small stone huts with woven roofs closer to the beach, but quickly evolved into larger houses and buildings of impressive white columns and marble. As Dick flew closer to the island, he spotted a large coliseum used for sports and physical trials like the ruins in Greece, and a small amphitheatre next door that no doubt was used for the arts.

Atop Themyscira's mountain could only be the royal palace, held up by intricately carved statues of women and marble columns, decorated in plates of gold and held together by green grape vines that covered the palace walls, the statues, the columns.

The bed time stories he'd heard from Wonder Woman when he and Y/N would have sleepovers was more than his imagination could ever conceptualise, and the few descriptions and drawings of the island in the books he'd read were amateur attempts that held no candle to the real deal.

It was, in a word, paradise.

I must've hit the invisible barrier before, Dick deduced as he took in the sight of it all. That's why communications were knocked. That's why he'd felt so anxious and tired the closer he got. Now that he'd passed through, he felt ten times better.

A beeping pulled Dick out his trance, drawing his attention to the radar. Something was coming at him. Fast.

Dick looked up in time to see a large fire ball flying at him and barely dodged it. It was so hot Dick felt its heat through the window as it scraped by.

'Woah!' Dick cried, angling the Bat Wing so Dick could see where the fireball had come from. And, more importantly, who had thrown it. Down on the ivory beach was a line of catapults set up Dick hadn't spotted before, and he could just make out an army milling about around each catapult as they reloaded the catapults.

Before he knew it, he was swerving as another fireball flew at him, this time catching part of the left wing and melting it. Sirens blared, indicating the damage, but Dick didn't have time to worry about that. The Amazons thought he was a threat. He needed to change that, or he'd be a goner.

Crazy an idea as it was, Dick manoeuvred through the line of fireballs the Amazons catapulted at him towards the beach. Once he was close enough, he turned on the speaker so the outside world could hear him. 'Please, Amazons of Themyscira, I mean you no harm,' Dick announced to them, hoping he sounded genuine. 'I am going to land my aircraft on your shore. I just want to ta-'

He didn't have time as a small boulder connected with the left wing, sending the Bat Wing into a spin that Dick couldn't control. Sirens blared in the cockpit, reds light flashed and his front window lit up with the message SYSTEM FAILURE in bright red letters. The steering was shot, his vision was impaired, so Dick just closed his eyes and braced for impact.

The Bat Wing hit the beach hard, knocking the wind out of Dick for a moment. Once he'd regained his breath and the world had stopped spinning, Dick checked his immediate surroundings. He was in one piece still, and the Bat Wing hadn't exploded. Good start.

Before he could unplug himself, a spearhead stabbed through the glass of the front window, shattering it completely as the Amazon wielding it pulled it out. Dick was temporarily blinded by the sudden invasion of sunlight to his senses, but he still put his hands up in surrender in case they still thought him a threat.

'Please,' he begged through laboured breaths. 'Please, I don't mean you any harm. I just need to talk with someone you might know. Please.'

'Síko órthios, pareísaktes,' a strong voice hissed above him, her words whipping out like a delicate snake. She yanked him from his seat, breaking the seatbelt as she did, and threw him onto white, hot sand.

Vision coming back ever so slowly, Dick saw more figures approaching where he laid on the beach, spears and swords and shields in hand. All women, and all wearing brown leather skirts, sandals, and breast plates and bronze helmets of the ancient greeks. A small crowd formed around him, leaving no room for escape.

Realising this, Dick hauled himself to his feet and spun around to survey the group with his hands raised. The women ranged from youthful to mature, but all of them looked capable of killing him should he dare run. Capable, and willing.

'Poios eísai esý?' a woman with long brunette hair asked. She looked slightly older than him, perhaps mid to late 20s. But knowing how old Wonder Woman had lived for already, Dick was almost sure all of the women surrounding him were much older than they appeared.

I really regret not taking those Greek classes with Y/N now, he thought to himself, not having a clue what the woman had asked him. When he didn't reply though, she repeated her question but with more annoyance and aggression, pointing her spear towards his chest.

'I am Dick Grayson,' he said, not sure if they could understand him or not. 'I mean you no harm. Please, I must talk with someone you know... Do you understand me?'

The blank faces he received in return were answer enough. The brunette turned to two other women beside her, whispering to one another. It only lasted a moment, for then the brunette raised her spear higher towards Dick's throat. The rest of the women also raised their weapons, all pointed at him.

'Ánthropos apó to exoterikó,' she announced for all to hear, her delivery final and true, 'edó tha petháneis!'

Just as she raised her spear, Dick threw his hands up again and cried, 'Y/N!'

He waited for pain, for the sensation of falling and then nothing, but it never came. The brunette paused, spear still raised above her, and looked at him curiously.

'Pós gnorízeis tin prinkípissá mas?' she asked, and to Dick's surprise, he recognised one word. Prinkipissá. Princess.

'Yes,' he said, seizing potentially his only chance at surviving. 'She would be your princess. Sorry, your prinkipissá. Daughter of your champion, Diana.'

At the mention of the mighty Wonder Women, the brunette lowered her weapon entirely and turned to the other women as quiet murmurs broke out amongst the group. Dick wasn't sure what he'd started, but he knew they knew of who he spoke of, and what power her name held. Not just anybody could wield her name.

'I came here to speak with Prinkipissá Y/N,' Dick continued, and then he put his hands together as if he were about to pray. 'Please, can you lead me to her? Is she even here?'

The brunette and her two friends looked him up and down for a moment before consulting one another one last time. After what felt like an eternity, the brunette stepped forward and looked him dead in the eyes.

'Piáste ton!' she cried, and two women grabbed both his arms, ensuring he couldn't escape. 'Tha ton páme stin prinkípissá mas.'

She then turned away, and Dick was lead by the arms after her and the rest of the crowd. He managed look over his shoulder to see the wreckage of the Bat Wing. The left wing was one metal sheet away from tearing off completely, and the shattered glass and the many dents in the side of the ship just added to Dick's dismay. Oh yeah, Bruce is going to be pissed.

If the Amazons let him live and he ever got off the island, Bruce would definitely make sure Dick suffered long and hard.

Dick was lead up hundreds and hundreds of steps, walking through the bustling city of women and young girls all going about their daily lives. For some reason, it was off putting to Dick to see women and children doing the washing or playing games in the open street. He wasn't sure why, but he envisioned the whole island as warrior women who all fought and died for each other and their home.

They could probably still whoop my ass, he thought as he was marched by some children who were previously playing a game with some dice and a ceramic cup before he came along and stole their attention. It came to Dick's mind that these young girls probably had never seen a male before, and so he smiled at them as kindly as he could. Some of the children smiled back, others had their mothers nearby collect them and take them inside. Dick couldn't blame them for it. Wouldn't he do the same for his child if the roles were reversed.

Why the hell am I thinking about children right now? he asked himself, but he didn't have time to ponder the question as they quickly walked up a final set of stairs into an open field of green covered in warrior women training. When the whole group stopped, Dick was brought to such a startling halt that he thought his arms were going to pop out of their sockets. Thank God for that, he thought, feeling his legs ache with all the climbing. Or is it Zeus I should thank? Maybe Hera? Athena?

The brunette raised her spear, and those not holding Dick prisoner did the same. 'Prinkipissá,' she called out above the din of all the sparring and training. 'Échoume kápoion gia esás.'

Dick wasn't sure who the brunette was talking to at first, but then his gaze settled on a group of women just ahead of them. It seemed it was a six-versus-one situation, as six women surrounded one young woman with familiar H/C hair. The six women ran at the young woman in the middle, all taking swings with their fists and swords, aiming for her head and legs and mid section. While the young woman took a few punches, she didn't flinch with pain. She would just grab her attacker's wrist and flip her over and slam her into the ground.

The fight only lasted a minute, and ended with the H/C haired pointing a sword at her final opponent's throat as she pressed her to the ground with her foot.

When she flipped her hair as she turned to face their group, only then did Dick fully realise who it was.

'Y/N!' he cried out, the brightest smile spreading across his face. Two years since he'd last seen her, his best friend. After the not-so-very-warm welcome, he was beyond relieved to see a familiar face.

But instead of reciprocating his smile with the one he'd always admired since they were children, Y/N paled as if she had seen a ghost. Her whole body seemed to freeze up as her eyes connected with Dick's, and for a moment Dick feared he had mistaken some poor girl for his best friend.

But her shock melted away, and Dick was met with angry eyes and a stony face. Oh, yeah. That's Y/N. He couldn't recall the amount of times he'd seen that expression before, but there was no mistaking it.

His fear turned towards himself as she suddenly, with sword still in hand, stormed towards him, ignoring the other women around her still training.

'Y/N, it's me Dick,' he said, just in case she hadn't recognised him, but still she came at him, raising the sword to her side. 'Wait, what are you doing?

As she stood a step from him, she changed her grip on the sword's hilt and swung the butt of it at his head.

'Hey! Don't-'

The last thing he saw were Y/N's angry eyes of E/C before pain exploded from his right temple and darkness overcame him.

~~~

Síko órthios, pareísaktes = On your feet, outsider

Poios eísai esý? = Who are you?

Ánthropos apó to exoterikó, edó tha petháneis! = Man from the outside, you will die here!

Pós gnorízeis tin prinkípissá mas? = How do you know our princess?

Piáste ton! = Grab him!

Tha ton páme stin prinkípissá mas = We shall take him to our princess

Échoume kápoion gia esás = We have someone for you

---------------

Tag List:

175 notes · View notes

keeksandgigz · 6 months

Note

ugh maybe something angsty to fluffy with eddie , like nightmares or a silly argument turned too big leaving both in tears but then resolved

idk baby ugh i love ur writing tho !

aww stop i love u <3

this is literally my first ask ever im so excited!! hope u enjoy :)))

He knows better than to fall asleep.

The world lays still around him, the sound of lone crickets plays as his lullaby while he stares at his banged up ceiling.

Everytime he closes his eyes he feels like he's suffocating, still in the stuffy, dusty and slimy Upside Down, the blood at his throat almost choking him to death.

It's his first night alone back home. Him and Wayne had been cleared to go back earlier that September morning after spending a whole summer in a cramped infirmary on a small cot that made his feet stick out.

Noises of people snoring, talking, moving around. Even people crying and screaming in their sleep. You sleeping in the cot right next to him.

Your shoulders rising and falling. On nights where he couldn't sleep he'd count every breath you took, until his brain grew tired and fell victim to slumber.

But tonight there was just eerie quiet. No breaths to count except his own, shallow and irregular in his chest, as he tried not to focus too much on the way the skin of his naked chest stretched taut by the stitches given to him felt under his hand, casually resting there.

The faint white and red splotches of mangled skin felt funny under the touch of his hands. Even then, he tried to not touch them. He didn't like the way his body would retract from his own touch. Almost as if he was scared of himself.

He hadn't let you see them yet, everytime you hung out and reveled in each other's company never went further than a few risky kisses. Your hands traveling to the hem of his shirt being abruptly stopped by his fingers intertwined in yours, moving away from his waist.

It was silent, the way you understood his limits. He'd never let you know he wasn't comfortable, and you could not have possibly known what lied under the too- big shirt he'd taken from the donation box.

Tonight, though, he finds himself missing counting your breaths, imagining you back at home in the comfort of your bed. Are you awake too?

Sick and tired of thinking, closing his eyes only to see monsters behind his lids, the feeling of the crumpled, rough sheets under his back, he gets up. He slips a shirt on, along with a pair of pants and fishes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pockets of his jacket, perched carelessly on the chair.

He heads to the front porch. He closes the front door behind him, trying to keep quiet. Wayne's at work, but the habit of tiptoeing and whispering around after months of living in a communal space still stuck with him.

He sits on the stairs of his porch, letting the cigarette between his lips as he fights with the yellow lighter his dad had given him to start a spark.

"Fuck" he curses under his breath as the lighter proceeds to not produce a light. His breathing becomes uneven as his cheeks flush with anger. Frustrated, he tosses the lighter in the patch of grass in front of him. Useless fucking thing.

He doesn't even know why he still has it. The last time he'd seen his dad was over two years before. He'd never gone that long without a visit.

He's tempted to go in the kitchen and light up his cigarette with the stove, but Wayne didn't like him smoking inside. Instead he just sits there, unlit cigarette between his lips as he looks at a certain spot in the trailer park.

The same spot he'd almost died at.

He's so entranced by that one patch of dirt that he doesn't notice a car driving into the trailer park. His eyes diverting only when the headlights almost turn him blind.

It's you.

The car turns off and you come out of it, dressed in some cute pyjamas, a jacket that once belonged to Eddie covering you from the late September gale.

"Can't sleep either?" you say, staring at his dumbfounded face as you approach him on the wooden porch stairs.

"Too quiet. Missin' the old man who talked about cake in his sleep" he lets out a breathy laugh.

"My bed was too comfortable. My back is too fucked up from the cot, can't sleep on a soft mattress anymore. Missed having a bed next to yours, Munson" you nudge him, he just gives you a tight- lipped smile.

"Missed watching you breathe" he says, cautiously "Helped me sleep at night. I'd count every breath you took"

"Having any nightmares?" you ask, placing your head on his shoulder.

"Can't have nightmares if I'm awake. Everytime I close my eyes it's like I'm back in there, so I just.... don't sleep" he says, playing with the still unlit cigarette in his mouth.

The air is light between you two, an air of friendship, unweighted by your knowledge of what happened to him. You bring him relief, solace.

"Tell you what" you begin "you can light that cigarette with my car lighter, we split it, and then we go back inside and you can watch me breathe. So you can sleep" you blink up at him. He blinks at you back.

You offering to sleep with him in his bed wasn't something he'd have expected out of his life. Especially at this time of it.

All he does is nod as you take the cigarette from his lips and light it in your car, coming back with it already between your lips.

You're warm when you settle yourself next to him on the bed, under the rough blankets. The pillows smell like him. You inhale.

He doesn't know whether to hold you or leave you alone. He just opts to be a little closer to you as he lets you close your eyes. A weak "G'night, Munson" escapes you as you exhale and close your eyes.

He watches the silhouette of your shoulders rise and fall.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven...

He falls asleep before he can get to fifty.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #stranger things #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson angst #keeksgetsasks!

184 notes · View notes

adrift-in-thyme · 8 days

Text

Here it is! The fairy Time fic I promised. Be warned, it is extremely fluffy

-------------------------------------------

It is a quiet night.

Time is always grateful for those. They are in short supply on this journey, too often interrupted by the rise of the cursed Blood Moon or an outburst of beasts from under the cover of foliage. But tonight, the moon is tranquil and golden and the surrounding bushes and trees conceal nothing except chattering critters.

The heroes have settled around the fire, and are trading lazy quips. The occasional tale sneaks in between them, which quickly becomes a competition to see who has endured the more exciting experience.

Time doesn’t normally make a habit of joining in. He is content to remain just outside the conversation, close enough to comment if necessary, but far enough to merely listen. Such peace and joy are precious things – as precious as every moment spent by Malon’s side – and they surround him like a warm blanket.

Tonight, however, that wonderful feeling is making it rather difficult to remain awake.

It doesn’t help that the healing spells he had cast in the aftermath of today’s battle have left him feeling drained. With the traveler down and their potions used up, he had had little choice but to act. And he doesn’t regret it in the least. But that doesn’t negate the fact that healing magic has never been his strong suit.

Every fae possesses the power, yet not all have the strength to employ it in such a measure as he had today. Healing is a delicate act. It requires attentiveness and care, dedication and focus. He had poured all of that and more into his spells, used his heart and mind, his soul to heal his brothers’ wounds and save their lives. And in the moments afterward…had collapsed.

He is fortunate his brothers had been there to catch him. Too many times before he learned his limit, this weakness had spelled his doom. He has scars on his wings to prove it.

Still, he is practically useless, even now after the impromptu nap. He feels dried up and hollowed out, limbs heavy with the same exhaustion that drags his eyelids downward. And though he would normally protest at least a little at the prospect of staying in his current position, he cannot dredge up the will to do so.

So, here he remains, curled up on his side on Wind’s lap, Warriors’ scarf a silken cocoon about his body, one giant wing draped over him like a comforter.

He shifts with a small sigh. The sailor giggles, ever amazed at his fairy form, and reaches out to run a finger over Time’s wings. He is gentle, careful in every movement. Still, Time is a bit surprised at the lack of the fear that usually bubbles up whenever anyone touches him in this form.

He has had too many injuries, too many close calls with death or worse. They have made him wary. But he trusts the sailor. Wind is nothing if not kind.

He is safe here.

The knowledge hits him harder than any monster blow.

You are safe here.

Something breathtakingly warm wells up in him at that thought, similar to the feeling he has been basking in since he awakened, yet unique all the same.

“Alright, old man?” A soft voice asks, now, and Time pries open the eye he hadn’t even registered closing. Warriors grins down at him.

Time’s soft hum quickly dissolves into a blissful sigh as the captain tucks him more securely into his bed of softness. He allows his eye to slide shut again, his body to relax more fully. He allows the sensations and sounds to envelop him, surround him in warmth and comfort. To pull him down into blessed darkness once more.

“He’s adorable like this,” Wind says, his noisy whisper breaking through the haze. Another giddy giggle bursts forth from him like gurgling water.

“He is, isn’t he?” It’s Twilight now. Time can imagine the dirt-eating grin on his face, the same one that spreads across Malon’s when she beats him in yet another race around the pasture. “Though I doubt he wants us calling him that.”

There’s a pause, then in a disapproving whisper-yell, “and he definitely doesn’t want that. Put that slate of yours away, champion!”

There is the distinct sound of a camera snapping a photograph. Laughter ripples through the group like the wind through the trees.

“When he kills you all, don’t come running to me,” Twilight says, though there’s laughter in his voice too.

Traitors, Time thinks, lazily, all of them.

“Oh, come on, Twi. Look at him! He wouldn’t hurt us! Not like this anyway.”

“Then, you haven’t gotten a good look at his wings,” Legend pipes up, drily. “They’ve got eyes on them, you know.”

“Ooh.” Time can feel Wind’s breath ghosting him as the boy leans down to get a closer look. “I wonder if they make up for the one he lost. I’ll bet he can see us through ‘em!”

If Time wasn’t quite so tired (or finding this quite so exasperatingly comical) he would correct that assumption. But then again, what’s the harm in allowing a little rumor like that to spread and strike some healthy fear into the hearts of his would-be blackmailers?

“Come on guys.” Warriors’ voice rises above the hushed clamor of the others, all bickering about Time’s ability, or lack thereof to watch them through his wings. “He’s exhausted. Let him sleep.”

The heroes try to quiet, though their efforts are about as successful as Time suspected they would be. Whispers and barely stifled laughter continue to weave their way gallantly through the night.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

…though a few more telltale clicks of Wild’s slate cement his decision to play a prank on him as soon as he regains his strength.

“He’s so small,” someone murmurs, now as the hubbub begins to subside, sleepiness getting the best of even the most energetic among them. Sky, Time’s mind slowly supplies, putting a face to the voice that wafts gently around him. “To think, he healed us all while in that form…”

“Something you get to know very quickly about Sprite is that size doesn’t bother him,” Warriors replies, fondness in his tone. “Even as a kid, he could take out groups of monsters much larger than what we faced today.”

Sky chuckles, soft and almost sad. Time is too far gone to decipher why.

But he can’t deny the sudden rush of warmth when the chosen hero whispers, “thank you…little one.” And when, in the next moment, Sky ghosts a finger over the very tip of his wings, Time is unafraid beneath his touch.

He drifts off not long afterward to the sound of tired murmurs, the crackling of the campfire, and a soft song played upon an ocarina, the notes drifting up toward the moon.

74 notes · View notes

peachyloveswriting · 1 year

Note

Can I get knives and vash {separate} hc with fem reader whose personality is like nausicaa from valley of the wind? I think it would be interesting because maybe she's kinda an outcast from everyone else cuz she's willing to embrace all forms of life, even those that might scare other humans like imagine her calming the most dangerous animal! I think that would be nice, have a nice day/night or noon/evening

This makes for a perfect introduction as for why Knives would have taken interest in the reader in the first place so I like this idea. This is very short because I couldn't think of anything else.

Beast Tamer --- Millions Knives & Vash the Stampede

SUMMARY: Headcanons of the twins reaction to a reader who's like Nautica from Valley of the wind.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

Knives

Knives had arrived in the town for the plant, but he began hearing rumors of an outcast, they lived just outside of town. As per reputation, they called you the Beast Tamer. He was intrigued by this title and sought you out. When he found you he expected some huge human with taxidermied animal heads tacked up to the walls. Instead he found you, a small, quiet, sweet, human. He tried to put your appearance past you and inquired about this rumor. He requested that you show him the most dangerous animal you've ever tamed.

You led him out to the middle of the sands, far from any city, alone. Just the two of you. Knives was getting impatient but then he saw the sand below fly though the air. It revealed a massive worm. It pummeled straight for you and for a moment he dared to jump in its path to protect you. Why? He doesn't know.

You let out a short sharp whistle and the worm came to a screeching halt just feet from where you stand. Knives watched in awe as you stepped up to the idle creature and brave smile on your face as you reached out to pet its snout.

He was simply amazed by such a huge feat and offered for you to come with him and teach him how to tame such powerful beasts. Without anyone keeping you from leaving you took him up on his offer and left with him to the city of Ju'lai.

While Knives is notorious for being impatient at times he never seems to have trouble watching you sit still and calm even the most dangerous of creatures. He believes it's a gift given to you from the higher dimension. In some instances he believes you to be a plant.

He finds that your calming capabilities don't just work on animals but people as well, you have an amazing eye for what calms people down and more often than not you disengage situations where Knives tries to kill someone. Though he finds it annoying he's also fascinated that you have an ability so strong.

With this knowledge he makes you work with Con'rad and calming the people he tests and drugs constantly. Though it's inhuman you don't fight it as you find it nice to relieve someone of their mental stresses. This also applies to knives but he's noticed that you heavily take after his brother. While you strongly advocate for the circle of life and death you also don't advocate killing someone. Not unless it's for a good reason.

He finds you so intriguing that he can't help but keep you around for the sake of his own curiosity. You're truly a wonder to him.

Vash

First hearing of this outcast he didn't give it a second thought, until he began to hear rumors of your strange feats and abilities. It bothered him to hear people call you a monster, some even believing that you might not be human. Vash honestly wondered if you might have been plant before you met him and even still wondered so after he met you.

Curious. He decided to sate his own need for answers by showing up to your house and waltzing right in. From the get go he asked you so many questions, even exposing his identity as a plant to you to try and get answers. He found that you were very easy to talk too and even had many pets of your own.

He found your presence in general calming, you weren't even scared knowing that he was Vash the Stampede. You shrugged it off like he was nothing and offered your home as refuge for him and any of his friends. Of course he swore to come back and visit just so you wouldn't be lonely. Vash kept his promise and came back to you once a month.

Every time that he'd come back you'd have a new animal roaming around outside your door some even growling at him to keep him outside. These were the times he really got to see you at work calming these vicious animals. He thought it was amazing what you could do and didn't single you out for it.

Later on he even found that it wasn't just the animals you had this effect on, it was him too. He told you about the dangers he comes across on the daily and asked if you wanted to travel with him. to keep him company and keep any animal he might cross paths with at bay. You were very fond of him by this point so you happily agreed and left with him.

He loves watching play with the animals you find, almost as if they were house pets. Even more so does he love it when you quell his worries with just a single touch.

#vash imagines #vash imagine #vash x you #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #knives millions #millions knives x you #millions knives x reader #knives x reader #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader

403 notes · View notes

altocat · 2 months

Note

Need soft glenn and miniroth headcanons 🥺🥺🥺

Time to ruin everyone's day I guess (with feels) ❤️

Sephiroth and Glenn get into stupid arguments all the time. Glenn is the only one who can influence Sephiroth into acting immature and petty, pouting and sulking whenever he doesn't win.

They make up by way of doing something selfless for one another--aka recklessly defending each other to the death in battle.

Glenn is fond of giving Seph a friendly nudge or ruffling the boy's hair, laughing when Sephiroth glares up at him, pretending to be annoyed and not secretly relishing the attention.

Sephiroth offhandedly copies Glenn's movements from time to time, including some of his mannerisms. The others notice with amusement that Sephiroth occasionally mimes a lot of Glenn's posture and battle stances from time to time.

Glenn brought bucketloads of snacks for the trip to the island. And he wasted literally all of it by shoving it onto Sephiroth to try.

Glenn is the first person to ever refer to Sephiroth as "Seph".

Glenn is also the first person who is instantly up and on his feet during the night whenever Sephiroth has one of his strange nightmares--you know, the one with the red-eyed monster that calls to him from the shadows. Seph's been having that one for a while now. Weird.

Sephiroth has saved Glenn from drowning eight different times. Glenn must have a death wish around water because Sephiroth is SERIOUSLY getting tired of plucking him out of the rapids.

Sephiroth envies Glenn's height. Glenn good-naturedly tells him he still has a lot of growing to do--don't worry! Sephiroth hopes he's taller than Glenn one day. Good news, he will be!

Sephiroth is very interested in Glenn's signature red jacket. Glenn has promised him that once this job's over, Sephiroth can keep the damn thing--it's already a wreck after weeks in the elements. Sephiroth covets the jacket greatly and holds him to it.

Sephiroth and Glenn occasionally train together, though it's mostly Glenn just trying to keep up. Sephiroth really does try to go easy on him.

Other times, they disappear out into the forest together, gone for hours at a time. They're patrolling, in a sense. But mostly just taking a long walk, neither talking. Glenn sometimes notices Sephiroth shuddering, likely triggered on by a bad memory or two. He keeps beside the boy, offers a quiet pat every now and then. It seems to help.

Sephiroth will never, ever say it out loud. But he wishes he'd known Glenn earlier. Being around Glenn is the safest he's felt in years, as well as the happiest. They've known each other for such a short time and yet it means so much.

And as it turns out, it meant more to Sephiroth than he'd ever begun to imagine.

There is a portrait of Rufus Shinra in the lower level of Shinra HQ. Word on the street was that it was vandalized in the quiet of the night, the only investigative clues at the scene being a few empty liquor bottles and the broken remains of a switchblade.

The eyes have been completely scratched out, the frame heavily damaged, a single line of jagged text lacerated beneath the young vice president's image.

M u r d e r e r

#asks #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephcanons #sephiroth #rufus shinra #glenn lodbrok #ever crisis #ffvii ever crisis #first soldier #ffvii first soldier #ff7ec #the first soldier

67 notes · View notes

roguelov · 2 months

Note

Omggg imagine Roderick Burgess using his “magic” to somehow find out who Dream’s soulmate is, he somehow only finds one out of his two soulmates, Y/n, even though she doesn’t know yet that that she’s soulmates to Morpheus and Hob as they’ve never met. He abducts a terrified Y/n and drags her in front of Morpheus, purposely letting them make eye contact so that the soulmate bond can be solidified between the two of them, and then uses her against Morpheus to try to make him give him what he wants 🥺 Months of this go by before Y/n is able to escape the house (she tries to save her soulmate first but he tells her to run) and she somehow runs into the arms of her second soulmate, Hob, who takes care of his terrified and broken soulmate (who is now immortal) for a hundred years until their other soulmate finally gets free and meets them both at the New Inn🥺🥺🥺

Y/n now having two guard dogs *ahem soulmates* that will always protect and love her (and each other)🥺

Yesssssss uuuuggggghhh I love the angst potential and the sweet sweet fluff that will flow 😍 (also I remembered there was another ask semi similar where you were like constantine)

Like the bond is formed and all Dream feels is dread and fear when he should be so happy and elated to meet his soulmate. Instead of hearing your laughter he will hear your screams, instead of your voice whispering his name he will hear you cry out in pain. It was so unbearable for him that he will wonder if he should just give Burgess what he wants, but miraculously he catches word that you escaped. Your bloody battered body appears to before Dream slamming on the glass to free him but he begs you to run. So you do. And he breathes a sigh of relief. Yet your screams and cries and broken body will continue to haunt him

When you escaped Death lingered close by, but she knew who you are. So for her brother’s sake, she gave you immortality and gently guided you towards someone she knew Dream trusted in the Waking.

Soon you run into Hob and your whole world is turn upside down again, you have another soulmate. Hob immediately takes you in and tends to you. Still in shock you stay quiet for a while until finally you snap. You breakdown explaining everything and you keep saying ‘that monster has him’ and Hob doesn’t understand at first. You catch your breath and then you go into detail and how Dream - your other soulmate - is trapped. Hob has to hold you back from running after Dream because there is nothing neither of you can do but wait.

Cut to 100 years later and it’s an emotional reunion and the three of you can’t let each other go. You hold each other tightly and listening to each other’s breathing and heartbeats. Then and only then does the sound of your screams permanently fade away from Dream’s mind

#the sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless #Robert Gadling #hob gadling #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #hob Gadling x reader #hob x reader #dream x reader x hob #morpheus x reader x hob #x reader #ask #kpopgirlbtssvt

73 notes · View notes

bookworm-with-coffee · 9 months

Text

Night Terrors. . .

(Van Helsing Boys x Reader)

(A/N); Ollo and welcome, friends! I give you VAN HALEN— wait. No. VAN HELSING!! Please note, it's my first time writing for the film AND my first time writing lil imagines! As always, enjoy! ❤

Plot; How they comfort you after having a nightmare

Pairings; Gabriel Van Helsing x Reader (Romantic), Carl x Reader (Romantic), Count Vladislaus Dracula x Reader (Romantic)

Warnings; mature themes, blood, death, angst with fluffity fluff

_________________________________________

Gabriel Van Helsing

The night was quiet save for the sound of the gentle evening breeze rustling the trees, the last embers of the campfire now burning away into nothing.

Dark eyes monitored the small encampment from afar, eyeing the two sleeping bodies with care. Peaceful sleep was hard to come by for one Gabriel Van Helsing.

Horrific nightmares often stole his precious sleep from him. Every night, almost. Both yourself and Carl were oblivious to such things, unable to hear his struggles whilst slumbering within your own little worlds. Some part of Gabriel was grateful for that, not wishing to burden you in particular about such things. You, who had already been through so much.

His gaze fell upon you with a tenderness that you never were allowed to see in your waking hours. Softly, a sigh passed through his nostrils in seeing you sleeping so soundly. As envious as he was, Van Helsing was unable to mask his fondness of you even still.

Your breaths were even, the delicate strands of your hair falling perfectly over the curves of your face. He could barely spy the details in the fading firelight, yet it never failed to put him at ease. You were so beautiful.

With great care in his steps, Gabriel strayed closer to your sleeping form. He almost jumped at Carl's sudden loud snore, glaring at the sleeping friar for a moment before continuing on his way.

Kneeling by you, he gently pulled your blankets up and over your shoulders, no longer having to mask his vulnerabilities and affection for you. You would never know how much you meant to the monster hunter.

From the very beginning, you'd been there. You found him on the steps of the Vatican Church, half dead all those years ago. Not a sister of the church, but a volunteer in servitude of God and the Church for their kindness in taking you in after your family was brutally murdered. They were your family. And you invited Gabriel in with open arms.

You tended to his wounds, nursed him to health, never left his side. Your face was burned into his memory from the very start. No longer wishing to stand idle in the Church, you trained alongside him to become a monster hunter yourself. You followed him everywhere. It was in all this time together, that Gabriel realised he loved you. However, he would leave such things unspoken. Everyone Van Helsing loves, always seems to die.

The warmth of his lips pressed a soft kiss to your temple, swiping your hair behind your ear with one of his callouses. Before standing up, he took notice to a sudden shift in your behaviour. Your head had begun to shift softly, a grimace appearing strongly on your expression.

"No", you breathed out, your feet suddenly kicking from your blanket. Your body began to tremor and thrash slightly, Gabriel dropping fully to his knees beside you.

"(Y/n)", he tried gently to wake you, his eyes clouding over in concern. The realisation hit Gabriel that this was him every night and the thought of you going through the same thing made him sick.

"No!", you protested louder, your brows now creasing further. Sweat began to glisten on your skin, your breaths becoming erratic with your movements.

Grasping your shoulder, Van Helsing called to you once more, firmly, "(Y/n)!". You were suddenly pulled from your unconscious state, grappling onto the strong arm of your best friend. The echoes of your unwelcome dream lingered freshly within your mind, the brunette entering your field of view. "Are you alright?".

Feeling as if your breath had caught in your throat, you felt your emotions overwhelm you all at once. Your eyes stung with tears whilst you sat up, only able to whisper his name in your relief, "Gabriel". The dream hadn't been real; Gabriel was alive.

Your arms reached up, engulfing the larger man in a hug. The hunter's arms floated for a moment, not having the most affectionate upbringing. Yet, after a moment, he found peace and comfortability in wrapping them softly around your form.

Trembling from your sobs, you remained in Gabriel's arms, the brunette almost content to hold onto you. He could only imagine the horrors you'd seen, a sense of dread prickling in his mind. "It's alright", he hushed you, hesitantly reaching up to run his fingers through your hair. "It's alright".

The image of Dracula flashed into your mind, covered in Gabriel's blood. It had been so real to you. You'd already lost your biological family, the feeling of losing Van Helsing as well was too much to bare. He was the man who held your heart, after all.

When your cries died into calmer breaths, the brunette didn't pull away. He was allowing you to do so at your own leisure. "Are you alright?", he repeated, amidst his growing concern.

"Yes", you finally answered him, your throat tight and croaky. Finally breaking your embrace with him, you wiped at your reddened eyes, noting the worry within his own. He had such beautifully coloured gaze. Like the comforting smoothness of chocolate. "It was just a dream".

Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a small flask of alcohol. "Have a sip. It might dull your nerves", he whispered, offering the bottle to you. The liquid was smoky sweet and burned your throat, yet it had a comforting warmth to it as it hit your stomach.

"Thanks". He inclined his head with a short smile. "I'm sorry if I woke you".

"Don't be", he placated you with a gentle tug to his shoulders, sipping from the flask as well. "We all get nightmares".

"Even you?".

"Yes, me", he murmured. "All too often, I'd think. But, nevermind that". Wishing to distance himself, he stood. "Get some more rest, I think we'll both need it—".

"Wait!", you almost shouted, clasping your hand around his larger one. You sent a cautious look to the nearby friar who was still somehow asleep before meeting eyes with the brunette's. His brows creased in confusion. "Will you stay with me?".

Marking the look of terror in your orbs, the monster hunter relented easily to your coaxing. Many nights, he too wished that he had company for comfort. With a silent nod, his hat and jacket were quickly removed. You shuffled over in your bedroll, allowing him to fit in beside you.

Despite how intoxicating it was for the both of you to be so close like this, it felt almost right in a sense. Familiar. "Thank you", you breathed out, Gabriel able to spy the gratitude in your gaze despite the dark.

"Get some sleep", he encouraged softly, offering a smile. "I'm here". Shifting closer to him, your head rested by his broad chest as his arms instinctively fell over you. His gaze monitored your expression, ever content to watch you slip into a slumber. After some silence, you quietly called to him,

"Gabriel?". You recieved a hum in return, beckoning you to continue. Hesitation almost had your throat closing, yet you couldn't allow your best friend to face the fate in your dreams without knowing what truly lies in your heart. "I love you".

For the first time in a long time, his heart was unsteady, thrumming faster within its confines. His silence was tormenting to you, insecurities already playing within your mind. Perhaps you shouldn't have said anything at all??

Tilting your head upwards, his lips seized your own with a dizzying gentleness, his hands burning hot against the skin of your face. Or was that the alcohol? You couldn't be sure.

Breaking down every wall of emotional shielding he'd made for himself, Gabriel finally allowed himself to give in to the wants of his heart. "I love you too". It was spoken beneath his breath, yet you could hear the smile and perhaps the affectionate warmth within his words; as if a burden had also been lifted in some way.

One thing you were both sure about was; when you both would wake the next morning, things would be different, yet better than they had ever been before...

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Carl

"I beg your pardon?", the young friar sputtered, gazing at his best friend incredulously.

"There's not enough room in the castle for all three of us to stay, so you and (Y/n) have to share a room".

"I can't tell if you've noticed", Carl's voice dropped an octave. "But, there's only one bed in each room!".

"You act as if you haven't been dreaming about this for years", Van Helsing teased with a rare and almost lighthearted grin, the blonde's face heating up. "Come on! Here I was thinking you would be happy about this!".

"She's your sister!", Carl hissed. "I can't believe you're happy about this!!". The hunter's eyes rolled amusedly, falling onto your approaching form with a gentle mirth. Anna strayed not too far behind, the two of you already getting along more than soundly in the few hours since your meeting.

"Ready to settle in, Carl?". With just the sound of your voice alone, the blonde's worries and his ability to form coherent sentences had both faded from him.

"Yes, yes", he fumbled, nodding to himself more than anything. "Let's go". Van Helsing's lips pursed to restrain any laughter that threatened to slip and ruin his composure, watching as the both of you journeyed together to your shared room.

"Did they take the bait?", Anna cocked a brow.

"All too well", the brunette replied, irking a smirk from his female counterpart.

"You come here to help me defeat Dracula and yet you also think it's the perfect time to help your sister end up with your friend".

"Is that a problem?". An amused giggle almost left the Valerious in her keen observation of this stranger.

"Van Helsing, monster hunter and matchmaker", Anna mused to herself, earning an unimpressed raised brow from Gabriel. "A curious title".

"Don't push your luck", he warned.

Settling into your shared quarters with the friar had been easy enough. The room was large and extravagant, easily impressing Carl with the study space and yourself with the various arrays of books upon the many shelves.

"Now", the blonde started to ready his bedroll once the time came to slumber. "I can hardly have you sleeping on the floor, so—".

"Carl", you halted him. "This bed is a palace. Just stick to your side and we won't have a problem". The friar found himself unable to argue with you, enamoured by the carefree and playful smile you'd offered him. However, he couldn't help but feel guilty. If you knew how he felt, would you still be so keen to allow him to sleep beside you?

It was no secret to anybody else that Carl loved you, Van Helsing's younger sister. He'd half expected the hunter to hate him for that, much less support the idea and tease him incessantly over it. But, the way Van Helsing saw it; Carl was a good man of faith and hardly able to stand against him should his sister face heartbreak at the blonde's hands, if at all.

Everyone knew, except for you.

In climbing under the thick covers of the bed with the friar, some part of you prayed that Carl's warm presence would ease the fear and pain you often experienced when falling into the world of sleep. However, you found that not even he could keep the horrific dreams away.

You awoke with a gasp, trembling uncontrollably in the early hours of the morning. The moon was shining brightly through the windows of the balcony doors, illuminating the room in a gentle blue glow. You were in a bed; it wasn't real.

You heaved a sigh of relief and exhaustion, your head falling into your hands to feel the wetness of sweat dripping from your face. Tears joined the mixture whilst you desperately wiped at your now swollen eyes. Not even you could remember the last time you slept pleasantly.

Turning your gaze to your counterpart, you were relieved to find him still sleeping. His restful expression was beyond adorable, a wet chuckle leaving you whilst you reached over to brush your fingertips along his cheek. He had light stubble and a soft snore, snuggling into his pillow. How you envied his peacefulness.

Carl had always been a comfort to you, although you'd never admitted it to him. His rambles, his creativity and ideas had all ensnared you. He had such a sense of innocence in comparison to yourself. You had so much blood on your hands, you wondered if you'd even make it to the gates of Saint Peter. You couldn't allow him to follow you into the dark. Not whilst he shone so brightly in comparison to you. So, silent you would have to remain.

Moving yourself from the covers, you hardly noticed Carl's eyes fluttering open. "(Y/n)?", he mumbled tiredly, his brows furrowing in concern.

"Go back to sleep", you hushed him, attempting to leave as to not burden him further. His warm hand upon your own stilled your movements, your head snapping back to him.

You would have preserved the image you saw before you now forever, the air being pulled from your lungs at how beautiful his blue-teal gaze looked in the shining of the moon. It didn't take long for him to spy your tearful eyes, the friar suddenly moving to sit up in his concern. "You've been crying", he fussed. "What's wrong?".

"Carl, it's nothing—", you tried again to release yourself from his grip only for him to squeeze your hand. "Just leave me be". Despite your assurances, his mind was far too quick, already figuring out what ailed you. Carl knew that Gabriel suffered from terrifying nightmares. As his sister, it must've been only natural that you would have the same thing.

"Please", his voice remained steady, his thumb running over your hand. Your eyes met his own glistening with tears and clouded with shame, completely frozen under his gentle gaze. "It's alright", he consoled you. "I know what ails you and you needn't hide it from me". At his kind words, your head dipped away from his whilst hot tears began to leave your eyes. "Look at me, look at me". He coaxed your face gently with his spare hand, wiping at all the tears that fell without a care.

Your fingers wound around the ones that grasped your own, blinking furiously to dismiss the tears of frustration and embarrassment. "I was hoping that you would never see me like this", you wept, entirely ashamed at your lack of composure.

"(Y/n) Van Helsing has emotions, God help us all", he mused with a playful sarcasm, delighting in the small laugh that left you whilst your crying slowly ceased. He even noted that his usual timidness had also dissipated.

With his nimble fingers, he moved the strands of hair that hid your face behind your ears and smiled whilst removing the last of your tears from your face. His focus, that kindness. If only he knew how beautiful he was.

"That's better", Carl hummed with a sense of accomplishment. "Shall I fetch you some water?".

"No, don't trouble yourself", you insisted. "You've done more than enough, Carl. Thank you".

The blonde's lips parted, a kind smile dawning on his features. "You're most welcome". He thoughtfully noted the exhaustion apparent in your features, tugging on your hand to pull you back under the covers. "I think some rest will do us both some good".

"I don't want to sleep", you refused politely, a shudder passing through you at the very thought of another horrific dream.

"Rest doesn't necessarily imply sleep". Moving his pillows closer to your own, Carl invited you to resume your place now alongside him. "Just close your eyes and relax. I'll stay close".

However, it wasn't your pillows you chose to lie upon. You shifted in beside him, instead resting your head upon his chest. His whole form tensed for a few moments, shocked at your decision. But, a tender warmth seemed to consume him whilst your arms encircled him.

Every part of him felt at peace, wishing to savour the moment which would probably never come to pass again. His larger hands worked caresses and circles over your back and arms, content to listen to your rhythmic breaths.

"Tell anyone that I cried and I'll have you", you threatened jokingly, the friar taking to it with a laugh.

"Even if you looked beautiful all the same?". Carl's words had your head lifting from his chest in some form of disbelief. The affection radiating from his halflidded stare was enough to affirm the honesty of his words and speak many more to you.

His callouses brushed over the curve of your cheek, igniting goosebumps across your skin before the warmth of his lips reached your own in a firm, yet gentle touch.

Sharing a smile with the young fri, your head returned to rest upon his beating chest. Accidentally falling asleep in each other's arms some time during the night, you awoke surprised the following morning. For the first time ever, you didn't have any nightmares...

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Count Vladislaus Dracula

The usually quiet castle of Vladislaus Dracula was now encompassed with a thunderous, rhythmic beating. It instilled a sense of terror that usually went unfelt by the Vampire as the deafening sounds reached the unparalleled senses of his hearing. Something, everything was wrong.

For this sound wasn't any drum or song. It was your human heartbeat.

These cold halls were a safe haven for Dracula, always well guarded both in the day and night. And that fact was no exception to you, his cherished human bride.

Never had he heard your heart in such a fearful state, not since that night over three hundred years ago. The night you'd lost your life defending him against Gabriel Van Helsing.

The raven haired male almost shuddered at the thought of it, still remembering the sharp and hurtful details of your death all those hundreds of years ago.

Alike to this current evening, there was a storm baring a cold rain. The thunder cracked open the skies with a deafening ferocity whilst the battle between Dracula and his age-old enemy had ensued.

You had screamed, begged for Dracula's life to be spared, along with your heart which undoubtedly belonged to him.

Gabriel was in love with you at the time, just as much as the Count had been. Always sworn to his sense of duty above all else, Van Helsing had sympathised with your pleas, but refused. He'd insisted that the man you'd fallen for, who had a gentleness, a need to be loved, accepted and wanted, was 'evil'.

So, you took the final blow for him, leaping in between Gabriel's blade and Dracula. In doing so, you had given him the chance to strike down the hunter. However, he was far too late to save the one who truly mattered to him. You.

Whenever you had stood beside him, smiled, held his hand or looked into his gaze, there was never any fear in your eyes or heart. Only the warmth of unconditional love. And perhaps that was what stoked the fire in his soul all those years ago?

Dracula had spent the next few centuries after your untimely demise feeling lost and alone, trying to replace the hollowness within his soul to no avail. Until the fateful night you returned to him many months ago.

Following a whim and the prophetic and vivid dreams you'd had since you were a teen, you'd travelled from your home in London to Romania. It had taken many days and nights, following the whispers of your dreams, but you had found Frankenstein Castle.

It had been a task for Dracula not to crumble to his knees before you, to take you into his arms and immortalise you forever. No, he'd decided to wait out of respect and love for you to give him the words. It had surprised many, but Dracula refused to lose you a second time. The fates had given him a second chance that he would not take lightly.

Despite his confidence in his home, Dracula's sharp eyes travelled the halls for unseen threats that could pose a danger to you, but found nothing in his quick journey to your shared room.

Moving faster than the shadows, he had wasted no time in rushing in, still scanning the darkness of the room. His steps were silent as he strayed closer to where you slept, his usually hardened eyes now soft as they landed on you.

Releasing the human equivalent of a breath through his nostrils, Dracula was relieved to find you weren't harmed. However, the new-found concern he had was completely different from before.

You were gripping the covers with a grimace, your head swaying side to side every so often. Whimpers and quick breaths heaved through your throat as if you were running. It was the one other disadvantage of being human. Nightmares.

With a featherlight precision, the raven haired male sat on the bed beside you. The back of his stone cold hand pressed against your forehead, the skin hot and glistening with sweat. "Oh, My Dear", he murmured, his dark eyes reflecting the worry now blossoming within his very soul. He hadn't realised he had one in the first place, until he met you.

Bringing his hand to cup your cheek, he felt your pulse raging beneath your skin. "(Y/n)", he cooed, attempting to gently lull you from your unconsciousness. His soft touches brought you suddenly from your dreams, a gasp shooting from your throat when your eyes fluttered open. "You are safe, My Love", he hushed you. "I'm here, it's alright".

"Vlad", you huffed in your breathlessness, noting the soothing of his cool touch on your blistering skin. Sitting up, your hands wrapped around your lover's, his hands lifting yours to his lips. Slowly, he pressed cool and sensual touches to your delicate fingers, his brows drawing together when he spied your tearful gaze.

"What ails you, My Beloved?". His voice was calm and gentle like the seas of a nighttime, his larger hands clasping around your own to caress them consistently. One quirk that you discovered early on in your relationship was the fact that your husband loves to play with your fingers and hands, even to self-soothe his own worries. To make sure you were still here.

The crevice of your throat grew tight, your chest fluttering and stomach almost nauseous with the building up of your anxiety. Flashes of your dreams remained fresh within your mind.

You'd seen the Vatican Church in Rome. You'd seen the Priests conspiring with a dark and faceless stranger to kill your husband. Anna Valerious was also prominent in your dreams. It hadn't made sense to you. Not at first.

When you'd seen horrifying flashes of the night you'd perished 300 years ago, it had all come together. The stranger's face was revealed to you. Gabriel Van Helsing. Like yourself, back from the dead. You saw his boat, you saw his array of weapons. He was coming to Transylvania.

"We're in danger", your voice tremored, furthering the confusion and concern Dracula felt. "He's coming for us, Vlad".

"Who is, My Sweet?", his voice remained steady and soft, shifting closer to offer you more comfort from his presence.

"Van Helsing", you whispered, almost too fearful to even speak his name. The shock instantly hit Dracula's dark gaze, his whole form stiffening in a sense of alarm and fury.

"Gabriel is long dead", he attempted to console you with a smile, his callouses tracing over the smoothness of your cheekbone. "It was just a dream, nothing more".

"It wasn't, My Love", you mumbled, offering him a wistful glance with the shaking of your head. "My dreams spoke true".

Sadness clouded the eyes of your husband, knowing already that your dreams were never wrong. He'd only hoped they had been.

"Why can they not just leave us alone?!", he ground out from between his teeth with a sudden white fury. "Why must they scorn my very existence?! Can they not see that I am happy, leaving the world to its endless existence in peace??".

"Vlad, My Love", your voice instantly softened the rage boiling up within him, your hands reaching to cradle his face. His eyes were as tearful as your own, even now, managing the strength to offer you warmth in his smile as he looked upon you. "We speculated that this day may come, when we would be hunted again".

"I will not lose you", he spoke with absolute surity. "Not again. I will not allow him to take everything from me".

"And neither will I". His brows furrowed, silently asking for elaboration. "It's time, Vlad". At your words, his undead heart may have leapt into his throat in both excitement and delight.

"My Love, are you sure?? I am content to—".

"I will not let him rob me of a lifetime with you for a second time. Nor will I allow him to erase everything we have done. It will destroy you all over again".

Dracula only managed a few soft nods. For the first time in his existence, he would not be fighting alone, an unspoken promise lingering between you both. If he would be hellbound, then so shall you be.

Dipping his head, Vlad's lips took your own with a breathtaking softness, firm and sure of the strong tether between you both. Some part of him savoured the warmth of your blood lingering beneath the surface, knowing it would be the last he would feel of it.

___________________________________________

By the coming of the morning, you would be a creature of the night...

Hey readers!! ❤❤ I hope you all enjoyed this set of imagines!! As always, any and all feedback is welcome! So, please - let me know how I went in writing these characters and how to improve, if I can! If you wished to be added to my tagslist, check out my masterlist and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in!

Thank you all for your support!! ❤❤

____________________________________________

TAGLIST; @6lostgirl6

#van helsing 2004 #van helsing #van helsing fanfiction #gabriel van helsing #carl #count vladislaus dracula #count vladislaus dracula x reader #count dracula x reader #gabriel van helsing x reader #gabriel van helsing fanfiction #carl x reader #van helsing carl x reader #van helsing imagines

160 notes · View notes

honeybeefae · 1 year

Text

A Mouse in a Cage (Azriel Imagine)

I've got a tiny little imagine for y'all, I know it's been a while so forgive me for any errors! (I hope I've still got it lol)

(This could work for a multitude of characters but I'm gonna write this for Azriel because I think it just fits perfectly.)

Imagine...

"Please, please don't do this!" You cry out from behind the makeshift gag that was shoved into your mouth.

The three men, one of them being your father, ignored your pleas and continued tying you up to the giant altar that loomed above one of the dungeons in the Court of Nightmares. You tried to thrash and fight, tears flowing hot down your reddened cheeks from their earlier beating, but it was as if you were a rabbit caught in a snare.

"Stop it, girl." Your father sneered, grabbing a fistful of your hair so that you were staring up at him. "This is of your own doing."

You protested once more, trying to proclaim your innocence but he wasn't interested in the truth. No, your father was only concerned about the image of the family and the embarrassment you had caused.

A mistake that apparently could only be righted by your death.

Once they had made sure everything was secured, they made a hasty retreat to the door. The mountains above you quaked and the shadows themselves seemed to hide as whatever monster awaited you grew closer.

"I would begin praying now that the Mother take pity on you, child." Your father called from the darkness, a single candle barely illuminating his face. The only feature you could make out was his cruel smirk. "I'll be praying for it as well...consider it the last act of a father's love."

The words struck deep, deeper than any physical beating you had ever felt. He didn't wait to watch even more tears flow as he followed the other two, leaving you in complete darkness.

As a child, you had been afraid of the dark, of what could be watching you, but now it was the only company you had. The cold dampness of the dungeons seemed to stick to your skin as you recited your prayers to the Mother, hanging your head in defeat with every cry of the other prisoners being tortured by Rhysand's monster.

His reputation was known throughout Prythian, how the shadows bent to his will while his dagger made everyone else do the same. You had never seen him, never wanted to, but fate was funny in that way.

What you tried to ignore would now be the thing that struck you from this life.

You couldn't stop your breath from gasping when you heard the cell beside you grow quiet. Was it your turn? Had the Spymaster had enough for today?

The overwhelming fear of the unknown was causing you to go into another panic attack, your thoughts bouncing around the ever-closing box you were trapped in which made you struggle to breathe.

It was getting worse with every passing second. You couldn't hear, couldn't feel, it was as if you were already dead.

Shadows swirled at the front of the room as a large, winged figure stepped through but you were too consumed by your own dread to pay attention.

The dark form cocked its head in intrigue at you, studying you closely while twirling its trusty dagger between its fingers. It was only when you seemed to be on the brink of insanity that it stepped forward and captured your face between its scarred fingers, illuminating the room so that you could see what was waiting for you.

You squinted and blinked rapidly at the change of light, the sudden change making you snap out of your delusions momentarily. When you finally adjusted to your surroundings, you found yourself face to face with the Illyrian warrior who haunted everyone's dreams.

His amber eyes gave nothing away, his grip steadfast as you trembled underneath him. The prayers you had chanted seemed to be all for naught as you caught a glimpse of his weapon.

"What are you doing here?" His gruff voice asked, sounding like he had not spoken aloud in years. "A little mouse like you shouldn't be down here with the rats."

Shocked was plainly written over your face as his jaw clenched, eyeing the bruises and marks that littered your body. You couldn't find it in you to respond to him, assuming this was some sick game he played before carving you up.

"Well?" The Spymaster pressed, raising an eyebrow. All you could do was watch him fearfully, your tears even too scared to fall past the corner of your eyes.

But just as he raised up his other hand to do Mother knows what, you hoarsely whispered, "Please." As your last call for mercy for a punishment that did not fit the crime.

And when he heard it, heard you, that dreaded monster stopped in his tracks as his eyes turned soft. Something in him seemed to spark at your voice, the shadows that curled around him suddenly reaching out to you in strong interest.

"I won't hurt you." He said slowly as if speaking to a caged animal. "Never."

After all the stories you had heard about him, all the people you saw quake in fear from just his name, you would think that you would have enough common sense to not trust his words but just as something snapped in him, it snapped in you as well.

It was like a light at the end of the tunnel, a hand reaching out just as you were on the verge of drowning. You didn't know what exactly awaited you on the other side but you knew it was meant for you.

He saw the change immediately. He could feel the trust you had just bestowed upon him and while he would he relish in it later, the gravity of the situation returned back to the forefront of his mind.

His eyes turned dark as his shadows curled tightly around his body once more, one of his hands gripping the base of his dagger tightly as he titled your head once more and said in a deep, terrifying voice, "Who did this to you?"

(EEEEEEE okay I hope this is okay??? It's a warmup for sure but I kinda like it ngl. I love you guys and hope this hits you guys the same way it did me. <3)

#acotar #acofs #rhys acotar #acomaf #acosf #acowar #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel imagine #azriel x reader imagine #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #spymaster #court of nightmares #imagine

790 notes · View notes

asumofwords · 1 year

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

AEMOND POV

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st, rape, choking, thoughts of violence and manipulation. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Thoughts of manipulation and hurt, violence and assault. Obsessive themes and possessiveness.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: AEMOND!POV, Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Word count: 5.5k

Note: Here it is... the night of the wedding, part two of Aemonds!POV. THIS IS A DARK!FIC. DO NOT EXPECT KINDNESS, dunno why I have to keep saying this haha. As always read the warnings and please, please don't expect anything happy, or fluffy or healthy. This is a Dark!fic. Anyway.... enjoy you heathens <3

BOLD ITALICS ARE INNER THOUGHTS.

AEMOND POV CHAPTERS 50-52

PART TWO : Night of fate

The One-Eyed Prince took himself straight to your shared chambers, pouring himself a goblet of wine, and sitting before the fire in his favourite chair, as he always did, to drink the spiced alcohol and stare into the flames. Imagining whoever had scorned him, sitting within it, burning and crying out for his mercy.

He saw the face of his brother within the flames that evening.

He had heard you approach him slowly, timidly and quietly, and then your sweet, soft voice had called to him like a choir and asked if he would like more wine. But that was not what had caught his attention.

“Would you like some more wine, husband?”

Husband.

You were such a good little thing. Trying to be a good wife to him. Trying to calm him and care for him. You did love him. You did. You had to.

And as he thought of how beautiful you were, standing before him in the dress he had had made for you, and how the low light of the chamber and crackling fire brought out the violet of your eyes and the silver of your hair, you had snatched the goblet from him angrily and stormed away to the table, and the short lived, sweet tempered little wife was gone, and the fiery woman he has loved since he was a boy was back.

He loved it both.

You had stood at the wall for some time, looking at the wine and Aemond began to grow impatient as he waited.

“Why ask if you’re not going to do it.”

He watched you spin on your heel, goblet in hand and thrust it out to him, a small drop of wine spilling over the rim. Your lips were pulled downwards into a frown that you never seemed to be able to hide from your face, your soft lips creasing in the corners.

“Gīda ilagon, zaldrītsos.” Calm down, little dragon, He had purred, and he felt you shift in his periphery.

He could hear you drink loudly from your cup, but you did not respond to him.

“You’ve been exceptionally quiet this evening. I expected more from you.”

And he had.

“Are you feeling well, wife?”

“Quite well, thank you, husband.” You had said back flatly.

No emotion in the tone.

You were seething, desperate to hide your bitter resentment behind a thick wall of your creation. But there were cracks in the wall that you had built, and Aemond knew a way in.

“I wonder what he would think of this.” Aemond mused.

Aemond knew he would have hated it. And it made him even more ecstatic. He hoped that Lucerys' body was rolling in the bottom of the ocean. Or, whatever was left of it that did not go straight into the gullet of Vhagar.

You had asked who, but he knew that you had known. You just wished to hear it come from his lips. You wished to have him confirm that he was the monster that you said he was. And he would give you that. If you saw him as a monster, he would be the monster you so desperately craved.

He had laid the trap out for you, and you had willingly, and knowingly walked into it.

“Lucerys.”

You had not responded, and Aemond was proud of your control. But he knew it was fraying. So he pushed again.

“Wonder what your Strong boy would have thought about you being wed to me. Do you think he would cry? Or try to take my other eye?”

“Don’t speak about him.”

“Merely trying to have conversation with my darling wife.”

“I am going to retire for the night.” You had spoken, and Aemond felt disappointment.

He knew you wanted a fight, and excuse to hate him, an opportunity to come at him, and so he would give it to you. He wanted to give it to you.

Why were you so adamant on hating him? Could you truly not see that you were made for each other ?

You should be honoured to be wed to him. He was a Prince, in line for the Iron Throne. He rode the largest dragon in the world, and was skilled in the blade. You should be proud that he would have married you.

“It was a shame he was not there to witness it,” His voice called across the room, “I would have liked to see his face.”

“Fuck you.”

There you are.

How I have missed you.

“How did my other nephew react? The eldest and strongest of boys?”

“Disgusted that I would be married to a second son. You, no less. Just as I.”

Disgusted?

You were disgusted? You.

Disgusted by him?

After everything he had done for you. He had ensured that your life would be spared. He had made a promise to not harm your family despite itching to. He had done so much for you, and you were disgusted by him?

You set him alight.

You always did this to him.

You always had this way to get under his skin.

He jerked himself from his seat and faced you, the tired little thing, angry and exhausted, chest rising and falling, hands in fists and cheeks flushed from the wine and rage that coursed through your veins.

His precious little wife.

His zaldristos.

His.

And he could do whatever he wanted to you.

Because you were his.

Now and forever.

“And how do you truly feel?” He asked, watching as your face flickered.

“Nauseated at the thought of being married to a kinslayer.”

“Hm. I am wed to a kinslayer too.”

You took Daeron from us.

You took him.

My younger brother.

But Aemond supposed it was an eye for an eye.

“You killed my brother.” Aemond said, barely controlling the anger and grief within him.

A brother for a brother.

“Aegon wanted your head. I convinced him otherwise. You’re alive because of me.”

You ungrateful cunt.

Don’t you see? I did this for you.

I did this for us.

I love you.

“A fate worse than death, I am certain.”

Worse than death?

If you think I am worse than death, I will be worse than you could ever imagine. The Seven Hells would be more merciful than I.

“You have no idea what he had planned for you. You would not have been put to death quickly.”

Aemond knew.

Aegon had told him in great detail of what he had planned for their niece. He had spoken loudly and drunkenly about splitting her apart on his cock first, and watching her bleed and cry. He would had a knight take your mouth next as they fucked themselves into you. No hole would be spared, no inch of skin uncovered by them. Aegon was going to break you in a way that made even Aemond shudder.

“The King wanted to lock you down in the dungeons again. Make an example of you to the knights of King’s Landing. They would have taken turns with you, you know. After him of course.”

“You act as though you aren’t just like him. Like you aren’t worse.”

Ice ran down Aemond’s spine.

Just like him.

Just like Aegon.

Worse than Aegon.

She thinks me worse than him.

She does not even know the true depths of his depravity.

“You think me the same as Aegon?”

“I know it.” You had sneered at him, all teeth and claws, the last show of bravery. The last beat of your drums before the inevitable.

She thinks I am like Aegon?

That I drink, and whore and abandon my duty? That I am unfit to rule? That I am a pathetic excuse for a Prince? That I tarnish the very name and meaning of Targaryen? That I force myself upon any woman I seek?

Aemond had never, not once, forced himself upon any woman.

“You think you know what he is truly like? You think I am worse than him? A fate worse than death?” Aemond growled.

“You’re a monster.”

Aemond’s heart broke.

Monster.

All his life, he had been treated like one. When his eye had been taken people avoided him at all costs. Ladies crossed yards to avoid passing him. He had been called, and mocked, and treated like a monster even before Lucerys carved out his eye.

Monster.

His sweet niece, his beautiful flame, his zaldristos thinks he is monster.

Aemond crowded your space so quickly, feeling the warmth from your body around him as he sneered down at you.

“A monster you wed.”

Now and forever.

Us. Ours. Always. One.

Aemond’s face whipped to the side and a sharp blooming pain rose on his face, concentrating in the jagged scarring of his eye.

You had struck him.

You had struck him where you knew it would hurt.

And it was agony.

Blinding white agony. It sunk deep into his skull and throbbed in his face as he tried to compose himself. He tried desperately to not cry out, to curse, or to grunt.

How dare you.

How fucking dare you.

You knew.

You knew how much that would harm him.

And the pain in his face was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

You left me.

You left me when he took it.

You left me and sided with your brother when he took my eye. You had watched me be stitched together again and not come to my side. You saw me as a monster.

Now you called him one.

He stood towards you, towering over your tiny body as you looked up at him in fear.

Yes. Fear me. Fucking fear me so that you may never strike me again. So the you may never hurt me again.

So that you may never, ever, leave me again.

“Get away from me.” You had warned, and Aemond struggled to keep in a laugh.

You had nowhere to go. Nowhere to run to. You were trapped with the monster you wed.

Now and forever.

Aemond watched your hand rise again and he snatched your wrist.

Hurt me once, I can forgive. Hurt me twice? Attempt to strike me again? Try to draw blood or agony from my scar?

I will ruin you.

I will make you feel the way I have felt these past years.

I am going to break you the way you broke me.

“Try it again. See what will happen.”

“Let go of me!”

Your other hand moved and strike his other side.

Pathetic.

Now I am going to break you.

Aemond shoved you down onto the bed and watched with glee as your eyes widened in shock and fear.

I warned you. I warned you, and you did not listen.

Now I have to teach you. You have to learn.

You have to learnt to be good for me.

Aemond was ready to break you and put you back together again.

He choked you, watching as your face grew red and your hands clawed at him from below, desperate to get air back into your body. Desperate to get the monster above you, off of you.

Aemond hovered, watching as your eyes slowly started to shut and your struggles begin to stop. He lessened the grip on your throat and watched at how your soft lips parted, and you gasped in a desperate breath of air.

He deserved this.

He needed this.

How long had he waited for this?

How long had you teased him?

Aemond began to hike up the skirt of your dress.

The dress he had made for you.

I gifted this to you, I paid gold for this, and I shall take it off of you or rip it from your body like intended.

“No!” You grunted below him, trying to drag your vicious little nails down his face.

My little zaldristos. Fight me.

Fight me harder.

It only makes me want you more.

Aemond’s hand left your throat to catch both of your wrists in his, painfully pushing them onto the bed above your head.

Try and fight me off. See how strong I have become. See how I am not the little boy I once was.

See how no one will hurt me anymore.

His cock swelled in his pants as you kicked, and writhed, and grunted, and growled beneath him, desperate to be out of his grip and away from him. Desperate to free yourself from what was owed to him.

I deserve this.

You are owed to me.

A debt I have finally come to collect.

Aemond watched as tears welled in your eyes. You looked so sweet, so pliable beneath him, so perfect, he wished to lick the tears from your face as he fucked himself into you. He hummed as he thought of it. He looked down your body to your exposed cunt.

So perfect for him.

Made for me.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

His fingers roughly parted your folds, digging into your bud with aggression.

Would a monster bring you pleasure? Could a monster bring you to your peak?

Aegon never did. Aegon never cared for those girls pleasure. He had never cared for Helaena’s.

But Aemond did.

Aemond would bring you to your peak, once, twice, three times, if he wanted to. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted it to feel good. He wanted you to be confused, and unsure, and completely lost to the way he would soon split you open on his cock. He wanted to feel you pulse around his length as he filled you to the brim with his seed.

See how you will hate me then when your body craves me.

You were dry, but you would not be for long. Aemond forced his fingers into your hole roughly, thrusting them completely inside, relishing in how your cunt resisted him and tightened around his digits. You were so warm, and tight, and he thought of how it would feel around his cock.

Would Aegon bring you pleasure? Would Aegon feel you the way he will? Could Aegon make you feel the way he had in your chambers that evening? Could Aegon bring you to your release upon his tongue?

No.

As he thrusted his fingers in and out of you faster, he felt you slowly begin to relax, your body desperate to ease the tension and give in to the feeling of his hand. His own came down to his breeches.

After all I have done for you.

After all I have suffered.

After all I have sacrificed.

After all you had done, and you still dared to call him a monster. A monster. A monster who had loved you, and cherished you, and cared for you when you were growing up. A monster who ensured that Aegon would turn his anger onto him and not you as a child. A monster who had beaten Aegon bloody and stopped him from defiling you in the dungeons. A King. His King.

A monster.

Aemond’s body shook with anger.

His large hand grasped his member and pulled it from his pants, gripping it tightly as he looked down at you. It was heavy and aching, and needed to be inside of you. His hand squeezed roughly against the length and it brought him little relief.

He had never once felt this way. The closest he had gotten to this need was after slaughtering the Strong House. He had found Alys, taken her to some dead Lord’s chambers, and fucked into her hard and fast, watching as her body was roughly shoved up the bed and her face winced in pain, and yet she still clutched onto him moaning, enjoying the pleasure he brought her. It had been a quick and angry fuck, and he had spilled himself deep inside of her, praying his seed would take.

Alys always looked up at him with praise and adoration. She took him as he was. Scars and all.

But you?

You looked up at him in fear and hatred. You looked at him like he was a monster.

“You think I’m a monster?” He purred, shoving his legs between yours roughly, grip bruising your wrists.

“You think I am my brother?” He sneered from above, heat from his body surrounding you.

Aegon would be worse.

Aegon would be far, far worse. He would take all your holes and leave you bloodied, and bruised and a broken shell. Aegon was the monster, and you didn’t even know it.

“Aemond, stop. Please, stop.” You begged, sob working its way up your throat.

His cock twitched in his grip. You sounded so pretty when you begged. He wished you would beg for him. Beg for his cock and for his seed. But he had to work you up to that. He had to make you want it. He wanted you to chase after the monster you hated.

What a bitter sweet revelation.

He pulled his hand up and down his cock roughly, before beginning to settle between your hips.

“No!” You cried out, trying to wriggle away from him as he descended towards your heat, but it was no use. He would not stop. No amount of begging, or pleading, or crying could make him stop.

They all thought he was a monster.

He would prove them right.

Aemond lined himself up with your slit and began to push inside of you, feeling your hole resist his girth and try to squeeze itself shut. His eye fluttered as he felt you gripping him so tightly, he thought he would cum. You were so warm, and gripped him so prettily. So perfect for him. Made for him.

My pretty little wife.

He felt you stiffen beneath him as you sobbed, watching his length pull slowly out of your hole, blood streaking the pale skin as he moved.

Aemond's cock jumped at the sight.

You were a maiden. But a maiden no more.

You were his.

Entirely his. No man had ever tasted you before, touched you before, held you or fucked you. Your knight had no defiled you, nor any other man.

You were his.

The blood excited him.

He shoved himself back inside of you, as deep as he could go, feeling the end of your cunt pressed up against the tip of his cock, stomach bulging beneath him as he continued to try and break through. He wanted to rip you open, and ruin you. He wanted to make you feel him forever inside of you.

You felt so good.

Fuck.

“Aem, please, stop.” You sobbed, eyes scrunched up in pain as you cried.

Aem.

You had not called him that in a long time.

Aem.

His hips stuttered as he felt an inch of regret, but it was short lived.

I am not that boy anymore.

I am not him.

Does she think that will make me stop? Does she think that her calling me Aem will make me be gentle? That her tricks will work on me? So that she can leave me again?

He began to rut into you sharply, more aggressively than before, his thrusts pushing your body up the bed as you cried loudly into the chambers. And he revelled in it. The way your breasts were pushed up against the front of your dress, jiggling with every jut of his hips. How your cheeks reddened, and tears dripped from your eyes. How your lips hung open as you sobbed beneath him, finally giving up.

It felt so good.

It felt so right. So perfect to have you beneath him. Every drag of his hips caused pleasure to curl up inside of his body, you were so tight and so wet, aided by your maidenhead as he fucked into you. He gripped onto you hips as he tilted his own, desperate to feel you flutter around his cunt, to see your eyes roll into the back of your head as he fucked you through your peak.

Come on. I know you have it in you. Give it to me.

Give in to me.

Aemond watched your face as you cried. So beautiful. Such pretty tears and sadness, and then would look down to wear his thick cock would disappear into your broken cunt, blood pooling onto the sheets below, and smearing into the soft tuft of hair at the base of his cock.

You were painting him so prettily, and he wished to see it again.

He had never thought that blood would excite him like this. He had to have it. He wished to taste it, to run his tongue through your folds and taste your coppery pain and turn it to pleasure. He wanted your hands in his hair as you tugged him closer to your aching cunt. He wished for you to be bruised, to be feeling him for days, and so he rutted into you harder and faster, enjoying how he beat the breath from your lungs with every thrust.

And then your head had rolled to the side and you had finally, finally, broken. Given in. Given up. And you let him fuck himself into you brutally whilst you cried, looking away from him.

It made him angrier.

He wanted you to look at him. He wanted you to witness who took your Maidenhead. He wanted you to remember it was him.

Your uncle.

Your husband.

Him.

The monster you hated. The monster you so desperately craved. He knew that you craved him. You just needed to give in.

Aemond pulled himself to kneel, dragging your hips into his lap to change the angle. It made you tighter, and you clenched around his length almost painfully. He fucked into you as you lay limp below him.

His own personal pleasure doll.

A pretty little wife he could dress up and fuck heirs into. Aemond would be lying if he didn’t enjoy seeing you limp, taking his thrusts and everything he gave you. So well, so good, so perfectly behaved.

And all his.

“Gods, please.” You hiccupped, begging.

Were you begging for him? Begging for more?

Aemond shifted, leaning back against his heels, angling your hips so his cock hit upwards inside of you, making your cunt so much more shallower and tighter. The new angle made Aemond grind his teeth together and he grunted, fucking into your now wet heat. Aemond felt you clenching around him as the tip of his cock abused the soft spongey spot he had been searching for.

You tensed below him.

There it is.

“No. No.” You babbled, cheeks wet with tears, voice hoarse from crying. Your little hands came up to claw at him, to make him stop, to deter him from bringing you to your peak. He was sure you were filled with shame in knowing that this monster could fuck you till you spilt yourself all over his cock.

But it was so, so sweet. To see you fighting the pleasure. You did not want it to be true, but he was going to make it true. A reality that you could never escape.

He would fuck you, and you would like it.

Aemond brought his thumb down onto your pearl and began to swirl it roughly, using your blood and slick to aid the movement. He felt your core tighten, and clench, and flutter around him, and Aemond had to resist from shooting his warm seed into you then, and there.

“Aem, stop. Please, Aem.” You begged and he knew then that you were close. Aemond increased the pace of his thumb against your bud, wishing to see you come undone on his length.

I can bring you pleasure like no other can. No-one will ever make you feel like this. Aegon would never make you feel the pleasure that I will give you.

I want you to know that your body craves and needs me.

You need me.

“Uncle, please.” You begged so prettily, and Aemond lost himself to it.

It was so arousing to hear you say it. To hear you call him uncle as he was inside of you. To know his precious little niece was split open on his shaft. To know his sisters daughter, a sister he despised more in the world than anything else, was below him begging him as you tightened around him.

Targaryens had queer customs to those not from the mighty blood of the dragon, but to have you, his niece beneath him? It felt so right. And it felt oh so delightfully wrong too.

Aemond moaned into the chambers and he felt your walls grip him tightly.

He would remember that.

When his hand was on his cock, or when Aegon questioned him. He would remember that you clenched to the sound of his pleasure.

He was so close, so desperately close to spilling himself, but he needed to feel you first. He needed to feel you tighten around him and come undone. He needed to push you over the edge, walls wrapped tightly around him so that he could watch you cry out into the chambers. He needed it like he needed air.

He bent over you, crushing you beneath him as he sped up his thumb, desperate to get you there.

“Take it.” He moaned, his pace beginning to falter, thumb swirling around your swollen bud roughly.

"No. No. Aem stop, no. Stop." You cried out.

Aem.

The prince thrusted into you harder, pressing down roughly onto your bud as he began to feel you clench around him. And your eyes had widened and looked up at him when you realised what was happening. Your body tensed and your mouth gaped and the heavens opened, swallowing Aemond in.

Aemond felt your core spasm around him as he fucked you through your climax.

“That’s it.” He cooed.

Good girl.

Such a good girl.

See what pleasure I can bring you? See what this monster can do for you?

“Please.” You cried, trying to push him away from you, as you clenched around him, pleasure ripping through you cruelly without mercy.

Aemond felt himself get to the edge of his own pleasure, the waves mounting, and mounting, feeling the way your slick coated him as he slid in and out of your cunt sloppily, and tightly.

You had sobbed beneath him and writhed, your cunt tightening around him, Aemond had to lean forward, pressing a sharp kiss to your neck as he came. Pleasure shot through his body violently.

He pressed himself as deep as he could go into you, feeling your cervix, as rope after rope of his seed spilt into your waiting womb. He wanted to see you swell with his babe, to see your breasts become engorged and leak. He wanted to suckle roughly onto your sore breasts and bring you relief, as you carried his babe inside of you.

“Fuck.” He moaned above you, hips stuttering as he continued to thrust into you languidly, feeling a new wetness within you as you laid stiffly beneath him. He could still feel your core gripping him, milking him of every drop of his spend.

Pleasure hazed his mind as he came down from his peak, feeling your warm, wet walls as he slowly pulled out of you, wincing at the overstimulation. And then he had heard it.

The most broken sounding sob.

Worse than Helaena’s sobs when she would flee into his chambers.

Worse than his mother sobs when she had lost Daeron.

Aemond looked down at you slowly, watching as another broke through your lips, you could not even stop it. Such a visceral reaction to him.

To the monster.

Monster.

Maybe he really was a monster.

Aemond had just taken your maidenhead.

He raped you.

His niece.

His wife.

Someone he loved.

Someone who had once been his friend.

Someone who had killed his brother.

Aemond rolled off of you and looked up at the ceiling.

What had he done.

You would never forgive him.

You would never love him.

His mother would beat him if she knew of what he had done. But not because she would care. But because of the treaty.

Maybe you were right. Maybe he was no better than Aegon. Maybe he was just the same. Cut from the same cloth.

Perhaps he was worse.

But he didn’t want this.

It didn’t need to be like this.

He would have given you everything. He would give you the world if you asked. He would cut down any man in your way, any person who stood between the both of you. If anyone was to touch you, Aemond would feed them to Vhagar and relish in their cries of agony.

But you wouldn’t let him.

You wouldn’t let him do this for you. You hated him. You called him a monster. You just push, and push, and push, the way his brother, and mother, and your siblings have pushed, and pushed, and pushed him his entire life.

How Aegon had pushed, and pushed, and pushed him into the silk lanes on his thirteenth name day. How the boys had pushed, and pushed, and pushed him into claiming a dragon to spare himself from their cruelty. How he had been pushed into fighting them.

And they had taken his eye because of it.

You did this.

But he loved you.

He loved you, he loved you, he loved you. And nothing that you could do would change that.

He just had to make you see. He had to make you believe it. He had to show you your body craved him, and he did that tonight. He wished he could take it back, but he can’t.

And that would be your lesson.

Perhaps now you would learn.

You had curled up beside him, shivering and whimpering, dress askew and your blood and his seed dripping out of you.

He wanted to hold you. To touch you. To press you against him and tell you that everything was alright, that you were okay, that you were safe, that he was sorry, that he loved you. That he would never do it again.

“Y/n.” He had whispered, and he watched how you curled yourself tighter in a ball.

You hated him. You were disgusted by him. You thought he was a monster.

And then he had uttered your nickname, the way you had uttered his. He hoped it would bring you comfort, he hoped it would remind you that he could be that boy if you needed him to be. That he was still in there, somewhere, deep down, hidden for years. That he could be him for you.

Anything for you.

But then a louder sob flew from your lips at the name, and he knew that there was no salvaging what had been broken. There was no saving what had been crushed. There was no fixing the glass of your heart that he had shattered beneath him.

Just as you had done to him, all those years ago.

Your little hands dug into your flesh so tightly your knuckles turned white, and Aemond wished to lean forward and kiss each digit and your palm. To kiss up your wrist and your arm, to your shoulder and neck, across each cheek and each eyelid, your forehead and nose. He wished to soothe you with his love, to pour it into you so that you would believe him. To crack you open and let his blood and adoration fill you until you believed.

Until you knew what he could be for you.

Who he could be for you.

To prove to you that this was fated, that you were his, and he yours the moment the both of you were conceived. That in those years of him being born, and you not being brought into the world yet, his life had no meaning, and he was cursed to be waiting for you to come to him.

To complete him.

To be his other half.

The Gods had made it so. And Helaena had whispered, and murmured, and promised, and prophesied that it would be. And it was. And it would be. And you would love him as fate was designed, and he would wait, or try to, until you could see it too.

Aemond could wait, but if you did not see it, he would force you to.

Tonight he forced you to see him for who he really was, scars and all. Just as he had witnessed you above him, shard of mirror in hand, smiling at him so widely, hair so wild, and body so ripe for the taking.

You had brought him pain, and he had delivered.

Aemond’s hand came to touch your shoulder and felt you flinch away from it, a terrified sob falling from your lips as you curled into yourself tighter, tucking your knees against your chest in an attempt to protect yourself.

You just needed time.

You needed time to see.

Needed time to heal.

You would see.

He would make you see.

You were his.

And he was yours.

Now and forever.

Us. Our. We.

One.

Fated to burn.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint

Bold is who I cannot tag!

347 notes · View notes