#i mean i know we still have an ending to uncover but i get the sickening feeling that either we don't get to see them alive and well again
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Whispered fairytale - Lewis Hamilton
request: "hi can i have a request about moments of fluff when reader's pregnant? with lewis of course <3" - anon
pairing: Dad!Lewis Hamilton x Reader!
warnings: fluff, like a lot of it
wordcount: +2K
a/n: I am not sorry for the sighs I was letting out as I was writting this. You guys have been warned, it's dad Lewis after all.
As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!
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Monaco shimmered beneath the fading sunlight, a familiar scenery for Lewis and Y/N. This time, however, the champagne flowed with a bittersweet undercurrent as nestled in a drawer, a positive pregnancy test hummed with a quiet revolution. No elaborate pronouncements, just a single pink line etching a new chapter onto their shared story.
Their path to parenthood hadn't been meticulously expected. Discussions about starting a family had danced between them, unspoken agreements carried on the wind of their non-stop lives. Lewis, now an eight-time champion, a feat achieved under the scarlet banner of Ferrari, still felt the fire to chase another title. Yet, amidst the celebrations at the end of season, a quiet voice whispered that perhaps, the timing might have been just right.
As the celebratory roar began to fade, replaced by the clinking of abandoned champagne flutes, Lewis found himself gazing at Y/N, her smile hesitant yet imbued with a radiant joy, although the reason behind it hadn’t been revealed.
Their planned racetrack of a future had morphed into a sprawling unknown, but as Y/N's hand met his, a quiet certainty bloomed within him. This unplanned detour wasn't a wrong turn. It was a victory lap of a different kind, perhaps the starting grid for their greatest adventure.
A Dream
Sunlight speared through the sliver of uncovered window, painting a warm stripe across Lewis's features. Y/N stirred beside him, the weight of sleep clinging to her eyelids. Disoriented for a moment, she blinked, the room slowly coming into focus. Lewis, sprawled on the plush white chaise lounge next to his driver’s room sofa, was the first thing that registered.
Except, he wasn't really by himself, not mentally anyway.
His gaze was fixed on a spot above her stomach, a soft, almost reverent smile playing on his lips. He spoke, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down Y/N's spine.
"Alright, little one," he was saying, "I know you can't hear me yet, but listen up. This whole thing...it's a bit overwhelming, you know?" He chuckled, a nervous sound that tugged at Y/N's heart. "Honestly, I don't have a clue what I'm doing. But your mama here," he glanced at Y/N, his eyes warm, "she's a trooper. We'll figure it out, together. As a team."
The sight of Lewis, ever the composed champion, confessing his anxieties about fatherhood sent a wave of tenderness over Y/N. Carefully, she reached out, her fingertips brushing against the dark braids of his hair.
"Lewis," she croaked, her voice thick with sleep.
He turned, his smile widening as he met her gaze. "Hey there, beautiful.”
"Just getting to know the newest member of the team," he continued, his eyes flickering back to her stomach. "We were having a little chat."
Y/N couldn't help but laugh, a soft sound that echoed in the quiet room. "It can’t really hear you" she said, her smile fading slightly. "It's still early days, remember?"
Lewis's smile softened. He reached out, his hand hovering just above her stomach. "I know," he said, his voice gentle. "But that doesn't mean I can't try, does it?"
Lewis, ever the believer in manifestation, ever the optimist. She scooted closer, making room for him on the sofa. He settled beside her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"How was your nap?" he asked, his lips brushing against her temple.
"Good," she mumbled, nuzzling closer to him. "But you woke me up with your…pep talk."
"Just some heart-to-heart, you know?!" he said with a wink. "With the little one, of course."
Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, but a smile tugged at her lips. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind. The surprise of the positive test, the initial shock, the overwhelming joy – it had all been a blur. Lewis, ever the supportive partner, had taken it all in stride. Sure, there were moments of worry, of panicked glances exchanged in stolen moments, but mostly, there was a quiet excitement that simmered between the couple.
Out of the blue, as it tended to be, a loud growl echoed in the quiet room. She winced, covering her eyes in shame. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he soothed, his voice laced with concern. "This little one needs some food, right?"
Y/N nodded, the growling easing down "Yeah," she mumbled, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Sorry, I..."
"Don't apologize," he said firmly. "This is all part of the journey. We're in this together."
His words held a quiet strength, a comforting confidence that calmed the churning in her stomach. It was more than just constantly being hungry; it was a reminder of the tiny miracle growing inside her.
They lay in silence for a moment, the only sound the rhythmic rise and fall of their breathing. Outside, the world buzzed with activity, the roar of the racetrack a distant rumble. But here, in this quiet haven, a different kind of race was about to begin – a race against time, against uncertainty, but most importantly, a race towards a future filled with the promise of a tiny miracle. And that little one, even though they were still just a whisper of a dream, was already so loved. More than Y/N could ever imagine.
Your scent
The crisp scent of Lewis's signature cologne, a heady mix of citrus and spice, usually sent a wave of warmth through Y/N. Today, however, it was the trigger for a rebellion in her stomach. A wave of nausea crashed over her, sending her scrambling out of bed towards the bathroom.
Lewis, stirred by the commotion, sat up, blinking away the remnants of sleep. "Y/N? You alright?" he called out, concern etching lines on his forehead.
Y/N emerged from the bathroom, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Yeah," she mumbled, her voice weak. "Just a little…" she trailed off, the metallic tang of bile rising in her throat.
Lewis was by her side in an instant, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Morning sickness again?" he asked gently.
Y/N shook her head, forcing a weak smile. "Second trimester was supposed to be smooth sailing, they said" Her voice held a hint of sarcasm, even to her own ears.
Lewis chuckled softly. "Maybe smooth sailing is a bit optimistic," he admitted. "But hey, at least you're keeping food down" Y/N grimaced. That particular phase had been brutal. She rinsed her mouth in the sink, the minty freshness a welcome relief.
"Actually," she started hesitantly, Lewis's brow furrowed. "What is it?"
Y/N hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Your cologne," she began, gesturing vaguely towards the bottle on the dresser "it's making me sick."
The surprise on Lewis's face was comical. He stared at the bottle, then back at Y/N, as if trying to process the information. This was the cologne he'd worn for years, his signature scent. It was practically an extension of him.
"My cologne?" he finally managed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "But it's…" he trailed off, searching for the right words. "It's me, Y/N. You love me, right?"
Y/N couldn't help but laugh, the sound shaky but genuine. "Of course, I love you, silly," she said, reaching out to cup his face. "But right now, your child doesn’t really enjoy your 'you-ness'”
A slow grin spread across his face. "Alright, then” he declared, picking up the cologne bottle. "Operation: Find a pregnancy-safe scent it is."
Y/N watched, a smile playing on her lips, as Lewis rummaged through his extensive collection of grooming products. "How about this one?" Lewis asked, holding up a small, unassuming bottle with a label that read "Lavender Serenity."
Y/N wrinkled her nose playfully. "A bit too…serene for you, wouldn't you say?"
Lewis chuckled, tossing the bottle back onto the dresser. "Maybe. But hey, at least it won't make you puke."
Whoever they are
The air crackled with anticipation as Y/N's mother hoisted a heavy bag of groceries onto the kitchen counter. Lewis's dad, Anthony, hovered beside her, peering inside with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Alright" Anthony announced, brandishing a head of cabbage, "let's settle this once and for all. Boy or girl?"
Y/N chuckled, her belly, now a prominent dome beneath her maternity clothes, bouncing with laughter. "Lewis and I have already agreed, no peeking!"
Across the room, Lewis, ever the competitor, mirrored Y/N's amusement. "Besides," he added, winking at Anthony, "I have a feeling your cabbage test is about to be proven wildly inaccurate."
Anthony scoffed playfully. "Don't underestimate the power of tradition. Now, hand me that measuring tape."
As the pregnancy had unfolded everyone had made the bump a target to old wives' tales and lighthearted debate.
Y/N's mother, a firm believer in the "pregnancy glow" theory, insisted the baby was a girl based on Y/N's radiant complexion. Anthony, armed with his cabbage test (apparently, a high, round shape indicated a boy), remained stubbornly convinced otherwise.
Lewis, however, held a quiet confidence in his prediction of a girl. He couldn't explain it; it was just a feeling, a deep one that resonated within him.
The rest of the family, friends, and even Ferrari staff, seemed convinced it was a boy. The sheer volume of blue onesies and miniature race car toys accumulating in the nursery was a testament to that.
Despite the overwhelming "boy" camp, Y/N found herself drawn to Lewis's quiet certainty, her mother's unwavering belief and Leclerc’s claim that Lewis was a girl dad and he wouldn’t believe in anything else. There was a subtle shift in their preferences, a secret language of pink frilly socks and delicate stuffed animals tucked away in the corner of the nursery.
As the due date came ever closer the playful arguments gave way to a more sentimental atmosphere.
Anthony surprised everyone one evening by pulling Y/N into a tight embrace. "Girl or boy," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "you're going to be incredible parents. And that little one," he patted Y/N's stomach gently, "they're already so loved."
A tear escaped Y/N's eye, mirroring the glistening in Lewis's. The truth was, the gender didn't matter. They were about to embark on the greatest adventure of their lives.
As Y/N snuggled against Lewis on the couch, just days before their little one arrived, her hand resting on her swollen belly, a wave of peace washed over her.
"You know," she whispered, "maybe the whole point isn't about knowing the gender."
Lewis turned to her, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lamp. "What do you mean?"
"Maybe," Y/N continued, a smile gracing her lips, "the point is in the surprise. The joy of meeting them, whoever they are, for the very first time."
Lewis's smile mirrored hers. He squeezed her hand gently. "We're ready, whatever comes." he said, his voice filled with an unshakeable certainty.
Their shared ritual
Exhaustion clung to Y/N like a second skin. The past three months had been a parade of sleepless nights, endless diaper changes, and the constant, gnawing worry that comes with being a new parent.
But nestled in the crook of her arm, a tiny miracle slept soundly. Her daughter, in a quiet moment of shared hope, was a testament to the love that bloomed amidst the chaos.
She was a symphony of soft sighs and the occasional gurgle, her tiny fists clenched in a peaceful slumber. However, the moment Lewis's voice cut through the quiet of the room, her whole world seemed to shift.
"Hey there, my little champion," Lewis cooed, his voice a low murmur as he entered the nursery. The infant’s eyes, a pitch perfect copy of her dad’s brown ones, snapped open. A wide, gummy grin split her face, and a high-pitched squeal erupted from her tiny lungs.
Y/N watched the scene unfold with warmth washing over her. Lewis, ever the prodigy, had taken to parenthood like a natural. The same gentle persuasion he used on the racetrack was now employed to coax a smile from their daughter, his voice a soothing melody that calmed her fussy cries.
The transformation was remarkable. Y/N vividly recalled the first trimester, Lewis sheepishly confessing his anxieties about fatherhood to their unborn child. And throught the months a routine was created as every evening, he'd spend a quiet moment by Y/N's side, whispering words of encouragement and promises of love to the tiny bump.
"Alright, little one," Lewis would say, his voice barely above a whisper, "we're going to face whatever comes our way, as a team, okay?"
Those nightly pep talks, once a source of amusement for Y/N, now seemed almost prophetic. The kid, it seemed, recognized Lewis's voice as a source of comfort, a familiar sound that echoed the evenings spent nestled safely inside Y/N, bathed in the sound of his love.
Lewis, oblivious to the internal monologue playing in Y/N's head, scooped the baby into his arms, his face alight with a radiant joy. He bounced her gently, singing a silly, made-up song about a race car driver and a tiny princess. Captivated by her father's performance, the infant cooed and gurgled in response, her tiny hand reaching out to grab a lock of Lewis's dark braids.
Watching them together, a lump formed in Y/N's throat. The exhaustion that had threatened to consume her throughout the day had faded away, replaced by a fierce and overwhelming love. There, in the quiet sanctuary of the nursery, their team flourished – united by an invisible thread of shared love, a love story whispered before their daughter ever entered the world.
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TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28
@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld
#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x you#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#formula 1
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Heartache
Since I put up my theories that Crowley and Aziraphale faked the break up in the Final Fifteen, I've had a LOT of people comment, "Then why are they so sad?"
LISTEN.
Imagine you and the person you love most in the world have to keep your relationship secret. Because no one would approve of it, and one or the other of you could be hurt or killed or imprisoned over it. So you keep it casual, and have to pretend you're not even friends.
Then you get a chance to change everything. You get a chance to save the world, and maybe have that relationship you both want so badly together. You even plan your proposal. You throw a big party and make it as romantic as you know how.
Then your party gets crashed by people who hate you.
And then an authority -- one that has the power to make both your lives horrible and maybe end them -- comes sniffing around. He's figured out you're up to something, and that you've teamed up, and been teamed up for a while. He maybe suspects you're more than friends, when even friends is something you are not allowed to be. He essentially black mails you into coming back with him, to what essentially amounts to prison, though he offers that your love can come with you. You'll both be in prison, and maybe not be able to save the world, but you'll be together, and safe.
You tell the person you love most in the world what's going on, that your plan has been uncovered, and beg him to come with so he will be safe. And your beloved says, "No, I'm not going, I want to fight for this. I want to fight for you, and for us. I want to save the world. We need to pretend to break up so I can keep working on our plan. You do what you can from inside prison, and I'll do my best from here, and let's try for this. For us." And then he breaks your heart and forces you to reject him. While your enemy watches and waits to take you to prison. And he doesn't let you leave without kissing you first. He gives you something while he kisses you that he hopes will help you. And then he goes.
Imagine your beloved tells you an authority has come sniffing around -- he suspects you're up to something and wants to haul you both to prison. Your beloved has no choice, he absolutely is going to prison, right now, but he wants you to come with him. You want to fight, you want to be free with your beloved and you want to save the world. So you tell him you have to fake a break up in order that one of you can stay free and hopefully make it work. And then you break his heart, and force him to reject you, while your enemy watches and waits to take him to prison. And you do not let him leave without kissing him first. You give him something while you kiss him that you hope will help him. And then you leave.
If you could do that while feeling nothing, totally confident that you're still a couple and everything is actually fine, you've got a different head than me. I wouldn't be okay, watching my husband get taken to prison for the crime of being in love with me. I certainly wouldn't be okay pretending not to care, or like we never meant much to each other after all.
The break up is fake. That doesn't mean any of those emotions are.
It actually makes it worse, in my opinion.
If Aziraphale had actually chosen Heaven over Crowley, Aziraphale would be sad, but not miserable. But he hasn't. He's going to prison without the one person he most wants to protect and be with. And he has no guarantee that Crowley will be safe, or that they will ever see each other again. He must be devastated.
If Aziraphale had chosen Heaven over Crowley, Crowley would have every right to be hurt and angry. But Aziraphale hasn't. He's being dragged to prison, where Crowley can't be with him and make sure he's okay, where Crowley knows he'll be treated badly, and Crowley's going to try to save the world, and if he succeeds, they can build that life together they've wanted for so long; but if he fails, they may never see each other again. He must be devastated.
Stop asking why they both look so sad if the break up is fake.
They are devastated.
#good omens#good omens 2#crowley#aziraphale#good omens meta#ineffable husbands#aziracrow#good omens analysis#good omens fan theory#the final fifteen#ineffable divorce#final fifteen#our poor husbands#it's so much more sad than it first seems
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Okay I don’t want this to be like an obnoxious millennial assumption because I’m positive that every generation has things like this, but the way autism and ADHD was treated for us in the 90’s and how it affects adult diagnoses is like, imo, so integral to our coming of age and the stories we tell and the way we’ve gotten to know ourselves, even the way it relates to our job market and economy and how we operate inside it, and especially the way a pandemic uncovered it for so many people and exposed the cracks and revealed that we were all just barely functioning and held together with popsicle sticks and anyway
I say that because maybe it’s the un-diagnosed 90’s child in me but I feel particularly emotional about Keith’s arc in learning that he’s part Galra, and the way even the creators said they made him sort of prickly because of his biology, and I just !! Think so much about Keith’s neurotype as a part Galra!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Cause something about being diagnosed later in life is like, looking back at all the other ways you tried to handle yourself, all the missteps, maybe even misdiagnoses. Like, how many times did you try to treat ANXIETY without realizing you didn’t have an anxiety disorder, you just can’t deal with your family blaring the TV from the next room? How many times were you told you were lazy, or lying, when you didn’t know what executive dysfunction is?
Keith is such a lovely rich character because his prickliness is EARNED—we know what happened to him, we know he’s traumatized, we know he’s been treated poorly by many people in his life. We know that he grew up thinking that he’d been abandoned by one of the people who should’ve loved him the most, in the whole world. He even questions that in his vlog—he makes the connection that he has trouble with people because of his mom.
But I just wonder like, how much of it is just his biology. Not understanding the body he’s in, being completely ignorant of one whole half of his culture. Had he ever mutated before the TBP fight? Did it take him by surprise, did it frighten him? ((* This is head canon territory LMAO there’s no way to really know—like, is he able to do this because he just spent so much time with Krolia, or does Shiro going That’s the Keith I remember mean they used to have really primal sex that turned his eyes yellow? Lol))
Like when we talk about even the most broad generic terms of saying someone is neurodivergent, we don't even need to put a real life label on Keith. Like he's literally not human! Of course his brain looks different! Of course he functions differently! And I wonder how much is nature v nurture -- if he knew the truth about his mom, if his dad had lived, if he'd been allowed a normal childhood, would he still have been a weird kid?
Cause like, even seeing the way Shiro is able to get through to him, we see ways that he allowed for thrill seeking, and he didn't judge Keith for stealing his car. It reminds me of like, what we know now about asking children to sit still in school, and how perhaps some children would do better with standing desks. Shiro wants him to behave and succeed, and doesn't judge him for being a car thief, and gets through to him by bringing him cliff diving. And it just feels like this clue, you know, that nothing is wrong with Keith, he's just living in a weird place where people don't get him.
It’s just really special to me, because there’s so many pieces in the sequence of events of Keith’s character arc, and I know I’ve said this a handful of times now, but I really sincerely believe it’s the only thing the show really nailed. Accepting himself during the BOM Trial -> MOMENTS later learning something ver important about his biology -> spending time with Krolia -> coming back to pilot Black when he’s READY and WANTS to (unlike the first time, when he resisted) -> becoming a pragmatic strong leader by the end.
Gosh idk.
I don’t really have anywhere to go with this, it’s just something I was thinking about today and it gets me real emotional. Like, Keith must have had these moments, re-evaluating who he’d been before he’d known, finally understanding why he was Like That, and it’s so healing to imagine him accepting his past self and forgiving it because he understands now.
#hes just a lil baby#keith kogane#sheith#SPACE MAN META#i watched the lion king this morning and cried my eyes out and it got me so upset about keith LMFAO
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so are the new tickets gonna take them to a new island, orrrrrrrrrr
#qsmp#gosh i really hope we haven't reached the end of the egg arc#i mean i know we still have an ending to uncover but i get the sickening feeling that either we don't get to see them alive and well again#or there's just not much time left before we have to say goodbye :(#i love these kids so gosh darn much i hope the art and fics and love never stop#medli talks
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『♡』 Cruel Prince
♡ featuring: villain!diluc ragnvindr x princess!reader
♡ summary: you are forced to marry the manipulative prince of a faraway kingdom. malicious compliance ensues. wc: 3.2k+
♡ cw/tw: afab, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, forced orgasm, hate sex, no foreplay, breeding, heavy choking, spanking, face slapping, spit, creampie, hair pulling, rough sex, diluc is mega possessive
notes: I promiseee im gonna come out with shorter fics im so sorry i couldn't help myself the fanart is so good :(( art by eriimyon on twitter <3
Brilliance freckled through the silk drapes of your extravagant windows and onto your resting face. A silhouette rubs your arm, followed by “You must wake now, Your Grace.” Her amiable tone made your heavy eyes ajar, looking up to see the sweet twinkle of the maid. You sit up and stretch, letting out an exaggerated yawn. “Good morning!” you exclaim. She tucks the straggly hairs aside.
“Good afternoon, you mean?”
“Oh. Oops.” She shakes her head and hands you a lukewarm meal. This was a frequent occurrence, staying up late to twirl in your room until your feet ached. Fantasizing about the enchanting gambol you would share with your lover. When you eventually collapsed, you would dream of a man whisking you off to dance in a meadow. Being confined to the limited space of the baroque palace only intensified your curiosity. The kingdom your parent's shoulder is fruitful. Lined with riches and grateful civilians, all you know is comfortability. That comfortability bored you.
“The king would like to speak with you downstairs once you’ve settled” she states. You give an exasperated sigh and flop onto the featherbed. You weren’t looking forward to this meeting. “M’kay. Thanks. Love you.”
You make your way toward the dining room after breakfast. Almost every painting you skip by is of your older brother. It was no secret that you weren’t the favorite child. Your father wasn’t particularly fond of having a daughter. You slide down the railing of the grand staircase, entering the still air. Even the sound of your tiptoes carries volumes in complete quiet.
“Did... someone die?” you say, trying to break the ice. Your brother and mother sit across from each other with their heads down, afraid to interrupt the king who sat at the end of the dining table.
“No. Have a seat (Y/N).” he says, his hand signaling to the multitude of chairs remaining. You take the middle. Your father looks more stressed than usual, crescent shapes embedded between his eyebrows.
“There is something we have to discuss” he proclaims, interlocking his fingers. “Sure.”
“There’s been some disputes... between us. And the kingdom of Ragnvindr. Their king has been ill for many years now.”
“That’s too bad for them” you say, checking out of the conversation. You know of the Ragnvindrs, but you weren’t interested. “It is. However, their commerce is flourishing. The civilians have an excess of resources. They’re the central hub for wine. If we had access to that, we could provide greatly for the public.”
“Mm, okay.” Your mind darts to unique spots of detail decorating the ceiling.
“Do you remember talking to Prince Diluc?” It hadn’t jogged your memory until now, but you recall one time the flaming redhead came to the palace a few months ago. You saw him in passing; exchanging few words in light-hearted conversation before he met with your father. You noted the calm scarlet pupils and his attentiveness when you spoke. He seemed amicable until you uncovered the rumors. Whenever your mother invited her friends, the walls would erupt with gossip. You couldn’t help but listen through the door. “- he tried to kill his father!” Your mother declines but another woman chimed in. “People don’t get suddenly ill like that. He must’ve poisoned him! The poor man can’t talk anymore so Prince Diluc runs everything.”
“He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants. Anyone who disagrees with him is beaten. Even death!” you heard the dramatic drawl of another. “Oh please, not with his brother around.” You thought it was funny and went straight to the maid to parrot their pompousness. It wasn’t until his brother died in their home weeks later under “mysterious circumstances”, that you started to take the allegations seriously.
“He’s shaping out to be an exceptional young man.”
“I guess. Why are you telling me this?” you ask. Your father sucks in a breath.
“You are to marry Prince Diluc in a week’s time.” he declares. You freeze, beads of sweat collecting on your forehead. Your heart dropped to your stomach.
“What? Whe- who decided this?”
“It was a collective decision from me, your mother, and the Ragnvindrs.”
“No! I didn’t get to decide. You took away my choice!”
“(Y/N), this will ensure peace for both of our kingdoms. We shall do what’s best for the-”
“I don’t know who he is. How could you do that to your own daughter, what kind of father marries their child off to a stranger?” Your voice gets increasingly louder. You were too irate to back down. Your father is seething.
“We will not argue about this-” he mumbles, the veins on his hands bulging from the tightening fists.
“Do you even know who he is? He killed his own brother, and his people fear his retaliation. He’ll backstab you at any chance if it means more power. He’s using you-”
“ENOUGH!” Your father slammed his leaden fists on the table, causing a harrowing bang to ring in your ears. All you can do is look at him, shaking, searching for any semblance of hope. He was unwavering.
“I hate you.” Your defeated voice falls to a murmur, and you stumble to your room in a haze.
The next 6 days were vague. You stayed in your room mostly, the maid accompanying you as you cry on and off for hours. Rage burned inside you, it dented furniture and ripped up cushions. You were exhausted and vengeful. An instructor comes by occasionally to teach you for your wedding day, but you find no joy in it.
You're tranquil in the luxuriant flower garden you once found solace in. A garden you’d never see again after tonight. Suddenly, you hear the gate creak open. Strawberry strands peek behind the sunflowers. It was Diluc. The silence was painful. “Hello.”
“Hello. I figured it would be considerate to come see you briefly” he returns, grabbing your hand. You catch yourself staring.
“We are to be married soon.”
“...Right.”
“You don’t seem to be happy about this arrangement.”
“I’m sure you have many requests for your hand in marriage. Why me?”
“I don’t have a say in it. You don’t either.” That can’t be right, their king is senile you thought.
“That’s not true. I know what you’re really like.” His eyes narrow into yours. “You could turn this entire kingdom to ash if you willed it.”
“You know naught of me.”
“You killed your brother and now you’re after my father, aren’t you?” He’s relaxed despite the accusations.
“What would you do? As long as we are wedded, you will obey.” You snatch your hand from him.
“I will do no such thing” you utter, holding your head high. He laughs and lifts your chin with a finger, his thumb softly rubbing your cheek.
“Such a naïve princess, so far beneath me. You will be mine. Act accordingly.” You want to slap that smug look off his face.
“I’ll be going now. Don’t stay up too late.”
Everything about your wedding is opulent. Visitors sport grandiose garments and intricate jewelry, leaving priceless gifts in your celebration. The travel to the kingdom of Ragnvindr was silent, minus the glares you shot to your parents. You disappear the minute you step down the aisle, taking notice of the guests. Faceless people with appropriated smiles and forced words of kindness; a scornful masquerade.
Your vows are pitiful, and you wear an ingenuine smile for every “aww” in attendance. “I do” is said, and your fate is sealed through a chaste kiss.
The dance arrived sooner than you thought. The floor was large and elegant, a thousand eyes watching you at the start of the staircase. You almost get stage fright. Diluc waits at the bottom, his gloved hand longing to take yours. You saunter to him. You expected him to be stiff and unprepared, but as you held his hand something changed. He scoops you by the waist with the other and twirls you around, igniting the music. His steps are effortless, bringing you near him and releasing you for another spin. The movements lift you into a different scene, of green pastures and bright blue sky. Only you and Diluc. The tune curled in your ears and whispered radiance. Your stride is loose, guided by the inducing notes and swinging pendant on your neck. Your arms glide past his chest and he steadies you gently in an intimate embrace. Dilucs lips barely hover over your ear.
“You look stunning.”
“I know. You look grotesque.” You feel a puff of wind against your ear. Glancing at him, you haven’t paid much attention to his appearance until now. His physique seemed to be chiseled from the finest marble, intentional with each contour. He smelled of musk and bitter vanilla, the warm glow of glittering chandeliers highlighting his rugged features.
“You like what you see, hmm?” You didn’t reply.
“Do you like to dance?”
“It’s not your business.”
“Well, if I'm right, you can dance here every day if you want. But you must behave.” His honeyed words made you hot, and you looked away. “No. You are my enemy.”
“Very well, then.” He continued to entrap you, sewing seeds in your brain through the sway of your bodies. You were tangled in a field of thorns, pricked by his fleeting romantic gestures. It confused and enticed you. But the dance came to its end, and reality set in. He leaned down to kiss your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. The music resumes its normal pace, motioning people to return to the dance floor.
The idea of Diluc displaying you like property tests your pettiness; you need his unruffled persona to snap. He watches you dance into the arms of another man, and you’re sure to make eye contact with him. You flash a mischievous smile as you spin through the exuberant crowd, leaving him behind. You thought you lost him. Just then, shade abruptly comes down on you and the nameless man. He turns first, cowering and slinking into the masses. You don’t face the shadow until your face is grabbed by leather and twisted sharply to encounter the reddening face of Diluc.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“If I’m beneath you, this shouldn’t bother you, right?” you say, smiling at your ability to break him.
He grits his teeth. “You are forbidden from interacting with any man.”
“By whom? Your words mean nothing.” He gets closer to you; a death stare bore into your pleased expression. “If you’re angry, do something.”
You’ve never been hauled anywhere this fast. He pulled you through the bustling room and up the stairs with absurd force, not turning to you once. You were nearly hovering off the ground from his strength. He opened the sculpted doors leading to his bedroom and pushed you inside. Before you can see him, he pins you between himself and the ornate vanity. His nails stab into the wood the more he waits for your explanation.
“What happened to your composure?” you taunt.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Not yours.” His lips share space with yours, noses scarcely touching.
“Sorely mistaken. You belong to me.”
“Prove it.”
Carnal lust washed over you. Your lips instantly collide, cracking dams of yearning through sloppy kisses and smacking teeth. His tongue is demanding and seeks entry, but you deny him. He grabs your neck tightly.
“Open.”
“Say please.” Diluc pries your lips open with his fingers, playing with the wet mass while he nips your ear. The foreign feeling in your mouth makes your mind numb.
“Nasty little minx.” he husks, forcing your tongue to stick out before it contacts his. His kisses are deep and primal, holding you close to the point of merging. He’s squeezing your neck occasionally and teasing the dizzying airflow. The fire cascading down his back envelopes you in a slow bleed, tickling your chest and face. His scent surrounds you, exhilarates you. You pierce his bottom lip with your teeth, looking to regain some sense of control and he groans from the feeling. He promptly hoists you off the ground with your back facing the vanity and his hands on your ass. His greed doesn’t stop, plunging and contorting the organ in unreachable places. You taste sprinkles of metallic flavor. The sensation has your knees weak. You push him away, both breathing heavily with a trail of spit between you.
“This is nothing like the ceremony kiss.”
“Don’t you want my full honesty?” he rasped. He dips down to your upper thigh, past the slit in your dress. His pointed fangs catch onto your garter, and he slips it off, groping the plush flesh as he lifts your leg up. Your fingers intertwine with his scalp and tug it, earning a harsh bite on your inner thigh. Rough kisses drag up your body until he makes it back to your lips. You tear his button-down open, navigating the solid muscle under the fabric. Light purple marks are left in your wake that decorate his collarbone. Diluc splits your dress down the back and shreds it off you. You're soaked, relishing in the volatile nature beyond the mask.
He picks you up and hurls you on the bed, following you on top. You wrestle for dominance, entwined in passion. Somehow, Diluc ends up underneath you, your legs on both sides of him. You take this opportunity to pin his wrists and grind on his throbbing length. He lets you have it knowing that he’s stronger than you are. He kicks off his slacks and you pull down his stained boxers. A sudden fear hits you once they’re removed; his slightly curved cock was impossibly long and girthy, precome trickling down the angry tip. You weren’t sure it would fit.
“You’re just going to gawk at it?” he says, restless from the ache. Nervousness blends in your gut. You wanted him badly, but you had to make him suffer for at least some time. Hovering over it, you slather his tip in your juices and admire the way he bites his lip. You lower your folds onto him, submerging the cockhead and leave it there, stirring your hips with it inside only to pull it out. Diluc is disheveled, star fished, and spread wildly across the sheets as he grunts from each plunge. He had to feel you, to claim you.
“You want it?”
“I don’t beg” he says flatly. You roll your eyes, immersing his shaft halfway. He releases a long shaky groan and attempts to buck his hips, but you rise before he can go further. His cock was covered in syrupy fluids from the moments of friction, and he didn’t know how much more he could take.
“You won’t get anything with that repulsive attitude” you tease, and start moving at a leisurely pace, carefully stretching yourself out.
“Repulsive, yet using me for your desires?”
“That’s all you’re good for.” You’re shuddering from the feeling of your walls molding to the bruising size.
“Then I’ll be sure to satisfy you.” His calloused fingers break out of your sparing clutch and grab your hips, jerking you down to the hilt with a soggy plap. The wind is knocked out of you, shockwaves through your spine as you heaved over trembling. It hurts, but you can’t help but feel aroused by the desperate look he gave you. “Mm good, you’re sucking me so tight.”
“Shit- slow down-” you plead. He wraps his arms around your hips, arching your back and leaning you forward. “Quiet.” Diluc bends his knees and begins to bully his way into your cunt. His thrusts are unforgiving, if he wasn’t holding you in place, you’d be airborne. He slips out completely and rams into you so deep it feels like he's burrowing into your stomach; yet you grip him like a vice, hungry for more. You were melting and all you heard was his quick beating heart and the wet squelching clash of your bodies. Diluc shifts to the vanity mirror opposite the bed, entranced by the violent rippling of your ass and sticky strings your puffy vulva left. You’re teeming on an orgasm, blurring the lines of pleasure and pain.
“I’m gonna come- ah!” His hands move to your ass, striking each side hard enough to welt numerous times. He digs his nails into the searing flesh, savoring it. “Louder, I want everyone to know who owns you” he says and pushes his fingers in your mouth to pull your jaw slack. You deliver, allowing your erotic wails to echo through the halls. “Come for me princess.” His command sends you over the edge and you’re dissolved into pleasure, zeroing in on his guttural moans, the low fuck’s stuttering out of him. Your nails score his chest. He spreads your backside, enjoying the view of your convulsing heat drenching his balls.
Diluc flips you over on your back before you’re done gathering yourself. He tosses the damp shirt on the floor and reveals the crisp v-line deliciously carved under his sculpted abs. He manhandles you into a pretzel, securing your sore thighs. He puts his hands on yours and pushes them back further. “Fucking filthy, you’re such a mess” he says, smearing his leaking shaft up and down your hypersensitive clit. He quickly engulfs himself in your gooey warmth again and sighs. “You’re beautiful like this.” He’s pounding hard, foreheads touching and breath mixing. You’re both sweating, mascara running down your cheeks and needy moans leaving either of you from addictive ecstasy. His tip licks your sweet spot consistently and your eyes loll back. “That’s it, take my cock like a good wife.” One hand reaches for your throat while the other flicks your clit rapidly. The firm grip dots your vision black, and you pulse from sick delight. He stops occasionally to slap you across your face. It stings, you hate him, but the spasming veins caressing your walls make you question that belief. “Oh my god - look at you” he moans, staring at the shiny white ring forming at the base of his thrusts. Your hands find passage in his thick tresses and guide his attention to you. The coil threatened to snap at any minute. “Gonna carry my baby, then you can never leave.”
Your blood runs cold. “Huh? Wait-” You try to budge but he’s stronger than you, sweeping the nub faster with ravenous strokes. Electricity consumes your rational thoughts with a thumping finish, cloudy and fluttering. “Ngh- you’ll look so pretty with a belly” Diluc groans and chases his high. His eyes are glossed over, he throws his head back and finally falls apart, creamy ropes coating your insides with his balls flush against you. He pants as if he’s moved mountains and twitches from slow strokes, trying to get his come as deep in you as possible. His thumb presses upon your lips and you instinctively open your mouth. Spit settles on your tongue and he watches you swallow. You taste his kiss right after. When he pulls out, globs of semen dribble out your slit, but he fingers it back inside.
“Keep it in” he says darkly. He glances at the pendant you’re still wearing—an invaluable heirloom from your parents—and snatches the chain off your neck. In one devastating hurl, he shatters it on the floor. “I’ll make sure you only have me.”
#genshin impact#genshin smut#genshin x reader#diluc ragnvindr#diluc x reader#genshin diluc#diluc x you#diluc smut
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The Epitaph of Anything Goes
I decided that this morning I would talk about The Museum of Anything Goes and the subject of lost media.
For the uninitiated, The Museum of Anything Goes is an obscure "game" released in 1995 by Wayzata Technologies, a company that is so far under the radar that I was unable to find any useful information about it outside of TMoAG.
All I could uncover is that they published a few multimedia projects (which are essentially lost now) alongside some asset discs (clipart, SFX, etc.). That's it.
The brains behind Wayzata are even more difficult to locate these days: there are only two main names credited inside of TMoAG - Michael Markowski and Maxwell S. Robertson.
The game alleges that Michael and Maxwell are well known in the art world, but any additional information about the duo is scarce beyond the confines of the museum. Attempting to search for either name online turns up plenty of rabbit holes - but none of them have anything to do with the Michael and Maxwell responsible for TMoAG.
This is particularly fascinating because it essentially means that TMoAG is the only accessible record of their lives. Before we dig any deeper into that statement, let me step back and actually address what this game is.
The Museum of Anything Goes is, by definition, a virtual art museum. Functionally it's a prerendered point-and-click adventure game where you can explore a bunch of multimedia exhibits that give the surface-level impression of a children's edutainment game, but once you start exploring further it reveals a side that firmly plants the game's feet into a haze of substance abuse and surreal humor.
Many exhibits are essentially just toying around with the astonishing new powers of CD-ROM. Everything has to make noise. Everything has to spin and flitter around. There's an air of genuine excitement for the medium, and I can't help but find it extremely charming.
The game also functions as a scrapbook, filled to the brim with photos of random trips to the zoo and snow-mobile rides with friends. At one point we even get insight into something as specific as Michael's one-year job as a tutor at a Chicago middle school, where he talks about how it opened his eyes to how poorly funded and mismanaged the school system is.
It's simultaneously quaint and chilling to see so much personal history packed into a world doomed to obscurity. As I explore the deeper parts of the museum, I contemplate if the creators are still alive today. It's a bit morbid, but imagine that - you create a single obscure game with your friend and it's all the world can see. TMoAG is currently the only surviving piece that gives any insight into who these two men were.
While many exhibits are lighthearted or nonsensical, there are occasional moments where the game dips into the eerie.
One exhibit has the player kill a man by dropping him from the sky, and after burying him you open the coffin to a video of a rotting pig carcass being put into an incinerator.
Other exhibits just feature simple 3D renders shifting around a dark screen while haunting groans play in the background.
While I would never refer to the game as "scary," its darker moments combined with the occasional mature subject matter definitely begs the question: Who is this game for?
You have to remember that this game came out long before the concept of "alt-games" had become codified in the digital space. Sure, unconventional digital art had been around before the advent of 256 colors, but TMoAG was being sold on disk as a game! It came out 2 years after DOOM hit shelves!
The trend of using the PC for entertainment was certainly on the upswing around that time, but It's not like TMoAG had a massive audience to find a niche in. With its mature themes it certainly wasn't suited for the kids market either, so who was it for?
At the end of the day, it's a moot question. We already know the target audience for The Museum of Anything Goes: Nobody. It doesn't have an audience because by its nature, TMoAG wasn't being made FOR someone, it was being made BY someone. It's a raw, unfiltered form of personal expression.
I think games like these are pivotal, because they question why people assume a game has to exist for the sake of being a consumable product. TMoAG certainly has the shape of a product: it features an intro cutscene, it has a tutorial, it features intuitive UX, it even has a map! These are all features that are solely integrated to provide comfort to an end-user. But once you actually wander around the museum for a bit, you realize how bizarrely its packaging fits its contents.
I think TMoAG is criminally underrated. It's not because its core content contains some earth-shaking truth, it's because the game defied all odds and cheated death.
How many thousands of other personal projects were deemed a little "too exotic" to be archived? How much history was lost these past 40 years as the digital space evolved and ate its old skin?
God knows how many other TMoAGs we'll never learn about because they weren't lucky enough to be preserved.
The Museum of Anything Goes isn't just some nonsensical art piece, it's a grave marker for so much lost media. Its existence is a reminder that some people's lives were fossilized, then macerated into nothing because a construction company built a skyscraper over them. The only evidence we have of those other games existing is this little fossil that somehow slipped out from under the skyscraper unscathed.
Even though so much has been lost, TMoAG survives as an epitaph.
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heyyo, wanted to request an imagine about jensen. maybe they’re best friends who met on the boys or supernatural, she’s been confiding with him about this dude she seeing but jensens kind of into her and is jealous so he doesn’t rlly wanna talk about it, they have some drinks and he says something like “i just don’t think he’s right for you” and ends with smut and happy ending? if that’s okay with you 🤍
a/n: hi! thank you for requesting ��� love your idea, but i'm gonna tweak it so that it's dean instead of jensen. hope that's alright! anyway, enjoy love! and i'm so sorry it took me a while!
pairing: dean winchester x female reader
genre: fluff
warnings: smut, 18+ only, mdni, unprotected sex (don't be a hog, cover your log), oral f receiving, dean is huge.
Masterlist
-----
dean is enjoying his night alone. sam's out with a girl, you're out with a guy... alright, he's not enjoying his night as much as he'd like to.
mainly because you left for your date 4 hours ago and you're still not back. it was supposed to be a lunch date, and you're still out. what's taking you so long?
dean grits his teeth. he's being jealous again.
to be completely honest, his perfect night would be a night spent with you in his arms, cuddled in his bed while an episode of your favorite tv show played. but of course, you're both nothing but friends so that's not happening.
not long after, he hears the front door open and rushes to see if it's you. it is, but he wonders why you look glum.
"hey, you're back early." he doesn't actually think it's early.
you sigh as you take your heels off, dropping them on the floor and lying down on the couch.
"didn't go well?"
you groan in response.
dean's heart melts a little. he scooches you over so you're lying down between his legs, resting your weight on his chest.
"wanna talk about it?"
you sigh once again, uncovering your eyes from your arm. "it was actually not that bad. not great, but not terrible."
dean's silent. "what? you want me to get into the details?"
he shrugs, "if you want to. not too detailed though."
"well, not much happened anyway." you say, "we had a long lunch, then we were back at his place making out, and i don't know, the way he was kissing me was a little weird. it was very stiff-"
"sweetheart, it's meant to be stiff-"
"you know that's not what i mean." you hit his arm.
he laughs. "sorry, continue?"
"as i was saying," you emphasize, "his tongue was like jabbing my mouth and for some reason he kept bumping his teeth on mine-- it was turning me off so i left."
dean laughs again, "wow. i'm.. so sorry."
"oh shut up, it's not like you've never had a bad date before."
"that's not what i'm saying. well sort of." he says smugly. "i'm saying i'm sorry you encountered a bad kisser. never happened to me before."
you roll your eyes. "yeah, sure."
"i'm serious." he says.
"dean, you're working all the time, you've never even been with that many women -- i think?"
"i'm a natural, what can i say?"
you scoff and turn your body to look at him, laughing and looking so smug. and looking so good in that shirt that accentuates his muscles in just the right way.
you'd be lying if you said you don't have a crush on dean... to say the least. you've liked him for ages, maybe even love him, but you're almost 100% sure you're not his type.
but now it seems like he's dropping hints and flirting with you, so... might as well take your chances right?
"alright, should we put it to the test then?" you ask.
"huh?"
you pull yourself closer to dean by gripping his shirt and press your lips to his. he's taken aback at first, but slowly moves his lips with yours and circles his arms around you, easing you into his hold.
you've been dreaming about kissing his lips for a long time. he also always looks and smells so good around the house it's annoying.
what's also annoying is that he wasn't lying when he said he's a good kisser. he's taking your breath away and you feel like melting in his arms.
his plush, soft lips, his gentle but firm tongue teasing yours, the bites he leaves on your lips, tugging and definitely bruising.
you try to push him away to take a breath. "come back here," but he just grabs the back of your neck to kiss you again.
a moan escapes you when he readjusts your position so you're now sitting on his lap, and you gasp when you feel something poking your ass.
"sorry," dean chuckles and readjusts himself. he has a smug look on his face, especially when he sees how disheveled you are right now.
"so," he starts, "how did i do?"
you gulp and look away, not sure how to answer him.
he cups your chin so you'll look at him and say, "do you want me to continue?"
you nod slowly.
"words, sweetheart. i need to hear you say it."
you bite your already swollen lip. "i... i want you, dean. i need you. p-please."
he smiles, kissing you again before picking you up to take you to his room. "good girl."
you didn't think dean's words would affect you that much, but it just did. you're clenching around nothing.
dean's having a hard time believing this is happening himself, but the smell of your shampoo, your perfume, the taste of your lips... fuck he's in love.
the door to his room slams shut and he lays you down on the bed.
"sure you want this?" he asks.
"i want you," you say more firmly this time. "only if you feel the same."
"sweetheart," he chuckles, "i've wanted you for a long, long time now."
you roll your eyes at him despite the blush creeping up your cheeks.
"i'm serious." he says, pulling you closer by the waist, his hands roaming around your back until he finds the zipper. "since the moment i saw you."
he zips your dress down and you let out a shaky breath when his hands touch your naked skin.
"i'm.. i'm pretty sure i was covered in dirt and blood when we first met."
he hums, pulling your dress down and tracing his hands closer to your breasts. he's leaving kisses and bites along your neck before licking your ear. "nothing sexier than woman who knows how to fight for herself."
you gasp when he cups your breast, pinching and twirling your nipple while he drowns your moans in his kisses.
you're gripping his shirt, fumbling with the buttons before finally reaching his skin, feeling his toned body, and going down to unbuckle his belt.
he slaps your hand away, trailing kisses down from your lips, and while maintaining eye contact with you, he licks your breast, flicking your nipple with his tongue.
"fuck, dean."
dean twitches in his pants hearing you moan his name like that.
"a thong?" he smirks, pushing the tiny pice of fabric to the side so he can get a good look of your pussy. "fuck you're so wet already."
your legs instinctively try to close, but dean keeps them open with his hands, slapping your thigh in the process. He can't hide his smile when he sees you clench around nothing as he does that.
"stop smiling like that." your face turns red.
"like what?" he knows exactly what you're talking about. grinning, biting his lip, driving you crazy.
"you know, it's quite unfair." you say, squirming under his touch.
"what is?" he asks, breath hitting your exposed sex and fingers inching closer.
you buck your hips up wishing for some sort of friction and groan. "i'm naked, and you still have your pants on."
He hums. "i kinda like it like this. you're spread wide and so.. so.. pretty..." he suddenly licks a stripe up your slit, lingering and circling your clit. "all for me."
"holy shit." you throw your head back.
dean doesn't stop there. He keeps licking and sucking, dipping his tongue inside you every once in a while. he traces your slit with his fingers before pushing two digits in, curling them and making you arch your back.
"dean," you moan his name, tugging his hair as he's about to make you come.
he keeps his eyes on you, and you're staring back at him before the coil inside you finally snaps and your toes curl, your orgasm washing over you.
dean slows his movements, still toying with your clit to help you with your high until you're flinching away, the sensation a little too much.
he chuckles seeing your worn out state and stands up, his five o'clock shadow covered in your juices.
as you catch your breath, you reach for his belt again. he doesn't slap your hand away this time, letting you take it off and undo his jeans.
"fuck," you whisper to yourself when you see his size and how hard he is.
dean takes the rest of his pants off and joins you in bed, kissing you and guiding your hand to touch him. he lets out a shaky breath when you finally grab the base of his cock and start pumping a few times.
"god you're beautiful," he says.
you chuckle, lining his cock with your entrance.
"and impatient." he teases, nudging his tip while coating himself in your wetness.
"dean, i swear-"
he pushes in one swift motion, knocking the breath and words out of you.
"mm. fuck." he moans. "you were saying?"
you moan before pulling him down to kiss you. "move... please."
he pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in, slowly increasing his pace. his grip on your waist is almost bruising, but the look he has on you is going to leave a permanent mark for sure.
dean's hand cups your cheek, and you turn your head slightly to take his thumb in your mouth, sucking gently while keeping his gaze.
"son of a...." he groans out loud.
dean almost rests his weight on you, allowing you to cling to him and pull him closer. your orgasm is approaching quickly, and you squeeze around him to hold on just a bit longer, clawing his back in the process.
"dean, i'm gonna come." you moan, "fuck you're gonna make me come."
"yeah?" he smiles, thrusting a little harder and deeper. "let go. come for me."
you let your orgasm wash over you, and a moan escapes when you feel him filling you up. you two stay like that for a minute, in each other's arms, his head buried in your neck leaving kisses while you play with his hair.
"so," dean says, lifting himself off of you. "let me take you to dinner?"
#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester#dean x reader#dean winchester smut#dean winchester x reader smut#dean x reader fluff#spn#dean winchester spn#dean winchester supernatural#dean spn#supernatural fic
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yk that scene of morgan and elle in the car where he says “that must be the boyfriend 😏” and when she answers its gideon
could i request a blurb with that prompt but with hotch?
say when reader picks up the phone dereks shocked (the facial expression he pulled with elle) and he thinks the reader was joking. but she really wasn’t and her and hotch are in a secret relationship 🤗 and derek ends up catching them making out in the conference room later on and says “i thought you were joking 😨”
thank you! :-)
You love riding along with Morgan, because the two of you engage in banter so foul that Strauss's head would explode. There's no shortage of bickering, swear words, and insults between the two of you, but there's also no shortage of laughter, and riding with Derek anywhere is guaranteed to be fun.
Lately, though, he's had a leg up in the teasing game. He's caught you acting odd, and he's insistent that he's discovered your secret relationship.
If only he knew.
Your phone rings while you're on the highway, and he looks over at you smugly, "Aw, that must be the boyfriend."
You glance at the phone, seeing Aaron's contact there, and smiling wickedly.
"It is." You nod, and he slaps the steering wheel in victory while you answer, "Hey, Hotch."
"Y/L/N," Aaron greets you, sure to use your last name on working hours. As quick as Derek had celebrated his guess he retracts it, grimacing in horror as you stick your tongue out at him.
Aaron's only calling to tell you that there's been a new lead uncovered, and that JJ and Reid are investigating. It means you're still on track for an interview you're conducting with Derek, and as you hang up, settling back into your seat, Derek whistles lowly.
"You got me good," He shakes his head, "Would'a veered right off the road if you were dating the big man."
"Oh, you'd flip," You agree, laughing to yourself, "Just be glad you haven't caught us making out."
--
Derek's luck doesn't last. Hopped up on adrenaline from kicking both doors and ass, he struts into Hotch's office two days later to turn in his report on the case you've just closed. But what he finds behind the closed door stops him dead in his tracks, the file falling from his hand and landing in a messy heap at his feet.
You're making out with Hotch. You're- you're making out with Hotch!
"You're making out with Hotch!"
The two of you were both a little too wrapped up in each other's presence to notice the click of the doorknob, but Derek's bewildered shout does the trick. You jolt away from Aaron, standing were you'd been straddling his lap on the couch. He tries straightening his tie, as if that's the biggest issue and not the lipstick smeared over his face.
"Morgan, close the door." Hotch commands, and the agent tries to escape with it. "Not-! Get back here."
He steps square on the folder he'd dropped when coming in, standing there looking close to tears as you stand with your hands behind your back.
"You two have been," He lowers his voice, glancing around at what you presume are ghosts in Aaron's office, "Fooling around together? Really?"
"In my defense," You smile sheepishly at Derek, "I told you yesterday. You just didn't believe me."
"Yeah, because-!" Derek motions between you frantically, "I- I didn't know you were robbing the grave, Y/N! And Hotch! You're- ah, man, how long?"
"Two months." Aaron states, expression neutral although he's fiddling with his fingers at his sides, "We need your discretion."
"Discretion? Discretion?" Morgan ogles Aaron, "You expect me to walk out of here like I didn't just see her tongue down your throat?"
"Yes," You nod, "We do."
"Well-!" Morgan stammers, throwing his hands up in defeat and letting them slap his thighs on the way back down, "I- ugh, that's- that's gross. How am I supposed to know you'll work together if we leave you at the precinct, and not canoodle in the bathroom?"
"You don't." Aaron muses, and Derek's face scrunches in disgust, "But if you learned how to knock, Morgan, you won't be witness to any more."
"I am gonna walk out of that door," Derek decides, leaving the files where they are in preference of his peace of mind, "And we are never gonna talk about this again! Never, I won't tell anyone, I swear, but never let me catch you doing that shit again, you hear?"
"Loud and clear," You promise, calling after him as he heads out the door, head ducked and shoulders shivering slightly, "Have a good weekend, Morgan!"
"Don't talk to me!" He snaps back, yanking the door shut behind him. He's only halfway down the stairs from Hotch's office when he hears the lock click into place and his face warps in discontentment once more.
"Oh, come on guys, really? I'm not even out of the building!"
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner scenarip#aaron hotchner oneshot#aaron hotchner one-shot#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotchner headcanons#aaron hotchner headcanon#aaron hotchner hc#aaron hotchner hcs#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner dialogue#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction
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Something I think a lot of people are overlooking is the Christopher of it all for this season. Gavin is being promoted alongside the rest of the main cast. He’s in all the interviews, big moments and promotional material. And from what we know courtesy of Ryan and Oliver, we know he’s going to be dating this season. So instead of us focusing on Eddie and/or Buck’s respective romantic relationships (or lack thereof), maybe we should be focusing on Christopher’s and what that can mean for them all.
We know Eddie will list Buck’s help when it comes to Chris dating since Buck “knows women”. Now here’s a thought, what if Buck and Eddie spend a lot of their time and energy worrying about the avenue of Christopher dating and being in a relationship that they completely disregard their own love lives.
Ryan mentioned that Eddie is still “figuring out who Marisol is” which means they’re in no way far enough into their “relationship” for it to be anything serious. What if his focus shifts to his son and he neglects the need to pursue anything further with this woman he had a flirtation with once upon a time. Maybe he’s kinda focused on other things and doesn’t really allow her to get to know him and vice versa, so things die down and they end whatever was attempting to bloom between the two so he can focus on his son.
Same goes for Buck. Maybe while he’s helping Christopher with all this dating stuff, he uncovers certain things about himself. He considers his previous relationships and why they weren’t successful and what aspects of those relationships were somewhat successful. Maybe he even looks at his most long lasting successful relationship with Eddie and compares it to everyone he dated, and comes to some realizations himself.
What I’m trying to say is, Buck and Eddie spending some time together and essentially being co-parents to Chris while he embarks on this new journey, can bring them closer in a way they haven’t yet experienced. They will be focusing on their son, worrying about him and trying to be on top of everything to make sure his dating goes smoothly and successfully. We can even assume there’ll be some comedy at play courtesy to what Tim hinted at. I believe both men will be using their shared braincell to make sure he doesn’t fail like his fathers in any way they can.
All this to say, they will get closer in an intimate way and maybe even realize they don’t need anyone else because they have everything they need right in front of them. This shared experience will be significant especially since they are doing it as a family unit. It just would make sense that their focus on Chris and them being together constantly, being each other’s support system while he dates will inevitably shift things. And when they see Chris possibly having a successful go at dating, which maybe he even mentions a thing or two about their own relationship, it can be the thing that really opens their eyes and sets things into motion.
I guess what I’m trying to say is I think Christopher’s storyline will be very important and he will inevitably be the thing that gets his two dads together.
#buddie#evan buckley#eddie diaz#christopher diaz#the buckley diaz family#911 spoilers#911 speculation#jujus having thoughts#sorry this is long but thank you if you choose to read it 💜
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First Light ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 4
Pairing: bodyguard!Ghost x princess!reader (fem!reader)
Word Count: 4.4k
CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, verbal abuse by parents, physical abuse by parents, psychological abuse by parents, opposites attract, forbidden love, slow burn, fluff, attraction and sexual tension, reader POV and ghost POV, minors DNI, smut, virgin reader, first kiss
Let me know if I missed any CWs.
Story Synopsis: After receiving death threats from a mysterious terrorist organization, your royal parents make a decision to reach out to the United States for help. Specifically, they want the US to send a bodyguard to protect their precious princess. When the 141 is called upon to investigate, Ghost is the one assigned to protect you. With your lack of experiences outside of your royal life and his experience with nothing but deadly, worldly affairs, opposites attract.
Chapter Synopsis: It’s time to head to the safehouse that Ghost set up for the both of you. Before you leave though, Ghost introduces you to some new experiences in your own country. While he takes care of you, you find yourself falling for him even more to the point where you want to test curiosity of yours.
Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5
“Has the duke spilled his guts yet?” Ghost asked Soap, making the last minute arrangements for the safehouse as quick as he could. While he would’ve liked to have been the one to interrogate the bastard in his own special way, he didn’t want to leave you alone for too long. Luckily, Soap arrived quickly to take care of the interrogation for him. He was glad that his sergeant didn’t mind talking with his fists too.
“Bits and pieces. Not much though. At least, nothing that will really bolster our investigation. He seems like he genuinely doesn’t know much about the organization he decided to trust. They just made him safety and financial promises which he took without question.” Soap revealed, wiping stray specks of blood on his arms with a warm, moist cloth provided by a maid.
Ghost hummed in annoyance. An idiot like the duke, who was so willing to sell out your life along with your country, wasn’t worth breathing the same air as you. He would kill him if he could. It would be doing the world a favor. “What about the servant?”
Soap shrugged and shook his head. “Still working on that one, Lt. He’s been asleep.”
“Asleep?” Ghost repeated, hardly believing what his sergeant just told him.
“According to the guards, when the man was taken in for custody, he just dropped dead asleep. Coma-level sleep. We can’t get him to wake up. I’ve contacted the team about it and Kate is going to send an expert to test for drugs. We think that he might’ve taken something before being taken into custody. Capsule in the teeth kind of shit.” Soap explained carefully, making sure he covered everything that he needed to cover.
“What about guest statements? Anything useful?” Ghost continues, his patience wearing thin. He needed a win. They all did. This was no longer just a concerned parental request. A whole country was truly at stake of being taken over by terrorists.
Once again, Soap shook his head. “Sorry, Lt. Everything is on record so you’re free to read through everything just in case I missed something, but the only thing we can do is continue our investigation and wait for the servant to wake up.”
Little did they know that you were just outside the doors, listening to their whole conversation. You were finished packing what you thought you needed with the help from your maid staff. So, you ended up leaving the room in search of Ghost to let him know that you were ready to go.
You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You only meant to wait patiently for their conversation to wrap up. But you couldn’t unhear what was being discussed. It scared you that they haven’t been able to uncover much regarding these terrorists that were after your country and life. It was even scarier to know that there wasn’t much you could do except trust in Ghost and his team.
Finally, you mustered up your courage and gave the door a light knock before coming in. “Pardon me. I’m all set to go to the safehouse.”
Soap’s expression lit up at the sight of you, his lighthearted, playful side coming through immediately. You were fascinated with how different he appeared compared to Ghost. A little shorter, stylish faux mohawk, and a smile that brought life to the prim and proper room. A part of you was expecting Ghost’s teammate to be more like him. Was the 141 actually quite diverse? What was the rest of his team like?
“Well hello, Princess Y/n! I’m Sergeant Mactavish, but people call me Soap. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you after all the things Ghost has said about you.” He greeted you warmly, holding out his hand for a casual handshake. Without thinking, you took it, your own eyes brightening up along with your cheeks.
“A pleasure to meet you as well, Sergeant Mactavish. Ghost talks about me?” You couldn’t help but clarify, your eyes meeting Ghost’s who just averted his gaze. God damn it, Soap!
“He-”
“That’s enough, Sergeant! Get back to work.” Ghost shut him down swiftly, the word of the lieutenant being final. It didn’t hurt Soap though. In fact, he was used to Ghost reacting this way which he thought was hilarious.
With a chuckle, Soap took his leave out of the room. “Aw well, maybe next time! See you later, Princess.”
As he walked out, you smiled, feeling uplifted by the interaction. Meeting Soap was like meeting an old friend. You hoped that you would be able to meet him again, especially to hear the kinds of things Ghost said about you. For now, you redirected your attention back to Ghost who looked more tired than usual.
“Are you feeling alright, Lieutenant Ghost? You look like you need some rest.” You gently pointed out, your brows furrowing in concern. Ghost’s soul warmed up like a fireplace being started at your consideration.
“I’ll be alright. No need to worry about me. You said that you were all ready to go?” He switched topics quickly, not wanting you to worry too much about him. He would catch up on rest later. The most important thing was getting you to a safer place. That would be his safe space to rest too.
You gave a sheepish smile as he redirected the attention onto you. “Indeed. I would prefer to leave sooner rather than later. I hope that me being ready does not rush you.”
He wanted to shower you with praise over you being such a good girl. Ghost was incredibly grateful that you weren’t fussy whatsoever. “No, that’s perfect. We should be getting out of here now.”
An armored car was waiting right outside the palace to take you to the safehouse, already loaded up with just a few suitcases. You weren’t sure how long you were going to be at the safehouse, but you only packed necessities. No formal wear, no jewelry. Nothing that would take up too much space. As you stood on the palace steps, you took a deep breath of fresh air. Birds were chirping excitedly, a slight breeze cut through the would-be heat. It was a perfect day to finally leave your marble prison. Not without protests from your parents, though.
“Are you absolutely sure that this is necessary? I mean, how else will we know that the princess is safe if she is so far away?” Your father nervously blurted, his eyes shifting from Ghost to you to the car in an anxious cycle.
Your mother wasn’t too happy either, though for different reasons that almost had Ghost snap. “How will we know that she is keeping up with her studies?!”
Before Ghost could combat their nerves, you huffed and faced your parents for the first time in your life. This new courage was found in knowing that there was really nothing your parents could do to stop this from happening. “Mother, father, I will be perfectly safe. I will continue to study as usual. However, this will also be a great chance for me to learn what the world is really like outside of the palace. We won’t do anything unsafe, so please, just let me learn what I need to learn.”
For a moment, there was pure silence between everyone. No one was expecting you to stand up for yourself, even if it was about time that you did. Then, your father places his hands on your shoulders, his gaze softening. “Y/n, when did you become such a wonderful young woman? It was only yesterday that I was holding you in my arms for the first time.”
Your eyes widened for a second, not expecting your father to become so affectionate all of a sudden. He was certainly more affectionate than your mother, though, you couldn’t remember the last time your father told you that he loved you. You blinked back tears he pulled you in for a sweet hug as if you were leaving forever.
As Ghost watched, he felt his anger begin to melt. As much as he hated the decisions your parents made regarding your life, at least he knew that it came from a place of love. At least for the case of your father. Your mother, on the other hand, still had a sour look on her face. Thankfully, she kept her mouth shut in a tight line.
“Lieutenant, keep my daughter safe.” The king ordered to which Ghost gave a firm nod to. He would rather lose his life than have you in danger again.
After you pulled away and said your final goodbyes, you got into the armored car. Ghost got into the driver’s seat and started it up, eager to help you see the world outside of the palace walls. As you looked out the window, seeing your parents get smaller and smaller with the distance, you felt a surge of excitement run through you.
Ghost noticed how your demeanor changed. Now without the pressures of royal conformity, you were free to be yourself. More courageous. It seemed like you had some bark and bite in you as well after all. He wanted to know you even more. “You wanna choose the music for the ride?”
You perked up at his offer, eagerly nodding your head as he handed you his phone that was already connected to the car’s bluetooth system. After perusing some options, you settled on a playlist that surprised Ghost. Even under the mask, you could tell that he was questioning your choice. “I want to hear all kinds of music. I want to hear every single song that was banned for me.”
He gave a chuckle for the first time that you’ve been together. The sound had your heart skip a beat. You didn’t even know that he was capable of laughing with how serious he looked all the time. “Very well. I’ll make sure you get your chance to experience anything you want that you normally wouldn’t.”
You bit your lip, trying to contain the utter joy you felt, completely forgetting that your life was in danger just for the moment.
~
It was a long drive to the safehouse in the deep countryside. Your eyes were trained on the views through the window like it was television. You never knew how pretty your country looked. The architecture was classic with plenty of brick buildings and natural curvatures. There were plenty of sidewalks to cater to pedestrian travel rather than cars. Ivy vines with flowers crawled on the side of buildings, the natural beauty of nature colliding with man-made structures.
There were plenty of open-air markets as well. Produce stands, custom art pieces, coffee trucks. Everything was conveniently available, no matter if you were heading home from work or just taking a stroll. As you passed a farmer’s market, you noticed how busy it seemed with families. Kids running around, parents picking out ingredients, business owners offering samples to treat the good children.
Ghost noticed how you looked out the window, longing to join the streets to really experience what life was like. He debated if it would be safe to allow a little time for you to explore. He wasn’t keen on the idea of so many people around you. However, if he stuck close to you, then it should be fine, right? Besides, how could he deny the pretty little look you gave as you yearned for a little adventure.
Before you knew it, Ghost found somewhere to park and got out of the car. Then, he opened your door and held his hand out for you to take. “Just for a little while, okay? Stick close to me.”
The smile you gave was so big and bright that it almost hurt your cheeks. You couldn’t help it, though. Ghost was granting you one of your biggest wishes. You took his hand and stepped out of the car, taking in the sounds of the city. People conversing, bike bells ringing, dogs barking. It was unlike anything you have ever heard.
Obeying his orders, you did stick close to Ghost, your arm naturally looping around his without much thought. This was the usual hold for an escort that you have performed many times. It was a natural instinct as Ghost led the way to the farmer’s market. That wasn’t to say that you didn’t notice how strong his muscles felt underneath his shirt. You definitely felt how hard your heart pounded as he held you just as securely to his side.
When he paused to swap out his balaclava for the skeleton face mask that he wore at the party, you nearly tripped over yourself. In the natural light of the sun, his blonde hair seemed brighter like sunshine itself. His eyes seemed more open as well. Warmer. You blushed and stared down at the sidewalk for a moment, trying to catch your breath that he ended up stealing from you.
“Everything alright? Having second thoughts?” He wondered, compassion present in his voice as you all of a sudden seemed shy.
With a shake of your head and a smile, you reassured him. “I’m fine. Just eager is all.”
With that, he led you into the market that was flooding with people. Ghost kept a careful eye out on everyone that passed by. His arm also tightened just a little more firmly to ensure that you didn’t get separated from him. As you walked, your eyes scanned over all of the products up for sale. Baked goods, ripe fruit, crocheted clothes, beautiful art. Before you knew it, you were dragging Ghost from stall to stall to ensure that you could see everything that the market had to offer.
Ghost found it amusing. He noticed the way your eyes lit up when you tasted a free sample of fresh cheese or juicy apple slices. He noticed the way the corners of your mouth lifted into a grin as you admired the craftsmanship of art. He also noticed when your eyes lingered on a particular homemade hair claw clip that was decorated with pearls, thin gold chains, and delicate flowers.
“You want it.” He pointed out as more of a statement rather than a question. Your cheeks flushed pink, feeling a little embarrassed by your obvious infatuation. The truth was that most of your clothes and jewelry were chosen for you. You were allowed to mix-and-match with what you were given, but you have never really chosen out anything yourself.
“I’m just impressed with the details. It is quite a beautiful hair clip.” You danced around the topic, wanting to seem more humble. However, Ghost didn’t really buy it. With a swift motion, he fished out his wallet from his pocket and took out some bills.
Your mouth opened in shock. “Lieutenant, you don’t have to-”
“It’s fine. Consider it a souvenir for your first real outing.” Ghost dismissed you with ease, handing over the money to the seller. He picked up the hair clip and handed it to you to try on, happy to indulge in your wants.
For a moment, you separated your arm from Ghost to put your hair up, loose tendrils naturally falling to frame your face. You let them be as the rest of your hair was fashioned up with the clip. The seller handed you a small mirror to see your reflection. You almost cried when you saw yourself. You never imagined that your bodyguard would buy you such a wonderful gift. “Thank you, Lieutenant Ghost.”
Ghost found his heart skipping a beat as he took in your new appearance. The clip matched your princess personality perfectly. The delicate chains that dangled down pearl and flower beads guided his eyes to the smooth nape of your neck.
The thought that he wanted to kiss that nape crossed his mind.
Clearing his throat, he took your arm again. “It suits you. Wouldn’t look better on anybody else.”
It was hard not to fall even deeper for him when he complimented you like that. Your heart pounded as you walked beside him again, your steps feeling lighter than air. Nothing else at the market caught your eye as his compliment kept echoing in your head, turning your feelings into goo.
As the market neared closing time, the amount of people began to dwindle down. Ghost felt his shoulders fall, feeling more at ease with less people around. Circling back around, he led you back to the produce stalls, wondering what ingredients he should pick up for the safehouse.
The safehouse would be stocked with food, but not with a lot of fresh ingredients. He wanted to continue making this a good day for you with a homemade dinner rather than whatever TV dinners were waiting in the freezer. He wasn’t a chef by any means, having spent most of his life eating MREs and military canteen food. At the very least, he could make you something simple yet good.
Remembering the cheese you seemed to enjoy as a sample and how it was tomato season, Ghost picked out all the necessary ingredients to make homemade tomato soup and grilled cheeses for tonight. You watched him curiously as he picked everything out before something in the distance caught your attention.
“What kind of bread do you like?” He asked you, holding two different loaves of bread in his hands while he considered the options. When he looked to you for an answer though, he could tell that your gaze was trained far into the distance. He turned to look around, trying to find what you were staring at.
In the distance was a person with a dark hoodie and a bandana covering their face. Bright paint brought color to their sleeves and jeans. The figure was walking away, but it was obvious what they were just up to with what was close to him.
“Shit.” Ghost cursed as he pulled out his phone with Captain Price on speed dial.
The other line was picked up quickly. “Lieutenant?”
“Tagger going east on Clover Street. Black hoodie, blue jeans, red bandana, covered in paint.” He informed, his voice low as he kept an eye on the distant figure. He observed how they walked down the street, waiting for them to change directions if they were planning on it.
“Getting a hold of local cameras now. You’re with the princess?” Captain Price inquired, his hands moving fast to find this figure through the city cameras. Finally, he found the person that Ghost described.
“Affirmative.”
“Sending Gaz to pursue. I recommend that you two get to the safehouse pronto. I didn’t think they would be out in broad daylight.” Price advised, already contacting Gaz to give him his new assignment. Once Gaz accepted the orders, the captain hung up. Ghost knew that his captain needed to focus on this immediately, so he wasn’t offended by the sudden hang-up.
He bought the groceries, now in a bit more of a rush. Securing your arm around his once more, he began to lead you back to the car. “Let’s go, Princess. It’s not safe here anymore.”
Your face fell as the day seemed to be ruined by another case of danger. However, there was something that was bothering you. You noticed the paint on the person’s clothes and a strike of color against one of the brick walls he was near. Curiosity was getting the better of you.
“Wait!” You paused, your stance suddenly strong and pulling back from Ghost.
His bold brows rose as you defied him for the first time. Surely you had a good reason to. “What is it? Something wrong?”
You all of a sudden grew a little shy as his intense eyes bored into you, waiting for your explanation. Despite how bashful you grew, you persisted. “I want to see the graffiti they were making. Can we? Please?
“Oh, Princess, it wasn’t a piece of art they were making.” Ghost said knowingly, flashes of the pictures he’d seen crossing his mind. Tags of revolution. War.
“I still want to see. Please, Lieutenant?” You pleaded, trying to follow your instincts as closely as you could.
With the way you looked at him, it was hard to say no. He wasn’t sure if you knew that there were tags around the whole city calling for your head. Probably not since your parents didn’t tell you the truth about your life being in serious danger. But. . . he supposed that you deserved to see them just this one time. This was your country after all. “As long as we’re quick. You have to stay close to me too. Got it?”
You eagerly nodded and latched onto his arm, letting him swiftly guide you to the spots of paint on brick in the distance. As you got closer, you could make out specific shapes and color switches. Getting even closer proved Ghost wrong.
This was art.
You stared in awe at the giant mural before you. A crow with a golden crown in its ebony beak. Feathers wrapped in fire and barbed wire. The crow was about to drop the crown into a pit of hell below it, filled with skulls, demons, hellfire, and sharp blades. Ghost was surprised as well. The pictures he saw depicted small tags here and there of the crows. Here, this was a full blown work of art.
Your free hand drifted up to touch the now colorful bricks. The paint was still a little tacky, but nothing that would stain you. As you looked up, drinking in every detail, Ghost watched you. He was nervous about what you were going to say.
What you did say startled him. “Crows are a symbol of transformations, prophecies, and death.”
“Your mother said the opposite, save for death.”
“For her, death is an inescapable darkness. Evil. In reality, crows can bring fortune during bad times. Death is good fortune since it is a new beginning. This message isn’t a threat. It’s hope.” You concluded, tracing the swooping beak with your fingers. The shadows and highlights made the crow look almost three-dimensional.
Ghost wasn’t sure how to respond. He normally had an answer for any situation, yet what you said stumped him. How could he respond to something so poetically profound?
You did give him something new to look into though. He would find the time to talk to his team about it later. For now, he had to finally take you to the safe house. “Come on, we gotta get moving.”
~
The drive through the countryside was long and soothing. Ghost took control of the music once you began to doze off. Something light at a low volume was played so you could continue sleeping peacefully. You had a long day out. You probably burned a lot more energy than what you were used to as well.
Once the car hit the dirt road, you stirred awake. The stars were beginning to come out, having driven for hours. You were surrounded by endless fields of local wildflowers with only the occasional tree. While you did love the looks of the city, there was something to love about the countryside too. The land that felt infinite made you feel like you could do anything. You were eager to see what the land looked like during a beautiful sunrise.
Soon, the car pulled up at a rustic cottage with a large shed beside it. Ghost stepped out of the car for a second to open it up, turning it into a garage that would just barely fit the vehicle. Once the car was parked, you were led into the house.
A thin layer of dust hung in the air along with the fresh scent of nearby wildflowers. The cottage contained the essentials as far as you could tell. A living room, a kitchen, two bathrooms, and two bedrooms. Generically decorated, yet cozy compared to the sterile fanciness of the palace.
Ghost brought the luggage in, setting yours in the bedroom of your choosing. He gave you some time to unpack and settle in while he got started on dinner.
As you placed some of your clothes in one of the empty dressers, the fact that you would be living with your bodyguard for who knew how long began to hit you. Your heart picked up speed along with your breath. Not that you expected anything to happen or develop between the two of you, a part of you still had a sense of hope that your relationship would grow stronger at the very least.
Before heading back out towards the kitchen, you caught your reflection in a bedroom mirror. The hair clip was still fastened to your hair, giving you butterflies. It was still hard to believe that he had bought you a gift so easily like it costed him nothing. You could’ve sworn that he seemed a little stunned when it was in your hair too. In a good way.
Ghost was a gentleman. He was just being kind. He wouldn’t do anything that could be considered unprofessional or unfriendly.
Bodyguard protecting a princess. That’s all your relationship will ever be. Right?
-
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Fool Me Once (part 5)
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (Aegon ii x reader 👀) (wc: 6k)
Summary: As the further truths are uncovered, the battle for the Iron Throne begins
A/N: soooo, I said part 5 would be the last part, but in typical annoying writer fashion I’m not so sure now 😭. Either way, I truly cannot express how grateful I am for all the followers, and support I have received since starting it. I consider fmo my brain child but our baby with how interactive people have been. I’d love to get feedback or request on what hotd stuff you guys want to see from me. My inbox is always open so please let me know how you liked fmo (any thoughts or headcanons) and what you want to see 🫶🏽
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“We should run away to Yi-Ti.”
You look up from Aemond’s desk at Aegon with an exasperated expression. It was not the first time Aegon had thrown out the idea of leaving King’s Landing for good. There always an idealistic nature about Aegon that is as sweet as it is delusional. You know the guilt he would feel about leaving, and he knows you would too.
I have a dragon we can who can drop us anywhere. I can shave my head and we can change our identities
“You are supposed to help me be looking for this map,” Not bothering to give the same speech you tell him every time he brings it up.
Gently placing everything where you found it, you squat down to check the cabinets of the desk. Aemond kept his study annoyingly tidy, and you are sure we would notice if anything were out of place. The last thing you need is another argument.
There are multiple books, all of them relating to Westerosi histories, and a plethora of written works of poetry. Nothing stands out till you find a pile of letters. Your throat tightens. It shouldn’t hurt anymore, but now the situation has moved past just Aemond wanting to be with someone else. It affects your kids, your relationship with everyone in the family.
You are just tired, and you just want it end. Or at least to have some sort of closure through an explanation or an apology. You are not holding your breath for the later.
With a sigh, you sit, slumped against the wall. Across from the desk. Noticing you are out of his view, Aegon walks around the desk and sits next to you. The two of you sit in silence before Aegon speaks.
“We can skip dinner,” he suggests softly. “I am sure our absence will not be noticed.”
It is a lie. You both know that if you do not show up, you will be in for an earful from Alicent. Especially now that Viserys has finally worked up the strength to leave his chambers. Aegon reaches over to grab your hand. You look at the large ring on his pinkie finger. The golden scales an ode to Sunfyre. Even with all the problems Aegon has with family, he has always fully embraced his dragon. A bond you have never seen before between rider and dragon. You run your hand over the cool metal.
“You know, despite my hesitance towards dragons, sometimes I am envious of you guys for having them.” you laugh flatly. “It is not even the beasts themselves, but everything they represent. This strange strength that means you are better than everyone else. A free pass for destruction.”
The past year and a half had been a sobering one. You feel so disconnected from yourself. Depleted by actions outside of your control.
“But then I think maybe it is good I do not have a dragon; or more so I do not have the power that comes along with it. I have spent my whole life doing exactly what I was supposed to, just to still get dealt a hand of misfortune,” you murmur emotionless. “I fear that there was tiny seed of hate put in me when I first found out about Aemond’s actions, and that everything that has happened since has only made me more bitter and revengeful. I was told that fighting wrong doings with more destruction was never the answer. I do not know how much I believe that now.”
You look over at Aegon with an illegible look in your eyes. “I would go mad with the things I would do with that kind of power.”
Aegon swallows thickly. Honestly, his first instinct is to make a joke. You, the girl who got teary eyed when she learned about the field of sheep kept in the Red Keep for the dragons, speaking with such gravity. But his eyes travel to the faded scar on your arm and back up to you. The harm done to yourself, grief-stricken eyes, and tired frown. He’s only seen that type of look on his mother. The most persistent person he has ever known, and probably will ever know. She wakes up every day to tend to a man that has never done right by her and run a kingdom she did not want in the first place. There is a simmering type hate in your eyes that he is sure only comes from being around his family for too long.
He wonders if this is how his mother felt when she had him. Young, exhausted, and utterly pissed.
“You are not the only one who feels that way,” he softly. “But - you cannot let it get the best of you. Once you get in that place, it is hard to get out.”
You know he speaks from experience. Resentment leaves a bad taste in the mouth of those who feel like life has let them down.
You want to say that another worry is what will happen if you ever find equal footing with the men in your life. Would the spell wear off you were a flight risk? Would you be seen as a volatile powder keg if not a maiden to come to the defense of? Would you be seen as the prize in his eyes if you were not in the position you ate in? In that moment, you think you should tell him about what you let his grandsire do. If anyone would understand, it would be Aegon. Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder.
You do not have the words for that just yet.
————
The search for the map in Aemond’s study goes unsuccessful. You decide to change tactics. There is a slight uneasiness you get digging through his things in the chambers. Soft whiff of lavender and citrus hit you nose as you look through folded clothes of his. You heart rate spikes when you see a scroll of thin parchment. Looking back to check the door, you then unroll the paper.
There is various lines and arrows, but the words are all in high Valyrian. You have picked up and word here and there since being in the Red Keep, but not well enough translate every word. Instead, you follow the arrows. Walking around the room in a way you are sure would look silly to someone if they walked in.
You find yourself in front of the small outline wall next to your clothing wardrobe. Blinking blankly at the wall, you frown. You run your fingers gently across the fabric on the wall. The deep red and gold stitching smooth under your hands. You push harder than intended and gasp when the wall swings open.
In front of you are stairs that lead down a pathway. A tunnel. You do not venture too far, but you see where the path is leading to. Daemon had given Aemond a direct line to outside the Red Keep. And a direct line for anyone to come in.
But why?
As you walk down the tunnel, something shiny catches your eye on ground. You pick up a single earring. A gold plaited coin earring. It is oddly familiar, but you cannot seem to put your finger on who it belongs to.
All you do know is that someone has been using the tunnel recently.
A part of you wanted to storm through the castle and find Aemond. Have him explain what the Seven Hells has been going on. Or if he even used the tunnels. But you surprise yourself when you knock on the Hand’s study door. Perhaps he is not the best person to go to in this state. You know it is not comfort you will find. But for all his faults, Otto Hightower will tell you want you need to hear or at least you will have his ear.
You are now not naive to how much Lord Hightower seems to want to keep you around.
After it was decided Aemond and you were to get married, you were not clueless enough not see the clear advantages not only for you house, but also for his. Your only naive thought being the mutual benefit would keep you safe or protected.
When you walk into the study, you find Otto sitting at his desk, staring out of the window. You know Viserys’ surprise appearance at the petition hearings rattled him as much as it pleased Rhaenyra and her family. You do not know where to begin or what you are even expecting of this conversation.
“Did you know about the tunnels,” you blurt suddenly. “The ones that run under the castle.”
In typical Otto fashion, his face does not give anything away. But he does shake his head, and gestures for you to continue.
“I…. I think Prince Daemon may have had something to do with my… problem.”
That makes Otto lean forward in his seat, the mention of Daemon clearly stirring something in him. You aren’t ready to put anything on Princess Rhaenyra yet. Partly because you are still wonder where her limits are opposed to seeing exactly how Daemon operates. And because just saw what happens when you question Rhaenyra, even if you have proof or a valid criticism.
“And if they had something to do with her, I cannot help but wonder if they had something to do with what happened to Alaric’s blanket,” you still shudder thinking about it.
You already had a deep sense of guilt since giving Otto the go ahead to find Alys. Taking a life is not something you want on your hand and conscious, and it only doubles knowing how this all could have been a perfectly plotted scheme. Your anger at your husband reaches a new level. Whether Alys was the shiny poisoned apple or a woman in love that has gone rouge, this still involves your kids.
“It seems your family’s influence is something many have noticed,” Otto finally speaks, voice gravely and tone even.
Your brows furrow. “They think threatening my son is going to make me tell my parents or uncle to back Rhaenyra’s claim?”
Your grandsire was an old man by the time Rhaenyra was named heir; your uncle took over for your house shortly after that time. And your uncle was just as thrilled as your parents when you married Aemond, clearly excited to have familiar ties to the Targaryen family. Now that you thought about it, you had never asked him where he stood when it comes to Rhaenyra being heir. But based on knowing how your family acquired their wealth and how they operate, they have never been ones to stray from tradition. Despite your grandsire bending the knee to Rhaenyra, you get the feeling everything is up the air especially with you being the good sister to the other possible claim.
“No, dear girl,” Otto sighs, eyes growing tired. “But I am sure they think you feeling unsafe here and having no love for your husband’s actions will.”
Your mind goes back to Rhaenyra’s offer. You are always welcomed at Dragonstone.
They hoped you would seek refuge in them, and in turn feel compelled to drop any allegiance you have to this side of the family. Did they know about how close you had grown to Aegon or to Helaena? Or that even through this turbulent time, you still find yourself having a soft spot for Alicent. You are sure they would reassure your safety if you ever switched side, but you know your safety was not a priority to them. Only the men or ships that would come with it.
“I am not shocked Daemon would go to such lengths, if true,” Otto says. “I would say I am shocked Rhaenyra would go along with it, but the Princess has always found a way to involve herself in things while feign innocence.”
His words make you raise a brow. You never knew if the Hand’s anger towards the Princess came from how she treated Alicent or his grandchildren, or if it came from the pressure he felt to get Aegon on the throne. Perhaps it is Alicent, even all this time and animosity, still craving a relationship with Rhaenyra that eats him up the most.
“You do not need to worry about that. Everything will be put to rest once the rightful heir is put on the throne, and any possible threats have been ridden,” his tone turns stern. You scoff sardonically in response. This is never going to end till there is a clear winner, and win to means there was a fight. War. That would only start if…
“The Queen would never let you do that. Usurp the throne or kill Rhaenyra,” you say immediately. Otto eyes narrow; the tell. It will always be Rhaenyra for his daughter, and it burns him inside. But that can be used in your favor. “Not unless she had more reason to. Rhaenyra could be a good queen for all we know, but her brazenness will always be her pitfall. Now she has Daemon at her side. Spilled blood is clearly not something he is worried about.”
You sit back in your chair and think for a second. Entitlement is like a dangerous herbal, and many members of this family get off on it.
“If you want Aegon on the throne, it may be best to take your time with this. Give Rhaenyra the chance to do what you think she does best… mess it up.”
By the time the power struggle between Rhaenyra and Daemon finally comes to fruition, maybe Aegon think differently. Your mind goes to Aemond, stewing silently about how his brother manages to get everything handed to him. You bite back a smile. Is a miserable existence to always be in the cards for him? If being with you is so terrible to him, maybe that is exactly what he deserves.
“I think I know how to start this off.”
———
You leave Otto’s study, but not before he leaves you with a long, meaningful glance and tells you he needs to discuss somethings with others. You assume it is the council, but you have a feeling his daughter is not privy to that.
The next time you see everyone is at dinner. Your eyes strained on the empty plate in front of you. A sick feeling coming over you every time you look down the table at Daemon and Rhaenyra. A large gap for the king between Rhaenyra and Alicent.
There is something unsettling about how everyone seems to think what happened in the Grand Hall was nothing. You all saw a man beheaded, and now are to sit down to a "family meal" at the behest of the King. The only mention of Vaemond comes in a prayer from Alicent; you catch the eyeroll given by Daemon. The lives of others are expendable if it prolongs or prompts up whatever claim is being fought for.
False promises do nothing to move you while that is all that makes up the Targaryen family. False promises to make up for future deceit. The gull of Viserys to plea for peace when many the broken relationships in the family can be tied to him. Tied to his indecisive, feeble reign as a king. The King That Never Should Have Been perhaps.
A sick sense of irony rushes over you watching his rioting body and empty eye socket while sitting next to Aemond. You have learned that the Gods can be deliciously cruel.
The crown not stand strong is the House of the Dragon remains divided
It’s all flowery words that seem to go in one ear and out the other for your peers. You can tell by the way Aegon’s eyes gloss over, Helaena brows burrow as she fiddles with whatever butterfly Aegon gave her, and how Aemond’s back stiffens that this final push for family unity comes too late. But it seems that all the older adults in the room are moved by the Viserys' speech, or at least Alicent and Rhaenyra are.
You and Otto, sitting across from each other, share a look when Alicent says that Rhaenyra would make a fine queen. The Queen and Princess exchange shy smiles and peripheral glances; for a moment, they look like young girls, untarnished by the world around them.
Your eyes catch Jacaerys’, and he gives you a warm smile. You try to replicate it to the best of your ability. None of Rhaenyra or Daemon’s children have done anything to make you suspicious of them, especially Baela and Rhaena. But you do notice how Lucerys never seems to look you in the eyes. You are still trying to figure out if that is a byproduct of you being Aemond’s wife or if he is privy to information.
When you were receiving offers for your hand, Jacaerys’ name had come up by members of your house but was instantly shut down by your parents. Though the idea of you being future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was tempting, but they did want to risk the embarrassment of the worst kept secret being spoken. Marrying a bastard was not the vision they had for you, Queen or not.
But when the music behinds, you do get an idea.
“I going to dance,” you whisper to Aemond.
“You know I do not like dancing,” Aemond sighs, and Aegon gives you a look at the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes at him. You remember the lecture his mother had to give him before the wedding festivities about being a good sport, and dancing with you.
“I never said I wanted to dance with you,” you hiss at him, and get up. You feel Aemond and Aegon watching you as you walk to Jace.
“I was wondering if we could dance,” you hold your hand out. Eyes going from Jace to Baela. “If your betrothed is fine with it of course.”
Baela gives you a good-natured shrug and smile. Jace looks surprised by your offer, but nonetheless grabs your hand and leads you to the free area near the table. You turn back briefly to see Aegon and Aemond look at you with mirrored looks of disbelief and disgust. You have duck your head to keep from laughing.
“I have to warn you I am not much of dancer,” Jace smiles as you begin to dance. “But I am sure I cannot be any worse than my uncle.”
You raise a brow at the comment but say nothing. While you are dancing, you see Viserys get carried out. The fact that he has lived to this point is a marvel… and a confusion. He refuses to go away.
“I do hope after that all of this, our families can see each other more often,” he lowers his voice slightly. The sentence seemed sincere enough, but he has also grown up having pretend half of him does not exist. If it is something Alicent and Rhaenyra’s children have in common, it is knowing when to put on a front. They learned it beautifully from their mothers. “I am sure Daella would appreciate seeing Dragonstone. And the girls would love you around.”
There is that mention of Dragonstone again. Before you can even reply, a commotion disturbs you. You turn to see Aemond standing with a drink in his hand.
“I want to make some final tributes,” a small smirk comes onto his face, and his eye flicks over to you. “First, to my dear wife. A gracious mother, and always keeps me on my toes.”
Your face gets hot when everyone’s eyes turn to you. Alicent looks at her son with a nervous look in her big eyes, confused by his sudden need to speak after a dinner of silence.
“And to health of my nephews - Jace, Luke, and Joffrey,” a sinking feeling comes into your stomach. There’s a glint in Aemond’s eye that you recognize all too well, and know not to trust. You see Jace’s shoulders tense at the mention of him and his brothers. “Each of them handsome, wise…. Strong.”
Your throat tightens. Even putting aside, the absolute irony of that coming from him now, you all just saw what happened to someone who questions the parentage of them. And now he is doing here in front of everyone.
“Aemond,” you begin, not even caring to use formalities with him. He cuts you off and continues.
“Come, let us drain our cups to the three Strong boys.”
And of course, to make matters worse, Aegon confidently raises his goblet in the air. They’re imbeciles. Everything seems to happen in slow motion - Jace punching Aemond, Aemond pushing Jace with ease, to out of the corner of your eye, Aegon slamming Luke’s face into the table. You wince at the scene before you as Helaena gets up to move you out of the way of the guards restraining Jace and Luke.
Alicent and Rhaenyra both get up from the table, yelling at their boys to stop. You take notice of the roasted pig on the table; you had heard about the pink dread prank from Helaena. It was never something you pushed with Aemond or Aegon, knowing it led to a large rift in their relationship. You know they love each other; you can tell by the way they backed each other up that they do. They just do not have the words to express their love, or their pain.
A dinner that was meant to bring everyone together ruined. There will probably always be too much bad blood, and not enough honest or apologies for reconciliation. Before Daemon leaves the room after staring Aemond down, he gives you a smile filled with mirth. A chill runs up your spine.
You watch as Alicent all but walks up to Rhaenyra, eyes soft and pleading. She gently rubs her arm as they smile at each other.
With the dinner going wrong, Aemond stalking out of the room, and learning about the map - everything seems to be put into perspective. As you watch your good mother, you wonder if that is how you will be with Aemond. Always waiting and ready for reconciliation, even despite mistreatment. Foolishly dismissive to how you can be hurt again if it means just moments of reprieve. Or maybe a better comparison would be Rhaenyra and Daemon. Knowing exactly what situation you got into, but still finding yourself wanting more because you thought you would be the exception. Both scenarios mean being in a constant loop of love and hate, praying for the day you reach apathy.
Rhaenyra seems to share Alicent’s warm disposition. Everything is warm and lovely when Rhaenyra smile. She is the Realm’s Delight for a reason. Even with the little time you have spent around Rhaenyra, you see how she operates. It is the way all Targaryens are treat her like the world revolves around her, and she’s yours. Entitlement and confidence used to mask a hallow shell, a trait she shares with her husband.
The possible reconnection of old companions would be a sweet affair. Instead, you finally get the complaining Aegon does about his half-sister. To hear the praises of those who have little regard for you.
Daemon giving Aemond the map, Alys introduction into your life, Rhaenyra telling you Dragonstone will always be a place you can go, and your families ties to this family are all connected. The same way your marriage to Aemond was always leading to something.
It was always a question you pondered since coming to the Red Keep. Does the Iron Throne corrupt those who vie for it or do those who vie for it corrupt the Crown itself?
Now not only have you been caught in the crossfire, but you children as well. And who knows what will come of the rest of your family once King Viserys dies. One thing you do know is that you will not leave any stone unturned by the time Rhaenyra tries to sit the throne. If your involvement is what they want, your involvement is what they will get. If your happiness and well-being is worth the price of the throne, what would happen if it was taken away right when she had it? Like your stability or sanity, ripped away without any caution or care.
This power that Rhaenyra is sure is hers to claim. The one that those want so badly for Aegon. The seat Aemond watches enviously as Aegon scoffs at the idea of it.
“Princess Rhaenyra,” you call out after her before she leaves the dining hall. You reach out to grab her hand in a similar manner to Alicent. “I want to talk with you about Dragonstone.”
If they are willing to rip each other apart for the Iron Throne, so be it.
Aegon and Aemond stare at you like you have three heads when you tell them about wanting to stay at Dragonstone. Aegon goes as far as to giggle at your proposal. His eyes wild and glossy from the abundance of wine.
A part of you thought maybe you should just leave, but you know them. There is nowhere you can go that they cannot find you on dragon back. Plus, you still had to explain everything to your parents. You let them in on you leaving while holding some cards to your chest. Their faces go through a mirage of expressions. Aegon's brows shooting up when you mention the tunnels and Daemon while Aemond's going painfully stoic. You know he does not want you or Aegon to get a read on what he is thinking.
"So, you think Daemon and by extension Rhaenyra knew about the Strong whore, and wanted you to be upset enough to leave," Aegon begins sardonically, and Aemond's eye flickers to him when he says whore. "And in response.... you are leaving. Wow dearest, you are really sticking it to them."
You glare at him. You know he is hurt that you are leaving, even if it is for a short time. He is upset that this all leads back to the throne. For every part of Aegon that is loyal and loves deeply, there are parts that are equally selfish. It hits you that Aegon has never had to try with relationships; the only ones he knows are with women that are his family or with ones where he can buy their affection. Those women have no choice but to be around. But you are leaving, and without him… that would be a blow he would not recover from.
"I am not going for long, and I will be taking Quinton with me," you say, and Aegon rolls his eyes in response. "They involved my son, so I will get to the bottom of it."
"I'm sure Jace will be thrilled to hear it," he scoffs.
"You have no right to be jealous; you are not my husband."
It was cruel to say, and you can tell by the way his resolve turns from anger to bitterness. "I am needlessly reminded of that, thank you."
Your brows furrow at that. Who is reminds him of that? You sigh, running your hands over your face.
“This is punishment. This is because of me.”
Aemond finally speaks up, interrupting your argument with Aegon. He looks away from the fire and at you with a look you have not seen in moons. Sadness. You are sure this news is a lot for him to take in. It would be a lie to say that you are not at least a little happy that he feels uneasy about you possibly leaving. Or a little happy that the love story he had built in his head was not exactly what it seems.
It would serve him right. He felt comfortable enough to do what he has done because there was always the expectation you would be around. Sitting in the Red Keep, taking care of your children and waiting to him to finally come around.
“Give us the room,” you whisper to Aegon. He leaves in a huff, not happy with you. You walk over and sit on the seat opposite to Aemond's.
The only noise that permeates throughout the room is the crackling of the fire in front of you two.
“It is foolish for you to think they would not harm you, especially now,” he starts to fiddle with his fingers, a tick he has picked up from his mother. “You would in place surrounded by her people… by dragons.”
“She would not hurt me. Not now, she wants my family’s support,” you rebut.
He does not answer right away.
“You would be giving her exactly what she wants. Us apart.”
Us. You two have not been an ‘us’ for quite some time, and Aemond referring to you as that makes you chuckle coldly.
“That’s the point, dear husband,” your eyes drift from him to the burning flames. “You know how your sister is. She wants everything entirely too much, and now she has a guard dog, planning and watching her every move. This just one step in her 'preparing' for the throne, and what may happen if she takes it."
“She is not fit for the throne. Neither of them is,” he says bitterly. “It would cut her up inside and out just like it did my….”
He trails off softly. Viserys was never made to be King, but then again who is. By the time everything falls into place, things will be different.
“So, we let it.”
Your conversation is stopped by Quinton opening the door for Jayne.
"Sorry, my lady but your parents were asking for you," she says softly. You notice how her eyes seem to survey the room. Taking inspection of anything and everything in it. Your parents watched Daella and Alaric for you during dinner. You nod in acknowledgment, but as you get up you notice the necklace she wears.
A gold plaited coin dangling on a dainty gold chain, perfectly matching the earring you found in the tunnel. Your blood runs cold.
"Thank you, Jayne," you stand up slowly as your eyes go to Aemond. You hope he can read something, anything from the look in your eyes. Your eyes travel to the wall where the secret door is. His eye looks at you, then to Jayne, and you watch him swallow and sink back into the chair.
"Ser Quinton, if you do not mind staying," Aemond says softly, going back to staring at the fire. "I have something I need you to tend to."
Quinton gives you a skeptical look, knowing the tense history between him and Aemond but you give him a reassuring smile.
Maybe it is time Quinton proves his unwavering loyalty to you.
“I just need…. to get away,” it was not a complete lie. On top of having things to figure out, you were looking forward to getting away from the Red Keep. Even if it was to Dragonstone of all places.
Your father had giving you a skeptical look when you mentioned going to Dragonstone. You tell him this the perfect time for him to stay in King’s Landing in your stead. You whisper to him to stay close to the Hand and to Prince Aegon. When his resolve still did not chance, you told him about this being an opportunity for Daella to get connected to her ancestral home, and he understood. He always has a soft heart when it comes to his grandchildren.
It was your mother who gave you the most grief about the proposition. She stays in the room after your father has left.
“I do not think it is appropriate you leave your husband,” she sighs. “Especially at a time like this.”
It has always been her concern. Your allegiance to Aemond and in turn to the who she thinks should sit the throne. A part of you wants to tell her the plan. Maybe rub in her face that Aegon wants you.
But you know you would not be met with an impressed gaze or her questioning how your life has come to this place. Instead, she would ask why you haven’t debased yourself for him yet? Why haven’t you jumped at the chance to be in his bed, in his mind, under his skin the way real lovers do. Sometimes you look at Aegon and ask yourself the same questions. The most frustrating part is you know he would take you up on it. Aegon would indulge the most depraved parts of you because those of the ones he likes the most.
Your mother always manages to seep her way into things that should be good for you. It happened moons ago when you first became friends with Helaena. It is how you are in this mess now. Telling her about Aegon before the right time would be fatal. A blow to your plan, and the last remaining pieces of your heart.
“Perhaps he can come with you?”
“The point is to have some time away from each other. He thinks it would do us some good too.” Your spine feels tight as you are painfully aware of your posture in front of her, “The Princess offered, and it would be rude not take her up on it. She is till the heir till otherwise.”
Your mother stares at you for a moment. She scrutinizes every part of your face, the face she gave you wholly. Her only daughter. The person she has invested so much in.
“You always do this,” she starts coldly. “Shrivel up when things do not go your way. You have so much put in front of you, and you do so little with it. Leaving your husband when things are tough? I thought I raised you better than that.”
A lump grows in your throat. You are taken back to your wedding day. Your mother talking you through a panic attack, telling you to think of your future. That not going through with the marriage means throwing away years of work. In the end, you walked down the aisle. You followed through, and now the debt comes due. You are her biggest star, and her gravest disappointment.
Everything she could have had, and nothing she ever was at your age. You know your mother is happy with her position now, later in life. Reaping the benefits of your father’s house, but it was not always like that. There was never an opportunity to be draped in silk or have the ear of the royal family when she was your age.
“When this does not work, I hope you will not go running to your father.”
And with that she gets up and leaves you in the kids’ room.
You flinch when the door slams. As you sit in silence, you wonder if you would have gotten a different response if you told her about Alys. Maybe she would have pulled you into her arms like she did when you were younger. Deep down, you know she would have asked you what you did wrong; what did you do to make Aemond want to find comfort in another woman. Regardless of the pretenses, he still jumped at the first chance he got at something he saw as real. She would see it as a sign of failure on her part. She did not instill the right values in you to keep your husband happy. She has a funny way of flipping everything on its head, and yet you still crave any validation from her.
Your mother is as cruel as she is dutiful. As cold as she is charming. And as calculating as she is hurt and wounded by the world, she grew up in. The more your plan falls into place the more you find solace.
You are your mother’s daughter.
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#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen#hotd imagine#aemond fic#aegon ii x reader#aegon x reader
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Saw your NSFW alphabet post!
Uhh Denji(Csm), Reigen(ms100), and saitama(Opm) with the letters I, V, K, Y? If that’s not too much?
Also, can I be 🦑anon?
N$FW Alphabet Mini Event
So many 😍
(5/10)
Denji x Top!Male!Reader
Arataka Reigen x Top!Male!Reader
Saitama x Top!Male!Reader
I= Intimacy (how are they during the moment?)
Denji| not romantic at all. He'll just be whining like a baby that he wanted to have sex with a girl, but he calms down after you threaten him with leaving him like that on his own.
Denji is new to sex, straight or gay sex, he just doesn't know much, so he lets you do everything while he complains or holds in his moans.
After the first few times, he starts to get more into it and craves your touch, he loves it when you hold him close and he gets to press his face on your chest, flat or not.
Reigen| very, very shy. He's a blushing, stuttering mess.
He constantly whimpers and hides his face from your intense gaze, he starts tearing up if you keep telling him you wanna see him and hear his moans, but in the end, with tears running down his red cheeks, he moves his hands away and squeals when you pin them to the sides of his head, watching him come undone under you.
If you let him go, he gets really clingy and doesn't want you to move away from him, he loves the feeling of your body on top of his, crying against your neck.
Saitama| okay, when you're trying to hint at him he's definitely clueless, he has no idea what you're trying to do and why you keep getting so close to him.
He doesn't realize that your lingering touches mean something else, so it's a little frustrating on your end, so once you let out an "I wanna make love to you!" he finally gets it.
Now you're seeing a side of Saitama you've never really seen.
He gets shy and flustered, which wake his body more sensitive.
However... I do hope you have a body of steel because he can't measure his strength when he's overwhelmed.
V= Volume (how loud they are? what sounds they make?)
Denji| loud. Really loud. Even if you're covering his mouth, he's still too loud.
He's not doing it on purpose though, the movement of your hips against his has him releasing such lewd moans and whines, and he doesn't care if you press his face further into the pillow to quiet him down.
Reigen| well, it's one or the other, he's loud or he's quiet, and it depends on how you're fucking him honestly.
He tends to get more vocal when he's just too horny and needy, but then he's shy and quiet when you've been indulging him, but if you want him to be louder, he'll be a little bit louder for you.
However, once he gets into it, you're gonna have to be mindful of where you are fucking, because he will not quiet down.
Saitama| rather quiet. It usually just breathy moans and gasps, but on the occasion you get him to release a loud moan, he'll instantly cover his mouth and look away, embarrassed that he let out such a loud sound, of course, you wanna hear him more so you purposely fuck him hard, just the way you know it'll make him uncover his mouth to hold onto you or grip the sheets.
K= Kinks (one or more of their kinks)
Denji| for some reason... I feel like he's into breeding, something about feeling your cum filling him up is enough to make him cum untouched.
Size kink is also something he's into, he just loves looking down and seeing your cock pressing against his abdomen, or just the sheer size of your body looming over his. May have been that longing for someone to protect him when he was a kid, but he feels safe when you hold him.
(He's still unsure himself about what kinks he has but he's willing to try anything)
Reigen| pet play, I don't make the rules.
At first, he would call you master or sir as a way to tease you, but the moment you held his face and called him "bunny" he melted.
Along to go with the play, we have feminization. Who wouldn't want to see Reigen in a sexy bunny girl costume, wearing a collar around his neck? I certainly wouldn't mind.
Oh! Orgasm control, he loves it when ton control when he can cum, if you let him cum at all, the way his body shivers as he cums makes his eyes roll back and his mind goes blank.
Saitama| even though he could easily free himself, he loves how vulnerable he feels when he's restrained.
Bondage is something Saitama enjoys, mainly because he can take any kind of pain you inflict onto him, but when he can't see you and you're just being so gentle makes his body tingle.
Power play, he likes to act as such a tough, strong guy, only to get his ass handed to him when you have him pinned down, fucking into him roughly.
Ooh~? Food play~? Something about licking chocolate syrup off your cock makes his body weak, and if you do the same thing to him? He's done for.
Y= Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Denji| high. He's horny pretty much all the time, sometimes he gets touchy and clingy when you are having dinner/breakfast with Aki and Power.
Denji is pretty obvious when he honey and, even if those two know what you're gonna be doing, you'll rather have sex somewhere else, you find a love hotel nearby or just go to your house/apartment.
Denji just doesn't think he'll ever be able to get over how good sex with you feels.
Reigen| only when he's bored and has pretty much nothing to do, or if he's stressed and nothing helps him.
Those are usually the times when he's feeling horny, but anytime you are, he's willing to drop whatever he's doing to have you fuck him.
Saitama| never. You will not see Saitama actively trying to have sex or being horny at all, it is usually you who's the horny boyfriend.
Even so, you have to keep in mind that Saitama can go for a long time, he has too much stamina, and you are gonna have issues keeping up with him, so it's more of a "are you physically capable to keep up with him?" than just "I'm horny, wanna smash?" type of thing
#.🦑 anon#.lee's mini event.#denji x reader#denji x male reader#chainsaw man x reader#chainsaw man x male reader#arataka reigen x reader#arataka reigen x male reader#mob psycho 100 x reader#mob psycho 100 x male reader#saitama x reader#saitama x male reader#one punch man x reader#one punch man x male reader#male reader#reader insert#x reader
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Ken plays board games with gn!Reader
Gif by @dilfgifs
A/N: I have so many ideas about Ken exploring the Real World I don't think my notes are big enough for it…
Summary: Ken plays Uno for the first time, and the Real World Reader helps him out.
Word count: 657 words;
Have a good reading!
Ken never played board games. Of course, in Barbieland he had… Cards that had to be placed on top of other cards of the same type without any rules? Well, I think everyone will agree that this is a bit outside the scope of the conventional notion of board games, so the bottom line is still the same: Ken has never played a real board game. And you, as his Real World tour guide, decided to fix that by starting with elementary Uno.
"Ken…" You tried your best to hold back the urge to look at Ken's cards that he had so naively put on display. And also laughter. Because his carelessness could not but cheer you up. "You need to hide your cards or I can spy on them and beat you easily."
"Oh".
Ken turned them upside down in an instant.
"You didn't get to see them, did you?"
You finally opened your eyes and looked unhindered into Ken's worried face.
“No, don't worry. I'll win in a fair fight, so… And now it's my turn.'
You didn't have a choice, so you laid out the color selection card. In fact, you stuck it out until the very end because you knew for sure that Ken…
“Ah, this is the card you were telling me about, isn't it? This, um…”
…will have some problems with this.
“This card means I can now choose any suit for the next card. And I choose…"
You thought for a moment, although there was no need for it. You could normally say the color you have more of, or just the first color that comes to mind. But it was not difficult to notice that Ken, or rather his game, was in a bad situation... This was evidenced by at least a dozen cards in his hands. You didn't want Ken to lose and get discouraged in his first Uno game, so you decided to play along with him a little. Sometimes breaking the rules can serve a good cause.
"…Blue!"
Ken's face immediately darkened. He frowned and you realized that, it seems, in your efforts to do the best, you only made it worse.
"No! I'd rather choose... Green?"
Ken's face lit up and filled with pride, not hiding his sincere emotions at all. And you were finally able to exhale.
You played for a while longer, and you did your best to push Ken to victory. And now, at the most decisive moment, when you both had only one card left, you were quite ready to give this win to your opponent. However, it seems that Ken had other plans.
He decisively threw a reverse card into the deck. You're about to take a breath to shout out congratulations on his first victory, but...
"Oh, I think my card is the wrong color... I'll have to take more, am I right?"
You stare in confusion at the other card in Ken's hand. But a moment ago he had only one!
"Ken, didn't you already have Uno?"
"No, I had two cards! Uh-huh… Yeah."
Ken was a lousy liar. He couldn't even keep a straight face during the game, and then there was the lie, so you easily uncovered his little scam. It looks like you weren't the only one who wanted your opponent to win.
You smiled to yourself, enjoying Ken's sweet act. Even though he didn't know much about the game, he was still trying to help you. Your smile became all too obvious as you realized this.
"Okay... I propose a draw, what do you think?"
"Does that mean we both win, or does that mean we both lose?"
"It means that we ended this match on equal terms. And now we can go eat ice cream as a prize."
Ken smiled broadly, unable to contain his feelings. His smile was even happier than if he had just won the game.
"You know, I like board games!"
#ken x you#ken#kenergy#ryan gosling ken#ken x reader#and ken#ken barbie#ken fluff#ryan gosling fanfiction#fanfiction#fluff fic#gn reader#ryan gosling#ryan gosling x reader#barbie ken#barbie movie#barbie 2023#barbie fanfic#fanfic#ken x gn reader#ken x real world reader#ken fic#x reader#x you fluff#x you#x reader fluff#x gn reader#x gender neutral reader#x reader fic
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Blurred Emotions
Masterlist
Pairing: Drew Starkey x female!Reader
TW: angst(?), fluff, super brief allusion to violence, fame (Is that a warning? lol)
Summary: You and Drew get asked about working together and it uncovers some feelings.
Word Count:1.6k
Being in the limelight is honestly something you don't think you'll ever get used to. It just doesn't make sense to you that people actually follow your life and care about what you say and do. However, that doesn't stop you from enjoying it; especially when you get to experience it with Drew.
Working on Outer Banks is already an insane opportunity that has improved your life in ways you can't even fathom, but to top it off it introduced you to Drew. You were cast as Barry's sister and Rafe's love interest.
It only took a few scenes with each other to develop feelings, and it spiraled from there. It's a challenge though, seeing as your relationship on the show is tumultuous, to say the least.
So as you stand here with Drew in front of an interviewer, you're not surprised when she asks about it.
"Is it hard to film such violent scenes with your boyfriend? I would think that would cause some tension."
Drew's hand squeezes yours as you mull over the words, well aware that what you say will be plastered all over the internet by the end of the night. He's equally as interested to hear your response; it's not really something the two of you have ever blatantly discussed.
Your bright smile never falters and you nod your head a bit.
"Of course. I mean, Drew is such a phenomenal actor and he completely loses himself in his roles. When we're in character, it's like he's nowhere to be seen, and it's just Rafe. Of course I know he would never hurt me, but it's hard for the brain to differentiate sometimes. It's easy for the line to blur."
She nods in understanding and you take a breath before continuing, trying to ignore Drew's burning gaze on the side of your face.
"It's definitely an obstacle to portray such a toxic relationship with someone you love. Even though it's a role, it's still his hands around my throat and his voice spewing venom. Like I said, Drew is incredible and he just lets that personality take over. It's magical to experience up close, but it can be scary too."
The interviewer pulls the mic away for a moment and Drew's face is set in a deep frown.
"I can imagine. Do you ever struggle with separating the two when work is over?"
You sigh and glance down for a moment, debating how forthcoming you should be.
"I used to for sure. I remember when we first started dating, I would flinch away from any sudden movements and tiptoe around him. It's better now, but yeah it was rough for a while."
She hums in acknowledgment before turning to Drew, and it takes him a second to tear his eyes away from you. He remembers where he is and plasters a smile on, but you can see that his eyes don't crinkle the way they usually do.
"What about you, Drew? What's it like to have to act out those scenes with your real-life girlfriend?"
You watch as he swallows and shifts nervously on his feet.
"I don't really think about it. I can't, or else I'll start getting emotional. At the end of the day, I just go in and do my job. What she said about me getting so lost in Rafe, the same goes for her. She's remarkable at what she does, and I hate seeing the genuine fear in her eyes. It makes me sick to my stomach, so it's definitely not my favorite aspect."
You give him a small smile when he glances over and the interviewer smiles.
"Well I'll let you guys continue on, thank you so much for taking the time to talk."
You give one last smile and Drew pulls you into him.
"Of course! Enjoy the rest of your night."
The remainder of the evening goes off without a hitch, but you can tell Drew isn't his usual bubbly self. It's not until you're back at the hotel changing out of your dress that he finally brings it up.
"Did you mean what you said? About being scared of me?"
He sounds so sad when he asks, and your heart squeezes in its cage. Your eyes meet his through the mirror and you sigh before nodding slowly.
"I mean, kind of. I was scared of you for a while, but not really. Like I told her, I know you would never ever hurt me. It was just hard to look at you at first because even though it wasn't you doing those things, it was. I'm past it now, though."
You try to comfort him, turning to place a gentle hand on his cheek but it doesn't seem to help. Tears burn his waterline and your stomach sinks at the sight.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Your eyebrows pinch together as you look into his cerulean eyes, and you try to find the right words.
"I didn't want you to hold back. The last thing I wanted to do was get in your head and affect your performance. I knew if I told you, that you wouldn't give it your all and I couldn't have that. Besides, I knew it wasn't real. It was just trippy."
He purses his lips and nods, but the way he pulls out of your grasp tells you he still isn't quite over it.
"I'm gonna talk to the writers and see if they can remove some of those scenes."
He's walking away as he says it and you chase after him, grabbing his arm to turn him back around toward you.
"No, you're not. Drew, this is what we signed up for. It's not their fault that there are personal feelings behind it. We can't start making demands out of the blue."
He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair as he begins pacing.
"Y/N, filming those scenes is destroying me. I can't keep pretending to hurt you, it feels too real."
You stare up at him and really observe just how distressed he is. You knew it was hard on him; how could it not be? It's one thing to be on the receiving end, but to be the one actively inflicting pain? You can't imagine the toll it takes.
"Baby, maybe you should talk to someone. You love playing Rafe, and you love being on OBX. I know it sucks, but I could never live with myself if you gave that up for me. We'll figure it out, but promise me you won't do anything drastic."
He hesitates for a second before agreeing and you breathe a sigh of relief.
"Let's go to bed, okay? We can talk about this more in the morning."
The two of you crawl under the comforter together, and Drew clings to you like you'll float away if every inch of your body isn't pressed to him. You don't complain about the proximity; you know he needs this.
The next morning you wake up to an empty bed and sit up with a scowl. Your eyes glance at the clock and see 8:30. Where the hell is Drew this early? Usually, the two of you sleep until at least ten; especially after an event like last night.
Your ears zone into the sound of voices coming from the attached office, and you stretch while slowly climbing out of bed. Your feet pad against the hardwood floor as your rub your eyes, your mind still foggy.
Your confusion worsens when you see Drew sitting in front of his laptop on a conference call and you hang back to listen. You're not exactly in the best state to be seen right now anyway with tangled hair and drool dried on your chin.
"What do you need us to do?"
You recognize the voice as Jonas and your eyes widen, suddenly much more alert. He promised he wouldn't do anything. Drew sighs and you wait for his next words with bated breath.
"I know it's my responsibility to remain professional, and that I took on the role. Thats fine. I just think that maybe there can be some measures in place for when it gets to be too much. I think we both need to be able to decompress, and maybe take some breaks if it gets overwhelming."
There's a beat of silence before Jonas responds, and you bite your lip.
"I think we can manage that. We want you both to be comfortable, we all know it's hard on you. What are you thinking?"
Drew leans back in his seat, still unaware of your presence, and his response makes you wonder if he slept at all or stayed up thinking about this.
"Maybe a chill room? Just a trailer or whatever that has our favorite snacks and bean bag chairs or something along those lines. It doesn't have to be a lot, but I want her to feel safe. It's rough for me, but I'm more concerned about her."
You see Jonas nod on the screen and he scribbles something down.
"That's doable. We can work out the details later, I know you had a long night. Is there anything else?"
Drew shakes his head and Jonas smiles.
"Do you at least feel better?"
You hear your boyfriend chuckle a little and he sits up to lean his forearms on the desk.
"Yeah. Thanks, man."
You hear them say goodbye and Drew ends the call before slumping back in his chair. He startles a bit when your hands rub his shoulders but quickly relaxes when he realizes it's just you.
"Can you come back to bed now? I'm still tired and I miss you."
You watch as he stands and a loud squeal tears from your throat when he unexpectedly tosses you over his broad shoulder.
"Of course. If my girl wants to cuddle and nap, then that's what we're doing."
@veescorneroftheworld @lcvelylies
#drew starkey imagine#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey x you#drew starkey#outer banks#outer banks imagine#outer banks x reader
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As The Gods Intended
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Aela Targaryen)
Warnings: DD;DNE, twincest/incest/Targcest, explicit smut, dubcon/noncon, angst. 18+
Word count: ~4k
Summary: In the wake of Lucerys' Velaryon's death, Aemond panics and makes some life altering choices that will have catastrophic consequences for his twin sister, Aela. Based on this request.
Thanks and spanks to my emotional support grotbag @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for enduring my snippets, beta'ing this into something readable and her unparalleled knowledge of High Valyrian. Love you forever.
The head and neck of Lucerys Velaryon’s dragon, Arrax, washed up beneath the cliffs below Storm’s End three days ago. Lucerys’s body has yet to be found.
It has been almost a week, six agonisingly long days, since Aela Targaryen last saw or heard from her twin brother, Aemond. He is presumed dead, along with his beloved Vhagar.
Aemond had been sent to Storm’s End to acquire Lord Borros Baratheon’s allegiance to their brother King Aegon II in exchange for agreeing to marry one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters. It had transpired that Lucerys had also been sent, acting as a messenger for his mother, Rhaenyra, to acquire Lord Baratheon’s allegiance to her own claim to the Iron Throne. When neither prince had been heard from following their arrival, further messengers were dispatched. Lord Baratheon had revealed that Lucerys had arrived in the Round Hall while Aemond was present and had received a frosty reception from his uncle. An altercation between the two had caused Borros to ask them both to leave. The two had not been seen since and neither had their dragons.
Aela had wept upon hearing the news of the discovery of Arrax’s remains. It was not difficult to imagine what had happened and it had clearly ended in tragedy. She’d lost her nephew and her beloved twin brother. The colour went out of Aela’s world that day. While a funeral for Lucerys had been held, one for Aemond had yet to occur. Their mother, Alicent, could not bring herself to say goodbye. For this Aela was grateful; she was not ready to let him go either.
It is long past midnight as Aela sits by her window, staring out over King’s Landing. Sleep has evaded her since Aemond went missing. Whose bed will she climb into when she has a nightmare now? Her twin flame has been snuffed out and she is lost.
A shadow in the candlelight of her peripheral vision causes her to turn her head toward the door and she freezes. Aemond. There he stands, a serene look in his uncovered blue eye, staring at her from the doorway. Her heart leaps into her throat at the sight, quickly replaced by a feeling of overwhelming joy as he closes the gap between them and pulls her into a tight embrace.
“Hāedus, it is so good to see you,” he murmurs, stroking her long white hair. Sister.
Aela feels tears of happiness prickle her eyes. She pulls back to study his face, still unable to quite comprehend that the man in front of her is really her twin brother. “Aemond… I thought you weren’t coming back… You are alive!”
He gives her a gentle reassuring smile. “I am alive, but for how long is up to you, dōnus mēres. Will you help your brother?” Sweet one.
She nods her head without hesitation. “Anything for you, lēkys. But first, we need to tell mother you are safe. She will be so pleased!” Brother.
“No!”
Aela flinches at the harshness of Aemond’s tone. He has never spoken to her with such a lack of care before.
His face softens and he cups her cheeks. “Forgive me, Aela; I do not mean to be so cruel. But you must understand that my life depends on your discretion.”
She looks up at him with wide, imploring eyes. “Why can no one know that you are back?”
He takes a step back from his twin sister, grasping her hands in his. He inhales a deep breath before he speaks. “There has been a terrible tragedy… one that I will surely get the blame for.”
A sense of unease creeps over her. “You mean - what happened to Luke?”
He pauses for a moment, his thumbs rub circles on the backs of his sister’s hands. “So you have heard? You must understand that it was an accident. Would you really allow your brother to be punished for something that is not his fault?”
“Of course not!” She is horrified by the very idea.
“Then you must come with me, hāedus. Only you can save me. Get dressed.”
The urgency of Aemond’s voice is enough for her to know there is no more room for questions or arguments. She hurries behind her modesty screen, strips out of her nightgown and begins to redress in the clothes she had discarded earlier that evening.
Her eyes go wide with surprise as she sees him reach for her nightgown as it hits the floor. She wonders what he is doing, but her train of thought is cut short when he throws a hooded cloak over the screen at her. It is the same one she has worn many times to sneak around Flea Bottom unrecognised.
“Put that on. Hurry,” he commands.
Aela does as she is told and wraps the cloak around her body, coming out from behind the privacy screen.
He steps towards her, pulling the hood over her head and stroking her cheek. “Good girl,” he praises, taking her hand and leading her through the same passage they have used to sneak away from the Red Keep many times before.
Aela notices her nightgown is still bunched up in Aemond’s free hand. He is walking at too quick of a pace for her to be able to ask about it, despite her burning curiosity. Her legs struggle to keep up with his long strides as he hurries them down Aegon’s High Hill, along Shadowblack Lane and out towards the Blackwater Rush.
She gasps as she watches him discard her nightgown onto the muddy bank.
“Aemond - what are you doing?”
He turns to her, his face eerily calm as he speaks matter-of-factly. “They will say you were so stricken by grief over the death of your twin that you drowned yourself. Don’t you see? It is the perfect plan. We can disappear forever.”
She feels a chill run down her spine. She stares at him with abject horror. “You want… people to think we’re dead?”
The negative intonation of her response seems to go unheeded by him. He simply nods. “It is the only way. I cannot face what I have done. I will be branded a kinslayer.”
“But you said it was an accident…”
She feels like she is experiencing a nightmare from which she is desperate to wake up. Her heart races as she stares at her twin brother’s face, searching for any sign of regret or remorse for his actions. Waves of nausea pulsate through her stomach.
“It was an accident,” Aemond insists. “I only meant to scare him…”
She feels her heart constrict, and a sob bubbles in her throat. “Gods, Aemond… What did you do to Luke?”
“I didn’t do anything!” he snaps, his nostrils flaring with annoyance as he stares down at his sister. “If that stupid bitch Maris Baratheon hadn't taunted me, I would never have gone after him. Had Vhagar heeded my commands, he would not be dead. So, you see, none of this is my fault.”
Aela reels at the revelation. Hot tears roll down her cheeks. She shakes her head, backing away from Aemond. “You are a murderer-”
He grabs her by her upper arms, his grip so tight it will surely leave bruises.
“I am your brother! He was a bastard, he took my eye! How can you be so cruel?” He shakes her slightly, continuing. “Have I not suffered enough? Would you prefer to see me dead? Do you not love me?”
A pang of guilt blooms heavy in Aela’s chest as she looks tearfully at his frantic face. “Of course I do-”
“Then you must come with me. Do this for me. There is no one that will ever love you like I love you, Aela. We are twins.”
He takes her hand once more and leads her along the banks of the Blackwater Rush and away from King’s Landing as he speaks. She is too overcome by grief and shock to fight it.
“It will be a bit of a walk, I’m afraid,” he informs her. “I could not land Vhagar too close to the city without drawing attention.”
At the mention of his dragon, her pace falters a little, remembering her own. “What of Myrmex? I cannot simply leave him.”
When Aela and Aemond had been born, they’d each had a dragon’s egg placed in their cradle. While his had never hatched, and he’d later claimed Vhagar, her own had. A beautiful emerald green dragon, named Myrmex who she’d grown and bonded with over the years. The thought of leaving him behind in the Dragonpit was simply too much for Aela’s heart to bear.
He does not look back at her, leading her along the riverbank. “A necessary sacrifice, I’m afraid, dōnus mēres. Taking him is too much of a risk. You’d be seen.”
She sniffles, allowing herself to be pulled along by her twin brother. “But he is my dragon… I love him…”
He stares coldly down at her. “I am your brother. Myrmax may have hatched in your cradle, but you and I shared the same womb. How can you be so selfish?”
His voice softens, and she looks away guiltily. “He will be well cared for in the Dragonpit. And who knows? Perhaps he will find you again one day. Your bond with him is strong. Almost as strong as ours.”
Aela’s heart aches for her dragon. She and Aemond walk the rest of the way in silence until the gargantuan frame of Vhagar looms ahead.
“Where will we go?” she asks meekly.
“I have found us a place. You need not worry. I have spent the last few days preparing for your arrival.”
“You - you planned this?” She knows she doesn’t even need to ask this. Of course he has. Aemond had always been too clever, too calculating for his own good. It was a quality she had once admired. Now, it frightened her.
“I knew as soon as I saw Luke fall from the sky that there was no coming back from this. And I could not just leave you,” he says, helping to lift her into Vhagar’s saddle, climbing on behind her. “Worry not, hāedus, lēkia will take care of you now.”
Her mind goes blank as soon as Vhagar takes to the sky. The rush of cold air and the weightless roiling of her stomach with every movement supersedes all other thoughts and feelings. Though she has ridden on dragonback many times with Aemond before, she imagines she feels his chest pressed tighter to her back than usual. His arms seem to wrap more firmly around her waist. Surely it is just that, though; her imagination.
Eventually, as dawn breaks, Vhagar lands in the foothills of the Red Mountains, close to the stormlands' border with the Reach, east of the Cockleswhent and southeast of the Blueburn. She looks out over the ruins of Summerhall Castle, once used as a place for members of House Targaryen to spend their summers. It had been almost destroyed in a fire and never restored to its former glory.
“Here, Aemond? You can’t be serious,” she says as her brother helps her down from Vhagar.
“I know it’s not much to look at, jorrāelītsos, but I think you’ll find it rather comfortable. And no one will come looking for us here.” She hopes that he is wrong. There is nothing she wants more than for them to be found and an end to this madness. As though he senses her trepidation, Aemond’s eye makes contact with hers, her feet finally reaching the ground. “And you’d better hope no one finds us - you are implicated in this, after all.” Little love.
She is too trusting of her twin brother to pick up on the subtle threat in his voice. Anguished, she protests. “But I haven’t done anything!”
“It would not seem that way to anyone from the outside looking in.” He cocks his head at her. “You are my twin sister. You have faked your own death and come away with me after I killed our nephew. Some might say you’d had the whole thing planned all along… I would simply hate for that to happen to you, hāedus. My heart could not take it.”
She wails piteously at this. She dreads to think what people will say about her. Her heart breaks at the idea that she could ever be considered a co-conspirator to murder.
“Do not worry, dōnus mēres,” he soothes, pulling her tight to his chest. “Lēkia will protect you.” He holds her a few moments longer, until her tears finally subside. “Let’s get you inside and show you around your new home, hm?”
Aemond places a hand on the small of his twin sister’s back, ushering her inside. Large portions of the castle are without a roof and in complete ruin.
“We will repair all of this eventually, restore it to its former glory,” he says airily, guiding her through.
The few rooms that are habitable have had the remaining furniture pushed into them to create a makeshift solar, sleeping quarters and a space for them to eat. It does not quite live up to the lavish surroundings of the Red Keep, but is certainly not the squalor that she had been expecting.
“This is… nice,” she says, a slight hint of surprise to her tone.
He smiles warmly. “It will be the perfect place for us to start our family.”
“Start a family?” she asks. Dread is beginning to gnaw its way through her insides. She is almost afraid to hear Aemond’s answer.
“Yes, hāedus. We will marry and create heirs. We will start our own faction of House Targaryen.”
“Aemond, we cannot! You are to be betrothed to a Baratheon and me to a Lannister. You are my brother. My twin!”
Her heart races as she looks at him with pleading eyes. He remains utterly unaffected by her resistance.
“Those betrothals are null and void. They are a part of old lives. We are forging a new one. And so what if we are siblings? Helaena and Aegon are married, and the Conqueror married both of his sisters. Why should we be any different?”
She is panicked. She does not know what to say. “Because… because… I don’t…”
“You don’t love me!” he accuses, cutting her off, his brow furrowed, his blue eye alight with outrage.
“I do love you, lēkys, I do!” she attempts to argue back, tears welling in her eyes.
“Then you will obey me,” he states coolly.
She gasps as Aemond’s mouth descends upon hers, the sound cuts off as an “mmmph” as he presses his lips to hers. He tangles his fingers into her hair, holding her head in place as he kisses her. It feels wrong and yet she kisses him back, ignoring the pit that is opening in the depths of her guts, eager not to anger him further.
She has kissed her brother on the lips before, but they have been chaste kisses between siblings. What he is bestowing upon her now is a passionate kiss, filled with lust, the type reserved for lovers. She has never experienced a kiss like this before. She never anticipated that the first time would be with her twin brother. She feels nauseated.
When he finally pulls away, he scoops her into his arms, carrying her towards the bed. “We shall create an heir today, jorrāelītsos.”
Her blood runs cold at the suggestion. “Aemond, we can’t - I can’t - I’ve never… My virtue is still intact!”
She attempts to squirm out of his arms, but he is too strong for her.
His voice is saccharinely sweet as he smiles down at her. “As it should be, hāedus. You have waited for your brother like a good girl.”
She shakes her head, panic rooting itself deep inside of her as he lays her on the bed. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words will not come.
“You see, Aela, we are two halves of the same whole. You and I were created for each other. Isn’t that beautiful? No one else can have you but me.”
He cards his fingers through her long, white hair and strokes her cheek, before pulling at the lacings on the front of her bodice.
Aela finally finds her voice, feebly attempting to push Aemond’s hands away. “Lēkys, no, please!”
Aemond shushes her, swatting at her hands and continuing to undress her. “You love your lēkia, don’t you? I have waited many years to see you all grown up. You will not deny your beloved brother his prize, will you?”
She whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut and trying not to think about the fact that her twin brother is now stripping her naked.
The cold air causes her skin to break out into gooseflesh as Aemond finally pulls away her small clothes.
“Open your eyes for me, dōnus mēres,” he whispers.
As her lilac eyes open slowly, she is met by the sight of him sitting above her, drinking in the sight of her with appreciation shining brightly in his gaze.
“Gevie,” he states simply. Beautiful.
It is then she realises that he has also removed his clothing. She stares at him wide eyed. She has not seen her brother naked since they were children. They had shared a bed up until they were thirteen years old, until one morning she’d awoken to find the hardness of his arousal pressed against her buttocks. She’d been unsure of what it was and after speaking to her mother and seeing her horrified reaction, she’d understood it was something wrong. Aela and Aemond had been made to sleep apart ever since.
“Feel what you do to me,” he murmurs, taking her hand and wrapping it around his hardened cock.
She whines, attempting to pull her hand away, but he keeps it there. He is firm and warm to the touch.
“You - you cannot put that inside of me,” she squeaks. “It will not fit.”
“Silly girl,” he chuckles. “You were made specifically to take me inside of you. No one else. But I will prepare you first.”
Tears well up in her eyes as he passes his digits through the delicate silver curls of her mound, swiping his fingers through her folds. He roughly inserts his middle finger inside of her, curling it upwards and dragging it in and out. She has never even touched herself so intimately, so to have the intrusion of her brother between her legs is surreal and makes her want to curl in on herself to hide her shame.
“So tight,” he comments, almost as if he is speaking to himself. “And becoming so wet.”
“Aemond, I don’t like this!” she whines, covering her face with her hands.
“Oh, but your body tells another story entirely,” he says, his tone mocking as he inserts a second finger.
She cries out at the sensation. “That’s too much! You’re putting too much inside of me!”
He chuckles dryly. “You’ll need to take much more than two fingers if I’m to fuck you. How else will you bear my children, idañītsos?” Little twin.
She shakes her head against the pillows, attempting to close her legs around Aemond’s wrist and halt his movements. “I don’t - I don’t-”
Never slowing the movement of his fingers inside of her, he cuts her off. “You don’t… love your twin brother? You’d refuse me and break my heart? Are you really so cruel?”
She sobs, her own guilt outweighing the disgust and shame she feels at the unwilling invasion of her body. “No, no, no. I love you, Aemond, I swear I do!”
“Mmm,” he concurs. “Then this is how you show me you love me. Do you understand?”
She freezes as he withdraws his fingers from her, replacing them with the tip of his cock. She screws her eyes shut, screaming out at the pain as he pushes inside. It feels like she is being torn in half.
“Gods…you are so tight,” he grits out. “You have to relax, or I will never get inside.”
Her body is wracked with sobs. She feels like the intrusion is unending. The pain is unlike anything she has ever experienced. White hot flames of agony lick their way between her legs and up her spine.
“Allow me to put you out of your misery,” he says softly.
For a moment, she dares to hope he will have mercy on her and stop, until she feels him clamp a hand over her mouth. In one rough shove, he pushes himself into her to the hilt. Her agonised shriek is muffled by his palm.
His eye flutters closed in satisfaction. “Finally, we are one. As the gods intended.”
Her mind reels. Surely the gods would never intend for something that feels so vile and so painful?
Beginning to thrust in and out of her, barely giving her body time to adjust to him, he grunts. “Does this feel good, hāedus? Is lēkia making you feel good?”
She is mortified by the question. Why would anything so vulgar ever feel good?
“No,” she answers honestly, “You are hurting me.”
“It doesn’t feel pleasurable because you don’t love me the way that I love you,” he states, continuing to thrust inside of her. “This feels good for me, because I love you with all my heart. Lēkia will help you to love him. Don’t worry.”
Aemond presses a finger to the pearl at the apex of her sex, rubbing tight circles as he continues to rut into her.
Her hips jolt at the new sensation, unsure of what’s happening to her body. Her hands fly to his shoulders, clutching at them desperately. “What - what - are you doing to me?”
His face is smug as he moves above her. “You’ve never touched yourself have you, idañītsos? So innocent and all mine. I will bring you pleasure like you have never felt before. Only I can give you that.”
He speeds up both his ministrations to her bud alongside his thrusts, and Aela can begin to feel the inside of herself clench around him. It is completely involuntary, but it’s apparent that he feels it too.
“Oh, you like that?” he mocks. “Good girl.”
The moan that escapes her mouth sounds alien to her. The slow burning ache between her legs that builds towards a heated pressure is unfamiliar to her. Her eyes go wide and she feels like she needs to push towards something, but she is unsure how. She whines, clawing at his shoulders, desperate to ground herself.
“You are about to peak, hāedus,” he tells her. “Let go for lēkia.”
He gives her nipple a harsh tweak and increases the pressure he is exerting between her legs.
Aela’s back arches off of the mattress with the force of her pleasure, jerking her body against his. He places a hand against the rear of her pelvis, holding her against him as he fucks her through her orgasm. White hot sparks shoot their way through her body, a loud cry of pleasure releasing from her mouth. Her body goes limp in Aemond’s gasp. Her eyes are heavy lidded and pleasure drunk.
He uses her body, seeking his own end. A few more thrusts and he spills deep inside of her with a low groan. She barely registers the feeling of him filling her up.
When he pulls out, her cunny is a mess of blood from her maidenhead being broken and his seed leaking out of her. He hums appreciatively, mixing it together and pushing it back inside with his fingers.
She hisses, a mixture of pain and oversensitivity causing her to jerk her hips away from his touch.
“Forgive me, hāedus. We do not want this to go to waste if you are to be with my child.”
Aela knows she should protest, but what’s done is done. It is too late.
She is pliant, allowing him to pull her to his chest and hold her close.
“Avy jorrāelan, idañītsos”, he murmurs, kissing her temple. I love you, little twin.
Too tired to fight him any longer, Aela finally gives in. “Avy jorrāelan, lēkys.” I love you, brother.
Aemond smiles as his twin sister drifts off to sleep on his chest.
“I know you do, jorrāelītsos. We will make such a happy family.”
#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#aemond one eye#aemond stannies#hotd#pro aemond targaryen#prince aemond targaryen#hotd aemond targaryen#aemond#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen angst#hotd smut#hotd angst#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fan fiction#aemond targaryen fanfiction#hotd fan fic#hotd fan fiction#hotd fanfiction#fyeahhotdocs#fyeahgotocs
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hey jd, how do we feel about aemond finding out that aegon put his hands on you? granted, you’re just a servant girl and it’s not the first time he’s harassed the help, but what would happen? huh? 👀 -@pluvialpoet
word count: 2.2k
warnings: implied/vaguely described smut, implied SA of some kind, hurt/comfort, brief suicidal ideation, heavy angst, friends to lovers, way too much wholesomeness, not exactly breeding kink but mentions of pregnancy/babies
"I'll fucking kill him," Aemond decided. "I finally will, I'll do it."
"No, you won't," you sighed as you rested your hands on his shoulders. "That wouldn't do anyone any good."
"It would do me some fucking good," he insisted, nostrils flaring and uncovered eye wide with fire, "knowing that no man who has touched you lives."
"He did it to anger you, Aemond," you explained flatly, holding on tighter to him and trying not to notice the way it made your broken heart race. "Don't give in to him— you'd only be giving him what he wants." Just as I did... but I had no choice.
He looked away quickly, so you couldn't see his eye at all, and for a second you thought he might be getting choked up. "So it is my fault, then," he realised.
"No!" you yelped. "No, I didn't mean—"
"He knows that I care for you," Aemond whispered shakily. "Better than I do, he knows, and he wants to use you to hurt me. It's why I never..."
He swallowed, turning away from you, and you reached up to his shoulder. "I thought you would tell me anything, Aemond. Tell me."
It was a promise you'd made well over a decade ago, when you were just children. That was when it all started: this bizarre, impossible friendship. Back then, it didn't seem so strange to you that a servant girl and the prince could be friends, but the longer it went on, the more you both became aware of how forbidden it all really was. It never stopped you, though. Yes, it made you more cautious— only meeting in dark, quiet places, or secluded corners of the gardens— but it never made you any less close. He shared with you the fears, the dreams, the prayers he could not tell his own family; and you, just the same, though you had no family left after your mother succumbed to illness. Even the other servants didn't approve of your friendship with the prince, so you had to hide it from them at well— if they suspected he favoured you in any way, they would exploit you at best, or take some kind of revenge at worst. Still, he snuck into the kitchens when you were cooking to steal bites of fruit and cheese while he talked to you; still, you scrubbed the floors by his chambers in the morning just in case he wanted to come out and sit down nearby, leaning against the wall and giving you advice on the latest dilemma of your life (of which you had several, often one after the other if not overlapping).
That promise to tell each other anything, and everything, you made it in a tree in the gardens. He loved to climb as a boy, and you couldn't keep up but he always held your hand when you were afraid to fall. That was your tree, and it was where you found him, crying, after he'd seen the scar over his eye for the first time. He'd kept a brave face about it all— about the bullying, about his fear he'd never have a dragon of his own, about how angry and terrified he was about what had happened to his face— from the beginning. He didn't even let his mother in on the truth of his feelings, telling her not to be upset about his eye because he wasn't, either. But the lie of indifference that he'd so carefully constructed fell apart in a moment when the healers showed him the barely-healed scar. He climbed your tree alone, to the highest branch, and sobbed— which, by the way, was excruciating with his wound— as he wondered if he should pitch himself from his height and hope it was enough to end everything.
But when he looked down at the ground again, you were standing in the middle of the green grass, staring up at him. "I'm cross with you!" you informed him plainly, balling up your little fists and shouting.
He sniffled and wiped his eye quickly, covering the other with the patch the healers had given him— he didn't want you to see him like this, he didn't want anyone to see him like this. "With me?" he repeated with a shaky voice. "What... what did I do?"
"You climbed our tree by yourself!"
He laughed a little, even through the tears. "I found this tree first," he reminded you proudly, "I showed it to you! I said, look at this tree I found."
"Yes, but it's our tree now," you explained, "and you shouldn't be in it by yourself. I can't get up there without your help!"
Rolling his eye to feign irritation with your ineptitude, he navigated himself down a bit until he could reach out for your hand and help pull you up. When you were sitting together among the branches, you eventually coaxed the truth out of him, about everything he'd been afraid to admit to anyone. He seemed to think he would be fearless if he simply told no one what he was really afraid of; but that hadn't worked, had it? The boys still taunted him for having no dragon, and he still lost his eye. The only thing that had changed was that he had to go it all alone. Until now.
"You have to promise not to hide anything from me again," you decided. "We have to tell each other everything. Even the things we're scared to tell anybody... that's the stuff that matters most, anyway."
"Okay," he agreed. "How are we going to swear on it?"
You tilted your head in confusion.
"We have to swear on something," he decided, "or it's just something we're saying."
"I'll swear on my life," you decided. "I'll die before I ever hide something from you, or tell you a lie."
He seemed hesitant. "Can I hide one thing from you, at least?"
"No!"
He frowned. "At least let me wait to show you."
He reached up to the patch shakily, and you realised what it was he wanted to hide. "Okay... that can wait, until it's healed better. But you need to swear on your life!"
"All right! I will!" he groaned, frustrated by your insistence. "I swear, on my life, I'll tell you everything from now on. And never lie to you."
"Or you'll die," you added, smiling with a grin that was missing a tooth or two that had fallen out recently.
"Or I'll die," he agreed. For the first time since he saw that scar, he didn't want to die.
But even then, you couldn't have known how much more complicated things would become. Now you were grown— faster than you should've been— and Aegon, jealous of the affection you shared, had tried to spoil it all. It was the first time since you made that promise that you really considered hiding something from Aemond, being both ashamed of what had occurred and terrified of how your best friend would react.
"Please, tell me," you begged him as your hand held tighter onto his shoulder.
He almost scared you with how fast he turned around, how he clutched your arms and yet couldn't look you in the face. "I never told anyone," he whispered harshly, "how I felt about you. I never wanted to break our promise— it was just to keep you safe, I need you to be safe, do you understand?"
Though you had to bite your lip to keep it from quivering, you nodded.
"But if he knows..."
Your eyes welled with tears, trying not to see Aegon's face in your mind, the horrible way he'd looked at you.
"I should tell you," Aemond decided. "I should tell you that I've fallen in love with you."
Before you could properly react to that, his hands clutched your face and wiped the tear that had begun to run down your cheek.
"He hates me for it," Aemond continued. "He hates that I'm in love with a servant girl and he can't even love his own wife. He hates us because he'll never know what we share. And he must have thought that if he forced himself on you, that he would understand, that he could know what kind of love we have. But he can't imagine that it's your mind I love, not your body. He can't imagine the beauty of your heart."
Crying harder, you reached up to hold onto his wrists. "Aemond..." you whispered.
"If you don't love me, don't tell me yet," he pleaded. "You can break our promise, just this once. Let me imagine for a night that I haven't ruined everything."
You pulled your hands away and plunged forward, slamming your lips onto his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He widened his eyes for a second before kissing you back, delicately holding your waist to keep you close. It was tender and sweet, even as you struggled to stop crying from the overwhelming emotion of the moment.
When you broke away, he pressed his forehead to yours, and you both shut your eyes. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you," he added, and you smiled.
"Weren't you afraid to die?" you joked.
"It felt like dying," he replied, opening his eyes again and examining you. "Having you so close, but not in the way I wanted... being able to keep you near but never hold you... it was worse than death, at times. I never wanted anyone to touch you but me."
Sighing shakily, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears louder than your own voice when you spoke. "Then touch me," you breathed. "I want you to."
His grip tightened on your waist, thumb petting your back, and you looked up at him expectantly. "My brother..." he trailed off. "I don't want to be like him. I don't want it to... be like that."
"It won't," you promised, "you're nothing like him. I want you to touch me, Aemond, please— I want to forget. Make me forget any touch but yours."
Pulling your body into his, guiding your head to tilt back, he kissed you again— deeper, hungrier, still slow but with this growing sense of desperation between the both of you.
He took you to the garden that night, pressed you up against your tree, and claimed you in the way you'd dreamed he would for years. He did more than make you forget Aegon, he made you forget everything that wasn't this moment; he held onto you so tightly and promised to never let you go, told you how beautiful you'd become, admitted how many years he'd spent longing for you but hiding his true feelings. You had so many things you wanted to say in return, but you were entirely lost for words the whole night— all you could do was cling to him and whine his name and run your fingers through his silky silver hair.
You spent the whole night in his arms; even when the sun was beginning to rise over the garden, he brought you to his chambers and took you once again there. Needless to say, he was exhausted after that, and passed out beside you on the mattress when he finally decided he couldn't go again. You were tired, too, but you couldn't sleep— you were so full of joy and excitement that you stayed awake and laid beside him, petting his hair and scratching his head and back as he slept. You didn't mean to wake him when you kissed his arm, but he turned and looked at you with a small smile. "Good morning," he mumbled in a deep, scratchy voice.
"It's well into the afternoon," you reminded him with a giggle. "You've slept all day."
He gave you a mischievous smirk as he pulled you closer, scooping you up into his arms and pressing your back to his chest. "Well, when you make love all night, that's the consequence, it seems," he explained.
His hand that held your chest moved down to your stomach, just under your belly button, and held you there as he leaned in closer to kiss your ear softly.
"There could be other consequences," he noticed.
You swallowed nervously. "Yes," you agreed, "but I could drink—"
"No," he interrupted, though he softened a second later. "I wish you wouldn't, at least not every time... I want it to take."
Your heart swelled. "But Aemond, you're a prince," you blurted out, looking over your shoulder at him, "and I'm only—"
"And you're my beloved," he whispered back, caressing your cheek with his hand and smiling at you. "And our child would be beautiful."
You smiled shyly, turning your body completely so you could hide your face in his neck. "Our child would be a bastard," you warned him.
"Our child would be a prince," he corrected, "our child would be made in love. Would you like that?"
You nodded against him, and he smiled as he kissed the top of your head. Finally, the need to sleep caught up with you after being up for so long; you ached inside and out, and with your head on his chest your eyes started to get heavier. You slept like you never had before, not because of the exhaustion— but because you'd never felt so safe.
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