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eureka-its-zico · 9 months

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Chaos in Their Bones

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: All your life you’d listened to your friend, Usopp spin wild tales about pirates and adventure. Pirates weren’t a thing that came often to Syrup Village, but one straw hat pirate and his crew changed all that the day they arrived. Now, you aren’t so sure if your sleepy little village was always pirate-free or if no one had been paying attention.

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, frienemies to lovers, slow burn (I hope y’all like aching) eventual smut

Words: 5k+

A/N: I told myself I wasn’t going to do this, so naturally I did it anyway. This is the first chapter in a planned series with a reader insert following the events of the OPLA universe. I sincerely hope that this is a story you all love as this is my first initial time writing for one of my beloved anime. But let’s be real, after seeing Mackenyu play Zoro (my fav) I knew I was going to be whipped from the start. The reader will go by “Doc” in this story at times, and later a nickname by Zoro himself. As always, I hope you enjoy this. Much love, Jenn. Also, thank you @thegreatesttttttttt for indulging me.

The ringing of the bell thundered through the sky above. An upcoming warning of four words that would echo through the street's moments later.

“The pirates are coming!”

You could practically hear the rest of the town groan with a sigh. Their annoyance stunk up the streets as Usopp sounded the imaginary alarm as he usually did every day around this time. Maybe it was because you considered Usopp a friend that his tall tales and wild imagination didn’t bother you.

Instead, a sly smile tilted your lips as you continued to grind the seeds deep into the mortar. Mr. Edison’s gruff voice from outside your window reminded Usopp for the millionth time that he needed to stop as he sprinted past.

“What is that boy going on about?” Naan huffed.

You sent a quick glance behind your shoulder at the older woman who was currently folding the recently washed linens. All of them are used with a purpose to either staunch bloody wounds or for the simple purpose of relieving colds. Naan’s linens, like her home, were used for a multitude of healing services, with the only payment she accepted was that of the kindness of others around her.

“You already know, Naan,” you replied, your smile evident in your words. “It’s the usual afternoon reminder to stay on your toes.”

A deep chuckle came from behind you followed by the soft cough that came after.

“These toes can’t do very much standing. So, maybe tell your friend to give me a day of rest soon.”

“Usopp has done this every day for seven years. I don’t think anything anyone will ever say will make him stop.”

Even if you could get Usopp to stop, you wouldn’t be the one to make him. You weren’t sure how many people in town knew who his father was - or that he’d been a pirate. A father by suggestion, Usopp’s wild imagination could only recall small things from the stories his mother had been willing to share, and from those stories, even greater ones grew.

While everyone else may have found Usopp’s stories as an ever-present headache you knew they held a deeper meaning. They were the only thing he knew of a man he never got to know.

The sound of chair legs creaking across the floor cut you out of your thoughts. Just in time from the looks of the seed putty you’d created. A heavy thud on the boards informed you Naan grabbed her cane and the heavier shuffling of her feet that she was heading in your direction.

“What are you so intently making over here, child?”

Settling down the pestle, you reached over your workstation to grab a pot. You were going to need to fetch some water to bring everything to a bowl before you strained it into a jar.

“Water. I need to go get some water,” you murmured as you brought the pot down in front of you.

“Am I talking to myself?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Naan. Did you say something?”

This time you did dare to look at her. Her deep-set wrinkles set impossibly deeper as she regarded your work from over your shoulder.

“Oh, I only asked what you were making that was stinking up my kitchen.”

Your eyes flew open wide as you took a deep breath in. You were sure the only thing you’d put in that maybe - maybe - smelled was the slippery elm, but you hadn’t even steeped it in the water yet. Naan must have read your panic before it began to stitch your brow together. Your eyes still helplessly peeled to the job in front of you instead of the chuckling woman behind you.

“It’s fine, child. I’m just teasing you.”

All your panic rushed out in a huff of air as your body finally turned to greet her. Your eyes instantly took in the very tired look of hers.

“You should get some rest, Naan.”

The two of you knew you meant well. You would never try and make Naan feel older than she already felt, except you didn’t give a damn about her feelings when you could easily spot the sweat on her upper lip. The way her body leaned more into the cane that supported her. She batted your concern away with a swat of her free hand. As if it would be enough to make whatever fear that gripped at your heart magically disappear.

“Don’t patronize me. I’m fine.”

“You are not fine. You're wheezing with every breath now-“

“I said I’m fine. Leave me alone and start worrying about whatever it is you’re making.”

“Well, if you would stop interrupting me, maybe I could finish it!”

The irritation in your voice wasn’t hard to miss. Naan heard it too no doubt with the way her brow cocked as if begging you to repeat it.

The silence stretched uncomfortably between you. Naan wouldn’t even look at you - probably too scared to see your eyes pleading, full of worry for her to just go lay down.

Why must you always be so stubborn?

The question sat on your tongue and made your words form like molasses. You weren’t a child anymore. So, it begged the question of why you were still afraid to speak to her like an adult. It didn’t matter if what you said hurt her old feelings. Not when the thought of her not being around made your chest begin to spread wide like an aching chasm.

“You never did say what you were making.”

You pressed your tongue against your cheek while you debated if it would be worth it to try and argue with her. Of course, you were always the first one to relent and push it under the metaphorical rug.

“It’s a gift for Miss Kaya. Usopp told me her cough hadn’t changed and asked if I would make something for her.”

“Hmm,” Naan hummed in thought. “That boy is strange, but he is kind.”

“Not as strange as Kaya having an unknown illness the last few years and never seeking any aid from the town's doctor,” you grumbled.

Naan’s hand lightly clasped your shoulder in comfort - comfort you didn’t want to accept. Not only were thoughts of Naan being sick plaguing every ounce of free space in your brain but now so was Kaya. You’d only met her once when you were younger with Usopp and after her parents died that odd butler, Klahadore, kept her under strict observation.

In all the years you’d been with Naan, learning everything she could teach about healing, you’d found it odd that the staff never came to ask for help. You couldn’t recall a time when Sham or Buchi ever came down requesting any tonics or medicines from Naan, or for her to come with them to examine Kaya in the first place.

I wasn’t aware they were waitstaff and doctors.

You knew these thoughts would only dampen your mood until it turned completely sour. You just couldn’t stop the runaway train that was your thoughts from slipping back into questioning everything with the universe never giving you any new answers.

“How many times have I told you, child, we can’t make people get help. They have to seek it themselves and that- that is when the real healing begins.”

You were already bitter and that bitterness responded to Naan’s words in the form of an eye roll. One you were lucky the older woman didn’t see.

“It’s just not right.”

“Right or not, it’s not our place to go butting in.”

She stood behind you for a few more minutes waiting for a reply you didn’t give. You were done talking. Done trying to get her to understand that she was sick too and that all those years of molding words and actions to help others were what drove you to help her. To help Kaya. Only Usopp seemed to notice that something in her grand home wasn’t right.

Frustration drew tight across your chest causing your hands to seek support against the counter. For a split second, you imagined yourself splitting open and becoming two separate people. One being the doctor Naan trained you to be and the other something less controlled. Someone who was tired of listening but never being heard.

You listened as Naan began to retreat back to her table where the rest of the linens waited to be folded. You listened as another terrible cough violently shook itself free from her lungs as you focused on your work.

If you couldn’t help Naan you were just going to settle for helping Miss Kaya. Once you finished making Usopp’s requested medicine you were going to be sure he delivered it to her.

It was time a doctor paid a visit.

————

The shipyard.

Of course, Usopp was going to be here. Why you hadn't thought to come here first felt like a mystery all on its own.

In all the years you’d known him, Usopp’s routine hardly ever changed. He usually performed his usual pirate ritual just before he started his day in the shipyard. He was hired to care for and clean all of the ships housed within, however, and upon no real surprise to you, Usopp cleaned and polished the Going Merry daily.

So, it didn’t surprise you to find him already on the ship. What did surprise you were the three people standing with him steps away from the Going Merry, herself.

You didn’t feel alarmed in any way. Usopp was good with people - he enjoyed talking to anyone willing to listen. The man with the straw hat, who was grinning wildly in the direction of Usopp and then to his friends, seemed happy to listen. He was giving Usopp his full attention and whatever your friend was saying was exactly what Straw Hat wanted to hear.

The other two people beside him, however, didn’t seem to share in the excitement. Sure, the pretty woman with the orange hair was giving all the perfect signaling queues of a smile and nod to make it believable that she was interested in anything Usopp had to say. Did she probably care about whatever was being said? Probably not, but at least she didn’t look as sour as the moss-hair-colored guy-

Holy shit

Your feet stopped working. Your knees seemed to refuse to bend, to make any movement forward for the last few feet to close the distance to the group. For what reason? There had to be a perfectly good reason-

Nope. Thoughts gone. Head empty.

That was the best way to describe what was currently happening as your eyes stayed glued to the three-sword-wielding swordsman standing next to the woman.

Three swords? You wondered. Where does the other one go?

Maybe you would ask him if you ever summed up the courage to do just that. If you could just get your legs to function again.

In all the time you’d lived on Shell Island you were more than positive you’d never seen someone that looked close to him. Especially someone carrying around three swords or standing with so much purpose. Even as your eyes took him in you could tell he was pretending to be relaxed, but after years of mending bodies, you noticed the tightness between his shoulder blades. The ease he tried to display with a hand resting on the hilt of the sword wasn’t actually resting. Even relaxed, this man was ready to unsheathe those blades and use them at a moment's notice.

While the idea made you consider him a great swordsman, your heart also ached at the thought of feeling trapped and weary of others' intentions.

Your thoughts would’ve continued to run wild as you embarrassingly gawked at this stranger and his friends. All of that was ruined, however, when Usopp caught a glimpse of you between orange and green hair.

“Doc!”

Usopp’s excitement translated to a crazy arm wave and immediately caused all three of his newfound friends to face you. God, this meant you had to get your legs working. You had to physically move closer. You could do that. No problem.

Taking in a deep breath, you allowed a genuine smile to raise your lips in welcome. Luckily, your feet didn’t betray you as you moved the last few feet. You made a mental note as you got closer that the straw hat was meeting your smile with his own, while the other two regarded you with lackluster enthusiasm.

Great. They were the grumpy types of people.

“There you are Usopp,” you began cheerfully. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“You know, Usopp?” Asked straw hat.

You felt your brow crease in question as your smile wilted at the corners.

“I would hope so. We’ve known each other since we’ve lived here.”

“Impressive,” mumbled the woman.

Okay, maybe she wasn’t as friendly as you originally thought, but she was still definitely friendlier than moss hair. Who currently felt like he was drilling holes into your chest.

“Ugh, Doc I was just going to take these guys to visit, Kaya,” Usopp interjected.

He was still smiling - always smiling. His eyes darted to the three new faces before landing back at you.

“Why would you take them to see, Kaya?”

“She owns the shipyard and we-“Straw hat interjected, “Are in need of a ship. That beautiful ship behind us, to be exact.”

You glanced behind him to the Going Merry. Kaya’s family ship.

You shot Usopp a questioning glance that you weren’t surprised to see him ignore. He was up to something there was no doubting that. The issue was you weren’t sure what angle he was trying to play.

“Good luck with that.”

You did mean it. You didn’t think he was going to get it no matter how good-natured he seemed. That was still a family memory you weren’t sure Kaya would be willing to part with.

“Thanks!”

“Doc, before I take them over there do you by chance have what I asked for?”

You patted your satchel for good measure before you replied, “That’s why I was looking for you. I have it right here.”

Usopp took a step towards you, his hand outstretched in waiting for you to deposit the bottle. When you didn’t comply with his request he shot you a look of worry.

“You do have it right?”

“Yes, Usopp I told you I did. I just want to come with you to check on her myself.”

A look of worry dimmed the mirth in his eyes for one second. If you didn’t know what to look for you would have missed it entirely. You knew he’d been asking you for months to sneak in with him to visit Kaya. His own suspicions began to outweigh the doubt that plagued his heart with every heavy decision that needed to be made.

Deep down, Usopp knew if you were finally going to answer his request of sneaking in with him, it must be serious. A concept Usopp himself purposely tried to run from often.

“Wait, you’re a doctor? That is so cool!”

You needed to learn Straw Hat’s name because he was growing on you fast.

“I’m no-“

“She’s actually one of the best doctors in the whole East Blue,” Usopp beamed. “She’s cured this small village of at least two possible plague outbreaks twice already.”

You were willing to bet your eyes were the size of saucers. There was no way any of them would believe that kind of nonsense. There was absolutely no way-

“Wow, now that is really impressive! Sounds just like somebody who should be a part of my crew-“

“No!”

“We are not a crew!”

The absolute verbal whiplash you just experienced left your head reeling to pick up on every conversation. Straw Hat was practically turning into pure sunshine in front of you, while the other two were glaring like you’d sprouted three heads.

Geez, what a tough crowd.

“Ok, wait what?”

“It’s nothing he doesn’t mean anything by it,” the woman replied, a tight smile thinning out her lips.

“We don’t need someone pretending to play medicine woman to join us.”

Your eyes narrowed in on the now green-haired monster. He met your cold glance with his own. Whoever - whatever - he experienced in his life meant he didn’t find you the least bit threatening. He regarded you like an annoyance and you found yourself wondering why the universe made all the grumpy ones the most attractive.

If his lips pouted any harder he was going to have to rent a kissing booth.

“For your information, I’m not a pretend doctor.”

Whatever he was going to reply with was cut off by Straw hat who quickly pointed at himself. “I’m Luffy, and these are my companions Nami and Zoro.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Luffy,” you beamed letting them know your name in response. “But most people just refer to me as Doc because of Usopp.”

Nami clapped her hands together to bring you both back to the matter at hand. Kaya’s medicine. Their boat.

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, can we get going? We really should stop by and pay her a visit.”

“Oh yeah! Come on guys, I can show you the fastest way there.”

Usopp tossed down his rag and skipped backward to the crate where his own satchel sat.

“Great! If you guys will kindly follow me this way I can show you something really awesome.”

You wanted to smack some sense into him. Usopp always wanted to be liked - for people to spend time with him and enjoy it. Besides Kaya and you who humored him with his opulent imagination and ability to spin fables like cotton candy. These people, Luffy excluded, did not deserve his endearing desire for friendship. They were both giving off major chip on their shoulder vibes and you vowed to become an even bigger pain in the ass if they were unnecessarily rude to him.

They didn’t wait to know if you were joining them or even behind them. They all moved forward to follow Usopp, who was spit-firing a conversation at Luffy who easily seemed to match it with his own charisma. Nami and Zoro trudged behind them both and you brought up the rear.

You’d hoped at some point Luffy or Usopp would drag you into the conversation. Anything that would keep your wandering eyes from constantly burrowing holes between Zoro’s sculpted shoulders. If you didn’t locate some form of self-control soon, you were positive your brain would be sent spinning into a tangent about how martial arts training with weapons was a godsend. So, looking at your feet for the next few miles would have to suffice.

It was strange how the world between poverty and the rich was such an overwhelming force. The farther you ventured out past the town and into the privacy of the landscape that kept Kaya’s family home hidden, it was a wonder that anyone would know it was there.

There were endless strawberry fields that farmers planted on one side and potatoes on the other. Dozens of workers tended to their growth with their hard work and sweat until a wall of bamboo cut off any view. All you could see was an endless path swallowed in bamboo branches making the path more foreboding than you thought necessary.

When you finally came in through the front gates, their iron and mortar was a welcomed sight. The one thing that wasn’t was that stupid Well you’d grown to hate ever since you almost fell in looking over the side as a child.

“I’ve never seen a house this big before.”

Luffy’s admission sent your eyes up from your feet to the large garden entrance. And that damned well that sat like a mockery in the middle of the walkway to the front.

“It’s impressive, right? Kaya’s given me an open invitation to stop by anytime I want.”

Your eyes darted over to Usopp who was practically skipping with excitement as he and Luffy made their way over to the well. You wanted him to look at you, but you knew he wouldn’t. If he did, Usopp would only find you looking at him - full of questions - with a look calling him a liar. You would never want him to feel bad. It was never your intention, however, it was going to be more embarrassing if you all got caught and thrown out on your ass than just being honest.

“Wow. That’s pretty awesome,” Luffy breathed. His face was full of wonder as he continued to take in the large space. “All of this is just for one person?”

“Well…she lives here with a few other staff.”

“Yeah. A bunch of asshole staff,” you grumbled under your breath.

By the way, Luffy and Usopp were hanging over the side of the well - ick - neither of them had heard you. Unfortunately, your fellow rear buddies did.

“You don’t seem to be a fan of the staff?” Nami ventured.

You eyed her carefully. She came off friendly enough, but she wasn’t giving anything else away. The small smile on her lips wasn’t reaching her eyes. Instead, they were calculating and waiting for you to give her any information you were willing or unwilling to give.

Nami was incredibly smart and equally dangerous because of it.

“They do a lot of suspicious things,” you replied slowly, unsure of how much sharing was too much.

“I’m sure butlers don’t come harboring life-threatening secrets,” Zoro countered.

His hand shoved in a pocket while the other still rested on the sword. He regarded you the way adults do children making up fairytales. The way the townspeople looked at Usopp like a silly child always crying wolf. They both thought you were being silly, and you wish you could say their disregard didn’t make your chest cave in just a bit, but you never were a good liar.

“No, maybe butlers don’t,” you countered, “but people do.”

When neither of them showed signs of continuing on with the conversation you started forward following Usopp and Luffy. You didn’t care about whatever conversation Zoro or Nami were having behind you. They could’ve been discussing robbing the place blind for all you could care about.

You were worried more about the people than the objects inside.

“If you have an invitation, why are we going through the back way?”

Just tell them, Usopp.

“Oh, well I never go through the front entrance. This is more of a VIP entrance.”

“This guy is full of shit.”

“Yeah, but if he gets us inside who cares.”

Why was Luffy the only member of this merry band of misfits who weren’t incredibly grumpy?

“Usopp,” you called out to him in a warning.

He gave you a glance over his shoulder before he made his way over the giant lily pads without a reply.

Little shit, you thought as you realized he was very much choosing to ignore your existence. Did you blame him? Not really. You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had humored him this long and you were debating on if you should be the one to crush his newfound hopes and dreams.

Fortunately for you, you weren’t going to have to be the bad guy in that scenario. One already seemed to exist.

Just as Usopp reached the second lily pad, you knew something was wrong. The hiccup of an, “Oh,” that came out of him registering as panic. He was already turning back to stop Luffy from coming closer, almost begging him to go to another entrance - an extra special one - when he was interrupted by a knife plunging into the lily pad between his feet.

A very sharp knife. One you knew could’ve easily severed flesh or nicked an artery. Your blood boiled as you pushed past Luffy, your eyes darting wildly as Buchi stalked towards Usopp who stuttered past a greeting.

“What the hell are you doing here, Usopp?” He snapped as his hands lurched in to grasp the leather of Usopp’s top. “You know you aren’t welcome here.”

“I know nothing of the sort. I came to give Kaya an extra-special gift.”

You practically glided past the last lily pad when a sharp hiss cut the air. You didn’t necessarily need to look to see if it was Sham. You knew it was. She stood just off the first step from where they’d been disemboweling the hog, mop at the ready, and her teeth bared directly at you.

“He’s brought the doctor,” she hissed.

Buchi finally seemed to register your presence from behind Usopp and bared his own teeth in warning.

“You are definitely not welcome here.”

“A rather odd thing to say to a healer when your mistress seems to be suffering a mysterious illness.”

“An illness we are more than capable of handling.”

“I find that highly doubtful.”

With his hands still holding onto Usopp, Buchi leaned forward to growl - literally growl - in your face like a rabid dog. You wanted to poke him in the eye and were incredibly tempted to do so when a soft voice cut through the tension.

“Usopp! What a wonderful surprise!”

Everyone’s attention shifted as Kaya made her entrance on the arm of Klahadore. You took a step back and away from the two just so Usopp could twist himself free and walk towards the waiting mistress of the estate.

“I wouldn’t miss today of all days. Happy birthday, Kaya.”

“You remembered.”

My god, she was practically swooning and Usopp was eating it up.

“I could never forget.”

This feels awkward.

They acted like they didn’t have a captive audience watching them look at each other like two lovestruck teenagers.

It wasn’t hard to notice how Kaya beamed at him or how that attention brought happiness to Usopp. For as long as you can remember, even as children, Usopp always liked her. Sure, he would play it off as if they were just friends. There was no way she could see him that way, but when Kaya’s parents passed away three years ago what was between them seemed to change. Their feelings became something saturated in an understanding of loss. Usopp knew what Kaya needed because it was something he himself had never truly received.

So, did it bother you that she actually hadn’t greeted you yet? Not really. What did bother you, however, was the way Klahadore’s eyes slithered over to you. It made you feel like you were going to be sick.

“Usopp. Did you bring the doctor with you?”

Please, let me crawl into a hole and die.

There was something off about Klahadore. It wasn’t just because he made your skin want to completely crawl off your body. It was the way he sounded every alarm bell in your brain. The way your heart speeds up triggering the fight or flight response that was ingrained in your body's defense system. The way he continued to look at you as if you were a bug that needed to be squashed, only drove the feeling home.

“Oh, yeah. Kaya, I had Doc make you something for your cough. I figured it might be worth a try.”

God, he looked so happy. He was completely oblivious to how Klahadore seemed ready to smite you both where you stood.

You closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath. Maybe when you opened them he wouldn’t be staring daggers into your face.

Nope. No such luck.

“Oh, that is so incredibly sweet,” Kaya beamed.

Klahadore slowly set his hand out in front of him. The cold obsidian of his eyes never left your face as he spoke. “Please hand over whatever tonic you’ve acquired for Miss Kaya.”

You weren’t aware your hand was already in the satchel. Your fingers wrapped protectively tight against the cool glass of the bottle as you continued to stare at one another.

“Hand it over. Please.”

“No-“

Usopp’s hand on your shoulder stopped you cold. Your teeth ground tightly to stop your next words. You didn’t want to hand that asshole anything. Not when Kaya looked so damn pale.

Something is wrong.

The thought wormed its way into your brain until it gnawed at all other thoughts until it consumed every available spot. It was all you could think as your eyes continued to look over her frail frame.

Naan taught you that as a doctor, and as a healer, it was your job to fight for your patients. To always do what you could and what was best for their care. Was giving the medicine you made for Kaya to Klahadore best for her care.

No. No, it sure as shit didn’t feel like it.

Maybe that was why it felt like such a betrayal to take the medicine from your bag and drop it inside his gloved hand. You watched as his disgusting white fingers wrapped around the gray bottle and brought it up to rest closely to his chest.

“Now, Usopp we’ve had this discussion about coming here unannounced - and this time with a doctor.”

“Nonsense, Klahadore,” Kaya interjected. “They are my friends. What a sweet gesture it was, Doc to try and make me something. Usopp, did you come to tell me more stories about your adventures?”

“I can do you one better. I brought some of my crew.”

With a sweep of his arm, Usopp introduced Luffy, Nami, and Zoro who registered this gesture with sheer disbelief. Well, disbelief would be putting it mildly.

“Is he talking about us?”

Luffy sounded as confused as you felt.

“I’m sorry, but we do not have any room for any extra guests tonight, I’m afraid.”

“Oh please, Klahadore couldn’t they at least stay for dinner? It is my birthday.”

You hated how Kaya had to beg to have company that wasn’t her staff. You could vaguely remember the butler who was in charge before Klahadore had arrived. Mr. Thorburr had been an absolute delight and genuinely seemed to care about Kaya and her family’s wellbeing. If he was still in charge, you were positive he would’ve believed in letting Kaya outside to enjoy the garden or have friends stop by, even unannounced, to visit.

One day he was just gone and slowly the only staff that was left were these three assholes. It all felt awfully convenient or maybe you were just being petty because you disliked them.

The way Klahadore looked at her made your stomach turn.

“Anything for you, Miss Kaya.”

You wondered if he choked a little over each word as they traveled up his throat.

“Great!” Luffy shouted. “When do we eat?”

“You don’t. Not dressed like that. You will change and bathe before dinner. No exceptions.”

Everyone was willing to accept the invitation. The premise of a bath seemed enough to make Nami practically skip forward to be led inside by Sham. Your feet, however, refused to move. Usopp, Luffy, and Nami practically took the small stairs up to the patio in one giant leap. Your earlier dread from the day was back and something dark borrowed its way into your chest.

Something is wrong.

You were about to turn tail and run when you noticed Zoro stop at the edge of the stairs. His body turned slightly to eye Klahadore one last time before he turned to follow after his crew. It was small and barely lasted a second, but it was enough.

Zoro noticed something wasn’t right either and maybe, just maybe, he’d be the one to believe you. All you had to do was join him inside the house to talk to him. No biggie.

Taking in a deep breath you finally moved to follow behind Kaya and Klahadore. Your eyes intently following a particular green-haired swordsman and wondering how you were going to get him alone.

The showers seemed like a great place to start.

_______________________

As always, thank you for reading. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

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strawberrystepmom · 1 month

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gojo x f!reader are married. he refers to readers breasts and makes a lewd joke. divider by cafekitsune my most beloved | wc 822

“That one looks like you.”

Squeezing Satoru’s bicep where your hand rests against it, arm looped through his, you giggle and shake your head. The statue in front of you is flesh made marble, a woman with thighs that maybe on a really good day resemble yours so painstakingly crafted that crowds gather to see her. She’s beautiful, a depiction of a goddess from fables you are both vaguely familiar with.

Is this really how he sees you? It makes those same butterflies he always manages to create stir in your belly and you wrinkle your nose, taking a peek up at him but looking away to admire the beauty depicted in front of you.

“You’ve already charmed me, Satoru. You don’t have to tell tall tales.” His gaze shifts from the sculpture to you, something you can feel rather than witness. He scoffs and tilts his head, shifting from standing beside you to in front of you, arms still linked together.

“You always say that when I compliment you. Why?”

Laughing, you reach to pinch his side with your freehand and he dodges just in the nick of time. It’s preventative, he always giggles and causes a scene when you touch the tender ticklish spot right at his hip bone, and a museum in another country on a trip the two of you had to bend your schedules to go on is not the place to have a tickle fight. He traps your hand in his and deposits it at your side with a smug half smile.

“Let’s not get into it right now. I’ll just say thank you for the compliment and we can move on.”

Never one to take being put off gracefully, he crowds against you until there is zero space between your bodies. You worry about the PDA being seen as offensive or too much and glance around the mostly empty on a weekday museum where everyone else is fairly ignorant of your existence. It’s just the two of you, as always and not just in your head this time. Smiling, you let him embrace you and rest his balled hands against the small of your back, your entire body leaning into his side.

“You know, I’d have a house full of sculptures and paintings of you just like that if you’d let me,” he mumbles under his breath to bait you. You laugh aloud, pressing your cheek to his arm. “What, nude?” He sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and raises his eyebrows over the tops of his sunglasses. “Obviously. Or clothed or in a gown or in water or tangled in our bed sheets.”

Pausing to take a breath, he’s surprised to see you already looking up at him when he gazes down at you. He wishes he could capture this with more than just his eyes, his phone and heart. He has painted you before and would create a thousand more odes to his beauty if he had more time on his hands and you’d let him. You’re so eager to disbelieve your own beauty, you haven’t sat to be painted by him in years.

Satoru makes a mental note to rectify that as soon as the two of you get home but continues to speak now that he has your undivided attention, smirking, all dimples and mischief and the things you love the most about him, the tenderness in your glance a reflection of how you feel.

“I’m just saying. I’m sure I could find some sculptor to carve my pretty wife and would do those,” he glances down at your chest and you roll your eyes half-heartedly, still wearing the smile he put on your face with his casual comparison of your likeness to that of a goddess. “The artistic justice they deserve.”

Despite the tongue in cheek joking, he can be such a romantic when he wants to be. You kind of feel he’s laying it on a little thick because you’re on vacation but what’s the harm in having fun when it is luxuriously just the two of you, the rarity that it is?

Smiling up at him, you offer a better solution.

“Maybe they can sculpt both of us. We can see if they’ll do that,” you subtly reach down and pat just below his belt buckle before he can swat at your hand or turn on his Infinity to keep you away, pulling your hand away as quickly as you can. “Some justice too.”

Now that’s an idea he appears to like, his smirk sliding into a full smile. You pat his arm and separate yourself from him, only to be met with a whine. You reach behind you and grab his hand, fingers intertwining as naturally as they always do, pulling him along with you.

“Now let me show you which one reminds me of you,” you tease him, smiling over your shoulder.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #kendall writes #satoken

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throwaway-yandere · 6 months

Text

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting.

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either.

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white.

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?"

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man.

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts.

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species."

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

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lilibethwrites · 2 years

Text

Head that Wears the Crown

Aemond Targaryen x F!Targaryen!Reader

There is only one woman in the whole of Westeros who can get inside Aemond’s Targaryen’s head. On the night of Aegon II’s coronation, Aemond’s beloved wife, Y/N Targaryen is not happy with who wears the crown, and she seduces her husband into making a move that might change the order of succession in a mere turn of the moon.

Warnings: smut, incest

A.N: Reader is Rhaenyra and Daemon’s daughter and married to Aemond. This is somewhat darker than what I usually write, but it’s also something I’ve been meaning to write while I’m still working on the requests I’ve received.

Word count: 1958

You were at the Dragonpit earlier, standing tall and proud with your husband by your side as Aegon was crowned as the true King. Within you, however, the fire of a dozen dragons burnt bright and tall. The same fire also burned inside your husband as he grunted and scoffed, your hand in his was squeezed to the point of discomfort—pain, even, as he tried to restrain himself.

It should have been you. It should have been Aemond. The legacy of Aegon the Conqueror was insulted when his crown was placed upon the head of the disgraceful, reproachable man you had the displeasure of calling your brother-in-law.

And Helaena? Old Gods and new had to band together to save your family from doom if she were to rule alongside her brother.

What you devised required a clear head on your part and Aemond’s both to blossom. You allowed him to take a flight on Vhagar to clear his head, and spar with Ser Criston afterwards until his arms and knees threatened to give out.

Then you knew where to find him as if you’d placed him there by your own hand. In the new, spacious bedchamber in addition to yours, gifted to you as Aegon and Helaena vacated it. You suspected it was a consolation gift from Alicent. A mere room for the Seven Kingdoms.

The room was spacious. The floor was tiled with veiny marbles imported from Dorne between smooth stones and the walls were covered in rich tapestries; and it was dark, illuminated by what seemed like a dozen candles and the fire from the fireplace alone. In the middle was a tub partially obscured by a silk curtain left ajar, and within it was Aemond with his arms hanging out on each side, his slender fingers drumming on the side of the cold tub with a servant carefully scrubbing his broad shoulders.

Your entrance did not go unnoticed, and you relieved the servant of the frightful duty. She had heard the tales from other girls who’s heard them from others: Aemond was cruel and short-tempered. He’s beaten and maimed people on a whim. On an evening like this in particular, it was easy as a pie to get on his nerves.

“Leave us,” you ordered, and she set down the rag and scurried away eagerly. Aemond’s face was turned away from his Princess wife, you, and towards the fireplace that extended all the way up to the high ceiling. It gave his face a soft tinge of warmth, he almost looked less intimidating.

“My love.”

Only a hum.

You took a fluffed-up pillow from the bed and kneeled on it beside the tub, to which Aemond finally turned his head. You only hoped it was washed thoroughly. Even through heavy stockings, you were revolted to kneel on only Gods knew what touched before. Knowing Aegon, it was nothing decent.

“What a day we’ve had,” you whispered, dipping the rag in water.

“Hm.”

You began with his arm, scrubbing gently and slowly before moving up to his shoulder, following the muscular curve of it in circles.

“Talk to me, husband,” you whispered again, much closer to his ear this time, and sealed your seduction with a kiss to his neck.

From the way his chest rose and fell, you knew he was giving in to you.

“Aegon is…” he sighed. Aemond shared your dislike for Aegon but his sense of duty and his commitment to his family tied his tongue. You, however, were also his family, and you were determined.

“A drunkard and a charlatan, yes. Not at all the knight and the scholar you are. The heirloom of Aegon belonged to you and you alone, my love.”

You dipped the rag into the water once again, this time rubbing his chest. He caught your heavy-lidded eyes and licked his lips like a man starved before a feast.

“Aegon is the king, now. This is treason,” Aemond spoke through gritted teeth. The words of his older brother’s coronation were heavy on his pride and difficult to speak.

“So be it. Then we shall hang together.”

You trailed down from his chest to his abdomen. His muscles under your rag tightened. He could foresee your next move as with shaky breaths that bordered on sweet mewls and moans, you let go of the rag and pressed your palm on his skin.

“Hand in hand in death as we are in life, my love,” your fingers travelled down a patch of light hair that led to his manhood.

He was growing hard already and twitched in your palm when you gave his cock a light squeeze and a pump. Aemond’s hips shifted as he slid down the tub, his legs spread wider to accommodate your conduct.

His breath was heavier also, shaking with each up-and-down slide of your hand around his shaft and with kisses pressed to the corners of his lips.

“Aegon cannot hurt you, love. No one can while I am around,” he grunted. His head was thrown back in pleasure though his eye was trained on your face still.

“Mmm, husband. What would I do without you?” You purred in his ear, scratching with your words the spot that pleased him the most.

Aemond wasn’t a man to be manipulated, but you were a woman not to be underestimated. Your hold over him was stronger than most knew. Perhaps even Aemond himself didn’t always know just how much of his decisions were placed in his head by his dear wife.

“It was not right,” his lips loosened up between grunts as you picked up the pace with your strokes. “He—he should not have—” he stuttered between gasps and huffs.

“We can make it right. My dear husband, we can make it right,” You could tell he was close. A hand on the curved corner of the tub clutched the marble so tight that veins on top of his hand and around his forearm popped up. He hissed through gritted teeth with each stroke you gave him from the hilt to the tip.

He was burning up, too. When you pressed quick but wet kisses all over his neck and jaw, your lips felt as if you’ve kissed hot coals.

“How?”

You knew the signs all too well. You knew when to press on, and much to your husband’s dismay, you knew when to pull back. With a disappointed groan from Aemond’s throat, you pulled your hand out of the water and began slowly to loosen up the bodice of your dress.

He watched you with a heavy-lidded eye and a heavier heave of his chest. The heavy silk of your gown slid down from your shoulders and bared your naked breasts to your husband. He cupped one, massaging and squeezing, desperate to feel more of you.

Aemond’s wet hand raised goosebumps on your skin. There was the familiar, sweet building up of heat and ache between your legs, as well. You needed him just as he needed you. Though before you allowed yourself to indulge, the matter at hand needed Aemond to be resolved on a particular solution—and who better than you, his darling wife, to make it happen?

You cupped his cheek and brushed your lips against his before sliding your tongue between his parted lips. It was more of a promise of things that might come, so you pulled back when his hand tangled in your hair to deepen the kiss.

“There is a way, my love.”

You had Aemond just the way you wanted then: panting and gasping, trembling, silently begging to be touched, to be inside you. Your thumb caressed his lips, and he watched you expectantly.

“Though some might say it shall visit a curse upon us—”

“You are asking me to… to—”

“Not quite. Not a slit throat, or a sword through the heart. But… you do fly together occasionally. Above the clouds, above even where the Gods cannot reach you. If a dreadful accident were to happen…”

“It would be—”

“It would be the only way to ensure there would be no protests to your coronation,” your hand wrapped around his neck gently, your thumb stroking the vein that ran from the side of his sensitive flesh. You could feel the flow of his hot blood when you pressed your finger down on it.

Aemond leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. If it wasn’t an immediate no, it was a yes. A reluctant one, maybe even an afraid one—and could you blame him considering the weight of what you just asked of him?— but it was a yes.

Your hand dipped into the water and down between his legs again, and you started stroking his already-stimulated cock, this time to bring him to his peak.

“Leave Helaena to me. I know you are fond of her,” Though the idea that Aemond was keen on her made it all the more alluring to do away with her in a more permanent manner, you had to tread carefully and make your calculations precisely. Your plan was as delicate as it was dangerous. If you turned greedy, it could collapse.

“I shall ensure she disappears without damage. This, I promise to you, my love. But Aegon,” you squeezed him, and he reached down to grab your wrist, making your hand resume its movement.

“Aegon must…”

“I will do it,” he finally agreed to your plan. The hesitation in his voice was palpable, but you knew your husband to be a man of his word. He would do it if he promised he would.

So you kissed him one more time as he guided your hand around his cock, only a few more strokes away from release. You didn’t resist when he bit your lip and swirled his tongue around yours.

“I shall be the kinslayer to put a crown on your head, my dear, wicked wife,” he murmured against your lips. It took one to know one. And that was all you needed to hear, so you worked his cock just the way that he liked—the way that drew out ragged moans from his trembling lips.

He came panting, chasing his pleasure with erratic and desperate jolts and rolls of his hips. You let him, and he fucked your hand until the last drop of his load.

Aemond’s head was thrown back, his eye shut tight with tremors still going through his hips and groin. He only looked at you when he heard the rustling of your skirt on the stone and marble floor. He watched you—exhausted and having barely caught his breath— as you stepped out of your dress and joined him in the tub. Bubbled bath water splashed on the floor as you straddled him.

“My king,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and his breath hitched in his throat. If he wasn’t convinced of the plan before, hearing the words from your mouth certainly sealed the deal for him.

“My cruel, cruel queen.”

“Only to our enemies, my love. Only to those who would do nought but menace to us.”

“Oh, whatever would I do without you?” Aemond teased, mockery laced with playfulness. You could let him entertain any notion he liked as long as you got your wishes.

He was growing hard under you again with each roll of your hips. As his head bowed down to take your nipple in his mouth, you guided him inside you.

A shared moan escaped your lips as he filled you to the brim and your walls fluttered around him.

“Don’t—don’t stop,” he pleaded.

You had no such plans. Not for the night, nor for the future.

Aemond Tag (let me know if you’d like to be added to it):

@cherishedauthor @schniiipsel @verycollectivecreator @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @aemcndtargaryen @m1ndbrand @iorveth-scoiatael @let-love-bleeds-red @imakeangelscry @midnightindiewolf @queereddie @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @nighttwingg @mllemarianne @lomllino @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mirandastuckinthe80s @loverandqueenofdragons @fultimefangirl @lenasvoid @leilani788 @theekinslayer @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @m00n5t0n3 @paprikaquinn @dearbaji

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd #house of the dragon

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ichorkurt · 25 days

Text

ficrecs masterlist ii.

welcome to my second ficrecs masterlist! find my main blog @ichorai. find my own fics here.

below the cut includes jujutsu kaisen, lord of the rings, saltburn, the halcyon, marvel, game of thrones, house of the dragon, prisoners, world on fire, dc, doctor who, scott pilgrim, succession, and harry potter fics!

jujutsu kaisen.

jujutsu kaisen men in the world of work by @drak3n

ೃ⁀➷ naoya zenin.

only a fool for you by @mochimoshis

ೃ⁀➷ satoru gojo.

luxury & lingerie by @celestie0

ೃ⁀➷ suguru geto.

the guy i lost my virginity to is stalking me by @gorehsk

lord of the rings.

ೃ⁀➷ legolas.

watcher of wanderers by @entishramblings

saltburn.

ೃ⁀➷ michael gavey.

the golden ratio by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

midpoint by @asumofwords

mine all mine by @humanpurposes

the poetry of logical ideas by @sylasthegrim

stick it out to the end by @aemondsbabe

the halcyon.

ೃ⁀➷ billy taylor.

one more tomorrow by @tomhiddleston

marvel.

ೃ⁀➷ logan howlett.

logan's reaction when you wear one of his shirts by @periprose

ೃ⁀➷ peter parker.

untitled by @forever-rogue

game of thrones / house of the dragon.

pregnancy headcanons by @princessbellecerise

ೃ⁀➷ jacaerys velaryon.

hunger games au by @maidragoste

lotus bloom by @hxtd

ೃ⁀➷ jaime lannister.

the best fit by @casterladyrock

prisoners.

ೃ⁀➷ david loki.

blood bond by @davidlcki

sfw alphabet by @charliehoennam

tall, dark, and handsome by @rebelliousstories

world on fire.

ೃ⁀➷ tom bennett.

best intentions by @/ewanmitchellcrumbs

rocking the boat by @ultraintrovertedgryffindor

dc.

ೃ⁀➷ adrian chase.

five times vigilante definitely does not have feelings (and one time he does) by @tropes-and-tales

helluva drug by @lysenfeu

hot venom by @jangofctts

never been kissed by @training4theapocalypse

thirsty by @/training4theapocalypse

ೃ⁀➷ bruce wayne.

clingy mornings by @kurogxrix

ೃ⁀➷ dick grayson.

sunset anew by @sanguineterrain

doctor who.

ೃ⁀➷ eleventh doctor.

cold feet by @undiscovered-horizon

dangerous habits by @social-mockingbird

a day in by @cloginthedrain

my john by @watchoutforthefanfics

safest place in the universe by @holly-the-trash-writer

set things right by @pastanest

ticking love bomb by @/watchoutforthefanfics

scott pilgrim.

ೃ⁀➷ kim pine.

right next door by @writersbarrierblock

ೃ⁀➷ wallace wells.

untitled by @twiixr4kidz

untitled by @/twiixr4kidz

succession.

their marriage proposal by @romeulusroy

ೃ⁀➷ lukas matsson.

normal people by @the-west-meadow

ೃ⁀➷ roman roy.

baby by @richeeduvie

gossamer by @/romeulusroy

i'm annoying by @bowieandqueen11

movie by @eeveebitches

right where you left me by @aurorag98

smile like you mean it by @cvrnelians

this hope is trecherous by @aprilthearcher

untitled by @/richeeduvie

wedding prep by @/richeeduvie

harry potter.

ೃ⁀➷ cormac mclaggen.

finders keepers by @/training4theapocalypse

ೃ⁀➷ fred weasley.

anything by @ibbythebee

beloved, besotted, betrothed by @emeritusemeritus

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tenseoyong · 2 years

Note

Hi can you do Aemond x betrothed reader at the dinner scene he’s jealous of jace and reader dancing?

Aemond would scarcely admit he hadn’t expected to become so quickly enamored by his sweet tongued, kind-eyed, gentle handed betrothal. Honestly speaking, Aemond had assumed his arranged marriage would follow a similar pattern as his parents’ and siblings’—loveless and constant avoidance—he was sure that the lovely Lady that had arrived at court would have little interest in the Scarred Prince beyond the gain of gold and the title of Princess.

Yet, Aemond was surprised to find a less than timid woman, one who did not shy away from his cold gaze, nor did she pity or fear his childhood maiming.

Yes, the Prince had grown rather fond of the unusual Lady. Often Aemond spend hours with her, hidden from prying eyes by the many shelves of books of the Keep’s library.

She listened to him attentively—not just keeping up appearances of a doting and obedient wife-to-be—no, she actually enjoyed Aemond’s company; hanging off his every word as he recounted his daily training, or when he told of the history of dragons, even dared to attempt to teach her a word or two in High Valyrian. In turn, she spun tales of her home, how her brothers bickered as children, and how she feared riding a horse just as one would fear facing a dragon.

Aemond would grow to love his Lady Wife—that much he was sure of—and he had dared to hope that she would return that love ten fold.

She had all but extinguished the dragon’s fire that lived in him.

Yet, the moment his darling nephew, Jacaerys, had stepped forward—folllowing his sweet sister Heleana’s speech of marital neglect—and requested she accompany him in dance, Aemond’s mind filled with vivid images of Jacaerys burned to a crisp, curtesy of Vhagar’s breath.

To see her, in the arms of his bastard nephew as she politely accepted his dance proposal, turned his stomach to stone.

Aemond believes he knew true anger. He’d spent a good portion of his childhood angry—angry at his father, and his nephews, and at his dragon-less status. Though, as violet eyes watched his Lady and Jacaerys is dance, Aemond knew then he’d never truly experienced anger—until this moment.

It burned inside him hotter than dragon’s fire, boiling his blood and scalding his heart.

And as his nephew spun his betrothed about the empty corner of the room, Aemond could bare to witness it no more.

The whole room came to a screeching halt as Aemond slammed his fist into the table as he rose to stand tall, and mockingly held his cup in the air, “I’d like to toast to my nephews—Jace, Luke…Joffrey—each of them handsome, wise, brave…” He paused, turning to stare directly at the hand Jace had placed to the small of his Lady’s back. “And Strong.”

Not to give up the game, Jace didn’t release his partner, only twirling the pair until Jace was between his uncle and his intended before demanding, “I dare you to say that again!”

“Why?” Aemond tsked, rounding the table and taking several calculated steps towards the stationary duo. “T’was only a compliment—I would extend my toast to my beloved betrothed, I shall pray to the Gods that they make our sons as Strong as their cousins.”

The fury was evident enough on young Jace’s face, all while the quiet satisfaction of getting under his skin flooded Aemond’s.

Though, the satisfaction didn’t last nearly as long as he’d hoped—for as soon as Jacaerys fixed Aemond with a mischievous look and devious smile, Jace reestablished his hold on his uncle’s bride-to-be, and taunted, “If only there were such a way to ensure your sons’ strength, perhaps I’ll be of some help, if the Lady wouldn’t mind me—“

All at once, Aemond closed what little space remained between him and the dancing pair, and curled his fingers into his nephew’s neck like a claw, snatching the younger boy up much like a kitten at its scruff, “You’ll remove your hands from my Wife.”

“You misspoke, Uncle.” Jacaerys smirked, ignoring Aemond’s seething rage. “The Lady is not yet your wife, is she? I believe that gives her leave to do as she pleases, while she can.”

“I care not for the beliefs of a bastard,” Aemond’s words dripped with venom. “She is to be my bride—since you are so keen on pretending to be of your status—you should be aware that you are greatly overstepping.”

Jacaerys only cocked an eyebrow—a silent challenge—before his fingers curled into your side and what little room between your bodies had been erased, “Oh? Have I overstepped—“

“You will remove your hand,” Aemond was through playing this game, he did break the eye contact he held with his nephew, yet he could still see the obvious annoyance and displeasure growing on your sweet face. Aemond’s hand fluttered above the dagger strapped at his hip. “Or I shall remove it for you.”

The threat lingered in the air momentarily before, much to anyone’s surprise, the Lady squirmed out of Jacaerys’ hold and took her rightful place at Aemond’s right and placed a gentle on Aemond’s tensed arm.

“My Love,” She all but cooed at the furious dragon she would soon claim as a husband. “Let us not ruin the single night your father has requested with his family—I am unharmed and unbothered—let us not have further bloodshed between kin.”

Aemond won’t not soon let go of his hatred for his bastard nephews, but as his Lady-to-be stood by his side and looked upon him with such care and affection Aemond would afford her this kindness.

He released his blade, and his grip on Jacaerys’ neck—though he paused a moment to admire the half-moon shaped nail marks he’d left in his stead—before collecting his betrothed and whisking them both from the disastrous dinner, desiring nothing more than to be hidden away with his Lady love where they belonged.

Soon after, as the servant folks spread tales of the exciting night—a song would emerge—that of a Lady, who had managed to tame the dragon.

[masterlist]

@moonchildrenandflowercrowns

#hotd #hotd imagine #hotd scenario #hotd x reader #aemond targayen #aemond targaryen x reader #Aemond Targaryen imagine #Aemond Targaryen scenario #smut #x reader #shorts

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arcielee · 7 months

Text

Insatiable

Summary: Osferth finally has a moment with the barmaid he has been pining for. Paring: Osferth x Plus Size Reader Word Count: 1575 Warnings: AFAB Reader, kissing, titty sucking, grinding, pre ejaculation because baby monk is thrumming with life being tucked between your thighs, implied sexual themes. Author's Note: This was requested by the lovely, the wonderful @helaelaemond 💜 I hope this does justice to your request. Thank you @aemondsbabe for being my beloved beta reader for this hot mess I wrote at 1 in the morning and thank you @myfandomprompts for the title! 🥰 Dividers by @saradika

They prefer your tavern and its reputation, your wit and your hired help–always the loveliest of girls you gave sanctuary too. In return, you enjoyed both their coin and their company, which was something all encompassing whenever they would enter your establishment.

On this night, it was the tittering of your barmaids that alerts you before the bawdy Irishman announces their arrival. He fills the door frame, his dark eyes settling onto you and you returning his cheeky grin.

“Lord Uhtred and his pretty boys,” you greet and he guffaws. You begin to pull empty tankards from the shelves behind. “To what do we owe the honor?”

Finan pushes up towards the bar, his teeth bright beneath his dark beard. “My lady, tonight we are celebrating!”

“What are we celebrating?” You fill up a mug and pass it over to his wide grasp.

He begins to gulp it down, ale spilling the corners of his mouth before setting it down, his smile roguish when he says: “First bloodshed.”

Osferth had slain the great Dane, Sigefrid Thurgilson, and its tale was already webbing throughout the cities that settled along the river bank of the Temes, rising from the ashes of Beamfleot.

Your brow raises with your surprise. The warrior monk was a recent addition to the motley swart of men that shadowed Lord Uhtred’s steps. Osferth was a solemn addition, tall and lean, with piercing blue eyes that would cut through the crowd, searching for you whenever they visited.

You could not help but favor him out of all the men that served Lord Uhtred. He was handsome with his sharp features, but you noticed how they softened with your voice whenever you spoke with him. You relish his reaction, the soft pink hues that stained his cheeks, his soft timbre to answer you, and you actually began to mourn him, assuming his inevitable demise at the end of a blade.

But instead, Osferth showed himself to be so much more.

The wooden walls begin to vibrate with the jubilation of surviving another day as the locals pour through the doors, adding to the cheers of their heroism. Lord Uhtred and his men preen under the attention, always adoring your pretty help, your girls flutter throughout to refill mugs or fall into an empty lap.

You were watching, sipping at your own cup, dressed to complement your curves, the low neckline of your blouse to draw the eye to your heavy bust, aglow with the umpteenth retelling of baby monk’s bravery. Only then did you notice that Finan was trying to call your attention.

“Please,” his lilt was thick as he began to beg, his ruddy cheeks burning and his dark eyes finally pulling away from your cleavage to meet with your own. “Osferth has been so hopelessly besotted with you. I was thinking you should give him a kiss to congratulate that he is now truly a man.”

His words, partnered with the ale, warm your blood with the realization, flushing your cheeks and your cleavage. It propels your feet forward, pushing through the crowd towards Osferth, whose eyes were already trained to you. They widen, bright and beautiful and blue, to drink in the sight when you lean over, his skin prickling with your whisper to his ear, “Come with me,” and he is quick to stand and follow after you.

The cheers of his comrades are drowned out with the call for another round, and you leave it to your help to tend and to fawn over the rest of the men as you pull Osferth away.

The oak door shuts out the noise and you look back to see his lithe frame leaning against the wood. In the intimacy of the room, you could smell the musk of the battle won, lining his angular features, his sandy locks disheveled with the uneven new growth of his old religious style.

You reach for his hand, pulling him towards the bed, and he follows, towering over you, watching as your hands pull at the collar of his alb; he helps you peel it off, showing the pale planes of his chest beneath.

Even as he sinks to sit on the edge of the bed, he is still so very tall, and you blush, turning to grab a clean cloth from the basin, coming back to touch his jaw and to wipe away the ash smeared across his face.

Osferth hums with your touch, leaning into your palm, and your blood thickens beneath your skin with his close proximity. Your eyes watch the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady his breath, and when he finally looks back up at you, you can see the lustful black swallowing the cerulean coloring of his eyes; they wash over you, drinking in your curves, and a bashfulness stricken your bones with his heady gaze.

You take a step back to return the cloth, and only then does Osferth dare to push up, towering over you. His large palm catches your elbow and pulls you back towards him. “May I–?” but his question stops on his tongue, your hands already moving to pull him close enough to kiss.

The taste of ale is present, but not overwhelming, his mouth pleasantly warm and his lips soft to press against your own. You melt against his chest and a soft sigh escapes, allowing his clever tongue to curl, to deepen the kiss and find its tandem with your own. His large hands move, respectful but appreciative of the tactile nature of your figure, touching your soft waist, moving to settle on your hips with a firm hold as he continues to draw the very breath from your lungs.

You break away for air, for who knew he would kiss like a man starved? You see his lips still pursed, kiss swollen, the hue now darkening to a red stain on his cheeks and on the tip of his nose.

“Forgive me,” he says after a movement with the same sweet diction you were always fond of, and he grows shy with his admittance, “but I have thought often of how you would taste and I now find myself insatiable.”

You close the space between, finding his mouth once again, and his palms roam, his stance staggering as he follows the pull backwards, until you both fall onto the bed.

His arms cage you against the mattress and he dips forward for another desperate kiss; your blouse laces are pulled to allow the natural slope of your breasts, your hands rutting your skirt up so he can slot his slender waist between your plush thighs. You softly whine with the pressure of his length against your clothed cunt, and his deft fingers travel to remove your smallclothes. Osferth then pulls back with a pause, a moment of admiration with the enticing way of how you now spill from your clothes.

You burn under his gaze, your fingers bold to loosen his ties, his length straining against the crotch of his slacks, now flush and upright towards his bellybutton. Osferth melts against you with his soft groan, your own soft sighs echoing with the delicious pressure of him against your slick folds. Your fingertips move to dig into the divots of his lower back, pulling him to rock against you with the genial glide of the underside of his cock against your warmth, rubbing your clit, and a pleasure begins to lick at the base of your spine.

He is lost in the rhythm, the now crimson flush spilling from his face to his neck to his chest, panting and trembling against you; his eyes search for your face and you pull him in for another quick kiss. Osferth groans into your mouth, breaking away to return his attention to the tops of your breasts, his hot mouth leaving blooms of color as he suckles and savors every bit of your skin now showing.

You squirm beneath him, your soft moans spurring his motion, and his brows knit with a focus on your pleasure, your sweet sounds, but it shatters so easily with your breathless whisper of his name that tickles his ear, “Oh, Osferth…”

With a strangled cry, you can feel the hot pulse of his spend between your thighs. You tighten them around his waist, supporting him as he lowers his weight on top of you. “Forgive me,” he is panting against your flush skin, the ripple of gooseflesh in the wake of his exhale. “Forgive me, my lady, it is no excuse but I…have been thinking about this, about you, for so long…”

You press a finger against his lips and Osferth is quick to kiss the pad. You smile with his gesture, your hand moving to curl the back of his neck, bringing his lips to your own for another sweet kiss. “Would you like to make it up to me?” Your voice is sultry, velvet, and you can feel the twitch of his cock in response.

His eyes are soulful and wide, with the returning blue a stark contrast to the flush of red that remains on his face. “More than anything,” he vows, “I will spend all night right here, if you wish it.”

And you kiss him again, unable to help the giggle that spills from your lips. “I wish it,” you whisper and you can feel his smile in return.

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch

#osferth x you #osferth x reader #osferth x plus size reader #plus size reader #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #insatiable

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miguelhugger2099 · 4 months

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A Knight's Oath

Summary: You're a princess in need of a personal guard after your father's passing. Miguel from the enemy kingdom, is assigned to become a spy that kills you. Next>>

Knight!Miguel x Princess!Reader, Enemies to Lovers(?), Angst, Fluff, Not proofread, Word Count: 1,005

Like any tale as old as time, history is never clean. Freedom is never gained through peace. It is violence, a necessary one at that, in order to get what you need. Even if it means becoming the villain to some and the hero to others.

Your father was no exception. As a young king, his father had died in battle protecting the kingdom during a famine. With its citizens crying for help and other countries trying to step on their kingdom, your father had picked up a sword and began to lead a slaughter in the name of freedom. With your mother at his side, she helped on the inside, providing jobs, and a sense of community for hope and pride of their heritage. It had been a long thirteen years of bloodshed, but ultimately, the king had successfully pushed back intruders and helped bring his kingdom back to life.

In the middle of the war, you had been born–a princess–a new era of hope and peace for the land. Your people had celebrated your birth with parades, art, music and dancing, while your parents always showed you off with pride. For the next couple of years, you had been raised to be kind, resilient and humble. You were still just a baby when it had ended, so you did not know the true extent of it. You did know there was a war where other countries had looked down upon you and despite the small size of your army, you had won. You knew your father did whatever he had to do to protect the faces of the common people and the future of your life so you never faulted him for it.

Unfortunately, your father passed just before you reached adulthood. An unknown illness and went in his sleep. Everyone had mourned the terrible loss of their protector and beloved king, father and husband. Despite his actions in war, he was always incredibly kind to his people and was a great role model of a man in your life. You took pride in the fact you were his flesh and blood and that would never change. So with honor and grace, you worked hard to follow in his footsteps to be a great leader.

Others, however, did not share the same feelings. In other stories, your father was the devil himself. A cruel king that had struck anyone who had gotten in his way, caused the downfall of armies and used wicked ways to poison and torture troops to his advantage. When word of his passing had spread, many had celebrated the death of the evil king and hoped all those who lived in his kingdom perished with him.

Miguel O’Hara was one who thought the same. He hated the king that had started a war and it killed his father, hated how the aftermath of it left his mother depressed and his family starving. His homeland was in shambles because of your father and for years, he prayed for a chance to help his own country in gaining revenge.

So, for years Miguel had worked his way up in the ranks of his homelands army. A protector of his people and a way to finally fight back if another war were to break out again. He not only trained hard for his home, but to also feed his family—his mother and little brother. He often worried about them but little Gabriel was always eager to help while Miguel was away. Always a kind soul, he was.

When rumors had gone out that his king had been planning on planting a spy and an assassination on the princess of the enemy land, Miguel’s interest had been piqued. He thought to himself, without an heir, that wicked kingdom would surely fall to its knees and get what they deserve.

Naturally, Miguel had been called in for an audience with the king. He bent down on one knee and bowed his head.

“My Lord.” He greeted.

The king’s slicked back white hair practically glinted in the sunlight where its rays were seeping through the tall windows of the throne room. “Stand, soldier.” His voice boomed.

Miguel stood back up, the metal of his knight armor clanking against each other and he rested his wrist on his sword by his side. The king spoke again. “My boy, you are the finest gem in our armed forces. Your victories are endless and you make all of us here proud.”

Miguel’s face didn’t move, still as ever and it only made the king’s grin curl up even more.

“Which is why I’ve assigned you a special mission,” Miguel took a deep breath. “As the princess of Etheria’s guard.”

Now that had made Miguel’s face scrunch up in disgust. “My Lord, forgive me but–” He quickly shut his mouth when the king raised his hand.

“You will portray yourself as one of them. Eat, sleep and breathe like them and gain a position of a knight in their castle,” He explained. “There are talks of the princess needing a personal guard. Once you have gained information and the trust of those lowlife scum, you are to kill her. Once she is dead, we will invade their land and finish what they started.”

Miguel let his words seep into his thoughts. To live amongst the people he’s loathed since the beginning? It was barbaric and humiliating.

But this was his chance. A chance at revenge. He was angered when the king had died before he could even get close. Now, with the opportunity of sticking a sword in his own daughter’s heart–Miguel felt that was an even better alternative.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by his king. “Do what you must to be as convincing as possible. Care for her, protect her, admire her, kill one of our own if need be– just make sure that no one expects a thing… Especially the princess.” Miguel stood up straighter, saluting the man in front.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Dismissed.”

A/N: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara imagine

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yoonivy · 15 days

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my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 5.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, smut. it’s a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift’s ‘ivy’.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. angst!!! uh... major character (for this fic anyway) death ahead... you've been warned... 01| 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09

---

The people are calling it the Dance of the Dragons.

A pretty song-like title for a tale that they will tell in future years to come of the triumph of the one who had sat victorious on the throne made of a thousand swords, the imagery of falling flying beasts, and the rise and fall of two families who share the same name.

The winners will be lionized as heroes. They will have songs written about them and their pictures in the history books will be one of them looking tall and gallant. People will say their victory was selfless — all for the good of the realm and its people, and not for anything else.

The losing side will be the villains and the cravens who gave up everything they had – their dignity, their moral compass, the ones they care about the most, and their lives. When people speak of their name, it will be said like it is a curse and as if they taste trash on their tongue. Or perhaps worse — there will be some who will not be remembered at all.

But in reality, despite its pretty song-like title, this “Dance of the Dragons” is a brutal and cruel civil war that has already taken the lives of many and forever changed the trajectory of others.

Aemond Targaryen thinks about his younger brother, Prince Daeron, no longer the young, carefree man with the easy-going smile for he has hardened by the horrors he has seen and caused himself, and for the dark liquor he drinks to forget it all.

He thinks about his sister, Queen Helaena, stuck in the prison of her bedchamber under her own volition; refusing to eat and sleep, over encumbered with grief and depression due to witnessing the brutal murder of her oldest son. Forever haunted by the fact that when the assassins gave the false illusion of choice to choose between which of her children to die, she had said her youngest’s name instead.

He thinks about his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, who has seen the suffering her beloved children have been going through this past year and a half and weeps on their behalf every single night. Who tells Aemond that she is proud of him, and yet still cannot look him in the eye.

Then, Prince Aemond thinks about himself, and the crown he wears now, as Prince Regent for his older brother, King Aegon, who is bedridden and unfit to rule with his severe injuries and burns due to the battle at Rook’s Rest, where they — Aemond, himself, and Aegon — took the lives of their aunt, Princess Rhaenys, The Queen Who Never Was and her dragon, Meleys. And though it is his older brother who bears the same name as their Targaryen ancestor who first sat on the Iron Throne as King and thus beginning the Targaryen dynasty in the Seven Kingdoms, Aemond thinks it is on his head that Aegon the Conqueror’s crown fits better.

But he can’t— no, Aemond won’t think about the little cub so far from her forested island to inhabit the hollow and cold halls of Harrenhal.

Though it seems that the Sevens are not the most benevolent of Gods; and when they give Aemond something that he wants, they always have a habit of taking something away.

This time in exchange for the crown, they want his already crumbling peace of mind.

“Harrenhal has been conquered,” Ser Criston announces as he storms furiously inside the pitched tent that Aemond and Daeron are using as a war council room at their base camp just by the southwest border of the Reach. “That filthy whore fucker captured it with his dragon and army.”

Daeron shrugs, kicking his feet up on the war table as he indulges on another gulp of wine. “Well, after tonight, we take full control of the whole Reach so who really cares about Harrenhal. Our dear uncle can have that cursed castle.”

Clearly he is already in his cups and not thinking clearly if he thinks what he said has any sense to it.

Aemond scowls at his youngest brother, pushing his feet off the table so suddenly that Daeron almost falls off the chair if he had not managed to catch his balance at the last second. Aemond then braces his hands on the edge of the table, glaring first at his brother then turning to the map laid out in front of him. “We’re not letting Daemon have anything, especially not Harrenhal — not when the Tullys, the Freys, and the Arryns are also for the Blacks.”

Daeron stands now and looks over the map with the Prince Regent, sighing when he realizes Aemond is right. If the Blacks get a hold of a Harrenhal as well, they can kiss goodbye to their already a sliver of an opportunity to invade the North.

“How did Daemon manage to take hold of Harrenhal so quickly?” Aemond asks Ser Criston, looking wildly incredulous. It was only a few weeks ago that they got word from the castellan, Ser Simon Strong, that they have enough troops in Harrenhal to rally towards the other Riverlands Houses who supported Rhaenyra. “Was it really an incredible feat or are the Strongs as traitorous as they are in the penchant for producing lowly bastards?”

The Lord Commander of the King’s Guard — and also now, the Hand of the King after King Aegon deemed his grandfather, Otto Hightower, unfit to guide him — shakes his head, unsure. “I would not put it past them, your Grace… With Harwin who sired three of that whore Queen’s sons, and the Clubfoot — fuck, that guy gives me the creeps…” Ser Criston shivers, thinking of Larys Strong, the master of whisperers.

Aemond lets out a hmm in agreement. He never trusted Larys, and the way the man leered at his mother disturbed the prince and made his blood boil with rage.

“So I say we take no chances and just be done with the whole House,” the Lord Commander advises.

Aemond hums again, this time in contemplation at his suggestion. Ser Criston has a point. House Strong’s so-called loyalty to their side has not been beneficial to their cause in any way – the only thing they’ve truly given is their hold on Harrenhal, and now they don’t even have that.

“Wait…” Daeron frowns, deep in thought. “Are you saying we should execute the Strongs?”

Ser Criston grins maniacally at the youngest prince. “Every. Single. Last. One. Of those traitorous fucks.”

Daeron finds himself grinning back, suddenly bloodthirsty. Although unfortunate, Lucerys’ death was all in all an accident. But the retaliation from Daemon – hiring two assassins to savagely murder Daeron’s nephew in front of his two younger siblings and their mother, Queen Helaena – was anything but an accident. It was a cruel act, made to break the Greens. Helaena has never been the same since that night, and Daeron is not sure if he is either.

And if the Strongs are secretly aiding Daemon behind their backs, then they deserve to rot through all Seven Hells.

Despite his dark thoughts, Daeron casts his glance sideways at Aemond and cheekily says, “What say you, brother? Honestly… I’m all up for it!”

With his eye trained on where Harrenhal lays on the map, Aemond sucks in a short intake of air.

Executing each and every member of the Strong family? But that also means…

There are two voices warring in his head, both loud and overbearing.

(You can’t. She’s there. And as much as you loathe it, she has taken the Strong name now as her own.)

And –

(Why does it matter? She abandoned you first. And if she chose to lay with traitorous men, then she shall lie in that bed and take it.)

Aemond shakes both the thoughts away, nostrils flaring as he takes another sharp breath before he looks from his brother to Ser Criston as he tells them his final plan, “Tomorrow, we’ll start our march for Harrenhal. If the Strongs aren’t already dead by the time we recapture the castle, then we’ll see which punishment fits. If it’s certain they betrayed us then I have no problem eradicating the Strong bloodline, for none of the Strongs hold any importance to anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms…” The words taste all kinds of wrong in his mouth and there are voices in his head telling him to take it back. But he shuts them out, stomps on their attempt to make him the villain in the story.

“But for tonight, let us focus on capturing Horn Hill.”

Daeron chugs back the rest of his drink, then tips the cup towards Aemond with a wine-stained smirk. “Then let’s get to it.”

---

When it comes to the battlefield, Daeron is a formidable force despite the three goblets of wine he had earlier – hence why he had been dubbed Ser Daeron the Daring.

The Daring Prince slashes through the Tarly soldiers and villagers of Horn Hill as if they are merely practice dummies. The Prince Regent follows behind him, hacking down men from the opposing side left and right in his wake as well.

The little Horn Hill village they are in just a few ways away from the castle where the Tarlys sit is already in a chaos of their doing. Homes demolished and the screams of villagers loud in every direction. Above them, Vhagar and Daeron’s blue she-dragon, Tessarion, circle the night sky – burning down their flames wherever they see fit.

Aemond has grown used to these sights and sounds — many different villages, many different people, so many lives and livelihoods destroyed in a single day – so is it callous to say it does not even phase him anymore?

At least he can say that he finds no joy in it – unlike his younger brother whose laughter grows more wicked with each body that falls limp on the ground as if they were nothing at all.

“It’s nice fighting alongside of you again, brother,” Daeron grins over his shoulder at Aemond as he pulls his bloody sword out of a man wearing the Tarly colors of olive green and red. “I wish I could have been there at Rook’s Rest with you and Aegon.”

“I don’t,” Aemond bites out, snarling when the man he is facing manages to parry his attack. But Aemond is quick to elbow him, causing the man to stagger back, and that is when Aemond drives his blade into his chest without mercy. Once the man falls, Aemond turns to Daeron to finish what he wanted to say, “I don’t need another incapacitated brother.”

Daeron sniffs, pretending to wipe away a tear with his finger. “So you do love me.”

Head shaking in disbelief, Aemond rolls his eye. Then he grabs Daeron on the nape of his neck, affectionately — like he used to do when they were younger. But this time, instead of the two of them laughing as they follow behind a miserable Aegon leave a feast overstuffed with a tummy ache, Aemond is now leading his younger brother through a battlefield that could lead to his death in any given second.

“Come on,” he smirks at Daeron, before turning to where he sees Ser Criston ahead of them. “They’re advancing to the castle.”

With a determined nod, Daeron slaps the Prince Regent’s shoulder blade. An unspoken promise that he has his back.

Aemond is suddenly blinking back unshed tears. Him and Daeron have never been close – with Daeron’s distance when he was sent to Oldtown at age 12, it was impossible to be — but this war definitely brought them closer. Same with Aegon. It is true that Aemond still hates his older brother’s character and what he chooses to stand for in many ways, but he cannot deny the bond that formed between them when they fought and won so many battles side by side. Then with the tragedy that befell Helaena, Aemond became more fiercely loyal and protective of all his kin.

They may not be the most picture perfect set of siblings, and yet, his family… They are the only precious thing left in this world that he has.

It is hard to explain fully. Maybe it is just the Targaryen way.

Together, Aemond and Daeron round a corner on the path leading to the castle, and that is when a poor, unfortunate soul bumps squarely against Daeron in his rush. But when Daeron grabs him – an arm around the man’s throat – it is Aemond’s gaze the man’s terrified and bewildered eyes finds.

“Ae…” The man breathes out, a light of hopefulness softening his once distressed feature. Aemond stares at him wide-eyed, shocked and at a standstill. This can’t be real, right? It is just his mind playing tricks on him. It has to be.

Daeron then presses the sharp edge of his sword against the man’s throat and he is once again in a panic, begging now, “Ae, please… I have a–”

“You know him, brother?” Daeron cuts him off, clearly confused as his sword starts to cut shallowly enough for blood to seep from the man’s throat. The man’s face started to crumble, silent tears streaking down his cheeks, petrified beyond belief. That look on his face, Aemond thinks as starts to breathe shallowly, that expression. Aemond can so clearly see it on someone else—

The two youngest bear cubs did have the most similarities – even more so than the twins.

“No,” Aemond says in finality, face blank and impassive. He begins to walk past the man and his brother, without as much as a single glance. “Do as you will, Daeron.”

“With pleasure,” was the last thing Aemond sees Daeron say with that crazed smirk on his face. Behind his back, he hears Daeron state venomously with a spit afterwards, “You think you can just call him ‘Ae’? That’s the Prince Regent, you scum.”

Aemond freezes suddenly when it dawns on him what he had just done.

Wait, he thinks in a panic. Wait…!

But when he turns back around in an attempt to stop his brother, it is already too late.

There is blood.

Blood everywhere.

Perhaps the most blood Aemond has ever seen in his life. It stains his hand, and yet, he is not even close enough for it to. But he is drenched in it. His shame is drowning in it.

Though it is Daeron who slashed open his throat; Aemond feels as if he is one who held the sword, forcing his little brother to do it.

You did this! The voices in his head weep. This is your fault!

Daeron pushes the lifeless body down into the dirt, carelessly and with a shrug. There is blood on Daeron’s face, it is on his mouth like his wine. And when he beams at Aemond, the older Targaryen Prince cannot help but wonder if he tastes her blood on his tongue. For it is the same one that runs through her veins.

“Shall we?” Daeron asks, cocking his head towards the castle. So nonchalant, like he had not just taken the life of—

Aemond stares at the body on the ground, still shellshocked.

Daeron wraps his arm around Aemond’s neck, laughing joyously in his older brother’s ear as he drags him towards their destination. “Come on. We have a castle to ransack.”

---

With most of their men dead beyond the castle walls, it did not take long for Lord Alan Tarly, the Lord of Horn Hill, to surrender to Prince Regent Aemond once they breach the front gates.

The Greens celebrate their victory in the grand hall of the castle, the scent of fresh blood still in the air. Daeron is still covered in it — covered in his — that Aemond finds his stomach turning unpleasantly whenever Daeron gets too near him. And so when both Daeron and Ser Criston tease Aemond to stop looking so surly and glum when they have won, Aemond shrugs off Daeron’s arm around his shoulder and stands up stiffly, announcing he needs air.

So Aemond walks and walks and walks. He knows where his feet are taking him to — to whom his feet are taking him to — and every step he takes he dreads. Yet, he cannot seem to stop himself.

The village is eerily quiet when he reaches it at the bottom of the hill. There are villagers still alive, but they must be cowering in fear inside their homes, trying not to make a sound.

He is close to the corner of the path where it happened, he knows it.

He is ready, he thinks, he is ready to see again the irreparable damage he has caused.

But when the lump on the ground comes into his view, he almost hurls out the dinner he barely ate.

There are soldiers from the Greens side milling around, collecting their fallen companions. Aemond grabs for one wearing Hightower colors.

“Bring me a shovel,” Aemond demands through clenched teeth, and the soldier is quick to say ‘yes, Your Grace’ as he rushes to do as he was told.

As Aemond stumbles closer, he notices that another body lies on top of the one he had left earlier. A beautiful woman with bright copper hair holds onto the man underneath her, the back of her light yellow dress pooled with red.

So, you got the girl afterall, huh, Jorah? Aemond thinks sadly.

And as dreadful as it is, they oddly look at peace...

Aemond almost laughs out loud, because that can't be right. It was probably just his mind trying to make this into some sort of tragic love story to make himself feel better.

While he stares at Jorah Mormont, Aemond begins to think about their shared interest in history and philosophy. How they would talk Jorah’s younger sister’s ear off until she pressed her hands over ears to hear no more, and then they both would attack her with tickles until she was laughing and crying at the same time.

Aemond cannot help but smile at the memory — his heart suddenly hurting while he does, in disbelief at what he has done. And when the tears begin falling, he chokes back the sobs by biting down on his wrist.

While he mourns them in this fucked up way of his, that is when he notices two things.

One, Jorah did not have a weapon with him. Perhaps maybe if he had something to defend himself… Aemond shakes his head bitterly. No, that would have not done anything. Jorah was not a fighter like Forrest or Braeden; even if he did have a sword with him, he would not have stood a chance to defeat Daeron.

And two, the bear patch on Jorah’s leather jerkin. A work of embroidery that Aemond has not seen for a long time, but he knows who exactly made it just by the fine detailing alone. He bends down, unsheathing the small dagger from his belt and begins to cut it off.

As a prize? A remembrance?

He does not know why, but he just wants to… Take it.

After shoving it into his pocket, he glances over at Renee just as he hears someone approaching behind him – the soldier, letting him know he has a shovel for him.

Aemond nods back minutely. Then he takes a hold of Renee’s body, turning her over —

But what he sees cradled in her arm has him backing away in shock.

Aemond turns away from the sight and keels over on his knees, finally emptying his stomach like he had wanted to all night.

#hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd imagine #hotd smut #aemond #aemond targaryen

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themotherofhorses · 1 year

Text

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader, alys rivers x daughter!reader

summary: she arrives back home in the middle of autumn when the foliage around harrenhal is as pretty and colorful as the evening sunset.

it's been well over a year since she last laid eyes on her beloved mother or heard her soothing voice and felt her hugs and kisses, and she desperately wished for the twins to meet their grandmother.

warnings: nothing. soft moments between alys and her daughter, featuring the twins. foreshadowing maybe at the end???

notes: a lil mother's day special for y'all.

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

She arrives back home in the middle of autumn when the foliage around Harrenhal is as pretty and colorful as the evening sunset. It’s been well over a year since she last laid eyes on her beloved mother or heard her soothing voice and felt her hugs and kisses, and she desperately wished for the twins to meet their grandmother. At her request, Queen Alicent had agreed to send her prince to Oldtown to meet with his brother and, in the meantime, fetch a carriage that would take her home.

She’s beyond happy and excited and grateful.

And to her upmost delight, her mother’s quite taken with the boys. Alys had baked sweetbread and baked apples and sweet cakes, coated in honey, and with a glass of fresh cow’s milk, for the children, and kissed their little noses and chins.

Together they laze in the open meadow, watching as the boys play amidst the tall yellowing grass. The sky overhead is dark and heavy with southern rain, and the sight takes her back to her girlhood, and long grey days spent along the Gods Eye. The godswood too, with its drooping branches and silver mist, and making mud pies for her uncles. She’s missed this all.

“He’s named them Aemion and Aenar, first of their names,” she tells her mother, smiling. “He’s quite proud of them. The queen too.”

Alys hums. “As a father should be with his babes.” But, deep in her pretty green eyes, there is a faint longing that speaks more words than her tongue does. Her mother only ever had one child of her own, and that was herself. “Children are the one true blessing from the gods. Not the crops and rainfall and victories in war. The gods have naught to give but them,” and Alys takes her hand to kiss it, gentle and loving.

“You are my greatest, most beautiful and treasured gift.” Alys shakes her head, chuckling. “I remember when you were just a babe, and the very first time I fed you at my breast. They told me to give you to another wet nurse, so that I might feed another child, bit I couldn’t bear seeing you in the arms of another woman.” Her mother stares at the twins wistfully, two small silver crowns scooping up mud with their fingers. “Oh, look at them, baking mudpies like their mother.”

Her boys look like an early snowfall fell across Harrenhal. Sweet it is, and she hopes this day might last forever.

“They suggested a wet nurse for the twins,” she whispers, and Alys turns her head to her. “My first babes, and they were worried I didn’t have enough milk to feed them. I cried when they told me that. I had labored for the entire morning, to bring them into this world…I supposed I thought they would take them away, or perhaps their father would prefer seeing them in the arms of another woman…” her voice trails off.

That night, after their birth, she wept her eyes dry within her prince’s arms, and begged him not to let them take her babies away. He promised before rocking her to sleep, and her silly fears disappeared by the next morning when she awoke to Aemond alongside her, with their sons swathed in his arms.

Aemion and Aenar laugh from where they sit, and she spies bits of mud, brown and slick, caked in their hair. They now resemble her family more than their father’s. Strong boys, Aemond would call them if he was here with her.

“Does he love you?” Alys asks.

Her lips press together as she considers the question. “I think so. I know a man doesn’t have to love a woman to give her his seed, but he treats me well, and he loves our sons dearly, that is known.” She doesn’t tell her mother how he’s already anxious for the next child, wanting to see her belly swollen with his babe again.

Alys clicks her tongue. She smooths down the slight wrinkles across her green gown before folding them over her lap, and her nose scrunches up with her next words. “I cried day and night when they took you away, but tears couldn’t bring you back, and I started praying for your safety and goodwill. Ah, but I never could’ve imagined the gods would heed my prayers like this.”

“I don’t think any of us foresaw this, mother.”

“You’ve made beautiful sons, my love,” and Alys slides two fingers in her mouth to whistle. At that, the boys run up to her, a mess of flushed cheeks and toothy grins and smelling like the rich land. In their little hands they hold a big mudpie, wet and prettied with rocks and a few sticks and a daffodil. Their grandmother wipes away a chunk of dried mud along Aemion’s upper arm before taking the mudpie with a smile. “How delicious this looks! Well done, boys.”

Aenar plops himself in his mother’s lap, nestling against her chest. “You’re going to need a bath,” she tells him, kissing his forehead. His smile was exactly that of his father’s, handsome and beautiful and gallant as any prince in those court songs.

“We can always bathe them in the Gods Eye,” Alys suggests, twirling a strand of Aemion’s silver-pale hair around her finger. “I used to bathe you in it a lot. Your grandfather would say the waters strengthen the blood, keeps our own strong and mighty.”

Later, she stands before the Gods Eye, the biggest lake in all the realm, with no hint of a far shoreline to be seen in her eyes. The storm clouds had darkened it- its waters glistening like a dark metal- but it is all the same as the one from her girlhood.

And now I bathe my own sons here, she thinks quite happily, feeling her joy bubbling inside her chest. A large crack of thunder booms overhead, and it pulls her out of her thoughts.

“Aye, two little silver-haired Targaryens in its waters, would you look at that!” Alys laughs, knee-deep in the lake as well. Her long, dark hair beats about her face as she stands near the boys, cupping her hands to wash away the mud from their hair. “When might this happen next?”

And as the handmaid flattens her hand against her lower belly, ever so tenderly, she smiles, and giggles, and rushes to join her mother and children in the water.

tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes @elegantsplendour @katzarantos @fan-goddess

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #alys rivers x reader #aemond drabble #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #alys rivers #handmaid!reader #momma!alys #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

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zirobitches · 7 months

Text

One Piece: Soulmate AU

Always in this twilight - Crocodile x GN!Reader

Summary: Soulmates are incapable of hurting each other. As a pirate, this leads to some tragic moments midst battles. You thought you were prepared for when it might happen to you, but damn you were wrong.

Gn! Reader, Angst no comfort, no beta we die like Roger, Reader is Croc's First Mate and a former Roger pirate (Shanks/Buggy's age) but it doesnt really matter, also former slave background, congrats you are now in the place of my self insert OC, no promises on not being cringe this is literally a /reader fic, also had to make a fake crew bc we dont know enough crocs backstory HAND IT OVER ODA

Word count: 4500+

Also first fic on tumblr, idk what im doing here, lmk ur opinions. It is now 2:03am and i have class at 10:30. Might have to skip lmao

EDITS: grammar check lol. also cross posted it on ao3 - same name as my blog

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Soulmates weren't as common as you'd might assume when you first hear about it. There's an easy way to prove someone is your soulmate, but when that method is to harm them, well, it doesn't make it easy to find that person. And society gets a bit weird when you know your soulmate is out there.

you've known that some people carry around little needles to poke into strangers hoping to find the one. But that was in decent society; among pirates you more often heard tales of bullets suddenly dropping to the ground after they hit their target, or swords stopping on someone's skin as though it just hit steel. A battlefield is a hell of a place to meet the person fate had decided for you, but for pirates it had become a norm.

Not that long ago, some genius named Vegapunk did a study on how many people meet their soulmate - 1 in a 100. And that's just how many people find them. It never accounts for how many actually happily end up together. You had chosen to live your life as a pirate, so a happy ending with your supposed soulmate wasn't something you foresaw in your future.

You were always grateful most of your current crew felt the same. There was a small group among pirates that were always on the lookout to find their soulmate and then immediately retire. Your crew however like to joke that if they found them in battle, they would move out of the way so someone else could finish them off. It was a grim reality, but it was your reality.

However, on nights like these where you drank the night away, some romantic always had to bring it up.

"C'mon, did old Roger really make you so cold hearted that you don't believe in true love?"

"Pfft, you're fucking joking right?" You scoffed back. You always argued with Tink about this, but you understood your young navigator still had hope. Too bad you were the pessimist of the crew.

"It's not that I don't believe in true love," you continued. "Soulmates are real, I don't really see another explanation for not being able to harm only one other person in the world. But why limit yourself to waiting for a person you might never meet? So many are denying themselves to fall in love with someone else and then end up dying alone because they never found their soulmate."

Tink pouted in front of you. This was a tired conversation, one that was repeated every few weeks much to the chagrin of your other crewmates. But a controversial topic was always a great topic for a group such as yourselves.

"I'm not denying myself the chance to fall in love! I'm denying ever feeling heartbroken over someone who doesn't matter!" Tink tried to argue back, but you just groaned in response.

"And if you never meet the one? You'll just live and die without ever letting yourself even get a taste of what it is you're chasing." Tink glared, knowing it was futile to keep going, but the pink of her cheeks told you that the grog in her system was trying to get her to keep fighting.

It was then that a familiar tall figure caught your eye. There was your beloved captain Crocodile, trying to sneak behind everyone's back to grab another bottle for himself.

Crocodile was never much one for festivities, at least not one 'undeserved' as he might put it. While there was no battle won to celebrate, the night sky was clear and the waters calm; in the Grand Line, shouldn't that be enough to be happy about?

However tonight you weren't going to let him sneak booze and hide from the crew.

"Cap'n!" Apparently the grog was getting to you as well. "Come over here and help me crush Tink's dream of a soulmate!" You laughed as Tink gasped at your audacity. The rest of your company seemed more or less happy with how the night was going, but your captain was still less than enthused to join.

"If this is the same soulmate debate you've been going on about for the past 3 years, I will pass again. You already know my feelings on the matter." Crocodile's deep voice reverberated across the deck of the ship. Even if he wasn't giving orders, he still commanded the attention of everyone within earshot.

He gave a long drag of the bottle in his hand, and then turned to walk away. However you felt it was your duty as first mate to pester your captain into spending casual time with his crew.

"I may know your opinion, but would you be so kind and gracious to remind the rest of the crew? Perhaps?" You called out to the dark coat trying to run from the party, and saw him pause, then turn to walk back.

You could see some of the newer additions to the crew cower. You didn't blame them, Crocodile was an imposing figure, and was developing a infamous reputation as a pirate on the Grand Line. But he was your captain, and he would never hurt his crew, this you knew.

"If I ever met my soulmate," Crocodile began, "I assume it would be when I attempt to kill them." He took another sip from his bottle. This was one of the rare moments he was not puffing a cigar you suddenly realize. It made his face look younger, as though he was actually a man in his 20s as he claimed he was.

As though he knew you were thinking of him, Crocodile made eye contact with you. "When I realize I can't kill them, I'll call out for you." You felt your heart skip a beat. "Then you can finish them for me."

It was purely the grog's fault for making your face warm. The lack of a sea breeze was also suddenly apparent. But you couldn't be flustered, not when you were the one who asked for this answer.

You smiled, doing your best to brush off the tension. You were still maintaining eye contact with him after all. "Well there you have it. Not exactly the opinion I remember, but I hope I can live up to your expectations, Cap'n."

Crocodile nodded, then told you all to start to sober up or get to bed. "I don't need a crew of drunks on the Grand Line, or else we will never make it to the New World."

Your crew began to disperse and you went below deck to your cabin. You really hadn't had much to drink that night, yet your chest felt tight.

You thought you had learned your lesson, but no. Even after promising yourself you wouldn't, you became attached to your crew. Even after your last one fell apart. Even after you watched your first captain, your savior, be executed, you fucked up and dove straight into a different crew expecting it to be different.

You laid down in your bed, staring at the ceiling, the world slightly spinning. Suddenly all you can think about is when you met Croc.

It was little more than 3 years ago now, wasn't it? A whole 3 years since Roger died. The weight is still heavy in your chest, but not nearly as devastating as it was in Logue Town that day. You were a wreck, physically and emotionally.

After watching the execution, you were too heartbroken to join the others in pursuit of the One Piece. Your world has just officially ended, the crew was technically already disbanded, but now there was no hope of getting it back.

You ended up in some local bar. No one recognized you, and in the haze of all the excitement following Roger's death, why would they? You had just been some nobody apprentice who happened to stick on his ship after Roger saved your life.

But your sorrow did catch someone's eye.

You sat at the counter of this dive bar in Logue Town, mindlessly stirring whatever number drink sat in front of you now. You had run out of tears, and sat stuck in some frozen state of grief.

However, this sad portrait of yourself did not seem to deter someone from sitting next to you.

You paid them no mind, just staring into empty space, not enough energy to even remember you were still alive.

"You were a member of the Pirate King's crew weren't you?"

A deep voice rattled from the stranger, but it was his words that really caught your attention.

"How'd you figure?" You had paused your stirring at first, but now focused on your drink to avoid eye contact. You were a mess, you could feel your puffy eyes, and were still sniffling every so often.

"There's no reason anyone in this town should be sad that someone like him died. So, you must have known him, right?" The deep voice continued, and you could feel their eyes staring, but didn't have the strength to meet them.

"Well, you caught me. Going to take me in and see if you can get a reward? I'm afraid you won't find any posters of me though. I tended to get lost in the crowd, you could say." After that statement you finally grasped the glass in front of you and decided to knock back what was left. If this was the end of your little pirating career, so be it. It can die with Roger.

"Will you join my crew?"

Your head snapped up at that, and you finally looked up at the stranger.

Long black hair was slicked back to show all the sharp features of the man's face. A strong square jaw, a prominent, perfect nose, and pale, piercing eyes, hooded by thin black eyebrows. Undoubtedly, even in your drunken haze, you were sure sober you would agree the man was handsome.

After a moment to take in this stranger all you could manage was a "Excuse me?"

He smiled - no, smirked - and pulled a cigar out from his coat. "I could use someone with your experience on my crew." He carried on, as if you were discussing the weather outside. He lit the cigar with a lighter you hadn't noticed him pull out. Perhaps it was the booze, but looking at this guy, he almost seemed… fuzzy, around the edges.

"Having someone who once worked for the Pirate King should help me become the next Pirate King."

The stranger took a long drag from his cigar, then exhaled over the counter. You didn't know where the barkeep was now, but at the moment, it felt like you and him were the only people in the building.

You should be mad. Enraged at the audacity of someone to come up to you on the worst day of your life, and to ask you to work for them. But you felt nothing.

No. That wasn't right. You did feel something.

You chuckled. Giggled even. A small laugh that built up till you were laughing, nearly hysterically. You hadn't felt like this sort of light headed elation in a long time, and it was nice.

After taking a moment to catch your breath you finally looked back at the stranger. He didn't look upset at your reaction. He just kept smoking his cigar, waiting for an answer.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"I am Sir Crocodile, captain of the Neverland Pirates."

"Hmmm. Well, Sir Crocodile, I can tell you now that you have no chance of being Pirate King." You smirked back at him, propping your head up on your hand as you leaned against the counter.

This response still didn't bother the man. If anything, you swore he almost seemed… satisfied by your answer. Perhaps he knows what's coming next.

"I can help you out on the Grand Line and maybe help you get to the New World, but I promise," you leaned in towards this captain, staring him down. "You will never be the man Roger was. No one will."

Yet Crocodile was unperturbed.

"So you'll join my crew?"

You leaned back and reassessed your empty glass. You cast a quick glance at the bar and then back at the other pirate.

"Sure. I don't have anything better to do anyways."

You thought back in Logue Town you could never feel the same way about Crocodile's crew that you felt with Roger's, but you were always the fool. Now you are attached.

Now you need a reason to leave.

You couldn't waste your time or your heart with them. You had already died once with Roger, and if you stayed any longer you know you could never leave alive. You got up from bed - still plenty tipsy you swayed over - to your dresser.

Middle drawer, back left, underneath some no longer worn t-shirts was a small box. You opened it.

There were several small scraps of paper. Vivre cards.

As a child on Roger's boat, you were ecstatic to learn about vivre cards. A simple way to know the people you loved were alive and safe, and be able to find their exact location? It was too good to be true.

When you remember the feeling of Roger's paper burning in your hands at his execution, you knew the reality of vivre cards.

Your fingertips gently sorted through the papers you had made for some of Roger's crew. Each had a tiny name written in a corner. Shanks, Buggy, Ray, Gaban, Oden, and a few others of people who had been most important to you.

Maybe you could leave this crew and seek out the others. Rayleigh had always said he would retire at Sabaody, and your crew was bound to get there soon, hopefully in a couple months. The ache in your chest; you missed your old family. This could be the excuse you needed.

With a heavy sigh you closed the box and hid it away again. Sleeping on it would be good. Sleeping away the booze would also be nice.

Maybe then the tears would stop silently slipping down your face.

It turns out the excuse of seeing your old crew was unneeded. The news coo was kind enough to drop a reason to leave directly in your lap.

You stared at the newspaper for a long moment. The sinking feeling in your gut still did not go away.

You walked up to the bow where Crocodile was standing. He stared at the horizon as you approached the next island, Water 7.

"Captain."

Crocodile turned to look at you, face neutral, signature cigar in his mouth.

"Morning. The news any good?"

"They want to make you a Warlord."

Your own feelings were swept under the rug as your crewmates overheard. Instantly the deck was buzzing, the news spreading and making the once sleepy, slightly hungover crew come back to life.

"This is perfect!" The helmsman Diat yelled, a grin wide on his face. "Not only do we get the Marines off our back, it's recognition that we are some of the strongest pirates on the Grand Line!"

You would have laughed at him if not for the ice in your chest. Similar celebratory remarks were made all around you, but you didn't have the strength to pretend this was good news to you.

All you could feel was an icy feeling on your back, right where you had a large scar that tore up a long faded tattoo. But time could not get rid of the mark you could never forget about, no matter how much you wanted to.

Amid the spontaneous party you finally turned back to Crocodile. Amidst it all, he was still only looking at you.

Your words were quiet compared to the raucous around you, but your captain heard you just fine.

"If you become a Warlord I'm leaving the crew."

A couple of nearby crew gasped, heads whipped in your direction and murmurs quickly took place of all the yells.

Instantly protests, people yelling your name, yelling their arguments, but it all fell on deaf ears as you stared down your captain.

Tink of all people knew it was futile to argue with you, and turned to the man of the hour. "Captain! You can't just let your first mate leave!"

Before she could continue, Crocodile interjected. "You never planned on making me King of the Pirates, right? So you never planned on staying on this ship anyways."

This evoked even more protests from the crowd. Many of them weren't sure what you two were talking about, and some had begun to yell again.

The sounds were starting to be overwhelming, and this was not a conversation that required the whole crew anyways.

"That's enough from everyone!" You yelled over the cacophony. The crew went quiet. "This is a conversation for me and the captain, the rest of you need to beat it! Do something useful, we will make a port soon."

The crowd was not placated in the least, but it was true the ship would be docked soon, and there were things that needed to be prepared beforehand.

"You heard them. Get back to work." Crocodile finished your command, and the crowd dispersed. You knew they would still be listening, but it didn't stop you.

"I refuse to be part of a crew that works alongside the Marines. If you become a Warlord you automatically become their dog - then you may as well be a dog of the celestial dragons." Your tongue burned even at the mention of the world nobles.

Crocodile took a long drag of his cigar. He looked away from you and sighed an exhale of smoke, then dragged his line of sight back to you.

"I haven't decided yet."

You bristled at this. "Are you suggesting they already offered this to you? And I had to find out through a newspaper?"

Crocodile took yet another drag, and you lost your patience with his nicotine addiction. "Answer me Crocodile."

Your captain sighed through his nose this time, some of the smoke reaching you, a familiar smell after all these years. It once may have been a nice fragrance, knowing your captain was near, but now it blinded you and stoked your anger.

"We are almost to Water 7. Let's save it for there."

Tensions were high, especially between you and Crocodile, when your mood worsened when he disappeared while you oversaw the docking. But you docked. You got the crew into a hotel. During this time the crew began splitting into sides, which was not something you had anticipated. But you ignored it all until finally, Crocodile returned and you cornered him into in a room alone with you.

He had no cigar, and you had no drink in hand. It was a painfully sober room.

Crocodile sighed and slumped into an armchair. He dragged his eyes across the room till they met yours. You refused to look away this time, jaw set with determination to stand your ground.

"I don't want to be the Marine's dog," Croc began. "But they offered me a deal."

"The deal that our crimes are excused? Big whoop, as long as we don't get caught it's almost the same."

"No," he sighed, a large ring covered hand dragging down his face in exasperation. "A deal to help take down Whitebeard."

That got you silent. For a moment, as you recalled every time you saw Roger and Whitebeard exchange blows and fight for days on end.

"You? Take down Whitebeard?" You laughed, but it was a dry and bitter thing. "Your bounty is $81 million berries. Your devil fruit is great and all, but it is by no means fight and beat Whitebeard good. Even if Newgate was without his crew, our entire crew would be wiped off the map. You've lost it if you truly believe that this is achieveable."

Crocodile glared from across the room. Not his usual, perpetual glare, but a genuine, freeze you in your tracks ice cold glare.

He stood up, all 8 feet imposing over you as he stalked across the room. "I have let you say plenty of cruel things to me, but this may cross the line."

But you were his first mate and you couldn't fear him if you were supposed to talk sense into him. "Cross the line? I'm not the one who is making deals with the Navy so I can sail us to our deaths at the hands of Whitebeard!" You were yelling now, no, roaring at your foolish headstrong captain.

"If you take that ship and that crew as it is now to the New World to fight Whitebeard and his sons, no one will come back alive!" Your heart was on fire with rage and frozen in fear. Rage at your captain, who is very much overestimating his abilities. Fear for your crewmates who have no idea what sort of danger their captain was going to put them in.

Crocodile was now truly enraged on the same level as you. He sneered down at you as he suddenly grabbed you by the neck - much to your shock. "I wanted you there to see me become the next Pirate King. But if you can't support me for this, one of the biggest moments in my life since I've been a pirate, then I have no need for you anymore."

With his free hand he opened the door that was behind you. A group of Marines walked in with cuffs ready. "To sweeten the deal, what better than to give a former Roger pirate to the Navy?"

You felt all the blood drain from your face, as fear for your own well being finally pierced your heart. You looked up at Crocodile, and you could feel tears begin to creep at the corner of your eyes. "You never fail to surprise me, Captain."

"Well done Sir Crocodile." One of the Marines spoke, and you could tell from their uniform it was a Vice Admiral, though you didn't recognize them.

"A public execution of a Roger's pirate should be a grand way to ring in your instatement as Warlord."

You felt the world slow down around you and felt Crocodile's grip on your neck slip at the Marine's sentencing.

Crocodile began to speak, "That was not what we agreed on," But your ears had begun to ring.

Growing up on the Oro Jackson, you had picked up some neat tricks. You found out you were hopeless with the color of observation haki, but had a special knack for color of arms. Perfect against those darn logia fruit users.

In a blink of an eye you ripped Crocodile's arm away from your neck and you made a mad dash past him. And jumped straight through a window, glass and all.

You could vaguely hear a commotion behind you as Marines ran after you, but it was lost with the ringing in your ears.

You could hear and feel your heartbeat, pounding throughout your body as you ran through the endless alleys and canals of Water 7. You could feel tears pierce through the wind rushing past your face as you ran, desperately with no objective.

All you could think about was the way the heat of Crocodile's hand felt on your neck, the cold metal of the rings that had pressed against your pulse.

Have you ever really touched Crocodile before?

…

You missed him. You didn't understand why. He had just betrayed you - fucking hell, he was just handing you over to the Navy as part of his deal to become a warlord, but god. You wanted to be with him anyways. You're not sure how long you've been in love with him; his sharp eyes, the smell of his cigars, the rings on his hands, but gods above.

You had fallen in love with Crocodile.

In your realization you slowed down. Your legs and lungs burned, you were gasping for air and not just because you had been running.

Has it always been this dark? When did the day leave you behind?

You now stood in some nondescript alley, dimly lit a golden hue by windows that lined it. It was a long alley, each end blocked by canals. How you arrived there you weren't certain. But you weren't alone.

At one end sand had appeared. And from it stepped your dear, awful captain Crocodile. You both stared at each other, both of you panting for breath.

"I didn't want it to be like this." Crocodile's voice cuts through the air to you. You knew you should run. But for some reason you couldn't find the strength.

"I didn't know they would execute you. I imagined they would send you to Impel Down." Crocodile continued to speak. You just stood there and listened as he walked towards you.

As you watched him, there was a strange look on his face. You've seen it before but still didn't know what it meant.

He stopped walking ten feet in front of you. The light was still too dim to see him clearly, but it was fine. You knew his face well enough.

"I won't let the Navy kill you. Not after what the nobles did to you, it feels wrong." You had never told Crocodile what the scar on your back was. It didn't feel like it mattered anymore.

"I think I'll feel better about this if I'm the one who kills you."

You knew this was coming. The second you saw him at the end of the alley. But you agreed with him. If you had to die at someone's hands, you would pick Crocodile over anyone else. Even if it meant he didn't feel the same about you, it didn't matter anymore. You were so tired.

It would be nice to see Roger again.

But then Rayleigh's face flashed in your mind. You still had to pay him a visit. You still had to visit Wano to see Oden. You wanted to see Shanks and Buggy find the One Piece.

You couldn't see Roger just yet.

So, in a sudden scramble, you turned around and ran.

The ground where you had been standing suddenly crumbled. You felt a gasp finally escape your lungs as you realized you almost gave up. But not yet. You had to save your crew too.

Then you finally ran out of luck. The dim light hid a hole in the cobblestones and you fell to the alley ground. You quickly twisted your body just in time to see Crocodile's scythe of sand arc straight towards you.

It hits you right in the chest, and crumbles to dust.

Confused, you run your hands through the sand that has landed on your lap. You're not cut in half - instead you just have sand all over you.

Crocodile change his mind? He was letting you go? Thoughts and heart still racing, you looked up at him.

Oh.

Oh no.

The horror on his face was plain to see - that was supposed to be a killing blow.

But he didn't hurt you.

Your hand jumped to your neck from when he grabbed you earlier. But in retrospect, you had just been shocked by the action, he hadn't harmed you.

Crocodile didn't hurt you.

No.

Crocodile couldn't hurt you.

Because he was your soulmate.

It was the look on his face that hurt you the most. The disgust, anger, horror - this man did not want a soulmate. He did not want you. So why bother sticking around?

You scrambled back to your feet. Even if he couldn't hurt you, the Marines still could.

So, with blurry eyes and a heavy heart, you ran away.

Faintly, you heard a painfully familiar voice call your name, but then all that was left was the wind as you ran.

pt. 2 (if you want, but this might be better as a one shot)

#one piece #sir crocodile #crocodile one piece #crocodile x reader #one piece fanfiction #zirowrites #x reader

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mybeautifuldelirium · 2 years

Note

Hi there ♥️ could U do a aemond x dothraki slave fanfic in where she works as a Maiden and aemond Takes and Interest in her because He has never Seen a dothraki before💕 thankyou love

The Wildflower From The East || Aemond Targaryen x Dothraki!reader part 1

A/N this is my first Aemond fanfic so please go easy on me lol

but I hope you like it. It turned out longer than I had expected, but I really wanted to include some backstory and character build up, so lmk if you’d like a Part 2 xx

Summary: Aemond is so captivated by his sister’s new maid that he makes her help him bathe, just so he can hear the fascinating tales from her foreign lands, will he be able to take her out of his mind?

Part 1/?

Warnings: none

Y/N couldn’t remember how long it had been since she last saw her homelands of the Dothraki sea, oh how she missed riding through the mazes of tall thick grass while having the burning Essosi sun gently glaze her skin, she even missed all those ruthless conditions that no lady from the west would ever imagine surviving.

Alas here she was, miles away across the narrow sea in a foreign land. What a cruel fate she had, being sold by her own kin to the slavers of Yunkai only to be brought to King’s Landing as an exotic gift for the Targaryen princess Helaena.

Queen Alicent wasn’t keen on the newly arrived maiden, a filthy savage, she thought of her, unfit to serve her royal daughter. However much to her disapproval, the princess quickly grew close to her new companion indulging in her stories from the foreign lands.

The sun had just risen moments ago and the refreshing scent of the morning dew still lingering in the air. It was hauntingly quiet during this time of day, the only noticeable sound coming from the clashing swords in the courtyard, per usual the Targaryen princes were training with ser Criston. That was when Aemond first saw the foreign maiden.

Y/N was following closely behind his dear sister, who perhaps was once again looking for one of her dreadful creatures in the courtyard. Unlike his brother, the one eyed prince, never paid attention to the maids, however he couldn’t take his eyes off Y/N, she looked nothing like any Westerosi maiden he had seen, there was something striking about her, something so intriguing.

“Ahh the savage girl, a pretty thing she is” smirked Aegon making him turn with a puzzled look.

“Haven’t you heard? They say she’s a Dothraki, sold as a slave at that. Can’t imagine how mother allowed her to serve our beloved sister” he laughed.

‘A Dothraki?’ Aemond thought to himself, he had only heard vague stories about them, from the old septas, but she looked nothing like the images of the ruthless barbarians that these stories had portrayed.

Over the following days the younger prince would secretly throw glances at her every chance he got and although he wouldn’t admit it to himself he just couldn’t take her out of his mind.

The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky with bright colors. Y/N was wandering through the long corridors as princess Helaena had granted her the permission to go bathe herself. Y/N however had decided to use some of the time to explore the castle, indulging in the silence. She has never liked the feeling of being constrained by walls, even the lavish house of her master in Yunkai repulsed her, oh how she missed roaming free on the back of her horse. Consumed by memories of the past, she bumped into something, or rather someone.

As she slowly lifted her head, her eyes were met with a glistening violet gaze that was piercing right through her. The man had long flowing silver hair much like the one of her princess, he had a patch covering one of his eyes but it was unable to overshadow his handsome face .

“Ah so you are the Dothraki maiden” a cunning smirk was lingering on his lips. “Do you speak the common tongue?”

“Yes” she confidently replied, trying not to stare.

“Yes, your grace” he corrected her with a stern expression. “Well then, you are a maid, aren’t you? Go, draw me a bath” he pointed to his chambers with his smirk reappearing.

“I can’t do that, your grace” she answered, mocking his use of the title.

“You do realize, you’re speaking to the prince, how dare you disobey me” he said, now annoyed, but his smirk still apparent.

This nevertheless did not intimidate Y/N “I only serve the princess Helaena my prince”

This response however, only further angered Aemond, he grabbed her by the arm, now his eye staring directly into hers “You’ve heard of dragons, I suppose” he slyly grinned “I happen to be the rider of the largest one there is, all it takes is one of my commands” he twirled a lock of her hair without looking away from her eyes.

Y/N sighed, slowly entering his chambers, as she heard the heavy wooden doors closing behind them.

Quickly she went to fill in the tub, feeling the prince’s gaze never leaving her. Once the tub was filled with warm water and the alluring aroma from the herbs she had placed filled the room, Y/N finally stood up and faced the prince, no longer trying to hide the irritation in her voice.

“May I go now, your grace?”

Aemond locked eye with her, devilish grin playing on his lips “do you expect me to tend to this myself?” He motioned to his attire, covered with filth and dirt, or was it blood.

This time Y/N didn’t even try to object, she knew there was no point in doing so. She mumbled something In Dothraki to herself and cautiously began helping him rid himself of the dirty clothes. Despite her pride and stubbornness Y/N couldn’t deny the otherworldly beauty of the Targaryen prince. He resembled no other man she had ever seen, be it in Yunkai or in the Dothraki hordes. Targaryens were closer to gods than to men, she had heard.

Only when Aemond was left in his breeches did Y/N finally revert her eyes, waiting until she heard the splash from the water. She then kneeled by the tub and started scrubbing his pale skin, desperately trying to escape his gaze. Aemond however kept his eye on her, closely examining her features. Something about this Dothraki girl was drawing him in, he wondered what her story was, how did a savage girl find herself all the way across the narrow sea as a maid to the princess. Aemond could tell she had been taught basic manners and some etiquette along with the common tongue, but even those could not fully conceal her wild upbringing. Her untamed hair was cascading like a waterfall down her back, with several complex braids on top of her head as per Dothraki traditions. She looked rather uncomfortable in her dainty silk gown, he wondered what she was used to wearing.

“What happened to your eye?” Y/N suddenly broke the silence, now examining the leather patch that covered his eye. For a moment, the bluntness of her question caught the prince off guard.

“Curious, are we?” His smirk once again reappeared. “One day I might tell you, but first you owe me a story Wildflower”

“A story?”

“You think I’m unaware of the captivating tales you’ve seemed to tell my beloved sister?” “Don’t you think me worthy of hearing them as well” he gave her a challenging look, their faces now only inches apart.

“Ok then, my prince, as you wish” it was now Y/N’s turn to smirk. She loved telling stories of her lands, they made her feel close to her home, evoking memories of the time when she was free.

Aemond became so enamored with the way the young maiden was narrating her stories, he didn’t notice the water getting cold.

Suddenly Y/N dropped the rag and got up “I must go! The princess!” She rushed to the wooden doors, all manners long forgotten. The prince wanted to stop her, but his pride didn’t let him.

About to get out of the tub, he then saw something glistening under the murky water, it was a gold pendant shaped like a delicate flower, a simple, yet striking piece of jewelry. ‘She must have dropped it’ he thought.

That night Aemond couldn’t get her image out of his head, why was he - a dragon prince so preoccupied with the thoughts of a simple maid from the far eastern lands, he couldn’t explain it to himself, but even if he wouldn’t admit it, he knew that he had to see her again.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x oc #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house of the dragon imagine

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months

Note

Hey headmage! You know that one question all teachers will get in their life...

Tell us about your first love!

*eager looking eyes*

I wrote this one in a somewhat vague manner aka it's to throw a bone at the "Crowley is Malleus's dad" theorists out there www; it's up to the reader to interpret it as they please; it isn’t meant to refer to one specific character.

Enter; An Unkindness of Ravens.

Crowley regarded you with a careful, uncharacteristically patient look—as if picking apart your soul and the fine layers that sheathed it. You were an open book, so wide-eyed and eager to learn of young, blossoming love.

“Feeling daring today, are we?” he chuckled lowly. “What naughty students I have, sticking their noses where they don't belong."

Crowley swung one leg over the other, crossing them as he reclined into his armchair. "As it happens, I am feeling more generous than usual today, so I will humor your request."

Your ears perked. You arched over his desk, primed to listen intently.

"Once upon a time, in a land far, far away... I found myself at a grand palace hosting a ball. Where, you may ask? I cannot say. However, it is only natural for important people in high places, such as myself, to be invited to these sorts of functions.

“Often it is political matters and power struggles at play—dull subjects to children, I'm sure. I happened to take an interest in the cuisine they were serving that evening, and so I made an appearance."

Crowley paused dramatically.

"Little did I know, that was where I would happen upon... Well, surely you understand who I am referring to?"

“Your first love?” you squeaked.

“I noticed them immediately. Call it ‘love at first sight’ if you wish.

“Their presence was far too powerful to be contained within that room. It was a quiet kind of strength, like the roiling of thunder before a storm arrives in full. Oh, but it wasn’t just their aura alone. No, no, they also boasted great beauty, grace, and intelligence!! And yet…”

“And yet…?”

“They were alone.” Crowley spoke the word quietly, as though it were cursed. “… I suppose it happens. People who stand too high in the world are lonely there, frightening off those unworthy to be in their presence. I understood, of course, being in a similar position myself, so I sought to offer my kind hand to console them. It is in my nature as an educator to serve as a bridge between people."

“You made the first move,” you gasped, your cheeks warming. Scandalous.

“I paraded right up and introduced myself! And—can you believe this—they gave me the cold shoulder, then attempted to scare me and shoo me off!! But I certainly didn’t quit. I fetched them punch, I sang them sweet serenades, I cracked jokes of the highest caliber… all so that they would look my way, even to spare a passing glance.”

“So you were a simp.” Somehow, it fit perfectly with your current understanding of Crowley.

He bristled at the casual accusation. "I wouldn't say that--"

"Definitely a simp," you repeated.

"Y-You may think whatever you like, but the fact is that my efforts eventually bore fruit!!" Crowley declared proudly, his chest puffed out. "They gazed at me and remarked that I was ' a strange one'!"

"That doesn't exactly sound like a compliment..."

"Perhaps not," he laughed lightly, "but it was that one comment that served as my foot in the door. Before long, we were chatting like old friends. They smiled--because of me. For me."

His voice warbled, wobbling with sentiment as the painted the scene. You could almost see it now: Crowley, tall, dark, handsome--but bumbling--courting a frigid noble. Breaking their barrier, melting that ice.

Like something out of a fairy tale, you think. A distant royal falling in love with their messenger bird.

"We laughed and talked all evening. We shared food and a dance. We never wanted the clock to strike midnight."

Crowley sighed wistfully, dragging a talon across his desk—as if marking another year apart from his beloved. "They truly were… the apple of my eye, my flower of evil."

"Did they return your feelings, headmaster?" you asked, leaning closer. Completely enraptured by his tale. “Whatever happened to them, anyway…?"

“Ah, now that,” Crowley tutted, wagging a finger, “is a story I shall keep to myself.”

“W-Wait," you protested, slapping a hand on the desk, "you’re really going to leave me off on a cliffhanger like this?! You were just getting to the juiciest part!"

“I believe I’ve already divulged far more than the average student needs to know of a teacher's love life," the headmaster replied. "You may use your imagination to fill in the rest of the gaps! It shouldn't be a challenge, seeing as you are quite familiar with my charm, fufufu."

"Does that mean you did get together after all? Were you actually married this whole time and we never knew? Do you have kids?!" you pressed. Each question became increasingly conspiratorial--but you were 100% serious, 100% committed to the bid.

"I'm afraid not, Prefect! You must make do with what you currently have."

"What I have isn’t enough," you groaned deeply. "Urgh, PLEASE answer me, headmaster...! I need to know, or I'll combust!"

#twisted wonderland #twst #Dire Crowley #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Reader #self insert #Two Ravens at the Writing Desk

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ofcowardiceandkings · 10 months

Text

so in those [mumble mumble] years between BotW and TotK, the Zora replaced the weathered and unreadable monuments with new history writing by Sidon, and their contents have left me hmm emotionally compromised ??

i was gonna list em out in full but then i read them all and Sidon waffles so much bless him LOL

full transcripts below (+ the 11th monument in the Domain itself) expect Sidon being an adorable goof, Zora Deep Lore, waterbending, SO much gushing over Mipha and Link, Zelda being a sweetheart, and surprise Yona content !!!

just for clarity, i've highlighted the first word of each on-screen chunk of text ... i love Sidon so much but he's so verbose i kept missing the full log lol but im glad he went all in, its earnest, descriptive and poetic :') 💙 RIP the stonemasons ...

Learnings of the Zora, Part One The Waters of Zora's Domain As told by Prince Sidon

Long, long ago, right here in Lanayru, incredible transformations, both subtle and drastic in nature, shaped the land. The tall mountains birthed clouds, these clouds cried tears of rain, and this rain filled our deep valleys past the brim. In time, this overflowing water became the Zora River, which bred waterfalls that fell and nourished the vast Lanayru Wetlands. Perhaps it was inevitable that my Zora ancestors, who wandered in search of precious water, would finally settle here. The mountains of Lanayru are blessed with high-quality stone. The structures built from said stone are solid yet refined. Just like the Zora and our domain, our buildings exist in harmony with the water. It is a beautiful symbol of our way of life. If you go to the edge of the domain, close your eyes, and listen closely ... you shall be greeted by the gentle sound of water. This kind, soothing sound is a testament to the happy life the Zora are so grateful to have found here. As one born of royal Zora blood, my duty is as clear as it is unshakeable. I, Sidon, swear here and now ... I shall protect our home with my very life, that the gentle sound of water may never cease in our beloved domain.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Two The Legend of Ruto, Our Great Ancestor As told by Prince Sidon

It is written that long ago there was a strong-willed Zora princess who was as meandering as a winding river. This princess, who was dearly loved by her fellow Zora, was noble as she was innocent. Her name was Ruto. One day, a powerful and wicked man tried to take over Hyrule and brought great ruin to the once-peaceful Zora's Domain. Our tales speak of falled Zora soldiers drifting down the river as it sadly reflected the chaotic retreat of the terrified Zora. Princess Ruto bravely fought back her tears and she bore witness to the tragic misery unfolding in the domain. Even amid her heartbreak, the Zora princess did all she coult to help the weak and elderly escape. Next she swam against the river's current and climbed the mighty waterfall to challenge her foe. The details of this fight have fallen victim to the haze of time. Few details remain. Still, it is said she was aided by the princess of Hyrule and the hero of legend, and together they saved Hyrule. So the legend goes. I, Sidon, prince of the Zoram cannot help but ponder these events as I listen to the Zora children play in all their innocence. As Princess Ruta's descendant, it is my fate to carry the torch of her brave acts into tomorrow and beyond. I shall not fail.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Three The Great King Dorephan As told by Prince Sidon

Several springs after I lost my dear sister, Mipha, a large group of Lizalfos attacked the domain. It mattered not that this was my first true battle. The expectations of those around me weighed heavy on my shoulders. The absence of Mipha, who had always been there to encourage me with loving kindness, was like a spear to my heart. As for my own spear, though I was highly trained for its use, it seemed to only cut the air and slash the water's surface. I was taken off guard by a surprise attach from three Lizalfos hiding at the water's edge, each with their blade fixed on me. I knew that my time had come ... and that is when the three Lizalfos disappeared, as quickly as they had arrived. In their place, I saw the towering figure of my father, the great King Dorephan, who had just bested my foes with ease. "Sidon, my son," he said firmly. "You allwed your heart to falter. That is the quickest way to fall on the battlefield." His words cut deep, but as I stood on the brink of dispair, a familiar gently encouraged me. "Your king needs you." Many soldiers later attested they were certain they had also heard the sweet voice of Mipha on that day. From then on, my heart was true and my resolve firm. By lending strength to our king, we were able to save the domain.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Four Two Sisters of Different Blood As told by Prince Sidon

When I was young, I had an irrational fear of strangers. I was particularly bashful around Yona. Paralyzed, even. She was already so mature in manner, and she treated me like a little brother, even though we were not related. There came an unseasonably heavy rain that quickly flooded the river. Us children, who were playing there, were swept away. I was battered by the water's strong flow, my fins helpless to resist. It was Yona who dragged me to the safety of the shore. The water continued to swell as the shore waned, but Yona was unflappable, sweetly comforting me as I shivered in fear. It was Mipha, my dear sister, who finally showed up to rescue us with other Zora adults in tow. I still remember Yona's face as she gazed up at Mipha in admiration. My face must have looked the same as I gazed at Yona. As a child, I had two big sisters. One by birth and one by chance. Yona looked up to Mipha, and I was in awe of them both. Before I knew it, years had passed, and my feelings for Yona became more difficult to quantify. Then, one day ... My father informed me that the amazing young woman who had once been a like a sister to me was to be my bride. Perhaps these feelings and memories are too dear and private to commit to history, but such is the tale of this Zora prince.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Five The Zora Armor She Left Behind As told by Prince Sidon

For some time after I lost my beloved sister, even in the light shining on the water seemed dark and dreary to my eyes. But as they say, time heals all wounds, no matter how deep. I can now speak of her with a smile, as is only fitting. I shall now tell the tale of the Zora armor that my sister crafted for her future husband, as per our ancient custom. One dark day, the domain was in great peril, and I sought help from a traveling Hylian to save our home. He was sparing with his words, yet I trusted him at once. As fate would have it, he was a childhood friend of Mipha's. My father, King Dorephan, troubled by the domain's suffering, requested his help. The swordsman agreed without hesitation. Father bequeathed my sister's Zora armor to this courageous soul, along with her hopes for the safety of the domain. The armor fit Link perfectly - so perfectly that councilman Muzu, who then harbored a hatred of Hylians, could not object. My sister had already left this world, and with her went the dearly held intentions that she had instilled within that special armor. Yet, with Link's help, she shined a light on the Zora in our hour of need, reaching between worlds with gentle fingertips.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Six The Story of Mipha Court: The Beginning As told by Prince Sidon

There was once a terrifying monster on Ploymus Mountain, loosing shock arrows on all who dared to cross its path. It was of utmost importance to drive the beast away, but as the Zora are weak to electricity, our efforts were futile. That is when a lone Hylian arrived at the domain. This swordsman who was sparing with his words ... his name was Link. Unlike us Zora, he was immune to shocks! Well perhaps that is an exaggeration, but one thing is certain. He was very brave. After careful preparation, he ascended Ploymus Mountain and defeated the foul beast all by himself. As if in celebration of newfound peace, clean water mysteriously began flowing at the top of Ploymus Mountain. That is when many Zora, if not most, voiced support for building a place that all could enjoy in that formerly frightful spot. Yet the many tree roots and stones made this task tricky, leading to a focus on the no-less-difficult matter of the name. "Zora Park" was too obvious. "Ploymus Park" only conjured images of the former terrors found there. When I candidly asked whether we should focus on the hard work at hand rather than the name, they all turned my way. "Prince Sidon," they asked. "Surely you must have a good suggestion?" To that, I fell silent, and stayed so for a long while. I shall write the conclusion of this story on another monument.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Six The Story of Mipha Court: The Conclusion As told by Prince Sidon

The first half of this tale can be found on another stone monument. If it is not too much trouble, I advise reading that first. I now present the conclusion. When posed with the task of naming this storied location, I, Prince Sidon, fell silent. After a time, I timidly proposed the one and only name that came to mind for this place of newfound peace. I suggested that we name it after my beloved sister who had long been lost to us ... Mipha Court. I worried they would think I was unfairly favoring my own family's legacy by naming it after my kin. A hush fell over the group. After a time, one of the stonemasons raised his voice in agreement. More voices joined his, one after another. The idea was embraced whlly, and the craftsmen all returned to their work. Though the work was grueling, from then until the completion of Mipha Court, the air was filled with laughter and singing. This incident drove home to my very core how much everyone loved my sister. I hope one day to inspire such admiration. If there is ever to be a Sidon Court, I must work tirelessly to earn that honor.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Seven The Prince and the Swordsman As told by Prince Sidon

The rain always stops ... except when it does not. This humourous saying was once repeated with a soft chuckle around here. Then, one day, heavy rain started falling in the domain, and no matter how many days passed it did not cease. Although the Zora are a water-dwelling sort, we came to miss the warmth of the sun and dry winds upon our backs. Alas, as fervent as our desire was, we had no means of stopping the cause of this unprecedented disaster. When all had given up hope, I, Sidon, took it upon myself to invite a Hylian to the domain. This young swordsman of few words was named Link. I trusted him at once, sensing great devotion in his kind eyes. It was immediately clear that my instincts were correct. Thanks to Link, we were able to face the thread head on. Our battle with the source of the disaster was intense by my newfound friend and I refused to yield until we finally triumphed. Sometimes, writen words flow so much more readily than those spoken ... Link, my dearest friend, you are an unparalleled swordsman, and I admire you so very much. He may lack fins and gills, but it matters not. This hero among heroes exudes magnificence tempered with steadiness. Though we are different, our hearts both yearn to serve a higher calling. I learned much from him, and I am eternally grateful. As I recall my best friend, it occurs to me that though the rains have ceased, perhaps a true adventure never does.

Learnings of the Zora, Part Eight The Princess of Hyrule As told by Prince Sidon

One that despicable disaster had ceased to plague Zora's Domain, a distinguished yet humble lady paid us a visit. This young woman who appeared with Link at her side was none other than Princess Zelda of the royal family of Hyrule. "I beg forgiveness," she said earnestly. "Because of the royal family, Princess Mipha ..." She paused, unable to continue. Small, silent teardrops tumbled down her cheek and hit the floor, one after another, each saying a thousand unspaken words. She gently wiped her eyes and lifted her gaze to meet the king's, speaking kind words of gratitude for Mipha's sacrifice. We knew well that what had transpired was the result of a decision shared by the Zora and by Princess Mipha herself. There was no need for the princess of Hyrule's apology, and even less so for her sorrow. King Dorephan, along with the rest of the Zora, were moved by the depth of Princess Zelda's sincerity. She had held that unthinkable disaster at bay for nearly 100 years with nothing more than the sheer force of her own will. Yet she was not prideful. She dutifully set to work, traveling across Hyrule to secure cooperation for the kingdom's restoration. She was adored by all, yet so humble. She possessed an inner strength, but now I am not so certain. I feel a strong calling one day to acquire this same sort of strength within myself.

Learnings of the Zora, Anecdote One The Solid Water and the Fluid Spear As told by Prince Sidon

The Zora are not associated with water because of our dwelling place alone. We each also, to varying extents, possess the ability to actually manipulate water. We use this gift for many purposes. We use it to swim faster, to achieve mighty leaps from the waves below, to gather fish, and so much more. For me, the true awakening of this ability that many of my childhood chums already possessed came upon me quite suddenly. One day as I was training at Veiled Falls, the rain slickened my grasp, causing me to drop my spear. I reached to grab it, but it was already too far away. Soon it would fall to the bottom of the cliff, never to be seen again. I knew that I must take old of it, and at that moment, droplets created a stream extending from my outstretched hand. The water stream twisted and turned until it finally took hold of my falling spear and deftly returned it to my grasp. In that moment, the water was solid and my spear fluid. This sensation forever changed my approach to spearplay. I was reminded of how my sister, Mipha, described it ... and everything clicked. Water and spear became as one. Gaining yet another layer of admiration for my dear sister, I devoted myself to my spear training from then on.

Learnings of the Zora, Anecdote Two The Great Task Entrusted to Me As told by Prince Sidon

I, Sidon, was entrusted with the great task of renovating the Zora stone monuments that had fallen to ruin. There are 11 stone monuments total find in and around Zora's Domain, including the one you are now reading. The former text written by my father, King Dorephan, could not be salvaged, and so sadly it had to be replaced. Despite my royal blood, whispers abound that it is improper for someone my age to write over the king's glorious words. Ah, but do they not realize that it was King Dorephan himself who ordered me to undertake this restoration project? Father says it is not set in stone that I shall be the one to inherit the throne, as it is not a matter of blood alone. If we ask the eternal skies above whether I am fit to rule, they shall remain silent, and so we must look to our fellow Zora. He urged me to use these monuments to share my learnings and speak to our people straight from my heart. Father is older and wiser than I. His sage advice is a gift. As such, I have inscribed my thoughts upon these 11 stones. I do not know how far-reaching my words shall be, but it is my hope that they will reach whoever needs to hear them most. Until one of the descendants writes over my musings many years from now, I pray they resonate with whoever reads them.

WELL there we are, thanks for the history lesson Sidon you absolute sweetie fhjdkdjf i have thoughts and feelings and emotions but i wont make this post any longer than it already is but i love these characters byeeeEEE

#the legend of zelda #the legend of zelda: tears of the kingdom #tears of the kingdom #legend of zelda lore #loz totk #loz lore #totk lore #totk zora #totk spoilers #tears of the kingdom spoilers #zoras domain #prince sidon #totk sidon #zelda blogging #botw/totk blogging

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donaweasley · 11 months

Text

A Mischievous Mistletoe

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader

Plot:

Like most rom-coms, our reader has to fake a date for a Christmas with her relatives. And who can be better than her best friend? A classic best friends-to-lovers plot. Again.

Warnings: None, just cheesy, clichéd fluff with a little angst in the middle.

Read time: ~36 mins

Note: This was part of a drabble request that was made in October. 🙄 I know! I’m slower than the slowest sloth! And it ended up much longer than what a drabble should be. I’m so sorry, @muddyorbsblr , I just…IDK how to defend myself!!

It was a languid afternoon - one of the few that the residents of the Avengers Compound could tell a tale about. The afternoon sun slid in through the open window of a certain room, caressing in its wake, the line of pothos spilling off the windowsill, the bench right next to it, and the handful of decors and furniture that it could find in the minimally but strikingly furnished room.

In the process of colouring everything gold, the rays of the departing sun painted a certain prince - or should we call him king? - in its glorious shade, making his appearance even more ethereal, more regal than he already looked. With a book in hand, Loki lay on the bench, relishing a few lazy moments stolen from time. His eyes darted across the pages, consuming the content, like a lover’s eyes would feast upon their beloved.

But moments like these, where one remembers nothing but their simplest desires, are usually short-lived, aren’t they?

A slow, unsure knock on the door whipped Loki out of his solitary bubble. There was only one human who would dare to disturb this particular Asgardian during his alone-time.

“Hey, Loki!”

Standing at the threshold of Loki’s room, (Y/N) barely poked her head inside as she greeted him with a sheepish and tiny voice. Her friendship with the trickster went far enough for her to admit herself into his room without waiting for his permission.

With a heavy sigh, the God of Mischief shut the book, but not before sliding a bookmark between the pages. The pages of the hardbound cover met each other with a muffled thud.

“What did you do now?” He asked her with an air of indifference.

Her sheepish grin morphed into a grimace as she wondered how to unveil the Gordian knot that she had tied.

When she did not respond but kept wringing her hands, Loki raised a brow at her. “Do I have to dig a grave?” He asked in a monotonous tone although bubbles of laughter were threatening to erupt within him. His grip on the book tightened to keep these mischievous little things imprisoned inside.

“Yeppp! Mine,” she mumbled.

“Hmm.” With a swift and graceful manoeuvre, he slid his long legs off the window bench. The careless tail of his robe tugged at a stray cushion, causing it to flop on the floor near his feet.

Standing tall before her, he held the book close above her head. Knitting his brows together and pursing his lips, he looked her up and down, and hummed to himself. A confused (Y/N) traced his movements with questioning eyes as he placed his hands on both sides of her but a little away.

Once realisation dawned upon her, she clicked her tongue and swatted his hands away. “Not mine, you smartass!”

“But I am sure I heard you requesting a grave for yourself!” Loki’s eyes betrayed his tight lips that were trying to suppress the surge of amusement boiling inside him.

“Okay! I did something…stupid,” she finally brought herself to confess.

“Amuse me.” He strode back to the bench, and lay down with his hands behind his head, the book now finding refuge on the coffee table. The cushion that lay on the floor was now being stroked gently by the hem of his parted green robe which, in turn, revealed a long leg - clad in soft trousers of a darker green - crossed over the other.

Exhaling deeply, she began, “Well, umm…you know my cousin, Laura? The one with a snob for a nose and daggers for a tongue and…and a large black hole for a heart?” She described with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

“Hmm,” Loki sported a mischievous smirk. “Are you speaking of that cousin of yours with skin like molten gold, with eyes like a doe’s and with a mouth that is too luscious to not be kissed? Yes, I remember her.”

(Y/N) didn’t realise how hard she was clenching her jaws or how obviously she was glaring at Loki until the latter shot back a knowing grin.

“Are you jealous?” He purred like a proud cat who had successfully cornered his victim.

“Hah! Why the hell should I be? I just…don’t like her. That’s it,” she dismissed his accusation with a wave of her hand. “She’s vile!”

“She’s attractive,” he defended.

“What the-? I can’t believe you’re on her side!”

“I am simply stating the facts,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“Fine! Just...float in her thoughts. I won’t disturb you!”

She was quick to turn her back and stomp away. But Loki was quicker. He got off his seat and caught her wrist just as she was about to grab the door handle.

“Wait,” he whispered.

Whether it was Loki’s magic touch or his Silvertongue or his ability to control thoughts, she could never figure it out. But she was always surprised by the way he could pull the strings of her heart, how he always managed to get his way. Of course, he was one of her closest friends, her confidante, the person with whom she fought but also shared her best moments. But there was something about him that was…magnetic.

She found it mildly frustrating how, without even a single word of protest, her entire being immediately agreed to stay back. Loki gently ushered her to the window bench, the sun now finding a new figure, somewhere else in the room, to paint its hues on.

“Tell me. I promise not to utter a single word about your gorgeously desirable cousin. Not until you have told me everything,” his teasing tongue erupted a small fire within her, and he enjoyed it immensely.

She sighed, “Well, where do I even begin!”

Loki was waiting patiently through the long pause that she rested upon. But when it looked like she was lost in her thoughts even after a minute, he cleared his throat.

“Ah!” Slightly startled, she looked at him apologetically. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“What happened?” Loki placed a comforting hand over hers. “I shall do my best to fix it.”

“I know! And that is why I came to you. But now I think it was a bad idea. It was a bad idea from the beginning!”

“Would you please tell me?” He insisted.

“Well,” she sighed again, “Laura is hosting a Christmas party at her place this year. And she has invited me. Obviously!!” She rolled her eyes at the last word.

“So?”

“So,” (Y/N) gave an exasperated laugh, “I can’t go without a date!! I know it sounds clichéd, like some stupid plot from some stupid Christmas movie, but it’s freaking real!!”

“Darling, you will go ultrasonic in a few minutes!” Loki grimaced. “Please calm down!”

“I’m sorry! I’m just furious!! She’s always been bragging about her stupid boyfriend who’s always wrapped around her finger like a band-aid, and constantly mocking me for being single. I mean, it’s my choice that I’m single! It’s not like I’m averted to the idea of having someone in my life, it’s just that I won’t just say ‘yes’ to anybody who comes my way! And I know very well that she has invited me to vex me in front of the entire family!”

“Then do not go,” Loki suggested calmly.

“If I do not go, she’ll spread stories about how I chickened out because I’ll turn up alone, without somebody around my arm. Again!”

“Hmm,” the raven-haired prince pressed a long finger to his lips. “How do you want me to help? Should I change her mind? If you know what I mean.”

His mischievous smirk succeeded in breaking a small smile on her otherwise angry countenance.

“I wish, but no!” (Y/N) shook her head. “I… Well, I already told her that I’d be going. And…”

“And?”

She bit her lip. “And I said that I’d be bringing a plus one.”

“And you wish me to be that plus one,” Loki summed up.

She gave a meek nod of her head.

“No.” The god got up and strode across the room, leaving her with an open mouth and wide eyes.

“No?” She jumped up on her feet. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

The moment Loki shot her a glare, he tone changed into a humble one. “Please don’t say ‘no’!”

“I have already said it.”

“Then please change it! Loki, I really need your help!”

“There are so many attractive men in this compound; get one of them!”

“Look, it’s not like I haven’t tried. No one’s available!”

He eyed her doubtfully.

“I’d asked Steve but he said that he won’t be able to constantly lie to my family,” she reasoned. “I don’t know if Bucky would be comfortable under all that pressure. I don’t trust Thor with his big mouth. No offence!”

“None taken,” an amused smile toyed on his lips.

“And then there’s Sam…” A thought crossed her mind. With furrowed brows she continued, “Wait, I didn’t ask Sam.”

“There you go,” Loki gestured towards her with a snap of his fingers, “your problem has been solved.”

After assessing a few things in her mind, she spread her arms, “Nope, not Sam.”

“Why not?”

“Because he would be going out with someone else! He had said this long back. I knew there was something, some reason for which I didn’t ask him but just couldn’t put my finger on it!”

The trickster pinched the bridge of his nose. “And why would I do it? What would I get in return?”

(Y/N) looked at him disbelievingly. “I thought I was your friend!! The closest one, in fact! You won’t help a friend in need?”

Deep within, Loki knew that he would help her as soon as she had uttered one word. But it was the social gathering that he wanted to avoid. He had endured enough scepticism on this planet; he did not wish to attract more.

But (Y/N) was persuasive.

So, it was with utter displeasure that Loki ultimately found himself standing in front of Laura’s door on the eve of Christmas.

Beside him, (Y/N) was fidgeting with her hair and her coat. Despite the chilly air, a paleness veiled her face, and her usual cheerful persona was replaced by a quiet one.

“Are you alright?” Loki gently touched her shoulder.

“Yes. Yes, I’m alright. I just...” She shook her head. “I hate people poking their heads into my private life. And now I’ve dragged you with me! I’m sorry!”

“You do not need to do this if you do not want to.” His tone was so kind that it almost made her cry.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s…” She trailed off.

Once again, Loki waited for her patiently, searching her eyes for all the unsaid things. He could relate to her. He knew how it felt when one had to smile their way through people who did not like them, when one had to constantly fear the sharp daggers of words stabbing them any time. And he felt bad for her.

“Let us do it!” He took his hand in his and squeezed it.

The sudden touch and the sudden command from Loki surprised her. “What? No, no, it’s alright. We can head back. Let’s head back. We don’t need to-”

“We need to!” Loki cut her off. “Let us show them who you are: a fearless, confident, beautiful woman who does not need anyone else to validate her life for her.”

She stared at him with awe.

“Who is this man?!”

Loki had always been supportive but this was on a totally different level! And all the adjectives that he laid down for her - they were enough to make her want to wrap her arms around him.

Before she had the time to react or to have second thoughts about her second thoughts, Loki rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, a woman, clad in a short red dress that hugged all her curves deliciously, opened the door. (Y/N) noticed the way Loki took in her appearance.

“Oh my God, (Y/N)!” The said woman threw her arms around the guest who, in turn, rolled her eyes.

“Hey, Laura!” (Y/N) patted her back.

“And you must be her plus one,” the way Laura eyed Loki made (Y/N) want to gauge her cousin’s eyes out.

“I am Loki,” he took the hostess’s hand and lightly touched his lips to it. “You look gorgeous!”

“You are not so shabby yourself,” Laura grinned like a Cheshire cat, “and what a gentleman!”

Their actions made (Y/N) slightly sick. She hated her cousin. And now Loki - the person she was the closest with - was shamelessly flirting with her.

“It’s kind of chilly out here,” (Y/N) interrupted. “Mind if we go inside?”

Laura wrapped an arm around Loki’s and tugged him inside.

“Where’s your fiance?” (Y/N) asked her cousin with a hope to divert her attention from her friend.

“He had to go abroad for a meeting. You know how busy these high profile businessmen can get!”

With a fake smile, (Y/N) nodded and asked for a glass of water hoping, once again, that her cousin would let go of Loki.

As she walked away, Loki leaned slightly towards his companion and whispered in her ear, “Are you sure a glass of water will work or should we call the firemen?”

“You don’t get to talk!” She almost shouted but Loki shushed her. “You don’t get to talk,” she whispered this time. “How dare you flirt with her!! And you have the audacity to joke about it! Outrageous!”

“What can I say,” the god gave his famous smirk, “I’m just trying to blend in.”

“Blend in shit!!”

When (Y/N) saw Laura walking back with a glass in hand, she quickly grabbed Loki’s arm, surprising the god in the process.

“Ooh! I didn’t know you were so possessive about me!” He whispered.

One glare from her was enough to silence his mouth but the mirth remained in his eyes.

"Just play along, will you?" She gritted through her teeth. “From afar.”

Loki and (Y/N) walked amidst her relatives, arm in arm, presenting themselves as the happy couple that everyone was delighted to see! No questions, no arguments, no pitiful looks, no sarcastic comments - (Y/N) was finally beginning to feel the triumph in her seemingly “stupid” decision.

But fate seemed to have other plans for her.

Loki suddenly stopped in his tracks, a bewilderment shielding his beautiful face.

“What in the Nine…” Loki's voice trailed off as he gaped at one particular decoration. He tapped (Y/N)'s shoulder. "What is that bunch of twigs doing here?"

"Which one?" Her eyes searched the place until it followed the trail that Loki’s long finger pointed at.

“Ah that! That is a … mistletoe." Much to her annoyance, a faint blush crept up her cheeks as she uttered the name.

While she was praying that Loki doesn’t notice her embarrassing state, the latter was busy spiralling down his own thoughts.

“I know what it is!” He “whispered” loud enough for people within at least six feet to hear him. “I demand to know what it is doing here!”

The blatant lack of his usual calm demeanour alarmed her. He was not the kind to act inappropriately in front of people, especially strangers, and especially the ones who were related to her.

“Did it trigger some old memories?... Maybe he had some bad experience with a former…girlfriend?”

The word “girlfriend” tasted like vinegar, even in her thoughts. But being wise enough, she was able to swallow it down quickly.

“It is a tradition, Loki,” she explained. “Loki, are you alright? Is something wrong? We can head back if you are feeling unwell.”

It was the concern in her voice that pulled him back from his rumination. A swift lick of his dry lips, a subtle clearing of his throat, followed by a deep breath, and the lines on his forehead were gone just as quickly as they had appeared.

“No. I am absolutely fine.” His hands ran over his jacket in an attempt to smoothen out the non-existent wrinkles. “Shall we?”

Unwilling to poke any buried feelings, she decided to let the matter go, and happily looped her arm into the one that Loki had so politely extended towards her.

—

Sitting in a far corner of the living room, with her third drink in hand, she observed the room. Or maybe it wouldn’t be very wrong to say that she observed one particular person and the interactions of the rest of the family with him.

The fact that everyone believed her lie about their relationship made her feel relieved.

The fact that Loki was able to smoothly blend in with the family made her happy.

The fact that he was unashamedly flirting with the very cousin who never missed an opportunity to make her feel like shit made her miserable.

But even amidst the pile of various emotions, she did not miss how Loki’s eyes failed to shine as they usually did, how those smiles never reached his eyes. And it had all begun ever since he had laid eyes on that damned mistletoe.

Chugging her drink down, along with her despondent thoughts, she pushed herself off the chair and strutted towards him.

“He’s my friend. To hell with the world!”

Her throat was still burning from the alcohol when she reached him. When Loki looked up at her, he had a flirty smile stuck on him. But something about her expressions evaporated that mask away. He got up from the loveseat he was sharing with Laura, much to the annoyance of the latter.

“Are you alright?” Just a second ago, he had been using his coquettish voice, and now it was gone in an instant; his words were dripping with concern.

“Are you alright?” She asked him back. “You look like you’re in desperate need of a rescue!”

“Where is this coming from?”

She couldn’t believe her own words! Three drinks shouldn’t have been enough to make her tipsy but they had surely tore her inhibitions down. All this time she had swallowed her jealousy down, and allowed him to do whatever he pleased. But the boldness that voiced itself now came as a surprise even to her slightly foggy mind.

His mouth slightly parted in wonder. Loki looked between his “date” for the night and the cousin who was clearly furious. Clearing his throat, he smiled, “I would love to take a walk, if you are willing to accompany me.”

He was further surprised when (Y/N) extended an arm towards him, just like he had done a couple of hours ago. Taking it rather happily, he whispered to her cousin, “I shall be right back.”

“No, he won’t!” (Y/N) shouted over her shoulder, making the trickster chuckle.

Once outside, the chilly night air seemed to clear her senses a bit while also pulling her out of the suffocation she felt inside those walls.

“So,” Loki began in a soft voice, “are you alright? You seem a little…tipsy.”

“Yes, I am, your majesty, a little tipsy!” She replied with an air of royalty, making Loki laugh. “And I like it!”

“Is there any place where we can sit?” Loki looked around the snow-covered lawn.

“The bitch has a swing somewhere in here,” his companion slurred. “Ah, there it is!”

What she had called a swing turned out to be a porch swing. Loki had noticed her lips quivering in the cold. So, once they settled down on the seat, he wrapped a careful arm around her and pulled himself closer to her. Drunk on both alcohol and the closeness of Loki in the winter night, she did not care as her head rolled comfortably on her teammate’s shoulder.

For a few heartbeats, neither spoke. The chills of Winter - accentuated by the snowflakes flying past them - and a hypnotic silence enveloped them in one of the most calming moments of their entire lives. And Loki had already lived a rather long life, compared to (Y/N).

(Y/N) was the first to pop the bubble. “When we stepped inside, you…well, the mistletoe bothered you.”

She paused to gauge Loki’s reaction. When she found almost none, she continued. “Why was that? I mean, you need not tell me if you don’t want to. You know I won’t force you, right?”

She trod on the topic gingerly, afraid that any rash word might crack the proverbial glass beneath their feet.

With a sigh, Loki stared at the veil of white covering the ground. “It is a long, morbid story.”

“And I’m in no hurry,” she added softly, “but only if you’re okay with sharing it.”

“I…” Loki began but soon became unsure as to which words to use. There was no easy way to say it aloud. It was something that he would rather keep buried in him with the hope of eventually forgetting than sharing with someone who might understand.

“I had a brother,” he resumed after a pause. “A brother other than Thor.”

“What happened to him?”

“Apparently, … I killed him.”

(Y/N) sat up with a jolt. For a moment, Loki could not help but believe that she was disgusted by him, just like people always have been most of his life.

“You did not, did you?” Her question stunned him. No one had ever asked him this. “You said ‘apparently’. People presumed that it was you. Wasn’t it?”

A taunting laugh mingled with the cold air to form a wisp. “Why? I am the worst, am I not? Always plotting against everyone and wishing nothing but everybody’s ruin!”

There it was. The hurt was spilling through his words. She regretted having asked him about the mistletoe in the first place. Well, never in her entire life would she have thought that the story would take such a turn.

(Y/N) fumbled with her words for a while before resuming her composure. “Loki, I know you. Probably better than anyone else does. Which is why I know that you won’t kill your brother. Not unless it was necessary.”

“Necessary?”

“You know, like he went all crazy and started killing people or something.”

Her words made him laugh, even though it sounded rather sad.

“No,” he replied, “he was not crazy. Well, he was, if you ask me…but not a cold-blooded murderer.”

There was a stillness in the air as Loki ruminated on the past, interrupted occasionally by the scraping of the swing on the metal bar.

“Baldur was a good man,” Loki resumed. His eyes were lost somewhere in the distance. “He was the god of war. People loved him. … When he was born - and I have heard this, of course - mother was warned that he would die in a way that nobody would anticipate. So, she asked everything - living and non-living - in fact, pleaded with them not to harm her beloved son. They all agreed. All except the mistletoe. Mother assumed that it was so harmless that she need not persuade it for an oath.”

(Y/N) was listening to him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“So, a feast was arranged where Baldur was showing off his immortality. Everyone was throwing things of different kinds at him - sticks and swords - and everything simply bounced off him.”

Loki’s lips opened but words refused to come out of him.

“I-I… I had to do something different, of course. The god of mischief!” There was a bitterness in the way he described himself. “So, I brought in a branch of mistletoe. A twig, if you may call it. Hodr wanted to throw something at Baldur. He was blind, this fellow. So, I offered him my mistletoe. It was so fragile; what harm could it cause! I directed Hodr so that he would aim at Baldur’s arm. But it hit him in his chest. … And it…it went right through him. He-he died. Right there. Just…”

His voice had started breaking. (Y/N) wanted nothing but to hold him in her arms and soothe all his pain away. But she held herself for she knew that Loki was not very fond of hugs.

“Everyone simply assumed that I was jealous of him because of all the attention that he was getting! They accused me, imprisoned me, made me suffer a punishment that was worse than Hel!”

That was it. (Y/N) could not resist further. So, she took his hands and cocooned them in hers.

“Believe me, (Y/N), it was only a prank. Nothing more! I never wanted to kill him. Never!”

“I know, Loki, I know. I believe you.” Her arms wrapped around him as she brought his head to rest on her shoulder.

The god wept on her shoulder. All the unshed pain that he had been carrying with him for all those years finally found their way out. His arms looped around her of their own accord as she ran a soothing hand over his back and whispered comforting words in his ears.

It took him a few minutes to calm down. Or maybe more. When he did, he realised how close he was to her…how his arms held her snug to his chest…how his lips were pressed to her scarf…how his lungs yearned for her smell with each breath…and how this scent soothed his entire being.

His initial thought was to jump away, for he believed that it must have been embarrassing for her. It had to be awkward, hadn’t it? But then, a moment later, he allowed himself to realise how good it actually felt. And she was in no hurry to let go of him either. Oddly though, it felt right. A warmth spread through him, melting the chills of the night air and of the past that he had been burdening himself with.

So, they remained in each other’s arms for a while more until their seats on the swing started becoming uncomfortable. With hesitant hearts and shy eyes, they slowly untangled themselves.

(Y/N) reached out to wipe his eyes. Loki looked so vulnerable that she wanted to take care of him despite what anybody including the trickster himself might think. But her fear whispered that she might scare him away. So, she ended up cradling his face with one hand.

Loki himself was caught in a strange trance. It was like no magic that he had ever encountered before. The greatest sorcerer in the Nine Realms was unable to take his eyes off the mortal before her.

Whether it was the grief or the weather or simply his long-suppressed feelings for her or all of these, he was not sure of. All he felt was that her touch warmed him to the deepest corner of his being. All he was aware of was that they were both leaning towards the other. All he knew was that this moment was inevitable, this kiss was inevitable. That they must act on it before the moment was gone.

But they took too long.

The light creak of the front door of the house, and the sharp call of a woman’s voice startled them. When they had been missing from the party for quite some time, the hostess herself came out looking for them. Of course, she had assumed that (Y/N) had ditched the party, not that she minded. Her only concern for the night was the charming date that her cousin had brought along.

Imagine her satisfaction when she understood what she had interrupted upon! While (Y/N) jumped off the swing, Loki took a second to dry his face and present a smiling facade before the woman.

“I thought you guys had left!” Laura exclaimed with a faux worry.

“No,” (Y/N) replied, “we were enjoying some nice time. But that’s in the past now., thanks to you,” she murmured the last few words.

“Let’s go inside,” the hostess suggested, “you will freeze out here!”

“We were actually thinking of leaving,” (Y/N) replied. She knew better than to push Loki back into that crowd after such a vulnerable moment.

“What? No! You must stay!” The other woman insisted. “And I need to know more about this handsome stranger you have brought!”

Her sly smile made (Y/N) want to kick her in the crotch. She opened her mouth to protest. But Loki cut her off. He agreed to go inside, to put up that mask again. And before (Y/N) could say anything more, Loki had wrapped a comfortable arm around her waist and was already tugging her inside.

This time Loki did not allow himself to be hijacked by Laura. He kept himself busy with the other guests while secretly enjoying the indignation that he caused her. Amidst all the smart words and fake smiles, his eyes kept floating towards his teammate - the teammate with whom he had just shared one of the biggest sorrows and shames of his life, the teammate with whom he had just shared a special moment. And who knew what more that moment could have morphed into had it not been trampled upon.

(Y/N) was constantly being swept away by one relative or another. But her mind was still seated on that porch swing, basking in Loki’s warmth, burning in the touch of his breath on her lips, anticipating something that was probably never possible. And maybe that’s why God sent her cousin outside at that precise moment. Because that kiss was never possible.

An unhappiness veiled her countenance, making many people ask if she was feeling unwell. Taking advantage of their concern, she excused herself, and isolated herself in a far corner of the large living room.

This did not escape Loki’s notice. His eyes trailed her movements, her expressions and her gradual change of demeanour. All after the incident outside.

As his focus shifted from the guests to her entirely, a string of words drifted into his ears - incomprehensible at first but then they gradually started taking proper shapes. And then he realised it. They did not reach his ears, they floated into his mind! And the voice was a very familiar one. (Y/N)’s!

“She must have zoned out.”

He had promised never to dive into her mind unless she asked him to. But this was different. Her thoughts came to him; he had nothing to do with it, and so, he wasn’t breaking any promise!

Loki listened to her intently. He listened to her confusions, her sorrows, her lack of faith in herself, her acceptance of defeat, her curses as she reproached herself for not being able to confess her immense love for him…

“Wait, what?”

Loki was dumbfounded. There was no way he could have heard wrong but how could that be true anyway? Or could it be? He couldn’t believe his own mind for the first time!

There was perhaps a way to know.

Excusing himself, he approached (Y/N) with a mischief in mind.

“Should we head home?” He placed a soothing hand on her shoulder.

(Y/N) was startled. But the sight of the man rolled a wave of happiness within her.

“No, I’m fine,” she smiled. “I just…I needed a break from all the talking!”

Loki nodded. Lost in her thoughts, she did not notice the trickster subtly - and gracefully - stir the wind with his slender fingers.

“That is one odd place to hang those twigs!” He suddenly remarked with amusement coating his words.

(Y/N) followed the direction of his eyes to find a mistletoe hanging above their heads. Immediately, a panic arose in her. She did not want Loki to go through all that pain again.

“Shit! I…I didn’t see it hanging there. I… Let’s sit somewhere else. You don’t need to see this.”

“Hey,” he held her arm as she sprang to her feet, and gently pushed her back on the chair. “It is alright. Believe me. It is…I am actually feeling better after letting everything out before you… Thank you!”

The gratefulness and adoration in his eyes were obvious. It touched her very soul. Cradling his hand in hers, she whispered, ”You deserve nothing but love. All of it!”

“Which reminds me…” Loki spoke, “are you not supposed to kiss when underneath this treacherous bunch of wild leaves?”

(Y/N)’s face first turned pale and then crimson. There was no way Loki could have known that! Or maybe she had left him in unknown waters for too long.

Prior to the party, the Asgardian obviously knew nothing about any modern traditions regarding the mistletoe. But his companion was right; he had spent enough hours with Laura and other giggling ladies to know a mistletoe’s purpose on Midgard.

Before (Y/N) could protest, someone answered Loki’s question, “Of course, you should kiss! (Y/N), what are you waiting for?” That was her childhood friend.

He was loud enough to draw the attention of others, many of whom were now urging them to seal the deal. At the other end of the room, Laura was fuming, mentally cursing the decorator who had put the mistletoe up there.

“This is not a movie, guys!” (Y/N) stood up straight and shouted. “C’mon! Stop behaving like kids!”

“Are you two even for real?” One of the hostess’s friends shouted back. “How can you not kiss a boyfriend who’s this hot!”

“We do not like PDA, that is all it is,” (Y/N) reasoned.

Loki gently took her fingers in his. It was his tender touch that grounded her anxious emotions. “I would not mind it if it is what it takes to convince your folks,” he rasped in a voice so low that one she could hear him.

How could she say no to those green orbs staring right into her soul! But…it would be wrong to coax him into something which he did not want.

If only she knew!

She never realised when Loki had leaned in until she found it hard to focus on anywhere but his lips. “It’s okay,” she whispered to him. “You don’t need to do this. You could always refus-”

The god did not allow her to finish that line. He had already pressed his lips to hers. A round of cheers and applause rang through the room. But everything was muffled against their ears. The sounds felt like floating from afar. Loki kissed her gently, sweetly, taking his time to show her what he really felt for her. Trying to understand what she felt for him in return.

Although she was stunned initially, Loki’s warmth seeping in through her made her relax. She started mimicking his actions. She allowed her feelings to flow through them. Loki’s arm around her waist and his hand behind her head anchored her to the ground, refraining her body from collapsing under the overwhelming love that Loki was bestowing on her.

But they had to breathe. And it was in their moment of separation that reality sweeped down upon her.

Loki was glowing! But she did not notice that. She was too busy drowning in her insecurities to understand the emotions working behind Loki’s recent actions. She was scared that their relationship would never be the same again, and not in a positive way. She was afraid that they would forever be fumbling around one another because they had crossed the boundaries of friendship, regardless of the fact that she wanted exactly that.

Her eyes apologised to him but he was ecstatic. He could not see past the love that she reciprocated on his lips. But when he finally saw the frown shadowing her features, he placed a caring hand over her cheek.

“What is it, love?”

“I’m so sorry, Loki! I-I know this is awkward for you! I…I’m so sorry! I don’t want to lose you. I-I mean, you-your friendship. This…Loki, promise me you won’t be angry!”

The god stared at her dumbfounded. When he finally did manage to form a coherent sentence again, he commanded her but softly, “Come with me.”

Unwilling to make a scene out of the confusion, he managed to smoothly pull her aside, away from prying eyes and curious ears, without raising any suspicion.

Once they reached a safe corner, he simply gasped, “Since when did you become so dumb?”

Too embarrassed to reveal her watery eyes but too curious to know the meaning behind his accusation, she took only a fleeting glance at him. Focusing hard on the buttons of his shirt, she asked timidly, “What do you mean?”

Loki huffed. He could not understand how someone as smart as her could turn out to be so witless when it came to matters of the heart.

“Do you not understand?” he asked her, slightly annoyed.

“Okay, I have a confession to make. I wanted to kiss you. Did you not feel it? Did you not realise that… Norns! There was no mistletoe up there initially!” Observing her blank countenance, he continued, “It was me- I…” He threw his arms up in the air. “(Y/N)! I put the mistletoe there above us! For us!...For you, you fool!!”

Slowly the gears in her mind started ticking into place. Loki could almost hear them as he watched her expressions morph from confusion to realisation to astonishment to ecstasy.

He smiled. In a voice as soft and gentle as freshly fallen snow, he asked her, “Do you understand now?”

Still in a state of shock, the poor girl stumbled through her words, “Me? But…why? You- Since when?”

A few minutes earlier, when she had voiced her disappointment and uncertainty about the incident with the mistletoe, Loki’s confident demeanour had slipped off a bit. Although he was sure of what he had heard in her thoughts, her weary state had made him wonder if those thoughts were but only smoke trails of a passing moment.

But now, with regained confidence, he stepped forward and took her hands in his, cocooning them in his large ones.

A soft chuckle left his parted lips. “‘Why’ - I do not have the answer to that, believe me. ‘Since when’ - well, I do not really know but I think it might have been somewhere between our annoyingly long talks, our late night affairs of tea, our banters, our reading sessions…maybe somewhere amidst the laughs and the pains that we shared…mingled with the love and care that you have always showered on me, unconditionally… I do not know, (Y/N)... All I know is that…I…” He took a deep breath, “I love you. Yes. And that is why I put the mistletoe up there. I did not know how else to convey my feelings to you. I had thought that you would understand when… I knew I would fumble with words but… Please tell me you are not upset about this entire situation!”

The confession hit her like a freight train. It took her some time to gather herself back together. All this while she had been watching Loki with eyes that radiated nothing but pure adoration. With a small smile on her mouth, she absorbed every single syllable, every single emotion that Loki pronounced.

“Mr. Silvertoungue fumbling?” She let out a breathy laugh which caused a tint of pink to bloom on the trickster’s ears and cheeks.

“No,” she continued, “I’m not upset… You did the right thing…putting that mistletoe up there. I’m absolutely confident that I could have never gathered the courage to tell you how I feel.”

A small chuckle of relief left Loki.

“But that was a lot of talk for a confession. Do you realise that?” She asked with a teasing smile.

The God of Mischief laughed and scratched the side of his nose. “I have been told more than once, yes.”

“But I loved it all,” she took a step closer to him.

“I am glad tha-” Before he could finish his line, (Y/N) had placed her hand over his mouth, taking him by surprise.

“Shh! Do you think,” she removed her hand and resumed with a sigh, “you can conjure that little piece of mischief back…above us? Now?”

A wicked grin spread on Loki’s lips. “Any time! As many times as you want, darling.”

With a small gesture of his slender fingers, a mistletoe appeared above them once again. This time (Y/N) wasted no time in pulling Loki down by the collar of his shirt and placing a promising kiss on his eager lips.

They felt the same fire as the previous time but better. This time neither was in a rush to douse the flames but ready to surrender to them, to become one with the raging fire and burn bright until there was nothing left but the glowing love and passion that they felt for each other.

But even in the middle of a searing moment like this, (Y/N)’s mind couldn’t help but wander off to other thoughts. Barely separating herself from Loki, she tried to ask him but the Asgardian wasn’t willing to let her go, “Wait, how were you…mmh…so confident about…mmh…wait! About how I felt for you?”

“Later”, was the only response that Loki was able to manage as he pulled her closer and chased her kiss-swollen lips with his hungry ones.

She tried hard to pry herself or at least her mouth away from the impatient man but kept failing until she squeezed his jaw firmly in her grip. It wasn’t like the god could be stopped by this little human but he respected her wish and sort of enjoyed it when she bossed around.

“How?” She raised a brow while demanding her answer.

“I hurd yur thughts,” Loki managed to utter through squeezed cheeks and puckered lips.

“You heard my thoughts? You read my mind?!” She released his face only to hit his arm. “How dare you?”

“Love, I did not mean to! But you were sitting there all by yourself, looking so sad, and I was completely focused on you, trying to understand what was hurting you, and they just floated towards me - your thoughts! They were so loud that I did not even have to try! Forgive me for breaching your privacy. But believe me, darling, I never meant to!”

Here was Loki trying to convince her of his unadulterated intentions, but she had lost him the moment he called her ‘love’. Everything else was a blur, a beautiful but muted music floating through the air from a distance, spreading like mist, on a quiet winter night.

“That’s alright,” she smiled giddily. “I’m glad you read my mind.”

But Loki needed further assurance. “You are not angry?”

“Nope! Not at all.”

Upon hearing her confirmation, he let out a long breath.

“Now,” she toyed with the sleeve of his shirt, “where were we?”

A small laugh, mingled with both relief and joy, escaped the trickster. “In the middle of the first of a zillion kisses, I believe?”

“Hmm,” with the most ecstatic grin possible, she balanced herself on Loki’s strong frame and stood on her tiptoes to finish what a mischievous mistletoe had started.

***

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