#that no one truly loved her enough to heed her warnings
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a safe haven l ten
Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader
series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter
summary: After a long night, Joel and Ellie take you home.
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF AN INJURY SUSTAINED FROM AN ACT OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, PREGNANCY, CONVERSATIONS SURROUNDING PREGNANCY LOSS . PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. Ellie and reader are very close to each other, Joel deals with feelings of guilt, Joel and Maria make nice, Joel gives reader a bath and washes her hair, food consumption (i am just gonna apologize to my lactose intolerant folks right now, trust me i must pretend with you), both reader and Joel have some big feelings, reader mentions her deceased father, angst, soft and domestic Joel, fluff.
word count: 5k
a/n: i have not updated this series since october. :l i feel a a mixed bag of emotions updating after all this time, but most of all, i am grateful to know there are a couple of people out there who are still invested in this story. to anyone who has been waiting: truly, it means the world that you have shown me patience, support, and kindness. believe me, i am going to be seeing this story to the end, and it is all thanks to those who continue to show this lil story of mine a whole lotta love. special shoutout to the loveliest human @mrsmando who made me this beautiful mooodboard every single time i got stuck during this chapter, i looked at it and it gave me the boost of inspiration i needed. thank you mimi <33
this chapter is fairly tame, the next chapter is already in the works, and there are a couple of time jumps coming. overall, we are down to the last handful of chapters. let’s finish this story and give these two the ending they deserve, shall we?
“What the hell is taking Tommy so fucking long?” Ellie whines. She’s sprawled out on the couch with her head in your lap, and her arm draped over her eyes. Her feet are hanging, dangling over the edge of the couch at an odd angle after you’d warned her not to get muck from her sneakers on the linen fabric. Despite Joel insisting over and over that she head on back to the house, she had stubbornly refused, not wanting to leave your side. “It’s been over two hours! He’s taking fucking forever, man. What’s the fucking hold up?”
Joel bites back a sigh, masking his own impatience. Or at least, he tries. He’s grown just as restless as the kid, if not more. Much like Ellie, he’s desperate. He’s itching to take you home already, almost too anxious to watch you take that first step over his threshold, and into your new life with him and with Ellie. He aches, aches, to get you settled into the place where you would be spending the remainder of your days with one another, where you would be safe, and loved in the way you deserved to be loved—the place where he would cherish and adore you until his final breath.
“Don’t know,” he answers, his voice sounding rougher, more gruff than usual. Reaching up, he scrubs his hand down the side of his face, adding tiredly, “He might be a while longer, kiddo. It could be another hour, could be more. Like I already told you, s’probably best if you just go on and head back to the house without us, alright?”
“No. I’m not walking out that fucking door unless she’s with me.” She pauses and pulls her arm away from her face for a moment, just long enough to throw a teeny glare his way. “Unless you’re both with me. The three of us go home together, or it’s no fucking deal. Got it?”
He shakes his head in utter exasperation.
“Ellie, we’ll be right here down the fuckin’ road—”
Her hand shoots out and she flips him off.
Just when he’s about to chastise her, he stops himself, clamping his mouth shut. It’s pointless.
Kid’s too goddamn hard headed for her own good, and Joel knows he’s just wasting his breath with her.
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” you reassure them both, weaving your fingers through her hair to scratch at her scalp in an effort to soothe her. “Right, Joel?”
He meets your exhausted, worn down gaze from where he’s standing across the room, and his heart lurches in his chest. As the guilt begins creeping in, he’s forced to look away. He can’t imagine the living hell you had been through over the last twenty four hours alone. And the worst part about it was the realization that last night, while he was fast asleep in bed just a couple of houses up the road, that fucking bastard had his belt wrapped around your throat.
Joel feels sick to his fucking stomach all over again.
Horrifying, vividly real images of you helplessly trapped underneath Luke scratching and clawing at the leather around your neck with trembling fingers, struggling to breathe oxygen into your burning lungs as he tugged it tighter and tighter through the buckle flash in his mind, a gruesome nightmare turned into reality.
Exactly how far had Luke taken it?
Until you had grown too weak to keep fighting?
Until you almost lost complete consciousness?
Until he noticed the life threatening to leave your eyes?
Is that when he had finally stopped pulling on the belt?
Joel shudders, a bitter taste climbing up his throat as it sinks in. He could have lost you—and his unborn child.
This shouldn’t have happened.
He shouldn’t have let you walk away that night.
This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let you walk away from him that night.
“Joel,” you say his name, quiet and weary.
His head snaps back in your direction and he glances at you, almost missing the subtle shake of your head. It is a silent warning telling him not to go there, though you know by the tight clench of his jaw it’s too late for that.
Joel makes the futile attempt to hide it, but he sees it written all over your face—you know what he’s thinking because you know him like the back of your own hand, and you just know he’s placing all of the blame for what happened to you on his own shoulders.
But can you honestly fault him for that?
How can you expect him not to feel like he is somehow responsible for this? Just how the hell is he supposed to make himself believe he hadn’t failed you?
Joel promised—he had fucking promised you—that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. He had sworn to keep you safe, made a vow to protect you from Luke, but here you are, your soft, delicate flesh marred with the painful evidence of yet another one of his failures.
And it was all because he had let you walk away on that fucking night.
He should have done something.
Even if it meant running the risk of you never speaking to him again—even if you never forgave him, spent the rest of your life angry and hating him for going against your wishes. He should have something.
“Joel—”
“Be right back,” he mutters, lightly shaking his head.
Shoving away from the doorframe he’s leaning against, Joel pivots on the heel of his boot and starts down the hallway. He walks into the kitchen where he finds Maria standing at the counter, tapping her fingers against the smooth, laminated oakwood as she waits for the coffee she’d offered him a few minutes ago to finish brewing. She’d offered to whip up a quick supper, but food was the last thing on everyone’s mind.
“Tommy’s been gone for a couple hours now. Girls are startin’ to get real tired of just sittin’ around waitin’ for him to come back,” he tells her, exhaling the sigh he’d held back in the living room. “What do you think could be keepin’ him so long?”
With her back still to him, Maria reminds him, “Well, he did mention he was going to round up the council and get them together for an emergency meeting.” She lets out a sigh that matches his own—it’s been a long night for her, too. When the last drop of dark roast drips into the glass pot, she carefully takes the pot by the plastic handle and pours the steaming coffee into a speckled, white and blue ceramic mug. “Do you take it with milk and sugar?”
“No thanks, that’s alright,” he declines as politely as he can.
“I also have cinnamon if you’d like?”
“Plain black’s just fine.” He gives her a nod of gratitude when she hands it to him. “Thank you. And I don’t just mean the coffee, but for, uh—for bandagin’ up my hand for me, too.” He clocks the brief look of surprise on her face and almost laughs. He doesn’t blame her for being taken aback, because truth be told, so is he. Since he’d met Maria, he had known she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. There was something of a mutual understanding between them, a silent agreement they had made to keep each other at arm’s length, to only interact when it was absolutely necessary.
Never did he think he would be standing in her kitchen, thanking her for patching up his hand, and for making him a cup of coffee out of the kindness of her heart.
His brother wouldn’t believe it.
“Don’t mention it.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans back against the counter. “How’s it feel, by the way?”
“S’fine,” he replies, shrugging. “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”
There’s a momentary silence. A taste of tension lingers over their heads, and he knows at one point or another, he’s going to have to address the affair, the very reason everything had unfolded in such a terrible manner.
Guess now’s as good a time as fuckin’ any, he thinks to himself with an inward sigh.
Joel lightly clears his throat. “Listen, since we’ve got a minute alone, just the two of us, I was wonderin’ if, uh—if we could talk ‘bout somethin’? If that’s alright?”
“Of course.” Maria gives him the floor.
“I know that she—” Pausing, he shuffles from the heel of one boot to the other, his ears burning hot. He had known it wouldn’t be an easy conversation to have, but he underestimated just how uncomfortable it would be, regardless of what she already knew. “I know she told you and Tommy all ‘bout us, and ‘bout our relationship. See, the thing is, the first time I saw her—”
Again, Joel stops, the burning sensation now radiating, spreading from his ears to his face and down his neck, flushing his skin a deep, deep shade of pink. Unable to meet his sister in law’s gaze, he glances down into his mug, as if he will somehow find the right words to say somewhere in the depths of his coffee.
“It was never my intention, y’know,” he finally says after a minute. “Goin’ after a married woman. I swear, I never meant to fall for her. I just fuckin’ did. I think I might’ve fallen for her long before I even met her,” he confesses. He feels himself darken to a shade of maroon under her curious stare. “And somehow, for reasons I ain’t all too sure I’ll ever understand, she fell for me too.”
Maria raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, I’m not judging you, Joel,” she assures him, shaking her head. “If that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not judging her, either.”
He looks up at her, blurting out, “You’re not?”
She moves her hands to cradle her swollen middle. “Do I wish you two had handled everything differently?” she answers her own query with a nod of her head. “Oh, I’m sure we all do. But I’ve known her for a long time now. I know the kind of woman she is. And I’m starting to see the kind of man you are.”
“And what kinda man is that, Maria?”
He waits without the slightest clue as to what she could possibly say.
“Since you came back to Jackson, I’ve chosen to keep my distance from you—but make no mistake, I’ve been watching you like a hawk since day one. Waiting for any signs of trouble. Waiting for you to fuck up. Waiting for you to give me a good reason to throw your ass out of this community because I didn’t trust you. Not after all the things I was told about you.”
He snorts. “You goin’ somewhere with this?”
“You are not who I thought you were,” Maria admits, smiling wryly. “I’ve gotten to see a different side of you. You pull your weight around here by doing your job and doing it well. You stay out of trouble—for the most part. And more importantly, I have seen the way that you’ve stepped up to be a father figure to Ellie. It takes a good man to do that, Joel.”
“Think that’s the nicest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever said to me,” he muses, setting his mug down on the counter. “I stepped up because I love her. I love them both. Those two, they’re the best parts of me. They’re the reasons I keep goin’ and now I’ve got another reason on the way.”
Maria smiles, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.
Catching her hesitance, Joel asks, “What? What is it?”
“What comes next is not going to be easy,” she warns him, lowering her voice. Even with the living room a fair distance from the kitchen, she doesn’t want to run the risk of you overhearing her. “For as hard as we’re going to try to contain the fire, it will spread, and everyone in this town will find out about everything—including the affair. People are going to talk, and believe me, they’re going to have a whole lot to say about it, Joel.”
He can’t help but roll his eyes at her.
“Think I can handle some fuckin’ gossip, Maria.”
“I know you can. But I’m not sure if she can,” Maria tells him, quietly. “It worries me. She’s been through a lot in just one night alone. I don’t want her stressing anymore than she already has. She is in a very delicate stage of her pregnancy right now, Joel. If she’s not careful, she could have a miscarriage. She had one about two years ago when her father became sick—” Observing his lack of a reaction, she realizes, “You knew that already.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. He knows where she’s going with this. “I did. She told me ‘bout it.”
“It makes her chances of having another one higher—”
Joel doesn’t even allow himself to think of it happening to you again. “I get it,” he interjects, trying not to sound too curt. “I’ll make sure she takes it real easy, alright?”
Lifting a hand off her belly, she reaches out and takes a hold of his forearm, gripping it tightly.
“Promise me something, Joel. Promise me that you’ll look after her,” Maria pleads him, gently. “Please. After everything she’s been through—I need you to promise me that she’s going to be in good hands with you.”
He nods. Without thinking, he places his hand over hers in an unexpected token of affection and reassurance. “You have my word, Maria. I’ll take good care of her.”
She gives his arm a grateful squeeze, then glances over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting pretty late. We don’t know how much longer Tommy’s going to be with the council. Why don’t we just go ahead and call it a night?” she suggests. “We can all get together first thing in the morning at your place to talk about it.”
“Yeah, good idea,” he agrees. “She really needs to rest.”
Maria gives his arm another squeeze.
“Go on then, Joel. Take your girls home.”
“Finally!” Ellie exclaims with a dramatic flail of her arms as she shoves through the front door.
“Alright, kiddo. Get your behind upstairs and into the shower,” Joel instructs her, flipping on the lights in the foyer. “Y’smell like fuckin’ horse shit.”
She lifts the collar of her shirt to her nose, takes a whiff, and makes a face. “Yeah, I won’t argue with you there,” she mutters. She toes off her dirty sneakers and leaves them beside the door before dashing up the staircase, taking two steps at a time.
He shouts after her, “And don’t use up all the hot—”
“Yeah, yeah, I fucking know the rules, dude!”
Moments later, you both hear the shower going.
“Little shit,” he grumbles.
You exhale an amused huff through your nose.
Joel withdraws his arm from around your shoulders and reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “C’mon, darlin’.” He guides you up the stairs and down the hallway into his bedroom where he switches on the light before proceeding to lead you over to his dresser. “I’ve got a bunch of shirts in this top drawer here,” he says. Dropping your hand, he pulls it open for you and gestures to it with a jut of his chin as he takes a step backwards, moving out of the way. “Go ahead and pick one to sleep in tonight. Want you to be comfortable, so help yourself to whichever one you want, sweet girl.”
Nodding, you begin to rummage through the drawer, unaware of the moment he slips away. You reach for a t-shirt, but then a plaid green flannel catches your eye. You pluck it from the drawer, running your fingers over the soft, warm fabric. “Is it alright if I wear—?” You turn around, stopping mid sentence when you realize he’s no longer standing behind you. Puzzled, you follow the sound of running water into the bathroom where you find him kneeling beside the tub. “Joel? What are you doing?”
“Runnin’ you a bath.”
You notice the bloodied bandage beside him on the tile floor. “Joel, are you serious?” you scold him. “Maria just patched your hand up for you.”
“S’okay, peach. I can rewrap it when we’re done.” Joel sticks his injured hand under the faucet to check the temperature, the cold water soothing his cuts. Once it turns warm, then hot, he pulls out his hand, waiting for the tub to fill halfway before shutting the faucet off and rising to his feet. “C’mere, sweetheart.” He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms, then beckons for you with both of his hands. “Let’s get you washed up.”
You remain standing by the door. “Joel, you don’t have to do this for me.”
“I know.”
“I’m capable of washing myself—”
“Yeah, I know that too,” he says, chuckling. “S’only fair, darlin’. Don’t you think?”
That’s when it hits you—how this moment is mirroring that night you had cleaned Joel up after you and Ellie had brought him home from the clinic with an injured shoulder. He allowed you to take care of him, and now, he was looking to do the same for you. And all you had to do was let him.
“But your hand—”
“Will be just fine,” Joel persists, stubbornly. “It’s nothin’ but a few cuts and scrapes. C’mon—or else I’m gonna march right over there and get you myself, peach.”
Knowing Joel, you certainly wouldn’t put it past him to throw you over his should and carry you to the bathtub.
“Fine,” you relent with a small sigh of defeat.
Setting his shirt down on the sink, you slowly walk over towards him and whirl around, letting him help you out of your knitted cardigan. You finish undressing yourself, inhaling a deep breath as you muster up the courage to turn back around and face him—when you finally do, it feels like a punch to the gut to see the heartbreak in his dark brown eyes, the subtle tremble of his bottom lip. You don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror to know it looks about a hundred times worse when you’re not wearing clothes.
Keeping your arms down at your sides, you fight every urge to cover yourself up. You’ve never felt so fucking vulnerable.
Clearing his throat, Joel holds out his hand. “C’mere.”
You accept it, and he helps you into the tub.
“How’s the water? S’not too hot, is it?”
You shake your head and he leans forward, kissing your temple so sweetly, your eyes flutter closed.
He washes your hair first, then takes a clean washcloth, lathering it up with a bar of milk and honey soap—the same soap he would smell on your skin all those nights. Admittedly, Joel preferred castile soap, but switched it when he found himself missing you during those weeks you were apart from him, when he needed the comfort of your scent. He is gentle with you, so gentle, as if he’s afraid you’ll shatter into pieces in his hands.
As he lightly drags the washcloth up your back and around your neck, you stiffen, prompting him to freeze too. “Fuck. Baby, did I hurt you?” he asks, and you hear the slight panic in his tone.
“No,” you say quickly, desperately trying to swallow the lump rising in your throat. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It’s just—” Every overwhelming emotion slams into you all at once, and you can’t seem to figure out which one to feel first. Humiliation? Fear? Relief?
The water sloshes around you as you pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around your knees, giving yourself permission to feel them all. Bowing your head, you begin to sob quietly, hoping that Ellie, who is just down the hallway, won’t hear you crying again.
Joel says nothing. Washcloth still clutched in his hand, he leans forward over the edge of the tub and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, or at least, as close as the barrier between the two of you will allow him.
“Joel,” you choke, trying to push him off. “Stop it. Your clothes, they’re getting all wet.”
“Hush. Don’t fuckin’ care ‘bout my clothes,” he croaks, and for a second, you swear he’s about to cry too. But he doesn’t. He holds himself strong. Tugging you closer against his chest, he buries his nose into your soaking wet hair, whispering his reassurance. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe, my sweet girl. I’ve got you, alright?”
He pulls back slightly, dipping his hand into the water, placing it on your lower belly.
You look down, your eyes glazing over his bruised and battered knuckles. Proof that Joel Miller really would do anything for you.
“I know you do,” you say, softly. “I know you’ve got me, Joel.”
A while later, you’re dried, dressed, and composed. You follow Joel out of the bathroom and back into his room, where he has you take a seat on the bed. Noticing you had missed a button on his flannel shirt, he does it for you. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and says, “Give me a minute while I change.”
He peels off his wet clothes, being careful so as not to further agitate his sore, injured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you’re sitting in bed underneath the covers.
“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy—and it smells like you. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”
Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home. Alright?”
Home.
You’re home.
He touches the tip of his nose to yours, and then draws himself back up to full height. “There’s somethin’ that I’ve gotta take care of downstairs, peach. I won’t be too long,” he promises.
It’s almost midnight. Joel goes about the kitchen and he prepares you the quickest meal that he can think of. He plates the sandwich he’d thrown together and pours a glass of cow’s milk—he’s always sure to keep a pint of it in the refrigerator to make the kid her oatmeal in the mornings.
He heads back upstairs, only to find that while he had been gone, Ellie had joined you, making herself a little too comfortable on his side of the bed. He stands there at the door, watching the two of you.
“Hey, so is it true babies can hear stuff while they’re in there?” Ellie questions you, curiously.
“Mhm,” you reply with a nod. “They can hear music, for example. Voices—”
“Voices?” She smushes her face into your stomach and he hears a muffled, “Hey, dude!”
You giggle. “Ellie, I think it’s still a little too early.”
“When do you think it’ll be able to hear me?”
“I’m not too sure. In a few months, maybe?”
Ellie lifts her head, humming. “You know, I bet there’s baby books in the library,” she tells you as she sits up. “I’ll have Dina help me look for one tommor—oh shit.” She stares at you with wide eyes. “Dina! How are you going to tell her and Talia about Luke?”
Joel grimaces. He hadn’t thought of that, either.
“I—I’m not too sure.”
“You have to fucking tell them. Dina has to know about him. She has to know what a piece of shit he is, and so does Talia.”
Sensing your discomfort, Joel steps into the bedroom and intervenes before she can say another word. “Ellie, get to bed. S’late.”
“But—”
“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns her, sternly.
She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine.” She climbs off the bed and on her way out, she eyes the plate in his hand. “That chicken?”
“Turkey. And it ain’t for you, it’s for her. So scram, kid.”
“Couldn’t have made me one while you were at it, old man?”
“Ellie, if you don’t get outta here right now—”
“Alright!” Ellie holds her hands up. “I’m leaving. Jesus.”
She disappears, closing the door behind her.
“Pain in my ass,” Joel mumbles, shaking his head as he walks over and carefully perches himself beside you. He hands you the plate. “Here, darlin’.”
“Joel, I appreciate this, but I’m really not very hungry.”
“Maybe not, but y’gotta eat,” he insists. “Baby needs it.”
Thankfully, you accept it without further protest.
“I’ll have Ellie get your things tomorrow,” Joel states as you’re eating. “Maria can go along with her since she knows the house. They’ll get your clothes and whatever else you might need outta there.”
“My father’s belongings.” You accidentally talk through a mouthful of turkey and bread. Swallowing, you tell him, “I have some boxes of his stuff in the basement. But they’re way too heavy for either of them to carry.”
“I’ll take care of that for you.” He reaches up, wiping a breadcrumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “I can ask Tommy to give me a hand. Don’t you worry, peach. We won’t leave your dad’s things behind, I swear it.”
Relieved, you shoot him a grateful look, then polish off the last few bites of your sandwich.
“Here,” he says, offering you the glass of milk. “Figured it’s good for you, and good for the baby. Y’know, since it’s got calcium and…stuff.” He shrugs sheepishly, no clue as to what he’s talking about. “Vitamins, right?”
Nodding, you grab the glass and take a reluctant sip.
“You hate milk,” Joel realizes, raising an eyebrow.
“I do,” you admit with a laugh. “But you’re right. It’s good for both me and the baby, so cheers.” And with that, you somehow force the entire glass down.
He sets the dishes aside on the nightstand, figuring he can take them downstairs first thing in the morning.
Without bothering to rebandage his hand like he’d told you he would, Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you. “All those nights wishin’ I could bring you home,” he muses as you curl into his side. “Wantin’ nothin’ more than to hold you in my arms in this bed. In our bed.” His arm slips around your shoulders, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “Almost doesn’t feel real, darlin’.”
Tilting your head, you nuzzle your nose into the scruff of his beard, prompting him to laugh again. Then, he remembers his conversation with Maria, and his smile fades from his face, his lips pursing together.
You catch the sudden shift in his demeanor.
“Joel? What’s the matter?”
“M’fine, baby. It’s just—” He hesitates. “From this point forward, I need you to let me handle things.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want you gettin’ all stressed out, alright? I don’t want to run the risk of you—” He’s unsure of how to say it.
“Of me losing the baby,” you finish for him, quietly.
Joel winces, knowing he was wandering into sensitive territory. “Yeah. I—I really don’t want that to happen.” He pauses. “Maria mentioned to me you’re in a delicate stage. When do you reckon you’ll stop—how long until you don’t gotta worry ‘bout it?”
“After twelve weeks, my risk isn’t as high. If I make it to the second trimester in six weeks, then my chances of having another miscarriage are lower.”
Though you speak calmly, he clocks your anxiousness.
You’re worried, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fucking worried out of his mind too.
Being a father at his age wasn’t ideal, but he wanted this child. It was part of him, and more importantly, it was a part of you.
Joel squeezes your shoulders. “I only ask ‘cause I was thinkin’ that, y’know, once we get to that point, maybe I can go ahead and start buildin’ the baby’s crib.”
“You’re going to build the crib?”
He nods. “And the highchair too. I can even make you a diaper changin’ table if y’want one.”
“Joel.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Our worlds were just turned completely upside down. You just found out that I’m pregnant, and you’re already thinking about building furniture? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”
“Hey, those things take a whole ‘lotta time,” he says in defense of himself. “Besides, winter’s right around the corner and I don’t wanna be out in the garage freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off. If I can get a head start now, I can have them all done in the spring by the time the baby comes.”
You fall silent.
“What’s on your mind?”
“I’m really scared of losing it,” you confess. “When I first took that pregnancy test, I wanted nothing more for it to be negative. Now, I’m terrified I won’t make it past my first trimester again. I really don’t want to lose it. I want this baby, Joel.”
He turns his head, meeting your eyes in the silver light shining through the lace curtains over his window. “S’why you’ve gotta let me handle things, darlin’. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“C’mere, my sweet girl.” Joel presses his lips to yours, murmuring against them, “I love you.”
His declaration comes with natural ease.
And so does yours.
“I love you too, Joel.”
#fic: a safe haven#fic: ash#tw dv#tw domestic violence#tw pregnancy#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller series#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller angst#the last of us fanfiction
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do you think émilie agreste knew, on the day she became too weak to leave that house, that she never would again
#having a normal one. don’t worry about it#just thinking about how she never escaped even in death etc etc#do you think she knew even as she pleaded with gabriel to give up on her that he never would.#that no one truly loved her enough to heed her warnings#that adrien was going to be left alone#what must it have been like for her to grow slower and weaker and quieter until she was as still as the bed d#do you think she knew she was becoming another fixture of that house#beautiful and immovable and silent#how long did gabriel have that coffin ready in the basement. how much time did he spend building it. did nathalie help.#did emilie know where they went in those long hours she laid there dying? that they intended to keep her there -always dying and never dead?#is that why she left videos? because she knew they’d build an altar for her haunting and she had to give her ghost a voice?#i think often about gabriel saying that emilie never wanted what she deserved#i think about gabriel and nathalie not letting her die. i think about ladybug not letting chat noir die.#circles and cycles ending up right back where you started#you know. having a normal one#anna rambles#emilie agreste#thirteen
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In The Woods Somewhere
Summary- Coriolanus does not intend on returning to the Capitol alone.
Warnings- MDNI 18+ DUBCON Female reader. TBOSAS spoilers technically. Reader is essentially Lucy Gray. Porn with plot. Toxic relationship. Possessive Coriolanus. Chasing. Biting. Restraint. Choking. Edging. Overstimulation. Fingering. Cunnilingus. P in V sex.
Author’s Note- Happy holidays! This is not our regularly scheduled programming but I have Hunger Games/Tom Blyth brain rot so here’s this monster. Please heed the warnings and link to the full fic on AO3 below
She knows the moment he looks up at her, rifle clutched in his hands, that he will not be coming north with her. Not anymore, not now that he has the one thing tying him to this place well in hand.
She isn't a fool. She knows that his feelings for her played only a small role in his agreeing to come with her but she had been willing to overlook that. When he had cupped her face in his hand and swore that he would join her, that they would escape Panem- and their collective noose- together, she had seen the hesitation there. Coryo was not a man built for nature, no more than he was built for the districts, but she loves him and so she had ignored it. Twisted it into something romantic and noble in her head, that he would give up all this, that he would leave behind everything for her. He had promised her earnestly and she had taken him at his word.
But with the look on his face now, some potent mix of elation and relief washing over him like a wave, she knows she never stood a chance.
"It's the gun," he says, and she hates the tone he uses. The way he almost breathes the words, the way he looks up at her with the ghost of a smile on his face. Had she had doubts about what the guns would inspire in him, the look on his face is enough to prove her right.
"The one you fired at Mayfair," she says with a nod, crossing her arms over her chest. It feels almost protective now, as if she can safeguard her breaking heart. "Spruce must have known about this place too. I guess it's not as secret as I thought. We hide that and you're free."
"No more loose ends."
The way he says it, his hands tightening on the barrel as he looks down at the rifle, makes her blood run cold. This is all he wanted, nothing short of a dream come true. She doesn't like it, her reaction just as much as his own, and she fights to push passed it. Tells herself that there is nothing wrong here, not really, that he is entitled to some semblance of excitement, but she can feel that unease gnawing at her gut. It feels like an omen. A warning.
She grins, hoping to seem more at ease than she truly is, and feels her nose scrunch up teasingly as she says, "Besides me."
It's the wrong thing to do. Immediately, he goes rigid, eyes darting up to look at her and she sees the distrust there, akin to a beaten dog. It wouldn't be as startling as it is if not for their conversation in the woods not even an hour before. He is willing to kill if backed far enough into a corner and is that not what she has just done? Reminded him of the power she held over him with this knowledge? Backed him into a corner? And just like that beaten dog, she can see that he is only a moment away from snapping at her with pearly white teeth.
"You wouldn't... tell anyone?"
She feels her eyebrows draw together, all attempt at joking gone. It hurts a little, what seems to be a complete lack of faith in her, and it's almost surprising. Almost. "Course not."
But would she? She doesn’t really know now. The fact that he believes she could, as if she could exchange his freedom for her own, feels like the final nail in the coffin. She could forgive his dislike of the idea of heading north, the relief on his face when he saw the guns. But what he said in the woods- three’s enough for me- and his distrust of her now… she doesn’t think she’s safe with him. All their talk of trust, of how he agreed it was worth more than love, thrown to the wind all for the sake of a duffle bag full of rifles. Because just as easily as those gun could buy her freedom, they could secure his own too. One small step toward returning to his life back in the Capitol. He was going to leave before killing Mayfair, she knew that. And if there’s no weapon linking him to the crime, he could. Because no matter how badly she wants to believe he wants a life with her, she thinks he wants his old one back that much more.
And she isn’t sure just what he is willing to sacrifice to get rid of all those loose ends.
She feels herself smile again, moving on autopilot to fetch the knife she knows is on the shelf near the door. It doesn’t reach her eyes but she isn’t looking at him, gripping the handle of the knife a little too tightly. “I think I’m gonna go dig up some katniss. There’s a good patch down by the lake, don’t know when we’ll come across it again.”
His suspicion only grows at that, lips parted and head tilted in question, and she knows she needs to go. Though his finger has not yet shifted toward the trigger, it hasn’t moved away from it either. He has been a Peacekeeper for no more than two months, but that was more than enough time to pick up all he needed to know about firing a gun. Even if his aim is shoddy, it wouldn’t take much effort to aim in her general direction and hold down on a trigger. She had said it herself, she is the only one left who knew the truth about Mayfair’s death- her murder. If he wanted to go back to the Capitol, he needed to be damn sure there wasn’t a chance of his time here coming back to haunt him. As it is now, she is the only thing standing between him and the Snow penthouse.
“Thought you said they weren’t ready yet,” he protests, that uncertainty still more than apparent.
She prays her smile doesn’t look as forced as it feels when her eyes flick up to look at his handsome face, doing what she can to seem nonchalant. “The world changes awful fast.”
She pulls the door open, the rain pounding against the porch outside, when he calls her name. Her grip on the knife tightens a hair more before she’s turning back to look at him, keeping her eyes wide and innocent as she tilts her head in question. She knows she hesitated, knows he caught her if the look on his face is anything to go by, but rather than let her panic consume her, she focuses on his eyes. The beautiful, brilliant blue of his eyes. That may be the thing she misses most about him, after all this.
“It’s still raining.”
As if a little rain is enough to stop her from saving her own life.
“Well, I’m not made out of sugar,” she grins, taking one last look at him before shutting the door, placing some kind of barrier between them.
Read the rest here :)
#Coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus x reader#Coriolanus snow smut#coriolanus smut#coriolanus snow fanfiction#coriolanus fanfiction#coriolanus snow x fem!reader#coriolanus x fem!reader#Coriolanus snow x you#coriolanus x you#tbosas#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#tbosas fanfiction#the ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction#coriolanus snow#tbosas smut
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𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 - vampire!changbin x human!reader
wc: 3.2k
cw: vampire!changbin, human!reader, they r in love ur honour, 18+ smut MINORS DNI!!
synopsis: changbin may be a vampire with supernatural strength, but there's nothing he loves more than to let you take control.
a/n: based off of this post and this ask :3 ENJOY.... please heed the smut warnings tho!!
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
sw: blowjobs, blood kink, petnames, mommy kink, dom!reader, sub!bin, maybe slight strength kink?, MUZZLE KINK!, dirty talk, riding, unprotected sex, creampie
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
you can’t believe you’ve got a man this delicious. a man so pliant and malleable too despite his otherworldly, supernatural status. changbin would never use his vampiric strength on you, no - he’d much rather lay down on the bed and let you do what you want to him.
you’d begged him to turn you when you fell in love. to be able to use your strength on him, you said, trying to convince him. he’d only retorted with a quick “i let you do what you want anyway, sugar?” and well… he wasn’t wrong.
he invited you into his home quicker than any man ever had. he sweetened you up, took you on traditional dates where he turned up at your door with a bouquet of blood red roses, and even sweet talked your mother enough that she approved of him and let you stay at his house. she didn’t know he was over a hundred years old with two pointed teeth, obviously, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
the seo estate is magnificent. the gardens are surrounded by an impenetrable stone wall, looking to be as fresh as the day it was built, and changbin has multiple bedrooms to himself. you’d gotten a bit upset - “binnie, doesn’t it get lonely here?” you said, bottom lip quivering, but he’d only slung one muscled arm around you. “i have you now, gorgeous.”
that was another thing about your man - he’s reassuring, and you always feel safe around him. you know that if you prodded at him a little more and begged him hard enough that he would truly change you and turn you into one of his own, if not purely because he cannot see spending his life with anyone else.
he lays beneath you now, and you’re lost in your own thought with how much love you can have for someone who would be known as a creature of the night. his tummy quivers with an exhale, and you realise your fingernails have been digging into his pecs through the black silk shirt he’s wearing. he shifts beneath you, slacks tight with his erection, and you grin at his reaction.
“you like the pain, binnie?” you muse, digging your fingernails in just a bit harder. changbin whimpers, eyes fluttering shut, and you see his fangs poke out and dig into his plush doll-like bottom lip. not hard enough to draw blood, no, but just enough to the point you know he’s enjoying it. you grind your hips down and his hands fist in the black sheets on his bed.
the candlelight flickers around you as you adjust yourself, your nightgown spilling off one shoulder and exposing your shoulder to him. when you grind down again, his eyes flutter open, pupils dilated. “i want you to tell me what you want, changbin.”
his eyes flicker to your shoulder, and you giggle when they slowly crawl up to your neck. changbin hums, fingers twitching as if they want to grab you, but he won’t. he’s a good boy.
“i want-“ he huffs, one of his shorter, human teeth biting at his lip. “i want you. i want to- i want you to ride me, sugar, and will you let me- will you let me drink from you again? god, your blood is the sweetest thing i’ve ever had.”
“mm, maybe,” you respond, but you know you’ll let him. you just need him to beg a little bit more, sweeten you up a bit. “i’ll ride you, binnie. will you let me have your cock in my mouth first?”
“god, really?” changbin groans, eyes flickering in excitement, and you nod. your hand runs down his tummy, past the shirt and to the zipper of his slacks. it bulges out with how hard he is, and you use your fingernail to push it down, the slow noises of the unzipping filling the room.
you’re sure changbin’s going to scream if you don’t hurry up, so you’re quick to lift your hips up and pull his trousers and boxers down muscled thighs together. his cock is hard, unbearably so, slapping against his stomach and leaking against the fabric of his expensive shirt. the head leaks beneath his foreskin steadily. you want it in your mouth, but you have to make him work for it first - you wrap your hand around the base, lifting his cock off of his tummy, and then you’re stripping his cock at a rapid pace.
“oh! oh, ah- ah,” he’s wincing, and you know it’s dry, but you can’t help but hurt your boy sometimes. tears bloom in his eyes and you can see that it truly must take his superhuman strength to stop his hips from fucking up into your fist, his hands almost tearing his sheets clean off of the bed. “gorgeous, sugar, your mouth- your mouth, please! please, fuck, i-“
changbin cuts himself off with a sharp keen when you flick your fingernail over his nipple, through his shirt. “what do you call me, binnie?”
he must be stupid with it already because he blinks at you, a tear falling down one soft cheek. he stammers a few noises out, your hand still ravaging his cock, and then it hits him. “mommy! ah, mama, mama! mommy, please, please, give binnie your mouth.”
“there you go, good boy,” you coo, hand moving from his chest to his hair. you pet just above his ear, and he leans into your touch, humming happily. you don’t comment when he turns his mouth to your palm, nipping just slightly with his teeth, but you do reward him with a soft smack to his face. “stay still. no biting, bunny.”
he whimpers when you finally begin your descent down his body. you kiss him through his shirt, and then you finally push the material up to his waist to see him in his entirety. you’ve still got a tight grip on him, and he stands prominent in your fist, his leaky tip just barely peeking out. your tongue darts to dip into his piss slit, and he really does rip the sheets a little this time, along with a strangled noise coming from his lungs.
it’s easy to deepthroat changbin’s cock. his girth is so delicious that it stretches your jaw a little, but you’re able to get his length to your throat with no issues whatsoever. you do so, engulfing his cock into your mouth, and when you start bobbing your head he’s done for. he wails with it, little murmurs of your name falling from his lips, and when you let your eyes flicker up to him he’s really crying.
“mama! oh, oh, my- binnie’s cock feels so good, mama, it’s- hnnng, oh!” he’s babbling as if he can’t believe it, as if you haven’t done this a million times, and you move your hand to his sac. his balls are heavy, full and swollen with his pending release, and you massage them with your thumb until he positively can’t control the bucking of his hips. you let him fuck your throat once, twice, and then you slap his balls hard. “sorry! sorry, mommy, binnie’s sorry.”
you let his cock slide out of your mouth, and it lands with a wet slap against the thatch of curly, pitch black hair at his base. “i said to stay still, bunny,” and your voice is hoarse, but he nods, chin quivering.
“‘m sorry,” he mumbles, and you can see how his cock jumps with his nervousness. “will you- will you still let binnie drink? and ride me, and-?”
“and what, baby? cum inside me?” you tilt your head to the side in question, and you swear you see changbin blush. he nods, bottom lip jutting out, and you can’t help your laugh. “we’ll see. be a good boy for me, okay?”
he wasn’t expecting you to move up his body again, but he’s pleasantly surprised when you pull your nightgown up. the white satin remains on your body, just barely held up by the curve of your hips, and you hold his cock upright. you’re soaking wet between your legs, and changbin moans out when you run his length through the folds of your pussy, just barely catching on the swollen bud of your clit.
“binnie,” you say, breathless. “binnie, tell me how much you want it.”
he’s instant with his response. “so bad! so bad, sugar, feel how hard i am? binnie’s that hard just for you, will you let me have it?”
“just for me, mm?” you ask, and he nods. you lift up just a tad, holding the hem of your nightgown up, and then you’re sinking down onto his cock in one go. his girth stretches your hole beyond belief, even with the added thickness. when he bottoms out, your toes curl, his cockhead resting in that one gummy place inside you that he’s taught you to love. “ah, there we go. that’s good, yeah?”
“s-so good, mama,” his voice is choked, and he lets his eyes flutter shut again. “so good. tight pussy, ‘s so good.”
“it’s all yours, baby,” you moan, and he nods frantically. you’re quick to start moving your hips, too horny to keep the facade going, and changbin’s hands move to grab the pillow either side of his head. your ass slaps against the tops of his thighs, wet noises ringing throughout the entirety of the stone-built room - and probably further out in the estate, but you can’t fathom the concept of changbin’s groundskeepers hearing anything. at a particularly well-angled bounce of your hips, his cockhead rams deliciously into your g-spot, and you know you’ve cracked it, continuing your grinds in that exact position.
“is it good?” changbin asks, breathless, and he finally opens his eyes. his eyes land on your tits, bouncing in your nightgown, and he shuts them again as if he’s been branded with a silver cross. “sugar. i can’t even look at you, i’ll bust.”
you giggle, leaning forward to grip onto him for purchase. your hands land on his pecs again and you whine when your clit grinds against his pubic bone, fast and feverish, and you don’t reprimand him when his hands finally move down to your ass. he’s held back for so long, and you both know that it’s only so long that he can take not being able to touch you.
“ah, that’s so- fuck, binnie,” you moan, teeth digging into your bottom lip. you’re reminded of your previous plans when his fingernails scratch at your ass, his back arched like a cat. “mm, binnie? y’wanna taste mommy?”
in any other situation with any other man that would have completely different connotations, but changbin knows what it means. he shoots up into a seated position, eyes half lidded, and his head darts to the juncture between your neck and your shoulder.
“c-can i, mommy?” he questions, moaning when your hips grind down on him harder. “can i, please?”
“more, binnie,” you respond, and he knows what you mean. his tongue laves over your neck, and then he places a wet, open-mouthed kiss over the column of your throat. that’s where he’s going to bite you, and he’s tenderizing you like something he’s going to eat. you suppose you are.
“mama,” he whines, long and drawn out. “let me taste you. please, god, i’m thirsty, mama. let me, please?”
you sigh with your pleasure, and you finally halt your hips, stopping the boy underneath you from being jostled too much. his hands knead at your asscheeks while you pretend to deliberate.
“alright, honey,” you coo, voice soft. “you can bite.”
changbin’s fangs protrude from his mouth, and then he’s biting you. it’s slow, the way his teeth begin to bury themselves into your skin, and the moan he lets out is high pitched. changbin’s always messy when you let him do this, and despite the fact he starts to drink your blood instantly upon it hitting his tastebuds, it’s already started to drip down your shoulder.
you pick the right time to start moving your hips again. he’s sighing and moaning as he drinks, and you begin a slow grind on top of him. changbin’s cock positively throbs inside of you, and you clench down approvingly, making him grip you just a bit tighter.
he drinks and drinks until you’re lightheaded with it. when he pulls away, you’re a little dizzy, but not enough so that you can’t take in the sight of him. his chin and lips are covered in bright red blood, and it’s dripped down to your white nightgown and stained the fabric a dangerous colour. changbin moans in approval when he sees it, and his mouth goes to your nightgown to try and lick the excess up messily. fortunately for you, he licks over the pebbled peak of your nipple, and he’s fixated on it as soon as he catches it.
the nightgown becomes drenched with not only your blood, but his spit too. he doesn’t let up, swirling his tongue around your nipple through the fabric, and you’re left to run your fingernails through his hair teasingly. he whines against you when you pull his hair back to your neck, before he’s quiet, lapping at the two pin prick holes in your skin soothingly. something about his venom over the wounds feels euphoric, and you can’t help yourself when you push him back down onto his back to ride him hard.
he looks debauched. his eyes blaze a crimson shade with his feed, and your blood is smeared all over the bottom of his face - streaks adorn his sharp chin and his fangs look like they’ve been dipped in it. he licks over his upper lip with a grin, and you can’t help but to smile back before you’re bouncing.
“fuck yeah! yeah, mama, yeah, ride me,” he murmurs, eyes flickering over your body like he can’t believe you exist. you can’t believe he exists, but you know you must look the picture of his wet dreams in your nightgown. the fabric over your breast is so drenched it’s see through, and your blood still drips a little bit from your neck. in the middle of grinding on his chubby cock, you let your thumb collect some of the red liquid on your thumb, and you press it into his mouth.
changbin whines. his hands move to your waist and he sucks your thumb like he would your strap, moaning around it like it’s the best thing he’s ever had past his plushy lips. you fuck the digit in and out in rhythm with your pace on top of him, and his cock leaks inside you so warm you feel it, flooding your gummy walls and leaving you breathless.
with a strong grind on his cock, changbin’s fangs nip at your thumb, and you have to pull your thumb away for another little love tap on his cheek. his eyes roll back into his head, and you giggle. an idea hits you, and you know you just have to do it.
your hips halt, and you grab changbin’s curls tight, pulling his head back. “i think we better get your muzzle, bunny.”
“no! no, you let me drink, what- why?! why, why?” he wails, but you know he enjoys it. he just likes kicking up a little fuss when you get mean like this, and you ignore him to reach into the bedside table to grab the offending item. it’s only small, covering the bottom half of his face with black leather and miniature metal bars over his mouth, but changbin cums his fucking brains out every time you equip it over his gorgeous face. he’s still babbling when you loop it over his curls, pulling the strap tight and letting your pussy clench down at the sight of him so submissive, so pliant.
“mm, that’s it. stay there like that, that’s it,” and you lean back, hands gripping his thighs. you’re feeling a little lenient, so you let changbin push your nightgown up with calloused palms and watch the space where his cock enters you over and over. he’s going to cum soon, you realise, and you’re going to have to make the most of the time you have right now. changbin snaps his fangs at you as if he’s a puppy about to bite, and you clench down on him with a sharp keen, pussy gushing down to his pubic hair.
you reach around yourself with one hand, fingers rubbing messily over your clit, and it makes your pussy tingle deliciously. changbin’s still making strangled noises, legs thrashing behind you, and you can hear him mumbling quietly.
“please, please… let me drink again, sugar? mommy. mama, please, please-”
his hips cant upwards and you jolt. your pin prick wounds on your neck are healed from the after effects of changbin’s vampire venom, but you flick your fingernail over it, causing the wound to start oozing crimson essence again. changbin’s nose scrunches up beneath the muzzle as he inhales, and you wipe your hand over your bloody skin before you’re just barely letting your fingertips slide through the metal bars on his restraints.
“s-smell it, changbinnie,” you coo, chest heaving with a flush as you get closer to your orgasm. your hand speeds up on your clit when he nips softly at your fingers, and when he cants his hips up again he’s flooding you with hot cum. his own chest heaves as he cums, cock throbbing inside of you, and you whine.
“fuck. fuck, sorry-”
“stay fucking still, bunny,” you groan. “you better not go soft on me. make mama cum, c’mon.”
and he does. he wraps his muscled arms around you, the material of his shirt scratching against your nightgown, and then he’s thrusting into you. it’s awkward, and he’s only half hard, but the show of strength is the only thing you need to push you over the edge. you shake and gush through your orgasm, arms moving to wrap around changbin’s neck, and you feel his chest rumble with a groan as he feels you throb around him.
when you flop off of him, pussy messy and swollen with your sex, he stretches with a loud groan. you huff in response, and he sniffs. the unspoken communication makes him let out that loud, affectionate laugh that you love.
changbin’s out of breath next to you, limbs akimbo, and you giggle at his soft cock resting against his pubic bone. you pull the straps of his muzzle loose and let it drop onto the pillow, and changbin grins at you.
“the muzzle was such a good idea,” he says, elated, and you let him push himself into your space and lay his head on your chest. your nightgown is still covered in blood and his spit, but he doesn’t care, making little happy noises against you. “i love you, yeobo.”
you can’t help but smile, sated. “i love you too, changbinnie.”
#juno's fics ♡#seo changbin smut#changbin smut#seo changbin fanfiction#seo changbin x reader#changbin fic#changbin x reader#skz scenarios#skz smut#skz x you#skz x reader#stray kids smut#stray kids fanfiction#stray kids scenarios#stray kids imagines#vampire!skz#skz imagines
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Thrilling Chase || Aemond Targaryen x Reader
Summary: All the girls want him. One does not. And he wants her
Word Count: 1551
Warnings: Not really. Aemond being a bit more of book Aemond than show Aemond and being overall annoyed with life
Author’s note: I dreamt this plot Sunday night and spend the entire day racking my brains to turn it into a fic. Please let me know about any errors, I am still polishing my English. Also this Aemond I am not sure I got the characterization right but I liked how it turned out. And remember I interact from @finite--incantatem
The ball is being hosted with the purpose of celebrating Aegon’s nameday. What better way to celebrate the anniversary of his birth than being surrounded by fine drinks and lovely ladies, a field full of flower buds for him to pick and spoil? Aemond can barely stand the frivolous pomp and pageantry, the ass kissing lords showering his brother and father in banal pleasantries and praises, as if any one of them paid any heed to such flummery; one too inebriated to care and the other unable to hear anything above his own wheezing.
Aemond has tried to excuse himself three times before the feast has even been served; as dutiful as he could be, even he has a limit, and his limit has been long surpassed by this insufferable event. But his weak spot has overcome his distaste, in the form of his gentle mother, who implores him to play the part for the evening. His sweet mother, who does everything in her power for the family to present a united front, all while sweeping the shambles behind the drapes. Only for her happiness is he willing to endure this foolery.
He hoped that chatting up some minor lordlings and not yawning before them would be enough to fulfil his obligations; but he has not accounted for the unwanted feminine attention. Aemond thought his physical imperfections and his downright hostile demeanour would be enough to ward off the ladies, but he could not deny the facts; as the eldest bachelor in the family, he remains a coveted prize to whom lords would offer their daughters in silver trays. He can vividly imagine them, ambitious men whispering in the ears of their girls and urging them to employ any means necessary to get in Aemond’s good graces. Only then could he explain the parade of fair maidens, all of them more adorned than carnival horses, showering him with their candid smiles and their coy giggles, batting their eyelashes and hinting most cunningly how much they would love to dance. They all seem to ask the same pre thought and bland questions; if one more lady asks to ever see Vhagar, Aemond would go and bring her down to the hall for them to see up close and personal.
Just when he hopes he has done enough to please his mother and the crowds, the first dances begin. One look from the Queen deters his efforts to flee the scene; without word, he has been reminded that his duty has yet to conclude. But Aemond would much rather eat Aegon’s toes than be found dancing with a lady. All his dexterity and gracefulness in the sparring yard do not translate to his waltzing skills; while he could be fast and silent and slippery in the face of the enemy, at the tune of the strings he possesses the elegance of a rotting tomato left in the sun.
The Prince knows the second he sets foot into the dance floor, he will be swarmed with adoring girls. But he cares not for them, since he has already set his eye on one. Just like the others she is burdened by golds and silks and stones, but unlike them, she carries her adornments with such grace and dignity that the opulence of her garments only brings forth her natural beauty.
There is something in her, something unidentifiable and unexplainable, that makes her so…so alluring. It may be the way her lips hold a perennially ineffable smile, so subtle one cannot truly tell it is there, but the mere possibility of its existence is enough to entice the mind.
It could also be her hands. Aemond cannot stop staring at them, from the way her fingers curl around the stem of the goblet, to the particular way they bend when she holds onto the pendant hanging from a fine gold chain around her neck, a subtle move that occurs whenever a young man engages her in conversation. Her left hand holds delicately onto a small fan, although its purpose seems to add to her aura of mysticism rather than keep her cool; her face disappears behind it whenever her smile becomes too wide, only her piercing eyes remaining visible, keeping her expressions unreadable, a most intriguing secret.
Only the greatest artists of the country, working for years on the best of marbles, could even dare to come close to resembling her splendour. The figure of the Maiden brought to life, and that would be a most dashing compliment - for the Goddess.
If he is to dance, he must dance with her.
He cuts through the crowd, moving past wide-eyed ladies and squeezing around dancing couples with one objective in mind. She is right there, standing near the pillar bearing the image of King Jaehaerys. She is alone, and she saw him coming. The proximity of the prey has Aemond on edge, muscles tense and ready to pounce. A man cuts his way, and he pushes him aside vigorously, but it is too late. Her figure has disappeared amongst the crowd like a vision.
Aemond spots her again a few minutes later, near the massive gates of the hall. Once more he approaches her, but he is distracted by his mother asking something, and once more loses his chance. The process repeats several times, with her always standing just at his fingertips but never close enough to grasp, her presence so real yet also so unsubstantial he begins to think he is trapped in a vivid dream.
The Prince is well damn tempted to just order everyone but her out of the chamber, but there is something in the chase, the subtle yet invigorating excitement of the pursuit, the way his pupil is blown wide and his jaw set in concentration. A sensation he has only ever experienced while wielding his sword in the training yards or soaring the skies with his dragon. An unexplainable elation, all due to this little dove who keeps flying away.
Aemond groans in frustration as she evades him once more. How can she be so fast and nimble while wearing a heavy gown? Are the Seven playing a wicked game on him, fate holding the prize above his head just out of reach? He does not care now for dancing nor pleasing his mother. This is a matter of pride; to go through all these obstacles to drop out mid-hunt would be shameful and disappointing.
She is now across the room, now more easily visible due to the dwindling crowds. She is looking straight at him, half her face obscured by her fan. But she pulls it down softly, painfully slow, and Aemond’s heart beats frantically in his chest, like he is witnessing the unveiling of the world’s greatest mystery. The fan rests lightly on her chin, and she rewards the prince with a cunning smirk.
She is doing it on purpose.
It all makes sense now. How could he be so stupid not to realise she has been playing the game alongside him? Evading him and taunting him, letting him think he had her and then slipping away like sand. This newfound knowledge spurs his desires. He needs to have her close, needs to know who she is and why is she doing this to him. His decorum and self-control slips away as a new feeling blooms within him. A warmth blooming in the depths of his body and spreading through his body. The more he cannot have her, the more he wants her. She may be akin to the image of the Maiden, but Aemond is sure the deity has never evoked the thoughts now crossing his mind, nor has any other woman ever before.
Determined to sate his curiosity, and perhaps some other lowly needs, he makes a straight line for her. She does not move nor backs out, and he can already feel the silk of her dress under his fingertips and the scent of her perfume in his nose. He doesn’t understand where the primal urge to crash his lips against hers stem from, but he is ready to give in to that urge as well.
His marching is cut abruptly by the colliding of his body against a long table. He had been so focused and lost, so unlike himself, that he paid no attention to anything or anyone around him, his vision like a tunnel focused upon her. The table is so long he would have to wander half the hall to circumvent it, and he still has enough hold of his wits to know it would be improper to vault over it or slide under the tablecloth. They are so close, yet the brief distance is unbreachable for the time being.
His eye meet hers, the mischief dancing in her pupils. The corners of those soft lips tug just a bit more, sly and bewitching. She backs away slowly, the fan coming up once more to shield her face. She turns around and disappears behind a column amidst the rustle of stiffened skirts and the tinkling of her bracelets
Defeat overcomes the Prince, but a smirk spreads across his own lips. He has not given up the chase; he is just giving the dove a head start before the hunt resumes.
#marsie writes#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond one eye#aemond kinslayer#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen one shot#house of the dragon#hotd#aemond stannies
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⋆｡˚꩜ 𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑬𝑫 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬 . . . rick may be cold and distant at times, but oh how he loves and appreciates you.
warnings: slightly heated kiss, but that’s about it!
(era is around season six!)
You had been with your group for a while now. You met everyone back at the farm. Where you were seen in the woods by Dale. You were devastated when you saw him bitten by a walker. After all, if it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be with the people that you were so grateful to be with now. Everyday after that, you felt guilty about his death. Everyone else thought you would have needed space, but someone decided to ask how you had been holding up. The leader of that group, or at least who everyone listened to. Rick, Rick Grimes, you learned his name second after your wounds were treated. Though he was the one who was most skeptical of you, he talked to you the most.
You always felt you owed that to him, not only did he keep you and everyone safe, he always cared enough to ask about you. So, the day his wife died, you were there for him just as much. He was grateful to you for that. He was especially grateful that you gave some time for him to be alone when he asked you to. Though mainly, he was beholden with how much you showed concern and heed towards his children. You had also comforted Carl, his son, that day. Carl had always been fond of you, he liked spending time with you, when you let him be there in the kitchen while you cooked. You helped Beth and Maggie take care of Judith, his daughter, when she was born. You carried her, fed her, and played with her. You were never asked to do these things, but you wanted to. You’d even stay up with Rick sometimes to take care of Judith so he could sleep at least a little.
Rick could never actually repay you for how much you’ve always been a great friend and help to him. But he tries.
Now, you actually had a “home” to fully do what you wanted to, to help . . .
You watched over the window, Carl giggling and laughing with Judith. Dinner had already been prepared with Carol’s help. You didn’t find taking care of them an issue or a chore. You didn’t feel liks you actually were forced to do it. You loved being with Carl and Judith. They had to have been the most kindest and good natured children you’ve seen. A part of you, deep down, wishes you could have done this in a normal world. You also felt it was wrong to think that, which is why you never told anyone that.
You felt a soft tap to your shoulder and you turned around. Rick, with a content expression behind you. “It smells good in the kitchen,” He chuckled, which you smiled at. “Thank you, I was just waiting for everyone to come and eat.” He nodded.
There was an awkward silence in the room, a tension if you will. Rick finally spoke. “You know, I’m really amazed by everything you do for me.” You tilted your head in a manner of confusion. “Oh Rick, it’s not a problem really,” He shook his head. “I truly am. Carl tells me everyday how great you are. He loves you.” Your face turned to a look of surprise. “You don’t need to over exaggerate.” You giggled, noticing Rick was slightly closer to you. “I do what I can.” You say, barely above a whisper. Rick was now looking down at you, your chest nearly pressed up against his. You were about to speak again, before you were caught off with Rick’s lips meeting yours.
Your eyes batted in surprise, but you didn’t pull away. You felt frozen just for a few seconds. You let your arms wrap around his neck, kissing him back. Your back was against the counter, he was about to hold your thighs to put you on top of it. Though that was interrupted by Carl barging into the room, you gasped quietly and pulled away. You slightly pushed Rick by his chest, making sure to not use any actual force. He has gotten the hint, stepping away and now only next to you. The room was silence as Carl looked at the two of you with suspicion. “Are you guys okay?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, Judith in his arms. You both nodded at the same time. “Of course, Carl, we’re just having a serious conversation. Do you mind go getting Judith’s small chair?”
He nodded slowly, still looking at the two of you as he walked away. You let out an exhale of relief. “That was..”
“Yeah..”
“I also..love you.”
You turned your head immediately to face Rick after he spoke. His hands were at his hips, nervously waiting for your reaction. “I love you too.”
“But I think, we should give this time before we tell him..” Rick nodded at your words, pressing a kiss to your cheek before walking away to help Carl with Judith. Did that really just happen? You thought to yourself. You weren’t complaining though.
This was a request from my last post, hope this was what you meant, Peach! <3
#☄︎. *. ⋆ — 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀 𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄𝐃 ׅ ♱#reqs open#rick grimes x reader#rick grimes#the walking dead#rick grimes fluff#this is so sweet I’m gonna die#amc the walking dead#rick grimes smut#andrew lincoln#rick grimes x you#rick grimes x y/n
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bts fanfics i think shakespeare and queen elizabeth i would’ve gossiped about.
chapter ii. ✷ chapter iv.
KEYS ON SEVERITY OF SHAKESPEARE’S STATE:
( ✮ ) — you can’t lie, shakespeare’s got a mouth on him.
( ♬ ) — they’ve ordered everyone out the room. peering through the window as we speak.
( ✎ ) — someone tell him to put that poor teacup down.
( ♛ ) — her majesty royally gasped. she’s clutching her pearls, bless her.
THE SHAKESPEARE SERIES.
WARNING: keep in mind, some of these authors are very strict on the rule that no minors should read their work if they’re underage, and i will honour that. but, at the end of the day, i am not your parent. so, there’s that. but heed my warning wisely. any smut or 18+ content is highlighted in bold.
NOTE: we’re on part three already? damn, times flies. if you’re new here, welcome to the shakespeare series where i write essays about fics that would absolutely annihilate shakespeare — hence the name. if you haven’t read the past two chapters, you can access them in the masterlist above! let’s get into it.
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( ♛ ) MATILDA — by @babystrcandy
!! yoongi x reader | 141.8k !!
brothers best friend au, angst, fluff, eventual smut.
my therapist would absolutely adore this fanfic. maybe i should recommend it to her. or just send her the link. she’d be thrilled.
this series is dedicated to anyone who felt like the second choice, the one always forgotten about, the so-called disappointment, the people pleaser, the perfectionist, the one whose family has let them down over and over again.
reading this, alike reading anything else, transports you to another world. however, the difference between this one and all others, is this makes you feel safe. secure. a safe place. a sanctuary you never realised even existed, where you feel accepted and loved. it takes the idea of home and really drills it in.
if you find yourself relating to this story, like i did, i want to you to know i see you and i truly hope one day you find everything you were deprived of growing up. you deserve peace. you deserve love.
while you’re at it, go give this author some love for seeing us, listening to us, and validating our experiences. and for writing such a beautiful story.
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( ♬ ) DILF JK — by @venusiangguk
!! jungkook x reader | 85.5k !!
strangers to lovers, dad!jk, friends with benefits, smut (18+), fluff.
if some army’s weren’t such delulu’s and so consumed by the imaginary idea that they’ll one day marry a bts member and live happily ever after, this is the type of shit we’d actually get. but no, we’re forever plagued by fiction because of a few overly obsessed wankers.
rant aside, dilf!jk is a concept. one that needs to be studied and researched for my own personal needs. because i thought dilf!namjoon was dangerous (and he most certainly is), but dilf!jk is a whole other… thing? being? story? i’ll leave that to the researchers.
personally, i love when authors mould fiction and reality into one body. they blend the two concepts together to create something beautiful, and this was duly noted within the topic of the age gap. deciding on something real for the benefit of both parties in a fictional story is so fucking applaudable. or perhaps i’m just an angsty fucker, sorry.
most definitely worth all the tissues and all the cheek aching. talking from experience.
i mean, it’s got ‘dilf’ in the title, is that not enough? it’s what made me click, anyways. i’m a dilf lover through and through.
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( ♬ ) A SERPENT’S FLOWER — by @jimlingss & @dovechim
!! jimin x reader | 34.2k !!
fluff, smut (18+), lil angst, hogwarts!au.
realistically, you knew at some point in this series there would be a harry potter!au thrown in somewhere, didn’t you? i mean, come on now. and i’m so happy this is the first one.
this two-parter and it’s sequel both are both due the respect they deserve. the perfect opposites attract trope? enemies to lovers? with a quick-witted slytherin reader and an even wittier hufflepuff park jimin? fuck me, don’t mind if i do.
i never say a fanfic has everything. but this fanfic has everything. character, romance, humour, angst, wit, the list goes on. it’s a fanfic buffet: it’s got it all, and you just help yourself.
and i realise some people don’t read the sequels to fanfics (i know), but i beg of you. read the sequel too. if anything, i think the sequel was my favourite bit. and i know some people don’t like the pregnancy trope, but i’m telling you there definitely is a time and place for it. and this is the time! and the place! trust me.
did i cry at the end of this fic? i can’t remember. but the probability is higher than i’d like it to be.
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( ✮ ) ZERO GRAVITY — by @luxekook
!! namjoon x hoseok x reader | 11k !!
space!au, poly!au, angst, smut (18+), crack, fluff.
if someone doesn’t drop me on a spaceship with two of the hottest men on the planet in the next fortnight, i’m suing. don’t know who that’ll be yet, but some poor sod will have his hands full, that’s for certain.
i love space!au fics with my whole heart and ass. honestly, every time one comes up on my page, i have to save it. it’s a reflex at this point, they’re just too good. you know what is also too good? the built up tension within this fic. jaw-dropping.
i’m not giving out any spoilers, but the author really said, bonk— here is the nastiest smut you’ve ever read in your life. take it, or get fucked. and of course, i took it. but nothing really prepares you for that atmosphere change. not even the sex club was remotely ready. and it’s a sex club.
not going to lie, before writing this essay, i actually went back and read it again, just to make sure i was in the right mind the first time i read it. and yep, sure was. it’s just shocking how insane this fic is.
btw, anyone fancy a visit to throbbing disco sticks? i need a word with the person who came up with the name. and perhaps a kiss too.
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( ✎ ) NO CHOICE (NEXT TO YOU) — by @gukyi
!! yoongi x reader | 13k !!
college!au, frat boy!au, neighbour!au, enemies to lovers.
miscommunication. my lover in fanfics, my worst enemy in real life. hence why i love this fic so much. because it’s not real life. (unfortunately).
we’ve all done that thing where we’ve accidentally eavesdropped onto something we shouldn’t of and one thing leads to another and boom, you find yourself misreading the whole situation. and you’re lying if you say you haven’t.
well, that’s this fic for you. times a thousand. honestly, enemies to lovers fics never do me wrong. they’re always a joy to read — the thrill and the very, very prominent sexual tension keeps you excited, waiting on the edge of your seat to see how everything plans out.
my point? this fic never bores you out. read it a thousand times and it still feels like the first. and not a lot of fanfics have that power, i’ll tell you that. a few, yes. but not a lot.
don’t take reading this for the first time for granted. wish i had that privilege. jealous.
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( ✎ ) THE PRINCE’S CINDERELLA SYNDROME — by @jimilter
!! jimin x reader | 39.4k !!
cursed!jimin, supernatural!au, strangers to lovers!au angst, smut, fluff.
this fic altered my brain chemistry permanently. there’s no going back. i’m officially ruined, you guys. i don’t even know who i was before i read this. it was just- bang, clean slate.
to begin with, i thought ‘this bitch saw him twice and her knees buckled. what the fuck.’ but then i realised that bitch is me, and the so-called him is referring to thee park jimin, so really. i got it. who wouldn’t absolutely power move it after seeing such a sight? i might just jog a little. sprint on a good day.
i would happily write a five thousand word essay for you on how fucking good this plot slash idea was, and an additional ten thousand on how sad, but i don’t think my fingers— nor my mental state would be able to go through that. not again. please.
but as i mentioned in the last fic above, do not take reading this for the first time for granted. however, only because you will lose all rationality.
shakespeare most definitely plagiarised this fic. he wrote it down and her majesty knows. that’s why he looked so proud of himself at tea. the sneaky fucker. just he wait until i tell @jimilter.
sobbing. again. or is this the fourth time?
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( ✎ ) ALWAYS IN MY DREAMS — by @kookskingdom
!! namjoon x reader | 15.4k !!
soulmates!au, fluff, angst, minor character death.
i mean, i already sleep too fucking much. only being able to meet my soulmate through my dreams would just make me comatose. you’d never hear from me. ever.
and yes, you saw the tag. it’s another soulmate!au because everyone knows how much nini loves her hopeless romance. but! who doesn’t. they’re too good to scroll past. so when i finally read this, i knew it was going in the series.
the unknown certainty between the pair of when their next encounter would be with each other, causing them to cherish every single second, that. that’s what i want please. someone who drinks up my existence knowing we will soon part from each other. i cannot.
i love, love, love the concept of soulmates, fate, destiny, whatever. the whole shabang. i bathe in it. so, of course, this fic was a big hit with me. and if that too is your thing, and you love the idea of two souls being intwined inside and out, this is your golden ticket.
@kookskingdom is mentioned in this chapter twice. but can you blame me? you find a ticket to the chocolate factory, of course you’re going to hold onto it as tightly as possible.
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( ✮ ) VOICEMAIL — by @joonary
!! seokjin x reader | 7k !!
fluff, humour, friends to lovers, college podcast!au.
you know those dramas where both the two main characters are so completely smitten with each other to the point you’re practically screaming at your screen for them to “just kiss already!” but won’t because they’re hopelessly oblivious, even though everyone is telling them how in love they both are? yeah, that’s this fic. in a nutshell.
though in their defence, i feel i would definitely do the same. but still, does it stop me from getting frustrated with them? no. i was absolutely raging.
this cute story was so, so sweet i was practically clutching the phone for an emergency appointment to the dentist. my teeth were rotting with all the added sugar, like hello? my teeth? but just like chocolate is, it’s addicting. and you can’t stop yourself.
perhaps i’m just a sucker for friends to lovers fics, but this one particularly caught my attention. it’s 5k of pure infuriation, and 2k of fluff.
but so worth the impatience.
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( ♬ ) FALL IN HATRED — by @jimlingss
!! seokjin x reader | 20k !!
divorce!au, angst, fluff, smut (18+), marriage!au.
first bullet point is just the thought of fuck me, ‘cause where do i start with this?
separation — in some ways — is the easy way out. you just get up and leave. walk out, whatever. boom, just like that. but the emotional repercussions are what make it so distressing. making that daunting decision to leave something— someone in our past, may be one of the hardest things we humans ever have to do.
this fic goes through the rough battle of what it means to be committed to a person. the battles of finally giving up on someone you once thought the world of. and honestly? that may be my worst fear. for someone to love me so deeply, and then lose that over time to see me as nothing more than an inconvenience of their past.
never been through divorce. hopefully you, nor i, will ever have to. but after reading this, i don’t think we have to experience it.
this amazing, yet painfully angsty fic does it for us. and a fucking incredible ending.
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( ♛ ) THE ROAD TO RADIANT — by @kookskingdom
!! jungkook x reader | 25.9k !!
gamer!au, streamer!au, fluff, angst, smut, rivals to friends to lovers!au.
this got a crown on the shakespeare state chart purely for the fact i have never played valorant in my life, and single-handedly managed to impress my friends — who are obsessed with said game — about my newfound knowledge of gaming, purely from this fic alone. felt like a fucking genius.
i was going to add this to part four, but i genuinely had to swap some fics around to put this baby in. i found space for her, so she’s here. and deservedly so. why wait?
this fic does a very good job of highlighting the deep misogyny and sexism that runs within the gaming community towards women. like, can women not be good at gaming too? do people really believe gaming is purely a man thing? is this really the society we live in? yikes.
and if you do happen to read this fic and reach that argument scene with jungkook, please let me know. i want you to know i, too, was absolutely fuming. phones were thrown. naughty words were said. angry voice messages to said best friend were recorded.
final special mention for the smut scene. had me sweating like a sinner in church. lord have mercy.
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( ♬ ) BRASS AND STRINGS — by @jimlingss
!! namjoon x reader | 113.7k !!
slice of life!au, fluff, slow burn, college!au, music!au.
take a shot every time this author is mentioned within this series. you’ll end up blackout pissed. it’s a shame they left this platform, but i hope they’re doing well. their fics have really left an impact on me. and i’ll forever be grateful.
ah, yes. the cheesy clichéd trope of the mean girl and the nerd. a mix of two completely different personalities and flavours that supposedly fit together like two broken pieces of a puzzle. the very foundation of a 2000’s romcom. an iconic pairing that has been hammered into us by the media since day one.
it’s the opposites attract that lured me in initially, but it’s the character development throughout the story that nestled itself into my heart, and got me to stay. this fic holds dear to me still.
i have gatekept this fic long enough, and i am trusting you to bear it with love and extreme care. like you’re holding a small, fragile baby in your arms. do not let me down. please.
one more thing, don’t share this with shakespeare. every time he’s brought it up, i’ve told him it was a really weird dream and he’s only just started to believe me. yes, i feel shit about it, but it has to be done. the man’s a menace.
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( ✮ ) TANGLED WEBS — by @ughseoks
!! jungkook x reader | 14.1k !!
spiderman!au, soulmate!au (yup), angst, fluff.
if any of you say a word about the second tag, i will fight. i will never stop recommending them. me and the soulmates!au are soulmates. irony at its finest.
i genuinely wish spidey!jk was a real adaptation. because even though andrew is my favourite spiderman, i fear there is a large difference between the pair that separates them. andrew can play peter parker. jungkook can (re: could) play peter parker. but could andrew play jungkook? no.
in this fic, the whole characterisation of both jungkook as spiderman and the soulmate!reader is so well written. you can perfectly picture jungkook being that awkward high school boy by day, and secret superhero vigilante by night. i mean, fuck me. how is he not knackered all the time?
mixing in that final zest of soulmates!au everyone (re: me) loves, you’ve got yourself a hell of a plot line.
romeo and juliet were not soulmates, shakespeare. they were children. why aren’t you taking notes? stop talking to the queen. she’s tired of all your bullshit. and so are we.
© marknee, 2023. all rights reserved.
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#shakespeare series#bts#bts series#bts x reader#bts fic recs#bts fic rec#fic recs#fic rec#kpop#bts smut#bts imagines#bts fanfic#bts angst#bts fic#bts scenarios#jungkook#namjoon au#taehyung#seokjin fic#hoseok#jiminbts#yoongi#namjoon x reader#seokjin x reader#yoongi x reader#hoseok x reader#jimin x reader#taehyung x reader#jungkook x reader
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Spoils of War
Pairing: Gladiator!Steve Rogers x Female Reader, mention of Dark Advisor!Andy Barber x Female Reader
Summary: Steve gets a reward for a job well done and wishes he could have been with you under different circumstances.
Word Count: Over 3k
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Noncon references (do NOT read if this upsets you), Dubcon elements (reader consents with Steve), vaginal unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), possessive behavior, dirty talk, talks of violence, captivity, servitude, dark themes, Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?)
A/N: Here we go with The Arena! Please heed the warnings with each post for this AU as there will be dark elements throughout. Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Steve Rogers believed in doing the right thing. Even as a young boy, he didn't allow his small size to let bullies push him, or others, around. As long as he could get up, he would fight. He carried that idealism throughout his life. It was why he chose to work with S.H.I.E.L.D..
But he no longer fought for the greater good.
The cheers from the arena rang in his ears as he closed his eyes, the water from the showerhead washing the blood and grime away. It wouldn't take away the guilt that ate at his soul. He was meant to save people, not take their lives away. How was he reduced to being a puppet for the demented masses?
One day, he would be free.
Today, he would savor the spoils of war.
"You've done well, Captain Rogers. A prize is long overdue."
Steve dried off moments later and kept a towel around his waist as he waited for you. He didn't have to wait much longer. The cell door opened long enough to shove you inside, anger boiling in his gut when you almost fell to your knees.
"Break her and Barber will kill you," the guard threatened.
Andy Barber. His former colleague. Your master.
"Should I tell him you nearly made her fall on her face or do you want to do that yourself?"
The guard didn't respond, but had the decency to look afraid before he slammed the door and left the two of you alone.
Steve watched as you straightened up and carefully glanced around the room. The cell HYDRA kept him in was comfortable enough. A small bathroom, a nice bed, and a desk so he could draw. Charcoal only, as they didn't allow him to have anything he could use to harm them. They also refused to let him have a cell near Bucky, afraid they would conspire against the guards and break free.
Even if he did have a weapon with him, he wouldn't use it on you.
His prize.
"Would you like to sit down?" he asked, bringing your gaze toward him.
This was the first time he had seen up close since the day everything went to hell. You were still beautiful, but there was sorrow in your eyes that hadn't been there before. The lacy red and black lingerie set did little to cover you, so different from the office clothes he typically saw you in. He wondered if you shivered slightly from the cold or fear.
"Yes. Thank you, Captain," you answered, offering him a small smile as you made your way to the foot of the bed.
You still had the same smile.
"Don't call me that," he said harsher than he intended to. "I'm not your Captain anymore."
He failed as Captain America. HYDRA captured you, Bucky, and countless others because he hadn't taken them down. It seemed like they only referred to him by his title to taunt him. Was he ever worthy of the shield?
Your smile slipped away as you sat down and lowered your gaze. "I'm sorry, sir."
Steve immediately wanted to pull you into his arms and apologize. You weren't in his cell for more than two minutes and he took his frustration out on you. He hadn't meant to.
"You don't need to apologize. I'm sorry for taking that tone with you. Steve or sir are both fine, sweetheart," he said, his towel slipping further down his hips as he walked toward you. "Or would you prefer I call you by your name?"
"You can call me whatever you want."
The words sounded rehearsed.
You looked up at him when his warm hand cradled your jaw, surprising him when you didn't recoil. He wondered what you saw as you looked into his eyes. A murderer? A monster?
"Why did you ask for me?" you asked.
"Because I was told I could have a reward for a job well done," he told you.
You narrowed your eyes. "Why me specifically?"
Rewards were typically in the form of a mistress since fighters couldn't ask for their freedom, or challenge anyone in charge to a battle. Mistresses were usually sent from the harem and not taken directly from one of the advisors or generals. It was only natural that you'd ask why.
"You belong to Andy Barber," he stated to gauge your reaction.
You flinched, your eyes flashing with something akin to offense and fury, but you didn't pull free from Steve's grasp. From what he gathered, you weren't a willing mistress to Andy. You knelt beside him at every match he could remember and never said a word. Advisors and Generals loved to show off their possessions. Requesting you as his prize for doing such a good job in the arena pissed Andy off, but he couldn't deny him.
A pet having power or sway over a master isn't allowed.
But unlike Andy, Steve's intentions weren't to harm or force himself on you.
If he thought for a moment that you were a willing participant in this, your reaction told him otherwise. "I don't belong to anyone."
"I wasn't trying to offend you," he promised, keeping his hand on you as he took a seat beside you. "How does he treat you?"
You hesitated before you answered. "Sometimes he fucks me like he loves me."
He ran a thumb across your cheek when a tear fell from your eye, rage surging through his veins. Even though you didn't bear any physical scars like him and the other fighters, you no doubt had wounds on the inside. Forced into sexual servitude would be enough to hurt the strongest of people. But the flicker of fire in your eyes, you still had some fight in you. It comforted him that they didn't break you.
"Did he do something to you? Is this some sort of payback?" you guessed.
"He did, but I didn't ask for you to get back at him," he said.
He wouldn't have asked for Andy's mistress if it was anyone other than you.
"I don't know why you're asking how he treats me. At the end of the day, I'm just his whore," you said, eying him warily. "And tonight, I'm yours."
He shook his head, bringing his other hand up to cup both cheeks. "You're not a whore."
He wished you could be his girl.
Maybe in another life.
"Then I don't understand why I'm here if you're not going to use me," you said, confusion filling your beautiful eyes. "I'm nobody."
"You worked on the 3rd floor," he said, tracing his finger along your bra strap when you gasped. "You had a cardigan on the back of your chair and the background on your computer matched whatever season we were in. You kept to yourself, but offered a small, kind smile whenever someone looked your way or jumped in to help without anyone asking. You were vital to S.H.I.E.L.D. and you're far from being a nobody."
You moved an inch closer and his gaze fell to your lips. "You knew me?" you asked in disbelief as he nodded. "I-I never thought anyone as high up as you would've noticed me."
"Of course, I did. I was just too stupid to say anything then," he replied, smiling sadly when he wiped another tear away.
Would it have made this situation better? Worse? Dwelling on "what if" would do more harm than good.
“So, you asked for me because you wanted to see me? You care?”
He let out a breath as he nodded. “I had to see for myself that you’re okay. Well, as okay as you can be given the circumstances,” he said.
There were so many things he wanted to say. That he was sorry a man like Andy ever got his hands on you. That he didn’t want you to give up hope. Why wouldn’t the words come out?
"I didn't think anyone cared," you said, lightly tracing a tiny scar on his arm. Something in your expression shifted from uncertainty to seductive as you leaned in closer. "But that shouldn't surprise me. You're a good man."
He placed a hand on your lips to stop you before you kissed him. Yes, he asked for you to be here, but he didn't want you to feel forced to do this. “No, sweetheart. I’m not going to use you.”
The point of his confession, or whatever he could call it, wasn't to make you give in to him. He needed you to know you did mean something to someone. You weren't alone in this.
“Is it using me if I’m offering?” you countered when he lowered his hand, giving you the chance to lean in to pepper his jaw with soft kisses. He didn’t stop you this time. “Unless you don’t want me.”
Steve wanted you. God, he wanted you, but he wouldn’t take from you the way Andy did. Even when you placed a hand on his thigh, your touch light and heavenly, he had to resist. HYDRA reduced him to a killer, he refused to sink any lower.
“I know you won’t hurt me,” you said, leaning back and reaching behind you to unhook your bra. He didn’t mean to groan when you took it off, but your breasts on display had his heart pounding against his ribs. Your nipples were hard and he hadn’t even properly touched you. “Like I said, you're a good man.”
Steve’s hands fell to your hips when you straddled him, his cock twitching beneath the towel. Was it wrong to give in if you wanted it? But did you actually want him? Were you acting on instinct? Orders?
“How am I a good man if I’m taking advantage of you?” he tried to argue when you pushed your hips down.
“You aren’t. You're giving me a choice and I'm choosing to give myself to you,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I want to forget even if it’s just for tonight.”
He wanted to forget, too. He didn’t want to see the blood that stained his shield or the life leaving the eyes of the bodies that fell. What he wouldn’t give to have a beer with Bucky after a mission gone well. Or take you out on a proper date.
“I’m your prize, Steve. So take it.”
The last shred of hesitation inside him snapped when he fastened his lips against yours. You went pliant against him, opening your mouth for him to take what he wanted. It wasn’t how he wanted your first kiss with him to be, but it made him dizzy nonetheless.
He didn’t break the kiss as he rolled you over, spreading you out on your back to slide in between your thighs. He swallowed down the small sound you made before he gave you both a chance to catch your breath. The sight of you gazing up at him made him lose his breath again.
“Please,” you whispered, shuddering as he moved his calloused hands up your legs.
He heard people beg before, but not like this. You would be his salvation. He hoped he could be yours, too.
Torn between kissing up your thighs or diving right in, he decided to dip a hand between your legs. You shivered again as he pressed his palm against the damp, flimsy fabric. “You’re wet,” he said in awe, gripping the underwear and tearing it away.
Your back arched, sending a shiver down his spine when he saw your eyes glaze over with lust. “For you, Steve.”
For him.
The slide of his first finger made him close his eyes. You were tight and warm and the clench around the digit alone was enough to make his cock twitch. He wondered if you ever got this wet for Andy. Did he prep you? Make you come?
“I’m supposed to take care of you,” you whined when he pushed another finger in.
“Are you my prize, sweetheart?” he asked, spreading and sliding his fingers in and out. He brought his other hand up to your breasts, not wanting to neglect them as he toyed with your pussy. "Are you giving yourself to me?"
“Yes,” you said breathlessly when he pinched a hardened bud, your walls tightening more by the time he added a third finger. “I am.”
“Then let me handle you as I see fit,” the slight command that came out was reminiscent of his days of being a Captain, the very thing he told you not to call him.
“Yes, Sir,” you whimpered, arching your back again when he removed his fingers.
He brought them to his mouth and licked each of them clean, savoring the sweet and tangy flavor of you on his tongue. If he was a better man, he’d take more time with you. Worship every inch of you until you sobbed and begged for more. Later, he’d indulge until all he knew was your taste. Your first orgasm though, he wanted on his cock.
He had to be inside you now.
You blinked and smiled as if you sensed his need. “I’m ready.”
Steve gripped the base of his cock as he settled between your legs. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine you were in his home. He refused to do so. This was the reality you were in and he had to make the most of it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, silencing you with a kiss when you opened your mouth.
You gasped as he lined up with your entrance and slowly slid in. He almost stopped halfway through when you clenched hard around him, but his kisses relaxed you enough to let him in. He never felt anything as good as you and was sure he never would again. He was afraid he’d become addicted.
“I’m sorry, too,” you whispered back, sending shivers down his spine when you ran your fingers through his beard. “But it’s okay.”
He began to thrust, unable to take the tenderness in your eyes. In another life, he would’ve been worthy of that gaze and comfort. Now it was survival of the fittest.
“I won’t break,” you moaned, allowing him to take your wrists and pin them over your head. “You can fuck me how you need to.”
“What was it you said?” he asked, driving deeper into you to make you moan louder. “He fucks you like he loves you?”
You choked on your breath when you gazed up at him with fear in your eyes. You blinked it away before he could dwell on it. “Sometimes.”
“You haven’t been fucked by me before,” he grunted, taking your leg to wrap around his hip. “When I send him back to you, you’ll be dripping with me. He'll know you'll never truly be his."
A loud moan escaped when his grip on your wrists tightened, your hips rising to meet his thrusts as he fucked into you. It was easier than he thought to forget the horrors when he was buried inside you. What would he have to do to keep you for more than a night?
You squirmed when he slid his hand between your bodies and sought out your bundle of nerves. “You said you don’t belong to anyone, but here with me, you’re mine,” he said, circling your clit with his thumb. The whine he got in response was otherworldly. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” you moaned, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.
He wanted to believe it.
“Again,” he gritted. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours. I’m yours!”
Your eyes widened when you quivered around him, a gush of wetness flowing around his cock as you cried out. The orgasm seemed to take you by surprise, but he kept up his pace to ride it out. He hoped it would be the first of many. Your face twisted in pleasure was almost enough to send him over the edge.
“Please, Steve,” you moaned brokenly, lying bonelessly beneath him as he buried his face in your neck.
Steve couldn’t resist when you begged so beautifully, letting out a broken sound of his own as he spilled into you. The release had him panting against your skin as finished, trying to remember the last time he experienced ecstasy like that. He desperately tried to hang on, not wanting it to end for either of you.
He pushed himself up to look at you, but didn't pull out, a sense of pride filling him at your fucked out expression. Releasing your wrists, he brought your hands up to wrap around him. He wasn’t expecting to need the comforting touch, but he had to feel your hands on him after what you shared.
Silence stretched on as snuggled close and he thought for a moment that you drifted off when you stayed quiet.
“I don’t want to send you back in the morning,” he admitted, tilting your chin so you'd look at him.
You quietly sniffled as you turned away. “I don’t either, but you have to. Andy is furious enough as it is."
He pulled you in for a hug when you trembled. He wanted to choke the life out of Andy himself. Maybe HYDRA had made him a monster.
“Maybe you can't stay here permanently, but I’ll ask for you again after my next match. I promise.”
He didn’t want you around Andy longer than you had to be.
“So, we meet up after your fights and allow ourselves to keep forgetting? You go back into the fight and I go back to the Advisor quarters?” you asked, your eyes shining as he let you rest against the mattress.
He tilted his head as he studied your face. The blissful expression had determination underneath. Both of you wanted to get out of here, like everyone else. With your position, maybe you could use it to your, and his, advantage.
“I’m a fighter. You’re the mistress of an advisor. I’m sure we can forget and find other uses for our time together,” he said carefully, in case he was reading you incorrectly. “What do you say?”
The smile you gave him was hopeful. “I'm in."
Oh, you don't think it'll be that easy, do you? Not if Andy has his way. 😏 Love and thanks! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
#navybrat writes#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x female reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#gladiator!steve rogers x reader#steve rogers#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers au#gladiator!steve rogers#the arena#chris evans x reader#chris evans x female reader#chris evans x you
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La Dolce Vita - John Shelby/Cosima Changretta (OFC).
Here comes part three of the mini series, besties! Hope you like it :)
Words - 4,044
Warnings - Each part will be adult only content, from swearing to eventual smut and violence. Minors DNI.
Part III - Paradiso
“Let it go. Set yourself free, for god’s sake. You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about, you hear me?”
Polly’s words rang through her head once again, just like they had since a few days before at her birthday dinner. Cosima was doing her best to listen, heed the advice, especially whenever she felt herself upon the fringes of genuine contentment.
Or, when her husband came and offered her a little affection, just like he had in that moment, sliding his arms around her waist and kissing her cheek. “What’s my perfect little Italian housewife making here, eh?”
“Chocolate and hazelnut filling for the cannoli’s I just fried. Here.” Dipping her finger into the mixture, she turned and offered it to his mouth, John sucking it from her fingertip.
“Bloody hell, that tastes better than any chocolate I ever ate,” he spoke, Cosima smiling, giving his stubbly jaw a little tickle with her fingernails. “If there’s any left, can I paint ya tits with it and lick it off?”
“John!”
“What?” he chuckled filthily, moving her hair and laying kisses to the side of her neck.
“You’re a dirty little rascal!”
His laughter continued. “Give me time, love. Trust me, you’ll like me for it eventually.”
Yes, things were certainly beginning to thaw rapidly between them, the last four days full of pleasantness and playful affection. The actions of the man who had insulted her, coupled with John’s swift retribution – and hers too – had certainly sealed the notion that the two previously discontent spouses actually thought a lot more of one another than either had been prepared to admit.
John certainly hadn’t forgotten the night in a hurry. “I still can’t believe what you did to that bloke, beating the shit out of him with ya shoe,” he chuckled, arms tightening around her narrow waist a little more. It had felt good, to see her act like she gave a damn about him.
“Yes, you can. I am, as you coin me, a feisty little Italian mare, after all,” she chimed, decreeing the mixture in the bowl before her was ready to be spooned into a piping bag, wiping her hands on a cloth and turning to drape her arms around her husband’s neck. “And if anyone is going to beat you up, it’s me.”
That tickled him, John throwing his head back and guffawing. “Oh, so not because you like me on some small level, then? Just cos’ you wanna batter me, eh?”
She tucked her chin, shrugging. “Maybe a little of that, too.” Biting her lip, her eyes darted from side to side. “It’s complicated, though.”
His fingers pushed beneath her chin, gently prompting her to look up. “Why is it?”
Sighing, she felt her discomfort rising within. “I’m really trying hard to get along with you, to not dislike you because of what happened in the past, but Polly opened my eyes to something I’ve been doing and, um, it explains a lot.”
“Tell me about it, then. I ain’t the best with words, but I’m a good listener. Plus, I’m your husband, Cosima. You can tell me anything.”
God, he was so sweet. Beneath the hardened gangster lay a softness that he truly did want to show her, if they could stop battling with one another for long enough. “I think the reason I poke at you so much is because I think I deserve it, an unhappy marriage. Polly said I’m punishing myself in lieu of my father being alive to berate me.”
“If your father was alive, who’s to say he wouldn’t have come to the same conclusion, eh?”
Her snort made him feel like he was about to receive a mouthful of sarcasm for a moment, but all she did was laugh softly, resting her forehead against his chest. “I doubt that. Regardless of what he might or might not have thought, though, what Polly said to me was right, I have to concede. Papa is gone, and I’m still here. I need to stop acting like a bitch. I need to let it go.”
The words resounded with John on his own feelings of guilt, feeling his chest tighten as he thought of Esme. “Yeah, yeah me an’ all. I think what Pol explained, I think I might’ve been doing a bit of that too, like.”
“Because of Esme?” she asked softly, thumbs stroking the sides of his neck.
“Ar, bab. Because of her. Still don’t feel right sometimes, but I know it ain’t your fault, why she’s gone.”
“Do you miss her?” Immediately, she saw the discomfort flicker across his face, the conflict. “It’s okay. I reverse the same sentiment to you, John. I’m your wife, you can talk to me. I know you blokes don’t like talking about things, but if you want to, you can to me.”
He kissed her forehead, touched by her offer. This? It was a side to her he had wondered over, whether the fieriness of her nature could ever diminish in its heat enough to allow for an unburned softness to flourish. “Yeah, love. Yeah, I do. Breaks me bloody heart that Mary and Seamus only had her for a few years. If there’s anything I thank you for above all, it’s how you’ve taken ‘em all on so well. I saw you in with the girls the other night, rocking Mary to sleep while she cried for her mom. You might be a temperamental little beast sometimes, but you’ve got a good heart for them kids, Cosima.”
“Thank you. And yes, I do. I think the Chinese call it Yin and Yang.”
“Do what now?”
His confused face had her in soft fits. “Yin and Yang, the balance of duality, or something like that. Dark and light, they have a little black and white symbol for it,” she began, John suddenly cottoning on.
“Oh, the thing that looks like a couple of tadpoles doing a sixty-nine with each other? Yeah, I know that!”
His statement made her snort, falling apart completely at his words. Nothing could ever be serious for too long with John around, comic and cheeky as he was. “You’re too much, I swear!”
“Nah, bab.” He kissed her head, hands smoothing up and down her back. “I’m just enough.”
“Would you like to go and be just enough putting the hen house together now that the timber is here? The chickens will need somewhere to roost once we bring them home.”
“Mm.” His hum preceded another kiss to her neck, melding himself against her slender curves, his intent clear. “I had other ideas over what to do with the morning.”
She wanted to, oh how she did, her brain racing as they fell into lustful kisses, her dress being slowly hitched up. At the feel of his hands rubbing calloused over the soft of her thighs for the first time, though, she hit the brakes.
“I do, John. I really do want to,” she began, feeling herself blushing, “but it’s been a while since the last time, and it was only once and it was a bloody disaster and...”
He smiled at her nervous babble, placing a finger against her lips to silence the stream of words chatted at speed. “S’okay. Just come jump on me when you’re ready, bab.” Another kiss was offered, her dress released to flutter softly from his grasp. “Just know though, if there’s one thing I’m really, really fucking good at, it’s that. Ain’t gonna be no disaster with me.”
He winked, reaching past her to grab an apple from the fruit bowl, taking a loud, crunching bite as he grinned. “I’ll go sort out the hen house for ya.” Cosima didn’t know that it was, exactly, maybe a mixture of the heat of his kisses, the stroke of his hands, that smouldering wink, and his pledge to go out and partake of the requested DIY, but suddenly, she didn’t feel as hesitant as she had.
“Ain’t gonna be no disaster with me.”
She could bet it wouldn’t.
Continuing with her task in hand, the neatly filled cannoli’s were laid out for the filling to set as she piped them one by one, washing the dishes afterwards before cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom. A doorstep-sized sandwich was made for John’s lunch, tomato, ham, cheese and pickle as was his favourite, Cosima making a smaller version with just cheese and tomato for herself.
With the hen house assembled by late afternoon, John returned to the house to wash, change, kiss his family goodbye and head into Birmingham, summoned for a family meeting. Cosima knew he’d be gone until late, so got the children put to bed, the dinner dishes washed and put away, deciding to go and enjoy a long soak in the bath.
A plumbed-in bathtub rather than a tin bath beside the fire, ahhh. It was a bliss she had gotten used to back at home in the final years of living there, her father treating her mother to an actual bathroom, rather than the outdoor privy and tin bath they had used during her childhood. Her stepchildren truly didn’t know they were born, living in such luxury as to be able to go for a wee in an inside toilet.
With a few candles lit and her book within her grasp, Cosima slipped into the hot, steaming water, sighing as the scent of her rose bath oil filled her nose, the peace and quiet heavenly. Throughout her soak, she found herself checking her nearby watch, lifting the dainty timepiece every so often.
“Blooming heck,” she softly fumed, shaking her head. “I actually miss him.” Her shame was short lived, Cosima realising she’d actually turned a corner there, missing the man she was married to when parted from him, as any wife truly should. Once suitably soaked, she climbed out, drying off and smothering herself in rose talc, unpinning her hair and giving it a good brush before cleaning her teeth, applying her moisturiser and going to bed.
It was 12.22am by the time she felt his weight dip the mattress behind her, an arm slipping around her waist.
“How’d the meeting go?”
“Ah, fuck,” he lamented softly, stroking her face through the near darkness after she’d turned to face him, only just able to see her outline. “I was trying not to wake ya up. Meeting went fine, just some routine shit that needed sorting an’ all that.”
“That’s good.” There was a pause, Cosima letting her nails trail up and down his arm. “Are you particularly tired?”
He thought her question to be a perfectly innocent wondering for a few seconds, before her hand began to wander lower. Oh... that’s why she was asking him. He inhaled sharply through his nose as her fingertips skimmed his hip, his cock beginning to awaken. “Nah, ain’t too tired for what you’re thinking about, love.”
Leaning to him, her lips brushed his, tongue teasing his cupid’s bow as her hand wrapped around his cock. “Good.” Reaching back, her hand found the curtains, peeling them open to let in a little moonlight, turning back to cup his face as she kissed him, pausing to watch the arousal glint in his eyes, beautiful lips agape as she stroked him until he stood rigid like iron. Wow. What a gorgeous, thick cock. It made her wet just thinking about him inside her, Cosima sitting up and gathering her long nightdress, pulling it over her head before climbing astride him.
Her hand went back to his cock, their kisses resuming, loving the feel of his hands sliding down her sides, one slipping between her legs to stroke at the petal soft wet of her. A moan fluttered against his lips, Cosima gasping as his fingertips began to work a slick rotation against her clit.
“Mmm, oh that feels so good.” she panted, mouth pressing to his once more, her hips swaying against the motion of his hand. His touch lit a bonfire of pleasure set to burn, when there was a sudden interruption in the form of the door being knocked.
“Sima?” Yes, more than one person was allowed to shorten her name now. “I had a bad dream.”
Cosima moved quickly, save Mary witnessing her there astride her father, pulling on her nightdress just as the bedroom door creaked open. “Oh, my little sweet. Come on, it’s all okay now.” Lifting the little child with tear wet cheeks and a still thundering heart into her arms, she carried her out, the scorch between her legs cooling instantly for having to immediately switch to motherly duties.
Taking her downstairs, she warmed her a cup of milk upon the stove, stroking her hair lovingly as she gently bounced her, placing kisses to her forehead. At four years old, only beginning school three months before her mother was murdered, and that death happening on Christmas day of all days, Mary was one of the neediest of John’s children. Cosima doted on her with extra affection because of it.
“Here, a little honey too for your milk,” she whispered, adding some from the wooden pot. “Because I know how much you like it.”
“Thank you, Sima.” Taking the dainty china cup, Mary took a careful sip, smiling as she cuddled up to her stepmother, her comfort and rose scented skin calming upon her shattered little nerves.
“What was your bad dream about, my little chicken?”
“Bad people, coming to take you away, just like they did with my mommy.”
Cosima hated how nobody had spared this tiny soul the truth of what had happened. She was four, for Christ’s sake. All she needed to understand was that her mother had gone, not how it had happened. It smacked her in the chest still, knowing that it was her family who had seen to the demise of Esme. God, how she hoped to heaven the children would never find that out.
“I promise you, nobody is coming to take me away. I would never let such a thing happen,” she promised the tot, Mary sipping at her milk. “I am here to stay.”
Speaking those words, she realised that she truly meant them, and what was more, the idea of staying made her feel nothing but sublime happiness. That happiness glowed through her even more when she remembered what she had waiting for her, and hurried back to John in order to resume what she had so been enjoying as soon as Mary was settled in bed and sleeping again.
As it turned out, she was not the only Shelby to have nodded off with ease.
“You bastard.” Her huff was quiet, Cosima giving him a poke with her finger, John grunting and turning over with a frown, lost to slumber. Damn him.
The following morning, it was her routine as usual, up at six, the children’s lunches made, uniforms organised, breakfast prepared. John had to wonder what was wrong when he almost found himself wearing his bowl of porridge.
“Oi, what’s up, bab?”
She chewed her cheek in fury. “Nothing. Children, come on. Give me those bowls and go and brush your teeth. I will be up in a minute to help you dress. Quickly!”
“Don’t give me that load of old codswallop,” he snorted, catching her wrist. “What’s the matter?”
Tugging her wrist free, her glare made his guts prickle. “You fell asleep.”
Shit. He didn’t dream that she’d take that personally, but as he closed his eyes and tried not to laugh, he realised that she very much had. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Guess I was more knackered than I thought. Look...”
“No, no look. No nothing. I’m not discussing this in front of the children.”
“Cosima, come on.”
“Shut up!”
“Yeah, dad,” Oliver chimed, grinning a three-teeth-missing grin at his father, “shut up.”
“You’ll have a clipped ear for talking to your father like that, Oliver Shelby,” Cosima warned, pinching him by his earlobe and tugging him from his seat as he complained. “Teeth! Uniform! Now!” She bustled around, refusing to meet John’s eye, her temper on the verge of meltdown. He knew he should leave it, so that was what he did, heading into the sitting room without further word.
On his way, he phoned into the betting office, telling Polly he wasn’t going to be in after all that day, having some family business to attend to, as he worded it. After his call had been made, he sat and waited for his wife to arrive home from the school run, not prepared for this to cause a setback in his marriage. He'd been enjoying Cosima far too much to return to the rocky road they’d previously found themselves upon.
Hearing the kitchen door open and close, he stood up, walking through the house silently, arriving to find her about to put her apron on. She turned, jumping with a little shriek, not expecting to see him there, still. Coming and going through the back door, she never saw if his car was there or not, and she’d assumed he’d left for Small Heath already.
“Take off your dress.”
She paused with her apron, gaping at him incredulously. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard.” Moving closer to her, he imposed himself in her space, chest stuck out, chin held aloft defiantly. “Take off your fucking dress. I ain’t having no sour fucking moods cos’ I fell asleep. Nah. Ain’t happening. I’m wide awake now and believe me, I ain’t gonna get tired.” She still remained silent and unmoving, John rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry, alright? Now, like I said, take off that fucking dress, and I’ll show you how sorry I am.”
It was something about the slight rumble to his voice, couple with the unflinching stare that sealed it for Cosima, remembering how expertly he’d touched her. Biting her lip, she stared at him, the apron fluttering from her grasp as her fingers found each of the dainty mother of pearl buttons on her dress, undoing each and sliding the garment off.
His eyes toured her, lashes looking spun gold as the morning sun beaming through the kitchen window caught them, her heart quickening. He was so divinely attractive, and he caught it, saw it in her eyes as she stared at him. “Them an’ all.” he instructed, nodding to her underwear. With the weather warmer, she didn’t bother with stockings, her bare legs silky and sun kissed.
Once she stood naked before him, he let his eyes roam her a few more times, appreciating her in the fine detail the streaming sunlight offered, Cosima reaching for him, draping her arms around his neck. She bounced, John catching her as her legs wrapped around his waist, the fine fabric of his expensive, blue suit pressing against her bare flesh as they shared kisses full of messy, pent-up longing.
Turning, he placed her down on the large table, pushing her legs apart as he seated himself in one of the chairs, beginning to sprinkle kisses up her thigh.
“John, the window cleaner is due today!” she hissed, giggling with the thrill of it.
“Is he? He’s gonna get a bloody good view of me licking me beautiful wife’s cunt then, ain’t he?” he chirped, grinning before his tongue met her folds, Cosima gasping at that first contact, the flattened drag evoking a flush of immediate tingles, the likes of which she’d never felt before. Glimmers of incandescence were quick to prickle, her mouth hanging agape as she watched him eating her, John winking and smiling. “That feel good, love?”
“You have no idea how good!”
He chuckled, tongue teasing her opening, silky dew beginning to stream. “Gonna disagree with you there.” Smiling further at the noise she made when he slid his tongue into her, the rolling wiggle that teased her opening made her flutter as she cried out, a long, hard lick returning the focus to where she ached for contact.
He felt her little bud throb against his tongue, a chilling heat roaring through him as he gave it the kind of focus that truly had her wailing, his hands gripped tight upon her thighs. Cosima hung her head back, her hands rooted in his hair as she panted, the whirling wet of every lick sending a summer flush of warmth through the winter of her body.
He wasn’t just good. He was... oh, lord. No words could explain what John did to her. This was absolutely not what she knew of sex, the man she had been previously courting for a time having nothing on her husband where raw sexual talent was concerned. It had felt uncomfortable and awkward with him. With John, she felt as if she was melting and burning at the same time, her hips shaking as the repeated flicking of his tongue all over her swollen clit had her breathless as she trembled down to her marrow.
It took barely any time at all until he had her panting her ascension, Cosima clutching the table edge as his tongue drove at her hard, the warm wells of pleasure suddenly boiling into pure bliss, ecstasy crashing through her, searing her, flooding every vein.
So, that was what an orgasm felt like.
The need to be joined was feral, both of them working together to shred him of his clothes, her legs wrapping around him and pulling his hips close, taking his cock and guiding it to her. He sank into her fully, Cosima whimpering as her tongue swirled with his, the sound drowned out by the groan that echoed in his throat, all smoke, salt and lust to feel his wife stretched around him for the first time.
Their shared gazed was adoring, pupils inked by lust, her hands stroking his face as he rested his forehead to hers, his eyes then falling to watch how incredible it looked, fucking her perfect, pink little cunt, the soft petals of her soaking sex splayed around the thick of his cock.
“I’m a fucking stupid cow,” she panted, John arching an eyebrow at her.
“Oi, nobody talks about my wife like that,” he winked, kissing her again. “Why though?”
“Because... oh fuck, your cock feels so bloody good!” she gritted, “because I denied myself this for three months, for fucks sake!” Their mouths locked back together, John lifting her from the table, carrying her across the kitchen with ease. Her back met the wall, her insides burning with pleasure as he began to arrow her with long, hard thrusts.
This wasn’t even the kind of sex she’d read about in novels. This was so erotically charged that it surpassed any of her fantasy expectations of what good sex would be like when she finally got to experience it. It wasn’t even good sex, though. It was mind blowing, spine tingling, nerve melting sex, hanging onto him as his mouth moved to her neck, hips beginning to drive against her with greater vigour.
Lord, the man could fuck.
Little darts of ecstasy pricked her every target with a pin strike of utter bliss, her walls fluttering around him as he pushed her further to the edge of her undoing, a star burning itself out in the darkness of his sky as she came hard. His release followed hers, the frantic battering of her soaked walls easing, both fighting for breath, Cosima’s eyes widening when she saw a set of ladders at the kitchen window.
“John! Frank is here!”
“Who the fuck is Frank?” he panted, giving her a perplexed look, still swimming happily in afterglow.
“The bloody window cleaner!” He turned just as the face of the kindly, elder man suddenly appeared, his cheeks colouring.
“Y’alright, Frank! Don’t mind us, mate. I’ll take her upstairs, as you were, eh?” His shouted words were confirmed by a thumbs up from the chuckling window cleaner, Cosima’s cheeks the same colour as summer strawberries as she howled laughing, being carried through the house by her equally hysterical husband.
After shutting the bedroom curtains, they didn’t leave again until ten minutes before the children were due home. After all, they had some lost time to make up for.
#john shelby fanfiction#john shelby smut#john shelby x ofc#john shelby#peaky blinders fanfiction#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders smut#peaky blinders fic
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Smoke, Fire and Ash
Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.
This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.
Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)
Masterlist
Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.
Note: I have absolutely loved reading all of your replies and messages, it makes my fucking day! Here we are, the reader finally has her dragon... I will be trying to write a new Aemond POV for you all soon x
Chapter 44: War creates monsters of us all
The sun was high in the sky as you steered Vermithor east, across the ocean away from Dragonstone, and back to the mainland. Each beat of his wings carried you swiftly across the ocean.
It was a strange thing to be flying again, on a dragon so foreign. So unknown.
Unfamiliar.
Despite his age, and his sheer size, he heeded your commands as you felt him faintly through the bond. And then it hit you all at once.
You were riding the famed Bronze Fury.
A dragon that had made men bend the knee out of fear.
A dragon almost as famous as the Black Dread.
But it would never be enough.
You had lost so much already, and with every moment, you felt yourself losing pieces that made you, you. You were not the same woman that you had been before you returned to the Red Keep.
War did that to people.
So did grief.
It mangled you, and mauled you, and created something new. Something unrecognisable.
A monster.
The day Viserys had died, you had changed.
The day the succession was given to Jacaerys, you had changed.
The day Lucerys was killed.
You had changed.
Today, with the news of Helaena, and the massacre of Strong’s.
You had changed.
You felt Vermithor grumble beneath you as he sensed your fury, coursing through your veins. His loud growl pierced your ears, as he continued forward towards your destination. You had only hoped that once you got there, Aemond would still be there too.
As you flew, the sun sunk lower, and lower into the sky. You passed over the ocean, and back over the rolling hills, and cliffs of the shore. Then soon you passed over the waters of Blackwater Rush, and then, and only then, did you know that you were nearing your destination.
Your anger did not once settle within you.
Those hours you spent atop the now claimed dragon, let your mind reel with thoughts and memories, fuelling your fire. You felt it boil, and turn, and twist inside you like a blade. Sharp and vicious, ripping you apart from within, no possible way to stem the bleeding.
Loss is a powerful motivator.
As the sun got lower, it shone brightly on the dragon's bronze scales, their warm colour glinting in the light beautifully. Such a wondrous colour to behold on a dragon. Not golden like Syrax, nor red like Caraxes, but its own unique bronze, unlike any other.
You smoothed your hand along the scales in awe, and as you stroked along his back, a crackling purr broke forth from his chest in appreciation.
“Sȳz, Vermithor.” (Good.) You cooed on his back, channeling all of your emotions into the dragon you sat atop.
You pushed that rage, that anguish, the sorrow and grief through your body, and into your hand. You did not know if this was how to properly bond or not, and no one truly knew the truth behind it, but you tried it anyway.
Vermithor did not react, except the most diminutive twitch alongside the thick, corded muscle of his neck. So small, so almost ephemeral, that if you had blinked, you would have missed it.
But hope was a fool's ally, and you did not need hope in a time like this.
You needed rage.
And rage, you had.
The sun had begun to lower behind the horizon when you first saw it.
Off in the distance, was the subtle burning of fires. Tiny little orange dots, surrounding each other in a large encampment, on what you knew now to be the Riverlands. The flames flickered as you flew towards it, the men unaware of your approach.
You leant forward, pushing your weight down upon Vermithor’s back, willing him to move with you. The Bronze Fury swooped down closer to the ground, so that you could see clearly as the small dots came closer.
Below you now; a trail.
The grass sat green alongside the dirt track, in which thousands of feet had walked across, where horses had trotted, and wagons and rolled. As you flew closer, the larger those flames became, and now the sight of tents and wagons and the tiny figures of men came into view.
“Sōvegon, Vermithor.” (Fly) You called as you came closer.
To the figures on the ground, if they were to look to the sky, they would see a large bronze speck, slowly coming towards them, wings spread as he approached, until finally they could make out the form of the large dragon.
As you swooped above the camp of men, you looked below, watching as they faltered in their steps looking up at you. Others ran to their tents, unsure. The tents were beige, and the wagons were dark. You struggled to discern whose men these were.
You felt your chest begin to heave as you looked down at them all.
Vermithor let out an almighty cry into the sky, deep and grumbling as you grabbed at his back, whilst peering over his side down at the ground below. Horses and men, and carts and tents. That was all you could see with the sun setting upon the horizon, a lazy blue hue settling over the land.
Your breath caught in your throat.
There below you, was a flag.
A signet of a house.
Your breaths became ragged and all too suddenly, that blinding rage was back.
A three headed green dragon stared back at you.
You pulled roughly against Vermithor, pulling him to fly higher into the air above them, circling the camp.
You watched as the men began to scramble below you like ants, upon the realisation that you were not one of the Princes, nor the King. No, your dragon was not Vhagar, or Sunfyre. You were not here with them.
You were here for them.
A cruel smile cracked across your face as you watched them desperately mount horses and prepare themselves. These numbers were small, perhaps the rest of the men were at Harrenhal, not too far away.
Such a bitter taste in your mouth to see the men below you, who had gone against your mother, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. How they had supported your usurper uncle. How they supported the Kinslaying Prince.
How they support Alicent and the Hightower’s thirst for the throne, subsequently thrusting the realm into war.
As you looked around in search of a large green dragon, you became disappointed to know that Aemond was no longer here. If he was here at all.
Your heart beat rapidly in your chest as Vermithor felt the rage within you, his cry calling out into the sky as he turned back around to fly towards the tents. You leant forward, and thought of Lucerys. You thought of the fall.
Of your uncle's hands.
Of your Grandsire. Visenya. Helaena.
And then you snapped.
“Dracarys.” You commanded.
Vermithor flew closer to the lines of tents and carriages, men crawling about underneath before opening his mouth, his whole body beneath you vibrating, as he pushed out an almighty gush of fire, incinerating the tents and men below you.
The screams of fear and agony curled up into the air, and you could find nothing but delight at the sweet music.
Vermithor kept flying above and onwards as you looked back, watching the tents burn and crumble beneath the flames, and the bodies of incinerated men laying in the rubble. The smell of smoke, fire and ash curled its way around you.
You inhaled deeply.
Vermithor’s chest expanded slowly, before another long plume of fire barraged against the Greens army below you. The sound of the flames was deafening in your ears, alongside the screams and cries of the men, and horses who crossed paths with the flames.
Flying forward, you came to the end of the camp, watching as the men began to flee in all directions, the smart ones anyway, whilst others stood rooted to the ground, swords drawn, ready to fight.
Foolish really. How were they to fight flames?
Once turned around, you could see now how the tiny little flames of their camp were now swamped by the larger ones of your dragon. Their tents fell to the soil below them, and horses ran away in fear. Small figures of men, their bodies alight, ran frantically, desperate to outrun the agony of their bodies, before they dropped dead to the floor.
You pushed down on the Bronze Fury’s neck again, and he slunk close to the ground where you sucked in an excited breath.
This was for you, Lucerys.
This was for everyone that has been lost. For Visenya. For you.
Helaena.
“Dracarys!” You screamed out into the air, as the old dragon reared his head backwards, hovering above the camp, before large flames licked down at the army below you, their cries lost in the waves of your laughter as you watched.
You could feel the heat of the flames licking up your body, casting a warm blanket, of almost comfort, around you, as you watched Vermithor land roughly onto the ground, talons digging into the soft earth, as you watched men run from him.
The sky had turned dark, but now the earth was lit by the flames all around you.
The smell of burning flesh rose under your nose. An odd smell. Something you had smelt before, though nothing like this. Nothing so, pungent. It was almost a sickly sweet scent, comparable to when pork was cooked.
Vermithor let out a mighty cry into the air as he stalked through the camp, blowing flames at any man, or horse, or tent that he saw as he walked. You watched as you felt the rage lick at your face and your chest.
You had not even realised that tears had begun to fall, until you felt the wet of your neck. Your breaths were shallow and stunted, heaving as you pushed through your fury.
They did this.
They killed them.
You blinked.
Behind the flames was a figure, who smiled at you.
Lucerys was here.
Vermithor’s head snapped down to where Lucerys had been, and you jerked back in shock. You almost cried out, but then the dragon jerked its head and bit the man who had been there, arm poised with an arrow. Directed at you. You blinked as you watched the Bronze Fury tear the man in half, before swallowing him.
Time blurred so strangely.
Who knew how long you spent stalking through the camp with Vermithor. Who knew how long it had been since you had started. By the time you felt aware of your surroundings, it was eerily quiet in the camp.
The only sounds you heard were Vermithor’s deep rumblings as flames poured from his mouth, and the crackling of burning flesh and wood. The camp around you was flattened. Every tent, every cart, every post and every man was burning beneath high flames, ash falling around you and into your hair.
Lining the dirt ground were the ashes of men, or corpses burning gently in the soft night's air. Some had fallen where they had tried to run, their legs and arms splayed in unnatural positions. Others were caught underneath the burning flames of tents, or hiding places. Horses lay on their side dead, much to Vermithor’s delight, who would pick them up, eating their cooked bodies greedily as he passed through.
Piles of ashes and bones lay about the Greens camp, and all you could do was sneer and smile. Laughter rose from your chest and fell from your lips almost unnaturally. You couldn’t stop it.
You wouldn’t stop it.
They deserved this.
They reaped what they had sown. This was on them. What they had done to you? That was on them.
Such a feral excitement was inside you, as you turned your head, looking in search of any survivors you had not found yet. You almost struggled to breath from the smoke and ash that curled its way around you. It waa thick and suffocating, but invigorating.
Such destruction.
Now you knew why all had feared the Bronze Fury.
But it was not enough.
It would never be enough.
They needed to pay. They needed to all burn for what they did.
You thought of Alicent, and Aegon and Aemond.
Aemond.
His face. His hands. His sneer.
You leant forward, hands gripping roughly against Vermithor’s back as you thought of it all. The pain that he had left between your legs. The sorrow that he had gifted you when he took Lucerys, and Syndor.
It would be a short flight.
Almost half of what it took you to get here.
You could end this all.
You could end it, right where it began.
In the Red Keep of King’s Landing.
A familiar cry called out into the air, the bronze dragon's head pulling up away from the horse below his claws. The sound of flesh tearing and bones crushing beneath his jaws filled your ears, and the metallic smell of blood settled on your tongue.
The cry came again, and you turned your head.
In the sky, not too far from you was a dragon, flying steadily towards you.
You breathed deeply, in and out, as you watched the scales light up from the flames of destruction around you. A familiar shade of dragon. A comforting one. The bright red scales of Caraxes shone in the night sky as he and your father approached you.
You lifted your chin as Vermithor called out to your father and his dragon, a most commanding call.
The King of the Dragons.
A King’s dragon.
Caraxes flew above you before turning around, wings slowly beating, so that the long necked dragon could land nearby in between the flames of a tent, and open bare path of the once Green stronghold.
The dragon's long neck stretched into the air and cried out in recognition of you. You could see your father upon his back, looking around at the destruction desperately, before his eyes settled on yours.
His body relaxed at the sight of you.
He still wore his robes from when you had last seen him, and he did not wear his riding gloves that he almost always wore. It looked as though the Rogue Prince had come to you in a rush, and had been searching for you for some time.
Daemon’s face was a mixture of shock and awe as he looked at you, and then back down at the dragon he had tried for so long to be readied to be claimed, never once guessing that the new rider would be you.
Movement caught your eye.
To the side of Vermithor, a man had begun to run from his hiding spot. The presence of two large dragons caused him to forfeit his hiding out of sheer shock. He might have survived if he had stayed hidden. You watched as the man ran, pushing his legs against the grass and dirt, ashes and bodies, desperate to get away.
Might have.
You looked at your father as he watched you before you leant on Vermithor. The dragon began a slow stalking chase of the man, like a cat plays with a mouse. The man gazed back at you briefly, realising he had been spotted, before he ran with more desperation.
You lazily watched him run and channelled that rage inside of you, letting it burn you from the inside out.
Vermithor took three large steps forward rapidly, before his head snapped out, biting down on the man. His cry of pain was short lived, and soon replaced by the sickening crunch of bones and wet sound of flesh.
The Bronze Fury lifted his head, throwing the mans body down his gullet.
But you were not done.
You would not be done until you killed each and every one of them. Until you would reach King’s Landing and burn them all.
“Tala.” (Daughter) Daemon called into the air.
Vermithor turned beneath you, walking back to Caraxes and Daemon, the smaller dragon chirping out towards yours.
You looked at your father, your chest heaving as you readied yourself to fly.
“Gaomagon daor sagon doru-borto.” (Don’t be stupid.) He called out.
He knew.
He always knew.
“Nyke jāre naejot mōris bisa.” (I’m going to end this.) You called back, teeth clenched.
Why was he stopping you?
“Ȳdra daor.” (Don’t.) Daemon growled, and for the first time in your life, your father made you nervous.
The Rogue Prince was here.
“Pār māzigon lēda nyke.” (Then come with me.)
Caraxes began to circle you, his neck stretching up, and then low to the ground as he watched, purely reacting to Daemon through the bond.
They looked nervous. On edge.
Unsure.
“Tala.” (Daughter.)
Your laughter rang out into the cold air. What was happening? He had been the one to always remind you of what you were, of who you were. He had always been the first to jump to action in court.
What had changed?
“Y/n.”
“Issi ao jāre naejot keligon nyke?” (Are you going to stop me?) You joked mirthlessly.
“Lo istin.” (If I must.)
What?
You grunted angrily, staring Daemon down, who only reacted to your action by tightening his hands on Caraxes’ reins.
“Don’t think I won’t.” He threatened.
Vermithor called out into the air agitatedly, and Caraxes responded in a high pitched screech. Daemon swayed side to side, as his dragon began to move more rapidly on the ground, the flames around you illuminating his bright red scales.
They knew something you didn’t.
“Our Queen commands it.” Your father called out.
You jerked your head to the side, looking at the camp around you, razed to the ground, flames licking the corpses and ruins. Fire was mesmerising. Beautiful. It was cleansing. So very cleansing. Fire could rid the world of scum, and allow for new growth to come forth.
You knew of certain trees that could only bloom with the assistance of fire.
Targaryens bloomed in the flames too.
If you went to King’s Landing, Daemon would no doubt try to stop you. And at what cost?
Would you really fight your own father?
Would you hurt him?
Kill him?
No.
You ground your teeth, and tightened your legs around Vermithor’s back, ignoring the twinging pain in your side. Your chest rose and fell in short angry breaths as you looked at your father.
His eyes glowed in the flame light, and Caraxes had not stopped moving from side to side, readying himself to fight if he needed. The Rogue Prince watched your movements closely, almost cautious of you.
Gritting your teeth, you nodded, and saw Daemon visibly relax.
“Sōvegon.” (Fly.)
Unbeknownst to you, beneath the rubble of the Brackens camp, Alicent’s youngest son Daeron, laid beneath the ashes. Your youngest uncle had died amongst a sea of his men.
The young Prince’s body lay at an ungodly angle. Half of him had been burnt to a crisp, legs and arms splayed in an unnatural position, in his hand, the blade of his sword.
A pained expression permanently sat on what was left of his face.
And although you did not know of his presence, the Greens certainly did.
And would.
Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3
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#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond x reader#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond smut#hotd smut#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#dark!aemond x reader#dark!aemond targaryen#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#dark!aemond#dark!fic#fic#series#aemond one eye#aemond the kinslayer#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond#smoke fire and ash
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Ok so because I was rewatching Disney and DreamWorks imagine if Ratonhnhaké:ton was in like a musical, kind of like Hamilton but in real life. I don't know how that will work and I'm slowly losing cells so yeah : P
“There is something you must know before you leave.” The clan mother, his grandmother, spoke solemnly.
Ratonhnhaké:ton stared at her and waited for her to continue.
She was giving him permission to leave their village after all. The least he could do was heed her warnings and take her words to heart.
“These white men have a curse placed upon them.”
“A curse?” Ratonhnhaké:ton repeated with a frown.
“Yes, they are slaves to the music only they hear.” She explained, “We know not why it is so but they would be taken in by the desire to sing and be unable to resist it. No matter the place or the time, when they hear the music, they must sing.”
She stared at her only grandson as she continued, “Your mother and I… we were worried that you have gotten their curse but not once have you ever shown to bear the same curse as they have. That might change once you walk among them.”
She must have seen the disbelief that he was trying to hide for she sigh as she said, “You must be careful, Ratonhnhaké:ton. Who knows what this curse truly entails. We can never be certain that this curse is not simply the inescapable call of music.”
“I… understand.” Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded, “I will be careful.”
The clan mother knew that Ratonhnhaké:ton didn’t truly understand but she said nothing, only telling him to be careful.
He will understand soon enough.
.
Unorganized Notes:
So my idea is that the Europeans are the ones hit by this ‘curse’. They’re compelled to sing whenever they hear the music and it happens a lot. The natives see this and are like “???” but to the colonizers, it’s just… par of the course.
This does mean those who weren’t born or raised in the parts of Europe like Adéwalé do not sing. He does sing with the crew when it’s sea shanties but any dance number and such? Nope, he was the ‘straight dude’ in the Jackdaw.
This means that Achilles also doesn’t sing so he’s able to tell Ratonhnhaké:ton how it looks and feel like to give him a head’s up.
The Kenways, Edward, Haytham and even Jenny, usually sing very dramatic songs. It shows as the kind of “find my freedom and goal” uplifting songs for Edward, the whole “I want to be me” kind of songs for Jenny and the “villain song that is always the best song in the album” type of songs for Haytham (bonus points for Haytham having his own Gregorian chant backup singers to connote his Templar background).
Ratonhnhaké:ton does not sing but… he does hear the music.
If you want to turn this into a Hamilton crossover, go ahead. That means Ratonhnhaké:ton has to deal with Hamilton’s… everything whenever he has to talk to Washington XD
Whatever is making them sing sees Ratonhnhaké:ton as ‘part’ of the ensemble so you get scenes like Haytham singing a duet with Ratonhnhaké:ton but Ratonhnhaké:ton does not know the lyrics and would rather strip naked and run away from wolves all night long than sing.
The same thing happened to Charles Lee but Ratonhnhaké:ton was busy beating the crap out of him.
The whole confrontation with Washington, Haytham and Ratonhnhaké:ton ends with Haytham and Washington singing with some ‘dead spaces’ here and there where it’s clear that it was Ratonhnhaké;ton’s turn to sing.
The music in the homestead are always jolly (unless something bad happens) and they always include Ratonhnhaké:ton. Unlike the other times, they don’t try to make Ratonhnhaké:ton sing and Ratonhnhaké:ton just joins in the festivity more or less. Achilles takes the ‘I’m the grumpy one who doesn’t sing’ part in these musical numbers instead.
… Haytham definitely sang a very embarrassing love song that was meant to be a duet to Kaniehtí:io. Kaniehtí:io was amuse. Haytham was embarrassed.
Why are the colonizers singing? Isu BS. Apollo, Bragi and Meret got super drunk and fucked up the ‘latest’ batch of humans to be processed for shits and giggles. They ran away before Yaldabaoth saw them and he’s been so overworked that he just… didn’t give a shit and sent these batch as is.
#ngl#this gave me#the man who didn’t like musical vibes#might be because i just watched nerdy prudes must die XD#is this crack?#look i can’t write song lyrics and stuff#so just imagine them having banger songs#assassin's creed#ratonhnhaké:ton#connor kenway#haytham kenway#george washington#achilles davenport#ask and answer#teecup writes/has a plot#fic idea: assassin's creed#i'm not tagging hamilton#since we didn't say this was absolutely a crossover#i only suggested it
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𝐎𝐇, 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋
Time waits for nobody. Although they wish that they had just enough to properly say goodbye, the only thing they can hold onto is the bittersweet memories of you.
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑(𝐒): AYATO KAMISATO, ALBEDO, DILUC RAGNVINDR, SHIKANOIN HEIZOU
𝐓𝐀𝐆/𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): READER DEATH, ANGST, NO COMFORT, SLIGHT BODY HORROR (HEIZOU)
▶ 【 HOW HE NEVER GOT TO SAY HOW MUCH HE TRULY LOVED YOU 】
When AYATO heard of your passing, he had only just gotten back from a long trip of arranging some negotiations regarding support for other noble houses. As the head of a prestigious organization, it was only natural to adopt skepticism with a hint of cynicality—for it is the only way to survive in the world of the rich. Yet, he had nurtured a respectable, yet amiable attitude between every one of the attendants. That’s why the news he received upon arrival was jaw-dropping—when he saw every single attendant and guard of the estate lined up with sunken expressions and creased eyebrows of amalgamated despondency and condolences. When he was informed, the only thing he managed to choke out was:
“Take me to them.”
Thoma and Ayaka—right by his sides, walked in with wildly different expressions, despite each of them holding their breaths. The two standing beside him inhaled deeply, hoping that what they would see wasn’t real—while the man in the middle stared and creaked open the doors, exhaled to brace the pain.
And yet, you laid there on a multitude of sheets and pillows, the colors of the quilts coincidentally reminding Ayato of your seemingly colorful personality. You had passed in your sleep, but to all three of the figures looking at you, she and he and he only wished that the life you had wasn’t so… short-lived. The lady had sobbed as Thoma took her into a tight hug, while Ayato had taken a knee and examined your features, thinking of your dignity and how much he treasured you as his lover.
The days, and the weeks, and even the months following your death—he craved to hear your voice. Whether if you’d be humming, mumbling something to yourself, or even talking to someone nearby—he replays the way you’d call his name and compliment him over and over in his head.
Although busy with the toils of work, it had never been so quiet. With a sigh, as he signed off on a contract, he muttered regrets with tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
“I love you,” he’d mumble, looking down at the paper as he talked to nobody—but rather, somebody who had passed long ago. Oh, if only he got the chance to truly tell you how much he loved you.
▶ 【 FIRST DENIAL, THEN MANIA 】
RECOMMENDATION VIA @yourtippicalarsonist
When ALBEDO had found you, Kaeya was frantically trying to dig through the blankets of ice to pull you out of the sea of snow. The two of you were heading up to visit the alchemist and see how he was doing on his new project, but the avalanche that came and hit the both of you heeded no warning to its catastrophe. Off in the distance, he had heard someone calling your name, followed by his. The captain of cavalry, with huffed breaths and panic struck in his eyes, glanced at Albedo with a look that cried for help.
And for an hour they had searched for you until Albedo had found your hand sticking out from beneath the snow, covered in frost and pale with cold. He began calling for Kaeya as he began pulling you out from the land that sucked your vessel into it like a black hole, desperate to see you—no, to save you. For you were the only person that he learned to love, despite the fact that he didn’t show much emotion—particularly after receiving his vision. With every pull and tug, all while trying to be as gentle as possible with your body, they got you out, seeing how your lips had turned blue and snow had tangled in your hair.
“We have to get them to camp… there’s still a chance of saving them!” he exhaled the words, slinging his arm beneath your knees and supporting your back as he clings you tightly. He ran down the snow to retreat into his lab and begin setting you by the fire, laid down on his jacket.
ALBEDO had hope that he could save you. He kept the fire running every single day, upkeeping it regularly in hopes that you awakened. Yet, Kaeya knew that you were long gone from the moment the avalanche had hit, but he didn’t remind Albedo of that bitter fact. More than anyone, the painter should know better than anyone that you were gone.
But rather than a simple acceptance of your death, he was insistent on brewing a potion that could revitalize the recently deceased. First, it only was a curious thought that rapidly evolved into a sort of craze, followed by a mania and obsession of trying to save you. What is it that he truly craved from you? Your voice? What about the attention? The help you gave him in the lab? The kindness? No, he remembered. Romance.
It was only when Kaeya had shown up to snap Albedo out of his insanity that he had broken down, collapsing in a chair as he clutched the cloth right over his chest with his left hand.
“Captain,” he mumbles, sobbing silently as he squeaks out words without getting his stuffy-nasal tone stuck in the words. “I know. But could you at least let me try to save the person who taught me what it means to love?”
But eventually, through much talk, Albedo had budged and allowed the city to cremate you. Yet, that’s when his plans with the way he typically budgeted his finances went downhill. Most of it was all for paints and new canvases that he’d use to sketch and dance his brush across with wet and thick colors—all attempting to paint the beauty of your figure captured in your facial features, especially your eyes (because that was the part of your body he loved looking at most). He racked his brain over and over trying to find an image in his mind that could encapsulate the true nature of your beauty. Finally, he settled on an image most beautiful: a flower crown of Cecilia atop your ahead as you smiled with your (color) eyes sparkling beneath sunlight.
“My beautiful flower…” he sighs wistfully with a tinge of sadness, putting the small amount of gold paint mixed with your ashes to highlight the brightness of your complexion. Gorgeous, as always.
But despite how much your death racked him, he’d still continue to paint pictures of you every single week. After all—he believes that this is the one true way of preserving your beauty for all eternity, and until the day he dies.
▶ 【 JUST A LITTLE MORE TIME 】
DILUC had known that you were physically weak, yet, decided to overlook your imperfections because he had adored you so dearly. T’was a day that your boyfriend was working at the tavern, and thus, meant another day you could use to surprise him. With pleading eyes and hands pressed together in a praying manner, you beseeched Elzer to ask him to prepare some grape jam and homemade bread as a surprise for Diluc when he got home.
Everything was faring well, and you successfully picked enough grapes and put the bread in the oven before collapsing, hitting the wooden-polished floors with a thud and an outcry. Elzer and Adelinde, startled by your seize, assisted you as you felt your body beginning to go limp.
Insisting on getting you back up to the ‘master’s’ room, you shook your head weakly. The breaths you took in were as comparably short to the amount of life keft in your voice. Immediately, with haste, Elzer requested his eagle to deliver a message to Mondstadt, hoping Diluc could receive word and come back as soon as possible.
Deep down, he probably knows that the Master would never forgive him for allowing you to go out and exert yourself this way.
… when Diluc retrieved the message, his eyes widened as he furrowed his eyebrows?
“What?” he asked, more scared than frustrated. What could have happened in the few hours that he was away?
Without an ounce of any pardon to his job, he yelled at everyone to leave, shutting the door as he hopped on his horse and began riding all the way back in the midday burning of the Mondstadt summer. The heat didn’t bother him beneath all his heavy coats and garments… instead, he kept muttering your name under his breath.
“______, ______, please be okay—“ he begged, a sense of relief washing over him as he sees the Winery come into vision as his steed clops over the dirt path and over the grass. Stopping directly in front of the front gate, he hopped off his horse, tossing the reins to a nearby attendant as he dashed into the house—not even bothering to take off his coat.
And there he saw you laid up against the kitchen counter sitting on the floor, weakly chuckling as you reached out for him.
“Darling,” he said, panting heavy breaths in between. “Darling, I’m here—“ he trembled, shaking as he ran his hand over yours, slightly sweaty from the haste he made getting over to you. The smell of grapes and fresh breas pierces the air and empty atmosphere of just the two of you. “What. Happened.”
“Oh… y’know…” you muttered. “I just wanted to prepare a surprise for you—“
You coughed, wheezing as you slowly replied with seconds in between each word.
“But I guess that didn’t go as planned,” you chuckled, closing your eyes as he gripped onto your hands tighter. “… did it?”
No, he thinks. “No,” he mumbled aloud, shaking you as he pulled you tight into a hug. It was… warm. And everything felt like a blanket wrapped around you during the cold of winter, despite the weather. It makes you… sleepy.
“Please, ______, darling, you have to stay awake—“ He sucked in a breath, hugging you tighter as he began to feel a hole ripping in his heart.
And he felt as you lifted your arms to cup his cheeks and press a kiss on his lips one last time, and watched painfully as your body fell limp in his embrace.
“No…” he whispered, tears pouring down his cheeks in silence as he holds you—looking at your smiling face.
If only he had more time. If only he were faster. If only he could trade the time that he has to give you a longer life. If only you could have more time. Maybe his time, he thinks, sliding a pan of bread into the oven on the anniversary of your death years later.
▶ 【 YOUR SCENT STILL DANCES IN THE AIR, EVEN WHEN YOU'RE NOT HERE ANYMORE 】
SHIKANOIN HEIZOU, the No. 1 detective in Inazuma, is one of the smartest men in the entirety of the Tenryou’s ranks.
But, in his eyes, not smart enough to find the person who murdered you.
Upon returning home on an afternoon in the middle of the week, he called for you. “Love! I’m ho…” he’d begin saying, before realizing the door was unlocked, creaked open.
Now, with a scowl painted across his countenance, he’d stop moving, looking around for any hints of tracks. None went in or out the front door, but carefully, creaking the door open—he’d catch a whiff of the stench of blood. Realizing the connotation of this, he’d open the door… creaking it open painstakingly slow, hoping that everything is alright. Yep, that what he’s going to find it there is someone who wanted to pull a prank and leave a dead fox or the like hidden behind the couch.
He stared in horror, unable to rip his eyes away from the blood staining your clothes at your chest, and the drag streaks across the floor to put you in the entryway. The broken window, along with the handprints clearly dragged down the couch cushions and across the floor.
“Who did this to you?” he growled through clenched fists and blurry eyes, ignorant of the world around him as he got on his knees and held your hands in his.
Still… warm. Killed no longer an hour ago. Oh… man alive, if only he came to the house earlier to have lunch with you (like he said he would) rather than heading off to fetch a gift before he returned home. Maybe then he would have had a chance at apprehending this terrorizer of the people. If only he had…
“Halt!” said a guard standing behind him. He could feel the cold metal of the spear creeping onto his neck from just a few centimeters away. Then, proceeding that, he hears the voice of his co-worker.
Hesitation follows, before a clearing of the throat.
“Shikanoin Heizou. You are being detained and charged under suspicions of murdering (full name) ______ _______. Come along, anything said will be used against you during the investigation.”
The detective couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
With hiccups in his sobs and hyperventilation, he turned his head around as he still held your hands. He kept his composure seeing your deceased figure, but began crying when someone accused him of murdering his lover in cold blood. How could someone not fall apart? You were his partner. His friend. Lover. Other half, he would call it. How dare someone try to pin the blame on him?
“You know I would never kill them,” Heizou said, letting go of your hands as he put his own up in the air. “I loved them so much, why would I kill them…? You were with me when I was getting a gift for…” He would devolve back into his hiccups as he whispered your name uncontrollably.
The silence was deafening. And so was the walk down to the prison. The one in which hundreds of criminals were detained—for crimes similarly horrendous and mundane. Never in a million years would he imagine that he would end up wrongfully accused in this position—just like that Oni fellow.
… after the ordeal passed over, the case closed with Heizou being released, but some person coming forth admitting how they murdered you. Yet, in his heart; the detective knew that your killer roamed free, using this poor woman as a scapegoat for some reason or another.
Unable to continue sleeping in the house that the both of you shared, he would rent a room at an inn and lay awake at night, thinking of how you’d cuddle with him and doze off with him—light snores filling the air from the both of you. But every thought of you was replaced was the image of you on that fated morning, making him shiver and forcing his tears out to roll down his cheeks.
Smothering his face in the pillows, he’d sniffle and absorb the scent of the fresh cloth casing, reminding himself of the scent of you to put him to sleep for the next hour before heading off to work to chase your killer.
Even now, he still leaves his sheets to wash in the sunlight, just like you did when you tended to the house.
© ATHELIASNOTEBOOK — DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, STEAL, REPOST, OR MODIFY ANY WORKS. TRANSLATIONS ARE ALLOWED, BUT PLEASE CREDIT THE AUTHOR AND ASK BEFORE TRANSLATING.
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𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: If you're interested in part two, please feel free to request to be on a taglist for it in an ask! Part two will include Kaeya, Kaveh, Kazuha, Thoma, and Xiao :)
#ayato angst#albedo angst#diluc angst#heizou angst#genshin angst#genshin impact angst#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x you#genshin impact x you#genshin x y/n#genshin impact x y/n#genshin x gn reader#genshin impact x gn!reader#genshin impact x gn reader#genshin x gn!reader
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❛ 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍, 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈. crossover
feat. Kayden x Fem!Dazai!Reader | wc. 1.9k
sum. Kayden's meeting with a certain suicidal maniac took 10 years of his life
note. this is shorter because i still yet to know about duke's background, if you still haven't been updated to the webtoon then you definitely should, there's a lot plot twists waiting for you y'all.
main m.list eleceed m.list
PART 1 < PART 2
as FRIENDS (frenemies?)
There was once a saying in the Port Mafia that made everyone tremble in fear that is equivalent of the Awakeners hearing Kayden's name
'The greatest misfortune of being Dazai's enemy is the fact you are her enemy.'
Whether Kayden is aware of who you really are or not, it was wise of him to keep you on your good side.
But is that really the case? Were you still the same person you were back in the Port Mafia? Do people still need to heed the warnings about you?
You had asked Kartein about it once during your unexpected stay in Jiwoo's abode. He was silent for a few minutes and you thought he also doesn't have the answer you were looking for.
Actually, it didn't need to be a wise answer, you only need his opinion and outlook regarding to your change. Kartein knows you way back in the PM, not on a personal level but enough to trust his opinions on you.
"A stranger won't be able to tell the difference. If I'm being honest, I can't also tell what change are you referring to."
You theatrically gasped, "After all we've been through, you're still treating me as a stranger? How could you, Kartein!"
Admittedly, you weren't expecting much out of his answer. Both of you haven't been in contact in years, it'll be difficult for him to pin point what actually changed to you.
You were still the same suicidal maniac, that's a definite answer.
Thinking back to it, if you could only talk to Odasaku, would he have a different answer?
For the first time in your life as a detective at ADA, you were in deep thought. Gone with the rambunctious proclamations of your sudden undying love then proceeding to find an equipment for your demise.
"Dazai-san is unusually quiet. . . I don't like it." A mop of grey hair popped its head on the doorway of your office, "Should I ask Ranpo-san if he knows what's going on?" He pondered, particularly no one but to himself.
"Maskhhhh mweee whatm?"
"If there's something wrong with Dazai-san that we should be—" He abruptly paused and glanced behind him to see an over bloated mouth munching, "ACKK! Don't sneak up on me like that!"
"Eh? Aren't you a weretiger who's supposed to have heightened senses?" The said guy continued to eat, unfazed.
"I'm still partially human, Ranpo-san." He pouted, hurt, before turning back to the door in which Dazai is leaning over with an enigmatic smile.
"My, my, Atsushi-kun. Were you spying on me?"
Deep hues of red painted his cheeks as he tries his best to come up with an excuse, "It wasn't anything like that!"
On his behalf, Ranpo spoke, "The President has a mission for you."
Your eyebrows perched, "Oh? I wish it has something to do with—"
"No suicide is required to accomplish this mission." The greatest detective just knows how to deflate your mood, truly worthy of his title at ADA. While you are now deflated from hearing this.
"This might get difficult. Apparently, one of the Top 10 Awakeners is planning an ambush in the World Academy."
You snorted, "And you're expecting me to diffuse the situation?" Atsushi was more confused than comprehensive.
"Awakeners? I thought Ability users don't meddle in with their business?"
Awakeners and Ability users are basically the epitome of the phrase 'two sides of a coin' and no one can be categorized as a hero nor a villain.
"Correct, however, this is a special request from someone with strong connection on both parties." Ranpo supplied as he keeps chowing down his sweets.
"Like who?"
"You read my mind, Atsushi-kun." You made your way out of your office, not that you were doing something productive anyway.
"Ranpo-san, why did the President accept such request?"
"Who knows what thoughts running in his head, but I do know he wouldn't have done it without any benefits."
". . .But why would he send Dazai-san?"
"Why wouldn't he? She may be a nuthead, but she's one of our best."
Your investigation led you back in South Korea, more precisely, in the Academy of Awakeners where the retired strongest in Korea resides as a principal.
Jiyoung and Inhyuk were the first ones who got informed of your arrival and immediately greeted you at the airport.
And Jiwoo certainly wasn't far behind the news as he begged Kayden to give him an off day to see you.
Even Subin went with Jiyoung to see you. Kartein is only excited to brag about his new attained skill of turning into a cat. Wooin, ever the sweetest big boi, bought extra food to treat you for your return. Now that you're back, Jisuk and Kayden's sixth senses of protecting their precious cinnamon roll are on high alert.
Their mixed reactions caused mayhem on the way to Jiwoo's home, while the lad is certainly delighted to have you back, others have different opinions.
You had forgotten why you were actually in Korea and hang out with them for the rest of the day. It's an oddity how easily you lose yourself to the fun whenever you're with them, especially to Jiwoo who's easy to have fun with.
"I'm so glad you came back! You never got to say farewell to us when you left last time." The blonde boy pouted.
Wooin wordlessly nodded at the back as the your group walk to Jiwoo's house to drop the shopping bags they bought, "You just disappeared out of nowhere then came back without a notice."
"Though I don't think it's great timing since we're going to attend in Awakened Academy next week, we won't be spending time with you as much as we are now." Subin said.
You halted your steps, ". . .Right."
The mission. Dang it!
Jisuk snorts, "I'd be glad if she won't waste our time by tomorrow."
That earned him a kick from the cryo user.
Fortunately for you, Jiyoung is affiliated with the principal and took charge to make it easy for you. Meeting with the retired Awakener was. . . anticlimactic to say the least.
It doesn't seem like he's involved in any shady business, and he does his job to protect young Awakeners diligently.
Oddly enough, he informed you about the upcoming visit of the World Awakened Academy students.
You went home to Jiwoo's with troubled thoughts. He let you stay in his house if you don't have anywhere else to stay and you're broke so you really have no choice ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Kayden seemed to pick up your unusual furrowed eyebrows and had doubts to question you or just let you be. He finds it highly suspicious you went back to Korea just to have fun with his apprentice. You must have some business going on.
But his pride won't let him inquire what's boggling your mind, he simply watches you struggle to come up with a solution to your own problem. You're a grown woman anyway.
By the time Jiwoo and his friends are gearing up for their return in the Academy, you disappeared, again. Unlike last time, they were more concerned about your whereabouts as you have left a note that says "I'll be back with a surprise.''
Either your dead body hanging is on the way to surprise them or you got murdered.
That's all the options Kayden could think of, and no, he doesn't take constructive criticism.
"A new instructor? Who is it?" Jiwoo overheard from the students there was a new teacher who taught them. . . questionable things.
Thinking his friends might know who it is, he asked them, but it seems as though they're clueless as who it is.
"Moshi Moshi!" Jisuk fell over his chair and nearly threw the culprit over the window, "WHO THE HEL— Huh?! It's you again?! What are you doing here?"
In contrary to his reaction, Jiwoo welcomed you with open arms, "Y/N, I'm so glad you're here!"
You chuckled at this and patted his head, "Are you now? Don't worry, you won't get rid of me that soon."
"Why's that?" Subin looked particularly surprised but refrained herself from embracing you out of relief that you survived another day with your suicide tendencies.
You grinned like a chesire cat, "I'll be your mentor from now on!"
©OTAKUWORKS | 2023
#anime#webtoon#kayden#kayden break#jiwoo#eleceed#eleceed x reader#bsd#bungou stray dogs#female dazai#dazai#dazai osamu#kayden x reader#kayden break x reader#crossover
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there's more room in a broken heart.
pairing: robin buckley x f!reader
summary: it's hard to let go of your first love.
word count: 3.1k
title: coming around again by maya hawke
warnings: angst, angst, angst
it’s strange, really, how much of an impact a single person can have on your life, long after they have been missing from it. if anything, their ghost pains you more than they ever did. the bittersweet memories that linger behind, the thoughts of what if or what could have been if the circumstances were different. it all haunts you in their absence, meaning they never truly leave.
the ghost of robin buckley torments your very existence. she lurked over your shoulder, the image of her staining the back of your eyelids when you slept. she followed you wherever you went, keeping you trapped within her embrace since the day she left.
she was in every new person you met, but there was never enough. blue eyes that were never quite the same shade, voices that were too high-pitched or lacked the soft husk you craved to hear just one more time. hands that left your body cold underneath their touch, rather than the hot sparks of electricity that would ignite your skin. in every new person who entered your life, you searched for that familiarity. you searched for her. but they were never her.
that day, that one fateful day. a mere 24 hours that altered the course of your life for eternity. the day she shut you out, taking a piece of your heart with her. when she uttered those words, shutting the door to the home you had built in your face, everything crumbled.
you couldn’t even be certain what exactly led to the downfall of your love. it had been brewing for some time, fuel being shovelled into the flame until it finally erupted. you knew that just love alone could only get you so far, and maybe it was always meant to be this way. maybe there was never any hope to begin with. you were two fucked-up kids, who had the safety of the world thrust upon your shoulders at an age where your biggest concern should of been who you were going to go to prom with. maybe your love was well and truly doomed.
and as the rain pours down on your head, seeping into your clothes and making your bones shudder, you feel like a spirit wandering the earth in search for the missing piece of your soul. the piece that was put in the hands of your first love and never left.
dim street lights illuminate your path as you walk through the misty haze of the rainy night. the wind howls around you, you feel it brushing your cheeks and nipping at the rosy skin. you can almost hear it begging for you to come to your senses, to stop your feet in their tracks and turn around. to push away all thoughts of her and leave the past where it is meant to be. but you do not heed this warning, your impulses are too strong to control.
you reminisce on times when you walked down this same path. the immense joy and peace you found, being able to walk down these streets hand in hand. free from the scrutiny of an entire town, reduced to a select few, in a city where people like you were everywhere. they were there, they were vocal and they were themselves. or days where you’d stumble home after a long day, the sun setting on the horizon and feet dragging across the pavement, only to be reunited in her arms. a sense of comfort that was left unmatched.
you remember other days, just like this one. rain pouring down from the heavens, soaking your clothes and leaving you shivering. a sorrow-filled heart and a box of milk duds, with a sincere apology on the tip of your tongue as you stood on the porch of her home. your home. and the moments following where she would embrace you once more, problems left on that same porch that you stand on now.
the sight of the door seems almost daunting as you look at it now, an eggshell blue that had become more faded since you last saw it two years ago. your stomach churns at the feeling of bile building up in your throat as you raise a shaky fist to knock on the door. your mind races with thoughts, yet they all are reduced to a quiet hum as you wait for an answer. for anything.
and you wait. one minute. two minutes.
every second feels like a lifetime, you think. waiting on that doorstep, the ache in your heart growing stronger and stronger with each passing moment. your hope diminishing with every beat of silence that goes by.
you desperately hang onto it, clinging to whatever is left as you beg for a sign. the flickering of a light in the windows, the creak of the stairs under a person’s weight. but you receive nothing. your throat tightens and you swear you can feel the physical shattering of your heart as another minute passes. and your last bit of hope that goes with it.
with the remnants of your heart clutched tightly to your chest, you turn your back to the door. leaving memories of naïve love and bittersweet affections. you feel the burn in the back of your eyes that you know too well, stray tears dripping down your face and joining the rain. you rub at your eyes with a frustrated huff, chastising yourself for letting her have such a tight grasp on your emotions still. every step down the porch feels like a beast mutilating your heart, ripping the remains to shreds.
“hello?”
and yet with a single word, your affection comes flooding back. painting your world in the rose-coloured haze that only robin buckley could do.
your head turns, your stomach erupting with a familiar buzz when you see her. she’s leaning against the doorframe, lanky frame draped in an oversized shirt she stole from her dad before moving out, and a pair of shorts displaying freckled knees. her hair is pushed behind her ears, bangs askew and pieces ruffled, likely from sleep. it’s shorter than you recall, maybe by an inch or so. it looks nice.
and then you meet her gaze. the same ocean blue that you had been desperately searching for, the same ocean blue you had spent your teenage years wanting to drown yourself in and standing here now you still think it would be the greatest honour. her eyelids droop with exhaustion, yet the glimmer in her eyes is unmistakable. and within seconds, they widen in recognition.
“y/n?”
your lips curl into a weak smile at the sound of your name leaving her lips. it's dripping with fatigue and resembles late nights when you’d come home to her cuddled up in bed, disturbing her sleep with your entrance. the deja vu makes a sudden rush of anxiety swirl in your stomach.
“hi, robs.”
“what’re you doing here?” her eyes narrow, brows lacing together in confusion. you imagine that you must truly be a sight to behold, a past lover turning up on her doorstep uninvited after so long.
“i-” the words die in your throat, parted lips shutting with a deep inhale of breath. your gaze reverts from her own, and your head bows to look at your feet. how do you explain the inner turmoil that burdens your mind at every moment, the lack of stability, of belonging in your life that has led you to the place you once called home? to the person you once called home? you thought moving back to hawkins would fix this, but after months of misery you knew that there was only one place where you would truly ever belong.
from the corner of your eye, you see her shuffle on her feet. she takes a step back inside her home and you wince, anticipating the door to slam in your face. the same way it did two years ago. the end to any future you had hoped for on the journey here.
“you’re gonna make yourself sick.”
“what?” your head snaps up, eyes widening in surprise to see her still standing there in the doorframe. no anger visible on her face, no indication of shutting the door, of shutting you out.
instead, she rolls her eyes. she takes another step backwards, opening the door wider. “you’re gonna get sick if you stay out here, so…” she trails off, smiling weakly. you try to decipher what it means, but her eyes are distant.
“a-are you sure?” you look her in the eyes, brows furrowed as the shock of her invitation settles onto your expression. she offers you a curt nod, turning her back to you to walk inside. you swallow a lump in your throat, head hanging low as you follow behind her.
“you can sit down in the living room. i’ll go get you a towel.”
you nod, lips parting to voice your gratitude but she walks away before the words can ever form.
you sigh, feeling the full weight of your choices finally settle in your chest. why do you do this to yourself? you question, gaze lingering across the halls as you follow the familiar path to the living room. the frayed red carpet your grandparents gifted you still covering the wooden floor, muffling the thud of your steps as you drift down the hall. the mahogany accent table still stands where it used to, with the same photo frames decorating the surface. your hand grazes the top, feeling the smooth wood underneath your fingertips until you stop at a certain picture. that ache in your chest growing tenfold. it was a picture of you both, taken right after graduation. you both spent your night celebrating at lover’s lake, gowns and caps left on the grass and drunk off your asses on your parent’s cheap liquor. without a single care in the world. the camera’s in your hand, robin’s hand grasping your jaw as she captures you in a kiss that’s more teeth than anything from how large your grins are. that same day, lying in the grass and staring up at the stars, you promised yourselves to each other, to spend the rest of your lives as one. if only you knew then how that would end.
you quickly wipe away the stray tear from your cheek, hands dragging over your face with a soft groan as you forcibly rip your gaze away from the photo. you tell yourself to get it together, taking another deep breath before making your way into the living room.
you feel almost suffocated by nostalgia as you move to sit on the couch. it's almost too easy to sink into the cushions of the seat you always used to occupy, like the impression of your existence was never forgotten by even the furniture. at this moment, you question if your ghost haunted this home as much as she haunted you.
“i hope you still take your tea the same.”
her voice breaks you from your thoughts, head lifting to watch as she enters the room. a towel draped over her shoulder and two cups of tea in her hand, in china cups that she found at the flea market one spring. she walks over to you, the nostalgic air becoming more and more suffocating as the gap between you shrinks.
“you remembered?” your eyes stay trained on hers, a frown tugging at your lips as she seems to refuse to look in your direction. she nods, a tight-lipped smile laced with insincerity gracing her face as she sets the cups down on the table. she hands you the towel, seemingly ignoring your muttered thanks whilst you try to calm your pounding heart with the drying of your hair, the brush of her fingers against yours making your body ignite with the remembrance of her touch.
silence stretches between you two as she takes a seat on the other end of the couch, filled with the tension of unspoken words and broken promises. you feel a tug at your heart from the distance she sets between you, a physical manifestation of how much you have grown apart. how the person who sits across from you is no longer the same person you knew all those years ago, but now a complete stranger. you think of all the memories you shared in this house, the years spent making it into your home. your eyes drift to the red mark that stained the cushion beside your leg, the aftermath of a night of drunken kisses and spilled wine. you think of the photo in the hallway, still displayed proudly in the entrance of her home. how the others surrounding it seemed to be collecting dust, yet it still remained pristine. like she had been reluctant to give up on what you shared too.
“you staying in chicago long?” she nurses her cup in her hands, eyes trained on the wisps of steam that protrude from the top. never meeting your eyes, almost as if she’s scared of letting you truly see her again.
you shake your head, words failing you until she lifts her gaze. when her eyes meet yours, she still feels distant. “no…” you say finally. “well i- uh i live here now.”
you see her eyes widen for a moment at your admission, a flash of something unknown passing through her eyes for just a second before she's sitting forward to put down her cup. “oh…when’d you move back?”
“couple weeks ago, found a cheap apartment to rent out.”
she hums in acknowledgement, bringing the cup to her lips as her gaze drops to her lap. silence overtakes the both of you once again and you find yourself admiring every inch of your surroundings. and for the first time in two years, you feel like you’re home.
“why are you here, y/n?”
you flinch at the tone of her voice, eyes snapping to look at her. she never raises her gaze, you’re stuck staring at the side of her face and unable to decipher her real emotions. she sounds cold and unforgiving, you can faintly make out the creases forming on her forehead from the side. you feel the tears well up in your eyes, the strain in your chest becoming too much to bear.
“i missed you,” you whisper, voice cracking with the overwhelming hurt and suffering you had endured over the past two years. your hands grip the fabric of your shirt to stop them from trembling, inhaling shakily to try and grasp your emotions as they threaten to overflow.
“don’t say that. you can’t-” she scoffs, standing up from the couch abruptly. she paces around the room, rubbing her forehead to soothe the ache of her racing thoughts. you hear her breathing become more laboured as each second passes, her hands quivering as she points an accusatory finger towards you, looking at you for the first time since your confession. “that’s not fair.”
“robin-” your voice comes out in a pathetic whimper as you stand up as well, eyes wide and apologetic. tears drip down your cheeks, a sharp sob threatening to escape your lips.
“don’t.” she puts her hand out, stopping you from stepping any closer to her. her head shakes vigorously, and you can hear her small sniffles as she tries to fight back the tears that ultimately betray her, cascading down her face in steady streams.
“please just let me talk!” you sob, and she falters. her hand drops, and you hesitantly take a step forward. shaky hands reach up to cup her face, thumbs wiping away the tears that fall from her eyes. hers wrap around your wrists and, by the way she’s looking at you, eyes wide and uncertain, you can tell she’s debating pushing you away or pulling you closer.
when she says nothing, you step even closer. your forehead presses against her own, closing your eyes as you let her presence consume your senses. you feel her hair tickle your cheeks, the smell of jasmine tea and her spearmint toothpaste surrounding you in everything that is robin. your robin.
“i need you, robs a-and i-” a choked sob leaves your lips, struggling to speak from the intensity of emotion that swarms your entire being. “i can’t keep doing this without you. please, i love you… so fucking much.”
she doesn't respond. your eyes snap open when you feel her hands leave your wrists, before she grabs your own face and pulls you in for a kiss. it’s messy and uncoordinated, lips and teeth mashing together in a desperate show of affection. your hands snake back into her hair, pulling her even closer, years of love and hurt pouring into one kiss. her grip is almost bruising as her fingers press into your cheeks, almost as if she doesn’t believe that it’s real. that as soon as she lets go you’ll disappear and she’ll wake up in her bed. alone.
when she reluctantly pulls away, you’re both gasping for breath. her thumbs drag across your cheeks, and you feel yourself crumbling with every swipe. her gaze is filled with unmistakable adoration, yet the smile on her lips is void of true undisturbed joy. “i love you.”
“please…” you whisper, and you briefly question how pathetic you must truly look as you plead with her, begging for her forgiveness. your hands run through her hair almost desperately, savouring the feeling of being with her like this. “give me another chance, please.”
“you know i can’t do that,” her words drip with guilt and regret and she looks at you with pity. such pity you couldn’t stand at any other point but now, where your dignity has dissolved into nothing but hopeless pleading.
“we can try it, please i-i need you..”
"you know we’ll only hurt each other more.” she tilts her head to press a final, tender kiss to your forehead. it lingers, neither of you really wanting it to end before she takes a step back. her hands fall away from your face to wipe away her own tears. she clears her throat, taking a deep breath to pull herself together before meeting your eyes once more. one last look, the kind that says a million words yet not enough, as she utters her next words. the same way she told you to leave that fateful day two years ago.
“go home.”
the love you shared was poison and you, an addict. her final words a mockery of your existence, as without her you had no home to return to. a lost soul, cursed to walk the earth for the rest of eternity - unable to find the missing piece.
#robin buckley x reader#robin buckley#robin buckley fanfic#robin buckley imagine#robin buckley x you#robin stranger things#robin buckley x female reader#robin buckley angst
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Eternity
Pairing: V! Loki x V! Reader x V! Bucky
Warnings: moderate graphic violence, mentions if blood and dismemberment, swearing, knives, yelling, minor character death, smut (p in v), anal play, threesome, double penatration, unprotected sex, oral (female recieving), MM smut (making out), slash, NSFW, 18+ only, graphic smut.
Summary: the threw of you finally come face to face with Odin......
A/n- aaahhh!!! Here we are....the end!!! Thank you all so much for reading, commenting, reblogging, all the things!! You are all absolutely amazing!!! Love you all and please heed the warnings!!!! 💚💚
Finale part one -- Finale part two-
You ran as fast as you could, the bad feeling in the pit of your stomach was getting worse the longer you were away from Loki. "Come on james, somethings wrong!" You yelled behind you, willing you feet to move faster when you saw Loki ahead, slowly circling another man..."Odin." You whispered, running nearer hearing them talking "I told you my son.." Odin started "I am not your son!" Loki yelled, his fingers digging into the hilt of his dagger "you made me this....thing! I never wanted any of this!" He continued, his eyes flashing red "stop being a child! I gave you a gift!" Odin yelled back.
"This is no gift!" Loki yelled pacing around him as you and James stepped up next to him. "Ah...I see you brought your whore with you." Odin sneered glaring at you "what did you say?" You asked, trying to walk to him as Loki and James grabbed your arms "does she know?" Odin asked looking at Loki. "That you murdered my betrothed...yes she knows." Loki said "it was a shame really, she was quite lovely, this one is so....homely." Odin sneered. "I'm gonna rip his throat out." You gritted trying to pull yourself free. "You must have been truly desperate." Odin sneered, smiling at you. "You son of a.." you were cut off as Loki pulled you to him "stop! He's trying to get under you skin." Loki said making you look at him. He pressed his forehead to yours whispering "let's end this." You nodded, gripping your daggers as you backed up, eyeing odin.
"And an obedient little bitch too." Odin snarked. "Enough!" Loki yelled circling to the left, you going right. "I may spend eternity as this.." loki said waving his arm up and down "but you will not live to see another moon." Loki said pointing his dagger at him. "We'll see about that." Odin said, pulling out a set of daggers, his eyes not leaving loki "well come on then old man." Loki sneered as him and Odin ran at eachother, metal meeting metal as sparks flew through the air. You and James looking at eachother waiting when Odin's fist connected with Loki's jaw sending him to the ground.
"You had such potential." Odin said walking around him "all wasted on some useless cunt." He growled, kicking Loki in the stomach hard when you lunged forward, swinging your dagger at him as he ducked, grabbing your wrist twisting your arm behind you, pulling you to his chest pushing your arm up making you wince. "Mmm...you are fiesty." He hummed, burying his nose in your hair "maybe I'll have a taste and see what makes you so special." He purred on your ear licking the side of your face when he was suddenly pulled from you, looking back seeing James's fist meeting Odin's chin, sending him off balance when Loki jumped up, kicking him in the chest sending him to the ground. "You will not touch her!" Loki yelled, grabbing his arm, bringing his dagger down on his wrist severing his hand.
Odin's scream echoed through the night as he cradled his arm to his chest "why are you doinf this? haven't I given you everything!?" Odin yelled rolling to his stomach "all I have ever wanted, was you and thor dead at my feet!" Loki yelled, his boot connecting with Odin's face sending him rolling, landing on his back as Loki walked over, towering over him "you took everything from me." Loki growled, stepping over him, dropping down to his knees pinning Odin's arms down "my life..." he gritted, leaning over cutting off his other hand off, Odin's screams filling the air. "My family...." Loki said as you and James walked to Odin's feet, slicing through them hearing him wail. Loki leaned down to Odin's ear, gripping his dagger "my love..." he snarled, digging the dagger into his neck, hearing odin choking as Loki leaned back, his other dagger poised to strike "see you in hell...monster!" He yelled, plunging his dagger into Odin's chest.
"Loki!" You yelled, pointing towards the horizon seeing the sun begjn to rise "you two, get to the house, now!" Loki yelled standing up "we aren't leaving you!" James said grabbing Loki's arm "I will be right behind you...now go!" Loki yelled pushing James off of him "you better be!" You yelled, Loki's eyes meeting yours "I swear, now please..go!' He said sternly as you grabbed James hand running towards the house. Loki walked over, pulling his daggers from Odin's body watching him squirm "don't leave me here...please son.." Odin eeked out as loki leaned over him "I'm not....your son." He growled, digging his daggers onto his shoulders, pushing through to the ground beneath pinning him in place.
Loki stumbled back, seeing the sun coming up he ran as fast as he could towards the house, the ground starting to lighten when he heard Odin screaming, smiling as he neared the house knowing that it was finally over when something knocked him off balance, making him tumble to the ground. He looked up seeing fandral, a crazed look in his eyes, blood dripping from his head as he stalked towards Loki "you think you could kill me that easily?" Fandral growled, digging his knee into Loki's back, shoving his head down into the dirt. Loki closed his eyes, feeling the dagger digging into his throat. He was ready, peace over coming him as he heard Odin's screams cease knowing he was soon to join him.
"Loki! Get up!" He heard your voice echo through his mind. Was he already dead? He thought to himself as he felt the weight on his back slide off of him, looking over seeing the knife lodged in fandrals chest "Loki!" He heard you again, looking up seeing you and James running towards him "y/n.." he trailed off, trying to get to his feet, pain radiating through him as he fell back to his knees "come on! Get up!" You yelled again, coming to his side grabbing his arm, James grabbing the other "you..you have to go." Loki sighed, the sky getting brighter "not without you...if you die, we die." You said, Loki's eyes shooting to yours then James's "we're in this together Loki, now on your feet!" James said, taking the brunt of Loki's weight as you hauled him up, quickly making it to the house
"hurry, get him in." You told James as he helped him into the window before hauling himself up, reaching out pulling you inside, quickly grabbing the curtains as the sun hit the window a small ray passing through burning your hand as you winced and pulled your hand back. You slumped to the floor, holding your hand seeing Loki and James on their backs next to eachother "everyone ok?" You asked seeing them both nod, linking their fingers together "are you ok darling?" Loki asked lifting his head "yeah...I'll live." You said crawling over laying between them, looking at Loki seeing him smile, brushing his fingers over your cheek. You reached up, pushing his hair back taking in his appearance.
The smell of dirt and sweat clung to him, the scent of copper hitting your senses making your thighs clench "Darling..." you heard Loki say, your eyes meeting his, traveling to his lips and back "Master.." you whispered, lunging forward pressing your lips to his, your tongue diving past his parted lips heaing him moan. You licked into his mouth, tangling your hand in his hair as you lifted yourself up, throwing a leg over him straddling his hips. You pulled back looking down at him "James..." you panted as he scooted towards you. You grabbed the back of his head, pulling his lips to yours feeling Loki's hands on your hips. You sucked hard on James's lip as you pulled back hearing him groan "help me.." you panted, looking down at Loki you ripped the vambraces off his arms, the metal thudding as you threw them to the floor, watching James travel down to Loki's feet unlacing his boots.
"D..Darling...ahhhh is this a good i...idea?" Loki breathed as you leaned down, sucking hard on his neck, his grip on your waist tightening "shut up Loki.." you growled, unlatching the armor on his chest tossing it aside, your fingers hastily working to remove his leather tunic, the need to touch his skin demanding, you needed to feel him..now. you heard his boots thud against the floor before James crawled up, pressing his front to your back kissing your neck "what next master?" He purred brushing your hair to the side, tilting your head back your lips found his as you rocked your hips against Loki's feeling him harden under you "unlace his pants." You panted against James's lips, shifting your hips up to give him access as you continued to unfasten Loki's tunic, seeing his pupils blown wide as your eyes met.
Loki lifted his hips allowing James to slide his pants off, sitting up he pulled you to him biting your lip as you pulled open his tunic, dragging it down his arms. "I..I need to Loki." You breathed against his mouth. He spread his legs wide, slowly pushing you down to your back between them, your legs wrapped around his hips as he unlaced your pants. "James....get her top of." Loki growled, pulling the laces hard as James kneeled above your head, his knees on either side as his fingers worked to unfasten your tunic. "Lift up darling." Loki said as he hooked his fingers under the hem of your pants. Doing as you were told you lifted up, feeling the leather slide down your thighs before being pulled off and tossed aside, Loki's hands kneaded your thighs as James opened your tunic lifting you up to slide it down your arms, ot quickly joining your pants.
You reached up, palming James through his leather pants hearing him moan. "Come here James." Loki purred. You glanced up seeing Loki pull James to him by his collar, their lips meeting seeing Loki's tongue dip into James mouth as you continued rubbing him hearing him moan into Loki's mouth. the site alone making your pussy clench. They pulled apart, both looking down at you smiling making you shiver "she's beautiful isn't she?" Loki asked shifting to his knees hearing James hum. You felt Loki's hands move up your sides as he settled between your legs, spreading your thighs as he leaned down, his lips latching onto your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point making you arch your back, your chest pressing into his.
James leaned down, his tongue grazing your bottom lip before sliding in, tangling with yours as Loki nipped and sucked his way down, biting the swell of your breast making you gasp into James's mouth. James pulled back, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth before moving down biting down on your collarbone "g..god...James..." you panted, tangling your fingers through his hair feeling his lips travel down to your other breast. Your back arched up, your thighs squeezing Loki's sides feeling their mouths on your nipples, Loki nipping one as he sucked it between his lips, James swirling his tongue around the other before his lips latched onto it sucking hard. Loki lifted off with a pop, his warm tongue traveling down your stomach as he shifted, looping his arms around your legs, nipping your inner thigh as he moved closer to where you needed him...craved him.
"L..loki..." you panted, holding James's head to your breast, his large hand spreading across your stomach holding you down when you felt Loki's tongue press into your folds, licking from your entrance to your clit making you gasp. "Aaaahhh....f..fuck...." you moaned, feeling his tongue circle your clit before latching his lips around you sucking hard. You arched up, seeing stars behind your eyelids feeling James link his fingers with yours, pulling your hand down to Loki's head, your joined fingers tangling in his hair pulling Loki into you "aaahh....L..loki.....james.....i....." you moaned, words leaving you feeling Loki's teeth nip your clit while James sucked harder on your nipple, the pain mixed with pleasure making your toes curl when James pulled off your nipple with a loud pop.
"Open yours eyes love.." James purred, his other hand cradling the back of your head as your eyes met his, the warmth in your stomach beginning to spread. "Look....see how good he's being." James breathed, pulling you up to your elbows you looked down, watching Loki's curls bounce up and down with his head, your grip tightening watching him hollow his cheeks, his teeth grazing your clit as he sucked hard, his eyes shooting up to yours feeling him hum into you. "S..shit....i....im......" you panted, tilting your head back rocking your hips with Loki's mouth "are you gonna come love?" James whispered on your ear making you shiver, the coil in your stomach about to snap "come on love...let go...let him taste you." James continued as Loki flicked his tongue against you, feeling your walls clench as you came hard feeling Loki groan, his tongue slipping down to your entrance lapping you up as your thighs trembled in his grip.
Loki licked through your folds, riding you through your high as you lowered yourself to your back, your head spinning "there's our good girl." James purred, pushing your hair off your damp forehead. Loki placed a small kiss to your clit, sitting up he leaned over grabbing James's head "you have to taste her." Loki panted. You watched James's lips part as Loki's tongue dove lnto his mouth, their tongues swirling together hearing them both moan. "Mmm....God i....I need you..." you panted, your hand running up James's thigh "both of you..." you said, seeing them pull apart nipping eachothers lips "anything for you darling." Loki said, his hand spreading across your stomach looking at James "how do you want her?" Loki asked, his long fingers working to remove James's top as you sat up unlacing his pants "wherever she wants me." James breathed closing his eyes.
You finished stripping James of his leathers, facing Loki you climbed in between them pushing Loki back on his honches, lifting your leg over him straddling him, feeling his cock pressing to your inner thigh making you groan. You reached back pulling James to you, sighing with the feeling of being between them. You felt James's fingers slide between your thighs, coating his fingers in your juices as he kissed your shoulder "relax love." He whispered into your shoulder as his fingers traveled back to your tight ring, slowly circling around it before gently pressing a finger into making you gasp, lifting your hips slightly as he worked you. "That's it...let go..." James breathed, adding another finger to his knuckle.
"Are you ready love?" James asked, positioning himself behind you, rubbing his cock through your folds gathering your wetness "y..yes....goood.....yes....." you moaned, gripping Loki's shoulders feeling James's tip at your hole. "Deep breath, I'll go slow." James said, pressing you to Loki's chest as he began to inch into you, your nails digging into Loki's shoulders as James pulled out a bit before pushing in further. Loki captured your mouth in a deep kiss, his tongue licking your lip when you felt his fingers rub circles around you clit, moaning into his mouth you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him to you gasping as James bottomed out "aaah..f...fuck y/n..." James groaned biting your shoulder.
James held himself still as Loki lifted your hips slightly, angling his cock towards your entrance, his tip rubbing through your folds as he positioned himself. "Your so warm, so....wet..." Loki groaned, slowly pressing into you. "Aaahhh..f...fuck...." you gasped, your fingers digging into Loki's hair pulling hearing him hiss. "Almost there love....your taking us so well" James cooed in your ear licking your earlobe. "I...aahh.....I can't....." you breathed, your back tensing as Loki pushed further "yes you can darling...you can take it all." He gritted, thrusting all the way in knocking the breath out of you. "See, we knew you could do it." James purred, kissing your shoulder. They both held still, letting you adjust to them when loki slowly pumped his hips earning a moan.
"Are you ready darling?" Loki asked kissing your cheek "y..yes....move p...please..." you moaned, feeling Loki slowly pull out before pressing back in as James pulled his hips back. "H....holy fuck!" You yelled, throwing your head back onto James shoulder, feeling his hands reach up cupping your breasts, his thumbs grazing your nipples as Loki's teeth nipped your pulse point "mm...your s..so tight.." Loki moaned against your skin. You screwed your eyes shut, feeling them thrusting in and out in tandem, stretching you so perfectly. The noises they were making almost making you come right then. You opened your eyes, tilting your head seeing them kissing, Loki's tongue dominating James mouth as they fucked into you. You reached back, lacing your fingers into James's hair pulling him away from Loki, pressing your tongue into his mouth feeling Loki's tongue on your neck.
"I...I can feel you squeezing me y/n..are you going to come for us?" Loki growled, snapping his hips into making you cry out. "Y...yes.....fuck......yes!" You yelled, the coil in your stomach tightening as your walls gripped Loki "f...fuck...that's it y/n..." James moaned, thrusting his hips hard "o..oh....god fuck....." you cried out "h..harder..." you moaned as they pounded into you, Loki's fingers digging into your hips holding you down when your walls fluttered and clenched around Loki, coming hard around them screaming their names to the ceiling. Your head lulled forward into Loki's shoulder as they both chased their release, moaning feeling them both twitch inside you
"w...where do you...fuck...want it love?" James asked with a hard snap of his hips "i..in me...I need it..." you panted, wrapping your arms around Loki's neck you bit down on his shoulder as they both thrust into you, holding themselves there as their cocks pulsed inside you filling you full triggering another orgasm as you drug your nails across Loki's shoulders. "Fuck...darling you are exquisite." Loki panted, pressing his forehead to yours as he and James slowly rocked into riding you through your high. "You are perfect love." James cooed, placing a soft kiss on your neck as he slowly slid out of you. You nuzzled into Loki's neck hearing him laugh "is our girl tired?" He asked, brushing your hair from your face as you nodded keeping your eyes closed. "Come James, there's a bedroom upstairs." Loki said slowly pulling out of you hearing you whimper
"its OK darling, we're going to get you cleaned up." Loki said, hooking his arms under your legs he carried you upstairs, james slowly peeked into the room to make sure the curtains were closed before Loki carried you inside, gently laying you on the bed. James sat by your head, running his fingers through your hair when Loki came back with a damp cloth, genlty running it across your skin cleaning you up before pulling a blanket over you. "Your...not going to leave are you?" You murmured, eyes still closed hearing them laugh "no darling, we aren't going anywhere." Loki said settling in the bed behind you "we will never leave love." James cooed, laying down in front of you. They both scooted closer, pressing you between them, you lifted your head onto James chest nuzzling him feeling Loki press to your back, wrapping his arm around your middle as you grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers together.
"Get some rest, we have a long journey home at sundown." Loki said squeezing your hand. "I love you both, more then anything...ever." You breathed, sleep beginning to take you. "We love you too darling." Loki said kissing your shoulder "more then anything...ever." James finished, kissing the top of your head. You sighed feeling the loves of your life wrapped around you, knowing your were finally free....
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Honor~ Part 2/2 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)
᯽ Please note that this is an overall part 9 of the series “Growing Strong”, the masterlist of which can be found on my pinned post on my profile. tumblr hates me today and won’t let me post the link here. :( ᯽
᯽ Honor Part 1/2 can also be found on the series masterlist ᯽
Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader
Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, suggestive themes, violence, references to infidelity, mentions of blood
Summary: Honor was subjective; it meant different things to different people. That was one of the most difficult concepts you’d ever had to come to terms with, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t a lesson worth learning.
A/N: Some of you may hate me for this one, some of you might love me. Either way, the captain will go down with the ship😅 ... wait, that sounds so much worse than it is. I’ll just let you all read this now. You may throw tomatoes at me afterwards if you wish.
As always, thank you for your kind words and support🖤🖤🖤
Princess Rhaenyra summoned you to her chambers shortly after your husband and sons left for the training yard.
You’d been in the middle of reviewing some correspondence from Highgarden when the messenger relayed the notice to you. There were important business matters regarding a recent trade agreement that you wished you had the chance to see to- but you had no choice but to heed the Princess’s invitation.
You entered the Princess’s chambers quietly, coming to stand beside the wetnurse lingering by the doorway.
The Princess, looking remarkably better than she did the day before, but still by no means back to her normal self just yet, was sitting upon the plush sofa near the foot of her bed. Unsurprisingly, Prince Joffrey was in her arms.
Despite the silent entrance, Princess Rhaenyra noticed you immediately. “Lady Y/N.”
You curtseyed. “Your Grace.”
To the wetnurse, Princess Rhaenyra said, “Leave us, please.”
The woman did as instructed. Once the doors were shut, the room was quiet, save the mewlings of the babe.
When you received word that Princess Rhaenyra wished to speak with you, you had suspected that you were going to have a conversation of much import. And now that the two of you were completely alone- save Prince Joffrey, of course- you knew with absolute certainty that that was to be the case.
The tension in the room was thick.
“Won’t you sit?”
Wordlessly, you did as she bid. You lightly sat down beside her, mindful of the distance between you. You did not allow yourself to get too comfortable; you wanted to be prepared to rise to your feet at a moment’s notice. Though you could feel the Princess’s eyes on you, you did not look at her until she compelled you to do so.
“Y/N.”
When you looked up at Princess Rhaenyra, your immediate reaction was to feel sympathy for her. You could tell by the way her face twitched ever so slightly now and then that she was still in a considerable amount of pain. You could empathize with her in that regard. She looked tired; circles under her eyes indicated that, even if the pain had subsided enough to allow her to rest over the course of the night, she had not been able to do so.
“As we are alone,” the Princess began knowingly, “I thought we might be able to speak plainly to one another… If you are agreeable to it, that is.”
“If that is your wish, Your Grace.”
“Y/N-”
“Yes… Rhaenyra,” you corrected yourself. The informality of it all felt quite foreign to your tongue.
The Princess smirked at your uncomfortableness. But you could tell by the look in her eyes that she had meant no ill-will by it. She adjusted the babe in her arms and carefully tucked him closer to her. Then, she sat up straighter. You noticed the pain on her face as she did so.
And it was then that you realized, with undeniable relief, that Princess Rhaenyra had truly come to the table. You were finally going to have a conversation that had been brewing for years. A conversation that ought to have been had the day that Prince Jacaerys had been born.
The two of you could have discussed this matter anywhere else, but that was only if she had wanted a discussion to be had at all. Princess Rhaenyra was the Princess, the Heir to the Iron Throne. And you- you had come such a long way since you had first come into her service as a girl. You were the Lady of Highgarden now, the ruling member of House Tyrell, and had earned the same amount of respect as the lords of the other great houses in Seven Kingdoms were due. But, in the eyes of Westeros, you were not Princess Rhaenyra’s equal. You never would be.
But here, in the Princess’s chambers, where she had taken the initiative to invite you to speak with her privately, it certainly did not feel that way. When the two of you were able to be alone, the pair of you were comfortable enough to see past the titles, proprietorial demands, and societal expectations. And it was in that moment that you were so clearly reminded of what was at the very core of your relationship.
A genuine friendship.
It was this friendship that had encouraged Princess Rhaenyra to speak with you. And it was this friendship that you hoped to salvage through the conversation you were about to partake in.
“For over ten years now, you have remained loyal to me,” she recounted seriously.
“I only serve at your leisure, Your Grace.”
“It is more than that, Y/N, and you know it,” Princess Rhaenyra disagreed heartily. “We have shared confidence and supported one another for years. I have found that there are few I can trust around my sons, but you and your family are among them. I hope our sons might continue to enjoy spending time with each other; if your sons are anything like their mother, I know they shall be loyal companions to my own… And you have proven to be such a true friend.”
You smiled poignantly. “As you are mine, Princess. You honor me, and my children, with your kind words.”
“You are my friend, and yet… I have not treated you as one.”
A beat of silence.
Princess Rhaenyra’s eyes scanned around the room thoroughly, despite that you were both certain that not a single person was around to overhear your conversation. It was a cautionary habit to reinforce privacy and security; a necessity of living in a castle where the walls had ears.
“I know of the vicious tales spun by my enemies,” she acknowledged in a low voice, her eyes snapping back to yours with vigor. “I know they question the parentage of my sons. And you are no fool… I am certain that you have heard these tales as well.”
You said nothing; your silence was an adequate answer.
“I consider Ser Harwin to be a close confidant of mine, as you are,” Princess Rhaenyra confessed. “But, I swear to you, Y/N- I have never, and would never, betray our friendship in the manner that these vile accusations suggest.”
You nodded earnestly in response to her vehement words, and whispered, “I know, Your Grace.”
There had never been any doubt in your mind; despite what all the wicked rumors insinuated, Harwin was not the father of Jacaerys, Lucerys, nor Joffrey.
Harwin was an easy man to read, and he had always worn his heart on his sleeve. Had he ever begun to pull away from you, emotionally or romantically, you would have felt it, you would have realized. But Harwin remained as faithful, devoted, and loving to you as he had since the truth of his feelings for you had first come to light, some ten years ago.
Ser Laenor’s relation to Princess Rhaenyra’s sons might be questioned… But not your husband’s.
“A good friend does not bring embarrassment upon the other. But I have caused you to feel and carry the weight of shame that is not yours to bear,” Princess Rhaenyra admitted, uncharacteristically timid by her guilt. “Though we know the truth of this matter, I can not compel others to see reason. And for this, I am truly, deeply sorry… If I had known what frequently inviting you and your family back to Court over these past ten years would mean for all of us…”
Though Harwin was not the father of Princess Rhaenyra’s children, he had unintentionally given the Princess’s enemies significant cause to believe otherwise. And, in a way, you could admit that perhaps you had, too.
Though you were committed to serving the Reach, whenever Princess Rhaenyra requested you to visit King’s Landing, you, and Harwin, abided. Princess Rhaenyra and you were close; this was common knowledge to all among the Red Keep. And wherever you were, your husband was never too far away. In addition to this, Harwin had a friendship with Princess Rhaenyra, too. After your respective children were born, it was only natural that all four boys had become close companions. Harwin was a caring man; he'd noticed the lack of paternal interest on Ser Laenor’s behalf early on in Prince Jacaerys’ and Prince Lucerys’ lives. The Princes’ needed fatherly guidance, and Harwin had stepped into that role before any one of you realized what doing so might look like to others at Court.
“The truth of the situation is… complicated, Your Grace,” you agreed.
“The truth is complicated,” Princess Rhaenyra acquiesced hesitantly.
The truth was extremely complicated, for, in a sense, Prince Jacaerys, Prince Lucerys, and now, Prince Joffrey, had three fathers. Their legal father, Ser Laenor Velaryon. Their rumored father, Ser Harwin Strong. And their true father.
You dared to ask, “Does he know?”
Princess Rhaenyra looked at you wearily. Still, she answered, “I believe so.”
Ser Royce Baratheon.
There were always trade matters between the Crown and House Baratheon to be discussed. A friendship between Ser Royce and Princess Rhaenyra had been inevitable, ever since the two struck each other’s fancy at the tourney for Princess Helaena’s second name day celebration. Storm’s End was less than a day’s ride away on dragonback, after all.
The truth of the parentage of the Princess’s sons, which her enemies so desperately sought, was right under their noses the entire time. But those at Court never saw it.
They only ever saw you, and more importantly, your husband, frequently present around Princess Rhaenyra over the years. They did not focus on the fact that, aside from the lack of Targaryen silver hair and violet eyes, the physical similarities between the Princess’s sons and Harwin ended there. They wanted to focus on the fact that, despite any presumed duty he may have owed them, Harwin readily took those boys under his wing, mentoring and treating them almost as if they truly were his own sons. They refused to understand that the reason that your sons were so amicable was because they were all around the same age, and had been growing up together for significant portions of their lives. However, they had a far easier time understanding such a close connection if the boys were true brothers.
Whether or not Ser Royce knew about his children through the Princess, it was undeniable that he was more than well aware of their intimacy. But none of that mattered. Ser Royce, now the Heir to Storm’s End after the passing of his grandsire, Lord Boremund, the year before, would become the rightful lord after his father’s passing. It was a miracle that a marriage had not been arranged for him yet. And though he might have been able to admit to fathering illegitimate children, specifically sons, through any other woman, Princess Rhaenyra was not just any woman.
Ser Royce would never claim the Princes.
Ser Laenor would never disinherit his wife’s children, even if he didn’t always take care to play the role of their father.
And Harwin would never leave those poor boys without the fatherly figure they so desperately yearned for.
“As much as I detest the very thought of it, I have come to realize that I am powerless to do anything but continue to denounce these wicked rumors, and reiterate the legitimacy of my sons,” Princess Rhaenyra proclaimed. The way her voice wavered was terribly out of character for her, but that only reinforced her sincerity. “But even so, I know that will not be enough to placate my enemies. And as a result, you, your children, and your husband will still be victims of the webs those spiders weave.”
You had sworn an oath to the Princess, in front of her, King Viserys, and the rest of the Court. Despite her infidelity, you would not sully your own honor by breaking that oath. No matter how much it pained you, you would not turn against Princess Rhaenyra in order to save yourself in the eyes of those who conspired against her. You would not counter the cruel rumors by allowing the truth of her sons’ parentage to be known. Not when the very life of your friend, and those of her children, depended on it.
Let the Princess’s enemies assume your husband was the father of her children. You would resign yourself to your assumed shame. Princess Rhaenyra was right; it was not your shame to bear, but you would do so anyway. The perceived truth of the princes' parentage was dangerous enough; the real truth would be deadly.
Despite your resolve and acceptance of the situation, tears began to well in your eyes. Truthfully, you said, “I appreciate you coming to that of my husband's defense, Your Grace... And I bear no ill will towards you for the false tales your enemies spin.”
The look that flashed across Princess Rhaenyra’s face was a conflicted one. At first she smiled; she felt relief. But then, the smile fell. And sadness, mirroring your own, reflected in tears that begin to well in her own eyes.
“And I appreciate your loyalty, now, more than ever before,” she vowed. “And still, I am completely aware that it is not fair for you or your husband to carry such a heavy burden as a direct result of mine and Ser Laenor’s actions… or, inactions, rather.”
Princess Rhaenyra removed one hand from the hold she had on her son, and firmly grabbed your hand closest to her. When she did so, her eyes locked with your own. The grip she had on your fingers tightened.
“Though it is not today, there shall be a time when I will be able to properly compensate you for your unyielding support. Y/N, I swear to you, by the old gods and the new, that when that day comes, I will not hesitate to do so.”
What Princess Rhaenyra would offer you, and Harwin, in exchange for your silence was beyond your wildest imagination. But, as she was still clinging on to your hand so tightly, you decided it was best to simply agree.
You nodded understandingly. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
As if to seal the deal, and confirm that you had reached a new understanding with the woman you had once been in the service of, her newborn son cooed happily.
A few watery laughs escaped the two of you. The tension in the room dissipated; you could feel a sense of contentment, which you had not known in some time, began to creep back into your heart.
“Would you like to hold him?” the Princess offered suddenly, nodding down towards the Prince.
As a way of an answer, you did not hesitate to reach out. The Princess placed the babe in your arms gently, and once he was settled, you couldn’t help but marvel at him.
He was rather adorable.
Princess Rhaenyra watched with a content look on her face as you lightly rocked the young prince. “Perhaps, one day, the gods might bless one of us with a daughter… Of all the lords and ladies to share grandchildren with, I believe you and Ser Harwin would be some of the most agreeable candidates.”
You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of that. “That would be the highest of honors, Princess.”
By the time Harwin reached the training yard, the Princes’ training had already begun. He surveyed the yard briefly.
First, he spotted your sons. Thankfully, Derrik and Selwin were doing exactly as they’d been instructed to do, standing nearby on the far periphery of the yard. They were close enough to bear witness reasonably well to what was going on, but far enough away to hopefully avoid the temptation of getting involved before it was permissible to do so. Harwin headed over in their direction.
As Harwin headed over to your sons, his eyes then wandered across the training yard, where he immediately spotted King Viserys on the balcony across the way. It was not an unusual sight; the King often took joy in overseeing his sons and grandsons in their learning. A delighted smile was plastered on his face as he made a visibly spirited comment to Harwin’s father, the Lord Hand Lyonel Strong, who was standing beside him and watching the events unfold as well.
Derrik and Selwin looked up at him intriguingly as he approached.
“Now lads, remember, you are to stay here until the Princes are excused,” he instructed the boys under his breath, so as not to disturb the training in progress. Harwin glanced across the yard once more, immediately locking eyes with his father. The look Lord Lyonel gave his eldest son was one of caution.
Harwin tore his eyes away and looked back down at your sons. Derrik looked receptive to his instructions, but Selwin looked a bit antsy. He reminded them, “Your grandsire is watching. Please- stay put.”
“Yes Father,” Derrik agreed, while Selwin nodded reluctantly.
Harwin knew your sons were anxious to train for the day, but there was something to be said for patience, and from watching and learning what to do from others.
As well as learning what not to do.
Harwin tactfully chose to not acknowledge when Prince Aegon, who had just turned away from his attack of one of the straw stuffed training dummies, made some bluntly lustful eyes at some handmaidens who passed through the yard.
Ser Criston Cole- whom Harwin still believed ought to have been stripped of his position in the King’s Guard following his atrocious behavior and murder of a guest at Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding celebration a decade before- was half-heartedly giving the four Princes instructions as the young boys hacked away at the straw dummies.
When Aegon subconsciously conveyed he’d gotten too comfortable with the level of difficulty of the instruction, the knight decided to challenge both of the Queen’s sons- Aegon, and the Prince Aemond- to take him on at the same exact time. Harwin internally rooted for the princes; in his opinion, Ser Criston was long past due for being put in his place.
Unfortunately, Ser Criston had both time and experience advantage on the Princelings, and they proved to be of little match to him.
Harwin’s eyes then drifted over to the Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys, who were standing and watching the sparring match. To their credit, they were trying to pay attention to the sparring match before them, but with boys at that age, including the likes of his own sons, Harwin was inclined to believe that more hands-on instruction would be more beneficial to their learning.
A bout of pity struck him when he watched the Princes standing by, waiting for instruction, and more importantly, attention, from their instructor. But, like the boys themselves, Criston seemed far more entertained when he was able to partake in the training with his own hands. His favoritism for the Queen’s sons was blatant; but it seemed that he was one of the few willing to recognize it.
It was at that moment that Harwin was reminded of the difficult position he had put himself in.
Had Ser Laenor bothered to reevaluate his priorities at any point throughout his marriage to Princess Rhaenyra, Harwin might not have even felt compelled to oversee the Princes’ training. Ser Laenor was not cruel to his sons, but neither was he invested in them. It was a concept that Harwin would never be able to comprehend. He had only ever wanted what was best for Derrik and Selwin; surely the Princess’s sons were owed no less. Especially when one of them was to be the King of the Seven Kingdoms one day.
But Harwin was no fool; he had his all but confirmed theories as to why Ser Laenor was less hands-on with the Princes’ education than Harwin was with his own sons’. He knew of the cruel rumors that swelled about the Red Keep, the vicious words only ever seemed to grow in volume and malice with each passing year and visit your family made to King’s Landing.
Perhaps Ser Laenor truly was the Princes’ father. There was the proclivity for dark hair on Ser Laenor’s side of the family, through his mother, the Princess Rhaenys. Then again, maybe he wasn’t. Harwin did not know the full extent of it, but he was aware of the existence of an old friendship between the Princess and the now Heir of Storm’s End...
But regardless of whoever the Princes’ true father was, Harwin knew that, beyond a doubt, it was not him.
At one point, he was inclined to encourage the four of you to confine yourselves in the Reach; the rumors of the Princes’ parentage were not likely to take on lives of their own without him physically present in the capital. But, whenever Princess Rhaenyra beckoned you for a visit, you did not want to deny her. And Harwin did not have the heart to deny you.
It troubled him, knowing what the Princess’s enemies thought about him and the nature of his relationship with that of the Princess Rhaenyra and her sons. And it absolutely pained him at the thought of what those gossips implied about you. Yes, Harwin had more than willingly chosen to mentor Princess Rhaenyra’s sons; but if he had known what strife that decision would have caused you years later, he would have refrained from doing so entirely.
But it was too late now. At least he knew the truth of it. And he prayed to the gods every day that you did, too.
“Ah,” Harwin called over to the Princelings, who were still standing idly by and merely watching as Ser Criston’s focus was solely on that of the Queen’s sons. He encouraged them, “Weapons up, boys. Give your enemies no quarter.”
At this, Ser Criston whipped his head over in his direction. But Harwin stood steadfast, his facial expression firm, his body unwavering under the eyes of anyone, much less the likes of someone as Ser Criston Cole.
“It seems the younger boys could do better with a bit of your attention, Ser Criston.”
The other man narrowed his eyes at him briefly, before looking off into the distance with a blank look and locking his jaw. “You question the method of my instruction, ser?”
“Oh, I merely suggest that method be applied to all your pupils,” Harwin countered pointedly.
All four boys slowly filed into a line, awaiting their next instruction. Aemond glanced around the yard, immediately taking note of Derrik and Selwin, who were still standing nearby.
“Look,” the Queen’s second son directed quietly, nudging Prince Jacaerys as he did so. “Looks like we have an audience… seems that your brothers have come to take a lesson or two.”
The other prince glared at him. He demanded, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Brothers in arms,” Prince Aemond clarified swiftly, though he was neither apologetic or afraid.
“Why does he keep saying things like that?” Selwin wondered quietly, looking up at his older brother for an answer.
Derrik’s focus was still on Prince Aemond, giving him a hard look across the yard. Without looking his brother, he replied, “‘Tis nothing to concern yourself with, Sel. A poor joke, is all it is.”
Meanwhile, neither Harwin nor Ser Criston had overheard the exchange, and the latter had devised a quick scheme.
“Very well,” Ser Criston conceded to Harwin’s suggestion. He approached the boys calmly. “Jacaerys?... Come here.” He abruptly yanked the boy in reference out of the line and tugging him roughly across the yard. “You spar with Aegon… Eldest son against eldest son.”
Derrik and Selwin whispered among themselves in protest to the suggestion, but they quieted themselves when Harwin gave them a pleading look. It would not do, for anyone’s sake, for his own sons to intervene at this particular moment.
Then, Harwin rolled his eyes at Ser Criston’s little ploy, not bothering to hide the gesture from the other man at all. Ser Criston had once been Princess Rhaenyra’s sworn shield. Following a discretion unbeknownst to Harwin, the member of the King’s Guard had decided to remove himself from the Princess’s post. It was extremely inappropriate for him to relay any malice towards Princess Rhaenyra through the means of endangering her eldest son.
Aegon had the years and height advantage over Jacaerys. It was folly. He argued, “It’s hardly a fair match.”
“I know you’ve never seen true battle, ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn’t something anyone should expect,” Criston retorted.
Harwin bit his tongue.
“Blades up,” Criston ordered the boys a moment later. The boys did as instructed. “... Engage.”
Harwin had no choice but to watch as Aegon advanced upon his nephew. Prince Jacaerys was unceremoniously knocked to the ground, and the Queen’s eldest son snickered to himself at his brief apparent victory. To his credit, Jacaerys scrambled up and off the ground swiftly, and caught Aegon off guard when he attacked him with enraged vigor. Harwin watched him with amusement, and perhaps the smallest bit of pride. Jacaerys was every bit as fierce as Princess Rhaenyra, that much was beyond dispute.
Only when did Aegon knock a training dummy down and upon the younger boy did Harwin jump in to intervene. Shooting a disapproving look at Cole, he declared, “Foul play!”
“I’ll deal with him,” Criston snipped, grabbing and pulling Aegon aside.
Prince Jacaerys looked up at Harwin expectantly, eagerly awaiting his guidance.
“Aim for his chest, not his eyes,” Harwin advised the boy quietly, but encouragingly. “And you’ll have him.”
The boy smiled at the thought of besting his uncle, and nodded in understanding to the instruction. He then looked to his brother Lucerys, and then Derrik and Selwin, all of whom gave him reassuring looks.
“You!”
Not but a moment later, Aegon was descending upon the Princess’s eldest son once more. Prince Jacaerys did his best to block the oncoming blows, but the older Prince’s blind rage, fueled by his wounded pride, only proved to be an additional advantage for him.
Too soon, Jacaerys was knocked to the ground, helpless to his uncle’s furious onslaught.
The completely insufferable Ser Criston did nothing but continue to shout instruction for Aegon to further torture the pooy boy. “Don’t let him get up! Stay on the attack!”
Harwin could only watch for so long before he felt the need to intervene once more.
“Enough!” he bellowed, yanking off the oldest prince before he managed to strike a blow to Jacaerys’ head.
Aegon fell to the dirt gruffly. After an initial moment of shock, emphasized by his dropped jaw, he rapidly scrambled to find his footing. “You dare put your hands on me?!”
“Aegon!” the King chided him disapprovingly.
“You forget yourself, Strong,” Criston declared. “That is the Prince.”
“This is what you teach, Cole?” Harwin demanded in disgust, retrieving the abandoned training swords. “Cruelty, to the weaker opponent?”
Prince Jacaerys was just a boy. And, as far as Harwin was concerned, Criston was a fully grown man, with a seemingly personal vendetta against his mother.
“I see that your own boys are present, Strong,” Criston noted nonchalantly.
Harwin paused for a minute, feeling the protectiveness of your sons already creeping to the precipice of his composure. He glanced at Derrik and Selwin. The boys were still where they were, but they were leaning forward, practically jumping at the chance to leap in at a moment's notice. Harwin shook his head at them subtly, hoping it would discourage them from giving in to the temptation.
“I thought your focus might be on them, rather than that of the other boys,” Criston continued. “…Your interest in the Princeling’s training is rather unusual, Commander.”
Harwin stayed focused on picking up the wooden swords, fighting the urge to appease the disgruntled knight by indulging him with a response.
“Most men would have only that kind of devotion toward a cousin… or a brother…”
Harwin rose to his feet.
“... Or a son.”
Harwin had been forced to silently endure years of insults not only to his honor, but to yours, and your family. Not to mention that of Princess Rhaenyra and the Princes. It’d been the only thing he could think of to keep you all safe.
But he’d be damned if he let pretentious scum like Ser Criston Cole get away with his snide little comments any longer.
And so… Breakbones broke.
Harwin whirled around, tackling Ser Criston to the ground without a thought.
“Get him, Father!” Selwin shouted, too young to have an understanding of the great error his father had just made.
Derrik shushed him worriedly before looking over at their grandsire, who was watching with utter dismay as the scene unfolded.
Harwin reigned severe blows upon Ser Criston easily. The other man was either unable or unwilling to fight back. But he didn’t care. Harwin didn’t bother to hold his punches, either; he’d been nicknamed Breakbones for a reason, and he intended to live up to that name.
In hindsight, Harwin wished it’d been another. But in the moment, he was more than happy to be the one to finally serve Ser Criston Cole his due.
Even when blood appeared on Ser Criston’s face, Harwin was not deterred. He couldn’t bring himself to stop. He couldn’t think about the frightened boys watching their altercation, nor the confusion of the King, nor the pure horror that was likely to be upon his father’s face. Years of pent up anger and shame had culminated into this single moment.
Not even when members of the King’s Guard began to rush and attempt to remove him did Harwin relent. In fact, it only encouraged him more.
In the end, it took four of them to properly restrain him.
“Say it again!” Harwin spat venomously at Ser Criston, who was still lying upon the ground. The other man did not move much, but Harwin could see the faint outline of a smirk on his lips.
Bastard.
“Say it again!”
You were still sitting with Princess Rhaenyra still when a handmaiden interrupted you.
“Princess, Lady Y/N… There’s been an incident in the yard.”
“Is it the Princes?” Princess Rhaenyra demanded worriedly, her grip on Prince Joffrey tightening in fear.
“No, Your Grace.”
You were on your feet at once, fearing for your own boys’ safety. “Is it my sons?”
The handmaiden shook her head slowly. She glanced between you and Princess Rhaenyra apprehensively as she whispered, “... It’s the Lord Commander.”
“It fills me with unrelenting shame…”
“So that’s what this is about, then? Your shame?”
“Our shame, Harwin! Shame on the whole of House Strong!”
“Because I laid my hands on that insufferable Cole? The son of a Steward?!”
“He is a Knight of the Kingsguard now-“
“He assailed Prince Jacaerys-”
“-a defender of the crown-”
“-the future heir the throne-”
A loud clattering was heard as something metal fell to the floor. You bit your lip to prevent the surprised gasp that nearly slipped from your mouth.
The secret passages that ran through and beneath the Red Keep were extremely beneficial, particularly in times of war. Princess Rhaenyra directed you to them swiftly, arming you with directions as to where you needed to go. The walk through the passages was very unnerving; it was dark, cold, and pools of water and mud littered the stone beneath your feet. It was not a time of war, but you were thankful for the passages regardless.
They allowed you to make your way over to the Tower of the Hand completely undetected, where your Good Father had reportedly dragged your husband off to following the incident in the training yard.
In all the years you’d known him, you had never heard Lord Lyonel Strong so angry. While he had the tendency to be soft-spoken, his words always carried more weight than the manner in which they were delivered. But this…
Though you could not see him, you could easily imagine the enraged look upon Lord Lyonel’s face as you waited on the staircase below, out of sight. You tried to imagine Harwin’s face, but you felt the pangs of distress every time you did so.
The Lord Hand sighed heavily, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before addressing his eldest son once more. “You have laid us open to accusations of an uglier treachery.”
“And what treachery is that?” Harwin challenged swiftly.
“Don’t play the fool with me, boy,” his father warned him threateningly. “Your intimacy with the Princess Rhaenyra is an offense that would mean exile and death… For you, for her, for the children!”
“It is rumor, only… spun by the Princess’s rivals.”
Harwin denied the accusation, though his dejectedness resulted in his tone lacking the conviction it desperately needed in order to be entirely convincing.
“People have eyes, boy. Yet, His Grace the King, it seems, will not accept what his eyes see. This flimsy shield alone stands between you and the headsman- the willful blindness of a father towards his child.”
“I wish my father affected a similar blindness.”
Your heart wrenched at the sound of the raw hurt that was evident in your husband’s voice.
“Have I not, these many years?!And yet today, you publicly assaulted a Knight of the Kingsugard in the defense of your...”
The moment of silence that followed in the wake of the Lord Hand’s near slip was so loud, you thought the two men might actually be able to hear your heart’s panicky beating beneath your chest.
“You have your honor, and I have mine,” Harwin asserted, half-heartedly.
“You wish to talk about honor?” Lord Lyonel confronted. “What of your wife’s honor? What of that of your trueborn sons?!”
More silence.
The next time he spoke, the Lord Hand’s voice was so quiet, you nearly had to strain yourself in order to properly discern his words.
“I fail to understand why Y/N chooses to remain by your side all these years, despite your heinous transgressions against her, against your marriage… Does she offer a blind eye as well, or is it simply apathy?”
“My lady wife puts no credit in the wicked rumors that target Princess Rhaenyra.”
“A foolish mistake, if not a grave one. What will become of her, of Derrik, of Selwin, if you continue on this way? When they drag you off to put your head to the sword, do you think the blood lust will end there?”
Your jaw clenched as the frightening images began to paint a horrid picture in your mind.
“When they go through you, the Princess Rhaenyra, and then her sons, do you think the call for heads will end there? … Or will they remember this? Will they remember that your wife has stayed by your side ever so faithfully, in spite of her own closeness with Princess Rhaenyra? My poor boy… I know not what they’d do to Y/N, but I can promise you this: you would not wish the extent of her involvement to ever be questioned.”
It was a gross suggestion- that you’d be not just knowledgeable, but complicit in your husband’s supposed affair with Princess Rhaenyra. But the thought had your gut sinking with dread; the point Lord Lyonel was attempting to convey was a solid one. An argument that your enemies could put weight into.
Harwin was silent. You wanted nothing more than to see his face, to try and determine what he was thinking, feeling- but you had to be patient.
“I cannot forbid you from acting as you see fit,” Lord Lyonel acknowledged defeatedly. “But I refuse to stand by as you willfully put the lives of your wife and my grandsons at stake as well. You must all leave King’s Landing.”
“You would send us back to Highgarden, over some mere courtly gossip? You would send your grandsons away so swiftly, just to appease the vultures?!”
“I would have my grandsons live enough years to surpass my age!”
The implication behind the Lord Hand’s words lingered heavily in the room.
“This is not up for discussion, Harwin,” he concluded tiredly. “I must go to the King now. I expect he will have some choice words for me. Do take care to clean yourself up before Y/N hears of this… Since you were courteous enough to carry out your assault in front of an entire audience of witnesses, I suspect it will not be long she does.”
For a few moments, only the soft footsteps of Lord Lyonel’s retreating steps could be heard, followed by the closing of a door. Once the door was shut, more loud clanging erupted alongside an angry shout, as Harwin presumably threw something across the room.
You took a deep breath and ascended the rest of the stairs. To confirm your suspicions, a bowl was pittering and settling near your feet, while various fruits rolled and splattered across the stone floor.
Harwin’s back was to you. His back and shoulders rose and fell steeply with every deep breath he took.
“Harwin.”
He turned around slowly to face you. He was still wearing the armor he’d been wearing that morning, but it was no longer clean, as was how he usually kept it. Instead, it was spattered with blotches of angry red. You could only assume what the residue was.
When Harwin’s eyes met yours, all the anger and frustration in them faded at once, immediately replaced with sadness and regret.
“What happened?” you coaxed him softly.
Harwin looked at you sorrowfully for a moment, before bowing and shaking his head.
You crossed the room in long strides, reaching him in an almost impossibly short amount of time. When you did, you took his hands in your own. “Look at me, Dearest,” you plead. He finally did as you bid, but you suspected it was only after the use of the pet name was he convinced to do so. You squeezed his hands tightly, imploringly. “What happened?”
“Cole,” he huffed. “He made a comment about the Princes and I…” Harwin took another deep breath to steady himself. Timidly, he confessed, “I wanted to kill him, Y/N.”
Based on the conversation you’d overheard, you didn’t have to ask what the comment might have been about.
You placed one hand on the side of Harwin’s face comfortingly. Tears began to well in your eyes as the consequences of your husband’s actions began to register in your mind. Before, the Prince’s suspected parentage had been nothing but speculative rumors. But now, since Harwin had reaffirmed the snakes’ suspicions with a supposed physical outburst against Ser Criston Cole, it was no longer speculative. It was supported, and by evidence Harwin had unwittingly served up on a silver platter.
Harwin’s eyes fell to the floor. “My father wants to talk about shame on our House… But I don’t care for all that. I have shamed you, and for that, I will never forgive myself.”
“Whatever do you mean, Dearest?”
“More than ten years past, on a night I can still remember very warmly, I vowed that I would be yours, and you would be mine. From that day, until the end of our days.”
Your cheeks warmed; you recalled that night very well. “Yes, that was our vow.”
“It is hard for me to remember what my life was like before you, but I know I never wish to be familiar with such a state again. You are the calm that soothes the storms that cloud my mind. You are a light amongst the darkness that bids me to follow, in the hope that doing so might make me a man more worthy of standing beside you. I cannot bear the thought of ever losing you. I would anguish not only for my fate, but at the thought of you having to face this cruel world alone.”
His words were deeply moving. But you were rapidly growing concerned as to why he had suddenly deemed them necessary.
“I have never, ever broken the vow I made to you,” he asserted firmly. “I love you.”
“As I love you,” you returned with great ease, your other hand reaching up as well. You cradled his face, silently begging Harwin to look at you, but he would not. Not yet. “Tell me- what is all this about?”
“Those boys are not mine.”
…
The Princes?
“Of course they’re not,” you confirmed, taken aback.
“Even if I could force myself to commit such a treachery against you, I would never do so with someone as dear to you as the Princess.” Harwin’s face visibly twisted at the thought. “My Love- I have never, and would never, lay with Princess Rhaenyra.”
“I know that, Dearest,” you assured him sincerely, pressing your palms to the side of his face firmer. “I’ve always known that to be true.”
Harwin’s eyes finally met your own once more. The tears you saw unshed in his eyes only furthered your own. “I thought you knew, but as of late… I was not so certain anymore.
You frowned, slightly disappointed in yourself. “I will admit, those damned whispers have begun to gnaw away at me more and more… But I am truly sorry if you have ever thought I doubted you in this.”
“It is I who should apologize,” Harwin disagreed.
He attempted to pull away from you. You refused, and your hands moved to wrap around the back of his neck in an effort to lock him in place. Harwin paused, and upon seeing the determined look on your face, ceased his efforts.
“I have not laid with the Princess,” he reiterated. “But they all think I have. And my past actions have done nothing but encourage those foul rumors. Seven Hells- my actions today have all but confirmed them. And all because I took it upon myself to care about sons who aren’t even my own-”
You shushed him. “Stop,” you pleaded. “You have offered those boys guidance that they’ve needed, and gave them attention that their own father has failed to provide. You did what you thought was right, what you thought was honorable by Jace and Luke.”
Honor was a heavy subject among House Strong, whose words were, “Strength from Honor.” Harwin might not have always felt it, but you’d always known him to be one of the most honorable men you knew.
“You have a big heart, Dearest,” you told him sweetly, and proudly. “But I would never fault you for that.”
Harwin looked at you hesitantly, as if he was trying to determine the seriousness of your words. You hope you gave him no cause to doubt you- for there was none.
Eventually, Harwin must have been reassured, for he lowered his head and buried his face into the side of your neck. His arms wrapped around your middle, clutching you to him with little reprieve. You could tell he did not put quite his full weight into the embrace, though you could still feel a great deal of it. You didn’t care in the slightest; one hand traveled upwards to run soothing fingers through his disheveled curls.
“The gods blessed me the day you deemed me worthy of your affection,” he decided bittersweetly, his words muffled. “And I shall never be able to repay them.”
“You were blessed?” Despite the intensity of the moment, you let out a soft laugh. “If you truly think I would have been able to stay as strong as I have all these years without your unyielding support, my Lord Husband, I would be inclined to question whether that insufferable Cole might have actually landed a blow to your head.”
“... Forgive me, My Love, but I do not wish to speak of that pompous prick at this moment.”
“I know.”
Harwin withdrew his face from your neck, but he did not go far. Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours, your noses brushing with the movement as the two of you settled comfortably.
“I know you care for the Princes,” you acknowledged. Your voice was barely above a whisper, as there was no need for more. “But the Lord Hand is right. We must leave- you, me, Derrik, and Selwin. We cannot stay in King’s Landing.”
“You heard my father, then? He is convinced that-”
“I know. And for that, I am truly, truly sorry.”
The true parentage of the Princess’s sons had to be kept a closely guarded secret. Unfortunately, that meant that if the Lord Hand was inclined to believe the rumors- and why should he not?- there was nothing either of you could do to dissuade him, except continue to denounce them. It often felt like a trifling, futile effort. Ser Laenor might not have been a visibly viable option for fathering Princess Rhaenyra’s sons, but none of you could produce their true father for explanation, either.
It was almost cruel. For how much weight House Strong put on the notion of honor, Lord Lyonel was likely to believe that his eldest son and heir had committed one of the most dishonorable deeds imaginable until his last breath.
“He says I am likely to be stripped of my post as Commander-“
That was news you did not know of, but which was also not unexpected.
“-but I can talk my father out of forcing us away,” Harwin proposed. “I can explain to him why we cannot leave-”
“No.”
“I can tell him that Princess Rhaenyra needs you-”
“I would rather never see Princess Rhaenyra again then stay here in King’s Landing forever and watch as they take you away to the headsman,” you declared vehemently. You forced him to look at you as you attempted to convey the seriousness of your conviction on the matter. “Harwin… It is too dangerous. We must leave.”
Intentionally or not, Harwin had placed himself, and by extension, you and your sons, in a terribly threatening situation. Your loyalty was not one taken lightly. But if you were forced to choose between your loyalty to Princess Rhaenyra and the safety of your husband and sons, your heart knew the answer.
Fortunately, Harwin seemed to be in agreement with you on the subject. Once he realized how dire the situation was, he had no more energy to fight the inevitable conclusion. He would do anything to keep you, and your sons, safe.
Harwin admitted defeatedly, “I suspect my father will suggest we go to Harrenhal. He has mentioned more and more frequently that he feels it is time for me to learn how to properly rule the family seat.”
You hadn’t been to Harrenhal in years. There’d been too many reasons to stay in the Reach, whenever you weren’t in King’s Landing, that was.
“Harrenhal,” you echoed, feigning deliberation of the idea. “... Seems like a far better destination than the black cells, don’t you think?”
Or worse.
Harwin pulled one of your hands from the back of his neck, and kissed your palm tenderly. He looked down at you with hopeful eyes as he asked, “Will you go with me, then? You will not flee back to Highgarden?”
Highgarden could wait, if only for a little longer. “Do you remember any other words you also said on that night, all those years ago?”
Harwin blinked. It was obvious he did not recall.
But you remembered the words very well. You’d replayed them in your mind many times over the years, particularly in moments of doubt.
“You told me, ‘nothing, save your command, would ever part me from you.’”
Harwin’s eyes lit up with remembrance.
“We will need to think of how to explain this to Derrik and Selwin,” you realized out loud, you mind already shifting to your next plan of action. “Perhaps it is best if we-”
You gasped in surprise when Harwin’s lips crashed upon yours with sudden fervor.
It was glaringly obvious that the distance and strain you had felt between the two of you since your most recent arrival in King’s Landing had faded. The fire behind your husband’s actions was a familiar one. It was most welcomed, as your heart desperately sought soothing from the recent pains.
It took only a moment for you to close your eyes and willingly allow yourself to succumb to the comfort of your husband’s affections once more.
A/N: Off to Harrenhal we go!😁 i’m sure nothing sinister is waiting for them there...
I am sorry if some of you are disappointed by this decision. I just couldn’t make Harwin do that to Miss Tyrell. But I think it’s pretty imperative to the rest of the story that the concept of the “Strong” boys still exists, so this was my compromise for that.
I hope you all have a great weekend!🖤🖤🖤
#harwin strong#harwin strong x reader#house of the dragon#ser harwin strong#ser harwin strong x reader#ser harwin strong x you#ser harwin strong x y/n#harwin strong x you#harwin strong x y/n#hbo#ryan corr#hotd#got#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#game of thrones fanfic#game of thrones fanfiction#harwin strong fanfiction#harwin strong fanfic#ser harwin strong fanfiction#ser harwin strong fanfic
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