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sincerelyyuu · 9 days

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"in the end, it's still you." p2. • gojo satoru & geto suguru

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ synopsis: you never thought the day would come where you would have to choose between your two best friends. but how do you say goodbye to someone who became one of your reasons for living? ➼ pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, geto suguru x fem!reader ➼ content/warning: angst with tons of pining and heartbreak, sfw, heavy s2 spoilers, pet names, cursing, mentions of death ➼ wc: 3.1k words ➼ a/n: here's the anticipated part two of this fic! can definitely read this part on its own as a standalone, but highly recommend reading part one for the full angst effect ♡ ➼ part one, part two, part three

You didn’t know how you got here.

One minute you were on a mission. The next minute you were a fugitive on the run.

When Suguru and you left for the village, you didn’t expect to be standing in front of a caged cell that held two little girls. They were twins and looked to be no more than the age of five. Crouching down to match their eye level, you saw just how disheveled and scared they were between the bars. Clothes tattered, skin covered in dirt, eyes wide with fear. How cruel.

“Hello. I’m (y/n). That’s my friend Suguru,” you introduced softly, not wanting to spook them. Suguru nodded at them in greeting with a smile. “What are your names?”

“Nanako,” the light brown haired twin answered in a near whisper.

“Mimiko,” her black haired twin counterpart responded after.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” you smiled, leaning closer to them to whisper so that only they could hear. “Let’s get you out of here quickly, yeah?”

The girls looked back at you with surprise before a small smile appeared on their faces, nodding. You and Suguru were the first people to show them any form of kindness in this village. Unfortunately, their happiness was short-lived.

“These two are crazy! They used their mysterious powers to attack the villagers, right?” a male villager accused them both.

Furrowing your brows, you exchange glances with Suguru who shared the same sentiments as you. You both had already exterminated the cause of those incidents when you arrived.

“No, it’s not them,” Suguru exhaled, a hand on his head as he massaged his temple in disdain.

Ignoring his words, an older woman added more fuel to the fire, “My granddaughter was nearly killed by these two, too!”

Nanako defended, “That’s because she-”

“Shut up, you monsters! I knew we should have killed you two as babies!”

“Watch your mouth,” you snapped, maneuvering your body to shield the twins from the vile woman. The girls immediately sought refuge behind you.

You couldn’t believe the words coming from them openly talking about killing the girls when they were sitting right there. You felt so sorry for the two. Based on what the villagers were saying, these poor children most likely hadn’t received an ounce of love in their lives. Instead they were treated like animals.

It was just like you to put yourself in harm's way to protect others with no hesitation. It was one of the reasons that made Suguru fall in love with you. It didn’t come as a surprise to him to see Nanako and Mimiko already taking a liking to you.

Looking at the three of you, something in Suguru snapped. Lowering beside you, he offered you a gentle smile.

“Do me a favor. Once I step out, let the girls out and cover their ears. Stay here. I’ll come back for you three when I’m done,” he instructed.

“What? Why?” you asked in confusion. “Sugu… What are you about to do?”

He ruffled your hair playfully. “I’ll be right back. Now be a good girl for me.”

You looked at him wearily. There was something different about him right now that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You also didn’t like how vague he was being. Still, you hesitantly agreed. Satisfied, Suguru stood up to face the villagers in the room.

“Everyone, shall we step outside for a moment?” he asked, a sickeningly sweet smile gracing his face.

You were prepared for when you successfully freed the girls from their confines with Mimiko and Nanako instantly falling into your awaiting arms. Instructing them to cover their ears, you held them close and placed your hands behind their heads, letting them rest their faces against your chest.

“It’s okay, I got you. You’re safe now,” you promised them. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”

What you weren’t prepared for was the fiery blue flames that illuminated the village and the screams that ensued after.

A few days later, it was a beautiful day in Shinjuku. People were going on about their business as they maneuvered among the busy streets. The air was full of chatter with the hustle and bustle of city life.

“I’ll go ahead and ask. Any chance the charges are false?” Shoko inquires with a smile.

Suguru shakes his head at the female sorcerer, “Nope. Unfortunately not.”

Shoko takes a drag of her cigarette, blowing white whips of smoke that dissipate into the air. “You know what, I can expect you to be able to pull off this kind of thing. But did you really have to drag (y/n) with you too? Where is she anyway?”

Suguru fights the urge to grin at the mention of your name. Crossing his arms, he peers up at the clouds drifting across the azure sky. “She’s-”

“-right here.”

The two turned their heads at the sound of your voice as you approached them, a bag full of pastries in tow. You waved shyly at Shoko who was relieved to see you unharmed. You were one of the few female friends that she had at school. It came as a big surprise to her when she heard the news of your shared sentence with Suguru. It didn’t seem like you to commit mass murder. Then again, neither did Geto.

“There’s Ms. Partner-in-crime. I was just about to ask Geto why this little situation came to be,” Shoko filled you in.

You shift awkwardly in place, unable to find the right words to respond. Sensing your discomfort, Suguru swiftly answers back, “I’m going to create a world of only jujutsu sorcerers. (y/n) here is the lucky girl who gets to help me.”

“Is that so?” the brunette laughs. “I don’t get it.”

“We’re not children. I’m not holding out hope that everyone will understand,” Suguru responds. He glances over at you as you stare into the crowd and zone out of the conversation. As long as you were beside him, he didn’t care if no one else understood. At least he had you.

Shoko whipped out her cell and promptly entered a series of numbers before placing it to her ear. “Hey, Gojo? I found Geto and (y/n). Yeah, Shinjuku.”

Hearing Satoru’s name, your body immediately went into flight mode. Breath quickening, heartbeat accelerating, and anxiety swirling in your stomach. You felt like throwing up. You knew it was inevitable to see him when Suguru suggested going to Shinjuku for the day under the guise of buying treats for Nanako and Mimiko. But you weren’t sure you were ready to see him yet. What could you possibly even say to him after what happened?

Before your thoughts could spiral even more, you felt a warm hand slip into your left and the pastry bag removed from your right. Looking up, Suguru didn’t make eye contact with you, only squeezing your hand in reassurance. He always had a sixth sense for how you were feeling.

“Excuse us but we have somewhere to be. Goodbye, Shoko,” Suguru waves at her nonchalantly as if it were any other ordinary day and like he’d see her in class tomorrow.

She waves back and turns to make eye contact with you, an unreadable expression on her face. Before you could analyze it, Suguru gently tugs on your hand and leads you away with him and into the bustling crowd of Shinjuku. The two of you walked for a few minutes in silence before a familiar voice reached your ears.

“Explain yourselves.”

Stopping in your tracks, you felt a lump form in your throat. Your nails dug into Suguru’s hand, leaving red crescents upon his pale skin. Suguru tried not to flinch at the pain. He knew that this moment would be hard for you.

After receiving Shoko’s call, Satoru wasted no time and immediately teleported to Shinjuku in search of his two best friends. All he can think of is, why? Why would you both do this? It didn’t make any sense. He needed answers and he wasn’t stopping until he got them.

Among the sea of people, his eyes searched and searched until it finally landed on one of his targets. He didn’t need to see your face to know that it was you. After all, he had engrained every detail of you into his mind from the way you looked to the way you moved. Your name lingered on his lips, longing to call for you.

“You already heard from Shoko, right?” Suguru answered him back without turning around. “That’s all there is to it.”

Unhappy with his response, Satoru felt his blood begin to boil in anger. “So you’re just going to kill everyone that isn’t a sorcerer? Even your parents?”

Maybe it was the way your heartbeat was beating so loudly in your ears, but you could barely hear what the two men were saying despite being right there. You knew they were exchanging words but your mind refused to process them. Instead it focused on the way Satoru’s voice was plagued in confusion and betrayal. You and Suguru, his two closest friends, had betrayed him without a word.

“You’re going to kill all non-sorcerers and create a world of only jujutsu sorcerers? You know that’s impossible!” you heard Satoru bellow from behind you.

“You could do it, couldn’t you, Satoru?” the black haired sorcerer retorted back, now facing the enraged male. “Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru? Or does being the strongest make you Gojo Satoru?”

You felt a chill go down your spine from Suguru’s cold tone so different from the honey one he always used towards you. Was this the Suguru you’ve known until now? But then you remembered everything Suguru had gone through up until this point. Swallowing disgusting curse after curse with nothing to show for it for himself. Watching his friends and comrades die in front of him. You understood the shift in Suguru’s beliefs.

That being said, you also understood where Satoru was coming from. You knew deep down that this wasn’t right. Innocent lives were taken to create a world that may not even be possible. However, there wasn’t anything you could do about it now. You were in too deep and if this was the hill you’ll die on, so be it.

Frustrated with the conversation with Suguru, Satoru knew there was no changing that man’s mind. Suguru had zero regrets and had every intention of carrying out his new life goal. Shifting his focus to you, Satoru felt the anger clouding his vision slowly diminish, a sense of yearning overwhelming his senses.

His voice dropped to a low cry as he called out to you, “(y/n)...”

The moment your name left his lips, a wave of guilt settled into the pit of your stomach. You wish he hadn’t done that. In a perfect world, you would have turned around and ran into those strong arms that have held and protected you more times than you can count. You felt your resolve chipping away piece by piece.

But this world was far from perfect. You can never go back to the way things were. Still, you owed it to Satoru to properly say goodbye because you weren’t sure when you’ll ever see him again.

You took a deep breath and stepped to turn around. Halfway through your turn, you felt Suguru’s grip on your hand tighten, looking at you in confusion and slight alarm. Were you changing your mind and leaving him? However, his tense shoulders eased when you squeezed his hand back in reassurance, communicating with your eyes that you weren’t going anywhere. Nodding his head, he let go of you.

What the fuck? Satoru thought to himself.

Watching the scene unfold between you two, he felt an insecure stinging pierce in his chest. His six eyes bored holes at your interlocked hands. An unsettling feeling gnawed at him at the fond look in Suguru’s eyes which stared directly into your own. It was the same way Satoru looked at you.

Fuck. His best friend, Geto Suguru, was also madly in love with you.

“Satoru.”

Satoru could almost cry hearing you call his name. You took a few steps towards him, maintaining eye contact as you did so. He also took a step towards you but immediately halted when you raised your hand up to stop him from getting any closer. Standing a few feet from each other now in silence, you felt your heart break at the sight of your once confident best friend who now looked so small in your presence.

“...Why?” he asked, the tension growing thick in the air.

Fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, you replied, “You don’t understand-”

“Then, make me understand!” Satoru shouted.

Storming directly to you, he stopped so that he stood inches away from your figure. One more step and he could pull you to him and away from whatever this was. It would be so easy. He stood before you with his infinity off, silently granting you the opportunity to reach out for him. He never had it on whenever he was with you. He trusted you to let his guard down because you made him feel safe.

Satoru continued to interrogate you as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. “(y/n), I know you. I know you didn’t lift a finger to kill any of those people. You would never take the life of another if they didn’t deserve it. So, why are you doing this?”

“I can talk to the elders. I can convince them to reverse your sentence because you didn’t do anything. They’ll listen to me,” he begged you, voice quickening with every line.

“Is it because I’m away all the time? I’ll stop taking on more missions or have them assign you with me. Just come home.”

He was beginning to ramble now as he felt himself grow more desperate to keep you. Satoru was never the type to get down on his knees for anyone except you.

Throughout the years, he fell for you hard. You had the power to render him weak with just your smile, the air leaving his lungs at the way you took his breath away. Your calming presence grounded him and brought him back to reality whenever things became too intense. It was the way you understood his thoughts and feelings before he even knew of them. You held his heart in the palm of your hands and right now you were completely destroying him.

Against your better judgment, you caressed the left side of Satoru’s face. The man immediately leaned into your hand as he melted at your touch, placing his hand over yours and seeking your affection. Brilliant blue eyes filled with anguish met your sorrowful ones.

“Toru,” you smiled bittersweetly at him. “I can’t. The moment I go back, they’d kill me in a heartbeat. It’s too late for me. At least this way I’ll be protecting you.”

“It’s supposed to be the other way around. I’m the one that’s supposed to be protecting you,” he argued back. “Sweets, this is insanity. You can’t possibly be okay with this. Do you honestly agree with him and this crazy non-sorcerer world bullshit?”

You let your hand fall from his face, watching him grimace from the action. “It doesn’t matter what I think. What’s done is done. I made a promise to Suguru that I’d be there for him.”

Satoru scowled, “And what about me, (y/n)? Don’t you see that you’re hurting me?”

That wasn’t fair. How do you explain to him that you were doing what you thought was best? As the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, Satoru will always have a community rallying behind him. Suguru had no one. You didn’t want Suguru to live a lonely life alone. You cared too much about him. Hence, you promised to be that one person he needed.

Satoru felt like ripping his hair out in agony. He could feel it. He could feel him losing you. Any traces of anger slipped out of his body. He looked at you desperately, looking crestfallen and utterly wrecked as he felt hot tears burn in his eyes.

“Baby, please,” he begged, voice almost cracking in the process. “I’m already losing one best friend. I can’t lose you too.”

Closing your eyes to stop your own tears from falling, you could only whisper an apology back, “I’m sorry.”

Satoru didn’t need your apology. He knew that you could apologize a million times and in the end, he’d still forgive you even if you were tearing him apart. He also knew that you were extremely stubborn and even more loyal. You had made up your mind and this was you saying goodbye. His fists went rigid causing his knuckles to turn white from the intensity of his grip.

“So, this is it? This is the life you’re choosing?” he let out an empty laugh, the smile leaving his face once his gaze met Suguru’s who awaited behind you. “You’re choosing him?”

Shaking your head, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled his tall figure down to you into a tight embrace. Arms wrapping around you, he held you even tighter against him as if his life depended on it. In a way, it did. Breathing in your scent, he felt goosebumps rise on his skin when your lips brushed to whisper against his ear.

“This is me choosing you.”

Ripping yourself away from the snowy haired man, he stood stunned at your declaration and could only watch as you made your way back to Suguru’s side. The said male extended his hand back at you once more, pouting as you shook your head no. Vision blurring with tears, you walked past him and continued walking down the street to get as far away as possible, willing your broken heart not to look back.

Suguru could only sigh deeply. You just needed more time. Whenever you were ready, he’d be there every step of the way with open arms, forever set to love and protect you. Looking back at Satoru, he shot the distraught male a smirk and threw up a peace sign. Tucking his hands into his pants pockets, he trailed after you before you could get too far.

In a moment of panic, Satoru raised his hands to prepare an attack towards the raven haired male. After a mental struggle, he ultimately dropped his hands to his side, fists clenching hard. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t have it in him to harm his best friend or else he’d risk harming you as well.

Satoru watched your figures disappear deeper into the crowd for perhaps the last time he’ll ever see you.

divider credit: @/saradika-graphics

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thepaperpanda · 1 year

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Under His Watchful Eye || Douma x fem!reader

Summary: you are found injured by worshippers of Douma after being attacked by a wild animal in the mountains. You're taken to his temple where you're cared for and nursed back to health under the watchful eye of his. As time passes, Douma becomes attached to you, but when you disobey his order one day, he becomes angry and decides to punish you accordingly

Warnings: smut with plot 🔞 & the reader asking far too many questions in the end 😀

Word count: 7792

Authors: Cass & Rouge

As you hiked through the mountain trails, the fresh air and beautiful scenery made you feel invigorated. However, that feeling quickly vanished when a wild animal attacked you out of nowhere. You tried to defend yourself, but the creature was too strong and vicious, leaving you badly injured and alone. You were almost certain you would die.

Just when you thought you couldn't go any further after attempting to getting back home, a group of strange individuals appeared before you. They were dressed in long, flowing robes and had a serene look on their faces.

You felt weak in your knees and fell down to the frozen ground, shaking uncontrollably all over your exhausted body.

"Are you okay?" A female voice asked.

You tried to speak, but your throat was dry. You managed to nod, and they helped you to your feet. You leaned on one of them as they guided you into an unknown direction. "You must come with us," one of them said softly, taking your arm.

"Poor thing, look at all those wounds," the other person added within sad tone.

You were too weak to resist as they led you deeper into the forest, eventually arriving at a small sanctuary.

As you walked, you couldn't help but notice the strange symbols painted on the rocks and trees around you. The people were quiet, and you could only hear the sound of the wind and the snow under their feet.

The last thing you remembered was the warmness of the interiors surrounding you. Then you lost your consciousness.

Douma was pleasantly surprised today by something he did not expect. A very attractive female human was brought into his shrine, which he would even call a miracle; he wouldn't have to take any efforts to find someone new for his pleasures. He had to keep the girl there.

"Don't look at me like that. You should know what I expect. Take care of this poor thing. Treat her wounds, give her a bath, and dress her. Let her rest," he instructed.

He smiled at two of his dear followers, who were not really sure what to do with the newcomer. He was growing curious about how the girl really looked without all the blood and dirt on her. Sadly, he would have to wait to satisfy his curiosity.

As time passed, you found yourself gradually regaining your strength. Though you still spent most of your days sleeping, you were surprised to find that a group of women were taking excellent care of you.

One day, as you slowly opened your eyes, you noticed a woman sitting beside you. "Oh, you're awake!" She exclaimed with a smile.

You rubbed your eyes and sat up a little, taking in your surroundings. The room was cozy and filled with dim light of candles. "Where am I?"

"You're in our sanctuary, in our lord's place," the woman replied. "My name is Aka, and I'm one of those who found you in the woods. You were very ill and injured, and we've been taking care of you for the past few weeks."

You felt a wave of gratitude wash over you, as well as shock when you realized how much time had passed. "You said weeks?" You inquired, your voice barely above a whisper. "Oh, my.... Thank you for everything."

As the days passed, you continued to regain your strength. You were amazed at the kindness and compassion of these strangers who had taken you in and nursed you back to health. And as you looked around at the warm and welcoming home they had created, you knew that you were in good hands. At least that was the impression you'd received.

Meantime, Douma made sure to take care of you by sending someone to fetch something nice for you, and finally, he had a chance to see you in your full glory - free of any life-threatening illness, clean, and dressed in fine clothes.

He personally couldn't wait to meet you and learn who you were. There were so many things he could do with and to you! It made him so excited that a shiver ran down his spine.

As Douma walked into the room that served you as your chamber, he hummed melodically, "My, my, my! Why did no one tell me that you are awake? I would have come sooner to see you."

However, he stopped when he saw your surprised expression and turned to face the other woman standing near the door, "Oh, Aka, my dear. Haven't you told her everything yet?"

Aka, one of your trusted followers, approached the tall man with a heavy heart. She informed him that she had not been able to tell you everything that she had wanted to, and she was deeply sorry for letting him down.

You bowed your head to the man after softening your kimono, overwhelmed with gratitude for the kindness he had shown you. "Thank you so much, sir," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for taking care of me," you added with your head still bowed, "but I will never forget the hospitality you have offered me. I am forever in your debt."

He had to admit that you were a pretty one. You must have been tasty, but on the other hand, it would be a shame to simply consume you. Perhaps he could keep you around as a pet? He had tried it before, but it didn't work out as he had wanted. Maybe if you behaved, who knows?

With a smile, he said, "Oh, no need to thank me, sweetheart! How could I say no to someone in need? I am happy to finally see you in good shape. What's your name, dear?"

You dared to raise your head a little to take a closer look at him.

He stood before you with an imposing presence. He was a tall and muscular young man with a noticeably pale complexion, and his long and pointed nails seemed stained with a pale blue color. His hair was either silver or a pale golden blond, parted to the left, with shorter strands flaring out to either side of his face and a longer spiral drape down his back. His eyes were incredibly rare and beautiful, appearing to be made up of an array of rainbow pastel tones that faded into one another as they circled his irises. You caught yourself staring in his eyes a little longer than you were supposed to, so you instantly bowed your head once more, trying to pay proper respect to him. "My name's Y/N, sir. If not you and your people, I'd be long dead, eaten by wild animals or maybe even demons themselves."

If only you knew! Douma couldn't help but giggle softly at the idea of how oblivious you were. It was adorable!

"Well, then I guess you are the lucky one. Do you have any family or a home?"

You hesitated for a moment before admitting, "It's just that I don't have a family or a home. Sometimes it feels like something's missing."

He quickly walked up to you and cupped your cheeks, rubbing your soft, warm skin with his slender, cold thumbs. "Well, well, Y/N, not only were you saved, but you have also found a new home. You can stay here, and I will gladly take care of you."

You were shocked by how cold his hands were. You could feel the icy chill radiating from his fingers as they pressed against your skin. The sudden coldness caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but shiver at the sensation. You had never felt hands that cold before, and it left you momentarily speechless. Despite the coldness, however, his touch was gentle, and you could sense the kindness in his eyes as he spoke to you. You forced yourself to focus on his words, trying to ignore the frigid sensation spreading through your cheeks.

You were shocked by the man's kindness and hospitality he and his people had shown you.

He had taken you in when you were lost, hurt and alone, and had even offered to help you still. You couldn't believe that someone who was a stranger to you could be so generous. "Thank you so much," you said, your voice filled with gratitude. "I don't know how to repay you for your kindness, sir."

"You don't need to thank me, sweetheart. I only hope that dear Aka will explain everything you need to know," he said, looking at the other woman significantly. "Now, rest some more and make sure you eat well. I will come back later to have a private conversation with you."

"Sir," you whispered hesitantly, barely moving your lips. "Can I at least have your name?"

"It's Douma," he said with a smile. "If you listen carefully to what Aka says, my dear Y/N, you will know everything."

As you and Aka were speaking together after Douma had left the chamber, she began to describe him to you. "He is a wise man," Aka said, her voice soft with reminiscence. "He has a way of seeing the world that few others could match. When he speaks, it is as if the entire room fell silent, hanging on his every word."

You nodded, listening intently as Aka continued to speak.

"Master Douma is also fiercely loyal to his followers," she added, a small smile crossing her lips. "He would do anything to protect us, to ensure our safety and happiness."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for the man she described. Even though you had only met him briefly, you could sense that there was something special about him.

As your conversation with Aka continued, you couldn't help but feel a growing sense of curiosity about the man known as Douma. What other secrets and wisdom had he imparted to his followers? And what was his ultimate goal in life? These were questions that you knew you would have to seek answers to in the days and weeks to come.

The longer you stayed with Douma, the more he grew fond of you. It was obvious that you had become his favorite, as you were the only one living with him permanently. He kept you safe and took care of you the best way he could.

You were like his little pet, and he loved making sure that you were happy because you looked better that way. You were always so eager to talk to him and spend time with him, which he found simply adorable. He could have feasted on you, but keeping you around was much better - it made the boring times more interesting.

"What's going through that little head of yours?" Douma asked, getting comfortable on a big pillow while he played with your hair, your head resting on his lap.

You lay with your head rested on Douma's lap, looking up at the ceiling of his room with a mixture of thoughtfulness and disbelief. "I can't believe you took me under your wings," you told him. "And you never wanted anything in return." You closed your eyes, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you.

The past few weeks you spent by Douma's side were a whirlwind of new experiences and insights. You followed him everywhere, learning who he was and how he lived his life. He introduced you to his followers, who welcomed you with open arms and showed you the ropes.

However, as you grew closer to Douma, you began to notice some of his followers becoming jealous. They would shoot you looks of disdain and make snide remarks when you were around. At first, you tried to brush it off, but as time went on, their behavior began to wear on you.

Despite the jealousy of some of his followers, Douma continued to show you kindness and respect. He patiently answered your questions and taught you his ways, never once making you feel inferior. You were grateful for his guidance and felt privileged to be so close to him.

In the end, you knew that Douma's influence had changed you for the better. You had learned so much from him, not only about his ways but about yourself as well.

As the weeks went by, you felt yourself growing more and more fond of him, and sometimes even felt strange tickling within your abdomen when he was casting you a glance over the room full of his followers.

You turned to Douma, feeling at ease in his presence. "I feel very well here," you told him, "but I'd like to visit my little hut and take some things from there. I'd also like to visit my brother's grave."

"And for what? You have everything here. You don't need your old stuff or to visit your brother," he rolled his eyes, growing slightly annoyed with your idea. He had given you everything, and yet you still cared about something so silly and trivial. Your brother was nothing but a corpse, rotting in the ground. "Besides, would you really leave me here all alone and sad? Do you want me to die of a broken heart?" He asked dramatically.

"I..." You whispered, turning your glance away from him. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to upset you, Douma."

Your mind wandered to your brother's grave. You thought about how much you missed him and how you wished you could visit him more often. The cemetery was only a few miles away probably, and you knew you could easily sneak out during the night for just an hour or two. You promised yourself that you'd do it, that night or some other time when Douma wouldn't notice, being busy with his errands.

"You didn't upset me, my dear Y/N. It just hurts me that you worry about those things when I make sure you have everything," he purred, easily pulling you up and setting you comfortably on his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist as he hugged you. "Don't you feel good here, with me?"

You looked deeply into Douma's eyes, feeling the warmth of his presence wash over you. "Douma," you whispered, reaching out slowly to caress one of his cheeks gently, "I want you to know that I feel really good by your side. You make me feel safe and sound, and I'm grateful for that." You paused for a moment, taking in the way his eyes sparkled in the dim light casted by a lot of candles set around the room. "You know, I never thought I could trust someone so completely, but with you, it just comes naturally."

The demon purred at your touch and nodded. You were his and there was no need for you to seek anything else beyond what he could give you. "Now you see, I can give you everything you ask for, so there is no need to visit your old life, my sweet little Y/N," he whispered before kissing your cheek.

As Douma leaned in to kiss your cheek, you felt your face flushing with a warm hue. His lips were cold, yet soft and tender against your skin, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter in your chest. "Douma," a weak whisper left your parted lips as you clutched on his shoulders. You moved your head to face him, your cheeks still tinged with pink. "You're right, just as always, my dear master."

He laughed, gently grabbing and squeezing your cheeks. "Look at you! So pretty and cute," Douma chuckled as he played with your soft skin, grazing it with his sharp nails. "I am wondering... If this made you blush so much, then what will this do?"

He grasped your cheeks a bit harder than before and kissed your lips.

Once Douma's lips were pressed to yours, you couldn't help but let out a quiet gasp that quickly turned into a moan. Despite his lips being rather cold, the kiss he offered tasted sweet like honey. The way his tongue moved along your teeth, the way his perfect teeth grabbed your tongue, everything about the kiss was igniting emotions you didn't know you still held within you.

You found yourself wrapping your arms around Douma's neck, pulling him closer to you. You felt his body pressing against yours, his closeness enveloping you. The scent of him filled your nostrils, a heady mix of sandalwood and musk.

Your heart raced as you lost yourself in the moment, feeling completely consumed by the passion between you. For a moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you, locked in a fiery embrace.

You pulled yourself away from Douma after a while, looking him in the rainbow-coloured eyes; his eyes were mesmerizing, and you couldn't help but get lost in them for a moment. "Douma…"

"So pretty and so full of color," he laughed, moving his thumbs across your skin.

Douma indeed enjoyed having you here. He loved that you were such a good pet. He had grown used to having you around, especially loving it when you sat on his lap.

Of course, Douma was aware of the jealousy of some followers, and as a good owner, he took care of some of those who were a threat to his beloved pet. When you noticed this, he explained that they had just left. Thankfully, you always accepted this explanation.

"It's getting late. Aren't you tired?" Douma asked, a hint of worry within his tone.

"Just a little bit, my master," you replied, your cheeks still flushed. You bit your lower lip after his comment about you having a lot of colours. You didn't know how he was doing it, but he was always making your heart skipping a beat.

"Well, then don't sit up late, little one. I want my little girl to be well-rested," he kissed your cheek one last time before gently pushing you off his lap.

You tried your best to keep your composure, but your heart was racing and your felt like whining as Douma pushed you off his lap. Your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Good night, my master," you smiled at him, bowing your head down.

After that you left his chamber. Of course you had to bump on a group of his the most dedicated followers; their led you down the corridor with a mean glances, and you could swear you heard them whispering about you. Yet, you decided to not pay attention.

You had trouble sleeping, tossing and turning in your bed as the memory of Douma's anger haunted you. You had mentioned leaving the shrine, hoping to visit your brother's grave, but the expression on Douma's face had been rather a nasty one; you'd never seen him like that; the change within him was immediate and unexpected.

You tried to push the memory away, to think of other things, but it kept coming back to you, replaying over and over in your mind. You wondered for a second or two if you had made a mistake in confiding in him, in trusting him with your deepest desires and fears.

As the night wore on, you grew more and more exhausted, but still, you couldn't sleep. You finally decided that you couldn't stay in the bed any longer.

You got up from your bed, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake anyone. You changed into some other clothes, careful to pick things that wouldn't make too much noise as you moved. You didn't want anyone to know that you were leaving, especially not Douma. After putting on a thick fur Douma gifted you with some time before, you were ready.

You didn't want to attract attention by carrying too much, so you decided to leave your bag in the room. You checked your pockets for anything important, making sure you had your keys.

Finally, you took a deep breath and opened the door to your room. You stepped out into the hallway, the floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet. You listened carefully for any sounds, but the shrine was quiet.

You made your way to the front door, your heart pounding in your chest. You turned the handle slowly, hoping it wouldn't make too much noise, and pushed the door open. A gust of cool air hit your face, and you stepped outside into the night. You closed the door behind you, trying to be as quiet as possible, and set off down the path, hoping that you were making the right decision.

Douma could come across as a silly man with his overly friendly behavior. He could seem like someone easy to fool, but oh, you were so mistaken!

A pair of rainbow eyes watched you leave from behind the golden fan. He knew it would happen, he knew you wouldn't really sit on your ass as you should. Douma knew you would be back, of course you would for there was nothing waiting for you out there. You had no reason to leave for good, but of course, you had to fulfill your little ideas.

"Bad, bad pet," Douma whispered to himself. He already planned how he was going to punish you and make you stay with him forever.

As you arrived at the old graveyard, you felt a sense of melancholy wash over you. Memories of childhood days spent with your brother came flooding back, as you made your way to his final resting place. The grave was still and silent, surrounded by the peaceful stillness of the cemetery.

You took out the bouquet of flowers you had managed to gather. With careful hands, you placed them gently on your brother's grave. As you stepped back, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness as you remembered the good times you shared with him. Before you managed to regain your composure, you shed a tear.

The wind picked up, blowing gently through the trees, rustling the leaves and reminding you of the fleeting nature of life. You stood there for a few moments longer, lost in your thoughts, before finally turning to leave. As you walked away, you promised yourself that you would always remember your brother, and keep his memory alive in your heart.

As you made your way towards the Eternal Paradise Faith shrine, you couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency. The sky was beginning to brighten, and you knew that the sun would soon rise. You quickened your pace, determined to reach the shrine before dawn.

Finally, you arrived at the entrance, and were greeted by the serene surroundings of the shrine. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the sound of chanting people filled your ears. You took a moment to take in your surroundings, appreciating the peaceful atmosphere and the stunning architecture of the shrine.

Oh, you were a little oblivious bunny, so sure that you could get away with this little thing.

He was going to let you think you were the smart one, that you could go behind his back. Douma honestly wondered if maybe you would tell him at some point, admit to your wrongdoings, and beg for forgiveness.

So he waited, pretending he knew nothing, letting you believe he was naive.

The whole day passed, and he heard nothing from you, and it made him mad. He summoned you to see him, just like he did every evening.

Despite feeling curious and a bit uneasy, you went straight to meet him after taking a long bath.

You stepped forward and pushed open the door to Douma's chamber, the hinges creaking as you entered. The room was dimly lit, with only a few candles casting flickering shadows across the walls. "My master, you summoned me."

He looked at you with a sweet smile, resting his cheek on his hand. "Here comes my favorite. Don't be scared, I simply missed you, my little Y/N."

You felt that there was something off about his behavior. It was difficult to put your finger on it, but there was a sense that he was holding something back or not being entirely truthful. Maybe it was the way his rainbow-coloured eyes were looking at you, as if they were about to pierce right through your soul or the hesitation in his voice when he spoke. Whatever it was, you couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right.

Taking a few steps, you came closer to his bed.

He blinked, feigning concern for you. "Is something wrong, my dear? Come here," he said, beckoning you to sit on his lap.

Once you were seated comfortably, he took your palm in his and gave your hand a little kiss. "What is bothering you? Is someone talking bad about you again?"

"It's not that, my master," you replied, trying to regain the control over your uncontrollably shaking body. "I... I just did something bad."

"Oh, you poor, little thing! You did something bad?" Douma hummed as both of his hands rested on your waist, caressing the soft curves. "Oh, I am sure you did... Or maybe you decided to go behind my back and visit your brother?" He asked. "Will you be a good girl and answer my question?"

As you sat on his lap, listening to him speak, your heart began to race when he mentioned your brother. Memories of last night's trip occupied your mind, and your anxiety only grew stronger with each passing moment. "I left the shrine without your permission."

"I understand that. So, now, can you be a good girl and answer my question?"

You only nodded your head, lowering your chin to avoid his gaze.

"Look at me," Douma ordered.

Once you looked at him, he gave you his kind smile, but his hands tightened on your waist, his long nails digging into your skin through the clothes. "Do you think I am stupid? Do you think I am a fool you can play around with?"

"Of course not, my master. I apologize for not obeying your order. Please, forgive me my reckless behavior, master Douma," you begged, most likely sounding like a pathetic whore.

"I should throw you out!" Douma snapped, squeezing you even harder. "I should throw you away and let you die in the wilderness like I didn't when my people found you."

His words grew louder and more aggressive with each passing moment, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

As he continued to speak, you felt the tears forming in your eyes. You tried your best to hold them back, but the emotion was simply too overwhelming. You could feel the hot tears trickling down your cheeks, and you quickly wiped them away with the back of your hand.

"Oh, you're crying now? How pathetic," Douma chuckled. "You're alive only because I allowed you to live. I saved your life and didn't turn you into my next meal. You should be grateful for what I did! I gave you everything that you lacked in your life, and this is how you repay me?!"

In that moment, you wished you could simply disappear. You wanted nothing more than to escape from Douma's presence and find solace in the comfort of your own home. But you knew that you had to stay strong and face the situation head-on, even if it meant enduring the pain and discomfort that came with it. "I'm sorry. Please, master, forgive me."

"And what should I forgive you for? I should just get rid of you," he said, and soon after, he smiled. "You are a pretty, little thing. I should just end your life by devouring you."

As Douma continued to speak, you mustered up all of the courage you had left and spoke up. "I suspected that you were a demon," you said firmly, looking him straight in the eyes. "I've known for a few weeks now," you explained. "But I wasn't sure until now. Thank you for confirming it."

Douma looked at you and let out a maniacal laugh. "And what? Should I feel scared? Oh no! Y/N knows what I am," he pretended to be shocked before pushing you hard off his lap, so you fell to the cold floor.

Licking his lips, Douma looked at you. "And what shall I do with you now? It would be a shame to eat you, but it would be a waste to simply murder you and throw you away. I really don't want to stain my floors with your blood."

As Douma's words continued to cut deep, you sat frozen in shock, unable to move or even speak. Your body felt numb, as if you had been plunged into icy water, and your mind raced with a million different thoughts and emotions.

Despite the discomfort of the cold, hard floor beneath you, you remained in the same position for what felt like an eternity. But eventually, you were able to improve your posture, sitting back on your knees for better support. Your muscles were tense, and your fingers tingled with a strange numbness. "Well. You can do whatever you want. It's not that I have any influence here though."

Douma accepted the offer of 'doing whatever he wants,' which was an interesting proposal and he intended to make use of it. "If you say so, my dear. Let's consider it your way of apologizing to me."

Douma sat up and leant forward to you. His long fingers gently touched your cheek and then moved down, across the skin of your neck, until they reached the fabric of your kimono. He had personally picked it out to make you look even more beautiful. It was a shame to destroy it, but he could always get you a new one.

Douma's cold hands easily ripped the fabric open. "Look at you. So beautiful, yet so disobedient," he remarked, slowly running the tip of his tongue across his lower lip.

At first you only gasped, looking up at him with wide opened eyes. You wanted to ask what does he think he's doing, you wanted to run, you wanted to vanish; too many different emotions filled you up at the same time. "What..." You managed to whisper.

"Oh, don't play dumb, Y/N. I know you want me, no matter if I'm a demon or not," he smirked wryly. "I've always felt that, you little needy thing."

Looking him deep in the eyes, you sat up a little and removed your ripped kimono off; now only your black underwear was keeping you from his hungry eyes.

Douma observed you and nodded. "Now you're acting as you should, but as far as I'm concerned, you're still wearing too many clothes."

You slowly got up and reached to your back, unclasping your bra; your eyes never left his. You pushed the straps of your bra down your shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.

In the next step, you slipped fingers beneath the fabric of your panties and pushed them down your legs, stepping out of them in the end.

Finally, you listened to him as you should have from the very beginning. Finally, the bunny followed its master's wishes. "Good girl," he praised before getting comfortable on his favorite pillow. "What will you do now, I wonder?"

"May I get closer, my master?"

He gave you a nod, observing you curiously to see what would happen next; a ery smirk still glued to his lips.

You sauntered towards his bed, swaying your hips from left to right, and gradually seated yourself on the cushion. With a tinge of embarrassment coloring your face, you cautiously straddled his lap, trying to conceal your shyness.

"Now you feel embarrassed, sweetheart? Be brave, just like when you decided to betray my trust," Douma instructed, stroking your thighs.

His lap felt comfortable and welcoming, just as they always did.

Looking him in the eye, you reached your hands out and started unbuckling his belt with a sense of desire burning within your chest. You reached down and fumbled with the buckle for a moment, your fingers clumsy with anticipation. Finally, you managed to get it undone, and you let out a sigh of relief. The belt slipped free from his waist, and you felt a wave of satisfaction wash over you, as you licked your lower lip briefly.

Douma was already enjoying the sight of you. Finally, you knew your rightful place. He rested his chin on his palm as he observed you working.

Now that you were behaving, he was interested in seeing what you planned to do. "Just don't stop, little one. Show me how sorry you are."

With an unhurried pace, you opened the fly of his trousers and met his gaze, only to pause. "I... Well, I haven't done any of those things before, except for one time, but I was drunk and don't remember anything."

He looked at you in disbelief, raising one of his brows up, and sighed softly. Douma shouldn't have been that mad; at least he could teach you a thing or two.

He grabbed you and effortlessly flipped you both so that you were under him. "Oh, my poor, little bunny. I'm gonna teach you, don't worry."

His cold lips pressed a few gentle kisses to your cheeks before he started moving down your naked body, right between your legs.

Your abdomen swelled with an intense burning sensation, accompanied by an unbearable feeling of shame. "Douma, I deeply apologize for letting you down again..." You whispered quietly, and since you didn't know what to do with your hands, you tried to cover your breasts with them.

"Stop covering your body if you wish to avoid disappointing me once more. My dear, unwind and let yourself be at ease," he whispered, kissing the soft flesh of your thigh. He then dived between your parted thighs and started slowly lapping at your beautiful pussy.

You let out a moan as he continued to lap and lick at your sensitive areas, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body.

You had never felt this way before with anyone else. The sensation that Douma was causing was intense and overwhelming. You couldn't believe that someone could make you feel this good.

As the pleasure spread throughout your body, filling every single cell with desire, you let go of your prudery and slipped your hands into his beautiful, blonde locks, moaning his name and trying to buck your hips to gain more friction.

His rainbow eyes looked up and took in the pretty expression you made for him. He couldn't wait to see that face again when he fucks you.

He pulled away from you and bit the inside of your thigh.

As his teeth sank into your soft flesh, you couldn't help but moan. The bite was so powerful that his canines punctured through your skin, causing a few droplets of blood to surface.

You grabbed him be a sleeve of his turtleneck and pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs tightly around his waist, kissing all over his sharp, perfect jawline.

"Oh, you're an eager one, aren't you?" He chuckled, pulling away to undress for you. Since you were in need, he couldn't keep you waiting for much longer.

Douma quickly got rid of his clothes and smiled, wrapping your legs around his waist tightly. He grasped his member and gave it a few jerks before moving it through your lips, teasing your clit. "Are you ready, sweetheart?"

You watche him getting undressed while biting your lower lip, slipping one of your hands between your parted thighs to tease your clitoris.

Douma was a man with a lean and muscular build. He had striking features - a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and beautiful lips. His eyes were an unusual rainbow color, and they glimmered with a mischievous and seductive light. His skin was cold to the touch, and he exuded an aura of danger and mystery.

It all made you blush even harder, but a soft moan escaped through your parted lips when you felt his rock-hard cock rubbing through your folds. "Fuck me," you whimpered, looking him directly into his eyes.

He didn't think twice before pushing into you, watching your face twist in pleasure. His hand grasped your waist, pulling you gently as he thrusted in. He lowered himself and started whispering into your ear, "Look at you, getting fucked by a demon. I'm going to breed you nice and full."

Your nails dug into the skin on his back as he snapped his hips into you.

The pleasure was immense, and all you could do was moan his name softly while rolling your head back, resting it on his pillow.

Douma didn't give you time to adjust, so at first, all of his thrusts felt like a burning fire within your core. Yet, with time, your walls loosened, welcoming his girth with anticipation.

Douma wrapped his hand around your neck, squeezing it as his hips moved even faster. His other hand moved between your bodies, pinching your clit. "That's it, my little flower, that's it."

Your whimpers and moans grew louder as he increased his brutal pace. You wrapped one of your hands around his wrist, which was set on your neck, and begged him to fuck you even harder. "Douma! Ah! Just like that!" You moaned loudly, trying to buck your hips into his to deepen his thrusts.

"My little whore, soon you will be nice and full, and then everyone will have a reason to be really jealous of you," he growled, snapping his hips even harder into you. The grip on your throat tightened; he was curious about how much you could take.

"H-harder!" You begged. "Can I... Can I try?"

He stopped and looked at you while stroking your calf. "Tell me what you want."

With all your strength, you flipped both of you over so that you were on top of him, his member still deeply buried inside your pussy. "That's better," you whispered, resting your hands on his broad chest and slowly bucking your hips back and forth, making sure to sink on his cock fully, deepening each thrust.

"You little fucking liar!" Douma growled through clenched teeth, grabbing your hips strongly, digging his digits in your soft flesh. "You said you haven't done any of those things, but look at you now, riding me like a whore."

"I didn't lie, master Douma," you moaned, rolling your head back a little at the pleasure spreading throughout your body. His grasp of your hips left you certain you would find some bruises there the next day. "I'm a quick learner."

"Show me what you have learned."

Supporting your weight on his chest, you increased your pace; your pussy started spasming around his already throbbing cock. "Oh! Oh! I'll cum!"

Douma smiled widely, "Very good, my little petal. Cum and let me fill your little, tight cunt up."

You grasped one of his hands and moved it up to your neck. With each movement you were feeling how his throbbing cock massaged your walls, pressing the sweet spot hidden there.

Douma's hand wrapped tightly around your neck as he sat up to thrust his hips into you even harder. "Don't hold it back, Y/N, cum for me."

Your movements became sloppy and the knot that once formed within your abdomen snapped; your cum milked his cock as you screamed his name, rolling your head back in an immense pleasure.

Douma let out a loud, guttural grunt as he came deep inside of you. The feeling of your warm insides filled with his slickly cum was something he craved so much since the day he laid his eyes on you. "That's my good girl. I think I can forgive you for that little thing from today."

You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and hugged him, still letting him nestle his cock in you; gasping for air you barely understood what he was talking to you. His scent filled your nostrils and in the end, after calming down from your peak, you asked him quietly, "Aren't you mad at me anymore? I promise I won't be disobedient."

"If you keep that promise, I won't be mad. You know I like it when you listen to me, especially since I do a lot to take care of you," he said, slipping his hand in your hair, in the end resting it at the crown of your head, holding you there.

Slowly and carefully getting off of him, you looked him in the eyes. "Douma?"

"What is it, my little pet?"

"Do you really like me?"

"Obviously, I do. If I didn't, you would be dead as soon as you recovered. But here you are, and I am taking care of you."

After a few seconds of silence, you dropped another question. "Can I stay... Can I stay for the rest of the night with you?"

Douma rubbed his chin, pretending to think, before giving you a nod moments later. "Of course, I can't say no to my favorite girl."

After making yourself comfortable by his side, you blushed slightly, feeling your mixed, slick cums oozing out of your pussy. "Have you slept with your other worshippers, too?"

"Yes. I have been with both men and women before," he said simply with a little shrug. It wasn't anything special for him. "But it was a long time ago. Don't worry, you are my special girl, my one and only."

Your eyes widened and you truly wanted to comment and asked more questions about that, but you decided to stay quiet. Instead, you dropped yet another question. "Can I be a demon too?"

"Oh no, you are too cute for that," he chuckled and booped your nose. "But maybe one day, if I decide that I want you to stay with me for eternity, we'll think about that."

"So if you're a demon, my lord, are there other demons out there? I heard a lot of stories, and people were always talking, but I haven't seen one myself. Are they having their cults as well?"

"Oh yes, there are, and they won't hesitate to eat you up. So be grateful I took you into my care. With me, you will be safe," he assured you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "And no, they don't have cults, as far as I know."

After resting your head upon his chest, you went silent for a moment, only to return to asking questions again. "Are you going to devour me one day?"

Douma let out a loud laughter and shook his head. "I don't fancy playing with my food, and I have decided that I want you to stay with me. Of course, if you keep being a brat and completely strip me of my patience, with a heavy heart, but yes, I will devour you."

You shivered and tried to hide your head under his shoulder. "Can I meet other demons? Are you having demon friends? Are they coming here to devour people as well?"

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, we do have afternoon tea quite often, but none of my friends enjoy it. Quite a shame, truly, but oh well, that's their problem. And no, I am not letting any of them lay an eye, or even six, on you."

You gritted your teeth and shivered once again, not being sure if he was being serious. "Have I ever bumped into one of them, not being aware?"

Douma looked at you and placed his hand over your beating heart. "Well, since you are alive and here with me, the answer is no. You surely didn't bump into any demons without being aware."

You placed a few tiny kisses to his chest. "One last question, and I promise I'll let you rest. Why did you choose not to eat me once I was taken to your temple by your people? Oh, and are you the strongest demon? I think you must be."

Douma watched you, resting his head on his hand. "I just decided to let you live. Honestly, I planned to eat you as soon as you were nursed back to health, but I changed my mind," he shrugged a little, pointing at his eyes. "Not to brag, my dear, but I am the number two."

You once again tried to hide your head under his arm, but after a moment, you straddled his lap again, cupping his cheeks in your hands, taking a closer look into his eyes. Only then you noticed the number written in his irises. "Oh, my, how silly I was to not notice it! But truly, I don't care. To me, my lord is the strongest."

He grabbed your cheeks and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. "That's my smart girl. This is how things should be, little one. You make me more proud with every moment when you're acting like a good, obedient pet."

After the kiss you looked him deeply in his eyes. "Aren't you tired, my lord?"

"No, I am fine but you can rest, as all humans do. I will make sure my little petal is safe."

"Lord Douma?"

"Hmmm?"

"I love you…"

Douma was taken aback by your confession of love to him. Since he was a child, he was unable to fully understand human emotions, and the concept of love was something foreign to him. He stared at you for a moment, trying to process your words. In the end, with a soft smile, he gently grasped your chin between his slender fingers and kissed the bridge of your pretty nose. "I appreciate your feelings, but love is not something that I am familiar with. I care for you deeply, that's the fact, but I do not know if I can reciprocate your feelings in the same way."

"I understand, my lord. It means the world to me still," you got off of him again and made yourself comfortable on his chest, oh he was so soft, even if a little cold.

With time, your eyes started closing and eventually you drifted off to sleep.

All Douma knew was that he wanted to keep you around. It seemed like you were already a much better pet than the last one, but he was going to keep watching you with his careful eye. If you ever got on his nerves again, he wouldn't hesitate to get rid of you in the most brutal way possible.

3K notes · View notes

lauraneedstochill · 8 months

Text

Cry me a river

summary: Aemond finds her wounded and left to die in the middle of nowhere. her desire for vengeance helps her survive — and her unbreakable spirit inevitably draws the prince to her. author’s note: her betrothed does what Daemon did to Rhea... this time, the woman survives 🔪 also, couples who kill together, stay together, I don’t make the rules warnings: archery (described in unprofessional language), slow burn (... and then not so slow), mentions of blood and murder (duh), it gets a bit heated words: ~ 11K song inspo: Tommee Profitt ft. Nicole Serrano — Cry me a river (cinematic cover) 🔥

>>> Aemond is caught in heavy rain midair, in the depths of a starless night. The storm rips through the clouds, and the lightning flickers across the sky that’s bowed over the Vale. He tries to resist the voice of reason that urges him to land, he’s no little boy to be afraid of the whims of nature. But the downpour only grows more ferocious, and the rattling of thunder soon drowns out Vhagar’s displeased roars.

Begrudgingly, Aemond sets his pride aside and peers into the darkness that stretches as far as the eye can see. He can barely make out a vague outline of the mountains but the rocky terrain is a poor resting place, that much he knows. Exasperation slowly claws at him as the wind howls, his clothes drenched and heavy, and the ribbon of moonlight slips away into the gloom.

When his gaze suddenly catches a flicker of light, a faintly lit cave in the distance — Aemond thinks it’s the Gods' mercy as it is. He is yet to find out that the Gods are leading him that way for a reason.

>>> The landing is rough but Aemond holds back complains and runs for cover, breathing a sigh of relief once he gets to the cave. Vhagar curls up in a heap, and her enormous silhouette can easily pass for just another mountain in the valley.

The prince tiredly wipes the raindrops off his face — and only then notices a spot of crimson right under his feet. He recognizes the color of blood in an instant, and the realization fills him with dread. Slowly, he turns around, his eye following the gory trail, his hand reaching for the dagger. But the sight he’s met with leaves him frozen in place.

Aemond is sure he’s never been so stunned and horrified all at once.

At the far end of the cave, a woman is lying next to a waning fire, with her eyes closed and face drained of color. She is dressed in bright red, and the blood on her hands blends into the laced fabric of her long sleeves, and Aemond is struggling to locate the injury that left her unconscious. She looks so helpless, a breath away from irrecoverable, he throws caution to the wind and rushes to her side without much thought.

Aemond kneels, examining her bare and bloodied feet, the torn hem of her dress, the smudges of dirt on it. With timidly blossoming fascination, he takes in the softness of her features stained with tears, green leaves tangled in her hair. Aemond reaches his hand to smooth a strand of it when he sees a splash of red framing the side of her face. His fingers barely graze her temple — and once he sees them stained with red too, his breathing hitches.

He’s no stranger to cuts and bruises but he doesn’t know how to treat a head wound. And his fighting skills won’t be of use against the Stranger.

A feeble voice brings him back to reality:

“I am not dying.”

Startled, Aemond lets his gaze fall on her lips, parted and faintly tinted with pink. Her eyelids flutter before she opens her eyes — they meet his in an instant. The feeling he gets bears no explanation: it’s sudden and overwhelming, raging like a hurricane that hits right at his chest. She doesn’t look away while her hand finds his — his fingers are still in her hair, and he shudders at the touch; her skin is cold but the grip is surprisingly firm.

“I’m not dying tonight,” she repeats, her tone a bit steadier. “I will not give him the satisfaction.”

His brows furrow from the lack of understanding. His body tenses at the very clear hint that he gets.

“Who did this to you?” Aemond asks with concern.

But she already drifts out of consciousness, back to where she can’t hear him. The thunder rolls and the lightning tears the cover of darkness, illuminating uninhabited mountains and valleys. The terrible weather seems like the least of Aemond’s problems.

>>> It rains all night, and the dawn comes shrouded in white mist. He cannot sleep a wink. The woman tosses and mumbles incoherently as her mind lapses back into the grasp of the unknown suffering. Aemond finds the sight so unnerving, it’s almost painful to watch, but he doesn’t take his eye off her.

He keeps the fire burning to help warm her up, ignoring his own discomfort. Not his shivering but hers eventually compels him to peel off his wet outer garment to dry it off faster. He hastens to put the clothes back on but leaves out his coat to cover her with it, black material over red, a night draping over sunset. Hesitantly, he rubs her arms and back, his usually deft fingers now tentative, until he sees the life returning to her cheeks. It puts Aemond’s nerves at ease, and he belatedly realizes how stiff his body has become from hours of sitting in agonizing suspense. And yet, he never leaves her side.

The mountain tops stay hidden by the clouds, the sky coated in gloom the sun can’t peek through, but around midday, she wakes up again. Her eyes dart to Aemond who moved to feed the fire with branches. He doesn’t rush into conversation, giving her a chance to come to her senses. She is looking at him with distrust but without a hint of fear.

“You stayed,” she concludes in a hoarse voice, slightly shifting in place.

“Leaving you all alone didn’t seem fair,” Aemond responds, which only earns a huff from her.

“I am perfectly capable of managing on my own,” she rebuts, trying to prop herself up on elbows — and instantly groans at the ache in her temple.

Aemond comes closer in a blink of an eye, and it’s hard to miss the empathetic look he gives her. He politely stays at arm’s length which she is thankful for.

“Your bleeding stopped but such a serious wound must be examined by a maester,” Aemond tells her peacefully. “How far away is your home? I shall accompany you there once the weather calms down.”

He sees emotion flashing through her face, and for a moment it gets so quiet, he can only hear the rain still drizzling outside the cave.

“I do not have a home,” she forces out, and Aemond is surprised to notice that she doesn’t sound sad. If anything, there is ire in her words. “You shouldn’t bother.”

“I am sure your family is worried by your absence and —”

“My family valued me so little, they got rid of me at the very first chance,” she cuts him off, her voice stern. “So I am not going back to them, I’d rather you leave me here.”

He looks her over — her ruined dress and anguished face, dried-up blood in her disheveled hair. No doubt, she is hurting, and it would be unbecoming of a prince to leave a lady in such dire straits.

“I can do no such thing,” Aemond insists. “You survived a severe injury but whatever discomfort you are now feeling can be eased.”

“Complaining would only make me look pitiful. I need none of that,” she is sitting with her fingers pressed to the aching part of her skull, her brows knitted.

“Only seems reasonable to pity anyone with a ble—”

“Did anyone pity you?” she interjects, looking straight at his eyepatch.

The question is meant to cut him yet it doesn’t — too much time has passed, and his once painful memories are now dust-covered images at the back of his mind. But he finds her intent amusing. Wounded and weak, she is supposed to be at his mercy, but her spirit stays unbendable, and her gaze is so blazing, it’s nothing less of a fire. She keeps her eyes on him, waiting for his reply, confident that she will get it.

“Hardly anyone,” Aemond admits. “But I wasn’t left in a cave to die, so the comparison doesn’t work in your favor.”

He expects her to snap again, he almost wants to have another taste of her insolence — a trait so uncommon among any women he’s met, Aemond deems it not offensive but thrilling. She only hums in response, throwing him a glance, and he sees curiosity shining through her cold stare, like a ray of sun in the storm clouds. Their exchange of pleasantries is cut short by another one of her groans. He is usually patient but the sound of her suffering is a test that he fails.

“You will not get better on your own and you know it,” Aemond tries to reason. “I can take you to the greatest maester there is,” — and his persistence is akin to a plea. He anticipates her fears and allays them before she can utter a word: “You will be free to leave at any moment, you have my word.”

“What’s in it for you?” she narrows her eyes at him, her whole demeanor a clear evidence of her refusal to give in just yet.

Aemond thinks for a moment. The real answer to her question lies on the surface and is as vivid as her dress and as her blood: he knows nothing about her and he wants to know everything. He has trouble not only voicing but coming to terms with his desires.

“I am afraid that guilty conscience will disturb my sleep,” Aemond says, and it’s not entirely untrue. He can already tell he’ll think of her many nights to come.

She looks at him appreciatively, slowly, as if her gaze can cut through the cotton of his shirt, flesh, and bones his body is made of. Whatever is her verdict, he can’t tell because in the next moment, she is stricken with pain again, and talking isn’t of much help.

“We shall leave at dawn,” Aemond recapitulates, helping her lay down to have some rest while he can’t find any.

“Do you happen to have any water?” she mumbles more humbly. He senses that showing weakness doesn’t come easy for her; he’s not the one to gloat at something he can perfectly understand.

“I will fetch you some,” he reassures and pulls his coat over her again — and hurries outside.

The mountain valleys welcome him with stillness, and Vhagar’s eyes are two beacons in the mist. The dragon seems comforted by the rain and pays Aemond no mind as he climbs up to get a flask with water he luckily brought, and some lemon cakes Helaena insisted that he take (“should something happen on the road”, she said; he makes a mental note to thank her later).

They eat in silence — she has no appetite, and Aemond feels food stuck in his throat. She tells him nothing but her name; he savors the sound of it, a weave of letters he can now put to her face. Aemond studies her discreetly and although he can’t read her yet, he puts everything in memory, down to the smallest detail. The slight tilt of her head, the pensiveness of her gaze, a blizzard of feelings trapped in her irises, the stubbornness in her lineaments paired with beauty. The curve of her neck and a thin golden chain around it, her collarbones flowing down in that hollow spot his thumb would fit in... He stops himself from looking further down; his face flushes nonetheless, and something sparks inside him, dangerously unnamed.

The evening approaches stealthily but comes chilly and dank. They go to sleep early, both laid next to the fire, and Aemond courteously keeps his distance. She notices the goosebumps that snake under his shirt; her suspicions are soon confirmed when she catches the sound — and can’t tell if it’s the hammering of rain or his chattering teeth.

She considers him: his sharp profile, tense angles of his jaw, lines of his cheekbones seemingly chiseled by the Gods themselves. With his silver hair and eye the color of wisteria, she expected a different attitude; everyone knows the Targaryens to be self-righteous at best and prideful as a given. But the man next to her is instead stoically enduring the hardship he can easily avoid — if he only rolls closer and allows their bodies to trap the elusive heat; he doesn’t dare to. She realizes he could’ve taken advantage of her if he wanted, but it seems like the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind. She finds it way more endearing than her vigilance would usually let her — the pain must’ve dulled her sanity, she thinks, reminding herself that it’s the sole intent of surviving that should motivate her.

No words will work against his wit so she wastes no time snuggling up to him, with her forehead against his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest as she shares his own coat with him. A quiet gasp escapes Aemond’s mouth, but he stays still.

“I can hear you shivering,” she can feel it now too — his skin trembling under her fingers. “You are risking to catch a cold.”

Aemond is frozen for a minute, his heart thrumming at that unexpected boldness, at the feeling of her — malleable curves and no rigid edges, their ribcages in contact, their thighs brushing. Calming his breathing is an arduous task; he’s used to fighting off opponents but now he’s battling with himself, with the need that’s treacherously strong, almost primal. He barely quells it, and only by some miracle his inhales are soon steady again.

He moves his arm — the one she’s lying on — a little to the side, giving her more space to settle into, tips of his fingers stopping at her lower back. He does feel undoubtedly warmer. Aemond glances down at her, his voice a whisper tinted with mirth:

“Isn’t this called pity?”

He hears a faint cackle. “Call it rationality,” she refutes. “Since we are to leave soon, and only one of us can fly a dragon.”

The words roll off her tongue like it is the most mundane thing, not a century’s worth of power encased under the thick-scaled skin of a creature the size of a castle.

“You do not find the beast scary?” Aemond can’t stop himself from asking.

“Why would I? It is only a dragon,” her voice grows smaller, eyelids become heavier. “Unlike some men, the dragons are at least not known for their ill intentions.”

At that moment, a wish is abruptly made — to find out who harmed her, make sure it happens no more. The fury in Aemond is a mounting force meant to cause destruction, tamed yet never really dormant. But he listens to her breaths and pushes his anger aside, and the full moon is the only witness of his surrender. As he falls asleep, he tries not to think how nice it is to have her body pressed to his.

>>> What he should be thinking of is how to explain all this — him, unwed, bringing a woman to the castle; a scandal, no less. And yet, it is the last thing on his mind. It’s only occupied with this moment he wishes would never end — with gusts of wind tucked under the dragon’s belly, clouds spread out around; and, most importantly, his arms snaked around her waist, her back touching his chest.

It is bittersweet, truth be told because her pain isn’t gone overnight, and he can’t heal her with just his hands and his words. The splotches of dark maroon are even more visible in her hair in daylight, and she winces at loud sounds, at the harsh flow of air that bites her skin while Vhagar soars up, and she has to grab onto Aemond a little tighter.

But soon they reach the clear canvas of the sky, the serene emptiness, and she looks around, taking it all in — and then the corners of her mouth curl up. There are sparkles of delight in her eyes, and still no sign of fear. And he thinks that her smile is the closest thing to the sun.

They cover many miles, crossing the lands as Vhagar bursts through the clouds, and the time allotted to their inadvertent closeness runs out, mercilessly as ever. Once they land and he helps her climb down, his anxiety comes back, like a wave approaching shore. But then a sound of her whimper reaches him, almost inaudible; he only has time to turn around, to see her pained expression. She passes out — he catches her; it’s his heart that falls, and no other thoughts and explanations matter.

When Aemond is seen at the castle, he’s carrying her in his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line, and not a word slips out after he calls for the maester. The prince pays no attention to the guards and the maids exchanging glances, to his mother stopping dead in her tracks upon seeing him, her hand over her heart. There is a question hanging in the air, parting Alicent’s lips, but she doesn’t voice it and only watches her son walk away, hurried and fearful in a way she forgot he was capable of. She struggles to remember when was the last time she saw Aemond in the company of a lady. And if he ever looked at a woman the way he looks at this one.

>>> Aemond is pacing the corridor, his eye on the floor, on the pattern of the stone surface. His mind is treading at the doors that were closed in his face after she was carried into the room. She was breathing still, and that’s what helps him keep it together, his hands clasped so tightly his fingers go numb.

He wonders if maester Mellos has always been so annoyingly slow. That’s the only wondering he can allow — otherwise the noxious thoughts will flood his head: how much blood did she lose before he found her? What if he was the one being too slow? What if —

“Her life is not in danger as she regained her senses” the maester moves with the pace of a cat, his face wearing the same unbothered expression. “The long flight might’ve been tiring for her impressionable female nature.”

That assumption is disregardful and uncalled for — Aemond hates it; still, he’s glad to hear the rest. He lets out a breath that frees his chest from the chains of agitation.

“I will fetch her some herbal ointment to help the cuts and bruises heal faster,” the old man then adds.

Aemond’s expression hardens; clearly, he knows the meaning behind the words but he cannot fathom them. Violet marks of violence blooming on her skin, how could he miss it? How did she get them? He accidentally thinks of it out loud.

“It is a rare luck to get only bruises after taking a fall from a horse,” the maester looks at him askance. He gives his final verdict before leaving, followed by a sigh: “The young lady surely must rest.”

The displeasure is a tiny tongue of flame at Aemond’s ribs. He is vexed by not knowing (nothing new in that, not with his eagerness to learn all and everything ever since he was a kid). Unexpectedly, he is equally vexed by not seeing her — so much so, that he almost reaches for the handle of the door that separates them.

Aemond stops himself, his reticence a fetter but also a necessity: she needs her rest, and he shall leave her be. He will not go beyond the bounds of decency.

She can’t be niched into any bounds, he soon will learn.

>>> Aemond is good at many things but not at waiting, as it turns out. In the morning, after he wakes up, anticipation already laps up in him, his day a blur — breakfast, sword practice, the lines in a book he picks at the library all merge and bore him. He only glimpsed the maids leaving her chambers once; it took all of his willpower to go the other way.

In just three days, his impatience smolders — then flares up, then erupts into a wildfire, his head in a haze that makes him lose focus. The more Aemond tries not to think of her, the harder it gets.

He pushes yet another thought aside as he sees Ser Criston approaching, armed with a longsword and perseverance. Aemond’s training is never a dull routine — the knight makes sure of that and doesn’t make concessions. Their swords lock and clank, and time is a whirl; in the midst of it, Aemond finds himself reminiscing about her shining gaze. He almost misses the hit aimed at him and ducks at the very last second — spins, glares, strikes, his blade stopping an inch away from Criston’s face.

The knight chuckles in good spirits, and the pride he feels is almost paternal. “Such a shame you aren’t the one for tourneys,” he pants, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Aemond rolls his eye, a brief respite not helping with his frustration. The subtleties of his emotions are unknown, unreadable like an ancient language: he’s daydreaming of her hands, her face, her —

“What a shame, indeed.”

Aemond turns to the sound of her voice. The whirl is silenced in an instant.

It’s different from his memories and his dreams — better than both: she is alive and well, she’s right next to him. She isn’t wearing a dress but a tunic and a pair of breeches, cool-toned material against her sun-kissed skin. Her wound is cleaned and healing, the mark left is a lightning peeking from her hair, the waves of it loosely braided. The simple attire doesn’t take away from her beauty (nothing can, he thinks), and it takes him a second to blink the enchantment away.

Aemond’s voice comes back, a tad low. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” He’s looking too joyful for it to sound like reproach.

There’s laughter in her eyes. “No one forbade me from stretching my legs. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Ser Criston chimes in, cautiously curious. “If only you don’t find the sight too unsettling,” he twirls his sword, the steel soundless in his hands.

“On the contrary, I find it entertaining. Although that wouldn’t be my weapon of choice,” her gaze follows the blade up.

Aemond throws her a surprised look but Ser Criston is the one to raise the question. “You have your preferences? Do tell,” he turns his head to the weaponry on a nearby table. “We’ve got shortswords, flails, axes...”

“All of which lack speed,” she remarks pertly, leaving the knight mystified.

Aemond sees no mystery; he knows that in the highlands catching prey is way trickier than killing. Knives, swords, blades of any kind won’t cover a long distance. Something else will.

“Archery, then?” the prince guesses.

“Doesn’t seem like the type of weapon you Targaryens prefer,” she shrugs but her disinterest is feigned.

Ser Criston catches onto that. “Can’t have preferences if there is nothing to choose from,” he grins, then calls for one of the guards, giving short instructions.

The man runs back in a minute, with a bow and arrows, and her eyes light up. They glide over the tight string, the polished wooden bend, concave at each end; it’s crafted beautifully.

“I must ask you to spare the guards,” Ser Criston jests while she takes the weapon, laying hold on its grip. “But do not be shy about taking your pick,” he points randomly at a stack of barrels, about thirty yards away. “These might be nice for a start.”

“That is too easy of a target,” she barely glances that way, then takes a good look around. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

The knight’s cheeks heat up. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to —”

“Oh, I do not find it offensive,” she grants him a meek smile without looking, already eyeing something much further away. “To tell you bluntly, it only spurs me on,” she mounts the feathered end of the arrow against the bowstring — and then pulls it.

Both men follow the direction the arrow is pointed at. Right outside the castle gates, there’s an apple tree, tall and branched, bent slightly over the stone wall. The fruits are bulked and ruddy, mouth-watering; but from where they are standing, the apples can barely be seen, obscured by foliage the wind breezes through.

Ser Criston raises an eyebrow, not incredulous but intrigued; Aemond only gets time to take a half-breath. The first arrow is fired with no warning — it cuts through the air, a flash of color above everyone’s heads, — and pierces an apple, pinning it to the trunk. A moment later she takes another shot; after the second one, Aemond isn’t looking at the apples, his eye instead drawn to her.

He suddenly can see nobody else.

Her every move is concise and simple, but her gaze is dead-set on the tree. She repeats each shot with a honed precision, controlled yet gracious; one of her arms set in a straight line, the other one follows a well-learned pattern — an arrow out, an apple down. That’s where, he thinks, her intrepidity comes from: the deadly weapon in her hands sings like a musical tool. The chance to watch her is bliss, and she’s a vision.

Only when she’s down to the last arrow, her hand unexpectedly flinches. She doesn’t miss, still, but the iron tip veers off and knocks the apple to the ground; a shadow of discontent glides across her face. Ser Criston is too impressed to notice yet Aemond knows that feeling all too well. He’s always strived to be the best too, and he knows how poisonous the pursuit of excellence can be.

“With that level of skill you might be unrivaled,” the knight praises, his words backed up by some of the guards and passersby clapping.

She seeks no praise, her quest is more troublesome. “I can do better,” she says, with her disappointment forced down. Her voice wanes a little when she adds: “I will do better by the next full moon,” and that hidden meaning holds unfathomable weight.

Aemond is too eager to bring her comfort to read between the lines. “The bow and arrows will be waiting for you, shall you decide to train more. But do have mercy on the tree,” a smile ripples her lips, a warmth ripples his heart. “I will ask for some target rings to be made.”

That gives her a dollop of contentment, and their fingers brush when he takes the weapon back. As Aemond gazes after her, he wonders if she feels it too — blood stirring, sweet dizziness, limbs lightweight.

Ser Criston watches the prince with a knowing look, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “It is so rare to find a lady with such a competitive spirit and a talent to match,” the knight muses. “Her husband must be a lucky man.”

Aemond’s joy shrinks, that mere word disturbing. “She doesn’t have one,” he responds. The uncertainty of his answer leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Doesn’t she really?

“That might not be for long,” Ser Criston carelessly comments. The prince’s cold stare makes no impression on him. “Shall we resume our training?”

Aemond goes to pick a shorter sword, his blood now boiling for another reason. There’s a gaze that’s akin to a caress, to a gentle tap on Criston’s shoulder — he turns readily to meet it, dark brown eyes that are a mirror of his own. Alicent casts a glance at her son, questioning and worrying, then holds the knight’s gaze once more. The looks they share are hand-written letters — both of them write the same thing.

>>> Alicent goes looking for answers first — she walks into the woman’s chambers the very same day, with the elegance of a Queen, with the benevolence of a mother. She doesn’t push but guides the conversation; she faces no resistance from the woman she’s facing.

When they are both seated, she tells her a story as old as time, a tragedy lived out by many. Her mother died when the girl was ten years of age, too weak to carry on her blank existence, and her father couldn’t even bear to look at her, no matter how much she tried to please him. Growing up in the Vale felt freeing but lonely, so she preferred archery over embroidery to leap at every chance to get away from home, into the beauty of the wilderness she had no one to share with. But she held out to hope that her life would change. She couldn’t predict that said change would start as an accident — her horse slipping on wet grass.

Alicent can’t help but bring her into a compassionate embrace at the mention of it. Her embrace turns into an offer — of a place to stay, of a shelter, and a friendly ear (maybe those were all the things her younger version wished for but was robbed of). The lie Alicent heard was so skillfully woven into the truth, she didn’t get suspicious.

Once Aemond learns the story from his mother, he discerns the misleading part in a second. All the other pieces fit together like a puzzle — her being self-reliant and guarded, her brazenness a shield, just like the one he’s grown accustomed to. But that last bit was made up, he can tell. And yet, he just doesn’t know how to approach the subject and not scare her off.

Aemond takes a task on earnestly.

>>> He looks for an opportunity to talk — he ends up tirelessly watching her, and he can’t say that there is no pleasure in it. She does resume her training, and every morning she’s the first one at the training yard when the sun is barely up, and no prying eyes can witness her dedication. Him having an eye on her doesn’t seem to be a problem.

His relentlessness has always been something Aemond prided himself on but it’s hers that he grows to enjoy. He carefully notes her refined movements, her sharp focus, her gaze cutting through any target before an arrow does. It’s easy to be fascinated by her; it takes him a couple of days to look past her outward calmness to catch a flicker of a feeling he can effortlessly recognize — an undercurrent of fury. And then he grasps that each time she aims at the wooden boards, she means to hurt someone. And maybe that is the exact reason she struggles with her every last shot, and her hand keeps flinching, unsure, or maybe too overwhelmed with certitude instead.

On one of those mornings, Aemond gets an idea, an outburst of bravery (or madness, but he’s too excited to care). She’s grimly collecting the arrows, inspecting them for damage when she sees him out of the corner of her eye.

“I couldn’t help but notice that something’s been troubling you,” Aemond comes closer, hands behind his back. She gives him a look that holds no denial but no explanations, either.

Aemond goes to the wooden boards, round and lined up on a hastily built frame, — and stands in the middle, right in front of them. He then puts out a hand with an apple in it, ripe and deliciously red. “Maybe I can help.”

Nothing short of shock flashes through her face, her eyes darting from him to the fruit and back. “What— ” her jaw drops as the words escape her; she strings them into a sentence. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you focus better,” Aemond offers in the calmest tone he can master.

It’s not uncertainty that leaves her speechless, her proficiency hard to deny. It’s the genuine, borderline naive trust that he shows her — with his open gaze on her, his body not moving from the spot, his faith in her as unwavering as his posture.

The moment is fleeting, soft like a morsel of a gossamer cloud, with so many words not shared; in another blink of his eye, it ends. The change in her isn’t drastic but chilling, like a touch of steel blade to the skin — her hand doesn’t waver when she reaches for the arrow, her gaze firmly locking on him.

As her last attempt at leniency, she notes: “There is no stopping an arrow once it’s shot.”

Aemond doesn’t think twice before replying: “You trusted me with your life once. I trust you not to kill me.”

She lifts the bow without hesitation, and he keeps eye contact with bated breath. The never-ending movement of life abates and the pale sunlight fades, and Aemond is deaf to everything but his booming heart. She drops the bow out of the way just a little and pulls the string up to the tip of her nose. She waits at full draw, the passing seconds endless and fulminant at once, before her hand flows back, her fingers relaxing — and the arrow slices through the air.

The first one hits somewhere above the apple; Aemond doesn’t dare to even take a glance, standing motionless, rooted to the ground. The second one follows soon. It’s a blood-curling contrast — how quiet is each shot until it reaches the target, and then the arrow rips right through the board, a deafening crash, a waft of death he’s spared from. Until she draws the bowstring again.

Aemond hears the third and the fourth hit, his hand unmoving, every muscle in his body tense. He is rarely scared, and it’s easy to mistake the fluttering of his heart for fear. But with how his eye is riveted on her, his gaze rapt and throat soar, — he thinks, it might be some other feeling. He gets no time to guess as the fifth arrow — finally — plunges into the apple and pins it to the board.

It’s a momentary reprieve, a quivering wave going through his body; and yet, she doesn’t lower the bow, eyes still fixed on him. Aemond can see her inhaling, the metal tip of the arrow pointing in his direction — and then released smoothly. In a split second, it lodges into the gap between his ribs and his arm, the feathery end stopping right next to his heart. When Aemond looks at her, he catches fiery glints of mischief in her gaze — and then something else, bright but short-lived like a glare on the water.

She puts the bow down, and they both know — her hand didn’t flinch once.

Only when Aemond steps away, he sees that the six arrows form the letter “A”, with the red apple right in the middle.

>>> He’s afraid the change is transient but it lasts — she is now watching him, too. Aemond finds it befuddling at first, not considering himself worth the attention, not used to being seen as something other than a wreckage of man, intimidating, and lonely, and harsh. She doesn’t look daunted. On the contrary, every time she sees him, the ice of her concentration thaws, and her gaze softens and lingers on him, mending every part of him that’s been broken by his insecurities.

She doesn’t recoil from the parts that are irreparable, either. She shows the same understanding when he can’t find the right words and shrinks into his shell — in the middle of conversations, in between rows of bookshelves, at bustling dinners; her company is a haven he can retreat to without a word. She welcomes his every impulse to talk and to share — thoughts, meals, books he thinks she will like (she bites down a smile thinking how much time he spent looking for any mention of archery).

She stays by his side when he doesn’t want to talk and when he overshares, when he’s bleakly taciturn, and when his temper gets as rigid as his sword; she’s enthralled by his anger, never burnt by it. One week turns into two, then into three. Day by day, Aemond wakes up earlier to watch her hit every target without fail, and she then watches him win one bout after another with evident amusement. They explore the castle, get lost in the library, take rides to the woods — she laughs as her horse breaks into a gallop, she basks in the sun, wind ruffling her hair, and his heartbeat raises to a clamor upon seeing her like that.

Her seat is next to his at the dining table, their chambers not too far away, and he persistently walks her to her doors, and every evening he dithers before saying goodnight and parting ways. Her presence soon becomes a warming light nurturing his days — and simultaneously the reason for him losing sleep. But as he lays at night, watching the moon wax, he thinks of another constant, bothering him like a page missing from a book, a closed door he’s got no key for — it’s her secret that he is yet to uncover.

He gets his chance when he least expects it.

>>> The month is nearing its end when Aemond is nearing the dining hall, brimming with emotion he cannot capture — excitement, unrest, sprinkling of anguish. He last saw her hours ago, when his mother came to her in the training yard, and the two of them hastened to leave, seemingly in some agreement he knew nothing about. He caught bits and pieces of words — mentions of fabrics and seamstresses, but it didn’t help with his confusion which soon turned into worry he had trouble coping with. And it wasn’t the worst part.

What’s worse is the comprehension, icy and unforeseeable like a blast of northern wind: it’s only been a few hours, and he’s already missing her. He looks back at the days she wasn’t with him, but they all seem too far away and forgotten, his life before her a blank canvas that she’s now painting with colors. He keeps thinking of her, getting more pensive with each step, until he reaches the doors, and walks in, and —

the ground is cut from under his feet.

All is the same in the hall: long table in a cloud of mindless chatter, silverware clanking, a rich palette of scents. What stands out is the color, bright like rubies formed within the earth’s crust. It’s the red of her dress — the same old and brand new — and he can only catch a glimpse but it’s enough to leave him dazed. It lasts a second before she senses him, her conversation with Helaena interrupted; she springs to her feet, the dazzling hue stirs up his ardor — he’s almost blinded when he gets an eyeful.

He is staring at her, everyone’s staring at him.

Helaena stands up with a laugh in her attempt to smooth things over: “It isn’t very nice of you to keep a friend waiting,” they both sit down then.

Aemond goes to join them with cotton feet.

He must’ve been too busy last time, her injury too big of a disturbance, so he paid the dress no mind. But once he’s seated, he can’t help but notice: the layers of fabric, flowing lines of her body, the cut in the front, the golden chain now ten times brighter. She casts him a wondering glance, he drinks half the cup in one swallow. The minutes that follow are like a fog, and although the conversations carry on, Aemond can’t bring himself to take part in any.

That is until he hears vaguely his sister’s delighted voice. “The stitching is barely noticeable! What an excellent work,” she marvels at the red dress, then looks at him with the spontaneity of a child. “Wouldn’t you agree, dear brother?”

He’s certainly grateful he’s not drinking otherwise he’d choke. Aemond manages to cast one furtive glance. “A fine work indeed.”

His mother gently picks up the discussion. “It was only fair to help repair the thing your friend holds so dear,” Alicent’s gaze is directed at her. “You can now wear it on more than just one occasion.”

Why would she hold so dear the dress that only carries the memories of her pain, he wonders. The dress that was covered with blood, with fingerprints of someone who wanted her dead. He takes a peek at her, and her face expression gives away no answers but for a second too short to comprehend he sees the undercurrent again; only it never takes shape. She puts on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and he’s the only one to notice.

“I greatly appreciate you taking your time to help me,” she says, and Alicent’s smile — a genuine one — only grows wider. Maybe even a bit too wide for it only to be about some stitching.

“I suspect we tired you out with all the measuring and dressing up,” his mother points at her plate. “You hardly ate, my dear.”

“It’s been a long day,” her fingers close around a cup but she doesn’t drink from it, “And the dress brought back some memories,” her grab tightens, the only sign of everything she’s keeping covered. “But I am glad to get a chance to wear it one more time.”

“And I am happy to help,” Alicent assures, “But please, go have some rest, you have seen enough of our boring dinners.”

“I was never bored,” there’s a glimmer of gratitude, a tone of sincerity as she gets up from the table and looks at the faces sitting at it. For a moment, it seems that she wants to say more — grand, meaningful, closer to the truth. And yet, she just opts for a short, “Thank you for having me.”

She barely has time to take a step before Aemond all but jumps to his feet. “I will walk with you,” the words leave his mouth as he stands up with unflinching determination. And it’s not that he wants to leave as much as he wants to follow her.

His eagerness doesn’t come off as a surprise. No one says it but it seems that everyone knows — Alicent and Criston sharing the same looks, Helaena beaming, Aegon smirking into his cup. Aemond only waits for her reaction, his eye focused on her face. She isn’t against it — just like she’s never been before, every time he found a reason to come to her and be with her, and even when there was no reason to do so. She gives him a nod, a tad guiltily but more so accepting (and maybe just as eager as he is).

While they are on their way out, Aegon turns on his chair to say something but Helaena covers his mouth with her hand.

>>> Aemond breathes a little deeper and walks a little slower, gathering his words, — and before he knows it, they are talking again, his infatuation receded, although never truly gone. He asks about her day, and in the corridors and hallways curtained with silence, her voice flows lightly. He can tell that she’s abashed by all the fussing over her.

“Our seamstresses are quite fierce,” he chuckles. “I fear no sword of mine will stand a chance against their needles.”

“They said this dress was made for feasts,” she quotes, fiddling with the material as if she can’t see what’s there to admire.

“Well, Aegon’s name day is approaching. That will surely be a feast we are all invited to endure,” Aemond jests.

“I don’t think that I will —” she doesn’t finish the sentence, biting down her lip. He’s too distracted by that movement to pay attention to what’s left unvoiced. “You do not find those celebrations to your liking?” she changes the topic swiftly.

“I find them boring,” Aemond huffs. “The same old lords boasting about their wealth, making up achievements that are each so hollow.”

“Sounds like ladies aren’t a part of those conversations?”

“Theirs are hardly better so you should keep your expectations low,” he ruefully remarks. “Сourt gossip is one thing you can’t avoid. And then they’ll either lament about their husbands or try to find one for you,” he doesn’t think much over his words until he sees her smile dropping. And then, before he can find a reason not to, he adds: “...Assuming you are not already married.”

As soon as she hears it, she stops — Aemond does too, and he can tell that she isn’t looking for lies and excuses. She only timidly looks around, as if she’s afraid the walls have ears, and the truth she’s about to tell him is only meant for his. They managed to reach his chambers first, so without a single word Aemond goes to open the doors, and she accepts the nonvocal invitation.

They walk in — both are hasty and agitated, but he gives her space and scarcely hides the trembling of his hands. She finds it hard to utter a particular word. “I was... betrothed but not anymore. The man in question now believes I am dead.”

Her face is turned away from him, her gaze gliding over every object in his room, searching for something to fall on. She hesitantly walks to his table, glancing over a stack of books on it.

Aemond gives her a minute, then inquires: “Was he the one to hurt you?”

Her pain is still fresh, her face briefly splashed with it but she pushes through. Her response is not affirmative and yet, it’s enough of a confirmation. “I should’ve known better than to trust him.”

His anger rears up its head, a beast on a chain readying to get loose. “There is no excuse for what he did,” Aemond punctuates. “There cannot be —”

“There isn’t,” she cuts him off, not harshly but with a weary acceptance, her finger grazing thick book covers. “And I’m the last person to ever make excuses for him. But I should’ve known.”

Aemond is hurt by the thought he gets, but her torment is even more hurtful so he says the words, each letter scorching his heart. “You can’t take the blame for having feelings. Love often makes people let their guard down.” (And for years, he never did. Not until her).

With how fast she retorts, his ache is cured: “It wasn’t love.” Whatever it was, she regrets it so deeply, it’s written all over her face. “Now that I think about it, it never was.”

Her fingers travel down to the table surface, her thoughts straying back to the time that’s too distant but too haunting to forget.

“Lord Dykk Hersy is a son of my father’s friend, we’ve known each other ever since we were kids. He was always too noisy, then turned too self-centered, not much to like about that. And I never thought he fancied me, either. But my father made a decision about us some years back, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So Dykk started coming more often, following me around, being very nice. And I wasn’t...,” she stops fumbling with strewn parchments and lets out a sigh. “Not a lot of people were nice to me back then. I was naive to mistake his kindness for something else, and he was smart enough to say all the right words to make me believe him.”

Her fingertips reach his dagger, unscabbarded and left in plain sight. His eye is drawn to her every movement.

“We were betrothed when I was ten-and-six. I grew to like his company, and I think he did try his best, at first. For a couple of years, he was courteous, generous enough to give in to my every whim. Not that I had too many,” she’s glassy-eyed, and Aemond’s glare would be enough to kill. “But the illusion didn’t last for long. I soon began to notice pitiful stares, taunting whispers behind my back, maids dropping their gazes in shame. Three years in, I found out one of them was carrying his child.”

“Am I right to assume he denied it?”

“He did,” she chuckles bitterly. “He seemed taken aback by my anger, tried to persuade me he was falsely accused. But I could never blame the girl, it’s not her fault he was so good with words... I fell for them too,” her sadness is washed off with virulence; her fury awakened again, flames of it rising from the bowels of her restraint.

Aemond finds himself only a few feet away from her, pulled in by empathy at first, enamored somewhere in between the first and second steps.

“From that day, the complaints began, the excuses — he was too busy to stay for long, then got too busy to visit.”

“Was it so hard to saddle a horse?” Aemond bristles.

She casts him a glance followed by a half smile. “He lives in The Reach.”

“So chivalry is dead,” he snorts, and her laughter gives him a spark of joy. “It isn’t far away from here,” Aemond notes.

“Takes way longer to reach the Vale,” she explains, then pauses. Her memories eat up the merest hint of cheer. “Only he wasn’t road weary. He was burdened by me.”

Aemond almost reaches out for her, but clasps his hands together, his knuckles whitening. Her finger traces the very edge of the blade.

“And then, on his latest name day, my father made a poor joke,” her smile is crooked, hating. “He said me and Dykk were meant to stay together unless death do us part. That’s when, I think, he got the idea.”

“It is unworthy of a man to ever nurture such a thought,” his voice is embittered, his chest ablaze with wrath.

“I should’ve known,” she sounds dull like an echo. “He’s always called himself a man of traditions — the start of the month was meant for hunting, and he preferred the grounds of Grassy Vale, the shore of the Blueburn river. But then, all of a sudden, he wanted to explore the mountains of the Vale,” she wraps her hand around the hilt. “Said he wished to reconcile, that the trip would bring us closer, made me wear a dress,” she stumbles over the words, “And I didn’t even want to come or to see him, and all the signs were there, but I put on the stupid dress, and I was the one being so unbelievably stupid and —”

His palm covers hers in a rush of tenderness, his gaze more telling than a poem, confessions embedded in it — so many of them, it would take all night to unravel. They stand still, their eyes locked, his affection sweeping in between his fingers and her skin.

“None of that was your fault,” Aemond asserts. “And no one is to blame but him. Your fortitude is only worthy of admiration.”

It’s alluring how unrelenting he is in his desire to please her; the shift of her body toward his is barely noticeable, and she looks a second away from giving in. Something stops her, a sign of regret on her face, her gaze averted.

“And yet, he continues with his life thinking he got the last laugh,” she bemoans. “And I fear I... will never forget the feeling of his stranglehold as long as we are both alive.”

“You survived the unthinkable,” he tugs at her hand, caring in a way no other man ever was with her. “Why can’t it be enough?”

She ponders, hesitates, her outrage tempered by his solicitude. “I guess some lessons can only be learned the hard way,” she draws conclusion.

There it is again — the puzzling implication, a mystery wrapped in an enigma; it leaves Aemond with a sense of unease. “You deem that lesson to be worth it?” he questions.

The truth slips away from his grasp, but her hand stays, and it is too disarming of a sensation for him to think clearly. “I am afraid it’s too soon to tell,” she deflects, her thumb pressed against the flat of the blade. She can’t resist glancing briefly at it.

“You seem to like this little thing,” Aemond observes. “If so, you can have it.”

Her face is so bright with glee again, all the light in his room grows dim in comparison. “I’ve never seen such an intricate pattern,” she clarifies shyly, then adds with appreciation: “It’s truly beautiful.”

“It is,” he’s only looking at her.

“Teach me how to use it,” she unexpectedly asks. She looks at him again, her gaze exulting, and his heart skips a bit. “Properly.”

“And why would I do that?” he asks, undeniably willing.

“Why wouldn’t you?” she teases, her hand moving from his, clamping the dagger tightly.

Aemond misses the feeling — her skin against his, tighling with warmth, — and he catches her fingers in the same second. The distance between them is shortened down to a few inches; they don’t seem to care.

His touches are light and feathery. “You need to make sure your grip is strong,” he gently presses his forearm to hers, her hand positioned in his palm. “Not too tight so there’s some room for maneuvering. But with all your fingers in place,” he gives instructions, and she eagerly follows.

The red of her dress is a striking distraction; as is the softness of its lace, of her touch, of her lips parted in wonder, her diligence bewitching. She waits, his blood rushes; Aemond gulps.

He continues. “It is a common mistake to take a swing with a pommel up,” two of his roughened fingers latch onto her palm. “But the backhand grip works better,” Aemond rotates her hand in the right position, a steady motion with unsteady breath; her shoulder comes in contact with his chest.

He halts all movement, she makes no attempt to step away. He wonders if she can feel... He lacks the words to describe it. But he can discern her bosom heaving with every breath, and his heartbeat is caught in his throat.

He keeps the dagger pointed down, then calmly guides it up and away, their fingers intertwined. “This way, the point of the blade always comes first,” her eyes are on the steel, on the veins scattered on the inside of his wrist. “Which means that the threat also comes faster,” his eye is on the curve of her neck, on the necklace gleaming, beckoning him to glance lower.

Both of them feel the pull, too spellbound to resist — she takes a half step back, he meets her halfway. Her back is now fully propped against him, every bit of his body overflushed with yearning. Their hands stay adjoined as his words vine through her hair: “You try it.”

And so she does. The first time she repeats the movement, it’s almost reluctant, and his long tenacious fingers lead the way. He inadvertently leans in, his forearm molding into hers, a touch that edges towards embrace; her bashfulness then disappears without a trace. The metal shines coolly as she dexterously twists the blade, and Aemond should be concerned with how easy it comes to her; he is instead utterly transfixed.

She looks at him over her shoulder, his breath fanning out over her cheek, the space between them almost nonexistent. She makes a turn, torturously slow, their hands an inseparable duet, bodies longing to share heat.

“Seems like you did have some practice beforehand,” Aemond notes, voice barely above a whisper.

“Or you are a good teacher,” her eyes slip over his lips.

“And you are a fast learner,” he says under his breath.

This once, his gaze wanders, like a wayward traveler in search of means to satisfy his hunger; she is the one he craves. His fingers are itching for every curve of her body — she’s burning in all the places she wishes he could touch her. The tension rises, floods their bloodstream like fever, and —

“Hardly fair to leave me deal with our grandsire on my own!” Aegon bursts through the doors without knocking, a cup in his hand. “Did I ask for a lecture on table manners? I did not!”

He then sees them, already a step away from each other, and there’s a hint of surprise in his eyes which quickly turns into suspicion. He’s about to voice it when she blurts out: “Aegon would make for a good target.”

The cup he’s holding doesn’t reach his mouth. “...I beg your pardon?”

“I talked your brother into teaching me how to throw a dagger,” she lies slyly. “Would you mind stepping back to the door?”

Aegon blinks, incomprehension evident on his face for a moment, until he frowns and does move back to the door — only to open it and rush out, grumbling: “Both of you are utterly insane.”

The second he leaves, she bursts into laughter, and the same sound, low and hearty, spills from Aemond’s lips. She glances at him — his face relaxed, cheeks adorned with dimples, and he catches her gaze. The moment is lost but their desire isn’t, still swelling in both, unabated fire under the navel.

But now she tarries, her delight eclipsed by a grim understanding she chooses not to put into words. She tries giving him the dagger but Aemond gently pushes it back: “I meant it, it’s yours.”

“Thank you,” she puts it into a scabbard he hands her, then murmurs, sincerely grateful: “For listening, too.”

“I am glad to be worthy of your trust,” he replies warmly.

There’s a ringing urge in the back of his head to come closer to her again. But she is unanticipatedly avoidant of any intimacy, mumbling something about the late hour, moving out of his reach — and then the urge turns into a need so desperate, he can’t keep it bottled up.

“I think he is the biggest fool in the Seven Kingdoms,” Aemond lets slip.

She turns to him when her hand is already on the door handle. “Because he couldn’t manage to kill a woman?” the smile she gives him is acerbic, but her gaze is sad.

“Because he didn’t love you the way you deserve,” he breathes out.

She looks astonished, her mouth falling open, and he wants nothing more than for her to say another word, just to give him a reason to spill his every feeling out. But she slumps her shoulders and purses her lips, and then pulls the handle and gets out so quickly, the door slams behind her, and the sound makes him wince.

He is left all alone, with an unsaid revelation at the base of his throat — the way I would’ve loved you, he wanted to say. And with another heartbeat, Aemond realizes: he already does. He is already hopelessly in love with her.

>>> That realization is a ball lightning that swirls in his chest, and he cannot close the eye all night. It’s liberating to say it to himself — love, the word that sounds and tastes so sweet; it’s also absolutely terrifying. Chaotic thoughts run through his mind, and he is racked with indecision that’s paved with his self-doubts and fears. Amidst the chaos, Aemond finds himself reminiscing of her shining gaze — and then of a touch of her hand, of her eyes on him, of her body leaning toward and her lips not shying away from his. He couldn’t have made all that up, he thinks. He also can’t let fear dictate his future.

Aemond leaves the room with the first rays of the sun, while its light only shyly skims the ground, but the prince’s never been more awake. His intent is a vital force, a fuel that makes him quicken his pace. He all but runs — down the stairs, through the doors, through the castle, and out of it; her name and his proclamation on the tip of his tongue

— only she isn’t in the training yard.

And neither are her bow and arrows.

Anxiety scrapes his ribcage and spreads like ice, then creeps, sluggish and squeaking, into his subconscious. His gaze roves over every corner of the yard, but he can’t catch the slightest hint of where to look for her.

He does break into running on his way back; the corridors and walls all flash before his eye. Her chambers greet him with her absence, the maids all share his concern. Aemond tries to look for clues — a letter, a piece of anything that once belonged to her — but she had no belongings, he remembers then.

Despair crawls out, like a predator sensing blood; Aemond isn’t about to give up without a fight. He goes to question the guards — surely, she couldn’t just disappear into thin air, no matter what her talents are. The men in silver-plated armor are doubtless striving to help, but only one of them recalls her visiting the yard not long before the sun emerged. That knowledge is rather scant and hardly helpful, and Aemond’s determination traitorously falters.

Help comes in the form of a stable boy passing by who gleefully chirps:

“The lady must be a skilled hunter,” he says to no one in particular, dreamingly impressed. “Not many people stick to traditions these days.”

“...Come again?” Aemond throws him a glance so piercing, the boy stammers.

“I only m-meant that it’s a full moon,” he hurriedly explains. “They say, on that day deer move more at night hence why the hunters favor it so much.”

That’s when her words resurface in his mind —

“I will do better by the next full moon.”

“Lord Dykk Hersy always called himself a man of traditions.”

He thinks that for a man who’s only lost one eye, he surely couldn’t have been more blind. Because the clues he’s been so desperate to find were all before his eyes this entire time. He promptly knits together all the fragments — her tireless training, haunting memories, her asking to repair the dress. Only, the one occasion she wanted it for was not some silly dinner.

Disappointment clashes with worry in his chest as Aemond leaves the castle once more, this time with a destination in mind. He blames himself for not guessing sooner; he hopes and prays that it’s not too late.

>>> The grounds of Grassy Vale are robed in green, a canvas of valleys and flats with lone wooden shacks interspersing; Aemond reminds himself he didn’t come for sightseeing. He gazes into fields sprawled underneath, and Vhagar’s body casts a shadow that sweeps along the earth like a water stream. With how low they are flying, it won’t be hard for any of the smallfolk to spot the dragon but Aemond can’t find it in himself to care.

His gaze is searching for one person only, his longing for her immense against everything in his life that’s been measured. But soon he sees the river, and the valleys smoothly give way to forests; Aemond admits with increasing concern that he’ll have to continue on foot. Vhagar grudgingly plops into the high grass, burying her claws in the ground, the flap of her wings so strong, it brings down a couple of trees. Once their rustling is stilled, the sullen peace settles in the vale.

As if to add to his unrest, the sky gets blanketed with clouds, and he can hear the thunder humming in the distance, his heart already hammering in tact. The Gods, it seems, certainly have a penchant for drama.

The sound of the branches crackling is what catches his attention first, and he discerns heavy footsteps fast approaching. In just a second, Aemond sees a man running out of the forest, and there’s no need to take a guess — not only does the stranger look clearly aghast, he’s also got an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

Aemond throws him a disdainful glance but Lord Hersy is too distraught to notice. “Please, help!” he begs and whines, “I am being chased by a mad woman!”

The prince holds back a snicker, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the sight. “Oh, how unfortunate,” he drawls, and every feature of the man looks hideous to him. “A woman instilling that big of a fear? It is the rarest of things.”

Lord Hersy can’t seem to share his amusement. “She’s truly evil!” he assures with wide eyes, his legs unsteady, hand pressed to the wound, red seeping through his fingers. “She led me into an insidious trap, and I am left completely disarmed!”

“It sounds like it required quite a lot of planning,” Aemond notes. “Might it be that she has a reason to be cross with you?”

“I am a righteous lord, I wouldn’t hurt a fly,” the man lies profusely, and a dark look crosses Aemond’s face. “My only fault was trusting her, that scheming wen—”

With one hand movement, Aemond grabs him, his fingers holding the man’s collar so tightly, Lord Hersy has trouble breathing. “But you are surely cross with her, it seems,” the prince remarks in a dry tone, his gaze blistering cold. Underneath the ice, there’s a flare, a spark; he is actually enjoying this. “Would you mind, my lord, telling me more about her?”

Lord Hersy seems taken aback by the request but obeys implicitly. “She’s n-not lacking beauty, that I will admit,” he weakly tries to free himself yet to no avail. “But ignorant of manners and so terribly short-tempered!”

“Is it her temper you are so afraid of?” Aemond doesn’t hide his mocking.

“She’s got a dagger!” the man complains in distress. “An angry woman armed poses a horrid threat! Gods know, I’ve done nothing to merit that mistreatment!”

He opens his mouth to accuse her some more — but then finally takes note of the frighteningly stiff look on Aemond’s face. The prince’s lips curl up into a wrathful and malignant smile, and the air gets heavy with silence.

His anger is a beast that breaks the chains with its teeth.

“Hm,” Aemond shakes his head with derision. “Worry not, ser, you are in good hands,” the prince lowers his face to his, his voice spewing poison when he hisses, “I was the one to give her the dagger.”

Lord Hersy does attempt to escape Aemond’s grip, he’ll give him that. Pathetically and weakly he twitches and wails, tries scratching his face, then reaches for the eyepatch, wobbly fingers tugging at the stripe of leather, gasping and swearing and —

all of his efforts fall short, and Aemond’s iron grip doesn’t loosen one bit.

And then, out of nowhere, another hand grabs a fistful of the lord’s hair, yanking his head back so harshly, that he gasps. They both were too distracted by the scuffle to notice her draw near, but once she reaches them — engulfed in red, her gaze equally flaming — she truly is force to reckon with. The fury looks so good on her, it makes Aemond hold his breath.

“I see your luck did finally run out,” she says to the man, words filled with resentment.

Lord Hersy grows unsure about his every accusation. “I think there’s been a grave misunderstanding,” he protests in a whiny tone. “I deeply regret causing you any offe —”

“I don’t remember you regretting dragging me down from a horse to try and crash my skull with a rock,” her voice is low, biting. The grin that follows makes her face look sinister. “I knew you couldn’t finish.”

His frown betrays his irritation — he puts it out the second he pulls out the dagger. “There are still ways for me to make amends,” Lord Hersy pleads so sickly sweet, Aemond lets out a growl. “I made a terrible mistake, I shall admit, but I did search for you! Day and night, I prayed to the Gods to find you, I cried my eyes out!”

Her face seems empty while she listens, and Lord Hersy is enough of a fool to mistake it for reluctance. But Aemond thinks she’s never looked more sure, and there’s no mercy she can grant the man whose fate has long been sealed.

She tilts her head, the corners of her mouth twitch, and the prince reads this expression with ease — she’s finally facing her most wanted target. He loosens the grip, and Lord Hersy falls to his knees, gulping air, the breath of death no longer tickling his neck; but his relief is premature.

The blade in her hand pale-glimmers in the vanishing rays of the sun — the man only catches a dreadful glint before he feels the metal pressed against his throat. Her gaze is just as sharp. “Go on then, dear lord,” she sneers without a sign of mirth, each word hastening his end, “Cry me a river.”

He barely gets a breath in when she swings — unmerciful and with the backhand grip; the dagger draws a scarlet cut across his throat. The wound is deep and fatal, and the blood runs fast and thick, cascading down his chest, his body going limp and falling lifeless to the ground. The red seeps out into the grass, splashed beads of it shining dully against all the green, and it’s almost alluring to look at.

Unceasingly and invariably Aemond only looks at her.

The trees sway in the wind, and the clouds race, the sky now veiled with the darkness of the unfolding storm. He’s never been the one to value landscapes, but it makes him think: the same lush wilderness surrounded her while she was growing up, a rose among the weeds, her thorns repellent to most but no obstacle for him. With bloodied hands, disheveled hair, dirtied clothes — she’s still the only one he wants, irresistible as life.

She stands in reverie, her gaze boring into the huddled body of the lord: “I must admit, this is poor planning on my part.”

As if on cue, Vhagar’s roar echoes in the distance, and Aemond smirks: “I know of a way to get rid of a body.”

She hums and slightly leans over the dead man, wiping the dagger off on his coat, and Aemond sees that she ripped the dress again; he finds it funny.

“Not the best choice of clothing, I might say,” the prince notes.

She follows his gaze and doesn’t even bother to adjust the damaged hem. “He thought I came back from the dead to hunt him,” she lets out a dry laugh, “I counted on that.”

“Wish I could see it,” Aemond says, a gentle admiration in his tone.

Her mask of concentration crumbles, replaced by the expression he remembers from the day before. The same astonishment mixed with timorous indecision, with a tint of shyness, washes over her face as their eyes meet.

“You came for me,” the words fall from her mouth as if she only now becomes aware.

“Why do you find it so surprising?” he wonders because leaving her was never an option for him.

“Unreasonable, mostly,” she bashfully remarks. “You’ve been so kind to me, and yet I left without saying goodbye.”

“You did,” he agrees, thinking that shyness only adds to her charm.

“And I never told you of my plans,” she admits, even more coyly, and he just nods.

Her gaze falls, mouth unsurely half-open, as if she’s trying to pluck the right words from the grass. He watches her, and there’s that pull again, the flowering desire in his chest.

“I think it’s time for us to go our separate ways,” she musters out, and it knocks the air out of his lungs. She’s curbing her own pain, deeming it to be a relief for his. “You’ve done more than enough for me... I think your conscience should be clear.”

The wind picks up, and so does his pulse. “And where will you go?” Aemond asks, his voice faltering.

“I am my father’s only heir” she shrugs, mostly burdened than pleased. “He will take me back and,” she works up the courage to find his gaze again, “I won’t be a problem of yours any longer.”

The thunder is approaching, a rushing sound disrupting the peace of nature. Aemond knows he will never find peace if he lets her leave.

“So you can go,” she offers but they both don’t want it, and he instead allows himself a step to her. “If this is what you want,” she blurts out in a shaky voice that gives away her struggle no matter how much she tries to put up a face. “If this is what your heart desires,” she adds so quietly, she isn’t sure he will hear her. But Aemond does.

Something snaps in him, and his body is an arrow shot out — he closes the distance in a heartbeat, and his lips all but crush into hers. She kisses him back with the same fervor, without a moment’s hesitation, and neither of them is timid or holding back. His hands find her waist, follow the gentle bend of it as she presses herself to him, as her mouth opens more, and his craving turns into hunger, his desire not hidden any longer, erupting right through.

Aemond grabs onto her hips, desperate to feel more, ravenous in his need, and each of his kisses is a plea for her to heed to; she does. Her fingers frantically travel up, then tangle in his hair, untieing knots of his restraint, his quivering sighs all disappearing into her mouth. There are no other sounds but their shuddering breath, their lewd touches, moans — hers or his, he can’t tell.

The massive storm is brewing when they part, both breathless, their lips still brushing.

“It’s you,” his confession is hot against her mouth, “You are the only thing I desire,” the syllables flow, pouncing like a waterfall, “He was undeserving of you, foolish, pathetic excuse of a man, and if only I—”

His words die down at the feeling — her fingers dancing right above his cheek. The one that’s scarred, unloved, detested by him; the gruesome sight that was supposed to be covered by the eyepatch. He must’ve missed the moment when he lost it, too wrapped up in his anger to notice the despicable lord succeed in his attempts. Aemond can’t find it in himself to ask for confirmation, to even move his hand to cover half his face.

She never looks away. And then, in the gloomy evening, she smiles — the sun rises again, a crack of dawn formed by every feature of her face. Her fingertips tenderly graze his scar.

“You asked me once if I thought it was worth it,” she recalls, her gaze affectionate, without a shadow of a doubt. “It was. Because I would do it all again if I knew the fate was leading me to you.”

The warmth of her touch heats him up, then ignites every part of him. She’s still caressing the side of his face when he reaches for her — his kiss so searing, her hand trembles, while his confidently moves to the hollow of her throat; this time, the sound of pleasure is undoubtedly hers. With his eye closed, his mouth on hers, Aemond sees the vision, bright as day: him going through the layers, lace and red, until she is all bare in his sheets, and he can put his lips to every inch of her skin. And feel her, drink her, worship her, their limbs intertwined, him drawing moans from her until the night sky lets in the first streaks of light.

He has to take a labored breath to blink the dream away, to hold his ardor back for just a little longer. By the look on her face, she’ll welcome his every offering.

“It seems that all those years I’ve been searching in all the wrong places for you,” Aemond whispers, holding her tight in his embrace.

“But you found me,” she follows the contour of his jaw with her finger, her smile never fading. “And you can have me,” she makes a vow, and her lips trail for his to seal the promise.

And no storm can compare to the love for her that rages deep in his heart.

✧ if you are into stories about revenge (enemies to lovers, with angst, fighting, and quite a bit of fire involved), I have a multi-chapter fic for you ✧ two more stories inspired by songs (modern!au): with Aemond & with Aegon ✧ my masterlist tagging @amiraisgoingthruit who was kind enough to ask (girlie, I’m sorry this one is so enormous…) also big thank you to arcielee for approving the gif it was driving me insane 💙

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

#aemond targaryen #it took me 3 (THREE) months to find inspiration to finish the gif and I can't say I'm 100% happy so I will take NO criticism #to the ten people who will read this — I am forever grateful (I'm sending you cups of cacao as a treat)#my stuff #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fic #aemond one eye #aemond one eye x y/n #hotd fic #house of the dragon fanfics #hotd fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond #aemond the kinslayer

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tuhtofu · 1 year

Text

walk ‘em like a dog

cw: sub heizou, dom reader, gn reader, pet play, exhibitionism, public humiliation, masochism (incl. physical harm), dacryphilia, shoe humping, cum eating

wc: 1.1k

Summary: You take Heizou for a stroll around town.

Heizou is quite a well known figure in Inazuma, considering he’s the biggest hotshot among detectives. But more importantly, he’s your pet, and today, you decided to take him out for a night of bonding activities.

Said pet currently sits on his knees in front of you, body bare and covered in questionable bruises and fists resting on his knees. The only thing he’d been wearing throughout the whole day was a pair of light brown dog ears, and a cute tail plug to match.

His eyes are looking up at you expectedly as he leans his head upwards to expose more of his neck to you, showing off the collar he so proudly wears in front of everyone.

You can see his eyes sparkle when you secure the leash onto his collar, the satisfying click causing Heizou to wiggle in place.

He loved the serious look in your eyes as you inspected him, letting out a sympathetic hiss as you pressed on one of the bruises littered on his collarbone, making Heizou wince in discomfort.

“You poor thing, these must hurt,” you coo condescendingly, knowing that you were the cause of each and every one of them. He nods slightly in response, shuddering at the way you smile down at him. He can recall every memory that came with those bruises.

Whether it was to mark him as your property, or to simply hurt him for your own amusement, he loved seeing the physical proof of his devotion to you.

You run your hand through his hair, letting out a sigh of contentment before getting up.

“Let’s go.”

Heizou’s fluffy tail almost looked like it was wagging in excitement as he crawled behind you, too slow for your liking, so you pulled on the leash harshly and he yelped, moving frantically to match your pace.

A short while later, you arrived in Inazuma City. The roads were fairly empty at this time in the evening, with only a few fair maidens in sight. However, it only made your pet stand out more, and he watched as they shot him judgemental looks and whispered amongst themselves, eyes widened at the unwanted display. Oh god, they definitely recognized him, didn’t they?

It humiliated him to no end, but despite the low whimpers of shame he let out in an attempt to catch your attention, you only continued to walk nonchalantly, shooting the women a friendly smile as you passed them.

After what felt like ages, you arrived at Ogura Textiles & Kimonos, your puppy trailing behind you, head bowed in embarrassment as he tried to conceal his presence.

“Welcome to Ogura Textiles & Kimonos. What can I do for…” the owner trails off mid sentence, eyes slowly wandering downwards when she notices the naked, leashed human by your side. It seems that Heizou’s efforts were to no avail.

He looked up at her with a ruddy face, and he could feel himself twitch at the way she stared at him slack-jawed. He whined, rubbing his cheek on your calf, not knowing what to do now that he’s completely distracted the woman.

You look down at him, smiling once more, before grabbing his hair roughly to pull him away from you. Heizou whimpered in response, mumbling sorry’s, but it only served to irritate you further.

You push him to the ground with your foot and as he falls to the side, you deliver a harsh kick to his stomach, causing Heizou to scream in both pain and pleasure. Yes, this is what he lived for, to be treated like he’s a puppet, to be played with, to be the dirt beneath your feet.

“Don’t you dare disrupt us again.” you spit, and Heizou keeps his eyes cast downwards as he nods, getting back on all fours silently with one arm clutching his stomach to soothe the pain as he feels his eyesight blur from tears of delicious humiliation.

He was trying his hardest to hold back now that his dick had hardened to the point of leaking, but all he could do was try to rub his legs together discreetly, anxiety pooling in his gut in fear that you would catch him, but luckily, you paid him no mind.

It didn’t do much to relieve the ache he felt, but he was glad that he could catch the precum drooling from his tip on his thighs. He could only imagine what you’d do if he dirtied the ground.

You apologized for the misbehavior and the rest of your conversation with the now mortified woman continued as normally as it could after what she had just witnessed, and finally, you left, tugging on the leash in your hand with enough force to choke your pet. The coughs he let out made you shudder in delight as you smiled to yourself.

The two of you stayed silent as you walked home, with Heizou trying his hardest to be good for you, to not make a sound as he sobbed at the way he’d been treated, and due to the excruciating pain he felt on his stomach and scraped knees.

At last, you arrived at your doorstep, unlocking the door and leading Heizou to kneel once more in front of you as you sat yourself on the couch. Moving one of your boots closer to him, you looked at him with disgust, seeing the obvious effect your treatment towards him had, and how shamelessly he spread his legs to ensure you saw his reddened cock jump.

“Hurry up, filthy whore.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, quickly maneuvering so that his dick rested on your shoe as he began to frantically hump it, hands moving to tug at his nipples as he cries out at the rough feeling of the cold leather on his skin. It hurts and he can barely get enough friction, but he’s so pent up that he will take anything you give him.

You slowly move your foot away from him and he whines loudly, pleading with you with tears falling from his eyes that you keep it under his cock as he wouldn’t dare to touch it himself, and with a chuckle, you bring it back where he wants it most.

It doesn’t take very long for Heizou to finish. He looks like a lovesick puppy, hearts in his eyes and drool escaping his lips as he ruts against your shoe until it’s stained with ropes of cum.

“O-oh… Thank you! I love you!” he yelps.

You don’t even have to speak after he gets out of his post orgasm haze, because Heizou immediately leans down, throwing a teasing look your way as he laps up the mess he made on your shoe, swallowing it loudly and sticking his tongue out to show you how well he cleaned it.

You caress his cheek with your thumb, wiping his tears away as you praise him for his manners, and he smiles up at you as he leans into your touch.

Correction, Heizou is a lovesick puppy.

#sub genshin impact #sub genshin #gn reader #sub heizou #dom reader #heizou smut #genshin smut #heizou x reader #dom!reader #sub character #gn!reader #genshin impact smut

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ohbo-ohno · 2 months

Note

hey hey heyyy saw this and thought of youuu

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT83xLH3c/

(completely sfw don't worry) but like, Imagine for one reason or another you desperately need to get married (maybe to qualify for your medieval grandpa's will) but no one wants you for whatever reason so you promptly go down to the gallows where this murderous ex Soldier was to be executed and you are just "he'll do" not aware that he comes as a package deal with his partner who didn't get caught 👀

are you. are you joking. oh my god

thinking about a woman who's got a terrible home life. i feel like either her parents want to marry her off to some guy who's like 80 or they treat her like a workhorse and are super abusive

and to her, quite literally Anything is better than the life she's stuck in. and for a woman in this time period the only real way to escape is to get married. and since no one will marry her (she's poor and everyone knows how her family is).... well there's really only one choice

she definitely proposes to soap, not ghost. the man getting dragged to the gallows is perfectly at ease - shoulders rolled back, easy smile on his lips, you would never think he's being led to his death. there's something in his over all demeanor that makes it almost easy to jump from the crowd and shout a proposal

he's excited, almost ferally so. he grabs your wrist and holds tight, doesn't let you get even a full armlength away from him. that's when you start to think maybe this was a mistake, but it's far too late now. he's also weirdly insistent about the two of you going to a very specific room in a very specific hotel (or whatever they used to be called)

you get a bit more scared every second that goes by, but you're well aware what a man expects on his wedding night - you grew up on a farm, you know how animals mate. it's scary, of course, but you know you'll have to bear it

except when you get to the room, he doesn't try and take you. you know he wants to - there's a tent in his pants that makes your face flame - and he keeps you flush against him. he sits at the table? you're in his lap. you try to go to the bathroom? he stays so close to you that you decide it's not worth the potential humiliation.

he talks your ear off the whole time - tells you how pretty you are, goes into frankly excessive detail about what he likes about every single part of you, tells you how he wants to "stuff you full", says things like "'m not so bad, kitty, know ye must be scared but i'll take care of ye, don't worry" and "just wait til he gets here, then we can get started" and no matter how much you ask who he is he refuses to tell you

he has his mouth pressed against you throat (switching between licking, biting, and talking about how he can't wait to see what's under your skirts) when the door opens, and you realize that you've truly made a mistake

the new man who walks in has to duck beneath the door frame, he's so massive. had he been the one walking to the gallows, you never, ever would have proposed. he's got to be twice the size of you, his face covered, the rest of him filthy and covered in dirt

(((if i had the energy i'd write dialogue here, but anon i am sleepy)))

soap would be soooooooo happy to present you to ghost, is literally drooling and beaming as he grabs you by the hips and hooks his chin over your shoulder, big hands stroking across your stomach and skirts as he says isn't she so pretty?

anyways. you're getting railed that night. hope you like being on the run with two criminals who have absolutely no intention of crossing over to the light side!!

(ghost fucks you first, bc soap needs to learn to be patient with his new toy, but he lets you suck his cock while he waits for his turn. when soap fucks you next, you're laying on ghost's stomach and he wipes away your pretty tears as johnny does his best to break your back. the next day johnny laughs when you're walking with a small limp, and ghost makes him apologize with his tongue <3)

#side note with old weird laws:#there's definitely smth you could do with that old rule that pregnant women didn't get executed #asks and answers #ghoap x reader #bo writes

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goosetheluce · 4 months

Text

you're my home (lucy gray baird x fem!reader)

info: cussing, ever so slight angst, mutual pining, confession, reader is running from district twelve with lucy gray

a/n: it's not weird to have a crush on someone with the first name as you !! taylor swift and taylor lautner did it leave me alone

»--•--«

you stirred from your rest at the bright sunbeams pouring through the trees. and maybe also lucy gray's insistent tugging and repetition of your name.

"holy shit," she grumbles, clearly dismayed. "wake up! we're almost there. gotta get moving."

" 'm up. lord."

you heaved a sigh and arched your back, a tight line of pops rushing down your spine. you took a deep inhale, eyes shutting again as you ran a hand along your fucked up, greasy hair.

traveling on foot for a week isn't the most flattering look.

when you peeled your eyes open, you were met with lucy gray's judging stare beating down on you. considering the way the corners of her lips twitched, though, you knew she couldn't stay annoyed at your heavy sleeping for too long.

"gimme a break, lucy gray. i'm not used to this," you rasped. you rolled out of your tent and lay dramatically on the forest floor. what's a little more dirt, anyway?

she scoffed and her radiance peeked through her exasperated face. the wide smile woke you up a little more.

"should've hung out with the covey more while we were still around the district," she scolds, grabbing your soft hands and wrapping them in hers to pull you to your feet. "might've taught you how to not be a baby."

"maybe. but i ran away with you, didn't i?" you retorted. "i think that makes me pretty grown."

lucy gray's playful smile faded into a more serene one. she simply gave a nod and stepped away, picking up her backpack.

"look what i found while you were asleep," she murmured. she pulled out eggs (poor mother bird), and a bundle of herbs for tea later. your mouth watered.

"no salt and pepper?" you teased, taking an egg and inspecting it. it was heavy. you were hit with homesickness as you remembered your kitchen, which sometimes struggled to stay stocked, but at least you had the chance for butter.

you both decided on soft-boiling the eggs in the tiny pot you begged lucy gray to pack before you ventured off. you sat and ate, peeling away the crackling shell and talking about the journey and whatever else before packing up and hiking through another day.

things were natural with her. hell, everything about her was natural. her beauty was untouched by the standards of the capitol and instead flourished freely. it was evident in the lively bounce of her dark waves and her sunkissed olive skin. you wondered when the last time was you looked in the mirror without picking everything apart, envying lucy gray's outward confidence.

"i still can't believe we're doing this," you spoke up, the silence becoming insufferable.

lucy gray turns her head to meet your eyes, her expression neutral. sweat pooled on her hairline and dripped down her temples. you knew if you reached out to touch her, her skin would be blazing with the power of the sun. good thing she doesn't burn.

"like, running away and all that. i thought i'd rot away in twelve for the rest of my life."

till i met you, you added on silently.

lucy gray laughed.

"a woman like you? naw, i had to steal you away. couldn't let such a beauty go to work in those damned mines."

"you really think i'm that much of a priss?" you sighed, batting your eyelashes at her sarcastically.

"oh, honey, i never said that. sometimes a girl just wants a treat for herself. so i got my treat."

you blamed the high noon for your feverish cheeks.

the minutes turned into hours, and the shadows stretched across the grass. laughter rang across the fields.

"your first kiss was billy taupe? he's so fucking boring, i'm sorry," you cackled, eyes shut tight from hysteria. "sadly for the rest of us, though...next to you, anyone is boring."

"what? first kisses aren't exactly known to be glamorous," lucy gray defended. "besides, i got the real deal after him."

"oh?" you perked up, voice stabilizing. "this mystery guy must be the reason your head was in the clouds...at least, according to maude."

suddenly, the happiness drained from her face. "for a while, i guess. wasn't worth it." you averted your eyes to the front of the scenery. your grip tightened around the straps of your backpack.

"you deserve better. you'll find someone. a hot guy from district four, maybe," you teased, nudging her arm with your elbow.

like me.

"oh, perfect, a fisher! don't even need to buy cologne for his birthday; it'd be useless against that rank," she remarks sourly.

you giggled as her teasing gaze met yours. your grin was mirrored, and you memorized the crevices of her smile lines. her eyes fluttered down to your lips for a brief moment before she cleared her throat and unraveled her map.

you let out a deep breath and looked around. you remembered when you first met lucy gray, frozen and terrified to see somebody else outside the limits of twelve. she eyed you warily from the lake, her lips parted and brow furrowed.

you realized you should probably say something to the girl in the lake, but you didn't know what. she waded toward you and began a less-than-friendly warning before you interrupted her.

"we don't have food. i'm just out here to gather some things."

the girl's voice halted and her shoulders reluctantly dropped from their defensive position.

"thank god."

"what are you doing in there? aren't you gonna get caught?" you inquired nervously, eyes flitting everywhere. the girl laughed brightly.

"those joke 'peacekeepers' don't care about anything that goes on past the fences. not even a covey girl swimming. scandalous, i know."

you stared as the sun washed over her soaked hair.

"lucy gray baird," she offered up her name. "but you can call me lucy gray. that's what all my friends call me."

"i'm..." you started, walking to the edge of the dock to meet her at the water.

she muttered something quietly, bringing you back to the present.

"what's that?"

"ah, just that we should stop here for the night. it's not a good idea to go through the forest in the dark. so easy to get lost," lucy gray corrects herself. you nodded and looked around for a spot.

"there looks good," you suggested, pointing to a spot under a lone cluster of trees. lucy gray hums in agreement before starting towards the spot, taking your hand in hers. your heart skipped.

the sky wept deep indigo, bleeding down into the horizon as the sun sank. insects chirped and buzzed, their calls flowing through the tree leaves and across the grassy plains. the fire was warm; the smell of roasted game and pungent tea carried away in the wind. lucy gray's wavy voice split the thick summer air pleasantly. your eyes stayed fixed on her. her dainty fingers held her tea. a sly smile painted her face.

"you stare a lot," she remarked. "you know that, right?"

your eyebrows raised a bit. you kept looking, wondering how she'd noticed and still hadn't even looked up to meet your gaze. until she did.

god, you loved the way her eyes looked like a cup of black coffee. the way your grandma used to make it. or maybe the tree bark you peeled away from a rotting trunk as a kid. the soil embedded between your fingers after a long day of work.

"i do know that," you responded a second too late. awkward delivery. you swallowed and looked into the towering coniferous forest. shadows crept from beneath the canopy and raised the hairs on the back of your neck.

"we should probably wrap it up soon," you insisted. "put out the fire, get to bed, all that." you picked at a scab till it flaked off.

lucy gray scoffed, setting her tea beside your backpacks.

"the sun is barely gone. just 'cause the birds are sleepin' don't mean we are."

you said nothing in return, still wary of the woods nearby. your fingers pressed firmly into the skin of your arms, which were rested on your knees. you sighed and put your head down.

you felt lucy gray's gaze burning into you. you felt the former scab swelling and the droplet of blood spilling down your arm.

"you messed with it too much. might get infected if we don't clean it," she asserted. you smiled with your head on your knees. lucy gray was making an excuse to touch you. you wondered silently if she felt the same intense heartrate, the same jolt of electricity every time your arms brushed as you hiked through the countryside.

away from all the rules.

you lifted your head and saw lucy gray hurrying back with a damp towel and honey. your brow furrowed.

"what's that for?"

she chuckled as she kneeled down to wipe away the blood and dirt with the towel.

"it'll keep that cut clean. antibacterial properties an' all. trust me."

your breath hitched as the towel made contact with your cut. the gentle sting of raw honey being spread across the wound is what snapped your drooping eyelids back open.

definitely not lucy gray's lips so close to you.

"...hey," she whispered.

"hi?" you responded, smiling a bit.

"it's alright if you're homesick. you can talk to me about it, if you'd like."

you breathed out a long sigh and pressed your forehead to hers. she hesitated before bringing her left hand to rest on the side of your face.

"lucy gray," you began, but struggled to finish. you pulled back slightly to make eye contact.

"i'm not that homesick. i have you," you whispered softly.

"you're my home."

you were met with a tense silence. you wanted to turn and run, because how could you be so stupid to tell her that, and you ruined the moment, and-

suddenly her lips are pressing gently into yours. your eyes widened. the taste of the tea she was drinking lingered on your tongue as she shuffled back.

"fuck! fuck, i'm sorry, i wasn't thinkin'," she apologized, voice shaking as she stared at you. she fiddled with her hands anxiously. you'd never seen her so flustered.

all you did was make your way back to her, cupping her face in a heavy kiss. you smiled against her, feeling her body relax into yours. her hands rested on top of yours before sliding comfortably onto your waist. she pulled back, jet black eyes bright with starlight and exhilaration.

"coming with you, getting away from twelve...it's been the best decision i ever made," you confessed, dropping your hands from her face and instead rubbing her arms. "i've wanted nothing except you for like, a year now."

"we've known each other for almost three years. i'm wounded," lucy gray teased, her fingers unsuccessfully smoothing the top layer of your hair.

"well, was i better than billy taupe?"

"quiet, you."

»--•--«

#lucy writes #lucy gray #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x reader #tbosbas #tbosas #tbosas x reader #lucy gray x fem!reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #the hunger games

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harwinsgirl · 1 year

Text

Healing - Aemond Targaryen x Reader

After Aemond is injured during a jousting tournament, you have been selected to tend to his wounds. The prince is not prepared to awaken to a feisty, unknown woman in his chambers who claims she’s there to care for him.

(Listen, Ser Harwin still owns my heart but this devilish war criminal has been plaguing my thoughts. I must banish him with a fic. Since some of you have asked to be tagged in Harwin fics I’m not gonna tag anyone here since it’s Aemond but please feel free to let me know if that’s something you’re interested in for the future! Some slight angst and fluff, tw for some brief trauma mentioned by the reader)

Prince Aemond had just beaten his twelfth jousting opponent in his father’s nameday tourney and he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Despite his prowess, he did not have the same reputation for celebrating that his uncle was known for. It was common knowledge that the Prince felt that these events were beneath him and were a waste of his time. However, every now and again he would be persuaded to participate. The silver haired prince would defeat his challengers with speed and efficiency, earning raucous roars from the crowd each time a young knight or lord fell flat on his back.

The men that were pitted against him were of little consequence to him. All from lesser houses, just serving as entertainment to King Viserys amongst the other events and festivities. Aemond would resent being subjected to playing such a role as well, but would never say anything to confirm his feelings. Truthfully, his scowl said enough.

Over the loud cheering from the crowd, the prince could not hear his opponent stirring from his place on the dirt track. Aemond had approached the booth where his family was sitting. His father was grinning and clapping while his mother had a joyful smile of her own. Only when he acted the part of the good son did he receive such affection from his parents. Bowing politely, Aemond willed away the feeling of acid in his stomach and plastered on a smile as well.

And then he felt a sting.

The young lord has stumbled forward and drew his sword up the prince’s back, cutting at the tunic that peeked from under his armor. The sword continued its path and left a noticeable scratch on Aemond’s cheek.

The arena was stunned into silence. The king’s voice boomed and filled the air, demanding the boy drop his sword and back away from the prince. Aemond turned swiftly on his heel and clicked his tongue in disapproval, watching as the heir to House Jhorr lost his nerve, his posture folding as he cowered in fear. Whatever anger that had driven the poor soul to attack him had subsided.

“Pick up your sword boy.�� Aemond demanded.

“Please, your grace! Forgive my actions.” Lowering his voice, the sandy haired boy trusted the prince with more knowledge. “My betrothed sits amongst the spectators today. I was embarrassed that I lost. I treated you like a brother and not my lord prince. I am dreadfully sorry.”

Aemond couldn’t help but glance over at the area where the boy’s eyes were hovering. A beautiful blonde lady was clutching her chest, panic marring her graceful features.

Too many people thought the prince was a monster already, with his jagged scar peeking from under his eyepatch. Too many men whispered about him in the corridors, too many ladies cast their eyes down when he walked by, too many children gasped and hid their faces in their mothers dresses.

He was not about to prove their suspicions right.

A handful of the kingsguard interrupted his conversation, scooping the boy up by his arms and holding him in place.

“Please.” The boy whimpered.

Aemond closed his eyes and shook his head, mainly at himself. It would be completely justified if he slashed the young lad’s throat in front of his father’s guests. It would be more than appropriate to have him dragged to the dungeons for further interrogation, never to see the light of day again. But he would see that woman’s face in his dreams every night, her bright eyes spilling with tears.

“All is forgiven.” Aemond said firmly. “Release him.”

The prince’s act of grace elicited gasps and murmurs from the crowd. But Aemond was having a hard time focusing, his vision growing grey and hazy with each passing moment. He saw the boy’s lips move quickly, his expression relieved and his arms animated with movement, but he could not respond.

Prince Aemond had collapsed.

Your quiet shop at the edge of King’s Landing had been invaded early in the afternoon by several members of the kingsguard, who were requesting your presence and expertise for an unnamed patient within the Red Keep. You packed several ointments and herbs with you amongst other tools that could be helpful in treating an injury or illness, for they had not told you what was afflicting this person you had been tasked with treating. You were hastily helped into a carriage that took off down the cobblestone roads as soon as the door behind you had shut.

You were a healer that operated a small business in Kings Landing. Unable to study at the Citadel and earn the title of maester due to being born a woman, you did what you could, turning an abandoned home into a place where people could seek treatment if they were unwell. Things had been relatively stable in the capital and you were very cautious with who you let through your doors. You had fled twice from other settlements when talk of witchcraft began brewing (heaven forbid a woman be knowledgeable in subjects like science and medicine). But armed guards firmly escorting you out of the premises and taking you to the royal palace was a sure sign that your activities were not as discreet as you’d hoped they had been.

Just as quickly as you’d been thrust into the carriage, silver gloves reached for you and pulled you out swiftly, placing you on the ground. You were jostled forward and forced to keep up with the fast pace of the guards who were leading you up the steps into the Keep. Without even looking at you, one of them began detailing your assignment as you marched onwards, your glass bottles rattling as they clinked together in your wicker basket.

“You are treating Prince Aemond. He suffered from several injuries that he sustained during today’s tourney. You are responsible for his care during this time.” The guard finally turned to look at you, stopping you in your tracks. “If his condition worsens, you will be at fault. Any mistreatment will be seen as treason.”

“Why are the maesters not attending to the prince?” You asked, a hint of annoyance in your voice. You couldn’t help but find it very ironic that you had been sought out to administer aid to the prince, and yet somehow weren’t fully trusted to do so.

“There is an illness that is plaguing our maesters. We cannot risk exposing the prince. And that is all you need to know on that subject.” He said gruffly.

Several flights of stairs later, you were just outside of Prince Aemond’s bedroom chamber. The guards posted outside of his doors nodded at you as they had been expecting your arrival. The door creaked open and you slipped inside.

The room was ginormous. Soft, velvet furniture adorned a sitting area that was set up around a grand fireplace. The walls were filled with overflowing bookshelves. Aemond had two desks that were scattered with papers, writing implements, and scientific tools. That area was an organized chaos, where the layout of such materials made sense only to him. The corners of your mouth twitched upwards into a smile. Your own room looked very similar in that regard.

The windows were huge, but the drapes were shut in nearly all of them, depriving the room of good lighting. You were too busy looking around and taking note of things that you almost failed to hear a pained groan come from the large bed in the middle of the room. Wisps of pale hair were peeking out from under satin sheets.

“M…m-ma…maester…M-maester Ry…Ry…” Aemond mumbled dryly.

“Do you need some water, your grace?” You asked, making your way over to his side table.

The body underneath the covers stilled. He did not recognize your voice. And your voice was that of a woman’s. The prince sat up sharply, wincing in pain immediately after he had done so.

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded, squinting at you. You paused and gave a slight curtesy before flashing a smile at him.

“I’m not here to kill you if that’s your worry,” you joked, “in fact, I’ve been contracted to do the opposite.”

“You’re a woman.” He stated plainly.

You looked at him wide-eyed, fake shock washing over your face. You slipped a finger under your gown and peeked down at your own chest.

“Good heavens, so I am.” You said in response.

Aemond had to bite his lip to suppress a smile. Who the hell were you?

“You can’t possibly be a maester.” He said, trying to keep his voice as flat as possible.

“I never claimed to be, your grace. But as luck would have it, all of your maesters are currently indisposed, fighting off some illness. So here I am, a world renowned healer in your very own chambers.” You took your eyes off him for a moment to start rummaging through your toolkit, but stopped as soon as you heard him clear his throat.

“I can’t have you tending to me, my lady.” Prince Aemond said.

“I managed to make out some details of your ordeal on my way here.” You said, ignoring his statement entirely. “Your subjects are whispering about it, your grace. Apparently you fainted after you were struck with a sword by one of your opponents?”

“I did not faint,” Aemond said bitterly, “I merely grew tired.”

“An interesting place to choose to catch up on your sleep, your grace.” You quipped.

Aemond rolled his eyes. “Despite what you may have heard, it was not as terrible as it sounds. I will rest here until one of my maesters is available and I’m sure my recovery will be quick. I’m sorry that my family troubled you. I’ll make sure you’re compensated.”

You couldn’t help but notice how hoarse his voice sounded. The idiot never took you up on your offer for water. You strode over to him and poured two glasses of water from the pitcher on his night table. You handed him one glass and downed the other, reassuring him that you had not managed to poison it in the short time you had been in his chambers.

“Let me get this straight,” you said, staring hard at the wiry prince that was still mostly covered by his bedsheets, “you’d rather die than be treated by a woman?”

“Who said anything about dying?” Aemond asked, raising his eyebrow at you.

“Any type of laceration is dangerous. You never know what sickness is waiting to take root in your blood. By dismissing me, you’re courting death.” You set the glass down on the table and sighed, shaking your head at him. “That’s too bad then. You were so young. I’ll be sure to send my condolences to the King and Queen. What color roses would you like at your funeral, your grace?”

Aemond looked at you incredulously. It was as if you had no fear. Here you were, freely discussing his death without any regard for the consequences. You could have your tongue cut out for speaking such unkind things about him. And yet, he had a feeling you would simply resort to hand gestures instead if that were the case.

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head at you. “You have ten minutes.”

“Thank you so much, your grace.” You said with an abundance of sarcasm.

With deft fingers, you went to work cleaning the scratch on his cheek and the gash that was still seeping from his back. You murmured soft words to him and rubbed his skin every time he winced or made a sound of displeasure. Despite immediately vexing you upon your arrival, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for the state the prince was in. He was undoubtably in pain. You also failed to disclose to him that what most of the gossip that you had heard on your way to his chambers was about his uncharacteristic generosity in sparing the young boy’s life. Any other man would’ve cut him down and made an example out of him.

“That lord shouldn’t have acted with such recklessness, your grace.” You said softly as you bent over the bed, hovering over him as you dabbed at his cheek. “You’re lucky the wounds are not that serious.”

“Not that serious?” Aemond said, taking the rag from your hand as he peered into your eyes. “A moment ago you said I was at death’s door.”

You swallowed nervously. It was easy to act aloof and jest with him when you were farther apart. From this angle you couldn’t help but take in his chiseled features, the scent of evergreen that seemed to blanket his skin, and the way his chest rose and fell with each gentle breath.

“Dear, sweet healer?” Aemond pressed. He definitely noticed your eyes wandering.

“I…suppose that’s just because you have access to such wonderful care.” You said, trying your hardest to lighten the mood again and cut the growing tension.

It wasn’t working.

It’s as if Aemond was studying you now. Watching your every movement and enjoying the way you stumbled or stuttered when you caught a glimpse of his piercing gaze. You almost wondered if it would have better if he had been successful in getting rid of you.

You had nearly finished your treatment. The wounds were cleaned and properly dressed. You were in the process of giving him a once-over, checking to see if there were any marks or bruises when you noticed a red line peeking from underneath his eye patch.

“Your grace, if you would be so kind to remove your eye patch, I believe when you fell you must’ve received another injury.” You said gently.

Aemond’s mouth formed a tight line. All the playfulness that had been your doing and the thick energy that had been growing between you two seemed to vanish in an instant.

“I will not.” He said angrily.

“Your grace, I insist. It may require my attention.” You pleaded, moving to place a hand on his cheek. Aemond’s hand moved swiftly to catch your wrist before you had the chance.

“I said I will not.” He repeated, his tone still quite harsh.

You furrowed your brows in annoyance. “I am your healer. I need access to all of you. If I don’t perform proper treatment, I could be punished.”

“I am refusing this treatment.” He said lowly as he dropped your hand.

“Why?” You questioned, your hands on your hips as you stared down at him. He was no longer looking at you. You waited for a response, but Aemond continued to avoid eye contact with you.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and then looked at you again. “You may go now.”

“I will not!” You fumed, pointing your finger at him. “I need to take care of you!”

“Can you take care of this?” He bellowed, ripping the eyepatch from his face.

A dark blue sapphire rested in his eye socket. He glared at you, his chest heaving from his fury. For a moment neither of you spoke, your expression unreadable as you stared at him, the gemstone twinkling ever so slightly when sunlight hit it from a crack in the drapes.

Aemond didn’t know what to expect. You merely stood there, taking him in. Most women would’ve gasped or even screamed. Disgust would’ve been evident on their faces. And yet, you hardly had a reaction. He didn’t know if that was a comfort or not. He was about to command you to speak, but you finally addressed his outburst.

“You think the world doesn’t know about your scar?” You said quietly, your eyes never leaving his. “Prince Aemond One-Eye. You must despise that name. And yet, you hardly know how beloved you are. How people talk of your skill as a swordsman. How men lament that they will never look as handsome as you do, and will never be as well versed in histories or sciences. There are still women that would be lined up to take you as a husband if given the chance. I’ve heard children beg to be you as they play in the streets, for Prince Aemond rides the largest dragon in the world.”

Your fingers moved to the strings of your dress. Your eyes grew heavy from the tears threatening to spill from them. Slowly, you pulled at the fasteners of your garment until your dress fell from your body, revealing a large scar that ran from your hip all the way up between your breasts.

“There is no love for a peasant woman that looks like this. Every man who catches a glimpse of this ugly red mark beneath my gown turns their head in disgust. Every jagged corner of my skin reminds me of how unloved I am. Remember that, my prince, the next time you decide to wallow in self-pity.” Your voice wavering slightly, you tilted your chin up again and glared back at him. “I am very sorry you lost your eye, but you will always be a prince. You will always be loved. Others are not so fortunate.”

Aemond rose from the bed and made his way over to you. You had bent down to recover your gown but Aemond’s hands found yours. He interlocked your fingers with his, squeezing them gently in a silent plea to get you to look at him again.

“When you first came into my chambers, I wanted you to leave immediately. I did not want the burden of looking at me and tending to me to fall onto a woman. Especially one such as beautiful as you,” he murmured, tracing small circles on your palm with his thumb. “And when you asked to see under my eyepatch, I resisted. I have never met a woman who can stand the sight of it. I hide it for good reason. The ladies that you speak of who would marry me surely only would in their desire to reach a higher status. The men who admire me still would not trade their lives to live a day as me. There is a difference in being beloved and being loved as who you are. Scars have such a terrible way of alienating you from the world.”

He dropped one of your hands to place a hand gingerly on your hip, tracing the beginning of your scar lightly. “May I ask who did this to you, my lady?”

You nodded your head, blinking away stray tears. “A suitor of mine who I had rejected countless times cornered me in the gardens of his father’s estate. I told him I’d never marry a wretch like him. He told me he’d allow me to go, but that he’d bestow upon me a parting gift,” you sniffled. “So that he’d always be with me. And that no man would ever take me as his wife. I’d always be his.”

Prince Aemond was a man prone to anger. He had a low threshold for certain types of people, such as arrogant lords, fussy ladies, and the terrible excuse for a brother that Aegon was. But he especially hated abusers of women. Whoever this man was, Aemond closed his eyes and imagined horrible things happening to him. A faceless, nameless man who deserved to be roasted alive by Vhagar, flayed by menacing criminals from fleabottom, cut down limb from limb by the prince himself. He deserved a thousand deaths for ever hurting you.

“One more question, if I may,” the prince asked softly, trying to rid his head of such images. “Why did you choose this profession? Does it not cause you anguish when you think back to this event?”

“No one was there to tend my wounds. I remember the loneliness of that feeling. I never wanted anyone else to feel that way.” You admitted, looking down at the pink lines that ran across your belly. “I never wanted anyone to feel lesser for something they did not ask for, something out of their control. I’ve lived with this a long time, and I’ve loved myself fully. But sometimes it still knocks me down like a wave. It’s hard each time but I’d never choose to do anything else with my life.”

“Lay down, my lady.” Aemond commanded softly before you could speak any more.

“What?”

“If you do not wish for my affections, you may tell me so. But if you’d allow me, I’d like the chance to take care of you. You’ve already taken such good care of me.” Aemond whispered, nuzzling his face against yours. He was drawn to you, mesmerized by you. The smart, fiery woman with a heart that still needed mending. He felt the pangs of jealously stab at him when he imagined anyone else but him stepping up to that task.

“It was my job.” You said sincerely, smiling at the prince. You leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Aemond’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact.

“You should be fully healed within a day or two. I’ve left some ointment with instructions for your servants on your study desk. I shouldn’t take up more of your precious time, your grace. Thank you for being so kind to me.”

Again, you reached for your discarded gown but Aemond reacted too quickly, scooping you in his arms and gently resting you on his bed.

“You shouldn’t be lifting anything!” You said, slightly frustrated.

“And you should allow me to compensate you in my own way.” Aemond responded, joining you on the bed.

Before you could protest, Aemond reached for the covers and pulled them up to cover the two of you. He snaked one arm underneath you and rested the other on your abdomen, gently tracing the outline of your scar.

“I will not force you into anything you wouldn’t want. And even if you had the same desires as me, I know my healer would advise me against any strenuous activity today,” Aemond said with a grin. “Allow me just to hold you, my lady.”

You gave him a perplexed look as the prince settled next to you. “I do not understand what is happening.”

“What is happening is that I am enjoying the company of a very smart woman. Who is gifted in the fields of science and medicine. Who has hair that smells of lilies and eyes that shine like the sun’s reflection on the emerald seas. A woman that entered my chambers and immediately disarmed me with her wit and personality. Who tended to my wounds with genuine care and love. A woman who is not afraid of my trauma and felt comfortable enough to share hers with me. I want you to stay. You are a fascinating creature who seems to be hellbent on capturing what is left of my heart.”

Your heart leapt at the prince’s words. Carefully, you moved to rest your head on his chest. The two of you laid still for a moment, simply resting together and enjoying the quietness of it. Absentmindedly, Aemond began playing with your hair as his eyes struggled to remain open.

“Didn’t I annoy you when I first entered?” You asked, leaning into his touch.

Aemond opened his eyes and gazed down at you. “Was that your attempt at distancing yourself from me?”

“Not at all. You were being an idiot and I responded naturally to your behavior.” You said matter of factly.

Aemond moved to hover over you, his arms planted on either side of your shoulders. “How is it that you have a penchant for saying things that if spoken by any other would have me seething with rage?”

“You’ll learn to love it.” You said cheekily.

“I’m afraid I already have,” Aemond said, placing a kiss on your forehead.

#harwinsgirl #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond #fluff #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #prince aemond

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the-froschamethyst4 · 6 months

Text

My Gym Rat Husband

𖤐Pairing: Gym Rat! Soap x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: Fluff, kissing/making out, some smut, slight arguing, language, fingering, eating out, P in V, make up sex, blowjob, quick face sitting

𖤐Summary: Soap likes the gym a little more than coming home, he thinks he needs to keep being buff for his wife Y/n, but Y/n doesn't need him to be buff, he needs him to be home with her.

——————

Soap woke up at his usual time at 4 in the morning to get ready for the gym, this is his morning routine, wake up at 4 in the morning, get his gym clothes on, make a pre-workout smoothy, and then leave the house by 4:30 to get to the gym and he sometimes doesn't come home till 12 in the afternoon.

Y/n always wakes up to an empty bed instead of looking at her husband. She liked seeing him asleep in the bed but when he got a gym membership, he's gone in the morning.

Y/n woke up to the birds singing and the sun coming into the bedroom, she rubbed her eyes and looked to her right not seeing her husband like usual.

She moved the covers off her body and went to the bathroom to take a quick shower.

Once she was out, she grabbed some sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt. She headed downstairs to make herself some coffee, grabbing her favorite mug and pouring in the good morning mud in her mug.

As she grabbed her creamer from the fridge her hand touched something powdery, she rubbed her fingers knowing it was Soap's pre-workout powder.

"Every time," she says. It's true Soap will sometimes spill his workout powder on the counter and not clean it up and Y/n will have to do it.

She grabbed a towel and placed her hand just under the counter making sure to catch the powder, so it doesn't land on the floor causing more of a mess.

She tosses her rag in the laundry room and washed her hands, she went to the living room and turned on the TV and watched the News, as she placed her mug down, she also tripped over Soap's other workout shoes.

She groans and kicks them away from her feet and the couch.

"Come on, Soap," she groans.

---------

Soap was bench pressing and Ghost and Price were spotting him.

"So, how's the married life treating you, Soap?" Price asked.

"Great," he said, through huffs.

"Really?" Ghost said.

"Yeah...why?"

"No reason," Soap placed the weights on the bars and sat up.

"Is marriage supposed to be tough?"

"It can be," Price said.

"I think it's easy."

"Does Y/n do all the work?" Ghost said.

"A bit-"

"Ahh~ there it is," Price said.

"What?" Soap asked.

"Help her Soap...she can't be doing all the work around the house; I know you two don't have kids or anything...but help her out, Soap, that poor woman probably does the most in that house," Price said as Soap rubbed the back of his neck.

"I guess, I should help her."

"Should? You need to, happy wife happy life," Ghost said, crossing his arms and looking at his friend.

"When was the last time you helped her?"

"Umm-"

"If you are having to think, it's been a while then," Price said.

"Why are you two bring this up?" Soap asked.

----------

12:00PM

Y/n cleaned the hard wooden floors, there were so many scratches and dirt on the floor, she cleaned around and even cleaned the marble counter tops and even the stainless-steel fridge and dishwasher.

She wiped the sweat from her brow as popped her neck from looking down for so long. She cleared her throat and continued cleaning around the house.

She stopped when she heard the front door shut and keys drop on the ceramic bowl by the front door.

"BABY!" Soap called for his wife. Y/n stood up from behind the counter making Soap turn to her. "Oh, hey, whatcha doing?" He asked.

"Cleaning," she huffs. "The house is a fucking wreck," she said, going back down and cleaning the dishwasher.

"Are you stressed?"

"Huh?"

"You clean when you're stressed, so, are you?" He asked, putting his water bottle in the sink.

"No, I'm not, it's just a mess," she said, scrubbing at the steel.

"Love," Soap looked down at her.

"What?" She asked.

He grabs her wrist making her stop. "Let me help you clean."

"I don't need help right now."

"Love-"

"I'm fine, Soap, let me clean up," she said, jerking her hand away.

"Baby, let me help you," Soap's voice was a little louder.

"I don't need help, I don't need your help," she raised her voice like him.

She tossed down the rag on the counter and walked away holding her head. Soap groaned and took the rag to pick up where she left off. Y/n went to the bathroom to calm her nerves. She never really got mad at Soap and didn't want to say anything she could possibly regret.

Y/n later went back out and looked for Soap seeing him clean, she grabbed a rag and went to the guest bathroom to clean. Soap could feel the energy had changed shifting from an anxious wife to an annoyed wife.

He stops cleaning and tosses the dirty rag in the laundry room and put the cleaning spray back under the sink. He changed out of his gym clothes and took a quick shower.

After the shower and getting better, clean and comfortable clothes on, he saw her in the guest bedroom and then went to go get some tea.

Y/n was fixing the bed and didn't hear her husband come in, she was done and bumped into Soap spilling the tea all over him.

"Soap!"

"Don't you fucking Soap me, I was trying to bring you something to drink."

"Why were you quiet?!"

"I WAS TRYING TO DO SOMETHING NICE!"

"WELL, I'M TRYING TO CLEAN, STAY OUT OF MY WAY, GO BACK TO THE GYM OR GO SIT ON THE COUCH AND WATCH TV, JUST STAY OUT OF MY WAY, PLEASE!" Y/n yelled as Soap rolled his eyes and took off his shirt.

He got a new shirt on and then headed downstairs to watch TV like his wife asked him to do as Y/n scrubbed the rug to get the tea out of the carpet.

Y/n felt her blood boil, but she knows Soap was just trying to be nice, Soap was usually at the gym so much that he hardly ever done anything nice for her.

She sat on her knees after getting the tea out of the carpet, rubbing her neck again and getting up off the floor.

"Soap-"

"What?!" He sounded annoyed.

She stood in front of the TV and looked at him, he tried to move around trying to stare at the TV, but she was in the way. She grabbed the helm of her shirt and lifted it over her head and exposed her bare breasts to him and her nipples were perked.

"W-What are you doing?" Soap asked.

"I..." she tossed her shirt and started to untie the jaw strings of her sweatpants and pulled them down exposed her cute lace underwear.

"Y/n," he said.

"I'm sorry for yelling."

"And this is how you are going to repay me-no, no, I need to repay you," he quickly was following Y/n's suit stripping from his clothes except for his boxers and standing up.

He made his way towards Y/n kissing her lips and his hands going to her ass and squeezing her.

She moans into the kiss as his hands kneaded her butt, her hands were trapped between both of their chests, her eyes were closed taking in this moment as Soap picks her up.

Her legs and arms instinctively wrap around him as he walks to the bedroom, shutting the door with his foot and plopping his small wife on the soft King-Sized bed.

"S-Soap."

"Let me...take care of you..." he says crawling above her kissing her lips, her hands cupping his face, his fingers touched her wet folds, his fingers hooked on her panties and pulled them down.

He then shoved two fingers inside of her. She moans and grips his hair and the sheets beneath her. He moves his mouth from her lips, and he looked down at his fingers moving fast inside of her lower half.

"Ahh~ S-Soap," she moans catching his attention to look at her.

"Does it f-feel good, my love?"

"Y-Y-Yes," she moans.

He smirks and kisses her lips; his fingers were removed from her wet clit, and he goes down kissing her chest, stomach and her inner thighs, he smirks and licks between her folds.

"Ahh~ h-holy shit," she moans, he pulls her up, he sits up her legs on his shoulders and her back was on the bed. His tongue glides over her wet folds and shoves her tongue inside of her, she moans and grips the bedsheets under her.

Her thighs squeeze on his head, and he moans loving the feeling of her thighs wanting to pop his head.

"Ahh~ Ahhh~" she moans.

He moves his tongue and then drops her butt back on their shared bed and he pulled his boxers off his lower half, his dick sprung out hitting his lower stomach, she smiled at his dick and crawled towards him.

She touched his toned lower stomach and then his hardened dick she touched his tip and smiled up at him before taking his dick into her mouth. She started to bob her head up and down moaning and he gripped her hair pulling her off him.

"No, no, my love...this is your day, not mine," he said, pushing her back on the bed and pushing himself inside of her.

"Ahh~ b-but why?"

"Because you've d-done so much for me t-that I don't treat you like a Queen...you're not happy..." he said, cupping her chin to get her to look up at him.

"I-I am happy, S-Soap."

"How? I don't show it," he said.

"You do...you come...come home to...m-me," she said through moans.

"But...we've...we've almost g-grow apart," he said, lowing his head to hers.

"Just a b-bit..." she admitted. "But we...we are...in the m-middle of sex and...and...I'm just glad that you are h-here," she said, kissing his lips.

"Love?"

"Y-Yes?"

"I love you...I know I haven't said that in a while," Soap said as Y/n leaned up and kissed his lips again, he thrusted balls deep inside of her as their tongues fought.

"I love you too," she said, kissing his lips again.

"Oh my god," he moans, he looked down seeing his dick poking her stomach from the inside. Y/n's head went back as she moaned at the feeling.

She felt him twitch inside of her and then something hot rush inside of her. She moans and throws her head back and she came on his dick.

He pulls out and then laid on his back, Y/n looked at him and he motioned for her to come to him. She crawled towards him.

"Come on," he said.

"What?"

"Sit on my face, baby," he said.

"Sit on your face?"

"You've sat on it before, come on," he said as she crawled on top of him, and she lowered herself on his face. His hands went to her thighs and his tongue went between her folds again.

She grips his hair again, her hips bucked against his head, she rode his face as he cleaned up her cum.

"Ahhh~ S-Soap," she moans.

She could feel him smirking as he licked her clean. She felt herself close again and then came in his mouth, she moved down a little bit seeing him just swallow her cum.

"Soap?"

"Jesus, you taste so good, baby."

After a while Soap had run a hot bath for Y/n. She was in it cleaning herself up and just taking a nice, hot and relaxing bath, the bath was hot and had a bath bomb in it and she moved down deeper into the tub.

Soap had cleaned up around the place as Y/n relaxed, his sweatpants hung low on his hips and went back upstairs to the bathroom. He looked at Y/n he could see the top of her head, her eyes and nose.

"Love?" She looked up hearing her nickname.

"Yes?" She said as she sat up looking up at him. She rested on the side of the tub looking up at him, he bends down cupping her face.

"I love you," he said again.

"I love you too," she said, kissing his lips.

He sits down next to the tub and was admiring his wife, Soap was always at the gym to keep for his wife, he feels like if he doesn't look a certain way then she won't want to be with him anymore but that could not be farther from the truth. Y/n loves Soap, hell she married him for fucks sake.

His hand went to her head as she talked about what she should do tomorrow. Soap smiled at his wife and kissed her forehead.

"I forgot to go to the store, I'll go tomorrow," she said.

"I'll go with you after the gym."

"That's fine...Soap, why do you go to the gym?"

"Because I have this fear...you may leave me if I...if I don't look a certain way, the fear of you leaving has played in my head too many times that it scares me every time..."

"Soap," she cups his face. "I will never ever leave you, we are just like every other married couple, we fight, we argue, and we make up, shit happens, but I will never leave you because you don't look a certain way...I don't look like a certain way but you leaving me has never enters my brain because I know you love me too much to leave...like I love you too much," she kissed his lips.

"You are my husband...and I will never leave you over something so silly," she said, kissing his lips again.

"Goddamn, I love you," he said. She giggled and he started to attack her face with kisses.

---------

3:40AM

Y/n was asleep next to Soap. Soap was still awake, and he looked at his phone, he's never missed a day of working out with Ghost and Price but today, he wanted to skip it and spend time with his wife.

His phone went off with Ghost and Price texting each other as Soap put his phone on 'do not disturb' and went to asleep holding Y/n close to his chest, playing with his hair and kissing her cheek.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #fandom #fanfic #call of duty #mw2 #cod #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader #soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap call of duty #soap cod #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap mctavish

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radioisntdead · 1 month

Note

Eeeeee oki, so I just finished watching boy swallows universe (an absolute masterpiece) and I was wondering what if the reader was like sold drugs or just did bad stuff for money for their family, like they grew up pretty fricking poor and did whatever they could for the extra cash (which is why they're in hell). They die somehow, land in hell and get treated like absolute dirt because they're small and they're wearing plain ass clothes, not powerful at all. Then comes Susan, and she's like "I'm so sick of the pathetic youth today, I'm taking you home with me" and just teaches them how to be proper and less shy and stuff, and to tear people with their teeth (yhey never got used to the whole eating people thing, Susan rolled her eyes and asked if she was a vagitarian or whatever it was called) and this reader hardly talks to anyone but Susan. Then they get introduced to Rosie and Alastor and it's just Susan simultaneously boasting about them telling them to stand up straight

Good evening my dear! This is definitely one of my favorite requests that I have gotten,

I finished boy swallows universe while writing this and I cried, I'm trying to convince my best friend to watch it now, it was very good.

I'm imagining the reader to be around the size of Niffty, maybe a little taller?

Susan's grandkid

Susan & reader

WARNINGS!!

Drug usage, child neglect, cannibalism, murder etc etc Susan kinda treats you as a stray pet in the beginning, not proofread so apologies for any spelling mistakes!

You died young, tragically young, you died in the winter, cornered away curled into a ball, clutching your stomach, wearing a old thin sweater that your older brother gave you, overalls, flimsy socks with a couple of holes in them, and worn down sneakers, you were beaten and bruised, you wanted your mom to hold you and tell you that everything was alright but she wasn't coming,

Did she know where you were? How would she react knowing her kid was gone?

You were a good kid, you just made a couple of bad decisions for your family, you mimicked what you saw,

No one ever suspected the kid with a babyface was dealing, getting involved in shady stuff and horrible, horrible people who couldn't care less that you couldn't even drink yet.

You woke up with brimstone and sulfur around and a dingy old sign saying welcome to hell, It was unfair.

You wondered around aimlessly, you were small enough that most folks didn't notice you at first, and those that did well, they either ignored you completely, tried to kick or spit on you, or something else you didn't want to know.

You stumbled upon a mirror, you looked...

different from when you were alive, alot shorter, you kept the same clothes you died in though, it was a struggle the first few days but you managed to stay alive and relatively unharmed, you always were resourceful.

Eventually you ended up on the cusp of cannibal town, your overalls were covered in dirt and whatever else, you were curled up against to some wall when she found you, in all her old woman glory.

"Good grief youth today is pathetic, how'd you even get down here you little shit?" she tsked as she bent down and picked you up by your overalls, you barely had a chance to react before she put you on her hip and continued her way home.

She didn't put you down as she entered her home claiming that you'd get mud on her floors,

She filled up her bathtub with warm water and bubbles, she took off your shoes and plopped you right in the tub, she put a glob of shampoo into your hair and foamed it up like one would bathe a pet.

She left the bathroom as you looked around the bathroom , confused on why this random old lady just picked you up like a soggy stray dog and dunked you into warm water, and put soap in your hair.

You weren't complaining by any means but you were caught off-guard.

She came back within a few minutes carrying children's clothing like the other cannibals wore, she washed your hair and your back, scrubbing off the grime, she dried you off and put the clothes on you, the next few hours were a blur, she picked you up, sat you at a table and placed what looked to be part of a raw arm on your plate.

You stared at it while she went ahead and dug it,

She raised an eyebrow, "you one of those vegetable people?"

You shook your head, poking at the arm slice

"Speak up, are you mute?"

You look up at her, "No ma'am."

"Speak up you sound like a mouse, now use those teeth of yours and eat."

You simply nodded and opened your mouth to dig into the arm,

You'd rather not eat what you assumed to be another person but you hadn't eaten in days and well, it was rude to refuse a free meal, right?

After the meal Susan handed you a toothbrush and told you to brush, giving you a set of pajamas to change into before leaving you to do a night routine,

Once done she picked you up and tucked you into a bed, turning off the lights and closing the door leaving you in pitch black darkness.

Living with Susan wasn't particularly easy but it was better then when you were alive, you didn't have to worry where your next meal came from, or maybe you did considering Susan had a diet of sinner meat, you didn't have to worry about not making ends meet, about the possibility of the folks you dealt too coming for you,

You did miss your family terribly though, you wondered if they missed you, or if they've found your corpse yet, maybe you were permanently put as a missing person, maybe you were chopped up into pieces,You didn't want to know.

Susan would teach you how to properly eat someone, you already had sharp teeth so you were a quick learner in that regard [Although you did prefer normal food]

You would cower behind her and she'd grab you by your shoulder and move you Infront of her, telling you to stand up straight, smacking your lower back with her cane if needed, some days She'd place a book on your head and have you practice walking around with it to correct your posture.

You wouldn't talk much at first but soon became a chatterbox with Susan, and mostly only Susan, keeping talking to others at a minimum unless Susan made you, she paraded you around cannibal town getting you used to the tight-knit community.

You soon went from a rather timid and frankly weak child to a more confident person, Susan wasn't usually seen without you skipping along behind her, eventually once she deemed you as proper she took you to Rosie's Emporium to introduce you to her and obviously get some treats,

"This is [Name] I got them off the streets and I made em' into a proper member of society, [Name] stand up straight, say hello"

Susan said moving you to the front where Rosie was,

"Hello."

Rosie immediately adored you, after all you were small enough to put in her pocket, she leaned down to shake your hand, and in that time

Susan proceeded to accidentally left you at the emporium and Rosie saw her chance and took it,

"Well aren't you adorable! Let Auntie Rosie spoil you, okay?"

Within seconds you were sat in a comfy chair with a plate of cannibalistic desserts infront of you and Rosie across from you, chatting until Susan came back for you two hours later.

She knew she left you after like five minutes she just didn't want to make the trip back and let Rosie babysit you.

Another time she took you to Rosie's Emporium the infamous radio demon was there, and while you didn't particularly know much about overlords and the like since you mainly stuck with Susan, or in the safe parts of cannibal town, you did know that overlords were more or less dangerous,

Susan did not care though and immediately started insulting the radio demon,

"Why don't you have a wife yet? Do you not like woman? Then why don't you have a husband then??"

"Susan, I believe that's none of your-"

"It's because you don't brush your fucking teeth isn't it,"

"Susan-"

"You probably blind all the ladies looking like Rudolph's nose"

"Excuse me?"

You quickly intervene before Susan ends up being the radio man's dinner, Alastor tilts his head at you and bends down,

"And who is this Little one?"

Susan moves you Infront of her and puts her cane between you and Alastor,

"My grandchild, they're very well-mannered unlike you now get away before you influence them to listen to your modern jazz music"

"̵̢̯̫͕̀̀̓̕M̷̧̧͎̬̹̦͚̺̼̳͊͒̽̌̅͑́̕͘ỹ̶̱̮͙̕ ̴͇̹̣͙̖̉̽̏̊͜m̸̡̧̱̲̱͔͉̲̫͋́̄̎̄̔̈̈́͠ö̵̢̢̙͍̩̩̮̺́̃̿̎ḑ̵̰̪͎̀̿̔͊̒͛̄ͅͅͅę̸̪́ř̴̛̳̥̭̼̌͊̄̉̑̽̇̚n̴͕̥̗̻͕̊̅͐̒̂̌͆̚̚͜͠ ̵̛̪̹̔̈́̈́͂͝͝Ẃ̸̽̓̈́̾͂ͅH̵̨̢̯̳̗̦͕̭̯̑̈͆̇̚̕̚Ḁ̸͍̱̩̠̼͚̾̉̚T̵̥̠͓͛͊"̸̛͎̼̺́̔̀̎͛̀̈̕͠

Thankfully Rosie soon appeared before Alastor and Susan could get into a brawl,

She handed you a lil' box of treats and sent you on your way with Susan.

A very polite way to get kicked out in your opinion,

The next time you see Alastor he brings Niffty, trying to get her to influence you enough to drive Susan to insanity.

It backfired.

You, on the rare occasions you roam outside of cannibal town you see someone you may have known during life, you usually don't interact with them, but sometimes they recognize you too, they give a look of mixed disbelief, pity and guilt or just indifference, you made similar decisions to them.

You saw a member of your family, trying to sell something on the streets one time, you went up to them with the confidence of Susan talking to Alastor,

You know they recognized you, you may look different but you were still you, just better then before.

Their face dropped seeing you, filled with guilt and shame, you weren't supposed to be down here, of all places, you should've gotten to live to be old and wrinkly, shaking their head they shoo'd you away in what you assumed was a way to tell you to move on, make the best of your afterlife.

"I don't know you, now shoo' go home."

When you got home to Susan making cannibal meatloaf, nagging you about getting home in a timely manner as you take off your shoes and place them by the door, it gives you a somewhat nostalgic feeling,

You may never seeing the majority of your family again, after all maybe they're in heaven or below with you,

They'll always be your family and while they weren't perfect but they loved you, and you loved them, and you always will even if you were apart.

And now you had a new family member, Your Grandma Susan,

And you loved her, and while she didn't outwardly say it, you knew through her actions of making you a scarf, bringing you a bowl of peeled or cut fruit, or something else, she loved you too.

good evening folks! Hope you enjoyed this, I'm making my way through the requests now so tune on in later for those!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #susan & reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel susan #hazbin susan #hazbin rosie

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ourautumn86 · 2 years

Text

𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡

Joseph Quinn x Fem! reader PT.1

✧ Synopsis;; Joseph Quinn was filthy rich, for he was royalty. Handsome, charming and a gentleman, a dream dressed in pure silk for any kind of woman. But not you.

✧ y/n is a mere slave of a nobel family who just turned 18. On the night of the prince’s royal ball she is dragged against her will to this dance just to be used as a coat rack for the purses and coats of the family ladies, who, of course, treat her like absolute sh’t, to the point where they could agreed to hand her over for a generous amount of gold.

“Just name your price, sweetheart.”

“Screw you, my prince.”

Just how lucky you were for had caught the

prince’ s attention!

< enemies to lovers 3

17th century royalty!

ATTENTION!! this is not Arthur Havisham, i only used the photo cause it resembles the appearance i want to give Joseph in this story. I would never use Arthur since he’s not attracted to females!!!

A/N;; i’m sorry if this is sloppy and like…, BAD, english is not my mother language and it’s my first joseph x reader story. either ways, i hope y’all like it. <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!!!

CW;; this series might include 18+ content (details will be given at the start of each new part uploaded) MINORS DNI AND SKIP!!!

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

WARNINGS PART ONE: mention of blood, abuse, cursing and slave trafficking.

WORD COUNT;; 2k!

(A/N pt.2; it is much enjoyable(??) if you read it with a british accent since this fic takes placed in the U/K)

:¨·.·¨:

`·. lastly; enjoy! <3

Her faced seemed to tell everything: she hated it.

She hated everything. From the music, to the little stupid shoes that clacked against the floor. The floral scent, the wine, the giggles… She hated the ton*. Every single one of them,

Everything. It was a goddamn nightmare.

“y/n! You are letting my coat slip! Do i have to tell you how much it costs?! If you dare let it touch the floor I’ll take the money out of your poor allowance to pay for a new one!” one of the misses glared at you, hitting you in the face with her closed paper fan, its gemstones leaving marks on you cheek.

“We might as well do it anyways, since her filthy hands have touched them already!” her sister laughed, grabbing your face in between her gloved fingers and digging her nails in your skin. “Don’t you think so, y/n? What? Cat got you tongue?” they giggled.

“Children, children!” the woman of the house hushed them with a sweet smile. “You shall never touch her!” she said, taking of the gloves out of her daughters hands to give her a new pair, with a sweet smile telling one of the servants of the castle to burn them. “God knows what she might infect us with!” she laughed, her offsprings following her.

God, you hated her. Her and her stupid daughters. With their stupid dresses and stupid painted faces.

You glared at them, your grip tightening around their belongings, holding your stare and your head up even when the woman stared back at you, her face scrunching in disgust and anger.

“Who do you think you are staring at?!?!” she suddenly yelled, catching the attention of those who enjoyed drinks and company around her, not waiting a mere second to rise her hand and slap you to ‘show you your place’. You took the hits, the metallic flavor of blood filling your mouth due to the continues smacks and hits with the back of her fan. “You filthy ungrateful bitch, you dare stare at us? Who give you food and a bed?! I should’ve let you died out in the cold, in the dirt, where you belong to!” you gritted your teeth, your eyes down to the floor as your free hand made its way to your bottom lip, where you felt the skin split, the crimson of fresh blood tinting your frail skin.

“Fucking fussock*.” you cursed her under your breath, loud enough for her to perfectly hear you.

“What did you say?!” her free hand gripped your long and matted locks, making you look staring into her enraged eyes, her other hand rising up to hit you once again.

Your eyes closed as you expected a new slap, which surprisingly enough never came. The sound of multiple gasps filled your ears and when you opened up your eyes once again, your stomach sank at the sight of…

“Your highness!” everyone suddenly diverted their eyes to the floor, including you, your mistress and her daughters bowed in his presence, the wrist of the first of them all gracefully and softly held by the prince’s, who let her go with a kind smile.

“Is everything alright?” his voice tested the waters, his tone low and soft as the silk he dressed in, his hands jeweled in silver rings joining and intertwining in an elegance you never had witnessed.

“Yes, your highness.” the woman stuttered, showing a nervous smile. “Our slave just seemed to…, misbehave, your highness.” your eyes travelled trough his tall and magnificent demeanor. His crimson blood suit matched perfectly with the snow of his skin and his brown and perfectly combed curls.

Your eyes quickly darted always as he had caught you staring once he had turned to you. He fought the lopsided smirk that urged to grow in his lips, stepping closer to where you stood.

He took a glance at the ragged clothes that hid your bruised and malnourished body, probably due to the family’s treatment under your care, your matted hair, cut up hands…

His warm touch spread on your skin as he took your chin in between his thumb and index finger, softly trying to rise your head up, but you denied him, in a harsh turn of head freeing yourself from his touch before giving him a glare.

A new wave of gasps filed the air as you stared right into his eyes, him holding your glare.

You didn’t care if he was a noble or pure royalty. Those ‘pure blood’ were all the goddamn same. With their leather shoes and gold jewelry, fancy words and silk dresses and suits. Their appearance was only a pretty facade that hid the ugliness of their insides.

You hated all of them. Might as well just get your head off as soon as possible.

“You slave! How is it ye dare to stare at the prince, soon king?!” a blonde and tall man talked, you recognized him as the pince’s right hand, but only with a wave of this hand, he stood silent beside the prince.

“Huh…” the smile he had been trying to fight off finally took place on his gracefully sculpted face and full rosy lips. “Interesting.” once again he took a soft grasp to your face, this time not letting you go even if you fought him off. His eyes took everything your face offered him, from your perfect nose to you long eyelashes and your beautiful fierce eyes, which stared at him with pure hatred and anger. “How much?” he suddenly asked, still not drifting his eyes away from you.

The woman stood frozen in place, just like her daughters.

“What does your highness mean with…-”

“How much would you want for her?” he cut her off, the deadly silent that fell on the salon almost giving you chills.

What was he saying?

“Your highness, I can’t…” she was short of breath and words. “I surely doubt thee would want her under your care, she…”

“I don’t care about any of it. Name a price.” everyone was shocked by the situation. Buying and selling slaves was something quite common, that’s how your current ‘family’ have got you, but this…

The prince? Has he gone nuts?

“Your highness, I don’t think…” the prince’s counselor stepped in, shutting up once again as soon as he gave him a glance.

“50 gold coins.” the woman suddenly blurted out, everyone’s jaws dropping at the audacity of the woman and such large figure.

“Mother!” her offsprings whispered-yelled. Not believing her words.

50 gold coins?!

You scoffed, smirking at such nonsense, not noticing the staring of the prince due to your reaction.

She wished you were worth that much. He would never…

“Make it 150.” he closed the deal.

“Your highness!” the counselor exclaimed, completely alarmed.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Ballard.” he hushed the blonde.

You watched as the woman who once abused you and starved you for days fainted due to the prince’s words and his daughters kneeling down to help her followed by some of the nearby guests, fanning her pale sleeping face.

You too felt like fainting.

“Hey, eyes on me, sweetheart.” the prince caught your attention once again, when your eyes met a smile growing on his lips. “All you need to do from now on keep your eyes on me.”

“Get off of me!” you screamed at the servants that tried and strip you out of your clothes, pushing their hands away. “I said stop!”

“Miss, they’re orders from your highness.” one of them spoke, his blue eyes soft on you. “He wanted us to help you bathe and and get rid of your dirty clothes.” she explained.

“I don’t care about what he said.” you scoffed. “If he wanted me undressed so fast why isn’t he the one taking my clothes off?” they all gasped at your words and no respect to the prince.

You didn’t care though, they were all the same anyways. Always reaks* that just wanted to have women swoon at their feet. Maybe that’s why he had bought you, just to use you when his cock got cold.

Suddenly, the door on your back opened, the heads of the servants quickly lowering as your eyes met the prince’s.

“Oh, fantastic…” you muttered. Just what you needed at the moment.

“You heard her, ladies. You are all dismissed.” he smiled at every and each one of them, bowing and moving aside with a swing of his arm on the door to let them out, all of them bowing and giggling.

And weren’t you just right?

“Great. And what do I have the honor of your highness’ presence for?” you sarcastically inquired him once he had closed the door behind his back, noticing…, ‘Ballard’ outside. “Got too excited due your new acquisition to just wait?” you mocked him.

“I heard you were putting up a fight.” he smiled, ignoring your words whilst looking at you up and down. “Is there something not to your liking, perhaps?”

“‘Not to my liking’?” you scoffed. “I can’t believe thee.” you shook your head, grasping at your locks as you stared at him in disbelief. “How about this whole goddamn situation? I mean, look at this!” you pointed out everything that surrounded you, the whole bathroom with a gigantic bathtub of quartz, marble floors and pillars… “A few hours ago I was being used as a coat hanger in your ball and now I’m in a bathroom with the prince, who, surprisingly enough, bought me for 150 golden coins god knows why?!” you exclaimed.

He stared at you with a funny look in his eyes. His back against the door as his eyebrows raised at you.

“What.” you spit out, a glare in your eyes.

“Nothing, is just that…” he stepped closer to you, his arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t seem to…, respect me.” he frowned, his voice low. “Not like all of them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, your highness, for not being another dog licking your leather boots.” you bowed, more of his steps growing closer to you until his thumb took your chin, rising your head up so you could meet his eyes, his face stood serious for a couple of seconds, before a downside smirk grew on his factions. “Why haven’t you cut my head off yet?” you inquired him, not really understanding his behavior. By the way you treated him, any other prince would have already gotten you to the guillotine.

“Why shall I?” he answered with another question, his thumb caressing the wound on your bottom lip, the still fresh blood that stood on it staining his thumb as you hissed in pain, getting away.

You stared at him in confusion.

Yeah. He was absolutely nuts.

“The water will go cold if you don’t get in soon.” he said, drifting off the matter while whipping off your blood from his thumb with his handkerchief. “Are you sure you don’t want to get off those ragged clothes?”

“This is the only dress I’ve had, sir.” you said, his eyes meeting yours.

“What’s your favorite color?” you frowned at his sudden question, which made absolutely no sense. He made no sense. “Crimson, like the purest blood? The forest’s green? The ocean’s blue, perhaps?”

“I’ve never seen the forest nor the ocean, sir. I’ve never left the capital. Though I find the sky’s blue on spring pretty wonderful, not sure it does justice to the ocean’s.”

“It doesn’t.” he said, sitting in the edge of the bathtub, his fingers taunting the warm water. “The ocean is cold, and fierce…, untamable. But it can also be warm, and calm, and soft.” he tried to explain, and from your point of view it didn’t make sense.

It didn’t make sense but you found it…

“It must be beautiful.” you said, him flashing you a soft smile before nodding.

“It is.” he got up clapping his hands together before looking back at you. “Well then, you should really hurry up, the water is perfect.”

“I already told thee, this dress is the only-“

“You won’t need it anymore.” he cut you off.

“And why is that?” you inquired, his steps growing closer to you.

“Because from now on…” he said, catching one of your locks in between his fingers. “You belong in this castle.”

To be continued…

*fussock; a lazy fat woman…, a frowzy old woman.

*the ton; the ton actually refers to English high society during the Regency era, and encompasses every aristocrat from the royals to the gentry.

*rake; ‘rake’ is used to describe an immoral, hedonistic young man circulating in high society.

#joseph quinn #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #19th century #royalty #female reader #stranger things smut #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn x reader #stranger things fix it fic #joseph quinn fluff #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #peter ballard #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #joseph quinn fic

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eddievanhammettmunson · 9 months

Text

What do you see?

Eddie Munson x female reader

Authors note- hola my ghouls, goblins, fellow gremlins. I have another fluffy one shot for ya.

Summary- you and Eddie discuss the future after you’ve both had a bad past and a bad day. 2.3k words

Warnings- mentions of bad family life, fluff mostly, Eddie experiences self doubt. Mentions of children in the future.

It started with a fall. You fell out of bed after a particularly bad nightmare. In pain and disoriented you stand up and look at the time only to see you’re running late for work. You rush out the door as fast as you can and arrive 10 minutes late. You try not to let your mood be soured by this but every turn today seems to be shitty.

You have a clumsy day where you’re tripping over your own feet and dropping everything, customers are angry with you and treating you like dirt. And your manager forgets your break for a few hours and then you get off late. All you wanted to do was go home and relax but then you remembered you had a date with Eddie.

You’re so exhausted and drained but you know you still want to see him. You don’t know what he had planned for the evening but you’re hoping it won’t be anything too exciting. Praying for a mellow night.

You get off work and make your way over to Eddie’s trailer. Now that he’d graduated he was working full time at the mechanics shop as he and his friends worked on getting more gigs for their music. The boys were always pessimistic about it saying they weren’t getting anywhere but you? You saw their potential and you saw their crowds increasing. You knew they’d get there with time.

Arriving at Eddie’s trailer you see the van parked outside and know Eddie is there. You walk up to the door and knock. But there’s no answer. You wait a few minutes and debate on going home but then you grow worried. What if something happened to Eddie and that’s why he’s not answering?

You scramble and look under a nearby potted plant for the spare key you knew he kept there and you quickly let yourself in. As soon as you walk in you smell something burning and go rushing to the kitchen. You find a homemade hamburger helper burnt in the pan. You quickly take it off the stove and dump it out and leave the pan in the sink.

Making your way through the trailer you get to Eddie’s room and find the door open. You walk in and see the poor boy passed out in his work clothes on top of the bed. As if he’d just flopped down for a second and couldn’t resist the sweet temptation of a deep slumber. And oh how badly you want to join him from how cosy he looks and how deep his snores are.

You think for a moment before dropping your bag by the door and crawling on top of the bed next to him. Both clad in your work clothes and exhausted. He shifts in his sleep to hold you and you curl up next to him and quickly follow him into a deep sleep.

Eddie wakes up sometime later in a panic. Remembering the date you were supposed to have and the food on the stove. He shoots up hoping the trailer hasn’t burned down around him. He breathes heavily for a moment before taking in his surroundings. Nothings on fire…it’s very dark ... .and very quiet. He looks around for a second before his eyes land on the woman next to him.

A smile breaks out onto his face when he sees you curled up next to him in your work clothes. He reaches a hand out and gently strokes your face until you’re roused from your sleep. You wake up groggily.

“Hi sweetheart” he says gently

“Hi teddie” you say with a yawn.

“I’m sorry we missed our date night sweetheart…what happened to the food I was making..?”

“It’s okay teddie. Think we were both tired and needed a nap. I walked in and the hamburger helper was burnt so I threw it out and then came to lie down with you.”

“Yeah, I had a bad day at work. It was so busy and everyone was so rude. Must have just passed out when I came in here to rest my eyes”

“Same here teddie…was so happy to come lay down with you. You’re cosy, you know that?”

Eddie smiles and holds you close.

“I know it’s late sweetheart but I think we can still order some pizza if you want?”

“I’d love that. Do you want to watch a movie?”

He nods his head yes and stands to call the pizza place and order a pizza while you stand and pick out a movie. Eddie comes back and changes into his pyjamas and hands you some of his clothes to wear.

You change into his clothes and climb back into bed together making yourselves comfortable. About halfway through the movie the pizza arrives and the two of you eat it in bed as you continue to watch the movie.

As the movie comes to a close you move to stand up and change the movie. But as you attempt to move Eddie’s grip on you tightens as he lays his head on your chest.

“P-please” he says shakily

You brush your fingers through his hair “please what baby?”

“Please can we just stay like this. Just for a little while.”

“Of course we can.” You kiss the top of his head as it rests on your chest. Eddie sits there and listens to your heartbeat for a while as he thinks. He thinks about his day and a particular customer that upset him. As he lays there you begin to notice his sour expression.

“Eddie baby.. you okay?”

He mumbles “yeah m’ fine”

“You know you can talk to me right Eddie?”

Eddie sighs “I just- honey can I ask you a question…?”

You continue to stroke his hair gently “anything baby”

“Why are you with me….? I’m the town freak…the satanic bad boy with a family reputation for miles and a bad record….why are you with me…?”

You grab Eddie and hold him tighter to your chest. “Eddie baby none of that matters to me. I don’t care about this town or their stupid rumours about you cause I know who you are. I know the real you and I love you and nothing can change that. I don’t see you judging me for my family and my past. We’re both people who have gone through awful things but that doesn’t make us awful okay. Why are you asking this….? Did someone at the shop say something?”

Eddie nuzzles his face into your chest as he nods his head yes and attempts to hide the tears that threaten his eyes. “Had a customer refuse to work with me cause of my pops reputation. Said you can’t trust a Munson and all this bullshit. He wouldn’t shut up about how I’m probably just like him.”

You grab Eddie’s face gently and guide him to look at you. “Eddie Munson. You are nothing like your father. That guy doesn’t know shit and he doesn’t know you. You bring pride to the Munson name okay? Remember how you told me that the things I went through weren't my fault. That I wasn’t like my parents either and I wouldn’t have to go through that anymore? Well what happened wasn’t your fault either. You’re not your father and you never will be. You are and always will be better than him.”

Eddie stares at you wide eyed for a second and opens his mouth to speak and quickly shuts it. You brush his forehead gently urging him to say what he wants.

“I-I just want to say thank you…for seeing the good in me when no one else wants to. For seeing me becoming a man that’s better than my father. You know in our future I see us both being better than our parents.”

You freeze for a moment. You’ve been with Eddie for awhile and you know you love him that much is clear to you. But you’d never let yourself dream of a future with anyone before. Never feeling secure enough to consider it.

“E-Eddie… you see a future with me..?”

He laughs as if you should know the answer. He props his head up on your chest to look at you. “Of course I see a future with you….don’t you see a future with me..?”

“I-I’ve never let myself think about it…never thought I would really have one…will you…will you tell me…what you see in our future?”

Eddie smiles. “Of course. I see us still hosting dnd game nights with the kids. At least once a week. We’ll have date nights and movie nights like we do now but the only difference is we won’t be in two different places. You’ll pick the movie and we’ll get slushies and popcorn just the way you like it. You’ll pick out the weirdest snacks and I’ll eat them anyway. We’ll be together. In our place. They’re will be a pretty little ring on your finger and a matching one on mine…”

You’re starting to tear up as you smile. “Tell me more..”

“Okay.” He smiles as he wipes your tears “well I was thinking after we move in together and I get a nice ring on that finger…maybe we have some little versions of us running around…only if you’d want to with me of course…”

More tears start falling down your cheeks as you smile and you see the tears welling in Eddie’s eyes as he smiles.

You say with shaky words “they’d have your unruly curls and your big beautiful eyes, maybe my nose maybe yours it doesn’t matter either way. Hopefully they’ll get your pouty little lips.”

Eddie laughs and giggles like a little kid.”I don't know, I kinda like your nose. I like all of you, I love your sexy nose...and I'd be proud to have a little baby nerd who looked like you and me...a little mini-you...or...a little mini-me!” he smiles and kisses your forehead. “I can already see them now and they're already the cutest and most badass kids I've ever seen.”

You continue to laugh as more tears fall. “I think we’ll make some cute Munson babies”

He smiles and looks at you with pure love. “You're the most adorable girl in the whole world. So if we had little mini-you’s they'd be just as adorable as you.” He kisses your nose again and you smile. “I love the way you think...we'll make some beautiful little mini-Munson’s.” He kisses your forehead. “Let's just have like...three boys and then have one girl, okay? The boys can play D & D with me and have your sexy nose.” He giggles and looks at you with pure joy. As tears fall down his face.

“I was thinking the same thing! The first two would be twin boys and then a little girl and then another boy for good measure. They’d all be little nerds and the girl would be a little musician just like you and let’s face it you’re totally a girl dad. She’ll have you wrapped around her little finger. But she’ll be an awesome rockstar just like you will be”

He smiles brightly and leans his head into your chest. “That's perfect, you know. Twin boys...one girl...another boy. And I mean, you're right, I totally would be wrapped around her little finger. I can see it all. Our daughter...the little mini-us...she'll be our little princess...and she'll totally turn all my boys into big softies” he chuckles and holds your hand tightly for a second. “Yeah, our little mini-us will be my heart and soul. I love it.”

“All the boys would be mamas boys cause I’d have to be a sucker for a mini Eddie. But to have 3 of them oh I’d be showering them with love”

“We’re both gonna be suckers for those kids but you know with all those kids we’re never sleeping again.” He laughs as he says it. You both giggle as you cry. Wiping each other's tears.

“Oh those little Munson boys are gonna be chaos for sure but I’m ready. And that little girl if she’s anything like either of us she’s gonna be trouble. But I look forward to every second of it with you Eddie.”

Eddie speaks again. “I know we’re both looking forward to this future but we gotta pull ourselves together.” He laughs as more tears fall.

You gently cradle his face as you look at each other with tear and love filled eyes as you whisper. “I know I’m just crying cause I’m so thankful. Thankful that I have you in my life. And thank you for giving me such an amazing future to look forward to” you kiss him on the forehead.

Eddie looks at you and pauses for a moment. “What if we take a step?”

“What?”

“Sweetheart stop me if I sound crazy…but we’ve been together for a while now and I want to start on our future now…I’m not saying marriage and kids right now but how about we take that first step…how about we move in together?”

You smile as even more tears fall and you lean in and kiss him. “I’d love to move in with you.”

Eddie smiles and kisses you and the two of you rest your foreheads together. Eventually drifting off together dreaming of your shared future.

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 5 months

Text

The Economic Difference Between The Miner and Mine Owner's Daughter

Chapter Two

Based on this ask

Rated Explicit | Warning: period typical sexism

Ao3

Taglist: @anastasiablossomlove @tfamidoingwithmylife

Chapter One | Chapter Three

This goes on for quite some time. There are nights you go hungry for him, a fair price to pay as your father does not pay these people enough nor give them the proper food needed to truly fill them. No, he uses the ‘company store’ to keep them in debt with him and thus the company. Norton’s father just like all the others, and Norton forced to pay off a debt not of his making.

Norton with each ‘offering’ seems tolerant of you, well as tolerant as any miner worker could be given who you are. Yes, there are some who like you, you grew up around them, and they have seen you scold your father when was not treating them right. You were able to give them days off on holidays! At the cost of your allowance but again, a price you are willing to pay.

You have your mother’s heart, father told you, a heart he fears the world will eat up.

Tonight in the mines, Norton seemed to have been waiting for you as he stared at the rusted watch he keeps at hand. No one has stolen it because it has no value.

Currently sitting with him in this small space with only the walls of dirt and rock as the witnesses to this exchange.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“Because I want to help. Even in a small way.”

He rolls his eyes, “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.” Chewing on freshly baked pumpkin bread. “You should be listening to your father. This isn't a place for a woman.” Snarky. “Might dirty your pretty dress.”

“I am more effective here.” You pour him a cup of tea and then offer it to him. “Earl gray.”

“What do you want out of this?” He does not take the cup immediately, “You want a pet? Something to play around with until daddy finds you a real man?” What he is implying is not unheard of yet is unseemly to you.

Those of lower status can gain money by being the lover of someone of higher status. They are paid to give an escape.

… A handsome man like Norton Campbell would be ideal, the scar adds to his ruggedness .

You roll your eyes, “Is it so hard to believe some people just want to help?”

“People like you, yes. Nothing in this world is free. Especially when the rich are involved.”

There is a pause as he takes the cup from your hand, his eyes hard and cold. Norton only eats the food you leave him because honestly, he needs it. The usual food given either gets stolen from him or barely enough to give him energy.

You have given him quality and quantity food, he has been filling out better and his energy has been up. Even now in the late hours, he eats some treats you baked and gifting him this Christmas day. Your father is currently overseas and most of the miners are home for a holiday.

Here you are alone with some poor man on Christmas, the scandal!

“... Change can only happen if it starts from the top.” Mumbling the words.

The silence of the mine, rocks shifting, flickering lights. Norton moves closer to you, sitting in front of you, “Heh, anyone can claim to know how to change anything when they are sitting comfortably.” You look at the ground as he goes on, giving you wake up to reality.

“Want to change something? Give every man here a piece of the pie.” Chung down the lukewarm tea, “Then see what they will do with it,” He wipes his mouth with the back of his arm, “Half of them will drink it away. The other half gambling it.” Disgusted.

Norton sounds like your father. Maybe it is true or maybe not, you like to believe every worker would pay off their debt and then run away to live a better life.

“You… What about you?”

He goes quiet then snickers, “Buy out your father's stocks,” You look surprised to hear that, “Rip this hellhole right from under him. Take every last piece of gold from him until he is begging me for a job.” Then, he leans forward, eyeing you, “Maybe if he gives me his daughter, I might be willing to send him to a nice nursing home.”

His world resembles the abyss of the mines. No way out. Always digging deeper. Norton makes sure to look at you objectively, to make you feel like he is both undressing and fucking you.

“I doubt that.” You frown, “No, you would try to improve things.”

He laughs at you, “Seriously? Why? Because I worked these mines since I could wrap my hands around a pickaxe!? Pft, it is every man for himself in this place. Learn that now.”

Survival of the fittest, the theory of evolution. You have read up on the subject before. How only the strong and adaptable will survive. The strong who dictate the fate of the weak.

And in this world, money makes you powerful.

Could change only happen from the top? Does the change happen when those below become the ones in power? Or does the cycle of oppression continue?

“Go home.” Standing up and going back to work.

“Mr. Campbell,” You speak while gathering the plate and cup you brought, “Thank you.”

When you left, he stopped working to savor the taste of pumpkin bread in his mouth.

Humans are selfish creatures.

When Norton’s map was taken from him and brought to the foreman, then to your father, they took the credit. Norton will get none of the credit and whatever gold they find, he will never see it. This is a promise your father made to him, you could only stand in shock.

Golden Cave. All roads lead here. All roads and lives.

Maybe it was karma that caused all this to happen.

You did not visit the worksite immediately like usual, your father had you sent away to Europe for a time with your grandparents on vacation. When you returned, you saw only the near end of the madness of this place.

The whispers, the accidents, some of the workers disappearing. The reports are insane! Not to mention the loss of money going into this! It was like they were digging for Fool's Gold!

When you saw your father, he looked like a shadow of his former self. A hollowed old man.

When you tried to take him home, he refused by yelling and throwing things in his office around. He never acted like this before!

Something is very, very wrong with this place.

Your father says they have to find the gold Norton Campbell's claims should be here.

Gold, gold, gold; he mined for coal! There is nothing here and you fear that more money funded into this project will put your family business in serious debt.

Worse, put your father in a mental ward with his erratic behavior.

You did not like this, you told him this is wrong, everything here is wrong! But all he did was shut you out.

The place is empty, all the workers, including your father, are in the mines. In the infirmary, the doctor was knocked unconscious when you found him.

After waking him up, a disturbing discovery was revealed to you.

The doctor explained the escalating situation to you. He speculated something in the cave, possibly gaseous, is causing the miners and your father to lose their senses. It was hard to believe but he then pointed out how sensible both you and him are being.

“Your father went into the mines with the others,” The doctor gives you a notice sent to all the miners.

Our time has come. Enter the mines. The detonation will reveal the truth.

Whatever is going on down there it sounds like nothing good is about to come out of it! You fear your father will be lost forever to you if you do not stop them from digging further into the mines of Golden Cave.

You quickly run inside the dreadful cave praying it is not too late, a mining lamp your only source of light.

As you travel deeper you hear voices, whispers that warn you to run away growing louder and louder as you follow the path of wire connected to charges within the cave.

“Norton!?” He is sitting on the ground talking to himself, “Norton, stop!” Seeing him trying to light the fuse.

It was then the voices went silent. The world goes still.

Everything feels slowed down as you knock the lighter from his hand. Your lamp going out leaving you both in ill lighting.

Then, now, you lay on the uneven ground with dirty glove-covered hands wrapped around your throat.

“N-Norton…?”

He squeezes yet it loosens only to tighten again.

You can see conflict all over his face, he is mumbling as if talking to someone.

Someone who is not you.

The gas… It must be… Effecting him.

“Norton,” Your hand reached out to him. “You h-have to s-snap out o-of it.” There is a panicked look on his face when your soft hand touches the scarred portion of his face. Those eyes that often glared at you gaze upon you in fear.

Fear.

#reader insert #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #idv x you #idv reader insert #idv prospector #idv x reader #idv norton #identity v x you #identity v x reader #norton campbell x you #norton campbell x reader #norton campbell

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 8 months

Note

You know how Edward has this weird inflated pedestal view of Bella as the most wonderful woman of all time who absolutely must be protected at all costs and whom associating with is tarnishing but he can not stay away? In Canon his family is kinda nice to her but mostly seem to treat her as that oddity Edward brought over.

What if when he introduces Bella to the family, everyone else has the same weird view of her as he does. Leaving to alaska? Absurd! Turning her? Absolutely criminal.

Do you think meeting a family of Edwards turns Bella off Vampirism, or turns the family against each other? How would Aro react?

Anon, are you asking--

What if the entire family was actually just Edward?

I think this is the funniest ask I've received all month.

The trouble of course being that the Cullens would never be created, as Edlisle would be too in love with being miserable, likely fall off the diet, and either provoke Aro into killing him when they first meet or live a miserable life eating 'evil doers' and thus never turns Edward.

He'd also never turn Rosalie because Rosalie, even though she's Edward now, is still a beautiful woman who must be vain and stuck up. She's gross.

... I guess we'll say they're all suddenly Edward.

It's Edward's All the Way Down

The family arrives in Forks to all hate themselves. They sit in the cafeteria all wondering why they're living such a hellish existence filled with teenagers. Oh, woe to be a Cullen in this forced existence.

They all hate on Jasper for having poor control, except for Jasper, who is now too proud to admit he has poor control.

Anyways, Edward has his Biology class, flees the school, and instead of just giving Edward the car Edlisle view Edward with contempt as he clearly lost control and thus shouldn't have been in the school in the first place. He's ruining everyone's brooding, Edward.

Edward is thus humiliated even as he runs off to Alaska, unable to bear the thought of his family judging him (and they now are, immensely) and a similar thing happens where he comes back after a few days.

Edward manages to argue his way back into school but the entire family vocally shames him for it and makes it clear that he's dirt beneath their feet because he lost control and can't even admit it. Might as well live in the woods, Edward.

Canon proceeds, as Edward has even more motivation to prove he can do this and brush everything under the rug. He's just as intrigued by Bella, then she's nearly hit by the car.

The vote nearly goes the same except that the entire family is taking Edward's side had he not smelled delicious things and been fascinated by Bella: death to the teenager.

"Gosh, Edward, look at us having to clean up your mess. Jasper, take care of it."

Jasper murders Bella in her sleep.

They judge Edward for this forever, while Edward concludes he'll never be happy again and is for some reason haunted by this one human girl who he wasn't strong enough to resist. HER GHOST MOCKS HIM!

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #the cullens #meta #headcanon #opinion

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nnightskiess · 10 months

Text

everytime you leave, part four

₊° - 𝐲𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴.

everytime you leave, masterlist

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀. 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 <3

The moment Tissaia walked up to the distraught girl, sitting in the remnants of what had been her village, the mage had tried her hardest to close her heart off, to just treat her with a stiff lip and a harsh word, for it was the way mages learned best, in her opinion. Then her footsteps had carefully led her closer, the stench of burned flesh, wood and leather making her inhale with tiny puffs breaths. The moment the young girl had felt a shadow loom over her, she'd looked up with a tear-stained face, eyes red and big and filled with terror. With her tattered clothes barely still covering her body and her skin smeared with dirt, blood and ash, she looked half-alive. And perhaps, going by the look on the girl's face, she would have preferred being among the dead. But it was what was in the palm of her hands that had made Tissaia suck in a breath.

Tissaia swiftly looked around the scorched earth and saw the faint flickering of melted-down armour here and there lying among the people the soldiers had killed before coming to their own demise. There was no normal fire that could have melted a soldier's armour the way it had. No, it demanded another kind of fire, one with flames so heated that the warmth could be felt all the way to the Blue Mountains of Hertch.

With her mouth slightly agape from the shock, she quickly knelt down in front of the girl and rather harshly pulled her closer by her wrists. She turned the girl's palms open to her view, but let them go almost right after. She looked at her own leathered gloves, which had started to melt, leaving a horrible smell behind to mix with the stench of death all around them. Dazed, she stood back up almost immediately, sparing the young girl in front of her another quick glance, only to now be met with a determined and stern expression from the girl. As if she knew what she had done to her.

The realisation of the severity of the situation came as quickly as the heat that suddenly warmed her face and made droplets of sweat dance against her forehead. But Tissaia stayed put, straightened her posture and lifted her chin. She had made up her mind.

With her hand outstretched, she voiced, "Come with me."

The fear and distrust returned to the young girl's face as she stared at Tissaia's hand, before her eyes went back up to the mage's face. The woman had her hair high up in an elegant style, with leathered gloves and boots and a dress hiding beneath a mantel she was sure costed more than her entire village could have afforded.

"Come," Tissaia tutted, sending her a derogatory glare, "Where else would you go now?"

The strange woman's words cut deep, and the girl had to bite her lip to stop it from trembling. It was as if the woman was taunting her with the look in her eyes. As if to say, who do you have left to wait around for?

"Or do you wish for them to find you when they come to see what's happened here?" Tissaia retreated her offered hand and looked down upon the girl, trying her best to not let the intrigue and sympathy show through her eyes. "Follow me." Tissaia turned on her heel, expecting the girl to stand up and follow her, like they always did.

"I would rather die." The young girl spat out her words with a certain kind of venom that surprised Tissaia.

She stopped and inspected the poor thing on the ground; the fabric around her stomach and hip had been caught by flames and revealed the nastiest burns on her skin. The girl sat shivering from her injuries but with her head held high nonetheless. Tissaia tilted her head, "Poor pup, if that didn't kill you, then you'll never die," Tissaia spoke, knowing the young girl had no idea of the knowledge the mage held, or what she'd just done either.

Tissaia looked around at the scorched bodies, "It seems you sacrificed a great deal to hone that power. It would be a waste to let it fizzle out with you. Now follow if you don't want any of this to happen again." Her finger pointed out the destruction around them.

The inner turmoil of the girl was hardly masked from her face. It was clear she was battling thoughts and worries and dealing with guilt and grief all at the same time. But Tissaia wasn't surprised to see the girl stumble to stand on her two feet, for she'd heard her thoughts and the decision made before she'd made the movement to follow. Hot angry tears fell out of her eyes and dropped onto her cheeks.

"And stop crying, there's no room for weakness at Aretuza."

Tissaia landed the first of what would be many blows to Y/N's thick skin, but she knew it was needed in order to make the young girl into a strong and resilient mage. If anything, perhaps the most renowned mage there would ever be, if Tissaia would play her cards right and keep her under her wing. However, she would keep the story of what had happened here, of how she'd burned her hands from a simple touch and how her gloves had melted from even standing near, a secret. For if the Continent learned of a living and breathing mage who had survived using fire magic, the young mage would be a dead woman walking.

*⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Tissaia had been well aware that each and every step and choice that would be taken next, would have to be thought through in order for this to pan out well. From giving the girl the proper instructions to pairing her up with the right mages to fully hone and explore the depths of her magic. As she pulled the girl along through the cold and windy hallways of Artezua by her upper arm, her brain already racked with strategies and plots. But when a strangled sob escaped from the girl, she realised she was more than just a pawn for the Brotherhood. She was a young mage, hurting, grieving and perhaps utterly terrified, and Tissaia should have known better than to pluck her out of her life so harshly and dump her in her new one without any further explanation. Still, perhaps installing some fear would help keep the young mage quiet about what had happened, about what she could do. It will all be for the greater good, she had thought to herself, one day, the girl would look back and understand.

The minute the pair had left the burned-down village, the girl had been too exhausted to keep up her chaos, and the uneasy heat that she held around her had dissipated. Instead, silent tears started to fall at the realisation that everything would change. Still, the girl had held an everpresent frown on her face and her lips had snarled in hatred. Tissaia could feel the chaos bubbling beneath the girl's chest, even when weakened, and felt the power of it coursing through the young mage's veins. She knew exactly what to do with her.

Tissaia opened the door, led the young girl to her bed and turned back around, leaving no room for questions or coddling before she locked her inside. Immediately she could hear footsteps fast approaching before banging on the door echoed through the halls.

"Let me go, you vile bitch!"

So much for keeping her quiet, Tissaia thought, and immediately silenced the noise with a hushed spell. But three doors down, glancing between the tiniest crack of her door, young mage Yennefer of Vengerberg had seen it all.

*⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Hours passed and had left your knuckles bruised and tattered from trying to find a way out. The stretching of your burning skin hurt and it was damp from infection, but no pain would ever be as horrible as the breaking of your heart. Your voice was hoarse from all the screaming, so you had taken to kicking the door instead, but when your body had taken over to scream in exhaustion, you had fallen to the floor. As if someone had sensed your surrender, soon the door opened again and a young woman appeared in the doorway, an almost painful apologetic smile on her face as she took you in. Her red hair bounced off her chest as she quickly bent down to your height, her hands outreached. You recoiled at her sudden movement but saw the pain in her eyes double with that reaction.

"I don't know what you have gone through, but I am so sorry that it's caused you such great pain. It's okay now, you're safe here, at Aretuza," Though she tried her best to make you feel at ease, you were wary, "I'm Triss. Is it okay if I can touch your wounds to heal them?"

You glared at her outstretched hands as if the most dangerous insect of the Continent was crawling along her fingers. Heal you... what did that even mean? You'd heard of mages and their powers, but also heard of how they could manipulate the mind and the senses. Was this a trap? Would this woman let you do her bidding with just one touch of her fingers? You still weren't sure why the elegant but stern lady had found you and decided to take you back to her den full of witches. What were their plans for you?

You made a show to look behind and around her, then huffed, "Where are your bandages? Your salves and your ointments?"

The red-haired woman, Triss, only smiled uneasily, "I'm a mage, I use my chaos to heal, watch-" Her thumb hovered over the bruises on your knuckles as they disappeared slowly but surely, only itching slightly, "That was all. I can do it for all of your wounds, if you'd like."

A new wave of shivers crept up your spine at the heated burn of your wounds and you wiped a layer of sweat from your face. Glancing back down at your head, you realised there was no trace of the burn mark whatsoever, as if it hadn't even happened at all.

"It won't leave any scars, I promise," Triss reassured, sensing the unease.

"Then how will I remind myself what happened?"

Triss furrowed her brows," Wouldn't you like to forget?"

"Forget about what? My life? My family?" You raised your voice and pushed yourself to sit against the bed, away from the mage who clearly didn't understand at all. "What happened to them? What-" Suddenly, you stopped and looked up, "Did she send you?"

"Who?"

"That devilish hag?!"

Triss blinked rapidly and stumbled back at your tone, "Tissaia? What's she done to-"

"Thank you, Triss. You're needed elsewhere now." Tissaia loomed in the doorway, hands folded together and that same stiff lip on her face.

"But I haven't even-" Triss shut up and disappeared herself after just a look from her rectoress.

The ticking of Tissaia's heels echoed against your lonely room. She bend down and tightly gripped your chin in her hand, "Are you so bend on dying, weak pup?" She squeezed your chin, "Can't even accept help when it's offered to you?"

"I've learned that help is often offered only when one expects something in return." You did your best to keep your head high, despite the woman's efforts to pull your chin down.

"You're a clever girl, aren't you?" She let go and stood back, sending a half smirk your way before turning serious again. It was as if her eyes showed a sudden unease with the blow she was going to have to deal next, "So clever that you haven't even figured out that you were the one to burn your family to ashes. So naive," She tutted and shook her head in a derogative manner.

"What do you mean?" Your face paled even more at her statement, at what you had worried about but had pushed to the back of your mind during all the agonisingly long hours that had passed.

As if a flick had been switched in Tissaia, she smiled softly, "Oh sweet girl, you have no idea?" She watched the confusion on your face and continued, "There's a great deal of chaos rumbling beneath your skin, itching at it and travelling through the network of your veins. You just had your conduit moment today. They often happen when one's emotions are heightened, when one is in great distress or danger, for example."

"I'm a mage?" You stumbled out, not wanting to believe her but knowing that things suddenly started to make sense. From the unexplainable moments in your life to what had occurred hours ago.

"Some girls turn their siblings into pigs during a fight for their conduit moment, you just had to burn your whole village, didn't you?" The hostile tone returned, as if Tissaia couldn't let herself be softer with you than the others for longer than needed.

"I didn't! They pillaged and ransacked our village! Hurt the women and the children and killed the men. They were going to torch the place!"

"Yet you were the one to make it go boom."

"I wasn't- Surely I couldn't have-" Instead of granting you an answer or some explanation to help you order your thoughts, the woman kept silent to watch you connect the dots right in front of her. Your father had instructed the entire family to lock yourself up in the cellar, but when the pillagers had kicked down the door, slain your father and grabbed your youngest sibling and put a blade through them as if they were but a piece of meat, the only thing you could remember is seeing red. Then flames. Unrelenting tall flames. Then nothing, for a while, until Tissaia had stood in front of you to take your attention away from the destruction around you.

"Your disruption of chaos didn't just cause a ripple, it was a tidal wave," Frustrated, Tissaia grabbed your hands and opened your palms, "You hold a great power that can be dangerous to us all. The Continent will erupt in chaos if they know of your existence, for no young mage has ever lived to see another day after using fire magic. People will try and hunt you down. You are not meant to exist. Your chaos is destructive, it could start wars." She watched the horror on your face, "But it can end wars, too, only if you work on keeping your chaos bottled. But with your lack of control, I doubt that will ever happen-" The sympathy disappeared again, "Unless... you accept my help. I will keep you safe here at Aretuza. I will mentor you and help you control it."

You bit your trembling lip, hating how you were still stuck on the fact you had killed your entire family. Though the woman had previously made fun of your weakness, her eyes were less cold as she looked down on you now.

After a long train of thought, you grumbled, "So what do you expect in return?"

She smiled, giving you an accomplished nod. You were already understanding life as a mage, "To keep it all between us. You have never used fire magic. You survived after your chaos and conduit moment made the pillager's brains simmer out of their eyes."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I won't keep my end of the bargain." She stared at you with a look of finality, making it clear she did not condone any resistance to her offer.

A single nod of your head was enough to satisfy Tissaia, "I will send Triss back and you will accept her help this time."

"What if I don't want the scars to disappear?"

Tissaia examined you, trying to decipher the train of thought that went behind those words,

"Then they'll serve as a great reminder of what happened when you lost control."

*⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Yennefer walked into Aretuza's dining hall, approaching the first mage she knew and immediately opening her mouth, "They're holding an injured girl hostage."

Annika looked up at her, confused, "The Brotherhood?"

"No, yes, I don't know. I saw Tissaia bring her in, with my own eyes." Yennefer muttered with hatred laced in her voice, still not having found her peace and home within the walls of Aretuza.

"Then surely there must be a reason. Rectoress de Vries would never just-"

"She did it with me too, only shorter. When I first came here." Yennefer clarified and licked her lips, sending dangerous glares at the pair of older mages who she knew had been staring at the deformation of her back.

"Oh-" Sabrina approached, a smirk tugging at her lips, "What are you two gossiping about? Do go on."

And so the rumour had started, making Tissaia catch wind of it before the end of the afternoon. To say the woman was furious was an understatement. All Yennefer of Vengerberg had done since her arrival, had been to make things ten times more difficult for her, refusing to adapt. So, it didn't come to Yennefer's surprise that she was summoned to the rectoress office again. If anything, an accomplished glint in her eyes made it clear to Tissaia that she was happy she had disrupted her plans, even if the girl could not have any idea what they were.

"Sit." Tissaia's stern voice instructed when she heard Yennefer's uneven step enter her quarters. She kept her back towards the girl. "You seem to take a great liking to lighting all the fires I'm trying to put out, do you not?"

"Why are you keeping that girl locked up?"

Tissaia turned around, her eyes narrowed, "Why are you sticking your nose in the business of the Brotherhood? Are you so keen to dig through our dirt, piglet? Do you miss sleeping among those beasts so much that you've turned into one?" She saw how Yennefer angrily nibbled at her bottom lip, clearly hurt by the memories of her past.

"You're keeping her against her will, as you did with me. She's hurt." Yennefer spat back after taking a couple of seconds to recuperate.

"She is delirious from her injuries and her trauma. Triss is with her. Has that quelled your curiosity enough?"

"So that means you did take her involuntarily."

Tissaia locked her jaw in frustration, feeling anger bubbling, "She's safer with us, as you all are. Her chaos needs to be mentored as much as anyone else's." She examined Yennefer's face, sensed the intrigue still in her eyes and tilted her head, "If you're so drawn by her, go fetch her for me." With a look that told Yennefer to get up and leave, Tissaia kept her eyes burning in the back of the young mage's head as she left.

*⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

The itching of your skin moved all over your body, where your burns had previously festered and bled, but where faint scars now coated your skin instead. Your trembling fingers traced the one on your torse and stomach, the bumps and unevenness of them still appearing to the soft touch of your fingertips. Triss had done her best to heal the wounds but leave the scars, without making them too unbearable to look at. You could see it pained the mage to not be able to heal you properly, that your need to hold on to your trauma was greater than the need to heal. Still, she knew that not every mage's conduit moment was smooth sailing, so she had kept her mouth shut and had only looked at you with a calm sense of understanding in her eye.

Suddenly, you felt the air change, felt your head fill with prickles that weren't yours and felt the power in your veins reappear once more, as if your mind had healed together with your wounds and made chaos invite itself back beneath your chest. It elevated your senses and made you hear your heartbeat pump through your ears. But then you noticed; you saw her piercing lilac eyes staring back at you through the crack of your door before she knocked to make herself known. She did not wait for your approval, nor did she seem embarrassed that she had been caught staring. Instead, she seemed determined.

Your eyes watched the girl, from her crooked jaw to the hunchback that made her garments fall unflatteringly around her body. It made Yennefer grow self-conscious. The girl quickly pulled her dress back on her shoulder but felt it slide off again just as fast.

She took a step closer, taking in your burned-down clothes even if you had a fresh garment waiting for you on your bed, "Who are you?"

"I could ask you the same."

Ignoring your question, she took another step forward. She licked her lips, "What happened to you? Why are you here?"

The life in your eyes left as soon as she reminded you of what had happened. Yennefer's stare was intense as her big lilac eyes examined you from head to toe, intrigued by someone who seemed to suffer the same kind of welcome she'd had.

"Did she take you away from your family too?"

Your heart panged and your fingers started to tremble again as if suddenly you could feel the heat that had coursed through them mere hours ago. You felt your chaos flitting all across your body, unable to be controlled. It worried you.

"Step back," You warned, with panic and shattered devastation. If you were to set the whole of Aretuza ablaze, then surely your secret would not be safe anymore.

Yennefer kept idle, staring at your sunken form. She'd been in that position not long ago and though her heart had hardened from her time at Aretuza, together with all the challenges her old life had given her, she could feel her heart break nonetheless.

"It's not me you should fear."

You finally looked up to properly look her in the eyes, sensing the sincere warning.

"What are you not telling me?"

Yennefer licked her lips, "You won't believe me anyway, you're too new. Are you going to try and escape?"

You rose your eyebrows and kept your eyes locked firmly on hers. Yennefer found solace in the fact you hadn't gazed at her deformities more than once, just to acknowledge them and then get on with it. Usually, people's eyes would linger on those more than on her own set of eyes, begging to be looked at.

Her words made a bundle of thoughts swarm through your head. You wanted to leave this place, yes, but where would you go without anyone left alive? Without anyone to care for you? You didn't even know to what part of the Continent Tissaia had transported you to. But as you let all those insecurities fill you up, you realised one more grave reminder; if you were to run, you would be left without the safety the rectoress had promised you. If she were to find out you had left and broken your deal, she could very well send the whole Continent after you simply for still being alive after what you'd done.

Defeated, you sighed, "No."

Yennefer grew impatient and now fully closed the distance as she stood right in front of you on your bed, "Giving up already?."

"I might be new, but I know that Aretuza was designed to imprison its students," You repeated, void of hope and motivation, feeling nothing more but hollow.

"What a backbone you have."

"Then what are you still doing here?"

Within a blink, you stood face to face with the girl, your hands palmed into fists.

Finally, Yennefer's eyes softened as they looked into yours, so up close. The trauma and the terror were evident to her. Whatever you had gone through, she seemed to understand. Her eyes flashed across your face, across the crease between your brows, the dip beneath your lips and the lashes on your eyes. She saw the dirt and the smeared ash on your cheeks, but as she glanced into your eyes again, she felt a power tugging at her insides. She found a certain kind of wisdom in your irises and felt a sense of peace as you kept your gaze on her. There was a switch that flicked within her, something out of her control, something to do with her chaos, she could tell. It started to coarse through her body, making her ears pop and her skin tingle. She could feel herself grow more powerful than she'd ever had before. The feeling was ecstatic, and she closed her eyes momentarily to let herself drown in it. It was as if she was floating. Then she looked back to you still standing mere inches away from her face.

"I'm Yennefer," She softly muttered,

"Yennefer of Vengerberg."

*⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

#yennefer x reader #yennefer of vengerberg fic #yennefer of vengerberg x reader #yennefer imagine #yennefer of vengerberg imagine #the witcher imagines #the witcher imagine

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