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myvoiddreams · 4 months ago

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Fragments of Starlight

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: With the impending war, Y/N is captured by Hybern's general. As they struggle to protect those they care about, they reflect on their unrequited feelings for Azriel and their insecurities within the Night Court.

Word Count: 4,585

Warnings: ANGST, violence, torture, dark themes

A/N: This is my first time ever writing anything like this. I am a true sucker for angst. This is meant to go along with some of the events of ACOWAR, but of course, it’s different. Please don’t come at me for not following it’s exact story line. ALSO, I know that Azriel or Feyre would NEVER, but it’s just for the heartache okay!!

Part 2, Part 3

------

Now

All of it, it was all going to shit. I don’t know how my ears weren’t bleeding at the sheer amount of noise coming from the chaos around me. So much screaming, but was it Hybern’s forces, or our own? Everything was ringing, my head throbbing along with it. It was almost as if my breaths were not reaching my lungs. I was on the ground, all fours underneath me as I tried and tried to get myself to my feet. Everything was sore, it was like my muscles were not working. I stretched for the source of the aching on my temple and what I found was the warm, wet consistency of fresh blood.

My family, where is my family? Panic drenched me like a bucket of ice water.

With a groan, I grabbed my sword that lay beside me and turned to face the sky, now sitting at least. The sky, it was so blue. It almost felt like a disgusting joke to see something so beautiful, as dead bodies lay at my feet. Hybern’s forces were surrounding me, there was no escaping this.

I grit my teeth as I stand, my blade in hand. Dizziness rolls off me in waves, so much so that nausea is found coursing through my veins. I don’t get very far up before I’m slammed back down to the earth. My face hits the dirt as all the air leaves my lungs, leaving nothing but the taste of the earth and blood in my mouth. There is someone standing on my back, applying enough pressure I’m sure I’ll have a broken rib or two.

“Don’t go too far, sweetheart. We are just getting started with you.” A cry of pain leaves my lips as one of Hybern’s generals continues to crush my ribcage. The nausea and ringing in my head is too much. Then, with another blow to my head, everything is dark.

---

Before

“Oh, come on now sweet cheeks! You can do better than that. Az and I trained you myself!” Cassian’s voice was oh so annoying as he pinned me to my back. Sweat was gleaming across both of us as we spent the morning training. I was panting as my mind continued to reel.

Life had gotten tense with the Inner Circle recently. Not only was Prythian on the cusp of war with Hybern, but now we had to juggle the two newly made Fae that were the Archeron sisters.

I honestly felt bad for them. They did not ask for this life. I can only image what it would be like to go through life having your humanity ripped from you. Now knowing that you are going to be around for centuries instead of decades. And I felt bad for Feyre, who never wanted to see her sister’s dragged into this.

Usually, Azriel would be here with Cassian and me. Usually. It seemed as though Azriel had been getting far in over his head with the middle Archeron sister as of late. I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. But, I would never admit that fact out loud. Elain was half here and half not. Whenever she did speak, she’d just spew some crap that didn’t make any sense. But, that didn’t stop Azriel from spending any time he was not preparing for the war, with her.

Azriel. My heart seized at just the mention of his name. I had known the Shadowsinger for centuries. I stood by his side as he faced his own inner turmoil about Rhys being taken from us right under our feet. I stood by him even before that as I watched Windhaven and Devlon try to take was little he had away from him. Really, I had stood by everyone in this Inner Circle. But Azriel, Az was different. This too I would never admit out loud.

It took me holding him one night, after he had dreamt of his hands being lit aflame again, that it snapped. In all his vulnerability, it just, snapped. Az and I had shared a connection, a friendship, and I had loved him far long before the mating bond clicked in place. It only felt right that it was him. But, it hasn’t snapped for him.

It hurt, every single day, it hurt. And to watch him try so hard to make whatever it was happen with Elain, who was mated to someone else, made me feel worthless. This too, was not his fault. How was he supposed to know when I refused to breathe a word of it. Honestly, it might be a good thing, the distance. It hurts, but Azriel deserves happiness. I don’t know if I’m the one who can give him that.

“Damnit Cass!” I grunted as I fought back from his restraint.

“You are letting yourself get sloppy, Y/N. No room for that on the battlefield.” His face was smug. I felt some embarrassment creep up my neck and find its way on my cheeks.

“I know, I know.” I huffed. “Just let me up already.” I gave up on fighting back. Recently I found myself lacking the energy I used to have. I used to be full, driven, but I have found myself distant lately.

“Look, are you sure you’re okay, Y/N? You have not had your head in the game recently.” He stood and held a hand out to me. Cassian only wanted to check on me, it was nice really. I just wasn’t used to it. I had been the one the members of this court had always leaned their heads on. There just seemed to be no room for the others to do the same for me. So, I never asked them to. I wasn’t going to start now.

“I’m fine Cass, just tired.” I retorted.

“Aren’t we all sweet cheeks.” He said as he patted my back.

---

Now

Fire is crackling somewhere near me, but I can’t feel its warmth. I feel myself chained up. My arms were far above my head, hanging me from a support post. My feet had been stripped of their shoes, and now chains wrapped around my ankles. My body hurt, breathing hurt, and my head hurt. I was sure that this hellhole was only going to make it worse.

“Ah, there she is. Glad to see you actual awoke, we were starting to get worried.” Spoke the same general who broke my ribs.

I kept my mouth shut, only glaring at the direction of the voice. My vision was still blurry, and where I hope there was only one of him, I saw three.

The entrance flap of the tent open and closed to reveal another male. This one, I recognized. The King of Hybern himself.

“If it isn’t Y/N of the Night Court. I have to say, my men did a fine job bringing you in here for me. Wouldn’t you say so?” His voice was gruff. “Now that you’re here, we some questions we need answered, and I suggest you do answer them, dear. I’m sure you don’t want to find out what will happen if you don’t cooperate.”

I lazily lifted my head toward the King and sneered. “Try me.” I bit back, my voice laced with venom.

“Oh, I was afraid you’d say something of those sorts.” The king waved in another male, he was in head to toe in black. Something similar to what I’d see our very own Shadowsinger wear. Only this male was no where near the build of Az, but damn, did he look pissed.

The male pulled out a small dagger that was sheathed on their waist and made his way closer to me. I couldn’t help but let a little laugh escape my lips, “Size does matter you know,” I quipped. I know this man was here to interrogate me, but I could not let these people know how truly vulnerable I felt.

“Oh? I beg to differ.” The male stated as he plunged the dagger into the flesh of my calf.

---

Before

Rhys wanted to have a family dinner tonight. It would be the first one in quite a long time. With everything going on, who was to blame anyone? I couldn’t say I was looking forward to it though. I used to love the time I could spend with my family, but now, it wasn’t the same. Not when my family was no longer the same.

Rhys had Feyre, who don’t get me wrong, I love, and I love to see Rhys have the mate he has always deserved. But, with the additions of the Acheron sisters came with something strained. Cass hasn’t said anything, but I see the way he looks at Nesta. Nesta, who wants absolutely nothing to do with him, or any of us for that matter. Mor and Amren hadn’t been around as of late. Both were too busy preparing for this inevitable war. Mor with being an emissary and Amren with working out some logistics of the Cauldron.

And Az. Azriel was no longer seeking me out. No longer spending time in the training ring or the library with me. Instead, he was with Elain.

And then, there was me. Before this family all I was, was alone. Finding this family had saved me in more aspects than one, but I can feel it shifting under my feet, about to give way and take me with the edge of it.

This though, is something I would never speak about. There is enough going on as it is. No one needs to be burdened about me, my unreciprocated feelings for the Shadowsinger, or my silly feelings of insecurity. I’m a friend to the court, a warrior, sometimes an advisor, but, I am nothing compared to the rest of them. I simply do not hold enough importance, and that is something I must live with. Something I am terrified they will realize as well.

I was the last to make it to the table. Cauldron, even Elain is here. And next to Elain was Az. Hazel eyed, messy haired, Az. We caught each other’s eyes. I couldn’t help but let a smile creep up onto my face in greeting, and he smiled back.

I took my seat next to Cass and Amren and looked at the table around me. Even though war was around the corner, it felt good to gather as if nothing was wrong. Conservation started buzzing, everyone started eating, and I drifted off to a place that wouldn’t hurt me.

—-

Now

Sweat is dripping off me in beads. My body is littered with cuts and bruises. But, I didn’t say a word. Not a single word about the size of our armies, not a word about what Rhys and the others had planned, not a word about our allies. Not a word. And I was paying for it.

Gods. They had left me here, giving me a break from the beatings and the torture. Whatever the used must have been laced with faebane because I have never felt this weak. This out of control of myself. I wasn’t healing, and I was still losing blood. At this rate, it wasn’t looking good. I was still hanging from my arms, I’m sure at this point I had a shoulder out of it’s socket. A rustling began again at the entrance of the tent.

“Back for more?” I croaked. My throat was completely dry from the screaming. But, when I got my eyes open enough to see what the cause of the noise was, my heart stopped dead in it’s tracks.

Elain.

---

Before

I retreated from dinner early. As pitiful as it sounds, I couldn’t be around it. I couldn’t stand to see Azriel with her any longer. Not when I knew he was the one who was slowly healing her and ruining me.

Knocking at my bedroom door pulled me from my thoughts and I was looking into a book, not really reading it. “Come in,” I shouted.

The site of Azriel caught me off guard. Once upon a time, it was normal for him to seek me out from my room. Now, it simply wasn’t. I couldn’t help but tense.

“Oh! Az!” I put my book down and stood. “How are you doing?” I smiled up at him.

“You would know if you hadn’t left dinner so early.” He looked down at me, frowning and crossing his arms. It was rare that Az was upset with me.

“Look, I’m sorry, I’m tired after training today.” I gave him a sad smile, not wanting him to push the issue further. “But please, tell me what I missed.”

This somehow made his shadows start to swirl around him and he huffed. “I was telling everyone how much progress Elain had made. She’s having actual conversations now.” He smiled at it, proud.

I tried not to show any hurt on my face. I have no right for this to hurt me. He was helping someone, and I had to be pitiful enough that I was jealous.

“That’s amazing Az, you’ve helped her a lot.” I let another smile grace my face. Before I knew what I was saying it was falling out of my lips, “But, you do realize that she is mated, right?”

Azriel’s demeanor shifted. His shadows became agitated, “Elain is a friend. She is going through a lot, and she needs support.” He sighed, “Plus, I think that cauldron could be wrong.” That sentence alone was enough to rip whatever was left in me to shreds. Why couldn’t he see me?

I had to take a deep breath to keep the silver lining in my eyes in place. “Az, when in your life have you ever seen the cauldron be wrong? Why would it start being wrong now?”

“Look, maybe you’ll understand one day, but it’s wrong about her and Lucien.” He crossed his arms now.

“It sounds like you want to it be wrong. Whether it is, or not.”

Azriel was growing frustrated. His eyebrow ticked and he huffed, “Can you blame me for wanting something more?”

“She is mated Azriel. Off limits.” I tried to stress him. “I don’t want to see you hurt if it doesn’t turn out the way you want.” I sighed. “I wouldn’t want my mate ripped away from me, I’m sure Lucien doesn’t either.” He doesn’t even realize that I’m talking about him. Not a single clue.

“Ripped away? Look Y/N, just because you’re alone, does not mean I have to be. Why are you making this about you?” He nearly snarled at me. Snarled. “I have finally found another purpose other than this war. I have found something, someone, to spend my time with and enjoy.”

His words hit me like an arrow to the chest. Alone. Maybe they all did see me, and they just didn’t care. Why couldn’t I be enough for him? Why hadn’t in all the time and cherished memories we have together be enough. We had held each other in hardship. We had trained together. We had grown together. We had spent countless Starfalls together. We had shared so many laughs and touches. Why wasn’t what we had enough for him?

The weight of Azriel’s words hung in the air, heavy silence settling between us. My heart ached with the sting of his remark, and I fought to keep any of my remaining composure.

I deflated, “Az,” I tried to sigh as he cut me off again.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so insecure, you’d see that I’m just trying to help someone who’s been through a lot. You’re jealous and it’s clouding your judgment.” He stared at me, and I had to look away. I didn’t realize it but I began to shake. I couldn’t tell if it was from rage, or from the way my heart cracked as he spoke.

“I think you should go Az.” My voice began to break, and I could tell that my walls were going to come down. Not once had I ever asked him to leave.

His own eyes softened, and he reached for me, “Wait.”

He tried to continue but I cut him off, “Leave, Azriel.” I turned to face away from him. I gathered my arms together. I couldn’t let him see the tears that were rolling down my face, I wouldn’t.

He pulled his arm back to himself and hesitated, seeing the pain he was causing me. Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing behind with a heavy finality.

---

Now

Elain. What the fuck was she doing here?

Seeing her tore me from my stupor. She acted as if she was in a trance, half there. I was really panicking now. I could take this torture and pain, Elain, I don’t think she would last. I could hardly pull at my restraints at this point.

“Elain! Elain!” I screamed at her, trying to get her attention. One of the males that was hauling her in, left her side and strolled to mine. Next thing I knew I was tasting my own blood in my mouth as his fist met with my face. As the blood welled up in my mouth, I felt rage hit me. I spat at him. His face now coated with the bloody saliva that he caused me.

He wiped his hand over his face, ridding it of its bloody covering. I snarled at him as he drew a blade. Good. This way the focus would stay on me and not Elain. He brought the blade to my face, slicing a thin mark down my cheek. “If you wanted more, you could’ve just asked.” He trailed the blade down my neck, and now to my collar bone, all the while slicing lightly as he went. He brought his lips to my ear and his hand grabbed my face, “I have so much more than just blades and fists in store for you, girl.”

It was almost too hard to stomach. I didn’t want to know what he was alluding to. Elain, do this for Elain. I told myself. I kept silent and he pushed me away, returning to the other male who was already putting Elain into restraints.

Why is she here? Why is she not fighting back?

As they finished with her restraints, Hybern himself walked back into the tent.

“Cauldron be damned, if it’s not also Feyre’s cauldron made sister.” Hybern chuffed, “We are truly going to have such a fun time together.” He chuckled as he looked between Elain and I.

He nodded at his men and they both reach for their knives. One for me. One for Elain.

“Wait!” I blurted as I saw the man move toward Elaine, “Please, leave her unharmed.”

“Hmm,” hummed Hybern, “Now, tell me pretty thing, why would I do that?”

“She’s a Seer. Please, you must leave her unharmed or she will be no use to anyone. She will not come out of any trance if she is harmed.” I didn’t know if what I was blabbing was true. I only knew that I needed to protect Elain, for she could not protect herself.

Hybern nodded again at the male who was at Elain’s side. The male sheathed his blade and I let out a silent sigh.

“You on the other hand,” Hybern turned his attention back on me, “I have some questions about pretty Elain.” A wicked smile reached the lips of the male in front of me, as he lifted his blade threatening. “You, dear Y/N, best answer them.”

The male reached for my shirt and tore it in half. Now leaving my chest and abdomen exposed to the air, only a warrior’s wrap covering my breasts. I gasped at the bite of the air reaching my skin. My abdomen was littered with black and blue bruising from the beatings. The faebane in my system slowing any kind of healing.

I turned my face to a stone grimace. I could do this. I told myself. If nobody comes for you, then surely someone will come for Elain.

That truth hurt almost as much as the torture that I was being put through.

---

Before

It had been about a week since I’d seen Azriel. The bond that used to hum in my chest felt vacant. Rhysand had sent me and Cassian to one of the Illyrian war bands that were positioned in case of an attack.

It was a single flaming arrow that was sent into a tent that set everything into utter chaos. Cassian was in the middle of a meeting with some of the other commanders, and I was in the training ring.

Hybern’s forces hit us as if we were nothing but an anthill in their way.

I don’t know where Cassian was as I fought and fought, until I was brought down.

---

Now

I was hardly holding on. I had no energy to cry out anymore. No energy to even lift my own head up. My abdomen and back was near ribbons after that male drove his blade into me again and again.

Elain had seemed to snap in and out of it. When she was somewhat coherent, she would only cry. I felt bad for her, but I had done what I could do protect her. There wasn’t a single scratch on her.

At thinking of Elain my mind drifted to Azriel. I wonder if he’s looking for me, if not, her.

The inner circle had to know that something was wrong at this point. I only hope that Cassian was also okay after we were ambushed. I’m sure if he wasn’t, he’d be right next to me also receiving the beatings I was.

Blood dripped down my back, creating a small pool under me. I truly didn’t know how much longer I would last. I had never felt weaker in my life.

I should’ve told him that night. Anguish was suffocating me. I found myself retracing everything I did as of late. The way I stole myself away from my family because I was being nothing but pitiful. The way they started to treat me differently. The way one no one would come to me anymore, and I would not go to them. No wonder they have left you here. You are nothing to them. My mind bit at me.

What truly bothered me was the downfall of mine as Azriel’s friendship. He was the one person I could always truly count on. If I had fallen in training, if I had drank too much, if some stupid male had broke my heart, it was always Azriel that had caught me, and me him. It’s why I fell in love with him long before the bond snapped its place into my heart. And now I was going to die without him ever knowing. I was simply going to fade away as my blood pooled underneath me.

It's better this way. I told myself. Elain is unharmed, and I will fade before anyone knows of this bond. The war will be won and Az will be able to move on with someone he finds joy in.

I couldn’t help but let tears run down my face. I wanted to scream, to find some way out, but with the faebane running through me, I was simply too weak.

---

I woke to the sound of rustling at the entrance of the tent. The rustling led to Elain, and I could hear her restraints being messed with. I nearly couldn’t pry my eyes open at the sound. Maybe they would finally take me from my misery. I silently hoped. That’s when I heard a quiet gasp. I looked up to see.. Feyre? And behind her, the one messing with Elain’s chains, Azriel.

My heart lurched to a stop. They had come to help, we were going to get out.

“Azriel..” Feyre quietly said as he brought Elain into his arms.

“What.” He nearly hissed at her. That’s when he looked up and truly saw me.

“Az.. Feyre..” I choked on my words. Help was here. I was going to get out of here. To make it. Finally something positive bloomed in my chest in place of where that hole had found itself.

Azriel set Elain back down and rushed to my side. He put a hand to my cheek, “Y/N, we couldn’t find you anywhere. Cass, he said you were missing after the battle.” His touch sent shivers down my beaten spine.

My restraints still bore heavily into my wrists where I was strung up. Then, there was rustling and yelling coming from outside of the tent.

“Help me down, please.” My voice was raw and pleading.

The yelling was getting closer and closer.

“Az, we have to leave, now.” Feyre said, trying to scoop Elain into her arms.

Azriel’s hand left my cheek, and panic flared into his eyes as he took in my state.

Hybern’s soldiers were coming, realizing something was wrong. Azriel looked between Elain and I, backing up from where I was strung up. He was backing away from me. Why was he backing away from me?

My own panic started to settle deep inside of me, long squashing any hope that had found it’s place.

“Azriel… please,” I coughed quietly. Dread was setting deeply inside of me. They didn’t plan on saving two. They came here for Elain, not me.

A sob found it’s way onto my lips as he picked Elain from Feyre’s arms. Feyre herself looking torn, her eyes expressing so much anguish.

“We will come back Y/N. I promise.” Azriel’s words were yet another punch to the gut.

I couldn’t help but let the sobs I had been holding onto for so long bubble out of me.

“Please don’t leave me here.” I cried, no longer caring for the quietness. They both stiffened at the sound of my voice. “Please,” I was gasping for air as this point, “If you’re not going to take me, then at least put me down.”

Their eyes widened at my statement, but I couldn’t hold for much longer. I needed this pain to end. This suffering to be over with.

“We will be back. I will come straight back.” Azriel hushly stated. His eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes were boring into me. They were trying to convince me he was telling the truth, but I knew better. I knew that they were only getting into the camp once successfully.

They chose Elain. They were going to leave me behind.

“Just kill me, please kill me…” I sobbed, “Please if you are going to leave me behind, then just kill me.”

Feyre was crying now, and Azriel. I knew, that even though he was choosing Elain, Elain to save, and Elain to love, he still wouldn’t harm me.

“I’m so sorry Y/N.” Feyre bubbled out of her crying lips as she quickly left the tent under her cloak.

Azriel and I made eye contact again through my sobbing, through the tears that were leaving my eyes in force. “I will be right back. I will come back for you.” And then, he was gone. With Elain in his arms.

I broke, truly broke. No weapon could hurt me as much as the sight of who I loved most, my mate, leaving me here, strung up and bleeding out.

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cute-sucker · 5 months ago

Note

can we see pogue!rafe telling reader one day they're gonna make it and be much more comfortable and then she can have everything she wants IM SORRY pogue rafe makes me angsty

note: this is pup and pogue!rafe all the way. inspiration from pogue!rafe goes to @.princessbrunette

you're very low maintance overall, wearing dirty scuffed shorts, and a wife beater that you stole from rafe. sometimes rafe has to grab you to tell you how dirty you look, smelling of grass with marks of dirt on your jorts.

he gets more annoyed when you continue to wear his clothes. a white unbuttoned shirt with a cropped tee, and while rafe will raise an eyebrow then and then again telling you that you're gonna get cold, you can see the feigned annoyance that flickers in his eyes time and time again. but he doesn't get too annoyed with you, somehow kinder, and sweeter with you than anyone he knew.

sometimes people were surprised, the way that he would cower for you. one time you had come home with a bruised hip after ducking to get a softball for a bunch of ten-year-olds, and came home wobbling for him to soak you a bath, chastening you to be careful. if you told anyone how soft he was for you, they would laugh, swearing that you were lying.

sometimes you had to get rafe to stop doting on you in front of his friends, rugged workers who would raise an eyebrow every single time they saw rafe kneel to tie your shoelaces.

"every goddamn time pup," he muttered lowly, "you're going to trip and i'm gonna have to kiss your boo boos? huh? answer me." rafe whispered crudely, while licking his lips as you flushed trying to look anywhere but his co-workers.

(you hated it so much that later on you were shoving your tongue down his throat telling him how much you loved him)

life was good. life was sweet, even if you couldn't get the nicest thing that there was in town, or that sometimes you had to settle for those cheap restaurants, or even if you had to dig out the nastiest rench out of the toilet after it had dropped. (okay, the last one was just a fun adventure rafe had told you not to do)

but there's something about that dress in the window. that stares back at you, and you can't help but feel this aching in your heart. it's this feeling that you can't escape when you walk past it every single day. the little ruffles, and the sheer beauty of the dress. sometimes you bite your tongue before walking past it, willing yourself to stop yourself.

when people told you a dress was meant for you, you had laughed toying with your jeans, wistfully nodding your head. the worst thing about it was the price tag.

one time you had willed yourself to enter in there, cold hands in your pants, as you skimmed past the other clothing to cut to the dress. just turning it over, you felt as if someone punched you in the stomach. 200 dollars? goddamn it, and then you quickly walked out, forgetting to say goodbye.

when you reached home, you pushed the door open in your shitty apartment, quickly going to get a strawberry soda. you ignored the raised eyebrow that rafe gave you, and before you knew it you were sniffling and running into the bedroom.

"uh—shit, hey, what's wrong?" his muffled voice rings clear into your head, "pup. can't cut me out like that. i thought we worked on that. managing your emotions and n’shit." there's a tone of concern in his voice, and you know he's stopping himself from barging in into the small room.

that was the first thing the two of you worked on. due to how small the place was, and given how much space both of you needed, you had rules to knock if the other went into a room, angry. rafe had started it, sitting you down telling you that sometimes he needed to be alone.

you bite your lip, folding yourself into a ball, as you mewl a "you can come in."

rafe entered the room with a sigh, folding his hands seeing you scrawled on the wooden floor. you bat your eyes, wispy eyelashes wet from crying, and you can't help yourself but reach out for him. he sits next to you, nudging you to scoot closer. you do, pressing your face against the folds of his button-up, smelling in the scent of peppermint and dirt.

"you wanna tell me what that was about?"

you sober up, as he sits down next to you. you push your face closer to his chest as you shake your head. you couldn't dare tell him why you were feeling so horrible. you couldn't tell him you felt horrible because you couldn't have some stupid dress. money issues were something that rafe was used to, and for you to use it against him would be inhuman. no, you had what was the most important—rafe.

"so you're—you're gonna sulk?" he drawls, voice cruelly sweet, "c'mon kid, you can't just leave me hanging here. my sweet girl can't be crying."

you hiccupped, rubbing your eyes as you detached yourself from him, "no, i really can't tell you."

now he was on alert, eyes sharp as he looked you over. you were never the one to cry and not tell him what was going on. make matters worse you would mope for weeks over the smallest thing. be it an animal documentary, or a story of a baby dying before meeting their mother. last week you had sobbed over the death of a ladybug.

"hey? hey!" rafe shook his head as he leaned closer to you to wipe away your tear, "did someone say something to you? just give me a name. i'll take care of you, you know i will."

this made you cry even harder, and you watched rafe look completely confused, as he tries to console you, you watched him bite the inside of his cheek, rubbing his hands against his sides. he looks completely helpless, and out of his element.

"it's about a dress," you whisper out, unsure as you look up at him, watching his lips twitch into a jeering smile.

"shit kid. all this-" rafe waved his hands around, a condencing tone edging in his voice, "all of this is about a dress? what's it made out of of—and uh, what the hell happened?"

somehow you can't help but laugh at his increditious tone, and realise how stupid it was of you not to tell him in the first place. he's your boyfriend, practically your best friend and everything to you.

you sniffled, "theres this dress that i see on my way to work, and it's so pretty, and i wish it was mine. every single time i see it, i feel like i'm betraying you."

rafe looked confused, running a hand through his hair "how would you be betraying me? 'just a dress."

now you feel like crying even more, snot running down your face as he grabs your face to wipe it away, "no, rafe! not the dress. it's—" you let out a heavy sigh, "it's not the dress. it's the concept."

he looked amused, rubbing your back, "and that concept is?"

"that i'm not happy with you, and that i'm so greedy because i want a stupid dress, and that you deserve better, and that i'm just in it for the money!" you burst out, wailing at this point crumbling into rafe's arms. "i'm a bad person, rafe! i'm a bad person-"

and he says nothing. instead he gathers you in his arms, gently rubbing your head, as you whimpered softly. he's whispering something softly to you, as you try to burrow yourself closer to him.

"kid?"

"yea?"

"you're not a bad person for wanting something nice and new. especially if it's something that matters to you, uh, you gotta let yourself feel like that sometimes," he whispered out awkwardly, but when you look up at him you see the way that his eyes crinkled earnestly. he really cares about you, really cares about you.

"hell," he let out a laugh, "sometimes i feel like that. sometimes i want what those kooks have. those private jets, and houses and golf, and that doesn't make me a bad person," and then he gives you a soft smile before sobering up.

"what it means is that we gotta work harder for it," rafe mutters, pulling you closer, "but you and me?"

you nod waiting for him to say something.

"you and me are in for it. big time. and if it's some fancy dress you want, shit, i'm going to get you that dress, but you gotta wait," he coughed.

"i know this looks bad," he said, nudging at the apartment around the two of you, "but it's going to get better."

then he rests your head on his shoulders, and you feel more grateful than you ever.

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yanderestarangel · 1 year ago

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HEADKANONS SYZOTH | REPTILE MK1 WITH S/O

A/N: Some people asked for Syzoth, so here you horny b*tches. Do you want to make a request? Read my blog rules in the pinned post, comments and reblogs are welcome♡

TW: sfw and smut headcanons, afab reader, masculine and feminine pronouns used in pet names "good boy/good girl", breeding kink, vaginal sex.

Syzoth is a caring and protective lover. He's the kind of man who knows what it's like to lose everything, he lost his family because of Shang Tsung, so he will love you and cling to you as if you were his last chance to be happy in the world - what a technical, and truth -

He met you after helping Liu Kang and his fighters, you were a citizen of the earthly plane and met Syzoth through Liu himself, he said that the two of you would make a cute couple, making Syzoth blush slightly when he looked at you and then looked away. his face flushed but he knew it was true, you really were a beautiful and kind person, everything he was looking for in a life partner.

He started visiting you, bringing you flowers he picked himself, of several different species, some still came with fresh dirt on the stem but what mattered was the man's intention, right?

Syzoth would jump up to your window in the middle of the night, so to be with you, he would also maybe watch you sleep, sometimes the concept can be scary but he likes to see you lying there, peacefully and protected from the world and the evils of men. He even swore to protect you regardless of what happened, he failed one family, he wasn't going to fail another.

Syzoth and you dated for years until he asked you to marry him, he hoped to save the necessary money and also build - himself - a house for the two of you, it would be a house in the forest, fairy tale style, with a flower garden in the background, a small lake in front and several little animals scattered around the property, a dream that Syzoth has always had of a calm and homely life.

Your wedding was simple, few people were invited and it was the first and last time he wore a suit in his life, a fine suit given as a gift by Johnny Cage - who was invited to be best man at your wedding, along with from Ashrah, who was the godmother - it was a quick but extremely beautiful ceremony, being held in Empress Sindel's gardens, she herself authorized the ceremony, while you were able to smile and shed tears of emotion.

You two will have a calm and simple life, with Syzoth giving you everything for a comfortable day to day life. He will also be the type who prefers you to stay at home, he is extremely paranoid because of Shang Tsung's traumas, in other words, he will give the speech: "-You are my husband/wife, I will give you everything I want." you need in this life, just stay home and take care of yourself, please (Y/N).” -He says this in a calm but emotional voice, gently taking him in his arms, while holding back tears as he remembers the family he lost, please, just stay at home for this man.

Syzoth is the type who also loves knowing the culture of the earthly plane, he didn't even know what a cell phone was so if you give him one, he will be confused, but he learns extremely quickly - He will use your photo in everything, like wallpaper, profile icon etc, he has basic social networks to communicate with you, you found about 56 calls from Johnny to him, and he didn't answer any of them leaving poor Cage talking to himself -

He likes to hang out indoors when the two of you are alone. You will see him practically 24 hours a day naked around the house, exposing his physique and tattoos to you, hugging you from behind and kissing you on the cheek, while flexing his muscles on your soft skin.

He is not jealous, he trusts you and knows that you love him, but please don't push his buttons by trying to make him jealous on purpose, he will get extremely upset and go to sleep in the living room or outside the house, or even cry, he is a little sensitive and explosive with very intense feelings.

He likes to be suffocated between your thighs, I don't know, he then loves to feel the pressure of the soft flesh of your thighs pressing his face, he gets extremely hard, whether with him sucking your pussy or just with him between your legs, he smiles and I even beg you to squeeze harder. "-Yes my love, harder, squeeze me with your thighs, I love you so much Fuuuck-" -He spoke in a breathless voice, between his thighs while squeezing you with his hands.

He has a breeding kink, deal with that too, regardless of whether you are a man or a woman, he will get you pregnant.

Syzoth is not a virgin, but he is also not extremely expert, he knows the basics, so please teach him what you like, especially him paying attention to your clitoris, he will understand and massage it with his fingers and tongue, after seeing your reactions of pleasure he will become addicted to working on your clitoris, sucking you for 24 hours, you will have at least three orgasms in the day, with Syzoth between your legs looking at you with his penetrating green irises, eating you from the outside while you trembled under the touch of his tongue, he has a sexual pattern, with his favorite sexual positions being:

The Captain : Seeing you lying down opening your legs for him and exposing your beautiful pussy makes Syzoth want to cum even without penetration, but he can handle it, for you. He gets on his knees on the bed, holding both of your ankles in a V position, to further expose your open and wet pussy to him, he penetrates you slowly, stretching you little by little. "-Fuck sweetheart, I really love his pussy, I could fuck you all night you know? I can move right?" -He spoke between moans, starting to move his hips while watching your reactions of pleasure upon receiving his cock.

The Hot Seat : He loves to sit on the edge of the bed, spread his thighs and hold his hard cock, so you can sit with your pussy on it - he likes to do this position when you are already tired and overstimulated - Syzoth loves to see your ass bouncing him, while his dick enters your pussy, he uses one of his hands to stimulate your clitoris, while he uses his feet on the floor to have more momentum to fuck you, while the other hand cups your breast, squeezing it lightly, placing kisses sloppy behind your back. "-Please keep it up, yes, take it all like the good boy/girl you are, just take my seed inside your uterus, just cum on my cock dear." -He said breathlessly, already close to cumming inside you, well, he always cums inside you.

He also likes being blindfolded during sex, being tied up, having orgasms denied, and loves being called "my love" in addition to liking praise kink.

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

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woso-dreamzzz · 8 months ago

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Gone IV

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your toys are gone

Girl-swan gets juice spilt on her. Girl-moose is dropped in a puddle.

Both of them are filthy, covered in all the dirt that usually gets scrubbed off of you during bathtime.

Magda looks at them both with a raised brow, pinching girl-moose’s tail and girl-swan’s wing. She doesn’t want to really touch them with how dirty they are. She can’t really believe that you want to keep touching them when girl-swan’s wings are literally turning grey from how dirty she is.

She sighs deeply before throwing them into the washing machine, loading it up with washing powder and fabric softener and fiddling with the knobs until it’s on the most intense setting possible. Anything to get all the dirt and germs out.

She glances around before turning it on, spotting your baby blanket lying forgotten on the sofa.

You and Pernille are in your room, getting you dressed for another day at Chelsea training. You must have forgotten to bring it with you.

Magda picks it up. It doesn’t look outwardly dirty but she touches a wet patch and recoils. She brings it to her nose to smell it and relaxes slightly when all she smells is the milk you’ve spilled from breakfast.

She sighs though. It’s still dirty and she chucks it in the wash too, turning on the machine and leaving it to run. It should be finished by the time training finishes so all Magda needs to do is stick it in the dryer and it’ll all be fresh and warm for bedtime.

“We need to go!” She yells up the stairs,” Shoes and coats on please!”

You come barrelling down the stairs holding the gloves Zećira got you for your birthday. You’re wearing one of her full-sized Rosengård jerseys as well. It’s been rolled up as much as possible and tucked into your trackie bottoms and Magda kneels down to help you put on your shoes and coat.

You grab your usual training bag from where it’s sitting on the back of the dinner table chair, struggling to get it over both shoulders until Pernille helps you.

“Come on, come on!” You say,” Zećira’s teaching me penalties today!”

Pernille laughs at how quickly you try to get them out of the house but allows herself to be dragged along.

You have a lot of fun with Zećira at training and she does teach you about penalties. She shows you that you need to anticipate what way the penalty taker will move and you need to be quick enough to stop them.

(One day, you’ll be the most feared keeper to take a penalty against).

You’re happy for most of training until lunch.

Your food is sitting in front of you but you’ve not touched it. You keep digging through your bag. You look through it once then stop. You look through it again, your face getting more and more distressed the longer you search through it.

You practically look distraught by the time Magda arrives with her own food. Pernille’s still in the line but you’re sitting with Niamh, who looks worried over what she’s supposed to do.

Magda’s just sitting down when you burst into tears.

The scraping of cutlery and the chatter of voices dims as you sob.

“Lost!” You cry and Magda gently takes your bag from you. “They’re lost!”

Magda’s confused. Everything she packed in your bag this morning is still there and she rummages to the bottom of the bag and pulls out your keeper glove triumphantly.

“Not lost,” She assures you,” See, they’re right here!”

You look hopeful for a moment before you notice what’s in her hands. “No!” You cry,” Not my gloves!”

“Everything’s here,” Magda assures you,” Nothing’s lost. Nothing at all!”

“They are!” You insist.

“What’s lost?”

“My blankie!”

Magda feels a little bad.

“And my girl-swan and girl-moose!”

Magda suddenly feels a lot worse.

“They’re not lost!” She says quickly,” They’re not lost at all.”

“They are!” You cry, tugging your bag back so you keep empty it all over the table. “Not here!”

“They’re at home!” Magda explains before you start screeching,” They’re just in the wash.”

You take a break from crying to take in Magda’s words. Your bottom lip is still trembling but Magda thinks she’s done a good job at deescalating the situation…

Until you start crying again.

“You’re drowning them! Bad, Morsa! You’re drowning my friends!”

Yeah, Magda’s feeling horrible now.

She tries to pick you up but you refuse her touch, leaning away and clambering into a shell shocked Niamh’s lap, who has no idea what to do but bounce you on her knee.

“What’s going on?” Pernille asks. She’s hurried through the line quickly and places her plate down on the table. “What’s with the tears?”

You point an accusing finger at Magda. “My friends are gone! Morsa’s drowning them!”

“I put her swan, moose and blankie in the washing machine,” Magda explains.

“They’re drowning!” You insist, fat tears running down your cheeks,” They are! They are!”

Pernille sighs, picking you up before placing you on her lap as she slips into your seat. “They’re not drowning,” She says,” Your toys can swim.”

You sniffle. “Promise?”

“I promise. They can definitely swim.”

You wipe away your tears, flopping until you’re resting your ear against Pernille’s chest.

Magda feels terrible. She should have told you that your toys would be taking a little dip. You probably would have whined and made them late for training but that’s definitely a better alternative to this.

You remain morose and depressed all through training and it’s only when you get home that you perk up.

The washing machine is finished and you wrench it open.

Magda grabs your toys and blankie before you can.

“I’m sorry, Princesse,” She says to you,” But they’re still wet. They have to go to the dryer.”

“The dryer’s hot!” You shriek, looking close to tears all over again,” They’ll burn.”

Pernille picks you up, walking you up to your room to get you changed. “It’s just like the hairdryer,” She explains as you go,” And you don’t get burnt on the hairdryer, do you?”

“No, Momma.”

“Then your things won’t burn in the dryer.”

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #the big adventures universe

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suuuupernovaaa · 3 months ago

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Summary: Azriel thought his love was dead.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, torture, blood.

Alive, his shadows whisper to him. She’s alive.

His wings cannot carry him there fast enough. Snow and ice tear at his skin as he flies over Velaris, and sweeps in through Rhysand and Feyre’s front door.

His chest heaves with strangled breaths as he lands in the foyer. “Where is she?” he demands, rough and loud, even though he can’t see anyone. He hears them upstairs, rushing around and whispering.

“Your room, come,” Feyre says, appearing at the top of the stairs, her eyes frantic and her dress bloodied. He clears the large staircase in three bounds, and follows passes Feyre in the hall.

His feet come to a halt at the entrance to his room, and he takes in the sight of her lying on the bed. Two healers attend to her, one on each side.

Her hair, normally so gold it nearly glows, is matted and dark with dirt and blood. There are wounds everywhere, cuts and scrapes on her pale face, exposed neck and arms, and her dress, the same one she was wearing when she disappeared two weeks ago, is dirty and torn.

She’s missing fingernails, part of her right ear is cut clean off, and blood drips from her nose.

Her chest rises and falls - alive, but asleep. He falls to his knees at the end of the bed, and weeps.

—

As I drift slowly towards consciousness, I expect to wake up in the same place that I have been since I was taken. A dungeon, cold and wet, strapped to stone table that is soaked with my blood and the blood of the poor souls before me.

Soon after I wake, he’ll return, with knives and chains and instruments of torture, and he’ll remain until I drift off again.

As the light begins to fill my eyes, I brace myself for his footsteps.

But they don’t come.

Beneath me is not unyielding stone, but a soft bed. Gone is the scent of blood, and I hear no screams.

I smell home. I smell him.

My eyes open slowly, and I’m so tired I can barely do it, but I need to see if it’s true.

He whispers my name when my eyes finally open, and I slowly turn my head to see him there, sitting next to our bed.

For two weeks, I did not cry. I endured in silence, unwilling to give my captors the satisfaction, picturing the very golden eyes that stare into mine now when it got very hard to stay still.

One look at the devastation in my mate’s eyes is my undoing, and I let out a choked sob as the tears begin to flow.

He’s upon me then, pulling me gently into his arms, and I grip him as tightly as I can.

“You’re safe. You’re safe with me, with us now,” he whispers to me, and I feel his shadows enveloping us, as if to hide me from any further danger. Welcome back, they seem to whisper.

It takes a long time before I stop crying and take inventory of my injuries. “How long have I been out?”

“Two days.”

My body feels okay. Sore, very tired, but I don’t feel anything broken beyond repair. At least, physically.

I reach up to touch my right ear, missing its pointed tip. “Ouch,” I hiss as my fingers brush the bandage.

“I’m so sorry. I’m… so sorry,” Azriel says, and I shush him in an instant.

“Absolutely not. I’ll never blame you and I won’t be able to heal if you’re blaming yourself. Do you hear me?” I glare at him, and he glances over my body once, pain deep in his eyes. “Do you?”

He meets my eyes and nods. “Yes.”

“Good. Now please, help me stand up.”

He makes to protest, and I lift my hand.

“I was not allowed to walk or even stand the entire time. I’ll walk now. Just for a moment.”

He supports me then, a grim expression on his face as he helps me into a sitting position, then standing. It hurts, but also feels so good to use my muscles this way. I groan, leaning on Azriel’s strong form for support.

Through the bond, I can feel how scared and exhausted he is. I want to tell him to lay down, to rest, but I’ve known my mate long enough to know he won’t.

We emerge from his room out into the hall, and I gesture towards the library down the hall. It has a large balcony where I can breathe fresh air, and it’s a short walk.

My legs feel stronger with every step, and when the cool night air hits me, I take in a deep breath, savoring the freshness of it. I close my eyes and let my chest fill with it over and over.

“The air in the dungeon was so stale. It smelled rotten, of piss and death. If you’d let me, I’d sleep on this balcony tonight.” I look over at Azriel, whose face is hardened.

“You need to heal, in a soft bed,” he replies.

I smile. “I know. Maybe camping, when I feel better.”

He nods curtly, and I lean my head on his shoulder. I feel his guilt then, deep and painful, as his shadows creep out to wrap around me as if to offer support.

“You need to process your feelings, Azriel. Work through them and release them. You are not to blame for what happened to me, and I need your help to heal myself.”

He looks down at me, almost startled by my words, and a shadow crosses his expression once more.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he replies simply, his voice thick with emotion.

I reach up and cup his cheek, trying not to grimace at the missing fingernails on my hand. They’ll grow back.

“I was not ready to leave you. They could have broken me, if I hadn’t had you to return to. Thinking of being with you again is all that kept me going. Without even being there, you saved me.”

He closes his eyes and presses his cheek into my palm, and a single tear escapes and slides down his golden-brown cheek.

I press a soft kiss to his lips, and he sweeps me up into his arms bridal style, and carries me back to bed.

Tomorrow, I’ll greet everyone else. I’ll thank them for saving me. I’ll cry and hug my family.

Tonight, I’ll sleep safely in the arms of my mate, wrapped in warm shadows.

#azriel x oc #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar

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iwashieonhiatus · 1 year ago

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"𝗗𝗔𝗗𝗗𝗬'𝗦 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘!"| 𝗕𝗟𝗟𝗞 (girls' dads)

ft. bachira, reo, michael, barou, rin.

a/n: BLLK AS DADS IS BACK! Working with children is softening me and I can only think of them as dads!

❣️ BACHIRA ❣️

You checked on your two children, since Bachira insisted he would teach your daughter how to ride a bicycle, but there was a worrying silence. When you got to the backyard, you didn’t know whether to laugh or be indignant. “Meguru! You promised to teach her!” You screamed and your daughter came running up to your legs. “She has to learn visually first.” Bachira replied, smiling as he played on the bike too small for his size, and your daughter told that she hadn’t learned, since her father didn’t get off the bike. You got into a fight with him and he stuck his tongue out at both of you, calling the little one a “mini loose-tonged!”.

❣️REO❣️

You walked towards the whisper, wondering what it would be, until you found the youngest daughter sitting on the couch, arms crossed and face frowned and Reo kneeling on the floor, hands clasped together and a sad expression. “What’s going on here?". Reo looked at you, glassy eyes and pouting. “She doesn’t want to play with daddy anymore.” You raised an eyebrow and your daughter answered, still with her arms crossed. “I’m not a baby anymore, Dad!” and Reo turned to her, indignant. “You’re still my baby!” she got off the couch and Reo followed her, interrogating her with “Why don’t you play with your daddy anymore?”, “Don’t you love me anymore?”, “Daddy loves you so much that’s why I wanna play with my baby!”, letting you observe that awkward interaction with a smile on your face.

❣️MICHAEL❣️

“Michael, don’t look at her like that!” You whispered, snuggling one of your daughters into your lap while Michael held the other in his arms. Apparently, they had discovered favoritism and had chosen sides. “They were so attached to me, and now she just wants to know about you. She doesn’t even remember that he has a father!” He had a pout and was still rocking the other twin carefully so as not to wake her. “She understood her father is a bore.” Michael gasped, moving closer to you. “Take it out now! I’m the coolest dad in the world. Take it out!” He spoke a little louder. They both woke up and started crying. He looked at you and you put the other twin in his arms. “It’s a chance to show what a cool dad you are, Michael. Luck!” and left, leaving him with his copies.

❣️BAROU❣️

“Do it calmly and gently, shortly, otherwise the dirt will be left behind.” Barou teach his daughter how to sweep, the pink apron written ‘king’ and the daughter with a copy written ‘princess’, she would nod in agreement, doing as her father instructed and you would watch the two of them from the couch, thinking about how he was turning her into a mini cleaning freak like him, or, she had already been born with it and he was just getting better.

❣️RIN❣️

You woke up scared, lying on the couch and without your daughter in your arms. You ran around the house until you found Rin rocking and singing while she slept, clutching his uniform. You smiled at the scene; Even though he arrived late and tired, without taking a shower, he made time for your daughter. You hugged him, resting your head on his shoulder, your eyes heavy with fatigue and he kissed your forehead, whispering a “you did well”. The comfort of the moment making you relax, hugging him and your daughter.

(divider➝ @cafekitsune )

#iwashie work #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock headcanons #bllk imagines #michael kaiser x you #barou shoei x reader #rin x reader #bachira x reader #mikage reo x reader

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lauraneedstochill · 1 year ago

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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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libby-for-life · 8 months ago

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Back by popular demand. Adam gets sick. Part 2. Just some context before we continue. Adam reveals some...startling news about Lilith's true nature in Eden when he was sick with a fever. Onwards....

Lucifer could only stare at Adam's sleeping and exhausted form. Just two hours ago, Adam gave him startling news of Lilith. A huge part of the devil wanted to believe that Adam was lying. He had to be! Lilith, while not sweet, was not outright cruel to anyone in Eden.

But...Adam was in no state to lie. He had never seen the man cry before. Not since Eden. His fever left him unable to tell convincing lies...

Lucifer tugged at his hair. What was he supposed to believe?! A fever plagued Adam or his wife, estranged, for thousands of years? The choice was obvious. Lilith had never steered him wrong. Adam, while maybe not intentionally, was telling Lucifer lies brought on by his fever.

So why was there a nugget of doubt?

Suddenly, Lucifer got an idea. He hadn't used it in forever, but he was able to see memories with enough prodding. He can solve this and be completely sure about Adam's ramblings.

Breathing deeply, Lucifer's eyes glowed a deep red as he entered Adam's mind.

It was messy and cluttered. Exactly how he expected Adam's memories to be. Lucifer shifted through memories as quickly as he could, making sure to not look too deeply at things. Some memories were...graphic.

Finally, he saw a memory that made him stop. A familiar garden...Lucifer eagerly but carefully extracted the memory and watched through Adam's eyes.

'Adam woke up to a bright light. Everything was so colorful and new! He felt the dirt between his fingers, could smell ripe fruit, and saw tall beings with light coming out of them.'

Lucifer hummed. This was Adam's first memory. The day he was created. Sifting through more of Eden, he watched through Adam's eyes how excited he was to see Lucifer. The emotion was bright and held onto deeply. The former archangel blushed when he realized just how Adam thought of him in Eden.

Was this why Adam was always trying to feed him? Or give him flowers and shiny rocks? Lucifer indulged him but he didn't really see the point in them back then.

Moving forward, he came to Lilith's creation. She was made to be equal with him. Lucifer felt Adam's confusion when Sera told him that he must love, protect, and procreate with Lilith. Lucifer never realized just how firm Sera sounded when giving this order. It left no room for argument. No wonder Adam was so determined to have sex with Lilith. Sera made it sound like Adam would be committing a great sin if he didn't.

' "What is love?" Adam asked, gazing at Sera. The Seraphim looked surprised, as if not expecting questions. "Uh, it's when you want to spend the rest of your life together." Sera finally managed to say. Adam looked at the ground. Oh. He didn't want that with Lilith. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Lucifer. He must be in love with him!'

Lucifer immediately backed away from that memory as fast as he could with a blushing face. That was far too personal. He felt like he just witnessed something that was trying to stay buried.

He needed to be quick with what he came for. Quickly, he found a memory of Eden with Lilith. They were sitting on a rock as Adam rambled on about how two salamanders raced each other. It was...endearing. Adam seemed so innocent back then. Since he was looking through Adam's eyes, he didn't notice the hand on his neck until Adam was already being choked.

Lucifer gasped as Adam's gaze turned to Lilith. She had an angry look to her. "Do you ever shut up!?" She yelled as she choked Adam.

The First Man tried to pry her hand off, but Lilith had always been strong. "I don't care about some dumb animals! Can't I have any peace from you?!" The memory went blurry and it took a moment for Lucifer to realize it was because Adam was crying.

"I'm sorry!" Adam choked out, his vision growing hazy with the lack of oxygen.

Lilith squeezed one more time before letting go. "Let that be a lesson. No one wants to hear your voice." And then she walked off, leaving him alone. Lucifer. I want Lucifer.

The devil's eyes widened. Adam must've been scared enough to be thinking of him. And why wouldn't he be? He was just choked for apparently talking too much.

He needed to know more.

He watched memory after memory of Lilith hurting Adam for some reason or other. One time, she had threatened to hang him from a tree if he continued trying to be with her. She would slap, kick, and comment terrible things about him. He was...abused. That was the only thing Lucifer could think of. Adam was abused by Lilith and no one seemed to care.

So, when Lucifer found a memory where Adam had found Lilith and him having sex in the garden, Lucifer wasn't surprised that Adam cried silently to himself, the image blurry because of his tears.

Why? Why are they doing that? I thought Lucifer was my friend!

Lucifer winced in guilt. From Adam's perspective, he could see how hurt and betrayed he was. And also the longing. A part of Adam wanted to be Lilith. To have Lucifer caress him and make love to him under the tree.

Lucifer didn't want to see it, but he had come this far and he knew he would be a coward if he didn't. He watched as Adam and his past self fought for the first time.

Lucifer had accused Adam of hurting Lilith, forcing himself on her. Adam was heartbroken at the accusations and glanced at Lilith who had a small smirk. She was playing Lucifer like a fiddle. Adam tried saying that she was lying but Lucifer wouldn't hear it. They left the garden and the devil watched as Adam held the pieces of his broken heart. He watched as bitterness and anger set in. His distrust of women that later turned into misogyny.

He had caused this. Lucifer was the one who made Adam who he was. All because he was too blind to see what was truly going on.

What has he done?

Lucifer came back into himself and he realized that he had been crying as well.

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #send asks #lilith #tw abuse #garden of eden

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fancyfeathers · 10 months ago

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Rain and Dirt (Yandere Rex Lapis/Zhongli x Goddesses!Reader)

Chapter Three, Ghosts of the Past

Sequel to The Moon Will Sing and Time Alone

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Summary: Stories are told of Rex Lapis the God of Contracts and his darling the Goddess of the Moonlight, but what people do not know is the truth of what their relationship really is. People think at Rex Lapis’s death that his wife would be the first to weep, but what if she is the first to smile.

You began your journey to Jueyun Karst with Lumine and Paimon, acting as their guide. As you walked along the road that ran through the Guili Plains and into Jueyun Karst you looked around at the sky above, it was starting to get dark as you were nearing the abode of the Adepti. You wondered what would have happened if you ended up coming here for the Rite instead of staying in the city, would they be made at you, violent even? No you shook that thought aside, they would never harm you even if your husband wasn’t there to protect you anymore.

No, no, no! You did not need him to protect you, have you forgotten you are a goddess? It is well within your power to protect yourself… but some nights when it gets cold, being held by someone helps. Or the pain of thousands of years gone by, sharing that burden with someone else… but he also gave you a burden-

“(Name), Are you alright? You seem to be drifting off?” The voice of Lumine’s floating companion grabbed your attention and you smiled and nodded in response with a small hum.

“I am alright, it is just….” Your eyes drifted up to the peaks out the mountains approaching in the sky, knowing what you are about to encounter. You sighed as your eyes fell back down to the path you walked on and the ground below. “It has been awhile since I have come here. It feels strange, especially given the circumstances.”

“You mean the death of the Geo Archon, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“You know, Paimon noticed that while most are in shock and crying over Rex Lapis’s death, you remain totally calm, why is that?” Paimon stepped in, poking you with a question.

“I….” The question made you stop in your tracks, why was it so easy for you not to cry? The answer should be easy, because of all the things he has done to you. But did you honestly know that answer? Did you hate him? “…don’t know…”

“Really?”

“Really, honestly for all the people’s praise of him I do not know if I can make myself follow him like they do.” You paused again before forcing a smile and changing the topic. “Well what brings you to Liyue? I doubt it is just the sights if you are willing to do all of this.”

“I’m… I’m looking for my brother. He was taken from me.”

At Lumine’s answer your heart ached for her for you knew her pain, what it is like to lose a sibling. You had no idea where your sister is today, thousands of years later. You can still remember the sound of her voice, the life in her eyes, the joy in her smile.

“I’m so sorry, I understand your pain but it still hurts, does it not?” A look of surprise came across Lumine’s face at your sympathy.

“You understand?”

“I do, a long time ago my sister set out to explore Teyvat and I did not go with her, I have not heard from her or about her since. I would be lying if I said I didn’t regret going with her, I think about it everyday.” You reached down and gave Lumine’s hand a squeeze. “After this I promise you I will help you find your brother, I have all the time in the world.”

“Thank you, that means so much.”

—————————

You were reaching the abode of Mooncarver and you knew that full well that he would call out your true nature on the spot so as you got closer you acted like you needed a break but urged Lumine and Paimon to go on ahead.

“Are you sure, (Name)?” Paimon questioned, to which you smiled and nodded.

“Yes, yes, I will find you both in a bit, I just need to rest my feet. I am afraid that I am not so used to walking such long distances.”

“Alright if you say so.”

You watched two walk off as you sat against a tree for a bit of shade so that you were covered from the sun’s heat. You ran your fingers through the grass and hummed, closing your eyes. You have been here before, not just in Jueyun Karst but this exact spot. When was the question?

You closed your eyes to think and you must have fallen asleep because you felt a hand brushing the hair out of your face stirring you awake. You opened your eyes and seeing the person there made you gasp.

“Menogias?”

There was a laugh and nod from the Yaksha, one who you thought to be dead for so many centuries. “Hello my Lady.”

“Why- wait- how are you here?” You asked, springing to sit up. You pressed your back against the tree, sitting there next to your old friend, for lack of a better term.

“What do you mean, I am supposed to be with you today.” He sighs and shakes his head, his fingers coming to rub his temples. “My Lady, did you forget? Today your husband is off at a meeting with an Adeptus in Chenyu Vale. I was placed to guard you until his return.”

Ah yes, how could you have forgotten? Morax had even told you the night before. He would be gone all day and perhaps a bit of tomorrow as well. Really you must get better at remembering these things.

“Apologies, it just feels like my mind is off these days.” You say curling your legs inward towards your chest.

“Off? May I ask how so?”

“I do not know how exactly to describe it, almost as if I have been tricked into something.”

“My Lady, it’s best if you don’t dwell on these things for too long, it would be bad for your health.” Menogias answered swiftly, almost to cut off your idea. “Your husband would not be very pleased with that.”

Your husband…

Rex Lapis…

Morax…

Zhongli…

All the same person…

All caused the same suffering…

“Menogias, can I ask you something…”

There was no response…

“Menogias?”

Again, no response?”

“Menog-“

You were cut off by the scream that ripped from your throat as you turned your head to look at the Yaksha, only to see him dead. His skin almost looked shredded and he was bleeding profusely out of a wound in his stomach.

You snapped awake, sweating and gasping for air from the dream. It was just a dream, but one that came from your memory to an extent. Menogias did watch over you some days when your husband was away, but so did the other Yaksha. Beyond that the rest of the dream weee just the ghosts of your past. Honestly out if all the Adepti, you hated Menogias the least, he was kind to you but still did nothing to dissuade your husband’s possessive tendencies.

As you rubbed your eyes in an attetonwak yourself up from that horrid nightmare you heard voices, shouting, and approaching you. Before you can even turn your head you are seized up by the forearms and find yourself face to face with soldiers of the Millelith.

“You are under arrest as a suspect in the assassination of Rex Lapis.”

Oh dear…

—————————

You were dragged along by a Millelith soldier, deeper into Jueyun Karst to find Lumine and Paimon, the other suspects. You panicked as you got closer and closer to Moon Carver’s abode, and you tried excuses like you would rather be tamed back to the harbor so you could be proven innocent already,mor that you had no idea who they were talking about when the described Lumine and Paimon, but none of it worked.

Then your heart sank the moment you turned on the path and your eyes laid on not only Lumine and Paimon, but the mighty and illuminated Adeptus, Moon Carver. His deer form was as proud and strong as ever and no doubt he retained that strength to carry that pride.

“It’s the assassin, they dare-“

The moment the soldier spoke and caught the attention of Moon Carver you knew all was over. The Adeptus’ eyes went from the soldier speaking, to the one who was dragging you along, then lastly to you. The moment you made eye contact with him, his eyes lit up in pure and untamed rage. He raised his front hooves up and stopped them on the ground, and the sound that echoed from it rang in your ears and even was enough to shake a few stones off of the mountain peaks.

“YOU DARE TOUCH HER!? YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO EVEN LAY YOUR EYES ON HER!”

The Millelith soldiers look back and forth at one another in pure confusion, meanwhile you just hang your head low and wait for this all to be over.

“Mighty Moon Carver we-“

“One does not care for your excuses, unhand her at once!” At the demand of the Adeptus the Millelith did not care to stay much longer after that. The grasp of your arm slipped away as the soldiers backed up away from Moon Carver and once they were far enough they turned on their heel and started running. You watched them run before turning to face Moon Carver and your eyes landed on the confused Lumine and Paimon as the Adeptus approached you. Slowly Moon Carver lowered his head before you in a bow before rising, his eyes meeting your own. “My Lady.”

“My Lady? What is this crazy deer on about, (Name)?” Paimon questioned, looking at you who were probably bright red in your embarrassment. Before Lumine can add something, Moon Carver gazed down at the floating Paimon, rage in his eye, not as much as with the soldiers, but still visible.

“You dare to call her by her name, you have no right-“

“Moon Carver!” You shouted, cutting the deer off. He looked almost ashamed for a moment at the sound of you raising your voice. “Please, I let them, they are my friends.”

“Very well.” He nodded towards you before facing Lumine and Paimon. “One humbly apologizes for such abrasiveness towards my Lady’s companions.”

“Lady? What’s going on?” Lumine asked, looking at you and you sighed.

“Really it is nothing important-“

“Nothing important?” Moon Carver scoffed at your statement, as if now he was scolding you. “Is being the bride of Rex Lapis not important? One thinks not.”

“Bride of- wait.” You watched as Paimon slowly clicked together the pieces in her head and she let out a loud and rather dramatic gasp when it clicked. “You’re the wife of the Geo Archon, you’re the goddess that Childe told us about. That’s why you knew so much about Liyue.”

“That is… true.” You sighed and stepped forward, not forcing a smile like you did before. Now you wore your true emotions, a face that suffered for thousands of years. “Allow me to properly introduce myself, while I still am (Name), I am the goddess of moonlight and rain and…” you felt yourself choke on your words for a moment, but you quickly swallowed the lump in your throat. “…and the wife of Rex Lapis, the Geo Archon.”

#yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere rex lapis #yandere rex lapis x reader

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beastofburdenxo · 10 months ago

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Deal of A Lifetime

Tommy's new wife has a terrible accident. He makes a deal that could change everything.

MINORS DNI 2.1k words Tags: Language, face fucking, oral sex, degradation, unsafe sex, P in V sex, cream pie, slight dom/sub vibes, slight dacryphilia, multiple orgasms

“I’m sorry Tommy.” Polly’s words rang out like a bell in his head. “There was a terrible accident. She was hit by a car crossing the street to go to work. They don’t know if she’s going to make it.” Tommy dropped to his knees cursing any deity listening to his cries. “I told her Polly; I told her not to go in today. I knew something bad was going to happen, I just knew it. I can’t lose another wife; I just can’t do it.” A few years back his first wife was shot and killed in front of him, and now this. It’s almost like a cruel prank the universe has put on Thomas Shelby. He can only be happy for a little while until everything comes crashing down. She was his saving grace in his personal storm called life, and now possibly she may be called away. Tommy stood up, a mixture of sadness and pure rage in his heart. “I must go to her Polly. Maybe I can call her back to me.” He goes outside with almost a physical storm cloud over his head. The people of the town know to stay away, not even to give their condolences. The first person stupid enough to come up to him is liable to be shot. Tommy almost wishes someone would; so, he would have something to take his anger out on.

He storms through the hospital doors, demanding to see his angel on earth. “Where is she?!” Tommy roars to no one in particular. “So help me God, where the fuck is she?!” A timid nurse takes him to her, and it is a grim sight indeed. She is lying in the hospital bed, with bandages on much of her body. She is unconscious, pain meds running through her damaged system. “It’s not looking good Tom,” Arthur comes up behind him, hand on his shoulder. “She has lost a lot of blood; Doctor’s say it’s touch and go. Most of her body is damaged in some way.” Tommy’s knees got weak at this news. “I want the driver found and cut on the spot; I don’t care who sees.” He enters her room. She looks so fragile and weak lying there. “Tommy’s here angel, I’m right here.” He gently grabs her hand. “Stay with me love, please, I need you.” With no one else around, he starts to cry. “I told you to stay home didn’t I, eh? So stubborn you are.” Tommy leans down to put his face in the crook of her neck, and just sobs. Begging and pleading with her and anything or anyone listening to stay with him. “I need you, love. Please. I love you so much, I can’t be left alone again. You are my everything, you know that? I do this all for you, fuck everyone else. I need you with me.”

Night falls, and there is no improvement. Eventually, the nurses kick Tommy out and he is forced to leave her. Threatening them was no use. Anger surfaces again in place of despair as he proceeds to punch the brick building until red leaves his vision. He slumps down against the building, face in his bloody beat-up hands. He knows what he must do. Opinions of the family be damned. Against better judgment, Tommy Shelby must go to the crossroads. He’s heard of the crossroad demon all his life. He never had much use for one until now. He knew the payment in return would be high, possibly even his tattered soul, but it was worth it in his eyes. Five minutes till midnight he stands at the crossroad, small wooden box in hand. Inside is a picture of the one he is doing this for, and a lock of his hair. Tommy digs a small hole and buries it, a small offering to call the demon. For good measure he cuts the palm of his hand and trickles his blood over the mound of dirt. And now Tommy waits. He checks his pocket watch; it is midnight on the dot. “Alright, you demon where are you? I left the offering. I know you can’t resist the smell of blood.”

Tommy hears footsteps. “Actually, it’s the smell of desperation that we can’t resist. The blood is just an added bonus.” A woman; or what used to be a woman now stands before him. Tall and graceful looking, with deep amber skin. She was quite beautiful, but Tommy knew it was just a vessel. The inside was rotten as could be. “Ahh, Tommy Shelby. The devil of Small Heath. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Her voice was intoxicating, running up his spine almost causing a tremor. “Cut the shit, demon. You know why I am here; I want to make a deal.” The demon slowly walks closer to Tommy. “Is that right? What could I possibly do for big bad Tommy Shelby? Not tall enough, are you? Trade your soul to feel like more of a man?” She finds this very funny, and she begins to giggle. Tommy’s patience is running thin. “This isn’t about me you bitch. It's my wife. She's in the hospital and it’s not looking good. Please help her.” She stops giggling. She blinks and her eyes are now solid black. Demon eyes. “Oh, poor baby. Tommy’s flavor of the month is going to die, oh no! Only a demon like me can save her.” Her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s in it for me? Your soul? That pathetic thing isn’t worth trading for. You have taken almost as much lives as me.” Tommy drops to his knees. “Please, I have money. I have gold. I have cocaine. Please name your price.” An evil grin crawls across the demon’s face. “Well, well, I have Tommy Shelby on his knees. She must be important for you to grovel. This is quite a pretty sight. Are you going to start crying too?”

The demon reaches down and tugs at his hair, making him look at her in her midnight eyes. “I could leave you be with your love for ten years. Then send my hell hounds after you to take you back where you belong. Make you watch her cry for you until she moves on. Have you watch as another man claims her as his own. Would you like that? She would still be alive to break your heart over and over again.” Tears form in Tommy’s eyes at the thought of her forgetting him. But she would be alive, and that’s all he ever wanted. “You say you have gold, money, and cocaine. Is your body on the table as well?” Tommy’s eyes grow big. “Are you asking to use my vessel? Possess me?” She shoves him to the ground using her unnatural strength. She straddles him, pinning him to the spot. “Well, I'll certainly be using you. You’ll be begging me to possess you before it’s over. The pleasure will be just too much for your mortal vessel.” She bends down and licks the side of his face, making him cringe. “You nasty bitch!” Tommy snarls, “This is serious and you're using the situation to get laid?!” She runs her hands along his body, “What can I say? When the opportunity presents itself, you’ve got to take it. Besides, it’s the only thing I miss about being mortal. The hot nasty sex. That’s one thing you pathetic humans get right.”

She pulls down the top of her dress, exposing her large breasts to Tommy. He turns his head, willing his body to not betray him. “Look at me Tommy.” She purrs seductively wiling him to fall prey to her. “Look at this beautiful body. Don’t you want this? I see inside you Tommy; I see your weakness. You love a willing woman, don’t you?” She slowly starts to grind against him, demanding that he participate in her sick game. “You’re not a real woman demon!” Tommy protests. “You’re using some poor vessel to disguise yourself. You are far from human you evil whore!” This angers the demon, and she slaps him across the face. “This is how it will be Tommy, give yourself up or little wifey dies. Got it? Now seal the deal with a kiss.” Tommy takes a shaky breath, knowing there is no way out now. He started this whole thing, he summoned her. Now it’s time to pay up to save his wife. He angrily grabs her face and kisses her with all he has. The deal has been made. “Now was that so hard Tommy?” The demon asks, as her hand reaches down to undo his pants. “Ahh, now here’s something that is hard.” Her hand contacts flesh and finds what she is looking for.

She slowly pulls his cock out, her eyes returning to human form. “Well, well, so rumors about you are true huh?” Tommy sits up, fed up with her mouth. He grabs the sides of her head and forces himself in her mouth. “Shut the fuck up demon. You wanted me so badly, well here the hell it is. Choke on it.” She easily slides down to the base, taking every inch of him down her throat. He growls at how well she takes him. His wife can’t even do that. “Can’t speak now, can you? Just some fucking peace and quiet with a human cock down your throat.” Tommy continues to use her throat like a toy, berating her with every stroke. “Even a demon needs a man to put her in her place huh? Still some holes that need to be filled, soul or not.” Now it is the demons turn to be sick of his shit. She grabs his hips and throws him off her. She moves faster than the blink of an eye and has him on his back again. “I only let you do that to me. I could have broken your neck, you worthless sack of shit. You are my toy to do as I see fit. Now serve your purpose and shut your mouth before I change my mind you cock with legs.” Before he can form a rebuttal, she sinks down on him in one swift motion. She may be dead inside, but she is still very warm around him. Drawing him in her web. Tommy’s mind goes blank, too drunk on her to feel angry anymore. She tilts her head back in pleasure. “Yes Tommy, this is definitely your purpose. Just a brainless hole filler, aren’t you?” She looks down at his drunken face. “Can’t even form a response, it’s like you’ve never been fucked before.” She grabs his face, “Look at me when I fuck you, Tommy. It’s just what you need, to be reminded where you belong. Underneath. Me. Servicing. Me.” Thrusting hard with every word. As much as he hates this, her words make him fall apart with a cry inside her. A woman has never spoken to him like this before and his body can’t get enough of it.

He comes inside the demon, his whole-body trembling. “Oh no Tommy, was that too much for you?” The demon feigns compassion. “Looks like we’ll have to go again, see if you can get it right this time.” Tommy tries to tell her no, that he is too sensitive. She starts up again, ignoring his pleas for a small break at least. His body ignores him too, he’s hard as iron ready to be used again. Tommy bites his lip, trying to hold in the whimpers of sensitivity turning into pleasure. “Let me hear those pathetic whimpers, Tommy. Be good for me, yeah? Be a good cock for me?” She rides him on the hard ground with all she has, and Tommy can’t take much more. “Yes, yes, I'll be a good cock for you. Yes, please come, please come, yes, I'll be good.” Tommy is blabbering, not even sure he is making sense. He doesn't know if she is really that good, or if she's just using her magic on him. He honestly doesn't care. She is just so good that his mind is melting. “Good boy, Tommy. Good boy. I'm going to come so hard; you are such a good toy for me to use, aren’t you?” Without any further warning, the demon milks him with supernatural strength, making tears fall down Tommy’s face. Her orgasm causes her eyes to blacken again as she looks down at her human toy, crying and spent with pleasure as it’s her turn to tremble and shake. Coming down from her release, she strokes his overwhelmed face. “You know, you are so pretty when you cry. I’d go again if I didn’t think it would kill you. Maybe next time.” She stands up like nothing happened between them, fixing her dress. “Your wife is awake; you might want to fix yourself up and go see her. Consider the debt paid, until I want more that is. You will be seeing me again dear Tommy.” The demon disappears into the dark, leaving Tommy wondering if the debt will be until he dies naturally, or until she kills him.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x fem!reader #peaky blinders

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dark-and-kawaii · 3 months ago

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⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ Tainted Dreams ˖⟡˚౨ৎ⋆

✧₊⁺ Summary: As Zevlor sleeps, a dark shadow named Aradin creeps into his dreams, twisting his peaceful rest into a horrific nightmare. Zevlor dreams about Aradin taking away everything that he’s come to love… ♡

✧₊⁺ Pairing: Zevlor x F!Tav/Lofn

✧₊⁺ Notes: Another story I hope you all enjoy xoxo I’ve been wanting to write some angst involving Aradin so here it is!!! Heh heh to be honest I’m a sucker for a story involving some Aradin angst ♡

In the quiet embrace of night, Zevlor lay entwined with his beloved, Lofn, his arms holding her ever so close to him- always acting as a safe haven for her as she slept. Her body a comforting weight against his chest as he too slowly slipped into slumber. When she stirred gently against him in her sleep, her head nuzzling at his neck, his tail gently coiled around her thigh as he returned the gesture, their bodies blending as one.

As the night wore on, their bodies pressed close, their breathing synchronized in that gentle rhythm that lovers fall into with the passage of time, their hearts beat a gentle, steady rhythm of love, contentment, and peace... Until it was shattered by a shadow creeping into Zevlor's dreams, twisting his peaceful rest into a vivid nightmare. His body tensed, clutching Lofn tighter, his tail pulling up into the air, as if in warning. The darkness seeping into his dreams, like the blood of a wound left untended.

His mind's eyes filled with visions of betrayal- a group of men turning against their cherished princess, all because of her love for him, a so called foulblood, a hellspawn who was meant to rot- to die at birth for being what he was... The men who had once looked at him with respect, now looked at him with loathing... The nightmare deepened, his body trembling with each haunting image, a cold sweat breaking out over his body.

Zevlor saw the men first slay her dragons, Aetherion the first to be overwhelmed and slaughtered. His great form lying still in the dirt, his blood soaking the ground... Vyrmoth, the younger of the two tried to take flight only to be brought down and stabbed again and again, until his cries were silenced... Then they set their sights on her... Lofn, bound by chains that kept her powers in check and helpless, her face, tear streaked and pale from the pain of her dragon's deaths- feeling everything that they had felt...

One of the men laughed, his hand gripping her face harshly as he leaned down and spoke to her, “The lot of us could have given you the world, but you choose this abomination instead.”

Forced to her knees, Lofn was made to suffer before Zevlor. He watched helplessly as the man pulled out his blade and slashed at her back, yet she did not cry out, she would not give them the satisfaction... Zevlor's eyes trailed down to her stomach, the faint swell of her pregnancy barely visible under her torn dress... His eyes filled with tears as he realized just what they were going to do, to the unborn children she carried... His child... Their child.

“Please don't,” Zevlor pleaded, his voice broken, “I beg of you. She is still the woman you all admir-”

A famiilar voice- a familiar smug tone cut him off, “Beggin, like the foulblood you are.” Aradin stepped forward, his hands grasping Lofn's head and forcing her to look up at him, “This foul blood has poisoned her, tainted her with his vile touch.” he looked at the men around him, “I aint going to allow it no more.”

Zevlor's brow furrowed his eyes hardening as he stared at Aradin, “You bastard! What has she ever done to you? To deserve this? She saved you! Your people!” He tried to fight the men holding him back, but failed, “I should have done you in the moment my fist connected with your jaw back in the grove…” the hatred and loathing clear in his voice.

Aradin sneered, “I shoulda done her when I had the chance, before you poisoned her.”

Lofn struggled weakly against Aradin's grasp, her voice low, “You were nothing, Aradin, nothing. Just some lowly adventure looking for his fortune.” She spit in his face, “A pathetic boy- not even worthy of calling you a man” her words dripping with venom.

“Shut it wench,” her head was yanked back, then forced forward to look Zevlor in the eye's. Aradin's blade traced a cruel path across Lofn's chest, his gaze locked with Zevlor's then the group of men circling around, “I witnessed it myself, how this devil stained your princess.”

Lofn's eyes, brimming with pain and unshed tears, never wavered from Zevlor's face. Her sorrow was not for herself or her unborn child, but for him... Knowing the torment he was enduring- the pain he would never cease to forget...

Zevlor whispered a plea, “Aradin, I beg you. Please. She has done nothing, take me- Like I know you've always wanted to- Rip my horns off, let my foul blood stain your boots- but please... Not her-”

Before his mind could register what was happening, Aradin's blade pierced Lofn's belly, “I should have gutted you and this tiefling back in the grove.”

A yell tore from Zevlor's throat as Aradin's blade descended upon Lofn again... She lay lifeless before him, her eyes wide and empty, her blood pooling towards him…

With a jolt, Zevlor awoke, his heart pounding like a caged bird desperate to escape. Zevlor's heart still raced as his hand came up to Lofn's cheek, her serene face turned towards his, a soft smile on her lips as she slept. He was grateful that she hadn't woken to his distress- grateful that she was still at his side and very much alive... “Thank the gods…” He gently ran his thumb across her bottom lip, his own curving up at the corner as her lips parted and she sighed softly in her sleep. He reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, reassured by her peaceful breathing. Taking a deep breath, he slipped quietly from the bed, careful not to disturb her rest.

Crossing the room, he approached the crib where his newborn daughters lay nestled in soft blankets. Two small newly hatched dragons perched nearby, their eyes watching over their girls vigilantly. Zevlor smiled at the creatures, reaching out to rub one of their necks affectionately with the back of his fingers, “Quite the nightmare I had,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “But I know you'll keep them safe.”

As he gazed down at his sleeping daughters, a tender ache filled his heart. They were so small, so innocent, and the thought of Aradin lingered like a poison in the back of his mind. Zevlor shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. It would never come to pass- could never. Aradin would have to kill him first, and Lofn's dragon's, well... Zevlor knew the nightmare lied about how easily they would go down- even Lofn, no such chains could ever stop her from unleashing her wrath… Not to mention their son, now more grown than ever, had his own dragon and was quite good at wielding a sword and magic... And Lynnania, the Queen… Zevlor’s tail twitched, giving away his fear at the thought of what she would do…

But still, Aradin's eyes always lingered on Lofn since their days at the grove... And now the piece of trash was in Thay for whatever reason... Now, with a life built on love and family, Zevlor couldn't shake the fear that his nightmare might one day creep into reality no matter how hard he tries to find it foolish…

He sighed, brushing his hands against both his daughter's tiny fists, “I won't let anything happen to you, or your brother.” He whispered, his voice a low rumble, “I promise. I'll protect you all.”

Sitting on a lush chair, Zevlor stayed at their crib for some time, watching them and their mother as they all slept, making sure that there was no shadowy figure lurking in the darkness... The tiny dragons lifting their wings in warning to any who might dare approach.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #zevlor #tav #zevlor bg3 #bg3 Zevlor #aradin #aradin bg3 #bg3 aradin #bg3 angst #dnd oc #writers on tumblr #story #original character

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ronance4everbrainrot · 4 months ago

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What I wanted to happen before the girls went back to their time.

Part 1.

EDIT. NOOOO I JUST WROTE THIS BUT IT DIDN'T SAFE AND NOW ITS INCOMPLETE 😭😭😭😭😭

I AM SO SAD 😭😭😭😭 WHYYYYYY

I could cry 😭 I EVEN LIKED WHAT I WAS WRITING THIS TIME! AAAH

Edit 2.

I finished it, again 😪😭

---

"Wait Red, shouldn't we like.. check if everything is gonna be ok at Castlecoming?" Chloe says as they walk towards the courtyard, where they started this whole adventure.

Red stops, blinks and stares at her for a second, dumbfounded.

"you're bad at lying, boo" she teases and smirks at the blush creeping on Chloe's face "You just want to go to Castlecoming yourself"

Chloe shoves her "S-Shut up" Her face tinted red, but her expression stern and annoyed. She sighs "But I do really want to go.." she plays with her hands nervously..why is she so nervous?

Red chuckles lightly "I know, Princess. I can read you like a fairytale"

She takes one of Chloe's hands, which stops her fidgeting with her fingers, and turns around, to walk back inside the school. "And I don't see why we can't have a little more fun here." It looks like she wanted to say more but she stopped herself. Not wanting to think about the future right now or if their plan actually worked or if her mother is still-

Stop. Red shakes her head and Chloe looks at her concerned.

Chloe was surprised as Red took her hand, and even more when she turned around and pulled her with. She wanted to ask if she was serious when suddenly Red's expression turned sour and worried.

"Red, you okay?..We don't have to go if-" Red cuts her off "No! No. I-.. I was just-" Red doesn't know if she should tell Chloe about her worries. She doesn't want to ruin her mood.

"It's nothing" she decides. Chloe gives her a look "...I'll tell you later" Chloe gives her another look "..I promise"

That seems good enough for Chloe right now and she smiles. Red can't help but to smile too. She looks back to the front and they continue walking.

Until Chloe stops again, making Red also stop since they are still holding hands..which Red just notices and immediately let's go. She'll think about her face heating up later, right now Chloe's panicked expression seems more important.

"What's wrong, Blue-" she finishes right when Chloe locks eyes with her. "We don't have anything to wear!?"

Red was dumbfounded, again.

"Wherewouldwefinddresses?! Howmuchtimedowehave?! Arestoresevenopenrightnow? DOWEEVENHAVEMONEYTO-!"

Red burts out laughing. Chloe is walking back and forth, arms going everywhere.

Chloe was pacing as she suddenly stops and hears Red laughing. She stares for a second but shakes her head and looks at Red annoyed "What are you laughing at?" She put her arm on her hip "You want to go looking like that?" She looks Red up and down.

Their clothes were covered in dirt and dried mud, mostly their shoes and pants. They also have holes, well more like slits, from the flying sword slashes.

Most just hit their clothes but one hit Red's arm. They only noticed an hour ago when the adrenaline wore off and Red felt the pain from her arm. They bandaged it.

Red takes in a few breaths as she stops laughing, still chuckling a bit.

Chloe gives her a look, again, challenging her to tell her she's wrong. Red then frowns with fake annoyance and in thought. "mm. I hate to say it.." Chloe's smile grew smug. Red almost doesn't want to give it to her. Almost "You're right, Princess" she sighs, defeated. Chloe smiles. Red can't help but to smile too.

It was worth it to see Chloe's eyes shine with pride and her smile growing, which she is trying to hide. Like a puppy who's trying not to wag its tail.

As Chloe was about to start talking, they hear a familiar voice calling out to them behind Red.

"Red! Chloe! What are you doing here? The dance is at the other courtyard!"

As Red turns around and Chloe steps to the side. They both see Bridget in a beautiful light pink gown, mixed with darker pink and white. (I would love to describe it, I just don't know what lol)

Chloe and Red say nothing as Bridget walks over to them "And why aren't you dressed yet?" She looks confused when she suddenly realizes "Oh my cards! Did you even pack and formal wear?! Oh no no. This won't do."

Bridget takes them by the hand and drags them, to wherever she's going.

She doesn't notice that Chloe and Red haven't said a word yet, mostly because she didn't give them any time to speak.

However

Red notices something off about Bridget.

And it worries her.

---

Hope you like it!

I hate it! No I don't. I'm just annoyed that the perfect thing I've written before has not been saved 😭

This is basically the same tho 😭

Just a few words different or smth.

😭😭😭

Byeeee

#redcharming #chloe charming #glassheart #rise of red #charminghearts #red of wonderland #princess red #descendants 4 #red of hearts #bridget of hearts #bridget of wonderland #princess bridget #ella charming #little fanfic #hehe :3 #uwuwuwuwu

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lara-kaminari · 3 months ago

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Mr. Gaunt

Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader (+18!)

Ominis Gaunt is not an easy man to satisfy.

Content warning: Explicit content, smut, nsfw, p in v

Ominis Gaunt is not an easy person to satisfy.

Mr. Gaunt likes a cup of unsweetened coffee waiting for him every morning on the left side of his desk, right under the lamp his best friend gave him when he returned from his honeymoon in Egypt. The cup should be at the perfect height so that Ominis can sit down and just reach out his hand to drink it.

Mr. Gaunt always likes to have lunch at the same time, in his office, without noise or distracting incidents. He likes a good piece of steak with mashed potatoes, the steak rare and the potatoes should be well trodden but should not be out of shape.

Everything must be perfect or the wrath of Mr. Gaunt will be unleashed.

She knew this, although her first time there she thought they were mere exaggerations. She was only there because her parents considered her a person incapable of taking care of herself and who “needs to know the real world.” Yeah, right, you steal a dragon's egg for a bet and suddenly you're a girl who needs to work in the summer to become a useful member of society.

But this does not feel like an adequate punishment to reform her.

It was a foolish mistake. She was in a hurry and didn't leave the cup exactly under the shade of the lamp, Ominis' hand over stretched and the object fell to the ground. A completely ruined morning. As if it couldn't get any worse, not only the mug fell, but also a small crystal figurine, a gift from the renowned bearer of ancient magic.

That's how she ended up nailed to the wall in the office, with her skirt and panties down, her tits exposed and her pussy being fucked mercilessly.

—Mr. Gaunt, please…

—Shut up, I don't want to hear your complaints.

His hips thrust deeper inside her, her wet pussy drawing him in barely able to hide her moans and in fear of being overheard by the workers in the joint room.

—O-ominis, wait, we can't be too…!

She barely manages to say another word, Ominis pushes her against the desk and rips off what little clothing she still had left. He doesn't care that her clothes are damaged or that she has to work overtime to replace the skirt that now has an unprofessional cut on one side.

Mr. Gaunt couldn't care less as he places one of his secretary's legs over his shoulders and slams his thick cock into her once again. Each thrust sends the girl's body bouncing up and down on the table, her hard, throbbing clit taking Ominis's rough caresses to her heart's content.

She reaches out to grab the sides of the desk and rolls her eyes as the head of her boss's cock slides perfectly against her g-spot. She could swear that the mere stimulation is about to make her cry.

—That's what you wanted, isn't it? That's why you piss me off, you just want this slutty cunt to be filled with my cum…

He's close, she'd be lying if she said she doesn't know when she's about to come and what her orgasms are like. Mr. Gaunt likes to cum inside her, especially when he's angry. Mr. Gaunt doesn't know that she has begun to enjoy that feeling.

A thick warmth fills her. Her body trembles once more, another orgasm rushes over her and her nails dig into the dull edge of the table. His cock continues to squirt and more cum pools in her loins. The man's seed leaks and squirts like a mess, but at least they are both satisfied.

Then it's like everything is back to normal until dismissal time when her parents come to pick her up. Everyone goes crazy when they see Sebastian Sallow and his amazing wife walk in.

Ominis Gaunt's best friends.

—How did my daughter behave today? I hope she didn't give you any trouble. —Said Sebastian.

—Not at all, she definitely didn't inherit your bad behavior.

—Very funny; darling, say goodbye to your uncle Ominis.

Ominis Gaunt is not easy to please, he has perfect standards. He is perfect. Impeccable. Flawless. Perhaps the only dirt on him is seen behind closed doors and she's not one to share his secret.

—See you tomorrow, Uncle Ominis.

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt smut #hogwarts legacy fanart #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt imagine #ominis gaunt fanfiction

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delopsia · 1 year ago

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Thinking about all the things Rhett had to deal with while growing up on the Abbott ranch and how his world tips on its head when you come into his life.

He's forever conscious of how Perry was born out of love, and he was born because Royal realized that it would be cheaper to have his kids working than it was to hire help. Poor Cecelia was so blindsided by her baby fever that she didn't realize why Royal went back on his "I only want one kid" statement until after Royal hauled five-year-old Rhett out to work on the ranch for the third day in a row. An entire two years younger than Perry had been when he started working.

And the problem with Royal, is that arguing with him only makes him dig his heels into the dirt, refusing to sway on his decision.

Most of the kids in his school worked and had their responsibilities to help keep the household running, but Rhett was the only one who had to do his homework on the bus because otherwise, he wouldn't have time to do it until he went to bed. Just like he was the only kid to miss every single field trip, because why should he go to the zoo with his class when he could be working with Royal?

He doesn't understand why his dad snaps at him for crying over his injuries but soon comes a time when he doesn't care about the bruises littering his arms. Gets annoyed when Perry cries about crushing his hand. Nothing's broken; there's no reason to get worked up over it.

That exact thinking keeps him quiet the first time he gets hurt bullriding. So focused on chasing the same small-town glory as his father that he doesn't mind the sprained ankle. Getting on again and again because, for a few fleeting seconds, the crowd cheers his name, and the sound of their applause is the thing he's grown to crave.

There was some point when the workload in the house started shifting. When Perry was starting to reach the end of his high school days, started to fight a little harder against Royal's iron fist. And with an explosive temper that nearly dulls Royal's, it only made sense that he started getting his way. Enjoying days off, weekends spent touring colleges, and venturing out into the real world, because of how his explosive demeanor always devolved into threats that shook his momma to her core.

But one less pair of hands on the ranch meant that the others had to take on more work, and with Royal's old bull riding injuries coming back to bite him, Rhett was the only one capable of taking it on. But just because you can doesn't mean you should.

Hiring just one ranch hand would have made all the difference, but the prospect of losing money is something Royal's always disagreed with. Slowly, Rhett's work days grow longer. Dinner time no longer makes the end of his work, having to go back out to finish up while everyone else showers and settles in for the night. Waking up before school to get a head start on chores, hoping he'll be done early tonight.

It never happens. Where he finds free time, Royal finds things he could be doing, and Rhett starts learning that lying about needing to do store runs is the only way he'll get a break.

The way Royal refused to let him and Perry have cellphones until they turned eighteen and could buy them with their own money. The result of a privilege revoked after a thirteen-year-old Perry got caught on his phone at two in the morning ended with a smashed phone and a brutal reminder of where the eldest son gets his anger from.

A rule that was forced to be overturned when Rhett was sixteen. All because something in the west pasture spooked his horse; she'd run him clean over in her attempt to get away from it, and he never saw her coming. He still doesn't remember hitting the ground, but he does recall the splitting ache in his skull when his eyes finally reopened.

With no cell phone, he had no way to call for help, forced to limp home on foot. He didn't get home until after dusk because Royal had written his absence off as teenage rebellion. A hospital visit later, Cecelia went behind her husband's back to buy new phones for both of her boys, but even the justification of keeping her boys safe wasn't enough for Royal. Because Rhett had made it home and was fine at the end of the day.

Then Rhett's eighteen, and he's just barely maintained his grades to graduate. He's got it in his head that he's going to move out, get out of this stuffy old town, and pave his own way, doing something, anything. But now Perry and Rebecca are moving into the house with their daughter, and Rhett's being asked to put off his plans until they get settled in.

He's nineteen when he gives up on trying to leave because something always needs him to stay home a little longer. He's twenty when he figures out why Royal drinks so much beer, gets hooked on the way the bitter liquid makes the ache in his shoulders disappear, and for the first time in a while, he's happy. Because you can't remember your sorrows when you're drunk.

Rhett's twenty-one when he can start wandering into bars, and he's twenty-one when he learns that there's a group of girls who come to rodeos, hoping to catch a steamy night with a bull rider, no strings attached. It's strange to kiss a girl you don't know the name of, waking up alone in a hotel bed with hardly any memory of what happened the night before. But for a few splitting seconds, he doesn't feel so alone in this big world, and he's clinging to it with every fiber of his being.

Until that's not enough, either. The scream of the crowd, the electric touch of those pretty girls that cheer his name, no longer make his days easier. Beer quits chasing away the pain in his joints, the prescription painkiller for an old injury in his wrist had might as well be candy, and he can only escape it by blacking out. He doesn't remember getting that DUI, but Officer Joy tells him that he was muttering about how Royal wanted him to chase down a cow that broke through the fence. He's in such rough shape that she intentionally forgets to discharge him, hoping the day of rest will do something to get rid of the bags under his eyes.

She isn't quite sure what to think when she learns that he's practically been running the Abbott ranch for the past few years. Royal always fails to mention his youngest son when he brags about his ranch.

Then you come along.

A fresh new face, one of the only people to move into Wabang rather than out of it because your new job led you all the way out here. It was Sherrif Joy who suggested you visit the Amelia County rodeo once or twice, and you'd only gone because there was nothing else to do. Rhett didn't notice you until Joy came to congratulate him on his ride, with you glued to her side. He hasn't stumbled through a hello in years, but he can hardly get it out of his mouth.

Your face sticks in his head while he works, and God, he doesn't even know your name, but his heart is jumping in his chest when you run into him at the store, time and time again. Until he finally cracks and starts a conversation with you while waiting in line, and somehow that ends in the two of you standing in the parking lot, talking until the store closes. An invitation to get drinks turns into dinner dates, and he's got something to look forward to again.

All of a sudden, you're massaging his overworked hands and cradling his scruffy face like he's made of glass. Whispering about how he needs rest and deserves all the love you shower him with, and he's not sure what to make of that. Can never figure out why his eyes water that first time he lays his head on your chest, listening to the pitter-patter of your heart while you play with his hair.

His momma is the only one whose ever done that; she stopped when he was fourteen.

He doesn't know how to tell you that he loves you. Those words choke in his throat every time he tries to utter them, stifling him into a painful silence that he can't escape. Instead, he does the only thing he knows how to do.

He works.

Replaces the busted locks in your doors, changes the oil in your car, he builds the porch you say you wanted, and he tinkers away at the little household annoyances. You want a fence? He's got it; he just needs to get up earlier to have time to build it. You're telling him that he doesn't have to do all these things for you, but work is the only thing he knows how to do. If he stops, then what else can he give you?

He doesn't understand what you see in him; he's not as energetic and fun as those other rodeo guys who eye you up every time they see you. They have more money, they're stronger, don't have the aches and pains of an old man, and they haven't got the reputation of being the town casanova.

He doesn't understand how you look at him like he's something precious—some priceless thing that deserves the world and more. There will come a day when you realize you deserve better, more than he could ever hope to give you, and he knows it'll break him, but he lets you love on him anyway. Because a few months spent with you is the best thing he could ever ask for, even if you walk away in the end.

But you're not walking away. Fuck, he's probably given you more opportunities than the Lord can count, but for some reason, you stay. And you're spending your first Christmas together, he's buying you too many sweets for Valentine's Day and he's spoiling you on your birthday, only to get confused when you surprise him with cake on his own birthday. Can't remember the last time he blew out candles, only realizes he was supposed to make a wish three days later.

Selfishly, he wishes that you'll be with him forever.

You're taking him to the zoo for one of your dates, and for the first time in his life, he's looking back at a tiger, and it's so, so different from the pictures. There are otters, bears, cheetahs, and wait, wait! Why are there goats in a zoo? Hasn't everyone met a goat before? What's so special about these ones? And how the fuck are giraffes so tall?

Royal says the red-panda plush Rhett hauls home is a waste of money. He could have saved that money to invest in land or a future, but all Rhett can think of is how, when he squeezes it to his chest at night, he can almost deceive himself into thinking it's you instead.

But then comes that big argument; he forgets what its about midway through, because he's realized that this is it. This is when you realize that he can't give you what you deserve. He can't blame you, but that still doesn't stop him from breaking when you walk out to your car.

He doesn't know what the hell to think when he realizes you're in the room with him. Couldn't hear the squeal of the door over the choked noises coming from his own mouth, eyes so clouded with tears that he can't even see you. But he can feel your arms around him, and he doesn't want to hug you out of fear of this being a dream. Yet you're still there, and you're not promising you're never leaving him, and he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand. And it scares him so bad that he shakes with it.

You don't know if you'll ever be able to let go of him because he clings to you with this fear that you've never seen before. Words aren't enough to convince his broken heart that you're not going anywhere, and for the first time since you met him, he talks. Spills every fear and thought he's ever had through his hiccups, confirms your suspicions of how much he hurts, and unveils the sources of his insecurities.

Your big cowboy falls asleep with his face buried in your neck, and he's still there when you wake up. It's the third time he's stayed in bed and didn't go to work, but it's the first time he's chosen to stay. Usually, it's a physical injury that forces him to stay down, but this is an injury you can't see. A fracture in who he is, broken after a lifetime of increasing pressure that he never stood a chance against.

He follows you into the kitchen, no longer trying to conceal the limp in his left foot as he tries his best to help you cook breakfast. You don't know where his appetite came from, but you've never seen him meekly ask if he can make himself more fried eggs.

It's only after that he remembers the argument about how you got a job offer that would take you a few states away. Out of Wyoming and away from him. But it's your dream job, and it hurts to see Rhett's bottom lip wobble as he weakly tells you to go for it. Dreams come first, after all.

Like many things, he doesn't know what to think when you tell him your dream has changed. You want him to come with you. Leave this flyover town, find a job that doesn't ask the world of him, and share a cute little house with you somewhere in the countryside. He doesn't get why you'd want it with him, but fuck if that isn't the one thing he's always wanted.

Royal thinks that Rhett's lighter attitude is because of his recent decision to move in with you. Cecelia already knows what Rhett's up to without needing to be told.

It takes a year for you to move. Just after you lock your front door for the last time, Cecelia's car appears in the driveway. Neither of you can figure out how she knew you two were moving out today, but she's brought a box of things that her youngest deserves to have. Pictures, his first belt buckle, that first cellphone that got drowned in the kitchen sink, and a freshly knitted blanket. A housewarming gift. She says it's good luck for a couple to have one and to not hesitate to call if you need anything.

That blanket sits on the back of the couch in your new living room. Rhett only curls up with it when he's feeling homesick, which had might as well be the entirety of the first six months in this new house. He finds a job at a local ranch, is lucky enough to have his beloved horse shipped out to stay there, and slowly, his true colors start to bleed through.

Or maybe they were always there, simply dulled by the exhaustion that once seemed to permanently sit in his weary bones.

Because his smile reaches his eyes more often, and his prescription painkillers have long since expired. His body a touch softer, the result of a rediscovered appetite, and he reaches for you more than he does a can of beer. Gripings about his father are replaced by laughter that echoes down the hall. He's still got that limp, but he chases you up the stairs quicker than he used to. Those gaudy belt buckles never leave, and never do you. Always there when he comes home from work, ready to meet him for his favorite welcome-home kiss.

Rhett will never be the son Royal asked for, but he will always be the man you've dreamed of.

And he's more than enough.

#rhett abbott #outer range #rhett abbott x reader #delgato's warmups #delgato's thinking #tw food #tw alcohol

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