#/ then i can reply with more letters until he finds her! /

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

How about Aegon or Aemond corrupting jace's twin? Maybe Aegon does the corrupting and Aemond is into her?

The list of morally wrong things in this one is astronomical, but it’s House of the Dragon so it’s okay. Also, this is part 1 (let me know what should happen in the next part!). I wanted to wait until it was fully finished to post, but this is 6k already so I'm splitting it

Warnings: 18+, smut, uncle/niece incest, corruption, fingering, oral (m receiving), non-consensual touch (not by Aegon or Aemond), protective!Aegon,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

It all began when a letter from your grandsire arrived at Dragonstone, inviting you to spend summer in King’s Landing. You hadn't seen your grandsire since his fiftieth namedays, which was about two years ago, so you were more than pleased to accept his invitation. The gardens were beautiful in the summer…and you hadn’t seen Haelena in a while. 

It was absolutely not in the hopes to see your uncles again.

‘’Are you out of your mind? You’re going straight to the dragons’ den! Have you forgotten how they treated us all these tears we lived there?’’ Jacaerys said, walking into your bedchamber like it was his own.

The news of your summer plans must have reached his ears after his lesson with the Maester. 

‘’They’re not horrible people, you just never got along with them,’’ you fired back at your twin brother as you continued packing your bags for tomorrow.  

Growing up, your brothers had a few differences with Aegon and Aemond — many stupid fights and a lot of bullying on both ends —, but you never had the same treatment. Mayhaps it was because you were spending more time with Haelena than the boys. Or mayhaps they just took their teasing too seriously. 

Jacaerys was not letting it go. ‘’They called you a bastard in your back, like they did Luke and I.’’ 

The first time you heard the word from Aegon’s mouth, it hurt you. Being a bastard was badly seen. Especially for the children of the heir of the Iron throne. His slur branded your mother as a whore. 

Having heard, Jacaerys had come forward, the two pushing and shoving until Ser Criston and Ser Harwin separated them. When informed that a fight had occured in the courtyard between Aegon and Jace, your mother was mad at Jacaerys but also flattered that he had defended her honor. 

‘’We both know the truth about our father, Jace,’’ you reminded him, refusing to be blind. 

Although you and your brothers were conceived from an infidelity, you didn’t feel shame in being your father’s child. You remembered Ser Harwin being around in King’s Landing and making your mother happy. He was a kind and honorable man. Leanor was rarely ever present. 

‘’If the court finds out about our father, I won’t be recognized as heir. They’ll never allow a bastard to sit on the Iron Throne.’’

‘’We’re Targaryens, and that’s all that matters, all you need to sit on the throne,’’ you insisted. ‘’Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish packing.’’

⁂

At your return from King’s Landing, you’ll be meeting suitors — which you dreaded. That meant that this summer was going to be the last summer before becoming a wife. The thought of getting married made your stomach churn. Marriage was not something that interested you — at all. Like your mother, you would much rather ride your dragon and travel than live in a Lord’s castle and start a family.

Your arrival was announced to the King, who summoned you in the throne room. 

He stood from the throne as you approached, a smile spreading across his face. ‘’Ah, there you are,’’ Viserys said warmly, stepping down to meet you. ‘’It's good to see you back in King's Landing.’’

You returned the smile. ‘’Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace,’’ you replied respectfully.  

‘’You’ve grown,’’ Viserys remarked, his gaze appraising you. ‘’And you inherited your grandmother's beauty.’’

Though you never had the chance to meet Queen Aemma, you knew it was a compliment. The King always spoke fondly of his late wife.

‘’I’ll be ten and eight soon,’’ you informed him. 

‘’Already?’’ The King raised an eyebrow and you nodded. ‘’Time flies, doesn’t it? We’ll have a tourney in your and Jacaerys’ honor. My first grand-children turning ten and eight, it deserves to be celebrated.’’

⁂

You changed out of your traveling dress, then went looking for your aunt and uncles. 

First, you spotted Aegon soaring overhead on Sunfyre, the golden dragon gleaming in the sunlight. He had gotten so large and beautiful. You’ll have to ask Aegon to ride together next time he goes. 

Next, you made your way to the training yard, where you knew Aemond often spent his time. As expected, you found him there, sparring with Ser Criston, his movements swift and precise. He was much better than your brothers at sparring, you mentally noted.

You called his name excitedly as you stepped down the stairs, which you realized was a mistake when he almost got taken down by Ser Criston. You apologized, but Aemond shook his head. 

‘’No harm done,’’ he assured you, putting away his sword and walking over to you. 

The last time you were in this training yard, you kicked Aemond’s ass. You were only kids, but it was still one of your greatest victories. Sword-fighting was in your blood. With a little bit of training, you would be as great as the boys in this yard.

‘’Can you still hold a sword, Princess?’’ 

⁂

You and Aemond cleaned up just in time for dinner, where you greeted the Queen and Helaena. They had the same hairstyle, which reminded of you and your mother, Rhaenyra. Children look up to their parents.

After dinner, you, Helaena, Aemond and Aegon retired to the latter’s chamber and spent the evening talking, laughing and eating small cakes and other sweet treats that you had requested from the kitchens.  

‘’These pastries are divine,’’ you said, loving the bitter raspberry mixed with the sweetness of the tart. ‘’We don’t have anything like this on Dragonstone.’’ You took another bite, humming at the taste.

Just as you finished your third tart, Aegon stood and excused himself. ‘’It's been wonderful having you here, dear niece, but duty calls.’’

You glanced out the window, noticing the silver glow of the moon and the twinkling stars against the dark sky. ‘’At late hour?’’ 

Aegon paused for a moment, a confident smirk spreading across his face. ‘’Some duties can only be fulfilled at night,’’ he declared cryptically, his gaze flickering mischievously towards Aemond, who could only shake his head in response.

‘’I wouldn't exactly call it duty,’’ Aemond remarked, trailing off as Aegon interjected with a mischievous grin.

‘’A treat, then,’’ the older prince continued, redirecting his attention to you with a knowing look. ‘’You enjoy pastries. I, however, have a preference for women.’’

Confusion clouded your expression. ‘’What do you mean?’’

‘’Sex,’’ Aegon declared boldly, his eyes gleaming with mischief. 

Your gaze fell to your feet, color rising in your cheeks. ‘’Oh.’’ 

Aegon's lips twitched with amusement at your reaction. ‘’Ever had sex, dear niece?’’ 

‘’Aegon,’’ Aemond interjected, his voice a warning.

You shook your head. 

It was a good thing that Helaena had fallen asleep or she would have covered her ears. Sex always made her uncomfortable. 

‘’Not even with yourself?’’ Aegon continued. 

Confusion struck your face. ‘’Eh, no.’’

‘’You’re missing out.’’ 

⁂

Every night, you watched from your window as Aegon sneaked out through the secret passageway of the Red Keep. You had discovered these passageways when you were playing hide and seek as kids. Aemond always complained that hiding there was cheating, but you and Aegon did it anyway.

You couldn't help but wonder what was so great about sex that made him go out every night.  

One night, you decided to follow him. The curiosity was too much to resist. 

You snuck early through the secret passageways and waited for any sign of Aegon's approach. The damp, narrow corridors brought back memories of your childhood games. 

Finally, you heard his familiar footsteps echoing down the passage. As he rounded the corner, you stepped out of the shadows. 

‘’What is my favorite niece doing here?’’ Aegon asked, raising an eyebrow. He had a dark cloak over his shoulders, covering any signs that could give his identity away in the city. 

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. ‘’I want to come to the pleasure house with you.’’ 

Aegon stared at you for a moment, then laughed. 

‘’I'm serious, Aegon. I…I want to know about sex.’’ You tried to make your voice confident, knowing Aegon would send you to your chamber if he sensed a sliver of uncertainness. 

Taking your hand in his, Aegon led you through the maze of streets and alleys. It was bustling with people. Merchants and artisanal liquor sellers were pushing their beverages at you, almost forcing you to have a taste. Some people were drunk and stumbling about, while some were playing instruments with surprising skill, their melodies blending with the occasional fights breaking out nearby. You could hear obscene sounds from darkened alleys, adding to the chaotic symphony of the night. 

It was your first time coming to the city, and the overwhelming sights and sounds made you clung to Aegon, not wishing to get lost. 

He came to a stop when you reached a dark wooden door. Aegon pushed it open and pulled you inside. 

The stuffy air hit you immediately, making you wrinkle your nose. Aegon took off his hood, but didn’t let go of you. You were under his responsibility tonight. Around you, people lounged around in various states of undress, some lost in laughter, others in more intimate activities that brought a pink tint to your cheeks. 

Aegon made a stop to the bar, ordering two cups of wine. One for him, and one for you. 

‘’Drink,’’ he said. ‘’It’s nothing like what we have at the Keep, but it'll help you relax.’’ 

You took the glass and sipped tentatively, the sour taste of the wine making you grimace. He was right about this wine being disgusting. You had to force it down your throat. 

‘’What do you do when you come here?’’ you asked, looking around with a mix of curiosity and unease.

Aegon leaned against the bar as he downed the rest of his drink. ‘’I get my cock sucked. Or I fuck some whore. Depends how I’m feeling that night.’’ 

His bluntness caught you off guard, and you felt your cheeks flush. ‘’What of me? How do I…’’ You bit your lip, the words shy on your tongue. ‘’I don’t have a cock.’’ 

‘’You don’t need a cock for pleasure.’’ Aegon set his empty cup on the bar. ‘’Come with me.’’ 

You followed him through the mass of people, avoiding touching or being touched by anyone. Some of these people were very handsy and pushy, asking for things you didn’t quite understand. 

One the way, a woman approached Aegon, her dress barely clinging to her body. She smiled seductively at him, her eyes flicking to you briefly before returning to him. ‘’Care for some company tonight, my prince?’’ she purred, hoping to make some good money tonight. 

Aegon glanced at you, as if gauging your reaction, then back at the woman. ‘’Not tonight.’’

The whore looked at you behind Aegon, giving you a full stare down, and glared. Did she take you for another whore? In your silk dress and jewelry around your neck?

You followed your uncle to a room, gasping in shock when you saw a woman being penetrated by two men. One was standing at her head, her mouth wrapped around him. Spit was dribbling from her mouth, but she didn’t seem to care. And the other was thrusting into her from behind, loud moans leaving their mouths. To your right, a woman with saggy breasts was bouncing on a bearded man’s cock. She craned her head back to kiss her partner, sweat covering both their bodies. 

It was not at all what you had expected. No one seemed shy or embarrassed of exposing themself in front of so many people. In fact, they didn’t seem to care at all. They were just there to take what they needed. 

‘’Don’t listen to what your Septa told you. Sex is not just for baby-making, sex is for pleasure. For the woman as it is for the man,’’ Aegon purred into your ear as you watched the people around you. ‘’Men find pleasure from their cock.’’ He pointed to a man getting his male part sucked, his head thrown back and moaning. ‘’And women from their cunny.’’ He pointed to two women in a corner, one with her hand between her partner’s legs. She seemed to be feeling great pleasure, you noticed.  ‘’Although most people here indulge in penetrative sex, penetration is not necessary for pleasure. You can find that same pleasure — at least similar to — by yourself.’’

‘’I want to try,’’ you stated, wanting to feel the same pleasure as her. 

Aegon shook his head. ‘’We’re only here to watch. I’m not letting any of these men get their hands on you.’’

You frowned. ‘’How am I supposed to learn?’’ 

Aegon motioned for one of the unoccupied whores to come up to him. Her hair was brown and very long. He gave her body a few caresses, then pointed at you as he explained something to her. She nodded in understanding and took your hand, leading you to a corner where a ‘bed’ was not being used.

‘’Larissa is gonna teach you the ways to pleasure,’’ Aegon explained. 

⁂

On your return from the brothel, you said a giggly ‘good night’ to Aegon and disappeared inside your chamber, excited to undress and try what Larissa had taught you. You had studied her movements, which had triggered tingly feelings between your legs. 

You unlaced your dress and boots, then flopped down on your bed. You opened your legs, exposing your pussy, and took a short moment to look down at it. It was different from Larissa’s. Your hair density was different and you didn’t have the floppy skin she called ‘petals’, but you didn’t think too much of it. All bodies were different, she said. 

The cool air of the room made the throbbing between your legs worse. Was this how it was supposed to feel? 

Tentatively, you lowered one hand between your legs, right against your throbbing core, and breathlessly gasped when you made contact with your sensitive skin. You threw your head back against the wall and closed your eyes at the new found sensation. 

Wetness stuck to your fingers and you pressed harder against your core, causing your eyelashes to flutter. ‘’Ahh.’’ 

Your fingers traced the seam of your slit, spreading the wetness around. Each touch sent waves of sensation through you, making you want more. Taking it to the next level, you swiped between your folds, causing you to moan as soon as you met your sensitive flesh. 

You continued doing so, humming in delight and feeling yourself relax more into the sensations your fingers were bringing. Why had no one told you about this kind of pleasure before? It was much better than eating raspberry tarts. 

Another moan slipped past your lips, the tingly feeling between your legs intensifying. You pushed your hips down onto your hand and sighed softly, arching your back from the bed. But it wasn't enough. 

Something inside you was tingling. 

Finding no better ways to relieve these tingles, you slid your middle finger inside of yourself. Immediately, your walls closed around your finger, warm and wet. It felt strange — and sinful. You began moving it in and out, your mouth opening to form an ‘O’ shape. 

‘’Oh Gods…’’ 

You began pumping your finger in and out a bit faster, thinking it was what you needed, but it did not make the tingles go away. It did feel good, but after a moment, your hand was getting tired and the tingles were growing more intense. 

‘’What am I doing wrong?’’ you asked aloud, feeling frustrated. 

⁂

On the morrow, after your afternoon tea with Helaena, you knocked on Aegon’s door. He rarely left his chambers during the day — other than for dinner or to ride Sunfire —, so you knew he would be there. 

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the heavy wooden door. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing Aegon in his usual princely attire. His silver hair was tousled, and his eyes had a tired look. 

‘’I need your help,’’ you said, not wasting time with formal greetings. ‘’Something seems wrong with my body, I’m afraid…’’ 

Aegon raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. ‘’What do you mean?’’

You hesitated, second thinking if you should be going to him about your intimate problems. After all, Aegon had boy parts, how could he help you? ‘’What Larissa taught me last night, it is not working. I tried, but I cannot…make the tingles go away. My finger is not enough.’’ 

Aegon's expression shifted from curious to alarmed as he glanced on both sides of the halfway, making sure no one had heard you. If anyone knew of your little escapade into the city, Aegon would be in a lot of trouble. 

Then, he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter quickly. The room was somber despite the large window dorning over the city, and the bed was unmade. You couldn’t say you were surprised by the latter. 

Aegon shut the door behind you, pulling you out of your observation, and turned to face you. ‘’You should be more careful of the matters you speak about outside closed doors. You would be surprised by the number of ill intentioned ears that are waiting for bad whispers in this castle.’’

You nodded, having not thought of that. On Dragonstone, there weren't as many maids or servants.  They mostly assisted your mother and the younger children, or busied themselves with cleaning tasks in the lower floors of the castle. 

‘’Take a seat,’’ Aegon invited, sitting down in a large velvet chair at the center of the room and gesturing towards a loveseat right across for you. ‘’And tell exactly what you mean by ‘not enough’.’’ 

You pursed your lips, trying to find the right words. ‘’I do not know how to put it into words… All I know is that when I inserted my finger inside myself, it felt good. But the tingles intensified and my finger wasn’t enough anymore. A-am I broken, Aegon?’’ 

He laughed quietly at the last remark. ‘’Broken? No. You’re not broken, my darling. You’re simply not doing it quite right. You see, in order to truly satisfy yourself when you’re all alone…a finger simply isn’t enough.’’ Aegon leaned in his seat, speaking closer to you. ‘’Would you like me to show you how to truly do it, properly?’’

You were most certain that you should not be doing this, but going back to the brothel was not a possibility at the moment. It was likely closed during the daytime and, although Helaena was a woman, you doubted she could be of help. 

Aegon stood and pulled you with him, guiding you to his bed. ‘’Lay down. Make yourself comfortable.’’

You scooted back until you hit the pillows, glaring at the sheet when your foot got stuck in it. If Aegon would make his bed in the mornings, it would not have happened. 

Once you were settled, he pulled your dress up, letting the layers bunch at your hips and pushed your legs apart. You were completely exposed to him, and rather than feeling uncomfortable under your uncle’s gaze, you spread yourself wider, desperate to feel good. 

‘’Gods,’’ Aegon growled under his breath. His hand gently rubbed your inner thigh, caressing your soft skin. ‘’You have one magnificent cunny, dear niece.’’ He moved his hand up the inside of your thigh, gently playing with your soft sparse hair there, almost teasingly. ‘’Makes me want to kiss it.’’ 

You whined, feeling a tinge of shyness at his compliment. ‘’Aegon…’’ 

‘’I mean it. I’ve seen a lot in my short life, but none ever compared.’’ He pressed his fingers firmly against you, making you mewl from the contact. 

It felt different from your own fingers. More pleasurable. 

Aegon kept up the circular motions, using a bit more pressure, as he watched your expression flicker with pleasure, your mouth open and eyebrows knitted as a moan slipped from your lips. He began swiping his thumb over your clit and it made you moan so loud anyone who was passing in the hallway must’ve heard. 

Your reaction made Aegon chuckle, amused. He brought a finger over your lips, shushing you. ‘’If you do this again, you’re gonna alert one of the maids. We don't want that, do we?’’ He stroked a piece of your hair, looking at you like you were the most beautiful woman he laid his eyes on.

You shook your head. ‘’I-I’ll be quiet,’’ you promised.

‘’Now, I’m going to put my fingers inside of you,’’ he explained as two fingers slipped down and entered you, sinking between your folds.

You gasped and pushed your hips against Aegon’s hand, realizing this was exactly what you needed. ‘’Ahh, this feels so good.’’

Aegon’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening with desire as he felt your hips move against him. ‘’See, nothing is broken. You just needed uncle Aegon’s help.’’ He increased the pace a bit, his fingers moving rapidly as your breath came in short gasps and moans as your mind got lost in the sensations. 

Your whole body was on fire, trembling by need as his thumb started rubbing your clit again. You felt the heat inside yourself intensify, you could feel the release you so desperately craved was building. 

You whined, grabbing the sheets next to you. ‘’A-Aegon, something feels strange. I think— I think I’m going to pee.’’ 

You squeezed your eyes shut and focused on not wetting the bed. How embarrassing would that be?  

‘’You’re not going to pee. Don’t worry.’’ Aegon continued his ministrations. ‘’This is good. This is exactly what you want.’’ 

‘’No. I’m going to pee, I’m going to—’’ You interrupted yourself as your back arched off the bed as your final release hit you, your hands fisting one of the pillows so hard you almost pierced a hole with your fingernails. 

Aegon’s free hand covered your mouth just in time, muffling your cries while you rode out your pleasure on his hand. 

⁂

You sat on your vanity chair while servants were cleaning up the aftermath of your bath. Your chamber smelled of lavender oil, which you poured into the water to help get a great night of sleep. The beds were luxurious in the Red Keep, but it lacked the comfort of home. 

‘’Will it be all, Princess?’’ your handmaid asked after brushing your freshly washed hair. 

You thanked her for her service. ‘’Yes. Thank you, Dyana.’’ 

‘’I will see you in the morning, Princess.’’ 

Dyana left your chambers, and you waited for the servants to do the same. You didn't want to press them, but you were impatient to watch them leave. 

Once everyone was out, you laid on your bed and pulled up your nightgown. 

At supper, you had sat across Aegon and your eyes had fallen on his hand holding his goblet of wine. Precisely his long, thick, and dexterous fingers. You knew it was sinful to have such thoughts during a family meal, but you had been unable to keep yourself from thinking about the intense pleasure Aegon's fingers brought you. You had to clamp your thighs under the table, feeling a needy ache in your cunny. 

Your fingertips skimmed over your folds, and you let out a small moan. You've been waiting all evening to do that. Your index finger slipped down to the pearl Aegon touched this afternoon and you made small, soft circles around it. A jolt of pleasure went up your spine. That felt so good. You continued rubbing soft circles, causing arousal to leak down your cunny. 

You ceased the attention to your clit and brought your middle finger down to your entrance, spreading your wetness before sinking your finger inside. A sweet moan echoed in the room, but you reminded yourself to be quiet. Always quiet. 

Closing your eyes, you imagined Aegon slipping his long, thick fingers deep inside you. Your walls clenched down on your finger, and then you slipped in a second. 

‘’Ah, Aegon.’’

Like the night prior, your fingers were too small to reach where you needed. Frowning in frustration, you searched around your chamber for something that resembled a finger. There was a forgotten spoon from when you had tea brought up — too small — and a wooden stick used to roll parchment paper — too big. Lastly, you saw your hairbrush on your vanity. Perfect. The handle of it was smooth, it shouldn’t hurt.

You wiped your fingers on the sheets and got up to grab it. You brought the hairbrush handle down to your cunny and paused. Although you were alone in your chamber, you couldn’t help but worry you would get in trouble if anyone found out about this. Shaking that thought, you cautiously pressed the handle to your hole, and steadily pushed it in. You felt your cunny squeezing and slighting bucking your hips at the brush. 

The sensation was foreign, but not unpleasant. As you pressed the handle deeper, you let out a soft gasp, quickly covering your mouth with your free hand to stifle any more sounds. You moved the brush handle gently at first, allowing your body to adjust to the unfamiliar intrusion.

Your other hand moved back to your clit, resuming the soft circles that had felt so good before. The combined sensations were intense, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your breath was short and your eyes fluttered closed as you imagined Aegon with you, his fingers instead of the brush.

The handle moved in and out, your movements growing more urgent as tears formed at the corner of your eyes, overwhelmed by pleasure. Your hips rocked against it, whining needily as you felt the pressure building, your muscles tightening as you edged closer to climax. Your walls clenched around the handle, and with one final push, the pleasure overwhelmed you. Your body shook with the force of your orgasm, your back arching off the bed. 

You stayed there for a moment, panting and trembling, the handle still inside you. That felt… You couldn’t find any words to describe it. 

Slowly, you pulled the hairbrush out, and placed it on the bed. Its handle was coated with your slick but you didn’t bother to clean it, pulling the covers over your body and drifting to sleep. 

⁂

‘’Good morrow, Uncle,’’ you greeted, crossing paths with Aemond in the halls of the Red Keep after breaking fast.

Aemond gave you a short nod.  ‘’Good morrow, Princess.’’

‘’Are you heading to the dragonpit?’’ you asked, noting the faint scent of smoke clinging to his black leather riding doublet. 

‘’No. Returning, actually.’’

A pout formed on your lips, disappointed. ‘’That's unfortunate. I was heading there and hoping we could go together. I would go with Aegon, but he is not a morning person, as you know.’’

‘’We could go in the morrow after breaking fast?’’ Aemond suggested, watching as a smile lit your face. 

⁂

Just as you were about to seek servants and ask them to prepare you a bath, Aegon knocked on your door and asked if you wanted to join him for another night in the city. He didn’t have any friends to accompany him, and Aemond was too much of a prude to go to brothels. Although you were younger, you didn’t have a stick up your ass. 

On the way, Aegon dropped a few gold coins and got you sweets from a street baker. He wiped the cherry glaze on your lips with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth. 

You sat at a table and indulged in wine amongst the men. Around you, women were dancing in their smallest clothes, entertaining the customers inside the brothel. Beside you, Aegon watched the curious fascination on your face while sipping his wine, pleased to see you were having fun. He made sure to drink enough to relax, but not too much he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye out.

When you finished your cup, Aegon rose to his feet and took you to the back of the brothel. Excitement was bubbling in your stomach, hearing the sounds of pleasure coming from men and women behind each of the curtains. 

As you entered one of the rooms, a woman came up to Aegon and begged to suck his cock for free, desperately wanting a taste of the prince. She was only wearing a piece of cloth tied into a skirt, her small breasts and pointy nipples bared to all. 

‘’Watch and learn, little one. Your future husband will enjoy this,’’ Aegon said with a wink. 

He shoved his breeches down, exposing his surprisingly large cock to everyone in the room. You stared at it with wide eyes. Were all the cocks big? You peaked around you, searching for comparisons, but nothing seemed to come close. 

When you drew your eyes back to your uncle, the woman was kneeling before Aegon, his cock already in her mouth. The action surprised you, but you took notes and watched as she bobbed her head down his shaft, sucking and slurping as spit dribbled from her mouth. Your eyes flickered to Aegon, who was groaning, taking pleasure from the woman’s mouth. 

‘’Agh, fuck,’’ he slurred, his head slightly back. ‘’That mouth is made to suck cocks!’’ 

On the ground, the woman looked satisfied to please him. She moaned as Aegon grabbed a fistful of her hair and forced himself deeper into her mouth, groaning obscenely until he released his semen down her throat. Some spilled from her lips, but Aegon didn’t wipe it off like he did with the cherry glaze. He pushed her off him and re-dressed himself. 

‘’Do all men enjoy this?’’ you asked. 

He chuckled softly before responding. His eyes met your wide, curious gaze. ‘’Oh yes, most men enjoy it very much. Now, would you like another cup of wine?’’ 

You smiled. ‘’Please.’’ 

You sat on a couch by yourself, waiting for Aegon’s return. Before you, a woman was getting her cunny pounded by a bearded man. She moaned loudly, grabbing at her nipples. The sight made you think of the hairbrush you had inserted in yourself last night. It had filled you up nicely, but you couldn’t help but wonder how delightful a cock must feel.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the man who approached you until he grabbed your hand and placed it on his cock. You froze, a bewildered look on your face. He said something, but you couldn’t hear it, too focused on how clammy and hairy he felt. You tried to retract your hand, but he gripped it tightly, forcing you to rub him.

The Gods must have heard your prayers because Aegon returned with the wine and saw what was happening. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed in anger. He quickly stepped in, his presence commanding attention.

‘’Let go of her or I’ll cut your fucking cock,’’ he threatened through clenched teeth, his hand on the dagger tucked into his belt. His voice was low and deadly, leaving no doubt that he meant every word.

The man’s eyes widened in surprise when he heard Aegon, and his grip on your hand loosened enough for you to slip away. You wiped it on the skirt of your dress, trying to erase the feeling of the stranger’s cock. Washing them with soap and water would have been better, but there was no bassin to do so.

‘’I-I apologize, my prince. I did not know the whore was yours—’’ the man stuttered, making excuses, but  Aegon didn’t want to hear them. 

He grabbed his shoulder and pinned him against the wall, bringing the dagger to his throat.  The man's eyes widened further as the dagger's blade pressed against his skin, fear flashing on his face. ‘’She’s not a fucking whore,’’ Aegon’s voice was low and dangerous, his eyes burning with rage. 

The man swallowed hard. ‘’I-I apologize again, my prince. I meant no disrespect.’’

Aegon took a step closer, the dagger still at the man's throat. ‘’Don’t. Touch. Her. Again.’’ He looked down at his manly parts, then back at his face. ‘’Unless you want to lose your little cock.’’ 

 ⁂

The journey back to the Red Keep was silent. Aegon's grip on your hand was tight, his knuckles white from the tension. He was fuming, his eyes still narrowed in anger, his mind clearly still consumed by anger from the incident at the brothel. He kept you close, his gaze scanning the surroundings to ensure no one else tried to approach you. 

When you finally reached the safety of the castle, he stopped in his tracks and turned to you. Guilt was consuming him. What happened was his fault. If he hadn’t left your side, this man would not have forced your delicate hand on his filthy cock.

Aegon opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head. He walked past you, abandoning you in the secret passages. 

—

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[prismkith]

may I ask for a oneshot with jinx like introducing her girlfriend, fem!reader to vander/warwick? and for a while he's like just sniffing and eyeing her suspiciously or whatever until he sees her and jinx in a super like intimate and sincerely loving moment?

also! may I be 🫀 anon? :3

Hi! Yes you absolutely may! i loved this request, and I hope you love what I wrote based off of it!

'How I met your grandfather'

pairing: Jinx X Fem!Reader

genre: fluff, maybe a hint of hurt/comfort

Wc: 2835

You sigh as you enter Jinx’s hideout, shoulders sore and the bags under your eyes growing heavier and heavier. You'd been out with Sevika keeping the lanes in check after the Stillwater breakout, and it was tireless. Enforces had been down your throats the entire time, and balancing keeping the enforcers from beating angry zaunites while also wanting to beat the shit out of them yourself had taken its toll. 

The lanes have been a never-ending job since Silco died. 

You felt horrible for leaving jinx alone after the attack, but she understood. You worked for Silco when he was here, and now sevika. She knew what your job entailed and was used to you being gone for days at a time. 

Stepping onto the still wings of the fan, you were confused by the noise or lack thereof. Her hideout was never quiet, always the sound of her tinkering, or having dance parties and bug-boxing matches mixed with Ishas giggles. 

“I’m home! Anybody here?” you call out into the air. The only response is the echo of your own voice. “Isha? Jinx?” you call out once more. Confused, you walk up to her workstation, cluttered and disorganized as always. You're met with a note on her desk, your name in her distinctive scribbly handwriting on the front page. 

‘Hey trinket, we found Vander. Took him to some mystery healer on the edge of Zaun. Meet us there if we aren't back before you.

Love ya’ 

Your eyes widen as you scan the letter once more, her lack of detail slightly worrying. Questions flooded your brain as you flipped her vague note to find directions on the back. 

Scurrying to get your things together as quickly as possible, you take off in the direction of this ‘mystery healer’, your heavy boots loud as you run to find your girlfriend and her back from the dead dad

________________________________________________________________________

You're slightly panting as you reach the gates she directed you to, having sprinted half the way there, and jogged the other half. Pausing for a moment as you catch your breath, you make eye contact with a man standing in front of the gates. 

His eyes are white, and he's covered in these bubbly pearlescent patterns, donned in the strangest clothes you've seen. You manage to mutter “The fuck…” before he’d beckoning you closer. 

You slowly stand up straighter, distrust evident in your features as you begin to approach him. 

Deciding that you in fact, do not want to open the can of worms that is the freaky-looking man with a blank expression, you attempt to walk straight past him, eyes set on the entrance in front of you, searching for any sign of wild blue hair or large semi robot beast.

You're stopped by Mr. Freaky before you can waltz past, his thin frame swerving in front of you. “I must ask that you turn in any weapons before entering,” he says, an odd cadence in his voice that you've never heard from a zaunite. You scoff at this request, “yeah, no thanks” you reply before attempting to shove past once more. 

You stopped once again, his tone firmer this time. “I must insist, as it is the policy of the Machine Herald”. You consider just socking the guy in the face and making a run for it but decide that you don't know what kind of crazy superpowers this guy might have, and to be quite honest you don't want to find out. 

“Look, not gonna happen. Not sure who this ‘machine herald’ is, but I'm looking for someone else. Just let me pass, i’ll be on my merry way and you can keep doing whatever…. This is” the annoyance shameless drips from your voice now, you have places to be and this guy is single-handedly keeping you from said places. 

He once again denies you access, and you lose your shit. You're now (loudly) in a full-blown argument with this guy, neither of you budging. His voice is only starting to rile you up more, and you're an inch away from executing your hit-and-run plan from earlier when you hear the raspy voice of your lover calling your name. 

You freeze immediately, fist pausing mid-air as your eyes dart behind the man to see Jinx, leaning against the entrance, arms crossed and a knowing smirk on her face. 

“Stand down, sergeant. No beating the greeter.” her voice is sarcastic and teasing, and you sigh in defeat. Arms dropping and face annoyed as you reluctantly hand the man your pistol and several pocket knives that you keep strapped to you in various places. 

Once unarmed, the man simply smiles and steps aside, and you make sure to knock him in the shoulder before stomping over to your girlfriend. 

Your annoyance subsides as you see her smiling face, your arms immediately wrapping around her shoulders and pulling her close. You feel her relax into your embrace, strong arms circling your waist and giving you a good squeeze before pulling back. 

“What the hell is this place, and why did that fish-man never change his facial expression once?” you question your voice laced with confusion and slight concern. 

She simply shrugs her shoulders and turns to start guiding you through the odd community full of tents and more people with white eyes and pearlescent patterns. “Vi said she knew of a healer here in the lanes. Said he was performing some miracles or some magic bullshit.” she spins on her heel to look at you while continuing to walk backward. “Personally I think he's just some weird purple fortune teller, but Vi trusts him and Vanders actually getting better, so..” her voice softens during the last part of her sentence, voice trailing off as her eyes cast slightly downward. 

You pause in your tracks, shock evident on your features. “Wait, Vi’s here?” not even attempting to hide the surprise in your voice at the mention of her estranged sister. 

She sighs, once again avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, I mean, it's her dad too. Didn't feel right not letting her know that he's alive, at least.” you slowly nod as you come to terms with her reasoning. 

“Anywho! Now we're here at this weird commune run by a metal fortune cookie that can read minds and I dead honestly think this place is a cult. Everyone here is weird. And the only good food is the fruit. The only snacks are trail mix and it's all eighty percent raisins,” her lip curls in disgust, shaking her head slightly before continuing. “I fucking hate raisins. Just give me a grape, I don't want its juiceless corpse as an alternative.” 

You snort at her wording, but can't help yourself agreeing. Raisins suck and it's a crime to ruin perfectly good snacks with them. 

You continue to follow her, passing tents all full of people dressed similarly to the first man you met. Some were in tents that looked more like workshops, cooking, and sewing, and some in tents that looked more like homes, full of pillows and blankets and small furniture pieces. 

She continues to ramble about this place, she mentions that Isha is off in a tent somewhere helping a group of women weave a blanket (boring),  how the healer (who you figured out is the machine herald from earlier) somehow knew her childhood name, and how Vi had turned into some emo looking alcoholic and lost another fight to jinx in an underground tunnel. 

Finally, her walking begins to slow as you both reach a greenhouse near the middle of the village. It's a dome made of detailed stained glass, and you can vaguely make out the shape of the massive frame of Vander inside. You spot Vi sitting on the edge of what seems to be a water well, and Jinx’s description isn't too off. You make a mental note of the poorly done hair job and vow to make fun of her for it later. 

When Vi looks up and spots you, she sends you a nasty glare before stomping away with an excuse of finding Isha. You roll your eyes, so what if you've tried to kill each other a couple of times? No big deal, honestly. 

Jinx also rolled her eyes and dismissed her sister with a wave of her hand. “She’ll get over it, don't worry. She was just as dramatic when I went to find her.”

She simply crossed her arms, leading you to a bench outside the greenhouse. Once sat, she slumps into your side, shoulder pressing against yours and head leaning against the side of your own. 

“It's weird, you know? It's him, he remembers me and Vi but… he’s also part of this beast he's trapped in. Vi keeps asking for my opinion on… All of this, but I have no clue. I think I'm still in shock from when I realized it was him.” She shakes her head, letting her voice trail off. You sit in silence for a moment, letting her words marinate in your brain. 

You weren't sure how to respond, for Christ's sake, you barely even knew your own parents. What the hell do you say to someone who killed two of her dads, and then found out the first one is actually alive but trapped in the body of a hostile science experiment? 

Deciding that there was nobody on the planet who could find the words to comfort someone in this situation, you simply grab her hand instead and allow her to rest against you. She knew what your body language meant when words failed you. She always did. 

You sat like that for a while, enjoying each other's company and the quiet. It wasn't often that there was peaceful silence in Zaun, as silence usually meant danger. You both relished the feeling of letting your guard down for the first time in years. 

Eventually, a man… or.. Robot? You weren't sure, steps out of the greenhouse. His body is a mix of purples and blues, looking like a painted night sky, and he is adorned in a cloak similar to those worn by the others on the commune. He approaches the both of you, still sitting on the bench, an aura of confidence and peace to him. His accent is thick when he finally addresses Jinx. 

“I've decided to end our session today. Your father's condition is improving slowly but I can see him growing tired, and I fear pushing him too far may bear consequences.” he nods his head at you in a greeting as he finishes his sentence, before turning and walking away. 

Jinx grumbles a response, something of a ‘thank you’ mixed with some sarcastic remarks, and you think you hear an ‘aluminum psychic’ mixed in there, but before you can think too hard she grabs your hand pulling you towards the greenhouse. 

You stumble slightly, but follow her as she impatiently hops towards the door. Pushing the large door open, she drops your hand and runs inside. You're met with the smell of fresh plants and herbs as you follow her inside, slowly looking around the room and taking everything in as she runs over and wraps her arms around her father, asking how he's feeling. 

His eyes immediately snap to you, a look of distrust and unease in his eyes as he stares you down. Jinx notices, and slowly steps back from her hug. She keeps her eyes on vander as she backs towards you, grabbing your hand before speaking. 

“Vander, this is my girlfriend.” her voice is soft as she begins to slowly walk towards him, hand still locked in yours. 

Fuck, you were not prepared for the whole “meeting the dad” part of all of this. Sure, you've met one of her dads before, but that's because you worked for him, so the stereotypical introduction wasn't necessary at the time. 

Attempting to calm your nerves and make a good impression, you clear your throat and lift your hand as an offering for a handshake. “Hi- um, hello. Nice to meet you, sir. Big fan of your work. Both the daughter and the, uh, other stuff.” your voice shakes as you attempt a joke to try and relieve some of the tension growing in the small greenhouse. 

Your introduction is met with silence, and then more silence, as Vander just stares at you, occasionally glancing between you and Jinx. 

Finally, your girlfriend decides she's seen enough to rescue the situation, stepping between the two of you before breaking the screaming silence. “Well, this has been wonderful. We’ll let you get some rest for now, though.” she grabs your hand again, speedily leading you out of the greenhouse back into the peaceful village of tents. 

Once outside you feel her drop your hand and pause, looking over to see her with her arms crossed and eyebrows raised, amusement causing the corners of her lips to curl up. “Nice one! Real smooth, babe.” she teases. You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek and resting your hands on your hips. “I don't wanna talk about it.”

_____________________________________________________________

Vander glances around at the smiling faces surrounding him. Sat at a small picnic table outside the greenhouse sat his family. His eldest daughter to his right, and the miniature Powder to his left. A feast of fruits, salads, and roasted vegetables covered the table. A dinner cooked by a group of people on the commune. 

Across from him sat grownup Powder and her… girlfriend.

Vander was already struggling to come to terms with the fact that his daughters were now grown. It felt like no time had passed in his mind, but the years had left their mark on the girls nonetheless, and now he has to come to terms with his youngest daughter being out in the world of romance. His little girl, all grown up and dating women he'd never even met before. 

He continues to stare at the two of you, giggling and talking with the others at the table, shoulders occasionally brushing together. His eyes were weary as he watched you two, despite the fact that Powder seems to trust you with everything, nothing changes his distrust and distaste towards seeing his little girl all grown up. 

He continues this internal battle in his mind, struggling with the growing protectiveness only amplified by the traces of the beast still in his mind. Even the tiny powder trying to get him to eat and offering him water couldn't help distract him from the affection being shown from across the table. 

He could tell you knew he didn't trust you, as every time you made eye contact your eyes would dart away, face casting downwards. 

Eventually, the sun sets, and the conversation at the table begins to slow as the food in front of him is quickly destroyed by the hungry teens accompanying him, miniature powder having fallen asleep against his leg not too long after. 

He watches as Powder begins to grow tired next to you, her eyes drooping and shoulders slowly slouching as she tries to keep herself awake. You notice, and gently nudge her before deciding it's time to call it a night. You stand, and pull Powder up from the bench she's sat on. 

“C'mon, sleepyhead,” you grumble as you turn around and lean over. She turns around and throws herself onto your back, her legs going around your waist as you catch her and lift her until she's snuggly pressed into your back, her head leaning into your neck as her eyes close once more. 

His eyes soften as he watches you make your way to his side of the table to pick up the miniature powder from his lap and lift her to your front, one arm wrapped around her keeping her small frame firmly against your chest, the other arm still hooked under one of Powders knees to keep her balanced against your back. 

The act reminds him of when Powder and Vi were young and would fall asleep on the couch or at the barstools while he cleaned up the bar after a long night. The memories caused a pang in his heart, chest contracting at the memories of when they were young, reminding him of all the years he must have missed. 

As you slowly begin to walk away towards the tent Vi directed them to, he speaks up before you're too far away. 

His gravelly and deep voice calls out behind you, “It was nice meeting you too..” you pause in your steps, turning your head to look at the man behind you to confirm you weren't hearing things. Upon seeing your face, he glances down before continuing, “You seem like a good kid, you're, uh, good for Powder.” 

Your face slowly splits into a grin, simply nodding your head at him once, before turning and continuing your trek into the night. 

Meet the future father-in-law: check. 

____________________________________

A/N: ahhh first one shot let's go! hope you guys enjoy this one :3 luv my girl jinx that's my wife fr

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 1

Or: a secret Admirer AU

Less than a month into the school year, and Steve’s already making use of the library. If Mrs. Click could see him now, she’d be proud–until she caught sight of the blank notebook page in front of him and the lack of textbooks on the table. 

He feels stupid; he’s hunched over his notebook, trying to make his thoughts transfer onto the page in any coherent form. But, he’s not like Eddie with his impassioned speeches and clever English papers.

Words flow through Eddie in fully-formed, concrete ideas. For Steve, it’s more of a drip. Each word has to be scaffolded onto the previous one with blood, sweat, and tears. Even then, it’s never quite right. Too abrupt, never what he was actually trying to say.

He’s just never been good with words.

By the time he gives up, there’s more crossed out than left written, so he gets a clean page of paper and transcribes it as best he can. He’s left with:

       Your hair is pretty. Do you use conditioner?

Steve tears it from his notebook and lays it flat atop his table in the library, smoothing out any crinkles in the page. It feels like the start to something, sure, but there’s more blank space on the page than words. By a lot.

He leans back over his work, adds a little wonky heart in his blue pen and signs the whole thing—

       ❤ your secret admirer

—the way all the girls who leave notes in his locker do. Their notes are usually on pretty paper, written in sparkly gel pen that smells like strawberries. The i’s are sometimes dotted with little hearts he’ll never admit to finding cute. And there’s envelopes involved, and usually more than eleven measly words.

His looks like something Eddie’ll toss out before opening, mistaking it for trash.

Steve grimaces. How do girls do this? Do they all take some sort of class on how to write pretty letters on pretty enough paper that boys will fall in love with them? Is that what they teach in Home Ec? He should have never let Tommy mock him into switching to shop class.

Should he ask a girl?

Under no conditions will he ever ask Carol. She’d have far too many uncomfortable questions and tell the whole school all of his embarrassing answers. He’d be run out of town within days, Carol holding the sharpest pitchfork.

Steve leans back in his chair with a groan too loud for the library and fists his hands to rub tired eyes.

“Are you okay?” Steve jerks, sending his pen and paper careening to the ground in his attempt to cover the compromising words upon the page. “Oh, sorry!”

Steve watches, horrified, as Chrissy Cunningham bends down to pick his supplies up off the carpet before he’s had time to scramble out of his chair. She’s in her cheer uniform, white zip-up Hawkins hoodie covering her arms. She looks perfect and preppy and just like all the girls who’ve ever left a note in his locker.

She’d be able to write something that Eddie would want to read.

“Steve?” Chrissy’s hovering over him, lips pursed, eyes big and worried. “Are you okay?”

“Shit, sorry,” he replies. She’s got his note clutched to her chest. He curls his fingers against the urge to reach out for it—that’ll just draw her attention, and that’s the last thing Steve wants right now. “Just got lost in my head.”

“Anything I can help with?”

He knows what she’s going to do before it happens. Chrissy’s sweet—if there’s a way to help, she’ll want to. So, she holds out the paper and begins to read, probably expecting an assignment she can tutor him on, and there they are: Steve’s damning words written in still-wet blue ink.

Her brow furrows as she takes an obscene amount of time mouthing out the words before she looks back up to meet his eyes. “Did someone give this to you?”

Her eyes are still big, but they look sad now, like just the thought of someone receiving the note he’d slaved over is enough to distress her. Unable to help himself, Steve snatches it from her hands and crumples it into a ball, damning words hidden in his fist.

Chrissy gasps at his abrupt movement and takes a halting step away.

“I wrote it,” he mutters, no longer able to meet her eyes.

She’s silent for long enough that he’d think she left, except the library’s quiet, and he hasn’t heard her take a step. He stares at the grains of the wood in the table, empty hand rubbing against the smudged top as he waits for her to do something.

“Are you…” she starts, trailing off for a moment before picking her thought back up, “…picking on someone?”

Steve clenches his fist tighter, note crinkling beyond repair beneath his nails as he mutters, “no.”

Chrissy’s quiet again. Steve doesn’t dare to look up, even as he hears the chair across from him pull out, the sound of her weight settling into the wood. The table’s just so interesting. Nothing has ever been as intriguing as the little chip out of its edge, the ring on the wood where someone had let their drink condensate against all the library’s rules.

“Who’s this for?” Chrissy’s voice is soft now, like he’s some sort of horse, prone to bolting when spooked. “Steve?”

Steve looks up. Her eyes aren’t sad anymore; they’re piercing.

He’s always liked Chrissy. She’s the nicest girl in the school, until someone does something she doesn’t like. Then, it’s all disappointed eyes, and pouty lips. It’s like disappointing his Mom, but worse, because his Mom’s never around to stare balefully at him.

The point is, Chrissy’s nice. She’s not like Carol. If he told her, there would be no lynch mob, or fleeing Hawkins in the dead of the night with nothing but the clothes on his back. Probably. Maybe.

Steve tries to smooth out the page, and scowls down at it when the wrinkles refuse to disappear. It’s even worse now, words made illegible by the deep creases his fingers have pressed into the paper. There’s no way Eddie’d ever want a note like this.

So, he says, “Munson,” looking up to try to watch his meaning land on her face.

It doesn’t. Her foreheads all scrunched up as she looks down at the note. Only then does Steve realize he’s caressing the wonky little heart. He pulls his hand back, curling his fingers in so she can’t see the smudge of blue on his pointer finger.

“And you aren’t making fun of him?”

Steve can feel his shoulders drooping. He wants to disappear into the floor, melt into the carpet and become one with all the other mysterious stains upon it. “No.”

“Oh,” Chrissy replies, drawn out and low as she peers down at the crinkled note with a confused frown. But something must click because she straightens, eyes wide beneath her bangs. “Oh!”

It’s loud enough that they both reflexively flinch. But, when no librarians come skulking around any corners, Chrissy turns back to him, gaze uncomfortably intent. Steve wonders, somewhat horrified by the turn his life has taken, if he’s about to get hate-crimed by a cheerleader half his size.

But Chrissy’s nice—always has been, always will be. So, she bites her lip and looks furtively around like she’s only just realized this is a conversation that shouldn’t have any witnesses. “But you like him?” she whispers.

Steve leans forward, matching her energy and pitch as he replies, “yeah,” quiet enough that it’s barely a breath. Chrissy smiles at him, warm and small, just like her hand as she reaches across the table to put it over his and squeeze comfortingly.

The note sits, damningly soiled beneath their linked hands, wrinkled, and smudged, and barely-legible handwriting. The weight that’d lifted with Chrissy’s smile sinks back into his gut.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Steve says, letting go of her hand so he can pull the note closer to himself. “I’m no good at this stuff.”

Steve crinkles the note back up. It’s unsalvageable—a stupid idea executed badly.

He’s in the middle of stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans to keep his keys company until he can toss it out in the comfort of his home when Chrissy says, “maybe I can help?” voice lilting up, like it’s a question.

Steve meets her eyes, hand still half-shoved in his pocket. She’s all earnest now, the way she usually is when there isn’t a sad boy infecting her with his own ineptitude. Eyes shining with conviction, bangs curling sweetly around her face. She’s no Carol, that’s for sure.

“How?” he asks, and when she smiles, it looks a bit like hope.

***

 “I can help you write a better letter,” Chrissy starts. He perks up like a dog the moment its owner gets home. “If you do something for me.”

She feels like scum when he curls back into himself, gaze forlorn.

When she’d caught sight of the note he’d spent what seemed like a full hour pouring over, this isn’t what she’d been expecting. And when she’d finally made out his chicken scratch scrawl, she’d been sure Steve was picking on someone, no matter how unlike him it would have been. But then his shoulders had curled in, and his ears had turned red, and his voice had gone all soft and squishy when he’d said Eddie Munson’s name.

And she’d just wanted to fix it.

So, even as he asks, “what?” all sad and droopy again, she knows she’s going to help him, no matter what he says.

“Date me,” she asserts. It’s only as Steve blinks stupidly at her that she realizes how that came out of her mouth. “No, wait, not really!”

Her hands are waving around wildly and she can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. In contrast, Steve seems to come back into himself, shoulders shoring up as he smirks across at her with his signature raised brow. The one he’d used while leaning on Nancy Wheeler’s locker last year, or holding her books as they walked to class, and all the other assortment of stereotypical boyfriend activities.

He’d worn it all the time, like it was part of the uniform. 

“I just meant, we could fake it?” His right eyebrow raises to meet his left, forehead scrunching up with his incredulity. “It’s just, Jason and I broke up? And he won’t leave me alone.”

It takes all her strength to keep meeting his eyes as the seconds tick away. But then Steve nods, swings his letterman jacket off, and tosses it across at her. Unprepared for his sudden movement, it hits her in the face and drops into her lap.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he says with a cheesy wink that somehow manages to feel more genuine than any of his actual flirting techniques. “Gotta sell it somehow.”

“What a romantic,” she replies, deadpan, but she pulls his jacket on anyway, something that feels an awful lot like relief steadying her heart rate as she smooths down the too-long sleeves.

Jason’s going to freak out. But after that, maybe he’ll stop calling her house, and trying to put his arm around her at lunch, and trying to pick her up for school every morning. She’d do almost anything to get it into his thick skull that she’s not interested.

So, here she is, hashing out the details of a secret admirer letter from Steve Harrington to Eddie Munson, of all the unlikely pairings.

“What’s wrong with what I wrote?” Steve whines, running his fingers through his hair until it’s all mussed up and falling into his face.

Chrissy snorts. “It sounds like you’re telling him his hair is frizzy and dry.”

“I said it was pretty!” He throws his hands in the air before crossing them and pouting his lower lip out.

Chrissy can’t help but laugh. She’s always liked Steve. He’s nicer than most of his friends, and he’s easy to talk to. But this is a side she’s never seen of him. She’s not sure anyone has; can’t imagine Carol or Tommy seeing him put his whole heart into something and not tearing it to shreds.

“Do you use conditioner?” she asks, throwing finger quotations around it as she reads it off the crumpled page.

Steve’s blushing again, cheeks all blotchy and red, rather unbecoming for the shoo-in for this year’s prom king. “Well, I thought you said you’d help!” he says, a little too loud for the library.

So, that’s how she ends up spending the next hour painfully turning Steve’s earnest thoughts into words on the pretty baby blue paper she’d carefully removed from the back of her daily planner.

In the end, they’re left with this:

       Eddie –

       I wish I could say this to your face, but I’ve never been good with words, and you’d probably think it was a joke.

       I can’t even get myself to talk to you, you’re so distracting.

       I like how pretty your hair is. How do you get your curls so shiny? I want to run my fingers through them.

       I hope this note brightens up your day. You deserve all the smiles you can get.

       Yours,

       Your Secret Admirer

It’s not what she would write, but still, it’s leagues better than what he’d started with. She slides it across to Steve, and he smiles down at it. He reaches his hand out, fingers almost brushing the page before he pulls his hand back, curling his fingers into a fist.

“What if someone sees me?” he asks, voice so quiet she can barely hear him even in the resounding silence of the library.

They’d managed not to talk about it, the dangers of Steve liking a boy. But it’d been present in the hesitancy by which he shared each of his thoughts, looking up at her like each remark would be the last straw before she recoils in disgust.

If someone finds out that Steve has a crush on a boy, it won’t take long until he’s getting beat up between classes or heckled straight out of school. Heck, even with all the rumors floating around about him, Eddie might be the one to throw the first punch.

“Do you want me to deliver it for you?” she asks.

“You’d do that?” he asks back, because apparently no one ever taught him not to answer a question with a question. “For me?”

“What else are fake girlfriends for?” she asks because they’re all questions now, no answers to be had between the pair of them.

Steve laughs, all tension leaving his shoulders as he throws his head back with amusement, eyes downright twinkling as he beams across at her.

“You’re the best, Chrissy,” Steve says, smiling even brighter as she replies, “I know.”

She leaves school that night after pushing Steve Harrington’s love note through the slats of Eddie’s locker, Steve’s letterman jacket keeping her warm from the cold.

This might be the best relationship she’s ever had, fake or not. Eat your heart out, Jason Carver.

PART 2

Welcome to my new AU! This will be posted in 21 parts. It is complete, so there will be a new update each morning until it's all posted. I've elected not to do a tag list, but it will be added to my pinned post each day as well. If that's not your speed, it will be added to Ao3 once it's all been posted here.

Special shoutout to @queenie-ofthe-void for not only their usual fabulous beta work, but also both the original idea and the writing of some of the secret admirer letters. You not only make me a better writer, but this work literally would not exist without you. <3<3

Title of the fic from the song Eyes in the Sun by Florist

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 22 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: It's terrifying to realize you don't know if Bradley is safe. As the lonely days stretch on and on, you try to savor the notes from him. Once the final two envelopes have been opened, you know you need the real thing.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, adult language, romantic as hell Bradley, 18+

Length: 2600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Other than your car, everything you owned was inside Bradley's house. Over the last few weeks, Natasha helped you load up his Bronco and make a few trips down, but she looked at you like you were crazy when you told her you were going to leave most things packed up for now.

"Why?" she asked, leaning on a stack of boxes in the living room. "Even if he gets stationed in Norfolk, you'll finish out your school year here before he sells the house."

But you didn't want him to sell his house. You loved it here. Being in his living space was the closest thing to being with him when he was deployed, and you didn't think it was fair that he might have to give this up. What would Edith do without Bradley to help her? What would Bradley do in a different state without his best friend? No, you simply couldn't unpack, just in case, but you also couldn't accept Virginia with any finality until you were explicitly told it was happening.

"I just wish I could talk to him," you whispered.

"Soon," Nat replied, and you jumped, surprised to find you weren't alone in your thoughts. "I just moved a million boxes. I deserve a trip to the wine bar, and so do you. Bradley will be back soon enough."

"Nine days. Not soon enough." 

It was nine days until he was supposed to get back to Norfolk. On Valentine's Day. Then right after that, it was Career Day at your school. You had been holding onto a few of the envelopes and gift cards from him, trying to make them last, but you were almost out. You needed the real thing again.

Natasha groaned. "You are so in love with him, it's kind of gross. Let's go drink wine, and I'll tell you more tales from before the mustache."

You took one more look at the few unopened letters lined up on the coffee table before grabbing the gift card for the wine bar. But even southern California looked gloomy on the drive up. The wine was good, but you were just tired. Natasha told you all about how she tried to give Bradley the call sign Chicken Man, and you laughed at the idea of that emblazoned along the side of his jet. She also seemed to be able to tell just how melancholy you were.

"You're doing great," she told you, setting down her wine glass. "You're counting down the hours until you can talk to Bradley again. Vanessa would have probably been too busy with her water bottles to remember to pick him up from the airport. There's a reason why it's hard, and it's because he loves you as much as you love him."

You did your best to keep it together after that, but there was a lump in your throat, holding back your emotions, and when you got back home, you started crying on the couch. Big, fat tears rolled down your cheeks, blurring your vision, but you knew which envelope you were reaching for.

Open me when you've had a bad day

As you tore into the envelope, you realized there was another envelope inside it. The second envelope said Take me to The Bayside Florist and give me to someone who works there.

"What is this, Bradley?" you whispered out loud, reaching for your phone to see if the shop was still open this late on a Saturday. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized they closed in an hour, and you grabbed the envelope along with your phone and keys and ran out to your car.

In a matter of minutes, you parked in front of an adorable flower shop with The Bayside Florist in pink lettering on the awning. You felt a little silly taking the envelope inside, but when you were greeted by an older woman with a warm smile, you started to hand it to her.

"This might sound odd, but my boyfriend is deployed, and he left me this envelope," you said with a laugh. "Apparently I was supposed to bring it here?"

The woman adjusted her glasses as a smile found her lips. "Oh, yes. I remember him. Tall? With a mustache? Handsome?"

You bit your lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise. "Yeah, that sounds just like him."

She nodded and opened the envelope, humming in agreement with whatever she read inside. "I have something for you. Wait right here." 

Then she disappeared through a doorway, and you walked around the inside of the shop, examining the arrangements and enjoying the scent of so many types of flowers mingling together. You weren't quite sure what Bradley had up his sleeve from thousands of miles away, but you were almost positive it was about to make your day so much better.

"Special delivery from your boyfriend."

Startled, you spun around to see a stunning bouquet of flowers in every color on the counter, complete with an envelope tucked in amidst the blooms. "That's for me?" you whispered.

"From your boyfriend," she confirmed.

You stifled a whimper as you reached for the flowers. "Am I supposed to pay for this?"

"He already did."

Tears stung your eyes as you pulled the envelope that said Gorgeous from between two roses. It was written in his handwriting. You thought you should read it in the privacy of your own car, so you thanked the woman and then headed back outside. Once you were sitting behind the steering wheel, you set the flowers aside in favor of the note.

Gorgeous,

I never want you to have a bad day, but I really hate that you're having one when I'm not with you. If I could be anywhere in the world right now, I'd choose to be next to you. Will you write about your day in your journal so we can talk about it later? I can't wait to talk about everything with you. I love you.

Bradley

Now that the tears started, you just let yourself cry.

--------------------------

Constantly wondering if your boyfriend was even okay was taking a toll on you. Your classroom was supposed to be your safe haven right now. Your place of comfort. Your refuge. But a few days before Bradley was supposed to get back into Norfolk, you were short and snippy with your class. You didn't mean to be, but it was happening anyway.

"Just sit down," you told Oliver, voice taking on a sharp, scolding edge that was usually never there. All eighteen of your kids sat with their backs straight in their seats and their hands folded on their desks like they were worried you were going to start yelling. This was never how you wanted to conduct your class. These kids were really well behaved for the most part, and you wanted them to have a lot of fun mixed in with their school lessons.

You turned away from them to try to catch your breath. The past few nights had been filled with restless sleep and a pain in your heart that wouldn't go away until you knew Bradley was safe. You cleared your throat, trying so hard to figure out what you wanted to say for your social studies lesson, but you couldn't shake your mind free from the anxiety you were feeling.

Picturing the flowers that you put in a Miller High Life pitcher you found in the kitchen after Bradley didn't appear to own a vase made you smile enough that you were able to turn around again.

"I need everyone to open their textbook to page eighty-seven." The only sound was pages rustling as you added, "And I promise I'll make this a fun unit for us."

When you finally left work that afternoon, you decided to let yourself open the last envelope from Bradley. It had been in your tote bag for a few days, just waiting for the right moment. Open me when you really want some coffee. You could clearly use the extra caffeine today, so you tore into the envelope as you walked across the parking lot. Just like before, there was an envelope inside the first envelope. 

Take me to Starbucks and give me to someone who works there.

Now you were smiling. You got to go to another place of business with an envelope like an absolute lunatic, and you were really looking forward to it. You stopped at the Starbucks closest to your school, and when you handed the envelope to the girl who tried to take your order, she raised one eyebrow.

"Your guess is as good as mine. I think it's kind of a treasure hunt of sorts from my boyfriend who is deployed," you told her with a shrug. 

Then you watched her open the envelope and remove a note along with a gift card. Her eyes skimmed the text, and her face transformed into the sappiest smile. "Oh my god," she said, looking back up at you. "I wish someone loved me this much," she muttered and then turned away from you, reaching for the biggest cup and a Sharpie.

You waited awkwardly for a few minutes while she made your drink. You could tell it was your favorite drink. Bradley somehow ordered your favorite drink for you to enjoy. Warmth filled your body, and you accepted the cup from her. "Thanks," you murmured as she paid using the gift card, and that's when you realized she had written something on the cup.

Gorgeous, I love you. I can't wait to come home. Bradley

"Does he have a brother?"

You looked up at the girl who made your coffee. "What?" you asked, taking the note and the gift card from her. 

"Does your boyfriend have a brother? Because that note is the sweetest thing I've ever seen."

You shook your head, but you were smiling. "No. No brother. Sorry. Thanks for making my coffee."

As you walked outside you read the note, already feeling calmer at the sight of his hand writing. 

Dear Starbucks Employee,

The beautiful woman who handed you this envelope is my girlfriend. I am desperately in love with her, and I would be there with her if I could, but I'm fucking deployed, if you can believe it. Please make her favorite drink for her, and if you wouldn't mind, please write 'Gorgeous, I love you. I can't wait to come home. Bradley' on the cup? Thank you so much.

He had scrawled your favorite drink to your exact specifications below that, and it even tasted perfect. You spent the ride back to Coronado planning out your upcoming Monday. If Bradley arrived back to Virginia on time, you'd be hearing from him by then. Every fiber of your being was hoping he'd call and tell you to pick him up in San Diego, but if he had to stay in Norfolk, you'd take a day off from work to fly out and see him. You had to. You wouldn't be able to go an extra minute without him now. You wanted to hug him and kiss him and give him a blowjob. You needed to feel his hands on your body and listen to his voice while you ran your fingers along his scars. 

Monday couldn't get here fast enough.

-----------------------------

The only thing Bradley wanted to do right now was get his phone in his fucking hands, but he thought that if he brought it up again, someone would tell him the thing had been mysteriously misplaced. He already asked for it three times. He'd been dropped back in Norfolk by air transport, and after a short debrief with a national security team, he would hopefully be allowed to be on his way.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw. This way."

He was led into a medical facility first where his bruises and strained neck were examined and the findings were documented. When he realized he got caught up in a dog fighting scenario with the other aviators, he had been more angry than anything else. Didn't these people know he had a perfect girlfriend to get back home to? Did they even care? He made it out mostly unscathed and back to the carrier deck safely, if not a little sore. The one thing that made him almost laugh was the fact that Cyclone would undoubtedly see his medical report, and there was a good chance Admiral Walker would hear from him again.

After the medical consultation, he was led into a debriefing room where he really didn't have much to say about the mission. It had been successful, sure, but he wasn't going to be allowed to discuss it with anyone after this, so he just stuck to answering the questions he was asked.

Then finally, he was given his phone and left on his own. Of course it was nearly dead when he turned it on, but it should be good enough to reach you. Talking to you would come as his top priority before figuring out how he was getting home, but that was a close second. His heart pounded in anticipation of hearing your voice after so many weeks.

It was barely six in the morning in San Diego. Maybe you were up and getting ready for work, but maybe you were still sleeping. It didn't matter. He needed you to know he was coming home. He tapped on your photo, pulling up your contact information as the warm sun and cold Virginia air hit his skin at the same time, and he shivered as soon as the phone stopped ringing. Your voice in his ear was his reward. 

"Bradley!"

"Gorgeous," he sighed, suddenly so exhausted, he could barely stand. One word from you, and all he wanted to do was curl up on his couch with his head on your lap and let you take care of everything.

"Bradley!" You shrieked this time, and he smiled.

"Baby, I'm coming home."

"For good?" you asked, voice soft with an edge of concern that he wanted nothing more than to ease away. "Or just long enough to pack some things and head back to Norfolk?"

He hoisted his duffle onto his shoulder and started walking. "I'm coming home for good. Coming home to you."

---------------------------------

He's safe and he's coming home! I'm working on mapping out the remaining chapters of this story, so if there's something you want to read about, hit me up. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 23

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[amorchai]

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

pairing(s): draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader

words: 781

warnings/tags: established relationship, slight grumpy x sunshine, tiniest bit suggestive but completely sfw.

draco malfoy didn’t like the golden trio as it was. everyone’s heroes of hogwarts, prancing gryffindor’s acting like they owned the place. however, it only grew as he boarded the hogwarts express.

he was excited to return to school for once in his life, draco usually hated the thought of going to hogwarts where he saw people he hated every day. but you went there, and that was enough for him.

you had started dating draco at the end of the year, secretly after he went on a whim and kissed you. throughout the summer, you had sent him letters, and he only yearned for you over the months.

his friends letters remained opened and to be replied to, draco hated writing to people there was no need for it as he would be seeing them soon – yet he wrote to you every single day.

it still felt very new to draco, seeing you. so returning to hogwarts, draco was excited to have time with you. despite being in separate houses, draco was adamant on finding a way into the kitchens to sneak into the hufflepuff common room just so he could see you.

he could see you stepping on the train with your friends, the people draco very much disliked. you had the prettiest smile on your face and draco could only stare until you were out of sight, ignoring what pansy parkinson was saying beside him.

draco sat with his friends, knowing you were in a separate compartment across the train. and while his friends all spoke, draco was too distracted. he was desperate to see you, to have you close to him again, something he thought about non-stop since he last saw you.

while draco didn’t want everyone to know of the two of you just yet, especially the golden trio, draco couldn’t wait anymore. all he could think about was the press of your lips.

“excuse me,” draco speaks for the first time, ushering blaise zabini to let draco out his seat. “where you off to?” he asked, “none of your business, zabini.” he huffs on his way out.

walking down the narrow paths, draco looks in every compartment until he finally catches a glimpse of you. you’re sitting beside ron, sharing a box of peppermint toads while harry told a story and draco tenses at the sight.

as if feeling the presence, draco notices hermione look over and furrow her eyebrows before alerting her friends, probably saying, ‘why is draco staring at us?’ because draco felt like an idiot at that moment.

while ron and harry scowled at him, you smiled discreetly. he opens the compartment door, keeping a stoic expression while glancing over the judging faces and to your contrasting one – soft eyes and a kind smile.

“something we can help you with, malfoy?” ron asked and draco holds his hand out to you, taking you by surprise as much as the others, “no, but y/n can. can i speak with you for a moment?”

“what-?” harry mutters confused while they all glance at one another, each expression more shocked when you take his hand and let him lead you out the compartment.

“what are you doing?” you ask draco as he leads you through the train, looking out for a quiet spot. “shut up and i’ll tell you in a minute,” draco says in a teasing tone.

just after the last compartment there’s an empty area before the front of the train and draco guides you towards it, “now will you tell me?” you ask and draco huffs before moving you to wall between you and the other students and immediately presses his lips against yours.

you almost immediately reciprocate, dropping his hand to instead hold his smooth face while draco wraps his arms around your waist so your body is pressed to his, as close as possible.

“draco-” you mutter dazily against his lips as they peck yours and move down to your jaw. draco pulls you impossibly closer to his body and murmurs into your skin, “merlin’s beard, can’t i kiss you without being questioned?”

you sigh but rest your head against the wall behind you in content of draco’s sweet lips nipping your skin, “was just wondering…” you trail off your own words as you squeeze the black blazer of his clothes.

“you want me to stop?” draco asks, pulling away to look at you properly – his lips kiss-bitten and ashen hair already messed. “that’s not what i was-” his hands move up to grip your face, leaning towards you again, “exactly, so shush and let me show you how much i missed you.” his lips are on yours once again.

amorchai masterlist . taglist

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[azmageddon]

Silence (Part Two)

Pairing: Azriel x Cassian’s twin!healer! reader

Summary: It’s your turn to find the silence deafening.

Warnings: Short section of spiciness, but definitely not smutty. Also, you can pry the angst from my cold, dead, hands. Give me all the angst. Also painfully inaccurate to the original storyline.

A/n: Sorry it took so long! I’m obsessed with making everything perfect. Enjoy! Let me know what you think and what else you want to see.

“I have one for you too, Y/N.”

You looked up from where you were leaning against the wall at the back of Rhys’s office. Everyone’s eyes were on you and you could have sworn that Azriel, who was leaning against the wall next to you, had stopped breathing all together.

“Me?” you asked, confused.

Rhys only nodded, holding the invitation out further in his outstretched hand. You shuffled your way forward, Mor and Amren stepping aside to give you space. When you finally reached his desk and gripped the letter, you gave it a swift tug, but Rhys didnt let go. The two of you stood there for a moment, hands attached to the letter in a quiet tug-of-war over his desk. You caught eyes with the High Lord. They seemed to say be careful before he finally released the envelope.

Worry hummed across the bond, mixing with yours and sitting in the pit of your stomach. Turning back toward your spot in the back of the room, you risked a quick glance up to Azriel and saw concern plain on his face.

“Watch your face,” you reminded him in his mind and he quickly returned to his stoic, unreadable expression. “Wouldn’t want to blow our secret over a silly invitation, would you?” You tried to keep the conversation light and carefree, but it was difficult when dread had crept into your mind. If Azriel felt your nervousness, he didn't acknowledge it.

“You know,” he replied, “I’ve been rethinking keeping this a secret. Don’t you think it’s time they knew?”

“But it’s so much fun sneaking around.”

You could feel Azriel’s metaphorical eye roll through the bond and suppressed a chuckle while you took your place back against the wall. “I just thought it would be nice after keeping it a secret for nearly 400 years. But we can talk about this later. Open the letter so I can read it, too.”

You did as he asked, slipping your finger under the delicate fold of the envelope and pulling at the wax seal until it released with a pop. Slipping the invitation nestled inside, you turned it around so as to read the looped cursive sprawled in fluorescent gold ink across the page. You felt Azriel shuffle closer to get a better opportunity to read over your shoulder.

Y/N,

It is with great pleasure that we request your presence at the Masquerade Ball hosted by her majesty, Queen Amarantha of Under the Mountain. Please kindly reply within a fortnight. Punctuality is of the utmost importance.

“I don’t like the look of this,” came the voice of your mate in your head.

***

“How do I look?”

Azriel’s eyes snapped up from the book he was reading and instantly dragged themselves across your body. A groan from deep in his chest vibrated through the room and you were hit with a wave of arousal across the bond.

“Down boy,” you teased, stepping toward the vanity at the corner of the room to touch up your makeup. You felt Azriel’s eyes glued to you as you moved. Your dress, dark and revealing, was something Rhys insisted you wore to the party. You were used to outfits like this, the fabric accentuating your full hips and showing off your years and years of hard training. It reached up over the curve of your breasts and plummeted, reaching nearly low enough to expose your belly button. The Night Court demanded respect from those outside the bubble that was Velaris, and your High Lord chose to express the Inner Circle’s blind confidence through dress.

“Gods, if I knew you were going to wear that I would have argued with Rhys more to let me accompany you two.”

You sat at the vanity and reapplied your lipstick. From over your bare left shoulder came a lone tendril of Azriel’s shadows. It snaked along the curve of your collarbone and circled around your neck a few times before settling itself snuggly around your throat like the most priceless of necklaces.

A shiver went through you as the shadow gave a gentle squeeze. “Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t insist on you and Cassian to join us. You’d have thought he would use this opportunity to show off the strength of the Night Court to the other courts.”

Quiet as his shadows himself, Azriel’s large fingers slowly replaced the wisp of temporary jewelry. It dissipated at its master’s touch, and his hand gently, but firmly, tilted your head back so as to give him better access to the pulse point currently beating wildly at your neck. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear and you let out a soft moan.

“I’d like to see you out of that dress,” he whispered against your skin.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard at his words. A quick nip at your skin had you gasping out a response. “I can’t,” you managed. “Rhys will be here any second.”

Azriel trailed a rough calloused finger along the membrane of your wing and you felt a flush of desire and pleasure run through your body. The need for him flowed through your veins and it seeped deep into your bones. He could tell your willpower was faltering. Every emotion and neediness that you felt was pouring through the bond into his own soul.

“So tell him you’re not ready yet. I won’t take long.” Another nip at your skin, this time at the cleavage of your breast, had you nearly giving in. Your eyes fluttered closed and your chest heaved as he peppered kisses along your neck. But before you could utter another word, there was a knock at the door.

“Y/N?” came the voice of your High Lord. “Are you ready?”

Knowing neither of you could actually delay your departure, you sprung apart. Jumping up so quickly, you felt your chair tipping backward, only to be caught by one of Azriel’s shadows.

“One minute!” You called through the door and turned back to your mate.

“You have to go,” you whispered in a rush, quickly grabbing your bag from the bed and your shoes from their place beside the closet. “You’re not supposed to be in here!”

In your frantic dash across the room to retrieve your items, Azriel gripped your shoulders, halting you. His lips crashed into yours, passionate, hungry, and hurried. It left you breathless and you gasped for air as he pulled back, traces of your lipstick staining his own lips.

“Later, Shadowsinger,” you whispered as you reached up on tiptoe to place your lips against his again, more gently this time.

“I’ll meet you at the exit to say goodbye with the others,” he said into your mind and, stepping into a swirl of mist and shadow, he was gone.

***

“Az, the Autumn brothers are here.” Across the bond, you felt Azriel perk up. He must have been focused on something, perhaps reading a report or reviewing paperwork for his next mission. But at the sound of your voice in his head, you could feel his attention shifting to your gossip.

“Did they dress up?” he asked. “Please tell me Eris came as something ridiculous. Like a chicken or something.”

“Gods, no.” You suppressed a smile and glanced over at the heir to Autumn Court. The only costume he wore was his flaming red hair and permanent scowl on his face.

“Actually,” you continued across the bond, “It looks like Rhys and I aren’t the only ones who refused to dress up. In fact, the only ones who have costumes are the Spring Court.”

Amarantha was saying something, servants coming around to pass out wine in goblets that rivaled the finery of Rhy’s own private collection. You took one without thinking but hesitated before taking a sip. You recalled the words toast and finest wine coming from your hosts lips at some point. When your High Lord, who hadn’t left your side all night, didn’t drink from his yet, you followed his lead.

You barely paid attention all night, anyway. One arm constantly linked into your High Lord’s, you had to play the part of the mysterious, ruthless, second-in-command of the Night Court. Not many outside of Velaris knew much about you, except that you were an exceptional healer and twin the Night Court General. You played the role Rhys had expected you to, and Gods, did you play it well. Not a male in the room could take their eyes off of you, with your long flowing hair, curvy, yet muscular, body, and strong, unclipped Illyrian wings.

But frequently, you found your thoughts drifting back to your mate and the strong fingers you had wrapped around your throat a few hours ago. You hoped they would find their home there again upon your return to The House of Wind later tonight.

A wave of arousal hit you that wasn’t entirely your own and you realized Azriel must be having the same thoughts.

“Having fun without me, Shadowsinger?”

“Just remembering you in that dress,” came Azriel’s voice, low and sultry. “And all the ways I could take it off of you later.” You nearly choked on the breath you took. Rhys cast you a look out of the side of his eye, but you ignored it because Azriel was still speaking.

“Or maybe you can leave the dress on. It doesn’t offer much coverage, anyway.” His voice was growing darker, deeper, and more sensual with every word. “Or maybe the heels. Just the heels.”

You shook your head to clear it, attempting to focus on whatever Amarantha was saying in her toast. Wealth… happiness… friendship… blah blah blah. You ignored her sentences, picking up only on a few words. You did manage to make out her command to drink! before you caught eyes with Rhys. They portrayed something you couldn’t quite read. Sadness? Regret? You must have missed a part of her speech that was important.

Deciding to ask him about it later, you took a swig of your glass along with all the others in the chamber. The wine was sweet, thick like honey, and coated your throat on its way down. In fact, you felt it coating your entire body like a warm blanket. It worked its way into your bones and after a few moments of warmth, you felt the feeling turn to ice.

Icy tendrils shot through your limbs and you ruffled your wings to try and dispel the feeling. But it only became stronger and stronger until finally you felt a deep, soul crushing, emptiness. Quick as it began, the feeling was gone, and with it, the hum of the bond in your chest.

“Azriel?” you called to him. But no response came. Panic seized you and you clutched at your chest with your free hand, your other wrapping tighter around the arm of your High Lord. He was turning toward you now, saying something, but you ignored him. In fact, the entire chamber had erupted into chaos. Voices were all around you, angry and yelling. But the one voice you called for again and longed to hear was silent.

You didn’t know what it felt like to have a bond that was closed. You only knew that this was far, far worse.

“Y/N.” The sound of your name jolted you from your panicked soul searching. You looked up, catching eyes with the High Lord.

“Azriel,” you whispered out loud to him.

“What?” He asked, hands on either one of your shoulders, steadying you.

“Azriel,” you repeated to him. “He’s my mate.” The truth came tumbling out of you. The secret the two of you had kept for 400 years suddenly seemed foolish.

Rhys shook his head, not understanding your words. “Your mate?” He asked, confused. “For how long? Does he know?”

You nodded, tears suddenly filling your eyes. You pushed against the golden thread that tethered the two of you together, but it only ended in darkness. “We’ve been mates for nearly 400 years. We’ve kept it a secret for… oh Gods, Rhys, what has she done?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but quickly snapped it closed. He looked over your shoulder and you whirled, finding Amarantha standing there.

“Oh, my dears,” she began, her voice scraping across your ears like nails against stone. “The two of you are just lovely, aren’t you?”

[hitomisuzuya]

Secret admirer+neighbour reader that allows Scara to stay over in her room whenever shit gets rowdy at his home for whatever reason. She leaves letters of encouragement in his locker and snacks and stuff. He found it stupid at first but gave up 'reluctantly'.

But like, pls, he knows it's her. The way she looks at him, hopefully, every time he scowls a certain way, he gets a more expensive snack (within the budget of a little middle-class lady, of course), and he starts liking her a bit too...

And anyway, they get into a cute little confrontation when she cares about him a little too much, with a bit too much honesty with the cutest outfit and he's turned on and- you get the idea.

Please, praise kink. Praise my hubby🥺🥺 maybe a bit of degrading from him.

scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. porn with some plot. fluff. degradation. praise for scara. cunnilingus. for narrative purposes, college has lockers for people who live off campus.

i grinned when i read this ask. legit scaramouche would fall in love kicking and screaming reluctantly about it the whole time🤣 this is a little long.

if scaramouche had it his way, he would've chosen to live on campus at the dorms. but no, being so close to the college made his bitch mother suggest he might be more comfortable just living at home. incidentally, it was over just that issue that you meant scaramouche officially for the first time.

you swore he slammed the door loud enough to rattle to every window of his house. and yours. naturally, it startled you, being out on the porch looking at the orange and purple painted clouds of the sunset. you'd seen him around campus before, but social anxiety often came into play. and he sort of treated you like a nuisance when you tried to talk to him.

"you okay?" you asked, giving him a soft look of concern.

"huh? do you need something?" scaramouche snapped, glaring at you in a way that would've made anyone instantly fuck off.

anyone wasn't you, though. "no, it just sounds like you were fighting with someone," you replied, his glare making your cheeks flush.

"yeah, bitch mother," it was like he didn't want to dedicate the extra few seconds of time to string together a longer sentence to mention her in.

"you can come hang out with me in my room for awhile until things cool down. no one is home right now but me," you said shyly, playing with your hair in an annoying way he absolutely couldn't miss.

"uh, sure. yeah whatever, gimme a few minutes," scaramouche grumbled, turning to go back inside the house. back inside to tell his mother to fuck off one more time. he was automatically suspicious. why were you offering? what did you stand to gain from it?

he thought about these questions while he unplugged (ripped the cords out of the outlet) his xbox, and slammed the door again. threw the door to your house open, and sort of stomped up the stairs. he promptly hooked his xbox up to your tv like he was automatically entitled to it.

but you didn't mind. scaramouche always made you feel weak in the knees. you even got him to tell you what he wanted for dinner so you could make it for him.

this became almost something of a daily occurrence. an occurrence that scaramouche was startled to find how comfortable he was becoming with.

you sure are a strange one. you even sat and watched him play video games late into the night, monopolizing your tv and not really giving a shit if there was something you wanted to watch. you never said a thing if there was. dvrs exist, after all. you would cheer him on and praise him when he was playing good. you looked stuff up on your phone to help him if he got stuck on a part somewhere.

you would remind him about tests tomorrow. he told you whatever and ended up not studying. he didn't really need to honestly. thing is, though, you started leaving notes of encouragement tucked into his folders or notebooks. or left them in his locker with some sort of disgusting sweet treat. "for you to enjoy now or later. it's up to you. good luck today."

he thought it was incredibly stupid. what could you possibly gain from this nonsense? "i don't like sweets," he said, tossing a baggie of oreos on your desk. "disgusting. absolutely no thanks."

your posture stiffened a little, like you'd just been caught red handed doing something secretive. in a way, you had been. "wh-what are you talking about?" you stammered shyly, "who left you those?" you paused for a moment, twisting lock of hair around your index finger. "incidentally, what would you want for something like that?"

scaramouche almost snorted. god, you are so transparent. he knew it was you, but you are still trying to play it off like it wasn't, fidgeting nervously with your fingers. it was disgustingly adorable so he let you carry on with it in his own way. stop it.

"salted rice balls with sea weed in the middle. i like those, not the toxic waste that is chocolate. or rather horse shit," he replied, rolling his eyes.

sure enough, a few days later, salted white rice balls with seaweed in the middle appeared in his locker the next morning. "please, eat these. sorry about before. you try so hard and deserve a good treat."

fuck, fuck, fuck!

he was starting to tuck your notes into his pockets to keep with him throughout the day. some of the snacks you make him looked expensive. and you were the type to buy the ingredients and hand make them yourself. you had to have been getting up super early in the morning to make them or staying up late the night before.

and every time he called you out on it, you shyly played it off. even joking with him about him having a secret admirer, though he swore you looked a little sad at the thought of someone else liking him like you weren't talking about yourself.

even worse, scaramouche started looking at you and thinking; shit, she looks really cute today. those are thigh highs she's wearing cup her thighs perfectly. it makes me wanna..

he'd had enough when he started jacking himself off after he left your house for the night. thinking of you, the innocent girl next door who doted on him and gave him attention. who is way too sweet for her own good. with this stupid crush on him that you refused to say anything about.

how dare you make him fall in love.

you started wearing thigh highs when he mentioned casually he likes them, tempting him with a garter belt. a garter that his eyes strained to casually get a peek at if the pleats of your skirt bounced in just the right way.

he caught you on your way out the door to go the convenience/grocery store that stayed open all night, a list of ingredients and a recipe in your hand to read on the way.

"why do you do this nonsense?" scaramouche asked, snatching the slip of paper out of your hand. he couldn't help but smirk. just like he thought, there was a recipe for rice balls with eel in them and miso soup. you were even going to stop by the coffee shop and get his favorite coffee.

...

fucking hell, you are way too sweet for your own good but damn it, he enjoyed soaking up every bit of your attention now. his bitch mother even "accused" him of dating someone a few days ago. the nerve!

"i..i." you stammered shyly in a way that made him want to kiss you. really really badly. you knew you were caught. "was i that obvious?"

scaramouche snorted. "you are so obvious that you could've landed plane without waving your arms. it was actually a little pathetic," he sighed seeing your reaction. why did you do that? why did your cheeks flush when he flat out insulted you?

and that was how you ended up on your back on his bed, your legs spread and stripped almost entirely of your clothes as he crawled between your legs. "these stay on," he insisted, hooking his finger under the top of your thigh high, letting it snap back on your thigh. he'd angrily kissed you all the way up to his room, pawing at your clothes and swallowing your moans into his mouth.

you always took care of him in your room. and now he was taking care of you properly in his room. it was a chore to fight his pride, anyways. and he didn't want to fight it anymore.

having his hands holding your thighs apart while he licked slow, hungry stripes up and down your pussy was much more preferable. "desperation is good color on you, slut," he groaned, teasingly kitten licking your clit before sweeping it down to swirl around your hole. youclenched on the tip of his tongue like he imagined that you would.

"i..i can't help it," you moan shakily, squirming as you grind on his mouth, "i'm sorry. i'm so in love you with it hurts. i just..just," you are cut off when scaramouche latched his lips around your clit, letting out a gasp of pleasure. your clit tingled and throbbed as he sucked, prodding and swirling his tongue in a way that made a dizzying warmth spread through your core. "i wanted your attention."

you sound so fucking cute it made his cock ache almost painfully. did you have any idea how unbearable you made it all the fucking time? "i saw right through your pathetic attempts to woe me. praise me more, slut. it's making me hard," he groaned, drunk on the taste on your pussy soaking his tongue.

he held your pussy against his mouth as you grinded on his tongue, your fingers finding his hair and pushing his mouth down. "you are perfect, scara!" you cry out, your clit throbbing twice as hard underneath his tongue. "your tongue feels so good! you are all i ever think about!"

he could edge himself on your words praise, soaking up every word. "go on. keep going while i tongue fuck you," he moaned, focusing his tongue on your clit again.

his tongue working your pussy over like a starved animal was making you start to babble nonsense. "your so smart, and handsome and strong. your fingers are beautiful, so beautiful i want to suck on them. don't stop, please. please," you have the cutest sounding whimpers when the jolts of pleasure rocketing through you were too much for you to process.

your precious babbling spurred scaramouche's tongue on, one hand reluctantly leaving your thigh to palm and rub his cock outside his jeans. you deserve to cum hard on his tongue for sounding so sweet.

you twitch and spasm in bliss, tugging urgently on his hair. your hips bucked up to rub and grind on his mouth. you writhed on the bed, relaxing into his possessive squeeze on your thighs. it wasn't long before you couldn't keep it together anymore. or at least as together as you thought you had it. you'd broken on his tongue a long time ago.

you whimper weakly behind your shameless moans, your thighs shaking as your orgasm washed over you. it was so strong it nearly even made your fingers fall limp in his hair. his tongue lovingly fucked you through your orgasm until you were panting and shaking on the cusps of overstimulation. he lapped at your release.

"i think i found the only sweet i will enjoy," satisfied, he sat up and wiped his mouth. you are practically passed out on his bed, exhausted and overloaded. neither of you were making it to your evening classes. he planned to spend that time further devouring you once he let you sleep a little.

[etheraltides]

BENEATH THE NOISE ᯓᡣ𐭩

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x College!Reader

Summarize: It’s hard to deal with deception when you’ve given your best. Luckily, Rafe knows how to get to you.

Warning(s): self depreciation, a hint of anxiety.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love in my works <3

The grade wasn’t supposed to define you. That’s what everyone says: “It’s just a number, not a measure of your worth.” But as you sit staring at the email on your screen, the words blur, letters and numbers melting together until you can only feel one thing: failure.

The exam’s grade - the one you poured sleepless nights, early mornings, and everything in between into – sits there in stark black and white, unchangeable, final. You can’t look away, even as the panic bubbles into shame and then into the familiar, relentless self-criticism. Even as the salty tears begin to blurry your vision.

“How could I have been so stupid?” you think, teeth pressing into your lower lip. “All those hours… wasted. What’s the point if this is the result?” The thoughts spiral faster, slipping away from you. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Maybe I’m just fooling myself. Everyone else makes it look so easy.”

With a shaky breath, you shut your laptop and curl up on your bed, tugging the blanket over yourself as if it could shield you from the whirlwind in your mind, from the world and those mocking numbers. You feel your phone buzz, but you ignore it. Then it buzzes again, and again. It’s Rafe, no doubt, checking in, but you can’t bring yourself to reply. You’re not in the mood for talking and pretending to be fine, or worse – the pity you know will be laced into his voice if he finds out how badly you did.

But Rafe isn’t one to be easily put off. He leaves message after message, each one laced with growing concern and slight irritation.

“Hey, baby. Just checking in. How’d the test go?”

A minute later, “Everything okay? Call me when you get this. You’re working me, baby.”

Another text, his humor slipping through: “I’m gonna assume you’re just taking a nap and ignoring the world like you usually do when you’re stressed.”

And then, finally, a call. You glance at the screen, seeing his name flash, but even though part of you aches to hear his voice, you can’t bring yourself to answer. Instead, you turn off the phone entirely, sinking further into the blanket cocoon, feeling more alone and defeated with every minute that ticks by.

Rafe spends the better part of an hour trying to reach you. First, it’s gentle check-ins, then some light teasing, then a note of worry threading through his texts. When all his messages stay stuck on “delivered” with no response, he throws on a jacket, grabs his car keys, and heads out the door. He’s had enough off of it.

The drive is a blur, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he runs through what he’ll say to you when he gets there. He’d scold you for being a brat and making him worry when all you had to do was type some goddamn words on your phone. It wasn’t so hard. He didn’t even want to think about the possibility of something actually happening to you.

By the time he arrives at your place, it’s late enough that the lights outside are dim, casting long shadows across the driveway. He knocks once, twice in your bedroom’s door once your mom lets him in.

“She’s been there for hours.” Your mom sighs, looking up at the stairs as she puts your untouched plate of dinner in the refrigerator. “The results of her exam came in and well… You know how hard she can be with herself.”

Rafe rubs hand on his neck, he had completely forgot that the result would be today and he knew how hard you’ve been studying.

He knocks on your door once and when there’s no answer, he gently turns the knob, letting himself in.

It’s quiet inside, save for the faint sound of your breathing as he steps into your room. He sees you there, huddled under the blankets, your back to the door, your shoulders slightly shaking. His heart clenches in pain and worry as you look so small hiding in the many blankets. Wordlessly, Rafe slips off his shoes, walking over to your bed. Without a word, he lifts the edge of the blanket and slides in beside you, his warmth immediately seeping through the layers of fabric that separate you.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, letting his presence speak for itself. Slowly, he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. You stiffen at first, your pride fighting the comfort he’s offering, but then the dam breaks, and you lean into him, hiding your face in his shoulder.

He strokes your hair gently, his voice a soft murmur. “I’m here. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” He presses a light kiss to the top of your head, letting the silence settle for a few moments longer before he speaks again.

“Want me to talk to your professor?” he murmurs, a playful edge creeping into his tone. “Because I could pay a visit, you know… straighten him out, remind him that no one messes with my girl.” He squeezes you a little tighter. “Just say the word.”

You can’t help the small, broken laugh that escapes you, muffled by his shirt. You know he’s kidding – or at least, half-kidding – but there’s a part of you that believes he might actually show up at your professor’s office if you asked him to. That thought alone lightens the weight on your chest, even if just a little.

“You don’t need to go after my professor, Rafe,” you mumble, a hint of sarcasm breaking through the sadness. “Even though… I wouldn’t mind seeing the look on his face if you did, it wasn’t his fault.”

Rafe chuckles softly, squeezing your shoulder. “If you change your mind, I’ve got my car gassed up and ready.”

The laugh fades, and you fall silent again, the weight of the failure still pressing down on you. After a few moments, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. “Rafe… what if I’m just not good enough? What if I’ve been trying so hard for nothing?”

You wrap your arms around his torso, fingers absently tracing random shapes on his t-shirt as the words left your trembling lips. “Maybe I should just quit it. Spare myself all the deception.”

He keeps his hold on you, his voice staying low and gentle. “Baby, you’re one of the smartest people I know. This grade? It doesn’t change that. Not even a little.”

You start to protest, but he shushes you, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “No, I’m serious. You’re so hard on yourself, and I get it. But you need to remember that one test doesn’t undo everything you are, everything you’ve done. It’s just one small thing in a million great things about you.”

The words come out softly and so certain, almost like a confession, and you see the shift in his expression as he meets your gaze. He lifts a hand, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes soft and steady. “Then you try again, and again, if you have to. But you’re anything but ‘not good enough.’ You’re brilliant, and hard-working, and stubborn as hell. I’ve seen you tackle way harder stuff than this.”

You shake your head, unable to accept the kindness in his voice. “But I… I feel so dumb, Rafe. Like all this effort is just… wasted. Like I’m not cut out for this.”

Rafe’s expression softens even more, and he tilts your chin up, making sure you’re looking into his eyes. “Baby, listen to me. One test, one mistake – none of that changes who you are or what you’re capable of. You’re allowed to be human, to mess up sometimes. It doesn’t make you any less amazing, okay?”

His words linger, breaking down the wall you’ve built around your pride and pain. For the first time since you got the grade, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, he’s right. You were being too harsh in yourself.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you place a kiss to his cheek.

“Always,” he replies, giving you a small, reassuring smile. “Now, let’s stay here as long as you need, but when you’re ready, we’ll go grab some terrible takeout, or watch that show you like. Whatever you want. But for now… just let me hold you.”

You nod, settling against him, the rise and fall of his chest calming the storm in your mind. And as you lie there, surrounded by his warmth and steady heartbeat, the self-criticism starts to soften, the harsh thoughts fading, leaving only the quiet reassurance that you’ll be okay.

As you lie curled up against him, letting his warmth seep into you, Rafe’s hand gently runs along your back in soothing circles. You can feel the steady beat of his heart, grounding you, pulling you away from the spiral of self-doubt. After a long silence, you finally lift your head, your face inches from his as you meet his gaze. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just quiet understanding, and something even softer.

Slowly, he reaches up, brushing a thumb across your cheek, and you feel yourself lean into his touch. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and after a beat, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s soft, gentle, like he’s pouring all his reassurance into you without a single word. His fingers slip to the back of your neck, his hold gentle but certain, as if anchoring you to the moment, grounding you in his presence and pulling you away from the loud thoughts in your mind.

He pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, and you feel his breath, warm and steady. “I’m here,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a murmur. “No grade, no test can change that. You’re more than enough, and I’m not going anywhere.” His thumb grazes your cheek again, his eyes filled with warmth and conviction, and in that moment, the weight on your heart feels a little lighter, the storm in your mind a little quieter.

[islayhawkin]

It's from her

Captain John price x fem!reader

Summary: The task force learns that john's beanie holds way more importance to him than it should

Warnings!: sad and vulnerable john, prob ooc, not edited

Leaving for a mission was always hard. He knew that you struggled immensly with it and while he never showed it, it took it's toll on him too.

To leave you behind. Knowing that you had a hard time because of him.

To have the mission ahead of him. The knowledge that he'd be away for weeks or even months on end. The contact to you was rare and it took a lot of effort for him to be able to have a phone call or receive a letter from you. He always worried. While he was the one fighting for his life, there was always a part of his mind that thought about how you were doing, if something happened, if you needed him...The constant uncertainty was driving him on edge sometimes.

And he missed you. Oh, how he missed you. He spent so many lonely nights in his tent or a safe house imagining you beside him while the snores of his comrades filled his ears.

John clung to the few things he had with him that were you. One of them being his hat.

It was one of the first things he got from you. You had knitted the beanie when you first moved in together. Every evening when you two had cuddled up on the couch, the TV playing, you had knitted. He had seen it develop and it was the most calming sound to him, whenever he heard your needles clicking softly against each other. Not until you finished the hat had he been aware that you made it for him.

"Here. I made this for you." You had smiled at him proudly as you handed over the dark-knitted beanie.

It was nothing special and with closer inspection, a few mistakes could be sighted but for john it meant the world. At first, he had struggled to even think of a response as he gripped the soft fabric in his rough hands.

"I know you always like to have something on your head and I thought that would keep you warm when you're in a cold area..." you had muttered out your explanation.

"thank you." He had replied quietly. The love and astonishment had been evident in his expression.

There were times when he thought back to that moment and wished he had said more. That he would've been able to express what it meant to him. But you knew without him saying so. It was clear in his actions.

It was endearing how he still took it on every mission after all these years.

The 141 started to notice it's importance to him when he couldn't find it at base. His usual calm demeanor was slightly irritable and underlined by the strong walk as he barged into the common room as if he were on a mission to save the queen.

"Does any of you shitheads have my hat?" His deep voice made the whole room go quiet.

Soap and ghost exchanged glances. "Got no reason to steal your hat captain." Ghost grumbled out.

John clenched and unclenched his fists multiple times. The muscle in his jaw tightened. "You'll have no problem then if I check your rooms lieutenant." There were some unspoken words between them as two pairs of hard eyes met each other.

"No problem." Ghost replied.

Price took a look around the room before giving them a nod and leaving for their private quarters.

"What's wrong with him?" Gaz leaned over the table to his comrades.

"No bloody idea. Probably got his period." Ghost grumbled.

Price rummaged through room after room methodically. The drawers and cabinets were thrown open and closed softly after close inspection. He muttered a few annoyed curses when he arrived at soap's room: the drawers were already opened but his clothes were probably more scattered over the floor room than in his closet. Room inspections were obviously in dire need of attention.

When he made it to Gaz's room the hat was the first thing his eyes spotted as he opened the door. There it was. slightly frizzy and worn at the edges but still looking soft the way it always did. Except that it didn't lay at its usual spot in his neatly organized closet.

"Can't keep their bloody hands to their own stuff." John grumbled.

The tension fell from his body as he picked the beanie up and took it back to his room. He laid it back to the dedicated spot with a scarf next to it. His eyes observed how it seemed to lay so innocently in front of him. A tired sigh escaped his lips before he pushed himself into an upright position and locked the door to his room for good measure.

In the next moment he dragged gaz out of his chair pressed him against the wall. Johns hand clasped the collar of gazs uniform. While gaz grunted from the impact of his captains weight against him, his face stayed nonchalant. If you knew him better you'd seen the small sliver of nervousness in his eyes.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing with my stuff?" Price gritted out.

"I didn't take anything from you sir." Gaz shot back almost angrily at the accusation.

"You think that's funny huh?" John sneered. It was unusual for the captain to throw angry words at his team. He was always the composed one; giving them a sense of confidence and security in the battlefield.

"No sir."

"Hmhm. I found something in your quarters. My goddamn hat on top of your closet."

Gaz frowned. "Captain I didn't- sir I don't know anything about that."

Price grunted in frustration before ghost stepped to them and slightly pulled the captain back. "Take it easy cap."

John let himself fall back before pointing a warning finger at the young sergeant. "Just keep your hands off of my things. Especially that hat. Got it?"

Gaz gave him a nod but he didn't back down from his position as innocent. The air was tense as everyone watched the ongoing confrontation.

Ghost gave his captain a look which held john back made him leave the room back to his own office (where he should've worked for the last hour). The lieutenant followed him out as if to escort him. "Why are ya followin' me simon?"

Ghost was about to protest about his name choice but decided there were more important matters at hand right now.

"I figured you'd want to tell me what's going on?" The deep voice came from behind the mask.

Price stopped in his tracks and crossed his arms while shifting his weight onto his toes. "What?"

While price was a tall and muscular man he had no chance against the build of ghost as he towered opposite of him.

"You're going wild over a damn hat for no reason." His tone sounded almost bored.

"It's not just a bloody hat!" John's jaw clicked.

Ghost scoffed. "Then what is this about?"

"With all due respect lieutenant, you wouldn't understand."

That was it. It was never brought up again until a few months later on a mission at the Russian border.

A small safe house offered them shelter before they took off for the next day.

The night was a troubled one. Everyone was anxious and tired, which was a dangerous mix of feelings in a group of men. But they were trained for this. Keeping one eye and ear open constantly; without pause. This was the requirement to survival.

John took the night shift after Ghost woke him up out of a rather unpleasant dream. Everything was quiet except for a few night animals chirping in the forest surrounding them. The sun already brought a bit of light through the windows.

He sat down against a pillar and rubbed his exhausted eyes with his calloused palms. A defeated sigh escaped his lips as he took the gun into his hand and let his head lull back against the wood.

The last few months had been rough. The 141 was on this mission since almost two months now and it felt like they didn't get any closer to their target. For john it meant two months without you. No call, no letter, nothing. For all he knew you could be laying in bed with another guy right now. He couldn't blame you. No, what was he thinking. That was a riddiculous thought. He grunted quietly as he rubbed a hand over his beard. John definately needed sleep.

His beard and hair had grown out over the time, which made him think of the way you'd sit him on the toilet lid and step between his legs to shave his beard for him. You never realised how that position made it quite impossible for him to relax under your intense stare. He smiled at the memory and simultaneously hope that he'd be able to be in that position soon again.

The nightmare had made him unpleasantly agitated and worried. John just hoped, prayed and begged Laswell to make sure that you were okay.

A few hours later the sun started to rise above the horizon, which brought john his clue to wake everyone up and get going for the day ahead. When everybody was checked and price paced slowly in front of the group to explain the plan his voice got stuck in his throat. He had been telling them that they would be making their way into the snowy area as your voice made it's way into his thoughts.

'to keep you warm in colder regions.' you had said with that sweet smile when you gave him his hat.

The hat.

He didn't have his beanie on. It got soaked through yesterday and he took it off to dry. But they had checked the whole safehouse already, ready for departure.

"My hat. Has anyone seen it?" he questioned the group of men standing before him. They looked stunned at his sudden change of topic.

When they didn't answer he started walking up the stairs. Frantically going through the rooms again. Soap went with a nod to the others after him. "Capt'n. We're ready for departure. None of us saw yer hat."

John shook his head. "Not without it." He searched the drawers in the room even though he knew it couldn't be there. His expression was stoic and unreadable but there were emotions behind those blue eyes.

They gave him a few minutes but when he didn't make a move to get on with it ghost shouted up the stairs. "Cap we have a schedule remember?" It sounded slightly irritated coming from behind the mask.

"I said I'm not going without it!" John thundered back.

He couldn't leave without it. It felt like leaving you behind. It was irrational and stupid and the hat was going to cost him his goddamn life someday but... he needed it. That feeling couldn't be explained with rationality or tactic. you would have described it as love. But john would rather name it desperation.

"It's just a bloody hat. We need to get going." Ghost came up beside him.

"It's not. It's from her." John pulled his lips in a thin line as he exhaled through his nose sharply. The room went quiet for a moment at his admission.

Ghosts expression stayed emotionless as he crossed his bulky arms over his chest.

"Yer bonnie wife?" soap asked for clarification.

John nodded sharply and but turned away quickly from the pair when soap raised a brow.

"Honestly dinna know yer were married to her until a few weeks back. I'm sure ye'll survive a week without the hat and see yer lass soon hm?"

Ghost grunted in frustration. "Seriously? That's been the reason for this bloody hat."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand. When you're married we can have this conversation." John shot back at his lieutenant. His voice thick with accent and a deep grumbling from the throat.

Soap got between them before Ghost had the chance to respond. "So we ready to go then? Captain?"

John pursed his lips and it pained him to go through with it but he shut off his emotions like he so often did and gave them a stern nod. He started to talk about their upcoming task again as he took the lead once more.

When he got home to you a week later he couldn't hold back a few tears in his eyes when you presented him a new, more colourful beanie, that you made when he was gone. And to his delight you ushered him into the bathroom to shave him first thing in the morning.

The task force never dared to touch his hat again.

[jacaerysgf]

The Rockstar and Me

requested: would it be okay, if I requested a rockstar!jace x reader? were theve been best friends since childhood and the reader has a crush on jace. jace is a really popular upcoming rockstar and is super busy. he dosnt see reader the same way (just as there bestfriend) and kind neglects the reader bc he's really busy. so one night the reader has enough and they decide they need to take a break from there friendship, so they don't talk for a while. and then jace kinda realises he missed up and took the readers love for granted. In this time he he realizes he like her too.

w.c: 1.6k

c.w: just some minor angst and some fluff :3, not proofread

masterlist - requests open

--

You are going to scream.

Not of horror and certainly not of pleasure but you were just so annoyed.

Your roommate would not stop playing their fucking songs, most people would call you crazy but you swear you were about to look for a new apartment and put in big red letters, DO NOT REPLY IF YOU LIKE THE WEST DRAGONS. You have nothing against their music but it all just leads back to him.

Childhood best friend and crush turned ex-best friend rockstar Jacaerys Velaryon. He was your best friend for so long and you had liked him, a part of you still does. A part of you still misses him but you did what you had to do.

You could not just sit around and let him ignore you like that, time and time again he would blow you off to the point you grew sick of it and blocked his number and never looked back. You didn’t just ghost him. instead opting to send him a long messages about how you needed space and he was no longer the guy you knew anymore and told him you were gonna reach out anymore.

That was three months ago and your sure he hasn’t even fucking read it let alone try to reply to it. Three months since your life flipped upside down, moving to a new place, still in the same city but further away from him, new job and some new friends, it was odd at first and still is, being away from him but you won’t just let yourself be walked all over like that.

You had planned to stay in tonight like you normally would but your roommate had other plans, standing in the middle of the room bickering with you while you try to block out the sound of their music in the background.

“I don’t wanna go out sab.” “Come on live a little, come out to the bar with me.” “Maybe another night.” “Nope you are coming tonight. right now. get dressed.”

With that she sprints out of the room and you groan knowing she won’t take no for an answer and get up to get ready. Its just one night out, it won’t be so bad, plus it a good excuse so you don't have to hear his music anymore.

Yet when you walk into the bar its packed with people lining up in front of the stage, you turn to sab and tilt your head. “What is going on?”

She looks at you with a big grin on her face, “I didn’t tell you, oh my god the west dragons are performing here in a few.” Your stomach drops.

No you had to leave, maybe you could fake an illness? No she would catch on and force you to stay. You could make yourself throw up? that would cause too much of a scene. You were definitely going to be sick when you see the lights dim and they walk up on the stage.

He’s the drummer he should not even see you right? you’ll just sit at the bar and count down the seconds until the show is over and you can book it out of the room. Aegon greets the crowd as the groups lead singer and your stomach continues to churn. You met him a handful of times and he was always nice to you, he had a nice voice you could agree but you felt so sick anytime you heard their songs.

The show went on without a hitch and you wish the ringing in your ears would get louder so you wouldnt have to hear it. You find yourself reminiscing about your time with jace with every song that plays. You miss him. Much more than you’d like to admit.

You dont allow your eyes to drift behind aegon, yet you hear him, the sound of the drums, it haunts you, sometimes you can see his hands peak out, when aegon moves you can see his dark curls but never look too close to see his face.

They are taking a mini break with aegon entertaining the crowd, the show is almost over, you could not wait to go take a shower and try to act like this night never happened. Aegons eyes drift around the crowd while he’s talking and they land on you, you watch as his eyes widen and he stumbles over his speech for a moment as he turns back for a second to look at jace.

That was not good. Not good at all. “What was that? do you think he thinks your cute?” “definitely not.” Your words come out more strained than you would like and she looks at you confused, “Is something wrong?”

You open and close your mouth unable to know what to say. Your chest feels like its closing in on its self as she grabs your shoulders worriedly. “I need some air.” You quickly stand and rush out of the bar, sab quickly following after you. The two of you don’t notice the pairs of eyes that trail after you.

You lean against the wall on the outside and try to catch your breath. You did not think this would affect you so much, maybe because your whole life has been around him that now it just feels odd that he’s not around. This whole thing reminded you too much of going to his gigs and him coming up to you after the show to ask you what you thought.

“Who cares if i liked it jace? the people loved it.” “I care, you matter more to me than them.”

“Okay what the hell was that?” You run your hands along your face and stare at sab as she looks at your worried. “Its nothing.”

“oh fuck off its not nothing, nobody just runs out the room looking like they just saw their ex boyfriend over nothing.” She gasps at her own words and covers her mouth, “Oh my god wait did you actually date aegon? fuck if i knew i wouldnt have brought you here im sorry-” “I didn’t date ageon sab and i didnt date any of them.” “Then what happened?”

The two of you freeze as someone clears their throat and sab gasps as she turns around. “Im sorry to interrupt but, do you mind if we talk?” Jace. He was staring right at you. Sab looks between the two of you and gives you a look that says she wants to hear all about this before she runs off.

You stand in silence,, not wanting to be the first to speak. He puts his hands in his pockets and kicks on of the rocks on the ground. “How,,, um how are you?” “Im good.” He nods and continues to simply look anywhere but your face. “Thats good thats good um..” Its awkward. So awkward. It was never this way before but you guess thats just what time apart does to people. And you hate it.

“How are you?” He looks up at you shocked before he stumbles over his words, clearly very nervous. “Im good, im good, um, no no im not good actually. I miss you, so much.” Your breath hitches as you watch him continue to speak, “I regret how i treated you, so much. Im so sorry i miss you more than anything please, i just want us to be friends again, ill do anything to make it up to you.”

You don’t know what to say what to do. This is what you’ve been dreaming of for so long but your heart aches at the thought of returning to being just friends.

“I can’t be friends with you jace.” He stumbles back as if you had shoved him and he looks around attempting to compose himself. You swear you can see tears glazing in his eyes, “I um,” His voice cracks as he speaks and he coughs into his arm, “I understand yes of course, im sorry for bother-”

“I cant be friends with you jace because i cant bare being just friends. All ive ever wanted for so long was to be more with you, and if i go back to being just friends ill spend the rest of my life miserable because ill just be dreaming to be more with you.”

You do not even know when you had begun crying but you feel the tears begin to run down your face as you close your eyes and tilt your head down towards the ground. You feel his hands grip your face and pull you up to look at him, seeing his own tears running down his face.

“Im sorry, im so sorry. I love you. Im sorry it took me so long to realize this and that i had to be apart from you to know but ive realized i need you, i love you so much youre my best friend, the only person i need, i love you.”

You shake your head in disbelief, “You dont mean it.” “I do i do mean it, i love you so much.”

He presses his forehead against yours and you sob harder. “I love you jace.”

“I love you so much, i will work everyday to earn your forgiveness to even be worthy or your love.”

He shakily presses his lips against yours in a peck and you two smile at one another.

“No more ignoring me?”

“Never, never again.”

--

perm jace taglist <3

@tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons @ravenn-darkholme

[gigabyte-flare]

The Devil is Real (Part 1)

Summary: Your troubled older brother disappeared two years ago, vanishing without a trace; that is until one day you receive a letter from him. He’s living in Spain after having joined a religious group called Los Iluminados, his life seemingly changed for the better. He would love it if you came to visit him. Who are you to refuse an invitation from your beloved big brother, right?

Word Count: 4.2k

Pairing: plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: drug abuse mention, abusive household mention, religious cult, religious trauma, body horror, noncon, dubcon, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (m and f receiving), kidnapping, yandere tendencies, somno, extreme violence and gore, human sacrifice, murder, blood play/kink, breeding kink, pregnancy, pet names, stockholm syndrome, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT [More warnings may be added in future parts]

A/N: I want to give a shoutout to @d10nyx, who's bot heavily inspired this new series. I had been wanting to write plagas!Leon again for so long, but I wanted to do something I hadn't seen done before and my interaction with her bot planted the seed (breeding kink go brrrrrrrrrrrr). This will likely be my darkest series yet so if that's not your jam, I kindly ask that you keep scrolling. It should be noted that any of the Spanish seen in this series is either from my extremely vague recollection of the language from my youth or from Google translate, so I apologize if there's any weird grammar in any of the Spanish, it is not my intention to butcher the language.

I hope you guys like thrill rides :3

The title is inspired by Bad Things performed by I Prevail

April 22, 2008

Sis,

I apologize for this being the first time I’ve contacted you in two years, but I promise you, it was for good reason. I finally got help. I moved out to Spain to this lovely rural area called Valdelobos to live with this wonderful community called Los Iluminados. I’ve been sober for just over two years because of them. I would really love it if you came to visit, you would absolutely love it here, sis! I would love more than anything to share with you the community that has made such a huge difference in my life. I don’t have access to a computer, so you’ll have to send me a letter to reply. You can find the return address on the envelope. I eagerly await your letter!

With all my love,

Vince

You sit on your old saggy couch, gently holding the handwritten letter in your hands like it’s going to disintegrate. Your mind is in turmoil; your older brother Vincent, or Vince as most people call him, had disappeared about two years ago. He struggled with drug addiction when he reached adulthood, always chasing his next high. When you had reported him missing, police searched everywhere for him for weeks until you finally had to come to terms with the fact that he was most likely dead.

This letter, however, says otherwise.

“Who’s it from?” your boyfriend asks before sitting beside you, seeing the strained look on your face and growing concerned. 

You don’t answer him at first, your eyes locked on the weathered piece of paper. Realizing your boyfriend, Mark, had asked you a question, you blink a few times and shake your head, snapping yourself out of the shocked daze.

“It’s from Vince,” you reply, looking over at Mark.

Mark looks at the paper you’re holding, then back to you, “are you sure it’s from Vince?”

“Of course I’m sure! That is definitely his handwriting. He’s alive!” 

You hand the letter to Mark, who takes a moment to read the letter himself, adjusting his glasses as he does so, “he wants you to go visit. What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea…” you say softly, burying your face in your hands as you continue to struggle with your emotions.

Growing up, all you had was your brother, having lost your parents at a young age. Growing up, the both of you lived with your grandparents, but they were very abusive. As soon as Vince had turned 18, he fought to become your legal guardian and the two of you moved out. Unfortunately, Vince had turned to drugs to deal with his trauma, but could you blame him? Your grandfather was especially hard on Vince; there were many nights you could remember falling asleep to the sounds of the two of them shouting and throwing things at each other. 

There’s a ten year gap between you and your brother, so naturally Vince had become something of a father figure to you, especially considering you were only two when your parents had died. A car accident you had been told; hit by a drunk driver on the way home from a New Year’s party. You felt like life always dealt you a shitty hand. First your parents, then your brother. But now, your brother seems to be back and he’s ok; he’s sober. You should be happy, so why are you so conflicted?

“I’m going to do some research on this ‘Los Iluminados’ group,” you finally say before standing up from the couch to walk into your bedroom, “make sure it isn’t some Jim Jones bullshit…”

“I’ll get dinner started then,” Mark says, also standing up, making his way over to the kitchen, “I’ll holler when dinner’s ready.”

You nod at Mark before walking into the bedroom, sitting down at your desk in the corner of the room, opening your laptop and powering it on. You open up Internet Explorer and open a new Google search window, typing in Los Iluminados which unsurprisingly yielded zero results; with them not having computer access, it makes sense that there’s no trace of this group on the internet by searching their name. You then search cults in Spain and skim through the results. Again, there’s no mention of Los Iluminados anywhere. Drumming your fingers on your desk, you begin to question the letter’s legitimacy. Whoever sent it knew where you lived and that your brother had been missing for two years. No one would go through that much trouble just to prank someone. 

“Babe, dinner’s ready!” you hear Mark call from the kitchen. 

Letting out a sigh, you reluctantly stand up from your desk, walking out of the bedroom to join your boyfriend in the living room, who just finished putting both your plates down onto the coffee table. Laying in the middle of the living room, your 8 year old brindle English Mastiff, André, lifts his head lazily, sniffing the air upon smelling food. You can’t help but let out a chuckle as you sit down on the couch, grabbing your plate to start eating.

“Even in his old age, André has a one track mind,” Mark says, watching as the large dog gets up from the floor. Mark gently pats him on the head, “don’t you buddy?”

“He sure does,” you reply, reaching over to pat the gentle giant before returning to your meal.

“Were you able to find anything on that group in the letter?” Mark asks, looking over at you before taking a bite of food. 

“Not a damn thing. Which I guess makes sense but still…” you say, your voice trailing off as you let out a heavy sigh, “something about it just doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Then we go to Spain, find out if this group is real or not and bounce if it’s just a wild goose chase,” Mark says, weaving his left hand through the air as he speaks.

“And who’s going to watch André?” 

André’s big brown eyes look between the two of you, letting out a soft whimper. Mark mouths the word ‘fuck’ before taking another bite of dinner.

“Right,” Mark says quietly, giving André another pat on the head.

The two of you finish eating dinner in silence, afterwards helping each other clean up the dishes. You let Mark know that you’re going to write a response to Vince’s letter, heading back up to the bedroom to sit back at the desk, pulling out a notebook and a pencil.

May 15, 2008

Vince,

First, I just want to say I am relieved to see that you’re ok and that you’re doing better. You had dropped off the face of the earth and I couldn’t find you anywhere; I thought you were dead! I’m so incredibly glad I was wrong. And, of course, congratulations are in order for your two years of sobriety. I know that’s something you really struggled with and I’m glad this community was able to help you. Is it a religious group? I think Los Iluminados roughly translates to “The Enlightened Ones” if my vague recollection of Spanish serves me right. Regardless, I would love to come visit you and see where you’ve been living these past two years, just let me know where I need to go.

Sis

May 31, 2008

Sis,

I was so excited to see you had written back that I practically ripped the envelope open. Los Iluminados is a small religious community and, I know what you’re thinking, it’s not a cult, so you have nothing to worry about there. They’re really big on living a traditional, almost pagan-like lifestyle and for me, being able to unplug while I got better was exactly what I needed. I’m hoping after experiencing Los Iluminados yourself that you’ll feel the same. As far as getting you here goes, you’ll want to fly into Valencia Airport, we’ll come pick you up from there. Call the enclosed number once you have your flight booked and tell Maria what day you’re coming. I’m looking forward to seeing you!

Vince

You tuck the letter back in your carry on bag, leaning back in your seat on the airplane and closing your eyes. You land in Valencia Airport in less than an hour and you are doing everything in your power to keep your nerves in check and not get your hopes up. You did as Vince had asked, you called this woman named Maria and with really broken Spanish, you had told her you were flying in on June 17th. At some point you must have dozed off because you’re jolted awake when the plane lands on the tarmac.

The plane pulls into the dock and you along with the other passengers file out. You head down to baggage claim to grab your luggage; you had packed about a week’s worth of clothes since you didn’t know how long you were staying. You low key were hoping to talk your brother into coming back to the States with you, but that’s a bridge you’ll cross when you get there. That thought is far from your mind, however, when you get through airport security and immediately spot your brother holding a large sign with your name on it. Your mouth hangs agape as you stop in your tracks. The last time you had seen him, he was a 33 year old who looked almost 50 due to his years of drug abuse. Now? He has color in his face, he’s gained weight and actually looks healthy. His clothes are a little disheveled and covered in dirt, but he’s smiling, probably the first time you’ve seen him smile since you were children.

Dropping your luggage, you run over to your brother, throwing your arms around him and hugging him tight, tears freely flowing from your eyes as you cry out, “it’s you, you’re real! You’re alive!”

Vince tightly hugs you back, rocking you both back and forth before stepping back, smiling down at you as his hands remain on your shoulders, “look at you! All grown up; 25 has treated you nicely!”

You playfully scoff before walking back to grab your luggage, “hardly.”

You return to Vince, who then takes your luggage from you as the two of you begin to walk out of the airport, “how’s Mark? You two are still together, I take it?”

“We are! He’s doing good, he’s at home watching André.”

“André is still around? That’s nice to hear!” Vince says as the two of you walk up to a very beat up looking sedan, “here’s our luxury limousine!”

You playfully smack him with the back of your hand, “very funny, Vince.”

You watch as Vince opens the trunk of the sedan, putting your luggage inside, he looks up at you as he closes the trunk, “go ahead and get in the back seat, Sis.”

You nod in acknowledgement, climbing into the back seat, your brother joining you shortly after. An older couple sits in the driver’s and passenger’s sides of the sedan, promptly driving away from the airport once you and your brother put your seatbelts on. 

“We have about a three hour drive ahead of us, you must be exhausted from your flight,” Vince says, looking over at you and giving you a warm smile.

You nod, feeling your eyes grow heavy from jet lag, however you force your eyes to stay open; you desperately don’t want to miss a single moment with your brother.

“Hey,” Vince lays a hand on your shoulder, “it’s ok, get some rest, I’ll wake you up when we get close to the village.”

“If you say so…” you reply softly. 

You hesitantly let your eyes close, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. It feels like only a moment has passed when Vince shakes you awake.

“Hey Sis, we’re here!”

After getting out of the car, there was still a considerable hike until you got to the village proper. Once getting there, however, you find yourself pleasantly surprised. You weren't sure what you were expecting of a small village at the center of a religious community but what you’re seeing wasn’t it. It is a bonafide village, with actual houses, a town center, a watchtower and a large brick structure towards the back. In the distance, you can see a windmill slowly spinning. You chalk it up to the large number of documentaries you had watched on cults leading up to this trip that painted a picture in your mind of what this village would look like; the small, white cottages of People’s Temple immediately coming to mind. A part of you is glad you were wrong.

“So, what do you think?” Vince asks me, gesturing one of his hands towards the village, “this is where I’ve been these last two years.”

“It’s nothing like what I expected, it’s… honestly really peaceful,” you reply, looking around the village in awe.

You watch as several of the other villagers stop what they’re doing to look at you and your brother, an older woman over by a well giving both of you a warm smile before pulling a bucket of water up from the well.

“My house is over here,” Vince continues, pointing to one of the houses on the left before leading you towards it. 

Vince’s house sits next to the watchtower, he opens the door and walks inside. Before you enter, you happen to turn around and look towards the large brick building in the back of the village. Standing at the door is someone wearing a black cloak with gold trim, underneath his clothes you can tell he’s wearing cargo pants and a tight fitting athletic shirt of some kind. But that’s not what grabs your attention; it’s his azure eyes locked on you, causing your blood to run cold.

“Vince,” you say, your voice trembling as you reach to grab his wrist, stopping him, “who is that over there?”

Vince turns to look where you’re looking, letting out a soft chuckle once he sees who you’re looking at, “him? That’s just Leon. He’s the right hand of our Lord Saddler. He’s probably here to check on things, don’t worry about him. Come inside.”

Vince practically pulls you, shutting and barring the door shut once you’re inside.

“Why are you blocking the door?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as your brother turns to face you.

“We tend to have an open door policy in the village. Where you and I haven’t seen each other for awhile, I figured it’d be best to have some privacy, wouldn’t you agree?”

You nod as you take in your surroundings. There’s a staircase leading upstairs and around the corner, a dining table and a kitchen area. Several candles are burning; they definitely don’t have electricity and running water in this village. Behind your brother is a worn couch.

“Is that where I’m sleeping?” you ask, pointing at the couch.

“Nope, you get the bed upstairs. I can live with the couch for a while. Nothing but the best for my little sis.”

“Thanks Vince,” you reply, grabbing your luggage, “I’ll bring this upstairs, then maybe we can talk. You know… catch up.”

You grab your luggage, dragging it up the stairs. You spot the bed at the end of the bannister next to a window overlooking the village center. As you’re staring out the window, you spot the cloaked man, Leon, again. He’s standing in the center of town, looking right at you. It sends a chill down your spine. You turn around and scream a little when your brother taps you on the shoulder.

“You ok? You weren’t answering me,” Vince says, his face full of concern.

“Sorry… it’s that guy. He’s right down there staring at the window,” you reply, turning to point out the window, however, Leon is gone, “oh, nevermind. It must have been my imagination.”

“He’s like… a guard dog of sorts. He’s probably just making sure you’re chill,” Vince explains, gently grabbing you by your upper arm and leading you back downstairs, “he’s like that with anyone he doesn’t know.”

“Right, of course…” you’re still uneasy, but decide to trust your brother.

“I’ll get started on dinner, have a seat at the table,” says Vince before walking over to the large wood stove, which is already aflame.

“Can I help with anything?” you ask, still standing by the table.

“No, I got it. Been doing this for two years. I can handle it. You’re the guest of honor, you just sit back, relax and let your brother take care of you.”

While your brother prepares dinner for the two of you, you make small talk, getting him caught up on the two years worth of stuff he missed. You told him about Mark and André, told him that your horrendous grandfather finally passed away a year ago; you had caught a smirk on Vince’s face before he turned his attention back to making dinner. Once dinner is finished, he sets both plates down at the table and the two of you dig in.

“Earlier you had said Lord Saddler,” you begin, taking a bite of food before continuing, “Vince… are you sure this isn’t a cult?”

Your brother bursts out laughing, reaching over to put his hand on yours to comfort you, “Lord Osmund Saddler is the patriarch of Los Iluminados and the speaker for the Holy Body. I’m not held here against my will. I promise you with every fiber of my being, this isn’t a cult, Sis.”

“I’m sorry I just… I may have watched a bunch of documentaries before coming here on cults and I just want what’s best for you, that’s all.”

Vince smiles, “Don’t worry, no one is going to drink any Kool Aid here.”

“Vince, that’s terrible!” you playfully smack him, “also it wasn’t even Kool Aid!”

You can’t help but laugh, slowly letting your mind be at ease. It’s clear your brother is happy and healthy here in this village. Before you can continue your conversation with Vince, you hear the chime of a church bell in the distance and you watch as your brother immediately stands up.

“What’s that all about?” you ask, slowly standing up. 

“That is the sound of evening service. Come! I’d love for you to see one of Father Méndez’s services.”

Taking your hand, Vince unblocks the door and takes you outside. You see all the villages are filling into the large brick building you had seen Leon standing in front of earlier.

“That’s the meeting house, we have to pass through it to get to the church,” he explains to you as he leads you to follow the other villagers inside the building. 

Upon walking in there is a large room, shelves of food and supplies lining the walls. In the back of the room was a large painting of a robed man; not Leon, but someone else, Vince notices you staring at the painting.

“That is our Lord Saddler. Hopefully you’ll get to meet him during your visit; he’s a wonderful patriarch, I think you’ll like him.”

There is something about the painting that unsettles you, but you can’t put your finger on it; nor do you have time to because before you know it, Vince is leading you into the adjacent room. This room has a large table lined with chairs on both sides. You both proceed around the table exiting out of the door on the other side with the other villagers. The door takes you out to a winding path which opens up to a cemetery with the church sitting just at the top of the hill.

You and your brother make your way up the hill, following the rest of the villagers into the church where you and your brother sit in one of the pews in the middle. There is an extremely tall man standing at the altar, wearing a black leather trench coat and a large brim hat. His dark beard has subtle white hairs, indicating to you that he’s much older than you and your brother. In fact, now that you think about it, you realize you and your brother are probably the youngest ones in the church.

Behind the imposing man is a large stained glass window decorated with red, blue, green and white. The white glass makes a pattern. You’re not sure what to make of it; it’s almost like a crude insect-like cross with four appendage-like parts extended out with a tail pointing downwards. Once everyone is seated in the pews, the man at the altar addresses the villagers.

“My brothers and sisters,” the man begins, his Hispanic accent thick, “before we begin tonight’s sermon, I wanted to welcome the visitor that Vincent has brought to visit our village.” The man gestures one of his hands towards us, “if you would do the honors, Vincent.”

Your brother stands up, “Gracias, Father Méndez. This is my younger sister,” he says before telling everyone your name, “she’ll be staying with me for a while, we haven’t seen each other since I first came here. I hope you all can join me in showing her what makes Los Iluminados a special community.”

The other villagers clap softly as Vince sits back down. After that, Father Méndez begins the service, which is in Spanish, so you strained your brain to try to pick up bits and pieces of what he’s saying. This doesn’t last long, however as your eye catches movement in the darkness in the back of the church. You feel your heart skip; it’s Leon again, his azure gaze once again locked on you. His expression is cold and emotionless, but there is no doubt in your mind that he is staring at you. 

As if sensing your unease, your brother nudges you with his elbow and whispers, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s Leon again…” you reply, nodding your head in Leon’s direction.

Vince’s gaze follows yours, spotting Leon staring at you from the back of the church. Vince lets out a soft sigh.

“I’ll talk to Father Méndez after the service.”

For the rest of the service, you steal glances towards the back of the church, where Leon remains, still staring at you. At the end of the service, however, when you look back, Leon is finally gone, much to your relief. 

Father Méndez’s booming voice draws your attention back to him, “¡Gloria a Las Plagas!”

“¡Gloria a Las Plagas!” the villagers, including Vince, repeat back.

Gloria a Las… Plagas? you think to yourself, glory to the… plague? Plagues? Pests? What? That makes no sense…

Before you can think it over further, your brother stands up abruptly, pulling you up with him.

“Pablo,” Vince says as he approaches another villager, “¿Puedes llevar a mi hermana de regreso a mi casa? Tengo que hablar con el padre Méndez.”

The man nods, “sí, claro.”

Vince turns his attention back to you, “Pablo here is going to take you back to my house while I talk to Father Méndez about Leon, ok? I won’t be long.”

“Alright, thanks Vince,” you reply as Pablo gently takes you by your upper arm, leading you out of the church.

You turn back, watching your brother approach Father Méndez before the church doors close behind you.

“Vincent,” Méndez begins as Vince approaches him, “what can I do for you, my brother?”

“It’s about Leon,” Vince says, crossing his arms, “I want him to leave my sister alone.”

“What do you mean? You do remember what you agreed to, no?” Méndez presses straightening his posture.

“I do remember, but he is scaring her. All he’s done since she got here is stare at her.”

“And? Are you saying you’re defying the will of Lord Saddler?”

“No, of course not!” Vince exclaims before lowering his voice, “but if we want any chance of her staying in Los Iluminados, he needs to chill out with the staring, ok? Is that too much to ask, Father?”

Méndez brings a hand to his beard, stroking it as he contemplates Vince’s request. After a few moments, he gently nods, “fine. I will speak with Lord Saddler on this.”

“Thank you, Father.”

She is perfect.

Leon stands at the end of the bed that you’re sleeping in, completely oblivious to his presence. Bringing his hands up, he lowers the hood of his cloak. The exposed skin on his neck and face are completely covered in inky black veins and seem to pulse under his skin. He gently crawls onto the bed, being careful not to wake you as he cages you with his body.

Leaning down so that his nose is nearly pressed against the side of your neck, he breathes in your scent deeply, opening his mouth slightly to lick his sharpened incisors with his tongue. He moves away from your neck, staring down at you as he watches your chest rise and fall gently as you slumber. Unable to help himself, he leans back down, his lips hovering above yours when he hears the unmistakable sound of the front door opening downstairs.

His head snaps towards the stairs, crawling off your bed with the grace and stealth of a panther. He brings his hood back up over his head, walking silently over to the open window at the head of the stairs where he had let himself in, climbing out and shutting the window carefully behind him, not leaving a single trace that he was even there.

Part 2

[simp-ly-writes]

hiiii im currently looking for spencer and Alex fics and i found your Page. Could you mabey write one with spencer? Mabey with the reader working in art Departement and reader and spencer are Engaged?? And they film a who memed it Episode with spencer cortney and Angela and reader is in the "crowd" and gave in a meme about spencer and he is the only one who knows that it was reader, because its like an inside joke and they are all cute and sweet when it happenes and after and all that :))))). (Sorry if its Hard to understand im writing this in a hurry)

Meet-Cute

─────── · · A Smosh FanFic

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x Fiancé!Reader

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, fluff, attempt at humour, meet-cute, pre-established relationship/engagement, feel-good.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 964

─ · · A/N: hope you all are having good weeks! 🫶 thank you for the ask, anon, this was was so cute and sweet! and I had way to much for doing that drawing XD

─────── · ·

You met your fiancé at work, most people would think that not to be the most romantic starting point for a relationship and they would be correct. On the first night you and Spencer met, an editor and sculptor both thinking to be the only one left in the office and needing a moment before continuing working. You decided to take a nap on the Games couch.

Bringing a blanket from your desk and a pillow from on of the offices, you set your alarm before practically throwing yourself onto what you thought to be just couch... but how wrong you would be.

(Charles) Spencer Agnew would find himself already on the couch, separate alarm set and forgotten about and fast asleep. That was until his now fiancé landed right into his arms with an abrupt thud before you both were jumping off the couch and screaming like little girls.

─────── · ·

You chuckle to yourself when a meme of that exact scenario flashes up on screen (of your own doing) and do your best to conceal your laughter at the memory while sitting behind camera. The fellow arts department staff also snicker to one another yet everyone else in the room had no clue why a couch and two poorly drawn, MS-paint stick figures with pink-tails were on screen. Everyone but Spencer.

Courtney and Angela, the other two contestants competing against Spencer for the title of winner today take to the crowd as you all neutralize your expressions and mask indifference when Angela's eyes catch your own and squint, trying to pry into your brain yet you only shrug and smile before knocking your shoulder against Shayne who appears equally confused as the rest of the cast members.

"Can we have our answers written on the boards, please," Tommy politely asks. Courtney taps her marker lid against the table, confusion if evident on her face as she looks to Spencer who looks all too content with his answer. "You know who it is, Spence?" She asks, raising a brow as this meme seemed obscenely obscure.

Spencer just shrugged, smiling towards the camera, his left hand tapping his board in a subtle hint that no one but you caught on to as you too started twiddling the fingers on your left hand before Tommy was calling time. "I DON'T KNOW, GIVE ME ONE MORE MINUTE," Angela begged, now standing up from the table before writing down her answer with a huff. Courtney looked positively stressed, "Spencer c'mon give me a hint, I've gotta feeling that I'm going to be made fun of for not knowing this one!" Courtney pleaded as Spencer's grin only grew and yours did too.

"I can't help ya," Spencer replied, now leaning onto the table, curious as to what the others answers would be. "Angela could you present first please," Tommy asked extending his hand out to point at her board.

Flipping it around, in small letters Angela wrote, Alex Tran. "I think its Alex... I guess? I mean Spencer wrote down his answer WAY too fast, so it has to be someone close to him-"

"See that's what I thought too," Courtney added, turning her board around now, and she had written down, SHAYNE, in big, bold capital letters. "I know they hang out a lot together outside of work and by the poorly drawn figures, I don't know on purpose or not, it could be him."

"And Spencer, reveal the answer please," Tommy asked, already knowing his would be the correct one. "I said, (name)."

"And do tell us and the viewers at home, why you choose them."

"Well, (name) and I recently got engaged, woohoo!" Spencer cheers as the office claps and whistles, you start slipping down your chair, embarrassed but flail your ring in the air like a white flag offering. "and this is a meme of our first time meeting each other. We both were staying overnight at the office and didn't think that someone else would also be staying and nevertheless using the couch so we ended up falling on one another and screamed like little girls in panic," Spencer continued yet barley, laughing so harshly in between and everyone seemed to as well as Tommy was knelt over, face red and gasping for air.

"Now that is a story, congratulations you two! And congratulations to Spencer for winning Who Meme'd It with that final point!" You stand up and cheer and Spencer points to you in the crowd, the cameras panning over before you shout. "Thats my man!" and everyone is in tears, clenching their stomaches of laughter.

─────── · ·

Once the cameras were all shut off and the office was going back to their offices and stations, you waited patiently by the door to greet Spencer before he had to direct a Games Video. "I'm surprised not many people knew how we met," he comments, wrapping an arm around your waist as you press a kiss to his cheek.

"I am too, but well, we are quite private about our relationship in the first place. So it would make sense," you say, walking over to the kitchen to grab water bottles for the two of you.

"Well, I'm sure thats going to change now," Spencer says, looking over your shoulder and you do the same. A wild group of cast members are all rushing over to you both as a thousand questions are being waterfall into your face and next thing you both knew, a thirty minute lunch had turned into a two-hour one. But when sharing a kickstarter and some snacks with Spencer's arm wrapped securely around you, his laughter in your ear as he whispered things only for you to hear, you wouldn't have it any other way.

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: 🥹

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2 @delaneyburghardt

[laduenadelswing]

Roommate Simon, who hates baths.

“Hi Simon, do you might if I come home late ? The girls want to go out, but I know you come home from Deployment today…”

“I don't care, nobody can listen to your yapping anyway.” He replied, but it was a lie. He loved to hear her yap about the most mundane things, like she has no care in the world. She was so aloof and free, while he was stoic and cold. To simon you were more than roommates, but he had no gut to confess, what would be the use anyway? He was almost always on a mission, putting his life at risk, you were studying hard to become someone stable.

But when Simon walked into the flat that night, he couldn't believe his senses. Everything smelled like roses and vanilla. The lights were dimly light, the radio was playing some soft music. He went to the kitchen table to find his favourite home-cooked meal and a small letter.

“Enjoy the food, but have a bath first, it's relaxing…” He couldn't suppress his smile, you were always so thoughtful. Simon never regretted moving in with a woman, especially not with you. They are cleaner and more compassionate, after all. Since Simon hated bathes, he was trying to avoid the fact that you were right, his body was aching, half heald wounds, scratches and scars, all his bones felt used and stressed. He laid in the bathtub as the warm water covered him, pulled him into a warm embrace. Damn, it is relaxing after all, is what crossed Simon's mind as he was further sinking into the warm feeling of the water. ´He spent some well deserved free time in the water, but deep down he wanted to have your quirky, free spirted ass in there. Maybe he was staring at you, whenever you were home, maybe he was staring at a picture of yours whenever he was on a mission, maybe he never had the guts to tell you that.

When he finally excited his warm refuge, Simon swiftly put a towel around his waist and went back into the kitchen to get a portion of your delicious food, wrapping his big hands around it and falling onto the sofa, he ate it like a starving man. Your food was so good, he could not get enough of it.

The door creaked open, you wanted to stay silent not to wake Ghost up so late. “ whatcha doin?” Simon asked, his thick accent too distinctive not to recognize it immediately. You turned around, a little taken aback bis his sudden appearance and the influence of alcohol, as well as the fact that he stood there with only a towel around his waist. “I was trying to not wake you up.” You shrugged. He pulled you into a tight hug, his clean skin a stark contrast to yours. Simon was not a man of many words.

Instead, he let you go off, only to pick you up bridal style and carry you into your room. “ Simon, how can I fall for another man when you treat me like a princess?” You asked him as he put you onto your fluffy bed. Whenever Simon was there, he did everything to make you feel good, he picked you up, he waited until you came home from your nights out, he would even accompany you when he thought the club or bar could be dangerous. Simon looked at you with a undetachable expression, as if he was looking into your soul, searching for answers.

“You can't. ” he stated as he slowly closed the distance between your lips.

[annwrites]

⸻ sons & daughters. aemond | driftmark outtake. ⸻

· pairing: young!aemondtargaryen x niece!reader · type: outtake from this series · summary: aemond reunites with you at driftmark after your family's swift departure from the red keep. · tw: underage—you have been warned. · word count: 2,319 · ꒰a/n꒱: gif

"I would perform my duty," Aemond states, looking at you over his shoulder. "If mother had only betrothed us."

You part from your siblings, walking down stone steps, hot tears running down your cheeks. You've barely had a moment free of them since father...since Harwin died.

Your mother does not want you, nor your siblings, to speak of it. So you are forced to instead sequester yourself away to lonesome corners, or to your chambers to grieve with no one to comfort you.

You do not even have Aemond to lean on now. Not since your mother also forced your family out of the Red Keep and onto a lonely island instead.

You will never call it home.

He had stared at you through the service—your uncle—the look on his face unreadable. So you had kept your eyes downcast, shifting on your feet, fighting back fresh tears as Vaemond gave his niece her eulogy. A eulogy which had eventually turned into vicious insinuations, which served only to make your stomach twist nervously.

Everything seems wrong now.

You've never felt so alone before.

You walk down a few more steps, looking behind you, and when you see that you are out of everyone's line-of-sight, you double over, sobbing into your hands.

Aemond parts from his siblings in search of you.

You've yet to speak a word to him.

The two of you have been exchanging letters since you'd left home, so he'd been most-assured that being reunited here would finally bring him the vision he's been dreaming of daily of you running into his arms once again.

Instead, you'd stared dead-eyed and lifelessly as Lady Laena's casket was lowered into the sea, like you had gone away somewhere else within yourself. And once the service was through, you'd disappeared from the crowded throngs of people gathered round.

He weaves between bodies, glancing this way and that, looking for one particularly comely face, until he reaches a set of steps leading downward and he hears a familiar, quiet cry.

He steps down them, finding you curled into yourself, shaking and crying, so much so that you gasp for air, choking on your own tears.

"Niece," he calls softly.

Your head jerks in his direction and his heart sinks when he takes in your blotchy tear-stricken face.

You quickly wipe at your cheeks with your palms. "Aemond—"

"Uncle," he says, correcting you, taking a seat beside you.

He then pulls you into his arms, wrapping his green velvet cloak around your shoulders. "It's alright. You can cry if you wish. It's just us."

Your chin wobbles and then you turn into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as sobs wrack through your body.

He is silent for a moment, rubbing his hand against your back.

"I'm sorry...about Ser Harwin."

You begin to cry impossibly harder, confirming for him the source of your despair.

"I miss you," he whispers.

You wrap your arms around his middle and he presses a soft kiss to your long brown hair.

"I am...glad we're here together. Even given the circumstances."

You nod softly, hiccupping. "Me too."

He rests his cheek atop your head, closing his eyes, feeling—for the first time since your sudden absence from the one place you are meant to call home—at peace. "I've enjoyed our letters. Hearing from you, that is. It makes you seem not so far away at times."

You press yourself to his chest.

"I hate Dragonstone," you state. "I want to go home."

He tightens his arms around you. "I want that as well."

A beat of silence.

"We should be together. We're supposed to be."

There's a soft knock at your door and you set down your porcelain doll, padding over to it. "Who...who's there?"

"Uncle Aemond," comes a quiet reply.

Just then, a lock slides free and you slowly open the door just a crack. "What're you doing?"

He glances behind you. "Can I come in? I thought...you might be lonely."

You consider for a moment, then nod, opening the door wider, allowing him entrance.

You lock it once more behind you as you turn to him. "Did anyone see—"

"They never do," he says, coming back toward you, taking your face in his hands, pressing his lips to yours.

You rear back, stumbling. "Aemond—"

"Uncle," he insists. "It's been...weeks. And we...we miss each other. I thought you'd want to."

You blink at him for just a moment, tugging nervously at the sleeves on your nightgown. "I just don't want to get in trouble. We've never...been here before. It's not like the Red Keep where we had hiding places. And the passages."

He glances around, then settles his eyes on your wardrobe, nodding to it. "If someone comes, I'll hide in there."

He looks back to you.

And then you smile softly, nodding. "Okay."

Aemond's fingers slip clumsily between your legs and he looks to you, his hand trembling as you stare up at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Does...does that feel good?" He asks, his voice wavering with unsurety.

You nod, gripping the hem of your nightgown that's bunched up around your naked waist.

He nods just once in return, continuing.

You whimper quietly and his eyes flit to the door. "We...we have to be quiet, Y/N."

"I know," you whisper.

Your body jerks, then settles again and you begin to pant softly. "I...think I'm...almost. I think..."

He leans down, pressing a brief kiss to your lips, his heart hammering away in his chest.

You close your eyes then, concentrating.

He watches your features twitch and your brows furrow, your hips lifting to meet his hand. "I'm—" he pauses. "I'm glad we could. One last time. Are...are you?"

You nod. "Yes."

When you're finally overcome with that wonderful feeling neither of you has a name for yet, it's with you biting your lip and Aemond staring at the door, terrified at any moment the two of you may be caught. Even if the lock is in-place.

Part of him hopes for it, however. If you were, his mother and yours—his father, the King—would have no choice but to betroth you then. To make his beloved niece his for forever.

You glance down to Aemond's trousers, then back to him.

He blushes madly. "I...well, something happened when we were..."

You blush as well. "Oh."

It's happened before—him doing that in his pants without you even touching him. Neither of you are sure if it's normal, but he always seems embarrassed by it, so you don't dwell on it, either.

He lies back, resting his head atop a feather pillow.

You curl against his side, resting a small hand atop his chest, which he takes in one of his own.

"I love you," he whispers. "My niece."

You smile, closing your eyes, feeling content for the first time since leaving King's Landing. "I love you, too, Uncle Aemond."

When you wake, it's dark and you're alone in bed, Aemond's side now empty and cold.

You rise with bleary eyes, yawning, wanting to go in search of him.

He wouldn't have gone back to his chambers, would he? He'd told you he would stay. This was to be your one night together to talk and laugh and enjoy each other's company before being ripped apart again.

You shrug on a small robe, padding over to the door, trying to remember which way he'd said his room was.

Until you see people rushing past you in a frenzy.

And then one of your mother's handmaids spots you. "Princess," she says, voice breathless. "Come, your household has been summoned to the Great Hall."

She takes your hand in hers, leading you that way.

"Where's momma?" You ask quietly. "What's happening?"

"All will be well, Princess," is all the reply she gives.

You wish Aemond were here. You're sure he would know. He always knows. About everything.

There is much commotion when you enter the Great Hall—many familiar faces present: Queen Alicent, your grandsire, Ser Otto, Ser Criston, as well as your brothers.

Your brothers...who have blood on them and seem...frightened. You begin to scan the room in a panic then, and it is only when Queen Alicent steps to the side that you see.

And you let out a scream, many heads turning in your direction, Aemond's own shooting up—only one eye focusing on you.

Tears stream down your cheeks and you cup your hands over your mouth as you head toward him—your feet moving all on their own—until a hand pulls you back.

You look behind you to the Princess Rhaenys, and she merely wraps that same hand around your shoulder, holding you in-place.

"Aemond," you say between sobs and he merely stares back at you without a word.

Your eyes flit to his mother and she meets your gaze briefly before shaking her head, turning back to her son.

You stand behind your mother, clutching at her skirts, trembling violently, watching as blood oozes from her wrist and onto the floor.

"M-m-mama," you say quietly and Jace wraps an arm around your shoulders, shooshing you.

And then Aemond interrupts the tense silence.

"Do not mourn me, Mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye...but I gained a dragon."

You let out a quiet sob, shrugging off your brother's arm, going to step away from your mother, until Aemond gives a small shake of his head and your steps falter.

He stands, taking his own mother's hand, their household exiting the room.

You stare after him, feeling empty.

You seat yourself on the balcony outside, a war raging in your young, tired mind.

You do not know who you should be more upset with.

Luke for taking Aemond's eye—or perhaps he, Jace, Baela, and Rhaena altogether for attacking him to begin with.

Aemond for calling you and your siblings bastards. He...he's told you more times than you can count that he loves you. Why would he say such things, then? Even if they are true, he's never used it against you to hurt you before.

But he himself had been hurt. So, mayhaps, that is why. He was merely lashing out. Understandably so.

Queen Alicent for harming mama. But she was angry. Her son has now been permanently disfigured. Mama would do the same for any of you.

This was not how the night was meant to be. Aemond had promised that come the morn, the two of you would break your fasts together, and then give each other a kiss goodbye.

And now...everything is ruined.

You look up then, watching as Vhagar circles the sky above, and you continue to think of him.

Aemond had, for so long, when you were much younger, seemed larger than life to you. He was older, a prince, your uncle. He seemed to know everything when you were little. You'd often toddle around, trailing after him, holding his hand, babbling incoherent nonsense before you knew how to speak, but every word he spoke to you? It was like magic.

His name had been among some of your first words. A shortened version, perhaps—'mend'—but his name, nonetheless.

You might've screamed like an utter brat at the top of your lungs once or twice when you had gone to his chambers as a little girl, when met at the doorway by his Queen Mother telling you he was busy with his lessons and could not have company at the moment. He'd been the only thing in all the world you'd ever pitched a fit or misbehaved over.

As soon as he heard you wailing for him, however, he always came—your sour demeanor quickly changing to that of smiles and giggles.

So him having claimed the largest dragon in all the world? She was meant for him to have.

And to be punished for it, and in such a terrible way... You blame yourself.

If you had been there when your siblings and cousins went to seek vengeance for him rightfully claiming her...you could've stopped things, you're sure.

What you don't know is that Aemond had left you to sleep, simply because he wanted you to have your rest and to be safe incase his plan with Vhagar...did not go accordingly. If you were ever caused harm due to his actions, he'd never forgive himself.

But if he did manage to claim her, he'd wanted to surprise you in the morn by sailing through the skies with you—listening as you laughed and screamed excitedly in his arms. As he promised you that once he was older and bigger, he would take you away, and the two of you would become husband and wife.

You would no longer have to play pretend at it then.

When will he learn...fairytales only ever exist in books.

Aemond looks behind him—behind Vhagar—as Driftmark grows smaller in the distance and he fills with regret.

He should've met you halfway in the Great Hall. Should've wrapped his arms around you. Should've...should've damned himself further by telling them all what he'd done with you as they slept.

He's sure that with so many bearing witness to such testimonies there would be no other way about it then. Your father would betroth the two of you in an instant—his mother's wishes finally overridden.

But he'd held his tongue, stayed his hand, because she'd suffered enough already—had risked all to find recompense on his behalf as she sliced into your mother's skin with that blade.

He will write to you as soon as he reaches home. Will reassure you of his love for you. Of how he thinks of naught else except you now.

But he does not know, nor you, that such correspondences...will never reach your wanting hands.

Nor yours his.

[wholoveseggs]

Dark Star {Part Four}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Four

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} In the present day, Cami takes matters into her own hands by going to the police, urging detectives to search for your killer. Meanwhile, Rebekah and Kol return to Mystic Falls to seek Bonnie Bennett’s help...and run into an old friend. In the past, your church has a watchful eye on your every move as fear of demons brew among the villagers, risking your exposure and ruin.

5.4k words - Warnings: so much angst, Cami trying her best, Kol and Rebekah being an iconic duo in Mystic Falls, murder investigations, pain with a sprinkle of more pain on top, hallucinations, demons and Klaus having a little treat...

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}{Part Six}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss

Cami sat nervously in the waiting area of the police department, wondering why she ever thought this was a good idea. What was she going to say? That she knew a vampire that was murdered? They would want details she couldn’t give… like, where’s the body? How does she know there was a murder?

She could already hear them laughing her out of the office.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. This was the right thing to do. She had a hunch, and it was her job to follow through.

A door opened, and a tall, no-nonsense detective stepped out, scanning the room until his gaze landed on her. With a slight nod, he motioned for her to follow him, leading her to a small, windowless room.

“How can I help you, Miss O'Connell?” he asked, settling into a chair across from her.

Cami took a breath, the uncertainty bubbling up again. “I… I have a friend who went missing, and I was hoping the police could help me find her.”

“Missing?” The detective’s brow lifted, his expression shifting to mild skepticism.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. She’s been missing for several months…” Cami replied, realizing too late how wrong that sounded.

“Months?” His skepticism deepened, one eyebrow arched.

“Yes,” she repeated, trying to sound more confident.

“Miss O'Connell,” he said, softening his tone just slightly, “you’re aware that most missing persons cases aren’t solved. Many aren’t even reported until it’s too late.”

“I understand,” she replied, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap.

The detective sighed, studying her closely. “Do you have any evidence of foul play?”

Cami’s mind raced. “No… I don’t have evidence, but I know something is wrong. She wouldn’t just disappear.”

“Alright,” he said, pulling out a notepad. “Let’s start with her name and tell me what she looks like.”

Cami swallowed again, steadying herself as she described you: the color of your hair, the shade of your eyes, the way you always wore that silver bracelet. She felt the lump in her throat grow as she spoke, picturing you more vividly with each word.

The detective listened, his expression hardening slightly. “Did she have any enemies?”

A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “She… well, she had a lot of enemies,” she admitted, immediately regretting it.

He raised an eyebrow, jotting something down. “Enemies?”

“Yes, but she was… a private person. I don’t really know who they were,” she said, guilt pricking at her as she lied.

The detective’s patience began to wear thin. “Miss O'Connell, if I’m going to help, you need to be honest. What aren’t you telling me?”

Cami hesitated, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. She glanced down, trying to find the words. “It’s a long story,” she managed, her voice small.

“We have time.”

“It’s a very long story,” she repeated, almost pleading.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I have several open murder cases on my desk. I’m not going to spend hours on a missing person unless you can give me a reason to. So if you have something to tell me, spit it out. Otherwise, we’re done here.”

“Right, sorry,” she stammered, her cheeks burning. “It’s just… my friend was married into a very powerful family of vampires, and she is one herself. And she was murdered, I know where and when, so I need your help collecting forensic evidence.”

He stared at her, his face blank. “Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I was,” she said softly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “Please leave.”

“But-”

“Miss O'Connell, unless you want me to throw you in jail for wasting police time, I suggest you leave now,” he said, his tone cold.

Cami rose, shame washing over her. “I’m sorry. I was just hoping-”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his expression hardening.

She hurried out, her heart pounding, a mix of anger and humiliation clouding her mind. She had been foolish to think the police would help. As she walked down the hallway, she caught sight of a bulletin board covered in photographs and reports. Missing people. Her heart sank as she stared at the faces.

“Hey!” she called out as a young officer passed by.

“Yeah?”

“What’s this for?” she asked, nodding to the board.

“Murder victims, same motive. Possible serial killer,” he said.

A chill ran down her spine. “Can I look at the case file?”

The officer raised an eyebrow, giving her a wary look. “Sorry, ma’am, but those files are confidential.”

“Right. Thanks.” She forced a polite smile, walking quickly out of the building. Once outside, she pulled out her phone and dialed Klaus’s number.

“Cami?” Klaus answered, his tone warm.

“I’m at the police station. They’ve got a case on a possible serial killer,” she said, her words spilling out. “All the victims… Klaus, they look just like her.”

There was a long, tense pause on the line.

“Stay where you are,” he said finally, his voice low and serious. “I’ll be there in minutes.”

Relief washed over her as she hung up, the weight of fear lessened. Maybe, just maybe, they were onto something real.

“Rebekah, darling, be a dear and pass me that bottle,” Kol gestured lazily toward the expensive bourbon behind the bar.

She raised an eyebrow. “Planning on getting wasted? We’ve got work to do, Kol.”

“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy,” he replied, grabbing the bottle as soon as it was in reach. He poured himself a generous amount, then one for her. “I died in this town. I’m entitled to a drink.”

Rebekah sighed but accepted the glass, taking a small sip. “Technically, we both did. Though, you managed to do it twice.”

Kol smirked, savoring his drink. “Ah, yes. I nearly forgot how much fun it was the first time.”

He turned, leaning back against the bar, surveying the Mystic Grill’s bustling crowd. Music hummed in the background, laughter and chatter filling the air along with the scent of alcohol. The place had changed, yet a strange sense of familiarity lingered.

“This place brings back memories,” Kol mused, his tone light. “There was a lovely little spot nearby where I’d... relieve myself. Quiet, private.”

Rebekah grimaced. “You’re disgusting.”

"What? Like you didn't have your spots, Rebekahhh," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I liked the view, nothing makes the bowels move quite like the morning sunrise,"

She let out a sound of disgust, and tossed back her drink, setting her glass down and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Not much has changed about this place, still a glorious shit hole," He quipped, taking another gulp of his drink.

She rolled her eyes, leaning back against the counter and scanning the crowd. Her eyes landed on a familiar face sitting in a booth, and she smirked. "You can't be serious,"

"What?" He asked, arching an eyebrow, turning to look at where she was staring. "Oh, for fucks sake,"

Stefan Salvatore was sitting in a booth, alone, sipping on his drink. He was watching them, his expression carefully neutral, his body tense.

"I'll deal with him," Kol muttered, standing up.

"Kol, behave," Rebekah warned, elbowing him.

"When have I ever not behaved?" He shot back, smirking.

"Do you want a list?" She snapped, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "We are here to convince that Bennett witch to help us, not cause trouble."

"I'm just going to say hi," he defended, holding his hands up. "If anything happens, it will be entirely his fault,"

She rolled her eyes and released his arm, giving him a pointed look.

He winked at her and strode towards Stefan, a grin spreading across his face, sliding into the seat across from him. "Well, well, if it isn't the famous Ripper of Monterey. Seems you have a new hobby of stalking people,"

Stefan smiled faintly, swirling the bourbon in his glass. "I'm just enjoying a drink at my local bar,"

Kol chuckled, shaking his head, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "How long have you been following us, hm?"

"Since you showed up," Stefan answered, taking a sip of his drink. "I thought you and your family moved on to New Orleans."

"Oh, we did," Kol grinned, tilting his head. "But, we've always had a fondness for this place. We are sentimental like that,"

"So this is just a vacation then?" Stefan asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"In a sense," Kol shrugged. "Family business, you know how it is,"

Stefan hummed, raising an eyebrow. "Does this have anything to do with the death of your sister-in-law?"

"Oh, you're a busy little birdie," Kol drawled, his smile widening. "Where did you hear that?"

"It's not everyday that a Mikaelson dies," Stefan replied, his tone light. "That kind of news gets around."

"Ah, yes, the supernatural grapevine," Kol sighed, rolling his eyes. "A dreadful thing. So, have you heard anything useful?"

Stefan stared at him, his jaw clenching, Kol could tell he was afraid, even though he made great efforts to hide it. "Like I said, just rumors."

Kol laughed, shaking his head. "Don't worry, Stef. You're safe, Rebekah would have my head if I killed you."

Stefan raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that would stop you,"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Kol scoffed, tilting his head. "Your neck is intact, isn't it?"

"Why are you really here, Kol?" Stefan asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Looking for a friend of yours, perhaps you could help me," Kol replied, a smile tugging at his lips. "We need to speak to a young Miss. Bennett."

Stefan frowned, his eyes darkening. "What do you want with her?"

"Relax, Stefan," Kol sighed, shaking his head. "We're not planning on harming her. We just need her help, that's all."

Stefan leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering to Rebekah who was walking towards them. "And if she says no?"

Kol's smile widened, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Then we'll convince her otherwise,"

Stefan tensed, his expression hardening, his hand tightening around his glass. "Is that a threat?"

Rebekah let out an annoyed sigh and leaned over the table, pinching Kol’s arm. "Stop being an ass."

"Ow," he whined, rubbing his arm. "You're supposed to be helping,"

She glared at him, then looked at Stefan. "Don't mind my brother, he was dropped on his head when he was a baby,"

"I was not," Kol protested, frowning.

She rolled her eyes and moved to sit next to Stefan, placing her hand over his, smiling sweetly. "Tell me, what is Bonnie up to these days?"

"Bonnie isn't going to help you," Stefan answered, his voice hard. "She's not exactly a fan of your family,"

"We aren't looking to be friends," Rebekah said, shaking her head. "All we need is a little help,"

"Help with what, exactly?" Stefan pressed, his eyes narrowing.

Kol and Rebekah exchanged a glance, and Rebekah gave him a nod.

"The death of my sister-in-law was a bit unexpected," Kol explained, his voice low, his smile fading. "We want to fix that, bring her back,"

Stefan let out a dark chuckle, leaning back in his chair, shaking his head. "So it's true? Elijah has gone off the deep end?"

"You are hardly one to judge, darling," Rebekah remarked, glaring at him.

"Look, I have no interest in being dragged into Mikaelson family drama," Stefan replied, his voice tight. "And neither will Bonnie,"

Rebekah let out a soft sigh, and glanced at her brother, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "Brother, will you get me a drink?"

"Sure, Bex," he said, giving her a wide smile before heading up and walking to the bar.

Rebekah leaned in, her voice lowering. "I think you have misunderstood us, this isn't a request. We are asking politely for you to tell us where Bonnie is... Or I will force the answer out of you,"

"I would like to see you try," Stefan replied, his words laced with challenge.

"I'm stronger than I look," she murmured, her gaze lingering on him, her smile turning sly. "You of all people should know that."

Stefan stared at her, and she could see the tension in his shoulders, the wariness in his eyes.

Kol returned and set a glass of whiskey down in front of her, sliding back into his seat, sipping on his own drink.

"One last chance, love," Rebekah purred, taking a small sip, her gaze locked on Stefan's. "Tell us where to find Bonnie, or things will get ugly."

"You can do whatever you need to do to me. I'm not giving up my friends," Stefan said, his jaw clenching, his eyes flashing.

Rebekah let out a long sigh, and reached over, her fingers trailing along his jaw, tilting his head to the side.

"Look around Stef, all the people in this bar, they have interesting looking drinks in front of them, don't they?" She asked, her voice soft.

Stefan stiffened, his brow furrowing, his gaze sweeping over the bar. All the glasses in front of the patrons seemed to be filled with a bright blue liquid.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice strained.

"Those drinks aren't exactly... safe," Kol chimed in, his tone full of amusement. "It's absolutely horrid what antifreeze can do to a human's internal organs."

"Antifreeze?" Stefan repeated, his eyes widening, a hint of fear flashing across his face.

"Mhm, it's actually a rather effective poison," Kol added, grinning.

"To Stefan Salvatore," Rebekah said, raising her glass, her gaze locking with his.

Stefan watched in horror as all the patrons raised their glasses with her, some holding their cups to their lips, poised to drink. She had compelled the whole bar, and it was a terrifying sight.

"Wait, stop," he stammered, panic rising in his chest.

Rebekah smiled and put her glass down, everyone else doing the same. "Where is Bonnie?"

"Fine," he said, swallowing hard, his pulse racing. "I'll give you her address,"

"Good boy," she said, her smile widening, patting him on the cheek.

"You're psychotic," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Oh, darling, I'm a Mikaelson, this is just a Tuesday for us," she replied, winking at him. "Write down the address,"

Stefan glared at her, but obliged, quickly scribbling down the address on a napkin.

She snatched it from him, and tucked it into her purse, before getting to her feet. Her blonde hair swayed behind her as she turned and headed towards the exit, not looking back.

"Lovely seeing you again, Stef," Kol called out, smirking. He got up and followed her, leaving a defeated Stefan sitting alone.

13th century Europe

Evening mass was almost over, and you were growing more and more bored, wishing you were anywhere else. Your attention was drawn to the window, the full moon hanging low in the sky. It was a beautiful sight, reminding you of your night with Elijah, and the promise he had made. You smiled faintly, a faint blush coloring your cheeks.

You could feel Mother Mathilde's stern gaze fixed on you, and you tried to look serious, straightening in the pew. But the thoughts wouldn't leave your mind. You wondered if he would ask you to marry him, if he would take you away from the convent. A strange sort of longing gripped your heart, and you realized, more than anything, you wanted to be his wife. You wanted to live by his side, grow old with him, share his bed, have his children. The realization surprised you, a wave of panic rising within you, and you swallowed hard, trying to calm yourself.

As the priest finished his final prayer, you joined the others, standing and reciting the closing hymn. Your voice faltered as Mother Mathilde stood, moving to the altar, her expression unreadable. She nodded to the priest and turned to face the congregation.

"There has been some troubling news," she announced, her voice loud and clear, filling the sanctuary.

Your brow furrowed, and you listened, waiting for her to continue.

"There is reason to believe demons may be among us," she continued, her eyes sweeping over the crowd.

Murmurs erupted from the congregation, and you felt a chill run down your spine, your stomach twisting into knots.

"Two of our children were nearly attacked last night in the forest," Mother Mathilde's voice rose, silencing the crowd. "We must be vigilant and pray that God will protect us from this evil."

Your heart was pounding, and you were certain that you had heard her correctly. In the woods? Was it near the same place you had spent the night with Elijah? 

"Be wary of those who tempt you into sin," Mother Mathilde's gaze swept over the room, her eyes stopping on you. "Be mindful of those who wish to lead you astray,”

Your stomach sank, and you felt a rush of embarrassment, a sudden urge to run out of the chapel. You stared at the ground, heat rising in your cheeks, shame burning within you.

"Have any of you been tempted? Speak now so we can root out this evil," the priest called out, his eyes searching the crowd.

You swallowed hard, keeping your head down, your heart racing. You knew it was a trap, and yet, you couldn't resist the urge to look at her. You raised your head, catching her gaze, and immediately regretted it. She was staring at you, her expression full of judgment. You felt like a child being scolded, your eyes falling back to the floor, unable to look at her anymore.

"For those who lay with demons are anointed by evil, and must be cleansed," she declared, her voice full of conviction. “We must prevent this sickness from spreading by all means that we possess,”

You couldn't move, frozen in place, panic rising within you. You didn't know what to do, or where to go, so you sat there, waiting, hoping she wouldn't come for you.

The priest began speaking again, and the rest of the congregation joined in, reciting a prayer. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the words, but it was useless. All you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears, the sound of your heart pounding. You were terrified, and all you could think about was running.

Suddenly, there was a commotion behind you, and the chapel door swung open. Several of the nuns rushed in, their faces pale, their eyes wide. They were carrying a limp body between them, and as they laid it on the ground, you realized with horror, that it was Sister Claire.

The other nuns gasped, and several cried out, crossing themselves. You couldn't look away, transfixed by the gruesome scene. Her throat had been torn out, and her blood was everywhere, pooling on the stone floor, staining the white robes of the nuns.

"Dear God," Mother Mathilde exclaimed, her eyes wide, her face ashen.

The priest crossed himself, his voice shaky. "It seems the demons have claimed their first victim."

Elijah was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, studying his reflection. His hair was damp and tousled, his cheeks smooth, his chin freshly shaven. His deep, dark brown eyes, full of secrets and sadness. He could see the weight of his years etched in the lines on his face, the shadows beneath his eyes that refused to fade.

He could feel the ghost of your hands wrapping around his shoulders, see your smiling reflection in the mirror as you gazed at him, your face radiant with happiness. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, allowing himself the dangerous comfort of imagining your touch. It was like being caressed by a shadow… your fingers tracing the contours of his body, exploring the planes and ridges. Your voice echoed softly, teasing and affectionate, calling his name as if you were still there.

"It’s okay to be sad, Eli," you had once told him, pressing a kiss to his neck, your fingers resting over his heartbeat. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."

He felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids and swallowed hard, forcing the memory back. He had been vulnerable enough already, and he couldn’t afford to give in further. Opening his eyes, he steadied his gaze in the mirror, his grip on the sink tightening until his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenched. He had promised to always protect you, and yet, here he was. A failure. The ache in his chest spread, crushing, unrelenting, leaving him feeling like a ship adrift, helpless in the abyss.

He avoided looking at the wedding ring on his finger, a sharp reminder of what he had lost. It felt wrong to take it off, yet the temptation to cast it aside was almost overwhelming.

Turning away from the mirror, he grabbed a towel, drying himself off before wrapping it around his waist. Returning to the bedroom, he saw you. Your phantom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

"You know it's your fault, right?" you teased, tilting your head. "If you had just left me alone, none of this would have happened."

"I didn’t have a choice," he replied, his voice hoarse, tight with emotion. "I loved you. I couldn’t let you go."

"Liar," you laughed, shaking your head. "You didn’t love me. You wanted to own me, possess me."

"No, I-" he started, but the words caught in his throat.

"You turned me into a monster, corrupted my soul," you hissed, your eyes flashing, a cruel smile tugging at your lips. "You destroyed me, Elijah."

He closed his eyes, turning his face away, unable to look at this twisted version of you. "I’m sorry," he whispered.

"Pathetic," you sneered, contempt dripping from your voice.

He couldn’t bear it anymore, his heart breaking all over again. Retreating to the bathroom, he shut the door behind him, pressing his back against it as he took a shuddering breath, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

"Go away," he whispered, his voice strained.

"No," your voice answered, the doorknob rattling, the door shaking as if it would break under your rage. "You promised to love me, to protect me."

"I know," he murmured, his voice thick with grief and regret. "I know."

"You lied," you spat, the doorknob rattling harder, the door creaking and straining against its hinges.

"Please," he begged, tears slipping down his cheeks.

"Open the door," the voice hissed, rattling the knob with renewed violence, the door cracking under the pressure.

"Go away," he whispered, his heart pounding in his chest, every muscle tensed.

And then, abruptly, there was silence. The only sound was his own heartbeat, thudding in his ears, drowning out everything else.

He stayed still, afraid to move, unsure of what might happen if he did. His entire body felt frozen, rooted to the spot, waiting.

From downstairs, he heard the sounds of Cami, Klaus, and Marcel entering the compound, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain his composure. He couldn’t let them see hin so weak and broken. He knew he couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever.

"Elijah?" Klaus’s voice echoed through the compound, laced with worry.

Clearing his throat, Elijah steadied himself and opened the door. The bedroom was empty, the ghost of you nowhere in sight. He let out a long, uneven sigh, then went down to the courtyard, where Klaus, Cami, and Marcel waited for him.

On the table were at least forty photographs, each one of a different woman. They all looked hauntingly like you.

Elijah frowned, stepping closer, his gaze sweeping over the pictures, brow furrowing as he took in each face.

"What’s this?" he asked, his voice low.

"It’s the list," Klaus answered, his tone grave.

"Of what?" Elijah asked, his confusion mounting.

"Victims," Marcel explained, watching Elijah closely. "Louisiana has a serial killer."

Elijah stiffened, his eyes darkening as he picked up one of the photos, staring at it, his stomach twisting. It was an image of a woman lying in the woods, stab wounds in her hands and feet, her face pale and ashen. She had the same hair as you, the same shape of your mouth. He swallowed hard, anger rising in his chest.

"Why are you showing me this?" he asked, his voice strained.

"We think there might be a connection to your wife’s death," Cami said softly, her eyes full of sympathy.

"This has nothing to do with her," he growled, his fingers gripping the picture.

"They all look just like her, brother," Klaus pointed out, his brow furrowed. "It’s hard to ignore."

"No," Elijah muttered, shaking his head, refusing to accept the implication. "You’re wrong."

"Look at the pictures," Klaus insisted, his voice firm. "It’s too much of a coincidence."

Elijah’s gaze dropped back to the photos, the truth sinking in. It felt like looking at countless versions of you. And yet, none of them were truly you.

"The killer has been operating in Louisiana for years," Cami continued, her voice gentle. "No one has ever gotten close enough to identify the suspect, much less stop them."

"There was a pattern to the murders, at least until recently," Marcel added. "They were all killed in or around churches,"

"My wife wasn't murdered in a church," Elijah said, his voice hard.

"As far as we know," Klaus argued, his eyes flashing. "You found her body in the streets, but it doesn't mean she was killed there."

Elijah let out a frustrated sigh, his jaw clenching. He knew his brother was right, and the thought made his blood boil.

"Whoever did this is a sick bastard," Marcel said, his voice edged with anger. "They take their time, torture their victims for days, even weeks before they kill them."

Elijah's stomach churned, and he set the photo down, his eyes closing, a wave of nausea hitting him. The thought of you suffering like that made his skin crawl, his heart ache.

"I compelled a very friendly detective to let me borrow his files," Klaus said, smirking. "The last crime scene was not too far from here,"

Elijah's eyes snapped open, his gaze locking with his brother's.

"We could take a look," Klaus suggested, his tone cautious. "Maybe there's something there we can use,"

"I'll get my coat," Elijah said, his voice flat.

Klaus nodded, a grim smile tugging at his lips.

Cami sighed, her shoulders sagging, worry etched on her features. Marcel squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, his expression solemn.

"Let's go," Elijah muttered, moving past them, his thoughts racing.

There was no way this was connected to your death, it couldn't be. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was a chance. He didn't know what he would do if it was true.

13th century Europe Since the announcement of demons in the village, Mother Mathilde had increased her scrutiny over the sisters. You knew she was watching you, waiting for you to slip up, hoping to catch you in the act of sin. But you were careful, keeping your distance, staying out of her way. Still, she found excuses to punish you, giving you extra chores and longer hours.

"She's going to work you until your fingers bleed," Sister Margaret said, her voice hushed.

You shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, though you felt anything but. "It's nothing I can't handle,"

Sister Margaret looked at you, her eyes full of concern. "Still, it isn't right. You haven't done anything wrong."

You swallowed, thinking of the night you spent with Elijah, the promises he made. Had you been foolish? Had you led him to Sister Claire, causing her death? A wave of guilt washed over you, and you shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away.

"I'll be fine," you insisted, forcing a smile.

"If you say so," Sister Margaret sighed, turning her attention back to the task at hand.

You worked in silence, scrubbing the floors, your thoughts drifting. You couldn't stop thinking about Elijah, the way he held you, the promises he made. A part of you feared him, what temptation he had brought into your life. Another part was drawn to him, the desire still lingering within you.

You felt tainted, dirty, knowing that he was a demon. Still, there was a part of you that longed for him, the desire pulsing deep within you. You couldn't explain it, the way he made you feel, the way he changed your life. It was like a force of nature, powerful and all-consuming.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up, surprised to see Sister Margaret rushing towards it.

"I'll get it," she called, hurrying to the front of the convent.

You continued working, but your curiosity was piqued, wondering who had come to the door. You heard the muffled voices of Sister Margaret and the visitor, but you couldn't make out what they were saying.

"She's here, she'll see you," Sister Margaret said, her voice sounding surprised.

You straightened, wiping your hands on your apron, wondering who the visitor was.

Sister Margaret returned, her eyes wide, a hint of panic in her voice. "There is a nobleman here to see you... Lord Mikaelson,"

You swallowed, feeling a mixture of dread and excitement. What was he doing here? Why did he want to see you?

"Tell him I'm not available," you said quickly, trying to keep your voice steady.

Sister Margaret frowned, studying you. "Is something wrong?"

You shook your head, unable to meet her eyes. "No, everything is fine, I just... I don't feel well. Tell him I can't see him,"

She hesitated, her eyes full of concern. "I'm sorry, but he's very insistent. He says it's urgent."

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. "Fine, I'll speak with him. Just give me a moment."

Sister Margaret nodded and turned, leaving you alone. You took a few moments to compose yourself, knowing that whatever Elijah had come for, it wouldn't be good. You smoothed your hair, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

You walked down the corridor, stepping into the reception room. The space was sparsely furnished, with only a few chairs and a small table. The walls were bare, save for a cross and a painting of the Virgin Mary.

You could see Elijah standing by the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked out of place, dressed in a fine tunic and cloak, the sunlight casting a glow on his pale skin.

You stood in the doorway, unable to move, feeling a strange mixture of emotions.

"You shouldn't be here," you said finally, your voice trembling slightly.

He turned, his gaze locking on yours. "Neither should you,"

"What are you doing here?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"I need to speak with you, in private," he replied, his voice low.

You glanced around, looking for Sister Margaret, but she was nowhere in sight. "This isn't the place," you said, shaking your head.

He approached, a hint of desperation in his eyes. "Please, just give me a moment of your time."

You hesitated, your mind racing. You knew you should send him away, but your gaze dropped to his lips, remembering the way he had kissed you, the way he had touched you.

"Tonight, in the place we went before," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

You felt a flush of heat, the memory of that night washing over you. "I can't,"

"You have to," he said, his voice urgent. "Meet me there."

You bit your lip, torn between fear and desire. Finally, you nodded, unable to deny the pull he had on you.

"Tonight," he repeated, a flicker of relief in his eyes. He turned, walking towards the door, then paused, glancing over his shoulder. "I'll be waiting."

You stood rooted to the spot, watching as he disappeared through the doorway, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall.

"What did he want?" Sister Margaret asked, startling you from your thoughts.

"I'm not sure," you lied, swallowing hard.

"Well, he seemed upset," she said, her voice full of concern. "Perhaps you should talk to Mother Mathilde."

You shook your head, the thought making your stomach churn. "No, it's not necessary."

Sister Margaret studied you for a moment, a hint of suspicion in her eyes. "Don't stray from His light, sister," she warned, before turning and walking away.

You watched her go, her words echoing in your mind. You had already strayed, you thought, a wave of guilt washing over you. But what choice did you have? Your heart was drawn to Elijah, despite the danger, despite the consequences. He had stolen your heart, and you knew there was no going back.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}{Part Six}

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (34)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, mention of killing a lot of people, catching others having sex ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him that never before in his life had he felt such fury as he did that evening when an attempt was made to poison his wife. He ordered all the servants to assemble in the hall, and then watched as one by one they tasted the wine that had been prepared for the supper for his wife and their cousin.

Some of them began to sob, and some of them were clearly unaware of what was happening − however, he decided that he couldn't take any risks, and soon they were all lying on the ground, looking like terrifying monsters from nightmares.

Their eyes bulging and red, their mouths full of blood and foam, their skin at once purple and pale.

He ordered the guards to watch over his and his cousin's chambers throughout the night and to bring fruits and other things to eat that could not be poisoned.

They had to manage in this way until they questioned and found new servants, whom he was going to choose himself.

As he walked into his quarters, he saw Baela lying on his bed in the darkness, his wife snuggled into her, immersed in a restless sleep.

"− she just fell asleep −" She whispered, lifting herself to sit up, trying to do it quietly and slowly so as not to wake her.

He hummed under his breath at her words and nodded.

"− you may return to your chamber now − I have assigned you guards from King's Landing − they will watch over your safety all night −" He replied, wishing she would just leave them alone at last.

Baela stepped around him and left without another word.

He sighed heavily as he walked over to the bed and lay down beside her, pulling his eye patch off his eye beforehand, feeling the pain in his eye socket due to the stress − his heart squeezed as her body instantly clung to his, recognising him, her hands tightened on his leather tunic.

"− uncle −" She muttered, lifting the dreamy gaze of her eyes to him. He kissed the top of her head, stroking her hair with his palm, hushing her.

"− shhh, my love − sleep − no one will threaten you anymore −"

"− are they dead? −" She asked quietly, and he swallowed hard.

"− yes, my love −"

"− all of them? −"

"− yes −"

"− and what about Alys? −"

"− her life belongs to you −"

"− thank you −" She whispered tenderly.

He swallowed hard, feeling the anger and rage slowly begin to leave him, giving place to his horror and disbelief.

"− embrace me, Rhaenys −"

He sighed as her small arms embraced him tightly at the waist, her face snuggled into the hollow of his neck, her legs entwined with his. He sank his hand into her hair, drawing her close, feeling the scent of vanilla fill his lungs wonderfully.

His wife and his child were alive and safe in his arms.

"− how did you know? −" He asked quietly, although some part of him knew the answer.

"− she told me − she warned me again −"

He sighed heavily and kissed her forehead again, her body warm and familiar, his.

"− I could have lost you − you and the baby − I thought we were safe here − but I promise no one threatens you anymore − I will choose new servants myself −" He whispered and she nodded wordlessly, snuggling into him as if she wanted to melt into one with him.

His hand slid down her waist between them and stopped at her womb.

He thought he wanted to tell her.

He wanted her to know that whatever she brings out into this world, it would make him happy and grateful towards her.

"− I will love our offspring − even if a little girl with your dark hair is born − I will love her because she will be my beloved wife's gift to me and our kingdom −" He whispered, imagining in the back of his mind their daughter so similar to her with his violet eyes, smiling in the same wonderful way as her.

How could he not love her?

His niece's words snapped him out of his reverie.

"− I want to give you seven children − as many as there are gods −" She murmured, stroking his hand with hers. He involuntarily snorted at her words.

"− after this, will you stop letting me between your thighs? −" He asked lowly and heard her sigh.

He knew she was smiling.

"− I fear no force will stop my uncle from reaching for what he desires −" She cooed, lifting her head, meeting the amused look in his eye.

Little tease.

"Indeed."

He swallowed quietly, coming up with an idea that seemed mad to him at first.

What if they had both decided to stay in Harrenhal?

Then they would not be prisoners of any family, neither of them would feel threatened, stranded.

The fortress was theirs, they could do what they wanted with it − they could live in it.

He thought he wanted that for them.

Peace and quiet so she could carry his child in her womb in peace.

"Let us not return to King's Landing or Dragonstone." He whispered. "Let us stay in Harrenhal. Let us create our own legacy. Give birth to our child here. Neither of us will feel like prisoners then."

She blinked, completely taken aback by his words. She swallowed quietly, thinking hard, only to lift the warm gaze of her bright eyes to him again a moment later.

"Very well. It's my desire too." She said quietly and touched his cheek with her palm, running her fingers over his jaw. He closed his eye and let the air out loudly − a hiss broke from his lips as he grasped the place where the sapphire now glittered in his eye socket with his hand, feeling that piercing, burning pain in his skull again.

It felt like someone had hit his head with a hammer.

"− uncle? −" She muttered terrified, touching his shoulder, but he just shook his head.

"− it will pass − it always passes −"

"− is it your eye? − does it cause you pain? −" She asked tenderly, worried and concerned, her large eyes open wide in horror at his condition.

For a moment he felt that the pain had taken away his speech, so he just shook his head, letting her know that he just needed to rest for a while.

"− should I call the maester? −"

"− no −" He whispered with difficulty.

He lay down on his back, still keeping his hand over his eye, breathing deeply, reminding himself that this had always helped him.

He realised that since his niece had come back into his life the pains in his eye socket had stopped as if by magic − before, for eight years they had tormented him notoriously, most at times when he was angry or frightened.

It had been months since he had felt as much fear as he did that evening.

"− can I do anything to relieve you? −" She asked helplessly, sitting beside him, her hand stroking his shoulder reassuringly.

"− no − lie down beside me and embrace me − I need to calm down −" He muttered, and after a moment her body was already beside his, her head clinging to his chest where his heart was beating.

They lay like this in silence, not speaking for a long time, her fingers stroking his free hand lying on his stomach. He concentrated only on that − on her presence, on the warmth of her body, on her scent, on her touch, and he felt the pain become less and less stinging, fading further and further, relaxing his tense muscles.

They both finally fell asleep from exhaustion.

He spent the next few days selecting new servants. He had them brought from villages independent of Lord Strong, warning them that they were to be loyal only to him and his wife, on pain of losing their heads.

He ordered his guards to watch them closely and supervise how the food was prepared, lest someone tried to poison his wife or his cousin again.

Although impatient and concerned that Lord Strong had sunk to the ground, apart from that, he felt this relaxed and content for the first time in his life.

His wife was at his side of her own desire, free and thirsting for his presence.

He felt as he had when they were children − now she too sought his closeness, the touch of his hand, the embrace of his arms at the most ordinary, prosaic things she shared with him every day.

At night, too, she was able to show him how great her longing for his closeness was, even though she had him at her fingertips − although he took care of her devotedly in the evening, he could feel her fingers trailing over his face, immersed in a deep sleep.

He purred then, involuntarily cuddling her warm, soft body into his, entwined with his legs. His breath grew heavier, his senses sharpened as he felt her full, soft lips place tentative, gentle kisses on his chest, his cock pulsed and quivered as her fingers traveled up and down it in slow, steady strokes.

"− my wife can't fall asleep? −" He whispered in a hoarse voice, grasping her plushy thigh with his hand, putting it around his waist, pulling her closer to him. She squirmed as his free hand gave her an encouraging, short smack on her buttock, his sweet punishment for rousing him from the peaceful, deep sleep he had only experienced at her side.

He softened this aggressive gesture by seeking her lips in the darkness, joining her in a warm, lazy kiss full of their tongues and sticky moisture, sighing contentedly as her small, delicate hand clamped down on his root, squeezing and rubbing it skilfully so as not to cause him pain.

It took her embarrassingly little time to make him completely hard and ready to possess her − he could feel that his own wetness was already dripping from the thick, pink head of his erection, proof of how delighted he was that his own wife craved him so desperately.

Had another woman been lying next to him, he would have felt cornered and humiliated, as if she wanted to deliberately deprive him of control and dominate him − with her, however, with his tender friend, with his sweet wife, he felt at peace, desired and assured.

A murmur escaped his lips as her fingers guided his long erection against the heat between her thighs − they both sighed as he pushed against her puffy, leaking slit with a soft thrust of his hips, feeling his heart pounding like mad, already fully awake despite hardly opening his eyes.

Her little cunt offered him slight resistance at first, moist and tight − he opened her wide at the thickest part of her length, drawing a sweet, girlish cry of exertion from her lips, her fingers clenched on his back, her breasts, her hard nipples pressed against his bare, sweaty chest.

They were so close with each other.

"− shhh − there you go −" He whispered, thrusting deep between her swollen, fleshy walls pulsing with desire, welcoming him home, as usual wonderfully warm, making him feel safe.

Nowhere was he so comfortable, nowhere could he find a more wonderful refuge than deep inside her.

He didn't have the strength to pretend in front of her any longer, recognising also that there was no reason to do so − he allowed himself to be more vocal than usual, his panting and groans low and filled with relief.

His hand clamped down on her plump buttock, spreading her thighs wider, pounding into her delicate flesh with loud splats of her wetness and his seed that he had filled her with the evening before.

"− uncle − so good − make love to me −" She mumbled innocently as if in a dream, kissing again and again his chest, his neck, trailing her fingers along his back, waist and buttocks making a wonderful hot shiver run through him − his achingly swollen cock expressed his contentment at her closeness and treatments as it twitched hard inside her, her walls sucking it and clamping down on it greedily, soaking him wet.

"− f-fuck −" He breathed out and groaned low with pleasure as her puffy, wet lips clamped around his nipple, her tongue swirling around it making a wave of tickling pleasure run down his lower abdomen, causing him to quicken his pace, pressing his face to the hollow of her neck, clutching her fragrant flesh to his.

"− mghmm −" She whimpered as he tightened his fingers on her breast, wanting to feel, as he usually did for a moment before reaching his peak, how perfectly it fitted the shape of his hand, in response to what she was doing pressing and teasing her nipple with his thumb.

He didn't know when his niece was shaken by a wave of pleasure − her fleshy walls squeezing his soaked cock were enough to make his spend fill her again with his loud sigh of delight that left him speechless.

He kissed her forehead, feeling fulfilled and at peace, his heart and body filled with a wonderful, hot emotion, his affection for her, his devotion, his care, his eternal desire that could not be satisfied.

He knew she felt the same.

They both breathed loudly, trying to calm themselves, stroking their naked bodies, sweaty from the sudden exertion. He murmured lowly as he felt her palms travel up his buttocks and rise higher along his waist making him feel goosebumps.

If Maris Baratheon had touched him in this way, he would have felt discomfort − he would have thought that such behaviour was unworthy of a lady or wife, and he would have pushed her away, frustrated and discouraged.

Yet it was his childhood friend hands that stroked and caressed his body, it was her lips that roamed his bare flesh, giving him pleasure and a sense that she desired him as much as he desired her, that his scar and what had happened to his eye had never crossed him out in her eyes as neither her husband nor her lover.

This realisation, her care and the warmth of her embrace calmed him.

He fell asleep again with his face snuggled into her hair, her naked body pressed against his, his soft erection deep inside her.

It didn't bother her − on the contrary, he got the impression that it wasn't just about fulfilment. She, like him, enjoyed the feeling of him being deep inside her, of feeling him, of them being one flesh.

Woman and man couldn't have been more connected.

The following nights that he spent at her side were filled with their intimacy and peaceful, deep sleep. He only awoke in the morning, struggling to tear himself away from her, assuring her that he would soon return to her by placing warm, lingering kisses on her bare shoulders and neck, before getting up to attend to his duties.

After what had happened he sent Aegon a letter, and it took several days for his reply to reach Harrenhal. As it turned out, according to his suspicions, their grandfather was still acting behind their backs, and Aegon decided to put an end to it by locking him in his chamber, allowing only his most trusted servants and guards to approach him.

Several people carrying information out of the Red Keep, which was apparently then passed on to Larys, lost their heads, and their deaths were a warning to others.

It was Aegon Targaryen, not Otto Hightower, who was King.

For now.

Baela chose not to leave Harrenhal, horrified by what had happened, clearly wanting to watch over his wife − her presence frustrated him, but he couldn't underestimate her contribution to her safety all the more so when he had other things to attend to and wanted to make sure his niece or their child was in no danger.

"− it's slowly becoming visible −" She whispered to herself, stroking her belly. He looked up at her from over the parchments, snapped out of his reverie and hummed under his breath, extending his hand to her. True to her words, as she approached him and he placed his hand on her lower abdomen, he felt it swell, though it was barely noticeable.

"− indeed −" He murmured, for some reason clearly pleased. He leaned down and nestled his face into her belly, sighing heavily, her hands enclosing him in a tender embrace.

They both shuddered and pulled away from each other, hearing a roar in the skies. He stood up, walking over to the window, seeing a black blur approaching towards Harrenhal, gliding between the clouds, however, he was unable to recognise who it was.

Only after a while did he recognise the familiar silhouette and sighed heavily, looking at his wife resentfully, as if it was her fault that her older brother had decided to fly to Harrenhal.

He, his wife and Baela came out to meet him. Jace was visibly upset, as he jumped down from his saddle he quickly ran to his sister and locked her in his embrace.

"− are you hurt? − I arrived as soon as we received the message − our mother is terrified −"

"− I'm well, brother −" She whispered and stroked his back. He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard his jealousy at the sight, looking away, clenching his hands folded behind his back into fists.

"− how could you let this happen? −" He heard his enraged voice pointed in his direction and looked at him warningly, hitting the wall of his cheek with his tongue.

His wife intervened, seeing the look on his face.

"− Jace − that's enough − in my condition I can't be upset −" She said impatiently, using this argument every time she wanted to shut down a discussion that was uncomfortable for her.

Her brother swallowed hard and nodded, trying to control himself.

"− mother sends me to personally make sure you are not in danger here −" He said finally, Baela snorted at his words, clearly offended.

"− I am here and I informed you about what happened − don't you trust me? −" She asked angrily − Jace looked at her, embarrassed that he had only just remembered her presence.

He thought with disapproval that he somehow felt sorry for his cousin.

He, though eyeless and with a long scar on his face, was the only one for his wife.

It had always been that way and he knew no other feeling.

How humiliating must it have been when your future husband forgot you existed?

It was only when thinking about it that he reminded himself what he had seen a few days earlier and looked away, grinning mockingly.

He had left the fortress to meet his spies who had come across Larys Strong's trail − it turned out that he had been staying at one of the inns and then moved on to another place, paying everyone lavishly for their silence.

He felt he had him at his fingertips, that he would soon crush his head.

By the time he returned, it was late evening. Walking towards his chamber, he sighed heavily, running his hand over his face, tired and discouraged, comforting himself with the thought that his niece was waiting for him in bed, soft, warm and wet, that he would sink deep between her thighs and find relief in her loving arms.

He did not understand how married couples could sleep in separate chambers.

He would go mad if his wife spent her nights in quarters other than his.

He stopped, snapped out of his reverie by hearing sounds he knew well − he furrowed his brow, thinking with rage that some guard had just fucked a servant girl in an empty chamber, instead of doing his duty and keeping an eye on his wife's safety.

He burst in like a thunderstorm, the loud moans, panting and slapping of skin against skin continuing for a moment before Baela's eyes lying under the broad, muscular man found his in the darkness.

Something akin to a squeal of fear broke from her lips, her palms tightening on the man's back as he turned over his shoulder and turned pale at the sight of him.

"− Y-Your Grace − I −"

He turned, shocked, and walked away, looking over his shoulder, hearing them both curse under their breath and snorted, a mocking smirk on his face.

So that's what it looked like, he thought with amusement.

For some reason, what he saw made him feel better − his wife was already asleep when he walked into their chamber. He watched her peaceful face as he undressed and lay down on top of her, her eyelids parted and her body trembled all over in fear that someone had touched her.

"− shhh −" He whispered, pressing her naked body against the bed − he was delighted to see that, in an involuntary, natural response, her thighs spread wide before him, her fingers snuggling him close.

"− yes −" She mumbled, still half asleep, and he forced his way deep into her hot interior with one quiet, slow thrust of his hips.

She moaned and sighed beneath him, delighted that he was sliding into her without haste, clearly more focused on feeling her well than on experiencing fulfilment as quickly as possible.

He had long since learned what it meant to truly enjoy her body.

He thought as he threw her legs over his shoulders, as he leaned down and locked her breasts between his fingers, listening to the way his cock opened her sweet cunt with the loud clicks of her wetness, that he had something that neither Baela nor Jace had.

He loved and was loved.

That realisation spread through his body like a warm, wonderful wave, his lips, swollen with desire, joined hers, her fingers tightened in his hair. He quickened his pace, slamming into her with ever louder moans of pleasure, knowing exactly what he was doing to her and what was about to happen.

"− n-no − no, it's fresh bedding −" She mumbled, simultaneously trying to push him away while he pulled her to himself, her puffy nipples rubbing against his chest with each of his rough pushes.

"− why the fuck should I care −" He sneered, thrusting into her again and again with deep, sticky thrusts of his fat erection, feeling her moist, hot walls squeeze it with pleasure against her pleas.

Her response to his brutal thrusts was her helpless, girlish cry, her lips parted in despair knowing what was coming, her slick cunt beginning to leak from her moisture making him slam into her with loud, sticky splats each time.

"− ah − mghmm − u-uncle −" She mewled, digging her fingers into the skin of his shoulders, tilting her head back, letting go at last, allowing what he wanted to happen to happen.

"− thaaat's it, theere we go − that's my girl −" He breathed out, reaching his peak inside her just as he felt the wave of her moisture run down her buttocks along with her fulfillment.

"− u-uh − no − it's all wet now −" She mumbled out, panting heavily, unsatisfied and unhappy.

"− your husband will take pity on you and let you sleep on his dry part of the bed − hm? −" He muttered with a grin, her hand slapping his chest with regret mixed with amusement.

"− you do it on purpose −"

"− indeed −" He hummed and turned on his side with her, looking with a smirk of satisfaction at the large, colourless stain that had formed where her buttocks had previously lain, tightly covering their bodies with thick furs.

Neither she nor their child could get cold.

"− sleep −" He commanded and snuggled her face into his neck, sighing contentedly.

He thought back to that night, watching as Jace walked up to his betrothed and embraced her, which she reciprocated.

He thought, looking at them, that they were pathetic.