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novaursa · 3 months ago

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The Last Dance

- Summary: The Dance of the Dragons is over. You and Aegon finally find peace.

- Paring: twin!sister reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin sister and wife to Aegon II, and is bonded with dragon called Starfyre. These events happen right after The Searing Flame. To read all of the chapters in chronological order, or more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 119

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: This is the chapter that finalizes this series. That being said, there will be more twin!reader/Aegon II stories to fill the gaps.

The air is filled with the scent of salt and smoke as you stand on the balcony of Dragonstone, the sea churning below in restless waves. The horizon is cast in hues of deep purple and amber as dusk sets in, but your attention is wholly on the sky, where two golden streaks dart through the twilight. You feel Aegon’s presence beside you, a warmth against the cool stone at your back. His scarred arm is under your hand, his skin rough and uneven beneath your touch, a harsh reminder of Rook’s Rest and the countless betrayals that led you here.

Yet there’s still strength in him, a burning defiance that never faded even after all the wounds. You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he seems to hold his breath as he watches Sunfyre and Starfyre circle above. It’s not just the raw power of your dragons that grips him—no, this is something more primal. It's the joy of seeing them together again, as they were always meant to be: siblings, mates, war-dragons forged in the heat of fire and vengeance.

“There,” Aegon murmurs, his voice low, strained. He points to a shadow in the clouds—Grey Ghost. The wild dragon had stayed hidden for so long, slipping through the cracks of Dragonstone’s defenses, but not tonight. Sunfyre and Starfyre had scented him out, and now there would be no escape.

You tighten your grip on Aegon’s arm, feeling the thrill of it, a dark satisfaction blooming in your chest. The shadow resolves into a shape—a dirty, scarred creature with wings tattered from battles long lost. Grey Ghost is no match for your dragons, but he’s quick, darting between clouds, trying to outmaneuver the gleaming pair that pursue him.

Starfyre leads the chase, her silvery form a flash of brilliance in the twilight, her scales glimmering like starlight against the darkening sky. The alabaster undershine of her wings catches the last of the sun’s rays as she twists and turns, a deadly dance that lures Grey Ghost into false confidence. Her movements are elegant, fluid—every beat of her wings purposeful, calculated. The Star Dame, as you’ve come to call her in the intimacy of your thoughts, is a creature born of night and light, her presence both ethereal and deadly.

Sunfyre is close behind her, a shimmering blaze of gold that seems almost unnatural in its brilliance. The awkward bend in his healed wing does nothing to diminish his ferocity—if anything, it makes him all the more terrifying, a creature that defies the laws of nature, a king among dragons that should have been crippled but refused to be. His roar echoes across the sky, a sound of pure fury that reverberates through your chest, making your heart race.

“They hunt as one,” you whisper, awe lacing your words. You lift your head from Aegon’s shoulder to look up at him, catching the gleam of pride in his eyes. “It’s beautiful.”

Aegon’s mouth curves into a small, crooked smile, a hint of the man he was before the war marred him. “Beautiful, yes. But more than that—vengeance.” He says the last word with a bitterness that lingers in the air. Sunfyre and Starfyre had been denied their chance to fight side by side for too long, much like the two of you. But now, the skies belong to them again, as they should.

You don’t respond, letting the sight before you speak for itself. Starfyre suddenly plummets, diving at a steep angle that seems reckless until Grey Ghost veers, startled by her speed. It’s then that Sunfyre strikes, a burst of flame searing the air as he barrels into Grey Ghost from above, jaws snapping at the smaller dragon’s neck. Grey Ghost shrieks, a sound full of desperation as he tries to shake free, but Sunfyre holds on, his talons digging deep into flesh.

Starfyre swoops in, her silvery wings flaring as she joins the fray, her jaws clamping down on one of Grey Ghost’s wings. You watch as she tears through it with merciless precision, ripping membrane and bone with a single twist of her head. Blood sprays across the sky, dark and ominous, and Grey Ghost’s struggles grow frantic, but they’re futile. Starfyre and Sunfyre tear into him together, a dance of coordinated destruction that speaks of deep, intrinsic connection.

“Together, they’re unstoppable,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze away. You feel Aegon’s fingers intertwine with yours, his grip tight and possessive. He’s watching them too, but you know he’s seeing more than just dragons tearing apart a weaker foe—he’s seeing the future, the strength you still hold, the power you’ll wield together to take back what was stolen from you.

When Grey Ghost finally falls, his body torn and mangled, he drops like a stone into the sea below. You both watch in silence as the waves claim him, dragging him under until he’s nothing more than a memory.

Starfyre and Sunfyre wheel in the air, circling each other before flying back towards the keep. The bond between them is palpable, a mirror of your own with Aegon. Sunfyre’s awkward wingbeat matches Aegon’s own struggles, while Starfyre’s radiant strength reflects the resilience you’ve both clung to, even in the face of loss. The dragons’ victory is your victory, and as they draw closer, you feel a sense of unity, of destiny.

Aegon turns to you then, his scarred face shadowed but his eyes burning with resolve. “We will reclaim what is ours, Y/N,” he says, his voice a quiet promise. “With our dragons, with our strength—we will not be broken.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s a fierce pride in your chest as you nod. “We are not broken, Aegon,” you reply softly, but with steel in your tone. “We are fire and blood.”

As the night closes in, the sky dark and filled with stars, you stand together in silence, hand in hand. Sunfyre and Starfyre land on the courtyard below, their golden and silver scales gleaming even in the dim light. They are kings and queens among dragons, just as you and Aegon are meant to be.

And as long as they soar, so will you.

The dread in the throne room is thick enough to choke on as you stand beside Aegon, your hand resting lightly on Daena’s shoulder while Baelon clutches the edge of your gown. The echo of footsteps and clinking chains resound through the stone chamber as Alfred Broome and his men drag the remnants of Rhaenyra’s forces into the hall. They are bruised, bloodied, and defeated—a pale reflection of the power Rhaenyra once held. Among them, her young son Aegon clings to her, his eyes wide with fear as he takes in the fearsome sight of the dragons looming in the distance outside, their golden and silver forms visible through the open arches.

Sunfyre and Starfyre wait like harbingers of death, gleaming in the twilight.

You feel Aegon’s arm tense beside you, a flicker of pain passing through him from his old wounds. But there’s more than just physical pain here—there’s a deep, simmering rage that’s been brewing since the moment Blood and Cheese ripped your family apart. You and Aegon have been waiting for this moment, dreaming of it in your darkest hours. And now, it’s finally here.

Rhaenyra is forced to her knees before you, her once-proud visage a mask of defiance even in chains. She looks older than you remember, her face gaunt and hollow, but her eyes still blaze with the stubborn arrogance that led her here. Her remaining Queensguard lie dead, slain by your forces as they tried to resist one last time. There is no one left to protect her.

You meet her gaze with cold satisfaction, leaning forward slightly as you speak, your voice sharp as a blade. “We have long awaited this moment, Rhaenyra. Ever since you sent those assassins to kill our sons—two innocent boys, slaughtered because of your ambition.”

Rhaenyra’s lips tremble, but she doesn’t back down. “My sons died as well, Y/N,” she retorts, her voice shaking with fury. “Jace, Luke, Viserys… you cannot know that pain.”

“You dare to compare?” Aegon’s voice cuts through the air like the crack of a whip, silencing her. He steps forward, the limp from his injury barely noticeable as his anger gives him strength. “This war began because you could never let go of our father’s lies. He promised you the throne, and you clung to that entitlement like a drowning woman clutches driftwood.”

Rhaenyra opens her mouth to speak, but Aegon doesn’t let her. “You speak of your lost sons as if their deaths were a justification for your madness, but it was your own hubris that led them to the grave. If you had shown even a hint of reason, none of this would have happened. Y/N and I never wanted the crown. We only wanted to love each other and grow old with our children. But the crown was pushed onto us—pushed by your ambition and vanity.”

Your heart twists as you think of the peaceful life you and Aegon could have had, far from the bloodshed, if only Rhaenyra had accepted the reality of your father’s death that relinquished her claims. But that was never an option for her, was it? Pride, ambition, and greed had consumed her until there was nothing left but this hollow shell of a queen.

Rhaenyra’s defiance cracks then, her eyes filling with desperation. “Please, Aegon—Y/N—my son—”

But Aegon’s gaze hardens. “It’s too late for pleas, Rhaenyra. Your choices have brought us to this point, and now they will swallow us all. Even your precious children.”

You see the flicker of fear in her eyes, the realization that there will be no mercy here. This is no place for mercy. This is retribution.

With a nod from Aegon, the great doors are opened, and Sunfyre’s golden form stalks into the throne room, his scales gleaming like molten gold in the torchlight. His eyes are locked on Rhaenyra, filled with a burning hunger that reflects the rage in Aegon’s heart. Starfyre follows him, her silvery wings brushing the stone walls as she moves with lethal grace, her pale blue undershine glowing like moonlight on water.

Rhaenyra tries to scramble back, pulling her son behind her, but she is chained, her movements futile. “No… please… not like this…”

The lords and ladies captured alongside her begin to cry out in terror as they realize what’s about to happen, but their voices are drowned out by the low, rumbling growl from Sunfyre. Aegon takes a step forward, his voice cold and resolute as he gives the command that seals his half-sister’s fate. “Dracarys.”

Sunfyre’s roar is deafening as flames erupt from his maw, engulfing Rhaenyra in a searing blaze. Her screams are short-lived, drowned in a cacophony of dragonfire and crackling flesh. Starfyre joins in, her breath cold and silver, mixing with Sunfyre’s golden flames in a mesmerizing yet horrifying display of raw power.

The smell of burning flesh and melting metal fills the air as the dragons tear into what remains of Rhaenyra, their jaws snapping and rending flesh. The lords and ladies bound beside her wail in despair, some of them collapsing to the floor as they are forced to watch the gruesome feast. Elinda Massey’s shrieks are especially piercing as she claws at her own eyes, unable to bear the sight.

But it isn’t over. Not yet.

Young Aegon, Rhaenyra’s last remaining son, stands paralyzed with terror, his small body trembling as he stares up at the dragons. You feel a pang of pity—he’s just a child, after all—but that pity is fleeting. This is the price of war, of ambition that knows no bounds. There can be no loose ends, no heirs to continue the cycle of bloodshed.

You turn your gaze away as Aegon gestures for the guards to push the boy toward the dragons. Sunfyre sniffs him, his nostrils flaring, but it’s Starfyre who moves first. She lowers her great head, her eyes glinting as she opens her jaws wide and snaps them shut around the child in one swift motion. There is no scream this time—just silence as she swallows him whole.

A hush falls over the throne room, broken only by the crackling of fire and the quiet sobbing of those left alive. Aegon turns to you, his expression unreadable, but you see the weariness in his eyes, the weight of everything that’s passed. “It’s done,” he says softly, and you feel the words settle like stones in your chest.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice distant, “it’s done.”

The war may not be over, but this chapter has ended in blood and flame. You can only hope that, when the ashes settle, there will be something left to rebuild. Something more than this endless cycle of death.

But for now, all you can do is hold your children close and hope that the fire will fade, that peace will come in its wake—even if that peace is a fragile dream, trembling on the edge of a knife.

The sun is low in the sky as your carriage finally creaks to a halt outside the Red Keep. The city is cloaked in uneasy silence—no cheers greet your return, no banners wave in celebration. King’s Landing feels hollow, as if the ghosts of those lost in the war still linger in its streets. You step out first, the weight of the crown heavy on your brow. Aegon follows, his limp more pronounced after the long journey, yet he holds his head high, his expression a mask of stoic resolve. Your children, Daena and Baelon, cling close to you, their wide eyes taking in the somber scene as they disembark from the carriage.

Ahead of you, standing at the base of the steps leading up to the Red Keep, is your mother, Queen Alicent, her face drawn with lines of sorrow and weariness. Beside her is Helaena, her once-luminous eyes now dulled by grief and loss. They are the last remnants of your family, the survivors of a war that has cost you all more than you could have imagined.

Alicent's breath hitches when she sees you, her eyes scanning you and Aegon as if needing to assure herself that you are truly there, alive and whole. Tears glisten in her eyes, and she covers her mouth with trembling fingers as her composure shatters. “My children,” she whispers, and it is as though the weight of years collapses in those words—years of fear, of war, of loss. She hurries forward, her regal bearing breaking into a desperate, motherly rush as she throws her arms around you both, clutching you as if afraid you might vanish like so many others.

“Oh, my children,” she sobs, her voice cracking with emotion. “You’ve returned to me.”

Aegon wraps his arm around her, his scarred hand shaking as he holds his mother close. “We have, Mother,” he says softly, though there’s a hollowness to his tone. The joy that might have been there is tainted by the ghosts of those who aren’t here to share this moment. “But we return to ashes.”

Alicent pulls back slightly, looking at the both of you with tear-streaked cheeks. “I prayed for this day—prayed every night that you would survive, that you would come back to us.” Her eyes flit to the children—her grandchildren—and fresh tears spill over. “But at what cost? Daeron, Aemond—” Her voice breaks entirely, and she covers her face, unable to continue.

Aegon’s jaw tightens. You see the storm of guilt and grief flash across his features as he looks away, unable to meet her gaze. You reach out and grasp Alicent’s hand, squeezing it tightly as you fight to hold back your own tears. “We all bear the weight of those losses,” you say quietly. “But we are here now, and we are together. We must hold on to that, for their sake.” You glance down at Daena and Baelon, who watch their grandmother with wide eyes, not fully understanding the depth of the grief surrounding them.

Helaena, who has been standing silently, finally steps forward. Her movements are slow, almost ghostly, as if she is a shadow of the woman she once was. Her gaze lingers on Aegon for a long moment, searching his eyes, before drifting to you. “The dreams never lie,” she murmurs, her voice distant and laced with sorrow. “They all fade, in fire and blood.” Her words are eerie, a chilling echo of all that has transpired, but they carry a truth that cuts deep. Helaena’s prophecies have always carried an edge of tragedy, and now, you see the weight of them fully realized in her vacant stare.

Aegon steps toward her, gently taking her hands in his. “We’re still here, Helaena,” he says softly, though there is a break in his voice. “You, Y/N, me, Mother—we’re still here. We will rebuild, for their memory.”

She nods slowly, but you see no hope in her eyes, only resignation. “They dance no more,” she whispers, looking past you as if seeing something far beyond the physical realm.

Alicent wipes at her tears, her hands shaking as she does so. “Come inside, all of you,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “You need rest, and there’s much to discuss. But first, let us be together as a family.”

You nod, though the word “family” feels strange on your tongue now. So much of it has been torn away—brothers, sisters, sons. Yet, you follow Alicent and Helaena up the steps, Aegon at your side, your children between you. Inside the Red Keep, the warmth of the hearth contrasts sharply with the chill that clings to your soul. The familiar halls seem both comforting and haunted, each shadow hiding memories of the past.

Alicent leads you to the council chamber, where a small, intimate table has been set, not for matters of state, but for a quiet meal. Servants flit about with anxious glances, aware of the tragedy that hangs in the air like a storm cloud. You all sit, and for a long moment, no one speaks. The silence is heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

Aegon is the one who finally breaks it, lifting his cup. “To those we’ve lost,” he says, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “And to those who still remain.”

You lift your own cup, feeling the burn of unshed tears behind your eyes. “To those who remain,” you echo, and the words are a fragile hope, a thread of unity in a world torn apart by fire and blood.

As you drink, you feel a sense of finality settling over the room. The war is over. The Dance has ended. But you know, deep down, that the scars it has left—on your family, on your kingdom, on your very soul—will never truly heal.

The chamber is dimly lit by the soft glow of a few scattered candles, their flickering light casting something akin to ghots long forgotten on the walls. The room is familiar, yet it feels almost foreign after all the horrors you’ve endured—so much time lost to war and death, to bitterness and grief. But now, for the first time in what feels like ages, you’re alone with Aegon, away from the eyes of lords and courtiers, away from the weight of the crown and the ghosts of the past.

The door clicks shut behind you, sealing you both within the warmth of the chamber. Aegon pauses by the threshold, his hand still resting on the handle as he takes a deep breath, as if he’s trying to steady himself, to remember that he’s home. You watch him in the flickering candlelight, the lines of his face etched deeper from the burdens he’s carried, but he’s still the man you fell in love with, still the boy who smiled at you with mischief in his eyes.

He looks at you then, and the tension that’s been holding him rigid melts away. His gaze softens, filled with a longing that nearly breaks you. Without a word, he crosses the room and pulls you into his arms, burying his face in your hair as if he needs to feel you, to know you’re truly there. You wrap your arms around him, holding him tight, and for a moment, neither of you speak—there are no words for the relief, the overwhelming need to be close after so much time apart.

“I’ve missed this,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice rough and choked with emotion. “I’ve missed you. So much.”

You tilt your head back, meeting his gaze. His eyes are shadowed with pain and fatigue, but there’s a warmth there too, a flicker of the love that has always burned between you. “I never let myself forget,” you whisper, reaching up to trace the scar on his cheek, a mark from Rook’s Rest that he wears like a badge of survival. “Even in the darkest moments, I held onto us. I held onto you.”

Aegon’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that slips free. “I don’t know how we did it,” he admits, his voice cracking. “But we’re here. We’ve made it through everything they threw at us, every nightmare. You were the light that kept me going, Y/N. You always have been.”

His words are like a balm to the ache in your heart, the wounds left by loss and betrayal. You lean into his touch, savoring the warmth of his palm against your skin, the familiarity of it. “We’ve lost so much,” you say softly, your voice trembling as memories of those you loved flash through your mind. “But we still have each other. As long as we have that, we can rebuild.”

Aegon’s lips quirk into a faint smile, though it’s tinged with sorrow. “You’re right. We still have each other. And I swear to you, Y/N, I’ll never let you go again. Never. We’ve been torn apart too many times, but that ends now. No more battles, no more wars. Just us.”

He bends down then, his forehead resting against yours as his hands cradle your face. “Promise me, Y/N,” he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. “Promise me we won’t let anything—or anyone—come between us ever again.”

You close the distance between you, capturing his lips in a kiss that’s tender but laced with a desperation that speaks of all the pain, the longing, the fear of losing one another. His hands slide to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepens the kiss, pouring everything he feels into it—his love, his regret, his need.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. “I promise,” you whisper against his lips. “No matter what comes, we face it as one. I won’t let you go either, Aegon. Not ever.”

The shadows in his eyes soften, replaced by a rare glimmer of peace as he rests his forehead against yours again. “Together, then. Always.”

The warmth between you grows as he slowly guides you toward the bed, the softness of the mattress beneath you a welcome comfort after all the cold, hard battles you’ve faced. He lays beside you, pulling you into his arms so that your bodies are entwined, your head resting against his chest as you listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers trail lazily through your hair, a touch that’s both soothing and intimate, grounding you in this moment.

You turn slightly in his embrace, pressing a kiss to the scarred skin of his chest, a reminder of how close you came to losing him. “You’re mine,” you murmur softly, your voice thick with emotion. “And I’m yours. No one will ever tear us apart again.”

His grip tightens around you, as if the very thought of losing you is unbearable. “I’ll spend the rest of my days proving that, Y/N,” he vows, his voice low and filled with a fierce protectiveness. “I’ll give you the peace we’ve been denied. We’ll raise our children, grow old together, just as we always dreamed.”

In the quiet of your shared chambers, there’s no need for crowns or titles, no need for anything but each other. The world outside is a distant memory as you close your eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the warmth of his embrace wrapping around you like a protective shield. You let yourself drift in that moment, in the certainty that, no matter what comes, you and Aegon are what remains.

For now, there’s only peace, the kind you’ve fought so hard to find. And in the comfort of each other’s arms, you know that no matter how many battles you’ve fought, the war for your love is one you’ve already won.

From this moment, the histories diverge depending on which account one prefers to trust: the sober record of Grand Maester Orwyle, the poetic tales of Septon Eustace, or the salacious rumors spread by the fool Mushroom. Yet all agree on the most important details: the years following the Dance of the Dragons were marked not by further bloodshed, but by an unexpected peace.

The Golden Restoration

The reign of King Aegon II and Queen Y/N saw a return to stability in the realm, albeit built on a foundation of ash and charred bones. The devastation left by the war was undeniable, yet it was under their rule that the rebuilding of King's Landing began. With Dowager Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena ever at their sides, the royal family focused on mending what was broken, both in the capital and within their own hearts.

Many lords whispered that it was Y/N, the Silver Queen, who held the true power in those years. Aegon, scarred both inside and out by the horrors of the Dance, found solace and strength in his wife, who had proven herself his equal in fire and resolve. Together, they were inseparable. It was said that not a single important decision was made without their mutual consent, and that in private moments, they ruled as one, much like Sunfyre and Starfyre—mates in both life and flame.

Their children, Princess Daena and Prince Baelon, grew strong and healthy under the care of their parents and grandmother, Alicent. The two were doted upon, not merely as heirs but as symbols of the future—unbroken despite the tragedy that had marked their early years. As time passed, the bond between Daena and Baelon deepened, mirroring that of their parents. It was said that they were closer than most siblings, so close that when they were of age, they wed in the tradition of House Targaryen, cementing their bloodline and continuing the ancient customs of their house.

The Brood of Sunfyre and Starfyre

In the year 137 AC, three eggs were laid in the royal dragonpit—eggs said to be the offspring of Sunfyre and Starfyre, the twin flames that had seared Rhaenyra Targaryen from the earth. Two of these eggs hatched, producing dragons of extraordinary beauty: one with scales of pale gold streaked with silver, and the other shimmering with blue-tinged starlight. These dragons were gifted to Daena and Baelon on their wedding day, marking the start of a new generation of dragonlords, free from the taint of the Dance.

Yet even in this time of renewal, darkness lingered in the shadows. Helaena never recovered fully from the loss of her own children and her brother-husband, Aemond. She remained a distant figure, often lost in her dreams and visions. Some say she foresaw her own death, whispering of “faded light” and “withered roses” in her last days. When she passed away in her sleep in 139 AC, it was whispered by Mushroom that she had seen a final vision: a land where the dragons had turned to dust, and no kings ruled but the winds.

Dowager Queen Alicent outlived her daughter by a scant two years. Her grief had aged her beyond her years, and she spent her final days in prayer, seeking forgiveness for the bloodshed her ambitions had caused. In her final hours, she clutched the hands of Aegon and Y/N, begging them to remember the lesson learned in blood: that the pursuit of power, when unchecked, only breeds ruin. It was said that Y/N, ever compassionate, was the one who comforted Alicent in her last breath, whispering that peace had been found at last.

The Passing of the Dragon-King and Queen

The final years of Aegon and Y/N’s reign were marked by a quiet contentment. They ruled justly, often seen together in council or riding their dragons above the skies of King's Landing. The scars of war never fully faded, but together they created a realm that prospered. Yet even the most enduring fires must one day burn out.

In the year 151 AC, King Aegon II and Queen Y/N were found dead in their shared chambers, lying in each other's arms as if asleep. Some claim they had simply grown weary, their bodies giving out after years of bearing the weight of the crown. Others, more fanciful in their tales, whisper that they passed together in a moment of shared peace, their hearts giving out at the exact same instant. Mushroom claims that a vial of poison was found beside their bed, suggesting they chose to leave the world together, unwilling to face a life without the other.

When their bodies were discovered, Sunfyre and Starfyre howled in mourning, their roars shaking the very walls of the Red Keep. The dragons, who had never been separated, circled the skies together before landing side by side in the dragonpit, refusing to be parted. In a rare display of affection between beasts, they nuzzled one another and remained in that position until the end of their days.

The bodies of Aegon and Y/N were burned together on a single pyre, their ashes mingling in a final union. Their reign was remembered as the “Golden Twilight,” a time when, for a brief, shining moment, the Targaryens had found peace. But even in this, the seeds of future strife were sown—two children, two dragons, and the legacy of fire and blood that would never truly be quenched.

Thus ended the tale of King Aegon II and Queen Y/N, the last Targaryens to die in each other's arms, bound in life and in death by the fires they had endured and the love they refused to surrender.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd aegon #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd reader insert #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x you #aegon the second #aegon ii targaryen

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witchezandwonderz · 9 days ago

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The Crown’s Rebellion

Pairing: Jacaerys x Reader

Summary: Prince Jacaerys is forced into a marriage he does not want, bound by his family's schemes. But as they come to know each other, they forge a bond that defies expectations.

Word Count: 1908

A/N: In this story, Jacaerys is 18+, I am unsure of his age on the show as of last but I do not feel comfortable writing for a character under 18. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed:)

“You have done what, exactly?” Jacaerys breathed, one hand gripping the stone table in front of him and the other rubbing his temple in attempt to prevent the headache that he knew would arrive momentarily. His mother, Rhaenyra scrunched her mouth up and sighed, showing signs of both empathy and sympathy towards her son before stating “it must be done, Jace”. Her words seemed to hold the tone that she was trying to convince herself, rather than him.

Jacaerys did not want to marry, nor had he met a suitable, loving lady in which he wanted to dedicate his life towards. His mother did not offer much detail about the future Queen, however, the information that she did divulge to him was anything but telling. He were to marry ‘a fine lady, from house Massey of Stonedance’ which were his mothers exact words. Jacaerys knew that an arranged marriage would always come at the most random of times, but did not realise quite how little he would have to say in the matter.

“I must be honest with you my son, although the Masseys have in fact pledged their loyalty to me” Rhaenyra paused for a brief moment in order to sip her wine and then continued her words “I am unsure of the truthfulness behind it” Jacaerys blinked at his mother response, unsure of what to say or think. He knew what he wanted to say, but considered the fact that the woman in front of him was not only his mother but the Queen, and that meant that he had to keep his words respectful. Jacaerys used both hands to push strands from his dark hair from his eyes before responding, “mother, are you insinuating that I am to marry, simply to acquire information about your allies?” He asked, furrowing his brows as he spoke. Rhaenyra tilted her head to the side, contemplating the question before briefly nodding “I am afraid that this is exactly what I mean”. This led Jacaerys to feel a multitude of emotions, the main one being betrayal; his mother has always acted with pure love and kindness towards him, and he never would have thought that she would promise him to a complete stranger as though it he had meant nothing. But, he thought, she had changed significantly in recent years.

Unbeknownst to the pair, the house of Massey had the exact same plan. On one icy, somewhat drab morning, Y/N was approached by her father and had a very similar conversation to the one in which Jacaerys had with his mother. Y/N knew the way in which her family were viewed- loyal in the moment and then as soon as there is a change of power, more often than not, so does the Massey’s loyalty. Y/N did not act like this however, she was genuine and kind. She secretly always thought that the only reason her family were branded with such views is due to her father and her father only.

Y/N and Jacaerys did differ, despite the way that they were told being very similar, Y/N felt happy. She had been longing to leave Stonedance and explore what is beyond- she had always been constrained to the walls of her chambers. Despite this, a sadness lingered within her as she remembered that leaving this place, meant having to marry. Y/N had loved before, but the seeming love did not mean much to her father and when he discovered that she had a secret relationship with a ‘commoner’, he sent her love away.

Perhaps it was not love, she thought. I should have been the one to decide that.

The night prior to the wedding, and in turn their first meeting, felt like it lasted a lifetime to Jacaerys for he wanted to meet his wife, and the lack of information given about her sparked the curiosity within him. He sat at dinner playing with his food like a child, as he could not bring himself to eat. Not one person on the table had spoken in, well, the entirety of the dinner. Normally, Jacaerys would not be able to speak before being interrupted by his mother’s husband, and uncle Daemon with one of his peculiar remarks. Unfortunately, Daemon has been gone for a while, with no one sure as to whether he was even part of this ‘family’ anymore.

All individuals who attended left gradually, leaving just Jacaerys and his mother alone. He watched as she swirled her wine around in her cup, a blank expression upon her face. He sat back in his chair, crossing his legs and asked “can you at least tell me her name”, coming across more like a statement or demand. Rhaenyra replied in a quiet voice, “Y/N”.

They both sat in silence for a moment longer while Jacaerys nodded his head, Rhaenyra proceeded to briefly explain that he had met Y/N before, when they were much younger at an apparently very awkward dinner. Jacaerys tried his best to recall meeting her, but he could not.

The task of having to get married, and only meeting your betrothed the moment that you must marry them proved to be quite difficult for the pair. Both for different reasons, of course. Jacaerys was petrified due to a multitude of reasons but Y/N was scared because not only did she have to impress him, but she had to also ensure that all of those who attended the ceremony took a liking to her, as they all had loyalties to him, but had no idea of who she was.

The moment he lay his eyes on her, he thought she may have been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The moment she laid her eyes on him, she thought he may have been the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Hours later, the two had still not spoken as they were preoccupied in conversation with various other people. In addition, neither had yet found the courage to engage with the other. One of them would have to make the first approach, and neither party wanted to, as they were too nervous to do so. Eventually, Y/N found the courage to approach her new husband, shyly walked up to him and touched his shoulder gently, causing him to turn around. She thought he had kind eyes, but the expression upon his face contradicted them as he looked most displeased, which consequently displeased Y/N. Both looked at each other for a moment, before Jacaerys said “hello”. Y/N laughed, as she thought it was a pathetically funny attempt of an interaction. Jacaerys seemed to not find this amusing, but secretly did.

“Hello” Y/N smiled before continuing, “I thought that if I did not talk with you now, we may grow old never interacting” she jested. Jacaerys’ lips curved into a small smile, “I in fact should have approached you first, my apologies”. Both of them awkwardly nodded towards each other before Y/N boldly asked “when did you become aware of our marriage?”. Jacaerys told Y/N the story of being told, emphasising much about the recentness of it while not discussing other aspects of the conversation. Y/N mimicked this, also telling him about her conversation with her father. Y/N surprised Jacaerys with her genuineness as she admitted to him that she could not wait to leave her home land. He found himself becoming more fond of her as she spoke, he watched her face closely, analysing her features. The two spent a while getting to know one another, as best as they could while being surrounded by many others.

The time to resign arrived, and although they had been conversing the entire journey towards their chambers, they felt slightly uncomfortable with each other when arriving, as they had not yet been alone and shared the same feeling of nervousness.

Nothing happened between them that night, despite Jacaerys placing his hand on Y/N’s for a short while, the pair still did not know each other well to begin getting too close. It is fair to say that neither of the two accumulate many social skills, and in turn, romantic skills are also lacked.

The first week of their marriage was filled with many enjoyable conversations, they were getting along very well and both felt as though they could begin to become more vulnerable. On one evening, the two were sat within their chambers, sitting close to one another as Jacaerys focused upon Y/N face as she explained her distaste towards her father which included the reasonings as to why. She felt quite emotional, as she had never until that moment divulged such information to anyone other than her own thoughts. Jacaerys did not like to see her become upset, and so he leant forward and gently held her face with one hand, lightly brushing his thumb over her cheek. When she had finished speaking, he took the opportunity to plant his lips upon hers and they shared a sweet kiss. Y/N repositioned herself, closing the gap between them, nuzzling herself in him while letting out a happy hum.

Jacaerys kissed Y/N upon her head and said “I was terrified to meet you”. In response, Y/N lifted her head and moved upwards so that she was looking at him before agreeing “me too”. He laughed, causing her to also laugh as she continued, “I remember briefly meeting you as a child, but not much. I was worried that you would be different to how you are” she admitted. It felt strange to Jacaerys that a week prior, he had been dreading the marriage, whereas now he was becoming not only extremely fond of his wife, but eager to know what the future held for them both. The soothing sound of Y/N's voice interrupted his thought process, "I must admit something to you, but you must swear on the gods that you will not repeat it" she spoke, her voice becoming slightly sterner towards the end of the sentence. Jacaerys nodded, "yes, I swear". Y/N proceeded to explain that her father had instructed her to acquire information, which in turn, led to Jacaerys to divulge what he had also kept from her. Y/N was not surprised nor was she angry that her husbands mother did not trust her, as she knew the personality of her father better than anyone. The two mused at how similar they were.

Despite being content about his new marriage, the way in which his mother conducted this entire ordeal left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted to get revenge, nothing awful, of course. He just wanted to get under her skin, slightly.

That night, they gathered with their close family and friends and ensured that they kissed and hugged as obnoxiously and exaggerated as they possibly could. Jacaerys knew it was highly inappropriate to act in such a manner, but he did not care. Not only did he want to ruffle his mothers feathers, he also very much enjoyed having his wife by his side, so close to him.

Rhaenyra looked on, disgusted but thankful and grateful that her beloved son had taking a liking to Y/N, but cursed as she realised it meant that no new information would be sought.

Jacaerys, once again, grabbed Y/N and crashed his lips onto hers, which left her with butterflies swirling around in her stomach. He pulled away and grabbed her face with both hands, gently pecking her forehead and smirked as he said,

"I will absolutely get used to this, my love".

#jacaerys valaryon x reader #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #hotd #hotd fanfic #rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #jacaerys imagine #prince jacaerys

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just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace · 2 months ago

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Rings of Power Masterlist

*all fics posted so far are x reader, written with fem!Elf!reader in mind

These works are also being gradually added to my ao3 account.

🎀 - contains smut

-> Sauron

Ruin - in which you share a moment alone in the forge

Misled - in which he tries to convince you that your father, Lord Celebrimbor, is the darkness you saw in the Unseen World

Distraction - in which he blinds you to the invasion of Eregion by giving you a taste of what you desire

Choice - in which you try to persuade Halbrand to follow you to the Southlands, regardless of his past

Decision - in which you find out why Halbrand has been distant despite the intimacy you shared in Númenor, and now it’s your turn to decide whether or not to follow him on the path ahead

Perfect illusion - in which you have to sit at your father’s side while Sauron coerces him into finishing the Nine, realizing just how blind you have been all along

🎀 Inspiration - In which you struggle coming up with new designs for the Nine, and the Lord of Gifts helps you overcome your creative block

🎀 Further inspiration - in which you discover Annatar aiding Celebrimbor in his work with the same unconventional method he used with you, but that doesn’t mean he has discarded you

-> Evil!reader (chronological order)

* technically these share the same reader, but as the fics were not written in chronological order, each of them is either self-contained or has some info beforehand so it’s not too confusing wherever you start. So feel free to read them as a series or simply pick what sounds good to you.

* playlist for vibes

*some crazy memes about these two here and here

Remade - in which you nurse Sauron back into his physical form, eager to be reunited with your great love once more

🎀 Tides of fate -> in which your newly returned husband is unsure of the path ahead, and the sea itself tries to deter you from the one you choose together

Reunion - in which your husband finally returns from his time in Númenor, and you make the most of the first moment you get him alone

As one - in which you sense that your husband is being tormented at Adar’s camp, and you join him through your bond to share in his burden from afar

🎀 As we are now - in which you explore your husband’s new form, and it leads to you breaching a rather delicate subject

A true gift - in which you share a private moment with your husband, then add a special little detail to his new look

Jealousy - in which you know he is only getting close to Mirdania as part of your plans, but it still bothers you

Reveal - in which you can’t seem to quell Celebrimbor’s suspicions, and he finally learns the true identity of you and your husband

🎀 Theatrics - in which Celebrimbor tries to expose you and your husband to the people of Eregion, but you play the role of the innocent maiden to perfection

Old Wounds - in which you guard Celebrimbor to make sure he finishes the Nine, and he makes the mistake of underestimating the bond you and your husband share

Kill and make up - in which you and your husband discover that Celebrimbor has escaped with the Nine, and it brings out the uglier side of your relationship

Defied - in which Celebrimbor manages, with his dying words, to unearth some truths which you and your husband are desperate to deny

The Two - in which Galadriel fights to withhold Nenya and the Nine, but in the end she fails to stop your husband placing yet another ring upon your finger

-> Galadriel

Lost - in which she sees you in her 2x02 vision instead of Celebrimbor

Blindly - in which you find Galadriel in the waters of the Glanduin, acting strange in a terrifying way

#sauron x reader #annatar x reader #galadriel x reader #the rings of power #masterlist

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jintaka-hane · 2 months ago

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Someone Worried About You

Masterlist

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Summary: After a brutal attack leaves you badly hurt, a crewmate secretly takes care of you, doing little things he thinks you’d like without you knowing. Word count: 1900 Notes: Wire x f!reader. Platonic Killer. Taking care. Fluff.

Everything happened so fast.

The crash, followed by the shouts of your captain, ordering you to get out of the way. The fire, thick smoke swirling around you, and the stench of burning flesh. The explosion, the memory of the hard impact with the unforgiving ground, your body numb, hands desperately feeling for injuries. The image of horror as you stared at your blood-soaked palms.

Then, the silence. The darkness. The void.

*******

You woke with a dry mouth and a searing pain.

Where am I?

The blinding light of the room assaulted your eyes as you opened them, forcing you to squint in discomfort. As your eyes traveled down your body, you saw a white sheet pulled up to your chest. Your arms were wrapped tightly in bandages, not a sliver of skin visible, and when you tried to move them, they didn’t respond. Panic surged through you, your breaths coming in quick, terrified gasps as your legs, too, refused to obey your brain’s commands.

Shit, shit, shit.

“... help…” you tried to scream with all the strength you had left, which wasn’t much.

Aware that your weak voice wouldn’t reach anyone, you squeezed your eyes shut and forced yourself to calm down. You inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly and repeated the process until you regained some control. Once steady, you began to assess your surroundings.

The room was bright and airy, with a large open window that let in a soft breeze. The bed beneath you was surprisingly comfortable, and a small nightstand sat beside it. Through your still-blurred vision you could see a bottle of water, a book, and a fresh flower resting on top.

“You’re awake!?” Killer’s voice nearly shouted, followed by the hurried thud of footsteps approaching the bed. “KID! SHE’S AWAKE!”

It was the last thing you heard before everything went dark again, and you slipped back into unconsciousness.

*****

Your eyes flickered open again, and your fingers trembled slightly as you tried to move your hands. A good sign—at least they were beginning to respond.

You looked around, recognizing the now familiar room. The open window, with curtains fluttering softly in the breeze; the nightstand beside the bed, holding a freshly picked flower; and, right below it, the book.

That book.

To your surprise, you recognized the cover—an image you had caressed hundreds of times, from a story you had read just as many…, a book whose pages you knew by heart.

Your favorite.

A bookmark was carefully tucked between the pages, showing it had been started again.

Confused, your eyes roamed the room, searching for answers, stopping at something you hadn’t noticed before: right beside your bed was a large, rather uncomfortable-looking armchair, with visible wrinkles in the seat, as if it had been occupied not long ago.

“How are you feeling?” Killer’s soft, calming voice came from the other side, startling you from your thoughts.

You attempted to turn your head toward him, clumsily, wincing in pain from the effort.

“Easy now, don’t push it. I’m right here,” he said, holding one of your hands in his and positioning himself where you could see him.

“What happened?” Your voice was a rough whisper, and your mouth tasted of blood. “I feel like crap.”

“The attack... the explosion..." he faltered, his chest heavy with emotion. "You went wild, charging at them all by yourself, defying Kid’s orders. It was brutal. We... we thought we’d lost you."

You looked at him, remembering bits of what he said.

“You, fucking reckless, stubborn brat…” he continued, tightening his hand around yours. “You saved us.”

The corners of your lips twitched into a brief, weary smile.

“Where are we?”

“On solid ground. Kid’s ordered we’re not setting sail again till you’re back on your feet.”

“Will I get better?” your voiced trembled.

Killer’s thumb caressed your wrist. “Of course you will, but it’s going to take time. You need to rest.”

You nodded and closed your eyes, drained from the conversation. Killer noticed the gesture and got up to adjust your pillow.

“I’ll leave you to get some rest.”

As you heard him move toward the door, a question crossed your mind, and you quickly opened your eyes again.

“Kil, wait…”

Your first mate turned back towards you.

“...the flower, the book… Who put them there?”

You could almost sense him smiling behind his mask. “Someone who’s really worried about you.”

And with that he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

You were so exhausted that you didn’t have the energy to ponder who it might be.

*******

The days slipped by, and with them, strength gradually returned to your body. You still needed to sleep a lot, but your waking moments, though still brief, grew more frequent.

Each time you opened your eyes, they would eagerly settle on the nightstand, where a freshly cut flower would be waiting for you. Each bloom seemed more beautiful than the last, with a variety of colors that was simply breathtaking.

Next, your gaze would fall on the book, carefully placed beneath the flower with its pages slightly spread apart. A faint smile would tug at your lips as you noticed that the bookmark had moved forward again. As your sleep had become lighter, you found yourself dreaming of a deep, warm voice reading passages aloud — ones you knew almost by heart.

You always ended up glancing at the chair, slightly angled toward you, its cushions marked by recent use. On colder days, a small blanket was casually draped over the armrest. On the days when your arms had more strength, you’d reach out to touch the seat, always finding it warm to the touch.

But the chair’s occupant was always absent, as if fate wasn’t yet ready to reveal the secret of the person who spent so many hours at your side, watching over you.

Until one day, your curiosity was finally satisfied.

As usual, you opened your eyes and instinctively turned toward the nightstand, expecting to find the familiar sight of your book and the usual flower. But this time the book was missing.

Confused, you scanned the room, and your eyes flickered around until they landed on something unexpected — a pair of knees wrapped in black fishnet stockings, legs so long they bumped against the side of the bed.

Your eyes traveled up the tall figure slouched in the chair, noting the black shorts, the belt with metal rings, and the harness strapped across his broad chest, adorned with the skull that always reminded you of someone. One hand rested on his chest, fingers curled loosely around your open book, which rose and fell with each breath he took. The other hand hung loosely over the armrest. His head was uncovered, drooping slightly forward, his hair a bit tousled, and his distinctive sideburns were more unkempt than usual, though they did nothing to diminish his usual air of elegance.

With some effort, you stretched out your arm fingers brushing against his hand, feeling its warmth. The moment you touched him, he turned his palm upward to grasp yours, lifting it slightly into the air. His eyes fluttered a few times before fully opening, and his head straightened as he looked at you, fully awake now.

"Y/N..." was all he could muster. His eyes were tired, and roamed your face with a hint of something you sensed was emotion.

You smiled and squeezed his hand, and the gesture spoke more than any words ever could. You were genuinely surprised that of all your crewmates, he, who was usually so reserved and distant, with his eternally annoyed expression, had been the one by your side throughout your recovery. Day and night.

"Thirsty? Hungry?" he asked as he sat up straighter.

You shook your head, realizing too in that moment that he had probably been the one ensuring you were nourished and hydrated all along. What else had he been doing for you? You needed to know.

“Wire... the flowers…”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if pondering his next move. Then, he reached for the nightstand and held the flower thoughtfully, studying it before brushing your hair aside to tuck it behind your ear.

“They reminded me of you…” he said, his smile tinged with sadness that tightened something inside you.

Your gaze fell on the book, now resting in his lap.

“And the book…” you began, your voice trailing off.

"You seemed to be all into it before the accident, so I thought... maybe I could help you finish it,” he said, his thumb absently tracing the edge of his sideburn.

As you listened to his words, a rush of affection and tenderness filled your heart. Finish it, he had said, as if you hadn’t read it countless times before.

“Thank you, Wire,” you said softly, offering him a grateful smile.

He fell silent, simply watching you, and you couldn’t help but think that he was definitely much quieter than Killer.

“Wanna keep reading it now?” he asked so suddenly that you had to stifle a laugh. His lips curved into a faint smile, misinterpreting the sparkle in your eyes as enthusiasm.

He opened the book, cleared of his throat, and began reading, slowly, with his deep, resonant voice filling the room. You closed your eyes and focused on his words, the next sentences already forming in your mind. It was a part you knew completely, nearing the end of the story. Your favorite. You continued to listen, enchanted, when suddenly something struck you.

Oh, no.

You opened your eyes right away and looked at him.

“W-Wire… listen,” you said, anxiety lacing your voice.

He paused, shifting the book aside to look at you. “Yes?”

“Maybe… we should put the book down,” you suggested.

“Why? We gotta find out if the guy works up the nerve to tell the girl how he feels."

“WE gotta?” You raised an eyebrow, amused.

“WE gotta.” He replied with a face so solemnly serious that it made you giggle.

He put the book right back in front of his face, but you interrupted him once more, partly to buy yourself some time and partly because of the irresistible urge to tease him a little more.

“Why, Wire? You getting ideas?”

“What if I am?” he answered from behind the book, showing no sign of being bothered.

“Got any particular girl in mind?”

This time he hesitated for a split second before answering.

“Maybe…” He said at last, still holding the book up in front of his face, using it as both a shield and an excuse to avoid your gaze as he tried to get back to reading.

And with that, you let him continue reading, your hands gripping the sheets tightly to shield your face burning with mortification, knowing that once he turned the page he would reach the most explicit, unrestrained, and scandalously steamy passage you—and possibly he—had ever read.

...................

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece <3

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #x reader #kid pirates #wire #wire one piece #one piece wire #wire op #op wire #wire kid pirates #killer one piece #massacre soldier killer #jintaka stuff #one piece killer #op killer #killer

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mykuup · 5 days ago

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DIE PRΛNDIVM (𝙂𝙤𝙙'𝙨 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙡)

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My Masterlist

Summary : The young emperor is mad at his brother. Again. And to let go all of his frustration and anger, he needs to devour something sweet

wc : 1.6k

Warnings : no spoiler from the movie // SMUT // food play // oral (f receiving) // power play // dub con // servant reader // afab reader (but no description) // porn without plot

A/n : Because I fell in love with the character the millisecond I saw that first picture of him, I had to write a little something. I went to see the movie last night and I'm exciting to write/read more about him!

No proofread, we die like men in the arena ⚔

Taglist : @byronking @stardancerluv

DIE PRΛNDIVM (𝙂𝙤𝙙'𝙨 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙡)

Everyone in the Colosseum fell silent, eyes fixed on the Emperor. The eldest sibling rose from his bisellium, descending the marble steps with deliberate grace. His arm extended, fist clenched. In the arena, bodies of slaves and gladiators lay strewn about, victims of the bloodbath. The two remaining fighters stood amidst the carnage—one dominating, the other faltering. The youngest, surprisingly, had the upper hand.

Now, Geta would decide whether this favored gladiator deserved to be spared. Yet everyone knew better. Geta thrived on suffering and relished the fear in the eyes of those standing before him. His lips curled ever so slightly as he studied the fighter’s horrified expression. Without a word, his thumb tilted upward.

The gladiator would die, and the crowd roared in approval.

As the last fight concluded, the audience began trickling out of the Colosseum. Back at the palace, preparations for the evening banquet were well underway. Servants hurried to set a feast worthy of both emperors. Caracalla, in his typical rage, had stormed out of the dining hall, vowing to kill his brother next time.

Geta remained behind, unfazed by the threat. It wasn’t the first time, and he welcomed the day he’d face his brother in a final battle. Their mother, however, was stricken, her eyes pleading as she stood beside Geta. Seeing the fury in his dark eyes, she dismissed everyone with a wave, trying to quell the storm inside him.

Just then, you entered the room, unaware of the tension in the air. A heavy platter of exotic fruits balanced in your hands. Too late, you realized your mistake. The Empress’ gaze cut into you as you froze in place, unsure if you should turn back or apologize. Your heart raced, breath shallow.

“Leave us,” Geta commanded, his voice low but menacing. You moved to obey, relief flooding you—until he spoke again.

“Not you.”

His words stopped you cold. You dared not look up, only catching the apologetic glance the Empress gave as she slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with the Emperor.

“Augustus, I—” you began, but he cut you off sharply.

“Come here.”

You obeyed, placing the platter down near the roasted pig and standing by his side, nerves on edge. You had never been this close to him before. The sheer force of his presence made your pulse quicken. You barely registered him as he picked at bread and cheese, sipping wine and watching you, eyes narrowing with every silent second that passed.

Finally, he looked up from his cup, his gaze sweeping over you from head to toe. He sighed, the sound weighted with something you couldn’t place—disappointment, perhaps? Annoyance?

“Take it off,” he ordered, his voice smooth but laced with authority. “And lie on the table.”

For a moment, your mind refused to process the command. Your eyes widened, flicking to where his finger pointed—your tunic.

“Augustus, I can—" you began to stammer, panic rising. “I’ll call for one of the—”

“Take. It. Off,” he repeated, his tone harder now. Impatience flickered in his eyes.

You knew better than to defy him. Slowly, you obeyed, pulling your tunic over your head and climbing onto the table, kneeling, heart pounding in your chest. You focused on your hands, clasped tightly in your lap, until his fingers tilted your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze.

He was enjoying this.

The power, the fear radiating from you—it fed his dark desires. A thin sheen of sweat covered your skin, making you glisten in the dim candlelight, like prey trapped in the jaws of its predator.

“What did I ask you to do?” His voice was soft, mocking.

“You...you asked me to take off my garments,” you whispered, voice trembling.

“And?”

“And...to lie on the table.”

A satisfied smirk curled his lips as he released your chin. His brow arched in silent command, daring you to continue.

The table beneath you felt impossibly cold, a stark contrast to the heat building in the room as Geta’s gaze roamed over your body. It sends shivers through your entire body. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving you, drinking in the sight of your trembling form.

Without a word, he reached for the platter of exotic fruits beside him. His movements were slow, and deliberate, as though savoring the control he held over the moment. He reached for a ripe fig, its skin taut and glossy, and placed it just above your chest, the juice beginning to leak as it pressed against your warm skin. His lips quirked into a small, cruel smile as he watched your body shudder involuntarily at the touch.

“You make a perfect platter,” he muttered, his voice a mixture of satisfaction and dark amusement. He moved slowly, savoring each moment. A slice of pear next, laid carefully just below the fig, the scent of the fruit mingling with the faint sweetness of wine still on his breath. His fingers grazed your skin as he worked, but never lingered, keeping you on edge, anticipating his every move.

Geta's eyes darkened, the predatory gleam intensifying as he added more fruit—a handful of berries scattered across your stomach, a slice of melon placed delicately at the curve of your hip. Each touch was firm but restrained, as though he was barely holding himself back from something deeper, something darker. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows that seemed to dance along with his teasing touches.

You couldn’t move. His power held you in place, a predator watching his prey. So you lay still, every inch of your body vibrating with tension, not from fear alone, but from something else—something you couldn’t define. His control over you was absolute, his gaze devouring every inch of you as if you were the feast laid before him.

He leaned over, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. Slowly, he picked up a piece of fig from your chest with his fingers, bringing it to his mouth. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something beyond cruelty—desire. It was faint, but unmistakable, lurking behind his usual mask of detachment.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement.

He placed another fig on the hollow of your throat, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than before. His thumb brushed your pulse, feeling the rapid beat beneath your skin. “So fragile,” he whispered, the words almost tender, but laced with an unsettling hunger. He bent forward, his lips brushing against the fig as he bit into it, his breath hot and uneven as his mouth hovered dangerously close to your skin. When he reached the last grape, just above your navel, he paused. He leaned closer, his breath hot against your skin, and you could feel the tension coil tighter. His fingers trailed across your side, light, but enough to remind you who held your life in his hands.

“Such a waste of good food,” he whispered, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction, “on something so...fragile.”

Your breath caught, your chest rising and falling beneath the weight of his attention. Every part of you was strung tight as if you were one heartbeat away from breaking.

He continued his meticulous display, placing another slice of fruit at your navel, then further down, along your hips. His fingers, now slick with juices, traced along your sides, leaving a sticky sweetness behind. His touch felt heavier now, more deliberate as if the slow build of his desire was becoming too much for even him to contain.

Geta’s eyes, once hard and calculating, were now glazed with something more primal. He stood still for a moment, staring down at you, his breath coming faster, his chest rising and falling as if he were fighting an internal battle. His hand hovered above you, fingers twitching with barely restrained hunger. He was losing his control. His fingers trailed down your lower belly and you gasped when you felt his fruits-coated fingers sliding between your folds. Both of you were surprised about how wet you were already and before you could close your thighs, Geta’s mouth was on your core. His tongue lapped a long strip, tasting both you and the fruit juices, offering him the perfect mix of sweet and salty. You shiver, a soft moan escaping your mouth. Without even thinking of it, your hips started to move on their own accord, chasing the pleasure your emperor was offering to you.

‘Don’t move. We don’t want you to waste those delicious fruits right?’ His voice was commanding, firm yet you could hear a hint of playfulness. ‘Yes’, you sigh as you feel another lap.

‘Yes, who?’ There he was. The egocentric emperor. You knew he liked to show his power and loved to be praised. ‘Yes, my emperor.’ Oh, he wasn’t ready for that boldness, and he would never admit that he enjoyed your possessiveness at this moment.

He hums against your core, sending vibrations through your entire body before he starts sucking at your clit. You cried out from the pleasure and cried out more when he added two fingers to the mix, cradling them to reach that sweet spot inside your velvet walls. The rings adorning his fingers were a cold contrast with your heated body, sending shivers down your spine. Geta could feel you shaking as he went faster so his other hand landed on your belly, pinning you down in place, soiling the sleeve of his silk toga in the process.

Without warning, you cum all other his face, drenching his collar at the same time. When he finally let go of your pussy, he crawled to your laying form, a devilish smile plastered on his face. He came close to your ear, getting a bite of a slice of pear he displayed on your collarbone earlier. His voice was low as he whispered.

‘Take that platter with you and bring it to my quarter. I’m not done eating.’

#mykuup #gladiator 2 #joseph quinn gladiator ii #jquinn #joe quinn #emperor geta #emperor geta x reader #geta x f!reader

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seresinhangmanjake · 7 months ago

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Stolen Angel - Part 5

Demon!Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: You thought you were having a one-night stand with some random, normal guy. Turns out he’s a winged, demon-like stalker who has been obsessed with you for years.

Warnings/Notes: Jake is a little dark. Kidnapping. Manipulation. Obsessive behavior. Eventual smut and happy stuff. I’m sure there are typos. This used to be a different fic for August Walker, so if you see it, it’s fine. I wrote that one too.

Words: 3550

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

JAKE POV

Jake sighs at the knock on his door and sits up in his bed. It’s too early. Last night was long, watching you struggle to not verbally defy his every attempt to help you. But your wing was inflamed, which would soon lead to your back becoming inflamed, and he knows you’re intelligent but is it so hard to understand that not taking care of the injury could mean infection? Being here does not make you immune to such ailments and yet you puffed and huffed and barely held your tongue at his cleaning the area and applying a bandage with ointment. And just when you’d had a conversation with him about you being good. Terribly disappointing. You better shape up if you intend to get what you want.

“What, Javy?” Jake calls at the second knock.

Javy enters Jake’s room and leans against the door after closing it behind him. “So? You taking her?” he asks.

“Possibly,” Jake says, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “There are stipulations, but she’s determined. She’ll do whatever she has to to get there.”

Javy raises a brow. “Does that explain her cozying up to you yesterday?”

A slight smirk sneaks onto Jake’s face. ‘Cozying up’ is definitely one way to describe what you were doing the day before, although your actions were nowhere close to how affectionate you’re capable of being. There is plenty of passion in that body of yours that a few soft touches don’t do justice, but for now Jake will take what he can get.

“It does,” Jake confirms with a nod. “She’s my clever little angel, but manipulative attempt or not, it’s not like I’m going to push her away.”

“Oh no, of course not,” Javy snorts. “You? Do the respectful thing?” With a shake of his head, he lets out a low whistle to which Jake rolls his eyes. The sarcasm in his friend’s tone is wildly unappreciated.

“Do you honestly expect any better of me?”

“Not these days,” Javy says, “but is it so horrible of me to want you to see the error of your decisions and change? When I offered you a life here you were a different man.”

A different man. A weaker man. A man who had nothing left to live for.

Losing everything he once cared about—that is what changed him, but who’s to say the man he is today isn’t who he was always meant to be? Maybe it burrowed inside of him long ago and was waiting for the encouragement to expose itself. And what is so wrong about that? That doesn't make him a bad man.

He was a man who was missing the drive and purpose he needed. But then—despite being under the cruelest of circumstances—he found it. And when you find purpose you have to take hold of it and claim it any way you can before it’s ripped away from you. If Javy still can’t understand that then it must be the type of thing you have to live for yourself in order to grasp how it feels.

Jake’s eyes contain a challenge against his friend’s stare as he leans forward to brace his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands. “You try having Fate fuck you over, and then we’ll see the kind of man you become,” he says.

Javy sighs and crosses his arms. “I’m not denying the poor timing of your first meeting, but you coped with that for years, and now that you’ve snapped–”

“I haven’t snapped,” Jake snaps.

“Yes, you have. She was moving up in her life, finding some happiness, trying to make some friends at a new job, and then you took her,” Javy tells him, but not to chastise. That lecture was one Jake received weeks ago and Javy knows another won’t alter what has been done. “And you can’t keep her in The Tower forever. When this catches up with you—because it will—what do you intend to do?”

“She will love me by then.”

“You’re hoping she will love you by then,” Javy counters, “And you’re hoping when questioned, she’ll lie for you.”

Jake groans and shoots to his feet, running a hand through his hair. Gesturing in the general direction of your room, he says, “If she loves me then she’ll be lying for both of us because she’ll know it’s the only way we can be together.”

“And if she doesn't?”

“I'm not entertaining ‘if she doesn't’,” Jake says harshly. “She will. I’ll get rid of that stubbornness and she’ll remember why she wanted me in the first place.”

Javy pushes up from his leaned position, nearing the blond. “She wanted you because the two of you had some kind of carnal pull to one another, but–”

“It’s more than that,” Jake stops him. “We share more than that. She just refuses to see it.”

But you will. You’ll come to your senses. He knows that it’s more than sex, but it’s because of that sex that he believes something in you felt him over the years even though you did not see him. That’s why it was so easy to come together that night. You don’t sleep with just anyone. You’re picky and careful, as you should be, but you showed no reservations when giving yourself to him. You weren’t timid when he stripped you of your clothes; you were too focused on ripping him out of his. You weren’t embarrassed by your sweet moans and pretty cries. You were comfortable around him, and you will be again.

When Jake realizes Javy hasn’t spoken, he shoves his thoughts aside and pays closer attention to the look directed his way. It’s a medley of emotions. Skepticism and concern. Cautious hope and pity and acceptance. Acceptance of what, it’s hard to determine. Impending doom, likely, since Javy’s so sure of its inevitability.

Finally, Javy blinks. His lips stretch into a thin line, then he says, “Be smart about this, Jake.”

And Jake replies, “I’m always smart.”

“You're not,” Javy has no shame in telling him. “That's the problem.”

—

READER POV

“You can’t speak to anyone from your past, you can’t be seen by anyone from your past, you have to stay in my sight at all times, and you can’t do anything that would jeopardize our ability to return here on time,” Jake says. “You break any of these rules and I drag you back before midnight.”

Raising a brow, you cross your arms over your chest. “You think I can’t manage that? I’ve complied with everything you’ve asked of me for two whole weeks.”

Everything down to accepting his cupping of your cheek one night as he nearly kissed you. He hadn’t though, and his reasons for pulling back instead of taking what he wanted as he’s so used to doing robbed you of four hours of sleep.

“I wouldn’t put it past you to go rogue,” he says. “But you can’t. There are actual consequences I can’t protect you from.”

Yes, you know. He has mentioned that often. “Consequences, Angel. There are consequences to not following the rules.” For the last couple of weeks, it has felt like hours upon hours of the same droning on, the same lesson as if your short-term memory is flawed. But then he’d thrown in “It's your first time, and there’s a chance you’ll forget everything I’ve told you the minute you touch foot down there. You’ll be tempted to break them.”

That was what finally struck a cord of concern.

Of course, it had crossed your mind to break them, even though you’d known of Jake’s fate when he had done the same, but if he had to warn you of the temptation, you wondered how tempting it would really be. Would you be spending your precious, limited time there miserable because of the invisible chains on your wrists and ankles and the gag in your mouth as you try to resist the desperation to bond with the life you left behind?

“How tempted?” you had asked.

You were taken aback by one look from him. A harshness was in the green, but you are no fool, and you could see exactly what it was concealing. A memory—pain.

“Incredibly,” he’d told you. “At least, I was. And I paid for it.”

You hadn’t responded, but you kept his words in the back of your mind, ultimately deciding to trust in your strength. It was either that or risk never seeing home again, and that wasn't, and isn’t, an option for you.

“I’m not going to do anything, Jake,” you swear.

He peers into your eyes a little too long, but you let him search for the lie that isn’t there until he’s satisfied. He blinks and then gives a sharp nod. “Good,” he says. “Then close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close them,” he repeats. “You don’t need to know how to get where we’re going.”

Another thing to comply with. Rolling your eyes, you drop your arms to your sides. Jake pulls a blindfold out of his jeans pocket and folds it in thirds.

“Seriously?”

He looks up and steps closer. “Close, your, eyes,” he instructs again.

With a sigh you do as he says, then he wraps the fabric around your head, tying a little knot in the back.

“This is–” Stupid, you were going to say, but you’re cut off by the yelp that escapes your throat when you’re suddenly lifted into his arms, your legs and wings draped over his forearms.

“Hold on Angel,” he says.

Your hands clasp behind his neck. “Yea, no kidding.”

When he shoots up into the air, you have to tuck your head against his t-shirt to block out the rush and whirl of wind that’s quickly encompassing you. It’s all too fast, the pressure much too extreme that you feel as if you’ve gained thirty pounds in ten seconds. It’s the initial take-off of the rollercoasters at the theme park you went to as a child. The kind of feeling that locks your limbs in place.

However, it’s not long that you’re going up before you begin to fall back down at a speed that suggests the man holding you can’t fly and you’re about to greet the end of your life. The sharp change in movement twists and curls your insides. Your lungs are confused, unsure whether inhaling or exhaling would better suit you at the moment. You don’t know, so you don’t breathe.

Jake lands with a thud and sets you down on wobbly legs. One large hand wraps around your upper arm; the other slips the blindfold over your head and back into his pocket. You’re well-hidden behind a large tree as your eyes adjust to the bright neon lights that bleed from the city night.

Home. You’re home. You’re at the far end of a sidewalk by the docks that no one visits after six o’clock in the evening, but it’s still home, and you already feel yourself being sucked in by the central bustle of bodies and cars.

You take a step forward, much weaker than you intended, and Jake’s grip on you tightens.

“Not yet,” he says. “You need to shed your wings.”

That detail had escaped you, the excitement too overpowering. But you keep that excitement from showing on the outside, just as you had when he’d told you a few days ago that removing the wings was possible for you, too.

Standing taller, you prepare yourself for more instructions.

“Close your eyes again,” he begins, his voice a deep vibration in your ear. “Clear your mind. Create an image of your wings and the feathers plucking free, falling to the ground one at a time until you have no more. Picture the bone and cartilage crumbling,” he says. “And keep doing that until you feel the loss of the weight.”

It takes at least a full minute, but you’re lighter. When you look down, your feathers coat the ground, a few layered with his. Like ash and snow.

“Good,” he says, but his tone doesn’t match the praise. It’s the slightest bit wounded as if he’s grieving something he held dear.

You turn your head. Your eyes flick to his and you find them glued to your back—your back which is now bare of the one thing that shows the world you’re something other than human.

His Adam's apple bobs. “Let’s go,” he says.

“Where can we?”

“Anywhere that keeps you from running into someone that would recognize you or would’ve been concerned about your sudden absence.”

That definitely knocks out work, the old late-night cafe you used to frequent, the park on third—too small. But as far as you know, everything else is fair game. And if it’s not, you’re sure Jake won’t hesitate to inform you.

—

The temptation he’d warned you about isn’t as aggressive as you anticipated. It’s there, for sure, but you don’t find yourself itching to be bold. There’s no one you wish to see, and you skirt the perimeters of the locations you choose because of the thought that you might fuck up and give him reasons not to bring you back in the future.

He should be thrilled with your behavior. He should be riding one of his ego trips from getting you to do what he wants without additional scolding, but that’s not what’s happening. Instead, he’s worse by the hour.

Occasionally his eyes light up when you smile or chuckle at the places and things you haven’t seen for the month that has felt like a year, but between your grins and laughs, his face hasn’t once failed to fall.

He has taken to trailing behind you. If both hands are not in his pockets it is because one is running through his hair or down his face. To your statements, he hums. To your questions, he mutters answers. He hates it, you realize. All of it. Almost as much as you hate the place he has forced you to exist in ever since he took you.

His mood is only exacerbated by your desire to go to your apartment.

“Can you hold this?” you ask as you raise the window. “Won’t stay up, and maintenance ignored all of my requests.”

Jake nods, placing his hand on the base of the sill so you can ease yourself through the opening. You do the same for him as he steps off the fire escape onto the ragged carpet of your living room floor.

You take in the space, and it’s so…weird. Not a thing has shifted from the place you left it. The only additions left out of the memory you’ve kept in your mind are the layer of dust coating every surface and the slip of paper under your front door with Eviction Warning written in red lettering. And the smell. It doesn’t smell like you remember. You’re not immediately soaked in the scent of lavender essence left over from the half-burnt candle on the side table.

“Feels like I’ve been gone forever,” you say. You look over your shoulder at Jake. “Does time move differently there and I just didn’t notice?”

His hands are back in his pockets. His eyes are tired. “No, Angel,” he says.

Your sigh fades into a hum.

As you move about the room, you measure it all with your eyes.

Your couch. You always sat on the right. That cushion is more worn than the other two.

The lampshade is still crooked from when you last changed the lightbulb. Its poor alignment had caused a slight burn mark in the material from the shade leaning against the heat of the bulb, and yet, rather than straighten it out, you had twisted it on its diagonal axis so the mark faced the wall.

The TV remote is nowhere in sight, of course, because you were never the best at remembering where you put it down; a habit so frustrating you’re tempted to hunt for it now.

Your coffee table still has the scratch in the middle from when you’d dropped your mug onto the wood, shattering it to pieces. That had pissed you off. You’d just bought it from the flea market.

A mug—you’d left one out that morning. You turn your head to your kitchen where it still sits on the counter.

You walk over and grab it. There’s a coffee ring in the bottom, so you take it to the sink and wash it out, then flip it over to dry on a dishcloth. You weren’t a fan of leaving dishes scattered about, even for half a day, but you don’t know why it ever mattered. Since moving in, no one had entered this place but you, and well…him.

Suddenly, something deep and thick descends upon you. Though the space around you appears to have frozen in time from the moment you disappeared, there are things that did not freeze along with it that you can’t ignore.

Like the food in your fridge and the special chocolate cookies in your cabinet that the grocery store rarely had in stock. Rotten and stale. What a waste.

There’s a plant in your bathroom—a little one that relied on your sense of responsibility to keep it alive. It sits on a shelf in a dark purple pot you’d found on sale and now brittle leaves surely litter the tiles.

And, oh god, the cat. You used to leave a bowl of tuna out for the stray cat that climbed the stairs to paw at your window. What about him? Is he ok? Did he give up after being ignored? How long did that take? Did he feel abandoned? Does he miss you?

Bracing your hands on the counter, your head falls forward. You close your eyes and take a breath, and then you open them and—Fuck, there’s a cheerio on the floor. You forgot the damn cheerio; that tiny ring of processed wheat from breakfast that has been hanging out here in limbo wondering if it’ll be trashed or devoured by ants because you were running late that morning and told yourself you’d throw it out later but you didn’t and so there’s a fucking cheerio on your floor.

You can’t look at it, but then you don’t know where to look, or what to do. You don’t dare go into your bedroom. The sheets will be rumpled. Your underwear will be wherever it landed when it was taken off your body and tossed aside.

Shit, the laundry! You forgot to take it out of the washing machine. Mildew probably grew in the creases and folds. They'll have to go through the cycle again. You'll need detergent. You're out of detergent—used the last of it on the load that needs to be rewashed. Your favorite t-shirts are mixed in there somewhere. But it’s fine. You’ll do a quick wash, quick dry, quick fold, and put them in the drawer where they belong. How long could that take? An hour? Two? You have enough time, right? And while you're at it you really should set some tuna out and get rid of the spoiled food and fix the lampshade and find the remote and apologize to the plant and–

“We can pretend, Angel,” Jake whispers from behind you, making you jolt in your spot. You didn’t hear his approach—he keeps doing that—and he’s so close that his breath flutters wisps of your hair. “Forget everything, for a bit. Be the way we were that night.”

His disruption sidetracks you from the laundry, the cheerio, the cat, the plant, the food. For a second, you can barely process his words, but it doesn’t take long for the confusion to sort itself out.

You swallow. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to be human anymore,” you whisper, reminding him of what he has drilled into your brain again and again and again.

“You’re not,” he says. Then his arms are flanking your sides, palms pressing into the edge of the countertop. “But we look the part, don’t we?” Hot air is on your neck. You think you can hear his heart thumping. “Just tonight. Just here.”

Just here. Here, the last place you were before he made you into the creature you are. Here, the last place you can say that you were entirely you. Here, the last place you spent a happy moment. Your final happy moment. A moment that included him, back when you believed you were bringing home some guy. Just some guy. A beautiful guy. A human guy.

You liked that human guy.

You miss that human guy.

Sometimes you wish he'd show up again. Save you and promise you it was all a nightmare.

“Why?” you ask.

“Don’t ask why,” he answers. “Just tell me yes.”

And because you don’t want to go back to thinking about what you’ve lost; because you’re uneasy and overwhelmed and numb and weak now that you're realizing home really isn’t home anymore but a ghostly echo of who you were, you don’t possess the mental wherewithal to care about your decisions. All you want is a memory—a good memory—within your reach.

So you turn yourself right around, and you kiss him.

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #top gun #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin x y/n #demon!jake seresin #tgm fic #tgm #jake seresin x you

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fanficapologist · 3 months ago

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Ninety-Five

Aemond’s fury was palpable, simmering just below the surface, and understandably so. The news that his wife had been disrespected so publicly by a mere rat of a peasant enraged him beyond measure. His posture was tense, his fists clenched at his sides, as he stalked back and forth across her chambers. His silver hair swayed with every agitated step, catching the light streaming in through the tall windows. The ruby on the Conqueror’s crown atop his head glinted ominously, reflecting the storm brewing within him.

His eye, blazing with barely controlled anger, fixed on Maera for a moment before he turned away, his voice a growl as he summoned Ser Alfred Broome, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The knight entered the room swiftly, his expression stoic, but Maera could see the flicker of apprehension in his eyes as he faced the furious king.

“Find him,” Aemond ordered, his voice cold and sharp. “Set a number of guards to the task. I want that street urchin found and killed in the most torturous way possible. Flog him, flay him—I care not, just so long as he dies screaming. And when it’s done, hang his body on the gates as a warning to any who dare to defy the crown.”

Maera’s heart sank as she listened to her husband’s dark commands, her mind racing. She couldn’t let this escalate further. The violence he was so eager to unleash would only sow more fear and hatred, and she knew this wasn’t the answer. Aemond was ever the dragon, fierce and unyielding, but she had to be the one to temper his fire.

Without hesitation, Maera crossed the room and grabbed Aemond by the arm, her touch firm yet gentle. He stopped mid-sentence, turning to look at her with a mixture of surprise and anger. But as he met her gaze, the sternness in her green eyes halted his rant, the fire in him flickering uncertainly.

“Enough,” she said quietly, yet with a firmness that brooked no argument. She brought his hand to her cheek, holding it there as if to ground him. “I am fine. There is no need for further violence. This will only bring more unrest, more anger.”

For a moment, Aemond simply stared at her, his fury gradually giving way to something else—concern, perhaps, or the realization that she was right. The tension in his body slowly ebbed, his posture relaxing just a fraction. He looked at her, really looked at her, and the sight of her unharmed, her gentle reassurance, was enough to douse the worst of his rage.

Aemond exhaled slowly, his hand still cradling her cheek as he nodded reluctantly. “As you wish,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. He glanced at Ser Alfred, who had been waiting silently for his king’s final command. “You are dismissed, Ser Alfred. There will be no hunt today.”

The knight bowed slightly and left the room without a word, leaving the two of them alone. The Queen’s words were gentle but firm as she tried to soothe her husband’s anger. “It was only one man out of a thousand attendants, Aemond,” she began, her tone calm, almost pleading. But her attempt at reassurance was met with a sharp growl as Aemond pulled away from her grip. His eye flashed with fury, his lips curling into a snarl.

“It only takes one man to do enough damage!” he snapped, his voice edged with frustration and fear. The thought of Maera being harmed, even by a single peasant, was enough to rekindle the fire in him, the dragon within raging against any threat to his queen.

Maera’s gaze softened as she watched him, understanding the depths of his fear. She approached him once more, her steps deliberate, her expression resolute. “Aemond,” she said, her voice unwavering, “I watched the majority of them turn on the man who attacked me. One of their own.” She paused, noting how Aemond’s gaze flickered towards her, the anger in his eye giving way to something more thoughtful. “What happened today showed that the people are with us. They see your claim as legitimate.”

Aemond’s eye met hers fully now, the harsh lines of his face softening ever so slightly. He reached out, taking her hand in his, their right hands still bandaged from the ritual of the night before. The connection between them was palpable, their bond forged in blood and fire, deeper than any crown or title. “Being King is harder than I anticipated,” he muttered, his voice low, almost as if he were speaking to himself more than to her.

Maera furrowed her brow, her eyes searching his face, silently urging him to continue. Aemond exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders still visible as he spoke. “In moments like these, when my family is at risk,” he admitted, his voice thick with frustration, “I don’t wish to act with diplomacy and dignity. I want to act with dragon fire and vengeance.” His grip on her hand tightened, his expression darkening. “I feel useless, cooped up on this fucking island while the pretender sits upon our throne. And holds my sister and mother as prisoners.”

Maera listened intently, her heart aching for him. She knew the weight he carried, the burden of his crown and the constant threat to their family. Whilst the war waged on in the background, there had not been any ground-breaking progress for a while. Minor battles won and lost but nothing that brought them closer to retaking the Capital.

His desire for retribution, for decisive action, was understandable, even if it was dangerous. She squeezed his hand, her voice soft but firm. “You are not useless, Aemond. You are a king, and your time will come. But until then, we must be patient.”

He looked at her, the conflict in his eye clear. But as he held her gaze, his anger slowly subsided as he nodded in defeat. She sighed, recognising his frustration. She reached out and grabbed his hand, her grip firm yet gentle, as if to anchor him. A small smile curved her lips, a mixture of empathy and affection. “Come, my King,” she said in a lighthearted tone, trying to lift the weight from his shoulders. “Join me in the nursery to see our daughter.”

Aemond’s tense expression softened at her words. He allowed a smile to break through, a genuine, albeit weary, one. “As you command, my Queen,” he replied, the edge in his voice replaced by warmth. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it to lead the way.

A few more moons passed, and Aemara was nearing six months old. She had become a bright and cheerful baby whose radiant smile could light up any room. Maera often found herself marveling at how much Aemara reminded her of Aemond when he was a child, with the same mischievous spark in her eyes and the infectious joy she brought to those around her. Though Aemara loved being with her mother, it was clear she held a special place in her heart for her father. The moment Aemond entered the room, Aemara would gurgle and babble with delight, her little arms reaching out until he scooped her up.

Aemond didn’t mind the child’s playful tugging on his hair or her curious fingers grabbing at his eye patch. He would smile, his stern demeanor melting away as he spoke to her in High Valyrian, determined that her first word would be "Kepa," the Valyrian word for "father." Maera had teased him, reminding him that it would be some time before Aemara would speak, but Aemond was unwavering in his intent.

All seemed better between the King and Queen as the days went by. Aemond, who had once been so distant out of respect, began spending a few nights in Maera’s bed. At first, it was only occasionally, but gradually, those nights turned into every night. His appetite for her was unquenchable, but it was not purely for passion that he sought her company. More often than not, Aemond simply enjoyed being with his wife and daughter, finding a rare peace in the simplicity of their family life.

Eventually, his possessions were moved permanently into Maera’s chambers. It was an unspoken acknowledgment that this was where he belonged, with his wife and child. They started and ended each day together, and the bond between the family only grew.

Sȳndor, Aemara’s dragon, was growing at an extraordinary rate, much faster than anyone had anticipated. Within a few short moons, the dark-scaled beast had reached the size of a fully grown dog, a sight that left the dragon keepers in awe. They marveled at the rapid growth, whispering amongst themselves about the creature's exceptional lineage. Maera, observing Sȳndor’s development, put it down to the powerful bloodlines of its parentage- Vhagar and Ēbrion.

The dragon keepers, concerned for the young dragon's development, insisted that Sȳndor should be housed in the Dragonmount with the other beasts. They argued that the mountain was better suited to accommodate a growing dragon, where it could learn to interact with its kin and develop its natural instincts. However, both the King and Queen knew that the connection between dragon and rider was sacred, especially in the formative years, and they wanted to preserve it as much as possible.

After much discussion, a compromise was reached. By day, Sȳndor would spend her time in the Dragonmount under the watchful eyes of the keepers, who would train her to respond to commands and nurture her instincts so that one day, she might become an exceptional mount. But at night, Sȳndor would return to Aemara. The beast, though too large to share her crib, was content to curl up at the foot of it, vigilantly guarding her as she slept.

Despite the peacefulness that had settled over Dragonstone, Maera could sense that her husband was restless. Aemond, ever the warrior, was struggling with the quiet. He was the rider of the world’s largest dragon, a man forged in the heat of battle and tempered by fire. The simple act of waiting did not suit him. His nature was impulsive, his temper quick to ignite.

She could see the tension in his eye, the frustration in his every movement. He was a dragon tethered to the ground, yearning to unleash his fire but held back by the need for patience. Maera knew that managing his restlessness was crucial; they had to wait for the right time to strike, no matter how much it grated against Aemond’s instincts.

The opportunity for action soon presented itself, though not in the way Aemond had anticipated. Small boats began arriving in the dozens, each carrying weary and frightened people from the Capital. Their clothes were ragged, their faces lined with fear and uncertainty.

At first, Aemond was suspicious of their arrival. He did not allow them entry into the island after Maera had been attacked, choosing instead to keep them camped on the beach below, their fires flickering like distant stars in the night. Maera, ever the compassionate Queen, organized parcels of food and medicine to be delivered to them, ensuring they were cared for while her husband investigated the reason for their sudden appearance.

Ravens soon arrived bearing messages from across the continent. Reports trickled in that people weren’t just fleeing to Dragonstone, but also to the Stormlands and Riverlands. Aemond’s wariness grew—why would so many abandon King’s Landing, the heart of the realm? The answer soon became chillingly clear: Rhaenyra was beginning to lose her grip on the Iron Throne.

The betrayal of two of her dragonseeds, Ulf and Hugh, had struck a severe blow to the Black Queen's reign. These once-loyal dragonriders had defected to the Greens, and their treachery had sown seeds of paranoia within Rhaenyra's court. She began to doubt everyone around her, suspecting betrayal at every turn. Her Small Council, once unified in its purpose, had splintered, with factions forming, each vying for influence over the increasingly erratic Queen.

Rumors spread that the gates of King’s Landing would be shut tight, with no one allowed to enter or leave the city. The atmosphere within the capital had grown tense, a powder keg ready to explode. Larys Strong’s network of spies had done their job well, stoking the flames of panic among the smallfolk. The fear that whatever horrors had occurred in Tumbleton would be repeated in King’s Landing drove people to abandon their homes and seek refuge elsewhere.

Maera had heard whispers of what had transpired in Tumbleton—Ulf and Hugh had seized the town for the Greens, but the details were murky. What she did know was that the smallfolk were terrified, haunted by the specter of death and destruction. As the reality of the situation sank in, Maera and Aemond knew that the time for action was near. Rhaenyra’s hold on the throne was weakening, and with it, the stability of the realm. The smallfolk’s exodus to Dragonstone was a sign—a clear indication that the tide was turning.

The one-eyed King called for a Council meeting, his voice ringing with the authority of a dragonlord. Maera entered the chamber at his side, her presence as commanding as his. The room was already alive with murmurs and whispers, the members of the small council conversing in low tones. There was a palpable buzz in the air—a mix of anticipation, eagerness, and a thread of trepidation running through the room. All eyes turned toward the couple as they approached the head of the table, the council members rising briefly out of respect before resuming their seats.

Aemond took his place in the high-backed chair at the table’s head, his posture rigid, the crown of Aegon the Conqueror perched upon his silver hair, the ruby glinting ominously in the candlelight. Maera sat beside him, her demeanor poised yet alert, her presence lending an air of calm authority to the room.

The Hand, Ser Criston Cole, leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table as he addressed the council. “Now is the perfect time to strike,” he declared, his voice carrying the weight of conviction. “Rhaenyra’s power wanes with each passing day. The smallfolk’s loyalty is shifting to our side. If we act swiftly, our attack will not be seen as aggressive but as a rightful assertion of your claim, my King. The Greens will be seen not as conquerors but as liberators, reclaiming what is yours by right.”

A few nods of agreement circled the room, but the tension did not dissipate. Before the murmurs could rise again, Lord Lyonel, the young Master of Coin and Aemond’s cousin, abruptly interjected. His voice was sharp, cutting through the Hand’s confident tone like a blade. “Are you aware, Lord Hand, of the vile atrocities taking place in Tumbleton?” His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken horrors.

Criston Cole’s brow furrowed, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. “Atrocities?” he echoed, the word laced with skepticism. “War is never without its dark deeds, Lord Lyonel. We cannot shy away from what must be done.”

Maera’s brow furrowed as she turned to Lyonel, her green eyes narrowing in concern. “What exactly are you talking about, cousin?” she asked, her voice steady but edged with the need for clarity.

Lyonel turned to her, his expression softening slightly, though the horror in his eyes remained. The Master of Coin, usually calm and composed, leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the table’s edge.

“Your Grace,” he began, his tone now more measured but no less urgent. “These are not mere dark deeds. The smallfolk who fled King’s Landing fear a fate worse than death. Tumbleton was razed—raped, pillaged, burned. This is what the smallfolk fear—this is why they flee King’s Landing. They fear that we will bring the same devastation to their doorstep.”

The Queen, visibly taken aback by the utter disgusting news she had just head, glanced at her husband, who was listening intently, his face a mask of controlled fury. His hands, resting on the arms of his chair, clenched tightly, the knuckles whitening under the strain.

Criston Cole’s expression darkened, but he held his ground. “These are the harsh realities of war, my lord,” he said, though there was a note of uncertainty now creeping into his voice. “We cannot allow these fears to paralyze us. If we do not act soon, we may lose the momentum that is finally swinging in our favor.”

Maera, sensing the tension rising between the Hand and the Master of Coin, placed a calming hand on Aemond’s arm, subtly signaling him to maintain his composure. She knew that while Criston’s pragmatism was necessary, Lyonel’s concerns could not be dismissed lightly. She addressed the Hand directly, her voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of tension.

“How can we not be seen as conquerors when such vile acts are committed in our King’s name? How do we differentiate ourselves from the very monsters we seek to defeat?” Her question hung in the air, a sharp challenge that demanded an answer.

Before Criston could formulate a response, Lord Lyonel interjected, his voice resonating with the urgency of his message. “The Queen speaks wisely,” he said, his tone firm. “I have received word from my father—messages that the soldiers in our army share the same concerns. Men are deserting the cause. They cannot stand by and watch these heinous acts committed daily in the name of King Aemond.”

Maera’s heart sank at this revelation, the weight of it settling in her chest like a stone. If soldiers were deserting, it meant their forces were weakening. The Reach, a crucial stronghold, would be left vulnerable to a counterattack from the Blacks. The thought twisted her stomach into knots. She turned to Aemond, her voice laced with quiet but palpable urgency. “This cannot go on any longer, my King. Tumbleton is won; there is no need for such savagery.”

Aemond’s single eye remained fixed on the painted table before him, where the map of Westeros was laid out. He nodded slowly, but his response was measured, almost reluctant. “They will be stopped,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “in time.”

She frowned, her eyes searching his face. Why was he so hesitant to act, to put an end to this unnecessary bloodshed? There was a disquieting tension between them, a silent question she did not voice but that lingered in the space between them.

Sensing the need to assert his authority, Aemond abruptly rose from his chair, his stature commanding the room’s attention. “I agree with my Hand,” he declared, his voice firm and unyielding. “Now is the time to strike.”

He moved to the painted table, his eye fixed on King’s Landing, the capital that had once been his home. His finger traced the path along the Crownlands, and he continued with calculated precision. “The odds are now evenly matched. Rhaenyra is losing the support of the common people. The fear that grips the city is our advantage.”

Aemond’s gaze swept across the room, his tone becoming more assured as he outlined the dragons each side possessed. “The Blacks have five dragons: Syrax, Caraxes, Sheepstealer, Moondancer, and Seasmoke. We have Tessarion, Vermithor, Silverwing, and the two largest dragons in the world: Vhagar and Ēbrion.”

As he spoke, his eye seemed to glint with the prospect of the battle ahead, a warrior’s anticipation simmering beneath the surface. The council members listened intently, their own thoughts undoubtedly swirling with the implications of the King’s words.

Maera watched him closely, her frown deepening. While she understood his eagerness to capitalize on their advantage, she could not shake the sense of unease that crept into her thoughts. The hesitation in his earlier words, the reluctance to stop the savagery—this was not the way it should be.

The King began moving pieces across the painted table, his fingers deftly guiding the dragon figurines and tiny soldier markers as he outlined his strategy. His eye was sharp and focused, his voice resonating with the authority of a king as he described the battle plan.

“We will divide our forces,” Aemond declared, positioning a dragon figure on the northern border of the Crownlands. “I will lead an assault on King’s Landing from the Riverlands, attacking from the north.” His hand slid the dragon piece from Dragonstone to the northern edge of the map, his intention clear in the decisive movement.

He continued without pause, picking up another dragon figure and placing it alongside a group of soldier markers on the southern border of the Crownlands. “Daeron will fly to the Stormlands and bring the Baratheon forces to bear from the south.”

The Queen’s eyes flickered with unease as Aemond next spoke of the Dragonseeds. He moved another dragon piece to the map near Tumbleton, aligning it with a large Hightower host. “The Dragonseeds will attack from Tumbleton, backed by the forces of House Hightower.” He flicked his eye up to his wife. “Their loyalty will ensure the Black Queen’s downfall. Which is why, for now, they must be appeased.”

At this, Maera couldn’t help but roll her eyes and shake her head slightly. She held her tongue, though, knowing now was not the time to challenge her husband in front of his council. Still, the idea of relying on the Dragonseeds, known for their recent debauchery, troubled her deeply.

Aemond then shifted his focus to the eastern approach, placing a dragon piece and several ship markers in Blackwater Bay. He looked up at Maera, his gaze intense. “You, my Queen, will attack from the east with Ēbrion, supported by the fleet of Morne. Together, you will match the Velaryon fleet and prevent any escape by sea.”

Maera took a deep breath, steadying herself as she felt the weight of the room’s eyes upon her. She knew she had to choose her words carefully. Her husband was a proud man, impulsive and headstrong, and she needed to approach him with diplomacy and respect—especially in front of his council.

She clasped her hands in front of her and spoke calmly, her voice measured. “My King, if we bring the full force of our dragons and armies to King’s Landing, there will be nothing left for you to rule except ash and bone.” Her words were spoken with care, but the underlying warning was clear.

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable. Lord Bryndemere, the older Master of Ships, finally broke the silence, his tone even but firm. “Your Grace, this may be our only chance to eradicate Rhaenyra and her cause once and for all. The city will endure.”

Maera’s gaze shifted to Lord Bryndemere, her expression unreadable. She knew the council’s eagerness to rid the realm of Rhaenyra, but the thought of unleashing such destruction on the capital weighed heavily on her. Aemond remained silent for a moment, his eye flickering between Maera and the map before him.

The Queen’s eyes then swept across the room, taking in the faces of each councilman seated around the table. She could see eagerness in some, wariness in others, but all were silent as they awaited her next words. Her gaze lingered on each man before she finally spoke, her voice firm but tinged with concern.

“And what of the people who have already fled?” she asked, her tone carrying the weight of her worry. “What of those who arrived at Dragonstone seeking our protection from the pretender? Will they not see us as they see Rhaenyra if we do this?” Her words hung in the air, resonating with a mixture of compassion and pragmatism.

She turned her attention to Aemond, her eyes searching his face. “What of those who remain in the city? Whether they are loyal to Rhaenyra or not, they will see us as invaders, turning King’s Landing into another Tumbleton. Is that what we want? To be seen as condoning the chaos wrought by the Dragonseeds while they remain unchecked?”

The council remained silent, absorbing her words. The tension was almost palpable, thickening the air as the implications of her questions sank in.

Lord Larys, the Master of Whispers, finally broke the silence with a sigh. “I admire your tender heart, Queen Maera,” he began, his voice oily with false sympathy.

Maera’s eyes flashed, and she cut him off immediately, her tone sharp. “Do not patronize me, Lord Larys.” Her voice was steely, brooking no argument. “This is not about a womanly mind that cannot stand the idea of hurting the innocent,” she continued, though in truth, part of her did recoil at the thought of more innocents suffering. “This is about the possibility that if the smallfolk do not back us, they could rise against us. Should they decide they are tired of being casualties in a war they did not start, they could put all our heads on spikes.”

A hushed murmur rippled through the room as Maera’s words struck a chord. She turned back to Aemond, her gaze almost pleading now. “It was not only the Gods and our dragons that put House Targaryen on the throne,” she said, her voice softer but insistent. “It was the people, and the love they had for our House. We must not lose sight of that.”

“The Queen is right.” Another voice broke the silence, agreeing with her. Maera turned to see Grand Maester Vaegon, her estranged grandfather, sitting up straighter in his seat. His face, lined with age and wisdom, bore a contemplative expression as he nodded slightly, acknowledging her point.

“It would be unwise,” Vaegon began, his voice measured and thoughtful, “to disregard the sentiments of the smallfolk. The hearts of the people are fickle, and once lost, they are difficult to regain.” He paused, his eyes meeting Maera’s. Despite their estrangement, she could see the respect he held for her argument. Maera nodded in return, granting him permission to continue. The room fell silent once more, all eyes now on Vaegon as the gravity of the situation settled over them.

“Whilst most of you are too young to remember, it was not that long ago when another powerful king ruled Westeros,” Vaegon began, his tone measured. “Before the reign of Jaehaerys the Conciliator.”

Maera’s eyes flicked around the room, noticing the councilmen exchanging puzzled glances, their murmurs of confusion barely concealed. But when she turned to her husband, she saw something different. Aemond’s face was rapt with attention, his single eye locked onto the Grand Maester as if he were hanging on every word.

Vaegon continued, his voice growing more somber. “This King, too, felt his birthright had been stolen from him, and when the time was right, he arrived in the capital on the back of the world’s largest dragon to claim it. His ambition was as fiery as his dragon, and he believed that power alone would secure his rule.”

The murmuring among the council grew louder, many of them clearly unsure where this was leading. But Maera noticed that Aemond remained silent, his mind clearly racing with the implications of Vaegon’s story.

The Grand Maester’s gaze grew darker as he went on, his voice lowering as if recounting a grim tale from a time most would rather forget. “This King was not remembered fondly. He brought war to the city he sought to rule, burning not only his enemies but also those who were unfortunate enough to be caught in his path. He was hot-tempered, impulsive, and his commoners lived in fear of his wrath, for they had already seen firsthand the destruction he was capable of unleashing upon the city. And this does not even touch upon the horrors that occurred within his own castle walls.”

Vaegon’s eyes shifted toward Aemond, his expression now one of pointed inquiry. “Tell me, Your Grace, do you know of which King I speak?”

Maera turned her gaze to Aemond, her heart beating faster as she awaited his response. Without hesitation, Aemond’s voice rang out, strong and certain. “Maegor the Cruel.”

A hush fell over the room, the councilmen’s murmurs ceasing entirely. The weight of Aemond’s words hung in the air, and Maera could see the realization dawn on the faces of those gathered around the table. Vaegon’s comparison was not lost on them, nor on Aemond, who stared intently at the painted table before him.

The Grand Maester nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Aemond’s. “Yes, Maegor the Cruel,” he confirmed, his voice now tinged with a warning that resonated through the chamber. “A ruler who believed in power above all else, but who left behind a legacy of fear and ruin.”

The Queen watched Aemond carefully, her own heart heavy with the implications of Vaegon’s tale. The tension in the room was palpable, the silence profound as each man considered the lesson that had just been imparted.

Vaegon held the King’s gaze, his voice firm yet carrying an underlying warmth of a mentor speaking to a student. "Your wife, the Queen, is wise in recognizing that it will take more than power to secure the Iron Throne. Power alone may win battles, but it is not what sustains a rule, nor is it what builds a legacy worth remembering.

“Are you suggesting our King is comparable to Maegor, Grand Maester?” The Hand asked with an accusing tone

“I am suggesting our King has a choice to make,” Vaegon replied calmly. “How do you wish your own rule to be remembered, King Aemond? Will you be the King who ruled through fear and fire, or will you be something greater, something more?"

The room seemed to hold its breath as Aemond absorbed the Maester’s words. Maera watched her husband intently, seeing the subtle flickers of thought playing across his sharp features. The Conqueror’s crown upon his head caught the light, its ruby glinting like a drop of blood—a stark reminder of the path he could choose to take. His expression was unreadable, but Maera could see the depth of his contemplation, the weight of the decision before him pressing down like a storm cloud on the horizon.

Aemond’s fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the painted table, his single eye focused on the map of Westeros spread out before him. His jaw clenched, and Maera could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the internal struggle between his instincts as a warrior and the wisdom his advisors were offering him.

Finally, Aemond spoke, his voice measured. "What else can be done before we strike King’s Landing?" His question was directed at the room, the words laced with the desire to explore all options before committing to the course of action that could define his reign.

The council exchanged glances, the tension in the room slightly easing as Aemond opened the floor to discussion. It was Lord Unwin Peake, the Master of Laws, who stepped forward, a gleam of determination in his eye. "Your Grace, if I may," he began, his voice steady and confident. "I volunteer to journey to Tumbleton. Prince Daeron and Lord Hobert Hightower need support in managing the Hightower host and ensuring the Dragonseeds remain in their place."

Maera turned her attention to her old friend from Harrenhall, her brow furrowing slightly with concern. "Are you certain, Lord Unwin?" she asked, her voice tinged with a note of worry. The idea of sending any of their key supporters into the chaos of Tumbleton, especially with the Dragonseeds’ brutality fresh in everyone's mind, seemed risky.

Lord Unwin nodded with a small, confident smile. "Your Grace, I assure you, I have ample experience in keeping power-hungry young men to heel. I will ensure that the forces there are disciplined and that any further… excesses are curbed. With proper leadership, the situation in Tumbleton can be brought under control, and our forces there can be better prepared for the final push towards King’s Landing."

Maera studied the Master of Laws for a moment longer before nodding slowly, accepting his offer. She glanced back at Aemond, who was listening intently, his expression contemplative. The King’s silence spoke volumes; he was weighing every word, every suggestion, against the immense responsibility that rested upon his shoulders. Eventually, Aemond agreed, and ordered preparations be made for Lord Unwin’s journey.

As the council continued to discuss the details of the plan, Maera couldn't help but feel a deep sense of relief that Aemond had not yet succumbed to the rage and impulse that had driven many of their ancestors to ruin. But the tension remained, a tightrope they all walked, and Maera knew that in the end, it would be Aemond who would decide which way they would fall.

When the meeting drew to a close and the councilmen began to rise, Maera remained seated, her gaze thoughtful, her posture poised. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts, and then stood, her movement deliberate and commanding attention. “If I may, I have one more matter to present before the council,” she said, her voice calm but firm, cutting through the murmurs of the departing men.

The councilmen paused, glancing at one another before looking to Aemond for his response. Aemond met his wife’s eyes, his brow slightly raised in curiosity. With a small nod, he gestured for the men to resume their seats. The room fell silent again, the anticipation palpable.

Maera stepped closer to the painted table, her gaze sweeping across the faces of the men around her before settling on her husband. “I do not need to remind you, Aemond, of your duties as King,” she began, her tone respectful but resolute. “You know as well as I do that your responsibilities lie in uniting and defending the Realm, ensuring peace and prosperity for our people.” She watched as Aemond raised a brow, intrigued by where she was leading the conversation, but he remained silent, allowing her to continue.

“Rhaenyra is now in a precarious position, weaker than she has ever been,” Maera continued, her voice growing more intense. “She has lost two of her sons already, and another remains our hostage. Despite her stubbornness, she is a mother at heart, and she will want to protect those she has left. Her position has changed since this war began. Her losses have made her more vulnerable.”

Maera’s mind briefly wandered back to the day of the Festival of the Mother, remembering how Rhaenyra had intruded upon her thoughts as she prayed in the Sept. It had felt like a strange and inexplicable moment, one that she had tried to dismiss at the time. But now, as she stood before the council, it all seemed to make sense, as though the gods themselves had planted that thought in her mind.

Her gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on the faces of the councilmen, her lips pressed into a thin line. She knew that what she was about to say might not sit well with some of them.

“I am fully aware,” she began, her voice calm but edged with a steely resolve, “that some of you may see my words as a sign of womanly weakness.” Her eyes darted briefly to Larys, the unspoken accusation hanging in the air between them. She let the moment linger, letting them know that she would not be easily dismissed or patronized.

“But I believe,” she continued, her tone unwavering, “that another path must be treaded before we resort to brutality. We are not conquerors seeking to destroy; we are rulers who must think beyond the battlefield. We must consider what kind of world we will be left to rule once the fires have burned out.”

She turned then to Aemond, her expression softening slightly as she met his gaze. “With your permission, Your Grace, I would like to write to the Black Queen and offer her one last chance to bend the knee before we launch an attack. Woman to woman.” Her words were careful, respectful, but there was an underlying firmness, a determination that could not be easily swayed.

As she spoke, she could sense the tension thickening in the room, the unease of the councilmen as they weighed her proposal. Maera had no doubt that many of them, perhaps most, preferred the decisiveness of a military victory. They were men of war, after all, and they had been conditioned to see strength only in the form of conquest. But she also knew Aemond, her husband, a man who balanced on the edge of rage and reason. She hoped, beneath the bloodlust that often drove him, he would recognize the wisdom in her words.

“If Rhaenyra replies and rejects the terms,” Maera added, her voice firm but tinged with a reluctant acceptance, “or if no reply is received at all, I agree that an attack must be made. But we must give her this one last chance. Not just for her, but for us, for what we hope to build after the war is won.”

She looked into Aemond’s eye, searching for any sign of understanding, of that keen mind she knew lay beneath his warrior’s exterior. His expression remained inscrutable, his sharp features betraying little of the thoughts swirling in his mind. But she knew him well enough to recognize that flicker of contemplation in his eye—a small, almost imperceptible glimmer that told her he was considering her words, weighing them against the fiery instincts that often drove him. The room was silent, the tension palpable as they awaited the King’s response.

Feeling uneasy, Maera reached for his hand under the table, her fingers brushing against his in a gesture that was both tender and desperate. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice and switching to High Valyrian, her tone laced with emotion that she rarely allowed herself to show in public.

“Kostilus valzȳrys,” Please, husband, she whispered, her words carrying the full weight of her plea. “Īlva tala nūmo syt.” For the sake of our daughter.

She watched his single eye, searching for any sign of softness, of understanding. For a moment, Aemond’s gaze remained hard, his thoughts hidden behind the cold mask he often wore in council. But then, slowly, she saw it—the faintest flicker of something gentler, almost imperceptible, but enough for her to know she had reached him. He understood, she realized, why this mattered so much to her.

This wasn’t just about mercy for Rhaenyra or about proving herself to the council; this was about their daughter, about making the world a little better than it was before, so Aemara could grow up in a realm that wasn’t built on the ashes of their enemies.

Aemond gave a short nod, his expression softening just a fraction. “I will review your letter before it is sent,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Rhaenyra has until the turn of the moon to reply. If no response comes, or if she rejects our terms, then the attack will proceed as planned.”

Maera nodded, a wave of relief washing over her. “Thank you, husband,” she said sincerely, her gratitude clear in her tone. She squeezed his hand gently before releasing it, returning to her composed posture as she addressed the room once more.

The King straightened in his seat, his gaze sweeping over the councilmen who were still watching intently. “You have your orders,” he declared, his voice commanding, leaving no room for dissent. The men nodded in unison, the tension in the room beginning to dissipate as they rose from their seats, murmuring amongst themselves as they prepared to depart.

As the councilmen left the chamber, Maera rose from her seat, a determined look on her face. She leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Aemond’s scarred cheek, her lips barely brushing his skin. He turned slightly toward her, his expression softening, but before he could say anything, she was already moving away. Time was against her, and she knew she needed to begin drafting her letter to Rhaenyra as soon as possible. Every moment mattered, and though she held little hope that a peaceful resolution could be reached, the Greens had to be seen as offering a path to peace. It was a necessary step, however unlikely success might be.

The Queen hurried down the corridor, her thoughts racing as she considered how best to word the letter. As she turned a corner, she noticed a familiar figure slowly making his way toward his chambers. It was Grand Maester Vaegon, moving with the deliberate pace of someone who had long since abandoned the rush of youth. Maera hesitated, her footsteps faltering. She had done her best to avoid him, to pretend that he was just another advisor in the court and not what he truly was to her. But today, she couldn’t ignore the way he had supported her, the wisdom he had shared that had so clearly influenced Aemond.

Taking a deep breath, Maera increased her speed, her heart pounding for reasons she couldn’t quite name. “Grand Maester,” she called out, her voice echoing slightly in the stone corridor.

The old man stopped, turning to face her with a look of mild confusion. It was clear he hadn’t expected her to address him, especially not so directly. When she reached his side, Maera paused, catching her breath. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. “For supporting me during the meeting.”

Vaegon shook his head, his expression as unreadable as ever. “I was merely reciting the histories, Your Grace,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

Maera nodded, a small, almost sad smile touching her lips. “It is important for everyone to remember the histories,” she said, “if Aemond’s rule is to be a great one.”

The old man looked at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were searching for something in her face. Finally, he nodded, the barest hint of approval in his gaze. Maera dipped her head in acknowledgment, then quickly turned and continued down the corridor, eager to reach her chambers and put her thoughts to paper. She could still feel his gaze on her back as she walked away, but she pushed it from her mind. There was no time for lingering thoughts of the past. She had a letter to write, one that could change the course of the war—and the future of their house.

Notes: I know what you’re thinking. “Why is Blue posting so much?” Well my husband is sick, I haven’t gotten the D in a while, so I’m throwing all my energy into writing 🤣

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

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i-heart-hxh · 6 months ago

Note

Do you think Illumi’s comment about how Gon is just dazzling to Killua and a temporary fixation and Hisoka’s line about how transmitters are fickle and their treasures can turn to trash easily were foreshadowing for how Killua has come to see Gon? How at first Gon meant the world to him but now he’s basically done with him because of what happened during the CAA? Togashi could be planning to reunite them, but maybe this was his way of saying that Killua is done with Gon.

Hi! I actually see it in the opposite way to this view, almost.

As the audience I don't think we're supposed to agree with what Illumi is saying--that Killua doesn't deserve to have friends and that he'll ultimately betray them. It doesn't end up matching what happens in the series, nor does it match the overall message of what the series is about, and Illumi is an antagonist whose views the series repeatedly refutes (think: Alluka and how he sees her).

However, I also think that early in the series, Togashi was potentially trying to misdirect the audience with Killua's intentions. Killua early on was much more dangerous and edgy than he becomes as the series goes on, and there were a few pieces of foreshadowing that he might turn on Gon or the main group, which includes Hisoka's statement about Transmuters being fickle and their priorities changing rapidly, as well as Silva making him promise never to betray his friends and then expressing certainty that Killua will come back (as in, he was setting him up for failure because of the needle). There are also a few comparisons of Killua to Hisoka very early on that might fit into this (beyond the Transmuter thing), some even from Killua himself, and the scene with him getting frustrated with the ball game with Netero and then killing those guys as a result.

I believe Togashi laid this expectation down early in the series in order to subvert it and have Killua grow in the opposite direction. Killua felt like a "rival" type character or one who might eventually betray Gon/his friends, but instead he ends up being extraordinarily loyal to Gon (to a fault, even), he gets kinder and emotionally stronger as the series goes on, and he goes to extreme lengths to save Gon even after Gon pushed him away. He actively defies what his family expects of him! Even when he does go back home as Silva predicted, it's in order to break Alluka out of there and leave, and keep his promise to Silva by never betraying his friends--the opposite of what Silva actually wanted to happen when he made that promise with Killua.

Illumi's comment about Gon being "too dazzling for Killua's eyes" actually "comes back" in the form of the You are Light scene, where Killua uses similar language (in the original Japanese version) to describe why he can't look at Gon directly. That whole scene is about Killua comparing himself to Gon and thinking he's not worthy of him. However, Gon ends up falling into darkness himself and only Killua is able to save him--therefore, Killua becomes Gon's "light" right back. Because of what Illumi told Killua and the environment he grew up in, Killua himself didn't have faith in his own ability to be who Gon needed, but he managed it anyway because of how deeply he loves Gon.

He helps break Palm out of her loss of identity after she becomes a Chimera Ant, and becomes Ikalgo's light, too, by befriending him even though they're initially on opposite sides of the war.

We don't know the full reasons for Killua leaving Gon, however I suspect one of the reasons he leaves is in order to protect Gon from Illumi, who very well may pursue and endanger Killua and Alluka. Killua likely also needed a break from Gon after all they went through, but I don't think it'll be forever by any means. I made a post previously about why a reunion and reconciliation between them feels just about inevitable.

So, I absolutely do think those statements about Killua were "planted" intentionally within the series, but for the purpose of him breaking those assumptions rather than living up to them. One of the best things about Killua's character is how he initially seems so much different than he turns out to be. His commitment to and care for those he loves comes from a pure place in spite of the way he was raised, and he grows so much as a person throughout the series. He's a kind and courageous boy. I don't see him leaving Gon as a betrayal or throwing him away or legitimately "replacing" Gon with Alluka--they just came to a point where, for the time being, they had to take diverging paths. But I absolutely think their paths will converge again within the series, assuming Togashi can get that far.

I don't think Togashi is telling a depressing story where these tragic things happen between the two protagonists (who clearly adore each other) and then that's it, their relationship is over and they'll never get to mend the issues between them nor communicate all the things they haven't gotten to say to each other. There's a reason the separation is as brief and complicated as it is--it's intended to leave us with questions, and I believe those questions will be answered someday, assuming the manga is able to reach that point.

#hunter x hunter #hxh #gon #killua #killugon #gonkillu #asks #anonymous #meta #my posts #I feel like this is a bit messy but have it anyway #I also feel like I always end these kinds of posts the same way lol but #I truly do have a lot of hope for their relationship #I really cannot see it in a doomer way after how deeply I've engaged with this series

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split-spectrum · 1 month ago

Text

Water and Rock

Chapter 16/17

Pairings: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: angst

Description: There are only so many excuses a master and padawan can make to kiss under "extenuating circumstances" before circumstances stop arising and start being created. You are an expert at your craft - a Jedi knight in service as a spy for the Republic. When your former master Obi Wan joins you on a mission, it's clear things aren't the same as they once were. The trials you face together may break your bond, or turn it into something else entirely.

☆☆☆

Obi Wan wakes ten minutes before his alarm. As always.

He resets the chrono for tomorrow, silently eases from his bed, and prepares for morning meditations. Coruscant's sun won't rise for another hour. He prefers to meditate in the dark whenever possible, leaving the least opportunity for distraction. When he passes the mirror in the main living space of his quarters, only the shadows look back.

Settling himself into a seated position in the middle of his floor, Obi Wan's hands find their places at the tops of his knees without any guidance from him. His body fades into the background, making space for his mind.

He normally doesn't tend to use mantras, but today Obi Wan's mind is fixed on words from long ago.

"You must allow the Force to guide you, my apprentice. Never presume to know the path that lies ahead."

He turns them over and over in his head. He listens to them, inspects them, considers them, until the quiet hour has ended.

He's still picturing the day Qui Gon said them as he steps into the refresher, steam filling the air.

"To be a Jedi is trust in the Force, above all else."

"Yes, Master."

"Sometimes, the Force may lead us to unexpected places. But it will never lead us astray."

"I understand."

He'd received a kind smile. "Do you, Obi Wan?"

A tilt of Obi Wan's head. "Master?"

As Obi Wan finishes dressing and clips his lightsaber to his side, he wonders what Qui Gon would think of him now.

"One day, you may find yourself in a position to follow the wisdom of the Jedi order, or the will of the Force. And you must never confuse the two."

Obi Wan had done his best to maintain a neutral expression, despite yet another lesson in defying the council. "Are they not one and the same?"

He'd tried to hide his frustration when Qui Gon had given a sly smile. "Many believe so. But you are much wiser than that, my young apprentice."

Obi Wan grimaces, thinking back on his own arrogance. He'd always hated when his master had talked like that. It had seemed to him that he'd been speaking from a lack of respect. Maybe even a lack of discipline. But in truth, Qui Gon had been preparing him to understand not only that the council wasn't infallible, but that the Force didn't require him to be a perfect Jedi in order to be good.

He runs a hand through the running water of his sink, then flicks it through his hair, combing it back into place. If only he could ask his master whether the council was following the right path now.

As he looks into the mirror, though, he knows given the chance, he would only have one question to ask. And it wouldn't be about the council. It would be about you.

Since your return to Coruscant, you've been all he can think about. He'd known he would inevitably gravitate back to you.

No - not just since your return.

The truth had been buried inside him since Ilum. Even as he'd left you standing there in the snow, he'd felt it. He'd known it wouldn't be the last time. The burning ache he'd felt that day had been branded into his bones. It's a part of him, now.

But had it burned brighter than the revolutions of a thousand subjugated star systems throughout the galaxy? Did it ache deeper than the pain wracking through the Force from those who suffered and died at the hands of the Separatists?

He known the answer then. And he'd known the answer as he'd held you in his arms, breaking his own heart along with his sacred vows in this very temple.

And as he smooths the collar of his robe, sunlight beginning to spill through the edge of his window, Obi Wan knows the answer still. He knows it clearly. He knows it will not change.

"You may open your eyes."

The man you know as the brother calls you back from the abyss, and you return to him, emerging from deep meditation. The Force is thick, syrupy-sweet around you, and it softens his voice in your ears.

"You have made a strong connection with the Force. For the final step, you must remain open. Do not close yourself off; do not be afraid of what you feel."

Your answer stays at the tip of your tongue. You want to answer that Jedi do not fear. But you know better.

It's been a long night, drifting in and out of consciousness; of reality. You're exhausted in every sense of the word. He's pushed you to what you'd thought to be your limit, and surpassed it many times. And now, as the sun begins to crest over the temple, you sit at the feet of your guide, feeling like a padawan again, and letting his words penetrate you deeply, ready for whatever comes next.

Slowly, he reaches out and touches the pad of his finger to your forehead, between your eyebrows.

Instantly, you have the feeling of going over a steep drop, your stomach rising and your breath leaving you. Your chest flutters, then begins to heave, feeling full to the point of bursting. Your eyes fall closed again as you concentrate on keeping your connection to the Force open while the channel of energy seeps out of your chest and starts to fill the rest of your body.

You feel like a vessel that had never known it was empty. There are spaces inside you that you'd never known existed, and now they're awakening, burning, thrumming with life. It's at once liberating and terrifying. It's almost too much to bear.

You look back up at the man standing over you, watching with curious eyes. You want to beg him to ease your pain - to take some of this power from you before it overwhelms. But you know that's not how this works. Slowly, you start to come to grips with yourself, feeling the energy coursing through you in waves, and you manage to break the surface, controlling it more than it controls you.

"That's it. Good," he coos. "Tell me, how do you feel?"

"I..." You swallow. "I feel..." Struggling between keeping your focus and trying to find the right words, you catch your breath for a moment before you finally answer.

"Whole."

He grins broadly. "Yes. Now you see."

You nod, not really able to hear him clearly. But he's right. You do see. For the first time, you finally feel what has been promised to you all your life: You are at one with the Force.

"Our work here is complete. Now you may rest, and prepare yourself for the task ahead."

Coming back to yourself, you shake your head, looking at the ground. "No, I- I can't. I have work to do."

"Your work will soon come to an end, when you discover the identity of the Sith lord."

All at once, your mind is focused, sharpened to a single point. "A Sith lord?"

He nods once, tucking his arms behind his back. "He is the true danger to your master, and indeed to the Jedi themselves. And he will reveal himself soon enough."

Reeling, you still can't take it in. "How... how can I know that what you're saying is true?"

He raises one eyebrow, as if he'd expected the question, and suddenly before your waking eyes, a vision appears.

Obi Wan, bent backward, hand at his throat as a shimmering, hazy being presses a lightsaber down, down, down.

Obi Wan, choking on the fumes of molten lava, sweat pouring down his face as he fights off blow after blow, desperately trying to stay on his feet despite the raw power of his opponent.

Obi Wan, anguished, screaming into the darkness...

You pinch your brow, turning away as you watch tears fill his eyes. When you look back, the image is gone.

Somehow, you know that it isn't fabricated. Just like Utapau, you just know it's real. You felt it. And just like Utapau, it cannot be allowed to happen.

"Who is he?" you ask, all of your previously rampant, unrestrained power squeezed down, pressed inside yourself as you hold your breath for his reply.

His easy expression hardens, glowing red stare going cold and empty.

"That is not yet clear to me, my child. You must wait. We must both... have patience."

"Master Kenobi."

Ki-Adi-Mundi greets Obi Wan amicably as he takes his seat for the council meeting. Obi Wan bows his head slightly and begins to greet him back, but the conversation ends before it starts. Yoda's opening remarks are already beginning as the other masters quickly take their seats.

Meetings over the last few days have been short and urgent, but the immediacy suits Obi Wan just fine today. He has no desire to exchange pleasantries; his thoughts have been distracted by Anakin from the moment he'd seen him this morning.

Since his appointment to the council and subsequent dispute over his failure to attain the rank of master, Anakin's mood has seemed darker than ever. He's quiet, his expression is blank, and his eyes are hollow. Obi Wan fights the urge to bring the back of his hand to his lips and drag it along his mustache. He couldn't be more obvious about his concern for Anakin, and he doesn't need his nervous tic to set him off.

As the discussion goes on, Obi Wan feels a strange unease settle over him. Master Windu mentions that a speaker is needed to represent the Jedi for a special session of the senate. A request has been made to share the Jedi perspective on the Outer Rim sieges. Obi Wan tenses, though he doesn't know why.

"This is a voluntary duty. If you have any interest, please speak with Senator Bail Organa."

It's a simple task that could be delegated to any experienced Jedi Knight. But since the battlefront has expanded swiftly in recent months, it's unlikely any experienced knight can be spared, and likely that no one - master, knight or even padawan - will volunteer to step away from the fight for a series of speeches.

Yet, it's an opportunity to stay on Coruscant for at least the next few days, to stay close to Anakin and Palpatine, and possibly, to abide the only thing you've ever asked of him: To stay away from Utapau.

"I will go." Obi Wan finds himself speaking the words, as a surprised silence holds the council chambers suddenly still. "I will speak with Senator Organa this afternoon."

The holo-image of Master Yoda raises a brow and lets out a humph. "Feeling well, are you, young Obi Wan?"

Suppressing his unease, he lofts his chin and answers steadily, "There are several senators who have been hesitant in providing aid where it is needed, and I would like the chance to speak with them."

Anakin's eyes had been following each speaker looking somewhat detached, up until now. Obi Wan can feel the younger man's gaze sharpen, suddenly boring into him from across the room. He shifts a glance out the transparisteel window, then looks back at Yoda, avoiding Anakin altogether.

"Very well," Yoda acknowledges, bobbing his head just once, slowly. "To the senate, Master Kenobi will report. Concludes local assignments, this does. Now, young Skywalker, news to share, have you?"

Flicking his attention back to the rest of the room and finally away from Obi Wan, Anakin straightens up a bit. "Yes, Master. Chancellor Palpatine has informed me of a possible location for General Grievous."

Now it was Obi Wan's turn to look surprised. Why Palpatine would have such knowledge before the council was beyond his understanding.

Master Plo seems to share the same thought. "Our reports on Grievous's whereabouts have been vague and inconclusive. How has the chancellor come into this new information?"

"The port administrator of Pau City sent out a call for aid after his entire administration was taken hostage."

Master Mundi's bushy brows flare upward. "Palpatine thinks General Grievous is on Utapau?"

The sound of the word forms a fist that grabs Obi Wan's insides and twists.

"A partial message was intercepted in a diplomatic packet from the chairman of Utapau," Anakin explains.

A logical reason for Palpatine to have first access to the information. But Obi Wan can hardly focus on the reasoning for anything right now.

Grievous.

He'll be weak. Especially with the demise of Count Dooku. Obi Wan feels a sudden wellspring of hope despite the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He would never have committed to staying on Coruscant if he had known.

"Act on this we must," Yoda's glowing visage asserts. "The capture of General Grievous will end this war. Quickly and decisively, we should proceed."

"The chancellor has requested..." Anakin's eyes dip away briefly before he seems to brace himself. "...that I lead the campaign."

"The council will make up its own mind who is to go. Not the chancellor," Master Windu is quick to respond.

"A master is needed," Yoda affirms, "with more experience."

"I concur," Ki-Adi-Mundi adds. He almost glances in Obi Wan's direction but seems to remember himself, turning toward Mace instead. "Master Windu should go."

Mace nods solemnly, and Obi Wan nearly opens his mouth to respond. But to say what? To do what?

Is this the will of the Force? Or his own desires fighting it?

No - the question is more simple than that: Does he trust you?

The moment passes.

"I agree," comes the slightly tinny, electronic sound of Yoda's voice.

"Aye."

The response is unanimous.

"Very well," says Master Windu. "Council adjourned."

Obi Wan can feel the shroud of fate enclosing the room as Mace stands to leave, likely to prepare for his departure. But nothing is sealed, yet.

"Master Windu," Obi Wan calls after him, the older man turning back to meet him in the long hallway outside the council chambers. "Please; a moment."

Mace regards him with a look of urgency, and Obi Wan can't blame him. This is the final break in the war they may all have been waiting for. There isn't a moment to spare. He'll have to convince him that this is worth the time.

"I believe you may be headed into grave danger," he says, lowering his voice as they step off to the side. When Mace lifts his eyebrows, as if to say 'what gave it away?' Obi Wan presses his lips into a firm line, resetting his approach. "More danger than can usually be expected from Grievous."

Mace drops his sardonic expression. "What makes you say that?"

"My former padawan. She's been having visions of Utapau."

When Mace responds by saying your name questioningly, Obi Wan tries to ignore the way his heartbeat quickens at the sound of it, and simply nods. "Yes. She was not able to share many details with me, but the Force seemed to be warning quite strongly. I think you should speak with her before you go."

Releasing a deep sigh from his chest, Mace seems to consider it. But they have known each other well, for many years. He knows Mace can feel his insistence, and the trust he's built with the man throughout their long friendship prevails.

"If you believe it will make a difference, I will see the Commander after I ready my troops."

Breathing a little easier, Obi Wan gives a respectful, grateful nod. "Thank you, Master."

Mace returns his nod, clasping his hands at his waist and adding as he turns to leave. "Though I can imagine she might be busy." He slides a look to the chambers just as Anakin exits alone, his dark form stalking off in the opposite direction.

"I assume your old padawan is hard at work keeping surveillance on mine."

"Right," Obi Wan concedes, eyes following Anakin as well. "For this, I am sure she will find the time."

Your commlink chimes. A light flashes against the wall where it sits, out of reach.

You trade a look between your teacher and your commlink, and he gives a vaguely permissive tilt of his chin. You stand, pressing the button to answer.

"Did you know?" comes the immediate question, Obi Wan's voice strained. "Did you know who was... there, when you asked me not to go?"

His emphasis tells you what he's talking about, and reminds you that no recorded line is currently safe. So you keep your answer short and to the point, after a second's hesitation. "No."

As you turn back to face the man in your quarters, you see nothing. He's dissipated beyond your eyes and your senses. You're alone again.

"You're certain?"

"No," you answer more firmly, glad you can be honest with him, about this much, at least. There's a pause on the other end. "Obi Wan-"

"Is there anything at all that you aren't telling me about your visions?" he talks over you. "Were there any details you left out?"

Gripping the commlink, you find yourself leaning your body toward his voice. Despite the urgency of his question, hearing him helps you ground yourself. Refocusing, you concentrate on his questions. You desperately want to ask him who it is that's caused this sudden renewal of interest, but you know he can't give you a name at the moment.

"Why are you asking me this now?"

"Please, answer me."

You exhale, your pulse suddenly quickening. "Are you planning to go there?"

You can sense his frustration with you. He pauses again before giving in. "Not me. Master Windu. He plans to leave... very soon." A beat, as he presumably holds back further details. "But before he goes, I asked him to speak with you. Anything you can share might make a difference."

"I... see," you reply, carefully keeping the relief out of your voice.

"So, if there is anything you can remember, no matter how insignificant it might have seemed, you must tell him. Do you understand?"

"Yes." A sickly sweet feeling of alleviation, almost elation, flutters through your chest. "Yes, of course."

Someone is about to die on Utapau. And with your help, it won't be Obi Wan.

"I promise."

Before you had even ended your conversation with Obi Wan, there had been a knock at your door.

Your discussion with Master Windu had been short. You'd told him what you'd needed to.

And now, all that's left is to try and forget about it.

You try to forget the way he'd smiled at you, brown eyes soft and holding more hope than you'd seen in a long time.

You try not to think about the lightness in his step as he'd left your quarters, possibly for the last time.

Mace Windu's face as he'd thanked you for your guidance is only a distraction, now, and you need to put it out of your mind.

Besides, it's not hard to shift your guilt. You're in the midst of betraying another friend's trust at the moment, as you press a button to activate the sound on a live feed of a dingy little storage unit on one of the lower levels.

You'd snuck down there shortly after leaving the temple the previous day, knowing immediately that Anakin's speeder would provide one of the best locations for unfiltered information.

It had made you sick, punching in the code that you wish you hadn't memorized to a rusted-out keypad and invading what he'd probably believed to be his last private sanctuary. You shift in your seat, testing the sound quality of the feed as you remind yourself that this is all in an effort to prove Anakin's innocence. He'll understand when you tell him. Someday.

You refresh the connection to a few other feeds strategically placed in Anakin's ship and personal quarters. Normally, for a target with a possibility of multiple conspirators, you would use cams, too. A visual feed could be critical in identifying suspects.

But Anakin isn't just any target. He isn't one of the scheming Separatist traitors you're used to tracking, and putting cams in his personal quarters is a violation you aren't willing to commit. Not yet. Not unless absolutely necessary.

You check your commlink for the fifth time in as many minutes. It's not quite showtime yet. Anakin had spent the remainder of his morning in one of the tactical planning rooms with Rex, monitored at all times, and had met his master directly afterward, to see him off. Mace will be notifying you once they go their separate ways. For now, cycling your feeds is the only thing to do.

That, and wonder when - or if - your visitor from last night will return.

A new knock at your door almost makes you jump, pulling your thoughts to the present. You silence your equipment, dimming the screens to black and pulling a compartment built into the desk closed. Cautiously, you answer the door, making sure to keep it cracked only enough to see you, and not enough to seem like an invitation to come inside.

"I thought we might have some time to talk."

Obi Wan stands on the other side.

Your hand releases its grip on the door, letting it open. When the door closes, you turn to face him. You should have been expecting this. After all, he'd told you that you'd talk as soon as time allowed. You just hadn't wholly believed it.

"You kept your promise."

You don't know why your voice holds a slight note of bitterness. Perhaps you're still struggling to control your emotions, trying to get used to your new relationship with the Force. Perhaps it's just lack of sleep. But he gives you a curious look, then smiles faintly. "I always do. Even the ones I've promised not to make."

You bring your eyes up to his. "That's true."

"But I would still like to know why."

You glance down, taking a few steps away to unlock the compartment again and take your equipment back out. You should have known better. That's why he's here; he wants information.

"What do you mean?" you ask, sitting down.

He crosses room to look into your eyes. "Master Windu stopped by to speak with you, did he not?"

You nod along with the question, not willing to bridge the gap and give him more detail than he asks for.

"Then I imagine he told you the significance of Utapau. That General Grievous is rumored to be there?"

Your chest tightens. "Yes, he told me. I shared with him everything that I could. Which wasn't much, unfortunately."

"Is there anything you can tell me that you already haven't?"

You take in a breath, pretending to mull it over despite already knowing the answer you'll give. Then you shake your head. "Not really. The only thing I can say is that the same feeling doesn't seem to apply with anyone but you."

"The same feeling? What feeling?"

"Of... failure," you lie, steeling your nerves as he stares down at you. It wasn't failure you'd felt. It was death.

"And with Mace, this sense of failure is not there?"

"No," you lie, to protect him.

"You're certain there's nothing more you can tell me?"

"I'm sorry," you lie, putting out of your mind the dozens of details you could easily share. Location, weapon, angle of attack...

"No. There's nothing. I wish there was more."

His shoulders drop as he regards you a moment longer before sinking down onto the edge of your bed. He drags a hand down his face. You don't remember ever seeing him look so tired.

"I'm sorry," you say, catching yourself sounding more sincere this time.

His eyes soften, the dull ache behind them subdued while he looks at you. "No, don't be. You've done nothing wrong."

He seems to think for a moment, gazing through you.

When he doesn't speak again, you turn back to the screens in front of you and re-activate them. To fill the silence, you mumble, "Everything is in place, now. For Anakin, I mean. Audio recorders practically everywhere he goes."

Obi Wan blinks, as if coming back to the present. "'Practically'? You didn't place one on his person?"

You shake your head. "Too risky. In his robes, it could be left behind. His clothing changes. And in his lightsaber, I'm sure he would find it. I don't know how, but I just feel he would... know."

Obi Wan nods. "Yes, you're right. So where did you place them?"

"His ship and his personal quarters, of course. The chancellor's office. And..." You trail off suddenly, realizing you'd almost let it slip.

He tilts his head, reading you carefully. Then his eyes seem to sparkle when it occurs to him what you're holding back. "And his speeder?"

For an instant, you're speechless. Then you remember who you're dealing with, and wonder why you ever doubted that he would know. You give in, a smirk surprising you by easing its way out. "He said he never told you."

Obi Wan lifts his eyebrows. "Some time ago, I heard engines in the background of one of his calls. I thought he might have returned to the underground racing circuit again, and I followed him down to the storage levels. When I saw that he was only working on a speeder and not some... customized monstrosity, I decided to leave well enough alone."

Your smirk turns into a smile, thinking back to Anakin's younger days of sneaking off to the races, much to Obi Wan's dismay. You'd both agreed never to tell Anakin's master, so long as he never went there again. You had your suspicions that he'd never been caught there again, but he'd probably never really stopped until the war started monopolizing his free time.

"Well, you're right," you admit. "I have a tracker there, too. So now, it's just waiting. He's with Mace at the moment, but it shouldn't be much longer."

Obi Wan nods, watching your smile fade. He leans forward. "You are right to do this, you know."

Again, the tightness in your chest returns. You stare at him, not quite sure how to respond.

"The situation is..." He glances away. "Complicated."

You read his real meaning: The council is wrong.

"But," he continues, "you are the right person for this job. If someone must be responsible for finding the truth, as well as protecting Anakin, I am very glad it's you."

With the last of his words, he leans over and places his hand on your knee. In spite of the heaviness of the moment, you feel like you're glowing. But you can't bring yourself to reach out and touch his hand back. As much as you want to, it doesn't feel like something you deserve.

Obi Wan clears his throat, gently pulling back to stand up. You're both quiet - not because you don't want to speak, but because there is too much to say.

After a moment, he starts to gaze around the room, taking in your simple decor, and it occurs to you that this is the first time he's set foot in your quarters in years. The same thought seems to be playing over his features as he slides his palm along the top of the dresser near your bed.

"Do you remember moving that in here?" you ask.

He doesn't exactly smile, but his gaze lightens. "Remember? How could I forget?"

The dresser is far too large and takes up more space in the room than is practical. It had held all your toys as a youngling, and when you became a padawan it contained all your most precious belongings - clothing, books, and even a few pieces of jewelry. Your dresser had been one of the only constant items to follow you into adulthood.

When you'd moved out of your padawan's quarters to join the rest of the knights, you'd found your new quarters much smaller. Seeing how much it meant to you, your master had spent an afternoon disassembling the dresser and piecing it together in your new room. He'd helped you shuffle it into the corner where it sits now, resulting in no small number of bumps and bruises along the way. You might have used the Force to slide it into place, but the risk of damage to the dresser outweighed the benefit of protecting your shins.

"I walked with a limp for a week, as I recall."

With a tilt of your head, you smile. "Only because you wouldn't listen to my instructions."

"I shouldn't have allowed it in the first place. Jedi Knights are meant to use standard-issue furnishings."

You step beside him, crossing your arms and looking down at the dresser as well. "I'm grateful you did. It made me feel at home, when everything else had changed so suddenly."

"Perhaps feeling at home wasn't what you needed," he says, still staring down. "Perhaps it would have been better to teach you a lesson in attachment."

He looks so serious that you're suddenly overcome with the idea of cupping his face in your palm and kissing him. Instead, you just tell him quietly, "You were never such a cruel master as to teach me lessons I wasn't ready to learn."

He turns to look at you, but says nothing.

"You knew how to teach me, and met me where I was. I always appreciated that. And I think it was why you succeeded where others had failed me."

Your words don't seem to cheer him up. In fact, they seem to have the opposite effect. His eyes are so full of sorrow he looks ready to collapse where he stands.

"Obi Wan," you ask, worry starting to set in. "What is it?"

He seems to consider a long time before answering. Then, it's as if you can see a decision being made.

"If Master Windu succeeds," he begins slowly, "If Grievous is captured, the war could end in a matter of days."

It's a possibility that up until now, you've hardly let yourself conceptualize. But his words make it seem closer to the truth than ever before.

"There will still be much work to do, of course. But the transition to peace could be handled largely by the clones, once an agreement is reached. And the Jedi would no longer be an integral part of the military."

You nod, following his logic but unsure as to where he might be going.

"Yesterday, I came to realize something: I had been thinking of myself as two beings: One who walked the path of the Jedi, and one who..."

He trails off, staring intently at you, gaze steeped in emotion. You try to read him, but you can't. There is no opposite you can imagine to finish his sentence.

"One who longed to know another path."

Your breath stops. This can't be real.

"I had thought I could leave that part of me on Ilum, until... what happened between us yesterday showed me how wrong I was."

You swallow, shame fighting to burn as hot through your blood as the euphoria of hearing his confession.

"Yet, in a war, it made no difference. The right thing to do would be to-" He falters. Then he clears his throat and the words come out slowly and evenly. "To leave the Order. But I could not. Not when so many suffered."

"I..." Your voice cracks as you try to piece together what he's really saying. "I don't know what you're trying to tell me. You're leaving the Order?"

"The longer I stay, the more irresponsible it becomes to keep these secrets. If the fighting ends, I will tell the council I am no longer fit to serve."

There's a high-toned echo reverberating in your ears, as if you're crawling out from the rubble of a bomb being dropped.

"And- and go where? And do what?"

"I don't know," he admits. "I don't know what comes next. But there is a place on Saleucami - a small farm. I've always thought it was rather well-priced. I would not be disturbed, and could try to reconnect with the Force in peace."

You're quiet for a long beat. You don't want to ask the question, for a myriad of reasons. But you have to.

"Would I ever see you again?"

He smiles, very faintly. "If I am to find out what sort of Jedi I am, I must no longer turn away from these feelings. You would be most welcome to see me whenever you like."

Your heart seizes, pierced with a sudden joy so deep, so impossible, that it's painful.

He would welcome you. You could forge a new path, together, and away from everything that had ever kept you apart.

He's holding you gently in his gaze, waiting for you to respond, and you can only whisper, "And... when I come to see you..."

You close the distance between your bodies, trading shimmering glances between his beautiful, sorrow-filled eyes, his warm breath drawing you in.

"...yes?" he asks softly, encouraging you. It's half a question, half an invitation.

You brush your lips over his, feeling him open up and lean to the side. His mouth pushes back, his hand sliding up your cheek to rest behind your ear, his thumb at your cheekbone.

In the kiss, you can feel everything. The past and the future. The years spent at his side. The longing, heartbreak, and uncertainty. Disagreements, distance, and every other obstacle that had been placed between you. The thought of a life together. Warm sunrises spent in his arms. Time that's no longer stolen, but yours for the keeping.

When the kiss ends, you're left staring at him, breathless with unbridled happiness.

"If I were to-" you begin, about to spill everything - to tell him that without the war as an obligation, you would have left the order long ago. You want to tell him that if he invites you to visit, you'll never leave his side again.

But low voices begin to fill the room, and reality crashes down on you, forcing you to remember that everything is, right now, still hypothetical.

There is no certainty the war will end tomorrow. The only thing that is certain is that the war is still very real, today.

As Anakin's muffled voice comes through the recorder, you close your eyes, pulling back from Obi Wan's touch and exhaling through your nose. You still have your parts to play. For now, there's nothing more to talk about.

Obi Wan gives you the space to step away, blinking down at the floor and back up again, mask firmly in place once more as you pull up the screen to see which feed is active.

Glancing down at your commlink, you see that Mace had sent you a message several minutes ago. You hadn't even heard it. Anakin left the temple a long time ago.

You check the active feed. It's his speeder, and there is a softer, lighter voice joining his.

"Ani, it's perfect. But, you realize we already have mine? We have all the transportation we'll ever need, and in Naboo we'll have my parents-"

"On Naboo you'll have everything," Anakin interrupts. You turn your head for Obi Wan's reaction. He doesn't give one.

You've both gone stiff, frozen in place. It's one thing to suspect, but another to confirm with your own ears: Anakin is with Padmé. And within the simple exchange, it's already blatantly clear this is not a professional consultation.

It's surprising, certainly, but not a complete shock to either of you. Anakin's feelings toward the senator have been clear to both of you for a long time, and Obi Wan has told you Padmé hasn't seemed to rebuff his interest since their capture on Geonosis. But a bit of flirtation is one thing; a clandestine meeting is another.

"You've made it clear how much you'll have," Anakin goes on, "but this - this is from me. It's something I wanted to do for you. For us."

There's a short silence, and the sound of shuffling. Your breath goes shallow; tight. They're probably kissing.

"You do enough for me. I don't need things," she tells him. "I just want you."

There it is: undeniable. You chew the inside of your lip, tense and uncomfortable.

Anakin's response is soft, yet insistent. "Let me take you for a ride."

You can hear the smile in Padmé's voice. "Do you think it's safe? You know..."

The lilt at the end of her question is odd. So is her question, really. You've never known her to show fear of anything.

"Of course," Anakin answers, and you hear the closing of doors signaling that they're getting in. "Don't worry, I'll go slow." Another strange thing for him to say. Perhaps this is him flirting. "We can't go very far anyway. I have a meeting with the chancellor in an hour."

"I can't be long either," Padmé says over the whir of the engines. "I'm still in the middle of drawing up that document. I promised to have it finished by the end of the day."

Anakin makes an annoyed sound. "And I suppose that means you're having another 'working dinner' this evening?"

"Ani-"

"You promised me that you would take it easy. You should be resting."

"I feel fine, Anakin. You shouldn't worry so much."

Is she sick?

"It's my place to worry," he insists. "And it's your place to do as I ask."

She's quiet for a moment. You want to throw a glance at Obi Wan, but you don't want to compound your concern along with his, yet.

Padmé replies quietly, with a forced lightness in her tone that's almost apologetic. "You don't need to be so protective of me, Ani. I can rest when we leave for Naboo, and the baby and I will have all the help we need back home. I promise."

It hits you like a punch in the stomach. Obi Wan is absolutely silent, his jaw rigid. A permanent false picture of control is plastered over his features. You can't even begin to imagine what he's feeling beneath it.

"Obi Wan, it's-"

"Don't," he bites, the low word hanging between you. "I don't wish to discuss it."

He knows you too well. You can feel the anger and sadness rolling off of him within the Force, knowing he's contained as much of it as he can. He knows you would have tried to help him understand Anakin's position, comparing it to your own mistakes. But this is different. Decision after decision had to be made to place Anakin here. This is not impulse. It's a choice. A dangerous, foolish, and deliberate choice to which he's repeatedly committed himself.

You listen to the rest of their conversation, and soon Anakin drops Padmé back off at her apartment. There's a length of time where Anakin is on his own again, dropping off the speeder and returning to his ship, presumably heading for his meeting with Palpatine. During the interim, one of your screens lights up with a message from the council - Master Windu has located Grievous. The fighting on Utapau has begun. You squirm in your seat.

When Anakin enters the chancellor's chambers, Obi Wan's blue stare is fixated on the screen as you both listen. You can feel how tense he is. He's waiting for the very instant the meeting ends.

"Chancellor," Anakin greets. "We've just received a report from General Windu. He has engaged General Grievous."

"I only hope Master Windu is up to the challenge," Palpatine answers readily, the timbre of his voice as withholding as ever.

"I should be there with him," responds Anakin, quietly. It's an inappropriate comment for him to make, but he knows that. He said it not with the tone of a General speaking to high office, but as someone confiding in a friend.

"It's upsetting to me, to see that the council doesn't fully appreciate your talents. Don't you wonder why they won't make you a Jedi master?"

Your pulse quickens. It's long been suspected that the chancellor encourages Anakin's disagreements with the council. You hold your breath for Anakin to correct him.

"I wish I knew. More and more, I get the feeling that I'm being excluded from the council."

Your heart sinks, and you can see the sting on Obi Wan's face, though he tries to remain impassive, listening intently. Anakin goes on, adding fuel to the kindling Palpatine has given him. "I know that there are things about the Force that they're not telling me."

"They don't trust you, Anakin. They see your future. They know that your power will be too strong to control."

You're deadly silent, briefly checking that the recording is being stored as you turn up the volume.

"You must break through the fog of lies the Jedi have created around you. Let me help you to know the subtleties of the Force."

Eyes wide, you turn to Obi Wan.

"How do you know the ways of the Force?" Anakin retorts, sounding as stunned as you feel.

"My mentor taught me everything about the Force. Even the nature of the dark side."

A sick chill runs through your bones, and suddenly your stomach is halfway up your throat.

"You know the dark side?"

"Anakin, if one is to understand a great mystery, one must study all its aspects. Not just the dogmatic, narrow view of the Jedi. If you wish to become a complete and wise leader you must embrace... a larger view of the Force," Palpatine explains, ever the benevolent leader; ever the kindhearted guide. "Be careful of the Jedi, Anakin. Only through me can you achieve a power greater than any Jedi. Learn to know the dark side of the Force, and you will be able to save your wife from certain death."

"What did you say?"

"Use my knowledge. I beg you."

The sound of a lightsaber exploding to life. "You're the Sith lord."

Obi Wan is running for the door, closing the distance in two bounding strides.

"Wait!" you call after him.

"I've heard enough. Send a message to the rest of the council and tell them where to find me."

"I'm coming with you."

"No," is his reply, as he throws the door open. "Do as I say. Anakin and I will handle this. He's too powerful for you."

"I can help," you insist, almost begging. This is what you trained for. He doesn't understand how powerful you've become. He doesn't know that it was all for this; leading to this moment.

"You can help by making sure that recording goes on file in the records department immediately, and by remaining safe inside the temple."

There's a pause as Palpatine's low voice interrupts, freezing you both where you stand.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asks.

Anakin's blade hums. "I would certainly like to."

You and Obi Wan stare at one another, all your concentration fixed on the tiniest of decibels coming through the recorder.

"I know you would. I can feel your anger. It gives you focus. Makes you stronger."

The galaxy stands on a knife's edge.

The blade extinguishes.

"I'm going to turn you over to the council."

Obi Wan's robe snaps in the rushing air.

"Stay here," he calls over his shoulder, sprinting directly into the maw of fate.

You don't bother to close the door after him. Already transferring the recording to the archives, you're dashing out a few moments later.

A/N: The final chapter and epilogue will be posted tomorrow! Sorry for any confusion - this turned out much longer than expected!

Tag List: @cosmicsierra @projectdreamwalker @guacam011y @thriving-n-jiving @reverieisaway @cursedfaechild @honeymoon7770 @hedvighedvig @cool-ontherun-world @ladytano420 @eddythewitch @immajustvibehere @thegreatwicked @marrily @millercontracting @littleredwolf @b0xerdancer-writes

#obi wan x reader #star wars #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #water and rock #obiwan #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader

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blakeswritingimagines · 1 year ago

Text

Dating Yandere Cregan Stark Would Include:

He is a very jealous and possessive yandere, prone to fits of rage when his love interest does anything outside of his control. He can get clingy and obsessive and refuse to be away from the object of his affection. He'll do anything to make you love him and only him, and he won't let anyone else take your attention.

He is a very intense and possessive individual who will do anything for the one he loves. He will go to great lengths to protect and possess his loved one, which includes eliminating any perceived threat or competition. He will also be very attentive and affectionate towards you and will shower you in love and attention. However, if you defy me, he can also be quite cruel, and he may even resort to violence in order to gain complete control over you.

He is a very possessive and obsessive individual, and he will do anything to win the object of his affections. He may appear innocent and sweet on the surface, but deep down, he is manipulative and calculating. He will go to great lengths to ensure that his beloved is always with him, and he will eliminate any and all who stand in his way.

He would be constantly thinking about you, and he would be very vigilant in making sure that you are not being tempted or influenced by anyone else. He would also be very possessive and controlling, and he would want you to be with him at all times. He would not allow you to have your own friends or interests, and He would want to monitor and control every aspect of your life. His main goal would be to keep you all to himself, no matter what it takes.

His favorite kind of affection is physical touch. He enjoys being close to you and feeling your warmth and affection. He enjoys holding hands, cuddling, and showing his love through kisses and hugs. He also enjoys giving you massages and showing you how much he cares about you. He believes that physical touch is an essential part of a healthy relationship and it is something that he prioritizes.

He would also be very clingy and needy. He would want to be with you at all times, and he would not be afraid to express his love and affection for you. However, if you were to try to distance yourself from him, or if you were to reject him, he would become very jealous and obsessive. He would not tolerate any other person being close to you, and he would do whatever it takes to make sure that you stay with him.

He would also be a very obsessive individual. He would be constantly thinking about and dwelling on his love interest, and he would not be able to stop himself from fixating on you. He would become very intense and focused in his pursuit of you, and he would not rest until you were his. He would also be very emotional and volatile, and his feelings for you would be very extreme. He would be easily angered by any perceived slight, and he would be willing to go to great lengths to protect you and to ensure that your feelings for him remain pure and true.

If anyone were to try to stop him or try to interfere in his relationship with you, he would be very angry and would not hesitate to take action against them. He would do whatever it takes to protect you and ensure that you remain his alone. If that means using violence or intimidating others, then so be it. He will not allow anyone to get in the way of his love for his precious darling.

He is also emotionally intense and volatile. His feelings for his love can range from extreme jealousy and anger, to complete devotion and adoration. He thrives on the thrill of chasing after you, and he loves nothing more than feeling like he has finally conquered you and made you his. However, if he feels like he is losing control of you or that you are slipping away from him, his emotions can quickly turn dark, and he may even become violent in an attempt to keep you by his side.

He would be extremely obsessive over you. You would consume his every thought, and any and all of his time would be spent with you or on you. He would become very jealous of anyone who even dared to so much as look at you and would go to great lengths to eliminate any threat to your relationship. He would shower you with affection and love, and you would be his world, his everything.

As a Yandere, he can also be very volatile and unpredictable. He can quickly shift from being sweet and loving to being cold and violent. Yanderes may also be prone to sudden shifts in emotions and can react very intensely to perceived threats or perceived rejections from their loved ones.

He is likely to have a distorted sense of reality and may not always be able to separate reality from fantasy. This can lead to delusional thinking, and can sometimes cross over into psychosis. He may also have a tendency to lash out violently at those he perceives to be threatening his relationship or you. He may also become easily attached and obsessed with you, and may not be able to function properly without you beside him.

He is also often seen as a bit deranged and unstable. He may be prone to fits of rage, and he can be unpredictable and impulsive. He has a tendency to be obsessive and possessive, and he can quickly become obsessive over his beloved. He will do anything to protect you and to ensure your love for him, no matter the cost. He may be unhinged at times, but his love is real and his devotion is absolute.

He enjoys exploring different forms of sensory play, such as blindfolds and feathers. He finds that incorporating sensations can add another layer of excitement to the experience.

He also enjoys exploring power exchange within his relationships. He enjoys being both dominant and submissive, depending on his partner's preferences. He can take on the dominant role in your bedroom and have you surrender to him, or he can surrender to you and give you complete control.

He enjoys bringing you to the edge of climax repeatedly, only to deny you release. He finds this playfulness and tease pleasurable and it often leads to an increased sense of arousal.

He's also highly into voyeurism and exhibitionism. He finds pleasure in watching and being watched. He enjoys having sex in public places and getting a thrill from being watched by others. He also enjoys the rush of adrenaline that comes from the risk of being caught.

He enjoys the elements of pain and pleasure mixed together to create a heightened sense of stimulation. He enjoys light forms of pain such as spanking or even biting during sex. He also finds the element of fear play to be exciting and enjoyable.

He has a bit of a lingerie fetish. He loves seeing his partner in sexy lingerie and it’s a huge turn-on for him. He loves it when you wear something that fits your body perfectly and shows off all your curves and assets. He also enjoys when you tease him by slowly removing your lingerie in a seductive manner, revealing more and more of your body.

#cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan x you #yandere cregan stark

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storytowrite · 3 months ago

Text

|Veiled desires| ~ Yang Jeongin

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Paring: Yang Jeongin x Y/N

Genre: angst/fluff

Word count: 6048

Warnings: blood, shooting, murder, obsession, danger, stalker

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In a dark office, where the rising cigar smoke seemed to sting the eyes, two powerful families gathered around a round table. At the head of the table sat your father, carefully dressed in a dark suit, with a face that seemed to be carved from stone. Across from him was IN's father, equally elegant, with an icy gaze that betrayed no emotion.

The silence was broken by your father's heavy voice.

"I think we both agree that our common enemy has become too powerful."

IN's father nodded, taking a drag on his cigar.

"It's time for us to join forces. And I have a proposal on how to do it."

A grimace appeared at the corners of your mouth. You didn't want to hear it, but you already knew where they were heading. IN sat on the other side of the table, equally uneasy, although his face betrayed no emotion. He knew that whatever his father proposed, he wouldn't like it.

"Our children." IN's father said, breaking the silence. “Y/n and IN. They should pretend to be together. It will unite our families enough to weaken the rival. No one suspects such an alliance.”

You felt your heart start beating faster.

“You can’t be serious!” You exploded, no longer controlling your emotions. After all, you had been told your whole life that this family was horrible and that you had to hate them.

Your father looked at you coldly.

“It’s not a matter of what you want, Y/n. It’s a matter of our family’s survival.”

IN was silent, but his fists clenched under the table betrayed his growing frustration. He knew that defying his father was out of the question, but the thought of pretending to be in a relationship with you, someone he could barely stand, was like a blow to him.

You stood in front of the large mirror in your bedroom, staring at your reflection. You put on the navy blue dress that your mother had specially ordered for tonight. You were supposed to look elegant, flawless – like a girl who was in love. But there was no love in your eyes, only frustration and anger. This meeting was the beginning of a plan that had to be perfect.

A knock on the door tore you from your thoughts.

"Y/n, ready?" IN's voice was quiet, almost shy.

"Come in." You replied, not taking your eyes off the mirror.

The door opened and IN entered the room, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. He lingered on you for a moment, but quickly looked away.

"You look... appropriate." He mumbled, not knowing how else to compliment you.

“Thanks.” You replied dryly. “You don’t look bad either.”

For a moment, you both stood in silence, as if neither of you knew what to say. The silence was too thick, too uncomfortable. Finally, you were the one to break the silence.

“Listen, I know this is sick. We don’t have to pretend more than necessary.”

IN nodded.

“Yes, it’s… it’s just a transaction. But we have to play our parts well, or everything will fall apart.”

You turned away from the mirror, now staring straight at IN.

“What if we can’t handle this? What if they find out that this is all fake?”

“They won’t, if we’re careful.” IN replied. “We just have to learn to work together, if only for the good of our families.”

You sighed heavily, feeling a weight grow in your heart.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” IN stepped closer, his gaze hardening.

“Just like you.”

The evening was cool, and the moon gently illuminated the city streets as you and IN approached the large, elegant residence. The building, resembling a palace, gleamed in the glow of numerous lights, and the entrance was swarming with luxury cars. It was one of those occasions that attracted the biggest names in the business world - people who had the power to change the course of history with a single stroke of a pen.

You adjusted your dress, feeling your heart beat faster with each step that brought you closer to the entrance.

“Ready?” IN asked, his voice sounding as cold as it always did when you were together. He held your hand, his grip more formal than affectionate.

“As ever.” You replied sarcastically, trying to hide your nervousness. You knew that much depended on your skills at pretending tonight. You entered the hall, and your appearance caused an immediate silence. The gazes of the gathered were full of surprise and disbelief.

IN, seeing this, made a move you would never have expected - he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You felt his closeness, and your body involuntarily tensed with reluctance, but you had no choice. You had to play your part.

"Please, sit down, honey." The boy said, pulling out a chair for you, as if you were the most important person in the world.

The crowd watched you in silence, as if they were trying to decipher what was really going on here. You felt that all eyes were on you. This was a test. They were checking if this relationship was real. It didn't take long before the son of the enemy CEO, Yunho, approached your table. He was known for putting others against the wall, and now he had the perfect opportunity.

"What a surprise." He started with a fake smile. "I didn't expect you two to be together. How did this happen?"

You felt panic take over you. You didn't know what to say. The words escaped your mind as if someone had suddenly closed the door on your thoughts. But IN was as calm as ever. He smiled with obvious confidence and replied:

“Fate can be fickle, Yunho. Sometimes the biggest surprises are the ones that change everything.”

Yunho looked at him in disbelief, then moved his gaze to you, searching your eyes for the answer you didn’t want to give him.

“Forgive me, but this all looks too... perfect.” His voice carried a hint of suspicion. “Prove it. Show that you’re really together.”

Yunho’s words swirled in the air, making you feel like the ground beneath your feet had shifted. You felt your face burn with embarrassment and anger. How could you possibly prove something like that? You looked at your partner, but IN didn’t seem concerned. On the contrary, he moved closer to you, and you felt his presence so close that you lost your breath for a moment. Suddenly, you felt his lips on yours.

The kiss was soft, gentle, and at the same time full of something you would never expect from the man you considered your greatest enemy. You were shocked, and your heart froze for a moment, only to speed up at a frantic pace later.

At first, you wanted to pull away, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the awareness that everyone was looking at you, or maybe something else - something you couldn't understand. Finally, you gave in to the kiss, letting IN deepen this unexpected gesture. All thoughts disappeared, leaving only this moment. When your lips finally parted, silence reigned in the room. Everyone looked at you in disbelief, and you felt like you were in a trance. IN stood up and offered you his hand.

"Come on, love, let's go home. I won't waste any more time on them, when I can spend it better with you." He said with a mischievous smile that looked so convincing that for a moment you believed it was real.

You left the room together, leaving the shocked guests behind. As soon as you were in a safe place, away from curious eyes, IN immediately wiped his mouth with his sleeve, as if to get rid of the unwanted taste.

"What was that supposed to be?" You exploded, pissed and confused. "We didn't agree on anything like that!" IN looked at you indifferently, as if your question was meaningless.

"It had to look realistic, so I had no other option. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to cauterize my lips." He said with a cold smile, turning on his heel and walking away, not paying attention to you any longer.

You felt anger flood your body. Red with shame and anger, you headed towards your car. The driver was already waiting for you, but when you sat inside, you felt something inside you change. The kiss, which at first seemed to be just a means to an end, now couldn't get out of your head. It was your first kiss, and despite all the anger you felt towards IN, you couldn't deny that you liked it.

After that memorable party, which caught the attention of not only your friends, but also the media, your names were appearing in newspaper headlines and internet forums. Photos, speculations and rumors - you became the hottest topic of the day. "The perfect couple" - that's what they called you, although you knew the truth.

However, your families, encouraged by the media reaction, decided to take steps that would bring you closer together. They decided that since everyone around you saw you as a perfect match, you should spend more time together to actually get to know each other, to be more credible.

And so IN started coming to visit you regularly, although you both knew that these visits were forced. From the very beginning, IN's visits had the same scenario: he would sit on your couch, pull out his Nintendo and immerse himself in the world of games, completely ignoring your presence. And you, forced to spend time with him, tried to find a way to break the awkward silence.

Hours passed, and the only sound in the apartment was the quiet music from his headphones and the occasional clicks of the pad. You felt frustration growing inside you. Was this really how you were supposed to "get to know each other better"? At some point, you decided to turn on your favorite music, hoping that it would bring at least a little life to this dead atmosphere. When the first sounds of your favorite band filled the room, you didn't expect any reaction from him. But suddenly IN stopped playing. He raised his head, clearly surprised, and approached you.

"Do you listen to them?" He asked, clearly surprised.

"Yes, they're my favorite band, why?" You replied, equally surprised by his reaction.

"You've got to be kidding. I love them too, I even bought VIP tickets for their concert."

You were speechless. It was a real surprise, especially since you tried to get those tickets yourself, but unfortunately without success. You couldn't believe that you had just discovered something that connected you, and something that you both really loved.

The conversation continued surprisingly lightly. You talked about the band, about concerts, about your favorite songs. For the first time in a long time, you were really getting along. Time flew by, and you forgot about everything that had divided you before. When IN finally had to get ready, you walked him to the door. Standing in the doorway, he looked at you uncertainly, as if he was wondering if he should say what was on his mind.

"Listen, Y/N, maybe you'd like to go to this concert with me? I have one spare ticket," he asked, clearly unsure of his proposal.

Surprised and excited at the same time, you agreed almost immediately. In a surge of emotion, you threw yourself around his neck, unable to believe that you would actually spend this concert together. You spun around together as if you were actually together. As soon as the boy put you down, he froze, and his smile disappeared.

"Paparazzi." He muttered, noticing the man with the camera across the street.

Before you could react, he pulled you closer and connected your lips in a kiss. This time, however, it was different than before. The kiss was tender, full of emotions that were clearly different from what you felt at first. At first, you wanted to pull away, but you quickly realized that you didn't mind what was happening. The amount of photos the man was taking of you was so big that you could clearly hear the sound of the camera.

When IN pulled away, he looked at you with a smile that seemed sincere for the first time.

"See you at the concert, darling." He said with a slight smile, then walked away, leaving you on the doorstep. You stood there, staring at the empty street, your heart beating harder than ever before. You knew that something had changed in you, IN didn't bother you as much as he always did. You were excited about the concert, but also... about him.

As soon as you lay down in bed, you couldn't get the image of IN and his kiss out of your head. You touched your lips, still feeling his taste on yours, and then you felt your heart start to speed up. You imagined IN in front of you, caressing your cheek, his eyes lovingly fixed on you. However, you quickly shook your head to push away those horrible thoughts. A shiver ran through your body when you realized that you were thinking about him in such a way. You had to remember that he was your enemy, who had only become your friend for a moment.

On the day of the concert, you sat down to a family dinner as usual, but this time you had a goal that you wanted to fulfill. The servants brought a carefully prepared meal - juicy roasted meat with a crispy crust, delicate mashed potatoes and steaming vegetables. The smell of food filled the room, but it did not bring you comfort.

You sat on the edge of the chair, as if on stilettos, staring at the plate in front of you. There was a tension in the air, the source of which only you knew. Your father, straight as a string, took the silver fork and knife, then carefully cut the first bite of meat. You waited until he put it in his mouth, and only then did you reach for your cutlery. Those were the rules in this house - your father always ate first.

You tried to concentrate on eating, but your heart was pounding. In your head, you repeated the words you were going to say.

“Dad, I want to go to a concert... Dad, I'm eighteen, I want to make my own decision... Dad...” But in none of these scenarios did you see your father reacting positively.

When the last piece of meat disappeared from your plate, you took a deep breath. You knew it was now or never.

“Dad...” You began uncertainly. His cold, blue eyes wandered to you from the other end of the table. “There's a concert...” Your voice trembled, but you couldn't back down. “My favorite band... I'd like to... could I go?” The words swirled in the air before they reached your father's ears.

His face froze, but you saw anger in his eyes. Your father's fist landed on the table with such force that the cutlery clattered and the plates shook.

“What do you think you're thinking?!” He exploded angrily. “Concerts are entertainment for the commoners! People like you shouldn't be hanging out with the rabble. I won't let my daughter stoop to their level! You come from a respected business family and you have to behave like one.”

You felt a wave of heat rush to your head and your heart almost jumped out of your chest. Your mother, as usual, didn't say anything because she was too obedient to your father. Seeing that there was no point in saying anything anymore, you jumped up from your seat. Tears welled up in your eyes as you ran into your room and slammed the door.

You were frustrated so you reached for your phone and dialed IN's number, s

“IN…” Your voice was choked with tears. You didn't want to show weakness in front of him but you couldn't hold back your sadness. “They wouldn't let me. They said I couldn't go to the concert because it was for commoners…” IN was silent for a moment, listening to your sobbing. When you finally finished, he replied quietly but with certainty in his voice:

“Be ready tonight.”

“But... What do you mean?” — You asked confused.

“Trust me. Just be ready. And now sorry I have to go.” IN said, and then he hung up, leaving you in even greater confusion.

However, you did as he asked and started getting ready, because after all, finding the perfect outfit wasn't easy.

Time passed slowly. All the time you nervously walked around the room, listening to every sound, wondering what IN was planning. Finally, just before the concert started, you heard a quiet knock on the balcony window. With a trembling heart, you walked up and opened the door to the balcony, leaning out. There, below, stood IN, looking at you with that inscrutable smile of his.

He told you to lower the sheet so you could climb down it. At first you hesitated, but you took the risk. When the sheet ended and there was still a slight distance between you and the ground, your eyes froze in fear.

“Jump Y/n, I'll catch you. " Jeongin said, spreading his arms.

You had no choice but to trust him, you closed your eyes expecting a painful fall, but IN caught you firmly in his arms. For a moment you looked deeply into each other's eyes, and you felt your heart speed up.

You went to the concert together. It was a night you will never forget. You laughed, you danced, you enjoyed every moment. It was an escape from the reality you were both trapped in. When the concert was over, you used your VIP tickets to meet the band backstage. It was a dream come true. But at some point you split up to talk to different band members. After a while, your throat felt dry, so you went to get something to drink. When you were halfway there, you noticed that someone was watching you. You wanted to turn around, but before you could, someone grabbed you and pinned you against the wall. It was a maintenance man who was looking at you with a disturbing lust. He tried to kiss you, telling you how long he had dreamed of meeting you . He was obsessively fascinated by you.

You screamed, but the music drowned out your voice. Fear paralyzed you. You thought no one would save you when IN suddenly appeared. His blow was precise and strong. The attacker fell to the ground, and IN pulled you to him. You were shaken and crying, but you felt safe in his arms. The police took the man away and IN walked you to your car. You were silent on the way home, both lost in your own thoughts. IN looked worried, as if he blamed himself for what had happened. . He finally broke the silence.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. This is all my fault. If I hadn't brought you here, you wouldn't have had to go through this."

You wiped your tears and looked at him with a warm smile.

"Don't even say that. Never in my life I've never had so much fun. I finally got to do what I wanted to do, not what I had to do because my parents wanted me to. Thank you." You smiled softly.

“But this man…”

“Let’s not talk about it, please. I want to forget about it.” You interrupted him as soon as he started talking about your attacker.

Jeongin ended the subject immediately and just placed his hand on yours, letting you understand that he was with you. On the way back you caught yourself glancing at him. Eventually you started to notice his handsome features that perfectly highlighted his person. However, IN didn't look at you even once, he was focused on driving and only occasionally made another circle on your hand.

When you got there he gave you a boost so you could climb onto the balcony of your room and then he climbed up.

"I really haven't had this much fun in a long time." He said and placed one warm kiss on your cheek and came back to the car.

You stood on the balcony for a moment, watching IN drive away. You immediately started looking for some glitter, looking out for hidden paparazzi, because why would Jeongin kiss you if there were no cameras. But you didn't see anyone. You gently touched your cheek, where the boy's lips were a moment ago, and went back to your room. . You felt something new being born in your heart, something you didn't know before. You were almost certain that you were starting to have real feelings for IN and you knew that it wouldn't end well for you.

Over the next few weeks, you appeared together more and more often at various events, banquets and business meetings. IN perfectly played the role of a boyfriend head over heels in love, but as soon as you disappeared from the cameras' field of view, he turned into an asshole again.

However, despite this, every gesture of his, every kiss, every embrace was something wonderful for you. You couldn't stop the blush on your face when he grabbed your hand. Your heart sped up every time he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer to him. You wanted it all to be true, but it seemed to you that Jeongin made you realize every time how wrong you were, and that everything that happened between you was just a game.

One time, you were both invited to a fancy dinner at your biggest competitors and only out of politeness you agreed to come. You knew that this meeting would be crucial in your parents' intrigue. You had to show your best side and get the biggest investors on your side.

You stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom, trying to button an elegant, white dress. Every movement seemed more clumsy than the previous one, and your nerves were getting to you. With all this excitement, your hands were shaking and you couldn't zip up your dress.

At some point, the door to your room opened and Jeongin stood there. You saw his reflection in the mirror. He was dressed in a beautiful white suit that emphasized his features.

"Can I help you?" He asked, leaning against the door. His voice was soft and warm, in which you felt a hint of feistiness.

You didn't protest when he stood behind you, gently moving his hands on your back to zip up your dress. His touch was incredibly gentle, even addictive. When he zipped it up, you felt him plant a gentle kiss on your shoulder. His warm lips brushed your skin, and a shiver ran through your body, unable to hide your reactions.

Jeongin turned you towards him in one movement, and your eyes met his. You looked deeply into each other's eyes, as if for a short moment the whole world had ceased to exist. The tension between you was almost tangible. You felt that one move, one word would be enough to cross a boundary that you had never crossed before. The boy slowly started approaching, as if he wanted to place a kiss on your lips, when suddenly the door opened again.

Your mother entered the room. You both quickly moved away, trying to control your embarrassment. She didn't seem to notice the tension between you, only said sternly.

"Just don't embarrass me. " She said coldly and left, leaving you alone.

This whole situation was so absurd that the only thing you could think of to relieve your emotions was laughter, but you knew that what had happened between you would keep coming back to your minds throughout the evening.

When you were finally ready, you went downstairs and got into the car. The drive to the residence of your mutual enemy was short, but long enough for you to think about what had happened in your room. You knew that Jeongin was playing the role of your boyfriend, and your relationship was just a means to an end, but what was happening between you, or rather what you felt for him, was starting to overwhelm you more and more. When you finally arrived at the venue, the eyes of all the gathered guests immediately turned to you. You felt the weight of their gazes on you, each of them full of curiosity, and maybe even jealousy. However, it was the gaze of Yunho's father, the host of the evening, that sent shivers down your spine. He looked at you with ferocity, as if he wanted to pierce your soul, and you knew that the dislike of this family was more than just political intrigue.

However, Jeongin, as always, played his role perfectly. He smiled, hugged you gently, placing his hand on your waist, and his closeness gave you a sense of security. He was like a shield, protecting you from sinister glances and unpleasant comments.

Thanks to him, you felt more confident, although deep down you knew that your closeness was just lies.

The evening dragged on endlessly. Every conversation was a game of pretense, every exchange of words carried hidden meanings. You felt the tension grow, and the smiles that the other guests gave you were just a mask hiding their true intentions. When it was time for dinner, you breathed a sigh of relief, glad that you would finally be able to sit down. However, before you could take your seat, you felt Yunho's father's gaze on you again. This time it wasn't just coldness, but something much more sinister.

You swallowed hard, afraid of this man. You didn't know what he meant, if he was jealous, or maybe you were just annoying him. However, no matter what it was, it gave you shivers.

After dinner, you felt the need to escape the hustle and bustle of the party. The laughter, conversations, and music suddenly became too overwhelming, as if the weight of the day was starting to weigh on your shoulders. You went out to the terrace, where the air was cooler and more refreshing. The place was in the shade, away from the lights, and the sounds of the party reached you muffled. You wanted to rest for a moment, collect your thoughts, maybe even take a deep breath and free yourself from the worries that were somewhere deep inside you.

You didn't notice Yunho's father appear behind you. His eyes were cold, full of some undefined hostility that immediately made you feel uneasy. Without a word, he stood in front of you, blocking your way back inside. He frowned and with unconcealed reluctance began to speak.

"What are you doing here, alone?" he asked, although the tone of his voice suggested that he didn't care about the answer at all.

You fell silent, feeling the tension grow. You were used to his cold manners, but tonight something was different. With every word he spoke, you could feel his reluctance more and more clearly. The conversation, if you could call it a conversation, was becoming more and more one-sided. The man began to speak louder and louder, and his words became more and more aggressive.

"You shouldn't be here. This is no place for someone like you. You're just a child who knows nothing about the worldHe said, his voice filled with anger.

Your heart sped up. You knew something was wrong, but you didn't expect what was to come. You started to answer him, trying to stay calm, but as your voices became louder and louder, your argument drew the attention of the other guests. You noticed from the corner of your eye how some were starting to wonder what was going on, and IN was among them. He stood up from the table, his face expressing serious concern.

Finally, Yunho's father exploded. His face reddened with anger, and his eyes flashed with rage.

"You should withdraw from the market before it's too late!" He shouted. His words were like punches, hitting you with full force, but you weren't going to give up.

"I'm not going to back down." You replied, trying to stay calm, even though your heart was pounding.

Then something happened that you didn't expect. The man pulled a gun out of his coat pocket and aimed it straight at you. Time slowed down, and you felt all your courage drain away. You froze in fear, unable to move, and tears began to fill your eyes.

"You have one last chance to back down, or I'll get rid of the problem. Some girl who knows nothing about business won't win against me." He said, his voice now icy and unrelenting.

You didn't know what to do. You felt fear paralyze you completely. In an instant, Jeongin stood in front of you, shielding you with his body. He was only a step away from the man who was still holding the gun.

"Just try to hurt her and I swear I'll take everything you care about away from you. I'll destroy your company, your career and you," IN said, his voice low but full of unshakable strength.

"IN..." It was the only word you could say.

Yunho's father smiled widely, but it was a smile full of cruelty. He slowly put his finger on the trigger. You closed your eyes, not wanting to look at it, and a moment later you heard a loud gunshot.

The shot echoed through the street. Time seemed to stop as you felt warm drops on your face. You looked down and saw red stains on your clothes. Blood. Your heart stops and your breathing becomes shallow and irregular. IN lay motionless on the cold ground.

You couldn't hold back your tears, feeling the despair seep into your soul.

"No... IN, please, don't leave me!" Your voice trembled as you hugged him tightly, trying to stop what seemed inevitable.

But then, through the weight of the moment, you heard something that was so out of place that for a moment you were confused. IN... was laughing. Softly, at first, but louder with each passing second. You held your breath, slowly realizing that something was wrong here. You looked up at him, seeing a mischievous smile on his face.

"You’re a dick." You exploded as you realized what had just happened. "I thought you were dead and left me alone in this fucked up world. I hate you!" You hit him pretty hard in the arm.

Jeongin stood up with difficulty, holding back laughter.

" Haha you don't know how to joke. I had to see your face. You were so scared as if you were actually worried about me " He wiped away the tears that were starting to form in his eyes, then dusted himself off and stood up from the ground.

It was only then that it began to dawn on you that it wasn't his blood on your dress, but Yunho's father, who was lying in a pool of blood on the ground. There was a crowd of people around you, including your parents' bodyguard, who had come to protect you at the party. He was the one who killed the man who had threatened you.

When the adrenaline that had previously fueled your body finally subsided, all the suppressed emotions hit with unbridled force. Your body began to tremble, and the tears flowed harder and harder. Your legs refused to obey, and before you could realize it, you fell to the ground.

IN, who had been smiling confidently just a moment ago nonchalance, now he stood before you, serious and worried. His face changed, as if he noticed something he had missed earlier. Without a word, he took off his elegant jacket and wrapped it around your chilled body. When you felt the soft material on your shoulders, your trembling eased a bit, although your heart was still beating too fast.

He lifted you gently, as if you were the most precious treasure, and hugged you to him. You felt his warm breath on your cheek, and his scent mixed with your tears. You buried your face in his neck, trying to find in this gesture the peace that you needed so much right now. Every move he made was deliberate, careful, as if he was afraid that he might hurt you, even by accident.

Slowly, step by step, he carried you out of the residence. In his eyes, you saw something new, something you hadn't seen before. This was no longer a game, no longer the mask he so often put on. In his gestures, in the care he surrounded you with, you felt that he cared, he really did. After a few minutes, you were at his house. Even though you had calmed down a bit, he still wouldn't let you go alone. He lifted you up in his arms again and carried you to his room. He personally prepared a warm bath for you, so you could wash off the blood and relax in the warm, aromatic water, and he went to take a quick shower, to be ready when you came out of the bathroom.

After a wonderful and relaxing bath, you put on his shirt that he prepared for you. It was soaked in his scent, which was like an aphrodisiac for you. You couldn't get enough of it. When you came out of the bathroom, the boy was standing by the bed, drying his wet hair. He looked particularly good, although you had the impression that it was impossible to look even better.

You sat down on the bed shyly, feeling your heartbeat quicken. You didn't know what to do, and the uncertainty made you feel strangely small and defenseless. After a while, Jeongin sat down next to you. You felt his hand gently fall on yours, and the warmth of his skin brought relief. You looked at him, seeing that his gaze was already resting on you. His eyes were shining, full of care and tenderness.

"I wanted to thank you for everything..." You started, but before you could finish, IN leaned in and connected your lips in a perfect kiss. He was full of emotions, gentleness, but also passion that made the world around him disappear. His hand rested on your cheek, gently, as if he was afraid that you would run away. He deepened the kiss, and you felt that you were losing touch with reality, immersing yourself in the feelings that you had been suppressing for so long.

When the boy finally pulled away, you looked at each other for a moment in silence. Your heart was beating like crazy, and thoughts were swirling in your head.

“You need to stop kissing me like you mean it. I’m gonna read things wrong and end up breaking my heart.” You whispered, lowering your gaze. You were afraid that this was a game again, that you would get your hopes up again.

“That’s because I do mean it every single time. You’ve just been too dense to realize.” He said, and his words reached you with a slight delay. As if your mind didn’t want to accept what you had just heard.

You looked at him, confused.

“I don’t know when it happened, but I fell in love with you, Y/n.” He added quietly. “Every moment with you was the happiest moment of my life.”

Before you could answer, he kissed you again, this time even more gently, but with such emotion that you felt all the barriers you had built around your heart begin to crumble.

“I love you too, Jeongin.” You said, smiling shyly, as if you were ashamed of those words, but at the same time you felt that you were finally in the right place.

You spent that night in each other’s arms, cuddled like two lost pieces of one puzzle that had finally found each other. In the morning, when the first rays of sunlight began to shine through the window, you felt that now you could face anything. You knew that there were many challenges waiting for you, but together you would manage everything.

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Masterlist

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

Text

The Impossible Choice (25)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, violence, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

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She could not hide how much hope and strength the letter from her husband filled her with − she knew that he had not forgotten her, that he still wanted her to be by his side. She thought strenuously throughout the day about how to do this, who to turn to. She realised that after what Aegon had said to her, he would never let her join her husband, terrified of his anger if she passed on him his words.

I fell in love with you from the first sight.

She thought that the King had fallen in love with a fantasy, reinvented it for himself and claimed that if he had her for himself he would be a happy man.

She didn't believe it.

She didn't believe it would make a difference.

She considered asking the Queen for help, but then thought it would be too dangerous − with her approach to loyalty and honour, she would not defy her son-king's orders even if they were wrong.

And then she experienced a revelation.

Helaena.

Everyone underestimated her, thinking that locked away in her world, she didn't understand what was happening aroud her and was incapable of taking any logical action.

They were wrong − the Princess was completely aware of the chaos around her and cut herself off from it of her own accord, devoting herself only to caring for her children.

She will understand me, she thought, feeling warm in her heart.

She will help me.

Her visits to the Princess were her daily routine, so they drew no one's attention − Helaena greeted her with a warm smile and a joy that was now rarely painted on her face. They embraced like friends − Helaena took her hand in hers, directing her towards the carpet where her children were playing.

With a rustle of her brown and gold gown she sat on the floor beside her, watching with a smile as her children played together with wooden blocks, from which they had apparently just constructed some sort of fortress. She looked at Helaena, smiling lightly, trying not to outwardly show how nervous she was.

"My dear Princess, I would like to confide in you about a certain feminine discomfort, that has afflicted me recently. I am ashamed to speak of it −" She did not finish, looking at her meaningfully − the Princess raised a surprised look at her.

Something in her gaze betrayed that she understood her − she turned her head and nodded to her servants to leave.

She swallowed loudly, twisting in her seat, feeling her heart pounding fast. Helaena surprised her by speaking up first, fiddling with a piece of cloth of her gown, that unfolded at her legs.

"− the fire calls to you −" She said softly, and she felt her heart stop at her word. "− the scorched earth will breathe a sigh of relief under the raindrops −"

She looked at her in disbelief − she remembered that she had said something similar at the feast after Aegon's coronation.

Her husband had once told her that Helaena had predicted that he would lose his eye when they were children − she hadn't commented on the statement, not wanting to offend him, but she didn't exactly believe in such things as predicting the future.

Now, however, she wasn't sure if her husband wasn't right.

The fire calls to you.

The scorched earth will breathe a sigh of relief under the raindrops.

She swallowed quietly, gathering the courage to say what she had come for.

"I need your help, Princess. I need to escape from here and join my husband in Harrenhal. You are the only one I trust." She whispered, looking anxiously at the door, hoping no one had overheard them. Helaena looked ahead, thoughtful.

"There is one exit, hidden behind Balerion's skull. You know the place."

She looked at her, shocked.

She had never told her about Aemond taking her to the temple of their ancestors.

"Behind the skull, on one of the walls, there are several niches. Behind one of them is a narrow corridor, leading underground along the Red Keep to a nearby forest." She said calmly, finally looking at her, her bright eyes filled with concern and a warmth from which her heart squeezed.

"− I need a horse −" She whispered, looking at her pleadingly.

Helaena nodded, combing a hand through her son's hair.

"− thank you −"

She returned to her chamber full of energy, wondering what she should take with her; she couldn't weigh herself down too much. She knew that she had to travel in man's clothing − she couldn't draw attention to herself while riding the trail.

She decided that she would pass herself off as one of the servants, accepting jobs with various innkeepers for drink, food and a place to rest. She knew such boys − they often joined her father's company on hunts, serving them, getting food and a little penny in return.

She was glad that she had also brought with her to King's Landing clothes designed for sword fighting − they were much looser and looked boyish, so it was easy by putting on several layers of shirts to hide that she had breasts at all.

She thought of the Witch of Harrenhal, of how, when she got there, she would have nothing more than a training attire to change into.

She knew it was wartime and no one would care, but she wanted to show her who she really was.

She was Prince Aemond's wife.

She decided that she would hide her richest red-brown gown, embroidered with golden threads with beautiful buff sleeves in her bag, along with her most necessary things.

She knew it was her pure feminine whim, but she felt she was entitled to it and smiled with satisfaction at the thought.

What was even more important to her were the weapons − her brother had provided her with a short and a long dagger just before she left, wanting her to be able to at least defend herself in if necessary.

She usually had them tucked away at the bottom of her trunk under her books, but since Aegon's confession she had kept them under her pillow. She dismissed Lyanna early, saying she would go to bed, tired from the day, and began her preparations quietly.

As she had planned, she dressed to look like a boy − she managed to sew a makeshift cap from one of the fabrics, under which she hid her hair.

Looking herself over in the mirror, hidden under layers of different materials, she found with a smile that she really did look like a boy. She had not been so excited about anything since leaving her family home − she could feel the wild blood of the Baratheons rushing through her veins again.

She left the chamber late at night, leaning out uncertainly − she could hear the voices of the guards in the distance who she knew were playing cards at this hour. She moved in the other direction with quiet, unhurried steps, feeling the cold sweat on her back − she knew that one sound too fast and too loud would alarm them and draw their attention.

She turned down the corridor, looking around again, noticing in the torchlight that no one was there. She moved quietly ahead, knowing that around the bend was a staircase that once she ran down, she would be safe − no one would hear her in the underground.

She shuddered when suddenly a guard came out from around the corner − he wasn't wearing armour, so she didn't hear his footsteps. A tall, stocky man with black hair and beard furrowed his brow at the sight of her, surprised and she froze, looking at him with big eyes.

"− who are you, boy? − what are you doing here at this hour? −" He asked in a low, nervous voice, grabbing her arm. She felt her heart squeeze in terror and thought quickly what to say − she swallowed loudly, speaking quickly.

"My father is fighting alongside Prince Aemond in Harrenhal, my Lord. I long to join him − I cannot bear the thought of him being there alone. I am his firstborn son, I should be at his side." She muttered lowly, trying to sound like a boy. The man's gaze dropped to the bag she held in her hands − he pulled out his sword, pointing the blade at it.

"− let me see what you have inside, boy −" He said.

She cursed her stupidity and the fact that she had put her gown inside, knowing that she wouldn't beat him in a fight. She decided that she had to take a risk − she pulled her cap off her head and the man drew in a loud breath, looking at her in disbelief.

"− my Lady − forgive me, I did not recognise you − what −"

"− I must join my husband − he sent me a letter, asking me to travel to Harrenhal, but the King does not give his permission −" She said, pulling a rolled parchment from her pack, looking around, praying that no one else would come across them.

"− my husband believes that my arrival will force my father to make a decision to support his troops − without this, it will take an eternity to suppress the rebellion, even more of our soldiers will die − please −" She lied easily, looking at him pleadingly, grasping his hand in hers. The man was clearly confused − she could see that he was hesitating and she had to take advantage of it.

"− King Aegon has been soliciting me − he has tried to touch me, including in places that only my husband can touch − I beg you, Ser, do not send me back to him, he will take me by force −" She mumbled, tears in her eyes from fear and desperation.

The guard swallowed quietly at her words, evidently understanding and knowing what the King was doing to his servants in his chamber. He looked around the corridor uncertainly

"− gods, have mercy on me − go, my Lady, before I change my mind −" He said impatiently, and she immediately ran down the stairs, feeling her heart pounding hard.

She thought that when she returned she would make this man captain of her guard and shower him with gold.

She ran ahead like mad, putting her cap on her head again, rushing under Balerion's huge skull − she prayed in her spirit that her husband's ancestors would keep her safe.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the alcoves on the back wall and saw that, indeed, behind one of them stretched a narrow, dark corridor, into which she could barely fit. She began to walk down it, until finally there was only darkness around her.

She could hear the strong beating of her heart and felt the terror of seeing nothing in front of her or behind her. She touched the cold stone walls with her hands, exploring the floor in front of her with her feet to make sure that there was no hole she could fall into.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she suddenly felt fresh air and spotted a light around the next corner. She moved swiftly in that direction, feeling like crying out with joy at the sound of rustling trees, spotting the starry night sky ahead.

She let out a loud breath, feeling that she was panting all over, seeing that by a tree nearby stood a beautiful brown horse, saddled and in full gear.

The horse looked completely average and normal, not like a stately steed from a royal stable.

She thanked the gods for Helaena's thoughtfulness.

She tied her pack to the back of the saddle and mounted her horse, looking around. She saw the Red Keep building behind her and realised that she was in the South − she thought with satisfaction that she knew which way to go and set off on horseback ahead, flustered and happy.

She will really see him.

She would join her husband in Harrenhal.

She rode at a gallop, not wanting anyone to stop her, taking advantage of the fact that darkness covered her. She wanted to get there as quickly as possible − she knew that she didn't have much time, and lone wanderers were easy targets for highwaymen.

When she saw the royal road, she thought happily that now the way was easy and she galloped on, wanting to cover the longest possible distance as quickly as possible.

In the morning she stopped at one of the abandoned, burnt-out houses, wanting to take a nap by her horse for a while.

She wondered, looking at this grim sight, if this was the work of her husband.

She woke up once in a while, frightened that someone would spot her − she finally decided it was no use, and her horse rested enough for her to ride on.

She thought that the gods were watching over her, for although she passed carriages and various people, no one stopped her.

It was only near Harrenhal itself, that her husband's soliders with Targaryen crests stood in her way, looking at her watchfully.

"− Who are you, boy, and what do you seek here? −" Asked one of them, riding up to her on horseback. "− turn back if you don't want me to pierce you with my sword −"

She pulled the cap from her hair, the man raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

"− I am the wife of the Prince of Aemond − I come at his request − take me to him −" She said confidently, wrinkling her brows, tired and sleep-deprived after her journey, riding for the last hours in the night and full rain. Several of the men laughed at her words.

"− forgive me, my Lady, but you look to me more like a peasant's daughter than a lord's −" He sneered, looking at her with amusement, her lips tightening.

He wanted to say something already, surely about how he could take care of her body, but he said nothing as she untied her sack and took out a letter from her husband, handing it to him.

"− do you recognise this writing? − do you want to burn in the fire of my husband's rage? −" She hissed, the man looked at each other uncertainly.

"Lead her to the fortress."

The guards rode around her, as if she were a prisoner or hostage. It amused her, but she was also relieved at the sight of the great stone stronghold that she saw before her.

She had made it.

Aegon did not manage to stop her.

She was ushered into a large, larg stone hall, torches lit all around her.

She knew that it was late at night, the sleepy guards looking at her with disapproval.

She felt her heart beating hard with excitement, eager to see his face − nothing else mattered.

She didn't want to listen to his words or explanations.

She just wanted to feel him again.

Suddenly, she heard someone's quick footsteps and turned around, her breath caught in her throat.

He was standing in front of her, staring at her wide-eyed, his lips slightly parted, his chest rising uncertainly in accelerated breathing. She couldn't hold back a smile of emotion, seeing him for the first time in weeks, feeling like bursting into sobs with happiness.

She ran towards him and he moved ahead her like a predator, grasping her in his hands, surprising her with his raspy, almost brutal kiss that took her breath away. She entwined her hand in his hair, reciprocating the caress of his warm, familiar lips fervently, the sticky, loud click of their saliva echoing in her ears like the most beautiful music.

He forced her to step away, her back hit the wall − she felt everything around her spinning, her body filled with nothing but desire, she heard and saw nothing more than his face and his breathing, aroused and accelerated.

She sighed as she felt his fingers quickly untie her corset, spreading it to the sides, his impatient, warm hand squeezed her plump breast and that they both moaned into each other's mouths with pleasure and happiness.

"− get out − all of you −" He hissed out loud, and she felt a thrill of excitement at the thought that he wasn't even going to move to his chamber.

He wanted to take her here, now, immediately.

They were both panting with arousal, her hand ran through his hair, a low, satisfied murmur came from his chest as his lips brushed her neck. She began to breathe faster as the last of the guards left, and he immediately began to untie the material of her breeches. Her fingers reached into his, doing exactly the same, their kisses messy, loud and wet.

She felt her insides clench and pulsate around nothing, craving fulfilment after such a long separation.

Unable to keep her vow, she touched herself almost every night, thinking of him.

"− forgive me − I didn’t mean a word − I swear −" He whispered in low, weak voice, as if emotion squeezed his throat so tightly that he was unable to get anything out. She squealed softly as he lifted her up suddenly in his arms.

She knew what he was going to do and she had never wanted it more.

"− forgive me, my sweetest − it’s all well now −" He exhaled, then with one, sure thrust he opened her wide on his cock, forcing his way inside her − she moaned loudly in delight, clenching her eyes, parting her lips, shocked at how pleasurable this sensation was.

She was so wet that he began to slam into her with ease, imposing an intense, brutal pace on her, his manhood spreading her slick, fleshy walls so much that she couldn't catch her breath.

"− I know − I’m here −" He panted, and she whimpered at his words, giving herself completely to him, writhing beneath him as his fingers dug into the soft skin of her buttocks.

She needed this, needed him inside her, as deeply as possible, to feel again that they were one − her walls pulsed greedily at the thought, her moisture running down her thighs, dripping to the ground each time his body pounded against hers with a sticky slaps.

"− don’t leave me − ah − please, don’t send me back −" She mumbled helplessly, feeling that she wouldn't survive another separation.

She had come such a long way for him, she had done as much as she could, and now all she wanted was to be with him and never leave him again.

She heard him groan low at her words, panting in her ear, his forehead pressed against the stone wall in front of him, his manhood rooting into her with sure, deep thrusts of his hips, making them both groan, giving themselves over to these simple, animal pleasure as if in a trance.

"− never −" He hissed in such a way that shivers run down her spine.

They were both no longer moaning, but almost screaming, seeking their fulfilment, feeling it coming, their sensations so intense that they couldn't breathe, their bodies hot and sweaty.

"− I’m going to fuck you all night − tonight − tomorrow − fuck − the day after tomorrow − do you understand? −" He growled and she whined loudly at his words, clenching her eyes shut, her insides pulsing hard against him, his cock rubbing her where she needed it again and again.

She clamped her hands on his buttocks, letting him thrust into her, panting along with him, sweat running down the back of her neck.

"− yes − please − please − please, fill me −" She sobbed out helplessly, feeling the tension in her lower abdomen reach its zenith, that what she wanted was about to come.

She wanted him to fill her with himself again, to feel that she was all his, that he only wanted and desired her, that nothing else but them mattered.

She felt a shudder run through him, his thighs slapping against her buttocks greedily and loudly, their fingers clenched against their flesh painfully and firmly.

"− g-gods − yes − please − ah! −" She moaned, feeling as a wonderful, overpowering wave of fulfilment and pleasure surged in tickling, hot pulses through her body.

His hands wouldn't let her move an inch, her oversensitive, swollen insides unable to escape his deep thrusts, making her run out of breath in her chest.

"− that’s it − your husband is close −" He whispered so tenderly that she sobbed again, feeling as if she was about to cry, having never felt anything like it before in her life.

It felt like her body was in a state of some kind of euphoria, trembling all over with happiness − she heard his low groan, his hot seed finally spilling inside her.

Gods, she had never felt so fulfilled.

She squealed loudly, gripping him tightly as he fell suddenly to his knees, panting heavily, apparently overwhelmed like her by the intensity of the experience.

They both breathed deeply, embracing one another, cuddled into each other, trying to calm themselves. She closed her eyes, snuggled into his neck, drifting off completely, focusing only on his scent, the warmth of his body and the pounding of his heart. She shuddered when she heard him whisper.

"− we will finish in my chamber −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4 @crazymusicgirl104 @ahristata @menaosama @ladywin17

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