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cheapshrimpysheep · 2 months ago

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Yuutsum 2

SUMMARY: What if you also have a Tsum? Then your Tsum and the Tsum of the person you like keep giving signs that they like each other? Ortho's part is platonic as always.

CHARACTERS: Twisted Tsumderland 2 Tsumsitters (Deuce; Azul; Jade; Kalim; Rook; Ortho; Lilia)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader

WARNING: Spoilers for the Twisted Tsumderland 2 Event and the Tsumsitter cards Vignettes.

WORD COUNT: An average of 600 words per character.

COMMENTS: This was originally a request from @taruruchi for my 1k celebration. Which you can read here. And since so many readers liked it, I decided to do what I normally do when this happens: Do this for ALL the characters! Grouped by event in this case.

Azul's part is different from the one I wrote for the request. At the time the event had not yet reached the English server, if I'm not mistaken.

I hope you enjoy 😉

Yuutsum 1 (Riddle; Cater; Leona; Jack; Floyd; Epel; Sebek)

Yuutsum 3 (after going to the English server)

CONTEXT: Like the original Twisted Tsumderland 2 event, this takes place after the events of the first Twisted Tsumderland. And, surprise, your Tsum is back! But it's the only one, all the other Tsums that came with it are completely new visitors.

You were with your Tsum in the lounge of Ramshackle Dorm, and it wouldn't leave the window as if it was waiting for something. You ask if it wants to go somewhere, but it shakes its head and continues looking out the window.

A short time later you heard a loud bang at the front door as if something had been thrown at it, and your Tsum finally leaves the window and hops towards the door. Even before you open the door, you can hear Ace laughing and Deuce complaining.

When you open it, you find Deuce struggling to contain his Tsum who is trying to break free from his arms.

“Sorry [Y/N].” Deuce apologizes “I can't contain this guy. It started running... or hopping, like crazy when it realized we were going to pass by here.”

Your Tsum makes that cute tsum noise to get the attention of Deuce and his tsum. The two look down and their eyes light up as they see your Tsum. Deuce’s tsum breaks free from Deuce's arms and lands right next to your Tsum. And the two tsums begin to rub their little faces and noses against each other. The Deuce blushes automatically.

Ace, who watched the whole scene, stopped laughing and was now looking at the tsums with a sulky face. “Oi? What's up now with this guy?” he questions.

“I-I-I don't know.” It's the only thing Deuce can say in response.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Ace continues. “Your Tsum came back? Why? Our housewarden's didn't. Neither did Cater's.”

You say you don't know.

“Maybe your tsum is dragged into everyone's messes too.” Deuce says, smiling. “Not even it has a break with us, hum?”

Your Tsum headbutts Deuce's Tsum to get its attention, taps one of its little hands on the ground 5 times and Deuce's Tsum realizes the urgency of something. The two tsums start hopping towards the gate.

“OI! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Deuce shouted.

The three of you run after the Tsums, but they reach the Hall of Mirrors first and go through the mirror to Heartslabyul.

“Well, on the one hand they saved us work.” Ace says.

“Yes, but they are on the loose!” Deuce replies.

You go through the mirror, run a little further and stop abruptly when you come across Riddle and Trey. Your tsums were close to their feet and were still very close to each other.

“See? They arrived on time.” Trey sayd. “They must have just had a little mishap with the tsums. Right?”

Ace and Deuce confirm. Riddle welcomes you and invites you to the Unbirthday Party that will be happening soon. He also tells Ace and Deuce to go do their party preparation duties. After he and Trey leave, Deuce realizes what happened.

“I get it now. Your tsum was telling mine the time, and warning it that we were going to be late.”

“Damn, even your Tsum needs two Tsumsitters.” Ace laughs. And Deuce-tsum hits him.

When it was preparing to hit him a second time, your Tsum got in the way and started rubbing its face against Deuce-tsum’s, calming it down.

“See my point?” Ace adds, and this time it's your Tsum that hits him.

You were walking through the school hallways, with your Tsum in your arms, when you crossed paths with Floyd. He automatically smiled when he saw your Tsum.

You ask each other what the other is doing there and Floyd tells you that he was playing a board game with Azul and his Tsum. He says that he left them playing with each other in the classroom. You feel your Tsum move excitedly in your arms.

After saying goodbye to each other you go to the classroom where Floyd said they were. You knock on the door and pop your head inside. You see both Azul and his Tsum immersed in the game, but not enough to not notice your presence.

“Oh, good afternoon [Y/N].” Azul greets you with a smile. His Tsum quickly looks towards the door when he hears him say your name. “Please come in.” You do so. “Is there anything you need or-” He sees your Tsum and widens his eyes with a sparkle in them.

Azul-tsum makes that happy tsum sound, jumps to the floor, stops for a second, jumps back onto the table to make its move on the board game, and then gets off the table again to hop happily towards you. Your tsum jumps out of your arms and lands on the ground. And when Azul-tsum finally reaches yours the two begin to cuddle with each other.

Azul was focused on the game and only after making his play “Okay tsum, your tu-” did he look at the two tsums, and blushes slightly. He clears his throat loudly causing his tsum to look at him.

Azul’s tsum turns to yours and makes another cute sound, then the two of them hop back to the table. Azul's tsum returns to its place on the other side of the board, but yours jumps into Azul's arms to his surprise. He managed to catch it, then it looked at him and smiled with its eyes, making Azul stare at it in wonder.

“I'll concede that you are indeed charmingly cute.” He then whispers to himself: “As much as the person you resemble.”

You approach to sit with them and Azul suggests that you sit next to his tsum. The two Azuls exchange a suspicious look with each other.

They keep playing. When it's not Azul's turn, your tsum makes little sounds or something that makes him look at it. And when it's not Azul-tsum's turn, it seems to be undecided between paying attention to the board or looking at you so you can pet it. In the end, the two were practically tied, but Azul-tsum makes a play that makes it win the game. Both his tsum and your tsum celebrate, coming back to cuddle with each other.

“Ah, so that was your real move.” Azul said with a smirk. “You used [Y/N]'s tsum to distract me. Actually no, worse than that, you two are partners in crime.”

The two tsums looked smugly at Azul. But he didn't seem upset despite having lost. In fact, he seemed to be looking thoughtfully at the tsums. You ask what's wrong or if he's okay.

“Oh, don't worry, it's nothing. I was just thinking...” He looks back at the tsums who look back at him with an encouraging look. Both of them. “From what I've been able to observe, tsums have a lot in common with the person they resemble, especially their personality. After seeing how these two work together I was just wondering...” He looks at you and smiles confidently. “Wouldn't you happen to have the same interest as your tsum in being my partner too? Hum... partner in crime, I mean.”

With You were walking through the Main street, with your Tsum in your arms, when you see a little thing hopping towards you. It stops right in front of you, at your feet, and smiles at you with its eyes, making that cute tsum sound, as if it were greeting you politely. From the side where the dark grey strand is facing and from the calm demeanor, you can tell it's Jade's tsum.

Your tsum makes the cute tsum sound back to Jade-tsum and you let your tsum jump to the ground for the two to rub their faces against each other.

After that, you hear footsteps approaching you. Looking ahead you see Jade. His tsum looks at him and then jumps into your arms smiling at you with its cute little eyes. When Jade gets close to you he laughs.

“He he. You are quite cunning indeed, tsum. Or should I just say coward at this point?” He was still smiling, but with that look that was worryingly difficult to decode. Then he looks at you. “Forgive me for not greeting you first, [Y/N]. I got... worried about the tsum when I lost sight of it. I'm genuinely relieved that you were the one to find it safe and sound.” He looks down at your tsum. “Aw, what a lovely sight, your sweet tsum is back.”

You feel Jade-tsum tense up in your arms, but it barely moves. Jade bends down and holds out his cupped hands for your tsum to jump into them. You feel Jade-tsum once again tense slightly, but without moving. Jade raises your tsum in front of his face. It smiles at him innocently.

“Undoubtedly adorable.” Jade says. “But you shouldn't just jump into anyone's hands like that.” He lowers his hands to chest height, holds the tsum with one hand while, with the other, he makes a claw-like movement as if he were going to imprison it. “It could be dangerous.” He looks at his own tsum in your arms, who still doesn't move.

“But it didn't just jump into anyone's hands.” You say. He looks at you meeting your eyes. “But you're right, it can be very dangerous. But you should have told that to YOUR tsum.”

Both Jade and his Tsum are surprised by what you said. And suddenly you tighten your hug around Jade-tsum as if you were Floyd squeezing someone. But in this case, you are squeezing the tsum with love and affection. It waves its little arms and legs as if it were asking for help, but not trying very hard to escape.

Jade laughs delightedly, and frees your tsum from his clutches, taking it to his chest just to pet it affectionately. He looks at that little angel face face that knew he wouldn't hurt you or your tsum and smiles.

“In fact, you are a danger on the loose.” He jokes. “Tell me, would the both of you like to accompany me and my little lookalike to Mostro Lounge? We came here for a stroll around campus because I thought it would be a nice bonding exercise. But I’m sure that something like sharing a smoothie, for example, could also be great for bonding.”

You look happy with the idea of going with them to Mostro Lounge. But in the meantime you realize that tsums don't have mouths. How could they share a drink?

“Oh, well, perhaps I wasn't referring to the tsums.” He smiles at you with that bold confidence.

Kalim, his tsum and Jamil took a magic carpet tour of campus. Kalim-tsum’s eyes were sparkling the whole time during it, but something must have piqued its interest because after that it disappeared.

Meanwhile, you were with your tsum in the Ramshackle Dorm lounge when you heard someone knocking on the door. You open the door to find... no one. Until you hear that happy tsum sound near your feet. You look down and see a Kalim-tsum smiling at you with its eyes.

As soon as you say hello, it wastes no time in jumping on your shoulder and brushing its face against your cheek. You hear another tsum sound behind you. You turn around and Kalim-tsum sees your tsum. Kalim-tsum makes another happy sound and jumps off your shoulder to hug your tsum. Or at least that's what it looked like despite its short arms.

If that tsum was there without Kalim, most likely he was looking for it. And consequently Jamil too. Therefore, you decide to take the two tsums in your arms and go find Kalim.

Just as you predicted, you found Kalim and Jamil together on Main Street. When Kalim sees you from afar, he happily waves his arms in the air to call you to join them.

“Hi [Y/N]!” Kalim greets you. “I'm so glad I found you! I really wanted you to meet-” He looks at the two little creatures you carry in your arms when you get close to him. “AH! You found it! You're amazing!”

Jamil sighs with relief. And then they both realize what, or rather, who, the other little creature is. Kalim's eyes shine and a huge smile spreads across his face.

“It can't be! There's one like you too! It's so cute! Aw, I want to hug it so much! Can I? Can I? Pretty pleeease~?”

If you’re more outgoing, your tsum will smile with its eyes at him. If you are more shy, your tsum will be too flattered and hide its face in your arms. Which will make Kalim find it even cuter.

“I know they may look like plushies,” Jamil says “but I don’t think you should treat them like one.”

“Don't worry, I won't hurt it.” Kalim says both to Jamil and to you.

“I'm also worried about the other way around. If that is even possible.”

“What? No way!” Kalim stretches out his arms welcomingly for your tsum to jump into them. And it does. He turns to Jamil. “You don't really think this adorable little thing would hurt anyone, do you?”

Jamil looks at your tsum, who smiles at him with its eyes and he blushes slightly to the point of having to look away. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

“But I am a great judge of character.” Kalim completed confidently. He brings your tsum close to his face to see it better. “Oh, if you were bigger I could hug you for real.”

This gives your tsum an idea and suddenly it starts to grow, which takes everyone by surprise, until it stops at the size of a pillow. Kalim has no other way to hold it other than hugging it and that's what he does. He hugs it tight like it's the most adorable thing on earth and he never wants to let it go.

And apparently, Kalim's tsum wants the same treatment, but from you, so it also grows to the size of a pillow for you to hug it.

Jamil looks at you all slightly uncomfortably and can only say: “If you ever do that to each other, at least get a room first.”

It was already late in the afternoon. You were walking across campus with your tsum in your arms when you heard a "CUT!". You have heard that a few other times before, it was Vil's voice and he must have been filming something for the film club.

Your tsum moves in your arms as if it was also curious to see what he was doing. You follow the sound and walk until you reach the Main Street.

“Rehearsal is over.” You hear Vil say and you stop. “Now we must capture this scene before the sun sets. Focus!”

That sounded like your cue not to interrupt him. You weren't at a place where you could appear in the frame, so you just wait there, watching, just like your tsum. However, someone else was watching the scene as well, hidden in the bushes.

“Now the real fun begins.” Rook says, both to his tsum and to Epel, that he dragged it with him. “Let us watch Vil and the rest of the club shine!”

Rook's tsum hops eagerly and the two observe Vil, until something else catches the tsum's attention and it looks to the side. Rook notices this.

“You changed the target of your attention, monsieur tsum. What could have possible divert your gaze from Vil?” He follows the tsum's gaze and finds you, standing there watching Vil. “Bien sûr, there could only be one reason.” He sees your Tsum in your arms. “Oh, marvelous! Tricster's tsum is back! Even more beauty to behold.”

Everything goes smoothly until the end of the recordings. And it is only when Vil sees you and greets you that you approach him. His attention (and everyone's actually) goes to your tsum.

“I see you've also been assigned as a tsumsitter.” Vil says. “I heard it had shown up the first time this happened, but I ended up not having the pleasure of meeting it. I'm glad I got this chance.” He smiles at your tsum who looks at him in wonder. “One also appeared in Pomefiore. A Rook lookalike.”

You feel your tsum spasm in your arms, and then you hear something jumping towards you. You turn around and a wild Rook-tsum appears and greets you with that happy tsum sound.

Your tsum jumps to the ground and lets Rook-tsum approach it first. It jumps to get closer to your tsum but, to everyone's surprise, your tsum dodges and runs away.

You panic a little, your tsum had never done that until now, and Rook-tsum goes jumping after your tsum, even though it has already lost sight of it. You are about to start running to look for them when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You are startled by Rook's sudden appearance.

“Worry not, trickster. I have been following monsieur tsum and it has been an enriching experience. You could accompany me and and observe them together. There is no place they can go that I won't find them.” he winks.

You go with Rook following your tsums. You notice that every now and then your tsum stops as if provoking Rook-tsum and when it is about to catch your tsum, it dodges again and continues running away.

“How fascinating.” Rook laughs “Tell me, doesn't it look like they're playing with each other?”

You continue following the tsums to the botanical garden, already in the early evening. Where they finally stop. Or rather, where your tsum finally lets itself be caught, in the subtropical zone. You see Rook-tsum clinging to your tsum and making a movement with its his head as if were kissing your tsum passionately.

“I wonder...” Rook says “If this is all some kind of mating ritual for the tsums.” he laughs seeing your reaction. “What's wrong, trickster? That look is not from someone who dislikes the idea~ Is there anything your heart would like to share? Because any question you have about mine can be answered by looking at monsieur tsum.”

You were walking through campus with your Tsum in your arms when you heard something above you.

“PREFECT!” You hear Ortho's voice shout from somewhere. “LOOK OUT!”

You see an unidentified flying object coming towards you at high speed. Your instinct is to cower and duck. But the object stopped before it hit you and landed on the ground in front of you. You look and see an Ortho-tsum. Ortho approaches you.

“He he he. Did we scare you? Sorry. Are you OK?” He asks. You answer that you are. “I’m glad. We just wanted to surprise you. Have you already heard of these little creatures called tsums, [Y/N]?”

You stand up, revealing your tsum that had been hidden in your arms when you ducked. Both Ortho and his tsum are happy to see your tsum.

“OH, One like you also appeared! So cool!”

Ortho-tsum uses its new device to fly towards your tsum, who got surprised by it. Your tsum jumps from your arms to the ground and gestures for Ortho-tsum to come closer to it.

Ortho-tsum lands near your tsum again and it starts walking around ortho-tsum as if it is examining the new device suspiciously. The tsum make sounds as if they were chatting.

“I don't know what they're saying...” Ortho laughs. “But from the tone and what they're doing, it seems like your tsum is worried about my tsum's new antigravity device. The audio of the noises I'm capturing sounds similar to a scene from a movie I have stored in my memory, where an older sister is saying things like 'Where did you get that?', ‘Are you sure it's safe?’, ‘You could get hurt.’ Ha ha ha.”

After this conversation between the tsums, Ortho's tsum flies for a second, lands again and makes an inviting sound for your tsum. It jumps onto Ortho's tsum and the two slowly and carefully take flight.

“I think it wants to play with your tsum. Will you play with us too [Y/N]? Pretty Please?”

If you feel safe with Ortho, he will take you flying on his back. If you're scared he'll say: “It's okay, I understand. We can play close to the ground. We don't need to go up to the clouds to have fun together."

After walking around campus you decided to stop to rest on one of the benches in the Courtyard. You sit down and your tsum stays on your lap. A few seconds later, when you thought you could rest a little, something falls into your lap and on top of your tsum, startling you both.

After enjoying your reactions, the new tsum jumps next to you on the bench and turns to face you. It's a Lilia-tsum.

“Yay! Your tsum is back!” A voice behind you startles you and your tsum again, making it jump from your lap to Lilia-tsum's side.

Your tsum starts making sounds like it's complaining, but Lilia-tsum starts rubbing its face against your tsum to calm it down.

“Khee hee hee. Sorry.” LIlia says upside down, floating next to you. “You were trying to rest, weren't you?” He gestured for the tsums to move away so he could sit next to you.

They jump into your lap, where they get so close that it looks more like they're snuggling in a nest.

“I know it may not seem like it, but my tsum was getting tired too. But neither it nor I could resist surprising you and your tsum. Isn't it as charming and cute as me?”

You look at the tsums in your lap who seemed to be cuddled up sleeping. You joke that Tsum can be cuter.

“Ow, you're just saying that because of the plush shape it has. But looking at you and your tsum, I understand what you mean. Your tsum is also cuter than you.” He sees you pout slightly, and smiles mischievously. “Khee hee hee. Looks like someone didn't like being hit with their own spell.”

Lilia's tsum wakes up from its short nap and jumps to the ground, waking up your tsum as well. Lilia's tsum makes an inviting happy sound to your tsum, who also jumps off your lap to join it.

“I think it wants to play with your tsum now.”

You and Lilia follow your tsums to see what they will do. They prank a student. He was distracted reading a magazine when Lilia-tsum makes a sound that catches his attention. He looks, sees Lilia's tsum, rubs his eyes, looks again, and sees Lilia's and yours tsums. He rubs his eyes again, looks again and only sees your tsum. He gets up startled, looks the other way, looks back to where the tsum were and there is nothing there anymore. You hear him walking away wondering if he's going crazy or hallucinating.

You and Lilia laugh. And then Lilia has another idea for a prank.

The four of you go to the library and find two students chatting at a table. One of them is telling the other that he had seen Lilia transform into a small, round creature in front of him. The other wondered if it was some shapeshifting spell or some prank of Lilia's. Lilia-tsum hopped over to them.

“SEE?! HERE! This was the creature I saw Lilia transform into!”

You appear and greet the students. Lilia-tsum jumps into your arms in front of them and Lilia casts a light spell that temporarily blinds them, long enough for your tsum to take your place. When the students look again, they find two tsums.

“AHH! It's not a spell, it's some curse!” the other student says. “If any of them touch us, we become one of them too!”

Your two tsums walk slowly but menacingly towards them, and the students run away. Lilia bursts out laughing.

“This must have been the best one yet. Don't you also think it's funny when two big boys run away in fear from a cute little thing?”

The two tsums return to you. Lilia-tsum looks tired.

“We don't have that much stamina at this age, do we?” Lilia says smiling. He holds out his arms for his tsum to jump into them, but it doesn't. “Um? You don't want me to carry you?”

Lilia-tsum walks up to your tsum and cuddles with it.

“Oho, I see. In that case...” Lilia takes his blazer off his shoulders and ties the ends together as if making a hammock. “Okay you little lovebirds, here's a nest for you.” The two tsums jump in and snuggle together. “In fact, there is one thing cuter than our separate tsums: them together.” He looks at you, but the cute smile turns into a mischievous one when he sees your face. “What's wrong? Don't tell me you don't think they would make a pretty couple. That would break my heart.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

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anundyingfidelity · 18 days ago

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HAPPY MISTAKE — Logan Howlett

Summary: Not ever, through all the years of your life, you found someone like Logan. Since he arrived at the school, something brought you together like a magnet. Sadly, not everything came out as you wished it would be. Time is not gentle with mutants, and you try so hard to show him your unconditional love before everything is over, but can you finally accept your feelings for each other? Or yours and Logan's tumultuous relationship through the years.

(PART ONE → PART TWO) | GEN MASTERLIST!

Pairing: Logan x mutant!female!reader.

Word count: 9.6k.

Warnings: slow burn, breaking up(?)/making up, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut and unprotected everything, language, character death, time travel, Logan hurting reader unintentionally, wounds and blood. Logan being a whore for both Jean Grey and the reader. Reader has slow aging as Logan and looks around mid 30s in my head. Anthropology teacher!reader. Reader can manipulate light (just like Starlight from The Boys). This takes place between different movies from the franchise, from X-Men 1 to DoFP, so spoilers of the movies ahead.

Notes: Long time no write. Life is horrible but somehow I managed to get this in like two months. I love Logan so fucking much now you don't have an idea. This was also written with Happy Mistake by Lady Gaga in mind. If you'd like to be tagged in the second part let me know or let me know your thoughts on this, it's very much appreciated! I suffered a lot writing it .

𝒊𝒇 𝒊 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒙 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊'𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆.

—

2000

“Need any help?”

Logan stopped on his tracks from wandering around the cozy, yet strange place he woke up in. Turning on his feet, he saw your figure standing in the middle of the hallway. He said nothing, but you approached him as you had known him for a very long time.

“I assume you’re the new guy-”

“Where is she?” Logan abruptly interrupted once you stood inches away from him.

“Rogue? She’s fine. And you need to take a little rest.”

“I don’t need medical attention,” he said, looking around to search for a nearby exit. Before he walked away you took his arm in a soft grip.

He was, as much as you could tell, surprised by your boldness. You gave him no time to process his next movements once you talked again, your voice firm and welcoming in a way he had never felt before.

“Please, you need to meet Professor Xavier,” you said. “At least before you go. It’s totally fine if you wanna leave, I don’t recommend it though, but we can offer you a safe place here. We are just like you.”

Logan’s hardened expression relaxed for a moment, sensing no threat coming from you. All he saw in your eyes wasn’t pity, nor anger at him being kind of an asshole at first. It was just authority, the good kind where he also had something to say and decide about.

“Whatcha say, Logan?”

He was so immersed in his thoughts before you called his name, thinking it sounded beautiful falling off your lips. You gave him a half smile as he took in each detail of your face, as if he was memorizing every part of it.

It was the first time someone had been nice to him and it felt strangely good.

For some reason, it felt very good coming from you.

—

Logan just found out from the Professor’s mouth the mansion was a school for mutants. Gifted people, he called them. After learning another powerful mutant was behind him and Rogue, he had no other choice but accept the shelter. He didn’t like the other guys better, playing the teacher with a bunch of teenagers with special or cursed abilities. But besides Storm and Jean, you were the person who had welcomed him the most, even showing him the place and the room he would stay in.

One late night, you sat at the dining table together. Logan was silently drinking a beer outside school hours so the kids wouldn’t see him, and you, reading a bunch of papers from your students that you were missing. He realized how hard you worked, how you would praise your students, how you talked to them outside classes, being the one to actually convince Rogue to enroll in the school. Immediately, he knew you were really something, having much more in common than he thought. And you, living for so long, being both a mutant and a lady for sure had a hard life through time.

“What you teach again?” he suddenly asked, breaking the comfortable silence you shared.

“Anthropology,” you answered, giving him a short glance. “I took this at college a long time ago, and I’ve been alive long enough to know a thing or two,” you explained, putting away a paper after putting an A+ on it proudly. “It’s important to understand ourselves, humankind and mutants… It’s a diverse world and there are lots of cultures, languages and societies we don’t get to know, but it’s beautiful. I think I like to celebrate what makes us unique. I've had the chance to study some of them around the world since I had the time, y’know, and it’s truly amazing. It’s a shame we have to fight between us to make us heard when we could just be kind and empathetic to each other… Sorry, you didn’t ask but, y’know, anyway.”

You shook your head with a curve on your lips, going back to the next paper. Logan had taken the sparks in your eyes as you talked. He half smiled to himself once you buried yourself in your papers again, thinking you sounded just like Professor Xavier. No wonder why he took you in. Probably, if things were different for him, he would’ve found something that could light his face with so much passion just like you did.

“Been alive for almost two hundred years,” Logan said and you looked up to him. “We might have things about the past to share,” he drank from his beer. It was your turn to smile back at him.

“Yeah, well, I’ve lived both horrible but nice things. Couldn’t read or do math without being called a witch,” you chuckled to yourself, but hiding on the inside the awful experiences you had to endure. “Someday, we could go out and grab a coffee or something,” you said with a playful smile.

A light chuckle left your lips, but you and him knew it wasn’t just a joke.

He joined you with a warm smile that lit up his face before disappearing from his lips. “Of course. Count me in.”

—

The sun was shining bright and the weather was great that morning. Some of the students were in the yard playing, having some quality time, and others simply just left to go to the town. It was a good weekend before the next semester started, and it was better now knowing Magneto had been taken to prison after his failed attempt to use Rogue for his plans.

Sipping on your coffee, you saw the students outside. Laughing, running, having a good breakfast picnic. It felt heartwarming just taking this sight, wishing it would always be like this. Your mindful peace was interrupted when Logan entered the kitchen to have a coffee on his own. Visibly, you tensed just a little when he approached you and sat right in front of you at the dining table. The caffeine was not helping at all, you thought.

“Morning,” he greeted you, noticing something was off on you, but hoping it would pass. Maybe you already knew.

“Morning…” your voice came out as a whisper. “How you feeling?”

“Better. What about you?”

You gave a small nod. “Good, thanks for asking.”

A silence fell upon you. Not like the ones you used to share in lonely nights where you prepared your classes and Logan just sat down calmly because he couldn’t sleep. This time it was different. Words won’t come out of your mouth to ask what was really bothering you. You had grown up to like Logan and enjoy his company, but he had a lot of walls upon him, protecting himself of the world and people around him.

However, you understood why he did it. You both have been alive longer than anyone else. You saw people you love dearly dead, being killed because of your flaws. And you really connected to his idea of protecting people by leaving their side. It was better being away. That was until Professor Xavier recruited you. Here, you had a purpose and you helped young people to become the best versions of themselves. You wished Logan could do the same, stay and see he was more of what he thought of himself, but it wouldn’t happen. Right? He had things to sort out on his own.

“Are you leaving soon?”

When you asked the question, Logan knew you had heard something from the Professor. He gave you a nod.

“I need to reconnect with who I was,” he simply answered.

“Right… Wish you all the best there.”

Logan had grown to like you over the past few weeks you shared, exchanging experiences and lessons of life you had taken through the years. For a moment, he looked right into your eyes and smiled. He weirdly smiled, and you could swear he’d miss you too once he is away.

But that warm feeling soon faded away once Jean walked into the kitchen, saying good morning and beaming to the both of you. Logan followed her with his gaze, straightening himself on his seat as she served her own breakfast and an extra plate that you already knew was for Scott. She also began putting fruits and snacks inside a picnic basket while looking all happy and settled, and you knew why Logan had fallen in love with her. It was all over his face.

And you wondered how could he act and talk to you so kindly and sweet, and then look at Jean like that. It was a pain in your heart you tried to dissipate. Everyone knew Jean and Scott were a couple, and the fact that Logan had a not so secret crush on her really played on you. It made you feel like a fool and you had too many heartbreaks and hurted people, putting them in danger due to your mutation, to take initiative and start a relationship - or anything of the sort - again.

Scott made his way inside the kitchen, saying hi to both of you - mostly you. And took the tray with their plates as Jean grabbed the basket, but she let Scott leave the kitchen before.

“Have a good trip, Logan,” she said kindly. “I hope to see you around here soon.”

“Thank you, Jean.”

She smiled one last time before leaving you all alone, Logan following her with his eyes. Just for a second, you wished he could see you like that underneath his facade.

—

You had packed your stuff later that day, deciding a little air and a change for one night would do no wrong. Just as you were walking to the main door, Rogue was saying her goodbyes to Logan after giving him a small hug without really touching him. It was a cute sight how Rogue was able to step into his cold heart. She said goodbye to you as well before leaving the entrance.

“You’re going away too?” Logan asked, rather surprised as you both walked through the door, the sun hitting your skin as soon as you were out of the mansion. He knew your life was at the school.

“Just for the weekend,” you shrug it off.

Logan gave you a nod with a warm smile. “Then have a good trip and enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks. I hope you find what you’ve been looking for.”

“I hope so too,” Logan answered and before he went to take Scott’s bike, he looked at you hesitantly for a couple of seconds. “We should go out and grab some coffee once I’m back.”

Your lips formed a wide smile. “That sounds really nice.”

For a moment, where time felt like hours and not seconds, you stood right out the door, looking at each other. You wanted him to go first, but he was waiting for you to say something. Probably to ride the bike with him, he could leave you somewhere near your destination and feel you close - just be around you for at least five more minutes. But none of that ever happened.

Instead, you studied his face, looking at his deep eyes, and then his lips - those lips you wanted to kiss so bad before, but never had the courage to do so. You didn’t think further, and if something had taken possession over you, you leaned towards him leaving a short, sweet kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Take care,” you mumbled once you pulled away.

Not waiting for his answer, you turned back, pulling your bag to your side stronger than ever and walked the path to the front gates, feeling his gaze all over you until you left the mansion.

He felt such an idiot for not kissing you properly.

—

2003

‘I know what I want, but what do you want?’

Mystique’s words echoed through his head. Logan left the tent so long ago he didn’t know what time it was anymore and the situation kept repeating again and again in his mind. The woman had shifted between Jean, Ororo, and you. The one that icked him the most being Rogue once Mystique had taken her figure in. Storm was a good colleague, Jean was a forbidden love, Rogue was like his little sister, someone he would protect as long as he could, and you… you were a different case. When Mystique was about to kiss him wearing your figure, he finally realized he started feeling things he had prohibited himself for a very long time, and he thought he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

Once or twice you shared experiences about love and partners, but he could tell it hurted you the same way as him. He couldn’t burden breaking your heart, or worse, getting you hurt because of what he was. Logan knew you had the same bad luck in the past, but it didn’t stop any of you to pull towards each other like a magnet.

‘Living for so long does things to you, Logan. I feel we become more aware of what we are.’

Those words you said to him one time remained in his head like a warning, and he took it personally.

Closing his eyes, he leaned against a hard tree trunk some feet away from the tents where the rest of the X-Men rested. He tried to find some peace alone for a few moments when the sounds of steps approaching alerted his senses. Claws out and ready to attack, he spun around the trunk only to stop in a second.

There you were, a bright light emanating from your hand to illuminate your path in the darkness of the woods.

“Logan?”

Quickly, he withdrew his claws and his body relaxed visibly. “Sorry,” he apologized, leaning against the tree one more time.

“Are you okay?” you asked, but you already knew the answer. The exhausted sigh he let out told you everything you needed. You let the soft glow of light floating between you and him, to illuminate both of you under the branches. “You wanna talk?”

He slowly shook his head, mumbling ‘no’. He became startled in the light floating like a firefly, letting his own issues wash away with your sole company. Ironically, everything that was troubling him was you. Softly, you caressed his arm, taking him out of his own thoughts. Your touch didn’t help his poor mind either.

Looking worried about the next mission in Lake Alkali, you feared for him and your team. And your lack of sleep was showing it. But just like Logan, the growing feelings were troubling your head. You had seen him talking with Jean earlier when you landed in the forest - talking too close to your liking once he pulled her for a kiss. But what could you do? Logan was still after Jean even when she had already declined him countless of times, and it didn’t really hurt you. It just felt strange inside. Why would he do that while still being nice to you, quitting being a dick when he wanted because he knew you’d snap back at him. And to be honest, Logan looked as if he liked that about you. But he won’t admit it out loud, and of course, you wouldn’t ask. Men were so damn complicated.

“Well, I only expect things to not get worse…” you finally said in a soft whisper since he wasn’t talking and you stopped your head going further on the matter. And you knew he wouldn’t talk soon either. “And you’re brave for seeking your past.”

Logan locked his eyes with your own, under the soft light. Your tired gaze, your figure, your aura pulling him like he found a treasure in an abandoned cave… He felt so bad for falling for someone like you, who was nothing compared to the crap he was. And then, for the first time in years, he decided to follow his instinct with you.

He leaned towards your figure, his rough hand cupping your cheek gently before pulling you in for a kiss. With a soft sigh you corresponded, your arms around his neck as it turned deeper and harsher. Logan lifted you easily from the ground, your legs tangling around his waist until you felt your back against a rough surface, trapped between the trunk and his body. Soft moans and grunts mingled, your chest pressing against his own, his hips grinding against your crotch. It was obvious you wanted this. Logan desired you so painfully after that day you kissed him goodbye at the mansion, he needed your body and soul. But you had to have answers before giving into the heat of the moment.

Pulling away, you broke the kiss, your forehead resting against his own as you tried to catch your breath. Logan tried to taste you once again, but you placed two of your fingers on his swollen lips.

“Why’d you kiss her?”

He remained silent, brows furrowed and eyes blown in lust. You didn’t make any effort to pull him away. He still had you between his legs, asking a simple question he had no response for.

“We’re adults here, Logan. Just wanna know why before we go further.”

Logan started to remember. He vividly heard Jean and Mystique voicing out and asking the right question.

‘Girls flirt with the bad guy. They take the good guy home.’

‘What do you want?’

“Do you really want me?” he asked in return.

You lifted an eyebrow at his sudden question. “And do you?”

He leaned again for a kiss on your lips, and thankfully for him, you didn’t stop it. But he quickly pulled away and inhaled your sweet scent from the skin on your neck, leaving a path of soft pecks, until he nipped the shell of your ear softly. You shivered under his touch.

“I’d love to have you,” he whispered, softly caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“Come to my tent,” you mumbled. “Sleep with me. But like, seriously, sleep with me ‘cause I’m tired,” you chuckled, hoping to not kill the mood.

Logan smiled for a bit and nodded, pecking your lips one more time before helping you get on your feet on the muddy ground, hands rubbing your sides slowly.

“As long as I have you by my side it’s alright with me.”

—

Jean’s death was hard to swallow.

For weeks, students and teachers mourned her, and you felt sorry for Scott for losing his soulmate. Logan was not in the best shape either. He didn’t attend her funeral, he never had the guts to stand by her grave either, until now. You stopped right behind him and noticed him sighing, under the afternoon sunset. He was tense because of everything, but when you took his hand out of the pocket of his jacket, he held onto you. Your fingers intertwined together, feeling his life depending solely on you, like a rock he needed to support his whole weight.

The day was about to end, the sun slowly hiding, giving a beautiful painting of orange and purple in the sky. You thought it would soon become an intense thunderstorm due to Ororo’s mourn - something you had gotten used to the last few days.

“She saved us,” Logan barely mumbled, looking intensely at the grave.

You nodded, even if he could not see you. “Can’t blame her, I’d have done the same.”

Those words cause him to look back at you, wishing it’d be a lie. But inside, Logan knew you really had the guts to sacrifice yourself for others. It was something he remembered both of you talking about some time ago. And you would give everything in your hands to save the ones you love.

Quietly, Logan gave a last glance at Jean’s grave, and guided you inside the mansion. Classes barely started again due to the circumstances and a few kids could be seen around the halls. You accompanied him to the doors of his room, noticing you had been holding hands the whole time. Probably no one really cared, they were too busy trying to go through the grief of losing a loved one. Slowly, you broke the gesture, taking your hand away and Logan immediately missed the heat and comfort of your hand.

“Do you need anything?” you asked in a low voice.

Looking at you, Logan reminisced how you kissed in the woods, the need and lust for each other that couldn’t be. He did sleep in your tent that night, in the comfort of your arms, feeling the warmth of your skin. It was, probably, the first time he had a good, peaceful night of sleep in years. No one had brought that up, but he knew something was there. And he needed to act on it before it was too late.

So he brought up his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks lovingly before planting a kiss on your lips, not caring he was standing in the middle of the hallway where anyone could see what was going on. You leaned against his touch, deepening the kiss until you couldn’t catch a breath. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead into yours, taking in the beauty of your bright eyes and swollen lips. Everything wandering his mind, making a path right into his cold heart was right in front of him.

“You.”

—

Knocking Professor Xavier's door, you walked inside as soon as his voice announced to come in. You caught your breath seeing Logan by his desk. He just gave you a quick, accomplice glimpse and left the room, closing the door behind. The exchange of glances wasn’t unnoticed by Charles.

“Here’s the report on my subject for this last semester, Professor,” you announced, leaving the folder on the wooden desk.

“Thank you. How’s Logan doing?” he asked all of a sudden, checking the door the man had crossed just seconds ago.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you believe he is comfortable helping the kids?” the old man asked again. He was seeing right through you, and you kind of hated every time he used to do that to you. Nothing could be hidden from Xavier; definitely you couldn’t hide a single thing for the man who took you in decades ago.

“Why would I know that?”

He shrugged it off. “Well, you seem very close lately.”

Close was not the best word to describe your relationship with Logan. Yet, you were sleeping on his bed just the night before. The trace of his kisses, the burn of his beard on your skin, his teeth biting softly your breasts, his rough hands all over your hips… Every touch he left on your body you could still feel it, and you wanted to think he was not just using you. During the past weeks, you were together. Not quite a relationship-thing was established properly, but it was the closest thing any of you could have as for now.

It was a mixture of grief, pain, and hope that had you both still standing. In the end, you understood what he felt. Being alone and alive for so long and then finding a place where people accepted you for who you were was a whole change, even if some years passed by. Though, the time Logan had been spending at the school was nothing but a blink of an eye compared to his past.

“What happened to our team is still affecting us,” you finally said. “I believe we are good friends, yes, we’ve been supporting each other. And he doesn’t know how to deal with the students yet most of the time, but I try to walk him through it.”

Xavier hummed, smiling at the corner of his lips as he eyed the folder you handed him. “I bet you both do.Thanks for bringing your report on time, as always, and I apologize if I am being intrusive. Just please be careful with the noises both of you make at night, we have kids around here.”

Shit.

You swallowed your pride right there and simply gave a nod, feeling the heat burning up your face.

“Will do, Professor.”

—

A loud gasp escaped your lips as you held for dear life on his broad shoulders, hips snapping against your own. His pace was reckless, keeping you on the edge of sin. Grunts mixed with sweet moans, skin hitting skin again and again every time you felt his cock inside you. If possible, your nails could have already left visible scars and marks on his back, scratching and bleeding off his skin as he fucked you senseless.

Logan sucked on the bare skin on your neck, inhaling your scent, feeling your walls clenching around his girth, his hands roughly grabbing the sides of your hips as you moaned his name, over and over, under the moonlight. He looked at you intensely with loving eyes when you came underneath him, eyes flashing that familiar bright light every time a powerful orgasm hit your body. The vulnerable sight of your figure shaking, eyes closing slowly and biting your lip to keep the pretty noises low, made him reach the sweetest high.

With a grunt, he leaned to attack your lips in a heated, wet kiss to moan against your mouth. Logan pulled back to press butterfly kisses on your jaw, until he reached your breasts, feeling himself soften inside your wet heat. His hips were still thrusting just enough to fill you up at a gentle rhythm. Marking you his and only his.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled against the sensitive skin of your chest. “Remind me why we’re here again.”

You chuckled softly, fingers tangling on his disheveled hair. You just had prepared a small date night out at the shores of a beautiful lake in the woods. No one could bother you if you were alone, and since your relationship was not so secret anymore, you needed him in a place that wasn’t the school. So here you were, laying on your back, fully naked on the picnic blanket, with the Wolverine between your legs, enjoying the calmness of the water, the green grass, the crickets singing around, and the cold of the night.

“Privacy perhaps?” you whispered as his eyes locked on yours.

Softly you touched his cheek with the palm of your hand and he rolled both of you over, until you laid on top of him, legs straddling his waist and your arms on his shoulders to sit on his lap. Silence took over, his hands soothing your hips and the marks he left on your body from the intense love-making.

“I’m so happy we took a couple of days off…”

You waited for Logan to say something. Anything. You wanted to continue, to tell him how you really felt. Instead, you decided it was better leaving it like this. Logan gave you a nod, pulling you for a short kiss.

“Yeah. Me too.”

He wanted to say it out loud, but was too scared to do so.

—

2006

After a couple of long years, the school and the team had to learn how to go through the grief and pain Jean left. Logan had a hard time processing it, just like all your teammates, specially Scott, and of course the students. It didn’t stop you from moving on as time went by though, always remembering her for the great person and mind she was. Going forward and keeping fighting is what she would’ve wanted for everyone, even now that a certain cure for mutants was announced to the public.

You tried to continue your life as a professor at the school, training students, leading young people, and you invited and encouraged Logan to do so countless times. Deep inside, you wished it was you the reason why Logan decided to stay and train young mutants - for you to be the answer to his loneliness. That he knew, for once and all, that he was not alone. You got each other, and you could do something about it. Words unspoken said more than anything, at least you thought so.

It was one of those rare nights where you got some time for yourselves, walking around the city after having a nice and calm dinner. Your shoulders brushed against each other while you walked downtown, your hands hiding inside the pockets of your jacket, protecting them from the cold.

There was a lot on your mind lately, thinking about what you two really were. If there was a stronger feeling in between, or if it was solely because he enjoyed your company and that was it. Both had lived enough to know there was a feeling in the middle. It wasn’t just friends with benefits, or co-workers who sleep together three times a week. Something was blooming deep inside you, but you tried to not give it a lot of attention all those years. Still, it felt like it had to be addressed sooner or later, and this could be the time. In the end, you understood each other perfectly. How painful it was, how living longer than anyone was, how you had to leave everything and everyone behind because you were dangerous…

“Have you ever wondered how’d it feel to have a normal life?” your question came out all of the sudden.

“How come?” He looked at you from the corner of his eye.

You didn’t know if his gaze was judging you but you continued anyway.

“Like living a normal amount of years… Not having these things, genes that make us different. Or special…”

Logan suddenly stopped in his tracks and grabbed your arm softly so you could lock eyes together as he asked. “You’re not thinking of getting that damn cure, aren’t you?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why’d you think that?”

“Because I never had anyone in my life, Logan,” you spat, pulling your arm away from his grip. “I’ve been alive for so long but I can’t promise myself a future. A real one. Not anything, it doesn’t matter if I live forever. Every person I loved before perished.”

Those words shook him out of the rough façade showing on his face. Your gaze told a hundred different stories when he studied your face every time. It was like mirroring himself at some point. You were the first person he ever got to know that has lived as long as he has, and maybe it was the sentimentalism, but he tried to push away those wishes of settling down. Of trying to be normal. Because he was not, and maybe, just maybe, you just didn’t accept it like he did. Probably, he was just giving up. But you weren’t, even after hundreds of years of disgrace continuously happening.

“I thought you’d get this, Logan.”

You mumbled, taking him out of his trance.

“Well, I do, in a way,” he said, but sounded more like an excuse for himself.

“Then why don’t you say it?”

“Wha-”

“Just say it,” you repeated and pointed between you and him. “What is this for you? What are we?”

Logan grabbed on your shoulders gently and leaned towards you, stealing a kiss on the sidewalk, a kiss you obliged with a bittersweet feeling for some reason, but then he whispered. “Darling, you’re everything to me now.”

Yet, you smiled and kissed him back, feeling his lips curve against your own. Well, that wasn’t so hard was it?

—

Needless to say, after the last date, your relationship with Logan had evolved to something more domestic, considering you lived together in your workplace. Affection, holding hands, quick kisses were shared now a little more freely, and you had received a couple of jokes and teases from some students and Storm. But it was fine as long as you had cleared your path with Logan, even if he didn’t act like a partner sometimes.

The certain calmness you felt one day disappeared when Logan and Ororo went to look for Scott, who often had these sad thoughts, and since Jean was his partner, it was thoroughly complicated for him to say the least. When Logan and Ororo came back to the mansion, it was not what you expected to see. Jean was alive and Scott was gone.

It hurted you, knowing first hand that their love wouldn’t be anymore. You met both of them when they were so young, becoming something like their mentor when they used to learn how to control their powers and how to fit in this world that loathed mutants to death. Now, the school was something else. It was a big, special place that was not the same without the brains of Jean, or the enthusiasm and leadership of Scott. Things were different, they had to change because the circumstances told so, and everyone had a difficult time adapting to it. One thing after another left you tired, with no option to run away, even if you wanted to. The complicated circumstances and the relationship you shared with Logan were no help either.

While on your way to check on Jean, who was still under observation after a couple of days, you stopped in your tracks when the heavy door of the med bay slid. Logan, looking all out of his daily self and mad, found you at the entrance, and you felt something different emanating from him.

For what you could see behind him, Jean was still asleep, and the Professor called Logan to come back with a serious voice, but he ignored the older man, instead approaching you.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Logan grasped your arm, his tone lower and deeper than usual.

You quickly pulled off his grip and hissed. “What are you talking about?”

“Jean.”

You felt silent. Of course she was anything he could think of since they found her.

“You knew he was controlling her,” Logan went on and your heart skipped a beat.

The look in your eyes told everything but lies. Logan scoffed and walked away, leaving you standing alone under Professor Xavier’s gaze.

“I’ll talk to him,” you mumbled at your mentor before following Logan, trying to keep his pace until he reached his room.

The whole way you tried to keep it professional, greeting students as normally you would, but when you crossed his door it was impossible to continue with the facade.

“Logan-”

“He’s insane,” he snapped, putting his jacket on and taking his bag out.

“Everything that was done was meant to protect her,” you responded calmly as he placed a handful of clothes inside the bag.

“No, you did it because you are disgusting. I bet this is what should’ve been for me if I refused to cooperate with your circus or something.”

“You don’t know what she is capable of-”

“Yeah, well I don’t wanna hear it anymore. This is so fucked up, even for you,” he continued, bag on his hand taking long strides until you were almost touching noses.

You scoffed, trying to laugh at the irony. “What does that even mean? Do you know how horrible it is to be controlled by the Phoenix inside her?.”

Logan rolled his eyes, not wanting to hear another poor excuse. You continued anyway, looking straight in his eyes before he could leave you hanging with your own words. Exactly like he used to do every damn time when you had an argument. Today, he wouldn’t run away that fast.

“She could kill you in a second and won’t hesitate. For her, we’re nothing. We’re not rivals, we can’t do shit. The only thing we could do was keep her alter ego somewhere hiding inside her mind, or else we wouldn’t be here arguing about something you never witnessed. Because I did and you don’t wanna see that, trust me,” you spat at him. He breathed rage at your words and you knew that it was getting on his nerves seeing the way his hands turned to fists. “And you think this version of her cares for you? Or that she loves you? Jean is gone now, Logan, fucking get over it.”

With last harsh words, you turned around and left the room, closing the door with a thud.

Logan breathed out. He wanted to scream, hit something, run away… Anything to let it out. He was a reckless mess but how could he react and accept Charles was playing with Jean’s mind? And you fucking knew all this time and didn’t say anything? Were his feelings dirty on him right now? Probably. Shit, he took years to finally tell you the truth about his love and affection towards you. He spent months trying to find the right words just to say ‘I love you’, and still, it seemed it wasn’t enough. The forbidden love he felt for Jean never disappeared, and he felt guilty for it.

—

You walked down to the med bay after calming down for a bit. You only needed to check on Jean for a moment and see how she was doing. Years prior, you had witnessed what the Phoenix was capable of, so you didn’t really question Charles’ methods when it came to hide this dangerous side of her inside her mind. You also thought your words might have been a little harsh on Logan, but it was the truth. He didn’t know who the Phoenix was and, if his feelings for Jean resurfaced after believing her being dead, then it wasn’t on you. As much as you loved him, as much as you tried and somehow managed to move on together, he was so easily dragged to her.

The anger you felt before took over you once again, as you found the metal doors of the lab in debris. Quickly, you made your way inside the room and found Jean wasn’t there and that Logan was lying unconscious on the floor. You knelt down by his side, calling him over and over and touching his face and shaking his shoulders until he finally opened his eyes slowly, coming back to reality.

“Logan, what happened?”

“She… she killed Scott. The Phoenix,” he whispered. You could tell he was a little weak and out of breath.

“You’re lucky she just ran away,” you pointed out, helping him to sit down. His eyes were lost in the mess in the room. Tools were destroyed, test tubes broken, crystal was everywhere, and Jean left the reminder of kissing him, yet again, before she escaped. God, he felt so idiotic.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, looking at you. “Sorry for being a jerk. It’s my fault.”

Taking his cheeks between your hands, you gave him a reassuring look. “We’re gonna find her, okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, we’ll find her.”

“Come here, we need to alert Charles,” you said, helping him to stand up.

Inside, you knew he wouldn’t really need your help. He was strong and indestructible like the metal on his skull, but he seemed really taken back, and you decided to stay by his side, holding his hand strongly as a way to say sorry as well. It was kind of difficult to see Logan in that state of mind, confused and lost, and you wondered what had happened back there in the lab as you left him in his bedroom, ordering him to rest for a while.

“I’ll be right back,” you assured him with loving eyes.

Logan nodded, following your figure stepping out the room and disappearing in the hallway.

He let out a breath he didn’t know was holding. His mind was having a hard time and his heart felt like breaking, going in two opposite directions, and he hated himself for that. His fate was always the same: losing people he loved and cared for dearly. So seeing Jean back again was as if god or anything up there remembered he existed and brought her back just for him. Or maybe he was just being selfish because he already had you.

You were everything for him. A couple of years might be just a short glimpse for both of you, but he was able to feel peace and calm next to you, and he was sure you did as well. Because some nights, that was all you could talk about. Logan didn’t mind hearing you for hours, it reminded him he was alive. With you, but his stupid instinct had to act.

It was his fault Jean had left. The kiss, the whole act of embracing each other’s bodies for at least two minutes, and then her breakdown, begging for him to kill her… All of that was enough to bring out the beast inside her. And he felt such a jerk now for following his desires. He already had you. Wasn’t that enough?

His thoughts were interrupted once you arrived again, finding him sitting at the end of the bed exactly as you had left him there. Sensing something different on him, you sat down by his side and rubbed his hand gently.

“We might know where she’s going,” you whispered.

“I’ll go,” Logan said before you could finish.

“I’m not sure if I should ask, but are you okay? You could do some rest,” you suggested, since seeing the redhead was clearly getting some kind of reaction from him.

“No, I need to go,” he said. But Logan could read your face perfectly, and he knew you didn’t really like the idea of him leaving the mansion. You turned your eyes, scanning the room and avoiding his gaze.

You had the need to ask what exactly had happened back there with Jean, but you didn’t want to start a fight either. Feeling Logan’s hand on your shoulder, he leaned to kiss your forehead goodbye. Maybe you were the one who should stay, check the kids, the school…

“It’ll be fine,” he mumbled, voice low and deep, as if trying to convince you, but himself as well. You nodded with your arms around his neck, giving him a hug that felt like some sort of apology you weren’t able to say out loud. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

And how you’d wish things would be fine.

—

The school has been very quiet lately. Too silent even for his taste. At nights like these, he could still feel the vigor and presence of the students running around, grabbing something to eat, planning to go out for a while... Instead, Logan found himself in a place that was mourning. Grieving the loss of Jean, Scott and Charles.

The feelings inside were complicated. He didn’t really feel the same, and the disgrace and remorse of his actions were growing on him. They were still haunting him; every day, every single night. You knew it too. It was impossible to ignore the nightmares each time he woke up from seeing Jean’s lifeless body fall against his own after he gave what she wished for the most: death.

And then, there was you. He noticed how difficult it was getting for you to sleep. You tried to hide your sorrow into your work, studying even more, keeping yourself busy with the school and not thinking about anything else. Since Charles was gone, Ororo took his place and you were her second hand. But you pushed yourself too hard.

Tonight he found your bedroom empty. He didn’t find you on his either, so he went to the place he knew you would be: your classroom. The door was half opened, the dim light of the lamp on your desk barely illuminated the papers on the surface. He found you deeply concentrated reading on something, hands on the sides of your head hiding your face.

“Hey,” he softly mumbled, stepping inside the empty classroom.

You quickly straightened yourself on the chair, wiping your cheeks and tried to look decent for a moment.

“Hey,” you replied back, low voice.

“Come to bed,” he said, coming to stand before you, his hand on your shoulder comforting and soothing you, making its way to the side of your neck. His big palm on your cheek, caressing the skin stained with your tears as if it was the most delicate thing. He took a look at the mess of papers and old books you loved too much to get rid of, scattered on the wooden surface.

“No, I- I can’t. Need to finish these by tomorrow…”

Logan gave you a nod and a grimace before taking your hand, motioning to come closer. You stood up, knowing he was trying to get you out of the work that was consuming you.

He observed every feature on your face, the sadness in your stare couldn’t be hidden. He just knew you too well, just like the palm of his hand, and he wanted to make you forget. At least for a little. You had taken care of him, helped him with your presence and your unique aura, bringing him comfort and peace to his broken mind. He wanted you to be fine. To feel loved.

Logan leaned just exactly to brush his lips with your own, teasing a kiss that he longed too much, his hands around your waist pulling you towards him.

“Can you just let me take care of you?”

Swallowing hard the knot on your throat, you curled your lips as much as the grief let you. “Yes,” you nodded.

With this, Logan leaned until your lips connected. Your arms around his neck pulled him as closer as you could get, feeling his chest against your own, his strong hands around your waist, softly touching you above your clothes.

Logan slowly walked you until your back hit the desk, hands roaming on your ass down to your legs, placing you to sit down over the loose pages. It might ruin the work a little, but none of you cared. Everything in your head was him, between your legs, running his wet mouth down your jaw, his stubble burning your skin as you gasped gently. Lying on your back on the desk, he began descending down your breasts, unbuttoning your blouse until he exposed you to the cold of the room.

He stopped right on your trousers, and gave you a quick glance. You were so eager, wet already. He could sense it. Your eyes were glowing and you were already trying to catch your breath by just his kisses and touch.

“You locked the door?” you whispered.

“Damn right I did,” he voiced, hoarse and low voice from just thinking of railing you right there and then.

“Then don’t stop.”

At your command, he unzipped your trousers, letting them fall down along with your heels on the floor. He then leaned to take your lips in a sloppy kiss, more urgent this time of feeling you close. You moaned, nails scratching his skin. His calloused hands explored your bare legs and things, creating friction with his hips with slow, controlled thrusts against your crotch. Logan left a trail of kisses down to your breasts, licking and tasting the saltiness of your body.

You urged him to go down where you ached the most, hand tangling on his hair. His hands grabbed the back of your thighs, spreading to him until his nose was almost buried on your panties, smelling and taking the sweetness of your scent, licking softly with his wet tongue over the fabric. A trail of moans and curses left your lips. He pulled your panties aside before diving in your pussy, licking your folds and teasing your hole with two of his fingers.

“Logan…”

His name repeatedly left your mouth like a plea, his fingers now inside you, stretching your walls for him. The noises grew obscene and nasty as he ate you out like a sweet craving he had been denying himself the pleasure for so long.

He was growing hard just by hearing your whimpers, and he needed you. You always were a fucking longing for him. Your words, your intelligence, your beauty… Everything he needed, you had it. And still, he didn’t have any idea of how such a rational, smart woman like you learned to love him so deeply.

You tugged on his hair, hips thrusting up to meet his growling mouth. You were so close, felt almost there where you wanted, but he pulled away before you finished.

Logan unzipped his jeans leaning back, admiring your blissed out eyes and glistened figure.

“Come here,” you begged in a whisper, tangling your legs around his waist.

He let out a low, dirty chuckle, feeling your hands on his boxers, freeing his erection.

“So fucking eager,” Logan breathed kissing your lips, hands supporting his weight at the sides of your head on the desk.

You tasted yourself within the kiss and you moaned at his words, your hand pumped him just enough to feel his pre cum leaking already, lining his dick with your cunt. Inch by inch, he entered slowly so you could get used to his size. Logan pecked your lips gently, kissing your cheeks and the side of your neck to get into your sensitive skin. You tugged on his white shirt so he could remove it and he ripped your bra apart right after. He loved to feel your chest pressed against his own. You gasped but paid no mind, instead urging him to move inside you.

“Shit, Logan please-”

A particular harsh trust caught your breath on your throat. You held onto dear life with your hands on his shoulders. He pounded into you rock hard and deep. So damn deep the desk was shrieking under, papers fell off and the lamp moved at the same rhythm but you hoped it won’t break.

Logan growled, inhaling your scent and tasting the sweat forming on your collarbone, your breasts bouncing against his chest. He felt your nails trailing down his back, and oh, how he wished he could get damn scars on just by fucking you like this. But the view of you, squirming under him, eyes closed, being a whimpering mess… All because of him. He was so insanely in love with your fucked out expression every time.

Your walls clenched, close to the sweet end. Logan felt himself twitching inside your warm pussy and his thrusts were getting erratic and sloppy. He filled you up, reaching his own climax first, hot white ropes of cum painting your insides. Your pussy milked him all the way as he kept spliting you open until you let yourself go, legs trembling around his waist.

For a moment, you stayed like this, with him kissing your shoulder and caressing your thigh, taking in the aftermath of your intense lovemaking.

“Thank you…”

Your whisper forced him to look up at you. There it was, that loving, sweet gaze you had reserved just for him.

He nodded, palm on your jaw holding you gently. “Of course…”

For some reason, he wanted to voice out for once those stupid three words.

I love you.

Or at least hoped you would do it first.

—

The night was cold under the moonlight, almost freezing. He wondered how he got trapped there, between the messy, withered shrubbery, fog, and the trees of a forest he never recalled knowing. He was alert, senses to the limit in case something might attack him. He felt as if he was being watched, but there were no eyes he could find around. He couldn’t see much like that.

But then a voice started to call his name from afar, claws coming out immediately as he sharpened his senses to find the owner. One, two, three times he heard, trying to find the person who was calling but there was only darkness. His heart skipped a beat when someone spoke behind him.

“Logan…”

He turned on his feet and he felt like dying again. “Jean?”

He withdrew his claws back immediately. The redhead smiled, coming closer until she touched his cheek with a soft hand before pulling away. “How are you, Logan?”

“What-”

“Are you happy now?” she asked, beaming brightly as if they were in a casual conversation instead of the darkness of the woods.

His brows furrowed. She couldn’t be real. She wasn’t there with him. Jean was gone, he had killed her because it was what she wanted. It was her way out to get what she needed; it was the key to her freedom…

“What do you mean?”

“With her… Be careful. You could kill her. Just like me,” Jean whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

Logan stepped back, trying to get away. He shook his head in disbelief, not knowing exactly why Jean was saying this to him.

“No… You’re not real…”

“Everything you love is destined to death and chaos, Logan. You shouldn’t be there,” Jean continued, her eyes switching from her usual tone to a deep black. The ground began trembling under their feet with each step of her, wind building up around. Logan felt truly scared, but somehow he couldn’t run, just stand there as she approached. “All she will know is a life of suffering if you stay. She doesn’t need that.”

“Jean-”

“She doesn’t need you!”

“Jean!”

And then it happened so fast. His claws buried on her chest, the Phoenix disappearing and leaving her to die. Jean collapsed against his body and Logan reminisced about the events of that battle, where he had to choose to be selfish or liberate her from her own demons. Logan wasn’t sure why he stabbed her like this. And when he thought Jean was dead in his arms, she started to call his name again. This time, he heard it far away.

Logan.

Logan…

Logan!

His eyes went wide open. And there you were, by his side on the bed, calling for him with a pain grimace on your face. His claws buried on your stomach.

“Logan…” you gasped and he pulled the claws out, but you were already bleeding, your nightshirt and the mattress stained.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry- I-”

“It’s okay,” you managed to say as he caressed your cheek before taking you in his arms hurriedly and quickly made the way out of your room through the halls. “The nightmares… I know, Logan…”

“God, I’m so sorry, please forgive me. Hank!” Logan stood outside the scientist’s door. “Hank, I need your help!”

The commotion caused some of the students to peek from their doors, and Logan waited outside what he felt it was forever under the gazes of the teenagers. It wasn’t the first time he had caused the same accident. The door opened, finally revealing a sleepy Hank putting his glasses on.

There was no need to explain what had happened.

—

“She’ll be stable soon,” Hank informed once he let Logan inside the med bay. “If you hadn’t brought her soon…”

Logan swallowed the knot on his throat, watching your unconscious figure on the stretcher. You already had received blood to cover up what you lost because of the wounds, and Logan’s claws were not minor weapons. His mind was a mess, confusion taking over. He didn’t know how he let this happen. He had nightmares pretty often, yes, but nothing like this.

Maybe Jean was right. Maybe she was trying to warn him about something. Or Jean was just trying to protect you from him. The last one felt more realistic. Logan wouldn’t hurt you, not ever. You talked about how dangerous it was to sleep together not so long ago, but you had insisted on staying. It was the first time something felt so damn real in his dreams and he wished you wouldn’t let him in your room that night…

“She’ll wake up, right?” Logan asked.

“Absolutely,” Hank nodded. “I will need to monitor her vital signs though, hopefully within a day or two she will be normal again… At least she’ll be stable until the wounds heal completely.”

Of course, Logan thought. You didn’t have a healing factor just like him.

“I’ll be right back,” Hank announced before stepping out of the room, leaving Logan alone.

He felt so guilty for doing this to you. For everything. For being the cause of your suffering now. He was a threat and mentally unstable. He was strong thanks to his genes, but he was weak on the inside. He promised countless times to protect you, but he couldn’t avoid hurting you himself. It didn’t matter that it was a very bad dream that felt disgustingly real, he had failed and hurted someone who truly loved. Again.

Taking your hand gently into his, he leaned to plant a kiss on your forehead, wishing it would be just another game from his mind.

But it wasn’t. Now, he had the person he loved the most lying unconscious and hurted because he would let his darkest thoughts consume him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, watching you sleep peacefully. “I should have said it sooner.”

PART TWO

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #logan howlett x female reader #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut #logan howlett angst #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine angst #james logan howlett #x men fanfiction #wolverine fanfiction #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman wolverine

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hier--soir · 2 years ago

Text

whole new can of worms

joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: two friends decide to blow off a little steam together. warnings/tags: [18+ minors DNI] fwb!joel, famous HOG joel miller lmao, age gap [20 years], language, alcohol consumption, established friendship, guitar playing joel!!, oral [f and m recieving], p in v sex, starts slow and careful and ends up rough oops. word count: 6.9k (nice) series masterlist | masterlist a/n: okay LOOK. i’m working on a final part to this little impromptu series, but I got very side-tracked with the idea of a prequel and then the most smut I’ve ever written just fucking spilled out of me. this is the first time they had sex, ladies and gentlemen. you get the beginning before you get the end. enjoy. also, this moment from tlou pt 2 game is what i was picturing for the beginning when joel is playing the song. dont watch if you don't want to, its from a cut scene very late in the second game. zero spoilers, just joel miller strumming that damn guitar in a way i'll never forget. this is part one of my fwb!joel series. you can find the other parts here: two, three, four.

“Play that one I like.”

Joel offered no verbal response, but sat up straighter in his chair, fingers adjusting along the fretboard of his guitar. You relaxed into your seat, closing your eyes and taking a long sip from your glass of amber liquor.

He began playing and you smiled happily, goosebumps breaking out across your skin as the familiar tune filled the air between you and your friend, melding with the sound of rain softly pattering against the roof of his veranda. You kicked your feet up onto the table between you, the tense muscles in your legs aching from the stretch.

“Get your feet off the table,” Joel muttered, fingers never ceasing on the instrument. “Animal.”

Your eyes stayed closed, but you stuck your tongue out in his direction, smirking a little and keeping your feet up, knowing he didn’t really mind.

Both of you had endured a long fucking day.

Winter was fading into Spring, and the trees and plants in Jackson were slowly but surely beginning to bloom again. It meant you were spending more hours in the green house than out on patrol, and you weren’t complaining. Tending to the garden relaxed you, connected you to nature and to one of the food sources in the commune that helped put a little bit of food on everyone’s plate each week. Working there made you feel connected to the town, and you loved it, truly. Except, for when a thunderstorm happened.

They’d scared you for as long as you could remember. Since you were a kid, thunder and lightning had made you want to crawl under the covers on your bed and hide away until the loud noises disappeared. But as a full-grown woman, you weren’t afforded such luxuries. Rain, hail or shine, the people in Jackson depended on each other, and you couldn’t duck out of a shift because of a silly little phobia.

When the rain started pouring down on the glass roof of the greenhouse you hadn’t been surprised. Only a few weeks into springtime, the town was still shaking off the remnants of a bitterly cold winter, and a little rain was still common. It was only when the first crack of thunder sounded that you’d stilled, hands frozen gripping a heavy pot, an unwelcome shiver racing down your spine. You’d had to work for hours, the sound of rain pelting against the roof accompanying you, with flashes of lightning appearing out of the corner of your eye all day.

When all was said and done, you’d trudged through the downpour to Joel’s house and arrived on his doorstep looking like a drowned rat, only to find out that he’d spent his afternoon stuck outside on patrol, in the very weather you were so upset about.

He’d opened the door with damp hair, bundled in warm clothes, the tip of his nose a light shade of pink from the cold.

“Whiskey?” he’d asked.

You nodded. “Whiskey.”

And so the pair of you had ended up on his porch, under cover from the residual spit of rain, forgetting all about the shit day through good company and good alcohol.

As Joel strummed the last few chords of the song you sighed glumly, cracking an eye open to watch him. He set the guitar down gently and reached for his glass.

“So beautiful,” you murmured. “Wish I could play.”

“And then what use would I be?” he chuckled. “Can’t have you learning guitar; I’d have no one to play for anymore.”

You watched him closely. Staring into his glass, you could see him mulling the words over in his head. Ellie had hardly spoken a word to him in weeks, and you could see the toll it was taking, although you never pried. Clearly, something had happened, and although you and Joel were close, you hadn’t wanted to insert yourself into whatever drama had consumed his little found family. It made your chest hurt though, to watch him miss that girl. He’d always loved playing for her.

“Good thing I’m lazy then,” you mused softly. “Swear I couldn’t play an instrument with a gun to my head. I’ll need to keep you around.”

“Works for me,” he said, refilling both your glasses. “You on the patrol roster tomorrow?”

You shook your head, accepting the glass with a grateful smile. A slight buzz warmed your insides, fighting to keep your body temperature up as the cool breeze licked at your exposed hands and face. “Nope, I’m a free agent tomorrow, no responsibilities.”

“God damn,” he rolled his eyes. “Gonna be stuck out there all alone with Tommy.”

“Devastating,” you grinned. “I’m way better company.”

“Too right,” Joel agreed. “What’s your plan for the day, little miss no responsibilities? Still reading that book I found you?”

Probably masturbate. The thought zipped through your mind so suddenly that you felt your chest warm, and you cleared your throat softly.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Probably just read for a while. Dinner at Maria and Tommy's, remember?”

You hoped he didn’t see through the lie, because the truth was that you were embarrassed by yourself. Only a few days before you’d been struck by the realisation that you hadn’t had sex, or even been touched intimately by another person, in months. In fact, you noted sullenly, it had been half a fucking year. And you were struggling. It was your longest dry spell in a while, and every night lately you’d found yourself tangled up in your bed with your hand in your underwear, wishing desperately that someone, anyone, else was there with you.

Trying to ward off the unsavoury thoughts filling your mind, you took a deep gulp of whiskey and shut your eyes, contemplating asking if he had any cigarettes laying around.

Suddenly, a deep groan pierced the air between you and your eyes shot open. What the fuck?

With wide eyes, you saw that Joel was gripping his right leg tightly, thumb rubbing deep circles into the skin above his knee cap, and you forced yourself to relax. A sound of pain, you realised. But your heart had stuttered in your chest, because as out of character as it would’ve been, with your eyes closed it had sounded like a vaguely sexual noise. You rolled your eyes, willing yourself to get a grip. But it had been so long, and the sound of a man groaning in any way was enough to light a fire in your stomach.

“It’s the cold,” he noticed your stare. “Makes my knee ache.”

You nodded knowingly, eyes watching as his large hand gripped his thigh, applying pressure to the tender area.

“What’s up your ass?” Joel asked.

“Huh?” your gaze flashed up to meet his and found him watching you closely, eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re frownin’,” he said. “Gone all quiet suddenly.”

“So are you,” you huffed defensively, face warming. “You always fucking frown, I can’t do it one time?”

“No,” he grinned cheekily, stilling rubbing his knee. “I frown enough for the both of us. You can figure somethin’ else out.”

You let out a begrudging chuckle and felt the indent between your eyebrows relax.

“Seriously,” he pushed. “What’s wrong? Is it too cold? We should move inside.”

“No,” you cringed, scratching the side of your neck awkwardly. Lowering your legs off the table you sat up a little straighter in your chair. “It’s good out here, I like it. I’m just… distracted, I don’t know.”

“What’s on your mind?” he sipped his whiskey.

Without needing any more prompting, you gave up on beating around the bush. “When’s the last time you had sex?”

A choked sound escaped him, and he swallowed quickly, coughing into his elbow. “Christ, what?”

“I’m not,” your cheeks were on fire. “I’m not thinking about you having sex, relax. I was thinking about me having sex. Or not having sex, to be more precise.”

He coughed again, an awkward expression flashing across his face.

You and Joel had been friends for a few years now, since he and Ellie returned to Jackson and decided to settle in the commune. After being friends with Tommy for a few years before that, you’d fallen into a natural friendship with his older brother. It was no secret that there was 20 odd year age difference between you and Joel, but in a post-apocalyptic world, it had never phased either of you. Friends were friends, and an age gap didn’t impact much. But sex was a topic that had seldom come up in conversation over those few years. Here and there maybe, but never in detail, and never so candidly.

“I almost walked in on Shae and Petra fucking the other day,” you continued plainly. “She was late for patrol, so I went over to see if she’d slept in, and I could hear them from outside the fucking house. Stood there like an ass for a minute, just listening like a creep.”

Joel watched you closely, and you noticed his hand gripped his glass a little tighter, fingertips white from the pressure “You… listened?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” you cringed, rubbing a hand over your face shamefully. “Just for a fucking second. Hadn’t realised how long it had been, and it was like my feet wouldn’t move.”

“I see.”

“You better not tell a soul about this,” you pointed at him threateningly. “I’ll end you if anybody finds out, Miller. I swear.”

“I believe you,” he snorted, holding his hands up in surrender. “My lips are sealed.”

You relaxed a little, relieved to discover that he wasn’t going to be as awkward about it as you’d first feared.

“How long has it been?”

Your eyes ticked up to stare at him again. “Like, six months or something.”

Joel let out a low whistle and nodded slowly, sipping from the crystal tumbler in his hand. “You poor soul.”

“Oh, come off it,” you scoffed in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re having sex and I’m not? This just keeps getting worse.”

“Fuck you,” he drawled mockingly, that deep Texan accent making you grin. “Would it be such a surprise if I was?”

“S’just bullshit,” you glowered, picking at your nails in frustration. Traces of soil still lined the creases in your palms and you rubbed at it furiously, in a fruitless attempt at cleaning them.

“I’m not,” is all he said, and you frowned at him in confusion. “Havin’ sex,” he added with a smirk. "And it's been longer for me, so quit your whinin'."

You raised your eyebrows, appreciating the honesty. “Well thank god I’m not the only one.”

“Don’t know when I would,” he shrugged simply. “And who would I be having sex with, anyways? Spend all my fuckin’ time on patrol listening to Tommy talk for hours, or I’m sleepin’, or I’m with you.”

The thought itched so suddenly at the back of your brain, and you fought against it, shaking your head ever so slightly to push it away. Don’t think that. But it was persistent, and after a few moments of silence, your mind was filled with thoughts of you and Joel Miller fucking.

Admittedly, it was something you’d thought about once or twice when you’d first met him. He was a handsome guy, and his arrival in Jackson had definitely caused a stir among the women in the commune. But you’d fallen into a friendship so quickly, so comfortably, that the thought had never reared its ugly head again. Until now.

You watched him for a moment. His hair was dry at that point, and short messy curls framed his face and neck. He had neat dark facial hair, with sweet specks of ashy grey mixed in here and there. That familiar scar on the bridge of his nose. Lips that had gone a darker shade of pink from the cold, that you’d never realised looked quite so… plush. Eyes trailing down, your gaze raked over his hands. Long, calloused fingers that wrapped around almost the entirety of his glass. the warmth in your stomach spread downward, and you knew you should feel embarrassed at where your brain was taking you, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Images flashed through your mind of his hands gripping you like that. Fingers leaving marks on your thighs, on your neck. You shivered, looking away quickly.

“Fuck,” you sighed quietly, not even caring if he heard.

“Hey,” he said softly, assuming you were upset. “Someone’ll come along. We could talk to Tommy about setting you up or somethin’.”

You hummed noncommittally and turned in your chair to face him head on. Joel noticed and adjusted his position to do the same, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that look?” he asked, eyebrows pinching together.

Jesus, here goes nothing.

“What if we fucked?”

Joel stared. His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, and he put his glass down on the table with a soft clink.

“What?” he said lowly, his voice taking on a sudden gravelly quality.

“I mean,” you searched desperately for the words to explain yourself, licking your lips nervously. “You said it yourself, we’re so busy, right? Always working, or sleeping, or we’re hanging out, you and me. So, what if we just… blew off a little steam together?”

His eyebrows had raised so dramatically you thought they might disappear into his hairline. It wasn’t often you managed to shock Joel, and you laughed gently at the astounded expression that decorated his face.

“You want to blow off steam… with me?” he pointed lamely at his chest.

“Don’t sound so incredulous,” you joked. “You’re a catch, Joel. You know the teens call you a HOG, right? Hot old guy.“

“Shut up,” he held up a hand to silence you, his eyes squeezing shut tightly as you laughed at his embarrassment. “Don’t want to hear that shit.”

“It wouldn’t mean anything, Joel,” you reassured, veering back on topic. “We could just… help each other wind down after a long day.”

You watched each other in silence for a moment, and you noticed him shuffle slightly in his seat, hand gripping his knee once again. For a minute, you worried that you’d upset him. The friendship you two shared was strong, and you always known you could confide almost anything in him. He was trustworthy, and valued your word above so many others. But maybe this was over the line.

As you were about to speak again, about to take it all back and apologise for even suggesting it, he finally opened his mouth.

“It wouldn’t mean anything?” he clarified. “This won’t affect our friendship.”

You shook your head quickly. “Nothing at all. No strings, bud. Final offer.”

With a deep, rumbling sigh, Joel snatched his glass off the table and downed the remainder of its contents before standing up. “Alright then.”

You’d been in Joel’s room a hundred times over the years. Hauling him out of bed for patrol after he’d accidentally slept in, or rifling through his chest of drawers to steal a thick pair of socks. But never for this reason. The pair of you stood awkwardly at the foot of his bed, staring at everything other than each other, as the air crackled with palpable tension.

Joel scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, and you smirked, unfamiliar with seeing him being unsure of himself.

“If you don’t want to, we can just forget I ever sai-“

“Just taking your fuckin’ clothes off,” he grunted, staring you down suddenly. Wide eyed, you felt a rush of heat through your thighs.

“Jesus,” you breathed. “Romance isn’t dead.”

He huffed out a laugh and your shoulders relaxed, happy to see a crack through his tense façade. Your tugged off your sweater, and then your shirt, tossing them over the chair in the corner of his room. Working quickly, you undid the zipper on your pants and pulled them down your legs until you were left in your underwear, a thin white singlet, and your socks.

You reminded yourself that Joel had already seen you naked, thinking back on a time when the two of you had gone skinny dipping in a lake you stumbled across on patrol the summer before. But this was so different. This wasn’t a random moment of spontaneity. And at the lake he'd been a gentleman, averting his eyes for the most part out of politeness, but now? Now he was watching your every move.

Silently, he undid the strap off his watch and placed it on the top of his dresser, before working to undo the buttons on his shirt. After he had tugged it off, you let your eyes trail over his exposed skin, and with no fabric covering him, you could see how quickly his chest rose and fell.

“Hey,” you said quietly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his chest. You felt his heart race under the warm skin and smiled. “It’s just me. Let me help you relax, okay?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips quickly, and you wondered what it would be like to kiss him. You didn’t dwell on it though, and leaned forward to drag your lips across the skin of his neck. He smelt like rain and pine needles, and you inhaled deeply, pressing soft kisses along his pulse point. One of his hands landed heavily on your waist and his thumb begun rubbing encouraging circles over your hip bone. You hummed against his skin, pressing your chest against his. Exposed to the cool temperature, your nipples pebbled underneath your shirt, and from his exhale you knew he could feel them pressing against his bare chest.

With a slight tremor in your hand, you trailed your fingers down his chest. Through the soft hair smattered there, over the thick jagged scar on his stomach, to his belt buckle. Joel shivered lightly, gripping your waist a little tighter. You worked quickly to undo his belt, and then you dragged his zipper down. With a low sigh, you rested your hand over the front of his pants. He jolted slightly, hand sliding around your back to hold you tighter to his chest. With your face hidden in his neck, you couldn’t see his reaction, but you took the firm pressure of his hand on your back as a clear sign to continue. You palmed him gently through his pants, listening to the little puffs of air that rushed out of his nose as he kept his breathing calm. A surge of confidence rushed through you, and you stepped away, letting your hand fall away from him. His arm dropped from your back to his side, and he watched with bated breath as you lowered yourself onto your knees in front of him.

You gripped the waistband of his pants and started to drag them down his legs, helping him step out of them. Wearing nothing but a tight pair of briefs, it was impossible not to stare. You could see the shape of him through the dark fabric, your mouth salivated. More, you needed to see more. Without wasting a second, you tucked your fingers into the band of them and pulled them down slowly, giving him the chance to stop you if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He watched you with hooded dark eyes, chest moving with deep controlled breaths, his bottom lip tucked into his mouth. With his underwear gone, Joel’s cock finally came into your sight. He was only half hard, you realised with awe, and your stomach tingled as you realised what you were in for. Reaching out, your traced your fingers slowly over his hip bones, smiling as goosebumps broke out across his skin, before gently wrapping your fingers around him.

A shaky breath escaped from his nose.

“Is this okay?” you asked quietly, hand stroking softly along his length. He nodded jerkily. “Why don’t you sit on the bed?”

Joel dropped heavily onto the edge of his bed, and you moved forward to rest on your knees in between his parted legs, placing your hand back over him. The air in the room had turned humid, and you could feel sweat forming on your back out of anticipation. The only light source came from the moon shining in his window, bathing the both of you in a pale light.

“You’re so handsome,” you sighed wistfully, gripping him tighter. “I’ve always known it, but seeing you like this is different. So handsome, Joel.”

He reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, gripping your skin and massaging the knotted muscle at the top of your back. You groaned appreciatively, and without another moment’s hesitation, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his thigh. No more fucking around. You needed him.

Your hand stroked him firmer, tighter, but your mouth was salivating, desperate to taste him. So you dragged wet kisses along his leg until you reached his abdomen, and then you brought your wet mouth to hover over his cock. You heard his breath hitch and smiled devilishly, staring greedily at his ruddy tip, marvelling as a drop of precum leaked out of him. Painfully slow, you pushed forward and pressed a kiss to it, tongue darting out to swipe along him and taste his salt. Joel hissed in surprise, gripping your shoulder tighter as his other hand moved to the back of your head. Not putting any pressure there, just holding you. Lathing your tongue over his head, you moaned lowly at the taste of him. Salty and warm and masculine. You could feel your underwear sticking uncomfortably against you from how wet you were. Closing your eyes, you cupped his balls gently and pressed wet kisses down his length, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein that ran from base to tip, and basking in the short gasps that flew out of his mouth.

“Stop teasin’,” he grumbled, and you looked up with a smirk to see his dark eyes glaring down at you.

“Sorry,” you lied, before taking his head into your warm mouth and sucking gently. Slowly, you pressed forward, taking more of him in. You felt him swell against your tongue, getting harder from the stimulation, and you hummed around him. He was so big. Maybe bigger than anyone you’d been with, and you struggled to take it all. He was so thick and heavy in your mouth, it was all you could think about. Consuming every thought, every feeling; all you could focus on was the weight of him on your tongue. You worked on creating a rhythm, bobbing your head and taking as much of him in your mouth as you could, while your hand gripped him at the base, stroking him at the same time.

And finally, finally, he made a sound.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, drawing out the vowel as a heavy breath he’d been holding escaped his lungs. His fingers dragged through your hair roughly, gripping the back of your head. You pushed yourself forward, taking more of him in until he was pressing into your throat, and you swallowed tightly around him. “Christ, feels so fuckin’ good.”

Seemingly against his will, Joel’s hips bucked upward off the bed and you gagged around him, tears springing into your eyes. He moaned lowly, cursing under his breath at the feeling of your throat contracting around him. Unable to help yourself, you removed your hand from him and lowered it down your body, slipping your fingers underneath the band of your underwear and dipping into the wet heat between your own legs. Breathing harshly through your nose, you moaned around him as your finger brushed your aching clit. You pulled back and worked your tongue over his weeping slit, enjoying the way his grip on your hair tightened as you paid close attention to the most sensitive part of him.

“You’re drivin’ me insane,” he ground out, and you glanced up to see him watching you reverently, eyes wide and glossy, cheeks flushed. “So fuckin’ hot. God, you have the prettiest mouth, how did I never notice that? Never fuckin’ thought about how good my cock would look between your lips until it was happening. I’m a fuckin’ idiot.”

Your cunt pulsed against your fingers and you whimpered, taking him back in your mouth as far as you could. God, the way he spoke made you fucking ache for him. after so many years of knowing him, hearing his voice every day, you’d never have imagined him saying things like that to you. But the weight of him in your mouth was delicious, and his words only spurred you to push forward, forward, forward, revelling in the way he groaned as your nose brushed the dark curls at his base. Tears leaked out of your eyes, rolling down your cheeks from the effort, but you didn’t stop. You slid a finger inside yourself and gagged around him again, eyes rolling back in your head at the intoxicating sensation of having something inside both your mouth and your pussy.

“Takin’ me so well,” his thumb brushed across your cheek, wiping away the tears. “God, I’m in your fuckin’ throat, baby.” The pet name made your stomach tighten, and you moaned as more slick formed around your fingers.

“Shit,” he choked out suddenly, losing all composure. “Are you fucki-“

You moaned, eyebrows furrowing as you fucked your hand and bobbed your mouth up and down quicker over his length.

“Stop,” he ordered, saying your name firmly. “I- Stop, I’m gonna come.” You ignored him, making a high-pitched sound around him as you felt the hot coil in your stomach begin to tighten. His hand gripped your hair tighter, and he pulled you off him.

You blinked lazily up at him, eyebrows furrowed dejectedly, lips parted. A string of saliva hung in the air between your bottom lip and his tip. You dragged your fingers out of your underwear, chest heaving with heavy breaths.

“Jesus, don’t fuckin’ look at me like that,” he groaned and broke eye contact, gripping your shoulder to pull you up off the floor. “Get up.”

Pushing gently on your shoulders, he nudged you forward onto the bed, and you crawled up before collapsing with your heads against the pillows. His bed was softer than you’d anticipated, and everything smelt like him. The pillows, the duvet. God, even if this was a one-time thing, you’d never forget that smell. He followed you, settling with his legs in between yours, and placed his palms on your stomach, pushing the thin material of your shirt up and over your breasts until it was bunched around your collarbones. Your heart pounded heavily in your chest, and you were aching for him, begging him with your eyes to just please, do something, anything.

And Joel was on you before you could speak, his fingers tracing and over your nipples, squeezing the weight of your breast in his palm before latching his lips onto you. He sucked your painfully tight nipple into his mouth, tongue lazily swiping across it, driving you insane. You sighed heavily, running a hand over the skin of his back and holding him to you. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin ever so lightly and your back arched off the bed. Moving over, he shifted his ministrations to your other breast, his eyes closed as he wet your skin with his slick mouth. And then one of his hands was drifting down your stomach, tickling over your skin, under it met your underwear, and he was cupping you through the fabric. Your hips stuttered upward, and he groaned into your chest, trailing his fingers over the soaked material.

“So fuckin’ wet already,” he muttered into your skin, and you nodded franticly against the pillows. “Did you get this turned on just from havin’ my cock in your mouth? Had to touch yourself?” Surprise zapped through you once more, ecstatic to learn just how much he loved to talk during sex. It was one of your favourite things, and it had always killed you to have sex with someone who was just silent the whole time.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Wanted you to finish in my mouth.”

He bit down onto your chest in response and you cried out quietly, eyes rolling back as he sucked a mark onto your skin with his fingers continued tracing feather light over your covered core.

“Maybe later,” his voice was strained. “Need to see you come first.”

He pulled the fabric of your underwear to the side, and then he was touching you with no barrier, and you trembled beneath him. You’d forgotten how good it felt to have someone else’s hands on you.

Joel groaned as he dipped his middle finger between your warm folds, gliding it up and down along your core, getting it covered in your slick. He swirled the tip of his finger around your entrance and you whimpered, hips grinding desperately against his hand. But he didn’t go inside you. His finger moved back up, all the way up, and swiped gently over your clit and you let out a pathetic moan. Such a small, miniscule touch had your stomach tensing painfully, ridiculously close to orgasm after so much time.

Bringing his face up to rest beside yours, he sucked your earlobe into his mouth gently, before murmuring in your ear, “I want to taste you.”

You didn’t say anything, too stunned by the feeling of his fingers against you, until he probed you for a response, purring your name into your ear.

“Need to hear you say it,” he encouraged. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please,” you begged, eyes shut tightly as he rubbed soft circles around your bundle of nerves. “I want you to taste me.” A grunt of frustration left your mouth as his hand disappeared and you opened your eyes to glare at him, but your mouth fell open, awestruck, when you saw him raise his soaked digits to his lips.

“Like this?” he goaded, sucking your slick off himself and groaning.

“Please,” you repeated, mouth dry as you watched him hum around his middle finger. “Need your mouth on me, your tongue, I-“

“Okay,” he soothed, moving down the bed in an instant. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

He spread your legs apart, fingers splayed as he held your thighs against the bed, displaying your weeping centre for him to see. A deep sound echoed though the room, and it took you a moment to realise it had been Joel. His dark eyes stared at the spot between your legs, and he dragged his fingers through the coarse hair that covered you.

His movements were torturously slow as he leaned down, pressing sloppy kisses on your hips, along the inside of your thighs, until finally his hot breaths were fanning across your core. You clenched around nothing, whimpering at how empty you felt but knowing it would have to wait.

It was like stepping into a warm bath. The second his tongue was on you, fire raced through your veins, warming your body from head to toe. A sound of relief slipped from your lips, and your eyes rolled back as he licked a broad stripe up the entire length of you. A raspy groan vibrated against you as he pressed a messy kiss against your pussy. You looked down and gasped at the sight of his eyes already on you, watching you and your reactions to him.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he drawled against you and you twitched at the sensation of his lips brushing against your clit. His thumbs pressed against your folds, holding you open for him to see everything, and he lathed his warm tongue against your clit, circling it until you were moaning and tensing your thighs against his hold, muscles screaming at you to press against his head and hold him to you.

You whispered his name over and over as if it were a prayer. As if you’d forgotten all other words in the English language and his name was your only salvation. His tongue dipped inside your entrance, prodding firmly until you whimpered and begged him to please, please, let you come.

He ate you out like a man possessed. Like you were his last meal and he intended to savour every god damn second of the experience. He was ravenous, lips and tongue working together to make every muscle in your body tighten until you were gasping. At some point your hand had drifted behind his head and you found yourself tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling it tightly as his mouth moved against you.

“Joel,” you groaned. He hummed against you, movements never ceasing. “Oh fuck, Joel, I’m gonna come.”

His eager moan into your cunt was all it took for you to be catapulted over the precipice and drop into your orgasm. Your body was on fire, vibrating against him as you trembled through it, moans and cries leaving your mouth as your way of thanking him. His hands held your thighs in a vice grip, and there would no doubt be marks there tomorrow to remind you were his fingertips had dug into your skin. As your body relaxed into the mattress again, he pressed a final kiss to your clit before pulling back and dragging his face across your thigh, wiping the remnants of your slick off his facial hair.

“Fuck,” he rasped, grinning up at you with glistening lips.

“So good,” you agreed, nodding as you tried to catch your breath.

“Almost came all over the sheets,” he admitted and you laughed, beckoning him towards you. He stumbled a bit, one of his knees buckling below him on the bed, leading him to land awkwardly on top of you.

“Shit,” he groused. “Sorry, bad fuckin’ knee. You’ve got me all bent out of shape.”

You chuckled lowly, pulling him up to lay beside you on the bed. “Let’s not put anymore pressure of them then, okay?” He watched you carefully, curiously, as you turned on your side and then moved backwards, pressing yourself flush against his chest.

His cock pulsed against your ass, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, hand splayed on your stomach to hold you against him as he rutted forward. The feeling of his wet tip dragging along your skin reignited the fire in you and you whimpered, lifting your leg only to push it back and drape it over his waist as much as you could.

“You want it like this?” he asked urgently, hot breaths fanning across your sweaty neck. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging on it gently.

You nodded, and waited as he pushed his body a little lower on the bed. His hand disappeared from your chest, and you allowed yourself to pout a little, only because you knew he couldn’t see your face. And then his left arm slithered underneath your shoulder and wrapped loosely your neck, gripping your opposite arm to pin you against him. His free hand gripped his cock and pushed it forward until he was sliding his head between your folds.

Both of you sighed at the sensation and you gripped his arm in anticipation. You could feel his torso moving against your back as he breathed, the soft hair on his chest tickling your skin.

“You ready?” he asked and you grunted, pushing back against him again.

“Joel,” you said in a dangerously low tone. “If you’ve ever cared about me, you will stop teasing and fuck me right now.”

He laughed darkly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Yes, ma’am.”

He notched his tip at your entrance and you gasped as he pressed forward, pressing himself inside of you. It took what felt like minutes for him to bottom out, and when you felt his hips pressing against your ass, you tried to relax. The burn was intense, and you cursed yourself for not anticipating a little bit of pain after such a long dry spell. Joel held still, fingers stroking carefully over the skin of your shoulder, understanding that you needed a second.

“Fuck,” you choked out. “Joel, you’re huge.”

He let out a gravelly sound into the back of your neck, body shuddering against yours. “You’re takin’ it so well though,” he gritted out. “So tight around me, grippin’ me so good.”

He pulled back a touch before pressing back into you, and you moaned deeply. That was all the confirmation he needed to continue, pulling almost fully out of you before moving into you harder, stronger, and beginning a steady pace. Your body jolted forward with every one of his movements, but his arm around your neck held you firmly, never allowing you to go too far.

Curses drifted from your mouth, and you hid your face in his arm, biting down on the muscle of his bicep to stifle your sounds. You clenched around him suddenly and his hips stuttered forward, slamming into you in a way that made your stomach tense deliciously. He was so fucking deep, the angle allowing him to glide against your g-spot with every thrust.

“Fuckin’,” he moaned. “You’re so good, bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you darlin’?”

You writhed in his arms, accepting the brutal pace he’d set. His skin connected with yours over and over, a satisfying smack, smack, smack sound filling the air.

“J-Joel,” you sobbed. “Oh my fucking god, I-“ He cut you off, gripping your chin and swiftly tugging your face upward so he could see you, and then his mouth was crashing down on yours. He groaned into your mouth, tongue pressing against your lips to part them and then tangling against yours. His lips were soft and wet and you didn’t even care about the odd angle your neck was twisted at as you moaned into it. His thrusts didn’t let up for a second, even as you murmured desperate sounds against each other’s lips.

“C’mon,” he grunted into your mouth. “Give me another one.” His hand dropped to grip your neck, the sensation only heightening the feeling of him inside you. Liquid heat was spreading in your abdomen, curling through your veins, turning your entire body into jelly. His free hand drifted down your stomach and then his middle finger was dragging across your clit, and a harsh cry spilled from your mouth.

“Shit,” you gasped, face contorting as you felt yourself near your end. He was fucking everywhere, holding you against him by your neck, pounding into you while his fingers circled your clit roughly, and the coil in your stomach just snapped. You yelled his name, body tensing up as he pushed into you, wet squelching sounds filling the air as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“Say my name,” his voice urged in your ear, and you happily obliged, chanting his name like a mantra as he worked your body through it. Within a minute he was groaning frantically, and then he pulled out, and you could feel his come coating your back as he finished. You glanced over your shoulder to see him. His mouth was ajar, soft curses falling from his lips as he gripped his cock, angling it towards you as he painted your skin with his spend.

“Sorry,” he rushed out breathlessly, wide eyes meeting yours. His shoulders shook with the intensity of his orgasm, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and you smiled at the sight. But he looked concerned, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you warily.

“For what?” you frowned softly, rolling forward onto your stomach to free his arm that was trapped underneath you. “What’s wrong?”

“Came on you,” he clarified. “Should’ve asked first.”

A grin split across your face and his eyes lit up when he saw it, face relaxing again. “Ever the gentleman,” you chuckled. “It’s fine Joel, it was hot.”

His body relaxed and he dropped down to rest on his back, looking at you with a soft, curious expression. “It was,” he agreed quietly.

For a moment the pair of you just laid there, gazing at each other in a moment of wonder, before you suddenly became aware of how much colder the room was now that it was over. You shivered slightly, lifting to sit on your knees. Joel’s eyes trailed over your exposed body, gazing at your breasts, and your stomach, before resting on your face again.

“I’m gonna shower, and then hit the road,” you told him, cringing at the prominent ache between your thighs as you stepped off the bed. You picked your clothes up off the chair in the corner and turned back to look at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow night right, dinner at Maria and Tommy’s?”

He was watching you in a daze, eyelids heavy with drowsiness, but he nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he drawled. “Dinner at Maria and Tommy’s.” His eyes suddenly widened and he rolled over, reaching underneath his pillow before revealing a piece of small dark fabric. Your underwear. He held them out in your direction.

“Keep them big guy,” you winked, and he laughed deeply, dropping them back onto the bed.

You padded towards the door, ready to pop into the bathroom and then head home, before a thought struck you. Resting your shoulder against the doorway you looked at him again, smiling at the sight of him lying naked and fucked out on the bed, eyes closed as he breathed deeply. He looked about as relieved as you felt.

“Hey Joel,” you said quietly, and his eyes flashed open, raising an eyebrow at you. “Between us, right? Probably best if we don’t tell anyone else this happened.”

He nodded once, smiling lazily. “Between us.”

part two

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #fwb joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #my writing #cat's outta the bag #don't cry over spilt milk #whole new can of worms

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undercovercameron · 1 year ago

Text

sunspent

summary: you're relaxed and calm in the obx summer heat, and rafe simply cannot have that.

notes: filthy filthy filthy! sorry not sorry bout it. also minor obx 3 spoilers; ie his parents are on that damn island and its just him in their big ole house. semi public sex kink and def a choking kink beware or be scared! i truly cannot write anything without that damn hand around reader's throat.. that's my b. enjoy! also thank you so much for all the love on my fics and the followers... so excited for all i will write in the future and so incredibly full of love from you guys <3

tags: rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count: 2542

The whole day had been perfect.

You woke up around 9:30, brushed your teeth, and went downstairs to have some oatmeal. By 10:30 you were in a bikini and setting out a towel on the back deck.

The sun was fairly hot, but the early warnings of a storm gave a cooler breeze. Your towel was in the perfect spot between the shade where you could get full sun coverage without moving too much.

Gentle music was playing from your speaker, something that sounded like what your mom listened to in highschool, and a couple vodka seltzers laid unopened in a small cooler for you to enjoy later. You were also halfway through a mystery book, and between the pages of every chapter you let the time drift away from you.

The most relaxing part of the start of your day? Rafe had left the house around 9 and had yet to return by the time you cracked open your seltzer at 1 o’clock. No ranting, no typical Rafe-isms— just sunshine and Paula Abdul. You wished he was able to do this with you.

It was so relaxing that you drifted off to sleep a little more than halfway through your drink, head resting on your folded arms.

“Y/N.” Something rigid and distinctly shoe-like nudges your arm. “Baby.”

You just groan and turn over onto your back, arms following to protect your eyes from the sunlight.

“Hi,” you croak, squinting, and peer up at him. He looks like the Statue of Liberty in this light— if the statue of liberty wore light wash jeans and slutty little beer brand t-shirts. (So on brand for him.)

“How long have you been out here?” He asks, bending to pick up what’s left of your seltzer for one final swig.

“Since like 10:45.” Your face breaks in a yawn and your arms fall to the deck as your eyes get used to the light. A smile creeps onto your face. “What’ve you been doing?” You sit up on your hands, scanning his body. He looks kinda sweaty.

“Um,” he starts, scratching at his forehead with a sigh. “Buncha shit. Went into a couple places to close Ward’s accounts with them—oh, I saw your mom at Cold Stone by the way.”

“Why were you at Cold Stone?” You grin, crossing your legs and pushing at his calf with your foot. He makes an innocent face, hands on his hips. He looks to the trees, playfully exasperated.

“Sometimes I need a milkshake, Y/N. What kind of question is that?” You snort. “Anyway— I think we should go out for dinner. It’s getting to be—shit, it’s almost 4.”

You’re silent, save for some puny, whiny noise you make at the mention of going out. You struggle to get up, a little wobbly on your feet, but Rafe catches you and hauls you up with a hand on your waist.

“What?” He brushes the wispy hairs out of your face. “You don’t want to go out?” He searches your face, blue eyes squinting down at you, and you just pout. In the most mature way a 20-something can when faced with leaving her very rich boyfriend’s very nice house who has asked her to stay with him graciously for the very near future while his parents are retired on some island in the middle of the ocean.

You curl a finger around the collar of his t-shirt, playing with it while you formulate an answer.

“Where would we go?” Is what you settle on, ever the people pleaser.

“I don’t know…” Rafe thinks, gaze drifting from you as he chews at his lip. You wind your arms around his shoulders, hands splayed across his wingspan. You pet the skin of his neck with your thumb, warm all over. You’re content just looking at him forever.

“What if I’m hungry now?” You ask, ever so innocently, and Rafe thinks you’re serious until he catches the look on your face.

“That right?” He grins, hand sliding down your back. He grabs at your ass and you squeak. “How hungry? Wait until after dinner?” He’s just teasing you honestly; it’s almost a hobby to see how desperate you get for him.

“Rafe.” You pinch his shoulder. “That’s not funny.”

He just hums noncommittally, and dips to press a kiss to your neck. You shift up onto your tiptoes, wanting to be closer, and he hikes one of your legs up onto his hip. You can’t help the noise you make.

“Rafe,” you breathe, grabbing at him. “We have to go inside.” He bows forward, dangling you towards the wood of the deck, and you just hold tighter onto his shoulders.

“Why?” He murmurs, lost in your taste, and presses a kiss to your mouth that makes you shiver. “I don’t see why we have to.” He falls into a kneel, bringing you with him, and you suck in a surprised gasp. “Nobody’s around.”

“Somebody could be, baby,” you say, chancing a look around, and huff out a sigh when he lays you onto your back. This man.

“I don’t care,” he says, shrugging his shoulders with not a care in the world before following you down.

This bikini might be his favorite. He likes anything that will leave as little to the imagination as possible, but this one is his favorite shade of blue. Almost matches his eyes.

Your warm skin feels like silk on him, and when you wriggle when he presses a hand to your inner thigh, his dick jumps.

“Relax, Y/N,” he breathes. You roll your eyes.

“How can I, Rafe? You’re so—aggravating.” You huff. He’s still wearing his shirt, too. You tug at the sleeves of it.

“Oh, yeah?” He cocks his head, lips pursed. You just nod, pulling again at the fabric of his shirt. “Why’re you so wet, then?” He fumbles with the buckle of his jeans and your eyes lock on it.

“I’m not.” You look back up at him, self-assured to a fault, and try to will the dampness between your legs away. He just stares down at you, unimpressed. “I-I’m not.” Your thighs close.

“That right?” He murmurs, and wrestles your legs open again with an arm. His fingertips brush the crotch of your bottoms and you jolt, breathing hard out your nose. He lifts your hips and pulls them clean off, tossing them to the side.

He’s silent then, gaze locked between your legs, and he carefully guides your legs back until you can grab them by the back of your thighs and keep them out of his way.

“Not wet, my ass,” he murmurs to himself. His thumb rubs at your clit, and your sigh of pleasure ends in an impatient whine. He spits. “This pussy—,” he starts, but can’t finish.

He just bows and gets his mouth on you like he’s been thinking about since he left the house. Your head slams back against the deck almost immediately.

His large palm flattens to the back of your thigh and pushes your leg even further. The muscle strains but you can handle it.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as his tongue pushes hard through your folds. You’re really fucking wet. You wonder briefly if it’s because of how hot it was today, then cast that out of your mind completely when you hear Rafe groan. Your body vibrates with it.

His hands suddenly drag you by your hips, closer to his face, and he hums again.

“Taste so fucking good,” he muses, spitting at you, and glances up at your face. You can barely keep your mouth closed like this. “Brat, lying to me.”

You whine, every second of him talking taking his mouth away from where it so desperately needs to be absolute torture, but settle when his thumb begins tracing circles into your clit.

“Fuck me,” you breathe, back arching and leg muscles straining, and Rafe just laughs into your cunt.

“I will,” he murmurs, and you would roll your eyes if you could— but he pushes two fingers into you. His thumb spurs back into motion as you sing, throat already sore. He knows exactly where and when to curl his fingers, and you let him know right there is where they need to be.

“There you go.” He spits a third time, watching it mix with your slick. “Squeezing me so tight, honey,” he assures you, smoothing a hand down your thigh. If you could find words you’d agree.

You manage a “yes, shit,” before you go mute and your eyes roll back into your head. You squeeze around him like a vice, your legs flooding with warmth, and he fingers you through your orgasm. He can’t pull himself away when you get like this— you’re so soft and warm and perfect that he genuinely wonders if he could ever fuck someone else again. He knows the answer is no.

Your abdominal muscles spasm and jolt as you come down, neck straining to look at where his fingers give you a final stroke and find their way to his mouth.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you half-laugh and half-moan, head falling against the deck. You chest heaves as you catch your breath. “This is embarrassing.”

“What?” He says, voice hushed, and presses a kiss to your mouth. “Being on the deck or how quick I can make you cum?” He grins.

This time you can and do roll your eyes.

“Both,” you sigh, legs falling to their place around his hips. You curl up into a sitting position and pet his arm, coming back to reality. He smells like sunshine. “But you still haven’t fucked me yet.”

Your fingers trail down to his jeans, fingertips ghosting over his zipper. He hums in agreement, eyes following. You play with the button for a second, just wanting to tease, but pop it and unzip the fly.

“Wanna know what I’m thinking about?” You ask, reaching up his shirt to feel his hot skin. “That time on the beach,” you purr, voice hushed and eyes wild.

“Yeah?” He bites his lip and sits back on his ass, taking you with him in his lap. Your knees bend and you sit comfortably on the seat that is only yours. “You thinking about my hand?”

“Mhm.” You lean and kiss at his cheek, trailing down to his jaw. “And something else.” You dig a hand down into his boxers and curl your fingers around his dick.

He’s hot and almost slippery, so hard you’re sure it’s painful. Your wrist slides against the tip and his hand on your ass curls into a fist.

You lean back, wanting to see his face, and watch as your touch washes over his body. He blinks rapidly, eyes focusing, and you smile sweetly.

It’s then that you shift into your knees, hand squeezing his dick, and sink down onto him.

His fingers fly up to your strained face and grasp your neck, immediately tight around your throat. Not tight enough to suffocate, but tight enough for your pulse to quicken.

Exactly what you’d imagined.

“You like that?” He pants, breath fanning over your cheek when you turn slightly and grip his shoulder for stability. You just nod and circle your hips.

His thumb on your chin guides your face back to his, wanting to see you fall apart, and you make a whiny noise. He feels where it starts and ends between his fingertips.

You ride between the strain of his hand around your throat and the movement of his body, head tilted back and mouth wide. Your fingers grip his shoulder and bicep as you ride.

It’s a difficult job, balancing the rhythm of your hips with the ache blooming from the muscles in your thighs, but you make it work.

You hear the bashfully whiny groans he’s exhaling into your ear and you make it work.

“You feel so good,” you whisper hoarsely as his hold tightens, chin tilting towards the sky. He grits his teeth and pushes his hips up into yours.

You scramble to grab onto his forearm and hold back your shriek.

The tightness of his fingers around your throat blur the lines of pleasure and pain, making it hard to catch a deep breath and ride him at the same time.

“Fuck, harder,” he stutters, almost whispering, and you nod furiously. Your thighs meet his lap, over and over with a noise that makes you blush even more than you already are, and you’re sure you’ll have bruises or at the very least a red mark.

He releases your throat and anchors himself with your hip and the small of your back, and when you finally gasp for air at the loss of his pressure on your neck he uses all his lower back strength to wedge himself deep into you.

You know you’ll have bruises there.

You push hard against his forearm as your back arches and the tension in your lower abdomen comes to a peak. Your toes curl where they are at his side.

Your vision comes in and out of focus as you cum again, blood white-hot in your veins. The climax is almost numbing. Addicting.

At this point you have no idea the noises you’re making, probably all gibberish and definitely humiliating, but the rushing in your ears is too much.

Rafe shudders and groans loudly into your ear, spending himself inside of you with a grunt, and you follow him as he falls back into the deck. You catch yourself with a palm on the sun scorched wood.

“Jesus Christ,” he pants, heart pounding and chest heaving. Sweat coats his buzzed hair in a shiny sheen, and your whole body is so sticky you feel like you could peel the layer of perspiration off of your body.

His hands still lazily hold your waist and they begin their ascent to your neck. He feels your pulse with the space between his thumb and forefinger, and his face splits into a grin at the feeling.

“I definitely am going to need some food after this.” You push yourself back up into a sitting position and put your hands on your hips as you finally catch your breath.

He looks so beautiful, half in the shade and half in the sun. Laid out beneath you. Still inside. Like some kind of god.

The hot sun is in his eyes, and his body is numb with the tension spent in his muscles. Rafe half wonders if his dick is still fucking there.

He barely feels when you crawl off of him and stumble into standing. He jerks up into a sitting position, that familiar ache in his back present, and grabs for your leg. He winces at the stretch. You should really be paying his chiropractor bill.

“Where are you going?” He accuses, voice scratchy in his throat.

“I need to shower, baby.” You bend to pick up your bikini bottoms. “We’re going to dinner, aren’t we?” You smile and turn back around to go inside, ass bare and a huge red mark in the shape of a large hand curved around the trunk of your throat.

Yeah, drive-up it is.

#obx #obx 3 #obx 3 spoilers #rafe cameron #obx fanfic #obx smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x reader #obx x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron imagine

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damn-stark · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 13 Me & My husband

Chapter 13 of Moonlight

A/N- Do you think there’s anything that can make us support the Greens? Hmm?? 🤔

Warning- Swearing, NFSW, talks of pregnancy thoughts of abortion, Aegon, ANGST, fluff, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x03

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

The streets are quiet, abandoned, and ravaged. The only life pulsating is in taverns scattered about the streets you pass, but as some drink for fun, others most likely drink to forget that the food in this city is diminishing with the blockade still not penetrated by their King.

The sky is polluted by white clouds, dimming the bright lights of the stars and the moon, and the sweet taste of autumn has begun to turn bitter with colder nights, bringing a chilly breeze that nips at your cheeks, and makes your fingers hold on tighter to the warmth Aemond’s hand gives yours.

What could you say about yourself? That your anger has not dulled even if you know now as you walk down the cobble streets that when Aemond is close you never feel alone. Is that hopeless?

Is it hopeless that someone who hurt you is also the one who never makes you feel solace? Even when you’re mad and seething, hoping he will leave you alone, all you seek is his presence because your heart is so tangled with his that he’s the very thing you need to feel complete.

How can you make it stop?

Do you really want to know what a world without him will be like? You should, your heart needs to stop dancing over the fact that he’s trying hard to win you back to his side. You shouldn’t be eager to know where he’s taking you. You shouldn’t know that if he had brought you out into the city weeks before this war started, or even when ravens were all that was being sent, that you would have devoted your heart and soul to him. And who wouldn’t?

He’s trying hard to get in your good graces by stepping out of his own comfort zone to do something he knows you like. He’s trying to prove his love, and his remorse for hurting you, and deep inside where you’re guarding your heart, a hole is starting to puncture through the wall.

You should be rageful! Anger is all you should know! And you do, you still feel it seething within you. You feel spiteful because he’s making the effort to make you look past the unforgettable act he did. Visiting brothels is something you can learn to forgive, after all, you have sinned too, but…killing Lucerys should bring you nothing but hatred.

You shouldn’t steal glances at him when you think he’s too busy paying attention to where you’re going, but you do, you can’t help it, you want to look into his mind to know what he has planned. And…you can’t help yourself from studying his face like one studies a tapestry that you can’t help but get lost in.

You are proud to say that you haven’t spoken a word since you left the castle, that’s the one thing you have kept up, but that begins to teeter because you need to know where he’s taking you! He keeps walking further and further away from the Red Keep!

You need to ask him, you should ask because what if he’s trying to take you somewhere dangerous, or someplace you actually don’t like? Plus this anticipation is something you can’t handle.

Thus you part your lips, and his eyes drift to you as if he was waiting for you to fill the silence, but thankfully you come across a woman with a babe against her chest and an older child on the ground beside her, so you direct their attention at their poor conditions.

Aemond tries to pull you back, but you slip your hand away from his grasp and approach the woman and her children.

The child does immediately scoot back when he sees that you’re approaching them, but the woman looks at you with hope in her eyes as she recognizes your white hair and sees your expensive clothes.

“Here,” you speak softly and pull five gold coins from the pouch in your cloak's pocket to offer them to the woman. “For you and your children.”

The woman glances at Aemond past you, and she seems to falter.

You see right through her and reassure her. “It’s okay, he may look scary, but he’s not. He won’t hurt you. The money is from me and him.”

The woman spares one more frightful glance at Aemond before she sticks her hand out so you can hand her the golden coins.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she says in return and bows her head. “May the gods bless you and the prince.”

“And you,” you redirect sweetly. “Good night.” You offer her a smile and then give the child a wider one before you turn away and return to Aemond to continue down your path in a short silence.

“Where are we going?” You finally let yourself ask.

“I thought you would not ask,” he says and drops his eye on you.

You shrug. “I was not, but you may as well be leading me to my death.”

Aemond rolls his eye. “Why would you say that?”

You avert your gaze and huff. “Well, I do not think the King’s counsel would be so keen on welcoming back. At least not as freely as I am.”

“No they are not keen about your return, they think you come to spy for your mother,” he shares, making you keep your eyes focused on anything else so Aemond won’t see that they hit the target.

“Well,” you sigh and feign annoyance. “If I would have come to do anything for my mother, they should all know I wouldn’t have gone to one knee for his Grace,” you throw that last bit out mockingly. “I mean…” you trail off to not say anything offensive around houses filled with people who wouldn’t hesitate spreading what you said like wildfire. Aemond you don’t worry about, it’s the people who might be listening.

“Yeah I know that,” he mutters, making you both meet each other's gaze and share a small teasing smile over the thought of Aegon being king.

“<He doesn’t even speak Valyrian,” you complain in High Valyrian. “Our child knows more than him, and he’s almost 5 months old.>”

Aemond huffs and you skip forward to fall at his side and muse about Aerion. “”

“<Talked?>” Aemond questions with a happy smile he can’t hide.

You nod excitedly. <Cooed, but it’s the attempt that counts, and the smile he gave when I mentioned you.>”

Aemond hums and smiles at the ground at the mention of Aerion being happy to see him again.

“<He really missed you,” you tell him. “He was sad to be away from home for so long.>”

Aemond lifts his head and looks at you with a soft look. “”

He says that on purpose, he knows that sweet words like that make you swoon. It almost works if you’re being honest, but you hold yourself back and look away to retort. “Yeah, you missed me when you went to the Street of Silk.”

Aemond groans and you huff, finding the exact excuse you need to lead into silence. It’s now more tense than before, but it doesn’t leave an attempt for him to sweet talk you, or for you to find a way to talk like you would before.

You don’t talk at all actually, which works to strengthen that wall around your heart, and keeps your anger from sizzling out. You don’t hold hands anymore either which leaves your naked hands feeling quite abandoned while you’re following him through the dangerous city, past taverns and places to eat, past places where people sing and entertain, and overall past anywhere that can be fun.

You start to believe he’s taking you out of the city, but then much to your surprise, you reach the Dragonpit.

“Why are we here?” You ask and he looks at you but doesn’t actually attempt to answer, he points his eye to the side of the Dragonpit before he grabs your hand and pulls you with him toward an entrance you didn't even know about.

“What—”

He shushes you by pressing his finger against your lips and holding your gaze for a short moment that actually starts to filter in flickers of heat in your tension.

“It’s not far,” he whispers before he opens the door and ushers you inside.

Do you hesitate to do as he says?

No, you grow intensely more curious and quite excited.

“If Astraea senses I’m here she will weep,” you whisper as you roll your head over your shoulder to watch him close the door. “It was hard enough bringing her in here.”

Aemond lights a torch before he responds as he walks past, but not before taking your hand first. “We’re not here for the dragons.”

You can’t help your excitement from running your mouth for you. “I would ask how you know about this entrance, but I also know you so, I think I have my answer.”

With a crooked smile, Aemond looks at you and picks on that. “Really?”

You nod and push the tip of your nose up to tease him. “Your nose was always in a book.”

“It made me smarter,” he rebuttals, making you scoff in amusement. It’s not a laugh, but it’s close enough so he takes that as a win.

“It’s not much further,” he answers your burning question that you were about to ask.

You would ask the other questions you have lined up, but you also want to be surprised, so you swallow back your questions and eagerly follow him.

Honestly, it feels like you should close your eyes to not spoil anything, but this tunnel is new to you, so you stay vigilant. And once Aemond brings you to a sudden halt you’re glad you were cautious.

“Watch,” he suggests as he keeps the torch behind him.

“Okay,” you follow up slowly but hold his gaze with a sense of excitement, making him shake his head.

“Not at me,” he says as he doesn’t try to actually look away. “Over there.”

You breathe out some of your nerves before you slide your eyes to the dark room ahead of you. Aemond makes sure you’re paying attention first before he starts to walk away from you, making you get cast in the pitch darkness that comes from the hall behind you.

“Aemond,” you call out with slight fear.

Said man offers you his attention for a second before he walks further inside the dark cast room.

You don’t like the idea of getting consumed by the darkness so you take a step after him, but quickly come to a stop as the room begins to glimmer like a thousand exquisite diamonds as the fire on Aemond’s torch bounces off the walls.

“Wh—” you don’t even get to finish saying because your breath is stolen by all the spots of transparent lights that drown the room, making it seem like you’re actually within a hundred stars. Not just under them, but actually with them, where you can touch them.

“The dragons are above us,” Aemond fills the silence. “And the walls in this room are made of sand, so slowly with the fire from the dragons, glass is being made.”

You look at him completely mesmerized, but at that moment as your eyes take him in across the room, you’re struck with awe as you catch how the shimmering light doesn’t only reflect on the walls and ceiling, but on him too.

Hundreds of lights bask his face and bounce off the sapphire in his eye socket, making him look completely divine, ethereal, beautiful.

Can he see your awe? Can he see it in your soft dilated eyes? In your soft formed smile? Or in your stillness, as you can’t make yourself move with the way you’re completely blown away by the room and him?

“Come,” he invites you further in as he focuses just on you. The glimmering lights don’t manage to steal his attention with you there. You’re all he focuses on, you’re the keeper of his attention, more so when you slowly make yourself to him and the light bounces off the golden shimmer on your gown, making you look like the sun itself. Only brighter. And unlike the sun, you’re ethereal, and instead of burning his eye like the sun does, you make his eye soften and fill with admiration and awe.

“You know I can’t ask how you know about this room,” you finally manage to speak when you meet him in the middle. “Because I know you. You would sneak to the Dragonpit to try and steal our dragons.” You giggle.

He smiles as he turns his head away. “I was desperate,” he rebuttals to your comment.

You hum and lean towards him to add a memory. “Yeah, I caught you singing to a dragon egg once, in…”

“Hopes it would hatch,” Aemond and you finish in sync.

You beam at him and nod slowly. “Yes,” you say thoughtfully and watch him for a lingering moment as you realize that all the tension ceased to exist the moment this room began to shine.

“Wow,” you whisper and slowly spin around to keep admiring the room. “How come you never brought me here before?” You can’t help but ask.

Aemond follows after you as you just wander the room. “I had forgotten about it until recently,” he admits. “And before you left I just did not want to put you in danger by sneaking out here.”

You glance at him with an amused smile before you approach a wall and capture a beam of light in your palm.

“Do you like it?” He asks for validation, making you drop your hand to look at him with a tender look before you nod.

“I love it. You brought the stars down to me,” you muse, and can’t look away from him, you can’t stay from him either. Your heart takes you to him. And without remembering your anger, or the fight you just had not long ago, you slowly press your hands on his chest to be even closer.

Aemond takes his free hand and grabs one of your elbows to be even more connected to each other, finding that you can’t stand being just a hair's breadth away from each other, you need to be closer as if you were one.

You need to be one. Share one beating heart. So you both lean in as you’re driven by a burning desire, but just as the warmth of his lips wash over you, you suddenly come to a halt because of a memory your mind conjured up of him killing Lucerys.

Yet you don’t lead the moment to resentment, you stay close as your anger returns and murmur against his lips. “I would have loved you without a dragon, you know that?”

A short silence follows where all he does is stare at your lips before he speaks up. “I would have not felt complete without one.”

You shake your head and counter his statement. “Not true, I would have completed you. Like I do now.”

Aemond’s lips part and yours follow to do the same but neither of you take the first leap. Him because he’s so taken back by what you said; and you because your anger stops you until you remember why you’re here.

Yet once your lips crash on his, you completely melt, your heart bursts with joy, and your burning desire engulfs your entire body, pushing you to slide your hands around his neck, and leading you to take control of the kiss and move in sync with each other with a sense of longing and hot passion that you can’t deny, that makes his hand find your cheek to bring your closer.

However, just as you want to deepen the kiss Aemond pulls away to seek what will assure him. “Do you love me now?”

You part your lips, but a single breath unfurls over his lips. You want to say yes, but your anger, and maybe a little bit of your hatred stops you and guides you to redirect. “Can I be honest?” You ask, making him blink repeatedly but not respond, so you go on. “My heart swoons for you, my desire burns for you, but a part of me weeps.”

Aemond’s hand slowly falls from your cheek, and his eyes bat frantically as he tries to beat away the tear that comes, but he can’t push it away, it glosses his eye.

“But Aemond,” you quickly interject and tilt your head down to meet his face.

He looks away but you find his gaze right away.

“Aemond. My Aemond,” you call again just as softly, and his eye goes soft at the utter of those last words. “It does not mean I have given up on you,” you lie, or so you tell yourself. “I am yours. I still desire you just as much. I just…need time.”

Aemond looks at you for a lingering moment before you lean in and press a kiss on his lips. He’s still at first as he’s still in disbelief over the answer he didn’t expect. He should have seen it coming, but he didn’t expect it because he was hopeful out of his own selfish desire.

Now that he’s heard you he should give up. He wants all of you or none of you. Yet he also can’t let you go, he doesn't let you go because he is selfish and doesn’t want to see anyone else with you, but also because you are his light at the end of the tunnel. That Red Priestess was right, he’s in the dark without your love, and without you. That’s why he keeps trying to gain your love, because if he gives up who else will love him like you do? Who will complete him like you do?

Only you have given him the love he seeks and he cannot let that go.

Thus he kisses you back as if he wants to devour you, hoping that’s a step in the right direction.

You grab his face and pull him closer, making him stumble you both toward the wall where he drops the torch on the ground to hold you against him.

However, just as you both start to get lost in your needy desire a voice booms. “Who’s there?”

You rip away from each other and watch the corridor with your breaths held in wait, hoping that the voice doesn’t come your way.

Albeit moments later footsteps approach and even if you would not get in trouble if you were caught, you still grab his hand and pull him away with you with no light to guide the way. You remember the path and run out with him.

“Why—”

“Just go!” You exclaim excitedly with your heart pounding in your ears, and never once looking back. You run and run with him still attached to you.

Once you’re out under the natural light of the sky and not threatened with getting caught, you can’t help but burst out laughing. Aemond watches you as he catches his breath, and can’t help but smile as he sees how the joy perks your eyes up. He then chuckles softly as your own laugh is contagious.

“One more,” you pause and catch your breath before you continue. “One more stop.”

Aemond’s laugh dies with yours and his smile fades as he’s confused considering the confession you gave him just now.

“I want to show you a better time than your whore did,” you answer his confusion, causing him to drop his head and shake it.

“I told you it was not like that,” he mutters.

You fiddle with the buckles on his vest and shrug him off. “Well, I still want to show you a good time at your brothel. I want to show you that only I can give you what you like, hm?”

Aemond bats his eye up and a smirk perks the corner of his lips up, giving you the answer without needing to say it.

Albeit before you take his hand to go to your next stop you offer him an out. “Unless you are not comfortable. We can go back home and go to a different room.”

Aemond glances past you and seems to remember that there’s one small person stopping you from going to the comforts of your own chambers. “No, we can go.” He says as he looks at you, letting you take his hand now.

However, Aemond ends up leading the way because you in fact have never been to any brothel. You have passed through the Street of Silk, but that’s the extent of that.

And unlike the streets you took to reach the Dragonpit, the moment you start to approach the Street of Silk, signs of life begin to show with firelight lighting a path, people drunkenly stumbling down streets, and chatter, laughter, singing, music, and lewd noises getting louder and more frequent.

It all mostly works to discourage you, you find yourself preferring going to taverns where you can drink, dance, and sing from occasion to occasion. Yet, you don’t take back your offer, you push forward, and just think about how much this could please Aemond and garner more of his trust so you can move around the castle more freely, and maybe get Astraea out of her chains. You don’t feel safe without her roaming the skies.

“Here,” Aemond finally brings you to a brothel a bit smaller than others you have passed, but still elegant inside and very much busy, or so it seems when you step inside.

If only the smell was just as elegant. It smells like sweat, sex, and a bad attempt at mixing sweet-smelling incense. The women who seem to work here are all beautiful though; in their thin silk and sheer gowns that leave little for the imagination, while some wear nothing at all but their jewelry to catch the wandering eye—they all honestly make you feel overdressed.

“My Prince,” a soothing voice greets your husband as they approach you.

“We just need a room,” Aemond brushes off the older woman with long brown hair that’s partially picked up in an intricate bun, while the rest is resting in a long braid. “Can we get one or not?” He follows up by asking hurryingly.

The woman does not attempt to meet his rush, her sharp eyes find you and take you in, making you raise your head higher to exude confidence and charm when really you're intimidated by her and this place in general.

Not like she can see through you, she does immediately know who you are and sees the very picture of royalty and sophistication; not only in the expensive gown and the luxurious jewelry clung onto you, but in the way you carry yourself, the way your nose is raised in the air, showing that you know that no one in the world can compare to you or touch you in any way.

“Yes,” the woman finally gives Aemond his answer and looks at him for a lingering second, making you follow her line of gaze and see that he’s averting his gaze and that she's the woman he came to see. There’s no need for an explanation, you can see it in her small smug smile, and his lack of focus.

But why her? You can’t help but wonder as you discreetly study her. Is it her experience? Her age? Does he fancy older women? Or is it her beauty? She’s a very refined beauty. She looks poised too. Is that what brought Aemond to her arms?

“Come with me,” the woman finally releases you from your spots and guides you down the room, letting you see what more the fine establishment has to offer, and what more it hides behind closed curtains.

You can’t say she went far, the house is not big, but you do linger behind when a tall slender woman bending like she was made of dough catches your eye.

She’s so impressive! It’s amazing how her legs can go so far back with no sign that it hurts her in any way. You would be envious but you’re just awestruck. You could watch her forever.

Nevertheless, not too long after you departed, Aemond calls out for you, so you steal one last glance at the woman before you find yourself in an empty room occupied by a round bed, and hundreds of candles.

“Thank you,” you tell the woman over your shoulder, proving to not be the snobby princess she thought you were.

“Of course.” She nods and offers you a much kinder smile. “If you need anything ring the bell,” she lets you know, making you smile at her before she leaves Aemond and you in the candle-lit room that smells like vanilla.

“Was it her?” You ask right away as you wander behind the bed to hover your palm over the fire burning away the wax of the candles.

“Does it matter?” Aemond tries to avoid the question, but you look at him and press him.

“Just a little,” you lie and he sees that with the way the fire catches the gloss over the affliction in your eyes as if your life depends on his answer.

“It…” he hesitates and you assume the answer, but you still wait desperately in hopes you’re wrong.

“It was, but I told you, we just shared a bed and she listened to my sorrows.”

You let out a shaky breath and your affliction is resolved to self-torment as you’re filled with self-doubt about yourself for the first time.

Never in your life have you ever been self-conscious, you were always proud of your looks, you took pride in your beauty and never shied away to try and prove otherwise. But now…you can’t help it from taking root within you.

You shouldn’t, you know that. You shouldn’t feel jealous or hurt by his choices. You try so hard to be unaffected by this ordeal, but you can’t fight it off. You’re wounded, and shine a little less, as if you're a shining star in the sky that he dims.

“I told you,” Aemond keeps saying as you have your back turned to him. “She doesn’t compare to you. No one does.”

You stay quiet and keep your back turned as you try to fight off your tears, and really try to fight off the stupid jealousy.

But it really is a bewitching thing.

“We can leave,” Aemond offers, and for a second you’re about to take that chance, but you then remember what brought you here and you know you have to see it through no matter what.

Thus you let out a deep breath and swallow back what torments you. You don’t face him right away, you let him walk up behind you and grab your chin to tilt your cheek to his lips.

“You are mine,” he whispers, making a breath of yours unwantedly draw in. “And I am yours.”

His lips brush against your jaw and burn a line down to the corner of your lips as he keeps tiling your face at his will.

“You are the very breath I need, yet you are the very thing that steals my breath every moment I lay my eye on you,” he whispers against your lips, making you part your lips as if you need his breath. “You are the very definition of beauty and divinity. Every beautiful thing that this damn world has to offer never measures up to your beauty, your grace, the design of your lips, the color of your eyes, and every perimeter that makes you. You plague my every thought, you know that? I would burn the whole world for you. You need only say the word.”

And just like that all your doubt melts away, your reason becomes null, and all your senses turn to a single feeling of needy desire that sets you aflame. You are his, but your heart was not open to him, it was still guarded and he knew that.

“Aemond,” you let out a breathless moan as he presses his needy member against your back and trails his lips along your jaw, making you desperate.

“My love,” he whispers back and presses a kiss on your cheek, causing a pleased groan to escape your lips while you stand there paralyzed unable to think of anything else but what you start to desire.

“I thought,” you pause at the wet feeling of his lips pressing against your neck. “I thought I was here to show you a good time.” You try to laugh, but a trembling breath is all that comes out as he starts to leave a hot and wet trail of kisses back up to your lips as if he's making his mouth try and memorize every inch of that part of your face.

“You are,” he assures you. “You're here. That's all I need to have a good time.”

Your lips tug to a smile and you finally find the strength to peel away far enough to turn and face him.

“No,” you argue and step back as you slip your cloak off before you grab the edge of your sleeves and start to slip the gown off agonizingly slowly, causing his own desire to grow more intensely to the point even his breeches start to feel uncomfortable to have on.

He almost wants to close the space left between you to rip the gown off you, but when he steps forward you flash him a smirk and step back to peel the gown off and let it fall around your feet, leaving yourself only in thin panties that protect your most intimate part.

It would leave little to the imagination, but he knows you inside and out. He knows what you hide and he still salivates.

“Better than your woman out there?” You taunt him in a seductive voice, and he rolls his eye and shakes his head.

“Stop,” he quips. “Don't torment yourself with her. She’s nothing. No one.”

It won’t bring any peace to mind, but you leave it for now and move your hips as you strut to him to press your hands on his chest and then slide them down to unbuckle the buckles that keep his vest closed.

Aemond tries to help you, but you quickly take his hand away and press a kiss on his knuckles before you leave his hand on your breast, causing his breath to catch and his eye to be consumed with even more darkness. Once you've finally done the tedious job of pulling at every buckle you pull his vest and he helps you shrug it off, leaving him in a thin long-sleeved cotton shirt.

“Gods you are more dressed than me,” you laugh. “And here I thought it was your hair that took you long to get dressed.”

He chuckles softly and you share a smile before he pulls his shirt off, feeding your eyes with his beautiful sculpted torso.

“Beautiful,” you whisper before you trail your hands down and unbuckle his belt, causing you both to share a sweet laugh because you have to take more clothes off him.

Before you can attempt to take his breeches off though he steps back to pull his boots off, letting you slip your shoes off too. When there's nothing left for either of you to take care of you get pulled back to him and finally nudge his breeches so he can take them off and leave him naked and vulnerable to you in a room covered with a thick curtain.

Any other time before it would’ve been pretty unbelievable, you both are too possessive over each other to even share a glimpse of each other with anyone else, but right now at this moment, neither of you care.

Then again it’s not like the world outside actually exists; it’s him, you, and your guarded heart refusing to forget what he did, and refusing to give all of yourself back to him—or so that’s what you want to think…

Would a guarded heart really pound at the sight of his member? Would you really desire him as much as you do? Would your body ache for his delicate touch, and for his hard member to complete you if you were guarded?

Perhaps if that’s what you’re pushing yourself to feel. You’re just convincing yourself that you need him in every which way, that he’s all that matters and will matter for the rest of your days. That’s all it is…a hunger for revenge…

That’s why you kiss him with need, without worrying about breathing. He’s all you can need. Him, his thin lips, his tongue fighting yours before you pull away with heavy breaths and push him down to the bed to straddle him.

“<My Aemond,>” you coo in High Valyrian, and feel his tip twitch at those gentle words before he grabs the back of your neck and leans for a kiss, but leaves your mouth waiting as he flips you over to lay you on your back.

“<You are the devil,>” you grumble and he snickers before he presses kisses on your lips, on your chin, up on the tip of your nose, on your scar, and down on your jaw before he brushes the tip of his aquiline nose down your neck.

“Aemond,” you mumble in protest, but he shushes you by pressing his warm lips on your collarbone before he travels down and presses his lips on your breast, leaving his mouth there just for a second, but just enough to make you arch your back and tangle your fingers in his long and soft white silver hair.

You almost don’t want him to move, but he does the best thing and uses his mouth to suck your breast.

“Gods,” you breathe out, making him smile against your flesh before he starts to leave kisses further down your aching body until he comes to a stop on your thigh.

“<Tell me next time how much you need me and I’ll please you,>” he muses as he admires the mess you have between your legs.

“” you whisper desperately and he chuckles before he buries his face in between your legs, taking no time to tease you, he gets right to devouring you.

You try to hold back, but you can’t stop yourself from filling the room with the moans of his name, and small gasps as he drives his tongue deeper. When you begin to roll your hips up to meet the lapping of his tongue, he hooks his arms around your thighs and pins you down, making you increasingly more hot.

At one point you think you can last just to linger in this feeling, but he slides one thumb over to circle your clit and that causes you to grip onto the sheets below you as you’re pushed over the edge right away.

You want to feel ashamed for being consumed by such a pleasure, but you can’t say you remember that shame when that tension snaps and you come undone on his tongue.

Aemond is so consumed by the moment, turned on by the sound of his name coming past your lips and the sounds of pleasure that he alone produced out of you, that he can’t help but come undone moments behind you without you needing to touch him.

Now you would feel pride that you have such an effect on him, but you’re overwhelmed with more soft pleasure as he uses his tongue to clean you up until there’s no trace left of you.

Once he’s done he climbs up to hover over you and steals one look at you, making you smile softly at him, and watch his own lips tug to a mirrored smile before the corner of his lips twitch down and his soft eye is clouded by something dark that's far from lust.

“What is it?” You ask quietly and reach your hand out to grab his cheek.

Aemond’s gaze grows heavy and his eyes droop while a frown wedges itself deeply on his face.

“You must know,” he mutters and slowly grabs your hand. “I am sorry,” his voice comes out soft and apologetic. “About Luke.”

You blink in disbelief and your hand stiffens on his face. He knows you’re going to let go so he keeps your hand pressed against his face.

“I lost my temper,” he mumbles and swallows thickly. “I did not want to kill him. I did not mean it.”

Yes, but his dragon did. A dragon is a part of you when you bond, so Vhagar did not act alone. Her anger may have driven her to act out, but she didn’t do anything he didn’t want to. He knows that. You know that.

Yet you don’t open your mouth to say it. You stay silent and listen with your face growing hard, and your heart no longer dancing out of ecstasy.

“You have to believe me,” he almost pleads for your forgiveness. “I did not mean to kill him. Forgive me.”

Will that bring him back? No. Nothing he says will take back what happened. Lucerys is gone forever because of what he did. You can’t forgive that.

But you don’t tell Aemond that. You bring up your other hand to cup his other cheek and smile at him. “You mean it?” You ask for reassurance.

Aemond leans towards your touch and parts his lips. “I mean it,” he speaks hoarsely.

Despite all the thoughts your mind just conjured, the act of understanding you held falters at the feeling of his neediness feeding off your soft touch, and that blue eye consumed by genuine and sweet sincerity.

Yet you must remain strong…and loyal to your stand of being unforgiving over what he did, you can’t let the wall around your heart crumble. You won’t fall.

Not even as he lays on your side and nuzzles his face against the side of your breast. You do feel a sense of bliss as you make him feel comforted by wrapping your arm around his head and using your fingers to gently caress the side of his head, but that’s it. You don’t listen to your singing heart as he embraces your waist so you won’t go anywhere.

A silence interferes between your nestled-up bodies, and you fight, closing your eyes, finding ease and comfort in his warmth, and in his heart beating against you, assuring you he’s fine. However, you slowly lose your grip and your eyes close, letting a comforting silence linger for a while where only you and him exist.

Neither of you actually fall asleep, you just refuse to let the moment go until it is suddenly interrupted by the sound of the curtain getting ripped open, pulling your eyes open to glance at the intruder, only to grow cold and stiff at the sight of Aegon and his friends, trailing behind him.

You want to alert Aemond, but he turns his attention and finds his brother and his friends too.

And the moment Aegon has the attention of the both of you on him and realizes it’s really Aemond and you on the bed, he bursts out laughing, pulling Aemond to sit up and throw a sheet over your body as you follow him up.

“Aemond, the fierce!” Aegon blurts and points at Aemond as if it’s the funniest thing in the world. Maybe to his drunken mind, it is, but not to his friends, and especially not to you as you see how Aemond recoils into himself as if shielding himself from his brother's torment.

“You know,” Aegon laughs as he stumbles toward the bed, making you scoot closer toward Aemond to shield your body from Aegon’s wandering eyes.

“If it hadn’t been for me, she would’ve been his first. He would’ve saved himself for her,” Aegon continues, only making Aemond stiffen and for his face to fall with hurt that’s obvious to you.

“<Aemond,>” you whisper in High Valyrian and grab his bicep as you feel a growing need to protect him from his brother's continuous bullying that he has yet to grow out of at his big age.

“What a fine, sweet thing,” Aegon teases as he manages to get closer to the point where he climbs on the bed and leans in between Aemond and you. “Did you fuck her like a hound?” He interjects boldly and mocks multiple barks, making your jaw clench, and your quick-grown frustration turn to fury.

“You see,” Aegon directs at his friends who avoid looking at Aemond and never dare look at you.

“< Let's go, my love,>” you insist and lean closer toward him so only he can hear you. “<He's not worth it. Let’s go.>”

“Such is my niece's prowess, that even now my brother will not get tired of her.” Aegon points at you as he looks over to try and catch you exposed, but you hold the sheet tightly against you. “Even after she left.” Aegon laughs.

You sigh deeply and bite back what you want to say to this boy king, instead, you just focus on Aemond.

“<Come on.>” You keep urging him and pull his arm toward you, but it falls limp, making your heartache. You can’t stand seeing him so anguished, you never could stand him being belittled and feeling small. Just like you never found any of Aegon’s pranks funny, Aemond was always your soft spot, and you never let one of Aegon's pranks or mean snide go unpunished.

“Hard luck for your squire though,” Aegon tells his group of friends. “As you can see,” he laughs. “The room is very much occupied.”

He keeps laughing like a madman, finally triggering Aemond’s gaze to go hard at the same time his demeanor shifts from wounded to menacing before he gets up, letting your hand fall off his arm, and making you watch him as he twists around slowly with no care of being seen.

“Your squire is welcome to the room,” Aemond finally breaks his silence and steps off the bed, but not before calling out your name and following with a demand. “Let’s go.”

Aegon chuckles and wiggles his fingers to try and touch your leg, but you quickly pull your leg away and slide off the bed, making sure to keep the sheet on while you grab yours and Aemond’s stuff from the floor, before you follow after him in a tense silence that you don’t break while you change. That tension intensifies and changes the atmosphere you once carried as you walk back to the Red Keep. It stays when you get home and when you get ready for bed, killing any attempt to rekindle the passion you were lost in.

You have a dire need to talk to him, but at every attempt, he meets you with a cold shoulder. He stays mute as if Aegon had cut out his tongue when he left that brothel.

And perhaps you should leave it be, pass it off as cruel mocking, after all, what can you do now that Aegon is King?

There’s no way to make him pay back for what he said without facing some kind of consequence, and right now you need to avoid getting in trouble.

Yet how can you leave the topic untouched? You look at Aemond and your heart aches at the mere sight of the frown on his lips, and at the dullness that takes over his eye as he can’t help but feel ashamed, angry, and most of all hurt after being ridiculed by his brother.

“Aemond?” You call out in the silence of the room to gain his attention that’s turned away from you, but he doesn’t respond right away, even if you know he’s far from being asleep.

“Can we talk about it?” You probe on the matter.

“No,” he deadpans.

You sigh and take advantage that Aerion is not here to persist harder even if you have the chance to leave it be. After all, doesn't he deserve it? This feeling that plagues him so? It’s a piece of justice, isn’t it?

No…you can’t leave it be. And it’s not out of ill intent either. You push because you want to comfort his tormented soul. “At least look at me.”

Aemond’s back rises and falls before he turns around with his long hair falling over his face, making you instinctively brush his hair back behind his ear before you slide your hand down and gently stroke his cheek, noticing that he’s not even looking at you.

“I do not need your pity,” he argues, trying to sound hardened and serious, but you hear the falter in his voice that gives him away and actually seeks your comfort.

“It’s not pity,” you contradict him with the truth, causing him to scoff as he keeps his eye averted, but also makes no effort to take your hand off his cheek.

“It is. You are only doing this because of what happened,” Aemond remarks. “You can not stand me.”

You swallow back thickly and lean your face closer so he can hear your whispers of the truth. “If that was true would I be here? Grabbing your face the way I am? Would I be here on this same bed?”

“I made you be here,” he argues and slowly brings his eyes up to meet your gaze without that fury that weighed him down as all he thought about was the shame Aegon brought him publicly. He looks at you now with that hurt he can’t surpass, it clings onto him and makes his eye glossy and soft. He does try to rip away the hurt to show you fury, but he looks at you now, right across from him, and he can’t put up that facade.

That mask of invincibility and terror he carries is nonexistent with you at this very moment because you are his peace. The one who loves him with their whole heart, with no questions asked, no fear or hesitation despite the new man he became after being mutilated. Who can say that? Who can prove that the way you do every time you smile at him tenderly in public, look at him with love, and touch his face ever so softly despite the scar and missing eye that ruined his face? No one but you.

No one but you can ever read him without a need for words, just an exchange of looks without mistranslating a single look of snide that he throws at someone or something foolish, and without mistranslating something he finds humorous but can’t express in the masses.

Maybe he should detach himself from you, and learn to live without all that you offer him. You are the enemy's daughter after all, he knows the love you harbor for them is not dead. Yet he’s selfish, he can’t let go. He realizes that. Just like he realizes that he can’t be mad at you now.

He realizes you can leave again, pledge your fealty to your mother once again and he would be offended but that would not make him love you any less. There are some things he won’t forgive, he knows that, but besides those exceptions, you can hurt him and he will never let you go because you are the one who loves him the way he wants to be loved.

You prove that by coming back. Even if you had all the freedom with your mother you still came back to him. That’s proof.

Just like there’s proof now by the way you look at him with a tender look rather than one full of resentment.

“I’m here because I want to be here,” you dismiss his accusation that was right at first, but now is far from the truth. “Because I care for you, Aemond. I care,” you insist, but not to convince yourself, to convince him. “I…” you hesitate and struggle to say the next words that are coming to your mouth, but not because you don’t mean them and it pains you to say them to someone who betrayed you. You hesitate because you are struck with realization at that moment too.

As you lose yourself in his eye and the deep blue sapphire in his eye socket, you see the truth looking right back at you. You do love him despite what he did, despite his darkness, his selfishness, and his faults. You tried to hate him, tried putting up a wall, but that was merely an attempt, there was never a wall around your heart. You only told yourself that in hopes that would distance yourself from him, but you realize here and now that you love him.

He may be destruction incarnate, a demon in disguise, but you love him. Despite his betrayal, despite him visiting a brothel. You wholeheartedly, undoubtedly love him.

It’s a wild realization if it was one at all, but you cannot pretend otherwise.

Who will love you selfishly the way he does? He would burn the world for you, and you know that is a hard truth, but you love that promise. You hate that you love it, you don’t want to love him, but you cannot help it, you cannot push it away, you are devoted to him just as much as he’s devoted to you.

No one will understand your darkness that you try to hide the way he does. No one will love your hunger for power the way he does, and he would never find those traits shameful the way you find them shameful about yourself. He cherishes you, loves you despite it all, and you love him despite it all.

You love each other desperately and madly. After all, you are one flesh, one heart, and one soul, now and forever.

“I love you,” you spit out and grab his cheek firmly. “I love you that’s why I’m here,” you express with a wobbly smile. “That’s why I want to talk about what troubles you because I love you and I cannot stand seeing you hurt.” You nod in reassurance and his breath catches before he leans his face against your touch and kisses the heel of your hand.

“I love you too,” he doesn’t hesitate to redirect without losing sight of your gaze. “I always have. I always will.”

You smile wider and scoot closer toward him to nuzzle your face against his chest, whilst you also snake your arm around him and rub circles on his back with your thumb, making him slink his arm around your neck to caress the back of your head.

“Your place is with me,” he assures you of that. “You belong here. I will protect you here.”

You smile against his flesh and speak against him, causing goosebumps to grow along his skin. “And I will protect you.”

Aemond huffs in protest but you know he loves that shit.

“I mean it,” you continue sweetly. “There’s not much I can do right now, but I can still look out for you. I will. We’re what matters most in this world, Aemond. Us and our son. No matter the cost.” You voice with no hint of that sweet honey, you mean it fiercely and prove your ferocity by pulling back to face him with flickers of that darkness in your eyes.

“Do you understand?” You press to assure him but also seek reassurance for yourself.

Aemond lowers his head to meet your gaze with that same fire in his eye. No questions asked, and no hesitation to consider. “I know. No matter the cost. With fire and blood.”

The corner of your lips pull to a smirk and you seal that fierce dedication with a kiss on his lips. When you pull back you see thoughts forming behind his eye that deepen that smirk before he presses a kiss on your forehead.

You smile in return and as he faces you you return to what you initially needed his attention for. “You are more fierce than he is. You know that.”

Aemond’s eye flickers down, and you slide your hand over to grab the back of his neck. “He just knows that he has more power over you,” you make sure he hears what you have been thinking of since Aegon interrupted your moment together.

“He knows you won’t react because he’s king, but that doesn’t mean a thing. You are still you,” you continue without falter and regain his unwavering attention. “You are stronger. More powerful. Loyal, kind, and more fierce in a way he will never be. You are Vhagar’s rider. You are what he will never be.”

Aemond’s lips part, and his eye widens while also growing dark with desire. An intense ferocity captures him in a stupor, but he quickly snaps out of it to grab your face and kiss you fiercely.

You take a second to grasp this burst of passion, but you snap out of your surprise quickly and kiss him back with the same energy while also letting him take complete control of the heated moment that turns into a passionate night with little sleep.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

“What will you do today?” You ask Aemond as you gently massage his temple with your thumbs while he lays his head on your lap.

“With Cole gone a little less, but I have made it my job to attend more council meetings, to be present while war plans are made. But this morning I will go patrol on top of Vhagar, so I will go to that soon after breaking fast, and perhaps get some training in after.”

You scoff softly. “Oh because you need it?” You tease and look over at Aerion sitting on Aemond’s torso. “Right little dragon? Your papa does not need to train.”

Aerion glances at you before looking back at Aemond and reaching for the toy Aemond holds up for him.

“Refining my skill is necessary,” Aemond finally interjects. “Why would I hold myself back from achieving a new skill in a time like now?”

You hum and tilt your head as you gently slide your thumbs down to massage his cheekbones. “Maybe I could be your sparring partner today? Or you could teach me a skill or two?” You smirk, and his eye snaps over to you as his lips stay still before they tilt towards a small smirk.

“Why would I refrain you from getting better, my love? Here I thought you wanted to be more like Queen Rhaenys?”

You snicker and roll your head away. “She was an excellent dragon rider, but I do not wish to limit myself to one thing especially now during war. I may not always have my dragon to protect me, things happen unexpectedly. I cannot always count on you, you’re busy. I do not want to be helpless when the time comes.”

He hums and comments. “You are not. You have skill.”

“Not excellent skill,” you press and stop your thumbs to hold his gaze. “I want to be great.”

Aemond puts the toy down to reach over and cradle your cheek. “And great you are, but…if you wish me to teach you I will help, maybe then you will not need that sworn protector:”

You snicker and lean down to speak against his lips in Valyrian. “<Don't be jealous my love.>”

“” he rebuttals and his grip turns firm.

“<You chose an old man,” you remark. “Who would need to be changed the way I change Aerion, no thank you.>”

“A skilled knight.”

“An old man.”

Aemond groans and you lean back, causing Aemond’s hand to fall. “Meet Ser Jason, and watch him fight,” you defend your sworn protector. “He’s very skilled and a quick thinker. He used his cloak to blind his opponent, and! He killed a Dothraki screamer. How great is that?! He also fought at the Step Stones with Daemon.”

Aemond frowns and turns his focus to Aerion grabbing his little foot.

“I trust him,” you plead for the knight's case. “Do you not trust me?”

Aemond doesn’t look at you but he responds. “I will slay him if he does not do his job.”

There’s no need for a clear answer, that was his agreement.

“What will you do today?” He then changes the subject.

You pout and shrug. “Nothing and then more of nothing. I am not allowed to do anything.” You grumble, making him smile.

“Don't laugh,” you scold him and smack his shoulder. “You know I detest being bored, Aemond.”

“What would you do in Dragonstone?” He asks.

You sigh and shrug. “A bit more, I would attend council meetings, but my mother did not let us do anything either.”

He hums and reaches his hand over to caress your knee before he sits up and replaces his head with Aerion instead.

“I have something for you,” he shares, piquing your curiosity.

“A gift?” You squeal as he walks over to a shelf to grab a box before he returns to the bed and places the box down by your lap.

“I hope you like it,” he says and sits on the edge of the bed. “It took me a while to find it.”

You beam at him and secure your arm around Aerion before you reach over and pull the lid off, finding a red-leathered heart-shaped book that strikes you with awe the very moment you lay your eyes on it.

You almost do not want to touch it, it looks too precious to touch, but you can’t contain your excitement, you take the book from the box and realize it’s a songbook from Old Valyria.

“<Songs and Ballads of Valyria.> You read the gold title out loud in your mother tongue. “<Amazing,>” you muse as you admire the cover and the shape of the book. “<It must have been a pain to find it.>”

You proceed to open the book and flip through the pages to take a glimpse at all the different songs it contains.

“You like singing in High Valyrian,” Aemond brings up. “I thought it would be appropriate for you to have songs from where we come from.”

Your heart swoons and when you look over at him your eyes water. “Thank you, my love,” you whisper and lean over to him to press a lingering kiss on his lips.

Guilt begins to wedge itself within you, threatening to spoil the moment, but you refuse to be consumed by anything but appreciation and bliss at this very moment.

If your mind wants to torment you then it can do it later when you’re not with Aemond. Not now.

Even then you’ll bury it if you must.

“Maybe I’ll sing you something later if you come find me,” you suggest seductively before you lean in and bite his bottom lip.

Aemond groans softly in response, making you snicker before you sit up and climb off the bed to try and get the morning started before you’re forced.

“I'll be lonely all day, under the watchful of my sworn protector,” you feign a sigh and you hear Aemond get on his feet.

When you peer back he looks bothered so you offer him a sweet grin before you waltz over to put Aerion down on the ground protected by blankets and multiple fluffy pillows so you can go on and start your day before the morning slips from your fingers.

Albeit you didn’t realize how much you enjoyed your moment of peace. The war did not exist in the confinement of your chambers as you ate breakfast. It felt like the days before the tensions of war; calm, blissful, filled with long talks as you both bring up whatever comes to mind, and filled with wonder as you watch your son interact with the world.

As expected though the illusion breaks when the doors to your quarters open and Aemond parts in his way, and you go in your way; finding yourself in the Godswood thinking of one thing.

How could you be so horrible?

Kissing Cregan was one thing, but laying with him and mayhaps having his babe?

Your brothers suffered because of their parentage, do you want the same bestowed upon your children? Or do you want something more horrible cast upon them if they happen to be his and come out looking like him?

Aemond would never forgive that betrayal, he would not want that to besmirch his name. He would kill you too. Do you want that?

Do you want him to hate you?

If the babes are Cregan’s anyway, they can be Aemond’s. You’re choosing to blindly believe that the babes Helaena said you’d have, are Aemond’s. You can’t believe otherwise for your sanity…unless…

You take something stronger than moontea?

But what fault do the babes have for your sins? And if they are Aemond’s and you rob them of their lives?

You can’t do that, no matter how much that would spare you of any troubles.

Gods!

You fall on your knees and look up at the crying face on the Weirwood tree, unknowingly meeting the intent gaze of Cregan Stark who is leagues away, but looking upon the same crying face thinking of you as he reads the letter you sent with haste before you left—more like before you run from Dragonstone.

He would understand. Only because you aren’t actually married to him, but he would understand and he wouldn’t shame you. He would help in some way…

If you could see him, or continue writing to him, or if he was here. But he’s not here, no one can help you, you have to suffer through this alone because it’s a mistake you made. You must pay its price and hope, pray even that the babes are fully Aemond’s.

And after you pray and beg under your breath with thick tears rolling down your cheeks, you have to pick yourself up and play the part; the dutiful wife as Daemon said.

Only you aren’t really dutiful, nor is it all pretend, you are here aren’t you? In his protective care, marking his lips and face with kisses; knowing only your lips have touched him. You're looking deep into his soul through his eye. You're wrapped in his arms that you find so secure and holy in the madness of war, so what’s a little selfish take in this great suffering?

Daemon pushed you into Aemond’s arms, you didn’t plan to come back, but he pushed you here, so why can’t you let Aemond feed your needy heart his love? And why can’t you feed his starving heart more of your love while you still stay faithful to your mother?

There’s no sin in loving.

Right?

“Right,” you sigh deeply and push yourself to your feet to sit against the white trunk instead and finally take a deep dive into the book Aemond gave you, finding yourself drawn to one specific ballad that you start to mutter before you hum along quietly to try and find a tempo.

When it seems that you have the right beat you start quietly singing to the brisk air, unbeknownst to you having your song travel into the ears of your sworn protector, and capturing his interest to the point he has to peer back at you over his shoulder to stare. He tries to focus on his task at hand, but no matter how hard he tries, his attention draws back to you, as if your voice had bewitched him.

He can't understand what it is you’re singing about, nor does he want to ask because it sounds so sacred. Albeit you manage to catch his curious attention and interject to fill the curiosity mingling in his deep blue eyes.

“It's about the God of the Sea loving both the Goddess of the Sun and Sky and the Goddess of the Moon and Stars.”

Ser Jason snaps his attention ahead with reddening cheeks, and you continue to feed his curiosity.

“To summarize the ballad, the God couldn’t pick between the two, until fate picked for him by killing the Goddess of the Moon and Stars. However,” you sigh and look back at your pages to glance at the ballad. “…Upon seeing her death, carrying her in his arms, he realizes when it’s too late that he always loved the Goddess of the Moon and Stars, for she was his soulmate. Without the moon and the stars who would shine his dark waters, who would bring days to an end, who would bring tides, and the very gravity that holds him down to earth?”

Ser Jason hums before his armor clatters against each other as he turns to face you.

“What a selfish god,” he shamelessly gives his opinion, bringing a smile to your lips that makes a hotter heat unfurl under his cheeks.

“Aren't they all?” You say back and drift your gaze to him. “No matter how gracious one god is, they are all selfish in some way.”

Ser Jason hums and can’t help himself from leaving his post and approaching you.

“You want to know why?” He asks and you probe with hum as you put your book down against your lap.

“Because they don’t live amongst us…”mortals”…no matter how much they wish to relate to us or say they do, they will never be us.” He says and shakes his head. “They never suffer the same because they are the ones that bring that suffering.”

You blink slowly in awe and can’t help your lips from lifting to a softer smile. “Is that so?” You muse.

Ser Jason holds your gaze and blinks repeatedly as if in disbelief of what he’s seeing whilst he parts his lips, but says nothing but a long ‘uh’ as he watches you wide-eyed.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you press him. “Ser?”

Ser Jason clears his throat and nods harshly before he giggles nervously and finally gives his response. “It is…It’s, uh, the harsh reality that you learn in the suffering.”

You hum and hold the book against your chest to lean forward and question him. “Are you from King’s Landing, Ser?”

The knight nods. “Born just in the Street of Silk, before I was raised in Flea bottom until I got good enough with a sword and went to fight for a living.”

“Couldn’t stand the suffering?” You ask and he scoffs softly as he nods

“Exactly,” he grins. “I decided to test fate and suffer in violence instead.”

You huff softly in response and narrow your gaze to continue questioning him so you can know more about him, but not before you check the entrance to make sure Aemond isn’t coming and overreacts.

“Tell me Ser, what led you to fight a Dothraki Screamer?”

The man smiles at the ground, making those deep-set dimples of his make an appearance on his face. “Adventure,” he says. “Access to money…I also had nothing waiting for me here, so after the Step Stones I set sail to different ports, met different people, and saw all kinds of wonders.”

Your eyes fill with wonder as you hear all that you wished to do and be once upon a time.

“Then…why did you come back?” You can’t help but ask and glance at the ground. “There’s nothing too wonderful about this place,” you say as if it was muscle memory to say those words you thought long forgotten. “Especially now with war so rampant.”

You look back at the knight, and he shrugs whilst he meets your gaze with a look of sincerity. “It’s home. No matter the bad memories, or the suffering. Home called me back.”

Your gaze falters and you lose yourself deep in thought about those marvelous wonders you will never see, only hear about from mouths like his.

“Besides, I do have my father…” he trails off and clears his throat as he focuses on something else. You follow his line of gaze and see Alicent walking in the Godswood.

“Your Grace,” Ser Jason greets and bows his head as he closes and opens his hand.

Alicent stares at him for a long second, before she stops in her path and brings up a question. “I cannot say I have seen you before, what is your name?”

Ser Jason swallows back nervously and shakes his head. “My name. I am new,” he stammers. “I am new working within the castle. My name is Ser Jason Waters.”

“My sworn protector,” you clarify for him.

Alicent glances at you and then looks back at the Knight with a gentle smile. “I see,” she says.

Ser Jason lingers there awkwardly for a moment and Alicent keeps staring at him waiting for him to move away, but he doesn’t seem to understand so you interject. “Go back to where you were Ser, it’s quite alright.”

Ser Jason nods rapidly before he walks away, making Alicent wait until where he's supposed to be before she continues her path toward you.

“Princess, I thought I would find you here,” she directs at you with a sweet smile you find quite grotesque and all too fake.

“Here I am,” you mutter and stand to your feet. “Enjoying the stillness of the Godswood.”

She hums and holds her hands in front of her as she brings herself to a stop close to you. “I understand. The Red Keep has gotten quite rowdy with everyone moving about.”

You offer her a half smile in response before you glance around as if that will give you the answer as to why she came to you.

“I hope everything is going well with Aemond, I know men sometimes find it difficult to understand our troubles,” she says in an attempt to what? Be nice? Be nosy?

“Well,” you roll out and sigh. “Luckily, Aemond and I have been childhood friends. Growing up together helped us understand each other, so yes there has been difficulty, but we understand each other's troubles quite well.”

She didn’t get the answer she sought but she doesn’t press for a clarification, she just offers you a tight-lipped smile and mutters. “That makes me glad.”

You nod stiffly and purse your lips together before you just decide to cut this formality off and get to what she needs. “Do you need something from me, your Grace, or am I just being blessed with your company?”

She hums with a smile and steps closer, making sure to look over her shoulder once before she comes to a stop very close to you, causing your gaze to narrow as your eyebrows try to meet together.

“With us living together for so long, I like to say I know you like I know my children.”

That’s funny.

“I know that sitting and doing nothing makes you restless,” you let her get to the point because you’re now more curious than ever. “Thus I came to you to offer my help. Or more so my partnership.”

Your eyebrows soothe for a second but soon rise with your amused disbelief.

“We are surrounded by men,” she goes on with no clue as to what’s obviously playing on your face. “Who often think too rash and don’t take rationality under consideration. That’s where we come in, but they don’t tend to listen to the kinder voices.”

“No,” you input as you fiddle with the long smooth pearl snood flowing down with the length of your hair.

“But we must persist, be their rationality. But we can’t do that alone, as a woman it’s important we stick together. Be a force to get in their minds. That’s why I thought we could work together and get them to listen to what we plan out.”

Your gaze flickers down as you nod slowly in comprehension, letting her believe you actually fall for her crap and take it to heart before you start to laugh and face her with an all too menacing smile.

“No,” you snap as your laugh dies and brings your lips down to a harsh frown as your eyes harden. “You do not know me, your Grace. You have no idea who I am, which is telling, really,” you feign a laugh and step closer to tilt your head and narrow your fierce glare. “Why should I ever consider working with you?”

She blinks repeatedly as she’s caught off guard, and steps back.

“I may be at odds with my mother,” you lie. “But I do not forget your treatment, the snide, the torment. The way you made her walk up flights of stairs mere minutes after labor.”

Alicent’s eyebrows furrow, but then quickly knot together as her brown eyes gleam with quick tears, and a long frown grows on her face.

“And then there was me, you sent me away across the country to get back at my mother for something I did not do. I was trying to stop them and you sent me away when I easily could have been your ward, but no. You are no ally, no friend. You are mean and I will never work with you.” You give her your response and look her up and down, finding that frown pretty pathetic.

“But I will tell you this,” you add one more thing in a whisper. “As a suggestion. Leave, Your Grace. There’s no husband for you to tend to anymore. You will find peace in the religion you grip onto as if it’s your salivation. Woman to woman.” You hum and curtsy before you walk past her.

“And you,” she tries to get the last word in. “What will you do? There’s nothing for you to do here but tend to your husband. They will never hear your counsel. He will never hear it.”

You stop and draw out a deep breath. “I have a dragon, I have skill with a sword, not perfect but it is a skill, and most of all I have his trust,” you finally give her the answer she was seeking before. “He does trust me, but you know that.”

You look at her over your shoulder and offer her a sweet smile before you turn your head away and roll your eyes.

Perhaps if she had been nice she would have gained you as an ally, but you do not forget a slight. Especially when it comes to her hurting your mother.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“It’s nice being away from the stench of the city,” you say fondly as you hurry down to a small patio hidden below the castle where the waves crash on the rocks below and bring a nice refreshing mist where the salt filters in your nose, and the noise of the city and the castle drowns out.

“With those Rat Catchers still on the walls the air reeks even from my balcony,” you complain to Ser Jason who listens maybe because he is paid to, but he listens nonetheless.

“It's a poor sight,” the knight says from behind you. “Some of those men were innocent…”

You peek over at him and stay quiet for a moment before you rebuttal. “So was the boy.”

Ser Jason meets your gaze and he keeps his eyes on you for a while as if challenging you, so you fight right back with more fire, making him look down before he moves his eyes ahead to look out for trouble.

“Could I ask,” you shift the subject to a less tense topic. “How did Daemon come to recruit you?”

“Well, the squadron I was in—”

“No,” you cut him off. “I am referring to this job right now. Did he just recognize you and throw you a sack of coins?”

Ser Jason glances at you and you make a quick stop to let him catch up to you before you continue ahead slowly.

“Well, he did give me gold,” he says under his breath, so it's not possible for someone can hear him in the solitude of this path. “But we did not just bump into each other…he actually came looking for me,” he pauses, and his gaze flickers down. “I was his squire at the Stepstones, but he soon released me and gave me a higher rank to go with my skill. I suppose he remembered me and the stories I would tell him of where I was from.”

You hum and scoff in surprise. “That’s unlike him.”

Ser Jason nods and laughs nervously before he throws his head up and looks at you. “He did threaten me after finding me so he stayed himself.”

You huff in amusement and don’t want to ask but you can’t help yourself. “What did he say?”

He clears his throat. “If anything happens to the princess and that babe I will personally come burn you alive after I have gutted you alive,” he says as he mocks Daemon’s voice, making you giggle.

“Nice,” you praise him, causing him to realize what he just did and grow flustered.

“I did not mean to, I mean, I am sorry. I should not have done that,” he stammers and you shake your head.

“Do not worry about it Ser, I found it amusing and accurate.”

Besides it does take you by surprise that Daemon would…care so much as to threaten him with such violence for Aerion and you.

“Many of my protectors before have been older and quite stiff, so it is refreshing to have someone to talk to,” you tell him sincerely. “Especially in a time like now. Do not worry alright?”

Ser Jason's lips part and a red tint takes over his cheeks as his eyes soften. Yet you don’t pay attention to the way his eyes lock on you or the way his breath stills for a second, you manage to finally catch sight of your small lookout and find a Septon and a Septa already there.

What a damn bummer! You wanted to be alone!

Whatever you’ll have to stick to one side then.

“I like to escape here,” you tell Ser Jason as you get ahead eagerly. “It’s peaceful, and when I was a girl since I was not allowed to train with the boys I would come and practice with a sword and strawman everything I watched them do. My mother would get me in trouble though, I tended to go down to the rocks to feel the water, so she said that the waves were too big and wild here and one could take me. But I never listened.”

“Did you ever get close?” The knight asks and you look back at him with a grin.

“Once, just do not tell my mother.”

He laughs under his breath and you make it to the patio, trying to avoid any eye contact from the Septon and Septa, so they would not come speak to you, but you do sneak a glance at the Septon posted behind the Septa, and find yourself a bit drawn by the man as you feel like you recognize his old face.

Before you can take a good look he turns his face away, but it doesn't take away from the fact that his face is really oddly familiar, you just need one good look.

Yet you don’t try because that would mean having to walk back and that would be awkward, so you go sit on the empty bench and just admire the waves the ocean throws at the rocks. There’s no attempt to talk to Ser Jason, you do not want to fill your silence at this moment. All you want to do is sit in silence and not be tormented by memories or running thoughts that spread like a web.

However, your moment of peace comes to an abrupt end when the Septa comes to sit next to you.

She could have stayed where she was but she moved out of her way to come sit next to you. Isn’t that fucking great!

You had forgotten how much you hate Septa’s.

You do bite your tongue though and just keep watching ahead hoping she doesn’t see how you’re starting to fume.

Just keep looking ahead.

Just keep—

Suddenly your mind goes quiet as the Septa drops her hand on yours resting on your lap.

“Uh,” you part your lips and slowly churn your head to the side with a tight-lipped smile to address this bold Septa, but when you lay your eyes on her you immediately recognize your mother…

It must be some weird dream…

It’s not her!

You snap your eyes ahead and stare in disbelief for a second before you take a second look and see that it in fact is your mother, and the Septon is no Septon, it’s Ser Steffon Darklyn! You knew you recognized him!

But how?! Why?!

“Mother?” You gasp in disbelief whilst your face contorts with shock.

She puts her finger against her lips to shush you out of fear someone would hear you from the distant castle, or the knight behind you would say something.

“We…can trust Ser Jason, Daemon paid him to protect me,” you throw out to get that out of the way before you probe her. “What are you doing here? Why? You need to leave. Now!” You get up and take her hand to attempt and get her away, but as she stands up she yanks you back with her.

“Not without you,” she snaps. “I came this way for you. We are returning to Dragonstone.”

You shake your head and she pulls you with her, but you slip your hand away from her grasp and stand your ground, causing her to turn and face you with her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“No, I am not returning home,” you proclaim firmly and raise your chin. “I can help you here. I am here to help you, it’s the only way I can help you.”

Your mother shakes her head and closes the distance to grab your arms and argue. “No, there are other ways, perhaps I have been protective, but I do it for your own good. You are young, inexperienced, and so is your dragon.”

You take in what she says but that still doesn’t win you over. “I understand—”

“There are other things you can help me with,” she cuts you off to try and persuade you. “This is not one of them. If they find out you are sending information they will kill you. We must return home at once, get Aerion, and sneak out.”

“No,” you exclaim and step back. “I am careful, and Aemond trusts me. I use the tunnels behind the walls to listen to council meetings, I will get my dragon out from the Dragonpit soon so she can fly over and send you the letters, you just have to trust me, Mother.”

Said woman goes quiet and her eyes droop with anguish so you approach her and grab her hands to assure her. “It is a risk, but it is one I am willing to take to get you on that throne.”

Her breath catches and she reaches over to cup your cheek and whisper. “And it will not be worth it if I lose you and your brothers. Please listen to me, my sweet. Come home.”

“You will not lose us,” you don’t give in. “You will have us. We will stand by your side when you become Queen. Just trust that I am doing the right thing. I ask you only this, trust me. Please.”

Your mother pulls her head back and stares at you hard for a long and tense moment before she drops her head and lets a tear fall to the ground. “Fine…I will trust you.”

You smile softly. “Thank you, mother.”

“But;” she sniffles and looks back at you. “At any sign of trouble, you come home.”

You don’t hesitate to assure her with a nod before you slip away from her to sit back down on the bench. When she sits next to you you tell her what you have heard, but haven’t been able to send. “Ser Criston, Ser Gwayne Hightower, and a few other knights have left to attack the houses in the Crownlands who support you. He will turn them against you to try and take Harrenhal.”

Your mother's eyes flutter as she looks to the horizon to get lost in thought.

“I heard reports of Ser Criston and other knights marching somewhere, but we had not figured out where,” she says to the crashing waves.

“That’s all the worthwhile things I have heard, but I will get more information soon.” You try to assure her, gaining her attention and a small smile.

“Thank you, just be careful when you try and listen, okay?”

You nod and let a silence befall you where you both feel the urgency to leave so she does not get caught, but in that silence, you also feel the need to speak of your troubles now that she’s here. You do not want to hold them anymore than you have to or you will combust. Besides, you are in desperate need of her counsel to know what to do.

“<Mother,>” you croak in High Valyrian and see her eyes catch the tears that quickly fill your eyes. “”

You have not had it confirmed yet, Helaena did tell you and you want to pass her off as a bit mad since there was no way she could know, but you know it in your gut that she is right. There’s also evidence that points to it that you have tried to ignore, but you cannot ignore the truth forever. No matter how much it scares you.

“<That's great…>” Your mother trails off as she doesn’t see your joy and instead sees anguish.

“<When I was a ward in Winterfell I was lonely…some people would not talk to me because I was me, but also because they were being mean, but…Lord Stark did, he became my friend,” you give her context. “He was my best friend and then,” you pause and hold in your sob. “We ventured into a more romantic relationship…but I stopped it when I came back. I was devoted to my husband, I love him, but when I went back and found out what he did to Lucerys…I was—>” You cut yourself off and drop your head on your hand. Your mother reaches for your hand but you pull away and finish.

“” you don’t finish the rest but she knows what you mean and stays quiet and still now. You don’t want to know what she might be feeling so you keep your gaze averted.

“<But I also lay with Aemond before I left for Dragonstone and now I do not know who might be the father. I’m scared…I’m horrible.>” You cry and your mother can’t stand your cries so she finally takes your hands and nudges your hands towards her so you can look at her.

“<The father is Aemond,” she says seriously not because she knows, but because that’s what you need to believe, what you need to say if it’s not true. “Do you hear me? There might be a high chance it is. I am betting it is. It was just one night with Lord Stark. Do not worry I doubt anything took root, okay? When was the last time you bled?>”

You shrug. “<It's been complicated since Aerion, I do not bleed as heavily anymore, so I get confused, but I bled for two days and that ended the day after you returned to King’s Landing. But, I was feeling more tired than usual and just odd the entire week I was at Winterfell, just before Lord Stark.>”

“<See, it is Aemond’s. That’s proof,” she tries and convince you of the higher outcome. “Do not worry. It’s not good for you, and there is still a lot of time before that babe comes.>”

“<Twins,>” you share what Helaena told you, making your mother smile and cup your cheek to stroke it.

“<Twins,>” she muses. “<I'm happy.>”

You want to share her joy but you can’t look past your self-hatred. “<I'm still horrible. I shouldn’t have done it. But I did and I’m horrible for it. And I know what Aemond did, I know what he has done, but Mama, I still cannot bear it. I betrayed him. I-I—>” You break into a sob and she moves her head with yours as you drop it.

“<Look at me,>” she commands softly as she grabs your face and tilts your head up regardless. “<It is true you could have taken other pursuits, but it happened already. And it does not make you horrible.>”

You shake your head and mumble. “<You only say that because you’re my mother.>”

She scoffs softly and nods. “<Maybe, but it does not matter because I know you. You are not horrible, and doing that does not make you horrible, we are only human, my sweet. You were hurt, betrayed, and he was everything you needed. In a moment like that it’s easy to fall into the wrong thing to avoid being alone. You admit you did wrong, that’s all that matters.>”

Your ache eases off your heart and even though nothing can take away the sin, you still feel comforted by her sweet words. It’s just what you needed to stop letting that torment you as much as it has, she was what you needed; your mother's comfort.

“<Do not let it torment you anymore. It happened in the past, leave it there. Think about your safety, about your children’s safety, that’s paramount. Your other worries are for not because Aemond is the father. You’re just overthinking it because you’re scared.>”

You nod softly in comprehension and she wipes away your tears before she presses a kiss on your forehead.

“I must go now,” she brings this moment to its end in the common tongue. “So I must ask you again, will you come?” She asks, making you smile faintly before you reject her one last time.

“I will stay, but I will be careful I promise.”

She sighs deeply but doesn’t argue anymore. “Alright. I will be waiting for your letters, and any sign of trouble.”

“Okay. I love you, mother,” you tell her before you can’t.

She smiles at you and doesn’t hesitate to say it back. “I love you too, my sweet.”

She pulls her hands away and stands up, you stand up with her and linger in each other's presence for a bit longer before you watch her leave, and with her, taking a chance for you to return home to her, but leaving you with a more sane mind. The possibility of your sin coming to life is something that can happen, but you look at the more positive side now and tell yourself that Aemond will be there, and even if there’s some chance he isn't, they can still look like you, so there shouldn’t be fear.

Besides, if you think about it, really ponder about it, Aemond is the only face you see when you think about their father. Gut feeling or not, you see him, your husband, your other half, the love of your life that you can’t sacrifice, the light in your darkness.

How twisted is that?

——

*LATER*

You can’t help it, you can’t take it anymore.

“What are you doing?” You interrupt the silence and bring your book down to stare at Aemond, who stops fiddling with the gold coin and meets your annoyed gaze.

He’s going to ask what stole your attention from the book in your hands, but he sees you looking at the coin and shows it off before he passes it between his fingers one more time just to taunt you.

“Funny,” you deadpan, making him smile faintly before he throws the coin over at you so you can catch it, but it ends up on your lap.

“Are you trying to pay for my services or what? Because I will say, being a princess, my cost is high.” You taunt and he scoffs in amusement before he mutters back.

“It’s free for me actually.”

You laugh and he finally addresses the annoying coin he’s been carrying around since you got back home. “I found it on the ground after Daemon sent those intruders in to try and kill me.”

You pick up the coin and study it. “So what you carry it around as a reminder of…”

“That he wants to challenge me, but doesn’t come and face me,” Aemond fills your silence and you really want to laugh because that is really unlikely, Daemon has been busy doing other stuff, but Aemond doesn’t look like he’s jesting so you just hum and nod in comprehension.

“Where were you that night anyway?” You finally ask since Jaehaerys ended up being the victim of this tragic affair.

Albeit Aemond just glances over at you once before he picks up your legs from his lap to stand up without making you uncomfortable and without answering your question, which is actually all you need to know that he was at the brothel. It doesn't take a genius to know, he would have told you otherwise.

“Where were you?” He asks as he walks around the map on the small table.

“With my family,” you mutter in annoyance and put the coin down to return your attention to your book, letting him know exactly what you feel, so as to not let you simmer in your annoyance, he walks up behind you and pushes the book down before he gently wraps his fingers on your chin and tilts your head back so you can meet his gaze.

“Don't be mad,” you mock him. “Is that what you’re going to tell me? I’m not. I am…not.”

He hums before he brings his lips down and presses a kiss on your forehead before he brings his face down and leaves a kiss on the top of your nose, causing a wobbly smile to start breaking on your face with no attempt to hold back. He has your heart swooning, and when he kisses you slowly on your lips your heart explodes and you can’t help but grin completely enamored.

“What are you reading?” He asks as he pulls back and stays crouched behind you.

“Just some Valyrian stuff, nothing here compares to the stuff in Dragonstone, but it will suffice.”

Aemond hooks his finger around the cover and presses it to the side so he can see the title. “<Blood Magic or Chosen by Gods.>” He reads out loud in High Valyrian. “That’s an interesting read.”

You sigh and close the book to mindlessly watch the cover. “This man lived in Valyria before it was destroyed, half of the things are hard to read because the book is old, but what you can see is just theories with evidence I don’t need.”

Aemond hangs his hands over the armrest and leans his face forward, leaving his lips by your ear. “What is it you’re looking for exactly?” He queries.

You stay quiet for a moment as you ponder in your hesitance of whether telling someone of your…gift or not. But then again, without any concrete knowledge, you can’t really say a thing. Thus you just pass it off as an interest. “I just read that back then, in Valyria, there were people who…weren’t hurt by fire, but it’s all…” you trail off in frustration so he continues for you.

“Stories.”

You shrug. “Well they are now, but it just caught my attention, you know? I just want to know more.” You say and glance at him.

He glances at you and studies you for a moment before he glances at the book. “My father had books he kept in his chambers that contained important knowledge of Valyria, like magic and prophecies and stories. I’ll bring them to you, I can’t see Aegon having any use for them.”

You beam at him. “That would be great. Thank you.” You lean in and press a kiss on his cheek before you grab his chin and interrogate him. “Now how do you know about these books and did not tell me?”

“I found them after you left for the North, I never got to share them with you,” he says. “And now, I had forgotten until right now.”

You hum and let him go to lay back and stare at the high ceiling. “Do you still read that book about that one dragonrider? The one with the three-headed dragon?”

Aemond gets up and shakes his head, but you know otherwise, so you giggle and sit up to expose him.

“You do!”

The corner of Aemond’s lips tug up and you assure him. “That was always your favorite, I think you wore it out.”

“You dropped it in the pond if I remember correctly,” he remarks. “So it was you who wore it out.”

“Okay, but it was not my fault—”

“You were walking on the ledge of the pond and tripped with the book in hand,” he cuts you off, making you laugh.

“Yeah, I paid for that by smelling like pond water for days, the smell would not get off my hair, no matter how hard I scrubbed.” You complain with a pout, making him laugh softly.

“I ended up finding the book for you after though, I remember I stole it from Dragonstone once when I happened to…venture too far on dragonback.”

Aemond sneaks a glance at you and questions you as he stops at the other side of the small table. “What was your furthest?”

You snicker and loll your head to the side to tell him. “The wall. I would have ventured further, but Astraea did not want to fly past that wall…After this war is over I’ll fly to Dorne,” you share happily with a smile. “I have always wanted to go to a Dornish beach.”

He scoffs. “Perhaps we will finally take it after this war is over. Vhagar is bigger, and Astraea is fast.”

“Not with Aegon we won’t,” you complain without shame as you sit back and cross a leg over the other. “After this war is over, we’ll see this Red Keep filled with all kinds of different wines and women before we see him again.”

Aemond huffs and surprises you by adding a comment. “You know my brother, he’s always lacked…well…everything.”

You scoff in agreement and glance at the map before you roll your eyes up and take a leap. “The crown needs someone smart, someone that holds responsibility at great value, who knows our histories, and has an heir.”

Aemond slowly looks up with a cold expression that's hard to read at first, but as you stare into his eye his expression thaws and you know you’re not trudging in dangerous waters. You actually hit the mark and seem to read exactly what he has in mind, you can see that with the glint that goes over his eye.

Alas just as the corner of his thin lips begin to drag up to a smirk, the door opens, bringing your conversation to a sudden end with no chance to spark it back up to avoid getting in trouble.

“Princess, My Prince,” one of Aerion’s Wetnurses greets as she brings in a sleeping Aerion.

“Marie,” you greet and watch her as she walks to Aerion’s cradle. “Did he eat well?”

The Wetnurse nods and looks back at you. “Very well, it seems we will have to increase his intake. He’s grown quite an appetite.”

You smile softly in awe. “He will be five months soon, so that’s it. I’m sure.”

Marie puts Aerion down and tucks him in, while from the entrance of your chambers yours and Aerion’s sworn protector walks in.

“Princess,” he steals your attention with a warm smile, but also ends up grabbing Aemond’s attention from the map he was studying—“uh…My Prince,” Ser Jason trails off to a whisper and bows his head. “Uh,” He pauses as Aemond slowly stands to his feet with nothing to say, he just stands there menacingly as if trying to intimidate the knight with his tall stature. But then again how can he when his eye is wide as if he had seen a ghost.

“Ser Jason,” you whisper back with a teasing smile and put yourself in the middle of the tension Aemond alone creates. “It’s quite alright Aerion won’t wake anymore.”

The knight's eyes stay stuck on Aemond, and Aemond continues to stay quiet and…surprised? You can’t know, so you continue in a normal tone of voice. “If you’re asking to take your leave for the night, then it’s fine, Ser, have a good night. I’ll see you on the Morrow.”

Ser Jason’s eyes flicker back to you and he nods slowly as he swallows back nervously. “Thank you, Princess. Good night to you too. And to you My Prince.” He doesn’t forget to add before he steps back to let the Wetnurse walk out before he closes the door and cuts the tension off.

“I do not want you being friends with him,” Aemond suddenly breaks his odd silence as he sits back down. “He’s your sworn protector, not someone you can be friends with. If I see it I will assign the old man to protect you and Aerion.” He snaps his eye up and you challenge him with a pointed glare for a second before you look down with an upset frown brought by defeat since you know it’s not something he’s willing to debate.

Then again not like it will stop you from actually talking to the knight unless Aemond tends to be by your side at all hours of the day.

“Have you…told the council of what I told you about Daemon heading to Harrenhal?” You drag out to avoid sitting in silence and getting mad over something that won’t change. No matter how much you argue.

“No,” he admits and gets up to pace around the table again. “Not yet. I will let them figure it out when the news comes.”

You lean forward to study the map and the markers scattered about the paper. “It may be a while,” you mention. “Daemon left suddenly that day, so who knows if he actually went to Harrenhal.”

Aemond hums and gently shakes his head. “I’m sure he did. Where else would he go?”

“You have a point. Now,” you smack your teeth and point to the Hightower marker on the map. “Is that Ser Criston.”

Aemond walks to your side and crouches to lay his hand over yours and press your fingers on the marker to push the marker forward.

“He will be moving all along the Crownlands to take the armies sworn to Rhaenyra,” he surprisingly shares with you, but half of your mind is on the feeling of his warm hand cupping yours and his lips purposely brushing against your ear.

“Once he has garnered enough men he will go and face the Rivermen to take Harrenhal,” he adds.

“With Daemon leaving with just his dragon,” you input your thoughts as you turn to look at him. “It will take him longer to gain any support. He may not even have men to challenge Ser Criston since he also did not have men follow after him.”

Aemond faces you with a smirk and steals a glance at your lips before he nods. “Exactly,” he praises you and strokes your chin, making you grow giddy and smile like a love-struck fool.

“I would also wager you could face Daemon now. He left in quite a mood. You would be doing me a favor,” you grumble and sigh as Aemond pulls away to walk around you with his eyes on the map.

“It would catch him by surprise,” Aemond murmurs, “but alas, too rash now. Those armies are our priority.”

You groan and he snickers.

“Will you join Ser Criston in Harrenhal?” You ask with your heart starting to pick up out of nervousness.

“Hm, in time, we will join him, yes.”

Your heart jumps a beat and you question what just came out of his lips. “We?”

Aemond’s gaze flickers up and he nods. “Vhagar and I could go alone, but I will face Daemon and his dragon, while you help Ser Criston and our armies.”

You keep your secret alliance in mind, but you can’t help it, you ooze with excitement at the thought of being part of something more grand than just sitting here by the fire or listening through walls. You did not think he would consider bringing you with him to fight.

Should you even consider it? Your mother would never allow you to take part in something so dangerous, but he is, he’s letting you do something great and you want to be a part of it. How can you throw away that opportunity?

“But not before we cut off Rhaenyra by land by taking Rooks Rest, after Ser Criston takes the Darklyn army,” Aemond adds, piquing your interest and panic.

“But isn’t facing Daemon more important when you have the numbers?” You ask as some discreet attempt to try and sway his mind.

“It would, but when they hear we are trying to take Rooks Rest, they will send a dragon, and I will be there with Vhagar to take them down.”

There’s no use of we now. He has no intention of bringing you to this part of his plan. Which is good in retrospect, you would give away your true loyalties to try and save whoever they will send. Yet a worry that you can’t let go of is you don’t want Aemond to die either.

You will send a warning to your mother about this plan when you can, but something that is clear is that you don’t want either challenger to get hurt. You are loyal to your mother, to her cause, but your heart is also loyal to your husband, it aches at the thought of Aemond getting hurt or even…meeting death.

How foolish is that?

And what good is begging him to stay when you see how eager he is to already play this plan out?

All you can do is take note of his plan and secretly worry. That’s why you just take in what he says with a strained praising smile before you share a short comment. “They won’t see it coming, not with Daemon gone.”

Aemond hums in agreement before he walks over to stroke your chin again to praise your thinking. “Exactly, my love.”

You smile at him before you lay back down and stare at the ceiling with worry that only strains your heart as you're torn between the two. While on your face, well, you make sure to stay nonchalant and hide anything he might pick up on by filling the silence with a haunting song.

A/N- Alexa play “The Hanging Tree” by Rachel Zegler

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @callsignwidow @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104

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soulaires · 11 months ago

Note

If your still taking requests then can i request a hc for Aaron Warner with a reader thats like the total opposite of him?

Here comes the sun.

pairings: grumpy!aaron warner x sunshine!reader.

summary: you were his sunshine, his light, the reason of living and his beautiful sweet girl.

warnings: grumpy x sunshine trope!!, soft aaron warner, violence and killings (🤭), you guys are in LOOOOVEEE, power couple, this is love actually, chivalry is NOT dead

notes: I actually love doing hcs

(Aaron Warner) tag list 🏷 : @ravisinghs-wife @ab-baybay @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @cosmicswan

Everyone in the sector was mostly confused than shock that you and warner were dating

i mean everyone know that Aaron Warner Anderson, chief commander and regent of Sector 45, son of the supreme commander of The Reestablishment, has a soft spot for you. You only.

everyone sort of figured out that he was absolutely and immensely devoted and in love with you when he spoke to you with much more gentle and soft tone, looks at you like you are his entire universe (spoiler alert: you are), and of course, how he is very protective of you.

but yet it was such a foreign concept for them to grasp—Aaron Warner? The cruel monster and madman (who also appears to be devilishly handsome) is dating you?

you who is the smart, sweet, charismatic and the poster child? What on earth did you start dating him?

what a typical bad boy and good girl cliché

but of course, while everyone saw the typical cold, snarky, mysterious, commanding leader, you saw your Aaron.

your Aaron who fall first and falls harder every damn time

your Aaron warner who opens the passenger seat at you every time (there’s a rule between you guys that he should always the door for you even when mad or in the middle of the war)

your Aaron who keeps a piece of flower with him every time he gets you a bouquet of your favorite flowers so he would know when it’s dead so he can buy you a new one

he loves listening to you whether it’s something you think it’s dumb, he just encourages you to speak because he loves every little detail of you and just overall love the way you got excited to little things. He also love knowing everything about you.

you sometimes think he doesn’t really listen despite his assurance but he will just randomly say something about it and you goes “aww you remembered”

and he’s just ???? What do you mean he remembered? you and his souls are literally cosmically intertwined and destined to be together in any lifetime of course he remembers!

he is just obsessed with your existence

oh that man is in agony and suffering when you are not with him. his eyes just searching for you.

his emerald eyes lighting up and a smile creeping up to his face when he saw a sight of you

kenji said Warner has become more tolerable because of you

because every time your boyfriend said something sarcastic and insulting, you give him that look and he fixes his attitude and body language and got his shit together.

his first priority is your safety and happiness

“If anything happens to y/n I’m going to kill everyone in this room and myself”

you and Aaron got along really well and he thinks you are always right

and if you’re wrong he will simply reshape the reality so that what you said is correct

you can do no wrong In his eyes

whenever you have a new clothes (that he probably bought) he ask you to do a fashion show for him while he compliments you

“you look absolutely gorgeous, my love”

“that color suits you, love”

“you..you are so…hauntingly beautiful, angel”

he once bought a whole store for you. Literally bought everything you want. The new released book? You have the first copy and it’s signed. Want that dress? It’s yours in every color. Want that bag you saw? It’s on the desk the next day with a flower. New nails? Well, c’mon then he will with you to the appointment. Want that food? He will cook it for you.

“Whatever you want, love. It’s your world.”

aaron who cooks while you look cute on the kitchen counter.

he lets you wear whatever you want even if it’s reveling. He have his gun and machete and is not afraid to use it if someone touched you, looked at you like you are a prey, or when he feels some lust and attraction towards you, well...it wouldn’t be a good thing.

you once gave him a bracelet with a moon jewel twinning with your sun one and boy he absolutely ADORE IT.

he doesn’t let anyone touch it or he had never took it out of his wrist. (you’ll have to kill him before you got that bracelet)

he’s just very protective of his sunshine, one click on the pager and he is RUNNING.

shamelessly threatening everyone that gave you a nasty look.

“every tongue that rises against her will face a consequence of me cutting it and i will gonna make each one of you swallow it.”

“don’t even think about hurting her or I will cut your throat open like a fish.”

he let you practice your eyelining skills on him while you sit on his lap

love to match clothes with you!

he have your eye color made into a beautiful ring

he have your doodles on him tattooed actually

love hearing your thoughts about the book you are currently reading.

he anotates a book for you as a gift

reads every book you ever loved

he does not remove your lipstick stain on his cheecks, hand, lips or even in his blond hair.

after all, he hates everyone except you.

#reader insert #rie answers 🦦#shatter me series #shatter me #aaron warner x reader #aaron warner #aaron warner x you #riewrites 🫀#aaron warner anderson

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dancingbirdie · 1 year ago

Note

hi! can I request Astarion x Tav where Tav is crying (same innocent type Tav from your last fic) and Astarion has to comfort them? (like after his confession scene in act 2 but before his final quest please?) tysm for your time!

Ask and you shall receive, my dear anon! Although a word of warning: this fic has a lot of fluff and a whole lot of angst. Also damn I really explored some of my own shit in this fic and am feeling very vulnerable but also very good. PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS/TAGS BEFORE READING <3

If I could nominate a song that inspired this writing, it would be "When The Lights Go Out" by Gabrielle Aplin.

The Dark Sun

Word Count: 1.6K

Rating: Teen

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of death, grief/trauma response to death of loved ones, mentions of blood, emotional pain, hurt & comfort, FLUFF, ANGST, non-sexual comfort, Astarion x GN!Tav, Minor Act 2 spoilers.

None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name.

It isn’t true. It isn’t! Get away from me. Go!

Sitting in their tent, as far away from the other party members as safely possible, Tav was powerless to stop the replaying of Arabella’s words over, and over, and over, in their mind. They saw in their mind’s eye the maelstrom of emotions that had played across the young tiefling’s face when Tav gently broke the news that her mother and father had been killed. Shock. Anguish. Disbelief. Rage. Despair. Resentment.

Tav knew those feelings well. They had felt them before. They still felt the echoes of them, even now, so many years after the death of their own parents. Tav had been so like Arabella in their youth. They had recognized a kinship with the tiefling as soon as they met her in the Emerald Grove. To be the one who ushered in those emotions for someone so young and so full of unbridled joy - it was a cruel irony. To be that bearer of such unspeakable news, to a mere child.

Though Tav knew that time would eventually take the immediate sting from this news, they also knew from their own experience that Arabella would forever be scarred. Even before she was aware, the world had been violently reforming beneath her feet. Life would never be as it once was. And the knowledge that they would forever be intertwined with Arabella’s memory of losing her parents, even if those deaths had not come at their hands, felt like opening the fissure in their heart all over again and injecting acid throughout its crevices.

The reality of it all had Tav doubled over, sobbing into their hands in a feeble attempt at hiding their pain from the rest of the camp. None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name.

Most of the time, Tav didn’t mind being that cheery glue that held people together. It was a role that was helpful to others, and they had performed it very well throughout their life. It also had the added benefit of distracting Tav from hosts of problems that were better left in the far corners of their mind. Seeing them like this, in this state of despair? It would topple the whole façade. And given where they were, in a bleak forest of darkness, fumbling through perpetual night, Tav knew the party needed sunshine more than ever before if they had any prayer of making it through this area alive.

So, no, Tav resolved to work through this pain in solitude. They had done so before. They could do it again.

***

The Shadow-Cursed Lands were not exactly an Eden for animals that could quell Astarion’s thirst. Most of the beasts were either blighted or dead. Given this, Astarion had purchased an ox and some boar from the Harpers at the Last Light Inn for the express purpose of draining their blood and storing it in vials he could consume along the way. Gale had come up with a handy little spell to keep the containers cool and prevent the blood from spoiling. He estimated that those reserves, coupled with Tav’s generosity of allowing him to feed off them, would be enough to keep him stable for several more days.

He heard the sound as he was exiting his tent to retrieve a vial of ox blood from the camp supplies.

Muffled choking sounds. Someone was…crying? He piqued his ears, concentrating to locate the direction from which they came.

Tav’s tent. He was sure of it.

Pitched as far away from the others as possible, Astarion had thought it odd earlier in the evening that Tav had positioned themselves so far away from everyone, including himself. Normally, they rested at the dead center of the camp, where they could easily chatter and joke with the rest of the party. But, given his own proclivity for solitude, he hadn’t pondered it further, assuming Tav had just needed some quality time to themselves.

Hearing their quiet sobs now, in the middle of the night, Astarion could have kicked himself for not realizing sooner that something was wrong.

Though he had confessed his feelings several days ago and found them wholeheartedly reciprocated, his new… status… with Tav felt like learning a new language. A language with an alphabet wholly different than anything he had ever known. He certainly wasn’t fluent yet. He wasn’t even sure if his ability to… speak it, per se… was passable. But, if for nothing else, he was grateful to Tav for their patience and understanding as he navigated this entirely foreign situation. They never asked for anything more than he was willing to give, and that empathy continued to compel him to try. For himself. For Tav. For their future prospects.

Of course, knowing all of this made Astarion feel all the more worse for failing to intuit Tav’s emotional state. They were not exactly a closed book. Had he not have fallen back on old ways of thinking and processing people’s behavior, he likely could have recognized the signs of Tav’s distress. But 200 years of habits and mindset was hard to break. He could hear Tav’s voice in his head, gently reminding him to be patient with himself, to afford himself grace.

They were always giving him the space to be vulnerable. This time, he wanted to try providing them with the same assurance.

Astarion quietly padded over to Tav’s tent and cleared his throat in a somewhat awkward attempt at announcing his presence.

Immediately, the sobbing ceased. “Um, just a moment!” came Tav’s watery reply.

Astarion listened carefully to Tav’s quiet sniffles and movements about the tent. He assumed they were quickly trying to right themselves, slip that cheery mask they wore so well back on. The thought broke his heart.

“Tav, darling, can I come in?” he asked softly so that their fellow party members would not be able to hear.

“Oh sure, are you thirsty? I was just lying down… resting,” Tav added lamely before finally poking their head out from between the tent flaps. They gave him a tiny smile, a weak attempt at normalcy, before pulling back and making room for him to enter.

Astarion seated himself across from Tav, who began rearranging their pillows and preparing for what they assumed to be another feeding session. He took in their ruddy cheeks, their tearstained eyes, swollen from crying so much. Tentatively, the movement still so foreign but becoming more familiar, he reached out a hand to cup their cheek.

Tav stilled at his touch, sucking in a breath. He watched as tears began welling in their eyes.

“Darling, you don’t need to hide your pain from me,” he gently intoned.

Tav gave a breathless laugh, traitorous tears leaking down their face.

“I didn’t want any of you to see me like this. Especially you,” they warbled, sniffling.

“And why ever not?”

“I’m ‘Tav The Sunshine,’ remember?” they said with a self-deprecating grin. “The sun only ever shines on us. That’s its job.”

“But the sun isn’t always shining,” Astarion reminded them softly. “Times of darkness are allowed.”

Tav released a quiet sob. “I don’t… w-want you to see that darkness. It’s too much… I… I can’t-”

Seeing Tav fall apart before his eyes, so broken and disconsolate, the urge to take them in his arms felt like second nature. Not a foreign language at all, not a struggle to initiate a touch. Astarion couldn’t explain it; his subconscious had known how to respond and barreled through all those years of self-loathing, manipulation, and disgust to reach out for Tav. Quick as a flash but so very gently, he pulled them into an embrace, maneuvering them so they sat cradled in his lap, their arms wrapped around shoulders.

“My sweet, sweet Tav,” Astarion crooned as they cried into his shoulder, tears quickly dampening his nightshirt. He raised one hand to push back the locks obscuring their face and softly caressed their cheek.

“I want to tell you something,” he continued. “And I want you to truly listen... I’ve walked in darkness for over 200 years. Mostly alone. Committing depraved acts against others in the service of a master who sees me as nothing more than a means to an end… There is nothing - nothing - in your darkness that could scare me away. I swear it.”

Tav raised their head to look at him. Slowly - as one would approach a wild animal - they raised their hand and kept it hovering right beside Astarion’s face.

That Tav would still be thinking of his comfort, even in their abject sadness, unleashed a powerful wave of… some strong emotion in him.

Is that love? Is that what it feels like? He thought.

He couldn’t be sure. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

Acknowledging their silent request for consent, Astarion pushed his cheek into their hand. He turned his face for a moment to kiss their palm. He felt Tav shudder in his arms.

“You’ve already borne so much sorrow in your long life, Astarion,” they whispered. “You deserve lightness and levity from your partner.”

“And you have given me that every day since we met, darling,” he returned, carding his fingers through Tav’s hair. “But we also agreed to share something real between us. That isn’t possible if you hide a part of yourself away. You deserve space for light and darkness inside yourself, Tav.”

They sat in silence for some time, Astarion allowing Tav to empty their tears onto his chest, until they were finally calmed.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Tav finally sniffled.

“Shh, shh. There’s no space for apologies here, love. But, there is space to share your pain. And I’ll carry it with you, as you do for me,” Astarion promised.

And in that quiet night, in the heart of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, Tav opened their darkness to Astarion.

And he was not afraid.

#dancingbirdiewrites #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldur’s gate astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x mc #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur's gate fanfiction

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almondmilktargaryen · 7 months ago

Text

Duty & Sacrifice (Part Two)

Summary: Aemond is married with two kids to Floris Baratheon, as it was his duty. But it's when he ventures into Flea Bottom in the night that he faces his sacrifices.

Couple: Aemond Targaryen/Fem!Reader

Category: Flangst

Content: Memories of sexual trauma. Violence, violence, violence. Trying to refrain from spoilers but the degree of violence is referenced in part one, so please take this vague warning seriously and be cautious if you still choose to read. Please be kind as I'm very nervous as to how this will be received. Aemond's hubris will be his downfall and I mean it.

Word count: 7.4k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four ✍️

A/N: Okay, I caved. I’ve written a part two to Duty & Sacrifice AND have a part three on the way (maybe a part four). Tagged everyone who asked about a part two so you all can find it :))

Also we're going to pretend Chataya and Alayaya were around 200 years before they were for the sake of the story ✨

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Criston hisses. The heat of his anger billows from him like smoke from Vhagar’s nostrils. Aemond feels it against his back as they walk (Criston almost stomping) across the cobblestone paths. He wears the same old brown wool cloak and hat as he had when they were last here, before the Dance.

“I know,” Aemond responds plainly.

“I expected this from Aegon. As would anyone. But you, Aemond.” Criston staggers as he lectures. After years of reflection and buckets of blood on his hands, his anger still gets the best of him, even in the smallest of ways. “Honestly, what would your mother say about all this?”

“She’s gone, Cole.” That’s all he can say. She was taken by the winter fever shortly after Aegon’s second coronation and Helaena’s suicide. Aemond suffered plenty in all three areas. Criston saw. And he was there when Aemond still needed a parent; helping him through his losses and the choices his brother made as king. It is why Criston volunteered to help with the City Watch while also remaining on the Kingsguard to help him. He became a father to Aemond.

And fathers asking their children what their mothers might think of their wrongdoings is supposed to add an extra dose of shame. Aemond learns, despite assuming otherwise, that he is not an exception to this. He feels the shame, like whenever his nephews knocked him to the ground and snickered or when Alicent slapped him after confessing what happened at Storm’s End. He remembers how he couldn’t sleep for days.

There was no way he could sleep tonight, either. The possibility that something could happen to his family while he remained safe in the Red Keep is a burden he could not bear after seeing Alyssa. The gods sewed in the inevitable, and it’s his turn to unlace it. So he focuses on his route as Criston lingers behind, keeping up with the sharp turns and secret alleyways. Aemond recalls the moment he left. All three of them were safe. They were in tears on the cot, but they were safe. He let the image settle in his mind. They were safe. Spotting the door once again, he’ll guarantee it. He avoids glancing down the alley, hoping to forget that.

But Criston does glance. “Was that one of Aegon’s—”

“We’re here,” Aemond says. His fingers wrap around the handle, jiggling the iron to find it locked. Good. Then he knocks three times, then two, then one.

“You actually have a special knock?”

“Not important.”

The bolt shifted behind the wood, and the open door bloomed with light once more. Aemond squinted at the starkness, but he could see that she was alright. She was standing, hunching slightly, and smiling. She stepped aside to let them both in. Aemond spotted the girls on the cot, quiet.

She shut the door with a thud. “You came back!”

“Like I said I would,” Aemond replies. He was hesitant to hug her, but she took the choice away when she instantly wrapped her arms around his neck. He took the opportunity and held her gently, burying his nose in her thick hair. It smelled of sweat and dirt, and he inhaled deeply before letting go. “This is Criston Cole. He’s going to help us. It’s cold out, so you’ll need this.” He takes the spare cloak Criston has and asks her to hold her hair.

“I know how to put on a cloak, Aemond.”

He hesitates to object. The cloak matches her eyes. He notices when she turns and takes it from him. She handles it well enough, so Aemond squeezes by to reach the cot. He sits close to the babes’ feet. They were sleeping. All he could do was whisper “sorry” repeatedly as he picked up Alisha first. She only cooed, not fully awake. He stood slowly to hand her over. “Here. Put her under the cloak.”

“What did you think I was going to do?” She asked.

“I know, I know. I just... have to say it aloud.”

Then came Alyssa. She only squirmed as he picked her up, and Aemond wondered what she could be dreaming about. He stands straight before covering her. He brushed her ginger hair.

“Do you want to see her?” She holds Alisha closer to Criston. She smiles brightly when she turns Alisha’s face toward him. And despite his objections during the entire walk here, he reaches out to hold her little hand, noting how her fingernails are no bigger than grains of rice. He breaks into a grin when he says hello. His palm brushes her hair, and the grin fades as he looks closer—the transition from brushing the whole of her head to examining individual strands. Aemond does not expect them to be noticed at such a late hour, but Criston’s eyebrows go straight as he stares at him.

Aemond only stared back, bringing the other half of his cloak over Alyssa’s face.

“What’s the plan?”

“To find them safety,” Aemond replies. “A better home.”

“Surely you have a more detailed idea than that.”

“Where are the apartments? The ones where you kept that girl from Lys?”

Criston’s hard expression changed. “What are you talking about?”

Then it was Aemond’s turn to stare in disappointment. The disappointment that Criston thought he would never notice the obvious. Celibacy among the Kingsguard has not been as enforced under Aegon’s reign, and Criston is not the only one to take advantage of this, especially for any woman who looks like Rhaenyra.

“Over by the Old Gate,” he caves. “I arranged the rent and servants with Chataya. Her brothel isn’t far from here.”

“Then we’ll go to Chataya’s. We’ll take the Street of Silk. It should be faster.”

“Aemond.”

“Darling, we don’t have a choice. Here.” Aemond traces the loops of his belt, pulling out a dagger. “Take this.” The ripple of Valyrian steel sheens in his hand.

“I-I can’t.”

“You can and you will.” His face softens. “Just in case I’m not close enough.”

She’s hesitant, but takes it anyway, shoving it in one of the cloak pockets.

Alyssa fusses, as if she’s protesting herself now that she’s fully awake. He’s familiar with this one, and she does not let up when he tries to shush her, so he sticks his free hand inside and searches for her mouth. He gently puts his finger in, letting her tiny lips and hands wrap around it like a bottle.

“She’s hungry,” Aemond reluctantly admits.

“I can feed her. Quickly.”

“No. The faster we move, the better.”

“But I—”

“He’s right, ma’am,” Criston says.

Aemond can see the uneasiness reveal itself once more. It’s the remnants of fear sticking around before he left, as the possibilities outside that door (good or otherwise) are closer than ever. So Aemond stepped closer while her eyes glowed wet in the dwindling candlelight. A kiss, another hug, perhaps, or some sort of reassurance that it would be alright could help. But as his arms cradle Alyssa (and Criston waits when there’s no time), Aemond instead presses his forehead against hers. He keeps his eye on her, and her smile is small. It was good enough.

“Let’s go.”

Men in rags stay close to the walls, under torchlights. Some with their selection of whores, others looking to wait their turn. The streets are less congested by stone walls, so pathways are more open, with no carts or livestock blocking the way. They can all step aside and not disturb each other.

Her cloak shielded her arms as Alisha fussed more. She stuck close to Aemond as Criston took the lead this time, many paces ahead. Aemond could hear the speed of her breathing and see the fog rolling from her lips.

“Walk with purpose,” Aemond tells her. “Eyes forward. Do not look afraid.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I’m here. Lean on me if you have to.”

“No. It’s not the time to look weak.”

That damned cot. Sleeping, the pregnancy, and birthing twins on that cot took its toll. Her body has grown weak. Her stubbornness, though, remains unmoved. It’s why Aemond never bought her a new bed. She would cunningly lead him to the floor, so they would lose the topic (as well as the night) before they slept.

Her stubbornness persists all the same as her body struggles with the walk, one step to the other as Aemond continues to be their eyes, centering on Criston (and the men who stare too long). The path is straight and simple. But Alisha still whimpers. Her arms shift under the cloth, muffling her upset, a finger in her mouth. But her adamancy follows through mother and daughter. “Why does this work for you and not me?”

Aemond smirks. “Magic touch.”

She scoffed, nudging him. Aemond responded similarly, planting a kiss in her hair in the safety of darkness. The frizz tickled his nose, and for a moment, Aemond felt peace. A rare thing he relished with his mother or his sister. It’s something he hasn’t felt since the Dance. But even on this road and in the cold, it ruminates over his whole body.

But as quick as that peace washed over him like a bath of sacred waters, he got pulled out. He’s reminded of his thirteenth name day when her blue eyes lock onto his. Aemond turns his eye to Criston once again. He didn’t turn around, but Aemond focused, blinking out the memories.

“Found a replacement, have you?” She stands at the entrance to that brothel all the same as before, when Aemond and Criston were looking for Aegon. She leans casually against the doorway as they pass, and the smirk makes Aemond’s stomach turn.

She turns around, but Aemond pulls her by the arm. “Focus.”

“Was she speaking to you?”

“Focus.”

“Oh… Aemond. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he says with an even breath. He pulls her closer, arm and arm, cloth and cloth. “We’ll get there soon.” Criston is still ahead, and Aemond remembers to breathe.

“Perhaps we should stop.”

“No.” His eye darts at the surrounding men. Most didn’t look at him, and the ones who did offered only a glance. None remember when he was ten and three, despite what his thoughts are saying. The walls are not closing in, and Criston is still well ahead. “We need to catch up.” He pulls her by the arm, and she does her best to keep up.

If it was not the location of Chataya’s that spoke of their expensive price range, it was the perfumes. He recognized the scents of Day’s Dawn and Ginger Palm, authentic from the Summer Isles, along with the smells of cinnamon and nutmeg. Scarlet lamps gave low lighting, but Aemond still kept his head down. He blocked all bodies he noted in the alcove as the lights bled patterns of their shades on the floors and small tables.

“Welcome, sirs,” a woman says. Aemond still keeps his head down.

“Alayaya, hello,” Criston says. “Is your mother around?”

“Always. But I can help you as well.”

“I have a specific request that requires her… connections.”

“There are plenty of specific requests we can and have fulfilled, Ser Cole. Not just my mother.” With her voice alone, Aemond can see her smile: coy and showing teeth, a light accent honeyed with playfulness. All the signs say she doesn’t know this situation is serious.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we specifically need your mother,” Criston says as he gently puts a hand on Aemond’s shoulder. Aemond forces himself to take a breath before looking up. When he does, he doesn’t let his eye linger out of concern that anyone else in this place would recognize him.

Aemond watches the recollection color her face, her dark eyes widening upon the sight of his. There was no fear in sight, but the realization that she was in over her head (Aemond saw that look a lot during the Dance). She picks at the gold rings in one of her braids as her eyes trail over to her persistently rocking Alisha. Alayaya steps back. “I’ll go get my mother.”

Chataya does not take long to arrive. Aemond spotted the book and quill in her hands before he put his head back down. “I’ll speak with her,” Criston tells Aemond.

“Alright,” he mumbles.

Criston squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll be close by.”

Aemond nods.

She was further away than they were on the street, just an arm’s length away. Alisha whimpers under her cloak, and Aemond cannot afford to spare her a glance, let alone help. Criston isn’t the only one who chooses places like Chataya’s. Non-Westerosi women have a higher price range, which means her customers have likely been in the Red Keep, possibly even invited. Which means they just need to meet his eye once.

It kills him. His stress only heightens when she fiddles with her cloak to find Alisha’s mouth. Nothing. She tries rocking her gently, but she only grows more demanding with each sway. Meanwhile, Alyssa remains quiet somehow, Aemond’s finger still in her mouth, but she stopped suckling minutes ago.

“Gods! Quiet the thing!” Aemond hears from the alcove. The man’s voice is deep in his chest.

“Sorry,” she squeaks. She does what she can, but Alisha does not let up. She’s very hungry.

Aemond sees a woman fall to the floor, just in his limited view. Alayaya helps her up. He sees calf-skin boots come and go out of his sight.

“Lord Baratheon.”

Aemond freezes.

Chataya’s voice is smooth as she remains assertive. “You do not throw my girls around as such.”

“This is not an establishment for children. So she should take the child outside so I can enjoy the experience I paid good money for.”

Alisha is hungry. Aemond thinks about that as he remembers Lord Borros’ funeral after the Battle of the Kingsroad. After that, they acknowledged Royce Baratheon as Lord of Storm’s End. Aemond married his sister two days later.

“Or if you just whip out your tit and feed it, it might—oh.” The gruffness dissipates, and Aemond questions his perspective for a moment. No one is in front of him.

“I remember you.”

“No,” she muttered. “Forgive me, sir. I don’t recognize you.”

“Yes, you do.” Royce drags out the last syllable. It sounded like Baelon insisting on a later bedtime or going hunting with Royce after Aemond and Floris agreed he was too young. Except Royce adds a disgusting singsong tone to it. “Redheads stand out on their own already. With big doe eyes like yours. Baratheons know how to spot that.”

“Sir, please.”

“Lord Baratheon,” Chataya calls.

Aemond has to keep still.

“You remember my cousin. I see it in your eyes. Of course you do. He loved redheads.”

Aemond’s heart pounds in his chest so fast that he’s surprised that Alyssa remains undisturbed. Royce’s voice only grew more heated. He’s drunk. And he’s quick to anger when drunk, remembering Lord Lorren Lannister running into him at the reception. Maesters tended to him while guards carried Royce to bed. Not long after, Floris pulled Aemond aside and asked him to fly to King’s Landing out of sheer embarrassment.

“I wasn’t—”

“But you just couldn’t let him have you, could you? Too good for a Baratheon, are ya?” He curdles a spit and hacks it on her shoes.

Aemond has to stay still. He keeps his palms flat, despite the instinct to clench them. Alisha’s crying continues, and it doesn’t help.

“He followed me to my room. I was not working then.”

“Whores are whores no matter the hour of the day. They bend over when a man tells them to.”

“Only when they pay for it. Your cousin was too frugal for me.”

Aemond didn’t know what would burst first: the vein in his forehead or his lips from the pressure of keeping them closed with his teeth. The desperation to keep his family safe stared him down from all angles. In his mind, he pictures Baelon and Daeron sound asleep. While adjusting to her growing front, he thinks of Floris kissing them goodnight as she stands up. He thinks of something happening to his girls and can feel the fabric of Alyssa’s cloth as he grips her tighter. He thinks of how disappointed his mother would be.

Alyssa fusses. Aemond eases his hold and his teeth.

Alisha wails.

“Is that a hungry bastard of someone who paid?”

“Yes,” Aemond says. He spots her sandals and the reflection of spit already seeping between her toes. Royce is not one to take directions the first time, and Aemond’s instincts smack his meaty fingers away before he’s given the chance to realize he was reaching for her cloak.

Alyssa’s cry leans into a bawl. Aemond’s hand is hesitant to slip back in.

Royce laughs, a small one from the belly. “Oh, I see. It explains the hips she’s got on her now. But if this doting father has his hands full with another bastard, then what will he do to stop me?”

“Then I will be the one you deal with instead.” Criston steps in front of Aemond. “Man on man. Sword and sword.”

“Ser Criston.” The joy depleted from his voice. Normally, Aemond would enjoy it, but Criston is the Kingsguard, the City Watch, part of the royal family. “The king requires escorts of many kinds, huh?”

“If the king or any member of the Targaryen family were here right now, you would bow accordingly. As is your place as a lord and as a Green.”

“My father would spit on the Greens if he were alive today. My youngest nephew doesn’t get to see his future land of Storm’s End because his pompous Targaryen father thinks he’s better than us. He’d rather both of them fly their winged beasts than hunt for game in the woods.”

Criston was silent for a long time. And for a moment, it was strange to find Royce was as well. He didn’t even digest Royce’s insult because Aemond couldn’t believe Criston was using one of his parenting tactics: letting the boy sit in silence with his own words so he could feel the weight of them. The longer they are quiet, the more they understand thinking before speaking.

“If you wish to keep your tongue, Lord Royce, you will keep it safe in your mouth by not speaking further insults about your brother-by-law.”

“Ma’am, sir, you can come with me!” Alayaya calls. “You can feed the babes back here.”

No one moves for what feels like hours, but Aemond follows her out, still looking straight at the floor and hoping to the gods there were no stairs. The gods blessed him as he passed through a beaded curtain Alayaya held open for them. They paused in place and let her lead the way. There were only a few paces before they stopped, Aemond nearly clashing Alyssa into her mother.

“You can look up, my prince,” she whispers. “No one will see you here.”

Aemond hesitates to do so, but the aching in his neck was tempting enough to believe her—a narrow hallway lined with crimson doors and elaborately patterned tapestries crowding corners and windows. Aemond looks back to see the beaded curtain Alayaya held for him, still clicking against itself before stilling, finding no one in his line of sight. No Criston either.

Alayaya pulls out a dull brass skeleton key that matches the door handle. She twists it, and a bolt shifts on the other side. She holds the door once again, waiting patiently for them to enter and settle in. Except this time, they don’t move. It is as if, in silence, without a single glance toward each other, they waited for something else to happen, as if Royce (or someone else) was about to stampede in and finally ruin everything.

But no one does; no one enters or leaves the hallway. A body does not enter or exit any of the surrounding doors. There are no people for Aemond to stare down at as they pass; there is no one here to remember when he was ten and three.

They found more tapestries and scarlet lamps in the bedroom. They also noticed a silk bed that looked untouched, with plenty of pillows that matched the sheets resting against the headboard. Neither of them said anything. Aemond looks back at Alayaya.

“I’ll tell Ser Criston where you are,” she says while looking at Aemond. Then she turns to her. Aemond follows. “You are safe here, ma’am.”

All she can do is nod. It’s good enough since Alayaya shuts the door. And it’s at the sound of the lock sliding into place that they deflate, a long-awaited exhale finally escaping their lungs. They release their arms from under their cloaks to place the babes at the foot of the bed, rolling out their shoulders and stretching their backs.

Then, after a moment of rest, they look at each other. They wasted no time closing the gap, wrapping each other in an embrace. Nothing sensual like this place would inspire, nothing romantic or yearning. Only love. The desperation to hold her was overwhelming, as it was proof that she was still here, present, alive, and safe. Aemond puts one hand atop her tangled curls and the other at her back, gripping her tighter and tighter like he expected her to become glued to his skin. He knows she can hear how incessant his heartbeat is, his ribs barely a cage enough to contain it. Aemond inhales the sweat and dirt, eye closed.

“You were scared too?” Her palms were flat around his waist and shoulder.

“Of course I was,” he admits. It was a simple thing to admit to her. “But you handled yourself so well.”

“He recognized me so fast.”

“And you handled yourself so well, darling.” He pushes the curls that cover her forehead back to kiss her on the skin, hot from stress. “You stood up for yourself, and I’m so proud of you.”

Aemond is present enough to let his heart calm. And once he feels the steady decline, he moves his hands but doesn’t let her go. Instead, he holds her face, kissing her forehead again, then her cheeks, then her lips. He brushes the tops of her hair back as he looks into her eyes. “I love you,” he tells her. “Don’t ever forget that.”

Her smile was small, yet such a wash of relief at the sight alone. The smile of contentment. “I love you too,” she tells him, and it’s a warmth that spreads through him like tea. And he looked at her for a long time. The mother of his daughters, a woman he never thought could love him the way he needed.

Her hands soon travel from his back to his wrists as she keeps her gaze on him. “I need to feed the girls.”

Aemond nods. “I’ll help you.”

“You should rest while you can, Aemond.”

“I’ll rest when you do.”

She does not argue further. She settled with Aemond helping her remove her cloak. He saw the way she was still shivering, but reminded himself that they were almost there. He doesn’t mention it. She instead settles on the bed, only wearing the dirty white cotton nightgown she often wore. It was the only one that had a stretchable collar. It was easier than getting undressed just to breastfeed the babes. She shimmies one sleeve down before bringing Alisha back into her arms. Aemond knows her breasts are still swollen with milk, and she has been in pain since the girls made their hunger known. Luckily, it doesn’t take long for her to latch, and she eats away.

Aemond keeps one palm on Alyssa in the swaddle as he watches. He moves her hair away from her chest, avoiding any mess. The copper spirals end at the middle of her back. She never wore it down when he first knew her. She had stringy pieces in her face that were too short to stay in the unkempt braid, which she only unraveled when the money was in her hand.

“What?” She turned to Aemond.

“Your cousin was too frugal for me,” he repeated in her earlier jab.

“Well,” she shrugs, “he was. Whores require payment, simple as that. Even the drunkest fools would toss coins at me when they were done.”

“I didn’t.”

She snorts with a laugh. “You’re a fool, but you’ve never been a drunken one. You paid me just to sit in my room and talk.”

“You intrigued me.” Aemond kissed her cheek. “Is that so bad?”

“It was daunting at first. You killed your cousin two days prior.”

“He was a cousin by marriage, dear.”

“You know what I mean, then.”

“Well, I didn’t know he was a cousin. It’s not like Royce was around.”

She scoffs lightly before changing her position, trying to sit as upright as she can, like Aemond. “Give me Alyssa,” she tells him.

“We have time. Just take the moment and be with your youngest.”

“Leave it to the youngest to be the most vocal.” She laughs at her joke.

Aemond does too, but he can tell she’s still rattled. “Look at me.” He gently puts his palm around her forearm, gesturing towards his chest, and then up as he inhales, guiding her to do the same. They exhale at the same time once more. “Perfect.”

“Gods, I was so scared.”

“I know. Me too.”

“Do you think your wife knows her brother is in the city?”

“We need to be informed in advance about any visitors to the Red Keep. She was probably waiting to tell me when it was closer to his visit. She knows I don’t care for him.”

“Do you think he recognized you?”

“No. He spat out what he did, but they’re the words of a sober man’s thoughts. Nothing more.”

They remained quiet until Alisha was done. Aemond keeps her hair out of the way as she burps their daughter. There was only minimal spit up—nothing a towelette couldn’t solve. He took the same towelette to wipe between her toes. They then switched out the twins quickly. She pulls the other sleeve down, and Alyssa latches while Aemond swaddles Alisha back up. It’s easy to remember: fold under the arms, across the chest, tuck behind the back, take the bottom, and meet the back. It’s effortless after four kids. Aemond holds her close, watching her eyelids grow heavy from the delightful consequences of a full stomach.

After a moment, he scoots closer to her, looking just over her shoulder as Alyssa eats. Her lids are becoming lazy as well, but Aemond can just make out her purple eye. The right one, just like his. It was something he once saw as a sense of pride. He felt the rush when he held Baelon, clean from the afterbirth, and nothing but a squishy being of joy. Daeron too. With his girl, his oldest girl, it was impossible to sit with that same storm in his blood without being reminded of the tragedies to come. The potential tragedies to come. It is why they’re here—to stop all potential tragedies from destroying his family.

She burps Alyssa. Spit up, as expected. It was more than Alisha, but Aemond wiped it up without hesitation. He dabbed her little plush lips for good measure, smiling at his baby. He swore he saw them curl.

Criston knocked at the door. Aemond knew because he copied his knock: three, two, then one. Aemond still gets up carefully as she watches him. Meanwhile, Alisha is out cold—not a peep. Aemond still keeps her out of view, cracking the door to just see half of Criston’s face. He doesn’t find any bruises, cuts, or a spot of blood anywhere on his clothes. Not even a wave of his hair was out of place. But the bulb in his throat bobs, something he remembers from the Dance. The audible dry swallow was never a good sign. “Royce is gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I don’t know. He left just now.”

“We should leave.”

“Yes.”

They nod to each other before Aemond shuts the door. He looks over at her, and she’s already trying to bring her nightgown back over her chest and shoulders, frantic as Alyssa falls asleep.

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” Aemond crouches down, pulling gently at the sleeve with one hand and pulling it over her breast.

“We have to go,” she said.

“Yes, but let me help. Breathe. And hold her. Be with your daughter.”

She inhales, pauses, and exhales on her own as Aemond pulls up the other sleeve. She brushes Alyssa’s cheek, cooing and kissing the air softly. Aemond drank in the sight as he brought the neckline closer to her clavicle. Then he took her cloak, leaning on the bed, and wrapped it around her until it met in the middle. She shook out her hair as she clasped the cloak shut. Aemond then hides Alisha again as Criston knocks with the same pattern, politely urging them to hurry.

Criston leads them further down the hallway. “Alayaya is waiting for us in the back.” The three hurried down the hall, nearly hand in hand with how close they were. Aemond’s heart raced in rhythm with their hectic footsteps. The narrow halls felt like an endless stretch as he waited for a single door to burst open and finally catch them. With every corner turned, that similar surge came back in full swing, his grip only tightening on Alisha as they rushed to the exit.

Then he spotted Alayaya over Criston’s shoulder, her hand firmly on the knob. She was ready to free them like frantic animals, but she stopped Criston with a polite palm to the chest first. “This leads to an alleyway. Go right, then left out of it. Follow the street until you reach the Old Gate. Make your way across the path, and the building will be on the corner. The top floor.”

As she opens the door, they all nod, and then they feel their feet touch an evenly paved cobblestone as darkness engulfs them once again. Silhouettes of ivy cling to the stone walls of looming buildings. Not a person in sight, not a (visible) Targaryen child in sight. Almost there. It was all Aemond could think of. Criston is ahead again, but he looks back. “Come here,” he says to Aemond. He recognizes the tone when he’s overtaxed. Aemond then looks back at her before approaching his side.

Criston pulls out a skeleton key, a similar brass shade to Alayaya’s. “Yours now. Chataya said she would send you the bill at the end of the month.”

Aemond takes the key, shoving it in his cloak pocket. His dry throat swallows as he feels the heaviness in the air—the shame. His mother’s shame Aemond could outrun for as long as he still breathed. The gods were kind enough to give them time together after the war and cruel enough to take her so soon after he found Helaena on the spikes. The idea of Criston’s shame lingering in his eyes during every small council meeting, every year on any of his children’s name days, every glance in his direction was something he couldn’t tolerate. He did not want to lose more family.

“Thank you for this,” he eventually said. “It means a lot. Truly.”

Criston looks at him, but only briefly. “Don’t mention it.”

“I should, though. You went out of your way for me again. I am grateful for that... beyond words.”

Criston turns back to Aemond. His dark eyes, even in the starless night, softened quickly. “It’s my job to go out of my way for you.”

Aemond’s mouth twitches.

“I know you know what I mean.”

He gazes down at the hidden (finally asleep) mass in his arms. He knows.

“Aemond!”

His instinct takes over again, and he doesn’t remember turning around just as he doesn’t hear Criston draw his sword. His eye rests on the blade against her throat. Royce. Aemond makes out the Baratheon sigil on his chest as she struggles against his hold on her waist, despite not making any difference.

Aemond, however, cannot move. Not because he’s frozen with indecision, but because of the realization that there is no move that isn’t obvious. He is just in need to kill as he needs to protect Alisha. He cannot simply pass her off to Criston. Not even if his hands were free; they are too far away to make any difference. Royce could slice them both before Aemond would even be in reach.

So he is still by force and keeps his eye on her. She’s as fierce as she is terrified.

Royce’s face, however, is puffy from too much ale. And his beard glistens with grease. He chuckles. “So this is what you’re doing when you’re not making heirs with my sister, huh? We went to war—my father died—so you could make your own bastards with a Flea Bottom whore?”

“You will let them go,” Criston orders.

“Targaryen bastards line plenty of alleyways. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t slaughter this one in her arms and bring it to my sister. Have the entire city on the hunt for Prince Aemond Targaryen’s hidden bastard.”

“Royce,” Aemond says through his teeth. “Don’t.”

“Oh. You care about these. The prince I rode with in the Riverlands, he didn’t care for the bastards he slaughtered. He made them dragon dinner.”

“And I will slaughter you before feeding you to Vhagar all the same.”

Royce laughs. “If you cared for your brother’s kingdom at all, you’d drop the babe and hope the stone splits her head open.”

Aemond only holds Alisha tighter. She whimpers as she wakes up.

“I guess we have different priorities.” Then Royce moves the blade from her neck and shoves her into the wall, her back colliding with the stone. She yelped as she landed on the ground. Royce then snatches Alyssa from her hold before she can grip her tighter.

Alyssa whimpers with Alisha as she hangs in the air. Her weight dropped in the swaddle, but she didn’t fall. Her whimpers morphed into panic. His purple tint in her eye gleamed even in the minimal light, and he didn’t know if he could keep his eye open as he watched her kick her little feet in the cocoon, completely helpless.

Then the metal of Royce’s blade came into his sight. “She has your... eye.”

Alyssa was quiet because her mother’s screams pierced Aemond’s ears like blades themselves, digging into the canals. It’s all that forces him to look away from the aftermath, a word that was so easy to use when speaking about a mass of dead soldiers. Dead villagers and dead bastards as well. But seeing Alyssa on the ground, inky liquid pooling around her, it makes everything move slowly. Royce was even slower to stop her from digging Aemond’s dagger into his calf. Royce collapses, and the dagger ascends his body, cutting up his skin and fat like she was climbing a mountain, until Royce gurgles, desperate to keep speaking as his body convulses. When she is on top of him, she digs the blade into his chest. Repeatedly. Until only the hilt is visible

Aemond stays still, watching the twitching in Royce’s ankles. Criston is in his peripheral, his blade sheathed again. It’s her wailing and her rapid breaths in the dark that snap him into motion.

He hands Alisha off to Criston, double-checking that she is secure in his arms as she cries to herself. Aemond scrambles to her, nearly tripping over his own feet as he slides to the ground. His knees are wet as they press into the stone, and he can’t think about who it might be. Aemond finds his blade in the dark and slips it back into one of his belt loops.

Aemond’s throat is tight as he feels around for her, finding her back and the crooks of her knees. But there were small fists pounding against his shoulders and chest as she strained her voice.

“It’s just me,” he says.

“No!”

“Can you walk?”

“No!” She continues beating on his chest. “No, no! Where’s Alyssa? I want to see Alyssa!”

Aemond doesn’t listen, eventually feeling around (and finding more blood drenching her nightgown) until he finds her legs. He pulls her up as he attempts to stand on his own; the realization taking hold as she writhes against him.

“I want my baby!”

Aemond ignores her, spotting Criston and bolting past him before he says anything. He knows where to go just as well as Aemond. From the alleyway, he remembers to exit left. He keeps the image of the Old Gate in his mind as he charges.

The lavishness of the apartment was reminiscent of Chataya’s, with multiple rooms, silks, and warm colors throughout on top of the beautiful view of the city. The same scarlet lamps reflect on the stone floor, almost hiding the blood staining the entryway. Servants lined the archway into the first sitting room. That was until Aemond ordered them out, as they both collapsed to the ground upon unlocking the door.

Aemond’s lungs burned, like dry heat in his chest, as he heaved. When he eventually tried to stand (with great pain), he tried picking her up as well. She smacked his hand away. He understood. He deserved it. She did her best to get up on her own. And though Aemond could hear the struggle in (what remained) of her voice, he didn’t interfere. It was not his place. He stood against the nearest wall like the servants did moments ago. Except that his body lost all posture and royal propriety. He could barely feel his legs, let alone any sign of a heartbeat in his chest. As she stands, snotty inhales as she sees the blood across her body, red and shining even in the dim light. It nearly brings her back down.

That was nearly the case until her eyes locked on Aemond. He watched the surge pulse through her body as she brought herself to her feet with ease. Aemond doesn’t resist when she stomps across the floor toward him. The rage is in her eyes—a fire he never thought would burn so instantly inside her.

And it was his fault.

Her fists collide with the bones in his chest, some catching strands of his hair and yanking them out as she only screams in his face. Aemond doesn’t stop her. It doesn’t hurt. He can’t feel anything.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually says. A single tear streaks down his face. It was cooling as it slid down to his chin, following another. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

“I said you couldn’t do it!” She kept beating him as he remained still. “But you wouldn’t listen to me! If you left us in Flea Bottom, where we were fine, if you weren’t so fucking stubborn, I’d still have my babes!” The last word snapped her back as she looked around. “Where’s Alisha?”

“With Cole.”

“Where is he?” Her eyes flare.

“He’s following us.”

“You mean you don’t know!”

“It hasn’t been long.”

She hits him with a blow to the chest that he actually feels, winding him. “It didn’t take long for Alyssa to die either!”

The blood from her hands stains his tunic. Her punches become weaker as she looks back down at her hands. And she turns around before bursting into sobs again. She runs to the nearest back room, away from Aemond. She looks around at each flat surface, like she hoped she simply misplaced the girls. It’s not Royce’s blood that bothers her. She doesn’t have the girls to hold. Not even one of them—something she hasn’t experienced in three months. The whimpers and cracks in her voice are all that carry when Aemond can’t see her anymore.

Aemond returns to the ground, sliding down the granite wall. He was a pathetic guard for a woman who has every reason to hate him. The numbing stage of his heartbreak will surely pass and descend into the next stage, as will the weighing guilt of his actions. These were his actions. One of his girls died from his mistake. Because he, once again, assumed he was an exception to the rules, to the gods and their wrath.

Three knocks, then two, then one.

Aemond doesn’t have the strength to stand. “Cole,” he says.

Criston opens the door, heavy wood with creaking metal hinges. He looks around the place, spotting the blood on the floor. His arms are cradling Alisha as he crouches to Aemond’s side. He doesn’t see a fleck of disappointment, only wide-eyed concern. “Are you alright?” He feels around his cloak and tunic for a wound.

Aemond shakes his head. “Not mine,” he says. His eye points to the archway on the other side of the room. “She’s over there.”

Criston looks over, her wails trailing out of the room just loud enough to overhear. He’s gentle when showing him Alisha. “She’s safe,” he says. “I only just got her to calm down.”

Aemond’s chest shutters, as though his ribs had finally given in and dissolved inside him. She matched her mother’s big eyes; the whites of them were pink, and her cheeks were red with grief. Aemond is hesitant to touch her, not just because of the blood drying on his fingertips, but also because of the fear of damning his only living daughter with his touch alone. He looked at Alisha as if he were suddenly the Stranger embodied, like one fingertip to her soft ginger hair would eliminate his purpose in doing all of this and destroy any sense of Targaryen exceptionalism he thought he possessed.

He hesitates but forces himself to reach out and touch her, as it may be the last time he’s ever given the chance. There’s a part of him that feels filled (if not partially) when she looks at him, recognizing him as a remedy for his pain and not the cause yet. He brushes the flesh on her cheek before letting his head fall back against the granite. “She needs her more. Go.”

Criston hesitates to leave. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Go.”

“I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Aemond watches Criston disappear behind the curtains lining the archway, and his eye rests on the ceiling. He looked up like he was looking at the gods in the sept, the grand marble statues that surrounded him when he prayed. Helaena and Jaehaerys’ ashes in the sept came to mind, resting in silence after she screamed and held his headless nephew. The sound was no different from the mother of his children just in the next room, the sound of her heart shattering in front of him—a pain he didn’t have the strength to voice in himself. He didn’t think his heart could break the way it did upon seeing his corpse, wrapped in gilded cloth, like he was only in a deep sleep. He thought about the pieces of Arrax falling from the clouds at Storm’s End, with no sign of Lucerys’ body in the mix. All of them, his fault.

There’s no world where the gods would allow all of Aemond’s children to live when he helped kill two others because of his stupidity. His stupidity bested him again by making him think otherwise.

Criston came back. Alisha wasn’t in his arms, but a bucket and a rag hung off of him. He sets them close to Aemond as he gets comfortable on the floor, inches away. Criston dips the rag into the bucket, wringing out the excess water before taking it to Aemond’s cloak and chest. He doesn’t speak a word as he pushes Aemond’s long hair to his back, preventing any curling.

Aemond’s voice is weak. “Why are you doing this, Cole?”

“We need to clean you up,” he says.

Aemond takes a gentle hold of his arm and pushes him away. “She needs this more than me. Save the water for her.”

“There’s plenty left.”

“Why for me, then?”

Criston sighs. “It’s late in the night, Aemond. The hour? I’m not sure.”

Aemond doesn’t understand.

“Your wife is likely expecting you.”

Taglist: @paprikaquinn @immyowndefender @teal-anchor @dixie-elocin

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leighsartworks216 · 2 months ago

Text

All This And Heaven Too

Demon!Sylus x gn!Angel!Reader

Based on this post

Title from "All This And Heaven Too" by Florence and the Machine

This fic possessed me and would not let me go until I wrote it tonight (which is bad cuz I'm sick). Very very very vague spoilers for the end of Sylus's story

Also I'm not religious and I do not smoke but the vibes, y'all, I simply had to (I looked up a wikihow for smoking)

Warnings: heavy angst, angels + demons au, major character death, unhappy ending, hurt no comfort, blood, injury, crying, kissing, drugs + smoking, underage smoking, pet names, religious imagery + symbolism, swearing

Word Count: 2,557

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You sigh as you feel the oh so familiar sensation of a cigarette being shoved into your halo’s golden glow. There’s an inhale behind you, and the sensation is gone. Sure enough, when you turn around, the demon stands proudly, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

“Thanks, angel,” the demon, Sylus, purrs. The smoke blows into your face and you fan it away with your hand. He chuckles. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“Well, it’s only been 3 centuries. How much was I supposed to change in that time?”

He studies you lazily, tilting his head and taking another drag. He settles down on a low stone wall, worn on the edges and covered in old paint. “Not interested in small talk today, angel?”

You cross your arms defensively over your chest. It’s been a long time since he’s seen you this on-edge around him. “I don’t know how you can think about anything else.” You look at the people passing by.

Teens in helmets and knee pads rolling past on boards or skates, others with no protective gear at all trying to pull off complicated flips and tricks. A couple sat under a curved wall, passing a blunt back and forth. Sylus had teased you relentlessly the first time he came across you in a place like this. Watching all these young souls take up vices so early in their lives, put their bodies on the line and break bones for a bit of fun. You didn’t notice the drugs and alcohol as much nowadays. You just saw the smiles.

“All of this will be gone in just a few days… Doesn’t that…” You glance at him. “Doesn’t that upset you?”

A kid walks up to Sylus, gesturing with his messily rolled up joint for a light. Sylus presses the end of his cigarette to the end without a word. The revolting stench of marijuana filled the air as the kid walked away. “Why should it?”

You glare at him and he chuckles.

“Oh, I’m sorry. What I meant to say was, ‘Heavens above, it’s a terrible tragedy! The horror of it all!’”

“I could smite you right now. One less demon for Hell’s army would be no loss to us.”

“But it would be to you.” He sighs, scanning the skatepark. A melancholy settles in his expression. “I suppose I will miss it. Humans know the best ways to have a good time.”

You hum. “I did always enjoy their weddings.”

“I was thinking something along the lines of lust, greed, and pride.”

“I know.”

You glance at the spot beside him. He holds the cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he takes off his leather jacket and lays it across the stone. You perch primly on it with a nod of thanks. He takes the cigarette from his mouth and holds it out to you. You stare at it with a grimace.

“This could be your last chance to try it,” he cajoles. “I promise you won’t get sent to Hell for a little thing like this.”

You glance at his face. Piercing red eyes stare at you, but you know he wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. Not anymore, anyway.

You begin to reach for it but he pulls it just out of your reach. He holds the butt end to your lips, but you look at him with that sweet little look of innocence, utterly helpless.

“Shall I demonstrate first?” He puts it between his lips, the corners curled up into a devilish grin. The ashes on the end trail a little further down the paper as he inhales the tobacco smoke. He takes it out of his mouth, pauses for a second, and blows it out, away from your face this time. He holds it back to your lips. “Don’t do too much. I want this to be a good experience for you.”

“Your temptations are hardly enticing,” you scold, but there’s no venom behind it. You carefully put your lips around the filter, where his were just seconds ago, and suck in. You can’t help watching his face as you do, searching for instructions through his expressions. He nods just slightly and you pull away, holding it in for a moment like he did, and exhaling.

He brings it back to his lips. “Well?”

You scowl as you try to get the taste out of your mouth. “How do you like that?”

“Oh, angel. People don’t like the taste - not really, anyway. It’s the chemicals that trick you into thinking you need it, pulling you to it over and over again.” He leans in. His eyes gleam. “Addiction.”

“Hmph. Should I try to find something pure for you to try now?”

He shakes his head. “I already know what the holy experience is like. I’m just fine not going back to it for a second.”

A drugged-up teenager with no protective gear goes down the old wooden half-pipe. It’s been in disrepair for years. The local governments don’t care at all about trying to keep anything here in good upkeep; they haven’t for decades. His wheel catches on a broken board and sends him flying. His body scrapes against splinters and bent nails, tearing at his clothing and flesh. To add insult to injury, his skateboard goes up the other side and comes right down on his head. You can tell even from a distance that he’s broken something. He lays there for a while, groaning.

Sylus isn’t surprised when an ambulance arrives a couple minutes later, despite nobody having called for their services.

“Do you know where you’ll be stationed?” you ask. You try to seem cool-headed about the thought of going into war, but there’s a waver in your voice that he catches as easily as recognizing a lie.

“Linkon City. On the frontlines.” He passes the nearly-gone cigarette back over when he sees your hands fidget restlessly with the hem of his jacket. “What about you?”

You take it from him with inexperienced fingers, but you don’t cough this time either as you take a slightly deeper draw from it. He could almost say he’s proud, if he ignored the omen of a smoking angel.

“The same for me.”

He takes the spent cigarette from you and puts it out against a spray painted yellow smile. “So I’ll see you there, then.”

You watch the ambulance pull away with the kid on a stretcher in the back.

Sylus stands up. It’s only when he gestures to his jacket that you follow, stepping away so he can retrieve it and put it on. It’s a hot summer day, but even dressed in all black and leather, he says it’s too cold. If Hell wins… you wonder if you’ll understand what he means, then.

“If we fight each other-”

“Why do you sound so upset about it, angel?”

You take a deep breath. Your golden eyes, blessed by the light of God, stare at him with a deep seriousness. “If we fight each other, we can’t hold back. You know that, right?”

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“I… I won’t hold back.”

He nods.

“Not even for you.”

He nods again. “I know, angel.”

You nod, settling that promise into your brain. Your frown hasn’t faltered at all.

“For what it’s worth…” Red eyes look at you with no waver in confidence, but that melancholy hasn’t faded yet. “Of all the angels I could have had the displeasure of knowing, I’m glad it was you.”

The city was a husk of its former self. Where once people walked to and fro, going to work or the movies or the arcade, demons and angels fought in a holy war. It was chaos at every turn. Armies donned in white and black, fighting tooth and nail to win.

You had your orders. They were easy to follow: kill any demon in sight. You prayed for God to end this war before it could begin. You prayed for the final days leading up to it for this to never come to pass. You prayed until someone ripped your hands apart and shoved a sword into them.

If your body functioned like a normal human’s, you would have been panting, gasping for air as you stole through a wrecked lobby and into a courtyard, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings. Your body would have ached from exhaustion, and you think a normal human would have fallen unconscious by now.

Your body does not function that way.

Your breaths are even as you turn in a slow circle, watching for any intruders. The fight rages on mere feet away, but in here you can almost forget.

A tree stands proudly in the center. Its branches overhand a small, tiered garden. Flowers decorate the wooden boxes, spilling out over the sides from care and dedication. You gently lift one of the hanging blossoms and bend down to smell it.

Something sharp touches your neck.

You’re frozen in place. Caught off guard, staring at the flower, memorizing it so that when the killing blow comes, it is the last thing you see. The last meaningful reminder of the humans’ blessed existence.

“Hello, angel.”

You turn your head so sharply you almost cut yourself on his blade. Relief and dread swell in you all at once, a miasma of discontent. Sylus grins at you as relaxed as ever and lowers the black sword to his side.

A hollow breeze swishes his hair across his forehead. The longer strands catch in his eye, but he doesn’t brush them away. The horns on his head are sharper, crueller than usual; as dark as the deepest pit of Hell.

The golden glow of your halo highlights the planes of his face.

“Don’t hold back, remember?” he says. “Don’t lose that conviction on me now.”

Your hand shakes as you tighten your grip on your sword. You raise it in front of you. The sharpened point raised to the heavens, a symbol of your devotion. You swallow. “I won’t.”

He mirrors your position, the end of his sword aimed for the hells below. His hands are steady. He nods. That damned grin widens on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know, angel.”

Sylus attacks first. He has to. You’re paralyzed, unable to make the first offensive move. You defend instead, blocking and parrying his every move. The tree stands watch. A silent aegis to your battle.

He cuts your right cheek, and you jump away to collect yourself. The pain feels too real. How is this the natural end of the world? How can your God sit idly by and witness you crossing blades with the one creature across the Heavens, Hells and Earth whom you called friend? What merciful God would want this?

Blood drips slowly down your jaw from the small wound. Sylus paces around you like a wolf hunting wounded prey. You know he will destroy you.

You take a breath and raise your sword again. Your hand does not shake.

You strike first, reigniting the fight he lit.

It’s grueling. Neither of you dares to give in now. Hesitating would be to die. And not only did neither of you want to die, neither of you wanted to kill the other. It’s a battle built to be a stalemate. A war never meant to be won.

At least, you wish it was.

Both hands grab the hilt of your sword, holding it steady. Sylus grabs the blade.

He chuckles. It’s weak. Strained. His eyes match the blood pouring from his chest as he looks up at you. He falls to his knees. You follow.

“Well done, angel.” He wheezes, eyes squeezed shut in pain as he hunches over your blade. The sides dig into his hand, slicing his palm and fingers. “You… You won.”

All at once, the reality of the situation hits you.

“No…” You support your sword with one hand as you scramble on your knees to be closer. You grab his shoulder, sitting him up so you can see where you’ve impaled him. You let go of the sword to rest both hands on his chest on either side of the wound. “No, no, no, no, don’t- You can’t-”

Golden light shines in your hands, but black and red tendrils block your healing. You try harder, until the light blinds you, but the demonic powers within him refuse to relent. Sylus watches you with soft eyes and a grin.

“Angel,” he mumbles. You grunt in frustration as you press harder against the wound. His hand slides off the blade and covers yours. You’re panting from exertion as you finally meet his eyes. “I think… I think I wanna try somethin’ holy now… You got anything in mind?”

The glow fades. The darkness fades. You cradle the back of his head with a blood-soaked hand. It stains his hair. Your other hand grips his like a lifeline, squeezing blood from the cuts there. He doesn’t stop you.

“Something holy?” You search his face, wracking your brain for any ideas. “Okay… Okay, I can do that.”

You begin stroking his hair tenderly, scratching at his scalp, scraping sweat, blood and oil under your nails. He sighs, head resting heavily into your care. His eyes are half closed. He forces them to stay open.

You scoot yourself closer, until your knees are touching his. You lift his head up and bring your lips to his forehead. This close, you listen to every breath he takes. Every rasp and groan he exhales. You pull away reluctantly, ducking your head down so your forehead rests over your lingering kiss.

“How’s-” You clear your throat after your voice cracks. “How’s that?”

“Isn’t kissing… a sin…?”

You shake your head. “No, no, it’s not.”

He hums quietly. “You ever… kiss anyone… angel?”

You laugh despite yourself and shake your head again. “No, I haven’t.”

“Shall I… demonstrate…?”

“I’d like that.”

He abandons his sword on the ground beside him. It clatters against the carefully laid brick of the courtyard. His hand is agonizingly slow to find your cheek. His palm is cold. His thumb strokes the cut he gave you.

“C’mere… angel.”

You follow his weak guidance as he tilts your chin, pulling your lips to his. His lips barely move. You press against them a little harder.

His hand slips from your cheek, knuckles scraping over the bricks and jostling his sword. You pull away.

His eyes are hollow. Red irises staring into nothingness.

“Sylus…?” His head lolls in your hand when you try to adjust. “Sylus, please-” Your eyes fill with water. “Please, it’s not funny. I don’t need your tricks right now. Please-”

You let go of his wounded hand to hold his face with both hands. Blood from your touch stains his cheeks. Hot tears slip down your cheeks.

“Please, I- I can’t do this without you… I don’t want to do this without you…”

He doesn’t respond.

You press your forehead to his again, leaning over his body as gravity stakes its claim on him. Your tears land on his face, falling down his cheekbones and jaw as if he was the one crying, not you.

“Please… Please…” You kiss his cold lips. “Please…”

Nobody hears your prayers.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #angst

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wangxianficfinder · 7 months ago

Text

Fic Finder

May 13th

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1. I really need help finding a fic! It's either ABO or the Chinese equivalent kunze/qianyuan. It's got some sort of arranged marriage, as Madam Yu(?) marries WWX off to LWJ. In this universe Alphas often do not allow their Omegas to bite them back and create a reciprocated bond, as it gives them power and status in society. LWJ lets WWX bite him back (because he's a romantic and a sap), and the Jiang's are salty because JYL wasn't given a reciprocal bond when she married JZY, so WWX is technically of a higher status than she is now. @star-whatevers

FOUND!🔒Alliance AU by Ilona22 (E, 21k, WangXian, JYL/OC, Arranged Marriage, A/B/O Dynamics, PWP, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Intersex Omegas, Not JC Friendly, Matchmaking, canon Jiang family dynamics, Family time, Night Hunts, Mention of male omega pregnancy, Intrigue at Jinlintai, Mentions of Prostitution, War, Conflict between characters)

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2. Hi! Fic finder plz. Looking for a fic where wwx is "sacrificed" by the other great sects to the gusu lan (in exchange for something? Don't remember). He is given to lwj and all the sects assume wwx is going to be a concubine (so much so that when they present wwx to lwj they dress him up like a concubine). Wwx also expects this and is very surprised when Iwj treats him nicely and everything. You can tell that lwj has fallen for wwx but is holding himself back. Wwx gradually falls for him too. I remember there was a part where the great sects came to visit and were surprised that wwx wasn't treated like a concubine. Tysm!!

FOUND? golden when the day met the night by glitteringmoonlight (Not rated, 95k, slow burn, sugar daddy LWJ, light, angst, fluff, developing relationship, eventual smut, WIP)

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3. Hiii!!!

I'm looking for a fic where Lan Zhan is de-aged and the juniors take care of him while on a night hunt. Wei Ying is still away and has not returned and they have not confessed yet. Baby LZ just wants his WY so the junior quartet takes him to Qinghe to a discussion conference or smth. Wei Ying is also called there and LZ just goes and hugs him.

That's all I can remember. I think he was cursed to be more open and vulnerable so that he could confess.

Thanks! @ffaddictsrn

FOUND! Send Me Your Earnest Love by goneforthestars (T, 13k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Curses, Attempt at Humor, Light Angst, baby LWJ, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Post-Canon)

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4. I hope you can help, fingers crossed! I've tried everything on this one... Jin sibs murder JGS? sort of along the lines of Qin Su and the boys, but I can't even remember if it was a full fic on Ao3 or maybe even a ficlet/snippet on Tumblr? I think JZX was very shocked/normal reaction but siding with his siblings and JGY/MXY/QS were all stab-happy gremlins? I think JGY and QS might have found out much earlier that they were related and planned revenge together? Any help would be great, thank you! @katonahottinroof

I read #4 a few weeks ago😭 I believe lan zhan was a courtesan/prostitute who was supposed to assassinate wei ying, and lan zhan was beholden to meng yao for saving him. lab zhan ends up going to wei yings home in the burial mounds and gets poisoned I think ? does this sound familiar? the story may be tagged under courtesan lan zhan or prostitute lan zhan

NOT FOUND! out to get you (to get you) by iliacquer (E, 41k, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, switching, top/bottom LWJ, top/bottom WWX, power play, courtesan LWJ, assassin LWJ, dark lord WWX, bondage, happy ending, past slavery)

FOUND! 🔒Something is Rotten in the State of Lanling by East_Of_Akkala (T, 42k, XuanLi, 3Zun, LQY/QS, Fix-It, Character Death, Angst, Family Feels, Black Comedy, Except for chapter 1, MDZS SPOILERS, Canon Divergence, Jin Siblings Dynamics, QS Deserves Better, Humor, Fluff, Background Relationships, Warning: JGS, POV Multiple, POV QS, POV MXY, POV JGY, Murder, Attempted Murder, Illustrated Fic)

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5. Good afternoon! I hope everyone has had a pleasant day.

Can’t say how many of my favorite stories have been found through you guys!

For the next fic finder.

I’m looking for a fic that has both a/b/o in it but also the lan clan were dragons and wwx was a fox, I think. Either one or both, I can’t quite recall.

Oh and it’s set in study arch.

Wwx and Lwj were already a couple or courting at the very least.

Anyway what I remember the clearest was a part where wwx was walking some stairs, might have been the stars to cloud recesses.

Anyway a spiritual dog suddenly appears and I think starts chasing or just barking at wwx.

Anyway twin jades to the save.

It is later revealed that the dog belonged to Jin Zixun which was confirmed by Zixuan who recognized the dog.

That’s all I remember.

Have a nice day and keep up the fantastic work! @ravenwithwings

FOUND! Jades' Lotus by keela_1221 (E, 125k, LXC/WWX/LWJ, Jadecest, Incest, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Fluff, Smut, True Mates, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, WWX Has a Breeding Kink, Male Lactation, Marriage Contracts, Polyamory, Pining, thirst, Mpreg, They Experiment a Little, Cum Marking, switch everyone, Double Penetration, graphic description of childbirth, Sprinklings of angst for flavor)

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6. There's this wangxian fanfic I know I've read more than once, but I can't seem to find it anymore! Ok, so it's a modern world with cultivation fic, and in it the 5 Great Sects are like big crime syndicates or something similar. Wei Ying has his own territory in Yiling where he is known, of course, as the Yiling Laozu. The story uses specific terms to refer to some characters' status. Ex: Lan Wangji is the Red Pole of the Lan Sect, and Meng Yao is, I think, the Straw Sandal. Pls help me find it? @dreammaiden21

FOUND? 🔒 Words are Gonna Bleed from Me by GravityWinsAgain (E, 173k, WangXian, WIP, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Triad AU, Blood and Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, warnings in the notes, Modern with Magic, Dark Magic, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Murder Husbands, POV WWX, Organized Crime, lovers to enemies to estranged lovers and back to lovers, it gets weird when somebody dies but not really, Angst, Feels, BDSM Switch WangXian, Ghosts, Body Horror)

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7. Hi there! I hope you can help me figure out which fic I have just remembered. I think it might have been an ABO fic, but I'm not sure. All I remember is one scene. There was some kind of trial, and WWX was seated in some kind of special alcove where nobody could see or hear him, so that he could watch without encountering the Jiangs. I think he made some kind of comment about the type of court drama that would necessitate such a feature being built. Does anyone else remember this? Thank you!! @balleyboley

FOUND! 🔒 Crossing Paths by Ilona22 (M, 21k, wangxian, shapeshifter au, graphic depictions of violence, war between sects, war crimes, not JC friendly, happy ending)

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8. hi! potentially very long shot, but I'm looking for a fic with this quote "Besides, no one ‘was good,’ in some isolated way. Good was a relation between people. Good was a thing you did." I saved this quote then, and sadly can't remember any other details about this fic... I'd love find it to reread again, thank you! @potatokunst

FOUND? I Started From the Bottom/And Now I’m Rich by x_los (E, 57k, WWX/WRH, WWX/JGS, wangxian, JYL/JZX, time travel fix-it, Pining, Marriage of Convenience, Arranged Marriage, No Sunshot Campaign, WQ Lives, Transmigration, Weddings, Sugar Daddy au, Sugar Daddy, Black Widow, Protective Siblings, Family, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Sugar Baby, consort, Politics, Demonic Cultivation, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Canon-typical domestic dysfunction, Canon-Typical Gore, Ballad 39: Tam Lin, YLLZ, Crack Treated Seriously) did a search for the quote and it came up -- ch 3, specifically

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9. Fic finder request: there's a fic I only recall some details of. In this fic, dual cultivation in the Cold Pond Cave contributes to the security of the Cloud Recesses, but it has to be done by powerful cultivators with a member of the main family. MY and LXC are married in this fic, but they are unable to use this method of boosting security because MY's cultivation level is not high enough. Wangxian do it eventually, and when they leave the Cold Pond Cave, they are congratulated (?) by the Lans, who were waiting outside. WWX is also welcomed into the sect as one of their own. I think JC comments at some point that it's really weird for him to be safe in Cloud Recesses because of this reason. Please help me find this fic!

FOUND? The Ritual by nightwalker (E, 12k, WangXian, Sex Magic, Post-Canon, Fluff and Smut)

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10. Hello! I am looking for a fic that might have been canon-esque, but also could have been modern, where Mama Lan calls Lan Zhan her little bird. Only I think for a while the author gave us the Chinese word for it, which I don't recall what it was. It's translated later in the story. Thank you!

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11. Looking for a longfic I read a while back. The elements I remember are that the Lan figured out that WWX wasn't being properly compensated/treated as a head disciple of the Jiang and the deliberate stunting of his academic education was a violation of (handwavy) Jianghu high academia codes of conduct. As a result the Lan got WWX his backpay and the Jiang teachers got shunned by their academic peers. Had similar vibes to Stunted, Starving Juvenility, but I did a reread of that recently and I'm pretty sure it was a different fic. Thanks! @alychelms

Love this one and recently read it, but not it. The fic I'm looking for was definitely in canon-setting

NOT FOUND sounds like part of the story for 🧡🔒Truth Will Out (when caught on video) - End_OTW_Racism! by KizuKatana (E, 178k, WangXian, WN & WWX & WQ, graphic depictions of violence, modern cultivation, canon divergence, YZY abuses WWX , caught on camera, partial core removal, WWX kicked out of Jiang sect, livestreamer WWX, meet ugly, dual cultivation, smut, no war)

FOUND!🔒 the language of flowers and silent things series by Reverie (cl410) (M, 107k, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, LWJ & Madam Lan, NHS & LWJ, LWJ & LXC, LWJ & NMJ, LWJ & NHS Friendship, Developing Relationship, POV LWJ, Minor Injuries, Autistic LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, aka the YZY warning, Genius WWX, Light Angst And Hurt/Comfort, WWX Protection Squad, Gusu Lan Sect, Slow Burn, Protective LWJ, LWJ-centric, Politics, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, Cultivation Sect Politics, Protective WWX) I don't recall if backpay was a part of it, but 11 reminds me of this

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12. Hi, I really need help finding a fic I read on ao3 some time ago. It was a modern day fic, I believe set in America, where wei ying and lan zhan meet again at jiang yanli’s wedding. They both act awkward around each other and don’t really interact until they are all in the hotel lobby and wei ying is trying to leave because LZ…but yanli tells lan zhan to give him a ride because it’s suppose to be a long ride home (to a different state I believe and lan zhan will be driving by it either way so it’s ideal) Wei ying tries to reject the idea but LXC gets involved too and he’s like it’s a good idea. It’s like a long drive/road trip fic where they are forced to interact and make up. Thank you for your time and effort.

Hi, I wrote to you asking for fic #12 on your may 13th post. I ended up finding it. It was a wlw fic 7:15 from Chicago by milesofheart. I’m sorry for the inconvenience but thank you for this platform, allowing me to ask in the first place.

FOUND! 7:15 from Chicago by milesofheart (T, 24k, WangXian, F/F, Modern, Rule 63, Road Trip, Getting Together, Female WangXian, matchmaking siblings, recovering from traumatic childhoods, spiritual trauma, Lan Disciplines as modern religious fundamentalism, LWJ's defiance of the Lan Disciplines, activist LWJ, the universal rage of women in a sexist world, Estranged Friends to Lovers, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, brief references to sexual violence, references to past alcohol abuse, mention of spiking a drink as a bad practical joke but in a safe environment, mentions of real American political and social issues, brief mention of physical child abuse, past experiences of homophobia)

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13. I need help finding a fic. I've looked through my AO3 history and had no luck. Here's what I remember: Its a modern AU (I dont recall if its modern Cultivation or modern without magic) WWX is on the outs the Jiangs but is close to the Nies. There is a scene where NHS puts put Nie braids into WWX hair, and LWJ is jealous and takes them out. WWX developed a software that the Nies distribute and the Jiangs use. When WWX does online tech support for the Jiangs he uses the alias MXY.

FOUND! Come Around and Stay by trippednfell (M, 160k, WangXian, NieLan, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, Found Family, Modern AU, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, PTSD, Blood and Injury, Dissociation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Musicals, POV Alternating, Baking, Yunmeng reconciliation (eventually), Friend Zoning, Literal Sleeping Together, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks)

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14. Hello, how are you doing? ��

I am looking for a fic which i found on this blog i think, i am not sure. It's where wwx breaks up with lwj as a dare but they're actually meeting for the first time. I thought i had it bookmarked but unfortunately i was wrong, please help me find it. 🫰

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15. Heya bros!! Got a request for the ficfinder? I read it a while back but accidentally closed the tab.

It was Wen Ning and Nis Huaisang centric. Chapter one was Wen Ning helping NHS escape qishan, chap 2 was NHS helping WN break outta the Jin dungeon and I think chap 3 was them talking about it??

I think Hua Cheng and Xie Lian made a very brief cameo in the third chapter?

FOUND? Jailbreaking by CullenBlue (T, 21k, WN & NHS, Canon Compliant, POV NHS, NHS Is A Little Shit, Cinnamon Roll WN, Fierce Corpse WN, Ghost General WN, References to Heavens Official’s Blessing, References to The Scum Villain’s Self Saving System, NHS insulting the Wen Clan’s taste in interior Decorating, Mentions of Murder, WN made a friend by talking about his childhood trauma, BAMF WN, Panic Attacks, mentions of gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Violence in the Name of Comedy, Trauma, Is NHS taking anything seriously? who knows, Bromance)

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16. Hi...

I am looking for this fic that I read a long time ago. It's a modern au and mpreg, where at the airport Wei ying went to the toilet and left a yuan with strangers (Mr & Madam Lan). Both of them thought twin jade especially lan zhan had a secret child as a yuan share similarities with the lan gene. If I'm not mistaken, Wei ying works together with lan zhan before leaving the country because of pregnancy and lan zhan doesn't even know about it. I don't remember why...🤔

Please help me find it. Thank you for your time 😊 @hazeylove89 //

Hi. I would hope to find this fic I read a long time ago. It's modern au where Wei ying leaving a yuan with stranger in airport for toilet break however the stranger is Mr &Mrs lan. Both of them thought a yuan is lan zhan child as a yuan share similarities with lan zhan. Btw this fic is mpreg n lan zhan don't know that Wei ying is pregnant.

Sorry if it's a difficult request. Thank you.

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17. hello! trying to find a specific tumblr post (not here but out in the wild) about yllz wwx actually being a fairly solid ghost who died in the burial mounds and knows he's dead but expects the ones he loves to also pick up on that and mourn him/give offerings? but none of them do; they see solid and assume alive, so he's feeling hurt about it. pretty sure it's here on tumblr somewhere but will accept fic recs

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18. this for fic finder <3 i remember reading a fic where WWX is a paperman and is spying on LWJ bathing. and then paperman wwx gets a cut and lwj gets angry or sulking at him for disregarding his safety @notdaniee

FOUND! I don't know about a fic but there's a comic by @moobiess like that

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19. hello, thank you for your help!

i was looking for this fic where wwx and mianmian are dating (?) and wwx accidentally moans lwj's name while making out/intercourse. i am unable to find it anymore. could you please help?

thank you again.

hello! #19 from the latest fic finder (may 13th). yes! it does! wwx goes to lwj's and they 'talk' about whatever happened and then they end up having sex.

bummer that they made it private, thank you for the help though!

sounds like a fic that has been privated/hidden by Pancho I believe , in the story does wei ying end up going over to Lan zhan and they have sex?

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20. hiii, i need help finding a fic on ao3 where lan wangji and wei wuxian time travel to the past and tell the sect leaders some form of info. the sect leaders are then nosy and weird about it so they end up using something to spy on them? lan xichen feels guilty but joins in anyway. in the scene that the sects see wwx and lwj are sitting and wwx is combing lwj's hair i think ? the two are aware that they're being watched as well. i don't remember much else, but i hope that's accurate enough. thank you so much.

FOUND? lan xichen is very concerned (and confused) by theninjacat (T, 3k, WangXian, POV Outsider, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Sunshot Campaign)

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#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

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wild-typo-turtle · 1 month ago

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Threads - Part 7

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44

Dreamcasting: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits)

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Two Months Later

It had taken nearly a week of prowling the palace before Linnea had found the right space Not that the building was that large, strictly speaking - but the way it was constructed, winding around and through the forests of Lindon, meant that it had taken many hours of walking and investigating before she had found it.

Adabes had made her a list - of course, there had been a list - and she had looked at every single option before she’d made her choice. And of course, then there had been days of outfitting it, procuring the necessary tools and supplies. She had indulged herself, trying - and occasionally failing - to not be too extravagant, but it was a heady thing having no limits on what she could do.

Not to mention, a soon-to-be-husband who had done nothing to discourage her.

And now, it was finally ready.

The velvet loom had been delivered and set in its place, and the apprentices who had carried it in had departed. Adabes stood by the door, holding her ever-present portable writing desk, as Linnea slowly turned in the center of the weaving room.

It was circular, like many rooms in the palace, occupying an entire floor of one of the towers. It had windows all around it, large and open, spilling sunlight into the room, and there was a balcony outside that overlooked one of the large training courtyards. The floor was a light wood, almost white, and the walls had been whitewashed to keep the space as bright as possible; at this hour, just past midday, it glowed.

She had divided it into working areas using the furniture: one for the traditional loom, one for the velvet loom, and additional small enclaves of seating and tables for handwork or simply sitting and conversing. And there was plenty of space to move things around later if that became needed; if she brought in more looms, or if there were weavers that wanted to bring their own.

Shelves held rolls of spun yarn and other supplies. She hadn’t brought in her own spinning wheel or dyeing equipment yet, but that could come later. For now, she could actually weave again as soon as the looms were warped, and it was a great relief knowing that that would be a way to occupy her days.

After the wedding.

At the moment, she was consumed with preparations. For all their talk of trying to keep things as private as possible, it had been an Age since there had been a royal wedding, and there was no escaping that fact. To make it manageable, she had agreed to separate the wedding and the coronation, making the compromise of a fairly small wedding and a very public coronation held at the Tree, with the opportunity for anyone to come. And so, Adabes always seemed to have another list that she needed to look at, another decision that had to be made.

Gil-galad was trying to help as much as he could, but he had been just as occupied as Linnea, with reinforcing the eastern borders. And there was also the not-inconsiderable task of replenishing Lindon’s armies; the battle at Eregion had left few standing, and for most of the last two weeks, he had been gone visiting the Greenwood and meeting with King Oropher. He had returned three nights ago, but in the face of all of that, asking him to help decide on menus or schedules seemed to be an ill use of his time. He had offered for her to go with him, but there was simply too much to be done.

She also had yet to take her seat on the council. Despite Gil-galad’s assurances, it felt too strange to do so before she was formally crowned queen. Granted, there were plenty of people who were referring to her that way already, but she certainly had enough to keep herself busy without adding council meetings to the list.

There would be ample time after the wedding.

She finished her slow perusal of the room, coming to a stop and smiling at Adabes. “It’s all perfect,” she breathed. “Every bit of it. Thank you.”

Adabes returned the smile, inclining her head. She herself was not a weaver, and so her role in setting up the room had been limited to logistics. But she had brought her exacting nature to the task, as she did with everything, and all of the deliveries and other work had been executed seamlessly.

“I am glad you are pleased, my lady,” she replied. “I know that this was important to you, and I am glad it is to your liking. Are you ready to visit the kitchens?”

Linnea kept herself from sighing, but it was difficult. Every time she thought the food for the wedding feast and the coronation reception was settled, someone had an idea that meant it all had to be revisited. She had to taste the new thing and carefully consider whether it was suitable, and if so, whether anything else was affected by the change. More than once, she had been tempted to tell Adabes no more, but the eagerness on the faces of the cooks was so palpable. How often, after all, did they get the chance to do this? And that reminder made it all at least a little more bearable.

It did help that everything she had tried was delicious and that the hardest part of all of it was having to say no occasionally. Else the feast would last an entire week.

“I - “

I am, she had been about to say, but a shout from outside cut her off.

“Dadhro nin!”

Gil-galad’s voice. She would know it anywhere.

The cry of come at me certainly snared her attention, and she glanced at Adabes, who shook her head - she had no more knowledge than Linnea. There was no sound of upheaval, nothing alarming, but a clatter of metal alerted her that something was happening.

Curious, she walked to the archway that opened onto the balcony, and stepped outside.

There were three groups of soldiers gathered in the training courtyard below. Two of them appeared to be mostly new recruits; their armor was shiny and unblemished, and there was a stern-looking soldier in front of each, putting them through sword drills.

But that was not what had caught her ear.

At the south end of the courtyard was the third group, and here were the battle veterans. Scarred breastplates, stained leather; all cosmetic damage that could have been remedied, but they were marks of honor, of survival. It was not hard to understand why none of them had elected to have any repairs performed.

There were four of them, arranged in a rough arc around Gil-galad. He was also in full armor, training as he would fight. Aeglos was in his hands, and she could see that leather covers had been placed over either end of the spear to shield the blades and allow him to practice with the real weapon. She was no warrior, but she understood well enough the principles of weight and balance, and how important it could be to have no hesitation in the middle of a battle. Even having to make small conscious adjustments, as opposed to every muscle working without thought, could mean the difference between life and death.

Gil-galad’s four opponents had been hanging back, which had been the cause of his shout. She couldn’t blame them, being hesitant to attack their king, but as she stepped to the edge of the balcony they were moving in. Each was armed differently: one had sword and shield, one had two long knives, one had a length of chain, and the last had a spear of his own, although shorter and far less imposing than Aeglos. Variety that mirrored the battlefield, especially among their enemy, where the orcs were armed with anything they could lay hands on.

She had not yet seen him fight. And the sight of it, even here in training, rooted her feet to the spot.

He had the grace of a master dancer, every movement starting from his core and radiating outward to his limbs. Aeglos’ reach meant that his opponents had to remain at a distance, but they seemed to have some sort of strategy: the soldiers with the sword and with the long knives were pushing inward, forcing Gil-galad to defend while the other two moved in on his flank.

The soldier with the chain was spinning it, preparing to try and use it to ensnare Aeglos and disarm the King, but Gil-galad was too fast. A sweep of the spear interrupted the whirling chain and his grip was tight enough that the force did not make him lose it; he snagged the chain like a fish with a net and flung it away, out of reach. The next spin brought the spear around to the soldier with the long knives, thrusting into his chest and forcing him to stumble back. One of the knives fell to the ground; the other snapped up into a crossguard position, turning Aeglos’ blade to the right. A less surefooted man might have stumbled, but Gil-galad used the momentum to fully spin around, bringing Aeglos through and cracking it directly across the first soldier’s shield.

The soldier with the spear hadn’t been idle. He’d moved around behind Gil-galad, pressuring him into a continuous slow turn, exchanging a flurry of blows spear-to-spear before he would face the two other soldiers again.

Linnea felt her heart speeding up, watching. It was training, there was no danger beyond perhaps minor scrapes and bruises, but it was still not the most comfortable feeling in the world seeing swords and knives thrust at her future husband. But Gil-galad was more than equal to the task; in the short few seconds it had taken her to finally draw a breath, he had disarmed both the soldier with the sword and with the one remaining long knife, and was fully concentrating on his spear-wielding counterpart. And even to her untrained eye, she could tell that the other soldier was skilled; he was pressing Gil-galad hard, willfully putting himself within reach of Aeglos and forcing the King to slide backward. It became a dance between the two of them, back and forth, the longer Aeglos presenting both benefit and disadvantage.

Seeing him in armor took her back to that very first moment they had met. Her eyes had blurred from the pain in her arm, but he had been so clear to her as he had knelt by her side. His gentle touch had pushed the pain back, shielding her from it like the warrior he was. He had been filthy, injured, his mind in a thousand places, but all of that had been far less important than making sure she was all right. And she had known, the moment that his hand had touched her face; she had known who he was. If he would have her, she was his.

A cry from below; a yell of triumph. Gil-galad had finally disarmed his last opponent, sending the smaller spear flying. The soldier held up his empty hands, yielding, and she caught a faint chuckle from him. The King shifted Aeglos to one hand, stretching his shoulders back and settling his weight on both feet more firmly, and extended his other to his opponent. They clasped arms briefly and then moved off to the side, where a rack of weapons was waiting - presumably, to change out and continue their practice.

He hadn’t seen her watching, but that was all right. She had very much enjoyed the view.

And yet, even through her admiration, an icy tendril caressed the back of her neck. A whisper of a thought, looking at both the new recruits and the hardened veterans alike. Thoughts of the enemy and his armies of uruk, still out there, the same that had razed Eregion.

Thoughts that there might come a time when every hand would be needed to hold a weapon. Her own included. She knew less than nothing, but there was clearly the means to learn, if she should wish it. Gil-galad would not ask it of her if it was not her will, but as queen, did she not have a responsibility to help him defend their realm?

Wife. Queen. Mother. And warrior?

Behind her, Adabes delicately cleared her throat, and Linnea turned. The other woman had come up to the archway and was waiting patiently, but she knew that expression - Adabes was conscious of the passing of time, and they were expected in the kitchens.

Kitchens.

Gil-galad was working hard on the field below them. Even at that moment, he was lifting a practice sword from the rack, testing its weight in his hand, preparing to continue.

He would surely be hungry when he was finished.

“Adabes,” she said slowly, a smile beginning to curve her lips as she pushed thoughts of battle away, setting them aside for later. “Would you please send to the captain of the guard, and find out how much longer the King will be training?”

It had been a long, and tiring, and good practice session.

Gil-galad sheathed his sword, placing the weapon in the practice rack. Another day he would fight with his own sword, with live steel, but these had been hours well-spent. He had also been able to keep half an eye on the new recruits that were drilling beneath the watchful eyes of the veterans. Enough of them were promising that he was able to breathe a little easier; Lindon's armies were depleted, but it would not remain so for long.

He nodded at one of the veterans, a captain, that had just finished an intricate drill with his troops. The soldier bowed to him before returning to his duties, shouting out at the recruits to do it again, faster this time.

Except they didn't. As one, they straightened up, snapping their heels together, and bowed deeply towards something behind him.

He turned, curious as to what it was, and smiled. He should have known.

Linnea.

He had seen her at breakfast that morning, but her grace and her beauty still took his breath away. She was wearing a soft blue gown, with the simple round neck and fitted sleeves that she favored, but the fabric was heavy silk and the skirts were full and brushing across the ground as she walked. And that round neck and those fitted sleeves were detailed with gold embroidery, and pearls, and she was also wearing a delicate half-circlet of gold filigree atop her chestnut curls. But it wasn't just her clothes that had changed over the last weeks; her bearing had changed too as she accustomed herself to who she was now. She was every inch a queen, and it pleased the great beast inside him - the beast that had been lazing in well-fed satisfaction for most of the last weeks - to see her receive the respect she was due.

As she walked towards him, her guards behind her, he noticed that she was carrying a basket. A large, full basket, brimming with packages of folded leaves and papers, and there was a corked bottle resting against one side.

She inclined her head at the soldiers, and they relaxed, reassuming their positions to start their drill. The captain bowed briefly to her and then turned his attention back to the recruits, and Gil-galad smiled down at her as she reached him.

“My lord,” she said. “I hope I am not interrupting?”

“Not at all.” He reached for her free hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “Your company is always welcome, my lady.”

She smiled. “I happened to observe your training as I was about to visit the kitchens.” She lifted the basket slightly. “And with such a level of exertion, I thought you might enjoy sharing some refreshment.”

It was so simple. Such a small thing.

And yet that belt was back around his chest, cutting off his air with how much he had been given. Queen Tinnaril had been at court when he had gone to meet with Oropher, but she had seemed distant, seldom with the king except for the dinner that had begun his visit and the one that had ended it. When he compared her chill to Linnea's warmth - how she cared for him, plainly thought of him, made no secret of her love for him…

Perhaps Tinnaril was simply more reserved. Perhaps it had been different in the early days of their marriage. But he vowed that his own union would never change so, that he would never willingly submit to such a distance between himself and Linnea.

“You are most thoughtful,” he managed. “Allow me a few moments to shed this armor, to be in a fit state for such an interlude.”

Shed the armor, and change, and perhaps wash his face and tidy his hair. But Linnea shook her head.

“Surely there is no need for that, when it is just us,” she said softly. “I find that you are in an entirely fit state.”

He did not miss the sparkle in her eyes - nor the way she dropped her gaze briefly, sweeping over him from head to foot. The beast purred at that, pleased that she found him pleasing, that he was not the only one counting the days till their wedding.

His appearance ceased to be of anything even remotely resembling a concern.

“As my lady commands,” he murmured. “Lead on, then. I put myself in your hands.”

He let his voice drop lower at that last, and he did his own share of running his eyes over her. Just for a moment - they were in public, after all - but enough for her to see it. To hear the desire in his voice, perhaps to plant an image in her mind of when he truly would be in her hands.

Her cheeks turned a delicate pink, and she smiled again.

Before they could test the bounds of propriety too much, he offered her his arm, and she took it, her hand resting lightly in the crook of his elbow. With the other, he reached for the basket, which she surrendered easily. And as she led him from the field, their guards falling in behind them, he could not keep the smile from his face.

The High King of the Noldor did not go strolling through fields gathering wildflowers.

But apparently, he did lie on a blanket in one of those said fields, stripped down to his gambeson and leggings with his armor in a pile off to the side. And further, he lay there with his belly full from the contents of the basket, with his hair loosened from the braid it had been knotted in for training, and with his head in his queen's lap.

The guards had positioned themselves at the edge of the clearing, as far away from them as was reasonable. Linnea was sitting upright, leaning back against the tree she had spread the blanket under. His head rested on her thigh, his eyes closed, and he could seldom remember feeling so at peace as he did in that moment. She was gently playing with his hair, stroking it back from his forehead and running her fingers through it, and the soothing motion coupled with his full stomach, with the faint sound of birdsong and the warmth of the afternoon, was in serious danger of lulling him to sleep.

“The pastries were excellent,” he murmured, and he heard and felt Linnea laugh softly.

“Which ones?” she asked, and there was more than a hint of teasing in her voice. “The ones with lemon, or the ones with berries? Or the ones with honey and nuts? Or did you mean the apple cake, or perhaps the pumpkin?”

Gil-galad echoed her laugh, opening his eyes. She had packed the basket to bursting, and he hadn't been shy about sampling what she had brought. “All of them,” he said. “Must I choose?”

“Perhaps not,” she allowed, smiling. “This coronation reception has expanded so greatly, it causes no harm to have everything. But which is your favorite?”

He raised a brow at her, and tilted his chin over at the now nearly-empty basket. “Was all of that for the reception?”

She sighed, nodding. “I thought to bring samples of it all so that you could try it and make any preferences known, for the wedding itself. But yes - it is all on the reception list.”

She sounded weary, and he reached up, running his hand gently over the top of her leg. “I am sorry, melethel,” he said softly. “I am sorry this has fallen on you, and that it is not what you might wish were it your decision alone.”

“You need not apologize,” she said, returning to stroking his hair. “I understand why it must be, and it is not that I do not wish it - it is simply that I had…”

Linnea trailed off, and he let her collect her thoughts in silence. He caressed her leg again, not to arouse but to soothe, to let her know he was there. And by and by, she spoke again.

“I had not thought much of it at all, before you,” she continued. “And when I had - I had not ever pictured anything like this. It is not bad, but it is new. That is all.”

He sat up, the better to be able to look at her properly. This was important, and they had both been so busy, perhaps he needed to say it clearly so that she knew he was not blind to it.

“I have asked a great deal of you, in a very short time,” he murmured. “I know it. And I have tried to make this change as easy as it may be, but it is you who bears the weight of it. Know that I am here, and that if there is anything you need of me, no matter how trivial it may seem, I beg you to ask it.”

Linnea smiled, her eyes soft, and she reached for his hand. He gave it, and she laced their fingers together, squeezing gently.

“You have had to change too, Ereinion,” she said quietly. “I know it must be strange for you, taking a wife after so long alone. Having to consider me in your plans, your decisions…”

He squeezed her hand back. “Strange, yes. And wondrous. You have brought light to my world, and I never knew it was absent, that I lived in shadow all these years. It is a change I welcome, do not think otherwise for a moment.”

“Nor should you,” she said. “The Valar did rightly, and I would not change it, meleth nín. I may be weary of tastings and guest lists and music and I know not what else Adabes doubtlessly has for me to consider, but it will pass. And what will remain is us.”

A kiss was the only answer he could give to her words, and he gave it gladly. He slid his hand along her jaw, cradling her face, and by now he was becoming accustomed to it - the feel of her lips, the freedom that he was allowed as many kisses as he wished, whenever he wished. The fervor and urgency of new love had overcome whatever shyness he might have felt about showing affection in the presence of his guards, and now he paid it no mind at all.

Within reason, of course.

He let her go after far too short a time. He had been gone for nearly two weeks, and although both of them had made a diligent effort to make up for his absence since he had returned, there was still much to be done. But there would be other opportunities for that.

She leaned into him after he released her lips, and he folded his arms around her, holding her close.

“I did not tell you earlier,” she murmured into his shoulder. “The weaving room is complete. All is finished. The last of the looms was delivered this morning.”

“Truly?” Gil-galad released her, leaning back to gain space. “I should like to see it. Considering you have not allowed me past its doors until now…”

Linnea laughed, and he was glad to see the strain fading from her face. It had amused him, being barred from a room in his own palace, but she had been adamant that it was not properly appreciated until everything was in place.

“Of course,” she agreed. “Whenever you desire.”

“Then let us go once we have had our fill of this lovely picnic you have arranged for us,” he said, smiling. “You will show me your weaving room, and then we shall find Adabes, and we will set this menu once and for all. You need not endure any more tastings or changes; let us have it done.”

She chuckled wryly, but she was smiling, and he could see that his words had pleased her.

“So says the High King?”

“I will order it so,” he promised. “Our wedding should be joyous, not having you wishing every minute that it were over.”

Linnea’s smile changed, as she took in his words. And he caught his breath, for it was a smile he was learning - a sultry, soft smile that pierced straight to his core and sent a rush of heat through his veins.

“Perhaps both is not so bad?”

He laughed, low and deep, as he understood exactly what she meant. And he drew her back into his arms.

“Perhaps not, indeed.”

And as it turned out, there was still a bit of lost time to be made up for after all.

Continue to Part 8

#gil galad #gil-galad #rings of power #fanfic #gil-galad x ofc #the rings of power #trop fanfiction #fanfiction #fix it au #fix it fic

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mrsjavierpena · 11 months ago

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not (un)expected | part 1

javier peña x f!secretary!reader

summary: Javier has one, only one very strict policy: to not ever fuck a co-worker; specially if that co-worker is his own secretary. but you make it such a hard promise to keep

chapter warnings: narcos' spoilers, smut, grinding, unprotected p in v, kind of exhibitionism, (light?) angst, a lot of cursing (its javier pena), kinda slow burn/slow start, unspecified age gap, work dynamics, reader has no name/descripition (but has hair long enough to pull), no use of 'y/n'

IMPORTANT: English is not my first language, i've done my best with grammar but there will be mistakes (fuck prepositions i hate them), so pls overlook those

wordcount: 7k

an: this is part one of a two part story; feel free to reblog and leave your comment. im so happy with the reception of this fic, its my first time posting something here, thank you guys so much for the support - also, if you want to be tagged in part two (really don't know when is coming out) just lmk in the comments.

hope you enjoy!

Javier was known for being an asshole.

Everyone in the office called him that; not to his face, of course, since he was the boss, but he knew, and honestly? He kind of did it on purpose. Being sent back to Colombia to be the CIA puppy didn't in fact thrilled him, but he also wasn't there to make friends. A little bit later than one month into his new position and Javier had already changed secretaries twice. Just by being himself.

The first one was a kind old lady that liked to talk a little bit too much for Javi's taste - which was none. To be fair, he tried to handle her. He listened to her talking of her yougest child finishing college, but she asked him if maybe he could get him a job at the deparment - what in the actual fuck? -, she felt the need to tell him that her older one and his wife were trying to have a baby - he wondered what gave her the impression he wanted to know that her son was fucking someone raw. She just wouldn't shut up. She left not much after a month, at his first snap - took him too long, to be honest.

The last one was a young man fresh out of the academy, who thanked him for the opportunity every time he saw him - which, since he was just outside his office, was pretty often. Despite how thankful he was for the job, he wasn't very interested in working, at least not as he was to flirting with another secretary in the floor below. But that wasn't the worst part, the kid had no idea what he was supposed to do and would go ask Javier for help for every task given to him - he swore he was shaking everytime. Javi didn't care that he was young and was learning, he didn't receive enough to raise a child at work. Didn't last a week.

Javier had headaches just by the thought of who would be sent next. With his current luck, it could be his ex-fiancée. He definitely didn't expect you knocking on his office door and introducing yourself as his new secretary. He was speechless for a moment; you were the combo of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life with a killing black pencil skirt, so tight it showed all your curves. You gave him a firm handshake and asked if he needed anything from you, and, when he denied, that was it. You went to your desk; didn't ask him questions, didn't tell him your whole life, didn't thank him for an opportunity he didn't give you, just went to do your work.

For a while, Javier was glad that you didn't give him any trouble, but that was until you quickly learned his habits. As soon as he arrived the office, you would receive him with a polite smile, a cup of black coffee and his schedule for the day. When he dove into files and forgot he was a person, you would bring him his lunch and wouldn't leave until he had at least a bite - as if he was a kid, what an absurd -, you would sense when he was stressed and would excuse yourself into his office with coffee and a pack of cigarettes and leave without saying a word.

He hated how much he appreciated that - even worse, how he liked that. It didn't take long for him to want to fuck you, to become obssessed with you. And it wasn't just him, he could see every other men in the department - single or not - turn their neck as they watched you pass by. But it was not just that you were hot, you were nice too; he would watch you from his office - not in a creepy way, though, he just didn't have anything much better to do - and you would distribute smiles and polite greetings to every soul that passed your desk, people would constantly stop by to small talk with you and you would let them be for five minutes or so before politely dismiss them to go back to work. Every fucking body there adored you.

Things had always been very professional between you both. Javi held back his flirty instinct and you- well, you didn't even seem interested in him at all. That was untill a very stressfull friday with Stechner giving him shit again. He left the building straigh to the bar, ready to drown himself on whiskey and find a quick fuck for the night, not expecting at all to find you aparently doing the same. Javier considered just ignoring you and go sitting with one of the women that turned their heads in his direction as soon as he entered, but something inside of him made him take the few steps to the bar and get the stool beside where you sat.

You almost spilled your drink when he approached.

"Sorry" you coughed "Wasn't expecting to see you here"

Your body language told him that you weren't comfortable with him there, he saw your backs getting as straight as when you were at work, and immediately regretted joining you.

"Well, that makes it two of us" he raised his hand to order his drink "What's the occasion?" he points to your drink with his chin.

Your grip on your glass seemed to tighten and you took one very long sip before answering dryly "I could ask you the same"

"Work" he raised his brows "It's always work"

"Did something happen after I left?" you pinched your brows.

"No, no, just people giving me shit"

"Oh, I see..." you sighed and silence fell between you.

"So..."

"Well..." you both started talking together and laughed akwardly.

"You go" you said.

"Am I bothering you? Cause I didn't mean to, I can sit somewhere else" he didn't even know why he was asking, he should've just said goodbye and left. He was already standing when your hand found his arm.

You sighed heavily "No, not at all, I'm sorry I gave that impression, sir" you seemed genuine, that's why he sat back "I'm just stressed"

Sir. Why were you calling him sir in a bar?

"Do you want to talk about it? If there's something bothering you we can discuss it and sol-"

"It's not work related" you were quick to interrupt "Work is, honestly, the simplest part of my life right now"

"Things must be pretty bad then, 'cause I see the amount of papers on your desk everyday" that made you chucke "The offer still stands, if you want to"

You took a big breath before dropping the bomb "Broke up with my boyfriend"

Now that was a new territory. He knew absolutly nothing about your life besides you moving to Colombia from the United States; he didn't know anything from your life back there, not your family, friends, definitely not about your boyfriend; and now, somehow, knowing you didn't have one anymore made it even harder for him not to want you.

"What happened?"

"Well, actually, it seems like we had already broken up a while ago and he just forgot to send the memo" you drank your whole half glass all at once ", since he was fucking every pussy that crossed his fucking way"

He was stunned. One thing about Javier was that he was never to deny any woman; honestly, he found every body attractive and apreciatted every woman that gave herself to him. He couldn't say he had a type, but you, with what he saw with your clothes on? He would fuck you every minute of everyday he could. It was absurd to believe someone would give up on you.

"Damn!" he couldn't help but say loudly, making your eyes go wide as if just then realising what you had just said.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you this. I apologise, sir"

"You don't- don't apologise" he almost raised his hand to touch you, but stopped himself before "How did you find out?" you looked at him with raised brows "If you don't mind me asking"

"One of my friends called me last night and told me. She saw him at a bar with two women" you laughed, but there was no humor to be found.

"And you were still smiling at everyone at work today" he was impressed.

You smirked at him "Don't let my personal life mix with work, sir"

"Smart woman" he nods "We for sure have a reason to drink, then" waving his hand to the barman "Let me buy you one"

You don't even bother to refuse.

After three more glasses of what he found out was tequila, your shoulders were much more relaxed and so was your tongue. He found out that you and your ex had been dating for six years when you got the opportunity of job and had to move; two months had passed already.

"And you know what the worst part is?" your laugh is dry "I don't even feel bad because my heart is broken or any shit like that, it's just that is so fucking humiliating" you groaned with your hands on your face "I'm from a small town, you know, by now every soul there knows what he's been doing"

He had to laugh "That's what you're worried about?" you looked at him with false ofense.

"It's my honor we're talking about here!" he laughed even more "It's silly, I know..." you sigh shakly as you take another sip of your drink "But it is humbiling, being cheated on"

"I can't fucking believe anyone could ever cheat on you" he thought. At least he thought he did, but by the way you were looking at him - pinched brows and a curious look in your face, he had to have said it out loud "I mean, only shitty people cheat on nice people. Only shitty people cheat, that's it."

You nodded after a few seconds of silence "You're right, sir"

"You should stop calling me sir"

"I don't think so"

"Why not? We're already half drunk together at a shitty bar"

"Because you're still my boss"

Without any response to that, he looks at you. Really looks at you. Your eyes glassy from the alcohol, red puffy lips looking more appealing than ever... It would have been so easy to just lean in and kiss you. When his eyes came back to yours, it almost seemed like they were on his lips too, that you were leaning in too, that you desired him as much as he desired you and... Then it was not there anymore. Suddenly, you seemed farther than ever, backs as streight as always and eyes avoiding his.

"I should go home"

He agreed. He put you on a cab. He wished you a goodnight.

Then went back to the bar to find someone to not spend the night alone.

The next Monday, though, you seemed even more professional than ever. Wouldn't be around him more than the necessary, wouldn't look him in the eyes and it fucking bothered him.

"Yes, sir?" you entered his office after he called your name.

He sighs as he looked you up and down, his eyes lingering to your skirt pressing against your tights "How are you?"

"I'm fine" you hesitated "Why do you ask? Is something wrong?"

"Lying to me, 's all" your eyes went wide "Listen, last night-"

Your nostrils flared, your hands clenching into fists; you took a deep breath before interrupting him "I am fine"

"Ok, then" he raised his hands in defensiveness "It's just that last night-"

"Last night I was drunk!" you passed your hands through your face "I said things I shouldn't have and I am embarressed and would very much appreciate if we pretended that it never happened"

Javier was silent for a moment. He understandood your apprehension, but damn if he wasn't dismayed by it.

"Alright, 'm sorry I brought it up. But just to let you know, you don't have anything to be embarressed for, you have my word that I wouldn't hold any if that against you and..." and it was nice to talk to you "Yeah, don't worry about that"

You looked at him for a few seconds before nodding "You need anything else, sir?"

Many things, yeah. For starters, you calling him by his name; second, being able to have a casual conversation with you when alcohol isn't envolved and third, your fucking clothes off because he got embarrassingly hard just by looking at you. But instead, he only denied and you left before any other word could leave his mouth.

Javi knew it was for the best. Fucking you would be no good - well, he'd bet it would be hot as shit, but too much trouble for a one night stand. He had a whole city to fool around with, to be focused in someone from his work place, his own secretary, was nonsense. You never even gave him any hint you wanted him, if anything, the actual opposite; you told him yourself last night, personal life away from work.

Javi made sure to remember all that.

➫

He didn't keep those thoughts for long, though.

A few days later, you met at a bar once again. A better one this time and with half of the office joined. It was Feistl's birthday and he invited the whole department for drinks. Nobody could hide their surprise when Javi aproached them; usually, he wouldn't attend this type of gathering, in his rarely free times, he better prefered the company of a good whiskey and a woman, and his colleagues knew that. His employee had invited him just to be polite and that was clear, but he knew you were going to be there, Javi just wanted one more opportunity to prove to himself that you didn't feel the same way he did, that he didn't have the same effect on you that you had on him. Once that prooved, he could move on. So he was there on a mission, trying to be the most discrete he could as he watched you from afar.

The two of you seemed to be the reflexion of each other from across the table, tense bodies and drinks in hand, the only difference being you talking with your colleagues and him not making the effort. To his defense, people weren't trying to talk to him either. Honestly, Javier kind of felt like it wasn't just that they were surprised to see him there, it felt like they didn't want him there at all by some looks he was receiving.

He was okay with that, he guessed, he would much rather analyse your behavior outside work. You didn't seem to change much, honestly; maybe your smile were a little bit more genuine, but the conversations were pretty much the same he heard you have back in the office and it could have been the larger amount of alcohol in your system that night, yeah, but you seemed more relaxed alone with him.

After half an hour there, Javi couldn't bring himself to talk to you, you seemed too interested in a conversation about the new coffee pot in the scullery with another secretary. He was getting frustrated, in another times he would interrupt the other woman and flirt with you effortlessly; it probably had to do with the environment, you were surronded by co-workers, or maybe he was losing his touch - it was almost like he was too afraid to make the move.

Javi decided to leave soon after one hour there. He congratulated Feistl for his birthday, said goodbye to whoever recognized his leaving, paid his bill and passed through the door.

"Hey" he turned around at the sound of your voice, seeing you walking towards him "Are you ok?"

He ran his hand over his chin "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know" you shrugged "you kind of ran out of the bar"

"'S fine, you should go back inside" Javi pointed at the entrace with his chin.

You tilt your head to the side "I don't really believe you"

"I'm not asking you to" he crossed his arms "And, what, you wanna talk now? You've been quiet at work all week"

"We're not at work, though, are we?" you were quick to answer.

Javi looked you up and down "No, we're not"

"You know" you took a few steps forward ", it's not like they don't like you, they are just kind of scared of you"

Were you watching him too? Why would you say that? How would you notice?

He furrowed his eyebrows "Scared of me? Why?"

You looked at him with yours raised "You know how you act at work, don't you?"

Javi sighed and looked away. He did act like an asshole at work, it didn't seem to bother you, though. Your gazes met again as silence fell between the two of you and he decided to take the few steps left to get you as close as you never got before.

"Are you scared of me?"

You kept your eyes locked as you answered "No. You're not as bad as you think you are" you licked your lips "At least not with me"

The air thickend between the two of you, the only sound being the noises of a night in Colombia. There was no way you were not feeling that too, the way your bodies seemed to linger to each other's direction. He's sure he's not imagining the way your breath heaved, how your chest expansed, the brightness in your eyes.

No, that was real, he was not mistaking it.

A voice broke the tension, you taking a few steps back to a safe distant from him. You both looked in the direction of the sound: a woman was calling you, the same woman you talked all night, at the entrance of the bar, a few feet away from where the both of you stood.

"Maybe if you went back there and paid the next round..." he swore he saw expectancy in your eyes.

"Maybe another time" you nodded; you both knew it wouldn't happen.

You looked at him one last time before walking away "Good night, sir"

Javi nodded even though you weren't looking anymore and his eyes followed the sweet swing of your hips as you made your way back to the bar. He could hear the woman asking what it was about:

"Nothing" you answered.

He would disagree.

➫

Javier was in a terrible, terrible mood. Things weren't going how he thought they would go, not even close to it. Feistl got a good lead about the Rodriguez brothers, one worth following, and he could do nothing about it; had to look to his subordinate and say no to his face. In the beggining, Javi had plans on reediming himself by catching Los Pepes, making amends with the city and it's people by arresting those who he felt like helped to ascend. He felt like a failure, and by the look on Feistl face, he thought so too. To worsen everything, as if it could get any, he had a huge, massive amount of piles to go through.

He lifted his eyes from the paper for the first time in hours when you knocked at the door. He knew your shift had ended a couple of hours ago, but you decided to finish the paperwork of the day so it wouldn't affect his own work the next morning, even though you couldn't have finished it on time because of the extra work put over you. It was something he frequently saw you doing, leaving much later than the others.

"I am leaving, sir. Is there something I could do for you?"

He scratched his chin and sighed heavily "Well, if you could make this fucking paperwork disappear I would built a statue of you"

You exiled a short laugh "I'm afraid that's not possible, sir"

"No, it's not" he reclined on his chair and looked at your body on the frame for a few seconds "Have a goodnight"

You nodded and left. He stood up to get a drink right after, hearing some noises outside that must have been you grabing your stuff. You were probably the last person on the floor besides him, and soon enough he would be alone, like he had been for so many nights, working until late, only able to go home to shower and come back. It wasn't much trouble, though, it's not like he could sleep even if he had the time.

A soft knock on the door surprised him, glass and bottle on each hand.

"Sorry to bother again" you said with only your head in the room after he told you to come in "But do you want help?"

He looked at you, at the pile and then at you again "You wanna help me with that?" you nodded "Why?"

"Nothing better to do" you shruged.

He should've said no. Should've told you to go home and have some rest.

He should have, yes.

"Have a sit" he pointed to the couch with the piles of papers he's been on for the last three hours.

You closed the door behind you and something on his skin tingled. You had never been this alone.

"Want a drink?" you didn't hesitate in accepting, as if waiting for him to offer.

Javier poured you one too and handed you the glass, something you thanked him for as you took a sip and he sitted beside you. You two stayed in silence reading, the only sound being the papers as you tossed them around.

"Can I give you an unasked opinion, sir?"

He almost laughed at that "Go ahead"

"You're separating these by topics, I see" he nodded "Taking one paper at the time and seeing what they are and then doing them separetly " he nodded again "I think it would be quicker if we made piles by the specific topics you have"

"You mean..."

"I mean" suddenly you stood up from the couch and knelt on the floor. Fortunally you didn't see his eyes going wide as you took a pile in your hands and put it beside you "You have a huge office, you should put the files on display and organize them better" you looked at him while taking the other piles "You helping?"

He smirked and hushed to help you. He liked this side of you; more relaxed, kind of bossy, tongue more loose... It was a shame you only showed him when there was alcohol running through your system.

"This, if you don't mind me saying, is how I organize the piles on your desk when I bring them to you, but you seem to prefer the hardest way"

Fuck, he was getting hard.

It was nuts. Absolutly nuts. What the fuck was happening, what effect was that you had on him? You did nothing but say a few dirty words without intention. Completely. Nuts.

"I do prefer the hard way" came out of his mouth before he could control it. If you didn't notice the double meaning or chose to ignore it, he didn't know "But I never noticed, no" he sighed "Honestly, I don't even know how it got to this point"

The paperwork, somehow, did accumulate, even though all he did of his life was working.

"I understand, I can see how you get lost in work" your focus was on the papers and you didn't seem to notice how he shifted on his place on the floor, trying to hide the beggining of an erection.

With your efficiency and new way of working, one hour and a half later and almost the whole paperwork gone, you're on your third glass and him on his fourth. He's used to drinking whiskey, but it was still alcohol, and it was making his skin buzz. You had already took off your blazer - his own gone hours ago - , wearing a thin blouse with a very modest neckline; your legs were crossed, making your skirt move up a little, and he was going crazy with just the tiny amount of skin you were showing.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead" you didn't even move your eyes from the paper.

"Why didn't you go home?"

You don't talk for a few seconds and he took the opportunity to stare "There's nothing waiting for me at home"

That got him thinking about your moving there. To go from a small town in the countryside to a city like Bogotá, not knowing a soul; you had acquaintances, yes, but he saw you that day at the bar, they surely were people you liked to be with, but were not friends of yours. Javi had been there, too, actually, if he would be honest with himself, he was still in the same situation. When he moved to Medellín, he had those people he could go out with and grab a drink after work, but that was all; at least until Steve came into the picture, the person he never thought he would befriend with, the only real friend he'd had in years.

"Yeah, I kind of get that" your eyes meet "Work until late for a reason"

"I guess we both need to get a life, then" you smirked.

"Cheers to that" he raised his glass to you, you did the same until it clicked with his "So, life... How is yours going?" he tried to act nonchalant by moving his eyes on the paper in his hand "With that ex-boyfriend thing and all"

Your laugh was low "Don't do that"

"Do what?" he raised his eyes again to find yours still on him.

You tilted your head to the side "Don't go down that road when we're like this"

"Like what?" he caught the exact moment your eyes fell to his lips, so he casually wet them with his tongue. If he wasn't so absorbed by the thickness in the air, he would have laughed at the way your eyes shut and your head fell back to rest on the couch.

"Drunk and... Not thinking straight"

Javi raised his eyebrows "I like the winding thoughts I'm having, though"

"Yeah" the look you gave him made him shiver.

Without breaking eye contact, Javi belted down his drink to gain courage and slowly moved his body until you were pressed side by side, giving you time to get your space again if you wanted to.

"This fine?" his voice was barely louder than a whisper.

You nodded.

"What if I wanted to kiss you right now?" he rested one forearm on the couch to lean his face closer to yours.

You gulped as you stared into his eyes "Then I think you should do it before we-"

He didn't give you the time to finish your sentence before his lips were on yours. Your lips were soft, he could taste the whiskey on your tongue as well with the gums you would chew all day. His right hand went straight to your jawline to lead the kiss. It was not a lulled kiss, neither a gentle one, Javier was ruthless, taking out on your lips all the built up tension from the last few months. He couldn't believe it was finally happening. You were quick to follow his pace, your fingers grasping his shirt and pulling him even closer. The first moan you let out get Javi even more eagered, his hand passing down your body to grab your ass. You took advantage of his action and, before he knew, you were climbing up his lap, knees on each side of his torso, and once you were fully sitted on his lap, you both couldn't contain a moan. At that point, your skirt barely covered half your ass; because of that, he figured that you wouldn't mind his hands slowly rubbing up your tights until they reached the fabric and rolled it up your waist.

Javi parted your mouths to take a good look at you on his lap, his eyes wandered from your heavy eyelids, your lips puffy and red from the kisses, your blouse-covered chest raising and falling as fast as his until they got to the black thong you were wearing and he couldn't help but moan "Oh, fuck me"

"You like them?" your mouth came down his neck to give him wet kisses.

"How wouldn't I?" he held you by the nape of the neck and brought your mouths together again "I've wanted this for so long"

You released some kind of laughter "I know"

"Oh, do you?" he raised his brows.

"You're not exactly subtle for an agent" you murmured between kisses.

He snorts "Well, thanks for the insight"

Javi couldn't resist the urge to touch you through the tiny piece of fabric and you moaned at the pressure at your clitoris, but he moaned too at the wetness he found.

Javi didn't ask you how long you had wanted him, you were grinding on his lap at that moment and that was all that mattered. But he wished you had said it, that you had desired him as much as he had desired you, that all this time he had been imagining this moment, you were imagining it too.

"Fuck baby, you are so wet already" his tongue licked a stripe on your neck "All this for me?"

You answer was muffled by a moan; it seemed positive, but before he could confirm you were linking your mouths again in a searing kiss.

You started moving your hips on his erection and you both moaned at the pressure. Suddenly, his torso is being pushed down to the ground, chests pressed against each other, your fingers tangled his hair and pushed and he fucking whimpered.

Jesus Christ, he was in heaven and was not even inside of you yet.

You grinded furiously against him and he found it absolutly beautiful how you were using him to pleasure yourself and was not embarressed to do so. So. Fucking. Hot.

He felt like he was coming in any second.

"Fuck, you keep doing that and will have me cumming on my fucking pants, bebita"

"Oh, say it again!"

"What? That I'm within seconds to cumming?"

You moaned loudly at that "No- I mean, that too, that's hot, but- oh fuck"

"Bebita?" he felt you shiver at the pet name and chuckled "You like that, huh?"

You grabbed the nape of his neck and lowered your head to crush your lips to his again, tongues fighting heatedly. Javi started to feel that heat boiling at the bottom of his stomach, his hips grinded against yours and the pressure were just perfect; by the sounds you were making, you were as close as he was. Javi reached for you ass and grabbed it with both of his hands and squeezed, adding even more pressure to the grindness. At last, he sucked the pulse in your neck and you started to shake above him; that combined with the sweet noises that came out of you, he was gone.

You collapse on top of him, fingers unconsciously running through his hair; his members were sore and he was so tired and satisfied that he could sleep right there. The both fo you took deep breaths while your head rested on the gap of his neck and his on the floor.

"I can't remember the last time I did this" he was the first to break the silence.

"I actually do this everyday to my pillow" you mumbered humurously and he moaned.

"Shit, you're gonna be the death of me" his hand ran up and down from your ass to your backs, loving the feeling of your curves.

You raised your head to find his eyes and the moment was gone. You both realizing what you just had done, the before contentedness in him that was mirrowed in your eyes then turning into panic.

"Shit" you clumsly stood up. You put your skirt down as quickly as you could.

"It's getting late" it was already late when you came to his office "I should go" you should stay, he wanted to say.

But instead he only nodded. He knew it was for the best. He shouldn't have let it come this far.

You quickly get your stuff and wishes him a goodnight. His eyes don't leave you until you pass through the door, yours, though, don't meet him once.

He stayed there on the floor, cum staining his pants, and even though he was fully clothed, the room had never felt colder.

➫

The next day was pure craziness. After you left his office, Javi went home, took a shower and lied in bed thinking of what had just happened between the two of you and what would happen from then on until he had to come back to work. Before he could even get to his office, you intercepted him with a cup of coffee and the news of a surprise and excruciating slow meeting with the ambassador, which led to another one with the CIA and then the atrocious combination of them both together. By the time Javi was freed from hell, everybody else were already leaving; due to your situation, he thaught that would be your case too, so he was surprised to see you still on your desk.

"I was waiting to see if you would need something else from me before I left" was your answer to the question on his face.

"I think I'm heading home too, actually" after a day like that, he felt like maybe he could even get some sleep.

He had work to do, yeah, and usually it didn't matter to him if his mind wasnt in the right place - it rarely was anyways -, but he knew nothing productive would result from working in that state. Javi also wanted to talk to you; he had so many thing in his mind, what he thought about during that whole previous night: he wanted you. So bad he didn't even know how to express it, so much he let himself cum in his pants just to get the little you were wailing to give to him. And he was concerned about what your reaction to that would be, because it was obvious that you wanted him too, but your actions showed him that you didn't want to want him. All those thoughts were consuming him, but it would have to wait for another day, he didn't think that was the right time, not at work. Maybe he could invite you for drinks and talk things through or-

"I was wondering if we could talk, too" you interrupt his thoughts "About yesterday"

If Javi wasn't a trained professional, he probably would've had his mouth opened in absolut shock. It was like you read his mind.

"Of course" you both looked around the department, the couple people remaining already preparing to leave. Still, he opened his office door and nodded for you to come in.

You were flustered, nervous even. Javi didn't know what to expect from that talk, he wished you would cave in to your needs and fuck him already, but he felt like you wouldn't be easy on him. Honestly, he couldn't read you.

The both of you stood akwardly in the middle of the room, door closed behind you. He waited patiantly for you to start talking, for you to take the lead of the conversation.

"So" you sighed "I wanted to apologise"

His face contorted in a deep frown "What for? You have nothing to apologise"

"I do, yes" you shook your head "It was completely irresponsible and unprofessional and we shouldn't have done that"

If you said you were embarressed last time, about the things you had said on the bar, Javi didn't know what you could possibly be feeling at that moment: your face was getting red, your eyes wouldn't meet his, your hands squeezed each other in your front; he kind of felt bad he was the cause of your discomfort.

"You didn't do anything by yourself"

"I jumped on you like a crazy-ass-horny woman!" over your shoulder, you look outside to see if there was anyone to witness your voice raising; there wasn't.

Javi could barely contain the smirk forcing itself upon his mouth at the memory of you riding him in that very same floor, just a few steps from where you stood. He really couldn't contain the beggining of an erection, though.

"And I loved that" you looked at him as if he was crazy for saying it "I did!" he took a few steps in your direction "And honestly, if anyone should be blamed it's me, I'm the boss, aren't I? The authority in the room or some shit like that"

The way you look at him said that you agreed, that he should be blamed too, should've had more self control, but you didn't say it and that made him smile, the way you still tried to keep your composure at work.

You sighed "Still, it wasn't right and I'm sorry"

"I'm not" he took another step towards you.

"It's not the point, sir"

"I don't think you are that sorry either" your brows raised in surprise "And fucking quit calling me 'sir' now, there's just us in here" another step.

"I'm just-" you shrugged "I'm trying to be professional, that's all"

"Baby we're a little too late for that now"

"Jesus Christ" you pinched the bridge of your nose, he could feel the frustration exhaling from you "You don't like to make things easy, do you?"

"What's the fun in that?" the joke landed flat "I have a proposal"

That got your attention "I don't think I like where this is going"

"Well, that's the thing" he took one more step "I think you do. You fucking grinded on me on this floor until we both came. You want me. What are you so afraid of?"

"You're my fucking boss!" your exasperation made him want to laugh and scream out of frustration at the same time "I like this job, I want to keep it"

"I would never put your job in risk"

"You can't be sure" it was true, Javi barely had a say in anything, but he would do anything in his power for you not to lose your job, especially because of him "And even if this" you pointed between the two of you "didn't make me lose it, it would be living hell if people found out"

"I can be discreet"

You crossed your arms "You're not taking me seriously"

"I am, I promise that I am" he really was "I just- You gave me a taste of what it would look like and now I'm starving for more" he scratched his chin, a little embarressed he let that slip out "I would do anything to have you for one night, we don't have to take work to the bedroom"

"Oh" you snorted "there's a bedroom in the scene now?"

"What?" he raised his brows "You thought I was fucking you in my office?" you went silent "You fucking did"

Javi is no romantic man, he thought about fucking you in every place possible, in the bathroom there, against the nearest wall, but when truly thinking about taking you, it would always be in a bedroom, somewhere you both would be able to take your time.

"Do you fantasize about it?" a step closer "Do you touch yourself thinking about me?" your eyes wouldn't meet his, so he carefully took your chin and angled your head until they did "Where?"

You gulped "Where what?"

"Where did you imagine?" his voice was barely above a whisper.

"Your desk"

"Fucking dirty woman" he smirked "I'm gonna fuck you on my desk, bebita" he took you by the waist, colliding your body to his "And on my couch" his nose traveled from your cheek to your neck "On the fucking window so eveyone can see how pretty you will look with my cock deep inside of you"

"Shit" your voice broke, breathless.

"Do you want it? Huh? To be full of my cock?" you nodded "I want words"

"Yes" you puffed.

"Yes what?"

You looked at him with a defiant look "Yes, sir"

He had to laugh "You are the worst"

His lips collided with yours with so much fierceness he was surprised they didn't start bleeding. His hands were all over your body, your breasts, your back, your ass. You pulled his hair with both hands and he moaned. Javi wanted you so bad it hurt. He decided to be bold and lifted you skirt to your waist, then placed you sitted on the edge of his desk, each of your legs on each side of his hips, pushing everything that was on your way to the floor, paying no attention to anything that wasn't you.

"I hate how you kiss me" you mumbled frustrated between kisses and he pinched his brows.

"You have a very distinct way to hate things"

"You just do it so well" your hands covered his cheeks "Makes me want to do this everyday"

Javi couldn't help but to smirk "I don't see why we can't"

"Yes, you do"

"All I see is a gorgeous woman with tasteful lips" he reached your covered mound and passed a finger through your folds, making you moan loudly ", wet lips" he smirked "telling me she wants to kiss me foverer"

You snorted "I didn't say that"

"That's what I heard"

"You are so cocky" you rolled your eyes.

"Damn right I am" Javi pressed his erection to your thigh.

"Yeah, I felt it yesterday" your hands went to unbuckle his belt, quickly reaching for his cock through his underwear and pumping him a couple of times "You're big, sir"

Javi moaned and threw his head back, enjoying the feeling, barely believing it was finally happening. You put down every piece of cloth in your way to his thighs, put your own panties to the side and started to guide him to your entrance.

"You think is gonna be that easy?" he murmured in your ear, dodging his dick to press on your clit instead, making you moan at the contact, but also groan out of frustration.

"After all this time, it should be"

"You know what I want to hear, baby" he peppered kisses on your neck while still grinding his dick from your clit to your entrance, you were so wet he knew you would have no difficulty to take him.

"Put this thing inside of me, already" you tried to move your hips to get more friction, frustration consuming you.

Even though Javi had a purpose of you to stop calling him 'sir', he could barely hold himself from sliping inside of you, so that's what he did. Your moan as he slowly made space for him inside of you will forever be in his mind. Javi cursed under his breath as your walls squeezed him and he had to take a moment to absorb the feeling. So warm, so wet, so tight, he was in heaven. But you were impatiant.

"Please, move"

"Say my name and I will"

"Why are you so attached to this?" you pinched your brows.

He did the same "Why are you so against saying it?"

You licked a stripe on his neck "To piss you off"

"That's okay" he smirked "You don't have to say it, I'm gonna make you scream it" he held your legs and roughly pushed inside expecting to hit your special place; by the way you gasped and grabbed him, he got it just right "Found it"

Javi ran his nose through your neck and your skin bristled "You're so sensitive here, aren't you, bebita?"

"I'm starting to think that you make me sensitive everywhere"

He laughed and stopped his movements again "Now that's a confession"

"What can I say?" you huffed "It seems like you make my mind go blank when you have your huge dick inside of me and won't. fucking. move"

He laughed and started to slowly take it out just to push it in again at the same speed.

"You're gonna fucking kill me" you whined "Please, faster"

"Are you needy, baby?" he licked your neck "I can feel you squeeze me. You're desperate for my cock, huh?"

"Yes"

"Yes, what?

"Yes, sir"

He increased the speed and you moaned louder "Unbelievable" his hips were reletless and he felt you getting tighter and tighter "You're almost there, aren't you, baby?" you couldn't speak, mouth half opened and nails digging into the skin of his arm "You like it rough, don't you?"

Then he stopped.

"What the fuck?" your voice is hoarsed.

"I'm fucking you slow, baby, is that a crime?" his smile was smudge

"You're evil" you whined, hips moving to find relief.

"I am evil? Who are you to talk about evil? You're fucking teasing me here, bebita. That's so wrong" he started to move slowly again "Just say my name and I'll let you cum"

You nodded your head no.

"Say it"

"No"

"Fucking say. It." he changed the angle to repeatedly hit that spot inside of you and pulled your hair until your back arched.

"Oh my God, Javi!" you screamed as you came hard on his dick, eyes closed tight, mouth opened and body tremblimg.

His name coming out of your mouth was like music to Javi's ears, and hearing it for the first time fomented something insane inside of him. He licked his thumb and pressed it hard against your clit, your eyes widened in surprise and he got a strangled sound out of your mouth as you came again, your body violently shaking under his hands.

"Oh shit, that's it, baby. You're fucking milking me. Shit, shit, shit."

His name was now floating through your lips like a hymn, and he loved to hear it.

"I'm gonna cum"

His words seemed to wake you from your trance "On my mouth"

"Shit" he steped away and out of you and one second later you were on the floor, knelt before him. You grabbed his dick with one hand, put the tip in your mouth and that's all it took for him to cum the hardest he had in his life. You sucked it, greedy until he had nothing more to give you "Let me see it, baby" he asked with a hoarsed voice, asking you to open your mouth, showing that you had swalloed it all "Fucking dirty woman"

You smirked and rested your forehead on his thigh, exausted.

"Come 'ere" he took your hand on his and got you to your feet, holding you against him by your waist "Can you walk?"

"I think I can learn how to do it again, yeah" he chuckled.

Javi lowered your skirt before sitting you on his desk again "How are you getting home?" he asked quietly as he slowly buttoned up your blouse, trying not to startle you and have you running away again.

"I'm taking a cab" you more gently than not stopped his fingers to continue the work yourself.

"Let me take you home" he fished your panties from the floor and put it in his pocked as he wore his pants again

"You don't have to"

"I know I don't. But I'm kind of worried if you will be capable to support yourself for enough time to call a cab after I fucked you this good"

You released the louder chuckle he had ever heard you give as you stood up "You're the absolute worst, Javier."

He started to get hard to the sound of his name on your lips.

"See? Perfectly stable" one of your eyebrows was raised and all he wanted to do was to kiss your attitude away.

"I guess I'll have to fuck you harder next time, then"

"I guess"

You both went quiet as you made your way out of the building and to his car, you only speaking to give him instructions to get to your place.

"There will be a next time, right?" he spoke as you left the car.

How silly of him to think that fucking you once would be enough, would make all the consuming desire go away, if something, it only made him want you more.

You took your time to look at him, as if staring directly to his soul and gave him a small smile.

"Good night, Javi"

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