#Boring beyond words while on a meeting

[magnificent-winged-beast]

Xtiel

XeanXas

XAS!

[monstersholygrail]

Long ago you had gotten into some trouble with the gods, being the mischievous little Cat Hybrid you are. You had actually managed to trick one of the Gods in a deal. A deal where you ended up earn everything and they ended up looking like a fool. At the time you were astonished and quite prideful. To trick a God was no small feat. But that quickly came to regret your trickery, even if you couldn’t help it.

The Gods decided that the best course of action was to punish you, of course. They couldn’t let you walk free, spreading word you had humiliated one of their own. So they made sure you could only trick mortals by trapping you within the confines of a ‘Hero’s Trial’ that once entered cannot be left. There you’d live for eternity using your wits to mislead heroes intent on proving themselves.

Eventually you lost count of the years you had been stuck within the trail. You were bored and restless. While it was fun tricking silly humans they always ended up dying. So your job became a little bit of a downer. Until he appeared. You didn’t pay him any mind at first. You thought he’d die like all the others. While he intrigued you with his own wit and cleverness, you didn’t have high hopes. The odds not in his favor.

That is until a year later when he returns at the start of your trial. You immediately perk up on the stone gate you rest upon, remembering him immediately. He made enough of an impression for that. You look him over, noticing his weakened stated. Armor torn and barely a weapon in sight. Yet he was returning to do the trial again.

“Why have you returned?” You ask, your tone demanding the truth. The air was knocked out of you as he smiles at you weakly, barely standing from the extent of his injuries. Yet his eyes glittered with adoration.

“To see you, of course,” he replies simply but you find your cheeks still turning red.

The rest of the exchange is a flurry of back-and-forth. The banter and ease in which you two talk is beyond anything you’ve ever experienced. You tricked a damn God! How could a mere human ever manage to keep up with you. But… he did. And as he walked back into the trial you can feel your heart breaking. A deep longing filling you to the brim. With his injuries and lack of protection you’re sure this time he’ll perish. There’s no way, right?

Another year passes with no hope and so much hurt. But butterflies burst in your belly when the day comes that he appears back at the start of your trial. He had somehow survived. He actually did it! With none of the grace your cat hybrid nature demands, you jump off the gate. Your human meets you just past the entrance where you two crash into each other in a fierce embrace.

“You have returned,” you breathe out with relief, your claws digging into his skin in your excitement. It’s then you realize he now has even less armor on than before.

“I’ve come to see you,” your human croaks, his voice tired but just as relieved as your own.

You lean back enough to look at his face, eyes flickering over his rugged features. He looks back at you as if you are the sun and he is the moon destined to forever remain in your orbit. You can’t explain the wave of emotions that wash over you in that moment as he confirms he’s come back to you all over again. You don’t know where to begin explaining how much it means to you. So you stop trying to explain.

As if one mind and one heart, you and your human move in at the same time, your mouths meeting in a passionate kiss. Your hands roaming along each other’s bodies with a familiarity that shouldn’t be there for two people who are only now touching for the first time. Yet it feels as if you’ve done this with him a million times. And you two share a night of passion and ecstasy before he continues off in the trial.

Years pass, one after the other, and every year your human returns to you. Proving to you time and time again the lengths and depths of his devotion to you, a sly Cat Hybrid. You count the years that pass now, not only remaining aware but keenly so. As each time your human returns with a little less armor, a weak weapon he must’ve found somewhere or none at all, his skin a little more wounded, and his mortal body a little older.

As time goes on, you grow more insistent, begging him to stop returning to the start, and still never fully understanding why he’s returned just to see you. Not when it hurts him so. Not when it hurts you to see him struggling while you have no possible way of helping him. You’re trapped to remain at the start, never allowed to go behind or beyond its entrance.

“Please, you must stop this,” you beg one night as the two of you lay under the stars, bare bodies tangled up in each other.

Your hand caresses his chest, right over his heart and his gaze softens. It’s an argument you’ve had time and time again but his patience and understanding with you remains.

“I cannot. How else will I see you?” He asks softly, lifting a hand to brush some of your hair back. You instinctively lean into his hand, nuzzling into him as you begin to purr.

Your eyes flutter shut as his words seep into you. An ache settling over your heart. The weight of his words has you shaking your head. A part of you wanting to be selfish, to keep him with you for as long as possible. But your love for him quickly overpowers it.

“Indeed you cannot. For if you see me again you will surely perish,” you whisper tearfully, your claws lifting to softly caress the forming lines on his face that begin to show his age.

Something akin to heartbreak flashes across his features. But just as soon as it comes it leaves, replaced with his usual understanding. A glimmer in his eye shows he’s close to tears as well. Needing your touch he takes your wandering hand in his, kissing it tenderly.

“Fine… If that is what you wish. Just don’t cry, my love,” he whispers, voice breaking as he speaks.

The two of you move as one, leaning in to fitting your lips together in a searing kiss. Losing yourselves to a needed final night of love and passion. Treasuring each other and the time you’d had. Knowing this will be his last time through the trial.

Another year passes at a snails pace. Never realizing how lonely you had been before meeting your lover. His love and utterly endless devotion changing you to your very core. For the first time in your very long life, the punishment the Gods had given you felt exactly like that… a punishment.

Eventually the leaves begin to turn orange and brown once more. The flicker of excitement inside your chest at the idea your lover would be here soon quickly flutters and dies to a lonely ember. Remembering once again that he was never to come back.

So when you see a strangely familiar form through your blurry tear-filled vision, you swear you must be seeing things or simply dreaming. But a quick swipe to your eyes has reality crashing down on you.

A gasp escaping from your throat to see your love stumbling toward you, clutching his stomach with his hand outlined in red against his tunic. He’s silent for a moment before something gurgles in his throat and he begins to choke.

You scramble off your perch, landing on the ground with a sickening thud. Your heart lies still in your stomach, unable to beat as you try to stand. The two of you rush toward each other just past the entryway to the trial. A strangled cry leaves him as he collapses in your arms and the two of you instantly crumble onto the ground, the leaves scattering around you.

“What are you doing here?!” You scream through broken sobs, frantically wiping away tears so that you may better see him. A rattling wheeze leaves him as he lifts a hand to softly brush the tears from your cheeks.

“I’m here to see you… one… last… time,” he rasps, cupping your cheek and bringing your forehead down to rest against his. The difference between his cold and your warmth is chilling. Unbearable. You can’t take it, you’re very being threatening to fall a part as you feel his final breath ghost across your face. His eyes never once leaving yours.

You throw your head back, letting out a cry mournful enough that it shakes the heavens. You can sense their leering eyes peering down on you. Oh, how they must be relishing in their revenge. Your tongue cannot be stopped as you spout endless curses at them.

Despising them as they must despise you, their punishment finding affect even now. For even if you didn’t mislead and trick your lover within the trial itself. You always tricked him into coming back. You must’ve. Somehow. His devotion too pure, his love too endless to be anything but the result of a trick. It couldn’t be real.

You couldn’t handle losing anything that real.

[fallingformatt]

SEXUAL TENSION M.S.

bsf!Matt x fem!reader

summary: the sexual tension between you and your best friend Matt causes you two to ‘talk it out’ in the car

based on these requests available: here, here

warnings: filthy ass smut bro

word count: 3.2k

a/n: I’ve been so busy with work, but im glad i finally found the time to write something hope yall enjoy it :) this post is not proofread

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"Wait do you like him?" my friend asks with a smirk on her lips as she playfully pushes my shoulder.

I was hanging out with my friend at the beach tanning, eating some grapes, swimming and just taking in the sun.

"I don't know, it's like this weird sexual tension between us like I just feel that hot and bothered vibe coming from him," I say to my friend as I twirl a strand of my hair between my fingers.

"As in general or like just around you?" She asks me while raising an eyebrow. "Girl I don't know, we don't talk about how often we get laid," I say with a serious tone. "You should then," she answers as one corner of her lips rises up followed by a wink. "Can we not? I'm not asking Matt if he wants to fuck me or just fuck in general, let's change the subject," I say now slightly annoyed about how long this topic has dragged on.

I have to admit though, in the past couple of weeks there have been moments of strong sexual tension between me and my best friend Matt. I don't know what it is but every time we hang out in a group setting, I feel him throwing glances at me while fidgeting with his rings practically undressing me with his eyes, his eyes seem to scan me up and down, eventually meeting mine every time, his stare would get this hint of hunger like he's been starving for something, so I went for advice to my friend but she doesn't have a serious bone in her body so it obviously didn't go far.

Not even a second later I heard my phone ring. I turn it facing up to look who's calling. My friend leans in pushing up her sunglasses to see the caller as well. "Oh it's Matt, you should ask him if he's down to fuck," she says with a huge smile plastered across her face. "You're so funny," I say sarcastically as I roll my eyes before answering the phone.

"Hey!" I say as I bring up the phone to my ear.

"Hey, what are you up to?" Matt asks.

"Nothing much, I'm at the beach with a friend," I say as I turn my head to look at her, as soon as I do so, I see her standing on her knees humping the air before she points to my phone laughing. I instantly facepalm regretting that I even mentioned something to her.

"Hello, are you there?" I hear on the phone.

I snap back as I remember that I'm currently on the phone with Matt.

"Yeah sorry, what did you say," I say.

"I asked if the weather is nice, am I really that boring?" Matt says.

"No I was just looking at my friend, she was kicking down someone's sand castle," I lie as I search around with my free hand for something to throw at my friend. "Yeah the weather is nice, the water is really warm too, what are you doing?" I continue.

"I'm driving home, do you want to do something later?" Matt asks and I see my friend walking over to me kneeling next to me pressing her ear against my phone trying to hear what Matt is saying.

"Yeah I'm down, do you have something in mind?" I answer as I try to push my friend away with my elbow staring at her and shaking my head.

"Chris and Nick really want to see you, so I was thinking we could go to topgolf, and get something to eat after that," he offers.

I see my friend nodding her head up and down signaling me to say yes. How did she even hear that is beyond me.

"Yeah I'm down, should be fun," I say.

"Alright I'll pick you up at 7, see you then," he says before ending the call

I look down next to me and see one grape lying in the sand, without giving it a second thought, I pick it up and throw it at my friend. "You're such a child," I say as I roll my eyes smiling. "You still love me," she says sitting down smiling, finally relaxing after being on my case this whole time.

The sun had started to set and we decided to head back to my friend's house. The beach is like a 10 minute walk from her place. "What time is he picking you up?" My friend asks me.

"He's picking me up at 7, but it's not like you didn't know that already, you're so nosy," I say as I look down at my phone to see the time. "Shit it's 6:27 pm already, there's no way I'm gonna get back to my house and get ready in time.

"You can just get ready at my place," she offers. I nod and pull out my phone from my pocket and text Matt the new address.

We go into her house and I drop my bag at the door running for the bathroom to shower. I turn on the water and hop in.

"Are you really that excited to see him?" my friend asks as she opens the door to the bathroom. "What do you mean?" I ask her. "I mean you rushed to take a shower so fast, surely you're excited to meet up with him," she says as I hear her turning on the sink to wash her hands. "I'm literally just showering, I don't want to be sweaty, covered in sand, and gross, no matter who I'm meeting up with," I defend myself. "Whatever you say," my friend says as she leaves the bathroom.

I hopped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my body. I went past the kitchen to my friend's room. I open the door and she's sitting in front of her vanity doing her skincare playing some music in the background.

My eyes lay upon an outfit lying down on her bed, it's a short jean skirt and a black lace tank top, I raise my eyebrow in confusion "What's this?" I ask. "It's an outfit for you to wear," she answers, I tilt my head. "Well unless you're gonna go to topgolf in sweats and a bathing suit, you should wear what's on the bed," she exclaims. "But this is what I would wear if we went clubbing not something I would wear hanging out with friends," I answer. "Trust me on this one," my friend replies. "You seriously need to move on," I say as I grab the outfit and put it on.

I check my phone to see the time, 7:05 pm it reads and as I was about to put down my phone I receive a text from Matt.

"I'm here" that's all the text says.

"I have to go," I say to my friend as I stand up from her vanity and head for the door. "Wait, just one more thing," she says as she runs over to me with a perfume bottle and sprays a few sprays on me. "What's that?" I ask. "It's a pheromone perfume, it's supposed to make guys crazy," she says, smiling proudly holding the bottle. I just sigh as I go for the door. "This way we'll find out if he wants to fuck in general or if he wants to fuck you!" my friend says happily, waving at me as I exit.

I get in the front seat as I see that Chris is sitting at the back. "Hey," Nick exclaims. "Hey," I say to everyone as I put on my seatbelt. "You look good," Matt says as he turns his head looking me up and down and Nick nods his head in agreement. "Thanks, guys," I say and we start driving. We're now driving for about 15 minutes, there's music blasting through the whole car as Nick and Chris are arguing, trying to scream over the loud music about which is the best spongebob episode making me giggle from time to time.

We're stopped at a red light and as I'm scrolling through my phone I feel someone's eyes on me, I pick up my head and see Matt looking at me, there it is again, that hungry stare, he's looking me up and down before his eyes again meet mine. I see him bite his lower lip before a little smirk creeps up on his lips. "You look so fucking good," he says, making me smile, his voice was deeper than usual. He turns his head to focus on the road again as the light turns green.

This is the vibe I was talking about with my friend earlier, we've never had this kind of tension between us before.

I turned my head back to see if Chris and Nick noticed his comment, and no they were still arguing, but the topic of the argument had changed to waffles and pancakes.

"We're here," Matt says as the car stops and he pulls out the keys from the engine and we all exit the car. As we go in, Nick goes to registration and pays for all of us. We all walk to our playing area and we all get something to snack on and some drinks.

"I'm up first," Matt says as he walks over to the playing area, he sets up the ball and swings the golf club. Next up is Nick, he does the same, now it's my turn, I walk up to the playing area, set up the ball, and take a swing with my golf club, I miss completely and I turn my head to look at everyone laughing, well almost everyone, Matt is the only one who's not laughing, which made me less embarrassed, I guess that's what best friends are for. "You need any help?" He asks, I nod my head and he stands up walking over to me.

I set myself up to take a shot and Matt walks over standing behind me, he puts his hands over mine "You have to hold the club tightly, okay?" Matt says as he tightens his grip around my hands. "Keep your back straight," he says and I straighten my back, which causes my butt to brush against his crotch. He inhales sharply before he continues, "Now swing," he says as he guides my hands with his swinging them to the side before hitting the golf ball and watching it fly away. I turn around to face Matt, "thank you," I say as I give him a hug. Before I get to pull away I feel his arm around the back of my neck as he leans into my ear, "you did so good," he says as he lets me go a slight grin forming on his lips, we walk back to the lounge area and Chris stands up as it is his turn now.

I was now sitting watching them play as I understood pretty quickly that there wasn't gonna be a golfer made out of me. Throughout the night I kept noticing Matt's glances, he's now sitting across from me, and he's staring me up and down as he's fidgeting with his rings. His gaze sends shivers down my spine, making me actually shiver and Nick notices.

"Are you cold? I left a sweater in the car, Matt can get it," he offers, " yeah that would be nice," I say as I look back at Matt and he seems to snap back into reality not really understanding what's going on.

"Come on Matt, I'm gonna go with you to get the sweater," I say to help him understand what's going on, he nods and stands up and we start walking to the car. I was actually glad that I managed to get him alone, I needed to understand what was going on with him, but I didn't want to ask with everyone around.

As we get to the car he unlocks it and I get into the front passenger seat and lean back to get the sweater Nick was talking about, as I grab the sweater I hear the door open, I turn my head to look and I see Matt leaning down, his arm resting against the open door. "You ready?" He asks. "No get in," I say as I lean back into my seat, placing the sweater in my lap. Matt gets in the car and closes the door. "What's up?" He asks. "I should be asking you that," I answer and Matt tilts his head confused by my statement.

"What's going on with you?" I ask. "What do you mean?" He answers me with a question not understanding what I'm talking about. I take a deep breath slightly nervous about what I'm going to say next, but I needed some clarity so I knew I had to ask. "Past couple of weeks you have been zoning out, staring at me," I state, I watch his face, waiting for his reaction. His expression grows dark, and once again his glare turns dark.

"You're driving me fucking insane, " he says his voice getting deeper again, "you don't know what you're doing to me, your sent, your presence," he says as he moves his stare from my eyes to my lips before licking his. "Tell me," I say as I put my arm on his bicep. "How about I show you instead," he says as a smirk appears on his lips. He leans over and grabs the outer side of my thigh, signaling me to move. I cautiously move over the center console his arms grabbing and holding my ass for support as he guides me to sit in his lap.

Without any warning he pushes his lips onto mine, kissing me roughly. One of my hands travel to his hair and the other one rests on his chest, his hands travel to my hips, pushing and guiding them back and forth, I let out a quiet moan as I break the kiss, "Matt this is wrong," I say as I try to calm down my breathing. "I don't care, I want you," he says as he smashes his lips back onto mine and I give into the kiss, he moves from my lips to my cheek and down to my jawline, his one hand still guiding my hips back and forth as the other hand moves over my ass grabbing it and slapping it.

I'm not fighting him and give into his touch fully, I throw my head back as I feel my panties getting wet and a moan slips past my lips, Matt takes advantage and attacks my neck, leaving wet kisses, slipping in a few bites as he's sucking on my sensitive skin leaving marks.

"Move up," he says, his voice is demanding. I move my ass up, both of my hands move to his shoulders as I hold them for support. He quickly unbuckles his belt and bucks up his hips sliding his jeans down along with his boxers. Matt's hand travels to my panties, he rubs against my clothed clit before sliding them to the side with one quick motion. He places his hands on my waist pushing me down and signaling me to sit down again.

He pushes his lips on my neck leaving sweet kisses around the dark marks he had created, he leans back and his eyes lock onto the hickeys, "pretty," he says as he grabs my jaw, his thumb brushing over the bruised, sensitive skin.

Matt grabs my ass as he moves me slightly up, positioning his dick against my entrance before pushing me down, I let my head fall on the nape of his neck as my elbows rest on his shoulders, my hands roaming his hair, I let out a moan as I start to move my hips.

"You feel so good princess," Matt groans, his hand tightly around my waist as the other one holds a tight grasp on my ass, his nails digging into my skin as I become a hot mess on top of him. "Matt," I moan out, my movements are sloppy and sensual.

"We can't be gone for too long," Matt whispers in my ear and suddenly fastens his thrusts underneath me. A sudden feeling of overbearing pleasure comes over me as I throw my head back no longer able to control my breath, moans and whimpers leave my mouth before I bite my lower lip trying to be quiet. "Baby don't be quiet, I'll make you scream my name," Matt growls deeply as his hand travels to my lower back holding me for support.

"Will you?" I manage to slip out between my moans as I start to grind faster on his cock. "You're such a brat," he says as his hand wraps around my hair pulling my head backward. His lips attack my collarbone, he's sucking and pulling on my skin slipping in a few bites, I hiss at the pain, "not so brave anymore huh," he says as he detaches from my collarbone before leaving a trail of kisses up my neck before meeting my lips.

"I'm," I whimper, my hands roaming around for something to hold onto as I feel my climax approach me. "You're?" Matt asks proudly as he's the one making me unable to finish my sentence. "Close," I manage to moan out between his hard thrusts and my grinding as we move in sync. "What was that huh?" He chuckles. I grab the collar of his shirt to pull myself together as I gather my strength to form a sentence.

"I'm so close Matt don't stop," I blur out, I feel my walls closing around his twitching cock. "You take my dick so well baby," Matt moans out sending me over the edge. "Matt," I scream out as my orgasm takes over me. Matt lets out a low growl-like moan, as I feel his seed pumping into me. I push my lips against his in order not to scream as I ride out my high.

"Oh my god Matt," I say as I move off of his cock and back to the seat next to him. "You did so good princess," he says as he leans in and kisses my forehead before he pulls up his pants. "We should get back," Matt says and I nod in agreement. I take Nick's sweater and pull it over my head putting it on.

As we step out of the car, I close the door and fix my short denim skirt and I see Matt fixing his belt. "I'm gonna leave the window slightly open," he says slightly chuckling pointing to the windows that had fully fogged up and I let out a small laugh as well.

"What took you two so long," Nick says as he looks at us and we try not to look suspicious. "We were talking," I say confidently, I see Nick shifting his eyes from Matt to me, and his eyes fall down to my neck as a smirk appears on his lips, "you got something here," Nick says as he brushes over his own neck with two fingers. My eyes immediately shoot to Matt as I slap his shoulder from the back.

I guess there definitely was some sexual tension between us that needed to be resolved.

[kabuki-writes]

The Laugh of Nero

chapter: 4 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 5

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: General Acacius faces the consequences of his conspiracy, while his daughter unexpectedly meets Emperor Caracalla alone for the first time.

warning(s): mention of violence | mention of alcohol | swearing | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: -

word count: 3.6k

Romans loved the story of old philosopher Seneca. He was once the teacher of Emperor Nero almost 200 years ago and although body was dead, his life continued through writings: one of it being the drama 'Octavia'. It was a popular play in the amphitheaters of Ancient Rome and beyond. And it was a favorite of yours.

The plot focused on three days during which the Emperor divorced and exiled his wife Claudia Octavia and married another, his lover Poppaea Sabina. It was indeed a tragedy, that gave the audience a glimpse into the madness of Nero, the wisdom of Seneca and the tragedy of Octavia. Oh how you could relate to Octavia. The divergence between her fear, hatred and sadness against her will to withstand and be wiser than what was thrown against her, it intrigued you. Somehow you felt the same in your current situation. On the one handside you feared the future and displeased the attention of the Emperors on you, yet you wanted to do everything to persevere. In a way, the stoic nature of Seneca's character in this play gave you some kind of guidance too. Stoicism, maybe you needed to stick to that even more as you were not able to control your surroundings as it seemed?

You took your seat in the upper-ranks of the amphitheater, accompanied by two of your closest friends. Cicero was one of the grandsons of senator Gracchus and now served as one of the senate’s transcriptors for as long as he was not old enough to candidate for a political mandate himself. The other one was Lydia, the daughter of General Britannicus, who fought alongside your father countless of times and was now fighting with his legions in the far north of the Empire. "Oh, i hope Scato is going to play Octavia this time! The last time i saw him in the role of Electra - it was just mesmerizing. He is just so handsome", Lydia sighed, as she always seemed to be that actor's number one supporter. You and Cicero laughed in response before you gave your friend a small pat on the shoulder. "I already heard that you approached him after the last play. Beware actors, Lydia. They might be charming, but they're also free spirits," you explained with a smirk on your lips, before Cicero added. "Oh everyone would run, when they hear about her father."

"Come on! Stop it! I am just daydreaming! I know he will never let me spend time with someone that isn't a boring military officer!" Lydia turned her face away because she turned completely red, but as she did, she noticed the black armory of the Praetorian guards, who escorted one of the Emperors to the royal box of the Amphitheater. "y/n, Cicero, look!"

You quickly turned your eyes to the scene and your face went pale in an instant, when you saw the luxurious decorated robe, the blonde-ginger hair and the golden laurel wreath. That profile, the curved nose and the make up... you instantly noticed, which brother was here to witness the play of 'Octavia'.

Nero.

In that very moment, he turned his head in an attempt to take a look at the crowd and you tried your best to keep your head low, while your sight was locked to the stage in front of you.

"Is everything alright, y/n?", Cicero asked irritated, while he tried to make sense of your sudden change of behavior.

"Yes, yes i just... i've never seen Emperor Caracalla here."

"Really? He comes to the theater quite often to watch plays", Lydia managed to say, before the crowd slowly fell silent as the first actor slowly walked on stage. The young woman next to you blushed and you could feel Lydia's hand clinging on your arm as if she needed something to hold on - the actor was indeed Scato and the costume he wore was 'Octavia' - a flowing robe with a long, curled wig and extravagant make-up that captured the sadness of her character perfectly.

But you couldn't really focus. Your eyes went to the royal box, the best place to watch the play in a comfortable isolation from the rest of the spectators. Here he sat, accompanied by an entourage of 'friends' and a little monkey which sat on his lap. Suddenly his eyes went from the stage over the crowd and suddenly, he saw you. Your heart sunk to your feet and you instantly turned back to the stage to witness Scato's monologue. He had seen you... and what you were not able to witness now was how he turned to one of his Praetorian Guards, to which he whispered an order.

You tried to keep calm as you stared at the stage, where Octavia was now accompanied by a chorus, who wept for the terrible treason she had to endure when Nero decided to take another woman as his wife. Meanwhile your fingers clinged into the fabric of your toga-styled dress as you gathered your thoughts. You still recalled the words you'd talked with him at the Collosseum - the way you had his attention. Women would kill for what you were able to get if you just continue - but then you heard the words of your father, you saw his worried eyes in front of you and you knew something was terribly wrong.

You were so encaptured in your own thoughts that Lydia grabbed your arm again, but this time it was not because she was about to fall for the man on stage, but because a Praetorian Guard was standing right at the side of your seats and pointed at you. "You. Follow me," he ordered in a very demanding tone, while your friends looked at you in shock. They didn't know what you'd witnessed before, so you grabbed their hands and just gave them an encouraging smile. "Don't worry about me, we see each other soon, alright?", you whispered before you stood up and followed the guard upstairs to the place where Emperor Caracalla had his seat.

_________________________________

"y/n, what a pleasant surprise to meet you here! Please, take a seat!", you heard the voice of Emperor Caracalla as you stepped into the royal box of the amphitheater and bowed to him.

"Leave us, Go!", he hissed quickly to his entourage, who - without a word - got up from their seats and left as quickly as they could, but not without giving you a two-faced look. It was almost as if they already knew something you didn't, as if they both pitied and envied you at the same time. You hold their glances to not give in to any mockery they might've had in their minds and would speak out to each other when they were gone. Then it was only you and the young Emperor,... and his pet monkey, which was seemingly busy eating grapes from a bowl of fruit.

With slow, careful movements you approached the seats in the front and sat down beside Caracalla, his eyes never leaving you as you did. "A funny coincidence, is it not? I remember that we talked about 'Octavia' and here we are now", he chuckled, while he leaned back and for a moment, he watched the stage, where Seneca approached Nero about the divorce of his first wife.

"A coincidence, indeed", you answered and followed his glance. There he was, the mad Emperor, who complained about the unfair treatment of him through his own mother, which he cursed over and over again. At that point she was already dead - believed to be murdered by an order of Nero himself.

"You haven't fully answered me back then, when i asked why you see yourself as Nero". The question came from your mouth while you still followed the actor's movements in his luxurious decorated robes, a red wig on his head - it somehow reminded you of Caracalla.

"The play is written to portray him as a monster, am i sitting next to one?"

Maybe it was almost too bold to ask that. You already regretted speaking those words out loud, when his view instantly switched to you, his blue eyes digging into you like a sharp blade. Suddenly, he simply burst into a resounding laughter, that made your lose your breath for a moment, as you stared at him with irritation.

"Gods, you're really amusing", Caracalla grinned wide, showing off his gold tooth. Nonetheless he gave you an answer. "It depends..."

He raised his hand and let his little monkey climb on it. When he reached his shoulder, Caracalla took a grape and fed it to the animal, before it started to groom his wild hair. Not caring about it, he continued. "Everyone views Nero as mad for breaking the chains that his mother and his predecessor layed on him. He never loved Octavia, yet he had to marry her. He never wanted to be Emperor, yet he became one. His mother tried to control him, so much so, that he needed to get rid of this old hag." The last words were almost a hissing tone, as if he was speaking of something he could truly relate to.

"Now everyone is plotting against him, the Gods, his damned first wife, his teacher, all of Rome, only because he started to follow his own path and married the woman he loved. A tragedy, truly - not just for Octavia, don't you think?"

He looked straight into your eyes, waiting for your answer and you sensed that this was a key moment, where you could say something wrong. In a way, you could see what he meant, but there was something he didn't see. Nero broke the chains, yes, but he broke them with cruelty, murder and terror.

"Isn't everything in our lives a tragedy?", you asked and it seemed to please Caracalla, as his bright grin returned, before he turned to the stage once more, crawling his pet monkey while he followed the next scene.

Oh how he could relate to those words. No one could understand the tragedy of his own life, always being seen as the underestimated, 'weaker' and younger brother. But he enjoyed this talk more than he was willing to admit. And he was sure that you were able to understand him to a certain degree, the first woman to do so.

Suddenly, his pet jumped over to you, climbing onto your shoulder and taking a strain of hair to look at your curls.

"Dondus, no! Don't hurt the fair lady!" In an instant, Caracalla jumped from his seat, but before he tried to take the monkey again, he noticed your sudden yet beautiful laugh and how you reached out to pat Dondus carefully, softly, with your filigran fingers. How he wished that those fingers would touch him in that very moment, while his hands stiffened.

"It is fine, please - don't worry", you said quickly, since the monkey didn't hurt you in any way - in fact the way he climbed on your shoulders, touched your hair with his tiny fingers and groomed them with interest in his dark eyes, was very cute. And your reaction was honest.

"I think, he likes you", Caracalla mumbled, while he returned to his seat, still watching you how gentle you were with Dondus, one of his only 'real friends'. It was his own pet, his alone and caring for him often calmed his mind. Just as you did in this very moment since no word came from his mouth - he just watched. Why, just why does he have to share you with Geta soon...

Slowly he reached for his cup of wine and poured it down in an attempt to numb his thoughts over this damn fact.

"You said you see yourself in Octavia, but you could be Poppaea", he whispered, his eyes locked on yours.

"I could be," you responded, the focus laying on 'could', while you were still playing with the little monkey. In a way you started to find your path in this game. "Either way my fate would end in death then."

Caracalla laughed boisterous once again in response to your words, while he raised his cup. "And yet you would live in delight instead of agony. Let us toast to the inevitable death of us all". You took your cup and followed his toast.

"To the tragedy of us all." As you drank a first sip of your wine, you still saw how he looked you straight into the eyes. It was clear that he just waited for the next chance to say something and this time he was closer than before, leaning over the armrest of his throne. The Emperor was close enough for you to smell the scent of his perfumes and the wine on him.

"I just know we will have a lot of fun, once we see each other more often," he chuckled. His words hit you, but you tried your best not to drop your mask of neutrality. You'd almost began to enjoy this conversation up to this point. What did he mean by that?

Should you ask? No, it would be terribly impolite to question something like that in the presence of an Emperor. Only your lips parted, while you searched for your next words. Caracalla was the one to grin again, his gold tooth shimmering in the lights that came from the stage of the theater. And his next words rang through your ears like a bell.

"Don't forget to thank your dear father, once you're back home."

_________________________________

Marcus Acacius walked through the hallways of the Imperial Palace, escorted by the Praetorian Guard. He was not in chains, but wore his dark brown leather armor with the wine red whool cloak and his helmet under his arm - the armor of a General. In fact, he didn't really know why he was even here in the first place. It was quite early for a new war campaign, but he stopped to question them long ago anyways. It wouldn't be a surprise, if the Emperors had already found a new target for their obsession. The mere hunger for expansion was enough to never satisfy both Geta and Caracalla, who simply took military like Acacius and moved them on a map as if they were simple toy figures. The glory of Rome was what they promised the people, yet all the older man had seen was death and despair over and over again - even though he always came back with a victory laurel wreath on his head. What an irony.

The fact that everything was like the last times he was called to the palace, made him unobservant to the fact that he was walking straight into a trap. He was sure that his secret was still a secret - that he and the senators were safe in a way. Maybe safe enough to carry out their plan once the time was ready for it. How wrong he was on this...

When he stepped into the throne room, the guards behind him closed the door and he greeted Emperor Geta according to the protocol in situations like these. "My Emperor", he said with his fist on his chest and his eyes locked on the young man, who stood in front of one of the two elaborately designed thrones, which were placed on a platform at the center of the room.

"General Acacius! It is good to see you again. Come forward...," Geta called and his waving hand was a signal for him to move, to come closer. As he did, Marcus noticed that the other twin was missing, but this wasn't a surprise too since Caracalla was often 'occupied' with other things. In reality, he simply hated politics and rather threw himself into diffent forms of pleasure in an attempt to escape the stuffiness.

They were not alone, a couple of Praetorian guards stood at their distinct positions as they always did and therefore the general simply ignored them.

Meanwhile Geta had to force himself to keep a straight face, when the traitor approached him as if nothing happened at all, as if he was not about to put a sword into his neck with those filthy senators - just as Julius Caesar got betrayed by his kin and the senate as well. The young Emperor would not let this happen again.

"Tell me, General, why did i call for you?"

Acacius brows furrowed, while he looked to the map table, which was standing alone in front of the great window. It was untouched.

"I thought you might answer me that, your Grace. The last time we talked, you granted me a pause before i will regroup my legions in Ostia and start the next campaign in Numidia."

Geta's laughter filled the room in response to the General's words and it took him even more strength to not scream at him.

"Oh, don't worry, Acacius. This plan hasn't changed yet."

Yet. A feeling of unease creeped up his body, as he stood still, his eyes locked on the pale, gingerblonde royal, who stood in front of him in a toga of black and gold.

"But let us be honest now, shall we? I question your loyality to me and my brother, to Rome. As i know, you're meeting with members of the senate," Geta called out and even though this was true, Acacius kept a straight face, hiding his fear in trained perfection.

"As you know, my dear wife is the daughter of senator Galba. Is it now regarded as treason to meet with my father-in-law?"

Geta stepped forward, closing the distance between him and Acacius in an instant, while his jaw clenched in anger. His mind was like a volcano, ready to erupt at any second.

"Do you think we're fools!?", he hissed with an even more aggressive undertone that grew louder with each word. Marcus had to tackle the urge to say 'Yes', in fact there was even so much more he wanted to say right now. That they were tyrants, mad, arrogant and overall spoiled little brats, which he cursed at every given second of his life.

"We know what you're up to Acacius - a snake amongst the men we regarded as the most loyal to our father and to us. How dare you turn against us and plot with those maggots from the senate, even though you've seen that they were not able to rule an Empire for yourself! Have you no respect for Emperor Septimius Severus, who gave you all what you're now!?"

It was too late, he obviously knew. And Acacius was not even able to put in words how much he hated himself for not being able to keep it as a secret long enough. It not only put his own life in danger but the rest of his family too, his wife... his daughter. His jaw clenched at the mere thought of the consequences that might errupt in the aftermath of this audience. Yet he couldn't hold back what was laying under his tongue for so long: "You father still holds my greatest respect and loyalty even after his passing... may the gods grant him peace in elysium. But i've seen your shortcomings many, many times. You lack the wisdom and restraint he had, yes maybe even the love he had for Rome and its people. You and your brother are not worthy of the crowns he placed upon your heads."

Geta's eye twitched and he grabbed a dagger, placing it right in front of Acacius' throat. His whole body trembled in pure wrath at the audacity of that General's words.

"I should kill you now Acacius! I should kill you and all those filthy senators for that treason!", he screamed at him, while his opponent only responded with a cold and collected gaze. This look alone made him Geta even more aggressive and hateful towards Marcus, but killing him would only create another problem - so he went with the path he had already planned in his mind.

"My brother was right, you are a Brutus. But we're not Julius Caesar", Geta hissed against Acacius, leaning his head to the side for a moment, as he studied his stern facial expression. Oh how much he hated it that he didn't fear him. The Emperor wanted to change that.

"We should start all over again, shall we? As a hero of Rome, the people won't be pleased with you being crucified publically... But we can still kill your wife... your daughter?", he started and noticed how - even for a second - the corners of Acacius' mouth twitched, as if he wanted to say something against this. Now there was fear, something Acacius tried desperately not to show, but Geta still noticed.

A wide, knowing smile appeared on his face and he nodded in silent agreement. "Ah, now you see the consequences. Yes, i am not above killing you kin and let you watch... but it would be such a shame, such a waste... especially for your beautiful daughter. I wonder how you will explain to her, that you threw her young life away because of your pride"

The blade of his dagger was dangerously close as the tip touched his skin at his neck, while Acacius stood in an almost frozen position.

"I have a proposal for you, Acacius...it is the only option to safe your own life and the ones of those you love the most - wed your daughter to me."

Geta's word hit Marcus like a lightning bolt. His eyes widened in response to the request of the Emperor in front of him. And his heart broke in that very moment.

"I will not sell out my daughter like this", he answered with a firm tone in his voice, but Geta only smirked and leaned forward, whispering in his ear with an amused undertone. He knew that Marcus wasn't able to say 'No' in any way. He loved his daughter too much to watch her die.

"One option, General. She either becomes my wife - and i will make her Empress of Rome. Or she will be crucified alongside your pathetic senators..."

He would always choose her life, but at what cost.

_________________________________

Tags:

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[zvdvdlvr]

Could you pretty please write an imagine being house s/o, only Wilson knows, either being under him in his team or in a different department. You guys have a kid together and get called from her preschool or babysitter and end up having to bring her to work with you and the kid exposes you?

As well as just some dad house

surprise? ✩ gregory house

You had the situation under control until Greg had decided to teach his little ducklings a lesson in thievery. To be more specific, Greg had shown up to Cuddy’s office- hoping to ‘borrow’ some classified documents about the patient Cuddy had forced them to treat- while you were in there- trying to convince Aunt Lisa to babysit for a few hours.

The first two hours had been fine with Clementine, but nearing the end of the third hour you had realized how hungry she had gotten. Clementine had been relatively quiet: playing with her dolls and practicing her spelling words for school and such, but she was slowly getting bored.

Being the head of radiology meant that you were constantly discussing and interacting with patients, staff, or other important individuals. So far, the first five patients you’ve spoken with hadn’t minded Clementine’s quiet chatter or when she tried to strike up a conversation with them. But that didn’t mean you felt comfortable with your own baby girl while you weren’t giving her your full attention.

And of course the moment you decide to see if Cuddy could take some time to watch Clem, Greg emerges.

“Lisa, please. Just thirty-“

“Daddy!” Clementine squeals, point and squirming around in your hold. “Mama! Look, it’s daddy! Hi daddy!”

You turn, expecting to see your husband alone. Instead of one person, you lock eyes with a beyond shocked Cameron, Chase, and Eric. Greg smiles awkwardly at you, trying to ignore the stares of his lackeys. “I have a meeting soon. Take Clem, Greg. Make sure she eats,” you continue on casually, letting Clementine clint happily to her dad. You thrn to Cuddy and then at Celementine again.

“Make sure to keep an eye on daddy, okay my little love?” You coo. Clementine smiles brightly at you.

“Okay, mama.”

“Don’t lose her,” you tell your husband dryly before patting him on the shoulder and walking out the door.

The three ducklings exchanged glances. In front of them, Clementine pokes Greg’s cheeks after inflated like a balloon. “I’m- I’m going to run another blood culture and make sure his calcium levels are normal,” Chase bullshits, fumbling for an excuse to leave.

“Say bye-bye to the blonde man, Clementine,” Greg tells his daughter.

Chase doesn’t know how to feel when his boss’s daughter waves her chubby little hand and says “bye-bye, blonde man”.

🫀- bonus:

When you swing by Greg’s office after work, you feel a smile pull at your tired lips. On Greg’s chair, your husband has his legs kicked up comfortably on the foot rest. Clementine sleeps silently on him with Greg’s arm wrapped protectively around her little back to prevent her from falling. The soothing chords of the piani drift from Greg’s record player, and you already regret having to wake up the two loves of your life.

[v6quewrlds]

❝ slim shady, j. burrow. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: your boyfriend is cool, calm, collected, and now platinum blonde? though you're mentally conflicted, you can't help but feel drawn to his new look.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: requested by an anon! this was supposed to be sunday’s game day fic but here it is today instead lol i am a proud og supporter of the buzz cut and it comes out in this fic. i will die on the "joe says cock not dick" hill.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, sexual content, handjob, romantic dick sucking.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.1k.

You hummed to the rhythm of a song you couldn't quite remember, the office's background noise muffled as you waited for your coffee to brew. The sleek, black machine hissed and spat, the scent of dark roast filling the air. You checked your phone, scrolling through the mundane emails and notifications that had accumulated since your last break. Your thumb hovered over the screen, ready to dismiss the unimportant.

Then you saw it: an image sent from Joe. Your boyfriend's name illuminated on your screen as your lips broke in a quiet smile. Curiosity piqued, you tapped it open, expecting one of Joe's rare but charming selfies with his usual wide blue eyes and awkward poses.

But your eyes widened when the image loaded—instead of the familiar mess of dirty blonde hair, you found a bald head with a wide smile. The message beneath read, "New look what do you think?" Your jaw dropped as you stared at the screen, the buzz of the office around you fading into white noise.

Your mind raced with questions.

Why hadn't he told you? What was the occasion for this dramatic change?

But the office was not the place to get into this. You had a meeting in about five minutes and the coffee was finished brewing, the aroma now taunting you with the promise of a jolting caffeine rush you desperately needed.

With trembling fingers, you typed out a text, trying to match the easy light-heartedness of his message. "Why the fuck are you bald?" You decided to add an unimpressed emoji to remove any ambiguity from your words.

Joe's response was swift. "It'll grow back?" He wrote with a laughing emoji. "Got bored. Thought I'd try something new." You could practically hear the nonchalance in his voice and you couldn't decide if it pissed you off or intrigued you. The dryness of his text was typical Joe—always questionably calm. But this was a surprise you weren't quite ready to laugh off. You took a sip of your coffee, the heat scalding your tongue as you thought about his new look.

The day dragged on, your thoughts inexplicably drawn back to Joe's bald head. You had seen him in every hairstyle imaginable—undercut, grown out, and even a questionable middle part that you had mercifully convinced him to abandon under the guise of bad luck—but this was a step beyond. You tried to focus on the spreadsheets and emails, but the image of Joe's egg head kept popping up in your mind.

By the time you left the office, your curiosity had morphed into something else entirely. An excitement you hadn't felt in a while, a thrill that made your pulse quicken. You drove home, your hand subconsciously tracing the steering wheel as you imagined running your fingers over his newly shaved scalp.

The anticipation grew as you pulled into Joe's driveway. You took a deep breath before letting yourself in, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the warmth that awaited you inside. "Joe!" you called out, your voice echoing through the house.

"In the kitchen!" his voice responded, and you could hear the smack of a fridge door closing. You kicked off your heels, the sound of your bare feet padding against the cool, tiled floor.

As you entered the kitchen, you saw him standing by the counter, a protein shake in one hand, and his phone in the other. Your eyes scanned upwards from his broad shoulders, taking in the stark contrast of his bald head against his muscular physique. He looked up and caught your stare, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You bleached it," you murmured, the words leaving your lips in a breathy exhale. The kitchen lights reflected off his pale scalp, giving him an unexpected edginess.

Joe chuckled, leaning against the counter. "Surprise," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Your hand flew to your mouth. "Oh my god," you whispered. "It's... it's not just a buzzcut, it's—"

"Platinum," Joe filled in, taking a sip of his shake. "Figured why not go all out?"

Your eyes roamed over his features, now so sharply defined without the hair to frame them. His strong jaw, the crinkles of his eyes, his stubbled chin—it all looked more pronounced. And you had to admit, incredibly sexy. The shock was giving way to something else, something warm and fluttery in your stomach.

He watched you, his gaze expectant, a smirk playing on his lips. You stepped closer, reaching out tentatively to touch his head. The warmth of his skin was unexpected, and you couldn't help but let out a small giggle. He leaned into your touch, his eyes crinkling as you traced your fingers over the smooth surface.

"I can't decide if..." you said, trying to find the words. "If you look like you should be in a shitty boy band or if you're channeling Slim Shady."

Joe's smirk grew into a full-blown grin. "Slim Shiesty," he quipped, his voice low and playful. "You know you love it." He teased, his chest rumbling with quiet laughter as he took your hands in his.

You felt your smile widen, your heart racing. You didn't know if it was the caffeine from the coffee or the sudden realization that you were incredibly turned on by his new look. The way his muscles flexed as he held onto your hands, the glint in his eye as he watched your reaction—it was all too much.

Your eyes drifted to his lips, and you leaned in, capturing them in a kiss that was equal parts surprise and desire. His grip tightened, and you felt him pull you closer, the coldness of the countertop pressing into your back as his body molded against yours. His free hand roamed your waist, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin just above your hip bone.

"So you like it?" Joe murmured, his breath warm against your cheek as he leaned into you. You felt the heat from his skin and the tension coiling in your belly. You couldn't believe it, but you were insatiably attracted to this new look for him.

"Yeah," you breathed into Joe's ear, your voice silky with want, "I guess so."

Your hands slid down his body, tracing the planes of his chest before coming to rest at the waistband of his sweatpants. He leaned into your touch, his breath hitching. The kitchen light crafted an artificial halo as it bounced off the dye in his hair, and you found yourself craving more of him.

Without breaking the kiss, you tugged at his waistband, and Joe's laughter turned into a groan as your hand found its way to his cock. You wrapped your cold fingers around it, feeling it twitch and thicken in your palm. He pulled away, his eyes dark with hunger. "What do you think you're doing?" he murmured, his voice gruff.

You smirked up at him, your eyes full of mischief. "I'm just... indulging the new look," you said, your voice a seductive purr. You sank to your knees, your eyes glued to his. The kitchen floor was cold, but you barely noticed as the heat between the two of you grew.

Joe's eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his cock twitching in his pants. "Babe," he said, his voice thick with lust. But you were already untying the drawstring, his dick springing free, hard and eager.

You took him in your mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as you tasted his surprise and arousal. He was an intoxicating mixture of salty and sweet, and you moaned around him, your tongue swirling and teasing the head. The kitchen light danced over your dark skin and cast shadows across Joe's face as he watched you.

He tangled his fingers in your braids, gently guiding your movements, setting a pace that made him groan. Your eyes flew open to meet his, the blue of his irises burning into the brown of yours. Your cheeks hollowed as you took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing with the effort. The taste of him filled your mouth, the smell of his cologne mixed with the scent of the kitchen's citrus cleaner.

Joe's hips involuntarily bucked forward, pushing him further into your throat, and you gagged lightly, your eyes watering. He stilled, his hand coming up to cup your face gently. "You okay?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper from the effort of holding back just long enough to indulge in the pleasure you were giving him.

You nodded, your mouth still full. You pulled back with a pop, your lips glistening with the sinful mixture of his precum and your gloss, your eyes gleaming. "Yeah," you murmured, licking your lips. "Perfect."

Joe's gaze was intense, his eyes locked on yours as you took him in your mouth again. He groaned, his grip on your braids tightening, his thumb caressing your cheek. The sound was like a symphony to your ears, the sight of him lost in pleasure pushing your own desire to new heights. You bobbed your head, your rhythm increasing, your tongue flicking and dancing around his shaft.

You felt a rush of power, the kind that only came from knowing you could make him lose control. His breath grew ragged, his hips jerking in time with your movements as his stomach tensed. One of his hands gripped the counter as he cursed under his breath. You could feel his muscles tensing, his legs quivering slightly, and you smiled at the sight of him slowly losing it.

The sound of your mouth moving over him was the only noise in the kitchen, the slick sounds of your saliva mingling with his groans. You reached up and took hold of the base of his cock, your mouth releasing him as your thumb danced over his angry tip. He swore, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought the urge to come.

"Babe," he warned, his voice strained. "If you keep doing that..."

But you were beyond listening. The thrill of his impending orgasm was intoxicating, and you were determined to push him over the edge. You bit your bottom lip with a smirk, a knowing glimmer in your eyes as you watched your boyfriend throw his head back. With a surge of boldness, you kept your seductive gaze on his face as you licked a slow, deliberate stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, tasting him fully.

Joe's knees buckled slightly, now reaching to grip the counter with both hands to keep steady. "Yeah, suck this cock, beautiful," he hissed, his voice a desperate plea.

At the sound of his command, you didn't relent. With a wicked smile, you took him back into your mouth, your other hand now stroking the velvety skin of his balls. The sensation was too much for him, and he let out a strangled groan, his entire body seizing. You felt the warmth of his seed fill your mouth, and you swallowed, your brown eyes round as they stared up into his.

You pulled back, your chin glistening with spit, your expression smug. Joe looked down at you, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with passion. "You're crazy," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. "But I fucking love it."

He helped you stand to your feet, your eyes still locked. The kitchen light cast shadows over his bald head, giving him a mysterious allure that had your heart racing. He leaned in and kissed you, his tongue tracing your teeth and tangled with yours, sharing the taste of himself. It was a kiss filled with passion and a hint of appreciation, one that left your knees weak.

You broke the kiss with a giggle, wiping at your mouth. "You know, I think the bleached look really suits you, Slim," you said, your voice filled with a teasing lilt.

Joe's eyes lit up, his smirk growing as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Yeah? Maybe I should keep it then."

You playfully slapped his chest. "You better not, I didn’t say all that," you said, though the breathlessness in your voice betrayed you. "But for now, I can deal with it."

The two of you pulled apart, and Joe took a step back, looking down at you with a grin. "Deal with it, huh?" he challenged. "We'll see about that." His words were met with a confused look from you, but before you could ask him what he meant, he took a swing of his protein shake, set it down, scooped you up, and threw you over his shoulder.

"Joe!" you squealed, laughter bubbling up from your chest as he carried you out of the kitchen. You smacked his ass playfully, but the truth was, you were thrilled. The excitement of the unexpected was like a drug, and you were eager for more.

[hisfavegirl]

Betrayal And Grief - Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

summary : The worst thing happened to your marriage with Aemond, you can't see him like before. You keep distancing yourself from Aemond and give yourself enough time to forgive him.

Warning : mention of blood, jaehaerys death, mention of miscarriage.

You stepped into Alicent’s chambers, the soft glow of the fire casting warm shadows across the room. She sat gracefully by the hearth, her posture poised but visibly tense. The teacup in her hands trembled ever so slightly as she raised it to her lips. Her eyes, sharp and calculating as ever, shifted to meet yours the moment you entered.

“Come in, my dear,” Alicent said softly, setting the teacup down on the small table beside her. She gestured to the chair across from her. “Sit with me. We have much to discuss.”

Her tone was gentle but firm, and you could sense the weight of the conversation that was about to follow. You stepped forward, smoothing the folds of your gown before sitting down. Your heart felt uneasy, unsure of what she could want from you at this hour.

For a moment, there was only the quiet crackle of the fire. Alicent studied you, her eyes searching yours as if she were looking for something — doubt, fear, or perhaps resolve. Then, she spoke.

“You are aware of the events unfolding around us,” she began, her voice low but steady. “With Viserys gone, the realm is more divided than ever. Sides have been chosen, and war… war is inevitable.” Her gaze didn’t waver as she leaned forward, her expression serious but motherly. “You are no longer just my daughter-in-law. You are part of this family, and your role will be crucial in the days to come.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and inescapable. You could feel the weight of expectation being placed upon your shoulders. You nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond.

Alicent reached for your hand, clasping it firmly in hers. “You have done well, my dear. Supporting Aemond, standing by him — it has not gone unnoticed.” Her eyes softened slightly, but her grip remained strong. “But there is more to be done. You must remain vigilant, for enemies are everywhere. Our family is under threat, and I will do whatever it takes to protect it… to protect you.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine. You knew she meant every word. Alicent Hightower had always been a protective mother, but tonight, she seemed more determined than ever.

“Do you understand?” she asked, her eyes piercing into yours like daggers.

You nodded slowly, fully understanding the weight of Alicent’s words. She was not merely asking for your loyalty — she was commanding it. Her gaze bore into yours with unwavering resolve, a quiet but undeniable assertion of power.

“Good,” Alicent said firmly, releasing your hand but letting her fingers linger for just a moment longer. Her eyes softened with something akin to affection. “You are wise beyond your years, my dear. Aemond needs someone like you by his side. This family needs you.”

Her words lingered in the air like a silent vow. You knew that from this moment forward, there would be no turning back. To remain by Aemond’s side was to anchor yourself to the cause of the Greens, to Alicent, to Aegon’s claim to the throne.

“You are one of us now,” Alicent continued, her voice quieter but no less firm. “No matter what happens, you must not waver. If he falls, you help him rise. If he falters, you steady him. And if anyone threatens him” — her eyes darkened, sharp as a blade’s edge — “you crush them.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, not out of fear, but from the weight of responsibility that had now been placed upon you. This was not just a marriage anymore. It was a bond forged in duty, in politics, and in war.

“I trust you to do this, for him, for our family,” she said, her gaze softening only slightly as she raised her teacup once more. “Now, go. Rest while you can. The days ahead will not be kind to any of us.”

You rose from your seat, your legs feeling heavier than before. As you walked to the door, you glanced back at her. Alicent was already gazing into the fire, her face a mask of quiet contemplation. For a moment, she looked older, wearier, like a queen burdened with too many crowns.

With a deep breath, you left the room, knowing that your place had been set. No matter what lay ahead, you would remain at Aemond’s side. Whatever happened to him, happened to you. And whatever fate befell this family, you would be bound to it — for better or for worse.

You pressed a hand to your temple, feeling the dull throb of pain growing stronger with each step. Your other hand rested on your stomach as a wave of nausea washed over you, sharp and sudden. The weight of the day’s stress, worry, and hunger had finally caught up with you.

Reaching the door to your chambers, you leaned against it for a moment, eyes closed, trying to steady your breath. The world around you tilted slightly, making it harder to focus. You hadn’t eaten since the morning, too consumed with thoughts of Aemond’s journey and the unease lingering in the Red Keep.

Pushing the door open, you stumbled inside, closing it behind you. The familiar warmth of the chamber greeted you, but it felt stifling now. You sat on the edge of the bed, fingers digging lightly into the fabric as you tried to ground yourself. The pounding in your head grew worse, and the nausea refused to subside.

“Foolish,” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head slowly. You knew better than to neglect your health, especially now. With a hand on your stomach, you reminded yourself that it wasn’t just you who needed care — your unborn child depended on you too.

Taking slow, deep breaths, you reached for the small bell on the bedside table, ringing it softly. Moments later, a servant entered, bowing low before you.

“Bring me something to eat,” you said, your voice softer than usual but still firm. “And water. Quickly, please.”

The servant nodded and disappeared without a word. You leaned back against the headboard, closing your eyes. The weight in your chest felt heavier than before. It wasn’t just hunger, exhaustion, or illness. It was the growing dread that had settled there ever since Aemond left for Storm’s End.

You curled your arms around yourself, seeking the comfort you wished he could provide. But he wasn’t here. And until he returned, you would have to be strong — for him, for yourself, and for the life growing within you.

You placed a hand gently over your stomach, your fingers tracing small, absentminded circles. The memory of that night with your grandfather lingered in your mind like a ghost you couldn’t banish. You had sat by his bedside, his breath shallow, his words broken and distant. You had felt the weight of it — the urgency, the finality.

You had wanted to tell him.

The words had been on the tip of your tongue. “I’m with child, Grandsire.” Simple words, but ones that carried so much meaning. You had imagined the way his tired eyes would light up, perhaps with pride, perhaps with hope. He might have smiled, weak as he was, and spoken words of encouragement. Maybe he would have squeezed your hand just a little tighter.

But instead, he had spoken of Aegon, of thrones and crowns, his mind consumed by the weight of kingship. His last breaths had been spent on matters of duty and legacy, not family. Your moment had slipped away like sand through your fingers, and then… he was gone.

You clenched your jaw, eyes stinging with unshed tears. It had been days since then, and still, you hadn’t told anyone. Not Aemond. Not Alicent. Not even Helaena, though you had been close to telling her earlier that day. Every time the words came to you, they felt too fragile to speak aloud, as though saying them would make them too real.

Aemond deserved to know. But you didn’t want to tell him like this — not when he was already burdened with war, duty, and his mission to Storm’s End. You had wanted to tell him when you were both at peace, somewhere quiet, where he could place his hand over your stomach and feel the life growing there.

But peace was nowhere to be found now.

You sighed deeply, tilting your head back against the headboard. Your fingers pressed lightly against your stomach again, seeking reassurance. “It’s just us now,” you whispered softly, barely audible, as though speaking to your unborn child. “But we’ll be all right. We have to be.”

The servant returned soon after, carrying a tray of food and water. You forced yourself to eat, even when every bite felt heavy on your tongue. You ate because you had to. For you. For the child. For the future you still believed in — even if it was slipping further from your grasp.

Aegon’s arrival was as loud and unceremonious as always. The doors to Helaena’s chambers creaked open, and he strode in without warning, the faint scent of wine following him like an unwanted shadow. His eyes, half-lidded but alert, scanned the room with the impatience of a man looking for something he’d misplaced.

“Where’s Jaehaerys?” he asked abruptly, his gaze flickering over you before settling on Helaena. His tone was sharp, not unkind but certainly not gentle.

Helaena barely glanced up from where she sat, weaving a small thread of silk between her fingers. Her voice was distant, as though she were speaking from a dream. “He’s in the library,” she murmured softly, her eyes focused on her hands. “With the maester.”

Aegon exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. He muttered something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch. You watched him carefully, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes darted around the room as if searching for something to ground him.

“Did something happen?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, your eyes meeting his. It wasn’t often that Aegon looked this unsettled — distracted, yes, but not like this.

He glanced at you, and for a moment, he hesitated. His lips pressed into a thin line. “The council wants him present at court,” he said at last, rubbing the back of his neck. “They say it’s time for him to be seen.” His eyes shifted to Helaena, and something unreadable passed between them. “They’re saying too much, as always.”

Helaena’s hands stilled for a moment. Her gaze finally lifted, her soft lilac eyes meeting Aegon’s with a look of quiet understanding — and perhaps a little sadness. “He’s just a boy,” she whispered, her fingers resuming their weaving. “They’ll put too much on his shoulders.”

Aegon didn’t respond. His eyes flickered to Maelor and Jaehaera, playing together on the floor. You watched as his gaze softened just slightly, a glimpse of the man he tried so hard to bury.

“Then I’ll carry it for him,” he said quietly, almost too quietly for anyone to hear.

His eyes lingered on his children for a moment longer before he turned on his heel and left, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.

Silence lingered in the room, broken only by the playful giggles of Maelor and Jaehaera. You glanced at Helaena, who was once again lost in her weaving, her lips moving faintly as if whispering to herself.

“Blood and cheese,” she said softly, her voice distant, dreamlike. Her fingers moved in delicate, repetitive patterns. “Blood and cheese… a debt paid in blood.”

A chill ran down your spine at her words. You leaned forward, your heart tightening. “Helaena… what do you mean by that?” you asked cautiously, your voice soft but firm.

Her eyes didn’t meet yours. She blinked slowly, her fingers still weaving, as if she hadn’t even realized she’d spoken aloud. “A debt must be paid,” she whispered, almost like a lullaby. “A son for a son.”

Your blood ran cold. You glanced at Maelor, still playing with his wooden dragon, his soft giggles filling the air. Your chest tightened with unease, a sense of dread creeping into the edges of your mind.

What debt? Whose blood?

You glanced toward the door, half-expecting Aegon to return, half-wishing Aemond were here instead. But you were alone with Helaena’s words, and no amount of warmth from the hearth could chase away the sudden chill that settled over you.

The familiar growl of Vhagar outside the Keep had only moments ago alerted you to his return, but now that he was here, the unease in the air was palpable. You stood frozen for a moment, staring at Aemond as he entered the room, his eyes quickly darting away from yours. His usual confidence seemed gone, replaced with something you couldn’t quite place. The air between you seemed thick with unspoken tension, and it made your heart beat faster in your chest.

Aemond stood still just inside the doorway, his long strides slowing as he approached you. His face was slightly bruised, and there was a tense set to his jaw that you had never seen before. His usual assuredness had been replaced by an almost fragile uncertainty. You couldn’t help but wonder—what had happened to him out there?

You took a small step forward, your voice barely above a whisper, the words rushing out before you could stop them. “Aemond… What happened?” You reached out, wanting to close the distance between you, but his eyes flickered nervously to the side, avoiding your gaze.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, his tone sharp but forced. His hand came up, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture of discomfort. “There was nothing. Nothing to worry about.”

But you could see it. The way his shoulders were tense, the slight tremor in his hand as he clasped it to his side, and the nervous glance he kept sending toward the door. You knew him well enough by now to sense when something was wrong. This wasn’t the Aemond you knew—the confident, fearless warrior who had always met challenges head-on. This was someone else.

“Don’t lie to me,” you said softly, your voice trembling with the fear you were trying to keep at bay. “You’re not fine. What happened? Please, tell me.”

Aemond’s eyes darted briefly to yours, and you saw a flicker of something deep within them—a quiet, unspoken fear. But before he could respond, he turned his face away again, hiding it from you.

“I… I can’t,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. “Not yet.”

You felt your heart sink. The words hung heavily in the room, and the silence stretched between you both. It was like there was a wall, something invisible, yet so painfully real, keeping him from you. Keeping him from sharing whatever it was that had rattled him.

But then, as if to push away your concern, he took a step forward, his eyes once again not meeting yours. “I need to… take care of something,” he said quickly, his words clipped. “I’ll be back later.”

Before you could stop him, he was already walking toward the door, his gait stiff and uneven. You called out to him, but he didn’t look back. The door clicked shut behind him, and you were left standing alone, your hand still half-raised, unable to reach him.

The dread that had settled over you earlier was now a tight knot in your chest. Something was wrong. Something was deeply wrong, and Aemond was hiding it from you.

You felt helpless, watching him walk away without understanding what had shaken him so. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t just let him go. Not like this. You needed to know what was happening. You needed to understand what had caused the cracks in his armor.

And you would find out, even if you had to break down the walls he was building between you.

You stood frozen in front of the door, the sounds of raised voices drifting through the cracks. Alicent’s and Otto’s voices were loud and sharp, calling Aemond’s name with frustration and anger. The air around you seemed to thicken with tension, and confusion gripped your chest. What had Aemond done? Why were they so upset? You felt your heart race as you listened, your mind trying to piece together the situation.

You had seen Aemond return, but he hadn’t shared anything with you—nothing about what had transpired. His odd behavior, his refusal to meet your eyes, and now this… you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong. You stepped closer to the door, your hand trembling as you touched the cool wood. You could hear the sharp tones of Alicent, her voice cracking slightly as she demanded something from Aemond. Otto’s voice was more controlled but laced with authority, as always.

“Aemond, this is madness! You must face the consequences of your actions!” Alicent snapped, her voice filled with tension.

Otto’s voice followed, cold and calculating as always. “You’ve put us all at risk. Explain yourself now, Aemond.”

Your stomach twisted with unease, the vague words you overheard doing nothing to quell the rising sense of dread. What had Aemond done? Why had it caused such a reaction? And why hadn’t he told you? You wanted to barge in, demand answers, but fear and confusion held you back.

From what you could gather, the situation was worse than you thought. Whatever Aemond had done, it had angered not only his mother and grandfather but had shaken the very foundations of your alliance. You had no idea what had happened, but the anger in their voices was undeniable.

Slowly, you stepped back, trying to steady your breath as you mulled over your next move. Should you go in? Should you wait for him to explain? You couldn’t ignore it any longer—you needed answers. The thought of confronting him was terrifying, but you could no longer stand in the dark.

Your mind raced with possibilities. Had Aemond done something reckless? Had he made a decision that jeopardized everything?

You turned around slowly at the sound of Alicent’s voice, her tone softer than the heated words you’d overheard earlier. The weight of her gaze was hard to ignore as she stood there, her expression a mixture of concern and something unreadable. You nodded, still troubled by the fragments of conversation you’d heard in the hall, and followed her as she led you toward her chambers.

As you entered the room, you noticed the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken tension, the air thick with a sense of urgency. Alicent gestured for you to sit, and you did so, your hands trembling slightly as you tried to calm your racing thoughts. The room was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire.

Alicent took a deep breath before speaking, her voice calm but firm. “I know you’ve overheard some things just now. Aemond has made a decision… one that has upset many within our family, including your grandfather.” She paused, as if choosing her words carefully. “But I need you to understand, there is more at play than what you may have heard. This is not just about what Aemond has done—it is about the future of this family, and the alliances we need to hold onto.”

You felt your stomach twist in confusion and worry. “What do you mean, mother?” You couldn’t help but ask. “What has he done that has caused so much turmoil?”

Alicent’s eyes softened as she looked at you, her expression laden with concern. “Aemond has taken a drastic step, one that could have severe consequences for us all. I won’t go into the specifics just yet, but you need to be prepared for what comes next. There may be some difficult choices ahead.”

Her words hung in the air, each one more ominous than the last. You couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever Aemond had done, it was far more than a simple mistake or an act of defiance—it was a decision that had shaken the very core of everything.

“Is he… in danger?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alicent met your gaze, her expression unwavering. “In a way, yes. But the greater danger is what this could mean for all of us. Aemond’s actions may have set in motion a series of events that we cannot undo, and we all need to be ready for what comes next.”

Your heart raced, your mind struggling to keep up with the weight of her words. You had hoped for something simpler, some explanation to ease your growing unease, but Alicent’s warning only deepened the mystery.

“What should I do?” you finally asked, feeling the weight of the situation press down on you. “How can I help him… or protect him?”

Alicent looked at you for a long moment, her eyes searching yours. “Be there for him, as his wife. Stand by him, even when things become difficult. There will be those who will try to use his actions against us, and we cannot afford to lose any ground. You are more important in this than you may realize.”

You nodded slowly, trying to absorb her words. The future seemed uncertain, and you had no clear path forward, but one thing was certain: you were bound to Aemond, and his choices would shape not just his future, but yours as well. And whatever was coming next, you would face it together.

You stood at the doorway, watching Aemond as he sat by the fire, his back turned to you. His presence was both comforting and distant, a paradox you couldn’t quite understand. The crackling of the flames seemed to echo the tension in the room, and the silence between you both felt like a wall.

You took a step closer, your voice tentative as you called his name, “Aemond.”

For a moment, there was no response. He didn’t even flinch at the sound of your voice. The air in the room grew thick with unsaid words, and you felt an unease settle in your chest.

You took another step, your heart heavy. “Aemond, please, talk to me.”

Still, he remained silent, the only sound being the fire’s soft crackle. It was as if he was lost in his own thoughts, far away from you, yet his presence was undeniable, filling the space around you.

You approached him cautiously, unsure of how to bridge the distance that had grown between you. Reaching out, you gently placed your hand on his shoulder. His body stiffened, but he didn’t pull away. You waited, hoping he would turn to face you, hoping that this silence wasn’t an indication of something deeper.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he shifted slightly, his voice low and rough as he spoke without meeting your eyes. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

His words hung in the air, and you could feel the weight of them. “Like what?” you whispered, your heart aching as you crouched down to be closer to him.

Aemond’s gaze remained on the flames, but there was something in his posture that spoke volumes—a vulnerability that he rarely showed. “Weak,” he muttered, almost as if the word tasted bitter on his tongue. “I’ve made choices… choices that have consequences, and now I fear I’ve endangered everything. I fear I’ve failed you.”

You could see the struggle in him, the turmoil that had taken root deep within. You knew Aemond as a man of strength, but in this moment, he seemed unsure, lost even. It broke something in you to see him like this—vulnerable, torn apart by the weight of his own decisions.

You knelt beside him, your fingers gently brushing the back of his hand. “Aemond,” you said softly, “You have never failed me. Whatever it is that’s weighing on you, we’ll face it together. You’re not alone in this. Not now, not ever.”

His eyes finally met yours, and for the first time that night, there was a flicker of something—hope, or perhaps just the smallest bit of relief. He didn’t speak, but his gaze held the words he couldn’t say.

You reached out, cupping his face gently in your hands. “Whatever you’re going through, I’m with you. Always.”

Aemond let out a shaky breath, his hand coming to rest over yours. “I don’t deserve your loyalty,” he murmured, his voice breaking.

You shook your head, pressing your forehead to his. “You do. You always will.”

The room was silent again, but this time, it felt different. There was no more distance between you, no more walls. Whatever came next, you would face it together, united in the quiet strength of your love.

You sat down beside him, your fingers gently wrapping around his hand, offering the warmth and reassurance that you hoped would make him feel safe enough to speak. His hand was cold, tense under your touch, but you refused to pull away, your gaze steady on him as you quietly urged, “Aemond… please, tell me what happened.”

There was a hesitation in his eyes, a flicker of something darker that made his usual confident demeanor seem distant. He pulled his hand back, running it through his hair, clearly torn between saying too much or not enough.

“I’ve made mistakes,” he finally spoke, his voice strained. “Things I’ve done, things I… should have stopped. It’s not just about what happened in the dragonpit or the decisions I made with the others. It’s everything. It’s what I’ve become—what I’m becoming."

You watched him, trying to piece together the pain behind his words, the weight of regret that he carried in silence. His words felt like a riddle, one you were desperately trying to understand.

“Aemond, please,” you urged, squeezing his hand once more. “I need to know. Whatever it is, we can face it together.”

His gaze flickered to the floor, as if the weight of his own secrets was too much for him to bear. He looked so fragile in that moment, not the proud, powerful man you had known. He seemed… lost.

“You know that I’ve always fought for what I believed in,” Aemond started, his voice low, almost a whisper. “For the throne, for my family, for our future. But in the process, I’ve made enemies. I’ve hurt people. I’ve… gone too far.”

Your heart sank as he continued, the unspoken pain bleeding through every word. He was struggling, fighting with himself more than anyone else, and the guilt he carried was a heavy burden.

“I did things that I can’t take back,” Aemond continued, his voice breaking slightly. “And now, I fear I’ve pushed everyone away. Even you.”

His words hit you like a blow, but you quickly pushed the hurt aside, squeezing his hand more firmly. “Aemond, you haven’t pushed me away. No matter what you’ve done, you’re still the man I married. The man I love.”

He shook his head, his frustration mounting as he stared at the fire. “You don’t understand. I hurt people—people who didn’t deserve it. I hurt you, too, by being so caught up in my ambition, in all of this. I never wanted you to feel alone in this.”

His voice softened, and for a moment, you saw the man he used to be—the man who had never wanted to show weakness. But the cracks in his armor were evident now.

You gently cupped his cheek, turning his face toward you, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Aemond, I’m not going anywhere. We’ll fix this together. Whatever you’ve done, it doesn’t change how I feel about you. What matters is now. What matters is that we have each other.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard, as if your words were a lifeline he had been waiting for. When he opened them again, there was something in his gaze—something that hinted at both relief and uncertainty.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he whispered.

“You do,” you replied, your voice steady and strong. “You always have.”

For a long while, neither of you spoke. But in the silence, there was an understanding—a shared knowledge that whatever storm was coming, you would face it side by side.

Aemond’s words hung heavily in the air, and you felt the weight of them like a crushing blow. Your hand, which had been holding his so tightly, now fell limply to your side as you tried to process the horror he had just revealed.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, his voice filled with guilt and anguish. “I wanted to scare him, to show him that I was in control, but Vhagar… she… she wasn’t under my command. I didn’t know she would do that. I didn’t know…” His words trailed off, his gaze distant, as if he were still lost in that moment, replaying it over and over again in his mind.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to breathe, the gravity of his confession almost suffocating. Luke… your brother… dead at his hands. The pain, the anger, and the confusion tangled together inside you, making it hard to think clearly.

“Aemond…” you whispered, your voice shaky, your body trembling as you tried to gather your thoughts. “You… you killed him? You killed Luke?”

He nodded, his eyes filled with an indescribable sorrow, but there was nothing that could undo what had been done. He had taken your brother’s life. The brother you had sworn to protect. The brother you had known and loved.

“I never wanted to kill him,” Aemond continued, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I swear, I never wanted that. But in that moment, I lost control. And when I saw what happened, I couldn’t—couldn’t believe what I had done.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, though he tried to hold them back, clearly struggling with the enormity of his actions. You could see the agony on his face, but it didn’t change the fact that he had taken Luke’s life. No amount of regret could bring him back.

You stood up slowly, distancing yourself from him, the raw emotion flooding through you. Anger, hurt, confusion… It all felt like too much to handle.

“Aemond… I…” You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. How could you even begin to process this? How could you look at him the same way again, knowing what he had done?

He stood as well, stepping closer to you, his hands outstretched, pleading for you to understand. “Please… don’t hate me. I know I can never make up for what I’ve done, but I need you to know it was a mistake. It was never meant to happen.”

You took a shaky step back, your chest tight with emotion. “A mistake? You killed my brother, Aemond. My little brother. And you… you’re asking me not to hate you?” Your voice cracked as the anger began to rise, the tears threatening to spill.

Aemond winced at your words, his own pain mirrored in the depths of his eyes. He seemed to realize the gravity of what he had said, how hollow it must sound to you. But no matter what he said now, the damage had been done. The bond between you and him, the love that had once seemed unshakable, now felt fragile, splintered.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “I know. I can’t undo it. I can’t change what happened. But I would do anything to bring him back. I would give my own life if it meant undoing what I’ve done.”

You shook your head, the tears finally starting to spill down your face. “It’s too late for that, Aemond. It’s too late.”

You turned away from him, the room feeling like it was closing in around you. Everything you thought you knew about him, about your marriage, had shattered in an instant. How could you move forward with him now? How could you ever forgive him for taking your brother’s life?

Aemond’s footsteps were slow, hesitant, as he followed you. “Please,” he said again, his voice breaking, “please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you too.”

You stopped, your back still to him, and your voice trembled as you spoke. “I need time, Aemond. I don’t know if I can stay with you after what you’ve done.”

The silence between you two was suffocating, the weight of his confession heavy on your heart.

Two days had passed since Aemond’s confession, and the weight of his words still lingered in your mind like an unshakable shadow. The anger had started to subside, but the hurt remained—deep and raw. You hadn’t seen him since then, the silence between you both stretching longer than you ever thought possible.

You had taken refuge in Helaena’s room, seeking solace in the presence of someone who understood, even though her own heart carried its own burdens. She had been patient with you, offering quiet comfort and the space you needed. You didn’t blame her. She, too, had suffered in silence, bound by love and loyalty to her family, to her brother, and to you.

Lying beside her now, you stared at the ceiling, the flickering shadows of candlelight casting fleeting shapes on the walls. You didn’t know how to feel—how to move forward. You had spent these two days in a daze, trying to process everything, trying to find some semblance of clarity.

“He will wait for you,” Helaena whispered, her voice soft and gentle, as though sensing the turmoil inside you. She reached out, placing her hand over yours in a comforting gesture.

“I don’t know if I can forgive him, Helaena,” you murmured, your voice trembling as the uncertainty washed over you. “How do I forgive something like this? How do I go back to the way we were?”

Helaena squeezed your hand, her eyes full of empathy. “Forgiveness… it isn’t easy. Especially when it’s someone you love. But you don’t have to make any decisions right now. You don’t have to have all the answers.”

“But… he killed my brother,” you whispered, the weight of those words threatening to crush you all over again. “How can I ever forget that?”

Helaena’s gaze softened, and she gently brushed a lock of hair away from your face. “I don’t think anyone could forget something like that. But you have to decide what’s worth holding onto. Whether your love for him is enough to move past the pain. It will take time, and maybe that’s what you need more than anything right now. Time.”

You let out a shaky breath, the tears threatening to fall again. “I just… I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to look at him the same way.”

Helaena’s voice was a quiet comfort. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. One step at a time, sister. That’s all anyone can do.”

You nodded, feeling a small measure of relief at her words, though the ache in your chest remained. It was as if a part of you had been torn away, and you weren’t sure how to put it back together. You couldn’t just erase what Aemond had done, but the love you had once shared… could it still be salvaged?

“Take your time,” Helaena said softly, her gaze reassuring. “Whatever you decide, we’ll be here for you.”

And so you lay there, the quiet of the room enveloping you, giving you the space to breathe. You didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time in days, you allowed yourself the freedom to simply be. To let time heal, even if only just a little.

You walked toward the children’s room, your mind still clouded with thoughts of the past few days. The weight of the situation with Aemond and the events that had transpired had left you with a heavy heart, but in that moment, the thought of the children waiting for you brought a small sense of peace.

When you entered the room, you saw them—Jaehaera, Jaeharys, and Maelor—already tucked in their beds, their little eyes bright with anticipation. They had been eagerly waiting for you, hoping you would keep the promise you made to tell them a bedtime story.

You smiled softly at the sight, your heart warmed by their innocence. Despite everything that had been happening, this moment was simple and pure, a welcome distraction from the complexities of the world outside.

“You’re all ready for the story, hm?” you asked gently, your voice carrying a hint of warmth as you approached them.

Jaehaera’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Yes, please! You promised!”

You nodded, settling into the chair next to their beds, adjusting your gown slightly before opening the book you had brought with you. It was a favorite of yours—a tale of adventure, magic, and distant lands. You began to read softly, the familiar words bringing comfort not only to the children but to you as well.

As you read, you could see their expressions shift between concentration and wonder. Maelor, ever the youngest, lay nestled under his blankets, his small hands clutching his favorite stuffed animal. Jaehaera, sitting up slightly, hung on every word, while Jaeharys was already half asleep, though still content to listen to the story.

The soft rhythm of your voice, the turning of the pages, and the gentle breathing of the children created a calming atmosphere. For a while, everything felt right again. It was a fleeting moment of peace in the chaos, one you didn’t want to let go of.

As you finished the story, you whispered softly, “And the adventurers lived happily ever after, surrounded by love and laughter.”

The children smiled, their eyes drooping as the quiet warmth of the room settled in. You kissed each of their foreheads gently, whispering a goodnight as you rose from your seat. Your heart felt lighter, and for the first time in days, you allowed yourself a moment of solace.

Your heart skipped a beat as you froze in place, the cold touch of fear creeping up your spine. In the dim light of the room, two figures stepped forward—one large, looming, and the other smaller, their features obscured by the darkness. They moved swiftly, silently, and before you could react, a blade was pressed sharply to your throat.

The tension in the air was suffocating. You could feel the cold steel of the dagger against your skin, and you instinctively swallowed, your breath shallow. You didn’t recognize them, but the cold, calculating look in their eyes made it clear they were not here for a friendly chat.

“Who… who are you?” you managed to say, trying to keep your voice steady despite the panic rising within you.

The larger figure stepped closer, the knife digging just enough to make you wince. “Quiet,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “Make a sound, and we’ll finish what we’ve started.”

The smaller figure, still partially hidden in the shadows, moved toward you, keeping an eye on the larger one. There was something about their posture—something unsettling—that made your instincts scream. It wasn’t just the blade at your throat. It was the coldness in their eyes, the precision of their movements.

You fought the urge to panic, focusing instead on keeping calm. You knew if you could just find a way to stall, maybe you could figure out their intentions.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly, but you forced yourself to stand tall despite the fear gnawing at you. “Why are you here?”

The smaller figure smirked darkly, and the larger one pressed the blade closer, almost daring you to speak again. “We’re not here for pleasantries,” the man said, his grip tightening on the dagger’s hilt. “Just do as we say, and you’ll live to see another day.”

The uncertainty gnawed at you. Were they after you? Or were they just here to send a message? Either way, you knew your next move was crucial. Every muscle in your body tensed, and your mind raced, trying to calculate how to get out of this alive, to protect yourself and those you loved.

And yet, as you stood there, the weight of the danger pressing in, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a random attack. Someone had orchestrated this. But who? And why you? why the children?

The silence was deafening as you waited for the next move, your mind working fast, your body still as stone, every sense heightened.

The sharp pain in your abdomen took you by surprise, but it was nothing compared to the horror of the scene unfolding before you. Blood soaked your clothes, your hands trembling as you tried to hold onto consciousness. The blade had pierced deep, and you could feel the life draining from you as you looked at the two men standing in front of you. Their cold eyes were fixed on you, one with a menacing calm, the other with a twisted sense of purpose.

"Blood must be paid with blood. A son for a son," the larger of the two growled, his voice filled with cruel finality as his gaze turned to the children in the corner.

Before you could react, the gruesome reality of their words began to play out. The man swung his blade with a brutal efficiency, and in the blink of an eye, Jaehaerys-Helaena's son— was decapitated. The lifeless body fell to the floor with a sickening thud, the blood pooling around him.

You could hardly comprehend what had just happened. Jaehaerys, your nephew, was gone.

Your vision blurred, and a scream of horror was caught in your throat as you saw Maelor and Jaehaera, Helena's other children, forced to watch the brutal execution of their brother.

Tears filled your eyes as your heart twisted with grief and fear for them. But in that moment, you were helpless. The pain from your wound was overwhelming, but the pain of witnessing this cruelty, of not being able to protect these children, was unbearable.

But before you could do anything, the world around you began to spin. The blood loss, the anguish, the terror-it all became too much.

You tried to call out to Helena's children, to make sure they were safe, but your body refused to cooperate.

Your vision was blurry, the world around you spinning in a haze of pain and grief. The coppery scent of blood was thick in the air. Your breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps, every inhale sharp with pain from the wound in your abdomen.

Faintly, you heard it—her voice. Alicent’s scream echoed through the chamber like a shattering bell. It was filled with so much anguish that, for a moment, you almost believed it wasn’t real. But it was. You blinked slowly, your eyes moving toward the doorway, and there she was. Her face was pale as she froze at the sight before her. Her gaze shifted from you to the small, lifeless form of Jaehaerys on the ground. Her eyes widened with shock, horror twisting her features.

“No… no, no, no!” she gasped, rushing forward, her skirts gathered in her hands as she stumbled toward you. “Guards! Guards!” she screamed, her voice cracking as her panic grew. “Aemond! Aemond, come quickly!” Her voice broke as she cried out, and her footsteps quickened.

You felt her hands on your face—warm, desperate, trembling. She knelt beside you, cradling your face with care as if that alone could keep you from slipping away. Her green eyes darted over your body, taking in the bloodstained fabric, the growing red pool beneath you, and the pallor of your skin. Tears welled in her eyes as her voice softened into something broken.

“Stay with me,” she pleaded, her thumbs brushing over your cheeks, smudging blood across your skin. “Stay with me, child. Help is coming. You’re going to be fine. Just stay with me, please.” Her breath hitched with every word, her voice breaking with every plea.

Your gaze shifted, slow and heavy like your eyelids were weighed down by lead. At the far end of the room, you saw them—Jaehaera and Maelor, curled into each other, trembling in fear. They stared wide-eyed at their brother’s body, unable to look away, their small faces frozen in silent terror. Jaehaera clutched Maelor tightly, her little hands gripping him like he was her only lifeline. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her lips quivering as she tried to stay quiet, but soft whimpers escaped her.

Alicent followed your gaze, her face crumpling further as she saw her grandchildren huddled together in the corner. “Oh, sweet children,” she breathed, her voice shattering with grief. But she didn’t leave you. Her fingers pressed against the wound on your stomach, trying to stop the bleeding, her eyes darting between you and the children.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, fast and urgent. The guards were coming. You barely registered the shouts, barely felt Alicent’s hands on you anymore. The edges of your vision darkened, sounds muffled as though you were underwater. You wanted to say something—to comfort Alicent, to tell Jaehaera and Maelor that it would be alright—but your lips wouldn’t move.

The pain dulled. Everything dulled. All you could hear was Alicent’s voice calling your name over and over again, her voice cracking with desperation. “Stay with me,” she begged. “Please, don’t leave me too.”

But her voice was growing distant. Her words were like echoes down a long corridor. You blinked slowly, and the world around you grew darker, colder, quieter.

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the halls, sharp and urgent. Aemond’s figure appeared in the doorway, his sharp gaze immediately landing on you. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he stood frozen—his one good eye wide with disbelief.

He took it all in at once. The blood-stained floor. Your pale, unmoving body cradled in Alicent’s lap. The hilt of the dagger still buried in your stomach. His breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, and for a moment, it seemed like the world around him had ceased to exist.

“No,” he muttered, his voice raw and hollow. “No.”

His feet moved before he realized it. Each step was heavy, each heartbeat louder than the last. His face was twisted in anguish, his jaw tight as he dropped to his knees beside you. Alicent’s tear-streaked face lifted to look at him, her eyes red and filled with grief. “Aemond,” she choked, her voice hoarse. “She—she’s losing too much blood. I—I tried—”

“Move,” he said, his tone sharp but trembling with barely restrained panic. Alicent hesitated for a heartbeat, but she nodded and released you into his arms. Aemond gently, but firmly, pulled you into him, cradling you against his chest. His hands hovered for a moment, unsure where to touch without causing you more pain. His gaze settled on the dagger still lodged in your abdomen, his breath hitching as if it physically hurt him to see it.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice cracking as he leaned close to your face. His silver hair fell forward, brushing against your cheek like a soft caress. “Look at me, my love. Open your eyes.” His voice grew more desperate with every word. “Please. Please, just look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered, but they didn’t open fully. The weight of everything—the pain, the blood loss, the exhaustion—was too much. Your breathing was shallow, and you could barely make out his face through the haze clouding your vision. But you knew it was him. You knew his voice, his warmth, his presence.

“Aemond…” you whispered weakly, barely more than a breath.

“I’m here,” he said quickly, his fingers gently cupping your face, tilting it so you could see him better. His eye was wild with fear, glistening as if tears threatened to fall. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Do you hear me?” He glanced at the wound and clenched his jaw so tightly it seemed it might break. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll fix this. I’ll fix everything.”

A shuddering breath escaped you, your lips parting as if you wanted to say something more, but only silence came. Your eyes slowly, painfully, began to close.

“No,” he growled, his voice breaking as he shook you lightly. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. Don’t you dare leave me.” His breathing grew faster, more erratic. “I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you!” His voice cracked with raw, unfiltered anguish, and he pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eye tightly. “Stay with me. Please, stay with me,” he begged, his voice now barely a whisper.

You felt his tears, warm drops falling onto your cold skin. His grip on you tightened, as if he could somehow tether you to the world with sheer willpower alone. His lips brushed against your forehead, lingering there for a long moment, his breath uneven and shuddering.

“Guards!” he suddenly roared, his voice filled with rage and desperation. “Bring the maester! now!” His shout echoed through the halls, filled with so much fury that it startled the guards who had just entered. They rushed to obey, sprinting away with wide, terrified eyes.

But Aemond didn’t look at them. He only looked at you. His heart thundered in his chest, louder than any sound in the world. He rocked you slowly, his eye never leaving your face, his lips moving as he whispered to you like a prayer.

“You’re mine,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with pain and love in equal measure. “Do you hear me? You’re mine. You stay with me, and I’ll burn the world for you. I’ll burn it all.” His words were a vow, spoken with the conviction of a man who had nothing left to lose.

His fingers pressed against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, his knuckles stained with crimson. “You’re strong,” he whispered again, his voice low and breaking. “Stronger than anyone I know. You’ll survive this. You have to.”

But even as he said it, he glanced at the blood on his hands, and doubt clawed its way into his heart. For the first time in his life, Aemond Targaryen, the fierce Prince of the Greens, looked truly, utterly afraid.

Aemond’s arms held you tightly, your body limp against his chest. His jaw was set in a hard line, his eye dark with a storm of emotions—fear, anger, desperation. His pace was steady but urgent, each step deliberate as if moving any faster might hurt you. Blood dripped steadily from your wound, staining the front of his tunic and trailing behind him like a path of grief.

“Aemond!” Alicent’s voice echoed behind him, filled with panic and worry. “Be careful! Let the maester come to you!”

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back. Her voice was nothing but noise in his ears. All he could think about was you—the warmth of your body slowly fading, your breath shallow and uneven. His heart pounded in his chest, each thump matching the sound of his boots on the cold stone floor.

“You’ll be fine,” he muttered under his breath, as if saying it aloud would make it true. His gaze was locked forward, sharp and focused, his expression one of grim determination. “I’ll get you to our chambers. The maester will come. You’ll be fine. You have to be fine.”

The halls of the Red Keep blurred around him. Faces of servants and guards turned toward him with wide, horrified eyes as they saw the blood-soaked prince carrying his wounded wife. Whispers followed him, but no one dared approach. They knew better. They had seen the look in his eye—the look of a man on the edge of breaking.

His breath grew heavier as he climbed the stairs to your shared chambers, every step heavier than the last. His muscles ached, not from exhaustion but from fear. He glanced down at you, his heart twisting at the sight of your pale face, your eyes barely open.

“Stay with me,” he whispered again, his voice cracking. “Don’t close your eyes. We’re almost there.” His thumb brushed softly over your cheek, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. “Just a little longer, my love.”

Finally, he reached your chambers. He kicked the door open with more force than necessary, the wood crashing against the wall. The room was quiet, the soft glow of the fire flickering in the hearth. Slowly, he lowered you onto the bed, his hands never leaving you for more than a second. His movements were careful, as if you were made of glass that could shatter at any moment.

His gaze flickered to the dagger still lodged in your stomach, his eye narrowing with barely restrained fury. Blood had pooled around the wound, soaking through your clothes. His breathing grew heavy again, his teeth gritting as he fought the urge to tear the dagger out himself.

“Where is the maester?!” he roared, his voice echoing through the halls like thunder. His eye darted to the doorway, expecting to see someone—anyone—rush in. When no one appeared, he cursed under his breath, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

But then his gaze shifted back to you, and everything else faded away. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, his hands trembling as he cupped your face. His silver hair hung loosely around him like a veil, his sharp features softened by anguish.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours. “Please, don’t leave me.” His voice was quieter now, no longer the commanding, sharp tone of a prince. It was the voice of a man terrified of losing the one thing that grounded him.

He sat there, his hands on either side of your face, his eye squeezed shut as if he could will your survival into reality. “I’ll find them,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ll hunt them down. I’ll make them pay for this.” His fingers tightened on your face—not painfully, but firmly, as if trying to tether you to him. “But not yet. Not until you’re safe.”

Moments later, hurried footsteps echoed in the hall. The maester arrived with two attendants carrying a box of medical supplies. Alicent followed close behind, her face pale, her eyes red from tears. She moved toward you, her lips quivering as she whispered a prayer under her breath.

Aemond didn’t move from your side. He didn’t let anyone push him away. Even as the maester approached, Aemond stayed close, his hand gripping yours, his eye never leaving your face. His lips moved silently, whispering words meant only for you.

“Stay with me,” he repeated like a mantra, his voice raw and broken. “Stay with me.”

The silence that filled the room was more piercing than any scream. The maester’s words echoed in everyone’s minds, but no one spoke.

Aemond stood frozen by the side of your bed, his gaze fixed on your bandaged stomach. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as if his body had turned to stone. Alicent stood behind him, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide with shock and overwhelming grief.

“A child…?” Alicent whispered, barely audible. Her eyes darted to you, filled with confusion and guilt. “You… you were pregnant?”

Those words cut through Aemond like a blade. Slowly, he turned to face you. His one violet eye burned with a storm of emotions — shock, anger, sorrow, and pain. He looked as if he’d just been struck by lightning.

“You were pregnant?” he asked, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but there was a sharp edge to it. He took a step closer to the side of your bed, his intense gaze locked on yours. “Why… why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. “I was going to tell you,” you murmured weakly, your voice fragile from exhaustion and pain. “That night… I wanted to tell Grandfather, then I planned to tell all of you. But everything… everything fell apart.”

His eyes blinked slowly, and he took a deep, shaky breath, his jaw tightening, the muscles in his neck straining. He lowered himself slowly, squatting by your side with his hands braced on his knees.

“Our child,” he muttered, his voice cracking as if the words themselves hurt to say. He stared at your stomach, his gaze hollow and distant. His fingers twitched, his hands trembling as if he was on the verge of losing control. “I wasn’t there… I should have been there.”

He leaned forward, his head bowed low, his shoulders shaking just slightly. Alicent took a step forward, trying to place a hand on his shoulder, but he raised a hand to stop her, his fingers stiff and firm.

“Leave, Mother,” he said in a low, sharp voice, his gaze still fixed on your stomach.

“Aemond,” Alicent said softly, stepping forward, her eyes pleading with him. “Please, think carefully.”

But he wasn’t listening. His single eye locked on the maester again, his face twisted with barely contained fury. “Get out,” he snarled, his voice low and venomous. “Before I lose what little control I have left.”

Alicent hesitated for a moment, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something, but she knew better than to push him. With a heavy heart, she left the room, glancing at you one last time before the door closed behind her.

Once she was gone, there was only the two of you. Silence. Stillness.

Aemond finally lifted his face to look at you. “I swear,” he said, his voice raw and broken, yet filled with resolve. “Those who did this… they will pay.”

He took your hand in his, gripping it firmly but tenderly. He brought it to his lips and pressed a long, lingering kiss on your knuckles as if it were the only thing grounding him to reality. “I should have been here,” he whispered again, his eye filled with self-loathing. “I should have protected you.”

“You didn’t know,” you said softly, your voice faint but sincere. “You can’t blame yourself, Aemond.”

He closed his eye for a moment, drawing in a deep breath, and slowly shook his head. “It’s not enough,” he said, his voice more resolute now, colder, sharper. “An apology is not enough. Empty promises are not enough.”

His face changed. The tenderness you had seen moments before faded into something colder, harder — a mask of quiet fury. It was the face you had seen him wear when he made a decision that could not be undone.

“They took our child,” he hissed, his voice low and deadly, his eye narrowing with cold fury. “I will make sure they feel the same loss. I will hunt them down, one by one, until they beg me to end them.”

“Aemond, please—” your voice cracked as pain shot through your stomach. You winced, biting down on your lip to stop a groan from escaping. Aemond’s eyes widened, and in an instant, he was by your side, his hand pressing gently on your shoulder to keep you from moving.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice firm but laced with worry. “You need to rest. Nothing is more important than you right now.”

But despite his gentle words, you knew what was going through his mind. You could see it in the way his gaze shifted to the door, as if he were already envisioning the faces of the people he would hunt down.

“Aemond, don’t do this,” you pleaded, forcing yourself to sound as steady as possible. “Don’t let hatred consume you.”

His eyes returned to yours, and for a moment, his face softened. He reached out to touch your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“It’s not hatred,” he said quietly, his voice filled with unwavering conviction. “It’s justice.”

Then he stood. And in that moment, you knew. You knew, as he released your hand and walked toward the corner of the room where his sword lay. His fingers brushed over the hilt, slow and deliberate, like it was a part of him.

“Aemond, don’t leave me,” you begged, your voice trembling as your tears fell freely now. “Don’t leave me alone.”

He paused at the door, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of a deep breath. Slowly, he turned his head, just enough to look at you from the corner of his eye. And in that single glance, you saw it — doubt, grief, love.

“I will always come back to you,” he promised, his voice a quiet but unyielding vow. “But I will not come back empty-handed.”

“I will make them regret it. They thought they could take from me without anything in return?”

“They will know what it means to take something from Aemond Targaryen.” his voice was cold as Valyrian steel.

The door closed behind him with a heavy thud that echoed throughout the room.

Tears streamed down your face. You stared at the ceiling, struggling to breathe steadily. Your body felt weak, and your stomach felt hollow — not just from the wound, but from the loss of something precious.

The loss was real. The loss was deep.

Outside, the sound of Aemond’s footsteps echoed down the corridor. Each step was slow, heavy, deliberate. The guards stationed along the hall stood at attention as he passed, saluting him, but he did not see them. His gaze was fixed ahead, unwavering, unyielding.

He would find them.

And he would show no mercy.

You leaned your head against the headboard, your gaze distant, fixed on the window where the sky outside shifted from soft blues to the dull gray of a coming storm. The cold air seeped in through the cracks, chilling your skin, but it was nothing compared to the ache that gnawed at your heart.

The pain in your stomach had dulled, the sharp sting replaced by a hollow, aching throb. But it was the pain in your heart that refused to subside — an unbearable weight that settled deep in your chest. You pressed your hand lightly over your abdomen, your fingers trembling as you felt the warmth of the bandages beneath your palm.

A child.

Your child.

Gone.

Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. If you started crying now, you feared you wouldn’t be able to stop. The silence of the room was suffocating, broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth fire, but its warmth did nothing to ease the coldness within you.

Is this the gods’ punishment? The thought clawed at your mind, sharp and relentless. Is this their justice for my choices?

You thought of your mother, of Luke, and of everything that had happened since the day your grandfather died. Siding with the Greens had been a choice made out of love, duty, and survival. But now, doubt seeped in. Was it all worth it?

A sob threatened to break free from your chest, but you swallowed it down, clenching your fists at your sides. You didn’t want to appear weak — not even here, not even now, when there was no one to see you.

Alone.

That word echoed in your mind, louder than the crackling fire, louder than the silence that hung over the Red Keep like a storm cloud.

Aemond was gone. He had left you with promises of revenge and justice, but he had still left. And though you understood why, it didn’t make the ache any less painful.

Alicent was with Helaena and her children. You could hardly blame her. After what had happened to Jaehaerys, Helaena needed her mother now more than ever. But it left you feeling… forgotten. Alone.

The weight of it pressed down on you, heavier than any wound. Your eyes drifted back to the window, watching as the clouds darkened, the first raindrops tapping softly against the glass. It felt fitting — the world mourning with you.

You closed your eyes, letting the sounds of the rain fill your mind. Maybe if you focused hard enough, you could drown out everything else. The pain. The loss. The guilt. The feeling of being so, so alone.

But no matter how hard you tried, it was still there. The ache in your heart remained, as if the gods themselves had branded you with it.

The next morning, you were still leaning against the headboard, your gaze lost in the distance when the door to your chamber creaked open. Alicent entered slowly, carrying a tray of food in her hands. The soft clinking of porcelain and metal echoed in the quiet room.

Her steps were slow, deliberate, as if she feared one wrong move would shatter you completely. Her eyes, filled with sorrow and quiet pain, watched you closely. Seeing you like this — pale, fragile, and hollow-eyed — seemed to break something inside her.

She placed the tray gently on the table beside the bed. The warmth of the food wafted toward you, the scent of bread and broth filling the room, but it did little to stir your appetite.

You glanced at her, your eyes dull and heavy with exhaustion. Her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line, as if she were holding back words or tears. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the distant patter of rain on the window.

Your voice was hoarse when you finally broke the silence. “Has Aemond returned?” you asked quietly, your gaze fixed on the bedsheets, too afraid to meet her eyes.

Alicent’s breath hitched, her hands folding tightly in front of her. Her eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite read — was it guilt, was it pity? She hesitated for a moment too long.

“Not yet,” she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She reached for your hand but stopped herself halfway, as if unsure if you’d allow her to touch you. “But he will. He always returns.”

Her words were meant to reassure you, but they only made your chest tighten with the familiar ache of longing. You nodded slowly, leaning your head back against the headboard, eyes fluttering closed. You didn’t want to think about where Aemond was or what he might be doing. Not now.

Alicent sat at the edge of the bed, silent and watchful. You felt her eyes on you, the weight of her worry pressing down like a heavy blanket. She didn’t tell you to eat. She didn’t tell you to get up. She just stayed, her quiet presence offering a comfort she didn’t know how to put into words.

You stayed like that for a while, the rain tapping softly against the glass, the warmth of the untouched food slowly fading from the air.

You finally broke the silence, your voice trembling with a raw edge of pain. “It was a miracle,” you said quietly, your eyes fixed on nothing in particular. “A miracle that I conceived after only a week of marriage with Aemond.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, sharp and hollow. Your hands tightened around the blanket on your lap, fingers twisting the fabric as if it were the only thing grounding you. Alicent turned her head toward you, her brows furrowed in concern, but she stayed silent, letting you speak.

“But the gods…” you continued, your voice cracking with the weight of your grief. “The gods must be punishing me.” Your eyes finally met Alicent’s, filled with unshed tears. “They gave me a gift, only to take it back.” Your voice was strained, raw with emotion. “Why? What did I do to deserve this?”

Your breath hitched, and you pressed a hand against your stomach, feeling the dull ache that lingered there. But it wasn’t the pain from the wound that made you crumble — it was the emptiness. The loss.

“I’m angry, Mother,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “I’m angry at them, at everything. At myself.” Your breaths grew shallow, your heart pounding against your ribs. “I feel… I feel like I’ve failed.”

Alicent’s face crumpled, her eyes shining with tears she struggled to contain. Slowly, she reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, the warmth of her touch grounding you. Her fingers curled around yours with a firm but gentle grip.

“You did nothing wrong,” she said softly but firmly. Her voice had the weight of a woman who had known loss and grief too many times. “The gods are cruel, and their will is beyond our understanding. But you are not to blame.” Her voice cracked on the last word, her grip on your hand tightening.

Her words touched something inside you, but the ache in your heart remained, sharp and unyielding. Tears spilled down your cheeks, silent and unrelenting, as the weight of everything crashed down at once — the loss of your child, the fear for Aemond, the weight of a world that seemed so ready to break you.

Alicent moved closer, wrapping her arms around you. She held you tightly, her hand cradling the back of your head as she whispered words of comfort you could barely hear over the sound of your quiet sobs.

“It’s not your fault,” she repeated like a prayer, her voice steady even as her own tears began to fall. “It’s not your fault.”

You finally broke down in Alicent’s arms, your sobs coming in waves so powerful that they left you gasping for air. All the pain, the anger, the grief, and the loneliness you had kept bottled up inside came pouring out in an uncontrollable flood. Your body shook with every cry, your face buried in her shoulder as if trying to hide from the world that had been so cruel to you.

“I’m so tired,” you choked out between sobs. “I’m so… so tired of all of it.” Your hands gripped the fabric of her dress, holding on as if letting go would make you fall apart completely.

Alicent said nothing at first, letting you release it all. Her arms were steady and firm around you, grounding you in the storm of your own emotions. She held you the way a mother holds a child, one hand gently stroking your hair while the other rested on your back. Every now and then, she pressed a soft, reassuring kiss to the top of your head, her breath warm and steady against you.

“You are not alone,” she whispered softly into your hair. “You have me. You have Aemond. We are your family, and we will not abandon you.” Her words were slow, deliberate, each one carrying the weight of her love and conviction.

Her embrace was unyielding, her presence solid and constant, like an anchor in a sea of chaos. You clung to her, letting yourself feel every ounce of your grief. No one rushed you. No one told you to stop crying.

Time felt like it stretched into eternity, the only sound in the room being your quiet sobs and the gentle hum of Alicent’s soothing whispers. And for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to feel vulnerable. You allowed yourself to feel everything.

And for the first time in days, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd @giirlinblack

[luminnara]

Unheavenly Creatures | Feyd Rautha/reader (NSFW 18+)

Summary: Feyd Rautha has taken a liking to you, a handmaiden accompanying your mistress on a diplomatic visit to Giedi Prime. He decides it's time to add another darling to his collection.

Warnings: knife stuff, blood stuff, mentions of murder, sex, a lil cannibalism, sex sex sex, dubcon-ish tones? lots of biting, it's feyd rautha it's not gonna be all sunshine, but he is also not as terrible as canon entirely so idk

Word count: 6k

Check out my feyd rautha playlist!

Tags: @austinswhitewolf @aeilani @maneater17 @serrendiipty

The Harkonnen palace was a cold place, not in the sense that the air was crisp and you could see your own breath, but rather that the austerity of its halls and monochromatic decor felt positively frigid. As if even the buildings weren’t meant to harbor life on this toxic, forsaken rock anymore. Everything you had seen of Giedi Prime so far had felt the same—stark, brutal, inhospitable. A barren wasteland with blinding white skies and dark acid rain.

And yet, House Harkonnen seemed to thrive beneath the black sun, growing numerous and powerful and rich. Before arriving, you had heard horror stories, rumors of what Baron Vladimir and his nephews were like, none of them pretty. When you had been informed you’d been chosen to accompany your own House’s leaders on a diplomatic trip to the Harkonnen homeworld, you’d considered pretending to be sick to get out of it. Faking your own death had seemed like a valid option at that point.

But with little choice of your own, you were forced to follow along as a handmaiden, and from the moment you set foot on Giedi Prime, you were determined to keep your head down and hope that the meetings went smoothly so that you could return to your own planet as quickly as possible. As you walked dutifully behind your Lady, hands folded and eyes trained on your feet, you couldn’t help but wrinkle your nose at the putrid, chemical air, unaware of the dark eyes watching you.

“My nephew, na-Baron Feyd Rautha,” Baron Harkonnen rasped, his voice like dry gravel. His words had you glancing up to finally look at what the Harkonnens considered royalty, and what was supposed to be a quick peek turned into a curious stare. The Baron himself was a large man, and he was levitating, wearing a long black robe that touched the ground even while he was so high above it. Tubes connected him to what you could only assume was some sort of breathing apparatus, a dark, spherical thing floating behind him. Standing behind him to his right was a much younger man, dressed in black and staring directly at you.

You felt a chill fly up your spine.

Feyd Rautha tore his eyes away from you and inclined his head in acknowledgement, looking to your Lord and Lady as formal pleasantries were exchanged. You kept your eyes down once more as you finally moved indoors, where the air was fresh and stale at the same time, and the walls were imposing and cold.

You followed along as your Lady was given the grand tour, a journey that ended at the guest wing. You were shown to your room and all but locked inside, left alone to inspect your temporary lodgings. If the rest of the palace was bleak, this was entirely featureless—a single boring bed sat in the center, a small table off to the side. There were no windows, not a shred of natural light despite how high the ceiling was. How anyone could willingly design such a place was beyond you, and you counted yourself lucky to only have to endure it for a short time.

Dinner was served that evening, hosted by the Baron and his nephew. You were permitted to join, dressed in a plain white gown as you sat in silence, doing your best to disappear. You could feel Feyd Rautha’s eyes upon you as you ate and tried to ignore him, cutting into what must have been meat and realizing it was rare at best, perhaps an organ from some large beast. Nonetheless you ate it, finding it adequate and perhaps even tasty, eating in the calm and measured manner expected of you back home.

Suddenly, Feyd barked a laugh. “A pet at the dinner table?”

You glanced up at him and found yourself fascinated once more. His pale skin, nearly white, was completely smooth; you had yet to see a Harkonnen with hair, though you did not know whether they removed it or simply never had it in the first place. His blue eyes were so dark they appeared black in contrast, and as he grinned at you, all you saw were black teeth, and it was somehow beautiful in that brutal, gruesome way of Giedi Prime.

“Do your pets always dine with you?” He rasped, his tone mocking.

“Na-Baron, she is not a pet,” your Lady said sternly, and you felt safe knowing that she would defend you. You were loyal to your House for a reason, after all; you knew your leaders would bring you home safe and sound. “She is my attendant.”

“You must forgive my dear nephew,” the Baron said. “Your customs are not ours.”

You expected a rebuttal, but none came, and Feyd Rautha’s eyes remained glued to you as you ate.

-0-

The negotiations seemed to stretch on.

After dinner, you had helped your Lady retire for the night and then returned to your chamber, laying in bed as you stared at the distant ceiling. All the stories you had heard of the Harkonnens swirled in your mind, and you thought of their recent extermination of House Atreides and shuddered. Your House was desperate to stay in their good graces, you knew, and who could blame them? No one wanted to end up slaughtered like the Atreides.

You told yourself that you were safe. Even if the Harkonnens had lured your Lord and Lady to Giedi Prime under false pretenses, you were only a servant; there was no reason to kill you as well. Aside from Feyd Rautha’s comments at dinner and the stark discomfort of the palace, nothing had happened to make you believe you were a target, and though you knew it was borderline blasphemous, you took some solace in the knowledge that it was more worth their while to kill your masters than you.

When you finally relaxed enough to close your eyes, however, sleep came surprisingly easily, and your dreams were simple and comfortable.

In the morning, you prepared the Lady for the day, and then she and the Lord entered their meeting with the Baron, leaving you alone. There was nothing to do but wander the guest wing, though that only occupied you for a short time as there was absolutely nothing to look at. Nothing in the way of art decorated the walls, and the architecture was so smooth and so plain you quickly grew bored of it. You doubted you would be permitted to participate in anything that even semi-resembled entertainment, and as minutes stretched into hours, you realized your feet had taken you out of the guest wing and into a corridor you had no memory of.

You turned in a circle, seeing nothing and no one familiar, and made the decision to continue on. Surely someone would have informed you of any off-limits areas upon your arrival, and with absolutely no guards in sight, it couldn’t be that bad for you to wander this area as well.

Your steps echoed around you, breaking the oppressive silence of the hall. The architecture was bafflingly different compared to that of your home, where wood and warm stone blended together to create buildings that felt welcoming. On Giedi Prime, everything was harsh and inhospitable—including the people and their homes.

Though your interactions with the Harkonnens had been brief thus far, you could confidently say that they weren’t winning any popularity contests, except perhaps amongst themselves. Nearly everything you’d ever heard about them was bad, and so far, you mostly found them strange; the Baron was fearsome in the way a sick, desperate animal was, with those eyes that followed people as if he were wondering what it would be like to crush their necks in his hands just because he could.

His nephew, on the other hand, was fearsome in the way a predator was. His movements were smooth and confident at dinner the night before, his eyes calculating as if counting how many moves it would take him to press a knife into your gut. You had heard of Feyd Rautha, the pretty boy of Giedi Prime, but you had never seen him before yesterday, and quite frankly, you had expected something else…but then again, what had you even expected at all? The na-Baron was surely cruel just as his uncle was, but he seemed…different.

The clang of metal followed by the sound of a muffled thud startled you out of your thoughts of Feyd, and with a start, you realized you were standing outside a closed door. It was the first noise you’d heard that wasn’t your own all day, and your heart pounded as you quickly stepped back. Perhaps you should run, lest you be caught outside the guest wing. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter at all, as no one has explicitly ordered you to remain in your chamber. And, above all else, perhaps you were curious about what lay on the other side of the door, and you took a step forward again.

It was only a heartbeat later that it opened, revealing Feyd Rautha.

“Well, well,” he said, voice rough, “what do we have here?”

He was dressed in all black, in what you assumed were casual clothes for the Harkonnen royalty.

“Apologies, Feyd Rautha,” you said quickly. “I was passing by and heard a sound.”

You could feel his eyes raking over you as he listened. Then, a smirk crept across his lips, and he help up a bloody dagger.

He did so slowly, and you knew it to be an attempt at intimidation. He wanted you scared. He wanted to shock and disgust the outsider who came from another great house, who had surely never encountered anything like him before.

But you were tougher than that. You may have been a handmaiden for a spoiled aristocrat, but on your planet, hunting was common. You’d had your fair share of field dressing game, and you weren’t one to shy away from a knife.

You eyed the dark blood dripping from the blade, then focused on his face once more. “I apologize if I have caused an interruption.”

“Not at all,” he said, brow twitching as he tilted his head slightly. “Though you are to address me as na-Baron. Only my darlings may use my name.”

“Of course, na-Baron. My apologies.”

“Why are you not in the guest wing, little pet?”

“I have nothing to do, na-Baron.” You shrugged.

This time, he grinned, baring black teeth. If he expected you to cringe away, he would be surprised to find that you seemed almost unimpressed with the display. “So you walk freely, as though you own this palace. I could kill you for the insolence.”

You looked at him boredly.

“I could gut you.” He took a step towards you. “Stick this knife into you. Right. Here.”

He was standing before you, the tip of the blade poking your belly, still grinning. At your lack of reaction, however, the grin faded slightly, nearly faltering.

“Not there,” you replied, a bit amused by his lack of skill.

“What?”

“If you aim to gut me, that’s a terrible place to start.” You wrapped a hand around his and moved the knife over slightly. “This is better.”

He watched your face. “You’re a Bene Gesserit witch.”

“No,” your lip quirked in a small smile. “No, I’m experienced in the ways of hunting and traditional field dressing. Our House is known for them.”

“You’re a hunter? A weak, little thing like you?” He pressed the blade against your dress and laughed.

You considered stepping back, away from the na-Baron and his knife, but you recognized the growing fervor in his eyes. He wanted to hunt, to pursue, to drive the blade forward until he could feel your blood on his skin. Feyd was like a hunting hound, eager to follow the scent of his prey, easily triggered by the chase. So you stood still, studying his pale, smooth face.

“The Lord and Lady enjoy hunting on the estate.” You finally answered. “I often assist in dressing the game after.”

“But have you killed?”

“My uncle took me hunting when I was young. I learned much about the ways of nature and the hunt.”

“You speak so formally,” he taunted, leaning in.

“I do, na-Baron,” you replied curtly. “I do not wish to offend.”

With a sick smirk, he leaned into you even further, lips brushing your ear. “Have you killed a human?”

You watched him from the corner of your eye, and he watched you.

“Na-Baron, I fear I’m lost. I’ll return to the guest wing promptly if you’ll point me in the right direction—“

“Don’t change the subject, pet.” He drew back. “Lying to me is unwise.”

You swallowed hard. “Why do you wish to know?”

“You’ve caught my eye, little one,” he withdrew the blade, leaving the smallest stain on your dress. “And you’ve already told me all I need to know.”

You felt a chill, the back of your neck tingling as you watched him raise the bloody knife and lick it clean. Feyd Rautha was dangerous. More dangerous than you knew.

“Return to the guest wing,” he rasped. “I must attend to my darlings. They grow lonely without me.”

You stared, perplexed, as he strode away, an uneasy feeling washing over you as you turned and hurried back the way you had come. The sooner you could leave Giedi Prime and its unnerving House, the better.

-0-

“What?”

“Hush.” Your mistress scolded you, but you barely heard her.

Your head was too busy spinning.

“You are to remain here,” your Lord repeated. “In the employ of the na-Baron Feyd Rautha.”

Your heart dropped in a sickening way.

“You’ve been so very good to me,” the Lady said. “You’ll serve House Harkonnen very well, I am certain of it.”

“But I-I—I’m…” you paused, trying to catch your breath and quell the panic tightening your chest. “I’m loyal to our House, milady. And I want to return home, to the palace, and serve you.”

“Baron Harkonnen was insistent,” your Lord said flippantly. “It seems Feyd Rautha approached him sometime after our meeting yesterday, and this morning as we finalized the agreements, it was decided you’d be included in the negotiations. Imagine that, a fresh alliance with House Harkonnen and a fine sum for a handmaiden!”

“You…sold me?” You asked, your voice sounding incredibly small.

“Now, I’m sure you’re nervous, but really, these Harkonnens are nothing to worry about. Those nasty rumors back home are simply that, and I’m sure you’ll be well taken care of. Now, we must depart at once, and you are to be shown to the na-Baron’s chambers.”

“Ta ta, dear one!”

And just like that, your entire world was shattered.

As you followed a Harkonnen servant through the corridors, you kept your head down. You felt furious and lost, anger twisting in your gut. So much for loyalty—never before had you been made to feel so easily replaced, and yet they had given you away so willingly you could hardly believe it. Whatever negotiations had been made, whatever new deals struck, you had been deemed unimportant enough to your House to simply be left in the care of a dangerous man, and now you felt your very life was suddenly in grave danger.

“We have arrived, milady,” your guide said timidly, hunching her shoulders and clasping her hands tightly as you turned to look at her.

“Thank you,” you replied, brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “Am I to…enter?”

“Yes, milady,” she seemed to bite the words, not angrily, but in an effort to get them out quickly.

“Is Feyd Rautha inside?”

“Yes.” Came the whispered affirmative.

The bald woman was nearly trembling, and you felt as though perhaps you should be, as well. Feyd Rautha had been intimidating every time you interacted with him, and now that he had made the baffling decision to demand you remain on his planet, you were beginning to think you ought to fear him.

But he was only a man, you reminded yourself as you faced the door. Not a god. Not some supernatural being. The na-Baron was flesh and blood.

With a deep breath, you opened the door.

“You enter unannounced?” A familiar voice rasped.

Feyd Rautha was indeed inside what appeared to be living quarters, and the room seemed lavish by Harkonnen standards. A large bed with black sheets sat against the far wall, before which was a simple sitting area featuring oddly shaped sofas, all black as well. A mirror was mounted on the wall near the bed, and you chose not to wonder about its placement. You spied two doors on either side of the room, and in its center, stood the na-Baron.

“I was told to come here,” you said, voice tinged with irritation.

“And so you have,” he smirked, twirling a dagger in his hand as he approached you. "Obedient."

When he reached you, invading your space and nearly brushing against your chest with his, he caught the way your nostrils flared angrily and grinned. His black teeth, previously so fascinating, brought only annoyance now, much like the rest of him.

“May I ask what exactly is going on, na-Baron?”

“Oh, I simply couldn’t let you leave,” you felt his blade as the flat of it pressed up against your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “I had to have you, pet.”

“I am not a pet,” you spat, unable to contain yourself any longer. “And I demand to know exactly why I’ve been sold as one.”

The knife was pulled away as Feyd circled you. In the mirror near the bed, you could see him looking you up and down, appraising you freely now that the two of you were hidden from the rest of the galaxy.

“Your masters gave you away easily,” he said, stopping behind you. “They did not realize your true potential.”

“My potential?” You hissed, head jerking to the side to watch him from the corner of your eye. “And what might that be, na-Baron?”

In a blink, he had leaned in, rough hands suddenly gripping your sides as he brought his lips to your ear. “Call me Feyd.”

His too-hot breath on your neck and the tone of his voice caused your anger to stutter. “I-I thought only your darlings called you by your name?”

“Oh, it’s a clever pet,” he taunted, nipping your earlobe sharply. When he saw that you stayed still and didn’t flinch, he seemed pleased. “What do you know of my darlings?”

“N-nothing, I don’t even know what that means,” you answered truthfully.

“My darlings,” he began, a hand moving up to brush through your hair, short in the style of your position—former position—within your—former—house. “Are the most beautiful creatures. They are very special to me.”

You were in danger.

You knew it.

“I want you.” He said simply, pressing his lips to the back of your neck, and you knew he meant in every way. “Give yourself freely.”

“Why me?” You asked, mustering your courage to speak above a whisper.

He chuckled at that, running his tongue up your spine to the base of your skull. “You are just right, the perfect addition. You are unafraid. You have a taste for meat. And you have killed.”

You were silent for a moment, jaw squared. “I never told you that.”

His hands were creeping over your hips now, across the front of your dress. When he spoke, his voice was low and heady. “Who was it?”

Another long pause came as you wrestled with yourself, your tongue feeling too big for your mouth as you finally tried to speak.

“My father.”

As Feyd Rautha let out a guttural groan at your admittance, you stared at yourself in the mirror, and nearly didn’t recognize the person you saw.

“You and I are alike, pet,” his hands squeezed at you harshly while his nose pressed into your hair. “I killed my mother.”

A part of you felt sick at the suggestion that you were anything like the monster that was Feyd Rautha Harkonnen. Another part of you felt a strange comfort in the knowledge that you weren’t the only one in the room who had committed parricide.

“I haven’t shared that in a long time,” you admitted.

“Did he fight it?”

You could feel his arousal as he pushed his hips against you, the sensation bringing an unexpected fire to your core.

“Yes.”

“Did he deserve it?”

You stared at yourself in the mirror and saw an unexpected harshness in your eyes, the polite handmaiden now completely absent, replaced by what you had feared you truly were ever since the day of your father’s death; a killer.

“Yes.”

But if you had feared that you were bad for it, that you deserved punishment, Feyd Rautha seemed determined to prove otherwise. He turned you in his arms, never letting go, and brought his lips to yours in a greedy kiss.

“I need you now,” he breathed, almost sounding vulnerable for a moment.

“Take me,” you said against his lips, determined not to stop and think about what exactly you were doing.

If you were going to be kept and tortured by a Harkonnen prince, you may as well enjoy your last moments, right?

Feyd Rautha guided you to his bed in a way that was somehow both smooth and rough, gentle and demanding. He didn’t want to break you, but he wanted to see how far he could bend you before you snapped. He wanted to test you.

Your dress was quickly thrown to the wayside, torn by his dagger, his clothing following suit. As you lay on your back, fully bared to him, he crept over you, eyes taking over your body as he continued his earlier appraisal.

“So strange,” he muttered as he brushed his fingers over the soft hair between your legs.

“Are you…truly hairless?” You asked, eyeing his smooth groin. “You don’t…remove it?”

“Hair is…barbaric.”

You could have laughed at the irony of him of all people calling you a barbarian.

“I do not hate it on you,” he decided after careful consideration. “Perhaps you will keep this, for now.”

You had the odd feeling that you should feel grateful for the honor.

“It will set you apart from my other darlings,” his body moved over yours, eclipsing you as his hand reached between your legs.

He stroked you there, rubbing in a way that wasn’t gentle, wasn’t harsh, and wasn’t patient, all at once. When his lips captured yours once more, your mind spun—but it was a decidedly more pleasant spin than that short while ago when your entire world came crashing down. Feyd Rautha, while somewhat terrifying, was exhilarating, and as his fingers plunged inside of you and his kisses turned into demanding bites, you thought that perhaps this wasn’t so bad.

“That’s it,” he breathed, voice husky. “I want to hear you.”

Your whines and moans filled the heavy air. Feyd Rautha sought to conquer you, you realized; as you came, it wasn’t so much a favor to you as it was an ego boost for him. Either way, you benefited, and as he sheathed himself within you and his hips began rocking back and forth, you were glad for the warm up.

“F-Feyd,” you panted, nails digging into his back as you wrapped yourself around him.

He answered you with a low moan, face hidden in your neck. The na-Baron was merciless, driving into you over and over…but the heat that bloomed inside of you, that feeling that stemmed from your belly and ran all the way to your fingertips…was exhilarating.

He leaned back, one hand gripping your hip harshly, no doubt leaving bruises. The other found your throat and his fingers wrapped around it, squeezing, reminding you who he was. The heir to the Harkonnen throne. The pride of Giedi Prime.

Feyd Rautha.

Your face tingled as he held you, eyes seeking out his. The blue was nearly black, his pupils huge, like a big cat hunting in the dark. He was watching you, frenzied, feral in his ministrations, as if you were his prey and he had finally caught you. Just as your vision began to tunnel he let go and you gasped, gulping in air as he suddenly pulled out of you and rolled onto his back, manhandling you easily as you sank down onto him once more.

His hands were like a vice, pulling your hips down as he pushed up into you, still fucking you mercilessly even in this new position. You would never have expected this from him; you felt too powerful on top of him, too in control of someone who gave you every reason to assume that he wanted to be. That he would be the one weighing down on you, that he would forever and always be hovering over you as he made harsh demands. He was, truly, not as harsh as expected...not that you had ever, for a second, expected to be there with him.

He watched your tits bouncing above him, so much flesh laid bare for him to enjoy, and he soon pulled you down. When you expected him to return to your swollen lips, however, he instead moved his mouth to your chest, greedily sucking and biting your soft skin. He sank his teeth into you, reveling in your sharp gasp, answering it with a beastly groan that was so low and so loud you half imagined it must have shook the walls. The sound had your stomach twisting delightfully, your head fuzzy as Feyd Rautha pulled you closer, closer, closer, until you hardly knew where you ended and where he began. Half-formed thoughts swam in your head, none of them coherent, all of them about him as you desperately clawed at the arms that held you so tightly. He had wanted you, and now he had you, completely, all of you, in every sense of the word.

In that moment, you didn't hate it, or him, or that place; you wanted more. You wanted more of him. As your orgasm mounted, breaths coming in gasps, eyes glued to the pale man below you, you felt happy. Later, you would try to reason with yourself, tell yourself that it was simply chemicals in your brain that brought this on, but in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to do this over and over and over again with him.

"Yes," he rasped, voice muffled by your breasts. You felt the wet heat of his tongue in your cleavage, followed by the sharp bite of his teeth as he pulled you down onto himself. "Take it."

"Feyd," you gasped, eyes squeezed shut as your fingernails dug into his scalp. "Feyd!"

It came out as a half-scream as you felt the sting of his teeth, and it was enough to push you over the edge, plunging down into the abyss that was Feyd Rautha's love. His breath stuttered as his hips drove up against you, a growl sounding from deep within his chest as he came inside of you.

You felt his heart pounding as he held you, a sheen of sweat covering his smooth, pale body. You slumped over him, arms falling onto his shoulders limply. You thought you heard him laugh lightly.

"Good," he said, more to himself than to you.

He moved you easily, rolling you off of him and onto the bed as he pulled himself out. You felt slick and thoroughly used, not in a bad way, but in the way you imagined lovemaking should feel. You had never expected to feel such passion from Feyd Rautha, of all people. From a Harkonnen.

"Come." he stood and slipped his arms under you, scooping you up. Your arms immediately hooked around his neck, and as he carried you to one of the adjoining rooms, you wondered at how natural it felt to be with him now.

The door opened to reveal a steamy, dark bathing room, a large basin filled with dark liquid positioned in the floor. Feyd Rautha sank down into it and as you leaned your head against his shoulder, you heaved a sigh. The liquid was thicker than water but thinner than mud, like nothing you had ever felt before, and it was warm, soothing your bitemarks and sore muscles.

"What is this?" you managed to ask after several minutes of silence.

"Hmph." Feyd Rautha laughed, his whole body moving with the sound. "Oil and blood."

He paused, waiting for your reaction.

"...Ah." you said, wrinkling your nose for a moment as you looked down at the bubbling goo. "...It's nice."

His lips spread into a wide grin. "You don't find it disgusting, my darling?"

"It feels too nice to be disgusting right now."

Feyd Rautha moved a large hand to the side of your head and held you against him, pressing a kiss to your temple in a way that was almost tender. "Rest now. You will need it."

Too tired to ask why, you simply nodded, sinking into him as the blood bath steamed around you. If this was to be your fate now, you didn't mind it; and if he killed you tomorrow, at least your final day had turned out somewhat enjoyable.

-0-

"Do you like it?'

The question was simple, only four words, and yet it was never one you had expected to hear Feyd Rautha ask.

You had been living in his chambers for a week, sleeping next to him, eating with him, wearing what he chose and accompanying him wherever he went. You saw more of the Harkonnen palace--the training room was a frequent haunt, and you realized that it was the room you had wandered to on the day of your first conversation with him. You saw more of Feyd Rautha, as well, and you noticed how quickly he often decided to kill those around him.

But not you.

Never you.

He had yet to do anything worse than bite or scratch, occasionally bending your limbs too far when he tested your physical capabilities in his bed but always letting you go just before any real injury occurred. You often felt the smooth metal of his blades, but they never cut deep; he mentioned once that perhaps he would mark you with one soon, leave a scar that only he would ever be allowed to see, but he had yet to enact that fantasy. You weren't sure if that was good or bad.

Now, you stood before him, wearing a simple black dress that clung to your body and shone as if it were always wet, and your head felt too cold.

"I...don't hate it," you decided as you looked at your reflection.

"Good." he ran a hand over your smooth scalp.

"Will it grow back?"

"At first." he said in his accent that was growing more and more familiar to hear. "Eventually it will stop."

"And the rest...?"

He smirked, turning you to face him. "I told you, that will set you apart from my other darlings."

At the mention of their collective name, a hiss sounded from across the room.

You twisted your head to the side, spying the two women you had been introduced to three days earlier. One--who you had learned had been Feyd's the longest--sported a thick black line down her forehead today, but they were otherwise identical. They watched you curiously, bald heads tilted as they looked at you with big, black eyes. Their dresses were similar to yours, and as you glanced back at the mirror, you realized how you really didn't recognize yourself anymore.

Your teeth had been stained black already, your hair and eyebrows shaved and then the skin treated with something that the servants had explained would keep the hair away. You had already undergone one strange Harkonnen beauty treatment in what you had come to learn was a medical spa, and it was the only one that had frightened you--a strange machine had bared down upon you and done something to your eyes, injecting something that changed them and yet didn't change them, causing them to become big and black like Feyd's other darlings. You actually thought your eyesight was better now, somehow.

You matched them now, you realized, like a member of a set. Feyd Rautha's third concubine.

It was an upgrade from your last job, you supposed.

"It suits you." he pressed his lips to the base of your neck. "My darling."

"Thank you, Feyd," you said, growing more and more used to calling him by his name with every time you said it.

You felt him smirk against your skin. He was no doubt very pleased with himself, having managed to completely transform a murderous handmaiden into a sinister harpy in the course of only one week. Granted, Giedi Prime's days were significantly longer than on your home planet, but it was still a commendable haste.

"Come." he rasped in that gravelly voice you were beginning to love. "All of us. It is time for the arena."

He set off towards the door and you waited for the others before falling in behind them, moving as if the three of you had always belonged together.

"Will there be food?" one of them asked in a harsh, hissing voice.

"Yes," Feyd said gleefully.

"Hearts and lungs?" the other asked hopefully.

"Only the best for my darlings."

"Human?" she demanded clarification.

Feyd looked back over his shoulder, his eyes finding you even though he knew you had not asked the question. "Of course."

You stared back at him, swallowing hard. Human?

He grinned, and the others looked at each other excitedly. They both glanced to you and you gave the best black-toothed grin you could, not wanting to give any of them any reason to be displeased with you. Not after you had done so well all week.

Feyd Rautha led the way to the arena you had learned he loved to fight captured Atreides soldiers in, and after a short preparation (during which he killed at least two servants), a guard led him away while you and the others were taken up to a viewing room.

When you stepped inside you saw that a feast had already been laid out, platters of rare meat covering a short buffet table. As sunlight--or a lack thereof? Giedi Prime's sun continued to baffle you--light the room in that strange, black and white, infrared way, you stared at the food. You recognized it. Despite its human origins, you had no reason to be disgusted by it--because you had already eaten it, on that very first night, when Feyd Rautha had watched you cutting into your meal and commented on your presence at the dinner table.

As the others approached, picking out their favorites--lungs for one, a heart for the other--a grin found its way onto your face. Yes. Perhaps this was exactly where you belonged.

The crowd outside erupted in a roar of cheers as Feyd stalked into the sandy arena, and as you settled in next to the others to watch, you smiled to yourself. There was nowhere else you'd rather be in that moment than on Giedi Prime, eagerly awaiting the moment you could return to Feyd Rautha's chambers and celebrate his victory.

PART TWO

[uno-san]

Hiii! Could I rq reader who was Fords gf/so before he left and when he comes back he’s happy bc he realizes reader stayed in Gravity Falls the whole time and maybe even helped Stan fix the portal!

But then Bill comes and it’s totally up to u whether to make Bill like super jealous of reader or become just as obsessed with reader as he is with Ford idk.

Thank u!

Hello! Thanks so much for sending in a request. This is the first thing I've written in FOREVER, so I miiiiight have gotten carried away. Hope you and everybody else enjoys!

It always reminded you of the night sky. 

That, or what lied far beyond it. Beyond you, maybe. But never Stanford Pines. Who, in this very moment stood several yards from where you yourself were. The both of you had that strange, not-quite night sky wrapped around your forms. Yet instead of the endless expanse that space was known for, various journals, textbooks, and equations littered that space around you.

It would have been a marvelous sight if you didn’t know the purpose behind this all-too tailored world for Stanford. A trap meant to make him feel seen and applauded in ways you couldn’t quite match. A place for them to meet.

Beside Stanford was another figure. A three-sided one to be exact who had taken place near his shoulder, where he had been far longer than you could have ever known. But here he didn’t need to whisper his lies. Here, the two of them could simply converse and enjoy each other’s company. A wonderful plan to make Stanford feel known while also shutting you out from the light altogether.

Their laughter was uproarious.

“AHAHAHAHA! COME ON, SIXER, YOU DON’T MEAN THAT!”

A shrill voice cut through your observations. The devilish figure that it belonged to had placed his hands over his chest, or stomach, as if he were trying and failing to hold in his joy. His one eye was closed and curved to show a smile that his body didn’t have the means to actually do. His tie meanwhile spun in circles as if a toy had been wound up.

‘Sixer’ had his eyes lowered to the platform of which he stood. Tucked under his arm was one of his prized journals, where each of his six fingers drummed against its spine. He looked bashful under interrogation.

“What, not quite the term your ego would prefer, Bill?” Stanford finally shot back, his gaze raising to meet Bill’s while his eyebrow raised to pose a challenge.

“NOT AT ALL!” 

The demon began to circle around Stanford, who’s whole body began to turn with a determination not to break eye contact again. As if he were afraid of losing sight of Bill. Or his attention. Seeing it reminded you of a puppy enamored with its owner. Its everything, really. You had been familiar with it at some point yourself. What felt like ages ago now.

“JUST SURPRISED, IS ALL. I MEAN, AAAAAAAAALL I’VE DONE IS EXPAND YOUR MIND TO THE UNIVERSE OUTSIDE YOUR PUNY WORLD, SHOW YOU NEW COLORS, AND GIVE YOU THE PERFECT COMEBACKS EVERY TIME YOU GET INTO AN ARGUMENT,” He humbly bragged, “BUT IS THAT ALL REALLY WORTH IT TO BE CALLED YOUR-”

MUSE.

Muse.

Muse.

Muse. Muse. Muse. Muse. Muse. Muse. Muse. Muse. Muse. Muse.

That damn word was going to be imprinted on your brain with how often it was quite literally repeating. Out Loud. High-pitched and nearly shattering your ear drums, a physical manifestation of the word appeared in the space to hurl itself in your direction; A move you’ve seen one too many times. You nimbly dodged off to the side without losing your footing like you had the first time this occurred. With both your feet planted firmly on the ground you whipped your head around to catch the end of the show.

The scene had frozen. Stanford’s expression was stuck in a form of denial, his cheeks tinted a rosy color that you used to make them turn. His brow was furrowed as if he were concerned. Or desperate to assure Bill that he truly was worth it all. Bill meanwhile had his arms folded behind his back while his half-lidded eye bore down on its prey like a benevolent mentor.

Bill’s pupil slowly slid in your direction.

“A BENEVOLENT MUSE, YOU MEAN.”

Bill Cipher became animated again. This time he no longer addressed the version of Stanford standing before him. His smug attention was all focused on you now. His small frame managed to tower over you in mere presence alone, even at the distance you two stood at.

Arms folded behind his back, there was a silence that followed while Bill inspected you. Perhaps waiting for you to give a response before he settled on his own. He feigned surprise.

“DIDN’T EXPECT TO CATCH YOU HERE. SIXER AND I WERE JUST HAVING A MOMENT ALONE,” Bill emphasized, his arm outstretching far past its supposed physical limit to wrap itself around Stanford’s still frame, “YOU KNOW, LIKE WE’VE BEEN HAVING FOR A WHILE. BEHIND YOUR BACK. IN FACT HE WAS JUST ABOUT TO GET TO COMPLIMENTING ME. SINCE I’M HIS MUSE. HIS SKY. STARS. WHATEVER.”

Muse.

Another manifestation hurled its way in your direction. You weren’t nearly as prepared and the edges of the word were sharp, slicing into your arm to draw what you assumed to be blood. With a wince you had to steady your balance before your glare shot back to the bastard in front of you.

He was a menace who you hadn’t realized you had been in competition with for years. And now, in a pissing contest with as the man you’re both fighting over like teenagers was lost in worlds unknown. The man you had loved and had been prepared to marry was gone now. Leaving you with his unfaithful ‘Muse’.

Oh, how you’ve come to hate the word.

It happened first when you had learned of the existence of an other-worldly being that had been secretly leading Stanford’s ambitions. Second was when you had discovered Ford’s hidden collection of idols and paintings. All squirreled away in a private chamber of his own viewing pleasure. That had been manageable.

But the fondness in his gaze when discussing their meetings made your heart ache. How he’d talk as if Bill Cipher was the sole purpose of everything now. His reason for continuing his research or facing adversity for his talents. Or the way he’d pause in the middle of a task to instead laugh at a memory of Bill from earlier, with his hands looking to busy themselves as a distraction.

All of that had hurt. But what made you hate the word most of all was its constant use to torture you. That the moment Bill had sensed your distaste for the term he had done nothing but plague your mind with it. Shoving it in your face as if he was a secret side woman in some stately affair.

Thus far this has been your nightly routine for several months now. Ever since Stanford Pines went missing from this world and so many others. With his brother, Stanley, being left behind with you to pick up the pieces to get back your lost loved one. And for some reason or other, Bill had set his sights on tormenting you.

Every night. Different visions of their bonded moments played in your mind while Bill sneered and poked fun at you for being fool enough to never notice the signs of your man slipping away. You never knew if what he showed you was true. You hoped not.

“THEY’RE REAL.”

You ignore him a moment to get back on two feet. Standing tall before him.

“Do you plan on taking me through your ‘Greatest Hits’ every night or are you going to fuck off already?” The venom in your tone caused interest to gleam in his eye. Most nights you try not to dignify his taunts with a response. But you were tired. Both mentally and physically thanks to late nights with Stanley to try to get the portal running again, or your lonely crying sessions blaming yourself for letting this go on for so long. You were exhausted.

“AW, DIDN’T THINK YOU’D GET SO CRANKY OVER A LITTLE FUN FORDSY AND I WERE HAVING! I’M SURE IT’S EASY TO GET INSECURE OVER THE IDEA OF YOUR MAN GETTING THE CHANCE TO VISIT A SUPERIOR BEING EVERY NIGHT BUT HE MENTIONED YOU ONCE OR TWICE. Y’KNOW, ABOUT HOW YOU’RE ‘SAFE’ AND ‘STABLE’.”

You knew he was just trying to get a rise out of you. Perhaps even deter you from working on that portal any further, ensuring that Stanford would remain lost to mystery forevermore. “Say what you want Bill but I know him better than what your mind creeping could ever do. You miscalculated by seeing only the parts that benefited you and that’s going to end up biting you in the ass. Because it doesn’t matter what you and Stanford had before. Whatever was there is GONE, and I know that Stanford will be coming to end you too.”

It was difficult to keep your voice steady to feign the confidence that you hadn’t had in a long time. You stood bravely in the face of Bill, who’s form only grew in size while you charged up your own argument. He was nearly towering over you now while his gaze remained steady on you. His expression was unreadable.

“WELL WELL WELL, I-”

He’s yapped for far too long.

“Maybe that’s the point to all of this,” You gestured to the spectacle put on pause, “You realize you fucked up. Pushed too hard. Or maybe you’re not even playing this for me. You’re just trying to convince yourself that Ford is still in the palm of your hand when in reality, he despises you. Wants you dead. That despite all the compliments and praises you keep showing me he still picked me over you.”

You weren’t sure if any of this was going to strike a chord. Especially with being in the dark as long as you had, there was nothing for you to fight with. The best you could do was treat him like the vindictive affair partner he was pretending to be. And it worked. Or it was the hint of a suggestion you made in saying you were chosen over him.

Bill’s form skyrocketed in size from its already heightened form, with the triangle now bending over you now to force you to nearly tilt your head all the way back just to make eye contact. His pupil was entirely black to reflect your new surroundings as the static image of Ford and their place of contact was suddenly whisked away. What used to be a bright yellow turned to blood-red bricks that you swore you could feel heat coming off of.

“STANFORD PINES FEARS ME,” Bill’s voice boomed, “AND THAT’S EXACTLY WHERE I WANT HIM. THINKING OF ME AND CHASING AFTER MY COATTAILS UNTIL THAT NERD COMES TO REASON. AND UNTIL THEN YOU-”

His fingers snapped. The ground beneath you disappeared and you felt weightlessness hit as you began to descend into a dark pit. “YOU WILL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN!”

The vision of the gigantic demon began to fade away. His voice still boomed and echoed despite the void that they were shouted into. As your conscience begins to fade into its own form of nothing you close your eyes to instead repeat his words to yourself.

Never see him again.

__

The Mystery Shack above you groaned with disapproval. Its wood and structure creaked as it finally settled back on the ground, thankfully still supported by its own weight once gravity returned to normal. You were face first on the ground with your head still spinning from that hasty landing you made to resist any damage. With just one peek of an eye you could see that your vision was still hazy. Only a sickeningly familiar blue light kept the basement of the Shack from being in total darkness.

Darkened figures up ahead began to move. When you tried to join them you were quick to discover that your leg caught in debris. A quick examination told you that it wasn’t anything dangerous like active machinery, and the small tugs you gave to test your aching body showed that nothing was quite broken. Hurt, yes, but all intact.

Just like the house you could feel your bones settling back into place while creaking with resentment. You could only imagine how Stanley must have been feeling. Propping yourself up with one arm you then used your freehand to begin pulling away at the rubble on top of you, trying to carefully dismantle it piece by piece so that it wouldn’t collapse on top of you.

Having been so focused on your escape you had only caught the tail-end of what Stanley was telling dipper.

“The author of the Journals…”

Your head whipped around so fast it could have snapped, “My brother.”

As if on cue a figure cladded in a black cloak removed his mask with a six fingered hand, his silver hair whipping around him as he slowly revealed a face you thought you could have anticipated after having aged years with Stanley. The fact that they were twins did little to stop you from tearing up at the handsome visage that was your Stanford Pines.

The wrinkles in his face had deepened from the last you saw him. He was still chiseled with a hint of facial hair he might have shaved off recently while his posture and expression gave off a confidence you weren’t familiar with.

Stanley began to approach him with open arms, prepared to greet the brother he’s missed for years for longer than yours. Stanford didn’t match his sentiments. Instead his fist drew back to strike Stan who had flinched out of the way- But not before Stanford’s fist froze. Left hanging in the air as something else caught his attention. Past Stanley and Dipper. Through various piles of cement and broken wood.

You.

Neither of you moved. His eyes flickered back and forth in a manner that suggested he was examining you all the same. Taking in every detail of your graying form, of each new wrinkle that has marked your age like a tree. The intensity of his gaze made your heart stall for more reasons you could count.

Was that disappointment in his gaze? Or worse, indifference? The world had already been cruel in tearing you apart in the first place. How easy would it be to have Stanford simply forget you? To have moved on to grander and exciting things since his time away. After all, Bill Cipher had enticed him once before. YOU nearly lost him once before. Who’s to say you haven’t wasted your years chasing after a man who could no longer remember your face?

Tears began to gather. They soothed the sting of debris in the air to instead replace it with a dull ache in your heart. At this point you could have been crying over any number of things. You tried calling out his name but the words caught in your throat.

He shouted yours instead. Pushing passed his stunned brother and great nephew to run in your direction. Just as Stanford was a few feet away he suddenly dropped to his knees to slide the remaining distance. It was a physical endeavor you envied in this moment.

Already Stanford’s arms wrapped around your form, drawing you in close to his chest while he buried his face into your hair. You didn’t dare utter a sound of discomfort. Swallowing your tears you chose to focus on his warmth rather than the pain your body was in. How much studier his arms felt from the last time you were held in them, however long ago that was.

“M…My dear…” Stanford gasped, as if the term of endearment hadn’t been uttered in history before. His six fingers nearly dug into your body with his tight grasp. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “This…This is real. Bill isn’t lying again. You’re here. You.”

From the corner of your vision you could see both Soos and Mabel staring in wonder. Their mouths were left hanging open while they slowly turned to each other to clasp hands together. Mabel began to mouth ‘they have a histooooory!!’

You opted to turn your face into Stanford’s chest to ignore all that as long as you could.

“All these years I’ve waited here for you, Stanford. Every year was spent fixing the portal, I-” Your eyes wandered to his twin, “-We’ve been fixing the portal. Stan and I together decided we weren’t going to stop until you were home safe.”

Stanford drew in a breath. The tension that coiled his posture was a familiar sign of his frustrations being withheld, and with the copious warnings in his Journals to not open the portal again you had a fairly safe guess as to what that tension was. Stanford managed to swallow it down as his hand cupped your cheek and directed your eyes to his.

The years have really gone by. For the both of you, you realized as you gazed into weary and worldly eyes. Did he see the same thing in you? Or has it occurred to him just how truly long it's been since the two of you were close like this. Since way before he was lost in the first place. To where Bill’s schemes began to put the first cracks in the foundations of your relationship.

From the distance the portal still glowed a blue hue, flickering every few moments as the machine began to lose its life at long last for what you pray is the last time. Both of you were left illuminated with blue. The beautiful sight of Stanford had been imprinted on your mind, nearly washing away the years of trauma the color had come to be associated with.

You could have sworn Stanford’s eyes were brimming with tears as well before they closed, the distance between you two gone as he leaned down to capture your quivering lips in a kiss. With it came the relief of a thirty-year grief. Not of a healed relationship but of a path to recovery and trust. You nearly grinned into the kiss. Stanford Pines chose you.

[morbidlcve]

Saw that your requests are open so how about a drunk reader confessing her heart out for natasha not knowing they're already dating and stuff (or something along those lines) 👀

Drunk words are sober thoughts.

pairings: natasha x reader

word count: 0.9k

CW: alcohol consumption, vomit, use of painkillers.

an: this was SO fun to write, i hope you like it!!

"One more!" you squeal excitedly, reaching for another shot lined up at the bar. It was girls' night out with you and your friends; you insisted Natasha should come, and you told her that the rest of your friends were bringing their other friends and partners, so she was allowed. "1,2,3!" one of your friends said, and you all downed the shot, sighing heavily as it burned its way down your throat. You jump around with the music that's playing in the background, pulling Natasha by the hand to the dance floor.

Time didn't seem like a concept to you as you partied your little heart out with Natasha, clinging onto her, your arms around her neck swaying back and forth, and your mind adjacent to your body. Natasha stuck by your side the whole night, her warmth always in your proximity; you were safe.

Drinks continued being placed in your hands, and soon enough, your world tilted on its axis, your stomach flipping. "Natty!! You whined, pulling her with you to the bathroom. Ever the lady, Natasha held your hair and rubbed your back gently, muttering soft words of comfort to soothe you.

You leaned back against the stall, staring at the recessed lights, your eyes fluttering shut, attempting to calm yourself down. Natasha had brought wipes with her and began to wipe your mouth, pulling out a new one for the running mascara around your eyes, then your face, to cool you down.

Feeling the cool wetness against your face, your eyes coming into contact with the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Her soft eyes bore into yours, and her lips are turned into a slight smirk. "You're so pretty", you mutter, cupping her face.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "And you're far beyond intoxicated. Let's get you home", she replied, slowly pulling you to your feet; she wrapped her arm around your side, putting your arm around her shoulder, propping you up against her.

You and Natasha stumbled out onto the bustling street, trying to call a cab while trying to keep you upright. She finally managed to put you into the taxi; she climbed in next to you, noticing you fumbling with your seatbelt. She gently took it from your hands, clipping it in.

As the cab made its way through the streets of New York, your eyes swipe across the woman's features, admitting her to memory. Your hand works its way into hers, pulling her arm into your lap; you continue to stare at her, the many lights on the outer world illuminating her face and the unnatural beauty she seems to possess.

"Do I have something on my face moya lyubov'?" she smiles, turning to face you. You shake your head, "Do you have a girlfriend?" you slur, "Because you're too pretty not to have one."

She laughs lightly, "I do, and if my girlfriend finds out that other girls are trying to hit me up, I would be rather scared for them." She smiles, looking down at your hands entwined.

"Who is your girlfriend?" You ask, your cheeks flaming slightly, "Is she pretty?" you say, looking up at her from your head resting on your shoulder. She meets your eyes. "She's the most beautiful girl in the whole world. I don't think I could ever be without her", she admits to you, her thumb stroking over your knuckles.

Your eyes begin to flutter, and you end up falling asleep against her.

The cab pulled up around the corner of the tower- Natasha softly woke you up, her thumb stroking your cheeks. "We're here, love, wake up"- not wanting to give the driver Natasha's identity, given that he didn't seem to recognize her, she paid him and then took your hand guiding you out of the vehicle.

Natasha hobbled the rest of the distance with you to the tower, where she scanned her card and walked in with you clung to her. She called the elevator and waited whilst it came to pick the two of you up. Her hand stroked your head as you stood there still groggy from your near thirty minute sleep.

Once you got back to her room, she led you to the bathroom so you could go to the toilet, and whilst you did, she quickly changed into her PJs and met you washing your hands. "Sit down, pretty girl", she told you, pulling out your face wash slightly wetting her hands before rubbing the cleanser on your face, removing your makeup.

You just sat there, letting her clean you, putting your toner, serum, and lotion on, your arms wrapped around the back of her legs. She soon moved to brushing your teeth, standing you back up so you could spit out the toothpaste and rinse your mouth. She gave you two painkillers and made you drink a glass of water because she knows you're going to be "dying" tomorrow.

"Go get into bed," she said softly, kissing your nose. She quickly washed her face and brushed her teeth, then came to join you. You were slowly falling back to sleep when she slipped in next to you. "I'm your girlfriend, aren't I?' you whisper, shuffling into her, wrapping your legs into hers. "Yes, you are, my love. Now go to sleep; you're going to need lots of it, " she mutters back, kissing your forehead and slowly drifting off once she hears your soft snores and even breathing.

thank you for reading!! <3 please leave feedback!!

(reqs are open for now!!)

[seradyn]

Yours To Bare, Mine to Cherish

Dragon!Sylus tries to push you away when old wounds flare up, causing him too much pain to trust you. You refuse to let him, and instead teach him how to ask for help, how to be vulnerable and not fear the lashes that follow. Basically: how to train your dragon to let you comfort him and give good massages.

As a chronic pain haver, I am forced to give all my blorbos chronic pain :) I’ve been working on this for SO LONG 😭 Still not over his myth so please enjoy us pampering our dragon 💕

Word count: 11,021. AO3 Link cause it's long

Important tags: gender neutral reader, no y/n, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, chronic pain!Sylus, cuddling and snuggling, massages, Dragon!Sylus, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, present!Sylus (you’ll see), arguing, Sylus x reader, Sylus x MC, canon compliant, canon-typical violence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your dragon was in a foul mood.

It’d started when you decided you’d like to restore some of the old weapons Sylus had discarded haphazardly around his home. Swords, axes, spears and daggers laid in broken heaps throughout the cavern, each one a trophy plucked from his would-be assassins turned prey, he’d boasted. Impressive as they may have once been, though, they were now but piles of chipped rubbish, pushed up against the walls and out of the walkways, hardly spared more than a glance. A dragon has no use for such weaponry; their claws are daggers, their teeth swords, so the battlements remained as haughty decorations, a warning to all those who dared enter his domain, lest they meet the same fate.

One particular sword had caught your eye. Dragon’s Scourge, Sylus said the warrior had called it, sniffing derisively at the pretentiousness of such a name and the underwhelming performance of said blade. It had pierced neither scale nor flesh before the sorry sod had been strung up in the stalactites of the cave and left to rot, much like his weapon. Sylus claimed it wasn’t even worthy of straightening his bangs, dismissing the old thing, as he had with the daggers you once turned against him.

Upon further inspection, though, after returning from another successful raid, and bored beyond belief, you found the steel to be of decent quality. Being raised under the army’s instruction taught you how to recognize the mark of a good smith. Taught you to know the quality of the metalwork on your blades, how the weight felt as you gripped it, the feeling of it sliding through the air before hitting its mark. They taught you many things, as they groomed you to be their killing machine, while the lordlings sat getting drunk on their own false grandeur.

You hoped with all the blood you planned to spill with it, its steel would take up a new name, carved from crimson rivulets of the faithful. You were thinking something along the lines of Justitia’s Scourge, or maybe even Human’s Scourge, just to rub salty irony into their wounds. But that would have to wait, you thought as you scrutinized it, until it wasn’t caked in rust from centuries of disuse, and a proper whetstone had been taken to its dull edges.

It took a full day and night of work to restore it, though you now reaped the fruits of your labor, watching with a satisfied smile as you turned the blade to catch stray beams of moonlight through the porous cave ceiling. A vinegar bath overnight had peeled off the old rust, and with the tools Sylus had snagged for you from the armories you’d torched, you were able to scour and polish the sword the following day. By nightfall, the edges were properly sharp again, a few experimental swings showed it was ready for battle once more. A bolt of excitement ricocheted down your spine, tingling to your fingertips as you thought of showing the rebirthed blade to Sylus, of cleaving pious flesh from bone to earn it its new name.

It had been at least three days since you had seen your dragon, however. He left you to your devices when you began work on your little pet project, when you’d shooed him out of your chambers to prepare a ‘surprise’. He seemed less than thrilled with the idea, if the downward curl of his lips was any tell, but he’d nevertheless entertained your whims and left you be. You were grateful to have his eyes off you for a day or two, but now that you’d finished, his absence reverberated through the yawning emptiness in your chest, where his claws had carved a dragon shaped hole. Normally, he often lingered nearby, watching curiously as you tried to climb out of his cave, or polished his coins out of sheer boredom, or even while you ate your meals, made of sparse rations stolen from soldier barracks. You hated it, at first, until you realized he didn’t do so out of malice. He was but a shepherd, watching with intrigue as his sheep tried to jump the fence of its enclosure, wondering if it would ever have the strength to clear it, or if it was doomed to an early trip to the slaughterhouse, ushered there on broken legs.

But now you’d seen neither sight nor heard sound of him, and you couldn’t help but miss him. If he wasn’t nearby, you could usually still hear him deeper in the cave, the clinking of coins as he moved about, or the faint rustling of his scales gliding across stone. The gust of wind from a flap of his impressive wings as he took off. The sword was complete the previous evening, and yet the cavern remained noticeably silent. As if the mountain held its breath, anxiously waiting for his return. The mark he left on your neck throbbed, pulsed, beckoning you to him as the fisherman’s lure calls the guppies from the safety of the school.

This wasn’t like him.

Leaving the blade in your chambers; it wouldn’t do to approach an agitated dragon with such a thing; you began to make your way through the winding tunnels, deeper into the darkness. His own quarters, the ones you’d once slunk into with thoughts of dragon eyes and dripping red, were in the heart of the mountain, where the sun didn’t dare reach, and veins of buried magma spread like spiderwebs underfoot, keeping it pleasantly warm. Sylus made it clear his distaste for sunlight, and dragons ran naturally hot; all you need do was follow as the darkness stretched deeper into the earth, down the spiral staircase in the heart of his nest, as the air grew warm and charged.

You descended the last crude steps, carved by his own claws, landing with a thud in his chamber. His overflowing coffers, now teeming with the prizes from your exploits, glittered in the dull orange glow of the candles, a kaleidoscope of technicolor treasures. You felt a wave of satisfaction as you gazed upon your additions to his hoard, proof of your enacted vengeance in every pillaged gem. But less so the jewels, you were pleased with the tapestries, the blankets and pillows now strewn about his cave, after you’d bemoaned the harshness of the stone against your skin. You had no scales to protect you, after all. Sylus thought you odd for requesting things so mundane, but he acquiesced, if only to sate your growing desires.

And there you found him, sat amongst a pile of pillows on his ‘perch’, as you’d lovingly called it, a dark shape against the speckled constellations of his gold. The raised stone dais, where he often lazed about when not with you, had not escaped your demands to make his home more accommodating for a human. A puffy white blanket now laid over the old rock, stolen straight from an Oracle’s bedchamber. You’d tucked ivory pillows with gold tinsel into the corners, to rest his head or back against, you’d reasoned, but Sylus only scoffed. He made no move to stop you though, and you weren’t blind to how he snuggled into the cushions when he thought you weren’t looking, his tail flicking and eyes closed like a contented, oversized cat.

You came up short, however, when you fully took in the state of your dragon. Sitting up, his back turned to you, he was curled in on himself, a taloned hand gripping his tensed shoulders, his tail draped over the edge, twitching restlessly. He hung his head, hiding his face from view, his body heaving with faint pants that echoed in the tight space. Next to him, the once pristine and well kept bedding had been shredded, huge gashes running across the delicate fabric, a plume of feathery down decorating his bed and the cave floors where the stuffing had been ripped out.

The mark on your neck flared to life at seeing him, and you instinctively clasped a hand over it. You could feel the outline of his bite under your fingers, his reminder of your deal, a stamp and signature on your contract. You let out a stuttered breath as the ache spread underneath your skin, consuming, tearing, flaying your flesh open with phantom fire. It burned.

You’d never seen Sylus like this before, never felt the mark throb quite as sharply. It tended to hurt, when his draconic instincts expressed themselves, when you felt him crave mortal souls, but that was a feeling you’d grown familiar with. You knew it, felt it, and discarded it, the mark and his desire tampered down as quickly as it had roared to life. You’d grown accustomed to the feeling, the ache deep in your chest that cried devour, devour, consume, it’s yours, even as it filled you with a sense of wrongness. Sylus never acknowledged it, never hinted that his desire grew in twine with yours, even as you felt the reflection of it in yourself. He swallowed it down, and with it, the mark would go dormant again, like nothing had happened, his stoic expression no less tamed than before.

The pain it radiated now was so different. You felt it travel along the highways of your nerves, burning and burning and burning its way down your spine, through your limbs, all the way to your toes, where it felt like your meat was being pulled from your bones, ripped and sliced and stabbed. You shuddered, a harsh exhale pushed from your lungs as you suppressed the urge to scream, to rip into your own flesh to find the source of your pain, and carve it out. You’d felt a distant ache from the mark as you traveled deeper into the mountain, but standing in front of Sylus, it was nearly unbearable.

Was Sylus…Could he feel it too?

Carefully, on gentle padded steps, you approached him. You made no attempt to hide the sound of your footfalls, you were sure he already knew you were there, if your previous meetings were any indication. However, he was surely irritated, the jerky movements of his tail confirmed as much, and you had no desire to exacerbate it by startling him. You’d been on the receiving end of it before, when you teased him too much too often, or when you demanded he bring you something particularly ridiculous, like the fuzzy mountain cat that now roamed his domain with you. You’d not seen it in a while either though, it could likely sense the ire of its master, and decided it was better to simply stay out of sight, lest it become collateral.

“Sylus?” you broached softly, as you neared his place on the dais. Even the quiet whisper of his name felt too loud in that space, where the tension grew thick, made the air scrape across your suddenly dry throat.

His reply was a deep, rumbling growl, coursing its way out of the depths of his chest and echoing on the cave walls. You stopped in your tracks, eyes going wide as the sound made the fine hairs on your arms stand on end.

“Leave me be,” he spoke, and it sounded nothing like the smooth velvet of his voice, tinged with tender fondness and amusement that you’d grown to adore over the long months. No, this was the voice of a dragon - one filled with seething flames to scorch the earth, make his bed of ash and rubble. A fury so potent, the heavens trembled in its presence.

This wasn’t like him at all. 

“Sylus, what is wrong?” You asked, your worry spreading like mold throughout your body, choking you, covering up the pain from his mark, even as it swelled, surged, pushed into your fingertips.

“I am in no mood for your games. Leave.” He hissed. Actually hissed. His tail lashed, gouging out shallow grooves in the rock below his perch, the pointed barb extending and retracting. Poised and ready, like a scorpion’s, right before the kill.

In all the time you’d known him, all the months of shared hardships, he had never spoken to you like that.

Not even when you both dreamed of tearing the other apart.

“What is going on with you?” You breathed, not bothering to hide the worry in your voice, your heart. 

“It is no concern of yours,” he threw over his shoulder, and it struck like a sword in your chest.

How could he say that, after spending months with you, helping you, fighting alongside you against a world that abhorred you and him?

How could he say that, as the only person who stood by you now? And you, the only one left who stood by him?

“Of course it’s my concern,” you said, and you wondered if he could hear the hurt in your voice. “Sylus, what is-”

“Have you lost your hearing?” He snarled, cutting you off as his voice grew louder. “I thought I made myself clear. Leave. Now.”

You stared at him, stunned, as Sylus seethed vitriol at the tender place inside you, where you’d planted the seeds of affection, adoration, where they timidly poked their tender leaves out. As you felt them wither, their crumbling stalks easily pulled out, shredded in apathetic claws.

Had you made him angry, somehow? Crossed a line he forgot to draw in the sand, and now he wanted nothing to do with you? Your heart kicked, lurching at the thought. Had your dragon finally grown tired of you?

But, as you looked at him, tensed up and refusing to look at you, your intuition cracked like a whip, and you realized what he was actually doing. Your skin rippled, and you felt a steady stream of anger pump into your veins, to match his own, where once was only worry. You’d worked so hard, tending that garden, to grow something other than bloodlust and hatred inside of you. But now they came back, like weeds you could never fully eradicate, twisting around your fragile heart.

Did Sylus truly think he could scare you away so easily? Intimidate you into abandoning him, so effortlessly? Did he forget that you were not the same helpless little thing he rescued from the Abyss? He said it himself; you’d grown your own horns, when you vowed vengeance on those who damned you, and vowed your soul to him in tandem. You weren’t just going to let him destroy whatever it was you two had built together. You hated the thought so much, it filled your mouth with the acrid taste of bile.

“Sylus, I’m not going anywhere.” You said firmly, planting your feet. If he wanted you to leave, he’d have to throw you out. The gnawing worry and anger, coupled with the pain still writhing under your skin, made the thought so unpalatable you wanted to peel yourself open, let him consume your soul if only to let him feel the tender emotions that enveloped you whenever you thought of him, when you looked at him.

“Then you are a fool,” he sneered, and you felt your hopes being snuffed out. “Begone.”

“Sylus, let me help-”

“I need no help.” He spat, the final word tasting foul on his tongue. His tail flexed, muscles rippling as he drove it into the ground, a clean puncture straight through the stone, pebbles scattering across the floor.

You breathed through your nose, trying very hard to stop yourself from saying ‘yes, you do’, bluntly to his face, or it may anger him more than your continued presence already was. You knew when to hold your tongue, despite what he may think.

“Please, can you just tell me what’s wrong?” You begged, hating how desperate you sounded. It reminded you too much of when you first met, when he held your life so easily in his hands. But, strangely, you found you hated his current state even more, could stomach begging like a peasant if it meant you could get through to him.

“Do you truly wish to test my benevolence again, sorceress?” He ignored your question, saying the nickname he normally spoke with such fond amusement, filled with contempt and repulsion. Spoke it the way the Judicators did, as they condemned you, sentenced you to die. As they took you away from everything you knew and loved, and made you watch as they reduced your world to rubble, made you watch as the only people you ever knew chanted for your execution, rejoiced at your damnation.

The extent of this transgression, this intentional cruelty made your skin grow hot, your brows drawing down as nothing but rage bubbled up and shot out of your heart like lava, a volcano erupting and eating away at the worry there. How dare he? How dare he speak to you like that, after all you had been through together? After you blocked blows, fought off the wrath of the holy army that aimed for his vulnerable flank while you raided their temples, their armories, their barracks. You’d taken hits for him, gladly, if it meant sparing him pain, even if it meant feeling the wounds twice; once for when your blood spilled, and again when Sylus admonished you for being reckless, for worrying about him, even if he inevitably patched you up, told you to be more careful in that quiet way he did. After you learned to enjoy what slivers of peace you could find together, how he took you to the night markets, bought you anything your hands touched, and tried to fight the smile that curled his lips as you covered him in cheap, counterfeit jewelry, in leather pouches that he would never use, but you liked the designs of, or that set of old red keys that’d been turned into an ornament, simply because it matched his eyes.

Did all of that mean nothing to him, for him to treat you this way? Treat you worse than he did when you were nothing more than a meal to him?

Part of you was so angry and hurt, you wanted to just do as he said. Leave him to his devices, and let him suffer in solitude. Tell him to never ask for your help again, since he clearly didn’t need it. 

You turned, took a step away from him, fighting back the stinging in your eyes. You stopped, your breath catching, as your heart stuttered, like your chest was caving in around it, crushing it. Your vision swam, and you clamped your eyes shut, as you tried to hold onto your anger at him for speaking so cruelly to you. At hurting you in a way you hadn’t been sure you were still capable of hurting. But all you could see were those moments when he showed you the kind of creature he really was. Those moments like when you sang to him on the cliff, and he looked at you with affectionate awe, promised to buy you an organ so you could play it properly for him. The gentle lull of his voice as he carried you away from the tavern in Tarus City, retelling the play to you when you complained you’d have nightmares if he didn’t. How he snuggled with you at night when you had them anyway, because the thought of him mutilating himself was so much worse than whatever you could’ve imagined was the reason for the end to that awful, awful play. How you two poured over maps and star charts, planning your next assault while joking and teasing each other. Smiling, laughing.

Your heart screamed, as the dragon shaped hole he’d carved hemorrhaged, filled your chest with so much blood, you felt like choking.

As much as you wanted to be enraged at him, force him to suffer for hurting you so thoroughly…you couldn’t leave him. Couldn’t bear to walk away, even if it meant your own destruction. The prospect hurt so much more than the words he used like daggers.

You straightened, hardening your resolve, tucking your anger away for later. You turned back, marched over to the dais. If Sylus refused to see reason, then you would make him understand his own foolishness.

“This has nothing to do with your benevolence, or lack thereof,” you snapped, proud of yourself when your voice came out even, unaffected by the anger and revitalized concern that now mixed into a potent concoction inside you. “It has everything to do with you being too afraid to admit you need help!”

What you thought before was a snarl was nothing compared to the throaty, guttural angry and inhuman sound that burst from his throat at that, echoing around the both of you like the detonating of a bomb. He twisted violently, pinning you with his eyes, the ill omen of those ominous pools of ruby rose. They crackled like a storm, his nose crinkled and lip curled in utter contempt at your accusation. His next words came out as a barely contained roar.

“I am a dragon-”

“Indeed,” you cut him off, raising your voice to match him, unflinching in the face of his utter childishness. “In which case you can surely stomach telling me why you’re so upset.”

He paused, eyes widening for a fraction of a second, almost imperceptibly, before he quickly wiped the expression off with a scowl, turning away from you as his tail continued to flick. You stared at the back of his head, crossing your arms, daring him to try to deny it again. You always did like a challenge, he knew this about you. You weren’t going to leave, if for no other reason than the fact that only he could soothe the burning of the mark, douse the fire that tore through you, even as you stood there meeting his anger head on. The truth was, though, that you still cared about him. You weren’t sure if that would ever change, now. Even when he was being insufferable.

Eventually, he let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“…Everything hurts,” he whispered through gritted teeth, curling in on himself further.

Your heart dropped at that, the confirmation that the fire in your muscles was also in his, the untouchability of him in your mind shattering.

Sylus always seemed so invincible; he shrugged off the blows from the army as if they were nothing, he stopped arrows with a flick of his wrist, rended battalions with a swipe of his tail. A grimace and a stare, his right eye roaring to life sending whole squadrons into madness, howling as they tore each other apart. You’d yet to see anything perforate his impenetrable scales, save for the greatsword nestled somewhere deep in your chest. Even then, when you first found him in the depths of the abyss, looking up at the sheer size of his true form, all rippling scales, muscle, and teeth, he had seemed more annoyed than anguished, while he sat ran through with the sword, with his massive scarlet wings cocooned in chains. He watched you as the lion does the mouse, waiting for the inevitable, for you to wrap your hands around the hilt, for the blade to slide smoothly out from where it was implanted in his chest, to set him free from the prison of your ancestor’s making.

He seemed so…almost boyish now, in the near fetal position, tail flicking, flicking. And what a strange sight it was. Something filled you at it, boiling and prickly thorned, wrapping around your heart and squeezing, pulsing along with the mark on your neck. It took a moment to recognize it as offense. Offense at seeing your untouchable, mighty dragon, who scoffed at attempts for his slaughter, who laughed as you tried to procure his eye, now besought by something intangible, something which you could not name, that you could not know. Something that your daggers, your swords, all the weapons in the caves could not split away from, could not heal the jagged edges that cut him, and thus cut you.

Through the fire seeping into your veins, though, the only train of thought that remained on course, reverberating through your head was why, why, why is your dragon in pain?

What could be causing your dragon such agony?

You wracked your brain, trying to think if you had missed something, if he had hidden any injuries from your last raid. But the Justitiaurs fell as easily as they always had; tearing each other apart with one look from his glowing red eye. You two were together when you stormed the resident Oracle's chamber, cut his throat with your daggers, and watched his blood paint the ivory tiles a color that matched the gem in Sylus’s chest. Non had presented more than an inconvenience to you both, more like fleas squashed between your fingers. He’d claimed his invulnerability, and proven it just as easily; what could have possibly inflicted such debilitating pain upon him?

Though, you quickly realized it didn’t matter so much the why or how of what Sylus was feeling. What mattered was that he felt it, and you didn’t want him to be feeling it, regardless of the fact his pain was reflected into you.

You gently padded to the dais, watching his twitching tail as you sat on the edge of the coarse stone, brushing aside loose feathers. Here, you caught a glimpse of his face; his nose scrunched, lip slightly curled to reveal pointed fangs, and eyes clamped shut by furrowed brows. Your heart plummeted like a stone thrown in a mirrored lake, lost in darkness’ depths, seeing the pain etched so clearly onto his marble face, disrupting the collected, bored expression he always wore.

“Where does it hurt?” Your voice came out soft, soothing. Gracing the air as a brush of fingers on his skin, a kiss of petals.

“Everywhere,” he huffed, exasperated. He shook his head violently, his claws bearing down on his delicate skin, just shy of breaking the surface and drawing blood. Your fingers flexed, wanting to pull the deadly talons away from his shoulder, away from himself, but you refrained. Patience was key, with a predator so close to snapping.

“Where does it hurt most?” 

A growl reverberated out of his throat, a discontented purr. He peaked open his eyes, though he did not look at you, his gaze remained fixed on the shredded blankets, the frayed threads loosened by his rough scales and talons. You simply waited, for the waves of pain to abate, for him to find his voice again. He let out a heavy exhale, closing his eyes.

“…My tail, my shoulders, and my back.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it, gaze flitting to each area as he listed them off. Outwardly, you could see no damage to them, the scales glistened a burned amber shade from the sconces scattered about, his mortal flesh was smooth and unblemished, save for the marks his claws had already begun to leave from gripping his shoulder so tightly. Your curiosity burned with the desire to ask questions - had he been poisoned, perhaps? Was he sick? But again, you reminded yourself that questions could come later. Healing must come first.

“Give me your tail.” You outstretched your hand to him, palm up expectantly.

His eyes opened again, darted to you, the deep, preternatural growl rumbling in his throat. You held his stare, unwavering in his clear attempts to dissuade you.

“This is none of your concern.” He looked away, shaking his head again to try to rid himself of the nagging sensations plaguing him.

You frowned. “I know,” you said, making grabby motions with your hand. “Now stop being stubborn and let me help you.”

His growl transformed back into a hiss as he shot you a glare. When you, again, didn’t back down from his challenge, he let out a disgruntled snort. Spitefully, like a child angry about being caught stealing his mother’s pastries, he turned his back to you, letting his long, lithe tail plop gracelessly onto your lap. You let out a light ‘oof’ as the weight settled across your thighs, effectively pinning you down. It reminded you of when he effortlessly threw the dagger out of your hand and pulled you to him with the lean appendage, like you were weightless, like it required barely a thought. You couldn’t say you were surprised, as you admired it, your hands tentatively brushing along the top and sides, feeling, searching as you thought about how to help him deal with the pain.

You weren’t sure if what you had in mind would work, but you were willing to try, if it meant he had a chance at relief. You were taught some basic medicine in the Sanctuary; as was mandated by the army. Basic first aid, how to treat a wound, what was reasonable to handle on the field and what required a doctor. Nothing too sophisticated.

But most importantly; how to handle basic muscle aches and soreness.

You decided to start at the tip of his tail, the impressive spike and retracting barbs you had enviously stared at more than once. You gently took it in your hands, holding it steady as it attempted to twitch out of your grasp. Sylus let out another angry snort, but held still when you refused to let go. Observing the lithe appendage, you realized the end was forged of bone, and beyond your help, but on the underside, the scales slowly faded into a soft, leathery underbelly. You felt along it, slowly moving up, using your fingers and the heel of your palm to gently push on it until finally, you felt it; a knot of twisted flesh just below the surface.

Being as tender as possible, you held his tail firmly as you began to grind your palm into the center of the knot in tight circles, to loosen and soothe the ache there. It was definitely painful; Sylus growled, his tail jerking to wrest it from your grasp, but you simply tightened your grip, not letting him get away. He slowly relaxed, as you felt his flesh detangle, pushing bigger circles into his scales until it lost its shape, molding into the rest of his powerful, healthy muscles. Sylus let out something like hum, clearly pleased, his body starting to relax under your fingers.

When you were satisfied the knot had been thoroughly worked out, you moved on to the next section of his tail, where the pointed barbs faded into smooth ringlets of scales, rippling from half formed, stubbed spikes. You carefully coiled the finished section around you, not wanting to pull his tail by letting it dangle off the dais, and began running your fingers around the base of his spines. The ones closer to the base of his tail were thinner, sharper, little knives diving out of his scales. In contrast, these ones were wide, dull, and short, as if they hadn’t fully formed yet. You wondered if Sylus was even younger than you first thought, feeling the ache of a body that wasn’t done metamorphosing, hadn’t finished growing all the scales and spikes dragons were known for. You wondered if that was why he ached, why his muscles had tensed into knots.

You gently pushed your fingers into his scales, into the mountains and valleys of the contours of what made his draconic skin. You felt how they dipped, like city streets that snaked through clusters of buildings, made a network of highways where you could see the sky, feel the wind on your face. You felt how they rose again, like shockwaves pulsing away from the origin of an explosion, as you pressed your palm into another knot. Sylus grunted, his tail curling of its own volition, as you soothed his muscles. It was different, from the human skin you’d practiced on, but so similar, too. His scales were warm and rough to the touch, but underneath, his muscles steadily smoothed out, like you’d been taught these massages would do.

When you were done there, you had to scoot closer to him, to massage the last part of his tail. The finished parts curled around you, inviting you closer, keeping you in place. You worked around the magnificent spines that curved toward his back, the deadly weapons smooth to the touch, but unmistakably sharp, as you brushed your hand around them. The scales here were bumpy, like permanent gooseflesh pebbled his scales, though the heat radiating off him proved otherwise. You ran your hands up and down, spreading your fingers, rubbing circles and indistinguishable shapes into the peaks and valleys, the bumps and ridges that made the topography of his reptilian skin. You wrapped one arm under him, cradling him gently, so gently, as you massaged the place under the fin-like protrusions that jutted out from the sides of his tail. A deep rumble broke the stillness, and you smiled, when you realized Sylus was doing the dragon equivalent of a purr. His head lowered, relaxing, as you rubbed the leathery membrane of the frills between your fingers, smoothed over the spiked ridges where it turned back into polished scales.

You leaned back, relishing in satisfaction as his tail curled further around you, without pain, without a grunt or grimace. It quickly faded though, as you looked at him, tilting your head appraisingly. Tracing your eyes over his bejeweled back, how the red streaks flowed from it, slithered around his body and rejoined at the gem in his chest. He said his back and shoulders hurt too, didn’t he?

You weren’t quite done, then.

You angled yourself towards him, his tail still in your lap, holding you in place. You laid your hands on his back, the lower part of his shoulder blades, spreading your fingers across the smooth planes of mortal flesh. They tensed at your touch on instinct, drawing his shoulders together, before they relaxed, surrendered to you, trusted you. His tail flicked once, intrigued, before you started slowly rolling your hands, from his shoulders to his lower back, up and down, like using a rolling pin, kneading out dough with your hands. The rumbling purr grew louder, echoed through the cave, his back beginning to arch slightly to give you better access, his head tilting in bliss. You didn’t bother hiding the smirk that spread across your face. Instead, you had to suppress a shiver as you marveled at the feeling of his skin beneath your hands, so delicate and fragile and beautiful, like what you thought holding a newborn babe would feel like. You moved your hands in, towards the cord of scales that traveled down his spine, untangling the knots you found there too. You rolled your shoulders, the pain that burned and ripped through you settling, easing as you soothed Sylus’s ache.

Once his back was done, you leaned forward, chest nearly flush with it, intent on giving his shoulders proper care next, when you yelped as Sylus fell back into you in a heap, his tail sliding out beneath him. You stared at him in disbelief as he settled in your lap, purring, ever purring, his face completely relaxed as he nuzzled it into your chest. His eyes were closed, and he let out a long, tired sigh, as he made himself comfortable, reclining into you like a chair.

“More,” he mumbled, when your hands didn’t return to him, didn’t continue his massage. Against your will, a bark of laughter erupted from your chest, watching the big, scary dragon melting on top of you. His warmth soaked into you, your skin a greedy sponge, and you let yourself just relish in it, for a moment. The outer caves, where your chambers were, got so cold at night, where the lifeblood of the mountain didn’t flow. He brought you blankets, wrapped you in silk, velvet, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as the heat that surrounded him, an aura of warmth that kept the fire in his heart, his belly burning. You held him in a tighter embrace, as you were reminded of how much you missed him, how you shivered in the plush nest of bedding you made, how unbearably cold it was, absent of his warmth for the past few days.

Sylus wriggled, grunting unhappily when you didn’t immediately comply. You snapped out of your stupor, chuckling, impatient dragon, before putting your hands on his wide, muscular shoulders, beginning to slowly roll them in your palms. His left one was much harder to work on, the scales rising up like jagged peaks, the pointed ends barely kept from your tender flesh. You did your best to work around them, pressing your fingers into the canyons where the scales parted, rolling the heel of your palm where they met his neck. He huffed, rolling his shoulders as the knots came loose, as the soreness he felt dissolved like warm fog, the reflection of it in your own shoulders draining.

When the taut string that held his shoulder blades together finally went lax, your hands traveled downward, beginning to delicately caress his arms, over the backs of his hands, before ascending again. An achingly tender touch that your caregivers at the Sanctuary used to sooth you with when you were a child, the faintest ghosting of fingers across skin, a touch so sickeningly sweet it made you want to weep. Sylus’s breath hitched, as you shared this delicate caress with him. He let out a shuddered sigh, turning his hands and opening them, so you could slide your fingers all the way over his wrists, down to his palms, and travel back again.

You both let the moment stretch, let the silence bloom between you, save for the occasional purr or sigh. You watched him, as you tended to his pain, how his back pushed against you with every breath, how his eyes were closed in sheer euphoria as he rested his cheek on your chest. You stared at him as you felt emotions build in your chest, push on your tender ribs, your heart clenching. Happiness that he was no longer in pain, anguish that he felt it at all. Joy that you were able to comfort him when he needed it most, despair that you both let him suffer for so long, by not seeking the other out.

I will always come to your aid.

You vowed it, to yourself, in the deepest recess of your soul. You promised it, to him, in the darkest echelons of your heart. And as much as you would’ve liked to let the silence last, let this feeling of your heart leaping as a blissful doe across a grassy, sun dappled knoll, with your beloved dragon in your lap, there was only one way to ensure such a promise remained intact.

You kissed his hair to smooth him, the delicate silver strands tickling your lips. “Sylus?”

“Hmm?” His eyes remained closed.

“What caused you such pain?”

His contented half smile vanished, brows furrowing. He opened his beautiful eyes, averted his gaze from you, tail swaying in renewed agitation. You worried for a moment that he may not answer you, or worse, try to part from you again.

“Before I was imprisoned in the Abyss, many sought me out. To claim glory in my slaughter, to be the one who finally killed the fiend. I was accosted by armies, whole battalions.” He paused, weighing his words carefully. “They were…harder to repel, when I was younger.”

You closed your eyes. You closed your eyes, against the sinking feeling in your chest, against the despair that crested, flooded you. You could see it. The mark pulsed, and you stared out of eyes that were not your own. You heard a dragon's roar, a familiar sound, as you watched a writhing, living ocean of gleaming steel bound down the hilltops towards you. Massive, scaled hands stretched away from you, swatting at the bright shapes as they threatened you with their polished swords, their axes, their spears. You screamed, as they dug into your arms, your flank, arrows embedded into your wings, your neck. A flash of red streaked across your vision, a sword made of blood descending on you, aimed at your heart.

You shook your head, the images swirling together in blotches of color, condensing, precipitating back into a picture of a dark, black cave. You felt steel along your limbs, pinching, pulling and locking you in place. You thrashed, snarling and snapping your jaws at the chains as your muscles ignited with pain from the wounds that never got proper care. But the chains did not yield against the thrashing of your head, the beating of your wings, your lashing tail. A sword made of blood, holding you in place.

You opened your eyes. You opened your eyes, and looked down at the tormented creature in your lap, who trusted you enough to show you his soft underbelly (even if it required some coaxing), the tender parts that took the blade so easily. And what a monumental feat that was, for a dragon, you realized. For a being whose very existence depended on being the strongest, on having the will to fight against a world that longed for his head from the first moment he opened his eyes. Vulnerability was weakness, and weakness was death. Cruelty was a shield against the swords, bows, axes of cruelty that were wielded against him first. He’d snapped at you, before, as a wolf does when caught in a snare, baring fangs and snarling even as the kind hunter tries to free him. Tries to restore his freedom, before he could finish gnawing his leg off, because what is a leg compared to the boundless sky, a forest that stretches and stretches into a pinprick of darkness, or an ocean that reaches so far, it touches the horizon with blue gold fingers?

You rested your chin atop his head, his horns framing your face. Your hands kept moving, spreading your fingers, closing them, down the ridged scales on his arms, back again over soft skin.

“I’m sorry,” you said, because it was the only thing that felt right to say.

Sylus huffed, brushing off the heaviness that cloaked you at his admission. “You’ve no reason to be sorry.”

You squeezed him. “And yet I am, for what my kin did to you.”

He hummed, clearly still in disagreement, but letting the matter drop. He adjusted his position, getting more comfortable in your lap, snuggling against you. You watched him fondly while you bore the full brunt of his weight without protest, shielded him from the pain as best you knew.

“Maybe tomorrow we can go down to the market and get you some lotion for the soreness.” You suggested, not stopping your hands from moving across his skin.

He hummed again, thinking on it. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Why?” You tilted your head at him.

Sylus took a deep breath. “…This is enough.” He said, his voice heavy with emotions he was too prideful to share.

“…Okay,” you said, because you trusted him, now, to be honest with you about this. Trusted him not to push you away when pain made him feel weak, made him want to hide in the shadows.

Even with this newfound trust, though, you gently cupped his chin in your hand, turning his face so he’s forced to look at you. So he could not claim ignorance as his blood-red eyes took in the conviction on your face, in your words, spoken with genuine, honest devotion.

“Come to me next time you’re feeling like this.”

He stared at you. You held his gaze, holding him softly, but firmly, not letting him pull away from the words you needed him to hear from you, and what you needed to hear from him. Would grow sick with worry, if you didn’t.

He looked away, staring up at your lovely neck, his teeth marks in your skin. He nodded, once, before meeting your eyes again.

“Very well.”

You let out a tense breath, your shoulder blades easing. You let go of his face, but he was quick to grab your hand. He held it up, turned his face into your wrist, nuzzling it, his lips softer than the purest, freshest wool as they pressed into your skin.

“Only if you promise to hold me, as you have today, when I do.” He pushed your palm into his cheek, his hot breath fanning down your arm as he sighed, his eyes half-lidded and sleepy.

Your heart swelled, felt like it might burst from affection, an adoration that it felt too small to contain. You swallowed around the lump in your throat those thick emotions formed, as he asked you to be his safety, his comfort.

“Always, my dragon.”

Sylus smiled, buried his face in your palm. He placed another gentle kiss on the outside of your wrist, before returning your hand to his cheek.

“How did you know to come to me?” He asked softly.

You paused, tapped his cheek to make sure he was looking at you. Your hand moved, his gaze following it, as you brought it up to press against the imprint of his teeth marks in your neck.

“Because…I felt it, too.”

He stared at you, with those perfect rubies, traveling across your face. His eyes flicked between the mark and your face, before his nose wrinkled slightly, and he turned away from you again.

“That wasn’t my intention, when I gave it to you,” he said, some of his irritation creeping back at his displeasure.

You let out a heavy breath. You suspected as much, weren’t sure he even knew you caught traces of his own desires through it. “I know. It’s okay.”

“No.” His tail swayed unhappily. “You should be angry with me.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You were angry at him, still. Just not for that. “I can handle the pain,” you said, instead of admitting your hidden feelings.

“But you shouldn’t have to.” He looked up at you, his rose colored eyes filled with…remorse?

“I am willing to, if it’s for you.” You leaned forward, brushing your lips over his temple to reassure him.

He scoffed, shaking his head in disdain. “Humans are foolish,” he hissed, though there was no heat in his words.

You grinned down at him. “One of our many charms.”

He snorted, and you felt how his lips quirked up in a smile. He relaxed again, closing his eyes, your reassurances a powerful balm for his soul. His tail stopped swaying, curled around your ankle instead to hold you closer.

“I am still mad at you, though.”

He stilled, his expression falling. He opened his eyes again, caught your gaze, puzzled.

“I care about you. A lot,” you said, hardening your expression, so he knew you were serious. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you speak to me like you just did without any consequences.”

Understanding colored his features. He had the decency to look slightly sheepish, hanging his head.

“I’d be disappointed if you did,” he admitted quietly. He slowly lowered your hand from his face, guiding it to his chest, to the gem embedded over his rapidly beating heart. You brushed your fingers across the smooth surface, traced the edges of each uneven, polished side. He engulfed your hand with his massive claw, closed both of them over his heart. “I will make it up to you. Anything you desire, it’s yours.”

You hummed, considering his offer, letting him open your hand again, lean down to run his nose across your palm. Watched him, as his forked tongue parted his lips, licked a soft stripe across your skin so sweetly, you may have wondered if you imagined it, were your eyes not locked on him. Not an apology, but perhaps the closest a dragon could come to the concept.

You smiled.

“You’re going to have to be an obedient little dragon for a long time to make up for it.”

Sylus stilled, his talons tightening around your open palm. Then he shifted, met your eyes with his, a toothy grin meeting your own.

“I am at your mercy, O great sorceress.”

🐉 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 🐉

Sylus is in a foul mood.

A deal had gone belly up, that he’d been working on for weeks. Weeks of dealing with the sniveling underlings of a business partner he coveted, whom nearly pissed themselves whenever he spoke, of long, boring negotiations that got dragged on for hours beyond what was necessary, of finally drafting and signing a contract for the protocores he needed, only to have a rival business, some small faction he couldn’t even bother to know the name of, made of traitors and vultures alike, had outbid him with an offer too tantalus; the promise of Onychinus on a platter, them as the new reigning monarchs of the N109 Zone.

Their hubris was their own undoing. They hadn’t tried to disguise the bombs they put in his shipment very well, assuming with the contract in place, Sylus was keen to be lax. What they didn’t know is that Sylus is nothing if not thorough, consistent with his business. Every shipment bound for his warehouses is checked, checked, and checked again, to ensure he gets exactly what he is promised, and to ensure situations - precisely like these - are foiled before even having a chance at fruition. The protocore shaped explosives had been caught on the first scans, and Sylus is offended, not at the attempt on his life, but the sloppy execution of the whole ordeal, especially from his own ex-employees.

He’d repaid the offensive slight tenfold. It was customary, after all. Crushed the insurrectionists who coveted the seat of the N109 Zone, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. They’d made their bed, and Sylus is more than happy to help them lay in it, under six feet of dirt. And his new supplier, who was so for such a short amount of time, got the same treatment for consorting against him in his own territory. He stormed the building they used as a den in a hail of bullets and red-black evol, looking forward to the mushroom cloud that would erupt in a ball of fire when he blew the place off the map. He’d smirked, thumbing the detonator in his pocket, as his men scoured the building for anything valuable or useful, while his supplier hung suspended in the air by his evol.

It was when his men reported back what they’d found in the building’s basement that he took a special pleasure in the vengeance he planned to enact. The dozens of women, in cages, they’d found, emaciated and barely alive. Whom he’d had to relocate anonymously to a shelter within Linkon, because he refused to leave them buried among the rubble. He remembers the way his face twisted in outrage when his men first delivered the news of what was going on in that wretched place.

This was one business Sylus refused to dip his fingers into. That level of depravity was lower than a swine’s belly, and he refused to stoop so low as to wallow in the mud with people more monstrous than he could ever hope to be. Had he known about his new supplier’s involvement in such things, he never would’ve pursued them in the first place. But he was a weapons dealer, first and foremost, and his particular brand required top quality protocores to meet his, and his buyers, standards. And, supposedly, his newest catch sold some of the best on the market after his last, and longest lasting one, had been caught in a turf war near the outskirts of the N109 Zone, and was erased from existence completely.

Sylus prefers to keep his emotions out of business; it simply made things easier, less messy. But perhaps he was more biased than he let on, because he let that old, familiar bloodlust make his bones feel restless, let the burning fire of rage seep into his veins like molasses as he discovered the kind of pigs that tried to lay with him. As they tarnished his reputation, by even associating with them.

It was no matter, though. That contract was now neatly shredded in his bin, all copies of it eradicated, and that portly man who ran that business, well, he’d made for a fine night’s entertainment. Sylus feels a deep sense of satisfaction at having acted as his comeuppance, tearing down his fragile kingdom brick by brick, ensuring nothing but a crater would be left of it. His lips quirk up in a smile, as he remembers how the man had squealed - as all hogs do - when he peeled his skin off, slowly, and fed it to the wanderers that lurk in the nearby no-hunt zones.

But, as much fun as he’d had smearing another pest in his territory into the dirt, he is now facing the consequences of his actions, dealing with the fallout of indulging in his murderous whims. Without a proper supplier, he is pressed to find another way to fulfill the orders that had piled up over the last couple of weeks. Onychinus always fulfills its orders, Sylus prides his business on that, but now he is scrambling, trying to find a new supplier who won’t sell him fakes within the next 48 hours.

Sylus sighs, staring down at the papers on his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. Swirls the glass of wine that’s gone warm in his hand. His head is beginning to throb.

A light rapping at the door has Sylus lifting his head. His first impulse is to be irritated, as he suspects it’s the twins, and with the drumming behind his temples, he has half a mind to tell them to leave him be. But, perhaps their reconnaissance to find a new source for the protocores he needed was fruitful. He could handle them for the few minutes it would take to be debriefed on the results, he decides.

“Enter,” the smooth baritone of his voice broke the stillness of his office. Sylus leans back, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair as he waits for them to comply.

The door handle turns, and Sylus sits up, when he sees not the twins, but your beautiful, perfect self, wearing one of the outfits he bought you, dart through his door, quickly closing it behind you.

“Sweetie,” he greets, perking up as you turn, flashing him a sweet, gentle smile as you make your way over to him. Though only an expert could see how the slight widening of his eyes, the faint relaxing of his shoulders belied his adoration for you. You, who made every deal worth slogging through, made every contract a stitch in the fabric of the tapestry of all he would do for you, offer you. You, his most precious treasure, who smiled so sweetly as you approached him, are the only one who can tell his face lit up the moment he saw you.

Your brows furrow slightly as you round his desk. “Everything okay? You look exhausted.” You ask softly. Your voice, a caress of feathers against his rough exterior, made him want to shed the armor that protects the soft, squishy parts of himself. He discards the wine on his desk, opens his arms for you, and you obediently plant yourself shamelessly in his lap, straddling him to bury your face in the crook of his neck, holding him as tightly as he holds you.

He let out another sigh, the stress he feels seeping out of him as he absorbs your warmth, his shoulders slumping. “Unpleasant business,” he answers, kissing the crown of your head, his thumbs rubbing back and forth along your lower back. He feels his heart swell, strain against the warmth that fills it, as you hum in acknowledgement, nestling deeper into him, rubbing your hands up and down his recently tense shoulders. He wonders how you are able to do it, how you are able to tamper the lingering bloodlust towards the sycophants who thought they would consort against him, by simply being there, holding him, existing.

“Do you want a massage?”

Sylus opens his eyes, tightening his grip as he tries to suppress the way his heart leaps at the offer. You do this for him so often, yet his heart is just as excited every time. He thought he would get used to it, that the greedy, yawning maw inside him that wants to swallow you whole would be soothed by your presence. But with every indulgence, every time you run your hands along his skin, he only feels his greed growing bigger and bigger, his desire for you like a cancer that grows and grows without ending.

“I might become a spoiled brat, if you keep offering so often,” he teases, calm, collected. Hiding the way he wants to say yes, please yes into your ear, beg for his desires that squirm and wiggle in the deepest parts of his heart. He would, for you. He’d bend the knee with a smile on his face, if it meant he’d get to feel more of your angelic touch.

You lean back and he lets you, despite his urge to keep you crushed against him. You smile, and he can see that mischievous twinkle in your pretty eyes.

“Who says I don’t want to spoil you?”

Sylus can’t help but laugh, shaking his head. You may make a monster of him yet, with such promises. “I could certainly get used to it.”

You nod happily. “Good,” you say, leaning in to trace your nose up his neck, pepper the underside of his jaw with kisses. He groans, tries to keep himself from devouring you, like he so desires to do. “Come on then,” you speak into his skin. “Let’s go.”

He chuckles, but dutifully stands, lifting you as he does, your legs naturally coiling around his waist. The papers, his problems from the last few days, slide off his shoulders like rain on hydrophobic feathers as he carries you out of his office, down the hall to his bedroom. The door opens, shuts behind him with a soft click and the brush of his evol, the lock sliding into place to ensure you’re not interrupted.

Sylus sits down on the edge of the bed, holding you in his lap as you begin to unbutton his dress shirt. He buries his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder, smelling you, fighting the urge to sink his teeth into your plushness. You kiss the place just above his ear, finishing the last of the buttons and pulling the shirt off him. He takes it, throws it somewhere inconsequential, then shifts you off his lap, looking at you expectantly. You waste no time getting to work, and as soon as you prop up a suitable amount of pillows against the headboard, settle yourself to lean comfortably on them, he crawls after you, letting himself fall on top of you like a giant weighted blanket, wrapping his arms underneath you. You laugh breathlessly, squirming while you complain that you can’t get to the skin oil with him on top of you. Without opening his eyes, his fingers twitch, the sound of a drawer being opened reaching his ears, the small container of oil put in your hands by inky red tendrils.

You scoff playfully at him, before popping the cap and lathering the oil into your hands. Sylus’s nostrils flare, trying to catch as much of the scent as he can. Datura flowers, a splash of vanilla, a hint of lavender. The same scent in the lotion you got for him in Tarus City, when you finally convinced him it would help the muscle soreness, despite his protests. You’d been right, of course.  You usually are, Sylus had learned. Though, he is sure you don’t remember the scent, wouldn’t have reacted so lukewarm towards it if you did. Another attempt at making you remember bound for the bin.

He gives up on dwelling on it though, because he has to swallow a moan as your hands, which are so, so unbelievably soft, start to knead his supple flesh, pushing and pulling on his skin expertly. You trace every inch along the planes of his back, the contours of every muscle, down his spine, the place just below his neck. He can feel as his stress is worked out of every inch of him, your hands leaving no place ignored, forgotten. He shivers, his skin tingling with delight as he holds you closer, tries to absorb the feeling into his bones so he can never be without it. He could live here, he thinks. Would be content if this moment stretched into infinity, and he never had to leave your embrace.

He isn’t sure how long he lets you dote on him. All he knows is that sleep has begun to call for him, he feels so relaxed, so full, completed. That the oil, whose touch was cold at first, is now warmed by his body and your hands, is disappearing into his skin as you and it cradle him. He wants to accept the invitation to unconsciousness, let the world fade into nothing around him, but he knows stress has dug its greedy claws into you, as well. You tried to hide it from him, said you didn’t want to bother him; he already had so much on his plate. When would you learn you are never a bother to him? When would you learn that he would strip Onychinus down to a cadaver, if it meant you are always happy, always pleased, always at his side?

So instead of allowing himself to fall asleep, despite how tempting, he holds you more firmly, before he abruptly rolls, planting you snugly on his chest.

“Sylus!” You protest, and he can’t help but smirk; you’re so cute when you’re annoyed with him. “You could give me a little warning, at least.”

“I could,” he agrees, pinching the fabric of your clothes between his fingers. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You huff, peel yourself off him to scrutinize his form. “You want a chest rub too?” You ask, hands instinctively moving to start anew.

Sylus quickly grabs your hands, gives them a gentle squeeze. “You already pampered me. Now it’s my turn to return the favor.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t,” he concurs again, running his hands up and down your arms. “But I want to. I know you’ve been stressed lately, too.”

Your lips part slightly, eyes going wide. You always thought you hid it so well. “I’m okay, really-”

“Don’t lie to me.” He gives you a pointed look, cupping your face in one big hand, running his thumb below your eye. “I can see the bags under your eyes.”

You stiffen, avert your gaze. Sylus wraps his arms around you, pulls you further into him, so you can bury your face into his neck. He runs the tip of his nose along your own neck, kisses the place his teeth once punctured.

“Let me take care of you.”

You don’t respond, for a long moment, and Sylus worries you may try to deny your fatigue further. But then, you give the smallest nod, and he is relieved.

He doesn’t hesitate; starts working your clothes off as soon as he has your permission. His fingers run across your skin, pulling the fabric up, giving you a chaste kiss when you obediently lift your arms so he can finish removing it. You shiver as the cold air graces your form, and Sylus pulls you more tightly into him, letting you soak up as much of his warmth as you can. His evol stirs when you settle, placing the bottle of oil in his hands. He pours a generous amount onto them, the hands made for you, to love you, made for your pleasure, lathers it into them. He puts them on your shoulder blades, spreading his fingers in an attempt to be as gentle as you, before he begins to slowly roll your doughy flesh. You let out a whimper, then a happy sigh as you melt into him, get lost in the feeling of his hands on you. He allows himself to start humming the tune you taught him, the one he knows you do remember, somewhere deep in your subconscious. Your hands grip his shoulders, clutching him as he watches the oil slide across your body, sooth the deep aches where his hands can’t reach.

It doesn’t take long for your breaths to grow long and even, your body sinking further into him as drowsiness overtakes you. Sylus feels a profound sense of satisfaction that he is able to comfort you so thoroughly as to lull you to sleep, as you just had for him. That you trust him enough to let down all your defenses. He remembers, not so long ago, when you hated him, accused him of being a monster, a title more literal than you remembered. When you thought he was responsible for ripping everything you loved from your desperate fingers.

You’ve both come so far since then.

He lets his lips roam across your scalp, nibbles on the shell of your ear. You stir, shifting to secure yourself more firmly in his lap.

“I love you.” Your voice is gruff with sleep, though the words come out no less assured.

Sylus hums. “I love you,” he echos, nuzzling his face into your soft, downy hair. He presses his lips into your temple one more time before closing his own eyes, settling into the cushions. “Get some rest, my beloved.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had so much fun with this, even though it took around 2 months and like, 20 drafts 😂😭 But I really wanted to show the progression between the past lives both Sylus and us/MC have had and how they are now, while exploring the scars Sylus definitely has from being hunted in his youth. I wanted to show this mirroring effect with past/present and how they’re the same people, but they’ve also changed over time. It was also an excuse to write more nonsexual intimacy, which I couldn’t say no to :)

Btw I hope Sylus wasn’t too mean in this. I HC that he can revert back to such a state when his instincts kick in, because of his cruel lines right before MC stabs him the second time (right before they share souls). It’s like how animals become more aggressive/hide away when they’re sick because they know they’re more valuable during that time. But I hope it wasn’t too much 🙏

I also definitely didn’t cry while rewatching his myth to get names/details right, because the song that plays when he dies plays intermittently throughout the entire myth. You do not perceive me

Disclaimer: I do not consent to my work being translated, published, used without my knowledge, reposted, or used in AI training.

[jjkssin]

Midnight whispers. [Part- I]

Pairing: Married jk x (fem) reader

Genre: Dark Romance|Angst|Tragedy

Character count: 12,476

Tropes: Forbidden love, toxic relationship, infidelity, suicide , heavy angst, power dynamics, emotional conflict, dominant jk.

Summary: Jeon , a ruthless man bound by duty, his heart claimed by a woman he can never make his own. He gives her everything but denies her the one thing she craves: commitment. When love turns into an ultimatum, fate delivers a devastating price.

The city shimmered under the weight of night, its skyline veiled in a haze of cold indifference, much like the man who owned Y/N’s heart and shackled her soul. Her fingers trembled around the stem of a coffee cup untouched and long forgotten.

He was late again. Jeon. He was a man carved by the ruthlessness of time, hardened by experience and bound by obligations he could not escape. The man who owned her in ways deeper than mere possession. The man who loved her yet refused to give her the title she so desperately craved.

The sound of the front door unlocking sent a shiver down her spine. The air shifted, the overwhelming presence of him filling the space like a storm cloud.

“You’re late,” she murmured, not turning to look at him.

Jeon sighed, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows as he loosened the top buttons of his black dress shirt. He was exhausted, but the weight of responsibility was something he bore with grace. “Business.”

She scoffed. “Your business always comes before me right.”

“Don’t start.” His voice was dangerously low, a warning.

She turned then, eyes burning. “I’m not starting anything!" Her voice wavered. “I hate being hidden."

"Voice low infront of me." He was older, patient and always in control except when it came to her.

He walked to her his presence both soothing and suffocating. He pulled her to him, tilting her face up to meet his. His dark eyes bore into hers. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. " Why don't you don’t understand? This world....my world isn’t kind. If I expose you, you will become a target. This life will destroy you."

Her lips trembled, but she held her ground. “That doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, her mind clouded with rage and jealousy.

She was his mistress. The woman he loved but could never claim. It started as a simmering jealousy, a quiet resentment toward the life Jeon had outside of her. She had seen the pictures, the moments on social media his perfect family. His wife, smiling with that elegance Y/N could never quite embody. But it wasn’t until one fateful night, when the simmering jealousy reached its boiling point, that everything erupted.

He had married for status, not for love. His wife bore him a son the heir he needed to secure his empire. But Jeon’s heart had never belonged to the woman who carried his name—it had always belonged to Y/N.

The storm brewing in his gaze darkened, his jaw clenching. He exhaled slowly, measured. "You know you what you mean to me."

"Do I?" A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

"Must be nice to have someone who actually matters in your life. Someone who you’re proud of. Someone who isn’t hidden away. She spat the word, venom curling around it "gets to stand beside you in public wearing your name!"

His lips pressed into a firm line, eyes dark with something unreadable. "You're acting like a child."

“Well the child you have with her is just your fucking legacy, isn’t she? Your heir. Your perfect little daughter. Your bloodline. You don’t even care about her beyond that,” Y/N spat, her chest tightening with the bitterness that had taken root inside her.

His patience, vast as the ocean, wavered. “ It's how it has to be.”

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “No, Jeon. That’s how you choose it to be. You hide me like I’m something to be ashamed of while she gets to live under your name, play your perfect wife, and bear your child. And for what? Politics? Status?”

Jeon moved then, slow, measured steps closing the distance between them. His hand reached up, calloused fingers tracing the curve of her cheek before gripping her jaw. “You don’t understand the world I live in, Y/N. Marriage is not about love for men like me. It’s about power. Stability.”

His eyes darkened, his presence shifting into something volatile. “Don’t push me right now."

“You say you love me but I have nothing to prove it.”

His hand gripped her wrist, pulling her to him with a force that stole her breath. “You’re being reckless,” he warned, his voice low, dangerous.

“Your daughter is nothing special. ” The words were out before she could stop them and the air between them became charged with an intensity so palpable, it nearly suffocated her.

“ She’s just a thing you’ll use to keep your family’s power intact. She means nothing to you. You’re just playing a part!"

Jeon didn’t respond for a long time his face unreadable. But his eyes his eyes were dark, Y/N realized she had crossed a line. She had taunted him with his daughter, the one person he cared for beyond himself. The one person he would never let anyone insult.

He had always tolerated her insults about his wife, about his position. But when it came to his daughter, there were no boundaries left.

Something snapped. She pushed him too far. He could be so gentle and yet when she fought him he became an entirely different man. Cold. Detached. Ruthless.

In a single moment of heated frustration, Jeon moved before he could stop himself. "You never talk about her like that again” Jeon growled, his voice like ice and his voice dark with a warning.

His hands gripped her arms, the force of his anger and helplessness making him reckless.

She gasped in pain trying to pry herself free, but his strength was unyielding. "Jeon! let go"

“I told you,” he hissed, his voice dangerously low, “Never. Again.”

The anger burned hot in his veins, clouding his rationality. His hand released her with force and in the momentum she stumbled backward head colliding with the glass wall.

It wasn’t his intention never his intention but her foot caught on the edge of the rug and she stumbled backward. A sickening crack echoed as her head collided with the glass wall.

A sharp gasp left her lips before darkness swallowed her whole.

The rage in Jeon's eyes vanished, replaced instantly with horror. "Y/N!" His voice was raw, panicked as he dropped to his knees beside her, hands hovering over her pale face. "Shit. Baby, look at me."

But her eyes fluttered shut, darkness swallowing her whole.

---

The sterile scent of the hospital clung to the air when she awoke. A dull throb pulsed at her temple but it was nothing compared to the weight pressing on her heart.

“Jeon…” she whispered, her voice fragile.

A deep sigh came from the chair beside her. It wasn’t him.

Instead, his most trusted man sat there, watching her with mild concern. “He had to go,” the man said quietly. “A family event. An important meeting. He couldn’t stay.”

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat. Of course. Of course, he had to go. Of course, he had somewhere else to be.

The ride back to the penthouse was silent, but the ache inside her screamed. She curled into herself on the bed, staring at the empty space beside her. Hours passed before the door finally opened, and Jeon stepped inside, his presence heavy with regret.

He didn’t speak. He stood at the foot of the bed, watching her with dark, conflicted eyes. He had never felt so powerless. Yet he was torn, his desire to stay with her clashing with the obligations he had to his family.

Y/N scoffed bitterly, turning away. “Go back to your perfect little family.”

His jaw tensed. “Don’t."

She let out a cold laugh. “Don’t what? Act like I finally understand my place? You made it painfully clear where I stand.”

Jeon moved, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. His fingers curled around her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You don’t get to act like you mean nothing to me.”

She jerked away. “Then stop treating me like I do.”

His breath was unsteady, his control fraying at the edges. “I should’ve been here.”

Y/N’s voice was cold, detached. “But you weren’t.”

Silence.

The bed dipped as he knelt beside her, his fingers brushing her hair back. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

Tears burned her eyes. “But you did.”

His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away the wetness. “I regret it more than you know.”

He stayed that night and she let him hold her, their silence speaking of all the words they didn’t dare say. His warmth against her, his lips pressing against the crown of her head, his fingers threading through hers in a desperate grasp he was telling her everything he couldn’t say aloud.

"I'll make it right. " She turned to face him then, her eyes searching his for truth. And when she found it when she saw the torment in his gaze, she cupped his face and whispered, “Then don’t leave me again.”

That night, he didn’t.

__

Secrecy had a price. And Y/N, abandoned by all but him clung to the only thing she had left.

Yet, deep in her heart, she knew the truth.

Jeon was a great father. He loved his child more than anything more than her. And if the day ever came when he had to choose, she knew he wouldn’t choose her.

And that terrified her more than anything.

__

The air in the penthouse was thick with tension, the silence between them suffocating. It had been days since their last argument, the one where Jeon’s rage had reached a breaking point, his patience shattered. The weight of that moment had hung over them like a storm cloud, its aftermath far from resolved. Yet, somehow, the silence between them was worse than the fury that had come before.

Y/N sat on the sofa, her fingers curling into the fabric, her nails digging into the soft cushions as she stared at the man she loved with a mixture of longing and resentment. The truth of their relationship had never been clearer. She was nothing more than a fleeting shadow in his life, a temporary distraction in a world he could never fully share with her.

Another argument. Another round of empty words exchanged.

“I’m tired, Jeon,” she began, her voice soft but trembling with desperation. “I can’t keep living like this. In your fucking shadows always second to everything else in your life. I’m the woman you fuck when you need something, and then you go back to your perfect little family like I never existed.”

Jeon’s face remained unreadable, his cold eyes never leaving her as he sat on the sofa, his posture rigid. He had been patient far more patient than she deserved but tonight, the pressure of her constant demands seemed to wear him down.

“Y/N, I’ve told you this before,” he said, his tone measured but firm. “I can’t marry you. You know why.”

“Then choose,” she shot back, her voice cracking with emotion. “Choose between me and them. Between me and your daughter. Between me and your fucking family.”

Jeon’s breath caught in his throat and for a moment, he almost looked like he was going to say something something that might change everything. But the words never came. Instead, his expression hardened and the wall between them, the invisible barrier he had built for so long, seemed to solidify in that instant.

“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “You think this is some game, Y/N. You think you can just demand things and expect me to give them to you. But my daughter she’s my responsibility. "

She had known it, deep down, but hearing it from him the man she loved cut deeper than any physical wound ever could. She felt the crushing weight of his words settling into her chest, suffocating her.

She was never more than a convenience, a fleeting moment of warmth in the cold, calculated world he lived in.

The tears burned in her eyes as she stepped forward, her hands trembling with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “You’d choose them. You’d choose her over me your daughter, your legacy because that’s all that matters to you, isn’t it? Not me. Never me.”

Jeon’s face remained stony, his eyes flickering with something perhaps regret, perhaps guilt but it wasn’t enough. Not enough to change anything.

“I’ve told you everything I can, Y/N. I’m sorry,” Jeon said, his voice tight as he stood from the sofa.

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. It was as though she had been waiting for this moment for so long, but hearing it aloud hearing it from him was worse than anything she had ever imagined.

She stared at him, her body trembling with emotion as the crushing reality sank in. She was nothing to him. Nothing more than a passing moment in a life he could never share with her. The man she loved who she had thought could one day choose her was now standing in front of her, his eyes cold, his heart locked away from her forever.

Y/N had always known she was never the first choice in anyone’s life, but now, she was finally forced to face it. She was nothing more than a fleeting distraction for him.

Jeon turned to leave, his shoulders stiff with the weight of what he had just said, the weight of the decision he had made. And as he walked toward the door, Y/N couldn’t breathe. The air was thick, suffocating, and she felt as though the world was collapsing in on her. She had lost him lost him like everyone else who had ever claimed to love her. Her family had abandoned her, her friends had left her and now, Jeon the one person who had ever truly mattered was slipping away from her, too.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered, her voice breaking, the tears streaming down her face. “Please. Don’t leave me, too.”

But Jeon didn’t stop. He didn’t turn back. He walked out of the door, leaving her there, alone, broken.

__

She was the problem. She had always been the problem. She had always been second, never good enough, never worthy of being loved in return. And now, Jeon was leaving her, just like everyone else had. He had made his choice, and she had lost. The thought of losing him of being abandoned by the only person who had ever made her feel seen was too much to bear.

The thought of being alone in this world truly alone was unbearable. The emptiness, the ache, the endless void that seemed to swallow her whole, had become her reality. She couldn’t live like this. She couldn’t live knowing that, yet again, she was nothing more than a fleeting moment in someone else’s life . And Jeon... Jeon had loved her, once, but that love was gone now. Gone like everything else that had ever mattered.

__

Y/N made a decision. A final, irreversible decision.

She drove. She didn’t know where, didn’t know how but she found herself at the edge of the cliff that overlooked the endless expanse of the ocean. The wind whipped around her, the cold biting against her skin, but she felt nothing. She felt empty, hollow, like a shell of the person she once was. The heights had always terrified her, but now, the fear was gone. What was left to fear when there was nothing left to live for?

She stepped toward the edge, the wind howling in her ears, the sea crashing below. The world seemed to hold its breath, as though waiting for her to make the final leap into the abyss below. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the tears to fall, allowing the final weight of everything to settle in her heart.

The world spun, the air rushed past her, and for a moment, she felt a strange sense of release , a final escape from the endless pain that had consumed her for so long.

Maybe in another universe, I could have had it all.

In another life, there might have been a version of her who had been first in someone’s heart. A version of her who didn’t have to fight for attention In another universe, she might have had Jeon, the real version of him, the one who never had to choose between her and his family, who could love her without the weight of responsibility.

And that thought maybe in another universe lingered as the darkness closed in around her.

But this was the only universe she knew. The only reality that mattered now. And as the distance between the cliff and the crashing waves below grew shorter, that hope that thought of a different life, faded into the dark like everything else that had ever mattered.

Flashbacks, rapid and unforgiving, washed over her like a flood. Seven minutes, that’s all it took for her life to flash before her eyes, but each second felt like a lifetime.

Perhaps she would never know but maybe somewhere in another life she had everything she ever wanted .

_____________________________________________

Part 2 here: https://www.tumblr.com/jjkssin/776373724224077824/midnight-whispers-part-ii?source=share

[kooggukk]

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 BEYOND THE JOB // JJK ; 2

daddy jungkook (literally)

; babysitting the cutest angel on earth is the perfect job. (except when her father is fucking hot and wants all of you)

+ comment to be added to the taglist

— 2/??

<< previous | next >>

“i told you i could just look after her for you.” the raven haired man said while doing nabi’s pigtails that she loves so much.

“you have your own job too, taehyung.” jungkook simply replied, “plus, you’re always near killing her when you’re left alone.”

taehyung scoffed, taking it by heart as he tied the final loop of nabi’s pigtails. “killing her? don’t be dramatic. she’s perfectly fine with me, right nabi?”

she giggled and taehyung picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder. the boring, quiet house was now filled with her sweet laughs. “hey! see now? put her— tae!” jungkook went to reach for his daughter, but the man ran away, nabi’s pigtails swinging and bouncing.

“you’re gonna drop her!”

“you know i won’t!”

“but anything could happen any second-“

taehyung stopped, playfully throwing nabi down on the soft mattress of the couch. “you ever have some fun, man? jesus..”

jungkook rolled his eyes at his words, “i can have fun too!”

“be for real, the last time you had fun was probably when you made nabi— ow!” taehyung laughed but instantly stopped when he felt a slap on his neck.

“watch your mouth?” he whispered, pointing to nabi. taehyung turned around and noticed how she was unbothered, being in her own little world playing with her princess dolls.

“calm down, the fuck. she ain’t even paying attention to us— i mean, you. right nabi?” taehyung asked the last part loudly with a huge grin, glancing at her.

he turned back with a smile to jungkook when she nodded, “see? i’m always in the center of her attention. she loves me, dude. you know that too!”

“of course i know she loves you, you’re like the second dad.”

“whoa, we ain’t gay—“ taehyung put his hands up in surrender.

“not like that!” jungkook smacked his neck again, “you’re her uncle, besides you and me, she got nobody else.”

“you ever thought of dating again?”

jungkook let out a sigh of frustration. “you at this again? i told you— at least a million times already that i don’t want to.”

taehyung shrugged and fixed the blanket next to nabi. “dunno, you could’ve changed your mind since then.”

“well, i haven’t.”

“okay, great to know. so, i guess i should cancel the blind date i planned?” taehyung asked with a raised brow.

“the hell, tae?!”

“jokin’..” he laughed but he quickly took his phone out, typing a message to someone. jungkook watched in disbelief, shaking his head as he checked the time.

“you should go, she could be here any moment now.”

“what? you won’t even let me meet the person who’s gonna spend all day with my precious angel?” he feigned hurt, pouting.

“you can, just another time.”

jungkook crossed his arms while taehyung kept his pout on with his puppy eyes, “no. that looks weird on you, grow up. stop it.”

he cursed at jungkook in a whisper, reaching his hand out to nabi. “nabi, come on. say goodbye to tata.”

she got up and walked to him, holding his hand. he bent down to plant a kiss on her hair, “am i the best?” he whispered to her. she smiled and nodded, “the best!”

“just go already,” jungkook scoffed and pushed taehyung. he opened the door but stopped, “what?” jungkook asked and looked to the door.

you stood there, about to press the bell. “oh,” jungkook rushed to the door and pushed taehyung aside.

he looked at jungkook and then back at you. “is this her?” he asked, unbothered if he sounded rude. jungkook gave him a look but nodded, already knowing what’s gonna happen next.

taehyung turned to you, looking you up and down. he hummed and that made something weird in your stomach, as if you were being looked down on.

“hey, i’m taehyung, single—“ he couldn’t finished as he got pushed out of the door. “bye tae!” jungkook said and stepped aside to let you in.

you glanced at taehyung and you saw him make a ‘call me’ sign with a smile before he turned his back to you, walking away.

“sorry about that,” jungkook embarrassedly apologized as you both got inside. “it’s alright. is he your friend?” you asked, taking off your coat.

he nodded and took the outerwear from you, neatly hanging it. you mumbled a thanks and you took off your shoes too, placing them nicely next to the wall. “yeah, he can be kind of annoying.”

you both settled down on the couch, and after jungkook got a glass of orange juice for you, it was now discussion time.

“so, i have a set of keys hanged next to the coats, those are yours. i wrote the names of the doors on the keys to not switch them up. gate, front door, basement. i also got a key for nabi’s room if it would be an emergency.”

he explained everything and you nodded, taking a sip. “she usually eats lunch around 2PM, the latest is 3. if you’re out and get back late, just wait till’ dinner.”

he leaned a little closer to make sure nabi doesn’t hear him, but it was useless because she wasn’t paying attention anyways. “i have chocolate ice cream in the bottom drawer of the freezer, if she’s having a huge— and i mean huge tantrum, give her a small cup and she’ll be nice again.”

you laughed and nodded, “does she have allergies?” you asked. he hummed and shook his head, leaning back to his original seat.

“no, nothing that i know of. she got it checked a few months ago and she can eat anything.”

“oh god— food. she’s hella picky.” jungkook sighed and glanced at her, then back at you.

“first of all, peppers. she doesn’t like the seeds inside, so i always cut them in thin lines to make sure none gets in there. same with grapes, oranges and tangerines. literally anything that has seeds, needs to be picked out. except tomatoes, thank god.”

“whoa, i never met someone who doesn’t eat the seeds.” you said, looking at her.

“she says because it’s soft food, and the seeds are hard. i dunno, i guess it’s.. nabi logic or something.” he waved his hand, leaving the topic.

“next, bread. always cut the bread crust off. it once poked her gums and she wouldn’t eat it since then.”

“i don’t like the crust either, so that’s not an issue.”

he looked at you weirdly, “the crust is the best part of a freshly baked bread.”

you shrugged, “i don’t like it.”

after a good 5 minutes long discussion about bread crust, jungkook lead you to a door. “and lastly, this is your room.”

you step inside, taking in the decor. it wasn’t much different from the other furnitures in the house, “it’s the guest room,” jungkook broke the silence.

you turned to him with a nod, “it’s really nice. thank you.”

“it used to be my office so there might be a few papers or folders in one of the drawers, just let me know if you find anything.”

“yeah, of course.”

“you can bring as many decorations as you want in here, i want you to feel the most comfortable. you can move in whenever, i won’t rush you.”

he saw the hesitation written on your face, and he panicked that he must have misunderstood the situation.

“or— you don’t have to move in obviously! i just thought you’d be with nabi from early hours to late afternoons, sometimes even nights therefor-“

he ranted, his eyes going everywhere in the room but your eyes, his hands in a fist next to his body. he was nervous, afraid he made a woman, — he made you uncomfortable.

“i understand, don’t worry. and i think i’ll just spend a few days a week. if that’s alright?”

“yeah!” his tone was more excited than he intended to be, he cleared his throat. “yeah that’s fine.”

you smiled at his clumsy behavior, your eyes looking around the room once again. “oh, i wanted to ask you something.” you turned to him.

“yeah?”

“the man, who was here before, does he come over a lot? i don’t want unexpected people to show up when i’m alone with nabi.”

“oh, taehyung. well yeah, a few days a week but he also has his own job, so don’t worry. and he knows i wouldn’t be here, so i doubt he’d come over.”

you nodded as he explained, walking out the room and heading to the living room, where nabi was still occupied.

“i could—“ jungkook started and he hurried in front of you, stopping you with his arms reached out. “i could write a list of names and their phone numbers about whom to trust and reach out to if i’m not available.”

“oh, that’d be helpful. thank you,” you smiled and jungkook got lost for a second, your lips looking wetter than they did a minute ago, shining beautifully.

“i have a very close friend of mine, her name is sasha.” you said and he got his attention back, looking at you dumbfounded as what you wanted to say.

“uh, like— if i ever go out with nabi, would it be a problem if sasha comes along with us?” your voice was uncertain, if he said no it would be damn embarrassing and awkward.

he hummed as he hesitated, scratching his head. “i mean i guess not? you said she’s your friend, so i believe she’s not a serial killer..” he joked, or half joked, maybe didn’t even joke about it but you laughed and his shoulders relaxed.

“no, she’s not. she was my co-worker, i can give you her number if an emergency were to happen.”

“sure, that’d be nice.”

┈ ⪩⪨   ┈

the first week of taking care of nabi wasn’t so horrible, better than you expected. she was really calm, sometimes too calm and quiet. you didn’t think much about it, telling yourself she gotta get used to you.

one day she was sweet like an angel, asking to play dolls with her, “__! play barbie with me!” she didn’t ask, she commanded you to play it with her.

so you did, you sat down on the floor across her, holding another blonde barbie doll. it was going fine, until she— or more like her ‘barbie’ talked bad about your doll.

“ew! your dress is so not cool!” her tone was high pitched, you gasped. “oh my! that’s not so nice of you, nabi.”

“i didn’t say that, it was her!” she held up her doll.

you got lost in your thoughts that day, afraid she might grow up thinking it was fine to judge others’ appearance. you know that she’s aware it’s just games, but what if she thinks it’s just as fine to do that in real life as with dolls?

then some other days, she just wouldn’t say one single word to you. she would mumble a few ‘thank you’s when you give her juice or make food, but she wouldn’t ask you to play with her, go out for a walk, watch a show. nothing.

when you would be the one suggesting to go outside, she’d shake her head. “everything okay, sweetheart?” you asked when you walked from the kitchen to her, holding a plate of cookies.

she didn’t look up at you but she gave you nod, “i brought cookies. chocolate, the one you like.” you put it down but she completely ignored it, continuing to draw.

you watched her in silence, maybe you were the one doing something wrong? maybe your cookies aren’t tasty? maybe you said something that she misunderstood?

all the bad possibilities flew to your mind, stressing you out. you sat down on the couch, zoning out but not completely. you saw nabi move from the corner of your eye, she walked up to you with two dolls.

“you wanna play?”

…

she just shrugged, giving you the same doll she did the other day, which made you remember what she had said.

it started fine, she said some stuff about horses and playgrounds, but then it happened again. she randomly changed the topic, saying your doll’s hair was ugly and it’d be better to buzz it off.

you put the doll down, “nabi, don’t be so mean. you know you can’t say stuff like that, right?”

“you can’t say someone’s dress is not cool or their hair isn’t as pretty as yours. you might think it’s okay because these are just dolls, but no. treat them like you would treat a friend.”

“i have no friends.”

your heart sank. you never asked about friends, assuming she had them. what a disgusting thing you did. assume.

you felt horrible, ashamed. “i’m sorry angel.” you placed your hand on her small back, and that’s when the door opened.

jungkook walked in, looking a bit like a mess but the tiredness left him as soon as nabi ran to him. he smiled but then frowned, hearing her sobs.

you widened your eyes, confused why she was crying now. you stood up and jungkook stared at you, picking up his daughter. “what’s wrong?”

he asked her, but she gave him no reply. he looked at you again for answers but you shook your head, no idea what was going on with her. “ya, it’s fine, stop crying.” he kicked off his shoes and carried her to her bedroom.

you waited, patiently sitting on the couch.

“she’s okay?” you asked when he got back, plopping down next to you.

“yeah, but she wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

you stayed silent, staring at the turned off tv in front of you.

“did you.. say something to her?” he asked, trying to sound as polite as possible.

you snapped your head towards him, “no, nothing bad that i know of.”

“what did you talk about?”

“we were playing with her dolls and she started talking bad about my doll, for the second time this week. so, i told her it’s not nice and she shouldn’t do that. she needs to be nice, not judge the dolls.”

he listened carefully, resting his head on his arm.

“i told her to treat them like she would treat a friend. i didn’t know she doesn’t have friends..”

jungkook sighed, “she must say those things because some girls used to be rude to her at daycare. that’s why i got you instead, i don’t want her to be raised in a place like that.”

“i’m so sorry i brought that topic up in front of her, i should’ve acted like a mature person and think before saying anything— god, i feel awful.”

“you don’t have to, you didn’t know.”

“but i assumed..”

“so? that’s just how the brain works, social life and friends are normal and common, we assume everyone has them.”

he saw how much this affected you too, he scooted a little closer and placed his big hand on your shoulder. “don’t feel bad. she’s fine, she will be fine.”

you groaned, throwing your head back. “i know..”

he chuckled, noticing how exhausted you looked by the end of the week. “was she fine tho? how was your week with her? i hope she’s not too.. horrible to you.”

you shook your head, giving him a look then closing your eyes. “she’s fine. a little quiet but that shouldn’t be a bad thing, right?”

“right. better than a child who runs around yelling all day.”

“oh i hope that day never comes. i wouldn’t survive that.” silence fell in the room after a round of small laughing.

“you had lunch?” he asked you out of the sudden, looking at the clock. almost 5PM.

“yeah, i cooked her some of those dino nugg—“

“no, i meant, you. did you have lunch?”

oh. how embarrassing..!

“no, i didn’t.” you sighed, sitting up straight.

“come on, then.” he stood up, walking to the kitchen. you frowned, “what?”

“let’s eat.”

“it’s late, almost dinner time.”

“then, let’s eat dinner. call it whatever you want.” he shrugged, taking off his hoodie which he threw on the armchair when he walked past it.

“i can eat at home, it’s fine.”

“__.”

wow, there was something in his tone, commanding, strict. he stood in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, staring at you. he jerked his head towards the kitchen, signaling you to follow.

“please, eat with me. it’d be late when you get home, i don’t want you to cook at that hour. come on,”

his voice wasn’t aggressive nor loud, but yet it had a firmness, leaving no room for argument.

“also, it’s already getting dark. stay for tonight.”

taglist: @ahgasegotarmy116 @joonlover1207 @starlight-1010 @kingtinaa

[aestrayla]

cherries or peaches? pt. 2 ft. obey me! datables

summary: do they prefer ass or boobs? ft. obey me! datables x f!reader

cw: HIGHLY suggestive, mdni, fluff??, pet names (sweetheart), fondling, groping, grinding/humping, semi-public but no sex, licking, stripping, MY HUMOUR..

word count: 1.4k

a/n: thank u so much for the love on the first part, im so happy to be able to write these hcs, they’re such a fun idea. i got a bit carried away and some of these turned into half-ish fics but i hope u enjoy this version just as much as the first ♡

haven’t read the first part yet? you can find it here ♡

diavolo loves ass. the end.

just kidding.

ever since arriving in the devildom, student council meetings had always been a bore to you. you were never able to understand the complex topics of the “worldly problems” discussed, which often led to you staring out into space.

but ever since you got close to diavolo, things had changed.

“keep it down, y/n,” diavolo whispered through clenched teeth, as he kept a beaming smile glued to his face.

you let out a peeved groan. how the hell were you supposed to keep quiet when he kept rocking you back and forth on his lap like this?

despite your squirming, his hands never left you as he pushed and kneaded at your ass under the table. his hard-on evident as it ground against your clit, eliciting hushed whimpers from your lips.

in many ways, doing this was beyond worse than just zoning out, one wrong move and the whole student council would probably never look you in the eye again.

to make matters worse, diavolo insisted that meetings can’t start unless you were up here, in his lap, at all times.

“dia, i can’t do this anymore,” you whimpered under your breath.

“it’s almost over soon, sweetheart. just a little longer ‘n then i’ll make you feel good, hm?”

it might not be obvious at first, but barbatos loves boobs.

hearing that he was the “greatest pastry chef in all three worlds” has always been something that intrigued you. it wasn’t until you tried them for yourself that you realised that this statement was far from being a lie.

it was only a few weeks ago that you asked him to teach you a few of his recipes, you had never seen so much delight in his eyes. “oh that would be great, y/n! i’ve always been looking forward to the day you’d ask me so.”

as you slam the door to the oven, a gust of the hot air blows against your face, “how long should these be in the oven for, barbs?”

“thirty minutes should be fine. do you mind adding some of that sugar over there into this bowl?” you set the oven timer to thirty minutes before scurrying over with a measured bowl of sugar, pouring it into the bowl of fresh cream.

“perfect, could you whisk up this cream for me while i go find the vanilla?”

“sure.” he hands you the whisk before poking his nose through the cupboards in search of vanilla.

as you were whisking, you let your mind wander. gosh, i can’t wait to try this when it’s done… but dang i lowkey wonder when he’s gonna let me in his pants already… a few wet splatters across your chest had snapped you back to focus, “oh shit— i spilt it on me!”

the clank of the whisk dropping to the countertop had barbatos rushing towards you.

“oh goodness me, you’ve made a mess!”

“i know… fuck i’m sorry. i’ll just get a tea towel and wipe—”

before you could finish your sentence, barbatos had stopped you. his body crowding up against yours as he leaned in. holding you by your waist, you could feel his kitten licks swipe against your chest, even reaching as far down to the cleavage of your boobs.

you started to feel hot and dazed as the sweet aroma drifted through the kitchen, while he started to suck harshly against your skin, fingers creeping up to caress your boobs. soft pants began to leave your mouth as his tongue worked across your chest, but before it could escalate any further, he had pulled away.

as he stepped back, wiping the corner of his lips, you were left completely flustered, “oh wow, the cream without the vanilla tastes really good, you might just have a talent for baking y/n!”

“uh-huh…” you muttered, staring at him dumb-found and wide-eyed.

simeon is secretly a big fan of boobs, so today was a big treat for him.

it was the weekend, he had scored a pair of free tickets to the amusement park, and of course decided to bring you along. it was a leisurely day however, the rides and attractions he decided to do were almost too tame for your excitement.

dragging him along, you spot an attraction that seemed to catch your eye. handing two tokens to the employee, you quickly rushed into the tank, simeon freezing, clearly stunned and confused about what was about to happen. “hey y/n, what’s going on?!”

taking a seat on the tiny platform you point to the target beside you, “can you hit a bullseye?” you winked.

the employee hands simeon a ball, “you’ve got three tries, buddy.” after a moment of hesitation, he throws the ball, hitting the center of the target with a loud smack.

you let out a small shriek before getting submerged into the tank of water. “oh my— Y/N!” simeon rushes towards the tank, quickly pulling you out from the water. you let out sharp breaths before giggling, “your aim is amazing!”

“is this your idea of fun?!” his hands reach up to hold both sides of your face, turning it from one side to the other. “you’re not hurt are you?”

you smile sweetly, flattered by his concern, “i’m fine simeon, it was fun, really.”

he sighs, “good, alright.” his eyes travel over your body checking for any scrapes before widening at the sight of your chest. the water had soaked your white shirt completely, revealing that you were wearing nothing underneath. your round nipples were perked up from the cold water while your shirt was clinging onto your wet skin.

gasping even louder than before, in a flimsy last-minute attempt to cover you up, he slaps his hands over each of your boobs and although it works in his favour, you couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“don’t laugh y/n! we need to get you a new shirt, or at least a sweater!”

you pull him towards you by his collar, your lips mere inches away from touching, “so are you gonna help me take this one off first?” your purr.

his hands race to cover his reddened face, “w-wait that’s not what i—!” upon realising your boobs are on display again, he slams his hands back over them, “y/n!” he whines.

two hours in, and it was blatantly obvious to solomon that this tutoring session was going nowhere.

you weren’t understanding any terms or concepts of the topic at hand and with a week to go before your final, it seemed like solomon was more worried about this than you were. surely it isn’t because you’re too distracted sitting in his lap, right?

he clears his throat, “how about this…” you slowly lift your head up from the palm of your hands, clearly distressed about your upcoming failure. “for every question you get incorrect, you remove a piece of clothing.”

you raise your brows, intrigued, “and for every question i get right, you remove a piece of clothing?” you stare back at him.

“exactly, and for that answer…” he slowly shrugs off his blazer and places it behind his chair, “i’ll remove this.”

in hopes of this becoming a motivation for you, he began to quiz you with a mini questionnaire. “what are the three ingredients used to make the elixir of cerebral stimulation?”

you internally face palm because you knew jack shit about brewing potions, “uhhh… newt legs, unicorn hair, and frog mucus?”

solomon clears his throat ubruptly. “um, no. the correct answer is powdered unicorn hoof, bittergrass root, and caladrius blood.”

you look down in embarrassment before removing three pieces of clothing. only four minutes in and you’re left in nothing but your underwear and bra.

“last and final question, what covered the devildom when it was first created?”

“…darkness?”

“…unfortunately, that is incorrect. the correct answer is a forest.”

you groan. you haven’t gotten a single question correct and embarrassment was evident as your face was flushed. you turn to face solomon, “at this point, why don’t you choose what i take off?”

your pretty face staring up at him, teary and doe-eyed had him swooning. slowly standing up and pushing your back down onto the table, he stared deliriously at you. papers were scattered everywhere and textbooks were crumpled open. your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands gently pulled the straps of your bra down your shoulders.

staring at your bare chest he murmurs, “i’m obsessed with these,” before diving straight in.

a/n: haven’t written in about 5 months so excuse how rusty my writing has gotten.. but nonetheless, thanks for reading this far, luv you all ♡

©2024 aestrayla. do not modify, copy, translate or share.

[juliewillruinu]

"One Last Time" | Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Pov: You're being married off by your clan which caused you to distance yourself from Toji, but how will you react to finding out he is also being arranged to marry another woman?

18+ MDNI

Dom Toji x fem!reader, smut, P in V, no protection, overflowing cum, slight degrading, cheating (kinda, but not really), ass smacking, and a bit of fingering. (I do not own the artwork above.)

You promised yourself you wouldn't see him again. That your eyes would never meet his.

You promised yourself that you'd live a good life without him. You didn't need him any longer.

You promised yourself to do what was best for your clan. They were your priority.

You promised yourself that you'd be happy with your future husband. You'd learn to love him.

You smiled whenever someone mentioned the name of your fiance, a man, not named Toji. A man you've never met in person. You'd tell them, "I know I'll be happy with him. I've heard so many good things about him."

Everything was sunshine and rainbows until you heard the news that Toji was to be marry into another clan. You acted as if you were fine with it but you were not. Toji was yours. Your family could sell you off to another clan all they wanted, but to know that while you were gone another woman would keep him company, take over your role in his life, it saddened you, it pissed you off, it made you want to strangle yourself. You spent nights crying yourself to sleep. What were you going to do? Was there anything you could do? You could only choose family or love. In this time and age, you couldn't dare have both.

You promised yourself you'd never let his skin grace yours again.

Yet, here you are. Crying in Toji's arms, your face buried in the crook of his neck as his back is rested against the wall of your room. He entered carefully and quietly through your window. He heard how you shut yourself away recently, he knew why. He knew he had to comfort you. One last time.

You told him, "I can be without you, Toji."

"You told me you didn't need me."

You pulled away to bore your red orbs into his and spoke hastily. "I lied! I do need you so don't marry that woman. Don't hurt me like this anymore."

Toji yanked your chin, drawing your face close to his. In that moment, you saw an intensity in his eyes that was unlike anything you had ever witnessed before. His usual demeanor, so often marked by indifference and a seemingly impenetrable exterior, was shattered. The anger and vulnerability in his gaze revealed a depth of emotion you had never seen in him.

He had always seemed untouchable, as though nothing could truly affect him. But now, with you so close, everything was different. You were the only person who had ever seen beyond his Zenin lineage, who had looked at him not as a member of a powerful clan but simply as Toji. The memory of your words, "You're not a Zenin to me. I see you as just Toji," echoed in his mind, a poignant reminder of the rare connection you shared.

"You're not the only one who feels hurt by this. Do you think I like the idea of another man having his lips against yours?" His lips were dangerously close to yours. It made you shiver in anticipation. "Do you think I want him to touch what is mine? Just knowing you'll spend your wedding night with him makes me want to rip his head off. I can't let you go like that."

"Then don't." You said almost pleading. "Don't let him take me away, Toji."

"Do you think he could fuck you this good, huh? I know all your weak spots. He'd be an amateur compared to me. Don't you think?"

"...yes, yes, yes..."

Your moans filled the room as you watched how mercilessly Toji was fucking you through your vanity mirror. His eyes scrunched close as his hand held one of your wrists down and held your hand in his other. His large, vainy cock had you stretched out, vigorously entering to hit your vulnerable spots and your insides, sucking him right back in when he pulled back. Sweat glistened off both your bodies as the force he was using was causing your bed to shake. The heavy storm outside kept your screams from being heard by the servants who might be walking around during these late hours. Toji kept his promise when he told you that'd he'd fuck you so hard you wouldn't be able to get out of bed for your wedding.

Red love bites were left on your neck and breasts while you returned the favor by leaving faint scratch marks on his chest and back and teeth marks on his shoulders.

You hissed as Toji's tip pounded against the one spot you enjoyed the most. You were close again. Just a little longer and you'd melt for him again. Toji must have gotten the message as his eyes fluttered open before making contact with yours through the mirror. You could see a mischievous smirk grow on his face. He could feel your insides slowly clamping down on his cock, almost ready to rip it off him.

"Who gave you permission to come yet?" Before you had a chance to answer, Toji had already pulled his cock out causing a slight "pop" noise to occur. His cum from previous rounds began to ooze out of you now that there wasn't anything to keep it inside. It practically left you whining.

"Don't take it out. I was s'close."

"Naughty girl, you have no shame do you? Tomorrow you'll be someone's wife and here you are drooling for your lovers cock?"

He took his teasing further and inserted his index finger which he pumped back and forth against your walls. He wouldn't even give you at least two fingers, not that it would have been enough to help you finish, but it would give much better results than one finger and Toji knew this well.

"Toji, put it back in...please."

"Do you want it that bad?" You nodded frantically. "Then go ahead take it. Milk it, make yourself cum on it, but you'll be the one doing all the work."

You sat up seeing Toji lay his scratched back against the bed before getting on top of him with your shaking legs. You weren't used to being on top and his posture made it seem as if he'd have you do all the work, but you didn't mind. If he was allowed to prove to you that no man could fuck you the way he could, it was only right to prove to him that no woman would ever be good enough for him unless it was you.

One of his hands traveled up your thigh, fingers caressing your supple skin while the other attempted to align his cock to your entrance. His hand went to your hips, ready to help ease you down on it only to be met by your boldness as you slammed yourself down on his thick length. He threw his head back, grunting as your insides molded around him perfectly causing his cock to pulsate in excitement. His large hands gripped each side of your bum, begging for you to move already. You placed your hands on his toned stomach to keep yourself balanced and began to move up and down. You took your precious time, taking it nice and slow. Toji shouldn't be the only one allowed to tease.

"What do you think you’re doing?"

"Teaching you a lesson from earlier."

"Ah!"

He growled giving your ass a hard smack that left a burning sensation, "don't be a brat."

'You're the one acting like one,' you said to yourself before you picked up the pace. Each time you move down his cock the skin of your bum and his shaft made loud slapping noises that left his gulping.

"Fuck, just like, princess. So fucking tight. You like that don't you?"

You met another slap on your ass when you didn't respond fast enough.

"Yes! It's the best, Toji! It's so fucking good!"

The bed creaked underneath the both of you, his cock hitting every spot imaginable. You could feel his cock start to swell, he was close just as were you. He pulled you down against his chest, wrapping a arm around you waist to keep you attached to him while his other hand pushed down on your bum as he jerks his hips up. There's no doubt about it. You were so cock drunk that even your moans sounded incoherent. It felt like your mind was elsewhere while the center of your stomach tightened.

His hot breath brushed against your skin, "Tell me who you love. Come on, tell me, little whore."

"You! I love you! Fuck, Toji. I love you." He hungrily smashed his lips against yours giving you no time to breathe. His tongue wrestling against yours, seeking for its submission to him. You fisted at the pillows near his head as his cock was destroying your insides. Your thoughts only focused on Toji as he nipped at your bottom lip.

"I can't hold it anymore~"

"Fuck, me too. Come on, princess. Give it to me and I'll reward you."

Toji, in the throes of passion, drives his hips firmly against you one last time. His release is powerful, filling you with a warm, thick sensation as his cum spreads inside you. You feel him pulse and release, the heat and pressure intensifying as he finishes.

As he remains inside you, the sensation of his cum beginning to overflow adds a heightened sense of fullness. Your body responds instinctively, your lower body jolting slightly as the sensation of his release overwhelms you. The tightness in your stomach starts to ease, replaced by a warm, satisfying relaxation.

•••

You and Toji laid sideway near each other, your bodies hidden underneath the silk sheets. You could feel his warm lips press against your head as you buried your face in his chest. His strong hand move up and down your back. His touch, his scent his breathing, they were all so comforting. How could you possible live without this man?

"Toji, let's run away. Tonight. Just me and you. Let's never come back here." Your spoke with a straight face, Toji rested his chin over your head, chuckling at your serious tone.

"What about your clan, hmm?"

"..Screw them.."

[dinosus]

"Metal-heart: Genesis" ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚

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Meet "Riven," a product of a cybernetic experiment that blurred the line between humanity and machine. He wasn't born like this—he was rebuilt. Once a decorated soldier, Riven’s body was salvaged after a catastrophic battlefield incident, his remaining flesh fused with bleeding-edge tech. The world calls him an unstoppable weapon; to him, he's a man chasing the shreds of his own soul. Android x Scientist! Reader

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Riven wasn’t rebuilt just to survive. You had a singular mission in mind—a near-impossible goal that required a being more machine than man.. 🔧When you first rebuilt Riven, he was a shell—his voice was monotone, his eyes hollow. He followed your instructions like a machine, rarely speaking unless prompted. There were no pleasantries, no “thank yous,” only blunt, mechanical efficiency.

"Where do you need me? Give the order."

You weren’t sure if he resented you for saving him or if he was simply beyond caring.

🔧The first time you saw Riven react with emotion was over something small. Maybe you handed him a repaired piece of gear without saying anything, and he muttered under his breath:

"This fits better. Guess you’re learning." It was so unexpected, you almost dropped your tools. He had just teased you. Slowly but surely, his wit started creeping through the cracks.

🔧Riven watches you work constantly. At first, it’s unnerving—those cold, calculating eyes fixed on your every movement. But you realize it’s not mistrust; he’s studying you, learning how you work, because he doesn’t understand why you’d care so much about him.

"You don’t need to fix me perfectly every time, Doc. I’m built to break."

"I don’t leave work unfinished, Riven. Sit still."

🔧One night, while fine-tuning his neural systems, you stumbled on a corrupted memory file. For a split second, his guard dropped—you heard snippets of his past, his voice raw and human. He didn’t lash out or shut down; instead, he stared ahead and said quietly:

"....Don’t look at me like that, you can’t fix this part of me."

You didn’t push him, but that night, you left a blanket over his chair when you finished your work. He noticed.

🔧Riven isn’t good with words when it comes to care, but his actions speak volumes. If you’ve been up too long working, he’ll stand behind you and lean down to mutter:

"Go to sleep, Doc. This thing will still be here when you wake up." And if you protest, you’ll find your tools taken out of your hands as he shuts the lab lights off himself.

🔧Riven takes your safety personally. If you’re ever in danger—whether from mercenaries, drones, or even a collapsing building—his instinct is to shield you first and fight second. He does it silently, but there’s an edge of urgency in his voice:

"You don’t get to die, Doc. Not after all this."

🔧When he returns damaged—gashes through metal plating, his synthetic skin frayed—you scold him like a concerned parent.

"You think you’re invincible, don’t you? Sit down, Riven." He doesn’t argue. He just stares at you with that unreadable expression and lets you work, the tension in his shoulders easing as your hands mend him.

Sometimes he mutters under his breath when you’re too focused: "Your hands don’t shake anymore. You’ve gotten good at this."

🔧Riven can be sarcastic, sometimes even darkly humorous. He throws comments your way that only someone who trusts you would dare say.

"So what’s the verdict today, Doc? Am I still pretty, or did you make me uglier?"

"You’ve always been pretty, Riven. Just sit still before I lose my grip."

🔧You’ve learned to give it back to him. He actually smirks when you push back because it reminds him he’s not just a weapon to you.

"Riven, I swear if you tear that neural wire again—"

"Relax, Doc. I’ll give you something to fix tomorrow. Wouldn’t want you to get bored."

🔧Some nights, when you’re both too exhausted to pretend otherwise, you sit in the dim light of the lab. Riven leans back against a wall or your workbench, his voice softer than usual.

"Do you ever wonder what’s next, after all this?"

"After defeating the [enemy]? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll open a coffee shop."

"…I don’t drink coffee, Doc."

"Then you’re not invited." Moments like these remind him he’s still allowed to dream, even if he doesn’t believe he’ll live long enough to see it.

🔧One day, you started playing music while working, and to your shock, Riven quietly remarked:

"I remember this song." He didn’t elaborate, but from then on, music became a constant in your lab. It’s your way of reminding him there’s still beauty in the world.

🔧If you’re ever injured, Riven loses his composure. He doesn’t rage or panic—he focuses, taking you somewhere safe and patching you up with an efficiency that mirrors your own care for him. He doesn’t yell, but his voice is strained.

"You’re the one who’s supposed to keep me in one piece, not the other way around." He's a worrywart.

🔧When faced with an impossible situation—when enemy’s forces close in and the odds are bleak—you and Riven have a way of grounding each other.

"You don’t have to stay with me for this, Riven."

"And leave you to screw it all up? Not happening, Doc. We’re finishing this together."

🔧Riven may be a weapon, but to you, he’s so much more. You remind him of his humanity, even when he feels like there’s nothing left. In return, he’s your shield—the one constant in your dangerous life.

He calls you “Doc” or “the genius.” On rare, quiet occasions, he says your name.

You see him not as a machine, but as a man trying to piece himself back together—much like you’ve rebuilt his body.

At the heart of it all, you’re each other’s anchor. Riven fights because you gave him purpose. You fight because he gave you someone worth believing in.

🔧Riven would never admit it out loud, but you are the first person who’s ever seen him as something other than a weapon. And for that, he’ll burn the entire world down if it means keeping you safe.

"You fixed me once, Doc. But you’re the only reason I haven’t fallen apart again." In this fallen world, you made him- your anchor.

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A/n : new prompt :D yay i tried :') part 2 ? also credits go to original artist who created that kick-ass design of Riven !

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ignore these yay :D