#ITS NOT EVEN EXPLICIT. IT WAS ALREADY CHILD SAFE.

[racc00ning]

js saw the list of kidzbop's latest covers and I think this is where I decide I've had enough of the internet for tonight and go to bed.

[wordstome]

kingdom come - iii

king König x princess & assassin reader

2nd person, no y/n, she/her pronouns, afab reader, romance, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, kind of age gap because König has been king for a good chunk of time but it's not really much of a factor, fantasy/medieval setting

7.7k words

tw: explicit smut, animal death, mentions of child death, violence, mild body horror, ableist language (use of the word "cripple")

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"I'm not going to sleep with you." -quote from woman who is about to sleep with him

There’s a portrait of a woman in your room.

Of course, König offered to have it removed or replaced, but you’ve procrastinated the decision because you never thought you would be here long enough for it to matter. Yet here you are, staring up at this lovely young woman on the wall.

You tilt your head, studying her. Her expression is neutral, almost pensive, but the artist captured a playful sparkle in her eyes, as if she’s keeping some sweet secret.

It’s the first queen, of course. König’s first wife. The one who died many years ago. It’s strange that after so long, he hasn’t gotten rid of the portrait.

What happened to you? you wonder. If someone had asked what you thought when you first arrived here, you would have said, without hesitation, that König had her killed. All your life, you had been taught that he and his father were evil, unfeeling tyrants. Now, this conviction has wavered.

You keep trying to tell yourself that it’s ridiculous, to be thinking better of his character. You only ever wanted to know him better to kill him. But the more you understand about what makes him tick, the less you think that he would do such a thing. Perhaps it’s true, then, that she died in childbirth.

Your eyes travel all over the portrait, poring over every detail of her features. Did you know him? Did you understand him? Did you love him?

Did he love you?

What did that feel like?

“Good. You haven’t left yet.” Calliope comes into the room, bustling with energy even before the sun comes up. You don’t know how she does it.

“We’re about to.”

“That’s why I’m here.” You notice she’s wearing gloves, but more importantly, she’s holding a necklace: a silvery chain with a small, intricate pendant. Vine-shaped pieces of metal hold a white, almost clear jewel in place, its various facets reflecting the candlelight in vivid colors.

“Jewelry? I’m going to be living in the woods for the next few weeks,” you tease as she lowers the necklace over your head. It does look quite durable, but you’re not exactly dressing for a costume ball here.

“Consider it a reminder that I await your safe return,” Calliope responds, securing the necklace behind your neck. “Look at it and remember me. You’re not to do anything reckless out there, am I understood?”

“Understood.” You give her a soft smile as she arranges the necklace on your collarbones. You’re grateful for the gift: though she can’t come with you, a small piece of her will always remain with you.

“Good. And don’t let that handsome husband of yours distract you and get yourself killed.”

“Calliope! What happened to ‘something’s not right with him’?”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t handsome!”

You snort and roll your eyes, but there’s a smile on your face.

You used to think that living in König’s home already exposed you to an exhausting amount of the man. As it turns out, going on a journey with him is even worse.

There’s nobody else to talk to, nowhere to run or put distance between you two when he frustrates you. It’s not so bad for the first few days: the towns surrounding the capital are still populated enough to provide some respite from him. But once the two of you have made your way outside the bounds of civilization, it doesn’t take long for things to become stilted and awkward.

“You’ve been awfully quiet since we left the last town.”

“I don’t feel talkative.”

“Really? I’m out of my mind with boredom right now. Come, you’re not in the mood to get to know each other a little?”

You give him a look. “What else is there to know? I’ve lived with you for several months.”

“But we don’t talk.” König nudges his horse to walk closer to yours. König is such a large man, his horse is massive too: comically so, next to your normal one. You let out a sigh.

“There’s nothing to know about me.”

“I doubt that. All I know about you is you’re a princess trained to be an assassin. ‘Your whole life’, according to yourself,” he says with a touch of mocking.

You purse your lips, determined not to let him get under your skin. “There’s nothing else to know.”

“Truly? Nothing about what you like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like…your favorite food. Or hobby.”

“Hobby? …I suppose I spend a lot of time at target practice.”

“That’s not a hobby.”

“It’s relaxing to hone my skills.”

He gives you an amused look. “You remind me of myself as a young man.”

Something about that irks you. “We’re nothing alike.”

“I used to have the same mindset as you, at least. I held one objective in my mind and didn’t seek purpose outside of it.”

“I…”

As much as you loathe to admit it, he’s right. You have been focused on one objective your whole life. If you probe deeper, you can’t remember having any friends outside of Calliope, nor any interests outside of the curriculum your father set for you. “It wasn’t as bleak as you seem to think it was.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not like I never had fun. I had my own way of finding it.”

“Such as?”

“Well, when my training progress stalled, I’d be sent to bed without dinner. Naturally. I eventually learned how to climb out of my window at night and go foraging in the woods for something to eat.” A smile curls your lips as you reminisce. “Eventually I even worked my way up to hunting—little things, like squirrels. I spent many a cozy little evening cooking for myself over a fire.”

You turn to find an abject look of horror on König face. “What? What’s wrong? Is there danger?” You turn around to scan your surroundings, but nothing immediately jumps out at you.

“No. No danger. I just…he sent you to bed with an empty stomach so many times you learned how to crawl out of your room and hunt squirrels to eat?”

You blink at him. “You’ve never had squirrel before?”

He looks scandalized. “Of course I have! That is not the issue with what you just said.”

You shrug. “It was important discipline. Besides, it gave me hunting experience at a young age. Squirrels are hard to skin, but I could do it in twelve seconds flat if you gave me one now.”

König looks like he wants to say more, but instead he looks up at the sky. “We should make camp soon.”

“Is it that time already?”

“It needs to be set up before it gets dark. We should also start hunting while it’s light out—not all of us can catch things in the dark, squirrel-girl.”

“Hey!”

Later, you’re both chewing on a rabbit when he speaks.

“You know, when you said you wanted to travel with me, I was quite concerned.”

“Yes, I know. You didn’t think I was capable of handling myself.”

“Not just that. I was worried you would be…unaccustomed to living rough.”

“You thought I would be a spoiled princess.”

“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but yes.”

You snort. “Well, now you know. I can handle myself in the outdoors.” You toss the rabbit bones you’ve just picked clean into a small hole dug into the dirt. When you leave, you’ll cover it with dirt to prevent predators from smelling the remains and following you on your journey.

“You want the other leg?” you ask. König seems startled, for some reason.

“You caught this one.”

“Yes, but you’re bigger than me. You need the food.” You reach up to pluck a leaf from a nearby tree and wipe your hands. Rabbits sure are greasy…

There’s a strange look in König’s eye as he regards you. You raise an eyebrow at him in response. “What?”

“…nothing.” He reaches for the rabbit while you shrug and walk off to find some water. The back of your neck prickles as you go, as if his stare is physically touching you.

You can’t stand to be near him nowadays, and you don’t know why.

Of course, you have no choice but to. There’s a tension that feels weighty, forbidden. You know he can tell, because he’s been more cautious around you, giving you as much space as he can afford to. Somehow, that irritates you even more.

Tonight, the two of you are camping in a dense, thick part of the forest not far from a road. It’s quiet, secluded: even the usual soundscape of ambient animal noises is silent.

The fire crackles and pops as you stare into the flames, as if you’ll find any answers in it. Instead, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as König returns from washing himself in a nearby stream, approaching you from behind.

“This won’t work if you’re constantly upset with me for some unknown reason.”

You don’t turn to look at him, though some invisible force compels you. “Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable?”

“I’m worried about your comfort too, you know. If you just told me what I’ve done wrong, then we can resolve it before it breeds resentment.”

“I’m just stressed.” Everything he does or says seems to irritate you nowadays, but you know in your heart of hearts that it’s not his fault. It’s your own problem—you assume camping outdoors for so long has taken its toll on your psyche.

He frowns at you, but doesn’t pry any further. You can’t help but watch as he walks around to the other side of the fire, drying his hair with his shirt. God, he is a work of art: all chiseled muscles and glowing skin. Your eyes travel down his torso, drawn by the line of his abs, down to the happy trail leading to the slightly askew waist of his trousers.

“You’re drooling, princess.”

Your eyes snap back up to his face. His eyes are dancing with mirth as he realizes he’s just caught you ogling him. You make a face at him, but it only makes him laugh. “Was not.”

“Incorrect answer. You should have attempted to strike at my ego. Now I know you were looking.”

“I think I’m just being driven mad by spending so much time alone with you in the woods.”

“I know several ways to drive you mad, sweetling.”

You slouch against a tree, your face hot—and not from the fire. In a blink, he’s standing before you, with a gleeful expression on his face like he’s just discovered a cure for dropsy.

“I know what’s making you sour as vinegar. You need to be fucked.”

You bury your face in your hands, unable to look at him. “I thought we had moved past this,” you groan, trying to ignore your rapidly quickening heartbeat.

“What, your ever-growing carnal lust for me?”

“You being a pervert.”

“I’ve never made a secret of it. You, however…” You suck in a startled breath as he leans down, trapping you against the tree just like he had the day you sparred with him. “You’ve been denying yourself.”

Your breath is ragged as he looks you in the eye, the tension between the two of you as taut as a bowstring. A familiar sense of panic rises in you, the same way you feel every time he’s close to you like this. Before, you thought it was because it felt dangerous to be so close to your enemy. Now, you’re second-guessing yourself.

“So what if I have?” you mumble.

“There’s an easy way to fix that.”

“…The last time you had me in this position, you were threatening me.”

He tilts his head slightly, a wicked gleam in his eye. “You don’t feel threatened now?”

You don’t respond immediately, and heavens forbid, he takes it as hesitancy, his demeanor instantly transforming. “One word. One word, and we will never speak of this again. But if you tell me you want this, I will fuck you senseless.”

“Yes,” you whisper, and his lips on are on yours.

It’s a strange sensation, considering half of your mouth is pressed against the cold, smooth surface of his mask. You don’t even ask him about removing it—it’s become a part of him in your mind. And maybe part of you even finds the mystery of it alluring.

You all but melt into the kiss, against him. It’s different, everything is different than that first awkward kiss from when you were younger. It makes you ache, makes you long for him in a way you’ve never wanted someone before.

You have to separate to breathe, but your reluctance to break apart from him is clear by the way you chase his face with yours. He laughs at you, but it’s not condescending at all. It settles in your chest, warm like honey.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you murmur.

“Luckily for you, you’re in good hands.” It’s the cockiness in his voice that does you in, what makes you let go and give yourself over to him.

You feel flustered, awkward, and like the least desirable creature on earth, but he looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like there’s nothing else he wants more than to have you right now.

“You can trust me,” he says softly. You try to respond, but suddenly find you’ve gone mute. All you can manage is a small nod.

To your surprise, he lowers his mouth to your neck. You gasp, a full-body shiver running through you as he kisses you there, sucking and nipping at you as he goes. “W-wait, I’m—”

“Sensitive? I can tell.” You squeak as he continues to lavish you with attention, his fingers trailing down the front of your torso to undo your pants. His movements are deliberate but slow, giving you plenty of opportunity to stop him. But of course, you don’t.

You let out a quick little breath as he finds his way to your pussy, his deep chuckle reverberating against your throat. “You’re so wet…did I do that to you, liebling?”

You’re about to respond, but instead let out a sharp gasp as he dips a finger into your pussy. “How are you ever going to take me into this tight little hole of yours…” he taunts.

Oh, God, you hadn’t even thought about that. Your mind flashes back to your wedding night, and the first time you tried to kill him. You had mostly been shocked by his audacity, but only now do you recall how big he had felt between your thighs.

He’s gentle with you at first, patiently stretching you open as you whine and beg in his arms. You just about sob when he finally pays your clit attention, circling it with his thumb, and in what seems like no time at all, you’re cumming, hard.

“That didn’t take long at all,” he says with that awful smirk of his.

“Th-that’s not fair,” you stammer. “You know…”

“I’m only teasing you.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead as you come down, shivering with pleasure.

He makes you cum twice with just his hand. Your legs are trembling by the time the two of you properly get undressed. You’re soft and pliable, helpless putty in his hands as he lines the tip of his cock at your entrance.

“Ready, liebe?” he asks.

“That is not going to fit,” you say, eyes wide and fearful. There’s absolutely no way, you think, staring down the absurdly thick and long monster between his legs.

“Trust me, remember? We’ll take it slow,” he reassures you. You bite your lip and nod, giving him the go-ahead to sink into you.

Instantly, you realize that no matter how well König could have prepared you, there was no chance that it would have been enough to ready you for the stretch of him. You feel like you can hardly breathe as he splits you in half with his cock, your mouth dropping open in a wordless cry.

“Fuck, you are tight,” he groans, but he keeps his promise to go slow, feeding himself inch by inch inside you until he’s sitting snug up against your cervix.

The two of you stay there, suspended in a moment in time, connected to each other in the most intimate way two people can be. It makes your head spin, makes you dizzy with the sensation of his body pressed against yours.

You nod, and he starts to move.

If you had thought before that his fingers felt good inside you, then his cock is something else. The delicious stretch of him is almost electrifying, and you wonder how you went all your life without it.

All you can do is let him take control—you don’t have the presence mind to do anything but hold onto him, gasping and moaning. He’s all around you, above you, inside you, and it feels like nothing else in the world matters, or that there is a world other than König, König, König.

Your third orgasm surprises you, waves of pleasure flowing through you as you cry out, your pussy sucking him in as if it wants him to stay inside forever. That’s what seemingly pushes him over the edge too, a string of expletives bursting from him as he floods you with his cum.

You’re limp and weak, all but purring as he shifts to lay next to you and pulls you into his chest.

“You are sweet when underneath me like this,” he purrs.

You swat him in the chest, but it must feel no heavier than being hit by a branch, because he just laughs.

“There’s no reason to be shy now. I’ve seen everything at this point.” You pout at him—something that only seems to bring him delight, because he pulls you in for a kiss.

“This isn’t how I wanted to take you the first time,” he says, a hint of shame in his tone.

Your heart twinges with affection. This isn’t how you imagined your first time, either, but the idea of him wanting you so badly he thought about it beforehand, fantasized about it even…“I’ve slept in trees before, this is nothing,” you reassure him.

He shoots you a concerned look. “You continue to share alarming events from your childhood.”

You sleep together that night, curled up against him with your legs tangled with his. He falls asleep first, the slight rumble of his chest as he sleeps against your cheek. You lay awake a little while longer, watching him, breathing him in. Now, you have no choice but to be confronted with the truth that you’ve been refusing to acknowledge this whole time.

You don’t hate him anymore. You don’t even dislike him now. And you certainly don’t want to kill him.

On one hand, things are easier. Crossing the line feels more like having torn down a wall, with no more need for pretense. On the other, König is somehow even more insufferable than before. Or perhaps insatiable is a better word for it. You go from having daily sexual tension with him to daily sex, period.

It’s like the floodgates have opened. He’s always loved to tease you, but it gets a hundred times worse now that he knows just how to make your cheeks feel warm.

“I was thinking…” he muses one night as you cuddle by the fire. “You may have to start riding on my horse.”

“Don’t I already do that?” you ask, sleepily playing with his hair.

He snorts. “Your susceptibility to my corrupting influence is truly something to marvel at.”

“You’ve been enacting psychological warfare on me for months.”

“Anyhow, as I was saying.”

“Your horse is quite large, but I don’t think it could handle me astride it as well.”

“Well. Certainly something else that’s large could handle that…”

You sigh. “Get to the point.”

“It’s becoming quite distracting, watching you moving up and down with the horse’s stride.”

“I cannot believe you. Innuendos twice in a row?”

“This is a legitimate grievance!”

“Riding on your horse would not fix the problem. Unless you plan for me to sit behind you in the saddle, which I refuse to do.”

“You’re no fun.”

You lean forward to kiss the corner of his mouth instead of responding.

Your newfound…activity, however pleasingly distracting, can’t eclipse what comes next.

The mood is somber as you arrive in the village: it’s a quiet, sleepy place, just a scattering of simple houses dotting rolling hills and one singular street lined with buildings in the center of it all.

In sharp contrast to his playful, almost jubilant mood on the road with you, König instantly snaps into his authoritative persona. It especially suits him when he puts on the hood: it makes him seem that much more intimidating and threatening. Almost inhuman.

The first order of business is to hold counsel with what passes for the leader in this tiny village: a local merchant patriarch. He’s a sturdy man in his older years, face lined with both wrinkles and scars. He must have been quite the warrior when he was young: you can tell by the way he carries himself.

He gives both of you the lay of the land, and it’s a grim predicament indeed. Herding the livestock is a job most often given to the children, as it’s a relatively safe job with less skill required than the tasks the adults take care of. That’s changed, of course, with the arrival of the beast a few weeks ago. He confirms the most gruesome details that have been brought before König by previous messengers, and it turns your stomach just to imagine it. Those poor children…

The two of you set off early the next morning, with directions from an experienced hunter who had been keeping track of the beast and reporting its movements. At first, it feels normal: just another walk in the woods with König. The solemn silence between the two of you serves as a stark reminder that this isn’t like normal—followed promptly by increasing signs of a presence in the woods. Snapped branches, giant pawprints, and worse, streaks of blood.

Then you break though into a clearing, and your blood runs cold.

The beast before you could only be described as a wolf for lack of a better descriptor. It’s monstrously large, being König’s height and half again, with all of its proportions just slightly wrong: its legs scrawny and just slightly too long for its body, the snout lean and far too sharp to fit the rest of its head. Dried old blood crusted into the fur of its muzzle and chest belies the savagery of the creature, even streaking onto the fur along its neck. And the most obvious tell-tale sign of an unnatural creature is that fur: a dark, rusty blue that shifts with impossible pinpricks of light, like the night sky is ensnared in this feral animal’s coat.

You heard its growl before you saw it. But now when it lays eyes on you and König, it opens its snout and…speaks.

“What do we have here?” The voice comes out as a broken, reedy croak, as if stretching vocal cords that haven’t been used in a long time.

Something about it raises your hackles, like your body’s responding to an ancient, ingrained fear. Fae.

“Don’t listen to anything it says.” König’s voice is suddenly soft, dangerous. “None of it is trustworthy.” Slowly, deliberately, his hand moves to his back and draws his sword.

“Ah, the boy king,” hisses the beast. “You simply couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“You’re eating my subjects,” König responds. Your eyes flit to where his hand tightens its grip on his sword. “This is not personal.”

“But it always is, is it not?” The beast and König circle each other, like two combatants in an arena. “You are as ever driven by your past mistakes.”

“König, what is it talking about?” You feel like you’re witnessing a conversation you shouldn’t be, but you feel helpless to do anything about it. If you tried to make a move towards the beast now, it would have its jaws snapped around you in an instant.

“It’s lying, liebling. It’s what they do. It’s trying to throw you for a loop so it can catch you off guard.”

“Liebling now, is it?” The beast lets out an awful, barking laugh. “My, the two of you have come far. But not far enough, it seems.”

König gives you a quick, sidelong glance, then tilts his head back towards the beast. The message is clear. We need to distract it. I’ll keep it talking.

“From her response, it seems you’ve been keeping secrets from your lovely little bride.” The beast shakes itself, its fur puffing up to look larger and more intimidating.

“There’s nothing to keep. None of that is important.”

“I would beg to differ. And if your liebling knew what it was, she would disagree as well.”

“You know nothing about us,” König growls. Yes, you’re in a life-or-death situation right now, but the viciousness in his tone sends an excited shiver up your spine. You’re opposite König now, almost completely hidden behind the beast’s monstrous form.

“You know nothing about each other!” Before either of you can react, the beast whips around. Its glowing-white eyes are fixed on you. “Not that it matters any longer.”

You barely have time to scream before the beast is upon you.

“No!” König’s voice rings in your ears. You can feel the creature’s hot breath, its vile drool spilling onto your clothes, its teeth closing around your neck—

Time slows to a crawl, the events unfolding one after the other in sequence. The first thing you’re aware of is the beast’s roar of pain, booming deafeningly all around you. I’m inside its mouth, you think numbly. The second thing you notice is your necklace: it’s glowing red, as if the metal has become molten hot. But you don’t feel any burning sensation, just a faint tingle.

The third thing you see is König shoving himself between the two halves of the beast’s snout, physically holding it open with his body.

It’s truly an impressive sight, like watching Atlas hold up the sky. For a brief moment, all you can do is stare up at him in awe.

“What are you doing?! Get out!” he yells, and you snap back to your senses.

You roll aside out of the beast’s range, scrambling to get back on your feet. König dodges out of the way just as the jaws snap shut.

“Is that..?” the thing wheezes. You rush to help König up as it glares balefully at you. Its beady eyes focus on the pendant around your neck, narrowing in disgust.

“Calliope,” it spits. “I should have known. This bears marks of your meddling all over.”

Your blood runs cold. “What did you just say?” What does your lady in waiting have to do with this?

“You—” The beast doesn’t get a chance to finish its sentence, because König takes advantage of its consternation to stick his sword into its neck. The creature bellows in pain and lunges at König, who barely manages to dodge the strike but loses his grip on his sword in the process. The monstrous animal whips around and around, attempting to grab hold of the sword with its teeth.

“Strike, now!” König calls before promptly getting clocked in the head with the pommel of his own sword as the beast thrashes and screams.

You don’t hesitate to spring into action, unsheathing a wicked-sharp blade as long as your forearm and sprinting towards the creature. König’s left you a perfect opening: as long as the beast is trying to get ahold of the sword, its chest is wide open for attack.

You don’t waste the opportunity. With the running start, you leap forward, sinking the blade into the wolf’s chest, right where its heart lies. The long, keening wail that the beast lets out is confirmation that your blade has struck true.

You have to throw yourself into a roll to get out of the way before the massive body crashes down on top of you. It lies on the ground, its heaving breaths growing shallower by the moment, its wounds staining the ground with a faintly shimmering golden ichor. So the fae do have golden blood, just like the old legends said, you think, watching the macabre scene with stunned terror.

“Brought low by two fae-touched mortals with barely a fight…” the beast huffs. It sounds weary and resigned to its fate, strange for a creature that had seemed so deadly and menacing just moments before. “Fate is cruel.”

“Fae-touched…what do you mean?” you ask, eyes widening. “Wait! What do you mean by that?!”

The beast doesn’t respond, its chest now hardly moving with its breaths. It’s not long for the world, now.

Behind the hulking, dying animal, you spot König staggering into a standing position. “König!” You gather yourself and rush towards him.

He’s visibly unstable on his feet, swaying slightly and looking dazed. The sword must have hit him hard, because his hood has been partially torn away. Despite everything, though, you can’t see any visible blood or injuries from this angle. Until he turns.

A bloodcurdling scream tears its way out of your throat. König cringes slightly at the sound, but you can’t help yourself. The sight is terrifying.

The skin above one half of his mouth is simply gone. He has no lip, not even any flesh up to his nose. His upper teeth and gums on one half of his mouth are just exposed, giving him a grim, unnatural appearance. He looks like Death itself, resembling the skeletal depictions in the manuscripts.

You should be afraid—scratch that, you are afraid. But you realize quickly your fear is not of him, but for him.

“Did it do this to you?!” you say, panicking. You dash forward and grab ahold of his face, turning it so you can examine the injury more closely. The act seems to startle König, who simply looks down at you in confusion.

“What are we going to do? There’s no way this village has a healer who could dress this wound…” you fret. An injury on this level is almost certainly a death sentence if he doesn’t receive adequate attention immediately, and he certainly won’t last the night if you’re forced to travel by horseback again—

“Schatzi…” König grabs your hands with his and removes them from his face. “I’m fine.”

You stare at him in shock for a moment. “You—how can—you—”

He heaves a heavy sigh, as if a massive burden has been placed on his shoulders. “I’m alright. The wound is…not new.”

“How can it not be new.”

König screws his eyes shut for a moment as if trying to gather his composure. “It’s been this way since I was young. Look,” he says, touching the area with a finger. “There’s no blood.”

On closer inspection, you realize he’s right: not only is there no blood, but the skin around his mouth and nose appear to be completely healed. And not even as if it were a true wound: there’s no scarring, no uneven flesh. The skin and muscle are simply…missing.

“What…how…” You’re at a total loss for words. Since he was young? What happened? How had he survived such an injury as a child? You have a million questions, but you find yourself unable to ask any of them.

You watch him, stunned, as he walks past you towards the beast’s body. It lays completely still now, all semblance of life having fled from the corpse. With one hand on the grip and one foot braced against the beast’s body, he wrenches his sword free, then bends to pull your knife out.

“I know you must have questions,” he says, wiping the blood off of both weapons onto the wolf’s fur with a grimace, “but I can’t answer them here. Please, if I promise to explain, will you…will you wait until we’ve left the village?” He turns to look at you beseechingly.

“I…” Now that the adrenaline and initial panic is beginning to fade, your whole body feels heavy and exhausted. You don’t have the energy to be angry, or afraid, or demand an explanation now. You have no choice but to agree, nodding quietly. König seems relieved at your calm response.

“So that’s why you always wear a mask or a hood,” you say numbly as you watch him take the ruined hood off, shaking his head to get the hair out of his face. He gives you a sad, regretful look.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“Did you mean for me to find out at all?”

“I never meant for anyone to find out.”

The villagers throw a celebration. A modest one, to be sure, but the relief on the peoples’ faces is enough of a reward for you. You can tell König is glad to see it as well—though every time you look at his face, hidden once more behind his mask, you feel a twinge in your heart as you remember what lies underneath it.

You can’t find it in yourself to enjoy the celebrations, even as excited children and grateful parents swarm you to give their thanks. You give them all a smile and a kind word, but that’s all you can manage. Dread and curiosity mix to form a terrible feeling in your gut.

The days between your defeat of the beast and your departure go by in a blur. You’re grateful for the rest, but you can’t stop thinking, worrying, about König’s condition. You manage to stop being petrified that he’s going to drop dead of infection at any moment, but you can’t look at him anymore without thinking about it. About the secret that he’s kept from you, from everyone who’s ever met him. You can’t even wrap your mind around what it all means. You have no point of reference for what could have happened to your husband’s face.

Husband. What a strange thing, to be wed to someone whose full face you had only seen a few days ago, months into your marriage. You haven’t thought of him like that at all. He’s always been König: the king, the enemy, the annoyance. And your lover, you suppose. For the first time, you start to wonder exactly what kind of man you’ve bound yourself to.

Because it’s exceedingly clear to you now. You can’t kill this man. Not just because you don’t want to anymore, but because he might be unkillable.

The village hasn’t yet vanished in the distance behind the two of you when you speak. “What the hell?”

König’s eyes slide to you, then back to the road ahead. “Language.”

You sputter in indignation. “Lang—that’s not what I want to hear!”

“Forgive me. I couldn’t resist.”

“König, this is serious! You promised an explanation.”

“I know what I promised,” he says, a slight edge creeping into his voice.

“Well?”

König takes as deep breath. Inhale, exhale.

Then he begins.

“Well. What do we have here? You’re awfully young for this, little prince.”

He’s fourteen. He’s about to make a decision that will shape the rest of his life.

He had done as the crone’s old tome instructed. Bone from an animal slain in its youth. Flowers bloomed under the cover of pitch black night. A blade whet on the summoner’s own flesh. He’s knelt under the light of the full moon, round and blindingly white.

The ethereal creature standing before him is easily twice his height, with an unearthly glow to their skin and hair and a smile that could almost be mistaken for kind and benevolent on their unnaturally beautiful face.

He’s done it. He’s summoned a fae.

With no small amount of difficulty, he rises to his feet, leaning heavily on the cane that helps him walk. The fae lets out a noise of amusement as they watch the young boy struggle.

“Usually, mortals don’t gamble away their lives until they’re older, and greed begins to dictate their actions.”

He glares at the fae but doesn’t respond.

“Come, now. Do not look at me so. Give me your name, little prince.”

“…you may call me König.”

The fae’s expression sharpens, ever so slightly. “Clever boy. ‘König’…don’t you think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself?”

“I want to make a deal.”

The fae sighs. “Straight to the point, I see. Well, I can’t fault your efficiency. Or is it desperation?” They smirk at him, their eyes taking the rest of him in. He knows he must make for a pathetic sight: a cripple with a harelip, spine curled and legs thin and spindly.

He doesn’t care. This is the last day he will ever be this pathetic.

“Let me guess. You wish to no longer be a cripple.”

“I want to be able bodied. I want to be strong enough to defeat my enemies. I want to be rid of my harelip.” Clear, concise language. He’s spoken these words to himself in the mirror countless times.

“You’ve certainly done your research. Then you know what price I will ask for such things.”

He swallows nervously. “Yes.”

“Very well then. Let us begin.”

It starts in his toes, the strange sensation that flows up through him that he will know all his days. He can feel the strength rushing into his limbs, feel his spine straightening, withered muscles coming to life.

Then comes the pain.

It’s white-hot torment, as if his body has become a living coal. He falls to the ground again, screaming and writhing as his bones crack and realign themselves. Somewhere, in the distance, he can hear the fae’s cruel laughter as they watch him suffer. For a brief moment, some primal, animal part of his brain thinks he’s going to die.

“Fret not, boy king. You won’t perish—I won’t let you until you give me what you’ve promised me,” the fae says, as if they can hear his thoughts.

He’s not sure how long he lays there on the ground, body wracked with agony. It feels like hours pass before he regains use of his limbs. But the pain does eventually fade away, leaving him dazed but still alive. Slowly, he manages to stand up again.

He stares at himself in wonder, legs and arms stretching. For the first time ever, he’s able to stand tall and straight on his own, his cane discarded to the side. And he feels strong. At last, he doesn’t feel weak for once.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” The fae’s face has changed: they still look the same, but there’s a beastly, ugly quality to their lovely features that chills him to the bone.

His hands fly instantly to his face. The harelip is still there, he notes with displeasure.

“You forgot something,” he says, frowning in his lopsided way.

“Oh, I didn’t.” Before König can react, the fae’s eyes hollow and grow dark, becoming two pools of endless void. Their teeth sharpen, their face grows gaunt.

“Remember what you owe, boy king,” they remind him. “On the day and the hour your first child is born, I will come to collect.”

He doesn’t even have time to scream before the fae reaches forward with black talons and tears off his mouth.

You’re rendered speechless by his story. Where do you even start?

Your first thoughts are of the way he described himself as a child. König, weak and crippled? König? You look at him now, eighteen hands high astride his horse, the picture of raw strength and dominance. You can’t imagine it at all.

Your second thought is— “You made a deal with the fae? Do you know how foolish that is? Fae never give you what you want, and the cost is always far too high!”

“Don’t lecture me,” he says tightly. “I know what I was getting myself into. I had no other choice.”

“What do you mean, no other choice? You were the king’s son—you are the king! You could have had servants carry you everywhere if need be!”

“You don’t understand what it was like,” König snarls, turning to you with fire in his eyes. “Nobody would have accepted a cripple as their king. My life would constantly have been in danger, having to rely upon others. Unable to even defend myself if an assassin set upon me in my bed.” He’s getting angrier, more worked up as he goes.

“I told you that I was once poisoned as a child with nightshade berries. Did you wonder why there was such a plant in my mother’s garden? Why the royal heir was unsupervised for so long in the first place?” König’s expression is twisted, his voice turned bitter with betrayal. “It was a plot against me by some of my father’s advisors. They conspired with my nursemaid to make it seem like an accident…they expected me to die.”

“I…I’m sorry, König. I didn’t think.”

He glances at you and takes a moment to collect himself before speaking. “I was lucky. My father sent for the best healers he could find. My mother cried at my bedside for weeks.” His brow furrows. “My lot in life could have been worse: my parents loved me, at the very least. But it made me hate myself even more—that I was such a profound disappointment.

“My mother had a difficult birth. Some whispered that it was penance for what my father did: that the spirits of those slain during his campaigns had cursed my mother’s womb. She never was able to conceive again…so all their hopes rested upon my shoulders. My crippled, useless shoulders.”

The venom in his voice when he talks about himself makes your heart ache with sympathy. You move your horse closer to his and put a hand on his arm, squeezing him in what you hope is a comforting manner. His expression softens as he looks down at you.

“It would have been easy for you to kill me if I were still like that, liebe.” You feel your face grow warm again at the term of endearment.

“It makes sense, your strength being fae-given…Calliope said there was something not right about you.”

“Calliope is a perceptive woman.”

You study his face, eyes regarding his mask in a new light. “It really doesn’t look so bad. I only reacted that way because I thought you were injured.”

He shrugs. “Never was that good-looking anyway.”

You make a face. “Are you suggesting I sleep with ugly men?”

“You’ve only slept with me.”

“I’m trying to compliment you.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

“When you’re not annoying me.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Well, now you know.”

You study him. He seems relieved to have finally gotten this off his shoulders. “Do you regret it?”

He gets a faraway look in his eyes. “…No.”

The village’s leader had advised an alternate path back home: it might take you a day or two longer, but it was less remote and lined with other villages. You arrive at the first inn just as the sun is about to duck beneath the horizon, the sky streaked with orange.

It’s a serene part of the wood, and the inn is quite quaint as well. Whoever runs it has done well for themselves, you think absentmindedly as you and König dismount and prepare to unload.

A side door swings open, and a quite frankly huge man walks out, facing away from the two of you. Your sense of scale is attuned to König now, so he’s of course not the biggest man you’ve ever seen, but he’s broad-shouldered and thick with muscle. You can’t see his face from this angle, but you can just about spot his blond hair—

“Shit. Shit.” König instantly spins around so his horse is between him and the man who’s just walked out of the building. You squint. Is he…hiding?

“What’s going on? Should I be worried?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” Is he cringing? “Do you think it’s too late to set up camp?”

“Set up camp? When there’s a perfectly good inn right there?”

“Yes!”

“What has gotten into you? That man is quite big, but he’s not that sc—”

“I’m not scared of him, I just recognize him. And I don’t particularly feel like seeing him.”

You’re agog at the scene before you. “You’re the king.”

“Even kings have their hangups, alright?”

“I am not sleeping in the woods.”

“As your husband and supreme ruler, I demand it.”

“Come now. I know you’re tired of fucking me outside.”

That gives him serious pause, which almost makes you giggle. Ridiculous man. You could probably lead him onto an executioner’s block if you held him by the cock.

“Please,” you beg, stepping forward to hold his hand and giving him the biggest, most wide eyes you can muster. “I’m not ready to go back to sleeping on the ground yet.”

His face scrunches up in a hopelessly endearing, almost childlike way. “Fine. But you have to go in and talk to the innkeep. I’m going to stay out here.”

“I don’t know what all the fuss is, but fine. You big baby.” You hand him your horse’s reins and make your way to the front door of the inn.

You’ve barely pushed the door very far at all before you hear a friendly voice from inside. “Welcome, traveler! Come on in.”

“It’s wonderful to make your—” You stop in the doorway, frozen with shock.

“It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, your highness.” A pair of familiar sparkling eyes look back at you. “And you can tell his majesty that he can come inside, I’ve already seen him.”

König’s first wife stands before you, watching your reaction with clear amusement.

Forgive me for that smut. It's been years since I've written anything nsfw, and I wrote this at like. 5AM after a very long day because when I'm not exhausted, writing smut becomes impossible. It's quite the pickle.

Well...I did say that part 3 was going to be a doozy! I'm looking forward to all the reactions...🤭

Comments and feedback are of course always appreciated <3

@kneelingshadowsalome @crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @keiva1000 @catluvwr @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @channelsoph @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @lexuria @complexivelovely

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 4: EYES WITHOUT A FACE

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

He’s never known what to do with his feelings, always choosing to bury them where no one else could reach until all of it would rot by itself. It didn’t concern him. It was why he lived life somewhat carelessly. Avoidant.

He’s never known what to do with his feelings about you, either.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content, angst, dub/noncon, underage alcohol usage

ੈ✩ wc: 4.3k

ੈ✩ a/n: chuckles nervously... the plot thickens

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

November, 2008

You are downing your third gin and juice when you start to feel your bones loosen. Anxiously, you had already downed a glass of wine before you arrived at Satoru’s house, and that wasn’t enough to settle your nerves. You’d only been here for about an hour and a half and had mingled with a few classmates you recognized from school, otherwise keeping to yourself amidst the chaos.

That is, until a wired Shoko slings her arm around your shoulder, nearly tripping over herself.

“You came!” she beams. You’d only met her a few times, mostly in passing, each time at Satoru’s house while you were with your mother working and not as a guest. 

She’s deer-like, with a dazed, sleepy expression on her face and a joint hanging out of her mouth as opposed to her usual Seven Star. She leans on you close enough for you to smell the smoky scent of her hair, which is currently adorned with small black devil ears.

“Happy birthday, Ieiri-san,” you smile, fishing a small box out of your coat.

“Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything! Those idiots only got me like two cases of beer as a present, anyway,” she laughs. She unwraps the gift to reveal a zippo lighter with a scorpion design on it.

“I thought cigarettes would’ve been too on the nose,” you shrug.

“I love it,” she smiles, hugging you. “Suguru always steals my lighters. He’s definitely not getting a hold of this one.”

“Do you know where he is? Or Gojo-kun?”

She looks at you, then, with an unreadable expression. Something of simultaneous confusion and amusement.

“Probably doing something illegal. I’d guess upstairs or outside, maybe? I just saw them.”

You snort. There wouldn’t be one without the other. You blame your eagerness to drink on why you hadn’t caught them earlier, though when you check your phone again for the fifth time tonight, there are no messages. Satoru is inconsistent in his texting anyway – either silent for a few days, then blowing up your phone in the middle of the night with his random thoughts.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, let me know if you need anything, okay?” She squeezes your hand like a friend would. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Thank you, Ieiri-san,” you nod. 

You explore the kitchen, frowning at the clear spills on the countertop and the nearly empty cabinets that used to be full of glasses and mugs. You roll your eyes at your immediate thoughts of cleaning up. Always your mother’s child, never a real guest in a place like this.

You don’t think you can handle another gin and juice, though the drunken devil on your shoulder still goads you to drink more. You were a lightweight, less so than Satoru, but enough to feel blurry at the moment. You settle on a forgotten bottle of plum wine, justifying it with its lesser alcohol content.

The taste is sweet, sickeningly so. Something that Satoru would like. It tastes like he would.

You ignore the slight ache in your head. The music is too loud, blasting in your ears, and the number of people who have arrived at the party since you’d spoken to Shoko has multiplied tenfold. 

You stare at your phone again. Nothing.

You’re too warm in your coat now, huddled shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers. There’s probably a safe chance that the boys were upstairs, and even if they weren’t, you could take a breather in Satoru’s room and leave your coat there.

It’s humid once you get to the top of the staircase. Your hair sticks to your back a little as you carry your coat in your arms. The black slip dress you decided on feels too thin, suddenly, but you think it suits your body. Shows just the right amount of skin because of how short it is. Satoru would like it.

The door to Satoru’s bedroom is slightly ajar. You hear more than one voice – a round of them, boisterous. There are several bottles of alcohol on the floor that you can see, a full ashtray, and a small group of strangers that you assume to be Satoru’s friends, though you realize they’re all women. When you tilt your head, you can see him.

He’s sitting on Suguru’s lap, laughing. You notice the way Suguru’s hand rests on Satoru’s stomach, while Satoru absentmindedly taps his fingers along Suguru’s thigh. He’s sprawled out on the boy, taking up space the way he always does, and it looks… intimate. Like they belong to each other.

Satoru whines when Suguru bites at the exposed skin of his collarbone playfully, swatting him away. It’s a similar gesture you do to him when he sneaks up behind you at school. When he gets you alone. When he gets you to follow him home until you end up in his bed.

You know that Satoru is a touchy drunk, but you’ve never seen such adoration in his eyes before. It makes you feel sick. 

But you can’t find it in yourself to be angry or shocked. Rather, you feel a bit pathetic. Looking from the outside in, in a place you practically grew up in, feeling more alone than ever.

You want to watch them for longer. Like a voyeur. 

There’s an itch in your body that wants to see if the boys will kiss. Satoru has never been this touchy with you in the presence of others. With Suguru, it looks like muscle memory.

Your knuckles pale as you grip the bottle of plum wine in your hand. You chug the rest, not caring about the taste making your insides swirl. After discarding your coat in one of the hallway closets, you take a deep breath and retreat downstairs.

Shoko bumps into you in the middle of the dancefloor. The way her face lights up almost dissipates the pit in your stomach. Almost.

“Hey, baby! Come dance.” 

“I need a smoke, actually, but I will after.”

“I didn’t know you smoked,” she says, handing you one of her Seven Stars cigarettes and her zippo.

“I can get matches from the kitchen, don’t worry.”

Once you’re outside, the music is a dull ache in the back of your head. The November air is colder than you expect considering the recent days of decent weather, but the alcohol keeps you numb. You inhale smoke, eyes fluttering at the memory of intimacy. 

“If you guys drank all my birthday sake, I’m seriously going to castrate you both.”

Shoko pulls the bottle out of Satoru’s hands while he’s in the middle of sipping. He nearly chokes from the force of her, liquid dripping onto his chin. Suguru wipes it off and laughs.

“This isn’t your birthday sake, dumbass!”

“Gross,” Shoko says, wrinkling her nose at the off-brand label. It’s cheap and sweet, just the way Satoru likes it.

Fiending for more alcohol, Satoru frowns when he examines the other liquor bottles scattered around the circle of them, only to find that there’s only hard liquor. He drinks from a bottle of Sprite instead to satiate his craving, in addition to stealing a maraschino cherry out of Yuki’s cocktail. 

“You finished every bottle of sake, Satoru,” Suguru frowns.

“Great! Let’s play spin the bottle.”

“No,” Utahime interjects. She throws an empty beer can at Satoru’s head.

“Yeah, I’m downvoting that, too,” Shoko adds. She takes the joint that Suguru finishes rolling and lights it. “It’s my birthday and I’m not letting this idiot try to fuck everyone like he does at every party.”

“That’s because his type is everyone. He’s a whore,” Yuki chuckles.

“I don’t try to fuck everyone–”

“Go find your girlfriend if you want to get your dick wet so bad,” she interrupts, mumbling with the joint in her mouth. “We should find her and get her to play poker with us. She looked a little sad when I saw her.”

“Huh?” Satoru blinks.

“Oh, and why does she call you by your last name? Is it because she technically works for you?”

“No fucking way Gojo found a poor soul to be his girlfriend,” Utahime mutters. She settles her head on Shoko’s lap in the bed, stealing the joint out of her mouth. “Do you pay her?”

“No, she’s like a servant or something, right?” Yuki says.

“Gojo! That’s sick. The poor girl.”

“Stop, you’re making her out to seem like she’s my fucking concubine,” Satoru asserts, a bit too fiercely than he means to. His lips twitch at the mention of you.

Suguru raises his brows at Satoru, knowing the boy is too drunk and too befuddled to know what to say. The girls stare.

“She’s not my girlfriend, either.”

“You should fuck her, then,” Shoko slurs. “She’s so cute.”

“She’s our friend,” Suguru drawls, tipping back vodka like it’s water. “You haven’t seen her yet, Satoru?”

Satoru shakes his head. His heart pounds quicker now that you’re the topic of conversation. That feeling comes back – the one that makes him panic, as if he’s discovering that something he owns is lost. It twists in his stomach, knowing how selfish it is. He wants to keep you in a way that’s separate from the rest of his life because you were his.

He gets up and mumbles something about going to the bathroom. In the hallway, he opens his phone and stares at your contact. Your photo hasn’t changed in years – a goofy close-up that he took when he was thirteen. 

When he calls you, his heartbeat quickens the longer the phone rings, only to realize that he hears the sound of your ringtone from behind the closet. He finds your phone and your coat, but there’s no trace of you.

It sobers him up considerably. The lights in the house flicker.

The temperature drops as the night drags on, which is why you have the firepit to yourself. The fire is still glowing, warming your bare legs. 

Fuck. You want another cigarette.

You jump at the sound of another’s presence. When you turn, you see your classmate, Haru, nursing a half-empty bottle of wine in his right hand.

“Getting up to trouble, I see,” he grins.

You laugh. It’s more of a scoff, but you smile at him.

“Yeah, some crazy delinquent activity. Some might even call it mischief.”

The joke makes him laugh, which makes you laugh, genuinely. Haru had the demeanor of a puppy, always excitable and easy to please. It used to be a little annoying when you were first years but he’d mellowed out since then, it seems.

Under the glow of the fire, he looks handsome in a boyish way. His hair has gotten longer over the year, like Suguru’s, but he lets it fall to his shoulders. You scoot over on the patio couch, welcoming him to sit.

“You look very pretty, by the way. I like your dress.”

“O—Oh,” you stammer, surprised. “Thank you.”

He offers you the bottle of wine in his hand and you accept, taking a swig of pinot grigio. Future you is going to kill you for mixing so many different alcohols in your stomach. Current you is basking in the warmth of your surroundings.

“Sorry if this is awkward, but uh—” He fiddles with his fingers, but the eye contact he makes with you feels oddly intense. “Are you, like, seeing Gojo?”

His name makes your face burn. You almost choke on the wine.

“Uh, no. Just—um, what made you think that?” 

“He just seems possessive over you,” Haru shrugs. 

“Yeah, right. He never talks to me in school.”

“But he does, sometimes, and I notice it. He looks at you in a certain way. S’why I was kind of scared to approach you, actually.”

You furrow your brows at the idea of Satoru scaring other boys away. Other boys didn’t talk to you, never have. You didn’t think you were exceptionally attractive in a way that made other people pine over you. You were always focused on academics anyway. But has Satoru always driven other boys away?

“He’s not my bodyguard or whatever,” you try to joke. “And I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that.”

Haru widens his eyes. You curse yourself in your head. It’s the wine talking. It has to be.

“I think I might be.”

When did he get so close to you? You notice you’re both thigh to thigh. Your stomach drops when Haru caresses your jaw. His touch doesn’t feel right. It’s not what you’re used to, not what you want.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, face inches from yours. You freeze when you realize what’s happening, closing your eyes to accept it. A drunken kiss won’t hurt anyone. Maybe it’s what you need.

He’s soft at first until his tongue pries your mouth open. From there, there’s spit and teeth, his hand squeezing your throat the tiniest bit in a way that makes you whimper. The sound of it encourages him. He has his other hand on your thigh, underneath the hem of your dress.

You’re brainless. A used toy. Your head is swimming rapidly, too messy to register all of it. The panic subsides into blankness as your body surrenders. Everything feels so heavy.

“H-Haru–”

“I’ve always liked you,” he mumbles in between kisses. How is his grip on you so tight?

“Haru, I don’t–”

You can’t get a word in with his tongue down your throat.

You’re barely kissing him back now, but he takes from you anyway. Licks your teeth and inches his hand higher and higher up your thigh. When he finally releases your mouth, he has his tongue on your neck instead, and it feels sordid. You are numb and he is molding you in his hands.

Satoru’s voice is in your head calling you weak.

You recoil when you feel calloused fingers grazing your core. You make a weak attempt to push him away, small fists to his broad chest. When your gaze drifts, you see a pair of burning blue eyes.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing—”

Haru’s hair is yanked, and his body is pulled backward and thrown onto the ground. It’s all too fast—a whiplash of crushed bone and bloody knuckles. White hair and burning blue eyes.

“What the fuck, man–”

You watch in horror as Satoru kicks the boy on his side. You don’t even notice that Suguru is pulling you away with a hand on your waist.

You’ve never seen Satoru so angry. Never seen him be violent outside of playfighting Suguru in the grass. He’s a whole other being in front of you now, and it scares you, and it’s somehow… beautiful.

“Touch her again and I fucking kill you,” he seethes, spitting on Haru’s cheek. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

He’s breathing heavily and glances at you. There’s a look of betrayal and disbelief that you see briefly before Suguru sweeps you away. When you’re back inside, you let go of his hand to run to the bathroom and vomit.

Your eyes fucking ache.

It’s the dried tears and strained pupils underneath the disgusting overhead light of the downstairs bathroom. Your head pounds. You don’t remember when you came to, but you find comfort from the arm around you. Shoko sits next to you and runs a reassuring hand through your hair.

“I’m sorry,” you croak. “I ruined your birthday.”

“Are you kidding?” Shoko chuckles. “That was entertaining as hell. Even if I only saw half of it. Leave it to Satoru to steal all the attention on my birthday.”

You frown, staring at her. How can she be so nonchalant that someone left her party with a broken nose? 

The ghost of Haru’s touch makes your skin crawl, making you reflexively shut your thighs together. The bathroom floor is cold underneath your skin.

“I’ve never seen him so mad before,” you lament quietly.

“Neither have I,” she exhales. “It takes a lot to work him up. He had no room to be jealous, though. He said you weren’t his girlfriend.”

Her words prick you like the blade of a dagger. Slowly. Drawing blood. 

“I– I wasn’t trying to hook up with that guy,” you say. “I was so drunk. I didn’t want it.”

Shoko looks at you with pity. “Oh, fuck.”

When she wraps your arms around you, you’re too numb to cry. The door opens and the boys enter. Your eyes stay on the floor. Your gut twists inside out.

“How is she?” you hear Suguru ask.

That again. Talking about you instead of to you.

Shoko mouths something, you think. A soundless gesture as she rubs your back soothingly like a sister would. 

“You want a ride home, princess?” Suguru asks.

“She can sleep here. There’s a room for her.”

You look up at the sound of Satoru’s voice. His face is cold, unreadable. You don’t expect him to lift you and carry you to his room, but he does. There’s a pang in his heart when you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Take this.” He tips your head back for you and parts your lips with his hands so he can get the painkillers on your tongue. Water down your throat. 

“Good girl.”

“I can take care of myself,” you grumble, curling into yourself on the edge of his bed. 

“Clearly you can’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have fucking blacked out.”

“I’m sorry, Satoru,” you say with dejection. “Just—please don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry. Not with you.”

But he is, just a little. The mere idea of someone else touching you makes him see red, and having it be real and at his fucking house made him livid beyond repair. How dare that piece of trash touch you. Like you aren’t Satoru’s and his alone. 

He’s also upset at himself because he knew it wouldn’t have happened if he’d found you sooner.

He lays on his side behind you and pulls you close. 

“I don’t understand you,” you say, weakly. Your nose feels fuzzy again the way it does before you cry.

“I don’t, either,” Satoru sighs.

You turn to face him, then, and the look on your face devastates him.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so drunk. I didn’t know what was happening. I mean, I did, but I didn’t—I didn’t want all of that,” you sniffle. “Didn’t want him to touch me.”

You say it like you’re confessing. Pleading. Guilt swallows him whole.

What you want to ask: Why am I only something to you when someone else touches me?

“I’m so sorry,” Satoru whispers. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to stop it and that you had to see me like that. I’ll never let anyone hurt you like that again. Okay?”

Touch her again and I kill you.

You nod weakly, smiling. He holds you and lets you cry until you fall asleep. It feels like he’s committing a crime to be able to hold you like this.

Satoru closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. He’s never known what to do with his feelings, always choosing to bury them where no one else could reach until all of it would rot by itself. It didn’t concern him. It was why he lived life somewhat carelessly. Avoidant. 

He’s never known what to do with his feelings about you, either. 

He didn’t think they would come back. Ideally, you both would’ve finished school and he would go to Jujutsu Tech and forget about you. Maybe you see you on the off-occasion he’s home, but he doesn’t plan on being home that often. But he’s young and stupid and hungry, and when you were there for him on a platter, he wanted to take you. Consume you.

He feels powerful when he knows that you want to consume him, too. He can’t live with himself knowing that that power will only hurt you in the end. 

He almost wishes you were angry at him. You could scream at him if you wanted and it would be justified, but you’re here in his arms again instead. Apologizing.

Something ugly twists inside of him. He remembers what you said in bed the other day. 

You could do anything you wanted to me and I think I’d let you.

It made him sick with desire then, but it makes him sick with remorse now.

November, 2008 (Three days later)

“Is she okay? She hasn’t responded to my text,” Suguru asks.

“You text her?” 

Satoru tries not to look annoyed. Instead, he looks away and kicks away a discarded Ramune bottle across the pavement. On Mondays, he liked to skip his last class and force Suguru to accompany him for a late lunch that usually consisted of konbini sweets.

“Not really. She has my number, though,” Suguru says, taking a puff of a cigarette. Shoko’s influence. “Why, you jealous?”

“Fuck off.”

“You are.” Suguru gives him a sly grin. “That’s why you knocked the lights out of that guy.”

“He was assaulting her.”

Satoru sighs, sprawling his legs on the bench (which is too short to fit the length of his body) and puts his head in Suguru’s lap. He flinches when Suguru pokes his nose.

“She’s okay, though?”

“I don’t know, to be honest.”

Satoru thinks of your dejected gaze and the limpness of your body when he touched you the next morning. He was softer than usual given the situation, and you bound yourself to him like you always do. Clung to him, almost. He blushes at the memory of your face after he made you cum from his mouth. 

You seemed fine at breakfast Saturday morning when Satoru treated you to pancakes. But even with your sarcastic remarks and usual banter, the light in your eyes seemed dimmer.

It had barely been 36 hours since then, but he missed you.

“I think I would’ve done the same thing as you,” Suguru says.

Satoru sighs crankily, throwing an arm over his face to block the sunlight.

“I probably would’ve killed him if you guys weren’t there,” he grumbles. “Sometimes I want to kidnap her, I swear. Never leave her out of my sight. I shouldn’t have gotten so fucking drunk.”

Suguru looks down at him, raising his brows. One of his usual looks – astute and slightly shaming. 

Satoru is grateful for the darkness of his lenses, though he knows that regardless, Suguru can easily tell what expression he’s giving him. He’s looking away, anyway, examining a stray cat on top of the roof of the konbini.

Satoru takes a moment to trace his eyes along the sharp lines of Suguru’s jawline. Clenched at the thought of you being hurt, a similar sentiment that Satoru’s had for the past few days. His fists burn with the ghost of that bastard’s blood. He wishes he could do it all again—punch his fucking teeth out harder than his nose.

While he thinks of you and the fragility of your far-away stare, he also thinks of your skin. At the moment, the thought is subtly replaced with Suguru’s hands absentmindedly scratching his head. It’s funny — you and Suguru had the same habit when it came to giving Satoru affection.

Prodigies, the two of them. Their abilities would rank them as Grade 1 by their first year of Jujutsu Tech, special grade by the time they complete their first few missions. Satoru really did see Suguru as his other half. It was why your inclusion made him uneasy despite how much he cared for you. 

It wasn’t anything personal. He was simply wrapped around Suguru’s finger first. They had drunkenly kissed two years prior, fresh-faced and seventeen, and would continue to on random occasions that weren’t dictated by anything other than hormones and energy shifts in the air.

Maybe Satoru would consider Suguru as his first love, if he knew anything about it. He didn’t know what you were, yet. He couldn’t describe his feelings for you. It was something beyond words, which scared him.

“Do you think you’re going to take her to the New Year’s Party?” Suguru’s voice shakes Satoru out of his thoughts.

“What? I think I’m taking Mei Mei or something. Mother’s orders.”

“Mother’s orders?”

“Dude, I don’t know. She was like, assigned to me months ago. I still don’t get why it’s such a big deal for the clan, but Mei Mei and her family are close to the family or whatever.”

“I just thought you would bring Y/N, s’all.”

“Why?” Satoru asks.

Suguru smiles, giving him a knowing look before he rolls his eyes.

“You like her.”

“What?”

“You don’t have to lie to me, dude. I figured you were fucking her since she started hanging out with us.”

“She’s… my friend,” Satoru defends. His brain feels fucking scrambled. “My oldest friend.”

“Okay,” Suguru chuckles. “I was kind of thinking of asking her, then.”

“To– to what? The party?”

“Yeah.”

Satoru sits up from Suguru’s lap.

“It’s not really her scene.”

“She hangs out with you, I’m sure she can handle a little party thrown by your family.”

“It’s not little. It’s—fucking annoying and extravagant. I literally only go because I have to and there’s always an open bar,” Satoru prattles. “I thought you’d take Shoko.”

“Jesus, then I’d have to take care of her drunk ass. She’d probably want to get wasted with Utahime anyway. You know how much she wants to fuck her.”

Satoru is screaming in his head. If his worlds collide more than they already have, he might just break open completely. He straightens his posture in an attempt to not appear particularly haughty, though he knows Suguru can probably see right through him. 

He makes a non-committal noise, stone-faced when he looks at his friend. He hides his face as he rolls his eyes. 

His tone is bored, lips quirking in a bitter smile.

“Right, okay,” Satoru yawns. “Do whatever you want.”

[novaursa]

The Flames We Loved (to live forever)

This is one of my darker works. If it's not your cup of tea, skip it. This is the last part in this series. I may expand it more with time and add additional parts.

- Summary: Aerys foresaw your future in the flames, long before you were both set alight.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Paring: daughter!reader/father!Aerys II Targaryen

- Note: Keep in mind how some events differ from the books, and the whole timeline of the canon events is a mess.

- Previous part: to cry wolf

- Next part: prelude/ending

The anxiety in the throne room is thick enough to choke on, as Tywin Lannister stands before the Iron Throne, his expression controlled but his eyes smoldering with frustration. Aerys reclines on the jagged metal seat, his gaze fixed on his Hand with a glint of suspicion and anger. The small council remains silent, its members exchanging wary glances, caught between loyalty to the king and the undeniable logic of Lord Tywin’s words.

“My king,” Tywin begins, his voice steady, every syllable measured, though there is a hardened edge to it that even Aerys cannot ignore. “The reports from the Stormlands and the North are undeniable. Forces gather, led by those who would see the throne taken from you. The northern army moves south, and the Baratheons rally in open rebellion. Our enemies are closing in. We must act—swiftly and strategically.”

Aerys’s lips twist into a sneer, his gaze narrowing with an intensity that makes his courtiers shift uncomfortably. He has heard these words before, cautions, warnings, all ringing in his ears like the clamor of crows. “And what action do you propose, Tywin?” he demands, his voice laced with disdain, as though the mere idea of retreat or caution is a personal affront. “That I should cower? That I should fear these traitors who think they can stand against me?”

Tywin stands resolute, his gaze unflinching. “Your Grace, this is not a matter of cowardice but of prudence. Queen Rhaella, Princess Y/N, and the children should be taken to Dragonstone. It is the safest haven we have, fortified and removed from the reach of those who would seek to harm the blood of the dragon. Your daughter is with child again—”

Aerys’s face darkens instantly, a flash of rage snapping through his expression like lightning. “You would send her away from me yet again?” he hisses, his fingers gripping the armrests of the Iron Throne until his knuckles turn white. “For what? To abandon me under the guise of ‘safety’? Do you presume to know what is best for my family, Tywin?”

Tywin’s jaw clenches, though he remains composed. “Your Grace, there is wisdom in ensuring the survival of your bloodline, should the worst come to pass. If the princess and the children are taken to Dragonstone, they will be beyond reach—secure until your enemies are defeated. You can fight with the assurance that your family is safe.”

Aerys laughs, the sound high and mocking, a bitterness etched into every note. “Safety?” he sneers. “Safety is a lie meant for the weak, for those who cling to their lives with trembling hands. I am the blood of the dragon, and my children will not be sent away like cowards to hide from shadows. Y/N will remain here, by my side, where she belongs. This… ‘precaution’ you speak of is an insult.”

The other members of the council shift uncomfortably, their eyes darting between the king and his Hand. Tywin’s mask of composure does not falter, though there is a coldness in his gaze, a flicker of something that almost resembles contempt. “Your Grace, you know I would not counsel retreat without necessity,” he says, his voice hardening. “But as your Hand, it is my duty to ensure the preservation of House Targaryen. The realm’s loyalty is already strained; the loss of your heirs would only embolden your enemies.”

Aerys’s eyes blaze, his anger slowly awakening, each word that Tywin speaks grating against him, stoking the fire of his fury. “And I suppose you imagine yourself wise enough to dictate where my family belongs?” he snaps, leaning forward, his voice low and venomous. “Or is this merely another attempt to weaken me, to see my daughter and heirs taken from my side?”

“Your Grace,” Tywin begins, his tone even but strained, “I would never presume—”

“Silence!” Aerys’s voice cracks like a whip, filling the throne room with its echo. He rises from the Iron Throne, the madness gleaming in his eyes, his fingers trembling with rage. “You dare presume to tell me how to protect my family, to dictate their place in my kingdom? You, Tywin Lannister, who sits here with his own ambitions cloaked in honeyed words?”

Tywin’s face remains impassive, though a hint of anger flashes in his green eyes, barely concealed beneath the mask of decorum he wears so well. He bows his head, acknowledging the king’s fury, though his voice retains its firm resolve. “My loyalty has always been to the crown, Your Grace. To you, and to the safety of your bloodline.”

Aerys’s sneer deepens, and he gestures with a sweeping hand. “Loyalty? I see now the truth of your ‘loyalty,’ Tywin. Your true loyalty lies only in preserving your own influence, in keeping me under your thumb while feigning submission. But no longer.”

The silence that follows is oppressive, a tension that thickens the air as Aerys straightens, his gaze gleaming with morbid satisfaction. “Hear me now,” he declares, his voice echoing through the hall as he points a trembling finger at Tywin. “From this day forward, you are no longer my Hand. Your service to me is finished. Return to Casterly Rock, where you may brood over your own ambitions, far from the true seat of power.”

A murmur ripples through the court, the lords and ladies exchanging shocked glances, though none dare speak. Tywin’s face remains an unreadable mask, his eyes cold, but a flicker of something—perhaps satisfaction, perhaps resignation—flashes in his gaze as he inclines his head. “As you wish, Your Grace,” he says quietly, his voice unyielding, each word clipped and final.

Aerys’s eyes narrow, his mouth shifting with something between rage and triumph, though his attention turns away from Tywin and toward you, standing beside him, silent and stiff. “You see, my daughter,” he says, his voice softer, almost tender, as he reaches out to brush a strand of your hair from your face. “You do not need the Lannister’s meddling hand to protect you. I will keep you safe, as I have always done. Your place is here, beside me, not hidden away on some distant island.”

You nod, your heart pounding, though you sense the storm brewing in his words, a promise that binds you to his side, even as the world outside these walls grows more perilous. “I trust you, Father,” you say softly, casting a cautious glance at Tywin, whose eyes remain fixed on Aerys, the faintest hint of contempt flickering in his expression.

Tywin meets your gaze for a brief moment, an unspoken warning in his eyes, but he bows low, his voice controlled, distant. “Then I shall take my leave, Your Grace,” he says, his tone devoid of warmth. “May your strength carry the realm through the trials ahead.”

Aerys waves a dismissive hand, his focus already shifting as he returns to his throne, a dark satisfaction in his smile. Tywin turns and strides from the hall, his back straight, his footsteps measured, the very image of composure. But you sense the fury begging to stir, the power that has just slipped through his grasp, and the lingering question of what consequences this moment will bring.

As the throne room settles into silence, Aerys’s gaze softens as it turns to you, his anger receding, replaced by a rare, almost tender expression. “Now,” he murmurs, reaching for your hand, his touch surprisingly gentle as he guides you closer. “The realm may shake, but you… you will remain safe, as long as you are with me.”

The words feel like chains, binding you to his side even as the world beyond the Red Keep falls into chaos. And as you look into his eyes, you understand that there will be no escape, no sanctuary—not while he clings to you, his daughter, his anchor in a world consumed by fire and blood.

In Rhaella’s chambers, a quiet stillness fills the air, heavy and almost suffocating. You sit near the window, gazing out at the darkening sky beyond the Red Keep’s walls, the distant sounds of the city below a constant reminder of the world outside. Rhaella stands nearby, her expression filled with concern, though she keeps her hands busy, tidying the folds of her dress, smoothing the blankets—a nervous habit she has had since you were a child.

You glance at her, taking a deep breath as you struggle with the thoughts churning within you, thoughts you have kept buried, thoughts you are no longer certain you can bear alone. The weight of your father’s expectations, the twisted bond he holds you in, presses down on you, and the words spill from you before you can stop them.

“Mother,” you begin, voice soft and strained. “I don’t know what more I can do. Or… if I even want to soothe him anymore. Perhaps…” You hesitate, looking down at your hands, the words coming slowly, reluctantly. “Perhaps the city deserves to burn.”

Rhaella’s hands still, her fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket as she looks at you with a mixture of shock and sorrow. For a moment, she says nothing, simply staring, and you can see the conflict in her eyes, the pain of a mother who sees too much of her husband in her child. In that instant, it is as though she is looking at a stranger—a stranger who bears the shadow of Aerys’s fierce and destructive nature, a fire that cannot be controlled.

She steps toward you, her voice gentle, though there is an edge of urgency in her tone. “Y/N,” she murmurs, reaching out to take your hand, her fingers cool and comforting. “Listen to me, my dear. You cannot let his madness consume you. You are more than that… more than him. I have seen the strength in you, a strength he lacks.”

You turn away, a bitter smile flickering across your lips as you shake your head. “But Mother,” you say quietly, “what if that strength is the very same fire that he carries? The fire that destroys? I have tried, again and again, to calm him, to keep him from his worst impulses, but… I am beginning to wonder if it’s worth it. If any of it is worth it.”

Rhaella’s gaze softens, though there is a sorrow in her eyes, a sorrow she has carried for years, buried beneath her calm exterior. “There was a time,” she says softly, her voice trembling ever so slightly, “when he was not like this. When he was kind, even gentle. And I believe that part of him still lives, hidden, buried beneath the weight of his own fears and rage.”

You look at her, searching her face, trying to see the memory she clings to, but all you feel is a deep weariness, a feeling of being trapped in a cycle that cannot be broken. “Maybe it does,” you whisper, though your words are tinged with doubt. “But he is not that man anymore, Mother. He’s… he’s something else. And I don’t know if I can be the one to bring him back.”

Rhaella’s hand tightens around yours, her eyes filled with determination, a fire of her own that she rarely shows. “You must stay strong, Y/N,” she insists, her voice quiet but fierce. “You promised me, do you remember? You promised that you would endure, that you would not let his madness take you as it has taken him.”

You nod, the memory of that promise flooding back, the words you had spoken in a moment of strength, a strength that feels far away now. “I remember,” you say, though your voice is faint. “But it is harder than I thought it would be. Every day, I feel the walls closing in, feel myself slipping further into his world.”

Rhaella pulls you into a gentle embrace, her hand smoothing over your hair, her voice soft and soothing. “I know, my love,” she whispers. “But you are not alone. You have your brother, and you have me. We will bear this together, as we always have.”

You cling to her, drawing strength from her presence, feeling a flicker of resolve rekindling within you. The city may teeter on the edge of chaos, the realm may tremble with the threat of rebellion, but in this moment, here in your mother’s arms, you feel a sense of calm—a fragile peace that you know will not last, but one that you can carry with you as long as you are able.

“Stay strong, Y/N,” Rhaella whispers, her voice filled with both a mother’s love and a warning. “You are my hope, the hope for all of us. Do not let that fire consume you.”

Rhaegar stands before his father in a private audience chamber, his face calm, every word measured, though beneath the surface, an undercurrent of urgency pulses within him. Aerys watches him from his chair, his gaze sharp and calculating as he studies his son with a mixture of amusement and suspicion.

“Father,” Rhaegar begins, keeping his tone low, respectful, though there is a steel in his voice. “The situation in the realm grows more dangerous with each passing day. The rebellions stir like fire in the underbrush, and we must consider the safety of our family.”

Aerys raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips as he leans back, his gaze unwavering. “And what would you suggest, Rhaegar? That we hide like cowards? That we let the wolves and stags think they can frighten dragons into fleeing?”

Rhaegar’s jaw tightens slightly, but he maintains his composure. “No, Father,” he replies smoothly. “But even the strongest king protects his line. Viserys and Daenerys are young, vulnerable, as is Mother. They should be taken to Dragonstone, where they will be out of reach from any threats.”

Aerys’s smirk fades, his gaze narrowing. “You think to send my heirs away, Rhaegar?” he sneers, his voice tinged with suspicion. “To hide them on Dragonstone as if they were weaklings, too fragile to remain in my presence?” He leans forward, eyes gleaming. “Or is this Tywin Lannister’s influence? You speak his words now, don’t you?”

Rhaegar meets his father’s gaze steadily, though a flicker of irritation passes over his face at the mention of the former Hand. “No, Your Grace,” he says firmly. “I seek only to protect the bloodline of House Targaryen. Tywin’s counsel is not mine.”

Aerys’s expression twists, a sneer curving his lips. “Do not lie to me, Rhaegar. I see the Lannister’s shadow in this request,” he accuses, his voice filled with disdain. “He spoke of sending my blood away, of hiding in the shadows. Do you think I don’t see through this? Do you wish to repeat his cowardly plans?”

Rhaegar’s resolve hardens, though he keeps his voice steady, calm. “Father, the suggestion has no bearing on Lord Tywin. My concerns are for our family alone. I would not repeat his counsel if I did not think it necessary.”

Aerys taps his fingers against the chair, his gaze flickering as he considers Rhaegar’s words. “And what of your sister?” he asks, a cold smile curving his lips. “Would you send her away too, Rhaegar? Would you have her taken from me as well?”

Rhaegar hesitates, his heart sinking as he meets his father’s gaze. He knows the answer that Aerys wants, and he knows too well what it will mean. “No,” he replies, his voice quiet, steady. “Y/N should remain here, with you. Her place is by your side.”

Aerys’s eyes gleam with satisfaction, his smirk growing as he leans forward, pleased by his son’s acquiescence. “Indeed,” he murmurs, his tone soft, possessive. “She belongs here, Rhaegar. She is mine, and I will not be parted from her.”

Rhaegar swallows, the weight of the decision pressing down on him, though he knows it is what his sister would want. She would rather see her children safe, far from the chaos that engulfs the realm, even if it means sacrificing her own freedom. “Then let Viserys and Daenerys go with Mother to Dragonstone,” he says quietly. “They will be safer there. We owe her that much.”

Aerys regards him in silence for a moment, a flicker of something—perhaps approval, perhaps amusement—crossing his face. “Very well,” he concedes, though his tone holds a hint of warning. “They may go, but your sister will remain here. She will stand by me, where she belongs.”

Rhaegar nods, though his heart feels heavy, his voice softening. “Thank you, Father. For allowing Viserys and Daenerys this protection.”

Aerys waves a hand dismissively, as if the matter is already forgotten. “Go, then. Arrange it,” he says, his tone indifferent, though his gaze lingers on Rhaegar with a faint glint of satisfaction. “But remember, my son—no one, not even the gods themselves, will part me from your sister.”

Rhaegar inclines his head, his face expressionless, though inside, a storm of emotions roils. He knows what this decision will cost, the sacrifice it demands of his sister, and he silently vows to honor it, to ensure that this choice will not be in vain.

Taking a careful breath, he continues, his voice quiet but determined. “I would also ask that my wife, Princess Elia, and our children be sent to Sunspear. It is their home, and they will be safer in Dorne, among her kin.”

Aerys’s eyes narrow. “So, you would send all the women away, would you? First, my heirs, and now your own wife and children. You would leave me surrounded by empty halls. No, Rhaegar. Elia will remain here, and so will your children. If you are so desperate for their safety, then perhaps you should think more carefully about your allegiances.”

Rhaegar’s hands clench at his sides, though he forces himself to nod, his expression carefully composed. “As you command, Your Grace.”

Aerys watches him a moment longer, his gaze filled with that peculiar satisfaction, as if savoring his control over every word spoken, every action taken. “Do not presume to question me again on such matters, Rhaegar. I am not a weak minded fool, to be manipulated by whispers.”

Rhaegar gives a final nod, his face a mask, concealing the turmoil beneath. “I understand, Father. I will see to the arrangements.”

As he leaves the chamber, a bitter resolve settles within him, a reminder of the price his family will pay to survive the chaos that waits outside these walls.

Rhaegar stands in the dim, secluded corner of the Red Keep’s lower chambers, waiting as the echoes of footsteps fade into silence. The torches on the walls flicker and the damp, cool air clings to him, grounding him against the storm of thoughts raging within. At last, Varys appears, his footsteps soft, his hands folded neatly within his voluminous robes, his expression placid but his eyes sharp, observing every detail of Rhaegar’s face with his usual unsettling attention.

“Your Grace,” Varys begins, bowing his head in a respectful nod, his voice a soft whisper in the silence. “You summoned me.”

Rhaegar inclines his head, his gaze steady as he studies the man before him, the Master of Whisperers—the spider who knew every secret, every whisper, and every shadowed truth within the Seven Kingdoms. If anyone could ensure the safe departure of his mother and siblings to Dragonstone, it would be Varys.

“I did, Lord Varys,” Rhaegar replies, his voice calm yet laced with urgency. “I require your assistance to see that Queen Rhaella, my brother Viserys, and my sister Daenerys are safely transported to Dragonstone.”

Varys’s eyes flicker with a knowing glint, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he nods. “An excellent plan, Your Grace. The queen and your siblings would indeed be safer on Dragonstone, removed from the… delicate political climate here in King’s Landing.”

He pauses, his gaze sharpening as he considers Rhaegar carefully. “And what of the princess, your sister? Will she be joining them?”

Rhaegar’s face tightens, the faint hope that had flickered within him extinguished by the weight of his own words. He looks away, his voice heavy with resignation. “No. My father refuses to let her leave. He… he insists that she remain here, by his side. She is his anchor, the only thing keeping him from… well, from his worst impulses.”

Varys’s gaze darkens, a faint sigh slipping from his lips as he shakes his head slowly. “A pity,” he murmurs, his voice as soft as silk yet laced with sympathy. “The princess has been a steadying influence on His Grace, that much is certain. But at what cost to herself?”

Rhaegar’s expression becomes haunted, shadows gathering in his eyes as he turns to face Varys fully. “At too great a cost,” he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She carries the burden of his madness as no one else can, and I fear… I fear it’s consuming her. But I know her. Even if he allowed it, I think she would refuse to leave. She would not abandon him, not when she believes that she alone stands between him and the city.”

Varys’s fingers brush thoughtfully along his sleeve, his expression pensive. “Ah, such loyalty,” he murmurs, though there is a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—an understanding that cuts to the core of the tragedy unfolding before them. “A loyalty that binds, even as it burns. She may be the only shield King’s Landing has from His Grace’s wrath.”

Rhaegar’s face tightens with sorrow, his fists clenching at his sides. “It should not be her burden,” he says, his voice low, fierce. “It is too much, even for her. She should be with them, with my mother, Viserys, and Daenerys. She should be free from this prison he keeps her in.”

Varys regards him quietly, his expression softening, though his eyes remain sharp. “Perhaps, Your Grace, there will come a time when the princess will find that freedom. But until then…” He hesitates, as if weighing his words carefully. “Until then, you must ensure the safety of the queen and the children. They, too, are vulnerable, and their survival may yet determine the future of this realm.”

Rhaegar nods, a bitter determination settling within him. “Yes. They must reach Dragonstone, no matter what. My mother, my brother, and my sister—they will be out of harm’s way.” His gaze hardens, and he fixes Varys with a fierce, unyielding look. “Will you see to it personally, Varys?”

Varys inclines his head, a faint smile curving his lips, though it lacks its usual humor. “I will arrange everything, Your Grace,” he replies smoothly. “They will depart quietly, without fanfare, and my eyes will be upon them every step of the journey.”

Rhaegar releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, a faint flicker of relief passing over his face. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with gratitude. “If you succeed, then at least… at least they will be safe.”

Varys’s expression softens, though his gaze remains unreadable, the shadow of secrets lurking behind his eyes. “You care deeply for your family, Your Grace. A rare quality, especially among those who wear crowns.”

Rhaegar’s face darkens, a sadness settling over him as he glances down, the weight of his decisions pressing upon him. “I would do anything for them,” he replies softly. “They are all I have. And my sister…” He trails off, the pain in his eyes evident, though he quickly masks it.

Varys’s gaze lingers on him, a hint of something almost compassionate in his expression as he gives a slow, understanding nod. “Then rest assured, Your Grace,” he says quietly. “I will see to it that the queen and your siblings reach Dragonstone in safety. And as for the princess…” He hesitates, a faint glimmer of resolve in his eyes. “Perhaps there is more than one way to protect her, even from here.”

Rhaegar’s gaze sharpens, and he studies Varys, searching his face, though he cannot quite decipher the meaning behind the man’s words. “If there is any way to shield her from this madness, from his wrath… then do it,” he says, his voice low, fierce.

Varys gives a small, respectful bow. “As you command, Your Grace. I will do what I can.”

With that, the Master of Whisperers turns, slipping back into the shadows, leaving Rhaegar alone with the silence, his heart heavy but a faint spark of hope kindling within him. 

The pale morning light filters through the narrow windows of your chambers as Rhaegar stands before you, his expression somber. His armor gleams softly, polished and ready for war, the ruby dragon embossed on his chest plate catching the light, a symbol of the strength he must bear in the battles ahead. His face is steady, composed, but as he looks at you, his twin, his resolve falters just slightly, a flicker of sorrow passing over his face.

You feel the weight of it all pressing down on you—the absence of Rhaella, of Viserys and Daenerys, your children that you could never openly call your own. Every day, you felt the emptiness they left behind, the silence in the halls that used to be filled with their laughter, their small footsteps, their innocent questions. And now Rhaegar, too, is leaving, setting off to face Robert’s armies in a war that feels as inevitable as it does senseless. You struggle to hold yourself together, but the grief, the helplessness, is too heavy.

“Rhaegar…” Your voice trembles, your eyes filling with tears you can no longer hold back. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can be strong enough without you, without them.”

Rhaegar’s face softens, his own pain mirrored in your eyes as he steps forward, wrapping his arms around you. You cling to him, feeling the warmth and steadiness of his embrace, a familiar comfort that feels all the more fragile now. His hand strokes your hair gently as he whispers, “You are strong, Y/N. You have always been stronger than you know. You must stay strong—for them, for Mother, and for the one you carry now.”

At his words, you feel a wave of both hope and despair wash over you. The life growing within you is a reminder of the legacy you bear, of the love you carry despite everything, but the thought of facing it alone, in the shadow of Aerys’s madness, feels unbearable.

Tears spill down your cheeks as you press your face against his shoulder, your voice choked. “I don’t know if I can endure this… If I can watch him descend further and further, if I can bear his wrath without you here.” You swallow, the weight of your words heavy between you, each one a plea, a confession you have kept locked inside.

Rhaegar pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face, his gaze filled with a fierce, unbreakable resolve. “You must, Y/N,” he whispers, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “You are the only light left in this darkness. The only one who keeps him from bringing ruin upon us all. You are his anchor… and you are mine. Without you, this house would fall.”

The intensity of his words hits you, and for a moment, you see the weight he, too, bears—the weight of responsibility, of choices forced upon him, of a love that binds him as much as it empowers him. You nod, though the ache in your heart does not ease, feeling the fragile thread of determination stirring within you, the promise of resilience that only he can draw from you.

A movement at the door pulls you both from the moment, and the room shifts as Aerys enters, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight of you and Rhaegar, locked in an embrace. His expression darkens, a flicker of something dangerous glinting in his gaze as he strides forward, his steps measured, calculated.

“Enough,” Aerys says sharply, his voice cutting through the quiet and cold. He reaches for you, his hand closing around your arm as he pulls you to his side, his touch possessive, his gaze fixed on Rhaegar. “It is time for you to leave, Rhaegar. The kingdom awaits its prince on the battlefield.”

Rhaegar’s gaze hardens, though he keeps his voice calm, measured. “I was saying goodbye, Father.”

Aerys’s lips curl into a thin smile, though there is no warmth in it. “Goodbyes are for those who expect to return,” he says, his words laced with a subtle cruelty. “But you, my son, are a Targaryen, forged in fire. You will return victorious, or you will not return at all.”

You feel Aerys’s grip tighten, and the familiar chill of his presence pulls you back to the reality of your situation. Rhaegar’s face is a mask of control, but you see the sorrow in his eyes as he looks at you one last time, his expression filled with all the unspoken words that hang between you.

“Be strong,” he whispers, his gaze locked onto yours, a silent promise lingering in his eyes. “For them, and for us.”

You nod, barely able to keep your composure, your heart breaking with every step he takes toward the door. He pauses, looking back at you one last time, his gaze filled with a love that words could never capture, a bond that distance could never sever.

And then he is gone, the heavy doors closing behind him, leaving you in silence with Aerys, who pulls you closer, his hand firm as it rests against your shoulder. He leans down, his voice low, his words laced with satisfaction.

“Now, my dear,” he murmurs, his tone both gentle and menacing. “We are alone once more, as it should be. Your brother goes to fight my wars, and you will remain, as you always have.”

You close your eyes, the weight of his words settling over you, pressing down like chains. Rhaegar’s presence lingers in the room, a fading warmth that you cling to, even as you feel Aerys’s gaze upon you, claiming you as his, as if he can possess even your thoughts, even your pain.

Suddenly a crushing wave of grief overtakes you, and the tears you held back spill over, leaving you vulnerable and exposed before Aerys. You can no longer hide the tremble in your hands, the way your body aches with a mixture of sorrow and fear. The emptiness left by Rhaella, Viserys, Daenerys, and now Rhaegar’s departure—all of it weighs down on you, leaving you feeling hollow, fragile.

Aerys’s gaze sharpens, his lips twitching as he watches the tears fall, something unfamiliar flickering in his expression. He rarely sees you like this, and a strange, almost possessive tenderness comes over his face. Without a word, he draws you closer, his hand surprisingly gentle as it settles on your cheek, his fingers brushing away a stray tear.

“You are afraid,” he murmurs, the realization seeming to surprise him as he studies your face. “But you, my strong one… what could you possibly fear?”

You shudder, unable to stop the words from spilling out, your voice thick with a pain that can no longer be concealed. “I am afraid,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “Afraid of what lies ahead. Of what will become of us, of this child…” Your hand moves instinctively to your abdomen, where the small swell of new life is just beginning to show.

Aerys’s gaze drops to your hand, and something shifts in his expression—a rare softness, an almost paternal pride mixed with a fierce, unyielding protectiveness. He places his hand over yours, pressing gently against the swell, his touch warm and grounding, a rare gesture of comfort from a man more known for cruelty than kindness.

“Nothing will harm you,” he promises, his voice soft yet edged with a conviction that sends a shiver down your spine. “Nothing will touch you, or the child you carry. I would see this city burned to ash before I let harm come to what is mine.”

He leans closer, his gaze intense, and his hand remains firmly on your abdomen, his fingers splayed protectively over the small curve. “I know this,” he continues, his voice lowering to a near whisper, his words almost reverent, as if he speaks of a prophecy only he understands. “I know it because I have seen it… I saw us together, burning bright in the great fire.”

A chill runs through you, his words hanging heavy in the air. The “great fire” he speaks of is something he has mentioned before, always with a fervor that borders on madness, a vision that seems to haunt him. You do not know whether he speaks of a literal fire or some deeper, darker omen, but his gaze is filled with a sinister certainty, a conviction that frightens you even as his hands remain gentle.

You look up at him, searching his face, the insanity in his eyes tempered by something raw, something that almost resembles love. “You… you saw us again?” you ask, your voice barely audible. “Together?”

Aerys nods, his fingers pressing ever so slightly against your abdomen, as if grounding himself in this moment, in the life growing within you. “Together,” he murmurs, his gaze distant, lost in whatever vision haunts him. “We stood in the heart of the flames, unbreakable. All around us, the world burned, yet we remained, untouched, eternal. I saw it, as clearly as I see you now.”

His words wrap around you like a shroud, and for a moment, you feel a strange mixture of comfort and dread. There is a part of you that wants to believe him, to let his certainty banish the fear that gnaws at you, but the darkness that lingers in his eyes, the way he speaks of flames and ruin—it is a comfort laced with danger.

“But what if…” you hesitate, your voice trembling. “What if there is no fire, no… destiny waiting for us? What if it’s only darkness?”

Aerys’s expression hardens, a flicker of impatience crossing his face, though his hand remains gentle against you. “There will be fire,” he insists, his voice fierce. “There will be fire, and we will rise above it, stronger than any who have come before. You carry the future within you, a future that will be forged in flames. Our blood is fire, and we are destined to endure.”

You close your eyes, allowing his words to wash over you, the strength of his conviction settling like a weight in your chest. Despite everything, despite the pain and the fear, his presence, his touch, brings a strange comfort, a feeling that perhaps, in his madness, he sees something that you cannot—a path through the chaos that surrounds you.

As you open your eyes, he leans down, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your forehead, his hand lingering on your abdomen as if to reassure both you and himself. “Rest now,” he murmurs, his voice softer, an unexpected gentleness lacing his tone. “Nothing will harm you, my sweet. I will not allow it.”

The day dawns heavy with a strange, oppressive silence, a quiet that feels unnatural, weighted. You wake with an overwhelming emptiness, a sadness that gnaws at you, sharp and deep, though you cannot say why. It feels as though something precious has been torn away, a part of you hollowed out, leaving nothing but ache in its place. You cling to the blankets, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your hand instinctively pressing over the small swell of your abdomen as if to shield the life within from the weight of the sorrow that presses down on you.

The hours pass slowly, each one thick with dread, and as the afternoon wanes, a soft knock sounds at the door, followed by Grand Maester Pycelle’s familiar, shuffling steps. He enters slowly, his face grave, and you feel your heart plummet, though no words have yet been spoken. Behind him, a raven perches silently on his arm, its black eyes gleaming, watching you with an unblinking stare that feels like a harbinger.

“Your Grace,” Pycelle begins, his voice low and somber, filled with a cautious gentleness that only deepens your fear. “I… bring word from the Trident. Prince Rhaegar…” He hesitates, his eyes meeting yours, and in that instant, you know. The pain, the emptiness—it all has a name.

“Rhaegar is dead,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the words leave your lips. The room sways, the world blurring around you, and before you can steady yourself, the weight of the grief crashes over you, pulling you down, down into a darkness you cannot escape.

“No,” you murmur, your voice thick with disbelief, your hands shaking as you clutch the edge of the bed. “No, he can’t… He promised…”

Pycelle steps forward, his hand hovering as if to comfort you, though he does not touch you, his gaze filled with pity. “Your Grace, please… for the sake of your child, you must rest. This shock… it is too great. You must not strain yourself.”

But you cannot hear him. The pain, the emptiness, is all-consuming, ripping through you as if it has a life of its own, a force that demands to be felt, to be voiced. Memories of Rhaegar flood your mind—the soft look in his eyes, his steady presence, his strength, and the way he had held you, comforting you, as if he could shield you from every sorrow.

“He’s gone,” you say, your voice a broken whisper, your hands pressing against your chest as though trying to hold yourself together. “Gone… as we were born. Like Summerhall.”

Pycelle exchanges a worried glance with one of the attendants, who quickly approaches, gently guiding you back onto the bed, though you barely feel their hands, your mind lost in the memories you shouldn't have, in the fire, in the ashes of that night so long ago.

“Summerhall,” you murmur, your eyes distant, seeing not the room before you but a memory etched into your soul. “The fire… we were born in fire. Rhaegar and I… we were born from tragedy, on the day it all turned to ash.”

Pycelle looks at you with concern, his voice soft, urging you to lie back, though you cannot stop the words from pouring out, your mind unraveling with grief and memory. “The walls crumbled… the heat, the smoke… Rhaegar was there with me. He’s always been there.” Tears stream down your face, each one a testament to the bond that has been ripped from you, a connection you can no longer touch, no longer feel.

The attendants ease you onto the bed, murmuring soft words meant to soothe, though they cannot reach you, your thoughts tangled in the past, in the vision of flames and loss that has defined so much of your life.

Aerys enters the room, his face darkening as he takes in the scene—the maester, the attendants, and you, lying in the bed, eyes hollow, lost in grief. His expression hardens, a glint of anger flashing in his eyes as he approaches, his voice sharp with irritation as he speaks.

“What is this?” he snaps, his gaze cutting toward Pycelle, his voice a mixture of frustration and contempt. “Even in death, Rhaegar seeks to take her from me? He poisons her mind with grief, seeks to drag her to the grave beside him.”

Pycelle bows his head, his tone careful, placating. “Your Grace, the shock has been great. The princess is deeply affected by this loss… for the sake of her health, and that of her unborn child, I have ordered her to remain bed-bound. Any further strain could be dangerous.”

Aerys’s eyes narrow, his hand clenching at his side as he approaches the bed, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of anger and possessive fury. “He will not have you, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice low, venomous. “Rhaegar is dead, and you are here, with me. He has no power over you now.”

You look up at him, your eyes filled with tears, a hollow emptiness lingering in your gaze as you meet his. “He was my brother, my other half,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “A part of me is gone, Aerys… He was… he was all I had left.”

Aerys’s hand moves to your shoulder, his grip firm, almost too tight, as he leans close, his eyes fierce. “You have me,” he insists, his voice laced with anger and a twisted form of affection. “You belong to me, and I will not let you follow him into the shadows. You will remain, as you are meant to.”

He places his other hand over your abdomen, his fingers pressing gently against the slight swell there, his gaze dark and selfish. “You carry my blood, my future,” he murmurs, his voice softening, though there is an edge of madness in his eyes. “And I will not let even death take you from me. You will live… for our child.”

You close your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you as you feel the touch of grief, of fear, of a love that is as binding as it is toxic. There is no escape, no solace, only the echo of Rhaegar’s memory and the life growing within you—a life that binds you to Aerys’s side, even as the world you knew slips further and further away.

As he watches over you, his hand resting greedly on your abdomen, you feel the emptiness settle deeper, a hollow ache that even the promise of new life cannot ease. You are bound, a tethered flame caught between love and duty, between life and the fire that has claimed everything you once held dear. And in the shadows of that chamber, you realize that this is the prison you must endure, until the very end.

The darkened halls of the Red Keep are heavy with a stillness broken only by the occasional, faint whisper of footsteps echoing through the stone corridors. Outside the doors of your chamber, Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Jonothor Darry stand guard, both vigilant yet troubled. Aerys had given strict orders—no one was to disturb him and the princess tonight. The king’s word had been absolute, his tone carrying a menace that kept even his Kingsguard rooted in place, unwilling to test his patience.

Jaime shifts uncomfortably, his jaw clenched, the faintest tremor in his hands betraying the thoughts that rage in his mind. His face is pale, and he stares down the hall as though trying to escape the lingering memory of screams—the screams of Qarlton Chelsted, Aerys’s new Hand, who had been burned alive that very evening. The smell of burning flesh still clings to his memory, acrid and inescapable, and he cannot banish the echoes of that brutal spectacle from his mind.

He glances at Darry, his voice a low murmur, tinged with uncertainty. “Should we… should we really allow him in there with her? Grand Maester Pycelle was clear. She needs rest, not… whatever madness the king intends.”

Darry’s face is stern, his voice hard as he replies, keeping his tone clipped. “The king has given his orders, Ser Jaime. It is not our place to question him, not regarding the princess. She is his wife in all but name, and he decides what is best for her.”

Jaime grits his teeth, a flash of frustration in his eyes. “And what if his ‘care’ drives her to ruin, Darry? The man just burned his own Hand alive, for refusing to burn the city. What will it take before we act?”

Darry’s gaze sharpens, his voice dropping to a near whisper, his eyes darting down the hall to ensure they are alone. “Hold your tongue, Lannister. You’re new to this post; you don’t yet understand the cost of questioning the king’s orders. Men have lost their lives for less. Especially regarding her.”

Jaime bites back his retort, turning his gaze away, though the tension in his jaw does not ease. The door remains shut, and silence falls once more between the two knights, broken only by the faint murmur of voices and the cold stone beneath their feet.

Inside the bedchamber, the air is heavy and warm, dimly lit by the few candles scattered about the room. You lie in the bed, your mind hovering in a restless haze, caught between sleep and wakefulness. You sense a presence beside you, the familiar, chilling touch that brings you back to consciousness, pulling you from the shadows of grief and exhaustion.

You feel soft kisses trailing down your cheek, a sensation that both soothes and unsettles, and you open your eyes slowly, a familiar face coming into focus. “Aerys…” you murmur, his name leaving your lips in a barely audible whisper, a mixture of confusion and resignation coloring your tone.

Aerys’s face hovers over yours, his eyes gleaming with a manic satisfaction, his lips curving into a sardonic smile as he continues his kisses, his touch damanding as his hands begin to wander, his fingers tracing your skin with a needy hunger. “You could not join me tonight,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with mock regret, though his eyes betray the fire within him. “You missed it, my dear. Another traitor, another flame to cleanse this city of its filth.”

Your heart sinks, and though you try to keep your face composed, the weight of his words presses down on you, filling you with a sickening dread. “Qarlton Chelsted,” you whisper, the name slipping out, your voice trembling as you recall the man—a good and dutiful Hand, or so you’d thought, a man who had served loyally despite the king’s erratic decrees.

Aerys’s smile widens, his fingers drifting over your shoulder, down your arm, his touch lingering as he revels in your reaction. “Yes,” he says, his tone almost playful. “Chelsted thought himself too noble, too principled to carry out my wishes. When the time comes… he would not burn the city. He would not take this rebellion down in the fire it deserves.”

You shiver under his touch, your voice barely a whisper, each word drawn out with care. “So… so you burned him?”

Aerys’s expression sharpens, a glint of malice in his eyes as he nods, his hand moving to trace along your collarbone, each touch a perverse form of reassurance. “Yes. Burned him alive. He screamed, Y/N, how he screamed,” he breathes, his voice filled with dark pleasure. “But he understood in the end, I think. He saw the truth as the flames took him.”

You turn your head, unable to meet his gaze, feeling the bile rise in your throat, but his fingers grip your chin, forcing you to face him, his gaze unyielding. “Do not look away from me,” he says softly, though the command in his voice is unmistakable. “You are the only one who understands. The only one who could understand.”

You close your eyes, trying to shut out the world, his voice, the memory of those screams that seem to echo even here. “Aerys… I’m… I’m tired,” you whisper, a faint plea slipping into your words, though you know he will not heed it.

Aerys’s mouth curls into a mocking smile as he slides onto the bed beside you, unperturbed by your pleading. “Tired? Is the rest what you desire? When the blood of the dragon runs hot and fierce through us?” His words, a mockery, carry with them that familiar demand—a hunger only you seem to satisfy.

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours, and this kiss is different—more forceful, more possessive. He tastes of salt and fire, and his hands are eager, moving over you with a familiarity that should have brought comfort, but instead brings dread. He slides a hand up your nightgown, the coarse skin grazing your thigh, and you feel yourself tense, trapped. The soft, involuntary whimper that escapes your lips only seems to embolden him.

“Oh, Y/N,” he scolds mockingly, his voice darkly playful. “Is this how my beautiful daughter behaves? So meek, so small. What has become of the proud girl who kept her father’s wrath at bay?”

You say nothing, knowing any response would be met with his further amusement. With a deliberate slowness, he undoes the lower part of your gown, his fingers brushing over your belly, where the life of another child stirs, the symbol of this forbidden love, the bond you can never name openly. You close your eyes, summoning the last of your strength, pushing thoughts of Rhaegar from your mind, of the tragedy, the ruin left in your family’s wake.

Aerys’s breath warms against your neck as he presses into you with a fervor that you’ve come to know all too well. His skin is rough beneath your fingers, bearing the fresh, bloody cuts from the Iron Throne. Your nails dig in, but he pays no mind, only quickening his movements. The room fills with the sounds of his heavy breathing, and the familiar mingling of pain and pleasure stirs within you, hollow and aching.

In the flickering light of the torches, Aerys’s fevered gaze bores into yours as he whispers against your ear, words that sting like embers, unholy in their nature. “Do you see, Y/N? You were meant for me alone. No one else could satisfy me, no one else could understand me as you do.” His pace grows erratic, more fervent, and you suppress the urge to cry out, keeping your composure even as the ache overwhelms you.

But Aerys isn’t satisfied with your restraint. His hands grip you tighter, his voice cajoling, insistent. “Let them hear you, Y/N,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “Let them all know how much you need me, how I am the only one who can bring you to life.”

A trembling moan escapes you, almost involuntarily, but it isn’t enough for him. He craves more, always more, and his voice sharpens, a goading hiss. “Louder, my love. Show them how you belong to me, how you always have.”

You feel the weight of it all—the love you once held, the loyalty that bound you to your father and now entraps you in this ruinous devotion. History will never remember me as his daughter, you think bitterly. I will be nothing but his concubine, a consort whose only legacy is scandal and shame.

“Tell me you need me, Y/N,” he demands, pressing deeper, his eyes wild and alight with the mania that now defines him. “Tell me you crave only me.”

Your voice, barely a whisper, betrays the resignation in your heart. “Yes… only you, my king,” you murmur, hoping he cannot see the pain hidden within your words.

Aerys’s laughter fills the chamber, a sound as consuming as fire, and his movements grow frantic, fevered, until at last, he releases, his grip softening as he collapses beside you. You feel the familiar coldness settle in as his fervor fades, leaving only the emptiness that follows.

His voice, almost gentle now, pierces the silence. “I would burn the realm for you, Y/N. For you and our blood alone.”

You lie beside him, silent, as his words linger in the air, feeling the weight of that promise, that curse, and wondering what price the realm will ultimately pay for this devotion.

The warmth of the bath envelops you like a gentle embrace, and for the first time in days, you feel almost at ease. The faint ache in your body has dulled, softened by the steam and warmth, and your servants move around you quietly, each careful touch easing your discomfort. Slowly, you close your eyes, letting the stillness take over as your condition begins to improve, bringing with it a tentative relief.

Soft, scented water trickles down your shoulders, and your thoughts drift, barely anchored in the present, lost in fragments of memory. Rhaegar’s face appears and fades again, hauntingly familiar. You feel your hand drift over your collarbone, over the faint scar that rests there—the mark left behind from an injury years ago, a wolf’s bite you don't want to remember, but one that Aerys never allowed you to forget. As your fingers graze it, a sudden, cold shiver runs through you, and a discomfort stirs beneath your skin, prickling from your neck down to your chest.

Your eyes open.

The water, once clear and calming, is now red—deep, dark crimson, swirling in thick, viscous streams. The shock of it paralyzes you for a moment, the horror anchoring you in place as your eyes dart to the water around you, pooling beneath your body, seeping from somewhere unseen. A strangled gasp escapes you, your hand flying to your neck where the faint scar should be, only to feel warm, sticky blood pouring from it, running down your chest, staining the water further.

“No... no, it can’t be…” you murmur, your voice trembling as you clutch at your neck, your hand coming away red and slick with blood. Panic claws at your chest, making it hard to breathe as the realization sets in. “Help me!” you scream, desperation tearing through your voice, echoing against the walls. “Please, someone—help!”

The servants, alarmed by your cries, rush to your side. Their faces are painted with confusion and fear as they look at you, then at each other, their hands hovering over you, uncertain of what to do.

“Princess! What is it? What has happened?” one of them stammers, her voice barely steady, her eyes darting to the bathwater, which seems clear to her, untouched. “There… there is nothing here…”

You can hardly hear her words, the haze of fear thickening as you stare down at your own hands, stained with red. “No—look!” You thrust your hands out, shaking, imploring them to see what is so horribly clear to you. “I’m bleeding, don’t you see? It’s everywhere—there’s blood!”

Another servant, older and wiser perhaps, bends down and speaks to you soothingly, though her own hands tremble. “My princess, please… be calm. There is no blood, none that we can see. Perhaps… perhaps it is your mind, troubled after all you have endured.”

Her words barely register. You reach for her, your voice breaking as you struggle to explain, to make her understand the depth of this horror. “I… I felt it, the scar—it tore open. It’s real; I know it’s real.”

One of the younger servants gasps, looking at you with a mixture of pity and fear, and murmurs to the others, “She’s still unwell… perhaps this is some feverish vision.”

The murmurs grow, and you feel the tension rise in the room. They think I’m imagining this… they think I’m mad.

Another servant steps forward, her tone gentle, but insistent. “Princess, let us help you out of the bath. We’ll dress you, and see that you rest. This strain is not good for you… or for the child.”

A flicker of reality cuts through your panic, and you find yourself nodding, though your heart still pounds. The thought of your child brings a sense of urgency—a need for protection. You allow them to lift you from the water, though your hands shake as they steady you. The older servant wraps a towel around you, her fingers tender and quick, the motherly comfort in her touch helping to anchor you, even as your mind races, questioning what you saw, what you felt.

One of the younger servants, still pale, whispers to the others, “What if something happens to her, or the babe? You know what the king would do if—”

“Hush, child!” the older one snaps, her voice low and sharp as she eyes you with guarded worry. “Speak of such things, and you’ll bring his wrath upon us before it’s due. We are here to serve, and serve we shall.”

Another servant hurries to your side, her eyes wide and fearful. “Please, my princess,” she murmurs, taking your hand gently, guiding you from the chamber. “You must rest. Think of the little one inside you. The king will not forgive any harm befalling you… or his heir.”

The mere mention of Aerys’s wrath settles a silence over the servants. The tension is thick as they lead you to your chamber, where you are made to sit, their hands fussing over you, drying your hair, dressing you as though you are a porcelain doll too fragile to handle on your own. Yet you feel distant, removed from your own body, haunted by the vision that felt so real, so vivid.

As the servants finish, one of them casts you a wary glance, voice barely a whisper as she asks, “Are you… feeling well now, my princess?”

You hesitate, feeling the weight of their eyes on you, knowing the implications of your answer. “Yes,” you lie, swallowing the remaining traces of panic. “I’m… well enough.”

But as they leave, their backs turned, you press a hand to your neck, your fingers tracing over the scar. The blood is gone, as though it never was—but the fear remains.

...

The walls of the Red Keep shudder with the weight of approaching doom, the faint tremor in the stone echoing in your bones. You can hear the clamor of footsteps, the chaotic thundering of hooves and shouts from beyond the towering walls of the city, and you know this is the final stand. This is the end Aerys had always warned you about, the moment his madness had whispered in fragments, the visions he had spun of betrayal, of blood.

Rumor had reached you in broken whispers among the servants: Pycelle had convinced your father to open the gates, allowing Tywin Lannister and his army within. They were supposed to be allies, a beacon of hope in this siege, yet a sick feeling gnaws at your stomach, an intuition you cannot silence. Aerys should have known, should have sensed the treachery veiled beneath Tywin’s offer of aid, but his mind had been too clouded by rage, by the fires he stoked in his own imagination.

The sounds of chaos draw closer, tearing through the heart of the keep, and you realize you are alone. The servants who dressed you earlier have disappeared into the shadows, no doubt trying to find some small corner to hide from the violence sweeping through the halls. You try to gather your strength, wrapping your cloak around you tightly, though your hands tremble, and your heart races with a familiar, dreadful fear.

Before you can make it down the corridor, a rough hand grabs you, yanking you backward, and the world spins in a blur of motion. The cold edge of a blade presses against your throat, biting just enough to send a shiver of pain down your spine. You gasp, frozen by the dagger’s touch, your hands coming up in a desperate bid for freedom, but the hand that holds you is unyielding, cruel.

“Well, well,” a cold, mocking voice murmurs near your ear, the breath hot and damp against your skin. “The dragon princess herself, all alone in this den of madness. Seems the lions have come to claim their prize.”

You feel the blade press harder, forcing you to tilt your head, exposing your throat further. You try to swallow the rising panic, but it lodges in your throat, and your voice emerges barely above a whisper. “What… what are you doing?”

The man holding you chuckles, a dark, humorless sound that vibrates against your back. “A gift for the king, that’s all. Lord Tywin thought you’d be the perfect little… wound, a reminder of what happens to those who fancy themselves untouchable.”

With a sudden jerk, he begins dragging you down the corridor, his grip iron-strong, unyielding as he pulls you through the Red Keep. The familiar halls warp under the terror that pulses in your veins, each twist and turn leading you deeper into the heart of chaos. Your bare feet scrape against the cold, rough stone, and the shouts of men and the screams of those caught in the massacre ring out around you, a haunting melody of blood and betrayal.

The dagger never leaves your throat, pressing just enough to remind you of its deadly promise. The guard pulls you around a corner, where the grand double doors of the throne room loom ahead, towering and foreboding. The sight of them sends a renewed wave of fear crashing over you; you know Aerys is within, but the image of him, proud and unyielding on his throne, is sinister now, tainted by his own madness and paranoia. You can almost hear his voice, echoing in your mind, whispering of fires and betrayal, of punishment for disloyalty.

You struggle against the iron grip, desperation clawing at you. “Please,” you gasp, feeling the sharp edge nick your skin, a faint trickle of blood warming your neck. “You don’t have to do this… he’s my father.”

The man sneers, tightening his hold. “And yet here you are, brought before him like a lamb for slaughter. Dragons and their kin burn just as easily as any other. Perhaps your father will enjoy seeing you in this state—a broken little treasure he couldn’t protect.”

With that, he drags you closer to the throne room doors, each step heavy, each echo a death knell that reverberates in your heart. The great doors loom larger with every step, the distant flicker of torchlight casting monstrous shadows that dance upon the walls. Behind you, you can hear the laughter and jeers of the soldiers ransacking the Red Keep, their voices filled with bloodlust, their footsteps a dark rhythm that matches the rapid beating of your heart.

As you near the doors, you feel the faintest flicker of hope falter, knowing what awaits on the other side. Yet you find yourself whispering a silent prayer to the gods, clinging to the memory of those fleeting moments when Aerys was still a father, still someone you loved. And despite everything, you can’t help but hope that he will save you, his daughter—his blood.

The guard wrenches open one of the doors, pulling you roughly forward. The throne room stretches before you, vast and shadowed, the Iron Throne looming at its center like some grotesque, jagged specter, sharp and unforgiving.

And as you are forced through the threshold, past the flickering torches, you know there is no turning back.

...

The throne room stretches before you, vast and dim, shadows cast from the torches that flicker along the walls, only deepening the monstrous, jagged silhouette of the Iron Throne. You feel the dagger bite against your throat, a deadly reminder of how little choice you have. But in that moment, as you’re forced forward, you see him—Aerys, sitting atop his throne, a figure of fractured pride, paranoia, and wrath.

His wild gaze sharpens, locking onto you, and for a breathless moment, the madness is held at bay, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. His mouth parts, and he shifts as though drawn toward you, like a man reaching for something precious slipping away.

A guard in Lannister colors steps forward, and Aerys rises, his fingers curling tightly around the arms of the throne, his movements jerky, barely human. His ascent is unsteady, and one of the sharp blades protruding from the throne digs into his leg, tearing through his flesh, drawing fresh blood that stains his already-dark robes. He doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes fixed on you, and in his gaze, you see a mixture of desperation and terror—an emotion rarely seen in a man consumed by rage.

“Release her!” Aerys’s voice cracks, high and thin, yet filled with a frantic, desperate command. His hand trembles as he gestures toward you, like a father beckoning his frightened child. “She is mine. You will pay for this—Tywin’s golden lions will burn for this!”

But the guard’s grip remains firm, his lips morphing into a cold, mocking smile. You feel the sharp edge of the dagger press harder into your throat, the tension unbearable, as though you’re caught in a nightmare from which there is no waking. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, and in a voice barely a whisper, you murmur, “Aerys…” Your voice trembles, soft and fragile, a plea, a desperate reach for the man you once loved, a man who once cherished you above all else.

The guard moves without warning, his arm jerking with deadly precision as the dagger slices across your throat, the cut deep and vicious. Pain flares, sharp and searing, and the world spins as your blood spills forth, warm and relentless. You feel yourself falling, and the last thing you see is Aerys’s face, twisted in horror, as he lunges toward you with a scream that reverberates through the throne room.

“No! No, Y/N!” His cry is raw, torn from somewhere deep and ancient, a sound of pure, unfiltered agony as he catches you, his arms trembling as he pulls you close. His hands press against your throat, desperate to staunch the flow of blood, but you can feel it, thick and warm, slipping through his fingers, unstoppable.

“Stay with me,” he pleads, his voice breaking as he clings to you, his hand cupping your cheek, blood-streaked and trembling. “Please, Y/N, stay with me. You cannot leave me… I cannot… without you, there is nothing.”

Your vision begins to blur, shadows creeping in at the edges, and your mind, desperate for solace, conjures the faces of your children—Viserys, with his fierce eyes and tiny fists, Daenerys, a babe in Rhaella’s arms, safe, sheltered on Dragonstone. You think of Rhaegar, your beloved twin, now gone, his laughter, his warmth slipping further from your grasp. The child inside you who you'll never see. You try to speak, but blood chokes you, filling your mouth, suffocating any final words.

Yet you summon your strength, forcing the air past the blood pooling in your throat, and manage to choke out a single word: “Burn…”

Aerys’s eyes widen, a manic light igniting within them, a cruel spark that twists his grief into something monstrous. He clutches you tighter, his fingers digging into your shoulders as he looks up, the madness consuming him again, overtaking the momentary glimpse of humanity that had emerged. “Burn them all!” he screams, his voice echoing through the throne room as he looks to his pyromancer, who stands frozen, wide-eyed. “Do you hear me? Burn them all!”

He turns back to you, his hands still desperately trying to stem the blood, as if he could somehow save you, as if his touch alone could rewrite this cruel fate. Your eyes begin to glaze, unfocused, the life draining from you, and Aerys watches as the light fades, his own breath coming in short, ragged gasps. You feel his lips brush your forehead, his words soft, broken, nearly incoherent. “You were mine… you were always mine…”

A shift in the air catches his attention. Aerys turns, his gaze locking onto Jaime Lannister, standing before the Iron Throne, sword drawn, his face pale but resolute. There’s a brief flicker of understanding in Aerys’s eyes, and in that split second, realization dawns—a final betrayal, one last wound that will cut him deeper than any sword.

Jaime’s expression is unwavering as he steps forward, driving his sword into Aerys’s back, the blade slicing through cloth, flesh, and bone. Aerys’s body jerks, his grip on you tightening in a final, futile embrace.

As he collapses, his life ebbing away, he clings to you even in death, his blood mingling with yours as his final breaths escape him, still protective, still grasping as if his grip alone could hold you to him. And there, upon the cold stones of the throne room, amid the ruin of his madness, the last king of the Targaryen line dies, clutching his beloved daughter to him, refusing, even in death, to let her go.

...

The throne room stands cloaked in an eerie silence, broken only by the faint echoes of steps as Tywin Lannister and Robert Baratheon enter, their presence filling the vast, haunted space. Before them, seated upon the Iron Throne, is Ser Jaime Lannister, his posture still, his gaze distant, as if lost within the shadows of his own thoughts. Around him, blood has dried dark upon the cold stone floor, and at the base of the throne lies a grim tableau—Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King, cradling his daughter Y/N, both lifeless, entangled as they were in their final moments.

Robert’s face contorts in disgust at the sight. The smell of old blood and death fills his nostrils, the iron and salt clinging thickly to the air. He lets out a grunt of disapproval, his eyes narrowing as he glances between Aerys and Y/N’s entwined bodies. "This is sickening. He died clinging to her like some... abomination. We should dispose of them—burn them apart, dump the ashes to the winds."

Tywin’s gaze remains steady, and a flash of something unreadable crosses his expression as he regards the twisted remnants of the Targaryen dynasty lying at the feet of his son. “No,” he says quietly but firmly. “They will be burned together. The realm has seen enough bloodshed. We will end it with fire, as it began.”

Robert glares, his mouth opening to argue, but Tywin’s resolve is immovable, the steel in his eyes silencing the king-to-be. Robert lets out a huff, his lips curling as he averts his gaze, unable to look at the bodies any longer. Tywin gives a curt nod to Jaime, who rises from the Iron Throne, stepping down with the stiffness of a man who’s borne too much weight, his face a strained of contained emotion as he steps aside, following his father’s orders with silent obedience.

...

A week later, at the peak of King’s Landing, under the pallid sky, the pyre is built, stacked high with carefully arranged wood. Aerys and Y/N are placed in the very position they were found, with his arms wrapped around her in a twisted embrace, his lifeless hands clutching her, their heads resting close together. The gathered nobles watch in silence as Tywin Lannister gives the final nod, signaling for the torches to be lit.

The flames lick upward, curling around the wood, consuming it hungrily as they rise, and soon the fire reaches them, its tongues wrapping around the lifeless figures, devouring them whole. The heat grows intense, the orange and red hues dancing against the dusk, and the acrid smell of burning flesh fills the air, a somber reminder of the Targaryen line being erased.

Robert stands beside Tywin, his expression one of deep, simmering distaste. He breaks the silence, muttering under his breath, “A king and his daughter… burned together. Targaryens, all the same. Mad, every last one of them.”

Tywin, arms crossed, stares into the flames, his face stoic, unflinching. “It is done. We give them this final dignity—whatever they lacked in life, they will have in death.”

Robert’s jaw tightens, but he bites back his anger, watching as the fire roars, the flames reaching high into the sky. His voice takes on a lower tone, laced with resentment. “A waste of wood, if you ask me. The rest of them should’ve been given the same treatment.”

Tywin’s eyes remain fixed on the fire, ignoring Robert’s complaint. Robert turns to him, his voice now edged with irritation. “Did they manage to get rid of the rest of them? Is it finally done?”

Tywin glances at him briefly, his voice cold, businesslike. “The Mountain took care of Elia Martell and her children.” His words are curt, but the implication hangs heavy in the air—a brutal, merciless end to the remnants of Targaryen loyalty.

Robert’s lips twitch in a grim smile, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes as he considers the deed done in his name. He lets out a slow exhale, his satisfaction barely restrained. “And what of the dragonspawns?” He sneers. “The children Y/N bore for her father…?”

Tywin’s expression hardens. “A ship departed for the Free Cities before my men reached Dragonstone. Queen Rhaella was found dead in her chambers—servants say she collapsed when word of her daughter’s death reached her.”

Robert’s expression darkens, his eyes flashing with a mixture of fury and contempt. He stares into the flames, fists clenched, his voice low and laced with venom. “I’ll see the end of them. Every last dragon, down to the hatchlings. I’ll hunt them across the sea if I must, but none of them will live. They will all burn, just as he did.”

Tywin does not respond, his gaze unwavering as the pyre continues to blaze, the fire consuming all traces of Aerys and Y/N. Their forms dissolve into embers, ashes swept up by the heat and scattered by the wind, carried beyond the keep and out into the world—a fitting, final end to the dynasty that had once ruled with fire and blood.

As the flames rise higher, Robert remains beside Tywin, his gaze hard and unyielding, filled with a singular purpose—to wipe out every last trace of the Targaryen legacy, to ensure that dragons are remembered only in tales of madness and ruin. And all the while, Tywin stands silent, his face unreadable, watching the flames burn away the past, and perhaps, in his own way, the last remnants of something he, too, once feared.

[cloudlessly-light]

A/N: It’s the amazing @sequinsmile-x birthday today! My dear friend, my Martha obsessed, hilarious, kind, wonderful friend I hope you have the BEST day and that you enjoy this silly little birthday fic!

Title: This is what it feels like Summary: Emily hates being pregnant. Aaron loves it. Word count: 3,2k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, pregnancy, pregnancy kink (maybe?), praise kink, fluff, mentions and consumption of alcohol

Emily was not a fan of being pregnant. It was uncomfortable, her hormones were going crazy, she was limited at work, she hated all the fussing over her. Simply put, she did not enjoy being pregnant. Aaron on the other hand loved it. He loved looking at his wife regardless, but ever since she had started to show he was going crazy. It was something about the fact that she was keeping their child in there, safe and sound, something about the fact that she had given him the privilege to become a father again, that was driving him crazy.

It was hard for him to keep his hands off her at any given time, always had been, but ever since she started to show it was damn near impossible. His hand would find its way to her thigh as she sat next to him, his eyes would linger on her from across the room. And the second they were alone he’d be on her, wrapping his arms around her to keep her close as he let his lips explore every inch of her soft skin.

“Honey, we’re at work.” She gently scolds him as he comes up behind her, hands on her bump and lips grazing her neck. Still, she cranes her neck some, lets him nose at her hairline as he makes a sound low in his throat, the sound close to vibrating in his chest.

“You can’t blame me when you decided on this dress.” He mumbles against her ear.

It was Penelope’s birthday, and as long as they weren’t going anywhere for a case they were all planning to go to dinner that night. Emily had decided to wear a form-fitting dress, the fabric clinging to her curves and caused her bump to show in a way she hadn’t before.

And he was going insane.

“It’s probably the last time I can wear it for a while.” She turns in his arms, ignoring the way JJ is grinning smugly behind them from her desk as they stand in the kitchenette.

“And all I want is to see it off you, preferably in scraps on the floor.” He says lowly, the natural rasp of his voice causing goosebumps on her skin.

“Aaron Hotchner I swear if you do not back away right now, we’re going to have a problem.” Ever since her morning sickness had gone away as she moved into her second trimester, she had been in a close to constant state of arousal. The smallest touches from him would make her feel hot, his proximity alone making it hard to concentrate and not to think about how his hands felt on her body. It was the one perk of being pregnant that she had come to enjoy, especially since Aaron had no trouble showing how much he wanted her in return.

“Okay sweetheart.” He chuckles at the way her cheeks are already flushed, but could feel a stirring low in his abdomen, a feeling he had gotten used to for the last few weeks. “I’m just saying, this dress will look even better on the floor in our bedroom that it does right now.” His eyes move slowly over her frame, stopping for a second at her bump before moving further down to where the hem of her dress ended an inch above the knee and he could enjoy the  smoot, pale skin. “My gorgeous girl.”

“I know I’m interrupting something, but you’re hogging the coffee.” JJ finally comes up to them, a knowing grin on her face that causes Emily’s cheeks to heat and Aaron to clear his throat as he steps away from her.

“Sorry.” He mutters and he knows that the blonde is doing her hardest to keep from laughing at his expense. “I’ll be in my office.” He gives Emily a look and squeezes her hand softly before walking away.

“If you weren’t so happy I’d be annoyed at how in love you are.” JJ chuckles as she reaches for the coffee to pour herself a cup. Then she reaches for another mug and pours decaf into Emily’s.

“I’m not sure if it’s love as much as it is him being… excited.” She arches an eyebrow as the blonde catches on and she groans.

“Okay gross, I did not need to know that. About either of you.” She scrunches her nose as her friend smirks at her. “Although, I remember that feeling around the four month mark. It could be… intense.”

“Trust me JJ, it’s more than intense.” She laughs at the slight look of shock on her friend’s face before she walks back to her desk. Her eyes flit up above her to Aaron’s office and she feels arousal pulse between her legs. It was going to be a long day.

They are lucky, and no cases land on JJ’s desk that they absolutely have to take. So they go to dinner and it’s filled with laughs and food. It’s not often they got to be around each other as friends instead of colleagues, and Emily loved it. She laughed at Dave’s stories and Derek’s and Penelope’s banter, easily ended up in conversation with Spencer about French literature. But what she loved most of all was how Aaron would relax, his arm around the back of her chair keeping her close as he laughed and talked along with the rest of them.

“Are you getting tired?” He speaks softly against her ear and she shakes her head.

“No, I’m having a good time.” She turns her head enough to press a quick, soft kiss to his lips and when she turns back she notices the smug grin on Derek’s face. “I might be pregnant but I’ll still kick your ass Morgan.”

“Relax Princess, no need to get violent.” He laughs, hands raised up in surrender. “But you can’t help me for wondering how you got pregnant in the first place, I mean don’t you live in those suits Hotch?”

“Aww you spend a lot of time thinking about our sex life?” She teases and she feels her husband tense for a moment.

“Emily!” He scolds her and the rest of them start to laugh.

“Don’t worry Hotch, she only shares the best details for us girls.” JJ winks from across from them and while Penelope nods with an arched eyebrow he grunts lowly.

“Don’t worry honey, the best details that they’re both jealous off.” She whispers so only he can hear and his hand lands on her thigh and squeezes warningly.

“Emily Prentiss Hotchner, I swear you’ll be the death of me.”

She kisses him to shut him up, ignoring their friends as she does.

After dinner they go out to a bar and Aaron can’t keep his eyes off Emily as she moves through the room. His eyes find her the moment she’s out of the bathroom with JJ, follows her as the women makes their way to the bar. It’s not until Dave clears his throat beside him that he looks away from her.

“Don’t say it.” He mutters when he sees the knowing grin on the older man’s face.

“Hey who am I to judge a man being in love with his wife?” He takes a sip of his scotch. “However, you’re in a room full of profilers, so maybe try to keep the eye fucking to a minimum huh?”

Aaron stops with his beer halfway up to his mouth and glares at him, but Dave had never been particularly intimidated by him the way most others are and instead he chuckles.

“Some studies suggest that once a woman is pregnant she becomes irresistible to the father of the child, something about the pheromones-” Spencer starts but quickly stops when his glare moves from Dave to him. “Sorry.”

“What are we talking about?” Emily and JJ come to sit down and she immediately fits herself against his side as she sips her mocktail.

“How much bossman here wants to leave my birthday celebration to take you home and into bed.” Penelope laughs, the many drinks she’s had making her giggly.

“Oh really?” She arches her eyebrow as she meets his eye. “In that case, let me finish this.” And with that, she gulps down her drink in three seconds.

They get home frenzied, hands tearing at clothes and tongues battling for dominance as they make their way towards their bedroom. His hands are everywhere, on her hips, up her waist, wrapping his arms around her to get her bra off, calloused fingertips rough against her skin. She gasps against his lips, his touch familiar and secure as he gently lays her down on their bed the second he’s gotten her naked.

“You are so god damn beautiful.” He whispers as he looks down at her, eyes moving slowly over soft curves and flushed skin.

“Come here.” She leans back on her elbows and beckons him closer. When he carefully fits himself between her legs she rolls her eyes at the way he’s afraid that he’s too heavy. She pulls him down against her, wants to feel the heat of his body against hers as he kisses the air from her lungs. “I need you.” Her words are mumbled against his lips, her hips moving up against his in need of friction and he hums, the sound a low rumble in his chest.

“You need me huh?” His hand moves between them, fingers slowly collecting her slick before gently circling her clit in the way he knows will do nothing but make her more frustrated. “You’re so wet for me sweetheart.”

“Aaron, I swear to God I’m going to-” Her words die on her tongue when he pushes two fingers inside of her, curling and moving and she groans. “Fuck…” She falls back against the bed, eyes heavy lidded as she looks up at the smug look on his face.

“There’s my girl, so good for me.” He hooks his fingers inside of her and watches as she writhes and arches underneath him. The low moans that she’s unable to keep down are music to his ears, the way she clings to him causing him to grind against her thigh to get some relief. It’s crazy, how badly he wanted her, how badly he craved her, she was his addiction, something he never wanted to quit.

He moves down her body to suck a puckered nipple between his lips and she keens, her back arching into his touch. Ever since she had gotten pregnant her body had been more sensitive to his touch, especially her nipples and Aaron would take advantage every chance he got. He laps over one nipple, then moves to the other. When he tugs it between his teeth her fingers grip his hair tight and he smirks against her skin.

She’s panting, her body feeling hot as he slowly moves down her body, his lips trail patters over her bump, his tongue tickling her skin until he’s between her spread legs. The first swipe of his tongue on her clit makes her whine, head falling back and eyes closing as he does it again, and again. He takes his time, presses the broad of his tongue against her clit and slowly pumps his fingers inside of her as her hips twitch.

When her hips pushes up against him he’s quick to pin her down with his forearm low on her hips, keeps her still as her moans gets breathier and needier. He sucks on her clit and her thighs close tightly around his head, much more sensitive than she normally was.

“I’m close, please.” She gasps, her nails digging into his arm while her other hand twists in the sheets. Through the pounding in her ears she can hear his low groan, the sound vibrating against her clit as his fingers push a little harder inside of her, his lips more insistent on her clit. He makes her come fast and hard, the pleasure of it making her writhe on the bed as her head spins from the intensity of it. She heaves for breath as he continues, doesn’t stop until she’s whimpering from overstimulation and when he looks up she blushes at the way she shines on his lips and chin.

“You’re so pretty when you come for me, sweetheart.” He rasps, voice a rough rumble as he makes his way back up her body until she’s pulling him into breathless kiss. “Fuck I want you.” He mumbles against her lips, eyes intense on her as his forehead presses gently against hers.

“Take me.” She hooks one leg over the back of one of his thighs to pull him closer, a mewl falling from her lips when she feels the heat of him against her folds. When he pushes inside of her, he knocks the air from her lungs and she grunts at the familiar stretch.

“God, Em.” He closes his eyes at the tight heat of her, a ragged breath leaving him as he gives them both a moment. “You feel so good, made for me.” His words are muffled against her skin, his lips traveling along her neck and shoulder and when she whines he ruts his hips against her in return, unable to hold off on his body’s urges for any longer.

She feels him everywhere, his lips on her neck, his low voice in her ear, his hands stroking, moving, gripping, his hips strong against hers, making her delirious. He’s whispering praise in between filthy words and low grunts, one hand finally finding hers as he interlocks their fingers and he pins her hand to the bed, he takes charge and she lets him the way she only has done with him.

“Touch yourself.” He whispers and when she immediately complies he hums against her lips. “Good girl.”

Her fingers move over her clit in tight circles, desperation in her movements as he continues to move above her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge by each thrust. When her back arches he’s quick to pull one of her nipples back between his lips, his teeth tugging on it and the sharp pain of it sends pleasure through her entire body.

“Baby,” She gasps, her fingers moving faster over her clit and her other hand gripping his so tight she’s sure it must hurt him, but he only smirks, that slightly arrogant grin that never fails to turn her on. “More, Aaron more.” She doesn’t think she’s ever loved him more than in this moment when he just knows. His thrusts become a little harder, his body moving just slightly to shift inside of her and then she’s coming, grunting her pleasure against his neck where she just barely keeps herself from biting down. Her eyesight is still blurry, her breathing heavy, when he stands fully on his knees and then pulls her up with him.

He gets her on her knees, her hands gripping the headboard as he slips back inside of her from behind, one hand pressing gently against her bump and the other wraps around her torso, rough fingers massaging one breast, tests the wight of it in his hand, bigger than he was used too, more sensitive to his touch and he bites back a groan at the thought of her body changing because of her pregnancy, the want he always felt for her somehow almost overpowering.

“One more.” He tells her, his face buried in her neck as she lets her head fall back against his shoulder. “Give me one more, sweetheart.”

“I- I don’t think I can.” Her voice is shaky, drowsy, drunk on him and pleasure and she feels more than hears his low rumble, the sound of it vibrating against her back as he presses even closer to her.

“Yes, you can.” He drags his hips against hers, long, heavy thrusts, makes sure that she feels all of him as he fucks into her. Slowly, he lets the hand that had been on her stomach move further down her body until he reaches her clit. The first press of his fingers against it causes her to cry out and hips to buckle into it and he hums knowingly. “There she is, my good girl.”

“Aaron, fuck!” Her eyes squeeze shut, her hands are gripping the bedframe so hard her knuckles turn white and still she can feel the heavy heat starting to build as he rips pleasure from her. She’s trembling, barely staying up and knew that she’d fall forward without his arm around her. He’s panting in her ear, rough and shaky and she knows that he’s nearing his own release but he won’t let go until she has.

He can feel the way she tenses, how her slick walls start to tighten around him again and he hisses at the feel of her. She tastes like sweat and want when he licks over her racing pulse, smells like sex and Emily when he inhales her scent greedilyand when she turns her head enough to kiss him, he lets her swallow down his sounds of pleasure. When they break apart she stays turned, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, as she gets lost in him. Then unexpectedly, he pinches her swollen clit and she crashes into a third orgasm so fast her heads spin. She thinks she’s crying out his name, knows that her hips buckle between his hand and hips, until she feels like she’s floating, light as a feather and yet heavy as led.

“Fuck, Em!” He grunts and his hips jerk against hers, the heat in his stomach erupting as she comes again. Her orgasm forces his and he muffles his loud groan against her neck, keeps her tightly against him until he feels his limbs stop spasming and the world is clear again, the intense release making him lightheaded.

“You’re amazing.” She mumbles lazily, her lips soft against his before they untangle themselves and lay down. He’s quick to fit her against him, his hand easily finding its place on her bump.

“You’re the amazing one, carrying my child.” He presses a kiss to the back of her shoulder, then one on her neck and lastly a longer, deeper one against her lips. “I love you so much, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.” She promises with a gentle smile. For a few moments it’s quiet between them, the long day and intense end taking its toll. But then she turns slightly in his arms to be able to look at him with a teasing smile. “You do know you can’t get me pregnant again right?”

The sound that leaves him is stuck somewhere between a chuckle and a growl as he takes advantage and rolls on top of her again with a smirk.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try.” He smiles at her light laugh the sound something he loved. “Besides, I was right.”

“About what?” She cups his cheek as she stares up at him, her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Your dress does look a lot better on the floor.” He grins when she turns her head to see her dress, torn just inside their bedroom door and she laughs again.

He was right.

[tobiasdrake]

Here we go, it's Ranma time. Episode 5! The introduction to Ryoga continues.

God, I love how mournfully quiet this is.

This is what happens when women write women. Male writers don't often think about things like just how much a long-haired girl's hair means to her. Akane's been growing that out for years.

Look at how little she was when she started growing her hair. That is the product of years. Many years. Gone in an instant.

But she rolls with the punches. Akane has remarkable emotional fortitude. She'd kind of have to in order to survive all the shit she's had to put up with in her day-to-day life.

I love that they leave so much unstated, yet clearly implied, about the way her long hair relates to her longstanding crush on Dr. Tofu. When she says she wants to grow it out so she can be like Kasumi, there's an implication there that she thinks Dr. Tofu will like her more if she has Kasumi's hairstyle.

She's trying to walk in her big sister's shoes so that the man who likes her big sister might look her way. An idea that was doomed from the moment of its conception. She was never going to beat Kasumi at being Kasumi, and if she has to try, then she's already failed.

The manga's a bit more explicit about this, as Kasumi directly tells Baby Akane that Dr. Tofu won't like her very much if she keeps acting like a boy. From that, she draws the conclusion that having hair like Kasumi will make him like her more. But the reboot anime keeps it implied and understated.

So there's a lot going on here when Akane breaks down and cries into Dr. Tofu's chest. This is the end of an era. The loss of her hair symbolizes the death of a child's dream. The end of her efforts to be more like Kasumi so that this man would like her better, and the beginning of a new era where someone else out there will like her for being Akane.

While also demonstrating how much she leans on and depends on Dr. Tofu as a stabilizing figure in her life. She feels safe enough with him to finally let down her walls and cry out the grief over her lost hair, in a way she doesn't have at school or at home. Ironically mourning the death of her pursuit of him to him.

My dude, you desperately need to get a hobby. Supervillains are more considerate. Giving some real Vegeta energy here, but specifically the TeamFourStar kind.

And also the Tendo home desperately needs to get some door locks because he just strolled right on in here to do this.

And they both get punished for this.

Story of Ranma's life.

Takahashi's comedy remains incredible. Kasumi objects to Akane going out there not because she doesn't think Akane can take the mystery robber but because she wants Akane to hit him with something heavier.

I want that too. So Kasumi and I are on the same page.

She does, too. Nails Ryoga right in the back of the neck with a long-range shotput throw of that fucking barbell. Akane wins Ranma v. Ryoga, Round 2.

The moral of the story is to... not... do... anything that Ryoga did here.

...or, really, anything that Ryoga ever does. Don't be like Ryoga. That's sound life advice. (Not that the rest of the cast is any better.)

Immediately followed by Kasumi with another punchline. Man, I did not remember how funny she is.

Akane's rematch with Ryoga goes super well too. She is on fire.

Sincerely want to know what could possibly have possessed him to think jumping Akane while in piglet form was a good idea.

So begins the saga of P-chan.

AND ALL FOR BREAD AND BREAD-RELATED PRODUCTS

My dude.

The curry bun was not worth it.

Like.

Like. The part where Ranma knocked Ryoga into the piggy spring without noticing and then Genma tried to fucking eat him? Yeah. I can see being homicidally mad about that.

But he didn't even know that was them until literally this scene. Everything up to this point has been Ryoga blaming Ranma because he, Ryoga, stalked Ranma to China to avenge his curry bun.

Speaking of Genma.

I love how he just walks in on his son in girly form having Naked Bath Time with some random boy, and his response is to just... apologize and peace out. Whatever this is, it's none of his business.

Actually, not just any random boy. Specifically the random boy that got Ranma in trouble earlier tonight when he snuck into their bedroom for a late-night call.

Genma definitely thinks these two are up to shenanigans.

Literally the only member of her family that actually objects to Ranma sneaking into Akane's room late at night to do shenanigans to her (read: trying to fucking extract Ryoga from an unsuspecting Akane's bed) is Kasumi. Who merely scolds Ranma for moving too fast.

Is it any wonder she doesn't feel safe being emotionally vulnerable at home?

(Seriously, though, there is so much drama that could be avoided if Ranma would just tell Akane that P-chan is Ryoga. She has a right to know that, and not telling her makes Ranma complicit in Ryoga's shittiness.)

[chiyoso]

𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

sypnosis. a world of normality and what seemed to be hailed as fiction, had separate you from society and those who were once closest to you.y ou were thrown into a life of the unsightly, its beautiful horrors pushing you to the edge of death, but what happens if fate finally takes pity and answers your desperate, internal calls, having you bestowed with a savior made of white and blue hues?

cw. alternate universe, attempt of suicide, explicit, dark and mature content, family trauma, depression, prodigious burnout, people pleasing, breakdowns, physical harm, violence, dead dove: do not eat.

reclaimation banner via. @ainescribe thank you so much bb ily

It was a sick joke.

You didn't know what those things were, those otherworldly things that occupy space, matter, it was everywhere. you see them everywhere, on people's bodies, looking over them, in buildings, outside buildings, creatures that vary sizes, form and appearances.

All since your adolescence.

It was hard to ignore them in your every day life growing up, especially if they got too close to you, trying to make edge you into noticing them, challenging your courage, your fear when they loomed over you, all so they can have a confirmation that you can see them, and they can harm you.

Family, childhood friends, classmates, deciding that you were a "special child" all because you gushed about it to them, once, being taken to anywhere that involves psychological healing, emotional distress, any form of counseling.

You were deemed mental, the silence from the people who you thought should be your safe haven was loud, suffocating, and you grew to inevitably loathe them.

All the skills you acquired, be it the skill of music that astounded many but your own parents, the meals you provided for your family but they refused to participate in eating with you, all that crumbled, it was nothing to them now.

So, what did you do so criminal to them?

Was it the era of close mindedness that many parents seem to harbor at this time? Was it something personal? Did they just grow sick at the idea of having a daughter who couldn't be fucking normal?

“Don't give me that crap!” You screamed, it was gutteral, eyes diluted, all your nerves making you tremble in place.

You wanted to die, and you were going to.

You had the necessities. A chair, some strong wires, scissors? A knife? The train? No, you wanted them to discover your body, beside the suicide note you wrote with hate. Strangled, suffered, tears on the wooden floor. Mhm.

A last push of hardwork, preparing everything, a simple chair, a simple rope, and a simple mindset.

You didn't need to make a mess, you didn't want authorities meet you the first time in a bloody mess, you disappointed enough people, your parents, their expectations, your clan.

So... why not lessen everyone's burden by making it clean, simplistic farewell? Blue veins all over your neck, maybe a foaming in the mouth?

How will your once praised facial features look like when death claimed you? Was it going to look dull? Is it true that people's light in their eyes disappear when they die? Will you look prettier?

Uglier? Wait, your parents are going to be spending a lot in your funeral too, since they're always so damn flashy about anything, flaunting their money, their statuses. They'll for sure pretend to honor your name, as well as the people that are under your parent's lead.

Like sheeps, just like fucking sheeps.

Oh. You were done setting up already, already stood tall on the chair, viewing the window that gave in the only light in your life.

Cheers. To a new life with more pretty people, more pretty things, and a more pretty life.

...

Ah, but you didn't even get laid yet. You didn't even finish that one novel game's ending yet, that manga you wait for every week hasn't even finished yet, you didn't even do anything much yet. You didn't want t—“Huh?”

The moment your leg hovered over the space infront of you, it was a few seconds after you realized, that half of your apartment got ripped apart, you were standing on your chair, a rope loosely held around your neck, but the view before you was the very neighborhood you.

It was bright, shining, the sudden exposure blinded you, rendering you in a stunlock, putting you into a state of immense confusion.

What—“the fuck?” your eyes gleamed at the sight of something bizarre, catching sight that quelled your state of close death, no it wasn't the beautiful azure sky that slapped you right in the face with a breeze, or the heavy destruction in your surroundings, especially not typical grotesque, large scale creature that was levitating in the air before you.

It was it's pursuer, a white haired man, grinning with delight despite his aerial circumstances. He was in the middle of combat from the way he was moving against the—Wait. He can... see it?

He can see that creature? He can see it too?

Your heart pounded with fervor, your ears buzzed, ringing, fighting back to gasp for air from the revelation before you, and all that intensifies once two eyes that almost blended into the sky took notice of you, and the noose hanging around your neck especially.

His body shifted, and you noticed his sudden change of body language as gravity pulls him down, his gleeful expression reduced to a state of neutral seriousness, perhaps realizing the damage in the terrain he was fighting on, he was confident in his movement despite falling in the ether.

Your eyes remained on the sight of orange and golden destruction, fumes of smoke were heavy, pieces of cement everywhere, and you were now just processing the state of disarray your neighborhood was in, but you didn't care.

You didn't care. They probably didn't know the cause of this anyways, the media would definitely paint this unnatural scenario as something related to religion or a natural disaster, one of the two, they also can't see the gigantic otherworldly form in the sky anyways, but he can.

He can see it, he can see it like you do.

reblogs help my audience reach, thank you.

taglist. @ainescribe @lychniis @sleep-deprivedracoon @ciarchivez @teapartyspilled @wanderingconstellations @kyouko-writes @antimatterz @hitomisuzuya @serenitiiy @scaraswh0re @scara6 @kazushawty @oreo-creampie @angelgyumi @flametrashira @renhoeku @v3lv3tf0x @meowzfordayz @countessqin @aerithsthingss

also, here's the book cover i made for this series <3 ✌🏻>wÓ

[im-wide-asleep]

Species Anomaly Report - Why this episode of Vita Carnis is so frightening.

-Spoilers, if you haven’t watched Vita Carnis and plan to, there’s gonna be spoilers up in this thing. I do highly recommend the series, it’s one of my favorite analog horrors, though definitely mind the trigger warnings. Speaking of triggers, this post is gonna mention the following: Child death, death in general, gore and the likes. If you think this needs more warnings, just ask, okay?-

I always see people talking about how much this video scares them, but never see anyone talking much about why.

Vita Carnis is already a pretty “efficient” series. It doesn’t rely much on jumpscares, which is great, seeing as they’re normally used just to get a reaction from the audience. The only actual jumpscare I’ve noticed people talking about is the cabinet scene in the mimic documentary episode. Even then, it’s done pretty well. The slow buildup and the fact that it’s not as passive as a lot of others does make it frightening enough for people to recognize it. However, Species Anomaly Report does this without any of that.

If you’ve seen the episode, you’re probably remembering the audio most of all. Now, people scream a lot. Particularly children. The sound of people just screaming isn’t something most people would find that disturbing on its own. That’s where the story really comes in. You already have the background of the family hiking in the woods, you have the information on how the harvester functions, but now, everything is blending together in a way that hits people right in the psyche. First off, the child. Humans have an instinct to protect children. This is super obvious in parents and such, but child death and harm is rightfully uncomfortable for just about everyone. Even in lots of horror media, child death is skirted around. Of course, it happens, but it’s usually relegated to backstory, or it’s something that is more often avoided. Even if a child is placed in danger, they’re usually safe by the end. Species Anomaly Report plainly does not do this. The boy dies, in terror and agony. This, placed on top of the fact that we know the explicit details of how the Harvester goes about killing him, combined with the audio, gets viewers right in the instincts. It doesn’t stop there. The Harvester acquired a second victim, the boy’s mother.

The mother’s death brings a specific hopelessness to the narrative. Her child is suffering a horrible death that she is forced helplessly to witness, and she suffers the same end. The audience, who either consciously or subconsciously shares the mother’s desire to protect the child, will also share the hopelessness that comes with knowing it’s impossible. What truly makes this episode harrowing is that fear, topped with the horrible sinking sensation of hopelessness. The viewer is trapped along with the mother, watching a child die all whilst knowing there is nothing that can be done.

The other carnis are definitely disturbing, (but not the trimmings. No. 1 trimmings fan.) but the harvester didn’t carry some of the same fear as the humanoid figures of the mimic, hosts, etc. What made this facet of the narrative so innately horrifying is how it targets the instinctual desire to protect those more vulnerable, yet instantly snatches it away, holding it out of reach as you succumb to the hopelessness and terror.

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: What We Make of It (Shotgun Wedding)

The important thing, Crowley tells himself -- the most important thing -- is Adam, his brilliant, creative, empathetic nephew. Being fourteen's hard enough; the kid didn't ask to deal with the weight of the world on top of it. And if taking care of Adam means Crowley has to tough it out at a job he can’t stand, so be it. And if Crowley's job means that Adam’s charming English teacher is NOT a romantic possibility, well, that's just how things go. But the occasional drink with Aziraphale proves hard to resist. They frequent the same pub, so who can object to them saying hello? Briefly sharing a table? Perhaps a little conversation? The painful knowledge that it can’t be anything more -- not without somebody getting fired or sued or both -- well, that can't be helped. Until Crowley stumbles onto a terribly reckless idea...

Length: 213,340 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥

Best for: Safe in Public, Human AU, Slow Burn, Pick-Me-Up

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by charlottemadison

*Minor Spoilers* I was so certain that I had already posted about this one! When I saw I hadn't, well, that just warranted a reread didn't it! This is a very famous fic, so I wouldn't be surprised if you've already read this. But if you haven't, or maybe didn't know if it was worth committing to the length, I'm here to tell you its very much worth your time.

Not only is this an excellent parent story, it's also a fake marriage story! Crowley is a single parent to his nephew Adam who strikes up a friendship with Adam's English teacher Mr. Fell. The problem? The company Crowley works for has a strict rule against dating anyone in the School Industry. You know, it's a tiny bit dramatic, but also one of the cleverer ideas to justify writing a forbidden relationship. Does this happen in real life? I don't know, but the way this is written I fully believe it could! Either way, there's a loophole they can exploit so they can be together, and all it takes is a quick, "I do."

Ugh their relationship is so wonderful here. It's very mature and healthy, the kind of relationships we want to read about because they are just so safe. They're able to talk through their issues and feelings and know they're always going to be supported. The love they have is so heartwarming it’s sickening. A lot is told through letters and text messages, which I personally loved. These are different characters from canon, they've both been changed by their human lives and surroundings, but this story just understands who they are deep down. They're not shallow characterizations.

Who this story really gets right is Adam. I full on believe this is the best handling of Adam in any fanfic I've read for Good Omens. A majority of the plot revolves around him being narcoleptic and epileptic. It has tons of amazing things to say about health care, being chronically ill, and being a parent to a child with health issues. But outside of that it understands who Adam is. Someone who is brilliant, creative, a leader, manipulative, arrogant. And how those traits can be both positive and negative for him. He wants to change the world, but has some learning to do along the way. I loved him, and I love how much Crowley loves being a dad. He even remarks on it, that people don't expect men to love being parents. It's nice to read a story of such a devoted guardian.

A really excellent story, it deserves it's popularity! I would say this is largely safe for public. There are a couple explicit scenes tucked in but they are skippable and a small section of a large story. Which by the way, will fly by! This story does NOT feel like 200K words. If you haven't gotten around to this one, I highly suggest you do!

Read it here, fic by charlottemadison

[the-silver-chronicles]

Kinktober Day 22 & 31: "Breeding Kink" & "Aftercare" - For OTP: "Boa Lurking In The Bliss" (Silva Omar x Faith Seed)

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @imogenkol and @josephseedismyfather

Tagging @adelaidedrubman @raresvtm @derelictheretic @inafieldofdaisies @noodlecupcakes @direwombat @voidika @cassietrn @aceghosts @icecutioner @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @cloudofbutterflies92 @carlosoliveiraa @wrathfulrook @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @g0dspeeed @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins and @florbelles + anyone else who want to join.

Prompt based on this kinktober post made by fellow mutual @starsandskies. While the main Kink of this post is "Breeding" and "Aftercare", you'll find it also includes ones such as "Praise", "Oral", "Biting" and a little bit of "Dirty Talk".

Hey everyone, here's my second and last contribution to Kinktober for this month. Here's a oneshot devoted to the main couple of the Far Cry section of The Silver Chronicles; Silva and Faith as you've probably guessed. From the mature tag and the title you can probably already tell that this oneshot (which will also be uploaded onto my AO3 as well) contains explicitly sexual content meant for 18+ users only. Minors Do Not Interact!

Here's a few warnings as to what this oneshot contains:

CW: Shameless smut, Minor angst, Cunnilingus, slight vaginal fingering, slight teasing, stroking a dick to erection (I don't think a handjob necessarily fits the context because Faith doesn't let Silva cum), P in V sex, unprotected sex, gentle sex, creampie, Silva's kind of unsubtle breeding kink and both women's obvious praise kinks. Includes a lack of contraceptives here (not the fault of either women, Kamski's flaw was that he thought Silva would be like him, miserable and single (neither words correlate nor share a connotation connection with each other here) and also doesn't take into consideration that majority of people don't think like him) and discussions of (getting) pregnancy. Plus the unspeakable horror of including the vaguest hint of a plot in a smut oneshot.

But also enthusiastic consent!

Okay now for the ONLY two Trigger Warnings: Minor reference to past religious and child abuse. These aren't the center focus of the oneshot and aren't explicit either, but these are something that are at the very least inferred (I hope that's the right word) to during Silva's POV thought process in the beginning, but not during the smut itself. I only make these warnings because it's better to be safe than sorry.

You may also notice Faith is a little different (possibly) personality-wise, and I imagine its because of being influenced by certain characters (like say... Sharky and the Drubmans (mostly Adelaide)) and this is set many months post-game and Collapse, and both she and Silva (plus Azriel) have taken shelter in Silva's prepper bunker, so I imagine at this point a certain level of character growth and change has occurred. I’ve also given a short personal explanation in the tags as well.

Author's Final Edit: I've been working on this nonstop for four weeks, at differing states in mind but refused to leave it unfinished, so apologies in advance if it's not that good or even a little rushed (as you can likely tell it's no longer October) than what I originally planned. Anyway gonna post this now and hope for the best.

I'll be sure to reblog this post with the link to the one that'll be posted on my AO3. Anyway, enjoy the fic under the cut:

Title: This Sweet Leisure

Series: The Silver Chronicles (Far Cry 5)

Character/s: Silva Omar (Deputy OC), Faith Seed, Azriel Omar (mentioned OC), Irene Neon (past referenced OC), Persephone Neon (past referenced OC), Elsa Omar (past referenced OC), Kamski Neon (past referenced OC), Tracey Lader (referenced) and Father Adam Omar (Barely referenced OC and thank the Gods, he's super dead).

Words: 7,734

Quiet moments had never been something Silva thought she could afford to enjoy.

She was familiar with various forms of quiet though. Many of which denied her comfort, including peace, or even leisure.

She had experienced a cold kind of quiet throughout her youth. It was tense and foreboding, a wordless warning hanging over their heads like the ill-omen of a guillotine. The only sounds allowed were the roaring winds of a wrathful blizzard outside and the slight clinking of plates and utensils shared between two quivering hermanas.

She had spent many nights as a child in a quiet that was always too quiet. That was the worst kind of quiet for Silva. Dread left her restless, sleep evaded her like the answers she constantly prayed for, haunted by anticipation as she listened for the recognizable signs of Father's approaching footsteps outside her bedroom door...

But the most familiar quiet she's known would be that of loss and mourning. The moments where silence would replace where there should be joyous laughter, or whispered promises, or the normalcy of conversation.

Where she expected a small form to run around the house once she exited her room, her little one's delighted giggles filling the room as her ginger bangs bounced from her enthused race... she found nothing and the heaviness would weigh down on her heart once more.

She would spend periods lamenting on each and every loss, whether it be family, friends, her amor or her beloved hija.

When trapped in this quiet, her mind would betray her... always following the same maze in the labyrinth of her thoughts, with each memory visited and revisited while she punished herself for the grave inescapable sin of not being strong enough, fast enough, doing enough.

Simply put, the quiet moments remind her of how no matter what, she'll never be enough to keep those she cared for. She found no escape through sleep either; her imagination was often the most cruel.

Punished by constant night terrors, which only grew more frequent from there.

Perhaps that is why she enjoyed the action, those fast-paced minutes that squandered on hours. The wars, the fighting, the very act of survival, the violence she despised, justifying her use of it as necessary and right.

The very same violence that took pieces of her until she was nearly hollow from the high. But at least she couldn't feel anything but the emptiness afterwards... distracted from the grief.

What a twist of fate that, at the end of the very collapse of society, all she could have would be quiet moments. For approximately seven years, she would have to live in the very bunker she had dismissed as a paranoid and needless precaution, even for the likes of Silva herself.

In spite of this, she had kept it well-maintained. At least to honor one of Elsa's lasting gifts to her.

And even though Elsa and Persephone were long gone from her life, Silva would be forever grateful of it since it had saved the last two of her most precious remaining loved ones; Faith and Azriel.

It was a rough few months at first, for herself especially, but they made it work. A routine had been set up, tasks given for each of them, and both Faith and Azriel seemed to have put aside their animosity, for the sake of Silva at least.

Silva, though prohibited from putting too much strain on her muscles, had recovered enough to do the laborious tasks that the other two were unable to do, as well as keep track of their inventory, rationing the power and water they were using, keeping track of the days by making calendars (at least enough so they have a fraction of an idea of when they should leave), keeping the only functional clock left out of Azriel's reach, general cooking and proceeding with Azriel's education (and ensuring her pequeño inventora utilizes the parts they don't need for her machinations).

Usually these tasks were completed with the assistance of both Faith and Azriel.

Faith utilized the knowledge she retained from the Eden's Gate to correctly double-check and correspond with the information Silva gave, as well as support a garden from within the bunker that gave them all fresh fruit and vegetables besides the preservatives, aided Silva in Azriel's education with subjects Silva had less expertise in and was the only person in the bunker with any specialization in medicine, besides Silva's apparently redundant strategy of "ignore the problem until it starts affecting you personally" or "only treat problem when close to the nearest convenient bandage, stitches or medic".

(Silva could admit Faith had a point about her reckless behavior).

Azriel's days were mostly spent assisting Silva, or Faith when the girl chose to stop detesting the other woman. She attended her "classes", whether it be academical or practical, so she'd be as prepared as she could be for whatever was outside the bunker doors.

Azriel's hobby in engineering proved to be handy, with Silva and Faith both stumped on the workings of such a subject despite their reliance on the bunker's generator and water filter.

They'd have their meals together, and would often spend time in the same living space once their tasks were done. When it came to nightly routines, Silva would bathe Azriel herself, and would share her own shower with Faith as to not waste water.

Those moments were strictly kept tame, given Azriel's close proximity from the bedroom and the necessity of the water. However, Silva didn't mind, as she and Faith got to be closer, with hands touching the places neither wanted others to see. Their scars were only for them to admire, neither holding shame nor judgement as they took care of each other.

After cleaning off, Silva would put Azriel to bed in one of the spare bedrooms she had claimed for herself as Faith shut off any non-essential power for the night, before both she and Silva retired to their shared designated master bedroom.

That was where the quiet became more prominent.

It wasn't so bad; sometimes one or both of them would be able to drift off. Other times, sleep would evade them, and they just enjoyed each others company, sharing stories and jokes, their voices barely above a whisper. Often they'd talk about the plans for the next day, perhaps wonder about the future... or even confess their own fears, quelling doubts. A peaceful quiet.

There were few nights when these fears took form as nightmares, interrupting their rests. Such nights were spent comforting the other in an understanding silence, few words exchanged while they found warmth in each other's arms. A comforting quiet.

But those night terrors were becoming far and few as the months passed, and Silva found herself cherishing the quiet as much as she did the time spent with her little family.

Though months passed, there was a slight change from the routine, one night where Silva rediscovered a quiet she hadn't experienced in a long while, and would revisit the following weeks.

Although sexual intimacy wasn't a first for either Silva or Faith, after the Collapse, they prioritized the ensured function of the bunker, recovering from their own physical and mental wounds and Azriel's well-being over their passion. It was the practical thing to do in that situation.

However, so much time had passed since the Collapse had occurred, and though the intimacy they did share was cherished and fulfilling, there was a familiar desire that burned patiently; the want to be connected, the need to be closer, to make the other sing with pleasure, and to share their love and affection through one of the few ways they could.

After Silva tucked Azriel in for the night, she had returned to the master bedroom. Shutting the door behind her, she turned to the sight of Faith awaiting her by the foot of their bed.

Silva shared a soft smile with her amor, making her way over to Faith to give a nightly embrace and kiss before bed.

Faith had stopped Silva with a hand on her chest, green eyes looking deeply into grey as the former herald tried to put her desires into words.

"I want you," she said softly, a noticeable shade of light pink across her face with eyes full of a need that stole Silva's breath away, "Tonight. I want you, and I want to make you feel good."

Silva felt a burst of exhilaration invade her body, her nerves lightened up with renewed enthusiasm. The feeling only increased when Faith delicately held one of Silva's hands and brought it to her soft lips.

The kisses she pressed down onto the faded scarred tissue sent tingling signals throughout Silva's body, a pleased sigh escaping her lips as her cheeks darkened into a blush. Faith gauged Silva's reaction, her gaze anticipating her answer and yet pleading all the same, lips brushing against her sensitive hand.

Silva responded with a loving smile, using her spare hand to cup Faith's face, fingers caressing the skin like light kisses as she brought her own face closer.

"Si," Silva had acceded, connecting their lips, feeling the thrum of Faith's enthused hum. When breaking off the kiss, the former deputy stated, "Under one condition."

Faith visibly wet her lips, tilting her head into Silva's palm as she asked, barely above a whisper, "And what would that be?"

Silva smirked, and Faith waited with bated breath on Silva's response (but if she hadn't been so focused on Silva's answer, she'd notice beloved's grey eyes shined with a flicker of silver), bringing her chapped lips to ghost along Faith's ear, and purred, "I'll make you feel bliss first."

Faith broke into a grin, and wrapped her arms around her lover's neck as both of their desires heightened, lips caught in a dance before Silva took the lead.

While their tongues communed and tasted one another, Silva's hands wandered, brushing over Faith's dress and squeezing at certain areas to bring out those small noises she never gets to hear in any other moment.

She settled both her wandering hands at Faith's hip and culo respectively, giving a squeeze on both that elicited a surprised yelp from her amor, though a giggle soon followed after.

Silva retracted from the kiss as her hands reached the hem of Faith's dress, "Let's get this dress off, mi querida."

Faith only nodded as her hands joined Silva's to slip the dress off from over her head rather smoothly, freeing her perky breasts for only Silva's eyes to see. She pressed her hands onto the skin, how good and warm it felt under her touch. Her thumb grazed over a scar just under Faith's rib cage.

Her attention was deterred however by her amor's impatient fingers unbuttoning her shirt.

Silva followed suit, unbuttoning the rest of her dress shirt and shrugging it off. She reached for the strap of her bra behind her, but Faith ceased her struggle when she pressed her hands onto Silva's clothed breasts.

"Arms up, darling," Faith directed, and Silva saw the glimpse of the herald whose reputation commanded fear and respect from her foes. It sent an exhilarating shiver down the former deputy's body, feeling a twitch in her lower body as she followed her amor's orders.

Faith pulled the undergarment over her lover's head, tossing it away. Silva didn't bother to chide about the messiness, figuring it to be a issue she'll deal with tomorrow. In the mean time, she was too preoccupied with giving Faith's greedy hands access to feeling her swell chest up. She let Faith grope at her breasts, hands wandering all over her exposed upper half. Even in the darkness, Faith accurately pinpointed every faded scar there was on this portion of the Omar woman's body.

From her healed cuts and slashes, to the closed scarring from past bullet wounds, to her shoulders; the left harbored old burns, while the right was less clearer, though the texture of the skin was notably a shade lighter, if only slightly.

Silva hummed from the touches she received, massaging Faith's breasts in return. Faith gaped in pleasure, and Silva jumped at the opportunity to reconnect their lips, tongue inserted back in, this time to dominate.

Faith moaned into Silva's mouth, and the reverberation spurred Silva on. Her hands moved to behind Faith, she pulled the other woman's body against hers, their chests colliding. Faith's hands gripped at Silva's back, pushing herself against her lover to chase after the pleasure of grinding their breasts together.

Silva slowly lead Faith backwards to the bed, letting the foot of the bed buckle Faith's legs into sitting down.

Without hesitation, Faith spread her bare legs to give Silva a peek at the lacy white lingerie underwear, embroidered with a familiar pattern, that she had adorned for this occasion. Silva got the impression that her amor had been planning this for some time.

Silva wouldn't disappoint.

Though that pattern did look familiar-

Flowers. Of course, Silva noted in mild amusement.

Faith closed her legs together and dragged her underwear down, shimmying the flower-patterned lingerie down to her ankles, kicking them off to the floor. She opened her legs once more, displaying her nude, bare self for Silva's eyes to feast upon. The sight made Silva's crotch felt uncomfortably restrictive, but she restrained herself from taking her pants off and making love to Faith there and then.

Silva wanted to draw this out; she wanted Faith to feel the greatest heights of this high until she was fully satiated, as well as for herself too.

Caressing her amor's face, Silva's eyes lingered down to Faith's wet folds awaiting her, the light brown bundle of curling hairs layered at the top, and asked, "May I?"

Faith gave an eager and affirming nod, and Silva descended down to her knees until she was face to face with the younger woman's lower lips. Putting her amor's legs over her shoulders, Silva circled two fingers around her labia to stimulate more wetness and gather it onto her fingers, while her other hand's thumb gently brushed against her clit.

She heard Faith's breath hitch above, which made Silva temporarily halt, her eyes meeting green to wordlessly check on her pareja. Faith met her lover's gaze and returned an assuring nod. Silva took a breath and continued to tease her amor's slick pussy and clit, feeling a tug of pride within herself when she heard a soft airy sigh come from above.

Satisfied with the slickness, she inserted one finger inside, earning her a gasp and small moan from Faith. She massaged her index inside the warm insides before inserting a second finger to join the first, curling and gently twisting both as she proceeded to press a bit firmly on Faith's clit with her thumb.

Spurred on by the sounds of Faith's heavier breathing and soft moans, Silva gave a trail of kisses along both of her thighs, perhaps lightly sucking at the flesh to leave a mark or two where no one but both of them would see.

She carefully twisted her two slick-covered closed fingers to face her and opened them up in a V-shape, spreading her amor's vagina.

Silva leaned closer, breathing in her scent. The pungent tangy musk tinted with a hint of earthy sweetness to it. A floral scent really; not like the acrid sweetness of the Bliss though. That had long since been washed away.

Without wasting another moment, she pressed her tongue flat against Faith's vulva, licking it in a glide upwards until she reaches her clit.

Faith tasted like honey, with a hint of sourness that reminded Silva of yogurt. It was something surprising to discover; how different the taste was. She'd expected a metallic taste and bitterness not unlike coffee when she first went down on Faith, as she had remembered Irene's being, and the few women she had brief relations with holding a similar taste, but had been pleasantly unprepared for the flavor.

She continued to lap up the slickness, proceeding to explore with wide licks that swished around the folds of her amor's vulva, enjoying the sweet little noises she drew out and the feeling of Faith's legs shaking over her shoulders.

Silva hadn't expected Faith to cross her legs to pull her mouth closer, but the Omar woman held no complaints. She focused on flexing her tongue deeper inside, licking every nook and cranny.

Silva felt Faith's hand furl into her dark hair to keep the former deputy where she was, grinding herself against her lover's tongue. Silva hummed her appreciation into her amor's pussy, the vibrating sensation provoking a whimper out of Faith.

Feeling her lover's tongue retracting, Faith almost expressed her dissatisfaction with the lack of contact until Silva's lips enveloped around her swelling clit, lightly sucking as her tongue gently circled around it.

Faith choked out a cry as she felt Silva's two fingers re-enter to massage at her sensitive flesh. Lips parted, her moans didn't escape quietly, though it didn't discourage Silva from her relentless efforts to bring about Faith's high.

Silva heard Faith murmur out words incoherently yet consistently (though that may be due to the thighs squeezed around her head canceling out most noises), though was unable to inquire about it as she felt Faith's legs tense around her.

She had enough time to glance her eyes up to see Faith slightly arch her back before she felt the inner walls of her vagina constrict and spasm.

Silva had half-a-mind to have her mouth open when fluid squirted at her face. She lapped up the sweet sticky fluids as Faith rode her high out.

Leaving soft rewarding kisses around her amor's sensitive flesh and thighs, Silva began crawling up to trail her kisses along Faith's waist and stomach. She peppered her breasts, collarbone and neck with special attention, sucking on the skin to leave little marks.

She kissed along her jaw, face and settled on her lips. Face to face, Silva admired the flushed yet blissful expression that resided on her amor.

Breathing returning to a regular intake, Faith opened her green eyes to gaze into Silva's adoring ones.

"You look so beautiful right now amor," Silva complimented, lightly tucking a loose hair behind Faith's ear.

The Seed woman licked her lips, the smile on her face joined by a light blush from the praise. And though Silva meant what she said, she still had the need to confirm.

"Was that good for you, mi querida?" Silva asked softly, searching for any hint of potential discomfort from the young woman below her. Faith blinked at Silva, maybe touched by the concern, maybe in bafflement at the question. Though she proceeded to bring her head up to rest against Silva's own.

"It was wonderful. You ate me out so well my sweetheart," Faith assured with a pleased sigh. She proceeded to bring her lips to the shell of Silva's ear and whisper, "Now why don't you take those pants off? I can't be the only one naked here."

Silva gave an affirmative nod and obliged to Faith's request. Scooting to the side of bed, she pulled down her loose night pants, kicking them off at her ankles. She went to remove her boxers next, but Faith slipped up behind with wandering and electrifying hands that danced across her front.

Faith peppered light kisses along her neck, and softer ones to her old burn scars, which Silva appreciated. One stray hand palmed over the bulge throbbing against her boxers, massaging the member, earning a shameless moan from Silva.

"You're so good to me, Silva. Always accommodating. Putting my needs before yours," Faith revered warmly, massaging the stretching bulge that began to tent up at her boxers, eliciting a low groan from Silva, while Faith stated, "You're so full of love. And I'm happy to be someone you share it with. Which is why I want to make tonight special for you. To give my own love back to you, in the most intimate act together."

Silva bit at her bottom lip as she felt herself get harder at Faith's words, the kind and adoring words flustering the woman. She felt Faith reach into her boxers to pull out her erect cock. Freed from its confines, Silva didn't try to suppress the moan that rose in her throat when her amor curled one hand at the base and began to pump.

Precum leaked from the tip, and Faith brushed a thumb over it, spreading the slickness around the head. She reached down to gently massage at her scrotum to further tease her lover, receiving a choked yelp that morphed pleased groan. Satisfied with her work, Faith tugged at the boxers, with Silva pulling it down the rest of the way.

"Now for what I promised," Faith purred sultry, intertwining her hand with Silva, leading the compliant woman to crawl further onto the queen bed with her.

With both now bare and their hearts beating with a thrill, Faith took initiative, placing a halting hand onto Silva's chest to halt her approach and lightly push her down backwards.

"Can you sit for me?" Faith requested, flashing sweet honest pearls at her, and Silva nodded affirmatively as she followed suit, sitting down with her legs splayed out, her cock proudly pointed up as Silva's eyes traced ever bit of Faith's body.

She swallowed on nothing, wishing she could count the stars to mark a number down of how much she had been so unbelievably lucky to have not only meeting Faith, but get to be with her. And to keep her and Azriel safe, a small relieved voice spoke up, though it didn't last, You never were able to do that with anyone else.

Silva almost frowned at the thought, and briefly closed her eyes. What happened wasn't my fault. I did all I could in those moments, she reminded herself, defending against the guilt, just as Faith coached her.

She opened her eyes when she felt Faith's hands grasp onto her shoulders, her legs at both sides of her hips. Her wet entrance hovering above Silva's leaking head, though Faith paused as she cupped Silva's face into her hands, the next words she spoke sending a spike of pleasure through her veins, "I want you inside me."

Heart fluttering at the proclamation, Silva wanted nothing more than to obey, to be inside her amada and feel how she clenched around her, to murmur little praises into her skin as she just enjoyed having her amor in her arms. However, through the haze of love and lust, she had a realization, "I don't have condoms. I don't think there are any down here."

"Nor birth control," Faith informed her, green eyes gazing down, and Silva wanted to kick herself for not noticing when she did stock checks, "I checked the infirmary; it just wasn't included amongst the stock."

Silva could take a guess why. The infirmary had been an additional room inserted by Kamski himself without her permission. Though she was grateful now for his foresight, she felt an annoyance towards Kamski's paranoia overstocking the infirmary with supplies for illness, injury, surgery and even birth delivery, but was flippant about her chances of finding a new partner that he was he convinced her contraceptives wouldn't be necessary. By Jannah, why did I listen to him?

She brought a hand over one of Faith's own which still had her face cupped, thumb brushing at the knuckles. While Silva certainly wasn't against the idea of unprotected sex, especially if Faith gave her consent, under normal circumstances there would be a world with safety nets to fall back on if they decided to risk it.

However, they were stuck in a bunker, while luckily stocked for more than three people with food, medicine and other resources, it was without the contraceptives to avoid the high-risk results of the act.

She would love nothing more than to make love to Faith, to be inside her, to join her on the brink of their own bliss and just release. However, she knew of Faith's reservations, not to the act itself, but the potential consequences of said act.

Instead, she suggested, "If you really want to do this, I can try the pulling out, which does comes with risk. But we don't have to, we can do something else..."

Silva quieted down when Faith pressed a finger to her lips, shushing wordlessly. Faith smacked her lips together as she gazed at Silva with sincere affection.

"I appreciate that you're thinking of me, but there's no need to fret, my lotus flower," Faith said with a fond smile, running a hand through Silva's long dark hair, her green eyes full of a devotion Silva's doesn't believe she's seen on her before, not even with Joseph, not this intense and self-assured.

"But I made my mind up about this weeks ago," Faith informed her lover, an adoring smile blessing her face, "I want to feel you. And more importantly, I want you to feel good. I know you personally dislike the condoms. Not only that, but I know you'd rather not pull out. And yet you do those... all for me. And I'm flattered. Which is why tonight, I wanted to do this for you. No contraceptives... even if they ideally should have been optional... and no pulling out either. And whatever comes after this... I'm okay with it."

Silva blinked, not expecting this from Faith. Although she wanted nothing more to accept her words at face value, she still had to make sure, "What about what you told me? I thought you didn't want to risk-"

"I know what I had said. It was something I took time to think about too," Faith acknowledged, but her tone changed to something more impassioned, "But... my time spent with you and Azriel has made me reconsider. I know you. I trust you. Of all the people I was lucky to fall for, I'm glad it's with you. Because you won't abandon me. You'll be with me, through it all."

Faith's hands glided down to behind Silva's head and neck, bringing her beloved's face closer to her chest, adjusting Silva so her ear was to the skin.

"You hear that?" Faith asked above, her heartbeat thumping in a swift measured pace, and Silva only nodded, still a little lost until her amor explained, "That's my excitement at the thought of us giving in for tonight. Of us quivering and trembling in ecstasy, on the toe-curling edge until I milk you dry. That's what I want, but most importantly, I know that's what you want to do."

Silva felt herself burning up; from her head being in Faith's bosom? The lewd description she'd never expect Faith to use (Had she rubbed off on her somehow? The Drubmans and Sharky? Or had she always had this side of her? came the discord of thoughts) until this occasion? Or the admission that she not only knew of Silva's concealed desires, but wishes for her to act on them too?? Perhaps it was a combination, but Silva wasn't entirely sure.

Silva lifted her face to look into Faith's unabashed green eyes, finding no hint of doubt in those beautiful orbs.

"I want this. You want this. And we won't be unprepared," Faith assured, nuzzling her head into the nook of Silva's neck, hands residing at her back, "We have an abundance of supplies with everything needed for a full-term pregnancy, and the infirmary is ridiculously prepared with instructions and instruments ready for when the day comes. I know this is selfish... but I want to make something beautiful with you. To carry the culmination of our love within me. No more holding yourself back... take a leap, love. Put yourself first for once."

Silva chewed at her bottom lip as she felt her cock grow stiffer at the idea of succumbing to her base desires, and to join Faith through a union of their raw bodies, rutting into the warmth of Faith's inner walls until she released herself into her amada's womb, until she was sure Faith was pregnant.

Faith got her attention with a small kiss on the lips, green eyes staring straight into Silva's souls as she said her next words with utmost seriousness.

"I know how I sound, saying all these things to you, but here and now, I want you to understand that ultimately... it's your call, my lotus flower. If you don't want to risk it, I'll respect your decision. You're not obligated to do this, not even for me. I can do something else to have you reach your own high if you'd prefer," Faith offered, one hand reaching down to Silva's hard cock, stroking at the shaft, earning a pleased trill, "If you want to proceed, you already know I'm all for it. If you don't, I'll be happy with whatever decision you make. It's up to you."

Silva was grateful that Faith was willing to wait for her consent. She took the opportunity to think about it. She found Faith's points to be valid; they had an infirmary with information and instruments at the ready, the bunker was well-supplied, Silva has the experience to take care of Faith and their not-yet conceived child, she knows Azriel would be thrilled for a sibling and she had Faith's approval. Hell, she wanted to do it.

I want to do it, Silva realized, an anxious energy buzzing within her, I want to have a child with her.

Silva met Faith's gaze once more. Her bright grey eyes scanned Faith's green, and her hands moved up to rest on her amor's waist as she said, "I want to do it."

Faith's eyes blew open, delight filling her face, "Really? You mean it?"

Silva gave Faith a smirk that sent a shiver of exhilaration up the other woman's spine, "Si. Now mi amor, how do you like the sound of me cumming into you tonight?"

Faith's only response was a resounding, "Yes."

With a gentle tap from Silva, Faith proceeded to lower herself until her entrance met Silva's tip, grinding their sex together, the sensation causing Silva to gasp agape while Faith husked out a wanton groan.

Silva couldn't deny her own heart's elation at the feeling of Faith's slickness making contact with her own precum, mixing and leaking down her shaft.

Faith sunk until she enveloped the head of Silva's cock. The former deputy groaned at the sensation of Faith adjusting to her, her walls stretching and clenching around her. Faith masked her own moan as a pleased hum, hand bringing Silva's head to her collarbone.

Silva planted more kisses and small bites to decorate her skin as she delicately maneuvered Faith past her cock's head and down the shaft. Her amada rocked tenderly, rasping out breathy, needy moans as Silva's cock stretched her pussy.

Both women's breath hitched when Faith reached the base of Silva's cock, the latter once again adjusting to the former. For Faith, it felt warmer, and she felt fuller with Silva inside compared to when she wore the condom. Silva could feel her amor's slickness and heat, how she pulsed within her, how wonderful it felt to have Faith's walls clenched around Silva. It felt right.

Both held each other close, until Silva's knees rose up until they were behind Faith's back. She grabbed hold of her amor's legs, gaze bor into her green orbs, a determined look not unlike what Faith saw during the Reaping gracing Silva's features.

"Are you ready?" Silva asked one last time, giving Faith the chance to back out. Faith gave a thrilled, "Yes", her green eyes begging for more. Silva proceeded to ask, "You remember what word to use if things get too much for you?"

Faith nodded once more, recounting, "Tulip."

Silva gave a confirming nod, "That's right. Buena chica. Now stretch out your legs and lay back for me, mi amor."

Faith did as instructed, stretching her legs out and, with Silva's guidance, she locked them around Silva's waist. Faith proceeded to lean back onto the support of Silva's thighs.

Silva hooked one hand under Faith's culo, giving it a teasing squeeze as she leaned forward to bring her other arm around Faith's back. The former herald hooked one hand at the nape of Silva's neck while her other gave herself some support from behind, grasping onto Silva's leg to anchor herself.

She gave Silva an affirming nod to go ahead, and Silva tested the waters with a small thrust with a rock of her hips. Faith gasped out a lewd noise, and with another thrust, she let out a pleased hum at the contact, and as Silva thrust again and again at a steady pace, Faith began to pant out long, wanton moans while Silva breathed out grunts and husked out her own impassioned moans.

Silva continued to thrust into Faith as her amada continued meeting her thrusts with enthusiastic rocks, the wet sound of skin slapping against each other all that filled the room.

"You feel so good," Silva murmured in a drawl, and as she rocked her hips up into Faith's slick velvet walls, she let out a surprising growl, "Mierda, you're coño's perfect for me, Faith. I need to fill you up... I need to get you pregnant."

Faith let out an enthused titter, her gut recoiling with warmth like the hammer of a gun, and she teased, "Yeah? Is that what you're going to do, my lotus flower? Rut into my bare, unprotected pussy raw until you cum? Spill all your seed into my empty womb until I'm all nice and full? That's fucking hot. You're so sexy whenever you speak your mind. Gets me really wet."

Faith gasped as she felt Silva's thrusts quicken in pace, causing her body to rock from the jerky movement. Though Faith was not displeased by the change as her content moans and her sweet gaping features indicated.

Images flashed within Silva's mind while her sharp eyes lingered on Faith; the flat of her stomach swollen with life for Silva to cherish both with the hold of one hand. Her bouncing breasts full of milk, perhaps more swell and more sensitive than before. Silva was also fascinated by what Faith's stretch marks would look like, during and after the pregnancy, the beautiful markings long-lasting evidence of their joyous union. She remembered only briefly being able to admire Irene's post-birth marks a few days after Persephone was born.

Silva could feel herself reaching her end, she knew in the way her breathing grew strained, and her cock became stiffer and hotter. It was a familiar sensation, but here it was special, as nothing was stopping her from filling Faith up fully now.

"Faith, look at me, querida," Silva drew Faith's green eyes to retain direct contact with her grey, "That's good, mi amor. I'm glad to see your beautiful face. This is a moment in our bond I want to last. I'm close. I'm so close now. I'm going to cum inside you. And I'm going to get you pregnant. I want to hear you tell me you want it. I need to hear it."

So close to coming undone, Faith refrained from breaking their shared contact as she husked out, "I want this. I want to feel you cum inside me. I want to be full with your seed. I want to be pregnant with your child. I want all of you, Silva."

Silva felt herself tighten and her resolve to hold on break. With little strength, she wrapped her arms around Faith as her amada tightened her legs around Silva's waist, both pulled their sweaty bodies close to each other. Both clung to one another as the only lifeline, as Silva gave one last rock of her hips and their sexes spasm.

Faith's walls constricted and clamped around her cock in a creamy coat and milk up all that she unloaded inside. Faith wailed out a moan while Silva shouted in ecstasy. She gave a sparse few weaker thrusts, and felt Faith's walls throb followed by her amor cumming once more.

Both refrained from separating, catching their breaths within each other's arms, fingers playing with hair, breasts pressed against each other from each heave of their chests, basking in each other's mind-buzzing afterglow.

The embrace lasted until Silva lightly pressed a kiss on Faith's soft lips before she removed herself out of Faith, her member deflating and spent for the night. She laid Faith down on the blanket of the bed, who was recovering from the intense pleasure she experienced twice. With limbs still interlocked, she laid beside Faith's prone form.

"Thank you," Silva told Faith, the latter humming in question, dreariness weighing on her half-lidded eyes, so Silva elaborated, "For this. For letting me hold you, and kiss you, and taste you, and... make love. You made me feel so good. Tonight was just perfect."

Faith giggled, green eyes gazing into Silva's grey with adoration, "Of course, honey. You did amazingly too. I noticed you had a lot more enthused determination. Not that you hadn't before but... there was a more primal feel. I liked it."

Silva felt her face heat up from Faith's appraisal, feeling her cock twitch. It hadn't gone unnoticed by her amor; Faith bit at her bottom lip as she commented, "And with our new goal, we'll be doing this again for the next few nights, I'd hope."

Silva felt an excitement burn at the thought of doing this again, though it reminded her of some things she should do to help.

"I'll need to go get a new blanket from the linen cupboard since..." Silva trailed off as she looked at the damp spot, "...yeah. But in the meantime, we should have your pelvis raised a little higher to increase the chances of conception."

Silva couldn't recall where she gained that information from; whether it had been something Kamski had somehow brought up in conversation for whatever reason or something she had learned while reading for any information from the old medical textbooks they could scavenge to help Irene during her pregnancy with her firstborn.

Regardless, Silva grasped a pillow and placed it underneath Faith's lower back, to raise her hips slightly above. Satisfied, Silva asked, "While I'm out, is there anything you need? Snacks? Water? A cloth to clean up?"

Faith shook her head, but made a small grunt as she tried to clear her coarse throat, "Water, please."

Silva gave a smile, caressing her amada's face before getting off the bed, "I'll be back in a jiff, mi amor."

Silva peeked out of the room, searching for any signs of the familiar orange-streak across the dark hair of her hija, hoping she was still asleep in her bed and not awoken by the noise, even if their rooms were fairly dense.

Spotting no signs of her fellow night owl, Silva exited the room, and made her way to the linen cupboard for the new blanket, and then dashed to the kitchen to get Faith's water.

With the glass filled and blanket over her shoulder, she made haste back to the master bedroom.

Closing the door behind her, she made her way back to Faith back on the bed. She placed the blanket down by the foot of the bed while taking the chance to admire her nude form. Though she noticed how Faith's hand was placed below her stomach, lost in thought.

Silva got onto the bed with a creak, breaking her amor's attention train of though and bringing her attention back to her.

Offering a smile, Silva didn't immediately inquire, instead tapping the glass of water, which earned her a soft gaze of appreciation.

She helped Faith lean up from the bed, and passed the glass of water to her. Once her amor's throat was satisfied, Silva had Faith temporarily hop off the bed so she could remove the ruined blanket (which she placed by the door for tomorrow) and laid down the newer, softer blanket.

Once the bed was ready, both Silva and Faith crawled back onto the bed, huddling close. Neither put back on their nightwear.

Silva brushed her fingers through Faith's light brown hair with enthusiasm and adoration in her heart. Faith snuggled into the crook of her neck, one finger tracing aimlessly at Silva's back.

"Are you alright, amor?" Silva asked softly, concern rearing its head once more, though she had a fraction of an idea of what Faith would be thinking about.

Faith glanced her green eyes up at her, briefly holding contact before she nodded.

"Just thinking?" Silva pried gently, observing how her face made those little quirks, subtle twitches, halting furrows and the way her lips open partially before closing again.

Faith responded with a small and affirming hum. The vibration's contact against her skin, although short, eased her hammering heart.

"Want to talk about it?" She finally asked, swallowing any remaining nerves as she discerned Faith's expression towards the question. Does she have any regrets? came the question she was worried for the answer of.

Faith hadn't replied immediately, stewing in the silence as she gathered her words, and said, "I'm just... coming to terms with this. Wondering... maybe a little worried. I've made quite the spontaneous decision, no different than what I've done before."

From the top of her head, Silva could only recall three that she could be referring to; leaving home with Tracey, joining Eden's Gate and helping Silva and Azriel in their goals.

"Are you having... regrets?" Silva asked hesitantly, but knew it was important.

She was a little surprised when Faith snorted incredulously at it.

"No... not that at all. It's a choice I'm not backing down from," she answered fully looking up to her, bringing one hand to cup the side of Silva's face with tender affection, slowly nuzzling their foreheads together, "I'm just a little nervous is all. This is a new and rather big step I would never have considered in my life before meeting you and Azriel. But it is something I want to experience, as long as you're with me."

Relief flooded Silva's mind, washing away any lingering presence of the ugly guilt that tried to form.

"Besides, I liked tonight as much as you did. And I loved how you were too," Faith said as she "walked" two fingers all the way up Silva's chest to her lips, seductively brushing both over her lover's bottom lip as she leaned forward with a whisper, "And I'd hope to see more of that side of you last a few rounds in the night to come."

Silva joined her lips with her amor's, an unbridled smile curving up once again. I've been doing that a lot more recently, she noted, in spite of the sorrow she still feels for the loss of the world above.

Though that's not something she'd focus on as of now. She had better priorities she needed to attend to.

Disconnecting their lips, Silva replied, "I'll let you hold me to those words. In the meantime... want to just snuggle until sleep takes us?"

"Yeah," Faith snickered, eyes drooping lower as she cuddled closer into Silva, "I won't refuse such an offer like that."

Silva wrapped her arms further around Faith, as she just cherished this moment of holding onto her amada diente de león.

Faith dozed off first, and though Silva was not far behind her, within the dark of their room, she whispered into Faith's hair, "We're going to be okay. I promise, mi amor."

With nothing else to say until tomorrow, she let out a content sigh as she dragged the soft blanket over their exposed bodies, and sunk into Faith's slumbering embrace. Finally finding a quiet to look forward to.

[A/n] Finally it's over. I can move on to the tag stuff I've missed.

[Skit #1: Faith: "How might Azriel take the news of a possible new sibling?" Silva: "I wouldn't worry about it. She'd probably be more thrilled at finally being taller than someone for once."]

[Skit #2: Kamski: "Alright I've installed a functioning infirmary into your doomsday bunker in the scenario we'd have to bunk together during a disaster." Silva: "...Not thrilled but ok." Kamski: "It's prepared for injuries, illnesses, surgeries and any pregnancies in the unlikely case we have others bunk with us." Silva: "That sounds good and all, but what about contraceptives?" Kamski: "Don't be ridiculous Silva... no one's stupid enough to fuck in a bunker during a disaster and neither of us are getting lucky enought to change our single status any time soon." Silva: "Hurtful but sounds legit." Years later... Silva: "Once I die, Kamski when I get my hands on you, you motherfu-"]

[bungeepuppet]

Happy Birthday

Prompt: Illumi is the only person to ever celebrate Hisoka’s birthday.

Rating: Mature (Mentions of sex, but nothing explicit)

Words: 4,000~

Note: A VERY FLUFFY one-shot that I had planned alongside the comic I did for Hisoka’s birthday, but could not get to cooperate with me until last night! So... Happy Birthday, Hisoka! 🎂🎈🎊 (+ao3)

—

No one ever celebrated Hisoka’s birthday.

In fact, most people would rather curse the day he was born than celebrate it.

They couldn’t curse the exact day, of course, because just about no one besides Hisoka himself knew what the actual date of his birthday was.

No parents, no siblings, no extended family that might have taken guardianship otherwise.

Hisoka hoped that if any had ever existed that they were all dead.

The administration from the carnival that had bought him as a small child were all dead. Hisoka had made sure of that.

They had known the date, since his documentation was inside the safe a young Hisoka had plundered after killing the office staff and owner. 

June 6th, 19xx. 

(There was a convenient coffee stain over the last two digits of the year.)

Hisoka kept the date as one of his little secrets. That way it would be so much funner to be out indulging himself in a bloody fight or two and no one would know it was really just a birthday gift to himself. 

The few times that he shared the date was in passing at bars or clubs on the night of his birthday, and he was often treated to a few free drinks and sex with pretty, drunk strangers for doing so.

They wouldn’t remember the date. No one alive did.

Except, that wasn’t entirely true anymore.

There was one. 

And it was funny too, that the only person to ever remember his birthday, let alone celebrate it, was someone equally as merciless and bloodstained as himself.

Illumi Zoldyck, of all people.

—

The first year was laughably minimalistic. The absolute bare minimum.

Hisoka had accompanied Illumi on a small job, free of charge. Only he knew that it was an excuse to do something a little fun for his birthday, in the company of one of the few people that could stand him for more than a few hours. 

It was fun keeping his secret for the flight there and during the slaughter that Illumi allowed him to commit with the guards. Illumi didn’t know that allowing Hisoka to act out was incidentally giving him a birthday present, and it made Hisoka smile. 

By the time they were waiting for their flight back to Padokea, Hisoka felt inclined to let Illumi in on his secret. He had been a good “friend” and had shown him a good time for his birthday, albeit unwittingly. 

“You know…” Hisoka smiled as he shuffled a deck of cards in his hands. “Today is my birthday. ♦”

Illumi turned to look at Hisoka, his expression betraying no emotion. Hisoka tilted his chin up to catch a peek at his companion. He knew Illumi’s wide eyes well enough now to know that he was curious about the declaration.

“Hoh, is it…?” Illumi asked with his airy, unafflicted voice.

Hisoka pressed his smile flat into a pleased “u” shape, and his eyes bent closed in an equally pleased fashion. 

“Yup! ♣” He answered childishly. “And my friend Illumi was so nice to take me out for the day~♥” 

Illumi’s small mouth disappeared into an even smaller dot on his face. 

He hadn’t been aware at all that Hisoka was celebrating with him today. Hisoka’s way of speaking was confusing, but it was acceptable that Hisoka enjoyed his time working with him, seeing as Illumi wasn’t paying him for this job. If Hisoka took that as Illumi doing him a favor on top of already working for free, then that was fortuitous on its own. 

Still, Illumi was confident that Hisoka was asking too little for a birthday, even for an adult. Illumi was currently the only adult in his line of siblings, but his parents would still present him with a few practical gifts and his favorite dessert come his birthday. His younger brothers were much more spoiled, and always had cake and toys on their birthdays.

“Hm.” Illumi put his knuckle to his chin in thought. 

This was quite a predicament he had been put in, but simple enough that surely it was fixable. 

Hisoka’s expression faltered when Illumi stood from his seat suddenly.

“Excuse me for a moment.” Illumi said politely.

Hisoka watched his cohort walk down the terminal hall and slumped his mouth to the side. He supposed it was his own fault for expecting more of a response than that from a man as composed as Illumi Zoldyck.

It took quite a bit longer than a moment for Illumi to return, and by the time he did, Hisoka was standing by the window while other passengers waited in line to board. 

Illumi walked right up to him without any change in expression. 

“I bought you a gift.” Illumi said nonchalantly and reached into his pocket.

Hisoka’s eyes opened more in surprise. He wasn’t sure what kind of gift Illumi would have purchased from the many random travel kiosks in the airport, but he was curious to know. 

“Oh? Did you? ♦” Hisoka leaned in to see Illumi’s hand.

Illumi opened his palm face up to reveal a package of Bungee Gum. Hisoka’s eyebrow twitched. 

“Ah…♠” He didn’t know what to say. 

“Hm? This is your favorite, isn't it?” Illumi asked him curiously. 

Hisoka lifted his hand to take the candy from him.

“Oh, well… yes.” He admitted. 

Well, it was his favorite gum. Significantly so. 

Hisoka would have loved to receive a packet of Bungee Gum for his birthday when he was a little carnie kid without a jenny to his name. But as an adult… 

Hisoka turned the package in his hand and looked at the familiar smiling face and suit patterns decorating the paper. He couldn’t stop the smile that snorted to life with his laugh.

One of the world’s most proficient assassin’s had gotten him a pack of gum for a birthday gift, because he remembered that it was his favorite. Why did Illumi even bother to remember that?

“I guess it’s the thought that counts…♣” Hisoka thought, and laughed again.

“What is so funny about it?” Illumi asked while they joined the check-in line, with Hisoka giggling to himself all the way.

“Oh, not a thing, Illumi.” Hisoka grinned at him and peeled the wrapping off of the side of his silly birthday gift. 

Hisoka popped one of the blocks of gum into his mouth, then picked up another foil covered piece between his clawed nails. He offered it to Illumi while he chewed. 

“Would you like one? ♦” Hisoka asked courteously. Illumi blinked back at him, still confused.

“It's your birthday gift.” Illumi replied with almost enough infliction to sound human. 

“And I would love to share it with you. ♥” Hisoka rebutted. 

Illumi looked at the piece of candy with some thought. After a moment, he took it, peeled the foil off, and popped the square of gum into his mouth without a word. Hisoka smiled.

They spent the first part of the airship ride with nothing but the shuffling of cards and the dull pops of bubblegum to break the silence.

—

The second year was more practical. 

It was about a week before Hisoka’s birthday, and he and Illumi were enjoying a drink after completing another easy job. 

Hisoka hadn’t brought up that his birthday was nearing, and debated the best way to do so as he sipped on his glass of whiskey. He didn’t want to point it out on-the-nose and come off as desperate.

The addition of sex to their relationship’s pot had really been a mixed bag; on one hand, great sex, and on the other hand, constantly teetering on emotional vulnerability.

He tilted his drink back and forth while he considered his words. Illumi spoke up before he found them. 

"Oh," He breathed. "I almost forgot."

"It's your birthday next week…" Illumi turned toward Hisoka further.

"It is customary to have dinner and drinks, isn't it? Do you have any preferences?"

He had really meant to bring it up earlier, as it was his nature to be prepared for events such as these. Reservations may be needed, and even though the Zoldyck name could easily sway any establishment to bend policies, it was always better to have accommodations settled early. Hopefully a week was enough time—Illumi didn't want to come off as ill-prepared for something important.

Hisoka's expression lit up at the question, and he tried to stifle his glee, to no avail.

No one had ever offered such a thing to him in his entire life!

A good few times he had eaten and drank with others on his birthday, but it was never planned, and it certainly was not offered to him by a friend. He had allies come and go in the past, but no friends to speak of for as long as memory served him. 

Except now, he had Illumi.

(Even if the assassin argued over the definition of "friend" every time it was brought up.)

"Ohh~♥" Hisoka cooed. "Illu you are so sweet to me~♦"

Hisoka rested his elbows onto the bar counter, drink still in hand, and laid his cheek onto his wrist in thought.

"What did I do to deserve such a sweetheart like you? ♣"

Illumi's mouth pursed at the overly soft term.

"You ensured that my birthday last year was quite… memorable." He answered.

Hisoka dropped his expression for a moment, then slid his eyes shut with a mischievous smile. 

Illumi's birthday was in November, a considerably good while ago, but he must have truly enjoyed himself to want to return the favor now in June.

Hisoka allowed his ever-hungry tongue to flick out from the corner of his mouth and lap at the skin above it as he recalled the wonderful sounds he had pulled out of Illumi the night of his birthday. Dinner, drinks, and a very hot night of dirty kisses and oral sex—what a blissful memory. And it hadn't been long after that that they had finally slept together, too.

"Will I be receiving a similar gift from you? ♦" Hisoka purred in excitement.

Illumi watched Hisoka's hips as he squirmed enough to pivot himself in place on his stool, even with his legs crossed. He looked back up to Hisoka's face with a small smile.

"It is your birthday." He said, with an understanding that it meant Hisoka was free to ask him for whatever he would like as a gift. 

Hisoka swooned with a malicious laugh. 

"You're too good to me, Illumi~♥"

—

The third year was a… surprise.

Illumi called Hisoka two days before his birthday and informed him that he urgently needed his assistance with a job on the west coast of Kukan'yu. Hisoka was expecting Illumi to be calling him about potential plans for his birthday, but figured that a job in a pretty, posh little coastal town would offer plenty of opportunities for fun together, and plus, killing and fighting was a treat all on its own.

Hisoka flew to the much larger city just north of Illumi's location, then took a cab to the affluent hamlet where Illumi said his target was holed up somewhere. As he watched the glittering sea from the taxi window, Hisoka received a call from Illumi.

"I got your text." Illumi said, distracted. Hisoka could hear him rummaging with something in the background.

"Yes, I'll be in town within the hour~" Hisoka flicked at his nails casually. "So where am I meeting you? ♣"

"Oh, I cannot meet today." Illumi replied with a much more direct tone. "You will be meeting a correspondent."

Hisoka glanced at his phone questioningly. He didn't want to say he was disappointed to have to wait to see Illumi until tomorrow, but it did take some gusto out of him. Illumi was aware that his birthday was tomorrow, right? He had to be.

Oh well, once the job was done they could do something together.

"Alright." Hisoka turned his attention back to the ocean view.

"I'll send you the address." Illumi said, absentminded again.

—

Hisoka arrived at the address Illumi had provided by mid-afternoon, and found it to be attached to a manicured townhouse. The street was lined with equally well-kept, Mediterranean style homes, with groomed tropical plants and trees that made the area look more like a postcard than a place for murder.

Well, murder follows money, and there was plenty of money here.

Hisoka entered the house with a quick knock, and was greeted by an older man in a black suit.

"Master Illumi has asked me to give you instructions for the meeting tomorrow." The man said formally. Hisoka tilted his head. 

This was a butler, he assumed. Not very powerful, maybe 45 points.

The butler handed him a small envelope.

"Please follow the details listed inside carefully. Master Illumi says it is imperative."

Hisoka stared at the envelope, then raised his eyes back up to the butler with a cocked eyebrow.

This was not normally how his jobs went with Illumi. They always met together and Illumi personally explained the details to him. They call and text each other freely, after all, so what was the point of this run around?

"Alright. ♠" Hisoka agreed finally.

With a flick of his wrist, a card appeared between his fingers, and he used its Nen-hardened edge to open the envelope like a letter.

The instructions were clear, but all the more confounding. 

Hisoka was to meet with an informant tomorrow, at a different address, and give them the code "44301". That was all.

There was also a note to again remind Hisoka that Illumi would not be available to meet tonight. Hmph.

But Illumi did take the initiative to book a room for Hisoka to spend the night at… on the other end of town. Hisoka did his best not to grind his teeth—his taxi just left five minutes ago. 

The hotel better have a bar.

—

Hisoka laid in bed and stared at the clock; 11:45PM.

The only contact he had with Illumi after he arrived was texting him to tell him that he got the information for the meeting, and Illumi acknowledging it.

He didn't want to be disappointed, but he had been expecting Illumi to at least mention his birthday. Though, technically it was his birthday tomorrow and not tonight, but still.

No text saying, "Sorry to do this on your birthday weekend, but…" or any promises like "We'll go out after the job is done."?

This was all very unlike Illumi as he knew him.

Hisoka frowned. Had Illumi forgotten?

Illumi remembered last year, so it would be strange if he forgot this year, but it wasn't impossible.

Hisoka watched the clock tick past 12:00AM.

This was stupid, being upset over someone forgetting his birthday. No one ever celebrated it with him until recently, so it shouldn't bother him.

But Illumi was the only one to ever remember, so he was the only one that could forget it, too.

Hisoka groaned and rolled away from the clock to get some sleep.

—

Hisoka’s blood was boiling.

After waking up to nothing from Illumi but a text telling Hisoka to notify him once he met with the informant, Hisoka had again called a taxi and gone to the new meeting spot as requested.

He had assumed the informant may be untrustworthy, and probably powerful, if Illumi was having him go, but to his surprise, as he arrived at the listed motel room, Hisoka was greeted by a civilian man in an inconspicuous blue-gray suit with a dull, lackluster expression.

The man asked for the code, and upon receiving it, handed Hisoka a manila envelope.

"Please bring this paperwork to the address below." He said.

No fight, no attitude, no bloodlust, not even any impressive Nen or rowdy cohorts that might have had him considering to fight even if it was against Illumi's wishes! This was a trivial errand that anyone could have accomplished!

Hisoka was so upset by the insult of this mundane exchange that he failed to notice the neat line of golden needle heads sticking out of the back of the "informant's" hair.

Instead, Hisoka seethed as he stalked up the sidewalk and into a very affluent neighborhood that overlooked the ocean by cliffside.

"Calling me for a job on my birthday? Sure, fine, whatever." Hisoka ranted in his head bitterly. "But to have me run these menial little errands? A butler could have done this! At least have me fight something! ♠"

His clawed thumbnail dug into the paper of the yellow envelope as he gripped it tight in annoyance.

And that bastard Illumi hadn't called or texted him anything about his birthday all day! He really had forgotten!

It made Hisoka mad, and a little embarrassed, to have had placed any expectations in the assassin, even if he was his lover. He felt even stupider for being so upset about it, as if he needed Illumi to give a damn about whether he was born or not.

"That's what I get for expecting anything. ♠" Hisoka thought with a huff as he reached the listed residence. He didn't even bother to knock, and let himself inside.

His heels clicked on the tile floor of the foyer as he skulked into the belly of the house to look for the next stupid correspondent he was probably meeting here.

He stopped short at the sight of pastel party decorations and Illumi, standing amongst it all, with his hands up on either side of his head.

"Surprise!" Illumi said with a big smile that was disproportionate to his airy, calm voice.

"Haha, I tricked you!" He added gently with a boyish laugh.

Hisoka dropped the envelope in his absolute dumbfoundment.

Behind Illumi there were bouquets of baby blue, pink, and yellow balloons—one of his favorite color palettes—that hung on either side of a "Happy Birthday" banner that draped down the wall in similar colors.

Below the banner was a small party table, with its pastel blue skirt pinned up in intervals by soft pink and yellow pom poms. And in the center of the table was a very expensive-looking chocolate birthday cake; big enough to look like a centerpiece, but small enough to share between two.

Hisoka felt an unfamiliar, overwhelming feeling overcome him as he realized what was happening, and he shakingly approached Illumi as the latter carried on explaining without a care.

"Retrieving the envelope was just a diversion!" Illumi continued, giddy that his clever plan had worked exactly as intended. "It actually has your card—"

Hisoka grabbed Illumi by the shoulders, quickly enough to startle him into pausing his explanation.

"ILLUMI… ♥" Hisoka choked out, eyes wet. Illumi stared at his upset face with his usual wide eyes.

"Oh, do you not like it…?" Illumi asked.

That would be a shame, as he was sure Hisoka would like it. His younger brothers had always liked parties like this.

Hisoka swallowed back the emotion clogging his throat, and followed it with a hard sniff for good measure. He returned Illumi’s stare, though his eyes were bent up to fight off the mistiness that kept clouding them.

Illumi had planned him a surprise birthday party, in an expensive rental home on the coast of Kukan'yu, for just the two of them. He really thought that Illumi had forgotten his birthday, and in doing so, he played right into Illumi’s hand. Illumi got him good; some master of tricks he was!

Illumi didn't forget.

Hisoka pulled him into a tight embrace.

"You were setting this up all yesterday?" He asked, muffled by Illumi’s thick, black hair.

Illumi smiled and hugged him back.

"Mm!" He affirmed, and carried on with his explanation. "I had to wait on the balloon arrival, and then oversee the workers through the set-up in the afternoon yesterday, and there was a delay with the champagne delivery, which was very annoying, as well as having to continuously call the service desk at the bakery today because they were also over an hour late delivering this morning."

Illumi paused his rambling to peek at Hisoka, who had not moved besides pushing his face into Illumi’s neck. Illumi gave himself a self-assured grin.

"Did I surprise you?" Illumi asked, his voice as mischievous as a toddler's.

Hisoka squeezed him tighter, and after a moment, managed to pull away to plant a deep, grateful kiss on his lover's lips.

"Yes. I love it. ♣" Hisoka sniffed, then turned to pepper Illumi’s sideburn with quick kisses.

"Suki, suki, suki, suki, sukiiii-dayo. ♥" 

( →"I love you" but soft, like a crush)

Illumi gleamed at the appreciative gesture, and rewrapped his arms around Hisoka’s broad shoulders. 

"Oh good! I was worried for a moment." He sighed contently, completely unaware of the turmoil he had caused.

—

♥ Epilogue:

Hisoka sank further into the rolling bubbles of the jacuzzi. He watched the sunset stretch over the horizon line of the ocean from the comfort of the vacation home's private balcony, and from the comfortable embrace of the hot water, and his hot lover, who was just as naked as he was.

Illumi puffed a relaxed sigh, and leaned further into Hisoka’s embrace.

He was glad that his efforts had paid off, and that Hisoka was pleased and cuddling with him now. Hisoka had stalled his invitation for sex right after the surprise, which was very unexpected, but his worries were eased when Hisoka suggested this instead. Illumi had never been met with anything less than overt enthusiasm when he was the one to initiate, so for a moment he was worried Hisoka was unhappy with him.

It was quite the opposite of unhappy, unbeknownst to Illumi.

Hisoka cradled Illumi closer and carefully slid a wayward strand of his long, wet hair back into place. Illumi hummed approvingly from his resting spot on Hisoka's collar, and Hisoka pursed his lips with a blush.

He felt silly.

He felt bubblier than the jacuzzi, or the champagne sitting nearby.

He wasn't even really in the mood for sex, which was so surprising that he couldn't even bring himself to explain it to Illumi, instead shying away from the other's inviting words and proposing this alternative instead.

There was no way he could coolly explain that the only thing he really, really wanted to do tonight was hold Illumi close for as long as time allowed. Teasing about taking a naked dip in the hot tub was the closest that he was getting to that confession.

Hisoka stroked more of Illumi’s hair back, and drew lazy circles over the smooth skin of his shoulder blade. He felt Illumi smile, and pouted over the heat that reaffixed itself across his cheekbones.

He was so happy, so content. It was really unlike him.

There was nothing he would rather be doing on his birthday than reclining with Illumi like this.

"Hmm, ah…" Illumi mumbled as his thoughts started up again. "Is there anything specific you would like for dinner?"

Illumi tried to sit up, but Hisoka coaxed him back into lying on him. Illumi smiled in amusement.

"There are several acclaimed restaurants close by." He resumed from the nape of Hisoka’s neck. Hisoka's lips squirmed again, and he set a kiss onto the crown of Illumi's head.

"I don't feel like going out…" He answered reluctantly. 

He didn't want to move from this spot. He didn't want to stop holding Illumi, who cared for him and took him into consideration. Illumi, who remembered his birthdate, and made such an effort to make him feel special.

That's what it was, Hisoka realized with another shy sigh.

He felt special.

He felt special to Illumi, specifically.

"We can order take-out then." Illumi suggested it like a solution to a math problem. He moved to reach for his phone, but was again enveloped in Hisoka’s arms and dragged into a tender hold.

"I'm not too hungry yet..." Hisoka tried as an excuse. "I would rather stay here for longer."

Illumi's black eyes stared up at Hisoka from below his chin. He was acting very unusual, almost submissive, but he supposed it wasn't a bad unusual, so Illumi let it be. 

"Alright, then," Illumi pressed a kiss to Hisoka's neck, unaware of the agonizingly blissful expression the act garnered.

"Happy birthday."

[sinaprime]

Chapter 1: The Beginning I

(A warning before you start reading. This is my first chapter of a new story I'm working on. It's also my first story in the Naruto verse. The full story will be shared on archiveforum, but I can't tell when yet. If you not a fan of Tobirama Senju or relationship between Madara and Tobirama then you better don't bother with it, even if you might like the first chapter.

There will be a reference of rape, though there won't be an explicit graphic description of it. It also just serves as a basis of the story, which means there won't be any future rape. It'll be mentioned but nothing else, well maybe an attempt but again it won't be the main topic. This is not meant to be a dark fic. Yes, there will be the typical canon violance, maybe some foul language, but not chapter long scenes of torture or whatever.

Okay, that should be enough as warning. If you're still interested, then have fun!!!)

It was dark. Heavy clouds covered the sky. Thunder echoed through the forest, while lightning lit up the sky for short period of times. The ground was slippery from all the snowy rain and the temperature was just barely above zero so that every breath was visible.

In middle of the storm a lone figure run from their pursuers. Unfortunately, they were low on chakra and the poison wasn’t any help either. It should have been an easy mission, it was an easy mission, a simple assassination of a low ranking noble, that played with the wrong guys. The problem came after the mission was a success.

On their way back home, they stumbled upon a group of Hagoromo Shinobi. It’d have been easy to avoid them, but something let them hesitate. There were several chakra signatures that radiated distress and weren’t coming from adults. It let their inner omega come forward, which also caused a low growl escaping their throat.

Being a sensor had its advantage of scouting the surroundings without coming to close to the enemy, especially if being one with a sensor radius of several miles. It was easy to determine the number of enemies, and it wasn’t a number they wouldn’t be able to handle, not with the right strategy.

Looking up at the sky, they knew it wouldn’t be long until the storm hit. So, they followed the group in a safe distance and attacked with the first thunder covering their own sounds. It was over in minutes.

What was left were only three children between the age of four and seven. The oldest being a Nara, the second oldest an Aburame and to their surprise the youngest being an Uchiha, with an Sharingan (Heaven’s eye) that probably just activated and let them slightly flinch. It wasn’t very well known, but over the years they observed that the activation of a Sharingan is mostly triggered by very strong feelings, mostly during a traumatic event like watching a friend or family member die. How that works exactly, they couldn’t find out yet. To do so they would need an Uchiha willing to let them examine their eyes or a corpse, but neither the first nor the second was an option. And they for sure wouldn’t experiment on a child that was barely out of their diapers.

It took them a while to convince the children that they meant no harm and offered to accompany them to their clan members, which weren’t far away. The two older kids accepted their offer, and it wasn’t long until they were found by their respective clan members, though the rescuer decided it was better to stay out of sight with the Uchiha child pressed against their chest, and throat.

After that the problem was to get the Uchiha child close enough to their clan without possibly being detected themselves. There was no doubt that a searching party was already on the way, and knowing the Uchiha, they won’t have sent only two or three clan members, but most likely five or six if not more. A number they would have no chance to win against.

Just as they had the thought, several chakra signatures entered their current observation radius, one being clear that of Uchiha Madara, a raging wildfire that made it difficult to detect all the smaller ones around him, but just as their suspected, there were more than six people.

Unfortunately, they had not much of options, to be precise, there was no other option as to wait until the group was close enough to reach the child before something could happen. In addition, the wound they received during the fight, hadn’t stopped bleeding and from the dwindling feeling of their limbs, the weapon that pierced their skin had been poisoned. It also started to affect their chakra reserves, which in addition influenced their sensory range, which they needed to navigate through the darkness of the storm.

The only chance to survive the encounter with the Uchiha was to abandon the child and to reach Senju territory before the Uchiha even knew they were there, which on the other hand meant to leave the child without any protection, which wasn’t an option either. It might be a child from an enemy clan, but no child deserved to die alone in the wilderness. A flash of an older boy, bloodied and surrounded by enemies entered their mind, and they were quick to push that thought aside and to focus on the current situation.

They thought for a minute until an idea struck. They could try their new technique. The chakra loss would be very high, and it’ll probably allow the poison to work quicker on their system, but it’d still increase their chance of escape, especially with the right timing.

Deciding then ten minutes was enough of waiting, they used their new developed technique and left the unaware child, running in the opposite direction of the incoming Uchiha, hoping they would be far enough away before the Uchiha noticed their presence.

Unfortunately, as soon as they turned their plan into action, the storm increased in intensity. Not only that, but they also missed the lone figure that had separated from the group somewhere on the way and was soon crossing their path. So here they were now. More stumbling than running through the forest with their fast-depleting chakra reserves while trying to dodge the pursuer that wouldn’t give up their hunt.

Fate seemed to be against them, and it wasn’t long as something hit their legs and sent them to the ground. They tried to stand up, but before they could something heavy landed on their back. Black dots begun clouding their already blurry vision either due to the blood loss or the poison they didn’t know, most likely it was both.

Their body was moved forcefully until they laid on their back. Only barely they noticed a hand moving in direction of their mask. They tried to stop it, but the next moment their mask was already ripped off. With blurry eyes they looked at a face with red eyes and what they thought was a sinister smile.

The brief second must have been enough to be pulled into a Genjutsu by the Sharingan, or maybe they just lost consciousness. They didn’t know. Their last thought before the darkness overtook them was that at least it wasn't Uchiha Madara who killed them, knowing full well that it would break their brother's heart.

----

The sound of metal against metal echoed through the near forest, indicating another fight between Uchiha and Senju. It wasn’t something unusual. For centuries, the two clans were the biggest rivals and met at least once in a week on a new battlefield.

It wasn’t that there hadn’t been attempts of making peace during those centuries, but never did it last for even longer than a month. Too great was the hate between them. The slightest misstep of one member of either clan was enough to break the peace and renew the fight. For a long time neither clan asked for a ceasefire or peace treaty until one day a boy started to have a dream.

It had been a month since Tobirama thought he was going to die. He barely remembered what happened that stormy night, nor what happened after he lost consciousness. His last clear memories were that of red eyes and an eerie smile. Then nothing.

The next thing he knew was waking up in his bed back in the Senju compound two days later. As he asked his older brother about it, Hashirama told him that he found him near the Senju compound, bloodied, unconscious, and with clothes drenched and tattered. Nothing unusual in a life of a Shinobi but having survived the encounter and whatever happened after was still surprising when you consider the circumstances.

At the end, Tobirama shrugged it off. Either his memories would come back and reveal how he made it back to the compound or not. There was no point in thinking about something that you may never find an answer to. He accepted it as a stroke of luck and continued his life as always.

However, his luck seemed to run out, again. Since the morning Tobirama felt nauseous and his chakra was slightly unbalanced, which he both reasoned with having barely slept the past couple of days and with too little of food. He had been on another mission the past two weeks, which should have only lasted for ten days instead of fourteen. However, the nobles he had been tasked to escort liked to take much longer brakes in the towns they passed. In addition, they have been attacked several times by some groups, mostly bandits, Tobirama was quick to eliminate them, but one group had two Shinobis within them, which took more effort to get rid of.

At the end, it left Tobirama with little left of his rations for his two-day trip back to the Senju compound, and even less sleep because he was in constant alert with senses stretched out as far as possible, wanting to avoid something similar happening as on his prior mission, which had been still fresh in his mind.

Therefore, he wasn’t in his best condition when the bells alerted them that one of their patrols were in a fight and needed back up. As always when they were confronted with the Uchiha, Hashirama took it as a chance to convince Madara, who he still considered a friend, to agree to a peace treaty. And as always Madara declined Hashirama’s offer of peace and like always it ended in a fight with Tobirama vs. Izuna and Hashirama vs. Madara.

And here they were now, again on a battlefield close to the Naka River that parted their two territories.

However, this time Tobirama could barely keep up with Izuna. His senses were a mess, and the more he tried to concentrate his chakra, the dizzier he became.

“What’s up with you Senju. Seems not to be your best day to fight me. Maybe you’d just give up and let me take your head.” Izuna mocked. Tobirama gritted his teeth, but otherwise stayed silent. In a way Izuna was right, this was indeed not a good day to fight him. But Tobirama couldn’t stay home knowing that if it wasn’t him fighting Izuna, then it would be one of his other clan members, which would definitely end with their certain death, worse it’d probably cost much more members their life, and Tobirama couldn’t risk that. As the heir of the Senju clan, it was his responsibly to keep them and his brother safe.

Trying to clear his vision, Tobirama missed Izuna moving and appearing right in front him. With his Sharingan active Izuna tried to catch Tobirama in a Genjutsu, but out of reflex Tobirama closed his eyes, which on the other hand allowed Izuna to kick him into the side followed by a fist punch hard enough to send Tobirama flying several meters backwards.

Unfortunately, he had not much time to get his composure back as Izuna already prepared to throw his fire jutsu at him. To block the fireball flying in his direction, Tobirama used his water release technique to create a large water dragon as a shield. When both elements collided, it covered the near area in a thick mist.

Tobirama breathed heavily to keep his nausea in check. He was also sure that at least one of his ribs was bruised if not broken.

What Tobirama missed when preparing to throw several kunai next, was the Uchiha behind him. So, he was more than surprised as something sharp pierced his body and caused sudden pain flooding his system.

He let his head fall and saw the top of a sword coming out of his stomach.

“Got you.”, a voice said close to his ear, “Thought you could escape me, demon? Wrong.” The sword was pulled back slowly, and Tobirama could only groan at the sensation of flesh and tendons being cut. The man stood, a hand on Tobirama’s shoulder, holding him in place. Then followed another stab, this time through his upper torso, piercing his lung.

“Haro?” The mist cleared and allowed Tobirama to see Izuna standing a few feet away from him. “Wh…”

“I’m just finishing what I couldn’t end last time, and what you failed to do any other times on the field. Truly I don’t know why you had so many difficulties with it. He’s just a weakling, like all omegas are.” The Uchiha roughly pulled the sword out of his victim. Tobirama could feel how blood begun to fill his lung and how it made its way up through his airway and into his mouth.

“Wh…Wait. An Omega?”

“Yes. And for a Senju a very pretty one, I must admit that. What a waste, but at least I had some fun with him, the last time I saw him. Little bitch didn’t even fight when I took my revenge. It’s just too bad we were interrupted before I’d kill him.” Tobirama’s eyes widen, and he tried to move away, but the Uchiha grabbed his hair and pulled him back forcefully.

“I’m not done with you yet, bitch. Your head is mine.” The Uchiha forced Tobirama’s head back to expose his throat. Cold metal touched his skin a second later, and Tobirama could only think that yet again this will be his end.

At the same time the metal cut into his flesh, several vines broke through the surface, forcing Izuna and the other Uchiha to jump backwards. The latter hadn’t let go of his sword though, and therefore caused an even bigger and deeper cut when retreating.

Through the force of it, Tobirama’s weakened body also followed the movement of the hand in his hair and started to fall backwards. But before he could hit the ground, his falling body was caught by Hashirama, who stared at him in shock and fear.

“Otouto.”

“An-Anija.” Tobirama gurgled, which also caused him to cough heavily, spitting up blood at the same time. The taste of it also triggered his nausea to come back with so much force, that he couldn’t stop retching and vomiting. Fortunately, Hashirama was quick enough to turn Tobirama on his side, so he wouldn’t drown on his own spit and blood.

“An-i-ja.”

“Shhh. Don’t speak. Your Anija will heal you. You’re safe.” Hashirama tried to be calm, but there was unmistakably panic in his voice.

Tobirama was gasping for breath, when he felt a shaky hand on his throat and another on his chest, followed by something warm entering his body. His brother must have moved him on his back so he could use both his hands freely to perform his iryō ninjutsu, which explained the warm feeling of chakra flooding his system.

Staring into Hashirama’s brown desperate eyes, Tobirama couldn’t stop himself mumbling. “M’sorry. My fault…wasn’t good…felt bad…should have not fight…but…clan…protect.”

“No, it’s my fault. I’d have known better. I’d have known that you needed more rest. I’d have seen that you weren’t feeling well. Please, Tobira. It’s not your fault. I just wanted the fight to end. This is exactly the reason why I wanted our clans to become friends. I can’t lose you otouto.” Hashirama sobbed.

“Tsk. Our clans will never be friends.” Haro muttered. When Hashirama lifted his head to glare at him, he saw several other Uchiha nodding at the statement, including Izuna. He turned his gaze to Madara who stared at his clan member darkly.

“Madara?”

He didn’t saw Madara turning his head to him, because a wet cough alerted Hashirama to look down at his brother, who had closed his eyes by then and was paler than Hashirama had ever seen him.

“Tobi? Come on, otouto. Stay with me.” He redoubled his efforts and was even more shocked when he felt a very tiny chakra signature suddenly answering his own.

“Tobirama.”, someone yelled and was kneeling next to them the next second. “Oh, kami.”

“Touka.”

“I know, I know.” The female alpha Senju turned and yelled. “Taka, run back to the compound and inform the healers that we have an emergency. Two stabs, one through the stomach and another through the chest, also a cut at the throat.”

“Y-yes, Touka-sama.” The kunoichi turned back and looked at Hashirama. Only then, she noticed his very pale and shocked expression.

“Hashirama?”

“Touka. He…he is…it should not…”

“Come on Hashirama. To’ra needs medical care urgently. Everything else…can wait. And remember that we are still on a battlefield with enemies close by.” She looked over his shoulder with a scowl.

“You’re right…let’s go.” Hashirama stood with his unconscious brother in his arms. Though before he run off, he turned a last time to his once former friend, expression blank, and eyes no longer brown but a dark green mixed with some alpha red.

“I won’t seek revenge, no matter what happens, but next time our clans fight, Madara, I won’t hold back either. You don’t want peace? Fine. But don’t blame me and my clan for any further losses within the Uchiha. Keep away from our land. Any Uchiha daring to step on it again, will die." Without losing any more time, Hashirama started to run as fast as he never did before.

The Uchiha watched them go with slight mixed feelings. There was something unsettling about Hashirama and it let a few guts twist uncomfortably. Never have they seen eyes like this.

Madara, having not expected Hashirama’s harsh threating words, could only stare in shock after his former friend and think that today his clan had made the biggest mistake.

-----

And what do you think?

Should there someone be inspired to draw some art, then please feel free to do so, just please don't forget to add a reference to my own work. Unfortunately, I'm not talented enough for that, though I'd like to add some pictures when I'll publish it on archiveforum, of course only with your permission as well.

Thanks for reading

[anxious-witch]

Inertia 1

Summary: Newton's first law expresses the principle of inertia: the natural behavior of a body is to move in a straight line at constant speed. In the absence of outside influences, a body's motion preserves the status quo.

Jan choose a direction of his life the moment he walked out of his parents house and cut all contact with them. He didn't want anything to do with them, or God anymore. Even his soulmark he wished he could leave behind. But when Nace Jordan joins the band, with a mark matching his own, can Jan keep going the same way he did? Or will the force make him change a direction?

Pairings: Jan Peteh/Nace Jordan

Warnings: pretty heavy religious trauma, homophobia both internalized and just in general and for child abuse

Notes:

Ao3 Link

Okay so, several things. I will try my best to post every Saturday if my uni obligations allow me, and yes today is technically a Friday, but I was just too impatient.

This fic is listed as explicit on ao3 because there will likely be smut in later chapters and I'd rather be safe than sorry, but you can check more detailed tags on ao3 link if you are not sure about something or feel free to message me.

Big thank you to my friends @domo-no-domo-yes and @wordpuddle on tumblr for beta-reading and helping me edit this

Anyway, enjoy :)

"I etch my own face upon my wicked flesh. / I am my own devastating god."

- Rachel McKibbens, from "Shiv," Women of Resistance: Poems for a New Feminism

The first memories Jan had of his own mother were of her telling him stories every night. How, when God saw how many people came into being and how they went through their lives lost and afraid, He decided to bestow upon them a Gift – a sign of His love and mercy - that would guide them to a person who would be just right for them.

A soulmate.

Jan remembered how his mother’s soft hands gently stroked his dark, unruly hair – doing her best to tame it – as she spoke of how a Gift of his own would be granted to him in a few years, that there were some ways in which he could seek the blessing of guidance towards the right path - towards his soulmate.

That was the reason why they went to church regularly. To seek the guidance under His heavenly light. To earn His Gift.

It would take Jan quite a few years to realize that was the precise moment when the metaphorical noose was placed around his neck.

When he was around five, his mother observed a faint mark behind his ear as she was cutting his hair. She made a brief remark about it, but said nothing more. Afterwards, Jan found himself tracing its borders with his finger while trying to catch a glimpse of it in the bathroom mirror.

The mark took the form of a vaguely pear-shaped outline, devoid of color and detail. His hand continued to hover over it, occasionally touching it, as he left the bathroom and crouched behind a wall, eavesdropping on his parents speaking in not-so-hushed voices in the living room.

"You know very well what this means," his father whisper shouted, "she has to be quite a few years older than he is, if the mark is already appearing this early!"

"Let’s not jump to conclusions. If she’s two, three years older…it's not the end of the world. What matters is that she is from good, Christian family."

Jan quietly tiptoed towards his room; his heart as heavy as lead. As he lay on his bed, unable to find sleep, he decided to do what his mother always suggested he do whenever he was upset. He prayed. Prayed for a soulmate his parents would love, someone they would approve of. A soulmate that would be the closest thing to Heaven in their eyes.

It had not yet dawned upon him that his soulmate should be perfect for himself, first and foremost, not his parents.

By the time Jan started primary school at the age of seven, his mark shifted two more times. First, detail and color filled the vague pear-shaped outline, transforming it into a brown acoustic guitar, and then some years later, it shifted yet again, this time into a red bass guitar. 

The whispered conversations between his parents became more frequent, and his father's expressions grew darker and angrier with each passing day. The only thing that seemed to soothe them was Jan accompanying them to church every Sunday. And so, Jan continued to do so.

Now, the church wasn’t all bad. In the silence of the stone structure, as the walls vibrated with the echoes of the choir’s song, Jan managed to bring himself to find peace. Not to mention, God was always good in his parents’ stories. Like a good Shepherd, he always took care of His flock who believed in him, including the lost lambs. So, Jan always closed his eyes and prayed as hard as he could. 

God at least, would not forsake him.

It wasn't until Jan reached high school and cautiously asked his parents if he could learn to play the guitar, that things started to change.

Inevitably, it took quite a bit of convincing. Guitar lessons meant that Jan would have less time to dedicate towards church and schoolwork, but since Jan was always a good student who worked hard to keep his grades up, they couldn't say no.

Jan was not ready to tell them that one of the reasons why he wanted those guitar lessons was so that he could spend less time under their watchful eyes, as well as attending church services. He could already feel his father's cold rage breathing down his neck at the mere thought of mentioning it. Not to mention, he was developing a taste of his own, music-wise – something which he carefully kept under wraps, as he knew the kind of music he discovered and loved would certainly be considered ungodly.

The last two years of middle school had been rough on Jan. Matej moved out just a bit before his twenty-seventh birthday, and his sister got married and moved away ages ago. This meant that Jan lived alone with his parents, with no one to divert their attention from him, which made him long for some time to have for himself.

Being so much younger than both his siblings felt awful. It was as if he was perpetually late to everything and stumbled through things his siblings seemingly did with ease. Worse yet, ever since he started puberty, his parents began asking him about girls he liked. Jan usually brushed off their queries by stating he was more interested in math than girls. 

Yet, if he had to be honest with himself, math class often bored him. He often felt as if his brain was constantly racing ahead of most of his classmates’, the problems he copied from the board completely solved long before anyone else finished. Truth be told, instead of counting how many times he mumbled “Hail Mary” for mouthing off at the teacher, his eyes strayed towards the boy sitting in the second row. He once counted seventy-eight eyelashes on the boy's upper eyelid before the teacher called his name.

His heart didn't slow until well after he left school. After that, he never looked at the boy again. 

So, picking up the guitar served two purposes. For one, he might get closer to his soulmate and meet her while learning to play the guitar – he did hear of the oft-mentioned stereotype of girls liking musicians after all – and of course, he would also have a convenient excuse to skip Sunday mass on occasion. 

Every time anything related to homosexuality was mentioned, Jan’s breath often hitched. He felt as if he was being watched, be it by his family or his peers, or by God’s eye. As if, if he ever so much as breathed the wrong way, or moved his hand a certain way, it would be obvious to everyone. 

And Jan never, ever wanted that to happen. Not in his lifetime.

Music was, as he soon learned, similar to math in some aspects. It was all about attention to detail and carefully reading the notes. Well, it was not quite the same as math however. Math made his thoughts speed up as he focused, while he sifted through all the possible answers. With music, however, it was as if his brain and his entire being focused on a singular point – one where he could simply concentrate on the notes and the strings under his fingers alone. Everything else simply faded away when music took over his soul. 

It felt like a prayer. Like for the first time in years, he witnessed what a miracle was, and found God among the strings. 

But what really changed his mind took the form of a tall, lanky boy who took lessons from the same guitar teacher. Jan often saw him either walking out of the building as he came to his lessons, or waiting in the hallway for his turn, as Jan was finished for the day.

It wasn't until their music teacher call them up for the same session and introduced them to each other that Jan truly noticed him. 

"Jan, this is Kris Guštin. Kris, this is Jan Peteh. I wanted to suggest-"

"Wait, Kris Guštin? As in, Gušti's kid?!" Jan might have been raised in a Christian household, but he did not live under a rock, and he already developed a taste of his own as of late.

Kris sighed and Ema pursed her lips. She didn't like being interrupted. Jan grimaced.

"Sorry."

"Yes. He’s my dad. Can we please get back on track?"

Jan took a good look at the tall boy for the first time. His hair was cut awfully short - Jan's own hair reached slightly below his ears, just enough to cover up his soulmark - and he looked like he got dressed in the first clothes they found in his size, which consisted of a mock-collegiate jumper and rather short shorts.

Kris shot him a glare and Jan realized he was staring. He quickly turned his eyes back towards Ema.

"As I was saying, both of you have been my students for quite some time. I think you both are very talented and your styles are very complementary. I suggest you two get to know each other better and perhaps consider forming a band."

Jan felt his mouth fall open as his jaw went slack, but no words came out. Him? In a band? His head spun. Yet somewhere, deep inside his chest, his heart warmed and swelled with joy. A desire he never dared to voice suddenly sang. 

"With him?" Kris asked, his blue eyes widening.

Ema raised a neatly-plucked eyebrow.

"Kris. I realize Jan might not have made the best impression with his earlier interruption, but he is, along with you, one of my best students. I would not have suggested this if I wasn't certain it could work."

Kris considered him carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly at his necklace with a cross on it. Jan felt a twinge of self-consciousness, as well as a sudden urge to hide it under his shirt. Wearing it was more if a habit at this point anyway. Like a lucky amulet of some sort, protecting him from anything bad that could happen.

"How about the two of you think about it? We can have a joint session for today so you can see how you fit musically. Then, you can figure out the rest on your own."

To this, they both agreed, albeit Kris was slightly less enthusiastic, at least outwardly. Jan really wanted it to work out, but he reined his expectations. He never expected music to be more than a hobby, after all.

“How about I give you a key and then I’ll mess around a bit to find something that sounds good. You can join in if you think you have a melody that will go with mine, so we’ll see if it works. Sounds good?”

Jan nodded. Kris focused on his guitar and then slowly slide his fingers over the strings. Jan listened carefully, trying to get a feel of Kris’ guitar-playing style. 

The younger boy seemed to favor clearer, more measured and consistent tones. Jan on the other hand, perhaps partly due to the kind of music he listened to, had an inclination towards more frenetic, improvisational and chaotic playing, with more distortion. Perhaps…

The next time Kris began his melody, Jan joined in. He followed it with his own, fast-paced and improvised one. Not to overpower Kris’ own playing but simply to complement it. When they reached the end, Jan and Kris exchanged a look. Kris' suspicion melted away, and he gave Jan a shy smile. 

“That was…really good actually. We should do it again…this time, with a proper song.”

In that moment, something just clicked. It was as if Jan finally found the key to solving an equation he had been struggling with. And just as it was in math, once he found the solution to one equation, it was like finding a key to solve all equations similar to it.

“Deal.”

They did end up forming a band, even if Buržuazija didn't last very long – less than two years, in fact. More importantly for Jan, however, he gained a friend. Not that he was devoid of friends before Kris came into the picture, but the younger boy was different. He wasn’t handpicked by his parents and neither was he anything like Jan pictured a son of Gušti to be - although he did indeed take after his father looks-wise.

He could come across as mean at times, but as Jan soon learned, it was more the result of a combination of affectionate teasing and awkwardness, as well as a need for order.

His parents didn't approve, of course. Neither of Kris nor Jan spending even more time playing the guitar. But this time, Jan found himself no longer caring. He began sneaking out often, as well as lying regularly as well - making up extra classes and math tutoring sessions in order to spend more time with Kris and the rest of their band. 

It was on one such night, during a festival they were set to perform in, that Jan met Bojan. His band Apokalipsa was to take the stage right before them.

However, it wasn't Bojan's voice that made him notice him. Rather, it was the way Kris stared in his direction. Like Kris was someone that saw colors for the first time when he looked at him, his turquoise eyes staring into warm pools of deep brown.

It was the look of someone completely smitten.

Jan gently nudged him and Kris startled, looking at him wide-eyed.

"You know him?"

"Um. Yeah, we went to primary school together. It's-he just has a really nice voice, y'know?"

Even under the flashing lights, he could see the faint blush that colored Kris' cheeks. Finding someone who looked at other boys the same way he did felt...odd. It was not how he he expected to feel. Jan knew was supposed to be happy to find someone like himself, but instead he just felt disconnected. Like he couldn't quite process it.

He turned to face the stage. Bojan did have a nice voice and despite being on the slightly shorter side, when he began to sing, that impression faded away. He was larger than life and had a certain charismatic quality that demanded all eyes to be on him. Jan could definitely understand why Kris liked him.

"Don't worry though. He is not like-my soulmate or anything. Not that I have one. Just. Y'know."

Jan snorted.

"Obviously, he isn’t your soulmate. He ain’t a girl, is he?"

Silence. Jan turned to look at Kris, who stared at him with his mouth set in a straight line. He fidgeted in a way that he only ever did when he was nervous. The lights shifted in color from blue to red, painting everything in an almost menacing manner. 

"Oh. I didn't know you. Um."

Jan was confused. 

"That I what?"

"That you were homophobic," Kris said, his voice barely audible.

Jan's heart stopped for a few moments. Homophobic? The lights in the venue flashed in different colors at an increased rate now. Yellow, then blue again, then red. He began shaking his head as he felt Kris’ words cut into him like a blade.

"Homophobic? No! Why would you think that? I am not homophobic, I'm-"

He stopped himself, swallowing the word before it could pass over his lips. The forbidden word. The one he would never utter with regards to himself.

Kris stared at him, but this time he looked neither fearful nor suspicious, at least. More...curious, if anything.

"But you don't think soulmates can be of the same gender?"

It was obvious, now that Kris stated it. So why did Jan feel like he was being dragged from a very dark place into the sunlight? Like he was seeing things through a completely new perspective for the first time? As if on cue, bright green lights illuminated the stage, while Jan came to a conclusion.

He felt his heart beat in his chest like a drum, as if heralding an important revelation - something life changing. Something that he couldn't go back from.

"You-that can happen?"

Thump-thump-thump. Kris' face softened.

"Of course, it can. You don't...you didn't know that?"

Jan shook his head, unable to find the right words. Kris reached out and grasped his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"Oh Jan..."

He was saved from whatever Kris was about to say, by the end of Apokalipsa's performance and the announcer calling them to take the stage. Jan stood up quickly and moved as if he was on autopilot. He could not bring himself to look at Kris.

Somewhere between setting up their instruments and the beginning their first song, rage slowly started to build up in him. His parents, the people whom he trusted all his life, lied to him. His father must have suspected for years. Did they not like Kris because they knew his parents weren't against the notion of homosexuality and same-sex soulmates? That Kris wasn't?

Fueled by rage and spite, Jan moved his fingers over the chords. Anger was all he felt, but said wrath radiated power. He played like he wanted his parents to hear him from their bedroom at home.

He wanted them to know how he felt. How he was breaking their rules, and that there was absolutely nothing they could do about it.

Ending the song felt like coming out of a daze. They were met with thunderous applause, and Jan felt overwhelmed, like every sensation hit him all at once. He only just managed to keep his chill until they got off the stage and he put his guitar down. He then broke out into a run, and took off.

Kris was calling his name, but he didn't turn around. He could not bring himself to do so.

He slowed down once he neared the school playground, gasping for breath. Then, he made his way towards the old swing set and sat on one of the swing seats. It was too small for his already tall frame, and he had to bend his knees quite a bit to be able to fit. 

The cool breeze lightly caressed Jan’s face as he tried to untangle the chaos that was his thoughts and feelings. For seventeen years, he believed that a soulmate was a Gift people got, and made the best out of it. That meeting the one destined for him was akin to finding the puzzle piece that would complete him. That she would make him right again. That all of these dark feelings, all these little rebellions he engaged in would become unnecessary. Irrelevant.

Jan realized with a jolt that he did not quite believe that for a long time. Deep down, he knew a soulmate couldn't fix him, or life, or even his deteriorating relationship with his parents. It was just so difficult to bring himself look at cold, hard reality. 

Lies…they were familiar, polished and smooth from many years of handling them. The truth on the other hand, was all sharp edges that made him bleed, just like the guitar’s strings did when he first began playing.

Tears slid down his cheeks, and he covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a sob, but finally, he looked directly at it. Stared at the darkness in the face and embraced it for the first time, rather than shrink back into the light. 

He had to admit it to himself that his parents loved the idea of him, a lot more than they would ever love him as a person. They only loved him when he molded himself into someone they could approve of, and someone he wasn't – and probably never was. When he was obedient, didn't ask questions and behaved himself. Like a lamb who simply followed, and molded himself to fit into their idea of what a good son was. 

And Jan was so tired of pretending. Of pretending he still believed in everything they said. In everything priests said. In the end, it was all about controlling him. 

He reached for his crucifix necklace, firstly gently stroking his fingers over the cold metal and then grabbing it with his fist. Then he pulled. The delicate chain snapped and Jan was left with a cross and a broken necklace.

He put it in the pocket, with what little faith he had left. He then wiped his tears away and got up from the swing.

Walking back seemed to take much longer than it did running away. Or perhaps Jan's racing thoughts finally calmed now that he had accepted the truth.

Nonetheless, the festival still wasn't over by the time he got back. He found Kris easily enough - he was tall enough to be spotted at a glance - in a conversation with Bojan. Kris immediately noticed him and after what seemed to be a quick apology to Bojan, made his way over to him.

"Are you okay?" He asked quietly, his eyes scanning his face.

Jan gave him a weak smile.

"I will be, I think."

Kris nodded, but still looked worried. Then he bit his lip.

"Well, actually I was just talking to Bojan and um."

Jan raised an eyebrow. 

"And?"

"He was really impressed with our performance and he...asked if the two of us would like to form a new band, with him and two of his friends? Since their guitarist are quitting after the summer."

Jan shrugged. There was no harm in hearing him out, was there? He didn't have to accept. And he did owe Kris some extra time with his crush after the whole ordeal.

"Sure, let's hear him out. I mean, not like we are making any life changing decision here."

He had never been more wrong.

Since then, Jan began distancing himself from his parents even more. He questioned everything they told him, and then stopped listening altogether. He no longer accompanied them to church every Sunday, and stopped caring about what they had to say about the music he listened to, or how he spent his time.

He slowly but surely grew his hair out, hiding his mark completely. He’d scrub it off his skin if he could.

After he turned eighteen and choose a university in Ljubljana, far enough that he would need to live in a campus dormitory or rent an apartment. Unsurprisingly, his parents protested. 

Jan told them that he was moving out regardless of whether he was accepted or not. That he would find a job and move out if necessary. 

"Why?" His mother asked, searching his face, desperately trying to find a boy she raised to obey her.

She wouldn't find him. The boy was long gone.

He reached into his pocket, where he still kept the crucifix necklace on a broken chain. He set it on the table and pulled his hand back. His heart felt like it was lodged in his throat, trying to prevent him from uttering the truth. He swallowed, then forced his words out through clenched teeth. 

"I don't believe in God anymore."

There was more he wanted to say. To explain why and how. But as soon as he uttered the first sentence his father backhanded him so hard Jan felt his lip split. He tasted iron on his tongue.

His mother gasped, but did not say a word in his defense. As always. Jan felt numb as he reached for his lip and found it bleeding. His father had never hit him before this. Yelling was commonplace, sometimes grounding and things taken away, but never this. 

It was the last straw. The final note at the end of the twisted hymn that spelled out his life’s path for the past eighteen years, one that was necessary to be play before it was finally over.

"How dare you speak to me like this, in my house?!"

Jan looked at his father straight in the eyes, without so much as a flinch. They shared the same eyes, and he briefly wondered how they ended up seeing the world with them so differently.

"Which is why I am leaving. But I'd believe in God before I'd ever believe either of you again. Only straight soulmates exist, huh? You are both such fucking liars."

Jan snarled those damning words with as much venom as he could muster. The second time his father swung at him; Jan caught his hand. They stared at one another for one long, tense moment. His father was pale, his eyes wide. In that moment, he looked older than his sixty years. Frailer. For the first time, he noticed fear in his eyes. His father was scared of him. Scared of not being able to control him, of what he was capable of doing next. 

"This is what it’s all about, isn’t it?? You-you are going through some kind of phase and you think you are gay now? That your soulmate will be a man?!"

"No."

They didn't deserve to know and yet. Jan wanted to hurt them. Wanted to twist the dagger, plunge it deeper, and let them bleed for all the suffering and doubt they put him through. He wanted them to never recover, just like he knew he wouldn't. 

"I don't care if my soulmate if a woman or a man or whatever. I don't want them. I don't want any Gifts from your fucking God, or anything from you."

His mother let out a sob. Jan let go of his father's hand and took a step back. He felt nothing and everything at the same time. It was as if he was encased in cold, cold ice. Everything that happened below the surface didn't quite reach him yet. 

The child in him wanted to draw her into the hug and tell her everything will be alright, just like she did to him, so many years ago. The person he was now wanted to spit in her face and tell her she was equally complicit and made him feel just as hopeless as she felt now for years. 

"Look at what you are doing to your mother. After everything we gave you-"

"I’ve already packed. I can go now."

Silence was dark and heavy. He felt his mother's stare. He did not look back. The two sides of him were still at war, and he didn’t want either one to win.

"Where will you go?" She asked through the sobs.

"To a friend. College is only few weeks away. They said I can stay until then."

His father slammed the table with his fist. 

"To the Guštins?! I told you that boy was cursed! He is soulless, that's why he doesn't have a soulmate!"

Jan bristled at the slight against his best friend and stared at his father in grim silence for a few moments, before grabbing the discarded crucifix from the table and throwing it at him. It hit the older man squarely in the forehead, making a small cut that started bleeding immediately. Jan felt tears stinging his eyes and threatening to fall. Tears of rage and betrayal and grief, all at once. He held them back, before raising his chin and retorting, the final remnants of the lamb in him burning away to reveal a wolf. 

"The only soulless one is you! And I never want to fucking see either of you, ever again!"

He turned on his heel and ran up the stairs to his room, quickly gathering his suitcase and bags. Everything he owned and cherished was packed away in those bags. His entire life up to that point. Well. Almost. He kept wiping his tears away, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing him cry. All the pictures from the church and of his parents – a reminder of the lies and the suffering he was leaving behind - were neatly set on the table. He only packed the ones he had with Kris, Bojan, Martin and Matić. He also had one picture of him and his brother, hidden in a math notebook. He wasn’t sure if he would keep it just yet, but he brought it with him anyways. There was still a glimmer of hope that he might get to keep his brother after all this, if no one else.

Nobody tried to stop him as he resolutely carried all his bags down the stairs and dragged them behind him as he stepped out of the door. 

"If you do this, you can't come back, Jan. You are adult. We have no legal obligation to help you anymore, or help save your soul from damnation."

Jan looked back at his father one last time. His shoulders were slumped, and he was holding a bloodstained piece of gauze to his forehead where the crucifix made its impact. Jan's own lip stung where it broke.

What relationship they had was past the point of no return, and he knew that for a while already. It was only a few minutes ago that they became aware of it. 

"Goodbye, dad," he said with finality, before he slammed the door behind him.

What little faith he had stored in his pocket that fateful night stayed behind in that house. He would never again find God between the strings of his guitar, nor find comfort in His divine light. Neither did he want to, ever again. But maybe, with time, he might be able to find himself.

That was the best he could hope for.

[bbygrldaemon]

Worse Things

Chapter 05

warnings - graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of past child death, and very brief explicit sexual content. flashbacks high valyrian

ao3 link | spanish translation

Three years later

Rhaenyra stared at her second half-brother, who was crying in the arms of one of her wet nurses. A heavily pregnant Alicent sat beside her, struggling to keep 7-year-old Aegon and 5-year-old Helaena seated as the carriage bumped along the road. Her father, King Viserys, sat beside the beta queen, his eyes fixed on Rhaenyra with a warm smile, seemingly oblivious to the rest of his children. They were traveling to the hunting site to celebrate Aemond’s second name day, just as they had done for Aegon’s. Rhaenyra had not wanted to come, knowing no one would miss her at the celebration, but Viserys had insisted she attend to show support for her brother.

She turned away, looking out through the narrow slits in the sides of the carriage, trying to block out everything happening around her. She missed Daemon. Three years ago, a letter had arrived from Runestone demanding justice for the head of House Royce. Rhea Royce had been found bloody and gravely wounded on the floor of a cave near the castle. Though barely clinging to life, when the guards tried to move her, all she could do was scream in agony. Maester Helliweg had examined her and declared her injuries beyond saving. In the end, her cousin Gerard Royce had finished her off out of mercy, but not before she had suffered for nearly two days.

It was a mystery how she had survived that long with such horrific wounds. By all accounts, it seemed impossible. Rhaenyra believed the gods had kept her alive so she could suffer the same torment she had inflicted upon Daemon. Even if Rhea had felt nothing but agony for those two days, it was still nothing compared to the years of pain she had caused her uncle. Now, Rhea Royce was dead, and Daemon was finally free—that was all that mattered.

Daemon and Baelon had disappeared four days before the female alpha had been found. Rhea had been searching for them, and the Royces believed it was the omega who had struck the fatal blow. The letter demanded that the king make his brother answer for his crimes, along with his sworn sword, Ser Luthor. But Viserys couldn’t believe his brother capable of such brutality and, besides, he had no idea where Daemon was.

Daemon, Baelon, Elinda, and Ser Luthor had been missing for a month before word came that Daemon was fighting alongside the Sea Snake in the Stepstones. Viserys had been furious, sending Kingsguards to retrieve his brother and nephew, but Daemon sent them back—wounded—and with a threat to kill the next guards or messengers sent after him.

In secret, Daemon had sent Rhaenyra a letter, assuring her that Baelon was safe in Driftmark and urging her to find an excuse to visit him. Rhaenyra had managed just that, using the pretext of visiting Laena. The king didn’t need to know that the other female alpha was also in the Stepstones, fighting alongside Corlys and Daemon.

Rhaenyra had longed to go see her uncle in the Stepstones, to make sure with her own eyes that he wasn’t injured. Ever since she’d heard of Rhea Royce’s death, her inner alpha had been restless, urging her to go claim her omega. Though the voice had always been there, it had become louder and more insistent. One day, she’d almost followed its call, already dressed in riding clothes at the Dragonpit, but she’d managed to restrain herself. She knew her sword skills weren’t sufficient for war. If it came down to it, Daemon would try to protect her, putting himself at risk; she’d only be a burden to him.

The carriage’s halt brought her back to the present. They exited one by one to find the guests already assembled. Viserys took Aemond from the wet nurse’s arms, holding him up as the crowd cheered for the little prince. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, already over the entire affair. She glanced around and met the gaze of one of the Lannister twins, though she couldn’t recall his name. The alpha winked at her, and she responded with an awkward smile.

Inside the main tent, most lords and ladies were gathered. Her father sat on a throne off to one side, Otto Hightower standing at his shoulder, likely feeding him more venom. Rhaenyra moved to the group of women seated in a circle, most of them omegas, with a few betas and a lone alpha among them. The queen sat among them, listening to the room’s gossip.

“Perhaps the princess could give us some insight,” said the omega to Alicent’s right as Rhaenyra approached. “Your dear uncle is the great mind behind this war, is he not?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken to Daemon in years,” Rhaenyra replied, irritation clear in her voice.

“Not since you matured as an alpha,” the lady said, frowning. “Quite the scandal, as I recall. But then you were named heir.”

“Daemon made his choices, Lady Kira. The princess is suited to her role,” the queen interjected, trying to defend Rhaenyra.

“He’s created a mess, and now the king must put an end to it. Send fleets and men to clear the Triarchy for good,” said the only lady alpha in the group, her tone indignant.

“But the crown is not at war,” Rhaenyra replied, a smirk of amusement crossing her face.

“The crown is at war, princess. Though your father refuses to admit it, we’ve been dragged into it by your uncle and the Sea Snake,” she responded proudly, making Rhaenyra’s irritation flare. How dare she speak of her omega like that?

“And how have you served the realm as of late, Lady Redwyne? By eating cake?” Rhaenyra glared at the group before turning and leaving the tent.

“I wonder, princess, was your own second name day as grand as this?” A voice asked from nearby. She turned and found one of the Lannister twins watching her.

“I honestly don’t recall, and neither will Aemond,” she replied with an awkward smile, her gaze shifting to the large fire pit ahead.

The lion approached her, giving a slight bow. “Lord Jason Lannister.”

“I gathered that from all the lions,” she replied, clasping her hands and trying to contain her irritation.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” Jason snapped at a server who brought two cups of wine.

“Your twin serves on my father’s council,” she said, watching the servant pour the wine.

Jason took both cups, handing one to her. “Tyland is frightfully dull, gods love him. But here—you’ll find this is the finest honeyed wine you’ll ever taste, made in Lannisport.”

“Of course,” she murmured, taking a sip while turning her head to roll her eyes, wishing the conversation would end.

“The Kingswood is a fine hunting ground, but the best is at Casterly Rock, near my home. Have you been?” Jason asked, hopeful.

“Once, on tour with my mother and uncle when I was young, but I can’t recall much,” Rhaenyra replied politely, though eager to walk away from the boasting alpha.

“The Rock is thrice the size of the Hightower in Old Town and taller than the Wall in the North,” he continued, reaching out to place his hands on her shoulders and turning her toward the distance. “On a perfect day, one could see clear across the Sunset Sea.”

“It must be quite something.”

“I don’t have a Dragonpit, but I have the means and resources to build one,” Jason said from behind her.

“Why would you need a Dragonpit?” she asked, turning back to face him.

“To house dragons, of course.” His gaze intensified. “I’d do anything for my queen—or lady wife.”

Rhaenyra forced a smile, extending her wine cup back to him. “Thank you for the wine.” She swiftly made her way back to the main tent, determined to have words with whoever had encouraged the Lannister’s boldness.

Once inside, she went straight to her father, who was speaking with Lord Strong. She didn’t wait to interrupt. “Is that what I am to you? A prize to dangle before the great houses?”

Viserys turned, but she glared, her anger unmistakable. “You’re of age now. Jason Lannister is an excellent match.”

“He’s arrogant and self-serious.”

“Well, I thought you might have that in common,” he replied. Her scent grew stronger, alerting everyone nearby to her rising fury. “Since you came of age, I’ve been drowning in marriage proposals from every corner of the realm, and I’ve tried to discuss it with you, but you’ve refused me each time.”

“That’s because I do not wish to marry,” she replied, the unspoken reason hanging between them. Both alphas knew it, though Viserys refused to acknowledge the truth.

“Even I do not exist above tradition and duty, Rhaenyra!” he snapped.

“It’s just—”

“Excuse me, your grace,” Otto Hightower interjected, bringing the argument to a halt as both Targaryens turned to look at him.

Rhaenyra was fuming, her scent thickening the air inside the tent. Unable to contain her anger, she let out a low growl before turning on her heel and storming outside. She went straight to the horses, and, making sure no one was watching, mounted one. With a nudge of her heels, the horse took off toward the Kingswood.

Voices and hoofbeats echoed behind her as her sworn swords called out, but she ignored them, urging her horse faster. Ser Criston Cole quickly caught up, reaching in front of her to rein in her horse.

“What happened back there?” he asked, once both horses slowed to a stop near a clearing.

“My father is trying to sell me off to Jason Lannister,” she answered, her anger simmering again. “Was I named heir to the Iron Throne just to increase the standing of some Lord of Casterly Rock?”

“Would you like me to kill him?” her sworn sword asked dryly, eyes ahead.

Rhaenyra looked at him incredulously, then burst into laughter, and he joined in. As their laughter faded, she gazed into the clearing. The peaceful scene reminded her of Runestone, of her time there with Daemon and Baelon, especially that one day they’d spent the whole day swimming and eating near a lake the omega had found some ways away from the castle. 

—————————————

Three-year-old Baelon laughed joyously as his omega mother held his hands, helping him stay upright as he splashed his bare feet in the shallow water. Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at the sweet scene. The 14-year-old alpha sat on a blanket they had laid out on the grass, keeping their clothes from getting dirty. She had been hesitant to come here at first, as Daemon was still recovering, but he had insisted, and she found she couldn’t refuse him. They had sneaked out without telling anyone, not even Ser Luthor, which now seemed like a very bad idea.

Daemon seemed fine for now; he hadn’t broken down or shed tears all day. He was playing and laughing with Baelon, but Rhaenyra remained on edge. She knew Daemon’s pain always resurfaced eventually. As strong as he was, perhaps the strongest omega she knew, he was still only human. He liked to pretend he wasn’t affected, but she knew better.

As she admired him, a habit she’d had since she was young, Rhaenyra noticed his smile slowly fade. His gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, his grip on Baelon’s hands loosening. What alarmed her most was the sudden, sharp scent of burnt sugar and cherries that reached her. Taking that as her cue, Rhaenyra rose and approached them. Baelon, sensing his mother’s change, looked up at him with teary eyes. Gently, she pulled the younger alpha away from his frozen mother. The child didn’t protest, though he kept his gaze on Daemon.

“Alyssa…” she heard Daemon whisper, his gaze distant. “Alyssa! Rhaenyra, she’s there…she’s–she needs my help, she’s just a child! She can’t swim!” He looked at her briefly before staring out into the clearing and began walking into it.

Rhaenyra’s heart raced as she watched Daemon wade further into the lake. “Kepus! Daemon! Stop! Daemon!” she shouted, desperate to break through his trance. She kneeled in front of Baelon, “Stay here, all right? Stay here,” before turning and sprinting after Daemon.

She ran into the lake, uncaring of her dress becoming soaked. Daemon was still calling for his deceased daughter, moving deeper into the water. She managed to reach him before he went too far, beyond her grasp. Summoning strength she didn’t know she had, Rhaenyra pulled him back toward the shore. He resisted at first but eventually went limp in her arms, letting her drag him onto the grass. She quickly looked him over, making sure he wasn’t injured.

“Daemon…please, talk to me,” she whispered, stroking his hair as he gazed blankly into the distance. She could hear Baelon crying nearby but couldn’t take her eyes off her uncle. “Daemon…” His silence terrified her.

“Prince Daemon! Prince Baelon! Princess Rhaenyra!” a loud voice called from the woods. Rhaenyra’s head snapped up, recognizing it.

“Ser Luthor! We’re here!”

“Princess? Where—” The guard emerged from the thick trees, Elinda close behind him. “Prince Daemon!” Ser Luthor hurried over, kneeling next to her as he looked at Daemon. “What happened?”

She saw Elinda scoop up a sobbing Baelon. “I don’t know! He was fine, and then suddenly he started screaming and calling for his daughter—I just—”

“Ser Luthor! You have to help her! Please! She’s only a baby, she—” Daemon sat up, grabbing the male alpha’s arms, his eyes desperate.

“My Prince, please calm down,” Ser Luthor soothed, gently holding his upper arms.

“Rhaenyra!” Daemon cried, looking at her. “She was—I saw her…”

“She’s not there, Kepus,” Rhaenyra said softly, moving closer to him and gently stroking his cheek. “She’s gone.”

His face crumpled, tears spilling over. Swiftly, she brought her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him close to let him breathe in her scent. She felt him relax as his scent returned to its usual notes of sweet cherries and wildflowers. She kissed his head, running her fingers through his hair as she looked out over the clearing, finally letting out a sigh of relief.

—————————————

Night fell, yet there was no sign of Rhaenyra or Ser Criston Cole. Viserys was restless, but Otto Hightower reassured him that she was safe with the Kingsguard at her side. Morning arrived, and the royal family broke their fast alongside their guests, but still, there was no sign of the princess. It wasn’t until midday, as the royals dined outside, watching knights and lords training on the field, that Rhaenyra and Ser Criston appeared.

The alpha princess emerged from the Kingswood on horseback, the left side of her face and neck smeared with blood, her once-silver hair streaked crimson. Beside her, Ser Criston rode close, their horses dragging a wooden contraption bearing a dead boar. The encampment fell silent, whispers and gasps rippling through the crowd as all eyes turned toward them.

Rhaenyra dismounted, a crowd quickly gathering around. She strode confidently toward her tent, hands behind her back. Along the way, her gaze met that of Lord Strong’s son, who smiled as he skinned a rabbit. She looked away, continuing her path and sparing only a glance at her father and Alicent before finally disappearing into her tent.

—————————————

Rhaenyra entered the council room after being summoned by her father. As she stepped inside, she caught the last part of a conversation between Viserys and a messenger boy.

“Make haste to Dwarfstone, Ser Addam. Deliver this to Prince Daemon yourself,” her father instructed.

“At once, Your Grace.”

“Dwarfstone?” she asked, moving closer.

“I’m sending word to Daemon. Aid is sailing to the Stepstones,” the King replied, leaning his hands on the large council table.

“Did he call for help?” Rhaenyra asked, worry pooling in her stomach at the thought her uncle might be hurt.

“He would sooner die,” Viserys replied with a small smile, “but his king does not intend to allow that.” She stared at him briefly before taking the Hand’s usual chair.

“Do you not think my decision correct?” her father asked, a trace of irritation in his tone.

“It seems not to matter what I think… as I’m often reminded,” she replied sharply. Rhaenyra knew she was being difficult, but after all her father had done in recent years, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Viserys sighed, looking down, dejected. “Daemon is thorn enough in my flesh. Must you insist on taking after him?” She looked away, unable to suppress a small smile. “Must everything be a battle?”

“If you refer to your attempt to marry me off to Casterly Rock,” she retorted, shaking her head.

The King sighed again, bowing his head. “I am sorry, Rhaenyra. I was trying to help you. Will you not be helped? Why must every effort on your behalf be resisted as if to the death?”

“Because you mean to replace me… with Alicent Hightower’s first son, the alpha boy you always wanted.” Though not the whole truth, it was one reason. The other was far away, fighting a war that wasn’t his to begin with. “You have him now, and no further use for me. You may as well peddle me for what you can—a mountain stronghold, or a fleet of ships.” Even as an alpha, she knew that as a woman, a man would always be given precedence.

Viserys watched her silently. “You misjudge me, Rhaenyra.”

“All know it,” she breathed out. “Jason Lannister knows it. You said it yourself—the lords of the realm gather like vultures, hoping to feast on my bones.”

“I do not seek to replace you, child,” her father said softly, leaning closer. “You have been so much alone these last few years—alone and angry,” he said, his voice rising with emotion, his scent spiking with a hint of frustration. “I will not live forever. I wish to see you contented. Happy, even.”

“You think a man would do it?” she asked, feeling tears welling up. Only one man could ever make her happy, yet he was far away, forbidden.

“A family.”

“I had a family,” she replied, chuckling in disbelief. “I had a mother and a loving uncle, and you sent them both away. One more permanently than the other,” she added in a whisper.

“What would you have me do?” The King’s voice rose, his gaze expectant. He sighed when she didn’t answer. “You must marry, strengthen your claim, grow your line.” He walked over to stand beside her, looking down. “As to your match… make it yourself. Find one who pleases you, as I did.”

At his words, Rhaenyra glanced up in surprise. She knew her uncle would always be the exception to her father’s approval, yet she couldn’t help a glimmer of hope. Even though Daemon was now a widower and she was of age, she knew her father would never approve of their union. Still, her alpha stirred excitedly at the thought of finally marrying and claiming him. Tears of unexpected joy filled her eyes, and she smiled up at her father before rising and heading toward the door.

“Rhaenyra…” she paused and turned back. “I did waver, at one time. But I swear to you now, on your mother’s memory, you will not be supplanted.”

Rhaenyra held her father’s gaze for a moment, feeling a hint of hurt at his admission. She gave a slight nod, acknowledging his words, then turned and left, leaving him alone in the council room.

—————————————

"...our food dwindles quickly, save for what we can fish from the sea. I would say we have a fortnight’s supply, perhaps a bit more with strict rationing,” Lord Corlys informed his brother and children as they gathered around the sand table. “I’ve called on Driftmark to send more ships, but they are still weeks away. We are faltering, and the Triarchy knows it. We must press the attack and continue sending the dragons,” the beta proclaimed emphatically.

“It’s pointless, Father,” Laena interjected, moving one of the figurines on the table. “The Crabfeeder has created a choke point here, beyond these dunes. Archers hold the high positions, foot soldiers hold the ground,” she said, adjusting another figurine. “We strike them on dragonback again and again, but they just retreat into the caves,” the female alpha added.

“Dragons could circle Bloodstone until they fall from the sky, and still the Crabfeeder and his men would have no reason to leave those caves,” Vaemond Velaryon remarked, looking at his younger brother.

“Then we must give them one,” Laenor interjected. “An offering of flesh to bait the crab.”

“Who?” Corlys asked, turning to his son.

At that moment, a soldier announced the approach of a dragon. The Blood Wyrm’s shriek sounded in the distance before it came into view, landing gracefully on a small mound near the camp.

“Yes, who?” Vaemond asked, glancing around. “Which man here would happily march to his death? Show me the knight who would go into that hell pit, nephew, and I will show you a madman.”

“Daemon,” Laenor replied without hesitation.

“Daemon is why we are losing!” the elder alpha snapped.

“At least he is fighting this war,” Laena interjected, her anger evident as she defended the omega. “What role have you played on this council, Uncle, other than as master of complaints?”

“Enough, Laena!” Corlys reprimanded her.

“If King’s Landing won’t support Daemon, why should any of us?” Vaemond shouted, turning to the soldiers around them. They could see Daemon descending from the mound, clad in his black armor.

Corlys grabbed his brother’s arm. “Blood or not, Vaemond, I will not have you stoke mutiny,” he warned through gritted teeth.

“If you do not seize control of this war, my lord, the crabs will soon dine on all of us,” Vaemond said to his brother.

Daemon approached the small council, removing his gloves and helmet and setting them on the table. He turned and leaned on it, looking out into the crowd of soldiers as silence settled over the camp. The stillness was interrupted only by the sound of approaching footsteps.

A group of messengers from King’s Landing arrived, halting a few paces from the council. “Prince Daemon,” the lead messenger began, “I bring word from His Grace, Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” The beta stepped forward, offering a sealed parchment to the omega. 

Daemon stared at him briefly before taking the letter and carelessly opening it, reading its contents. 

Brother, 

I have ordered ten ships and two thousand men to set sail from King’s Landing, to join the efforts in the Stepstones. Though time and circumstance have seemed estranged, know that it is not my desire to see you fail in your cause. I shall pray nightly to the gods for your and Baelon’s safe return.

Daemon felt anger surge through him. After three years of silence, his brother now intended to swoop in to claim the spoils of a war he had not fought. The omega had joined the Sea Snake’s campaign to prove his own strength—to show that becoming a mother had not made him weak. For three years, he had suppressed his urge to see his son, only exchanging letters occasionally. Now, his brother’s gesture felt like an insult, a humiliation Daemon would not allow. He would rather die.

Daemon handed the parchment back to the messenger with a smirk. Turning to the council table, he grasped his heavy helmet, then swung it without warning at the messenger, striking him hard. His anger unleashed, he kept swinging until the alphas and betas around him wrestled him back, restraining his shoulders and pushing him away.

He threw a glance at the scrambling men before turning and heading down the hill toward his tent. Footsteps approached, and he caught the faint, earthy scent he knew well. Smiling, he stepped inside his tent and went to sit on the small bed in the corner. Laena Velaryon followed him in.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re nearly as pretty as your brother?” Daemon asked, smirking.

“Well, you flatter me, my prince,” she teased, moving forward and sitting beside him on the bed.

Laena reached out, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear. Their eyes met, and tension filled the tent. Daemon wasn’t sure who gave in first, but soon he was naked beneath her, moaning freely, uncaring who might overhear.

This wasn’t the first time they’d been together. It had started a month ago after an especially difficult day of heavy losses. With his heat approaching, Daemon had relied on moon tea, supplied by Corlys himself, to suppress it. But after experiencing unusual weakness, a field maester had banned him from taking more. The plan had been for Daemon to hide in the farthest tent and endure it alone, with beta guards posted outside. Yet when his heat struck unexpectedly hard, the maester declared that an alpha’s presence was necessary. Laena, whose scent was the only one that didn’t agitate his omega, had offered to help.

He couldn’t remember much from that day, but he did recall Laena’s self-restraint—something that surprised him, given her 23 name days. They had since made a habit of taking out their frustrations on each other. Though he knew they hadn’t always been the most careful, especially during his heat, he had noticed none of the usual symptoms, he was sure he was not with child–or at least that’s what he hoped for.

—————————————

Daemon stepped off the boat, carelessly throwing the paddles to the ground. He advanced alone across the smoking battlefield, scanning for any sign of the enemy. None of the Crabfeeder’s men had yet emerged from their hiding places. He continued forward, working to control his scent, making it sweeter than usual. Along the way, he grabbed a wooden spear buried in the sand and ripped a sail off a fallen ship, fashioning a makeshift white flag. Climbing a small mound, he held the flag high and waved it.

He soon noticed movement near the cave entrances—some of the Crabfeeder’s men were emerging cautiously. Overhead, he glimpsed archers, their arrows at the ready. The ground soldiers moved closer to him, slowly at first, until his sweetened scent reached them, hastening their pace. Daemon planted the makeshift flag in the sand, then unsheathed Dark Sister, bending one knee and presenting the sword as if in surrender, head slightly lowered in submission.

One soldier stepped forward, reaching for the sword. At that moment, Daemon whipped out a hidden dagger from his belt and swiftly stabbed the alpha in front of him. The man’s scream alerted the others, and Daemon quickly reclaimed Dark Sister as they rushed toward him. He cut through the attackers before they could mount a proper defense. Spotting a rain of arrows overhead, he ducked behind a broken wagon, shielding himself as the arrows landed all around.

Taking advantage of the archers' reload time, Daemon pressed on toward the Crabfeeder. He slashed through soldiers in his path, narrowly avoiding arrows as he advanced. His objective was clear—he would kill the Crabfeeder, even if it was his last act. His legs burned, and his wounds throbbed, but he pressed on. Just as he slit the throat of another alpha, an arrow pierced his knee. He fell, gritting his teeth in pain, as more arrows struck his shoulder and side.

Groaning, he yanked the arrow from his knee and dragged himself beneath the wooden carcass of an abandoned ship as arrows thudded above. He gritted his teeth, pulling out the arrows from his shoulder and side, but the pain was nearly unbearable. He heard the rapid approach of footsteps, and despair set in. But then an image of Baelon flickered in his mind—his son, his reason to live. He thought of what would be of his son if he died, who would take him in? Would they treat him right? Would he be angry at him for leaving him alone? The loud footsteps of the approaching army brought him back. He couldn't die here, not now. With renewed determination, he grasped Dark Sister and staggered to his feet, limping out from under the ship’s remains.

With newfound strength, Daemon grabbed Dark Sister before standing up and slightly limping out of the ship carcass. He looked around sizing up the men surrounding him. In the distance, he heard Corlys’ army finally arriving and with a war cry running to aid the omega. Several men were still surrounding him, but before the soldiers could attack, the sound of wings tore through the air.

“Dracarys!” Laenor commanded, and Seasmoke unleashed a wave of fire, incinerating the men around Daemon and throwing him back with the force.

Seasmoke turned to torch the archers as Corlys’s army cut down the survivors. The dragon swooped in, slashing with its claws and blasting others with flame. Daemon spotted the Crabfeeder retreating into the caves and felt adrenaline surge. Tightening his grip on Dark Sister, he pursued.

Corlys cleaved through another man with his battle axe, then looked around for the Targaryen prince. He saw Daemon sprinting toward the cave entrance, possessed with single-minded determination. Praying that Daemon wouldn’t do anything reckless, Corlys turned back to the battle, dispatching foes with ease. Soon, it became clear that the enemy had been unprepared for the onslaught. They were outmatched and quickly dispatched.

With the battlefield cleared, the soldiers noticed a figure emerging from the caves, dragging something behind. As Daemon drew closer, they recognized him, battered and bloodied, hauling half of the Crabfeeder’s body, its intestines trailing gruesomely behind. The alphas and betas stood stunned, absorbing the sight. The omega’s face was covered in blood, his once-silver hair streaked crimson. He stopped a few paces from the army, letting the body drop as he stood, breathing heavily, and stared directly at Corlys. The beta exhaled, nodding slightly with a faint smile. They had finally won the war.

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[seth-shitposts]

So everything I want to work on atm are all multichap fics or long fics and they're all so fun. I'll take breaks on em to so one shots here and there, I still have prompts saved that were given to us that we look forward to completing as well.

But I do wanna share some of the long au's and multi chaps real quick because I so very much thrive off of interaction & reaction & such. So here:

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Obviously, the current WIPs that are in the front line are Conversationalist (set to have 8 chapters plus a bonus) & Jealousy, Ft. Lando (🔞) (set to have a total of 5 ish chapters).

And we haven't forgotten about Force User Zeb, we just haven't had the opportunity to pick it back up. We do have a lot planned for it and look forward to taking it out of its hiatus, we just do not know when that'll be.

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There's the defectors au with Ezra and Kallus.

For that one, we plan on writing quite a bit of things for the years that Kallus is fostering Ezra and is growing into a friendship with the Bridgers as they slowly help him see the empire for what it is. There's a lot of complex things that'll go on there.

And I also look forward to working how that changes things during the canon events, how different things will be. But you can bet your ass that the parallels will be plentiful.

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There's also The Renascence of 264, which will be a multi chap follow up on the courier droid that had temporarily helped the ghost crew.

Essentially, (fulcrum) Kallus finds the droid and reboots him, recognizing him as the courier droid that had helped the ghost crew. Kallus had intended on simply freeing the droid, smuggling him off the outpost he had been discarded our from and to a different planet, maybe giving him the chance to meet the rebels again or find a place he can be happy in. He's surprised when the droid insists on staying with him.

And, so there's a common (ish) headcanon of how zeb has poor facial recognition. Actually horrid. I enjoy the headcanon, but also. In the rebels comics, Zeb very quickly recognized 264 as the droid they had nabbed and that had helped them. So I find humor in the possibility that Zeb possibly had poor facial recognition when it comes to non-droids, but is able to recognize every droid he has ever met, even if it was only once.

And yes, 264 is going to immediately get on Kallus’s case on asking the handsome rebel out. (264 is enamored by both Kallus and Zeb for being some of the first ones to praise him in a long time. He immediately gets very protective over the both of them. But at the same time is ready to send them out the airlock if they keep doing a silly little dance around their feelings.)

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And then, there's the prompt by @canonkalluzeb I utterly ADORE it so much and I already have like 7 pages of notes complied. I added to it just today. I am so excited about working on it.

I'll link the post, but it's Kallus oversees a prisoner transfer and he’s shocked and disgusted to find that the dangerous criminal is a toddler, a 3y/o lasat child.

He steals her and sets out to find Zeb, knowing that he probably knows of a safe place for misplaced lasat, but it's several months before he finds them.

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Last, but not least,

The Aphelion Waltz

(Not everything that is stated in the linked post is set in stone, much of it is still up to change)

My baby. I'm putting so much work into this fic. I shake the bars of my enclosure daily because of this fic. It's going to be a while before we are able to start posting the story, and its going to be a long one with so much moving plot. There's main plot line, sub plots, dozens of characters, slow burn, murder mystery, politics, romance. And this one is going to be explicit, but we might make a lighter version after we completed the main story. But this fic is going to have so many heavy contents. It's probably going to be one of our most complex endeavors, but I very much look forward to it.

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I'm down for answering any questions about any of the fics at any point in time.

[lemongingerart]

Chapter 1 - Departure (II)

Fic summary: The second arc of my Armitage Hux x OC fanfic, “chocolate cookies and tarine tea”, in which both need to deal with the mess they got into (and each other, eh eh eh). Involves cookies that won't be eaten and tea that will get spilled. Same goes for certain feelings... they are going to be hungry ant thirsty 😏

You can find the link to AO3 and other chapters on Tumblr in the pinned message on my dash, both for the first and second arc 😊

Rating: Explicit. This is going to be very NSFW. So, Minors, do NOT read or interact. 18+. Family, friends and colleagues, please don’t read this. :’-)

Tags & warnings: TRoS fix-it (kind of), Hux!lives, Hux doesn’t like Kylo, Not a Redemption Arc, maybe a little bit, shameless fem!OC insert (there are cliches but entertaining ones imo), slow emotional burn, medium sexual burn, Enemies to Enemies With Benefits to Lovers, Hux is still a villain don't forget, Virgin Characters, masturbation against the door, pinv, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Awkward Sexual Situations, Past Child Abuse, dubious first kiss, Dom/sub Undertones, Mental Breakdown, Unprotected Sex, wet Hux, that deserves a tag/warning on its own, Minor Character Death

I will add tags as we proceed in the story, please let me know if I forgot one!

Taglist: @mylifeisactuallyamess, @morby and anyone who’d like to join 🥰

A/N:    Good day! This time, I have a longer and hopefully more interesting chapter prepared 🙂

I had some quality issues with reviewing this one, so it took me a while to get rid of them, and from all the re-reading I’m not even sure everything makes sense anymore? Their "discussions" are precious to me though, that's why I did not go lightly over them 😇

I hope you enjoy this chapter and I look forward hearing if I’m taking too long for something to happen or not 💁💁💁

Miko’s mind was racing.  The tranquillity and purpose she had found a few minutes ago, had been efficiently eaten away by her unwanted travel companion. That outburst all too vividly reminded her again of how dangerous, maybe violent, he might become. 

When she left the cockpit, she had opted to sit on the bench in the wardroom, her knees pressed up to her chest and her head facing the closed cockpit entrance. That's where she was now, trying to get the time pass more quickly, while making sure Hux couldn't come near her without her noticing. 

One of her datapads lay on the table to her left, the little droid charging right next to it, so she took it, in an attempt to distract herself and clear her head. 

Her fingers started tapping the screen with a seasoned swiftness, accessing PC’S processing unit. Inspiration hit her, driven by what had happened in the cockpit, and she started to program a new procedure into the little droid's core.

She looked at the cockpit’s door for a second, doubt apparent on her features. 

She was currently making sure that PC would record everything that happened around her, just in case. Both on Taris' planetside as around the creepy ex-general. 

The droid could wirelessly connect to her built-in data chip and to her datapad, which could then save the holo onto a remote location, safely tucked away.  It wouldn't protect herself at the moment itself, but at least she would have some evidence, should she ever need it. The last thing she wanted to be, was entirely defenseless. 

She sighed. The trip to Taris was short compared to their first one together, now that their hyperdrive and the nav component was fixed. But, given how quickly the atmosphere had turned as cold as deep space, she already wished it was over. The grumpy ginger's mood was as bad as the Kessel storms and she wondered how she ever saw something in him. Who knew she could've gotten so caught up in physical needs? And why? Stress? Subconscious desires? Whatever she felt back then, she definitely didn't feel it right now. 

Now, she was wondering if she could even bring up the courage to spend the next journey with someone as detestable as him.

“What are you doing?” she suddenly heard from behind her back. 

She jolted up from her crouched position and turned her head. Hux had sneaked up from behind her and had scared her to death. Or maybe she just thought he sneaked up on her, since she missed the sound of the door because she was still in deep thoughts about him and whatever dark plans he might have. 

She let out a breath, trying to calm down, and tried to ban the idea that he was being sneaky on purpose. 

'N-nothing special' she blurted out, aware of the slight tremble in her voice.

'I wanted to check on you to make sure you weren't up to something you might regret' he added, almost whispering. 

O-kay… he is most definitely creepy, she reconsidered, pressing the datapad close to her chest and mentally taking note she shouldn't ban the idea after all. 

The stone cold atmosphere he had just created, made her forget that he was more or less insulting her, again. It only slowly seeped through that, from his point of view, seeing someone so focused on a datapad, when they had agreed that no communication channels should be used, might've looked suspicious. Still, whatever the reason was, there were better ways to relay the message.

Miko didn't immediately know how to respond and sat still, watching him step to the pantry and wondering what his plans were. To her surprise though, he opened a cabinet to take or make something to drink. 

Oddly, he did have the decency to fetch something for her as well. Even more odd, it was the taste she preferred, given the limited choice aboard the shuttle. She stared at the mintea bottle in silence while it travelled her way. Hux sat the bottle in front of her, then turned around. She watched his back when he went to prepare his. It only took him a few seconds, so she had to avert her eyes once he turned towards her direction. 

Miko started to wonder if the rather worrisome comment he had whispered her way was actually meant to be a conversation starter, seeing how he was trying to act casually and looking to sit somewhere on the bench as well.

Intrigued by this opportunity for a talk, she put her datapad sideways. She focused on the bottle in front of her, still having the urge to be cautious around him and avoiding eye contact. 

After a small pause, he placed his cup on the table and took a spot to her right. It was subtle, but she could see him adjust his posture. Probably, he was looking for a more comfortable way to sit, because of the shot wound in his leg, she wondered. 

When he stirred in the cup he had chosen, the smell of caf and another sharp spice filled the room. He slowly took a sip, not looking at Miko’s general direction. 

Miko was utterly confused and - probably for the first time ever - didn't know what to say or do at all. He had the power to swing her mood to every corner of the emotional spectrum in mere seconds. She slowly became aware of that, and she didn’t like it. 

Still unsure about what to do, she mimicked his movements and took a nip from the scented water. She didn’t even register the taste.

After a short but rather uneasy silence, Hux opened his mouth:  

'I might have interpreted your remark about my teeth incorrectly, I was in deep thoughts, reevaluating our options and best strategy. I was reminded about the subsequent incidents on the Steadfast and felt rather… uneasy... I probably have misjudged the purpose of your comment. ' 

Miko blinked her eyes twice before she let out a relieved breath. Was that an apology? That’s…unexpected . 

She dared to look his way. His tone was even and could easily have been mistaken as confident, but the way he applied pressure on the cup told her it took him some effort to admit his error. The hardly noticeable body language made her feel a bit more at ease, it was as seeing him struggle with something made her feel like she wasn't alone in this crazy situation. 

She felt her mood brighten, feeling more on common ground with him, and found her usual wittiness back.

‘Don’t worry about it’, she replied with an overly cheerful tone. Although just a moment ago she was definitely bothered by his demeanour, seeing this new development apparently made her stupidly hopeful. 

‘I shouldn’t have responded so crudely as well. We’re both out of our comfort zones. Seems like we need to find a way to adjust to each other.’ she added, an innocent smile forming on her face. 

She eyed him sideways and he nodded without looking at her. 

He took another sip, so she concluded he decided the conversation was already over. She huffed silently and turned her attention to PC again, to check if the update was successfully implemented.

Her mind started wandering and replaying the conversation. This was probably as good as it was going to get. It's not that she was hoping for a normal conversation, anyway. After everything she saw from him, she was highly doubting that was even possible. 

The little droid bleeped, and the both of them looked up.

 'All fixed', Miko exclaimed, breaking the silence. 

Armitage gave her a quizzical look, which made her realise she didn't answer his initial question.

 'I gave PC a little update on his backup system, nothing special . ' she explained and pulled up her shoulders. 'I don't want to lose him if something bad happens,' she murmured. She wasn’t going to tell him what kind of upgrade it really was.

She saw the ex-general shift his weight uncomfortably, probably as a response to her clarification and the mention of what could happen to them soon.  She paused and tried to gauge his current train of thoughts. Was this about what could happen if they arrive at Taris? Or at the resistance base? 

Curiosity got the upper hand over caution. She at least wanted to know why he was risking his life - and by extension her life - for.

She took a breath and quietly asked: 'Why did you do it  - betray the First Order?' 

He let out an annoyed sigh in response.

'Why would I tell you that?' he answered with a hint of arrogance. 

She closed her eyes and reminded herself that she still shouldn’t expect a normal conversation with this asshole. Oh, he could easily anger her, but not this time. Or at least, that’s what she was hoping for.

'You’re going to have to have a solid story once we arrive at the resistance base. You might as well give it a try with me?' She said, using a different tactic and trying to sound encouraging. She tried to make eye contact, wanting him to open up to her for at least a little bit, for both their sakes. 

He looked her dead in the eye, but remained silent for a few seconds. Kriff , involuntary, his piercing gaze was slowly taking her back two days ago, to the incident and the shower, and making her breathe erratically. She tried to subdue the effect and hoped he didn’t catch the change in her body language.

She was about to give up on their staring contest, to stop the memories and fantasies from pulling her into a state of slight panic, when he finally looked down and hesitantly spoke. 

Miko wasn’t sure if she imagined a slight tremble of his lower lip, right before he started talking: 

"I…I’m not sure where to start." He admitted softly.

Oh.

"...Start where the first things went wrong?" She quietly enquired. 

He still didn't look up and hesitantly nodded. 

He sighed, obviously trying to think of a good way to begin this conversation. Miko suddenly became aware of the shift in the atmosphere, the air became thick and loaded with suspense. The man before her was digging into his memory and bringing up things he'd rather would like to keep hidden, she could tell from his demeanour alone. She contemplated if asking the question was even a good idea; seeing him become so… unstable… reminded her too much of that time he lunged at her. She subconsciously put some extra distance between both of them.

As if someone opened a water valve, Hux thoughts were formed into words and were spilled out. 

"I was in control, at the top of my game, and seeing a clear future for the galaxy.  Order, peace, prosperity under the First Order 's flag." 

His brows were heavily frowned. 

Miko tried to keep a straight face and not comment on that statement already. It didn't really surprise her that this was his view on the universe. What a whole different perspective than mine , she mused. She tried to ignore the itch she got from his words and reminded herself that he would be out of her life in a few days, worst case. No need to throw another argument, just because of different values and norms. 

He continued: "We had a good strategic plan, both in the short term and long term. I had to endure Ren as a competitor, but that was doable. And, in a way, he was a rather welcome respite. It was easy to make him lose face before Snoke. But I’m getting distracted.  The moment word arrived that that cursed old Jedi was still around, and there was a clue to his location, chaos broke loose. It was as if every single event just was planned against everything the Order stands for." 

He paused and stared at the cockpit's durasteel door.

"The whole Jedi-hunting offensive escalated into an irrational chase, regrettably distracting supreme leader Snoke and driving Ren even more insane and unmanageable. " 

He waved his hand through his hair, freeing the strands from the leftover gel. 

"I don't have proof, but I highly suspect it was Ren and not the jedi girl that killed Snoke. He illegitimately seized power, and by doing so he created a chism in the chain of command." 

Hux absently rubbed his throat, but the gesture didn't go unnoticed by Miko. She could almost feel the mix of spite and ire, but underneath that thin layer she could distinguish that something unsettling happened there, something that ran deeper than the competition he just had described. 

After a pause, Armitage continued: "He started a chain reaction, by following his obsessions he got lost in them and didn't want to hear that his actions were not in the best interest of our powerful Order. Other officers complained to me, but every single time I took action, he slammed the door right in my face. He took my advice as critique, not that that was different than before, but now he was the illegitimate fragging Supreme Leader and he still couldn't distance himself from his ego. I've always been better at making management and strategic decisions. He was supposed to remain the deterrent for any kind of rebellion.  He wasn’t supposed to lead us." 

He was clenching his fists now, and Miko could swear she could hear the heightened pace of his heartbeat. 

She had asked him for some context, and she didn't really know what to expect. But this was certainly more intense than what she could have guessed. 

He didn't look at her through,  and she wondered if he was even still aware of her presence. It was as if he was contemplating his situation and just saying it aloud, as if she wasn’t there.

He swung his head to one side and let out an exasperated sigh, before he continued: "And when that wretched message was broadcasted from the late Emperor, Pryde and his reserve troops appeared from the unknown regions,  much stronger than anticipated.  Their numbers… I am still flabbergasted at how he could manage to gather so many men. I highly doubt they were trained for something more than cannon fodder, they couldn't all have followed basic training,  but I'm getting distracted again. " 

He paused and gave her a sharp look.

"The fact is that right then, Ren saw an opportunity to demote me. Not in rank, but in practice. Putting more responsibilities in Pryde's hands, and eventually in the other generals. He wasn’t even subtle about it.

 And the decisions he made… I couldn't keep supporting them but each time I expressed my concern, it backfired."

He sighed and waved his hand absentmindedly. 

"I guess it was in one of these discussions that I started to realise I didn't recognize the Order and what it stood for anymore. Without Snoke or anyone from the original high command, without me being able to have a steady hand on the decision organ… the Order was drifting apart."

He bowed his head and frantically rubbed his hair a few times before he froze for a minute. He didn’t look up and continued. 

"And… then I made a huge gamble. If I wanted a stable future for the Order, I had to make Ren and his acolytes disappear. The emperor 's message was the obvious choice.  I had to lure Ren and his knights away, or at least let him lose enough face to be able to seize power as supreme leader myself. Putting pressure on him by involving the resistance and that jedi girl was going to drive him even more unreasonable, that's what I anticipated. But… I knew he or someone else might find out. Spreading this information could only come from somewhere high up the ranks, and I already lost favour. I just hoped I had time to frame someone else. Preferably Pryde. " 

His voice turned soft now, almost like a whisper: "But, ironically, he was the one who put the puzzle pieces together. You know what happened after that." 

Miko gulped and nodded. She remembered Pryde and could’ve guessed both generals were a close match when it came to being power hungry backstabbing psychopaths. But hearing him explain what drove him to abandon the Worst Order - well, not the Order, but the command structure - told her he wasn't only a damn well versed manipulative strategist but also genuinely worried about losing his home and ideals. Guessing he was a rather young general, the First Order was most likely where he grew up and grew into. He was losing the only life he'd probably known and the future he'd hoped for. Although her idea about the Worst Order didn't change from this elaboration - on the contrary - she did feel sorry for him. And that should probably unsettle her more than it actually did.

This was one of the hardest conversations Hux had had in a while. For the first time saying out loud that he had betrayed what he once stood for, made it all the more real. Looking for the right words, finding out how to tell her, and himself, was difficult at first.

 But once the sentences had started to form, they just flew from his brain like they were ready to burst. 

He couldn’t remember if he ever had been so earnest with someone. Even with Sloane, he used to be more cautious once he grasped the concepts of lobbying, negotiation and manipulation. This exposition felt like a confession; dangerous and relieving at the same time. Now, though, he realised that he was just staring at her and fiddling his fingers and showing a part of him he’d rather not show to anyone. Or see for himself.

He realised what a pathetic impotent mess he must look like, and wondered why she didn’t comment on that. She could humiliate him, throw in another argument, but she just… listened. Looked his way with an apprehensive gaze. It confused him, why she didn’t make use of this weak moment. Somehow, the fact that she was trying to understand him, was hitting his defences harder than humiliation could.

"I- think you might want to leave out some parts, but you sound pretty convincing", she instead whispered, while she continued looking at him with big eyes. She peered at him, trying to find something he wasn’t sure of, but the intenseness unsettled him. He quickly nodded and looked down, staring into his cup and trying to ignore the cold sweat that appeared out of nowhere. 

Stars , it was as if her gaze had almost trapped him, the way the amber eyes bore through his own retina and looked right into his forsaken soul. 

Humiliation would’ve been so much better.

He at least knew how to handle that.

He tried to focus on the caf in his hands, studying the vibrating ripples in the liquid. Wait…why was he shaking? He didn’t dare to look up again, unsure about what was happening to him. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, in hopes of making the tremble disappear. What was this? Was he angry at her, just for looking at him? No, this wasn’t anger… it was something di-

"When will we arrive at Taris?" Miko suddenly asked him, in a welcome effort to break the awkward silence. Her question brought him back to reality, and the trembling abruptly stopped. He didn’t right his head, though, it was too soon for that.

"ETA is 3 hours, so we should discuss strategy." He softly answered, taking the hint and glad to change the subject. 

She remained silent, so he risked looking up.

Miko looked at him with a smug smile. 

Did I say something crazy? He thought sceptically, but deep down he was also glad to fall into their recently developed routine of not always friendly bantering. 

She took out her datapad, performed some commands and started reading: "apparently, the coordinates lead to a highly populated area. From the available info, the meeting point is situated just next to a marketplace." 

Hux looked at her with a slightly threatening face, mixed with a hunch of panic. Why was I glad again? She's going to be the death of me.  

She caught sight of his distress and immediately responded: "relax, Hux, I retrieved this intell when we were at Utapau Four. I used Tagge's company network, put up a proxy, did a local copy and removed the crumbs afterwards. There's no way they can trace anything back towards us." 

He leaned back into the backrest of the bench, while recuperating from a minor panic attack and trying to maintain a blank face. She was young and maybe a bit naive, but at least she thought things through. The fact that she wanted to go to the meeting spot prepared, was surprising and strangely comforting to him. 

"Taris used to be the centre of the galaxy, thousands of years ago. The population could've been compared with Coruscant this age. Its population has dwindled though, and a lot of the cities were destroyed in several wars. The jedi war, the rebel alliance. The empire had to give up its rule on the planet and since then it's been New Republic territory. I should be wary of thugs and cons and take the necessary precautions,” Hux mentioned matter-of-factly.  

"What do you mean, "I"? I'm going with you, you know!” Miko responded, slightly raising her voice and eyeing him.

She took PC from the bench and placed him on her shoulder with a rather forceful action. After that, she stood straight, turned around and walked to the door with a steady thread.

What?  

"What are you doing?" Hux demanded with a hissing tone, before she got out of his sight. 

"Getting ready to gear up, of course. Isn't that obvious?" She huffed in his general direction. 

He stood up, felt his blood pressure rise, and clenched his fists. "You should stay here. These kinds of places can be dangerous. Let me do the transfer." He responded while slowly raising his voice and pointing to the deck. 

Miko turned his direction, crossed her arms and cocked her head. "You? What do you think they'll do if they see your face? Remember how my father reacted. You won't have the chance to do any talking. And… and you'll blow your cover!" She half shouted at him, before she continued her path.

Hux cursed inwardly. She was right. But he didn't want to let her go. She might get caught as well. He wouldn't be too surprised if that bastard Pryde might've sent out a warrant for her. And if they find her, surely he'll be compromised. She lacked experience and from what he'd seen from her, that foul mouth could get her into some real trouble. Including the type of trouble leading back to him.

But on the other hand, she did have a point. Going with her was an invalid option. Even if he had some kind of disguise, to get to the intel they needed, he would have to take serious risks. Much more compared to sending her and her loud mouth out there alone. If he could avoid those risks, he normally would, without thinking twice. But why has he thought of getting himself in the line of fire, before her, now? This didn't make any sense.

Maybe, it was because if something happened to her, he would be stranded here. All chances were on her succeeding. Or that's what he was trying to make himself believe.  Why was he so nervous?

He quickly went after Miko, passed her with large steps and stood still right before her,  blocking her path so she had to halt her movements. She looked upwards to him, an troubled expression on her face. Stars, those eyes again. Nobody has looked at him like that before. Straight eye contact, without disgust or fear. He gulped but quickly found back the words he was going to relay on her.

“Make sure I can trace your location and contact you without it getting noticed. I'm going to follow every step and action you're taking.” he commanded.

“Don't you trust me?” she replied, looking annoyed by his directive tone. 

Only now he realised he might’ve stepped up a bit too close to her; he could feel her angry breath and he wondered why he was staring at her lips right now. 

The droid on her shoulder turned its head,  mimicking her annoyance, but he didn’t register it. He did try to come up with a quick response:

 “I don't trust anyone. And no, I want to make sure you'll be safe. I need you, remember?“ he countered, his tone directive but his eyes still for some reason glued to her lips. They opened up in a small 'o', momentarily making him forget what he just said. Until his own words dawned upon him.

That sounded disturbingly awkward, he realised while slowly raising his gaze to look up into her eyes. And the way she looked back at him right now, confused and wide eyed, her mouth slowly closing, made it very clear that she misunderstood it just the same. He was slightly aware of how his heart was throbbing in his throat, how dry his mouth suddenly felt, and he desperately tried to ignore the confusing feeling. Oh by the stars in the galaxy… He had to break this pause before it got even more awkward.

He averted his head for a split second, looking to the hyperspace stripes through the viewport, trying to kriffing calm down. He then placed his hands behind his back, trying to find back his reasoning and returning his steel focus on her and what he still wanted to relay to her. He needed to focus on the upcoming mission, not on her lips.

“Look, if you see anything suspicious, report it to me. And if you feel unsure, retreat. Don't do anything rash. Playing the hero usually renders those people dead." He said. "Carry a blaster.” he quickly added with a stern voice. Getting back into his directive role helped to subdue the burning he could sense on his cheeks. 

“You know I can't and won't shoot .” she replied, crossing her arms with a bit of effort, since both of them hadn't moved and they were still standing at a few centimetres distance from each other.

Sigh, how can she be so stubborn about not killing anyone? Hux wondered with reluctance.

 “You're going to have to kill someone sooner or later, Miko.” He bluntly stated, looking down on her.  

“Maybe in a world shaped by the First Order, mister ex-general. But that's not the world I prefer to be in. So I'm not planning on carrying a blaster with me.” she boldly replied and looked sideways with her arms still crossed, the swing of her body movement making her left elbow touch his stomach. 

Armitage became acutely aware of how uncommon and awkward and dangerous this conversation was becoming. How both of them refused to yield, both in the conversation and physically, and he hated that he felt so bothered by her close presence. He never was keen on someone entering his personal space, but this was different. Luckily, though, he was annoyed enough to ignore the unsettling effect the lack of distance was having on him.

And annoyed he was: “You don't know what you're walking into, this is no playground! You should at least take something with you! Worst case; set it to stun. For your own sake.” He threw at her, realising how she was getting on his nerves again and wondering if this conversation had any purpose at all.

She was looking pretty worked up as well now, he could notice from this up close; the blush on her cheeks was more pronounced than usual. But when he mentioned the stun function, she paused, took a deep breath and looked to the ground. 

“Okay, I can live with that. I think. Not that I'll be able to kriffing hit someone with it anyway.” she mumbled after a small pause, while she was staring at his boots with a defiant glare.

He held his breath for a split second. “I’ll give you a crash course. Let me fetch some blasters and let's meet up in the cargo bay,” he stated, slightly surprised and relieved with her decision. He hoped he could at least maximise his chances a bit by preparing her for possible conflict.

A/N: I haven’t found any evidence whether Taris is in this timeline under new republic flag or not, so I pretend it to be allied with the new republic but rather neutral.