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venmondiese · 4 months ago

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LITTLE BOX FULL OF SURPRISES

masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

based on this request⭑.ᐟ

-ˋˏsummary: The maimed one-eyed prince marries the most beautiful woman on earth. She is dutiful, beautiful and perfect, but Aemond can't stand when someone, specially his uncle, look with desire at what it is his. ✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Tully!Original Female Character ✧word count: 3.1k ✧Warnings: : MDNI 18+, p in v sex, dom/sub undertones, face slapping, spitting on the mouth, degradation kink, possesive Aemond, Aemond is WHIPPED by his wife.

Every time his grandsire and his mother spoke of a Lady of great beauty coming to King’s landing, he rolled his eye.

Even when they present a small portrait, small to fit his palm, he does not seem impressed. Perhaps it is too small, perhaps it is too pretentious. Either the painter exaggerated your features or he couldn’t properly paint a small portrait. But he was curious, after all. Named the most beautiful woman on earth, blessed by the Gods.

He doesn’t doubt that Lady Tully was beautiful. Perhaps she was truly a beautiful woman, with her long red hair, ‘like fire’ said the letter. But being called The Maiden on Earth seems exaggerated to him.

His grandsire had told them about the implications of his betrothal, about how important it was to have secured the Riverlands, since Grover Tully was an old lord, and will not understand reason. To have his most beloved granddaughter as a princess, was the only way to win his approval, and support.

Aemond finally meets her on the little garden near the Weirwood tree. They had been serving little cakes, as some lords and ladies talked nearby, not even half of court was here, and he liked the quietness. That made him less self-conscious.

She was near the table, her hand hovering above all the treats she could get, smiling as she watches them with interest. She is expressive, he realises. He hasn’t seen her face, only her back and the day her hand moves and her head is tilted, curious about the southern gastronomy.

“My lady” Aemond says softly.

She turns so gracefully, and she is surprised to see him. Her hand still extended, and she quickly moves it to grab her skirts, and do a courtesy to him. She has a sweet smile, and she speaks.

“My prince” she says, a bit surprised. “I… I didn’t expect you.”

“I must admit I came a bit earlier than agreed…” he murmurs, looking behind him and then back to her.

The most beautiful maiden on earth fell short to her. She was… something else, in the best way possible. She had that curiosity, that life in her eyes, as she smiles at him, her lips are perfect, and he could see that her maids probably used those Myrish lip taints, for they were a very natural red colour, almost matching with her hair. Her dress was magnificent, wearing the colour of her house, red and blue decorating everything. Even her eyes, blue like the opaque blue rivers in the Riverlands, and her hair, red like flames, matched with her house colours. She wore fish details, her earrings and in her dress pattern. But she was wearing a collar with a seven pointed star in it, and he sighed at her beauty. She was breathtaking.

“Oh, well, so it seems…” she says as she smiles a bit sheepishly, looking at him. “It’s a fine castle, my prince. It does have its own beauty.”

Aemond has never thought of the red Keep as something beautiful, at all. He always wanted to live in Dragonstone, but his wish was not granted. But, if she says so, it must be true, and with good reason.

“You think so?”

She grabs a lemon cake, and eats it carefully as she nods. “Yes! And you also have a Weirwood tree here. When we made our trip here, we passed through Raventree, and their Weirwood was a bit… depressing…” she says, smiling sweetly. “But here it’s very beautiful. More… alive”

As she talks, he watches her closely. Even when his mother, his sickly father and his siblings arrive, when his mother gives him a scolding look for arriving earlier, he sort of watches you in silence, his chest swelling with an air of mystery.

“You are not what I expected” he admits, quietly between the two of them as their parents talked about the betrothal.

“No?” She asks smiling, licking her finger from the cream of the lemon cakes. “You’ll see I’m a little box full of surprises”

That’s the beginning.

A ceremony on the Sept, as she stood next to him, reciting vows and the cloak with dragon sigils is on her shoulders, left behind the fish one. Aemond has never looked so smug and proud. The bedding ceremony was… traditional. Having a crowd was awkward for both, surely, but Aemond made it all more comfortable for her, covering her body with his, and not exposing her, at his own expense.

“Just focus on me” He murmurs closely to her face, as she looks at him with wide eyes. He was between her open legs, and he insisted for her to keep her chemise on, while he had no problem in nudity “Your septa and mother could have told you…”

“Not much” She whispers back.

“Not much” he repeats, moving a strand of hair out other face, tenderly watching her face for discomfort. “But I will be gentle, and… we’ll learn together. Yes?”

“Yes. Thank you…, husband” she says, and he feels a prideful pressure on his chest. He was her husband. The most beautiful woman’s husband.

And she was always thankful for his patience and gentleness towards her, and she stuck to him to all times, even when she was in court, charming everyone around. Her arm was always interlocked with his, and referred to him as ‘her sweet husband’.

Love came quieter than expected, as they laughed on their bed at nights, having picnics in the gardens or going to the Riverlands in Vhagar together, swimming on Riverrun’s rivers, and just… enjoying each other. It was more than love when they had their first son, a lovely and happy baby, mismatched eyes, with both purple and a deep blue. Aemond adored his son, his little Daerion, and he adored you more.

“Black looks well on you” Aemond comments.

Daerion’s blabbing was a way to agree with Aemond’s statement as the maid finished putting on her headband, the same tone of her dress. Her orange hair is in braids, two simple ones with some gold details on them, and some dragon earrings that he gifted her. She was gorgeous, and all his.

“Your wardrobe hasn’t changed” she states looking at him. “Went from velvet black to dark black”

Aemond walks over to his wife, watching her being just so beautiful like that, sitting, waiting peacefully like a porcelain doll.

“Mhm... As if changing colours would make everything amicable…” Aemond murmurs, taking Daerion in his arms, and he allows him to play with his hair. “Does father know it’s useless? Rhaenyra wearing green won’t change anything, nor will my mother wearing black. HIs voice comes as a grunt as he bounces their baby.

“It’s foolish when you put it that way” her voice is tender, sweet, and somewhat like velvet. He is still besotted by her, as maidens do with knights. He watches the shape of her breasts on that dress, how the cleavage is so delightful for his eyes and the roundness of her tits that make the fabric around stretch a bit. As if the tailor always got the measurement of her chest wrong on purpose, which he won’t complain about.

Her bright red hair contrasts with how the black makes her skin look paler, and her eye colour deeper.

“They shouldn’t call you the Maiden herself anymore” Aemond murmurs softly, walking closer to her, still holding Daerion in his arms. “You are like the mother herself. Like the Goddess Syrax of Old Valyria. Beautiful, strong… so alluring…”

“You never seem to run out of compliments” her hands move to grab her rings, and the one he likes the most is the sapphire one, just to symbolise her marriage to him.

“Never, more so if a goddess like you is my wife. All mine…”

“My prince, my lady.” It’s a Kings guard who interrupts. “Supper is ready, and Queen Alicent asks for you both to arrive earlier…”

“Hm” Aemond says, leaving Daerion in the wet nurse’s arms.

“Thank you, ser Willis” the knight smiles at his wife before walking to wait outside the door.

He rolls his eye as he leans to kiss his son’s forehead, caressing his chubby cheek and he smiles fondly at his sight. The little freckles he has that he inherited from his mother, something that Aemond loved. Yet remembering how unnecessary kind his wife is… annoys him.

Kindness and sweetness only helped to enhance her beauty and popularity, and he also loved that. She was beautiful, perfect in any way, tied to a One-Eyed maimed monster, like him. All he could offer to you, that it was worthy, was the luxuries of the royalty, all the kids you want and his unconditional love. He was at your mercy.

He has one eye, but he is not blind. Any man here on the keep, would pull their breeches down if his wife asked so. They would even cut their own throats for her mere delight, and Aemond would be one of them.

“Goodbye, my sweet love” the sweet motherly tone makes little Daerion squeal happily, extending his little arms for his mother. She kisses both his hands, later to wave to him as they leave the room, arms interlocked.

Aemond always bites his tongue when his lady wife is kind to men. He hates it, yet he knows she does it for the kindness of her heart, and not any ulterior motives.

He was smitten for her, moving the chair for her to sit, and helping her, her dress not getting stuck anywhere or her headpiece, and only then, he sat on his own seat at peace.

“I heard they might have some goose” she murmurs to him, as the room fills. Her fingers caress his arm, and he hears her every word. “I’d eat it all if I could, you know” she teases.

“Mhm.” Aemond murmurs. Even if he is besotted, his facade is still the same; stoic, cold, distant. Yet to her, his gaze was always loving.

“I would only share it with you” she states proudly, leaning to give him a peck on the lips, before standing up once the King is brought to the room.

As he stands, he doesn’t miss how his uncle watches her. Aemond might not know the man personally, but he knew the look of desire in a man’s face. Much more when they looked at her

The supper is mostly… tense, and awkward. But Lady Tully is charming to everyone and even toasts as well for Baela and Rhaena in their betrothal, congratulating them and speaking nothing but wonders about her own married life, making Aemond wear the slightest, yet most smug smirk on his face.

“Amazing” she says, with her mouth full as she eats the goose, and Aemond nods, a hand rubbing her back so she doesn’t choke for eating so quickly. “Here, my love” she says, extending the fork with a bit of the goose that she adores so much.

Aemond eats shamelessly, enjoying the taste as he nods softly, approving, which makes her smile. His hand resting on the back of her chair, as he drank his wine quietly, watching his sister and nephew go to dance together. He is highly unaware of the prying eyes that watch them both.

Helaena and Jacaerys’ giggles and the movement of her dress is enough for lady Tully to watch curiously. Her husband was not one for dances, as he had not a good perception of objects with one eye. She never pressured him, and accepted the fact.

She always would say how Daerion once he would be tall enough to walk, she’d dance with her son all the songs and dances, and Aemond approved that idea.

“Lady Tully” It was Daemon Targaryen’s deep voice, and she looks at him a bit surprised, leaving her fork on the table as she covers her mouth, her hand unconsciously fetching wine, which Aemond hands her his.

“Prince Daemon” her melodic voice is a bit confused, and more so when the uncle of her husband extends his hand. The green fabrics from his suit are deep, yet he still wore dragon details on it, and he looked smug about it.

She turns to watch Aemond, his jaw tensing as he looks at Daemon. And he has to physically stop himself from cutting his uncle’s throat when his wife walks with him to join Helaena and the bastard. Aegon and he share a look, both upset and annoyed, as their wives are so freely dancing with other men.

Aemond watches her beautiful face, frowning as Daemon talks about something, whispering it closely so no one else hears it. His grip on the edge of his seat is strong; knuckles’ turning white as his jaw is tense, not looking pleased at all. And then, he hears her warm laugh, giggling at what he said, as her whole face brightened up.

Once they serve the pig in front of him and hear the little bastard giggles, it is enough to send him through a fit of rage.

He literally drags his wife by the arm after everything went downhill, after saying that stupid toast, after the Velaryon’s boys attempt to defend themselves (very badly) and both her husband and her good brother humiliate them.

“Dancing with him” Aemond murmurs, walking to their shared chambers, not minding seeing the servants stop and look at them both. “Accepting it, and giggling to his jokes as he shamelessly flirts with you”

“It was politeness...” her voice is weak when protesting.

“Did he mocked me for having only one eye?” He asks roughly. “Did he told you how beautiful your are and how full your breasts are?”

She opens her mouth a bit taken aback by his lewds remarks. “I am dutiful to what it’s expected of me. I wouldn't have allowed him to mock you”

“You should…”

“My family’s words are Family. Duty. Honour. And you know I care for that very deeply.” she says as she tries to keep up with his long steps “And I did just what was asked…”

“You are mine” he states, walking inside his chambers as his grip does nothing but become stronger. “My wife and you are… putting yourself in display for my uncle, laughing at his flirting. I know your family words are important for you, but this is… beyond that”

Perhaps it was her confused eyes or her angelic face, but he loosened up his grip yet he kept talking.

“He wanted you! To have you below him and fuck you like a… wench or… or some kind of…”

“I know”

Aemond turns drastically, eye twitching at his wife's words.

“You knew?”

“It was being cordial. It was duty. To amend broken ties…”

“I will break and burn and turn into ashes any ties from you to him” he says exasperated, insane with jealousy. His eye is wide, twitching in rage as he cannot believe this. She was his wife.

Seeing Daemon’s hand grip on her hip, almost groping her, made him insane. Because he knew that Lady Tully, beautiful as the Maiden, a beloved goddess amongst the poor and rich, could do so much better than him. Yet, she still chooses him.

“Get naked” he says simply.

“What?”

“You heard me just right. Get. Naked.” He says again, not wanting a negative.

Her whine is endearing, as she starts taking off little by little. Her gown, the diminutive buttons at the back, her collar, and her hellish headpiece.

“Let me” he grumbles as he helps her take off the headpiece, tossing it aside more carefully.

She is possibly the most beautiful when she is naked. Round breasts, even fuller thanks to lactating, and her body was tempting enough to anyone.

“Undress me” he says instead. He took delight when she was the one serving him, in this way. He loved to see her desperation, her eagerness for him. His jerkin is out in no time, and she kneels to undo his breeches.

Because she had an angelic face, but it was only he who knew how obsessed she was with his cock. She could spend hours lying on the bed, sucking his cock as she rested her head on his abdomen as Aemond read. She wouldn’t even suck him off properly, his wife would only suck the tip, give kitten licks, and lazily press some kisses. During hours and hours.

“I forbid you to speak to any one of them. Ever again”

Confused eyes turned up to look at him, as the careful hands undid his breeches, almost a bit eagerly. “Forbid?”

“Hm. It’s what I said, is it not?” He says, narrowing his eye as if asking to be defied.

“But it’s mad” she protests, frowning. “I promised Jace and Baela a tour in the gardens, and it would be impolite if I didn’t spoke-”

“Too bad” his voice cuts the conversation, and he is not leaving it up for conversation.

“You are being irrational...”

“And you are being a fucking brat” he spats, grabbing her chin as he bites his lower lip. “I’ll show you how irrational I can get”

Her eyes watched him, almost too innocent for her own good. It made him hard; he could feel his cock stirring on his untied breeches.

“Fucking slut, giving yourself to other men” his tone is harsh, but by the way her knees move, to accommodate the weight as he grips her chin, he knows that she is aroused. So is he.

Lady Tully was beautiful, and a box of surprises with everything, he realised with time. He had everyone trapped under her charms, and kept her secrets very private. And he loved it.

“Whore.” His hand leaves her chin, only to move it to slap her across the face.

She gasps, her face turned. It wasn’t harsh, yet the sting was burning on her skin, as she placed a hand on her cheek. To foreign eyes, he just slapped his wife. But he has done it before, to her request. Aemond knew that if his wife was enraged by that, he would have been beaten over and over, because she was kind, but didn’t stand for people dishonouring her.

Aemond, more gently places his hand back on her chin, pulling it so she can look at him. “You will learn your place” Aemond says, as she looks up at him, with those meek eyes of hers. He loved her eyes. “Open your mouth”

He leaned down, his mouth opening over hers, so near that she could feel his hot breath. His hand goes to wrap the bright red hair of hers, and his firm grip got her head secured.

Perhaps Aemond would kiss those perfect lips, yet he pulled back and released a strand of saliva directly into her waiting mouth. Aemond’s fingers tightened the grip in her hair, as his other hand came up to wipe away the excess of spit.

“There is my good girl” he murmurs, looking at her. “Mhm. I’m going to teach you a lesson”

Aemond lifts his wife to her feet as if she weighs nothing, his grip on her hair almost dragging her to the bed, forcefully as he heard her little whines. He had a moment or two to decide which position suited best, for then to grab her hips and guide her to be on her hands and knees. He grabs the long red hair once again, angling her head to the side, because Aemond needed to see her face the same way he needed air.

She was soaking wet, and that is a satisfaction for her husband. Aemond accommodated behind her, watching her body as he positioned his cock at her entrance.

“Such a sweet little cunt” he growls, his eye flashing with lust and desire as he thrusts into her from behind, in one swift motion.

Her whimpers and pants are loud, as she grips on the sheets as her back is arched. She was desperate to be filled and fucked, not something unusual. The unusual thing was that… nothing happened.

“Aemond” She whines, moving her head to watch him from above her shoulder. She had that desperate, pitiful appearance that he loved.

“Yes, my love?” He asks almost nonchalantly, watching her ass, and how his cock is fully sank inside her

She can barely think straight as his dick is deep inside her, throbbing in her walls as she just needs him to start fucking her. “Eh… move?”

“I don’t think so” he murmurs, his hand moving to caress her ass to his liking. “You’ll have to fuck yourself on my cock” His wife opens her mouth, confused as her eyebrows frown in hesitation. “Show me how much you need me” he says simply, he was fucking teasing her. “How much you need my cock”

Feeling the thick length of Aemond’s cock inside her, she accommodates on her hands, slowly moving away just to sink down onto his cock again. Her slick walls gripping him tightly as she impales herself on his thick cock.

“Aemond… Fu-uck, you feel… oh, yes…” She whimpers, and her voice is filled with pleasure as her pussy starts getting pounded as she liked so much. If Lady Tully liked something in life, was probably getting fucked until her mind is mush.

Her hips start moving on their own accord, as she grips on the sheets, trying to keep a stable posture to move her hips better, as her moans are obscenely loud, trying to get his cock deeper and deeper. Aemond leaves a groan, watching how she sinks down on his cock, and it is an image that would make any man cum in seconds. He truly was the luckiest man ever.

He feels the fire in his stomach tighten, as her moans grew more and more delighted to the feeling of his cock pounding into her. At first, she had thought of it as promiscuous, and asked the maiden for forgiveness, but gods damn her if it wasn’t the best thing in life to get a good fuck from the love of her life.

“So responsive when getting a cock in your needy pussy” Aemond mutters, as one of his hands raises to spank her ass, the sharp slap only serves for the sounds coming out of her mouth to increase, and he spanks her again, and again, and again, to his own amusement and delight.

“Please, Aemond…”

“You just love misbehaving with me, because you know I will put you in your place” he says, moving forward to her body to grip his hair with his right hand, his left goes right next to her hand gripping the sheets to hold his weight. “Because you are a needy whore” he states, gripping her hair as she nods forcefully.

“Yes” she says, in that whiny tone of hers. He knows her reactions yet every time they aroused him even more. “Yes, please”

The grip on her hair only serves to help him push her back against his cock, his hips now making the effort to start properly pounding into her cunt as she loved; hard, rough and at a deliciously good pace. Her body is practically numb as he starts to use her body for his own pleasure, just as she loved.

Who would have said that the most beautiful woman on earth loved being used by her husband? Definitely not him. She was the most perfect creature, in any way. Smart, funny, pretty, a good wife and mother. And yet she always craved his cock, like the filthiest whores of Flea Bottom.

“Let those bastards hear you, hm?” He asks, as he leans to speak lowly near her ear. “How it’s your husband who pleases you. Perhaps my uncle will get the notion that you are mine. Only mine. Fucking mine. That fucking dodderer will die by my hand if he ever dares to lay his eyes on you”

The mere thought infuriates him, making his hips slam into her harder and more feral. Rutting into her cunt in an animalistic pace as he has to clench his jaw in rage. His hand on her hair and the other on her waist, he groans at the feeling of her soaking cunt.

The sobs he hears as his cock keeps on pounding into her sweet spot, makes him smug enough, and even more aroused. His sweet lady wife, so prone to cry when she had too much pleasure when she got overwhelmed with lust.

“Please, please…” the round of pleas comes up with her tears, and Aemond moans, shamelessly, as he was so close. “I can’t t-take i-it… anymo-ore”

“Oh, you will” he says through gritted teeth as he lets go of her hair, only for his other hand to go to her shoulder to help her get his dick deeper. “I will breed you. Cum so deep that my seed takes root, and everyone will know who you belong to.”

Her nods between sobs, pleas and trembling legs help him pound in feral thrusts into her, feeling her cunt already milking him, inner walls attempting to squeeze his dick inside and never let it go.

“Cum for me, my love” he murmurs, still fucking her deep and nice how she likes it. “My beautiful wife” he murmurs, besotted by her as she cries, her tears rolling down her rosy cheeks with little freckles that he adored.

The little spasms of her body, her wails and the way her cunt squeezes him, it’s enough to drive him to the edge, holding her body down into his cock as he moans loudly, rolling his eye back in pleasure as he cums hard. She whimpers, whining a bit as his seed just keeps on filling her, his balls tensing up as his grip will probably leave her delicate skin with red marks.

He is caring afterwards, as he cleans her with a towel, or when he places her in bed and covers her, lying by her side each time as she snuggles to him.

“You have to know–” she says softly, her fingers tracing circles on his chest. “You are hot when jealous”

Aemond huffs, grumbling about it a bit as he seems reluctant. It amuses her.

“You always find me hot, I could be… Killing a chicken and you would be leaking”

“Get on my place for a moment, please, just imagine how your muscles would flex” she says dead serious and he rolls his eye amused, as the corners of his lips gives him away.

The fixation on his hair would be a problem if he didn’t love her so much. Aemond allows his lady Tully to braid it as they talk in bed.

“I didn’t really mean it” he says softly.

“Hm?” She asks curious, her fingers working on a single small braid on his hair.

“You can talk to them” he says through gritted teeth. “Just-... not too much”

Her little laugh warms his heart. “Very well” she says amused. “For each sentence I say to them, I will suck you”

“I retract myself, talk to them very much, all you like” he says, and it has her giggling. “You know I love you…” he says; as it comes into his view her concentrated face, her tongue coming out of her pink lips as she was focused. He could see the freckles that he so adored, and her pretty eyes. How he loved her.

“You know I love you more…” she says fixing his braid to stick to his hair. Her mouth forms a pleased smile as she sits, as she inspects her work. “Yes. Seems pretty nice”

He could feel the hair strand tight, and he moved his hand to touch his head. “What in the Seven Hells you did to my hair, woman?”

She looks very pleased as she giggles, her body accommodating against his chest as she shrugs innocently, as he keeps on playfully trying to decipher what his wife did to his hair.

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marvelfilth · 10 months ago

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The Witches Trap

Part 2

Pairing: dark!Wanda Maximoff x f!reader

Warnings: ghosts, description of death, paranormal activity, gore, blood, a bit of horror ig, typical ghost hunting stuff, nothing too scary tho

Words: 5.5k

Summary: you go ghost hunting with Peter, Yelena and Kate. What could go wrong?

A/n: first time trying out some spooky stuff, so bear with me. Heavily inspired by Sam and Coby on YT.

Masterlist

The way Yelena drives is far from smooth and sound, but she vehemently refuses to let Peter behind the wheel, so here you are, yelping and griping the sides of the driver's seat headrest like your life depends on it. You hiss when your head meets the roof, and Kate sends you another toothy smile from the front seat, her eyes flickering to look at Yelena every few minutes. You look to your right to check on Peter, but he is busy fumbling with equipment, his camera carefully stored away in a bag as he keeps checking the microphone.

You sigh and relax against the seat when the road finally smoothes out, and think about why you even agreed to this. Peter asked you to tag along for a new video for his YouTube channel, and by asked you mean begged you with his best puppy eyes and a bag of goodies in his hands. Apparently, if you agreed to go, Kate will go too. And if Kate goes, he won't even have to ask Yelena.

He was right.

So now the four of you are on the way to one of the most haunted places of America - Westview hotel.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Yelena asks, turning her head left and right.

"Yes," Peter answers, glancing up for a second.

"Honestly, this is too creepy already," Kate mumbles, her eyes locked on the numerous dolls pinned to the trees surrounding the road.

"The owner probably made someone do that. No way they had this type of dolls back in the eighteenth century." You try to reassure Kate as much as yourself.

"Actually, the first doll like that was made-" Peter finally looks up with an excited glint in his eyes, and you immediately press your palm against his mouth, "No. I don't need to know that."

"Ha! Little Y/n is scared," Yelena laughs, but her laughter is cut short when a twig hits the side window, making her shriek like a maniac.

"This never happened," she grumbles when the laughter finally dies out.

Relaxing against the seat you try to remember everything Peter told you about this hotel.

It got notoriously famous in the late eighties, when a high schooler got possessed by a demon and later died in a psych ward. The room the girl stayed in was closed off for twenty years after that. You wonder if Peter managed to book it.

Another thing you remember is numerous sightings of a dark, cloaked figure appearing in most random places, whether it's a supply closet or a presidential suite. It always managed to scare the shit out of anyone who was unfortunate enough to catch its interest. You shudder at the mere thought of encountering that particular entity.

"We're here," Yelena cuts off the ignition, and leans against the wheel to take a look at the building.

Your breath catches in your throat the second your eyes land on the magnificent hotel. At seven stories high it stands proudly on a hill, overlooking the vast grounds. The facade is noticeably worn, but no less majestic - a blend of dark wood and stone, a balcony stretching along its entire length. A dark figure on the corner of the rooftop makes you squint, and you gasp when you realize it's a gargoyle, albeit a very rickety one. You make a note to yourself not to walk under it.

Yelena ushers you along, shuddering as she notices the stone figures. “The air here is kinda thick,” she mutters.

You nod, feeling your chest tighten. She's right - the air grows heavier with each step you take. You hope the hotel itself is ventilated enough.

When you finally step inside you take a deep breath, looking around the foyer and spotting who you presume is the owner.

"Welcome to Westview Hotel! My name's Agatha, I'm the owner of this happy little place and your guide for today. Hope you have the worst time of your life here!" Her voice is too cheerful for the late hours, and you cringe at the full on villainous laugh she lets out.

Peter goes to speak with the woman while the rest of you look around. Yelena plops on the loveseat, her backpack thrown on the carpeted floor near her feet, and Kate just stands beside you with her mouth hanging open - you're sure you're wearing a similar expression.

While the outside of the hotel looked somewhat old and weathered, the inside completely blows you away with its beauty. It's elegant, if a bit eerie, with a grand chandelier and high arches that make the space feel even bigger.

You frown, sensing someone's eyes on you, and notice Peter glancing in your direction every so often. You send him a questioning look, but he only shakes his head, his lips pressed together and his cheeks puffed.

"Do you think he's going to sacrifice one of us to that witch? Scarlet Witch, right?" Yelena muses.

"Yeah, but I don't think you're her type." Kate winks at the blonde.

You snicker at her annoyed expression, and stumble back, accidentally bumping into someone. You turn around, an apology on your tongue, only to choke on your words when you are met with an empty lobby.

Your friends stare at you quizzically, but Agatha seems to be lost in thought, her eyes trained on the space right above your shoulder, then she slightly shakes her head, her lips pressed in a tight line.

"Sorry. I thought I bumped into someone…" You trail off, your back burning, an eerie feeling settling in your stomach.

"Sure thing, buttercup." Agatha winks at you, her mood changed back to normal in an instant.

You shudder, looking back at your friends. Yelena whispers something in Kate's ear that causes the younger one to chuckle, and Peter has his camera pointed at you.

"We already got some paranoid activity ten minutes into the night," he blabbers behind the camera, motioning for you to explain what happened.

"Um... It felt like I bumped into someone?" Talking to a camera is weird, but you manage to explain what you felt. "... I think it was nothing though, just my nerves acting up." You force a chuckle, your eyes moving to meet Agatha's stare.

She moves closer to be in the frame, and tells everyone about how much the Scarlet Witch loves to mess with younger women, her favorite pastime in this hotel seems to be entertaining the ladies. However, her idea of entertainment slightly differs from yours, and you gulp when Agatha mentions her choking sleeping guests and locking them in elevators.

"This is going to be incredible, guys," Peter says to the camera, his excitement too contagious for you to worry about your safety.

×××

The next two hours are spent walking behind Agatha and listening to her stories about various tragic deaths that occured in this hotel over the past hundreds of years. She stops every ten minutes or so in front of different rooms, each story worse than the previous one, and you shudder when she tells you a story of a woman buried alive in one of the walls, Agatha's hand casually resting on said wall.

She is telling you another story about a guy that danced on a ledge to impress a girl and fell on one of the spikes in the lobby, when you suddenly feel a tug in your chest. You stop, checking to see if anyone else felt that. Kate is staring at the ledge with her mouth wide open, Peter's busy filming Agatha and butting in with commentary (much to Agatha's displeasure), and Yelena grips Kate's hand so hard, you are sure she couldn't possibly see anything other than the wall in front of her.

You exhale and look around, trying to spot anything interesting, even though you've been looking at the same set of stairs for the past ten minutes. Strangely enough, you notice a door that surely wasn't there before, because you would've noticed it right away if it was.

While every part of this hotel was renovated, this door looks like it belongs in the past, with heavy iron hinges and a weird looking handle. There are no signs on the door, nor any numbers or words, and when something tugs on your hand, you follow the feeling.

You walk almost in haze, your friends' voices blurred in the background, unfamiliar warmth surrounding you, your chest lighter than it ever was and your mind in a euphoric state. You turn the knob and it gives in, the door rattling loudly as you tug it open, but before you could even glimpse inside, a hand slaps harshly on the wood, the door closing with a loud creak.

You blink owlishly, warmth gone and your head suddenly clear, as you take in Agatha's furious expression.

"It says 'Employees only'," she hisses through gritted teeth, and you step away from the woman.

"No, it doesn't, there's noth-" you choke on your words when you look back at the door, because now it looks like every other door in the room, 'Employees only' written in bold.

You look back at Agatha and apologize, but it seems like she doesn't hear you, her brows furrowed and her eyes flickering between you and the door.

"Okay that's hella creepy," Kate breaks the silence, her unoccupied hand digging in a pocket of her jeans to present a cross. "God will protect us." She puts it around her neck, and nods to herself.

"You don't even believe in God." Yelena jams her in the ribs, not letting go of the brunette's hand.

"You really should," Agatha casually advises, tugging at your elbow to move you further away from the door, "follow me, I'm going to tell you the story of the Scarlet Witch."

You cast one last look at the door and follow her down the hall to the very last room, something warm pressing at the low of your back to lead you. Shuddering at the feeling, you wonder why it is only you who feels something weird. Kate keeps sending you worried looks, but, other than that, she seems okay with Yelena's hand pressed firmly into her side. Peter isn't fazed at all, excitingly recording everything in sight.

Exhaling, you try to relax. If something here wants to harm you it wouldn't use such a gentle approach.

Or maybe it's just luring you in.

When you finally stop in front of room number 208 you feel a poke in your ribs, Yelena nods her head for you to look at Agatha, and you confusedly look up. Apparently, she wants you to open the door. Gulping, you move forward, your hand reaching on its own accord. You turn the doorknob with some hesitation, your hand trembling slightly. When you're met with a sight of a regular hotel room, you let out a quiet breath.

The walls are painted an unassuming beige, with green and brown accents, the earth tones bringing a feeling of calm. The four poster bed is pushed against the farthest wall, with nightstands on either side, and you could already imagine how soft it would feel to sleep in it. But the only thing that truly gets your attention is a floor to ceiling window and a french door, which hopefully leads to a balcony you spotted from the outside.

Agatha walks past you into the room, resting her weight against the foot of the bed. "It was locked," her eyes seem to be glued to yours as she speaks, "second locked door you opened today. I find that… interesting."

You are aware of Peter's camera being shoved right in your face, you're aware of Kate's hand reassuringly clasping your own, aware of Yelena's calming presence, but you are focused on something else entirely. There is this feeling again, now familiar warmth taking root in your chest, almost singing to you. You briefly close your eyes, savoring the sensation, wishing you could feel more.

"This is our most active room," Agatha says, "last year some teenagers decided to use a Ouija board in here and it got even worse. So you're in for a wild ride."

"This is nuts," Kate says from the other side of the room, trailing her hand over the painting of a burning witch.

"Oh, this actually happened here," Agatha drawls, taking note of your surprised faces, "almost a hundred young alleged witches were burnt at the stake here, on these grounds…" Agatha continues on with the story, but your eyes are stuck on Kate, on the other side of the room, your body frozen in shock. You can still feel what you thought was Kate's hand on your own, but with her standing on the other side of the room, and Yelena looking at you like you've grown two heads, you decide it's enough.

"Can you tell them to stop?" you shriek, stepping further into the room.

The warm feeling in your chest intensifies, the ghost of a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your cheek, turning your head to look at the painting. It's so gentle, so soft, it makes you lean your head in search of more.

"Them?" Agatha's voice grounds you. "I believe there's only one witch who is interested in you."

"What's going on?" Kate asks, moving away from the painting. Panic starts to rise in your chest, making you struggle to breathe. "Y/n, are you okay?" Kate's by your side in an instant, hands rubbing your sides, and you lay your head on her shoulder, silently reminding yourself that no ghost can hurt you.

"I thought you were standing beside me, I felt you take my hand, but you were on the other side of the room," you whisper against her shoulder.

"No. We're going back home." Yelena pales and tugs at your elbow, smacking the back of Peter's head with her other arm. "Your idiotic idea is going to give her a heart attack," she hisses and leads you to the door, hurriedly turning the knob.

It doesn't turn.

"What the fuck." She tries to open it again, and again, and again, until Agatha gets pissed and yells at her for trying to break the door.

"If she wants you to stay, you'll stay." She places her palm on the wooden door, and gives everyone a stern look.

"Say the word and I'll break that door open." Peter reappears by your side, looking guilty as ever, his camera now hidden away.

You take a deep breath and look around, now feeling much safer with all of your friends (and Agatha) by your side. The room looks like no one has touched it in years, and the warm, calming feeling in your chest only intensified after your little break down.

Maybe the witch just wants some company.

You meet Peter's eyes and manage a smile. "I survived Yelena's driving, I'm sure I'll be fine after this."

"Are you sure?" Yelena and Peter ask you at the same time.

"Yes, guys, I'm fine. I'm just not used to it like you are," you smile at Peter, and he nods in understanding.

He spent his college years filming in haunted places, a little hobby turned into a full time job as his channel grew bigger and bigger. Usually he invites his friend Wade to film together, but this time he really wanted you to come.

"Glad we settled that. Now sit," Agatha commands.

You take a seat on the bed, Yelena and Kate immediately placing their arms around you. Peter settles in a comfortable looking chair by the window, and Agatha stays standing, clearing her throat before venturing into the story of the Scarlet Witch.

"I'm sure you know that being a redhead, green-eyed, and exceptionally smart young woman in the 17th century meant one thing."

"Barbecue," Yelena mumbles, earning a scathing glare from the older woman.

"Yes. But here's the thing - the Scarlet Witch was never burned at the stake, and not because she was so good at staying hidden, but because she has never had a physical presence in this world, at least one that we know of. There's no proof of her existence, no paintings and no pictures, no sightings either."

Yelena shifts beside you. "Then how do you even know-"

Agatha cuts her off with another scathing glare, before continuing on. "We know because every single one of these poor women cried out her name before their inevitable death. They begged her to save them, but she never did."

"That still doesn't-"

"For the love of god, just shut up and let me finish!" The older woman shrieks, throwing her hands in the air. Momentarily closing her eyes, she clenches her jaw. "She never saved any of these poor girls, feeding on their fear, anger and desperation. She enjoyed what was happening. Hell, she spurged it on, manipulating minds, changing people until they became unrecognizable, and after this hotel was built she took charge, driving owners and residents away, leading people to their inevitable death, and lately possessing unsuspecting women. All of those poor people had one thing to say - 'it was the Scarlet Witch'." She shifts on her feet, turning to look out the window. "Hundreds of years of terror, but there was one good thing she's done. There was a particularly nasty witch trial, the poor girl was accused of seducing a priest's daughter. Imagine the horrors she was bound to be faced with if they got their hands on her. They never did, she escaped their clutches, and every single man involved in the hunt on the girl was brutally murdered. The girl died of old age in the safety of her own home, forever protected by the magic of the Scarlet Witch." Suddenly, her eyes lock on yours. "There's no trace of the Scarlet Witch, but there's a painting of the woman she saved. I'd show it to you, but for you it'll be the same as looking in a mirror, so I'll save myself the trouble."

Peter suddenly sits up straighter, nodding along to Agatha's words.

Kate slides her hand away from your shoulders. "Don't want to make her jealous or anything," she whispers, looking around.

"Do you say this to everyone or..?" You hesitantly speak up.

Her eyes turn serious, causing a chill to run down your spine. "Oh no, buttercup, you're a spitting image of the only woman she deemed worthy enough to save."

"She's not lying," Peter says, "that's actually the reason why I asked you to come." He sends you a sheepish smile, and shows you a picture on his phone. It's an old painting, weathered by time, but undoubtedly beautiful.

The woman looks just like you.

You gulp, your heart hammering in your chest. "Well, I'm not her."

"Maybe not. It's not like it matters." Agatha mumbles, standing up, a faraway look in her eyes. "She must've had her reasons to save the poor girl, and I suspect they were far from noble. Be careful." She looks at you one last time before turning to Peter. "Well, it's been fun entertaining you, but it's nearing midnight, so I'll leave you to your ghost hunting, or whatever it is that you're doing." Her lips purse at the numerous cameras Peter's unloaded from his bag.

"Wait!" You jump up, stalling Agatha. "How do you even know about what happened at the trials? Is there some kind of document?" You're aware of the absurdity of your questions, after all you are the one who experienced all of the activity so far, and while some of it could be blamed on your nerves or your brain playing tricks on you, the door accident still burns at the back of your mind.

"You don't believe me?" Agatha smirks, making you shift uncomfortably. "Don't worry, you'll see, you have a long night ahead." She sends you one last look, and easily opens the door before disappearing behind it.

You fall back on the duvet, pressing your palms against your face. The past hour puts an uncomfortable weight on your chest, and you struggle to wrap your mind around the fact that you're probably going to be targeted even more as the night goes on, either by your terrified, overly anxious mind, or the Scarlet Witch.

The warm feeling you felt when you first stepped into the room slowly disappeared, leaving you to wonder if it's done its job in luring you in.

"Okay, it's time to-"

"We're not using a Ouija board."

"- light up some candles." Peter says, looking quizzically at Yelena. "I'm not stupid, you know." He huffs, rolling his eyes.

You snort, shaking your head at your friends' antics. "Why do we need candles?"

Peter rolls his eyes. "To communicate with ghosts."

"Don't you have some fancy tech for that?"

"I prefer to keep it simple," he shrugs.

You share a look with Yelena. "And we'll be left talking to the AC," you mumble loud enough for Peter to hear and send you a middle finger.

"There's no AC in this room. Some people use flashlights, but I prefer candles. We'll also use a spirit box."

"We're not catching any spirits in a box, right?" You sit up, eyes darting between your friends.

Peter sighs and goes on a rant about his tools, explaining how everything works. To your great relief, you won't have to catch anyone, just put on a blindfold, some noise canceling headphones, and let some spirit talk though one of you.

"Sounds fun," Kate gulps.

"I'm not doing that." You shake your head, crossing your arms.

Peter looks up from the floor, where he adjusts the rem pod, the piece of equipment going off when he touches it with a tip of his finger, calibrating the sensitivity. "Yelena will do that."

It's almost comical how far Yelena's jaw falls. "And why is that, Parker? Why don't you let some spirit use you as a radio?"

"Um… my tarot reader told me you'll do best out of all of us."

Kate starts cackling like a maniac, clutching her stomach and bending over. You can't help laughing either, burrowing your face into the pillow to keep quiet.

Yelena continues arguing with Peter, and you decide to leave them to it and satisfy your curiosity. You smile at the questioning smile Kate sends you, and gesture to the balcony door.

You were right, it is the balcony you saw from the outside, stretching all the way to the other side of the hotel. You sigh and lean against the railing, taking in the view. If you thought it looked terrifying on the way here, it looks even worse from high up. Moonlight shines on crooked trees surrounding the land around the hotel, dark and menacing, broken branches hanging on the last threads. There is a well within walking distance, not too far away from where you parked the car. You swear to yourself you won't let Peter drag you over there, it looks way too creepy.

You finally relax, letting your eyes fall shut for a second, but a blurry movement to your left forced them open. You grip the railing, squinting.

Nothing.

"What the fuck." Kate's voice sounds from the inside, and you rush back just in time to see her exit the adjoined bathroom, snapping the door shut with a terrified look on her face. "No. Oh fuck no. Oh no, no, no."

Peter sits up, alarmed. "What is it?"

"There's blood on the mirror," she whispers, her hands shaking violently, "and in the tub, and on the floor."

Peter immediately gets up, taking the only camera that's been filming the whole time with him. You follow your friend, not paying attention to your shaking hands and your hammering heart.

When the door opens you see a pristine bathroom, so clean it's almost mocking. He inspects every corner from every possible angle, only to come up short.

"Guys?" Kate calls out from behind the door. "Are you good?"

"There's nothing he-" you freeze mid sentence when your eyes land on the mirror.

It's fogged up, one word clearly written.

Your name.

You reach out - not of your own violation, your hand guided by some unseen force - and touch the reflective glass right where your name is. You're hit with a vision, bits and pieces of what feels like distant memory escaping the prison your mind put them in.

You see a wrinkled face of an old man, his expression pure disgust as he spews something right in your face. The scene changes abruptly, and now you're in a dark cell, with only the moon to keep you company. Your heart clenches at the pure anguish you're hit with, the desperation drowning you, leaving you no room to breathe. There's a sudden blur, and everything turns blinding white, and then… you feel that warmth again. A woman stands in front of you, reaching out, her eyes glinting red. She looks ethereal, her skin pale, almost sheer, her unruly hair pushed back by a red tiara. You gulp, feeling the power radiating from her, chest aching with the need to submit to it.

You stumble away from the mirror. There's no warmth in your chest now, only pure, unconcealed dread. You lean against the door, palms pressed to your face. Peter doesn't dare breathe, his hands only shaking slightly as he makes sure to get it in the frame.

"Where did you just go?" He whispers, not daring to speak any louder.

You shake your head, blinking back tears. "Tell me you did this. Tell me it's a prank."

He looks at you, eyes full of fear. He bites on his lower lip, eyes wide. "I did this. I totally did this." He nods rapidly, ushering you out of the room.

Kate and Yelena wait on the other side, each holding a candelabra. You don't even bother to ask where they found them, heading straight to the balcony for a breath of fresh air while Peter explains what happened.

You look at the full moon, rubbing your chest in tight circles.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Again, and again.

The floorboards of the balcony creak, along with the railing, and you wonder if it's all gonna fall to the ground, and bury you in a mess of wood and cement. Maybe that's what the witch wants - for you to stay here forever.

You feel the remains of that need, that hunger for the witch. You long to see her again, even if it's just a glimpse, a whiff of her presence.

When you come back, the lights are off, and Peter is already asking questions, Yelena's terrified expression telling you everything you need to know about the answers they've been provided with.

The candle on the nightstand goes out, and Peter blinks, looking at you. "Weird."

"What?" You ask, looking around, hair on the nape of your neck standing up.

"He asked the ghosts if they wanted us to leave." Kate answers.

"That means they do." Yelena points at the candle.

You shiver, a breeze from the balcony making you curl in on yourself, eyes flickering to every dark corner of the room, flinching whenever you see shadows from the moonlight that look a little too ominous.

Someone is watching you, you're sure. A part of you hopes it's her.

"And why is that weird?" You ask Peter, watching as he collects the candles. You sigh in relief, glad to have missed the conversation.

"I thought they liked us - you - at least," he mumbles.

"Maybe they want us gone so the witch can have some alone time with Y/n." Yelena's brows jump up and down suggestively, and you can't help, but laugh, some of the tension finally seeping away.

That is, until the last candle on the nightstand lights up again, completely on its own.

Peter staggers back, dropping the stack in his hands. "No fucking way," he whispers, "that never happened before."

He pulls back to check the camera, making sure it's still recording.

"That's a yes, right?" Kate gulps, looking at you with wide eyes. "She wants you wants you. It's not a coincidence."

You take a seat on the rocking chair in the corner and close your eyes, reminding yourself that nothing here could ever hurt you. It doesn't really work when you still feel eyes on you. Your hands tremble, and your legs feel too heavy to stand on. Every sound is amplified, your senses going into overdrive, so when a clock stops ticking, you immediately notice.

The clock reads 12:08, the hands still for a moment, before resuming their course.

You're slowly starting to wish you never agreed to come to this place.

Agatha's words ring in your head. What if the witch thinks you're that poor girl? That'll explain the witches' interest in you. Maybe she made you see those visions to help you remember.

But… What if it's not even her that's been following you? What if it's one of the dark entities Agatha told you about? The thought makes you even more uncomfortable - you'd prefer the Scarlet Witch to haunt you instead of some dark, trapped soul, no matter how absurd it sounds.

"Hey," Kate approaches you.

You blink, and offer her a hesitant smile. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" She bites on her lip, her hands on your knees.

You nod, and take her hands in yours. "I'm fine. Just a bit shaken up."

She sighs heavily, head falling to rest on your lap. "Same," she mumbles, "I feel like a prey."

You rub her shoulders, hoping to ease some of her tension. "We'll be out of here in the morning."

She looks up, smiling. "Actually, we're not sleeping here. Peter said we'll try to talk to them one last time and then go."

You hum, wondering why the information makes you feel worse. Shouldn't you be relieved to leave earlier?

"Okay, come here," Peter calls, putting noise canceling headphones on Yelena's head.

Kate jumps up, her eyes lightening up at the sight of Yelena sitting rigidly on the chair, a blindfold and headphones in place. "Oh, this is gonna be good," she smiles, settling in front of the blonde.

Peter looks at you. "I think you should ask the questions."

You nod, biting on the inside of your cheek. You think of something appropriate to ask - something that would reveal information without offending any of the spirits here.

"Are we here alone?" You ask, and everyone turns to look at Yelena, awaiting an answer.

Yelena's head bobs up and down, like she's listening to her favorite song, but you know for sure it's just white noise.

"Hello," Yelena says, smiling slightly.

Not alone, then.

You nod, and Peter gestures for you to continue.

"My name is Y/n, what is your name?"

It's quiet for a little while, occasional squeaks from the balcony making you jump up and look around.

When Yelena doesn't answer, Peter decides to speak up. "Did you follow us here from the lobby? Was it you-"

"Shut up," Yelena barks.

Kate stumbles back on the floor, and settles against the foot of the bed. "Oh fuck."

Peter takes a step back, raising his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Sorry." He nods at you, urging you to continue.

"Do you not like him?" You ask.

"In… in the way…" her voice is unsure as she trails off.

"Peter's in the way? In the way of what?" Kate speaks up, looking at you.

"Deal," the blonde whispers, "owe."

Peter frowns. "You made a deal and you owe someone?"

Yelena purses her lips, tilting her head to the side like she can't quite figure out what is being said.

The bathroom door slowly creaks open.

"Are you in the bathroom?" Kate's voice shakes, and you take her hand, shuffling closer to the girl.

"Blood."

You exhale, looking at the open doorway with wide eyes.

Kate nods rapidly, her hand trembling. "There was a lot of blood. You scared the shit out of me."

Yelena chuckles, "Feed."

So whatever is here has been feeding on your fear.

"Who are you?" You ask again.

"You know," Yelena replies. "You all do."

"What's behind that door?" You have the strongest urge to go back there.

Yelena chuckles, shaking her head. “Go see for yourself.”

Light starts flickering, tears spring to your eyes, and you fight the urge to curl into a ball and cry. Yelena turns her head and sits up, leanings towards you.

"You forgot."

"Forgot about what?" You shudder, eyes darting between the door and Yelena.

"Our deal."

Peter darts to the other side of the room and snaps the door to the bathroom shut, his mouth set in a flat line. "We're leaving."

"She can't," Yelena singsongs.

"There's no deal. You're mistaken," Peter snaps, collecting the equipment.

"What deal?" You hesitantly ask.

Lightning strikes outside, a loud boom of thunder following. The painting of the burning witch falls.

"I own y-"

Peter tugs off the headphones, Yelena's mouth snaps shut. She tugs off the blindfold and blinks, brows set in confusion. "Are we gonna start any time soon?"

Kate groans, falling face first to the floor. "Fuck my life."

_______________________

Before you yell at me - yes, there will be a part two

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x y/n #scarlet witch x y/n #scarlet witch x female reader

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sluttyten · 2 months ago

Text

limited time only

Kinktober Day 2 | Jaemin Masterlist | Member Masterlist

tags: supernatural creature, semi-public sex, beach sex, nudist jaemin, wax play, grinding, riding, a little play on the myth of Eros and Psyche,

length: 4707

The first day you saw the man come from the sea, you thought your eyes were deceiving you. He came from the water, all golden skin and dripping with glistening saltwater, entirely nude save for the gray folded fabric he carried in one hand.

Typically, in your time living in this coastal town, seeing a naked man walking along the beach is cause for concern. However, when the naked man walking towards you has just emerged from the sea looking like a sea god, it’s a little more difficult to take issue with.

It’s difficult to look away from him — his windswept, damp hair is the color of midnight; his handsome face reminds you of Renaissance artwork; his broad shoulders are just a prelude to the rest of the masterful composition of his body; his waist tapers in, accentuating his toned abdomen, drawing your gaze downward along a fine dark trail of hair….

You tear your gaze away from him, looking back down at the fluttering pages of the book you had been reading up until his magnificent emergence.

God. He’s beautiful.

When you glance up again, he’s no longer in front of you, and you’re a little scared to look at the rest of the beach behind you. If you risk another look at him, you’re worried that you might not be able to tear your gaze away. So instead you do your damnedest to focus on the book you’d been thoroughly enjoying prior to his appearance.

But your mind keeps wandering back to the shape of the man, which stirs heat low in your belly. And then there’s just your simple curiosity — you’ve not seen that man before; is he just a tourist that’s mistaken this beach as a nude beach? Is he just an exhibitionist? What’s his story?

After a while, you give up on making any further progress in your book, and you begin to pack up your things to leave.

A shadow falls over your blanket, and you tilt your head, lifting your hand to shield your eyes from the bright sunlight. And you look up and up and up, until finally your eyes settle on the face of the sea man. He’s dressed now, regardless of the state that you’d previously seen him in, and he’s smiling now — a dazzling, charismatic grin that sets your heart racing.

“Hello,” he greets you. His voice is surprisingly deep, yet soft-toned. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just saw what book you were reading, and I’ve been meaning to pick it up, but I was just wondering if it’s any good? I’ve heard some controversial opinions about it.”

Oh. The ocean god reads and he looks like that? The news is devastating to your quickly developing crush on this man.

It turns out you have more in common with him than just that singular book. For the next few hours, you sit together on your little blanket on the beach and talk, laugh, and you pray that it’s not your imagination that he seems equally as interested in you as you are in him. You learn that he’s not from around here, he’s just visiting for the first time in seven years. He’s an only child. He likes to read, to people-watch, to sing and dance, to take photographs to truly capture the human experience. He laughs when you tell him that sounds like something a really passionate artist would say.

As the sun begins to lower towards the horizon, you realize just how late it’s become. You’ve actually got plans with your friends for dinner that you’ll be late to if you don’t hurry.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “I didn’t mean to keep you.” He stands up, freeing up your blanket as you’re shoving your things into your bag.

“You’re alright! I just lost track of time. I’ve enjoyed talking with you. Um.” You pause, your blanket wadded up in your hands, and you look up at him. “Actually, I’m sorry. We’ve been talking for hours, and I just realized, I’ve not asked your name.”

He smiles, the warmth of it matching the setting sun behind you. “My name is Jaemin.”

Jaemin, the sea god.

And, because you really like him a lot, you put yourself forward, and you ask him for his number.

“If I had a phone, I definitely would give you my number.” Jaemin looks genuinely apologetic. “But, seeing as I don’t have a phone, we could meet back here tomorrow, same time?”

And that’s good enough for you.

You run off, have dinner with your friends during which you tell them about your mysterious beach man, giggle like you’re all young girls with a crush, and that night you dream of Jaemin.

You wake with his name on your lips, heat racing beneath your skin.

Hours later, you’re again sitting on the beach on your blanket. Again, you’re holding a book, though today you’re so utterly distracted by the prospect of seeing Jaemin again that you can’t focus on a single word on the page. And then you hear a gasp from a woman sitting a short distance away.

There he is.

Jaemin, rising again from the water, again nude.

Luckily, you’d brought a towel along today, and as Jaemin strides up the beach towards you, you toss the towel at him.

“Is this a common thing for you?” You ask as he wraps the towel around his waist. He drops something dark and damp down in the sand beside your blanket before he sinks down to sit with you. This close to him, you find it a little difficult to fully focus. “The… skinny-dipping at a public beach?”

Jaemin smiles, pushes his fingers through his damp hair. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really.” It gives you the opportunity to admire him.

“Alright, then.” Jaemin reaches over, his fingers brushing the backs of your hands. “What are we reading today?”

So again you sit there with Jaemin for hours and hours, talking and occasionally taking a brief trip down into the water to cool off.

Jaemin, despite his manner of arrival earlier, never goes into the water above mid-calf, just content to stand and watch as you wade out into the water. His gaze rushes hungrily over your skin when you walk out of the water towards him — seawater runs in sun-silvered rivulets down your chest and your stomach and your thighs. He never strays far from your beach blanket, keeping it always within sight, which you appreciate him keeping an eye on your things while you’re out in the water.

You stay on the beach all day and into the twilight hour before you make a brief excursion into town to pick up some dinner, some drinks, and then you return back to your blanket where Jaemin is still waiting.

Some time later, in between the drinks, you grow bold enough to lean closer and kiss him. Jaemin, to your absolute delight, eagerly kisses you back. It doesn’t stop there of course. Once you’ve had one taste of kissing this godly man that washed up on your beach, you can’t wait to have more.

You don’t care that you’re in public, out in the open on the beach where anyone can walk by. You pull Jaemin over you – drinks, dinner, books forgotten – and you encourage his hands to wander under the edges of your bikini; your fingers push loose the towel he still wears bound around his hips. The town lies silent behind you while you moan into each other's mouths, touching each other, grinding on the blanket in the sand.

“Jaemin,” you gasp his name as he finally lets his body settle between your hips; his heavy cock rubs forward against your heat. “Jaemin, please, just put it inside me.”

He drops his mouth to your shoulder, teeth nipping lightly as he grinds forward once again, slow and teasing before he just –

“Fuck, right there, Jaemin!” You twist one hand into his hair, the other drags your nails down his back.

His cock is magnificent, feels so perfect inside you.

You hold him close, muffling your moans by biting his shoulder, and he buries his sounds in your hair or against your lips.

You forget that you’re on the beach, fucking out in the open, but even when the crashing of the waves or the sound of a car passing by on the road reaches through your sex-fueled haze, you can’t bring yourself to care that someone might see, might hear.

Jaemin pulls out just before he cums with a low moan of your name. His forehead rests against your chest as he rapidly strokes his cock, striping the blanket between your thighs with his cum. And then he’s lowering himself down, burying his head between your thighs – two fingers pumping inside you, his tongue at your clit – and the vibration of his moans against your clit quickly has your thighs quaking around his ears, your orgasm cresting and crashing over you like the waves battering the shore behind him.

You collapse, a molten puddle of satisfaction in the sand. Your heart races, pulse thundering in your ears.

“I think you need to come home with me,” you pant, trying to recover your breath. You’re halfway joking, but at the same time, you dearly want Jaemin to come back to your place, to tumble you once more in your bed, to wake up beside you in the morning and do this again. “I make a great breakfast, if you’d like to come over, stay the night, and try it in the morning?”

Jaemin lifts himself up, sliding up alongside your body, and he drags one of your thighs up over his hip. “I’d like that,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

So, you pull your bikini back into place. You pack your things back into your bag. Jaemin wraps the towel around his waist again, and it’s only as you start to walk away from the beach into town – you live only a ten minute walk away – that you realize Jaemin is carrying with him that dark fabric that you’d noticed him carrying out of the water with him yesterday and earlier today. You wonder what it is, and if it’s clothing then why is he still wearing only your towel.

You let him rinse off in your shower while you tidy your room – putting away clean laundry you’d left piled on the foot of your bed, kicking dirty clothes out of sight, hiding the embarrassing seal plushie that you’ve slept with since you were seven.

After Jaemin emerges, clean and smelling like your lavender body wash, you take a quick shower – washing sand out of places it certainly doesn’t belong. You can hear Jaemin walking around, the creaking of the floor in your house as he probably looks at your bookshelves, the photographs of your family and friends hung on the walls, your collection of knickknacks.

He’s occupied, so you linger in the bathroom a moment longer to text your friends from the evening before about the details of your day – meeting up again with him, spending all day with him, how he’s a tourist but he’s been here before seven years ago, how he weirdly carries like a wad of gray fabric with him, how you had sex on the beach, and he’s now waiting for you in your bedroom.

You expect them to be excited for you. A few of them respond just as enthusiastically as you’d hoped, but one friend is a spoilsport about the whole thing.

“That’s sorta weird right?” she sends in the groupchat. “Him coming out of the ocean like that, all mysterious and from out of town?”

Is she accusing you or lying, making up a handsome man that sounds like a fantasy?

“What is he a selkie lol” another friend says.

“My grammy used to scare my sisters and I with stories of selkies,” the first one says, “Warning us that selkie men would appear on the beach and steal us away into the sea to drown us and steal our souls.”

“Your grammy was a hippie, babe, I think she tripped a little too hard in the old days and never quite recovered,” one of your friends says in response to that.

You’re still stuck on what she’s talking about. A selkie. What’s a selkie?

You ignore the notifications from the group chat and instead search up ‘selkie,’ uncertain what you’re going to find.

You certainly don’t expect to find your friend accusing Jaemin of being a shapeshifter, but it turns out that’s exactly what a selkie is – a supernatural being that resembles a seal in one form, and upon shedding its skin becomes human. She’s ridiculous for planting such a notion in your head, and when you check back into the groupchat, you find it’s grown even more ridiculous.

Some of them are joking that your sudden silence is because your new selkie boyfriend has taken you out to sea. One of them is jokingly asking if he’s got webbed fingers and toes. And the one who started all of this is actually sending messages like she genuinely believes Jaemin could be a part seal-part human creature.

“If he’s a selkie, he’s got to have his seal skin somewhere nearby. It’s how they transform back. My grammy used to say that they can only come to land every seven years, but if someone hides their seal skin they’ll be forced to stay on land. She said they’re really seductive creatures, which is how they lure poor innocents out into the sea, but it backfires on them because sometimes the one they seduce will be the one to hide their seal skin, and they’re stuck here. She once read a legend that selkies have a mark on their hip like this:” and then she sent a badly scribbled drawing that looks like spirals swirling together.

“You’re so ridiculous. All of you,” you send, “Goodnight.”

You shut your phone off, leave the bathroom, and find Jaemin sitting on the edge of your bed, looking at the seal plushie that you clearly hadn’t hidden well enough.

“This is cute,” he says. “Friend of yours?”

You pluck it quickly from his grasp, tossing it over towards a reading chair you have shoved into the corner of your room by the window. You offer the excuse of, “A childhood memory, that’s all,” before you place yourself in Jaemin’s lap, curl your fingers against the back of his neck, and you press your mouth to his.

Jaemin welcomes the kiss, opening up to let you take control while he tips backwards until he’s lying with his head among your pillows. You make out with him, rolling around in your bed, touching each other again like you’d done on the beach until your sheets are rumpled and the hour is late.

Jaemin falls asleep before you do, his soft snores filling the quiet space between you.

You want to fall asleep, to slip into dreams, but your mind won’t settle. Your thoughts keep turning back to your group chat, your silly friend with her even sillier accusations. And the more you think about it, the more things about Jaemin line up with the things she was saying about selkies.

But the main odd and unexplainable thing that sticks out to you is the thing she said about selkies and their seal skins. Jaemin has that dark gray fabric or whatever that he’s carried with him almost every time you’ve seen him. He had it when he rose out of the sea both times, carrying it with him all the way here.

What if you find it? It’s somewhere in your house. You could just go take a look, see what it is, put aside any silly thoughts you’re beginning to have.

Jaemin shifts a little when you roll away from him, but he doesn’t wake. His eyes are closed, snores still pouring from him. You tiptoe from your bedroom to the front door where he’d dropped the towel as soon as he stepped inside.

You can’t see anything in the dark, and you left your phone back on your bedside table. The next best thing is a candle sitting on your kitchen table. You light it, and by the warm glow, you search the floor. There’s the towel and your abandoned flipflops. It’s only now that you realize Jaemin didn’t even have shoes. He truly came out of the water with nothing but the mysterious dark gray thing.

And you can’t find it. You climb the stairs back towards your bedroom quietly, scanning the shadows of each step to see if maybe it somehow got carried up here. You check the landing and the hall. Finally, you peek into your bathroom.

The mirror above the sink magnifies the light of the flame, making it easier as you check the floor here. There’s your abandoned clothes from before your shower. There’s your towel from after your shower. In the corner behind the door, tucked almost completely out of sight, is the towel you’d handed Jaemin before his shower. It sits crumpled on the floor, covering most of something dark and gray.

You crouch down, pulling the towel away, revealing Jaemin’s only possession.

You touch it.

Whatever it is, it feels like velvet.

You lift it up into the light reflected by the mirror. It’s not any particular shape – not identifiable as a piece of clothing, nor as a blanket or towel. You don’t know what the shape is, and the velvety texture of it combined with the darkness seems to swallow the candlelight, making it even more difficult to make out anything identifiable about it.

Seeing this thing – the potential seal skin of a potential selkie currently sleeping in your bed – hasn’t cleared up anything at all. If anything, you’re even more confused and on-the-fence about your friend’s accusation.

But there’d been that last thing she said.

The mark of a selkie, found on the hip.

You’ve been too swept up in enjoying Jaemin to even notice any marking on his body, but according to your friend and her grammy, that mark would let you identify him.

So, fully aware of how ridiculous you’re being and of how awkward this will be to explain, you pick up the candle and head back to your bedroom.

Jaemin is still asleep on his back, one arm thrown above his head, the sheets pool around his abdomen. You hold your breath while you look at him.

He’s beautiful.

Just looking at him right now you want to jump his bones, pull away the sheet to touch him, get him hard, and ride him.

You think again of what your friend sent in the groupchat earlier, how she said that selkies apparently have great powers of seduction. Is Jaemin exuding some supernatural selkie power of seduction, or are you just really horny for the hot naked guy in your bed?

You come to stand on his side of the bed, and you lean over him, reaching out to nudge away the sheet, searching his bare skin for any sign of any weird marks. All you can see as you slowly drag the sheet down are the marks you’ve unintentionally left on him – hickeys, marks from your fingernails – and more normal things like freckles, hairs, moles arranged like constellations.

Oh.

A spiral-shaped constellation of moles low on his pelvis.

You gasp, tilting the candle to get a better look.

Hot wax spills, pouring over the edge of the candle, landing on Jaemin’s stomach.

His eyes flash open, and in an instant he’s sitting upright. One of his hands has a vice grip on your wrist holding up the candle. His other hand has shot right to your throat, dragging you over him so you’re perched in his lap.

“Jaemin–”

“What are you doing?” He asks, his voice devoid of the sweet charisma. “What have you done?”

You can’t speak. All the signs are pointing to one truth: Jaemin is a selkie.

“Are you–” You squirm, struggling beneath his powerful hands. “Jaemin, this mark… Are you a….”

Jaemin’s hand loosens on your throat, but he keeps a tight grip on your wrist supporting the candle. “Am I what?”

How can you ask him this? If you’re wrong, he’s going to think you’re crazy. But what if you’re right? What then?

Sitting on his lap like this, you can feel his cock beneath you. A bit of candle wax dribbles over the lip of the candle again as your hand wobbles, and from the corner of your eye you watch it trickle down Jaemin’s knuckles. His eyes flare in the dark, his jaw tenses.

“You have to say it,” Jaemin challenges you, “Use your words.”

“Jaemin,” you pause, mustering up the courage or stupidity to speak the next words aloud: “Are you a selkie?”

The fact that you actually asked seems to catch him off-guard. Jaemin’s hold on you falters, just for a moment, but it’s enough to give you the freedom that you manage to break your wrist free, and with your other hand you shove his chest so he’s lying flat beneath you again.

Again, the candle wobbles in your grip.

Another couple drops splatter against Jaemin’s chest. He hisses, but the way his eyes flash and the way his cock twitches beneath you tells you that the sound doesn’t necessarily come from pain.

Jaemin lies still, his eyes fixed on the dancing flame in your hand.

“What are you going to do to me if I tell you that you’re right?” Jaemin asks. “Who are you going to tell?”

“Why would I tell anyone?” You reply. “And if I did, who would believe me?”

You barely even understand what it means to be a selkie. You’re not likely to go blabbering about it to anyone. The only person who would possibly believe you or know what you’re really talking about would be your one friend.

Again, a couple drops of wax escape the candle and meet Jaemin’s bare chest, dangerously close to a nipple.

This time his hips rock off the bed, bucking up between your legs. “Shit, are you going to keep doing that?”

“It depends, do you like it?” You sit down on him, rolling your hips slowly. “Because it seems to me like you do.”

“Can’t we focus on one thing at a time here?” Jaemin groans, his hands flying to your hips as you keep moving. “I thought you were trying to confront me about being a selkie? Or do you want to have sex again, incorporating a little wax play?”

Both? Maybe one should take priority over the other at the moment.

Jaemin’s hips rock up again, and your mind is made up.

There’s only a thin sheet between your pussy and his cock, and it takes only a simple twitch of your hand to move it out of the way. As you move, shifting around to be in the proper position above him, you tilt the candle, watching as wax spills over and paints itself on Jaemin’s skin.

He moans. His nipples are hard, and he watches you with dark lust-filled eyes, full of want. “You’re going to play with me, tease me? After I treated you so well earlier?”

You lower your hips, dragging your pussy along his hard length as you pour a thin line of wax from his sternum down towards his belly button. “Relax, Jaemin. Just enjoy the pain a little.”

His eyelashes flutter, caught between the pleasure as you circle your clit against the head of his cock, and the pain as you dribble a little more wax on his skin. But he clearly loves it: cock twitching, bottom lip pinched between his teeth, his fingers curling against your hips without any urgency to the touch.

You could just keep teasing like this, grinding on him, pouring wax on his sensitive skin. But you don’t want to leave yourself hanging. You want some of the pleasure too.

Jaemin moans in tandem with you as you lean forward, roll your hips down against him, and then push back onto his hard length. As the warmth of your pussy envelops Jaemin’s cock, you brush away some of the dried candle wax on his chest and you lower your mouth to his nipple, flicking your tongue over the hard bud.

Jaemin moves to seek his own pleasure, hips rocking off the bed to bury his cock inside of you while you mouth at his chest, while you let a few more drops of wax speckle his chest, drawing shapes now. He keeps forcing whines and moans, gasps of his name from your lips with each deep press of his cock inside you. And you’re drawing quite the sound collection from him as well, including one sound that you swear sounds like the grunt of a seal, reminding you startlingly in that moment of Jaemin’s identity.

You sit up on him, pressing your hand down against his abdomen, forcing Jaemin to still his movements.

He looks up at you, burning with arousal. But he waits.

“About you being a selkie” you tell him, “I don’t care what you are as long as you’re mine.”

“I belong to the sea,” he tells you. “I can only come to land a few months every seven years. I don’t know that I can be yours, and I don’t think it would be fair to ask you to wait for me.”

You slide your hand up his chest, knocking aside chips of cooled wax. “For now, let’s just make the most of what time we’ve got.” You’ll figure the rest out later.

The candle in your other hand is flickering, the flame going out. Jaemin watches as you lean over him, as you slide the candle onto the bedside table, and as you lean over his face, he lifts his head and captures one of your nipples with his lips. He licks, sucks, and nips at the sensitive peak until your pussy is throbbing with need and you can no longer just sit here on his cock.

You push at his chest until Jaemin falls away, his head once more against your pillows, and he smiles up at you, dazzling and charming again while you sit above him.

You let go of everything, choosing in that moment to focus only on what feels good.

You fuck yourself on Jaemin’s cock, leaning back with your hands braced on his thighs as you bounce. He snakes a hand up between your thighs, fingers on your clit. Your thighs twitch, moans spilling from your lips, and you feel powerful as you take what you want, as Jaemin gives it all to you. His hips rise from the bed, lifting to meet your thrusts, your bodies move in tandem, each of you seeking the height of pleasure.

You thrust down, and the angle of Jaemin’s cock inside you presses against your G-spot right as he pinches your clit between his fingers.

Your orgasm sets you adrift, untethered as your body moves on autopilot, chasing the high higher and higher.

Jaemin sits up, sealing his mouth over yours, rolling your beneath him, and he fucks into you hard, fast, out of rhythm as his climax takes over too, and he cums buried inside you, passing his moans directly to your tongue.

You must pass out, slipping into unconsciousness just like that with Jaemin’s body covering yours inside and out, pressed together inseparably.

When you wake what feels like hours later to the sunrise painting the sky a hundred different shades of pink, Jaemin still sleeps with his face tucked against your shoulder, his arms around you, cock soft but still pressed into the mess between your thighs. When you shift to rearrange a little, Jaemin’s arms hold you tighter still. He sighs, eyebrows furrowing a little.

“Don’t move,” he mumbles sleepily. “I want to hold you for as long as I can.”

You settle in comfortably to the warm security of his arms, content to stay like this with Jaemin for however long you can have.

a/n: day 2 completed! when i started working with a few different prompts and they combined to spell out that I should write mermaid Jaemin with candle wax play I really wasn't sure where this was going to go, but then I started thinking about Eros and Psyche and her dripping hot oil/candle wax on him, and I thought about a book I read as a kid about selkies, and I decided yep that's it, that's the one

I hope you've enjoyed this one, and I look forward to all of you sticking around for the rest of this month's kinktober fics!

Reblogs are deserving of my eternal gratitude, likes are greatly appreciated, and your thoughts and comments are always welcome !

#jaemin #nct #nct dream #jaemin smut #nct smut #nct dream smut

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shesjustanothergeek · 4 months ago

Text

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Five: The Princess and the Queen

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Hello, besties! How about that finale... I wanted to thank everyone who has left lovely comments and support about the story. It really makes me smile. I hope I continue to write y'all a story you like as it progresses. Thanks again!

Chapter Warnings: mentions rape, trauma, and symptoms related to childhood SA, mentions self-harm, emotional abuse.

The halls of the Red Keep were a vast expanse filled with candelabras, torches, paintings, and tapestries. If it was night, one could pass by a person and not notice them. The tremendous shadows held many secrets, causing you only to venture alone if there was no choice.

But in the day, with the help of the warm sun shining through archways and open windows, it was a magnificent sight. It made you feel deeply grateful and amazed that your ancestors built a place like this and stood the test of time with its beauty.

A tapestry, in particular, caught your eyes as you walked the grand halls to your lessons with the old crone Septa Marlow. It was woven with the finest colored wool with shiny red, green, brown, and white silk threads, depicting a scene between men, women, and dragons. Studying it with furrowed brows, you felt perplexed as you tilted your head, trying to understand the story told through the fabric. It looked like the people were naked, enjoying a festive party filled with wine, smiles, and dragons that devoured each other, mouths of men, women, and beasts on bodies in odd places.

The artist showed one man with his head buried between a lady’s thighs and a dragon pressed closely behind him. Another was a woman and a dragon resting between her legs, leaning over the top of her with its pointed tongue touching her chest. The memory of what Aegon did to you on the ramparts that night came to the forefront of your mind, and it sent a hot, nauseating wave to your stomach and privy parts. It was such a bewildering piece of art that you never noticed until now, making you wonder if it had always been there and if there were more of them.

“Do you like it?” A voice asked beside you, causing you to release a shriek as you jumped out of your skin.

As you tried to calm your nerves, Aegon suddenly stood beside you, touching your chest. Every fiber of your being told you to run. To scream, kick, or hurt your uncle after what he did, but instead, your body betrayed you, anxiety filling your shoes with rocks.

“Personally, it’s one of my favorites. It shows how our dragon blood came to be,” he continued, jutting his narrow hip to the side as he flicked his frizzy mane.

You couldn’t think, breathe, or scratch at the prickling hair on your arms. You were mad—that is what you were feeling. You were upset because your uncle stole you from your thoughts and didn’t listen when you told him to stop.

“You hurt me, Aegon!” The words echoed against the pale redstone as he flinched like you had struck him. He briefly stared at your scowl as you did with the tapestry, thin lips pursed as he tried wrapping his mind around what you could be referencing.

“Oh! You mean the other night?” Aegon chortled and shrugged his hands in the pockets of his trousers as if this was the most basic of revelations. “Twas nothing, niece. You know it. We cuff each other about all the time and think nothing of it. This was no different.”

Fire filled your veins at his passivity, digging your nails into your skin until they left crescents in their wake. “No, this was different. You hurt me, uncle. It still hurts there,” you confessed, attempting to keep your anger instead of the gradual wetness that itched your nose.

Worry flashed in Aegon’s amethyst eyes as he fully faced you, taking a step closer as you took one back in return. He pretended not to feel the slight at your wordless rejection and held out a sinewy hand. This was how it always was when Aegon did something you didn’t like. You would pout for a few days until he begrudgingly apologized without the words, and then you and your brothers would tease Aemond. He believed this time would be no different.

“Come on,” he sighed with a slight roll of his eyes. “Let’s skip your lessons today and go to the Godswood. You can pick those pretty flowers you like. It’ll be like nothing ever happened,” your uncle offered with his typical lopsided grin.

The action startled you, causing your muscles to tense and your spine to go rigid as you hugged your stomach for comfort. Fear replaced any anger you felt at the notion that you would be alone with Aegon and have no one to help you if he didn’t listen to you again. Without knowing it, your skirt became damp, a dark spot slowly forming on the sky-blue fabric between your legs as you soiled yourself.

Your face heated in shame as your uncle waited for your answer, too stunned by the involuntary action to think of running away when he abruptly noticed the liquid flowing into the cracks of the stone floor. He jumped away with a disgusted yelp like it would burn him if he touched it as you covered your eyes in embarrassment. Tears leaked from them, unable to stop the thick droplets as they ran down your cheeks like rivers and stained your sleeves. Your uncle would surely use this against you for the rest of your life.

This was all Aemond’s fault, Aegon thought. It’s not enough that he is their mother’s favorite. He had to take the one thing that was his—the only person who was solely at his side and his side only. Now, his being in his niece’s presence caused her to wet herself out of fright. He didn’t mean to hurt you. You both were having a bit of fun. The serving girls never seemed to act the way you were.

Aegon stared at you. Unsure of what to do and if you would still avoid his touch, he took another step forward, preventing the urine from touching his shoes, and reached out to extend tense words of comfort.

“All is well, niece,” he awkwardly consoled and patted your shoulder like you would a rabid dog. “Tis nothing-”

“Princess!”

The title was screamed down from the end of the hall, interrupting your uncle and distracting you from your shame. Both you and Aegon turned to the commotion and saw Septa Marlow storming towards you at a speed faster than a woman her age should travel. You were severely late to your lessons, and per your mother’s orders, Marlow was allowed to search for and punish you as she saw fit for your misbehaviors.

Releasing a defeated groan, you hung your head and mentally prepared for the tongue lashing you would receive from her and your mother later as she stood before you, huffing with her bony hands on the waist of her grey skirt. You attempted to hide the damp spot on your dress and covered it with your hands.

“Little Miss, I’ve been waiting for you in the lesson room for half an hour! Your mother told you what would happen if you skipped them again,” the old maid sighed exasperatedly, shaking her habit-covered head in disappointment. “You are a woman of the crown, and yet you toss your duties aside as if they are no more than rotten fruit. When will you learn?”

Your eyes focused on the pool that glistened in the daylight as it reflected your face. A countenance puffy with tears and wet with snot, plump, moist lips pursed into a deep frown framed by a head of dark waves. At this angle, you could see the small patch of hair you plucked out of your scalp, the urge to touch it coming over you. You wondered if others could see it, too.

“Look me in the eyes when I’m speaking to you, Princess,” Marlow ordered with a strict tone. You gradually lifted your gaze to match hers, fighting back another onslaught of tears.

You were tired of getting in trouble. You wanted to be the good girl your mother said you were, but it was hard. It seemed as if everything you did was wrong, and you began to believe you deserved harsher punishment because of your continued failure. The urge to feel the sting of hair pulled from its follicle was too strong. You needed to be alone, away from irate Septas and parents, and with your brothers or Aemond—people who understood your sadness and would listen to it.

Your Septa observed you with calculating eyes, flicking from the sorrowful arch of your brows to the downward bow of your lips to your stained skirt. You tried to obscure it more from her view, twisting your body to the side, but it was for naught as she pulled at your wrist, displaying your disgrace for all to see. Marlow’s gaze was piercing, trying to pull puzzle pieces together as she looked from you to Aegon.

Without warning, she yanked you behind her by your arm, feeling as if she wanted to pull it from the socket and put her body between yours and your uncle’s.

“What did you do?” she interrogated sharply, her thin lips becoming even thinner with her jaw set. Aegon stared at her, stunned, and you began to weep in horror. “What did you do to her?”

The question sent chills down your limbs, making the hairs stand on end. What did he do to you? All you could comprehend was that Aegon hurt you with a part that was supposed to be covered, like when you would get into fights that developed into blows. You knew it was wrong, but how Marlow shielded you with her body like a soldier on the battlefield made you think it was more than what a simple scuffle would be.

Aegon stared at Septa Marlow, shocked. His mouth agape as he stuttered to explain, his hands gesturing when he couldn’t get the words out. “Nothing!” he shouted in defense and stepped back from the elderly woman.

“Liar,” she staunchly declared as she grabbed your uncle by his ear, bringing him closer to her seething gaze.

“Unhand me wench! I am a prince!” He screeched like a kicked dog, yelping and hollering in astonishment. You never thought Septa Marlow was so hearty or bold enough to scream in the crown prince’s face, and it scared you to no end as you hid in the fabric of her scratchy wool dress.

“People respond to pain according to where they were hurt, my Prince,” she spat as you listened with surprise.

Did she know?

Aegon was awful. He felt slighted and would upset everyone just because he was. You worried Marlow would get into trouble with the Queen for touching her son and tried to lead her away, but your little arms were useless as she spoke through gritted teeth.

“She isn’t one of your toys you can use as you see fit. When Rhaenyra hears of what you’ve done to her daughter, you’re mother won’t be able to protect you.”

With that, Septa Marlow released Aegon as he whined, rubbing the afflicted area like she had ripped his ear from his head. You didn’t want her to get reprimanded on behalf of defending you, so you tugged at her sleeve again, begging with your eyes for her to leave.

“Please, Septa, I want to go to my lessons now,” you implored, the words hiccuped.

She faced you then as if she suddenly recalled your presence beside her and stroked a comforting hand down your loose hair, coming to cup your cheek with a tenderness she had never given you before. It startled you into silence. Anguish glistened in Marlow’s blue eyes, as light as the sapphire bedsheets you slept on every night as she took your balled fist into her cold one.

“Let us get you cleaned first,” she kindly replied, disregarding Aegon as if he didn’t matter.

Septa Marlow seemed almost mournful like she suddenly discovered that she had lost a loved one as she led you down the many halls to your chambers in silence.

Your ladies-in-waiting greeted you with startled expressions as they tended to their duties, surprised to see you and Septa Marlow at an odd time. The first one to bow was Edwina of House Karstark, the youngest of Lord Rolan Karstark and his Lady wife. She was a few years older than you and was stout, standing on tall, sturdy legs and hips. Her shoulders were broad underneath her crimson servant gown, which featured wide blue-gray eyes and long brown hair styled underneath her cap.

“Princess,” she politely greeted with a curtsy as the others followed.

Septa Marlow wasted no time ordering your ladies to draw you a bath, the women ceasing their actions as they hastily ran to the kitchens to gather hot water. Staring at the older woman with a wary expression, you played with your fingers as you felt the overwhelming fluttering sensation of nerves bubble in your stomach. You hadn’t bathed since before that night, and the idea of multiple people seeing you in a vulnerable state made you want to run away. This wasn’t something you had experienced before.

Typically, you loved baths, even bathing with your brothers on occasion as you played with toys and the servants scrubbed your bodies, but now, it seemed as if an abrupt aversion deep within you spawned, and you were powerless to stop it.

The maids finished with their last pail of water, dumping it into the metal tub and sprinkling in slices of oranges and nectarines, which were your favorites. Yet you still looked at the steaming water with reluctance. You didn’t want to bathe. It would take too much time, and having your body bare, feeling the hands of people gripping, scrubbing your flesh, water sloshing…

It was too much.

“Come, princess, let’s undress,” Enith, another of your ladies from House Blackbar, kindly ordered you with a wave of her dainty hands.

Without warning, you ran to your bed, resting on your knees as you shook your head vehemently. “No! I don’t want to take a bath. I want to go to my lessons with Septa Marlow!”

The women exchanged confused glances, multiple pairs of colored eyes waiting for the other to do something about your out-of-character disobedience. They knew something must be wrong. You were never one to tolerate having the slightest bit of dirt underneath your fingernails, and not only did you deny cleaning yourself despite being covered in urine, but you wanted to go to spend time with Septa Marlow. You despised your lessons. You would kick and scream until your voice gave out, saying you didn’t want to go. Now you were doing the same.

“Princess,” Marlow called her gaze disbelieving and holding a look of challenge. “You must bathe before you can be seen. Your skirt reeks of piss.” You comprehended her reasoning, but something inside you refused to listen as you shouted disagreements.

Your Septa, the boldest of the women, came forward to grab you, but you swiftly dodged her, sliding across your wrinkled sheets. She dealt with your mother before you and knew how to handle troublesome young girls, though the years weighed heavily on her parchment-thin skin and brittle bones, and she was unable to get a hold of you.

“I don’t want to take a bath!” You shouted as Edwina took a step forward, attempting to help Marlow undress you. They managed to snatch your leg and remove your dress as you wiggled and squirmed in their grasp, the fabric catching on your ears.

You quickly scampered away after they let go and flung open the adjoining door to your brother’s room, running over each of the neatly made beds as Septa Marlow and your ladies chased you. Swiftly, you ran to the exit, attempting to run out and down the hall. To where they couldn’t find you but were hastily stopped by Enith in front of you.

“Get, Princess Rhaenyra,” Marlow ordered Enith as she and Edwina restrained you, kicking and screaming in their grasp. “What is wrong with you? Does this have something to do with Prince Aegon?” Marlow pointedly questioned, on the verge of coughing with exertion.

Refusing to answer, you continued to thrash against them. You didn’t want to hurt your Septa despite disliking her, but if she told your mother about Aegon being the cause of your accident and she started asking questions, you would have no choice but to tell her about that night. Perhaps you could try to lie and say your uncle startled you in the corridor, which is why you wet yourself. You prayed to the Gods that she would believe you.

What felt like hours of struggling against a girl a few years older than you and an ancient Septa was moments as your mother emerged, a startled, wide-eyed look on her face as she watched you bite Edwina’s dress sleeve.

“Enough!” your mother shouted over your dispute, ceasing all three of you as you panted.

Without hesitation, you ripped your arms away from the women, stomping to your room and curling face-first into a maroon settee. They were powerless to stop you now that your mother was here. You could hear their mumblings through the wall as a new wave of tears crashed over you, burying your cries into the soft cushions.

You were uncertain what the reason for your sobs was. It could be that you had just experienced a rush of emotions you weren’t ready to handle or the guilt of making your ladies and Septa Marlow chase you around your shared quarters like a mouse, yet you knew the real reason. You tried denying it briefly, but the conscience your mother instilled in you made you see the truth.

You were terrified about what she would do if she discovered you snuck out with Aegon, drank stolen wine, and ate desserts from the kitchens when you were supposed to be asleep.

The door to Jace and Luke’s room clicked shut, and you briskly raised your head at the sound, seeing your mother. You swiftly buried your face back into the cushions as you heard the delicate tapping of her shoes come closer. She said nothing for a long moment, sitting beside you and rubbing a gentle hand in soothing circles on your back.

Rhaenyra wasn’t upset with your behavior; she was more concerned than anything. Like Septa Marlow said, this was unlike you. Your nursemaids taught you how to use the privy, and you hadn’t wet the bed since you were four. For Seven’s sake, it was everything your mother could do to get you out of the tub!

She knew something had happened, something terrible.

“Little love?” Rhaenyra tenderly spoke your name as she leaned closer. “Will you tell me the cause of this?”

You merely sniffled in response, rendered into tearful silence.

Rhaenyra gave you a pitying unseen smile and released a sigh through her nose. She hadn’t seen you this worked up since Aemond pushed you into the garden fountain, smacking your mouth against the stone and knocking out your front tooth. With the tooth, it was an easy fix. All she needed to do was explain that another would grow back since you were young. With this, she was unsure of the cause and did not know how to get the reason out of you.

“I can see this is hurting you, and it pains me deeply. You must know that whatever transpired will never make me love you less,” your mother confessed, her free hand clasping yours. “Whatever has you feeling in such torment is far more harsh of a punishment than I could ever give you. I could not bear to do more.”

Slowly, you removed your face from the pillow, turning to rest your plump cheek on it. “You won’t be mad at me if I tell you?” you asked with a childish softness to your voice.

“You know that I won’t ever lie to you. I cannot guarantee I won’t be upset, but the inner torment you currently face suffices any consequence I could give you,” your mother replied honestly, sighing and scrunching her brows.

While the words didn’t make you feel better, you did feel a lightness in your soul. You fully faced her then, tearful eyes glistening in the natural light like polished mahogany obsidian. Hiccuping your breaths, you leaned on your mother’s shoulder as she wrapped her long arm around you, uncaring about the foul-smelling gown.

“Aegon, he sn-snuck up on me while I went to my lessons. He scared me,” you explained, thoughts and memories all mumbled together as you began to twist your hair to soothe your nerves.

“Is that all?” she inquired in disbelief. “Your uncle scared you, and that caused you to…” Your mother didn’t finish the thought before you shook your head, impulsively tugging at your dark locks.

“No, Mama. It happened before then. A few-a few nights ago, Aegon left me a note underneath my pillow and said he had something to tell me. He told me to follow a secret passage and that he was waiting for me.”

You saw the color drain from your mother’s face, her violet eyes widening in horror as she swallowed nervously. “We went into the kitchens and wine cellars, helping ourselves to food and drink. A scullery maid caught us, and then he took me outside to the battlements of the Holdfast. We sat, ate, and drank, and he told me about Queen Alicent’s plan to arrange a marriage between us.”

Your mother clenched her jaw, clutching your shoulder and forcing you to face her, gaze searching for something. “Is that all?” You swiftly nodded your head. “Nothing else happened? Your uncle didn’t take you anywhere? He didn’t touch you?”

You stared at her, confused, examining the delicate slope of her nose and the intensity of her eyes. “No. Aegon didn’t take me anywhere. We stayed in the castle,” you answered hastily, trying to appease her unrest. “But he did hurt me. That’s why I don’t want to bathe; it still hurts.”

“What do you mean? How did he hurt you?” The severity of her gaze didn’t lessen, her strong fingers digging into the meat of your shoulders as she said your name.

“He put his privy part inside-”

You were unable to complete your sentence as your mother suddenly let out a heart-wrenching cry, pulling you close to her chest as she sobbed. Her outburst took you aback, but instinctively wrapped your arms around her, trying to offer comfort.

“Tis alright, Mama. It’s like when I lost my front tooth,” you said calmly, but she shook her head.

“No, no, it’s not. Aegon did something to you, something you are far too young to comprehend. Does Alicent’s bitterness for our youth blind her from decency and honor?”

And with that, you learned what Aegon did to you.

Rape.

Your eldest uncle raped you before you knew the meaning of the word—before you inquired where children came from. The tapestry you saw in the hall made sense now, except they were experiencing pleasure while you experienced pain. Your mother told you that what Aegon did was something that should only happen between two people who understood the consequences of sex.

Your uncle took advantage of your innocence and abused his power over you. He knew you would allow him to do whatever he wanted because you sought his approval like nothing else.

Your mother told you she also experienced something similar with her Uncle Daemon when she was much older and comprehended what sex was. She recounted how he left a note for her that led to a passage in her chambers just like you did, though he led her out of the safety of the Red Keep to the Streets of Loom and Silk to see her people where he abandoned your mother. You decided then that you didn’t like your Great Uncle Daemon.

“Did he…” Rhaenyra couldn’t finish her question, tears choking her. “Did he reach completion? Did his… his seed…”

You stared at her in confusion, still grappling with all she had explained. “Aemond caught us and took me back to his room. I didn’t see any of his seed afterward,” you answered plainly as your mother grimaced at the words. “He hasn’t told anyone. He promised not to. We’ve spent time together reading, and I think he’s becoming my friend.”

Rhaenyra wiped the water from her face and gave you a forced smile, her mouth wet as she bobbed in acknowledgment.

“Wonderful. I’m happy for you. You’ve always been a kind girl,” she thickly said, swallowing the excess moisture and smoothing your loose strands of hair. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, hmm? I can show you how so you don’t have to become bear with anyone you don’t want to.”

“But it’s going to hurt, mama,” you whined, tugging on her satin gray dress sleeve.

“I know, sweetheart, but you must,” she sighed, stroking you in a gesture of comfort for you or her; you didn’t know. “How about we bring Jace here? He’s due for a scrub.”

Rhaenyra would do anything to control this uncontrollable situation.

Fidgeting with your hair nervously, you nodded in acquiescence, allowing her to undress and lower you into the water. The warm liquid burned you between your legs like you thought it would as you clawed at your mother’s arms, releasing whimpers with tensed muscles until you adjusted. She comforted you with sweet nothings until you calmed, kissing your forehead and calling for a servant to fetch your brother.

Jace arrived begrudgingly moments later from his lessons and stripped himself bare. You couldn’t help how your gaze drifted below his waistline as you unwillingly compared it to the memory of Aegon’s. You wondered what it would look like, “aroused,” as your mother called it. It sent an unwelcomed yet not entirely unpleasant tickle into your stomach as he got in with a huff.

As Rhaenyra declined the assistance of your attendants and Jace’s manservants in bathing her children, she deftly took the supplies from them and dismissed them with a swift gesture. Guiding you on scrubbing your body and washing your hair, she momentarily paused as she came upon the small patches of missing hair. A sense of anxiety gripped you as you felt her fingers inspecting the area, but to your relief, she made no comment and continued as if nothing occurred.

You appreciated her kindness and understanding more than ever at that moment as Jace mischievously splashed you with soapy liquid, and a water fight between giggling siblings ensued.

The sun casts its faint glow from behind the gray clouds of King’s Landing, rays of light shining as if from the heavens above. Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen stood atop her high balcony with her newborn in her sturdy arms, swaying him gently as she hummed a tune and looked over all the splendor the city offered. It was a land she would one day rule over and her children after her as she smiled at the sleeping bundle near her heart.

The Princess loved her children dearly, especially the man she had them with. Despite having a name that would strike fear into his foes, he had a gentle heart. She felt her allies severely dwindle when he left. In a place Rhaenyra called home, she began to feel like an outcast. Suppose Alicent’s elaborate charade of parading a newborn child and its mother around the Red Keep was any say. The lengths her old friend would go to humiliate Rhaenyra were limitless.

She recalled balking at her husband Laenor abandoning his post at the Red Keep to escape the rumors of the court and martial unhappiness to fight in the Stepstones with his father. But as time passed, the idea of leaving became more and more reasonable to Rhaenyra. On the chance that she would leave her home, it would not be for her, but for her children, for her only daughter whose innocence was taken before she knew what it was. It made her ill to understand that a child who was far too young to wonder where children came from would experience such depravity.

Now more than ever, Rhaenyra questioned her children’s safety.

The Princess didn’t care about the concept of purity in this situation. No one knew what occurred other than the two involved, her and Aemond. If word happened to get out, she would fight for her daughter’s name. She was sure her half-brothers would not tell anyone, as it would be death to Alicent’s and her family’s pious image. It was mutually assured destruction.

The door to Rhaenyra’s bed chambers opened, and a guard bowed and announced the unexpected visitor. She didn’t invite anyone. At the thought, her heart began to race, and she worried it could have something to do with you as she put Joffrey down.

“Queen Alicent of House Hightower,” he boomed, bowing his helmeted head as the woman entered.

Rhaenyra had half a mind to send her away. How dare she come into her quarters after everything that happened? After decades of torment and snide comments, she approaches her old friend with an air of ignorant, entitled kindness.

“My Queen,” Rhaenyra acknowledged, refusing to extend a bow as she clasped her hand behind her back. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

Alicent smiled briefly, encircling her fingers over her olive and gold waist as she stepped closer. The pointed star of the Seven glistened around her dainty neck. She swallowed as the Princess studied her with calculating eyes, sensing an unusual aura of hostility.

“Excuse my intrusion, Princess. I needed to speak to you. I know that we’ve had our share of differences as of late,” she began with a deep breath, wringing her digits, “but I believe that we agree on the decency of the realm and the future of our Houses.”

Rhaenyra raised a manicured brow at the woman before her, and her peony lips curled into a snarl of disgust. She knew the next words that would undoubtedly follow.

“I know you are not blind to the rumors about the plainness of your children-”

“Vile accusations fueled by those lusting for my ruination,” the Princess interrupted, standing behind the golden-colored settee that separated her from the Queen.

Alicent sighed and pursed her lips, refusing to admit her part in the gossip. She knew it was fact, but that didn’t matter now. She could sense a change in the air, could feel the future in which her light slipped away into the darkness. It was a desperate proposition, seeing as Rhaenyra had already made one.

“I recall in the days prior that you proposed a marriage between your son Jace and my only daughter Helaena. I wish to offer a compromise, your eldest daughter and my eldest son. They would make a fine match. No one would seek to undermine your inheritance if our Houses were united if we allied ourselves,” she rushed, worried that Rhaenyra would interrupt her like before and spoil her dream.

She desperately wanted to call you her own, to turn things into how they were meant to be. Alicent itched to tear at the skin of her nails as the Princess stewed in the silence.

Rhaenyra was insulted at Alicent’s desperation and audacity in countering a marriage alliance that her father told her she vehemently refused. One didn’t do these things. Alicent, the woman who spouted about decency and propriety, dared propose a marriage after the atrocity her son committed before the eyes of the Gods.

A scornful laugh erupted in Rhaenyra’s chest as she traced the wooden engravings of the furniture. “Do you truly think me so desperate?” she challenged bitterly, shaking her loosely tied hair. “You approached my negotiations with such repugnance, and now you come asking me if I will sell my only daughter to that wastrel you call a son. No. You’ve already taken too much.”

Hurt and confusion laced the wrinkles of Alicent’s face, her doe eyes wide with a helplessness Rhaenyra hadn’t seen since they were girls. She felt as if the Queen pierced her heart with her amber orbs, but she swiftly pushed it aside as she recalled the swollen patches of missing hair on your scalp. Distress was not the expectation Rhaenyra had in mind when she denied Alicent, and it briefly perplexed her before the realization dawned.

“You don’t know,” she enunciated more to herself than the woman in the room. “Of course, he wouldn’t tell you, but why not Aemond?”

The Queen became distressed at Rhaenyra’s ambiguity and finally began to pull at her cuticles, attempting to distract her from the anxiety and turn it into pain. She wanted to ask what Aemond and Aegon didn’t tell her, but the words stuck in her parched throat.

Rhaenyra let out a sharp breath through her nose as she walked around an armchair and became face-to-face with her forgotten friend. A sense of superiority came over the Princess at finally having the upper hand after years of pining for Alicent’s kindness. At the moment, she had no desire to end the strife between them.

“Aegon stole my daughter into the night and led her to the ramparts of the Holdfast, where he raped her,” Rhaenyra described with a pointed fury. “Do you know what it’s like to hear your child cry in your arms because someone debased her? She didn’t know the name of what happened to her.”

Gasping in horror, Alicent covered her lips in shock, bracing one hand on her stomach as if she would vomit. Her son, her firstborn, the child that she loved dearly but also doomed her to eternal suffering, had raped his young niece. Aegon raped the Gods’ Light. If anyone got word of the atrocity committed on the small folk’s favorite Princess, the realm would turn on House Hightower. No one would support Aegon’s claim despite him being a son.

“Who else knows of this?” Alicent hastily asked, her face pale with fear. A small, desperate part of her still wished to continue with the proposal. Maidens were forced into unhappy marriages as a part of life, and this one would be no different.

With a dismissive snort, Rhaenyra pivoted away from the Queen and strode back to Joffrey’s cradle. It was no shock to her that the Queen had made such a request. Her preoccupation with appearances and how she was perceived always seemed to overshadow genuine empathy, a characteristic that she appeared to have inherited from her father.

“Aemond, and now, you,” Rhaenyra answered as she stroked the button nose of her newborn. “That is the boy you want my child to wed. Her rapist. What do you think my father would do should he find out?”

Alicent inhaled sharply, nerves winding themselves into a ball as blood trickled into her nail beds. “There is no need to get the King involved. His health is far too precarious. I shall see to it.”

The Princess stood in the dimly lit chamber, her emotions simmering beneath the surface as she gazed down at Joffrey, nestled amidst the soft white linens that cradled him. It was nearly time for his feeding, and she didn’t want to continue discussing with the wetnurse present, knowing that any whispers or speculation about her daughter would spread like fleas.

“Good. Out of our shared blood, I will spare Aegon from his fate at the Wall. Know that I will be the one to decide where my daughter’s hand goes. You may take your leave,” Rhaenyra dismissed with a flick.

Alicent stood frozen in place, her wide brown eyes shimmering with tears as her hand instinctively reached for the delicate Seven-Pointed Star pendant resting at the base of her neck. This object symbolized her unwavering devotion to Faith, virtue, and sacred things. However, in this moment of distress, it felt as though the points of the star were searing into her flesh, cutting into her tender palm like a mark of condemnation. The Queen’s fury, initially directed inward at herself for the perceived failure of raising a son she deemed unworthy, swiftly turned towards her eldest child.

One thing remained unanswered as Alicent swallowed the lump in her throat, inhaling a deep breath before the question came from her plump lips.

“How does Aemond know? Did he…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, choked at the idea that both her sons were the wickedest men.

Rhaenyra shook her head scornfully, sneered, and took Joffrey into her arms, refraining from the bitter laugh that threatened to erupt. “He stopped Aegon from reaching completion inside her, but there was no point. He’d already damaged my daughter beyond comprehension. She wets herself at the sight of him and refuses to bathe without her brother.”

The Princess’s gaze traveled to the floor, a scowl on her face. The recollection of you whimpering as you lowered into the tub played in her mind’s eye. She sat on the lavish settee that separated her from the Queen, exhausted, the effort of standing still too precarious after her labors.

“That is your decency,” Rhaenyra jeered as Alicent stood with her back ramrod straight.

The wetnurse entered the Princess’s chambers before she could respond, wordlessly understanding that this was not a subject to discuss in front of the staff.

The act of Aegon fraternizing with maids and indulging in excess was already troubling, but he deliberately destroyed one of the few things that brought Alicent joy. It felt like a personal attack. He shattered your innocence and the light that used to brighten Alicent’s dreams. Although conflicted about the fact that it was her son who committed this act, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of rage inside her, causing her to drop her arms to her sides swiftly.

Sins such as these will not go unpunished, she thought.

“I thank you for your time, Princess. I will see that the matter is duly handled.” With a heavy heart, the Queen bid farewell to her old friend, lingering momentarily at the chambers’ door before leaving. Little did she know that it would be many years before she would set foot in that place again.

As Rhaenyra observed the Green Queen’s departure, her auburn locks cascading gracefully with each subtle movement of her hips, she resolved to assume dominion over Dragonstone. Despite the perils of her leaving, her children’s safety took precedence over her own. The Red Keep was no longer a secure place for any of them.

Alicent waited until twilight blanketed the castle as she tentatively nursed a goblet of wine, candles flickering in the darkness. She rarely indulged in this vice, but this day required such comfort. She didn’t think one’s world could end in mere moments, yet for her, it did. The future that helped lay Alicent to rest atop her silk pillows was no more.

After years of tolerating Rhaenyra’s and Viserys’ arrogance, upholding duty, the kingdom, and the law, she felt she was due this one thing. It was not so much to ask. If her old friend were a better ruler, she would understand that marriage to the one who took advantage of you would be a minuscule sacrifice to make for the good of the realm. But Rhaenyra was a good mother, not a ruler—something which Alicent both envied and disliked.

Downing the last contents of her cup, Alicent stood still in the day’s attire as she nodded to Ser Criston, who returned one in kind. He knew her destination without her speaking it into existence, escorting her the few rooms to her eldest son’s. She didn’t bother the courtesy of knocking as she shoved open the sturdy oak door to reveal her son resting on the mattress near his window, sheets at his thighs and prick in his hand. Bile briefly burned the Queen’s throat, covering her sneered lips to prevent it from spilling.

It wasn’t the first time she caught Aegon pleasuring himself, nor did she think it would be the last as she witnessed him with a pocket portrait of you in his grasp, stroking his glistening member. Alicent felt sick, turning away from the blasphemous sight before her and into Ser Cristion’s armored chest. This is not her son.

“Fuck!”

The commotion alerted Aegon to their presence as he shouted obscenities, swiftly covering his hips with the discolored sheets. Was he not afforded the same privacy as others? The Keep was his home, too.

“You are in the presence of your Queen Mother. Act as such,” Criston ordered, the whisper of his hand gliding over Alicent’s back. She stepped away from her sworn protector, brown curls loose as she swallowed her tears.

“What have you done now?” she interrogated with a resentful shake of her head, a scowl on her plump lips.

Aegon peered at her confused, mouth opened as he craned his neck upwards. It was hard to tell what his mother implied, seeing as he got into his fair share of mischief alone and with his nephews and niece. “I don’t know what you mean,” he answered honestly, and Alicent believed him.

She knew her son would survive daily with nothing but firewater and was unsurprised by his dispassionate attitude. This was another one of his jokes, she realized. Aegon was so ignorant of his bullying that it became his nature. He was incapable of understanding the magnitude of how his actions affected others.

“What you did to the Princess, how you lured her from her bed at some unholy hour and raped a child! She is a child, Aegon!” Alicent roared, her velvet voice rattling in her throat with anger, arms trembling at her sides. “She does not understand the relationship between man and woman, and you took advantage of her. She trusted you!”

Tears pooled in Aegon’s amethyst eyes, his mouth pouting from his mother’s tirade. “She told me I could do it. I didn’t mean to hurt her!” he protested, recoiling. Aegon felt like a child who destroyed a precious vase after his parent told him not to touch it. “Did Aemond tell you? You know he’s lying. He’s still upset about the pig.”

“Another depiction of your cruelty,” the Queen snidely retorted, face curled in disgust. “Rhaenyra will never agree to a union of our Houses after what you’ve done. You’ve ruined all prospects of my happiness. How does it make you feel to treat your mother this way?”

When her son did not answer, choosing to lower his head and cower, she stormed towards him, causing Aegon to scamper upright in fear and clutch the sheets in his trembling fingers. Without warning, Alicent struck her son across his cheek, pink blooming across his pale skin. Her son cradled his face as tears began to fall, but she roughly yanked Aegon’s hand away, hitting him like before and causing his lip to split as she screamed.

“How does it feel to have destroyed a child’s life? To have effectively decimated all chances of peace with your repulsive desires? She would have solidified your claim. No one would have thought to raise their banners otherwise,” she fumed as her arms gestured wildly, Aegon flinching with her move. “The realm’s blood is on your hands.”

He hiccuped, unevenly breathing as snot dripped into his mouth, stinging his bloodied lip. Aegon rubbed his swollen cheek that would no doubt bear the mark of his mother’s rage the next morn, swallowing his tears, spit, and mucus.

“I’m sorry, mummy,” he remorsefully expressed, looking down in shame.

He was only sorry because Alicent found out. Had it not been for her proposition to Rhaenyra, his mother would have never found out.

She sneered, glaring at her son as Alicent abruptly recalled a quote from a book about motherhood she read as a young girl. It stated how deeply a mother’s love for their child went. It was like nothing else and knew no law or pity. How its mere existence dares all things and remorselessly crushes down all that stood in its path.

Alicent could find evidence of herself in her children, no matter their Targaryen queerness or the silver hair and violet sparkle in their eyes. She saw herself in Helaena’s gently sloped nose, Aegon’s round and sleepless eyes, Aemond’s straight-backed bearing, and how his expressive brow always gave away his genuine emotions.

On the worst of days, she reminded herself that she left a legacy—that Viserys didn’t devour every evidence of her girlhood with his cursed blood. She clung to these shards of herself, reflected at her from her children, and it felt like trying to pick up splinters of colored glass from a broken Sept window with her delicate fingers.

The Queen loved Aegon but could not do so as she did for Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, and you. She would drink poison for her eldest but couldn’t embrace him. Alicent would step into dragon fire for him yet refused to say the words he desperately longed to hear. She tried to tell Aegon that she would love him no matter what he did, that he could not stop her from doing so, but the confession refused to roll off her tongue.

“You are no son of mine,” she declared, inhaling a shuddering breath. There was nothing more for her to say, and she left her son, whimpering and sniveling in the confines of his bedroom.

Aegon stood alone in the dimly lit chamber, his eyes fixated on seeing his mother’s departure. Overwhelming agony and disgrace filled his being, and he found himself utterly wounded beyond words. It cut him deeply to the core that the person who was meant to love and protect him unconditionally could cause him such anguish. He couldn’t fathom how the one stable relationship he had hoped for in a tumultuous life had turned out to be the source of his deepest pain. It seemed as though his mother’s love was limited, only granted to those who could fulfill her expectations.

It seemed as if taking the place of his mother’s favorite wasn’t enough. Aemond also had to take his only true friend.

Aegon concluded that Aemond must have made the situation far worse than it was in an attempt to direct Alicent’s wrath onto him. No doubt his younger brother did something to displease her. Without Aemond’s interruption, none of this would have happened. His mother wouldn’t be upset with him, Aegon would still have his pride, and you would still be his friend. After all, you were his first.

You were not naive. You comprehended why your mother chose to depart from the Red Keep, and you felt responsible for it all. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the idea of residing on Dragonstone. In the summer, it was a magnificent place. Aegon the Conqueror’s garden was a breathtaking sight that could rival the Keeps, and the perpetual breeze that swept across the island made the high temperatures quite bearable. Nevertheless, you were apprehensive about living there.

It wasn’t your home.

You were born and grew up here, surrounded by companions and starting a new beginning with your Uncle Aemond. The Keep was all you knew, but it wasn’t all joyful memories. You often faced relentless teasing from your uncles for not having Valyrian features and simply because you were a girl. Despite the challenges, you wanted things to stay the same, even after what Aegon did. When your mother revealed important news during supper, you didn’t complain about your shared feelings, unlike your brothers.

As the sun dipped below the western horizon, casting a warm yellow-orange glow across the sky, your mother gently reassured you that Aegon would never trouble you again as she tucked you snugly into bed. Rhaenyra, taking no chances, commissioned the palace locksmith to forge a sturdy iron bolt for the tunnel door and generously compensated him for his secrecy. She doubled the guard outside your chambers also to further ensure your safety.

Knowing that your eldest uncle could not breach your defenses brought you immense relief, finally allowing you to rest your head. However, that sense of peace shattered as you awoke suddenly, a flutter of anxiety gripping your chest.

Your mother arranged to leave King’s Landing within a fortnight, and with your guards becoming more of a presence than before, you worried when you would see Aemond to tell him goodbye. Your mother had expressed her displeasure at you spending time with any of the Queen’s children, and you didn’t want him to think you abandoned him.

Laying in your soft bed, surrounded by your plush pillows and fluffy duvet, you tossed and turned, battling the idea of if you should do what started this in the first place and sneak through the tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast. You were scared about becoming lost in the vast passages, but you inhaled an encouraging breath and threw your covers off. A shiver ran through your body, whether from the sudden lack of warmth or anxiety; you were unsure as you snatched the lit candle from your bedside table.

You planned to go into the first door you saw and take yourself from there, which proved problematic when it didn’t budge, no matter how hard you pushed. It sent a surge of panic into your soul as you glanced around the dark hallways, the sounds of rats squeaking and water dripping adding to the storm of fear that formed. You felt helpless, afraid that from the blackness, a monster would emerge and devour you whole, leaving nothing but bones for your parents to find.

Exhale. Inhale.

The steady breathing of your lungs calmed your nerves enough to think clearly. All you needed to do was find the next exit. Eventually, the tunnels would end.

As you went to step forward, a rock rolled under your shoe, causing you to stumble briefly before an idea came to mind. You recalled days when you spent outside with Helaena or your brothers drawing on the stone walkways of the Keep, creating pictures of your family, dragons, and all sorts of animals before they were washed away by rain. There was no rain in here. You could use it to mark your path and retrace your steps if lost.

Dragging the stone along the walls created a line lighter than the rock as you felt it vibrate along uneven surfaces. Finally, you found another door. You moved the indentation with the shove of your shoulder, and it opened, revealing a dark room lit by only the silver moon glow shining through the windows.

You realized it was the library as you saw the towers of bookcases lining the room and felt a surge of victory. Quickly, you scribbled the word onto the passage wall as you shut the portal, a painting depicting a fierce battle between men and dragons hanging on it. You could navigate yourself from here and stealthily walk the torchlit corridors of the Red Keep until you find Aemond’s quarters and enter as you did before.

He wasn’t startled this time and only sleeplessly turned on his side to face you, opening his covers, which you crawled in greedily. You stuck yourself to Aemond’s side, pinning his arm uncomfortably between your bodies until he unwedged it with a sigh and put it under your neck. You were silent for a long moment with your hands tucked near your chin, unsure how to tell him you were leaving.

Aemond realized as he stared at the top of his canopy bed, violet eyes focused on the fabric that swirled in the night. The more he got to know you, the more your presence stopped irritating him. He liked that you respected his boundaries despite having different ones. You knew that Aemond preferred silence and hated it when someone took his things or disrupted whatever plans he made for the day, which was why he was so affronted when you decided to make a regular appearance in his life.

“My mother is taking us to Dragonstone,” you blurted, unable to express yourself otherwise.

Aemond blinked at you in the darkness and unhurriedly turned, his brows arched. “For how long?” he questioned.

“I’m not sure,” you softly soughed, gazing downcast. “I think forever. Mother doesn’t think we’re safe after what Aegon did and the rumors that we’re…” You couldn’t finish your thought. It was as if the word bastard was something you could not say aloud.

Aemond knew what you meant and pursed his thin lips as resentment swirled in his stomach. It felt like he couldn’t have anything that made him happy. Born without a dragon, he was forced to be the odd one out, and now he was losing the only person his age who seemed to care for him. Something or someone would permanently ruin his happiness. In this case, it was his brother. Hatred burned in his heart for Aegon.

“I don’t think Mama will allow me to visit the Keep. She doesn’t want us to be around Queen Alicent or any of you,” you sullenly confided, melancholy tugging your eyes. “A part of me wants to leave because of Aegon, but the other wants to stay with you.”

“I don’t need you to be my friend. I don’t need your pity,” Aemond barked, causing you to flinch. It was the only way he knew to be when he was uncomfortable with the notion of vulnerability.

You sighed, squirming closer to him and putting your palm on his chest. “I don’t feel bad for you, Aemond. You’re my only friend besides my brothers. Why would I want to leave you behind?”

He didn’t know how to respond, unused to someone other than his mother speaking with candid emotions.

“I enjoy spending time with you, uncle. You’re the first person I told that I wanted to be like Nymeria and find my Mors Martell,” you confessed, playing with the fabric of his nightshirt between your fingers. He didn’t know why the idea that you needed to find your prince consort vexed him.

“We all must make sacrifices for family,” Aemond stiffly explained.

You could only get Aemond to offer you comfort by explicitly telling him. He was locked within his mind’s fortress, refusing to let anything or anyone in.

“When Gaelithox is big enough, I’ll ride him and visit you. I promised that we would fly together.” Aemond’s purple orbs flicked to you at the reminder of your oath, and after a long stretch of speechlessness, he took your hand.

“Very well,” he nodded, and you nestled closer to your uncle, resting your temple in the crook of his neck. That was good enough for you. You could rest easy now, but your uncle’s mind still whirred, stuck on one thought.

“Do you think you’ll ever find your Mors Martell?” he asked, stirring you from your slumber. “I heard my mother talking one day, and she said that there was no place for a woman to have expectations for her husband. She must accept whatever match her father deems necessary.”

You hushed for a long moment, and Aemond thought you might have fallen asleep before you rose in your arms, looking down at him in the darkness. “I’m a Targaryen princess, not some regular noblewoman. My mother said I may choose who I want to marry, whether he be a knight, a dragon rider, or a second son—so long as he’s worthy.”

Seeing the hesitancy in his gaze, his silver-blonde hair loose and draped over the green satin pillows, you leaned down, bestowing a short yet sweet kiss to the top of his sun-spotted nose with a grin. He lay there, shocked, unable to speak or move, his cheeks blooming a vibrant pink that you could see in the darkness as you lay back down, feeling satisfied in your gut.

“All I ask of him is that he has a good heart, cares for me as I do him, is someone with whom I can trust my secrets, and protects me from my enemies. That is the type of man who’s worthy. Dragon or not, it doesn’t matter,” you sighed contentedly, feeling the claws of sleep overtake you.

You stirred with a blink when Aemond’s hand rose slowly and tentatively touched your cheek, your brown eyes wide and glimmering in the moonlight. He swallowed hard, feeling how pleasant, soft, and warm your skin felt under his fingers. He pressed his forehead against yours, feeling your breath quicken. Your uncle was hesitant about expressing what he wanted so as not to frighten you. Aegon was experienced with this sort of thing, not Aemond, and understood that you would see him the same way if he went about it like his brother did.

As unworthy.

A monster.

As he leaned in closer, he gently ran his thumb across your skin, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers traced the curve of your neck, causing your breath to catch in your throat. Even in the dimly lit room, he could feel the heat of your blush.

“May I?” he asked, voice mumbled as you nodded quickly, a giddy feeling in your heart.

You gently traced your fingers along his chiseled jawline, savoring the unfamiliar intimacy of Aemond’s proximity. It sent a surge of warmth through his stomach, and his heart raced as he tenderly cupped your cheek in his hand.

When your uncle’s lips finally pressed against yours, he was surprised by how soft and moist they were, pulling swiftly in slight embarrassment with a noiseless click of flesh. He turned away with hot ears and abruptly shut his eyes, feeling like he was about to die simultaneously from bashfulness and excitement.

“Let us sleep,” he tenderly ordered, settling back into his former position. It was too much emotion for one time, and you didn’t want to push him further. Aemond felt ashamed that he was sharing the same bed as his bastard niece, yet her presence had a calming effect on him.

You answered nothing, settling beside him like before as he put his arms around you, sending a flutter in your heart. It was his first kiss, just like yours, and for the first time in many years, he felt proud, fulfilled, happy, and worthy. For the time being, he didn’t worry about what a life without you and your brothers meant for him, focused only on your comforting warmth and scent that reminded him of a cool, bright summer day as you both fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

I hope y'all enjoyed that last scene because it'll be the last sweet one for a long time! XD

Bedwetting, refusing to take baths/showers, and uncontrollable bladder and bowel movements are all common signs of childhood SA. I didn't add that scene in there just for the shock factor. While I didn't experience those symptoms, they are textbook signs.

Some of you shared your experiences in the comments and said what happened to the OC was validating. I wanted to give y'all a public thank you for sharing your experiences even when you didn't have to, and FUCK YOU to whoever did those things to you. Still, there are so many different ways people react to trauma that there isn't a "right" or "acceptable" way to cope with it. Just remember to get professional help if you're able and find ways to channel those feelings that will benefit you positively. It's a lifelong process that can be exhausting at times, but what I like to tell myself (even if it's morbid) is that if I'm dead, then I can't be anything, and if I'm not anything, then the wrong that person did to me is nothing. I don't recommend that line of thinking to everyone, tho. XD

Thank you again for reading!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp , @britt-mf , @marvelescvpe , @haikyuusboringassmanager , @discofairysworld , @lottiemsgf, @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , @p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024, @aleemendoza2425-blog

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unconventional-lawnchair · 3 months ago

Text

We'll heal together: Chapter Seven

Not Strong Enough Boygenius

Sirius Black x Reader / Remus Lupin x Reader (Ambiguous-Past)

Masterlist

Summary: Remus confiscates the map and sees a name he never thought he'd ever see again/how Remus lost the reader

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, Mean Remus, Jealous/Jerk Sirius, Harry with hurt feelings, mentions of death, mentions of character death, cusses, mild sensual content (please reach out if I missed something}

Wc- 5963

If you were asked in school when was the first time you had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting the eldest Black brother, you probably would have told them your first year when you met with James to be sorted into your houses.

The Grand hall was magnificent, it looked as amazing as you had always guessed, with so many faces you had never seen before, and such a warm feeling that came with it. You looked around, eyes following the floating candles that cut down the middle aisle and tried to stop you before you could reach James.

You were bouncing on your heels, holding James’s arm, and swaying. Sirius didn't say anything to you, but he stared. Stared the whole time James introduced you to Peter and Remus, telling you the story of how they met, luggage mixed up after several of the suitcases on the platform had been knocked over.

You and Lily shared a look and amused snickers at that.

When James got to Sirius, you two shared a look but nothing else. There was a tension in the air, as you twisted your lips into a skilled and annoyed pout that James knew very well. Sirius just scoffed and looked away from you, stepping closer to James.

You gave a small huff, it felt like you were watching a dog lay claim on their favorite human. You grabbed James’ arm tighter and Sirius in turn wrapped his arm around his shoulder. You glared at Sirius while James stood there with a confused but content look.

“James Potter.” Professor McGonagall called to the front, and he wiggled himself out of your grasp, You and Sirius still remained tense. You looked up at James with a hopeful smile, and your jaw dropped as the hat announced ‘Gryffindor!’ and the kids adorn in red cheered.

You also cheered. Then when Lily was called, you gave her a thumbs up as she glanced at you. With your reassurance, she walked forward, nose upward and full of confidence. The hat hardly touched her head before it boomed out the same house. You lit up as Lily looked over to Snape. The boy slowly nodded, as she hurried off to the red table.

“Severus Snape!” She called forward and the boy climbed the steps. He sat down and his face twisted with determination, before the hat gave a scoff. “You can't just ask for a house, boy! There is more to it than that!”

Snape's face fell but his eyes remained closed.

“Slytherin!” The house called and you gave a worried look at how distressed that seemed to make him. You heard a pompous laugh beside you, turning to look at the gray eyes of Sirius Black.

“Don't be cruel.” You hissed at him and he simply stuck his tongue out at you. You gave a gasp and before you could retaliate, the assistant headmistress called you forward.

At the sound of your last name, a few students looked at you wide eyed. Ignoring the attention had become a useful skill you picked up on when you were younger. You walked up and sat on the stool. Closing your eyes tight, you listened. Praying for Gryffindor. The hat gave the best impression of rolling his eyes. “Hm.. A {L/N}, you have some legacy here. Brave, wise for such a young child. Loyal and ambitious.. Oh, very ambitious.” He muttered and you twisted your face. “You, small child, are an interesting one. Mind is nothing like your father’s years ago..”

You slowly peaked your eyes open, looking over at the red table and smiling as James and Lily met your gaze. By chance, you glanced over at the Slytherin table, eyes locking on Snape who seemed so awkward and out of place, People talking to him and he didn't respond, staring at Lily. You frowned and the hat seemed to notice something in you shift, before the rim curled and he bellowed. “Slytherin!”

Your face fell and your jaw unclenched in shock. Standing up you walked over to the Slytherin table, ignoring people as they tried to call out to you sitting by Snape. He snapped his head up as if he was about to snap at you, before he paused. You both held a look at each other before he huffed and laid his head on the desk. You were content with the silence.

You always told everyone that was the day you were cursed with the parasitic knowledge of Sirius Black. For the trained eye, however, like Lily Evan’s, you two clearly knew each other before that.

“So.” Lily mused as she laid in your bed, facing the canopy above her, and legs curled up. One thing you loved about being Prefects, was your dorms were not but a few yards away from each other. All it took was a silencing charm and James’s cloak to get you and the girls together.

Mary was on the floor facing your mirror, using the back end of your comb to line up her eyeliner while Marlene, her usual make up partner, was distracted.

Dorcus, your fellow Slytherin Prefect, was sitting on your bed by Lily, looking down at Marlene who was laying her head on her lap and biting her lip. Trying to flirt with the usually stoic girl. You raised your eyebrows in surprise when Dorcas actually smiled back. James is going to owe you so much money.

“So?” You asked, sitting on your desk and reordering your record collection Lily had slowly smuggled in for you over the years. As it was Lily’s gifts, it mostly consisted of ABBA and Queen, but all songs you adored.

“Well, I’ve been meaning to ask you, when did you meet Sirius?” Lily asked and your face twisted up in confusion. “What?”

“Don't ‘what’ me, there is clearly history there even before you met in the first year. There is so much hate in that boy's heart for you it's unrivaled. I sometimes wonder if James is the only thing keeping you away from meeting the other end of his wand.”

You gave a bitter laugh and rolled your eyes. “As a training Auror,” The girls collectively groaned and you giggled. “I could totally land him on his arse, thank you very much.”

“You're deflecting.” Mary sang from her seat on the floor and closed her makeup, turning to face you four. You bit your cheek as Marlene snickered. “And clearly there is something going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“I have to agree.” Dorcas called over and turned to face you, hands still on Marlene’s face. The glossy almost transparent lipstick stains all over Marlene’s face did NOT go unnoticed by you. You contemplated honesty, biting your cheek before you groaned.

“It's.. It's stupid, really. I know why he hates me, and it's not complete rubbish.” You sighed and set one of the records on to play with a wave of your wand. “He is just a child. Still thinks he's the only one suffering regardless of the situation. Narcissistic and cruel.”

The room was quiet for a moment before Lily gestured you over to your satin green sheets. You sat down and turned to look at her, as she squashed your cheeks together and Mary, feeling left out, hurried over to practically shove you across the bed. You guys fell down, head to head, looking up at the ceiling, and with another glance at Lily you caved. “Well, I may have met him one other time.”

“Where?” Mary prodded as she shifted to her stomach.

“At our engagement party?” You winced out as you cautiously looked at the girls who were all giving you serious looks of appalled shock.

“You're what!?” Lily finally shouted.

~~~

You couldn't have been more than five, maybe six, when you were told by your father that you were engaged. You were sitting in your room, having just finished your cleaning and making sure there were no blemishes to be seen. Your father and mother came in for their nightly overlook.

You stood in the center of the room, head held up, back straight, and your nose turned so you looked like a presentable young lady. Your hands clasped behind your back as your father walked around you and ran his finger along one of the tops of your bookshelf.

“We are going to the Blacks tomorrow, do you understand?” Your mother’s piercing bird-like voice filled the quiet dark room. “The house elf will dress you, but after your next birthday we expect you to be able to do it yourself. Understand?”

“Yes mother.” You mumbled. You hated the Blacks’, Mrs. Black was always so.. cruel. You couldn't imagine her home would be much better.

“What is the occasion, mother?” You asked in a faint voice.

Your father went to stand by her and began to lead her out. “Your engagement to Sirius Black, her oldest son.”

You had to fight to keep your expression even. Oh.

“You will be on your best behavior, understand?”

“Yes sir.”

As promised, mid afternoon next day, you were dressed in a complicated black dress, with frills and feathers to match the Black’s matriarch. You stood at the door, hands in front of you as you presented your full self, as your father always said. You had to fight back the tears as the door opened and it revealed a rather cruel looking house elf.

“{L/N}s, we welcome you to the noble house of Black.” He drew in a slimy way. You pouted and followed him in, your parents following close behind. Your father took off his coat as Kreacher took off your mothers, then yours.

The first thing you noticed when you entered the house was the smell. It was awful. It was a burning rotten stench, like when your father would come back from his meetings with the dark lord. You would speak more on it if you knew more than the hushed whispers between him and your mother. Everything around you was so dreary, so depressing. All black and dark colors, it made you feel smaller,

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts, you didn't notice as the Black family made themselves visible at the entrance of a rather large ballroom.

“Mr. and Mrs. {L/N}, how lovely to see you.” Mrs. Black called out to the three of you dripping in fake honey. Looking at your parents, your mother nudges you with her plastic smile, moving you both forward. “Mrs. Black, lovely to see you again.”

Their little interaction fell on deaf ears as you looked at the boys across from you. The taller one, who you assumed to be Sirius, was standing in front of a shorter boy, Regulus. The younger black was clinging to his brothers tailcoat and half behind him

Sirius was glaring at you, as much as a seven year old could glare. The look made you slowly lower your gaze down to your feet. What have you done? Only two minutes in and your future husband already seemed to hate your guts.

You winced as your father gave you a firm pat to the back of your head when he noticed your head down. You quickly raised it and looked towards the boys. Slowly, you offered your hand. “{Y-Y/N} {L/N}. It's a pleasure to meet you. You waited for Sirius to offer his hand in return, but it never happened,

Your father sent Walaburga a look, and she twisted her lip and smacked Sirius rather hard, and the boy hissed out in pain, rubbing the spot before he took and shook your hand.

That night was spent mostly clinging to your mothers leg as Sirius avoided you. Getting congratulations and proud looks from people you didn't know, and frankly, didn't want to know. Even Beatrix, Narcissa, and Andromeda Black came to congratulate you. Though, the eldest, Andromeda seemed more sympathetic than actually happy for you. The other two didn't have a truly readable look, but Narcissa kept her eye on you for the rest of the party.

When it was time to go, you were at the door waiting for a proper farewell from Sirius, but even at his mothers insistence, he refused to meet your eyes. You didn't really want this to work, you didn't want to marry someone as mean as Sirius. All you could think was that you wanted to see James and hide away at the Potters. They were the only truly comforting family you knew.

“He just kind of.. Hated me ever since. As a kid, I think I can see it. He has associated me with his family since that night. I don't know much about them, but I could make a few guesses.” You rattled on and sniffed, you didn't even notice you began to cry until Lily ran her thumbs across your cheeks. You puffed up your bottom lip and Lily gave a faint laugh at that.

“Why didn't you tell me?” She whispered and you shrugged, moving to sit up. “I don't plan to marry him, you know that. I just have to push it, avoid it until my seventeenth birthday and I have left Hogwarts.” You declared, self assured.

“I will have access to my vault then, and when I move it to my own account I can go back to the Ministry as an Auror, my own person.” You sat up straight as your eyes landed on one of the many books you had read about your hero, Alastor Moody. You scrambled to your feet, past the girls and their sympathetic looks. “I learned not to hold onto it. Sirius will thank me eventually.”

You pulled out a book and flipped a few pages, down to the ‘dedicated to’ page that had Moody’s signature. The only gift your father ever gave you that wasn't about his preset image of your future. The one thing he ever gifted you that showed you he knew who you were. Even if he seemed to hate it.

Dorcas and Marlene shared a look before Mary laid down flat against the bed with a huff. “I never figured Sirius for that kind of person.” She mumbled into a pillow.

“Really?” You, Lily, Marlene and Dorcas asked in shock, making you guys sputter out a laugh. Easily diffusing the tension of the room.

~~~

It had been a few days now, of you sneaking away from the Weasleys to go and watch Harry simply… live. It was the best feeling, watching him exist in the walls you once called home. It was nostalgic, gave you a bit of pride to watch him make choices you knew James never would, and acted with so much of his mothers patience and bleeding heart.

His friends, Merlin his friends, that Hermione girl behaved so much like Lily you caught yourself doing doubletakes whenever she would say something that sounded a bit too much like the red head. Ron, he was like a balancing act, shy like Peter, but his personality reminded you of his uncles. Particularly like Fabian.

You were quite fond of them, following them around almost everywhere you could. Eventually you cut the visits to every other day, you needed rest at some point. So, here you were, following after Harry with his two friends, listening to their complaints about a rat of some kind. The simple reminder of the animal had you huffing.

Apparently, you were a bit too loud. Harry, who was behind his friends, turned his head to look into the forest. He spotted you again, and you simply stared. This time, he smiled at you, and you gave a happy shrill. Your entire body wiggling, from your nose to the tip of your tail. He gave a laugh, and mumbled. “Hello again.”

“What was that?” Ron shouted from down the trail, and Harry only looked away for a moment, but when he looked back, you were gone. He frowned a bit before he hurried down the trail to catch up with his friends.

You followed them all the way down to the river, your ears rotating around as you watched them meet with Hagrid. You tilted your head, curious about the impromptu meeting. You remembered Hagrid vaguely, he was a charming man, but you didn’t have much time to spend with teachers casually. Like… well, a normal student. Hagrid was probably the only exception to this in your eyes. You admired the guy, but he was basically an overgrown child. Didn’t make him any less appealing.

You slipped past a few sticks and twigs to keep your volume to a minimum. That was, until you heard a few snaps behind you. You quickly turned to hide under a bush. You had run into too many wolves and other creatures who were looking to make a meal of you to take any chance.

Your thoughts were derailed when you saw it, however. A muggle dog, larger than average, black and matted, he looked like a stray riddled with mange. You lowered yourself closer to the earth, but then, something clicked. No… truly? That silky fur you knew from his constant pampering, his full coat and frame had been whittled away to nothing, but you knew him. You knew that mutt anywhere.

You took the chance. You ran from cover and bit down on his tail. He gave a yelp and whipped around with a snarl. You held his eyes, it felt like he was moments away from pouncing. You took a shaky breath before you turned sharply and dashed off deeper into the forest. It wasn't long before you heard his heavy footsteps behind you. You ran for a while, until you were positive no one else could see you. You jumped down into a miniature cliff that was once a rushing river that had run dry. The second you jumped down, you transformed back. You raised your wand to the dog before you.

Sirius, those eyes, they were his. He stared at you, and you returned the blank sentiment. He slowly shifted back and you saw him in all his tortured beauty.

He didn't look much better than he did as a dog. Hair patchy, you assumed from neglect, He did always have a hair pulling problem when you were younger, you couldn't imagine what that did for him in Azkaban. “{Y/N}...”

Your name sounded broken coming from his lips like that. He walked closer and you stepped back, He didn't relent, walking you straight against the dirt walls that encased you. He only stopped when your wand hit his chest. He looked from your wand, looking up your arm, and to your face. He gave an almost crazed smile. “Scared of me, pretty girl?”

His voice was haunting. It put a weight down your throat, even in this state he had an effect on you that you could never understand. Your hand began to shake, and he took your wrist, lowering it and stepping forward. His dirty hands took your head so gently. You both stared into eachothers eyes and he gave a crazed and desperate laugh. His grip on your cheeks growing harsher. The dirt that was on his palms and under his fingers stained your skin, “Sirius-”

“Again.”

“What?”

“My name, say it again.”

You stared at him. His voice was so strangled, likely from under use. He wet his lips and you took a shuttered breath.

“Sirius.”

He let out a sound that you were sure only a dog could make. Grinding his teeth, he dug his nails into your cheek and jaw as he forced you to look completely up. Into his eyes. “Where have you been, vixen?”

You raised your hand to grab his wrist in warning, but the crazed man seemed to have come to terms with it. “I have.. Quite the tale for you, Sirius.” You breathed, and he slowly nodded, Hands lowering to your sides and you bit your bottom lip. Looking away from him. Giving him the chance to lean into your ear to speak. “Better make it quick, Vix.”

You almost forgot how to breathe. Struggling to hang onto your anger. This man had gone after Peter alone, told no one, not even thinking about how he was abandoning your godson in the process. Your mind was suddenly fogging once more when his thumbs pushed hard against your waist and his nose found its way to your neck.

You pushed him back just a few inches, turning to face him again, “Let me start from the beginning.”

~~ Harry’s POV~~

He saw the name, he knows he did. Peter Pettigrew. He knew something was off, walking down the hall alone. The steps were getting closer, but the name tag had disappeared. He ran his thumb over the sheet as he stood still in the hall. There was a tense moment, where he was sure Peter was getting closer. He flinched at his own reflection.

He was going mad, looking at this old parchment. Surely, it was mistaken. He had gone on a wild goose chase this whole time. Oh great, now Snape is coming? “Mischief Managed, Nox”

As if he was just waiting for him to hide, a blinding light took over his peripherals.

“Potter.” Snape drawls, his lips curled up in a permanent scowl. “And what are you doing, wandering the corridors at night?”

“Uhm,” Harry stated and began to look around for any excuse he could muster. “Uh, sleep walking?”

He cursed himself as it came out as more of a question than a statement.

Snape scoffed. “You are so extraordinarily like your father, strutting around the castle.”

“My father didn't strut.” Harry snapped back and Snape narrowed his eyes at him. “And nor do I. Now, if you would be so kind as to lower your wand from my face.”

Snape lowered his wand and rolled his wrist. “Turn out your pockets.”

Harry sighed and pulled out the parchments and his wand. “Open it, now.”

He thumbed over the paper and unfolded the map. Snape lowered his wand to utter an incantation, before gesturing to the words. “Read it.”

“...” Harry sighed and lifted the page to his face. “Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Vulpes, Padfoot and Prongs offer their compliments to Professor Snape and..”

“Go on.” Snape insisted and Harry glanced up at him before sighing and looking back down.

“And request that he keeps his abnormally large nose out of other people's business.” Harry remarked as he snapped his eyes up to Snapes, looking him dead in his dark pupils.

“Why you insolent little-”

“Professor?” Lupin called down the hall, turning the nearest corner and narrowing in on the two.

Snape turned sharply and slowly smirked at the fellow professor. “Ah, Lupin. Taking a stroll out in the moonlight are we?”

Lupin resisted the urge to scoff, and looked around him. “Harry? Are you alright?” He called over in a gentle tone. Harry nodded but Snape snapped his hand forward and snatched the parchment from him before he could stop him.

“That remains to be seen. I have just now confiscated a rather curious artifact.” Snape remarked as he looked it over. Lupin felt his heart fall to his feet. He hadn't seen that map since Finch confiscated it, Lupin quickly recovered,as Snape handed it over.

“I believe this is your area of expertise.”

Lupin looked it over with a firm sigh, threw his nose, rolling his tongue to try and stifle a laugh at the words. “Looks to be a parchment designed to insult whoever reads it. Likely a Zonkos product. Severus, but.” He lifted the paper higher as Snape tried to grab it back. “I will look it over. As you said, it is my area of expertise. Now!”

Lupin turned on his heels and gestured to his side. “Harry, a word of you'd please?”

Harry nodded and quickly passed Snape, head down as if in shame.

Once they made it to the classroom, Harry followed Lupin to his desk. The professor was clearly upset, so Harry stayed quiet. He spoke calmly, but his tone was anything but, like he was holding himself back from rage he didn't recognize.

“Now I haven't the faintest idea how this map came to be in your possession, I would say I am shocked you didn't hand it in, if I didn't see James doing the same thing. I am, however, incredibly disappointed in this behavior. Did you stop to think of it? For a moment?” Lupin raised his voice steadily before he took a pause and a deep breath, turning to face Harry fully. “That if Sirius Black got his hands on this map, that this would lead straight to you?”

Harry’s eyebrows raised. It wasn't that he was unused to people's rage being directed at him, or their disappointment for that matter. But something about it being Remus looking at him like that, it broke a bit of his heart. He was just so used to Lupin’s warmth. “... No.” He admitted.

“No. Of course not.” Lupin hissed. “I understand the thrill of it all, I was a student in these halls once too, but it is time to stop looking at this like a game. You are in danger Harry. Danger that your father and your mother lost their lives trying to keep you from. Danger that the people dearest to me were killed and maimed to protect you from! And wondering about the castle with a killer on the loose seems to be a pretty poor way to repay them.”

The professor waved the paper around like it had done some horrible offense. He tossed it on his desk with a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I don't mean-” Harry tried to explain and Remus didn't want to hear it, raising his hand to tell him to be quiet.

“Didn't mean what? To sneak out? Endanger yourself and in turn, this school?”

“I didn't think it was-” He began in bewilderment and Lupin simply raised his voice.

“Do you know how many people were affected by this war? How many people were on the front lines to ensure your safety?”

“No..”

“Fabian Prewett, do you know that name?” Lupin walked up to a letter that rested on his desk. He flicked it open. Harry frowned, hard.

“No-”

“Molly Weasley’s older brother, dead. Do you know Gideon Prewett?”

“No, I-”

“Fabian's twin brother, he was splinched and lost his left arm, moved to America. Marlene McKinnon?” He prodded. Harry looked down at his shoes. “Dead, death eaters killed her entire family. Dorcus Meadows? Voldemort killed her himself after she snapped and went rogue, looking to avenge Marlene. Mary McDonnell?”

“No-”

“She was killed in her safe house days after your parents death. {Y/N} {L/N}?” His voice cracked at the name.

“Yes, that name I-”

“You don't have a clue about that woman! About your Godmother, because she was killed. Killed trying to protect you and saving lives. All of these people put themselves on the line. Not just for your parents, but for you. For the concept of what we believed was our family. Peter Pettigrew faced Sirius Black for you! And to you that means nothing but for a boy like Peter that meant the world.”

There was a thick and tense silence.”Do you know what that means? Family means we look after eachother. In order to do that, you have to look after yourself first.” He tutted as Harry sniffed and looked away. He hated to be this intense about it, but Harry needed to wake up at some point.

“I will not cover up for you again, Harry. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir.” He whispered low and Remus huffed. “Go to your dormitory.”

Harry had never run quicker from Remus, before he paused and cleared his throat. “Professor?”

Lupin gave a deep sigh and slowly turned to look up at Harry. “Yes?”

“I think it may be broken. It's uhm.. It’s been showing me Peter Pettigrew.” He spoke carefully and Remus narrowed his eyes. Harry gave an awkward nod, muttering a good night before running off.

Remus was left alone with his thoughts, eyes wandering up to the window behind his desk. He thinned his lips as he let his mind wander next. Those names, Maybe it was the date that led him to be so hard, even close to the full moons he had learned to manage his temper for the most part. The date was getting closer and closer to when he made one of the stupidest mistakes he has made in his life.

~~~

The spring formal, in lue of the triwizard tournament in the winter. He remembered when Lily suggested it to the other prefects then to the professors. They hadn’t held the tournament in years, and the kids were close to their last years at Hogwarts.

He thought it was a cute idea at first, having been one of the many students Lily had referenced to get the whole thing reviewed by the professors. Then, he started getting those bloody questions. It started when you were all sitting together in the library, the boys, you, Lily, and Mary.

You were talking Mary threw the process of making liquid luck, when a hufflepuff boy walked up to the table. He cleared his throat and looked at you in a way that made Remus want to pull you closer. His lip twitched and the boy didn't even seem to see him there. You two always sat together, no matter where it was.

You sat up straighter and your knee pulled from his, he almost whined at the loss of your warmth. Merlin, he was a mess.

“{Y/N} {L/N}?” He called over to you and you looked up at him with your beautiful eyes. He saw the boy take a nervous breath and you sat there so patiently, eyes fluttering. “I was wondering, if you had a date yet? To the Formal, I mean.”

Your mouth shaped an ‘o’ and you gave him the sweetest look you could, avoiding pity or sympathy. “Sorry hun, you're very cute, but I am actually waiting on someone.” You remarked, Remus glanced at you to see you were already looking at him with this cheeky look. Didn't know if his blood was rushing to his face or leaving it, but he suddenly felt dizzy. You gave a giggle at his look before you turned back to Mary and got back to helping her. The curly haired girl was staring at you with a slack jaw. “Did you really just say that?” She whispered to you before Lily spoke up next. “Did you really just do that?”

He turned to face the boys and they were staring at him with wide and cheeky looks, all but Sirius who seemed annoyed by the whole thing.

“Well, he knows what I want.” You remarked and he just about fainted on the spot.

You damned Vixen.

That's how he got here, sitting in his dorm room with the boys, as they interrogated him.

“You're not going to ask her? The girl you've been mooning over for years says she wants you infront of everyone and you're not going to ask her?” James sounded like Remus had personally offended him.

“First of all, I resent that. Second, it's only been a year.” Remus muttered the last part, remembering the day he fell for you fondly. Waking up to your warmth after one of the worst nights of his life. You had found out about his condition months ago, he had been avoiding you. You always had a playful and flirty friendship. But when he woke up to you in the chair beside him, sound asleep. He thought he could see that for the rest of his life, and he fell even harder when you let out the most embarrassingly loud snore.

“You flirt with her all the time! What’s so unappealing about doing that for an entire night?” Peter, ever bold when it came to you challenged and Remus sighed.

“When the full moon is close, she can't possibly think I'm serious, and! it's hard to think the same of her when she flirts with Lily and Marlene all the same.”

“She does what now-” James sat up straight like a rocket and that made Sirius cackle.

“It's easier when it's not serious. But, a spring formal? That's like.. asking her to be my girlfriend!” Remus declared in offense and Sirius scoffed, looking over his book as Remus struggled.

“Do you not want that?” James asked and Sirius chuckled. “Must have realized how vile she truly is.”

“Watch it Sirius.” Remus huffed before he looked back at James and Peter. “Of bloody course I want that. I just can't have it.”

James gave him a confused look before he groaned. “This shit again-”

“I will ruin her life! She'll be an Auror the second we cross that lake after graduation! Then what will people think? It won't be cute anymore. A werewolf husband can't keep a job, and I can never have kids. That's the one thing she wants the most. A family.” He mumbled and James sighed. Sirius winced and sunk into his bed a bit more as Remus spoke about his betrothed without knowing it.

He was going to tell them, but you had never made it known if you wanted him to share it or not. Not that you willingly interacted with him after how he treated him. Then you started this fling with Reamus. He figured at first it was to make him jealous, and it worked. Though, the way you looked at him was chilling. He quickly realized he had gone too far, but there wasn't much he could do now. So he stayed quiet.

“Do you think maybe you would be enough for her?” Peter offered and James nodded along.

“I think knowing she settled for me would be worse.”

Remus Lupin, despite his best efforts to prove otherwise, was not stupid. He saw the way you looked at him, the tone you took with him and no one else. You were wild. fun, but responsible and respectful. You were the coolest witch he ever met, and when he first said that out loud Lily gushed like a schoolgirl. Well, as a school girl. He knew that the remark in the Library was true,

He wanted to know what loving you meant. The feel of your hand in his. He wanted to know what it was like being your number one, you already had a way of making people seem special, but to be special to you was something he wanted all to himself. He wanted you all to himself.

He couldn't have that, he couldn't do that to you. To anyone. So, he made a choice that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He would let you go, and let you down easily. Before it got too real.

Remus shoved away the memory as he sighed, pulling open the map and looking it over. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” He whispered to it, looking it over with a frown. He curled back the pages, looking over the forest and the names around. It was oddly stimulating, watching the prefects doing their rounds and the occasional professor here and there.

His eyes wandered all over the map, looking to see if Harry was being truthful about it having Peter’s name. He didn't see it, but his nearly dropped the map when he saw his name. Sirius Black.

And he wasn't alone.

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minhosimthings · 11 months ago

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Angels in Tibet

Symphony Smut Series Day 13: Amaarae's Angels in Tibet

Lyric: Louvre and Armani I like how you say it

Pairings: fiance!Jay × fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, implied use of pheromone, bathroom sex, semi public sex, fingering, p in v sex, overstimulation, missionary, unprotected sex (not for you baby), mention of breeding, rough sex and I'm talking ROUGH, dom!Jay, sub!reader, fluffy in the beginning

A/N: Day 13 baby! 5 more oneshots to go and we'll be over. I just had to do a Paris fic with Jay cause IT'S JAY. @yunabi436 a gift for you darling

THE SYMPHONY SMUT SERIES MASTERLIST

Jay was a 'date to marry' guy. Which was very evident from the fact that he bought you your favourite flowers on your first date which he had asked you about the day before.

The ring on your finger never shone brighter than now, when Jay had proposed a pre-wedding holiday to Paris, even though you had begged him not to spend more money on you.

"What kind of a husband would I be if I didn't?" He reasoned, blocking your attempts to put in your credit card to chip in for the trip, "Plus you've always wanted to see the Louvre so we're going, no buts."

"Not even my butt?"

Paris was beautiful. Paris was amazing. Paris was amazing. But most of all, Paris had The Louvre.

A place you had been wanting to visit since you saw it in a magazine when you were seven. You had always hada knack for art history, which, due to parental pressure, you hadn't taken as a major in college. Jay knew that. And that's why he took you to see the triangular polycarbon (or atleast he guessed it was polycarbon) structure, where treasures beheld your eyes.

"You know the interesting thing about this painting-" you stared at all the beautiful swirls of colours on the frame in front of you, "is that even though it is more harder to paint than the painting opposite of it-" you glances at the crowd of people behind you, "It is still largely ignored."

"So you'd much rather analyse The Wedding Feast at Cana rather than The Mona Lisa herself?" Jay rested his chin on your shoulder, reading the brief introduction of the painter carved at the pedestal.

"Mona Lisa is a masterpiece I will admit. But this!" You gestured dramatically towards the painting with your hands, "This is magnificent."

"Darling as much as I would love to stand here and watch you talk about this painting, didn't you want to get a look at Psyche by Antonio Canova? And isn't that in the next room with the sculptures?"

"Oh yeah." You responded. Seeing all the artworks of the Louvre would take approximately 20 days and you were only here for a week. So you obliged and took Jay's hand casually strolling off to the next room.

Though you hadn't mentioned it, your nostrils had had a sense of misdirection throughout the entire time Jay strolled close to you. You had brushed it off as a thing of the atmosphere, continuing with your tour.

Unbeknownst to you however, earlier that day, Jay had rubbed some of his 'special' cologne onto his wrists and neck. You were a generally freaky person, and he knew that. So your everlasting wish to fuck in the bathroom of a museum was about to be fulfilled today.

"Jay ah-ah fuck."

Jay's got you pinned against him, back to chest, feet balanced atop the muscle of his thighs. Spread wide open, bare and exposed, helpless in the way he traps your throat between bicep and forearm.

“This what you had in mind for the bathroom of The Louvre?” he asks, circles a wet finger over your clit, a ghosting touch that leaves your hips canting upward. Almost frantic, a silent pleading, but he traps you steadfast.

It started as a small kiss. A peck. A brush of the lips so gentle you barely felt it until he pressed his mouth to yours fully. There was no tongue, nor any breathlessness when he pulled away and looked at you again. But you could feel the shift in the air. The drop in your stomach and sudden stillness in the room while a white noise clouded your head.

You’re a little light-headed, blistered beneath the skin, needy and fidgeting. Maybe you want him to hold you still, to fit you tight against him, to fight against your struggle—something carnal deep down that gets off on his strength, the power you know he can wield over you.

Your vision begins to speckle and fizz, and pleasure coils blinding hot in the pit of your stomach. At his mercy, desperate for anything he’ll give you—the helplessness breaks you apart, soaks you between the legs. The sound of his pumping fingers is filthy and slick, and your cunt sucks him in. Begs more than your mouth ever could.

You meet each thrust of his fingers with a tilt of your hips, exhale a stuttering moan when he begins to grind the bulge of his cock against the curve of your ass. When he pulls you hard against his chest and whispers a string of praise into your ear.

His name is the last coherent word you get out before it’s only feral moans of bliss. You’re so close it’s like a fire burning in your limbs, every muscle tensing as you try to withhold it a little longer to prolong this moment where all you cared about was him and the way he could send you into the stars. When the tip of his finger pinpoints and stiffens to flick teasingly before he latches once again, that’s all it takes to have the elastic snaps, sending a shockwave from your core all the way to the tips of your fingers, your muffled scream echoing off the mirrors. He’s satisfied with himself, smiling as he stands and lets your legs fall limply from his grasp, his hands catching your boneless body from slinking down onto the floor.

This man was beautiful, so godsdamned beautiful.

And he was all yours.

"Can you take more darling?" Jay questioned, clutching your hips to keep you steady, admiring your naked back in the mirror behind you, "I can do it all night if you want."

Without warning, he shoved his cock into your pussy, hearing your muffled whimper as he'd done so. "quiet, don't wanna wake up the sculptures do we?" His own voice was strained as he scolded you, beginning to set his own pace. Unforgiving and harsh, making you lightheaded and dizzy.

You felt him right at your womb again and again and fucking again. You felt any semblance of your very sanity begin to melt away as he fucked you, so roughly that it almost had you begging for him to go easy on you.

He was fucking you like a thing void of a soul, like a rag doll. Every single time you felt him back inside, he pushed you deeper and deeper onto the marble. Your hands had felt useless, not even able to support your own weight. You offered them to him, feeling his lone hand take both of yours, anchoring himself to you without his pace even faltering. It was a reminder to you both that he's fucking huge, so strong and capable of easily overpowering you. It had you nearly sobbing, your insides squeezing him snugly.

Jay holds your stomach down and goes deeper. You squeal as you cum on his dick. He keeps going until eventually he slows down and cums, the warm feeling enveloping your pussy like a cocoon.

Jay looks up at your almost passed out figure and lets you rest your head on his shoulder as he pulls out.

"You doing okay baby?" Jay asks uncertainly, noticing how hard you were breathing.

"Park Jongsoeng how is our wedding day sex gonna beat this?" You joke, leaning against the cold marble. Thank heavens that the museum wasn't too busy today.

"Oh don't worry about that." Jay growls in your ear, squeezing your waist,

"I'll make sure to fuck a baby into you on that day."

Taglist: @ramenoil @mynameisniya150 @demigodmahash + whoever wants to be tagged, send an ask my way!

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sapphirelightningbug · 15 days ago

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Love, Actually [Chapter 1: Jingle Bells]

Series Summary: Christmas 2005, you and Aegon meet in a dog park in your hometown of Newark, New Jersey. He’s a strange foreigner who you’re hesitant about at first but he’s enamored by you. The only thing that can help you two is a Christmas miracle, and maybe a New Years kiss.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Comment if you'd like to be tagged!

Taglist in the comments!

“Bandit one, ‘Other Dog’ four,” Madison chimes in as you two gaze upon the dogs frolicking in the snow. They are barely visible as a white sheet of snow covers them. You had watched as they, just minutes ago made friends before beginning to play fight. It was commendable the way dogs bond so easily, only truly interested in the exhilarating.

You glimpse Madison as she overlooks what she has deemed a very serious match. It's almost wholesome the way she's able to appreciate such a mundane act as excitable in her head. She's rooting Bandit on when you hear a crunch in the snow. “Oh seven… and there goes Bandit,” she snorts as he face-plants into the snow. You giggle as you see the dog sneeze and shake off to get as much snow off himself as possible.

“You seriously can’t be keeping track of this,” you say while laughing. You whistle to call Bandit over, hand brushing over his damp, cold face to get any icy remnants off. He’d need a bath soon. Your gloved hand comes off with ice crystals that quickly melt against the temperature.

The night was arriving in the park, you and Madison had nearly gotten frostbite twice by the time you assumed it was smart to go home. When Bandit came trotting up to you in his magnificent glory, so had the other dog. So after tending to Bandit you look at Madison confused but observe the dog. This one wasn’t so fit for the cold, a bright golden shined in its fur despite the dull air and sky, and a small Christmas-themed bandana was wrapped around its neck.

“Uh, hey buddy,” you look down at the puppy and then turn to Madison as if to ask ‘What do I do with it?’. She lets up a little shrug, which wasn't helpful. You gaze through the rest of the park trying to find its owner, which came up pretty futile since it was 5 pm in the middle of December in fucking New Jersey! It was foggy and snowing which meant about ten feet of visibility. You clip the leash back on Bandit, and gesture for this other dog to follow, Madison behind you three as if she were herding you like sheep.

“Alright, let’s see if anyone’s looking for you,” you say as you pull the eclectic bunch through the park until you come face to face with a blonde-haired man. He looks a little frazzled and out of breath like he’s been running around in the crisp air of December. Honestly, he looks like he'd never expected it to be cold in the height of winter in the Northeast.

“Hi, sorry to bother you, but we’re trying to find this dog's owner. Is he yours, or have you seen anyone looking?” Before you could finish getting the words out he was on the snow-covered ground petting the ice out of the dog's fur. She realizes then why he looks drained: This is his dog.

He straightens out the golden retriever's bandana before looking over him once more and glancing up at you. “Thank you for supervising him Sunfyre likes getting himself into trouble sometimes.” Sunfyre? What kind of name is that? Nodding your eyes flick back at Madison, who was still staring at the man with a bit of a confused expression, slightly glazed over, like she couldn't tell he was actually there.

Finally, you turn to him and look over him. He is probably around their age, blonde, with slight stubble and severely underdressed for the weather. He realizes you are staring at him and he puts his hand out which you reluctantly take. The hand feels damp through your glove. “Aegon,” he smiles, Aegon? Again what kind of name is that? Apparently this guy has a tenacious appetite for odd names.

“Right, well I'm sorry if Sunfyre," the name feels weird in your mouth, "If Sunfyre had worried you. He and Bandit were just play fighting,” you gesture towards your dog. Bandit sits with a gaze that could only be considered admiration, dogs tend to do that to their owners it was one of the many things that made you fall in love with them. With his warm gaze on you, you rub his head with the hand Aegon wasn't shaking as you peer at the stranger and let go of his hand.

“Yeah, he’s a little rascal, basically a gremlin you know can’t feed them past midnight!” He was chipper much more than you’d expect, or the joke landed the wrong way you weren’t exactly sure. You assume his attitude is due to the excitement he felt over receiving his dog back. Snow fell over his beanie that he had on and you chuckled at the reference to a very beloved Christmas movie.

"We were just about to head out glad you got your dog back though,” you nod, looking down once more at the golden dog sniffing at its owner's feet. Aegon gazed over you as if copying your image to memory. It made you feel almost uncomfortable but it was subsided by the cute lopsided grip he had on his stubbled cheeks.

“Right maybe I can walk you two just out of thankfulness for you returning my dog,” you look back at Madison's eyes asking if they should when she interjected.

“Well I live just a little down the road so I have to go in a different direction,” Madison chirped always smiling, and feeling of a warm aura. You swallow realizing that you would have to walk alone with the man.

“Oh yeah, I have to walk to this coffee shop my other friend works at so she can drive me home I live a bit out of the way and I’ve got this guy,” you wring your hands together as you speak before gesturing to Bandit who was absentmindedly chewing on a stick he found Gods know where.

“I have no gripes walking you to the café,” he just would not give up would he? You mentally groan. “I mean I have nowhere to be really,” he smiled trying to seem normal about it. You hoped this wasn't a ploy, but how could it be really he couldn't have planned any of this. You were slowly becoming okay with the idea of him walking you to the café.

“Oh, okay, yeah, sure, we can go walk to the shop,” you turn to Madison and hug her before waving her off. “Get rest! Don’t want you getting a cold,” you yelled after her she smiled and gave you a thumbs up as she walked away.

You turn back to Aegon who is standing there admiring you, he looks away quickly. “You’re not gonna like serial murder me, right? Chop me up into little pieces and feed me to your weirdly named dog?” you chuckle nervously, not that you thought he would but you didn't know the man he could be Ted Bundy for all you knew.

He bursts into laughter, “No I’m not gonna chop you up into little pieces and feed you to my dog,” he chuckles. “Sunfyre is a very picky eater,” you laugh with him and begin to walk to the café as soon as Madison is out of eyesight. The snow’s still coming down in a drizzle and it crunches on the ground under you as you walk.

“Oh, so the only reason you’re not gonna kill me is because your dog is sassy with his meals?” You retort jokingly shaking your head. “I'm just kidding I get it Bandit gets a tummy ache when he eats most human foods too,” You run a thumb over the frayed bits of the rope that made Bandit's leash. When you looked up Aegon was staring at you. “What?” He looked away back down at Sunfyre before he clipped his red leash on him.

“So where is this coffee shop?” You glance back at him as you begin on the sidewalk, he's shivering slightly clearly cold from being in below-freezing temperatures underdressed for the weather.

“Just down the road there,” you point down from where you stand to a small shop that has a sign with a candy cane on it outside. There are very few others in sight; a couple walking on the sidewalk across the street, and one lone individual down the road walking in the opposite direction of them.

“So are you from New Jersey or did you move here recently?” You assume he hasn’t lived here for a while, less than a year probably. It was evident by his lack of a winter jacket or gloves. He was dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a plain green sweatshirt. His blonde hair was mostly covered by a beanie. The tips of his fringe hung out slightly dampened by fallen snow.

“Not from here,” his slightly foreign accent only adds to the evidence of that fact. You look at him with a questioning look, “German," You nod. His fair skin is dull and dry, there are snowflakes in his eyelashes and his pink lips are chapped, dry skin peeling slightly.

“So what made you come to the great city of Newark?” Sarcasm drips from your lips. You gesture to the general area and look up at the snowy sky. Your nose is red from the cold, and it’s running faintly.

“Needed a change of scenery,” you look surprised. Most wanted out of Newark, not moving in for a 'change of scenery'.

"What'd you wanna see? Chihuahua sized rats frozen from winter snow?" A self-deprecating chuckle falls from your lips at the words before continuing. “But does your whole family live here or just you?” You almost feel bad for asking so many questions,—maybe even rambling—but he doesn’t seem to mind. He has a small smile on his face, more satisfied than anything, he just seems happy to be in someone else's presence.

“Well my sister, mother, and brothers live here with me, but my dad, his daughter, and their family still live in Germany,” you nod and scan over his face. Under the satisfaction of the moment, he looks tired. There were slight bags under his eyes their violet a little sad and his face pale, drained of color. Maybe it was just seasonal depression. Or maybe it was living in Newark?

"Thank goodness, and here I was thinking you were an only child," you both laugh a slight pink tone coming to his face; he shakes his head.

You’re feet away from the shop, the warm amber light flooding out on the cool-toned snowy street. The cottage windows are in a wooden frame, with frost in the outside corners. The wood is chipped a little from the years of it standing there.

Once getting a closer look at the sign it was visible that the painted candy cane was wrapped in mistletoe, the greens and reds contrasting each other perfectly. Next to the candy cane are the words 'Sips of the Season'.

Looking inside it was homely, a small library sits in the corner and the counter was decorated with tinsel and Christmas lights. A small pine tree sat in the corner drinking from a black pot underneath it. The tree was decorated with various colors, red, green, gold, and white ornaments adorn the branches catching on the needles.

Other than the ball ornaments there was a few personalized trinkets hanging off the tree. One from Greece, one from Italy, one from England, and one of your own that you had made for Jennifer, a small globe with a reindeer inside.

There was also gold and silver tinsel hanging from the tree. Multicolored lights garnish it as well, twinkling slightly. For short: Sips of the Season is decked out for the holidays.

A wreath wrapped in a scarlet bow welcomes you and Bandit at the door as you enter Sips of the Season, Aegon and Sunfyre following after you. Jen is at the counter back leaning against it, she turns around when she hears the bell. You take off your winter coat and gloves, and unclip Bandit’s leash. Bandit makes his way to an armchair in the corner of the store.

"There you are!" She beams, her ever-smiley face lights up with a warm contented grin. "You know I was just about to get out," it is then she notices that Aegon is in here with you. She has a small downturned smirk as she raises her eyebrows at you and gestures for you to approach her.

Aegon doesn’t realize your movements gazing around the shop and enjoying the warmth of it. You reach the counter and she looks at you with a predacious, toothy smile, the feeling she was going to say something ridiculous washing over you. "So who's the cute blonde?" She whispers, her shit-eating grin getting even bigger. Before you can get anything out she speaks once more, "And, when were you going to tell me you were dating again?"

"It's not like that," She rolls her eyes at your words.

"'Not like that'? Gosh, do you even hear yourself you're basically screaming that you want him! Plus you're like totally blushing," you are certain you are not but her saying that makes your face tinge pink ever so slightly.

"I am not," you mutter back. It was then that Aegon decides to nudge his way into the conversation when he finally moves from the spot he was standing looking around the room. "Oh, hey," you raise your eyebrows as if to ask 'What's Up?'.

"I'm going to go back to our den for the evening," he gestured to Sunfyre and himself, "But it was great to meet you." His voice is smooth like velvet, it makes your stomach tingle.

"Oh! Right," you look over at Jennifer trying to figure out what to do. "Do you want Hot Chocolate or Coffee or Tea?" you list off awkwardly trying to get as much out as possible. "On the house of course," you add quickly before turning to Jen and looking at her as though you were saying 'Sorry', she rolls her brown doe eyes.

"Hot Chocolate is good, to-go of course," you nod and look over to Jen and she starts making the Hot Cocoa. You and Aegon stand there awkwardly not really knowing what to say to each other.

Jen comes out with the warm drink in a festive red and white disposable to-go cup you hand it to Aegon and he thanks you. He guides Sunfyre back to the front door and the bell above it rings as you two wave each other off as a pit grows in your stomach.

"So did you like give him your number... or at least write it on the cup?" You shake your head and she looks at you like you’re hopeless.

"I fudged that didn't I?" You wring your hands together the sweat on them making them slip out of each other quickly.

"Definitely," she murmurs. At least she was honest, but that isn’t what’s on your mind there was only one word that is.

Fuck.

#love actually #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x you #got

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misguidedasgardian · 1 year ago

Text

The Hour of the Wolf (5)

V. Fire & Ice

MASTERLIST

Summary: You are settling in your throne

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, war, death, mentions of killings, genocide and war, threats, arranged marriage, SPOILERS for ASOIAF, and Fire & Blood, also, might spoil House of the Dragon, smut! finally, I’m calling dub-con, because its their first time and we are nervous, loss of virginity, a bit of blood, and all that comes with it… nothing too extreme

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 4.3 k

Notes: uffff things are getting heated

“I want my hair loose”, you said faintly, as the maids nodded with shy smiles, as they brushes your silver strands

Your dress was magnificent

A black background with red and golden intricate designs, open sleeves from your shoulders that had a beautiful drop, a low neckline.

The jewelry was exquisite, your neck was decorated with a golden dragon that curled around you, your wrists and fingers with gold as well, in your heart finger, you had a ring that belonged to your mother.

“Your grace”, called in Ser Erryk, “the Lord hand and Lord Celtigar, both want to see you”, you barely nodded.

Both men entered the room and you watched them through the mirror, as they saw you they stopped in their tracks, their mouths open, but they regained their composure quickly

“In this day your grace, we have something for you”, said Lord Celtigar, who had brought a beautifully decorated box with him. You turned around in your chair, to be presented with said gift.

Cregan stood behind him, giving him space, as Celtigar theatrically bowed, and opened the box and showed you the insides

You gasped when you saw it, tears threatening to fall as you covered your mouth

“How? Where did you find it?”, you asked, your throat in a knot

“A low-life was trying to sell it in the docks of Claw Island”, he said softly

Your mother’s… and well… Jahaerys’ crown

When your mother rebels and traitors swarmed the capital and threatened the life of your mother, she had to flee and hide all over the Crownlands… and to be able to return to Dragonstone, she had to sell the crown

A sad tale… but in the end…

They had brought it back to you

“You will be crowned with the crown of the conciliator”, said Cregan, “with your mother’s crown, and King Viserys and King Jahaerys before her”

“Thank you”, you murmured, a single tear scaping you

“You look gorgeous, your grace”, said Reysen

“Thank you”

“I’ll give the crown to the master of ceremonies”, muttered Cregan, and you only nodded

They left once more, and the maids kept brushing your hair

“More reason to have my hair loose”, you said softly and they nodded with wide smile on their faces

You were nervous, to say the least, it had been a long, nerve-wrecking week, in which you had met so many people you barely remember their faces, they had asked much things from you

And now you were getting crowned

Once you were ready, you asked the maids to leave, and they did

You watched yourself in the mirror, as tears started pouring down your cheeks

“Gods!”, you cried, falling to your arms folded over the dresser

You would give all of this in a heartbeat to have them back… at least one of them… only one… luke…. or Jace… or your mama

The door opened but you didn’t want to see who it was, you waiting for whoever it was to leave, but that didn’t happen

You felt two strong hands grab you and turn you, and in a second your face was against a soft velvet vest, a hand in your hair

“Shhh, everything is alright”, you whined when you heard it was cregan, hugging you tightly, “it’s all alright, I’m right here, with you…”

“I wish they were here”, you whined like a little girl

“I know, I know”, he whispered against the top of your hair

“I would give everything”, you insisted, like he was the god of death capable of doing such exchange

“I know”, he repeated softly, “they are ready for you, my sweet queen, it’s time… to make everyone proud up there, to shout to all corners of the seven kingdoms, that you, the last dragon, are still here, in honor of your mother, and your older brother”, you barely nodded, finally raising your head to look at him

“To tell all those sons of bitches that the blacks won. and you are alive and well, and they lost…”, you smiled as you wiped your tears. “I’m going to be there, by your side, or behind you, wherever you need me, i’m here…”

You needed him, Cregan realized, and not only to help you rule the kingdom, no, you needed him in a more intimate way… you were only a young woman, who lost everything, he had agreed to marry you, appealing to the power both of you held, but he could tell, that was not enough, in the intimacy you were both going to have, you were going to need more

So he leaned in, and kissed you

Just a peck, on the lips, as he held you softly by the face, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, you leaned in gently, softly, and when you parted, he could see it in your eyes

In your still innocent eyes

You needed more from him…

You needed a husband, and a protector, a defender, a champion, a knight in shining armor…

And he was going to pick up that mantel

When Cregan stood up and give his back to you to open the door and start the procession, you touched your lips that were still warm, and smiled gently

Your first kiss… your first real kiss…

Cregan turned back to you and offered you his hand, you took it without thinking.

He had proved once again you could lean on him with ease, he was not going to turn on you, or judge you, or tell anyone… from this day forwards, he was in this with you, by your side… as your partner, as your King consort and Hand, as your husband in a few weeks, as your everything

The very thought frightened and excited you at the same time

He released you as soon as you came into the hallway, but you walked side by side, in complete silence, towards the throne room

The great doors were closed, and he looked at you intently

“I will take place by the throne, you will enter alone”, you barely nodded, “are you alright?”

“Yes”, you said shortly, he only nodded in turn, and he left you to enter the ceremony through one of the side passageways.

You just looked at the detail of the large wooden doors, playing with your fingers ahead of you

You were getting crowned, you were getting married soon, you were ruling a country because you were already of age… It was so many things… and you were alone at the top, with no senior to guide you, nobody you completely trusted… no… father or mother figure

Only Cregan

You took a long breath

You weren’t even nervous… you were longing to get this over with, your hands were sweaty and your feet already hurt for the shoes even though beautiful

Soon the music started, and the doors opened slowly, to reveal you to the room, people gasped and cheered for you, as you started walking slowly towards the end… towards…

The Iron throne

It was there, surrounded by spikes, melted swords of the enemies oft he house of the dragon

The cause of such bloodshed

The cause of the annihilation of your family.

All those plots… from the greens, all that coin and gold, armies, and at the end

You smiled widely

The blacks had won, you had won, your mother’s blood will sit on the iron Throne

Screw them

If you could, you would dance over his graves… if only there were enough remains of them to bury…

You climbed both steps of stone before the throne, as discussed, and you turned to the people, a golden cape moving behind you

“Our new Queen!”, chanted Erryk

Your small council was there, the Grand maester brought, in a red velvet cushion, the golden crown of Jaehaerys The Old King

“With the crown of the conciliator, we crown you”, chanted the master of ceremonies, he took the crown, raised it for everyone to see, and then he turned to you and he placed it gently atop your head. It felt… good… the weight rather than bother you, it felt like it grounded you

“Queen (Y/N) of house Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm, the last dragon, the unkillable, and like your ancestor before you… the conciliator”, he said firmly

People applauded, cheered for you, as Cregan Stark moved forwards and took your hand softly, helping you up the treacherous steps until you sat on the Iron throne

The throne was cold and uncomfortable under you, but you sat straight, holding onto the arm rests softly

“Long live the Queen!”, he demanded of everyone, and again, they cheered and chanted your name for long minutes you thought were never going to end

After that was done, they paraded you to greet the people of Kinglanding that were gathered at the gates, with chants of your name, and everyone wanted to reach out to you…

There were so many people there, in the throne room, lords from houses you haven’t even heard of before, and the streets were packed, so packed, so many people screaming, reaching for you.

It came out of nowhere, you lost your footing, but before you could collapse, Creganw as there to grab you from your waist.

“The Queen, and future King consort of the Seven Kingdoms, Lord Cregan Stark!”, presented Eryk and then the people really lost it, screaming in delight, as the lords gasped behind you inside the walls of the Red Keep

Soon the doors to the exterior closed, and you were again inside the safety of the castle, With Cregan by your side, grabbing you by the waist.

“The marriage will take place in a week”, said Cregan to the new founded court, and everyone clapped once again, some of themes haring looks of concern amongst one another

Then he looked at you

You haven't discussed this, not at all

He had made that decision for you

You didn’t know what to think or feel

“So soon?”, you asked when you had him by your side, in the banquet for the celebration of your coronation

“Yes, everyone is here”, he said gently, “there had been rumors… of me… of us, gathering at late hours, I think is better to do it as soon as possible”, he said gently, you barely nodded

You had barely turn ten and eight a few moons ago, alone, trapped in your room

You took a shaky breath

Yes, you needed to get married, but you never thought it was going to be this soon! You talked about it, you understand the need, and that night when you summoned Cregan to your rooms, you knew it was happening

But one week?

You only stole looks at Cregan and you nodded, you then turn to your left, to your baby brother, who smiled softly at you, but the smile, just like yours, didn’t quite reach his eyes

He had seen so much

You too

Aegon didn’t even let you cover his eyes when he had his dragon eat your mother alive before your very eyes, and his eyes

Your brother was traumatized for life and there was nothing you could do to help him

One time, a few days ago, you tried to take him flying with you…

You had to hide the claw marks he left in your arms. He had scratch you to release him, in the midst of screeches and cries as soon as he saw your dragon in the distance

He was terrified of them now

“What’s on your mind?”, you heard Cregan ask beside you, you barely looked at him

“My baby brother”, you confessed, there was no point in lying

You looked around the room and you found all of the great houses dining and feasting, all of them but two

The Hightowers and the Velaryons

You took a long breath

Corlys as Baela had requested audiences with you, and you had denied them

You didn’t hate Baela, nor Rhaena, she had a dragon egg now… but…

It was bitter

You had lived with them since you were about ten, when your mother married Daemon, they were, for some time, your step-sisters, and even that, they were… your aunts? you didn’t even know…

But seeing them got you a bittersweet sentiment, perhaps because they were the survivors of all this madness, alongside with you… but the truth you would admit to yourself late at night… is that you would have traded them for your brothers anyday

You were resentful, that they were the ones to survive and not your siblings…

They had a life ahead of them, a grandfather that literally killed a King for them, to guide them and protect them

A man that betrayed your mother

She had grown resentful and paranoid, yes, but he turned his back on her when she needed him the most

You didn’t believe you could forgive him.

You were not a Velaryon, not by blood, and now, that you become Queen, not by name either… he never treated you as one, so that was it

You wanted to keep him at arm’s length

But you didn’t even realized… that there was another house absent front he festivities

You were glad to see the capital boasting with life, like the days of old, like when you wee young and you were living in the good days of your grandfather King Viserys

A tourney had been organized, as competitions and festivities, and even though you found it dreadful, there you were… granting so many favoors you had your ladies and even servants braiding new ones each hour….

Perhaps all the knights in there, at least, most of them, asked for your crown of red roses and dark green leaves and golden feathers.

At the end, you were crowned the Lady of Love and Beauty by the winner, a Knight from the Vale. You watched your small council closely, and they all seemed pleased

Telling constantly how much the people were taking to you, how much they loved you even

Their new, young, beautiful Queen

The bards were singing songs about your beauty and your strength, no doubt they had been paid handsomely to do so

You felt… powerful

You sat in the most dangerous yet important seat of the realm, you had the last grown dragon on earth.

You felt good, in control… until…

Until the day of your wedding.

Cregan had not accepted a marriage in the Sept, he did not follow the faith of the seven, and neither did you, so you accepted to be married in the godswood, by the heartree

It was going to create controversy, the small council said

But fuck the faith, the seven pointed star, and the heraldry that replaced all the dragons in the capital thanks to Alicent fucking HIghtower, and that you had already commanded to replace back to the likeness of your own dragon, and the three headed dragon of your house

You were waiting for one word, one revolt, one bad new from the citadel to burn it to a crisp… luckily, it had been none

You thought they knew it as well, that you were looking for an excuse to do the same thing Maegor the cruel did

So the day of your wedding came quickly.

And as the maids braided your hair in a Northerner style, then, you felt nervous. Truly, nerve wrecking nervousness makes your hands shake.

You were about to be married… to Cregan Stark

A rough, authoritative man,a handsome and strong man, a man who was going to go back and forth and leave you for months at a time, perhaps years, but…

“Everything is going to be alright”, murmured the sweet maid, one that had served you since you were a child, manage to survive the Greens, she smiled at you through the mirror

“Thank you”, you whispered

“He is a kind man, and I have no doubt he will care for you”, she said with a complacent smile, and you only smiled widely

“I know he will”

“If you’d allow me, your grace… your mother would have been proud”, she said then, and that brought tears to your eyes

“Thank you”, you cried with a smile on your face

You had married an entire continent last week, promising to give your life in service to the crown and the countries that were under your reign, and now… you were going to give your body… to another

To a man

Septas had taught you what you needed to know -according to them- about marriage, of how a woman must serve her husband, about you had to lay on your shared bed and let him do what he needed to do, bed you, breed you, how it was a woman’s job to have his husband’s children and heirs…

Of course you were nine at the time, your mother when she found out dismissed the Septa, fought hard with Alicent, saying that over her dead body she was going to allow the Old Queen to take charge of your education ever again

That was fun to watch, scary, but fun, to see your mother so protective and angry

And then you discovered “how babies were made”, by not by your mother in a nice chat or anything really, you discovered it the funny way, with your brothers and stepsisters, sneaking off the Castle in Dragonstone and going to the town, following soldiers to pleasure houses, then you were thirteen

And then stealing racy books from the library

But this was no time to think about that

You stood up, already dressed, your hair done, no much jewelry, only a nice beautiful white dress, yes it was the wedding of the Queen, but you had been celebrating your coronation for a week now, the Kingdoms had just been through a gruesome war, it was not fair, for them, for you to spend so much

Your wedding, a banquet afterwards, and baskets filled with food that were to be distributed through the streets of King’s Landing

And Cregan… well

He was nervous as well, more like, getting it over with already…

The sooner you settled in, with the throne and in your marriage, the better

He fixed the silver velvet vest on him, and the large gold chain they had made him wear, it was a warm day, and his pants, he felt them too tight, as he was waiting for you in the Godswood. Was he doing the right thing?

He was going to be in the depths of one of the things he hated the most…

Politics

When he gathered his army and marched south in search of “justice”, this was not what he expected, to the the second most powerful person in all the realms

It was a constant thought, he never, in a million years, would hope he was going to end up here, waiting for…

He raised his head when they announced you

There you were

All his doubts disappeared

You looked… breathtakingly beautiful, positively godly

Not intimidating, like an empress of an old dynasty on the day of your coronation, now… you looked like the embodiment of a god of the waters or snow itself, made flesh… Dressed in a beautiful white dress, no much finery but only you, your hair arranged in a

Northerner way that made him smile. Now his pants were truly tight

Tyland Lannister was escorting you

As soon as he had you within grasp, he grabbed your hands and accommodated you by his side, facing his commander of his army, an old man from house Mormont.

“Who comes before the old Gods on this day?”, asked the tall man

“(Y/N), of House Targaryen”, presented Tyland, with his deep voice, summoning complete silence from everyone present. “She comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn, and noble. She comes to beg for the blessing of the Gods, who is here to claim her?”, he asked almost defiantly, looking at Cregan, who took a step forward

“I Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I come here this day before the gods, to claim this lady, who gives her away?”, he asked

“I, Tyland Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, and Warden of the West”, he said firmly, releasing you right next to Cregan, you both looked at him and smiled, and then turned to the man presiding the ceremony

“My lady, (Y/N) of House Targaryen, do you take this man?”, he asked

“Yes”, you answered, it came more gently than you expected, “I take this man”, you said loudly and almost enthusiastically, and you felt people chuckling, and bit your lip, embarrassed. But the man presiding the ceremony smiled at you, and your now husband, grabbed your hand in his big one

“So Cregan Stark, take your wife, Lady (Y/N) now, of House Stark”, he said, and Cregan was on you in a second, he cradled your face in one of his hands, you looked up at him and your eyes met his, just for a second before you closed them since he leaned in and trapped your lips into his. You tried to relax into the kiss, your second kiss ever, with now your husband

Those closest, members of courts and Lords and Ladies from the noblest houses applauded, the gardens filled with all of them, you separated from Cregan and greeted them

“My beautiful lady wife”, he whispered in your ear, making you smile at him

Gods he was handsome, especially with hat devilish smile

And you were married to him

Despite your secret wishes, the day went incredibly fast, and before you knew it, you were being led to your chambers… not the King’s… meaning yours, but others… Cregan’s… tonight, you were not a Queen, but a lady wife, the way it was supposed to be

The small council, and others Lords and Ladies followed you closely, but as soon as you were inside the room, Cregan stood up, shielding you from them

“Out”, he demanded, surprising you

“But my lord… the bedding ceremony…”, stammered Tyland

“I don’t care”, he said, and you then stepped out…

“No bedding ceremony”, you said firmly, and that was enough for them to leave you alone

Alone with your husband…

You looked at him nervously, he turned softly, to look at you.

You looked around in turn, recognizing these rooms immediately, these were the rooms Cregan was using now, but before they belonged to…

He moved slowly, his eyes on you, you looked back at him

“If this marriage is going to work, I need to make something very clear”, he said seriously, he came at you quickly, and grabbed you, his hand was so big against you that with only one he placed it at the side of your neck and face, he grabbed you softly but decisively, and make you look at him, “out there, you are the Queen, but here? inside this room? as soon as you step inside, you are mine”, he growled, and he smirked when he saw your pupils enlarged, “you are my dutiful lady wife, mine to command, mine to guide, mine to bed, mine to breed, am I clear?”, he asked with an authoritative voice that made your legs shake, you nodded, your eyes not leaving his, but they betrayed you. You were a bit scared of his words. He caressed your cheek, “mine”, he said, this time more softly, “mine to cherish, mine to care for, mine to love, mine to make love to…”, your eyes shined with excitement then and you smiled brightly at him

“Love?”, you asked as you were a little girl

“Would you like all those things?” He asked, his playfulness and rough eyes returning to him as he made you tilt your head back slightly. You managed to nod

“Your words, my love”

“Yes Cregan”, you whispered

“Inside this room, I’m your Lord husband”, he commanded severely

“Yes my lord husband”, you corrected quickly

“Good girl”, he leaned on and trapped your lips on his on a fervent kiss, you were barely able to catch up, the third time you had kissed Cregan… this time was different, this time, there was nothing to prevent you from… escalating the kiss

“Do you want to consummate the marriage now?”, he asked, and you barely nodded, “your words wife”

“yes husband”, you barely said, looking into his eyes, he only smile, but didn’t kiss you again, his lips instead, traveled south

You moaned softly, feeling his lips suck on a very tender spot in your neck

“In this room, we are husband and wife only, only us, two people, joined for life”

“Only us”, you whispered, with expert hands, he undoed your dress, letting it fall to the floor, he even undressed himself, as you didn’t even know where to start. He didn’t push you, he did all the work, as you were so nervous, terribly nervous.

He laid you on the bed covering you with his large body.

He kissed everywhere he could reach, he caressed your skin, making you shiver, moan, and spread your legs even further for him… You didn’t even know someone else could make you feel like this…

You tried to caress him in turn, his upper arms, his shoulders, his side, his mouth returned to yours, as his fingers worked you open for him…

The voice of the septa wouldn’t stop resounding in your head… you laid there, let him do his things, you wouldn’t know what to do anyways… and in turn… he made you feel the most exquisite pleasure… that you had never felt before…

When he entered you, you dropped a few tears from the sudden and sharp pain, but then, after he soothed you and gave you time to adjust to his size… he fucked you slowly, delicately, gently, holding you in his arms, and kissing all over your face and neck

You could tell he was holding up… from doing more things to you… but if only that night, he was exactly what you needed.

taglist!

@lyannesworld @tremendouswolfsaladranch @unlesshouse @mimsie95 @ostricx @amelia262006 @marihoneywk @ahristata @happinessinthebeing @dd122004dd

@lyannesworld @aestmilky @lightdragonrayne @delaynew @mxtokko @stargaryenx @lightdragonrayne @delaynew @mxtokko @good-night-starlight @yentroucnagol @beebeechaos @brakingboundaries

#misguidedhour #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x oc #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan #house targaryen #house stark #hbo house of the dragon #house of the dragon #targaryen!oc #targaryen!reader

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heliads · 2 years ago

Note

whilst requests are open I have an idea to put forth after years of us discussing this man. Harry Hook x reader based on 'the way I loved you' by taylor swift. Childhood friends to lovers, to strangers to lovers again mayhaps? idk babes. Love you though, I hope your requests don't get out of hand again so you can stay stress-free!

eva i love you for sending this in, please let me talk about harry hook. he's insane and i cannot get enough of him

masterlist

You are lying on your bed in a dorm room in Auradon Prep, and if you close your eyes, you can almost convince yourself that you’re somewhere else entirely. Your roommate hung a lantern in the window, and with the glass pane cracked halfway, the light sways back and forth on the ceiling, painting shifting golden silhouettes on the perfectly painted ceiling. If you let the present world fade into the corners of your consciousness, you can pretend there are flaws in the endless pristine magnificence. You could even pretend that you aren’t on the continent at all.

No daughter of a princess should ever be anywhere but in Auradon. That’s the way it should have been, but you ran the second you got the chance and ended up amongst criminals and sons of thieves instead of with other prettily polished girls. Is it a terrible thing to admit that you miss it more than anything?

You shouldn’t, that’s the worst part. You left them willingly. As time passes, though, you’re starting to think that what you thought was one great fight with the so-called lowlifes of this world might have been the greatest time of your life. It’s like fording a raging river; while you’re in the thick of the waves, you think you might drown, but when you’re safe on the dry shore again, all you can think of is the coolness of the water, how the flood had sparkled like a thousand sapphires.

You shut your eyes and then you’re back again, just a kid, happier than you’ve ever been and twice as free. It had been easy to leave, actually, easier than it should have been. In your family, there were enough siblings and cousins and relatives that just one girl could go unnoticed. It’s not that Ariel intentionally tried to blur all of her daughters together in her memory, but it couldn’t be helped. She was one of seven daughters, and you were one of many as well. It wasn’t her fault, no, but it was your excuse anyway.

It turns out that nobody bats their eyes at a mermaid’s daughter when she’s running headlong towards the surf. You dove into the waves and came up to shore miles away. Your mother was terrified of losing any one of her children to the endless sea just as her father lost her to land, so none of you were allowed to stray that close to the beach. Of course you would see how far you could go the second you were unsupervised. Of course you would push the limits just to learn where you would break.

You ended up scaring the daylights out of a boy in a small sailing craft not far from the limits of the Isle of the Lost. You hadn’t meant to go that far, but you were giddy with the feeling of doing something wrong and he was trying to escape as well. He’d offered for you to hitch a ride with him so long as the wind was good. You thought that suited you well enough, so you took the hand he gave you and listened when he introduced himself as Harry Hook.

He said his name the same way you did, emphasis on the first name and not the last. It’s the exact opposite way any child of a prince or princess does, and you think that might have been why you liked him from the start. The sun shone overhead, and you talked to him about running away and taking to the sea and all the things you wanted to do if you just had time.

Neither of you wanted to leave, not really, but of course all good things have to come to an end at some point. You watched the sun sink lower and lower in the sky with all the dread of a doomed man going to the gallows. You must have looked seriously unhappy, because you remember Harry laughing and saying that you could meet him tomorrow, if you wanted. You wanted that more than anything, as it turned out, so you eagerly agreed.

Harry took you as far as he could towards Auradon again, and watched as you dove into the water. You can still remember how he’d watched you go, the way his eyes had tracked the water as if he could look at you forever, even after you disappeared from view. He stayed there for a long time before finally forcing his ship to turn around again. You’d know; you stayed there on the ocean floor watching him back until he was gone.

The next day, you slipped away to meet him again, and the next day, and the next. When you were caught trying to go out to the sea sometime in the second month, you fought until you could find a suitable excuse. Your mother was perfectly fine to let you go to some private school by the coast, it would mean one less child to keep track of. The papers were signed and agreements made before you could so much as blink.

You, of course, never went to that school. Instead, you showed up on Harry’s ship just like usual and told him that you wouldn’t be going back. Harry had been talking about a friend of his, Uma, and how she was forming a crew of her own larger pirate ship. You wanted in, and he couldn’t be more delighted to take you home.

You think you replayed the memory of him introducing you to Uma about a thousand times over in your head, and you’ll do it again tonight. The slats of the dock had been slippery under your feet, but you knew that so long as he was by your side, you would never once fall. Uma had looked at you questioningly, blue-green hair cascading down her shoulders, but Harry had hardly been able to tear his eyes away from you.

“This is Y/N,” he’d said, “she’s my friend.” He’d imbued the word with all the hope and grief and joy you could ever possibly attach to such an idea. Harry smiled as he said it, took your hand, let his eyes open comically wide so you’d know he was just joking when he mentioned that he’d jump overboard if Uma didn’t take you on.

Luckily for him, Uma had no problems with you. She saw something in you, the same sort of restless troublemaking spirit the rest of them had in spades. Before you knew it, you were quite literally learning the ropes of how to help out on Uma’s ship.

From there on out, everything was perfect. You watched the sun rise and set from the deck of a ship you could call home. When the weather was good, you spent all night and day out in the grasp of the world, and when the storms raged on, you hid belowdecks with the best friends you’d ever had. They wanted you, not your mother in a younger form, but you. Just you. It was wonderful.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that you would end up falling in love with Harry. You were hurtling towards that fate as fast as you could, running and sprinting towards the inevitability of it all. No one compared. No one had half as much influence over you as him. And, when he finally managed to tell you how he felt, you thought you might be able to take over the entire world with the sheer force thrumming through your veins.

Perhaps you should have taken that as a warning. The universe doesn’t care much for happy endings, you’ve learned, even for its fairytale heroes. Princesses grow old and fade into obscurity. Princes forget how to save the day. Villains live out their days with fantastic dreams that will never be achieved. You learn how to deal with adequacy, and pretend that it is enough for you.

You loved Harry because he was wild, your untamed, brilliant boy, but then you hated him for it, too. Just once, you wanted to walk into a room and know what he was going to say before he said it. Every word from his mouth was a dagger in your chest. Some days, he was a hopeless romantic, others, he was mad and uncontrollable. He never hurt you, but at least the pain of a blow would be something you could depend on and understand.

Your mother tried to find you about a year or two after you took to the sea, and you used that as your excuse to break up with him. Harry found out you would be returning to Auradon at the exact same time as the rest of the crew. You think he might hate you for it still. You think he would have reason to hate you for a lot, actually, most importantly that you were never quite enough to match him.

So you slipped away from the ship with the worst kind of goodbye, one that you did not mean, and you never looked back. You greeted your mother and agreed when she said that it was time you took up your studies at Auradon Prep. You joined the endless number of would-be princesses and princes and pretended that it was all you had ever needed in life. If you woke up sometimes with the sound of waves crashing in your ears, or felt the steady rock of a ship beneath your feet as you dreamt, you ignored it. Such illusions only belong to the past, and they will never be yours again.

You still have a jacket of his in the corner of your room; you brought it all the way over here, anywhere you go. You never had the heart to give it back. You don’t know that you could if you tried. It still smells like saltwater and laughter and sun-bleached him, and you have absolutely no idea what you will do when that familiar scent fades.

Still, you weren’t able to completely erase his influence on you. Children of villains arrived at Auradon Prep, and instead of running away from them, you befriended them as quickly as you could. Mal thinks like you do, her and the rest. You laugh like them– not quite as polite as you should be, but loud and beautiful and real. You hang out with them all the time and, when they talk about how much they wish they were back on the Isle of the Lost, you lie to yourself that you do not agree.

You never told them the full scope of your exploits, but they know part of it, enough that one day Mal knocks at your door and tells you that she needs your help on a pirate ship. She needs to get something from the Isle of the Lost, a mysterious ingredient for a spell, but they have to keep it a secret so they can’t use the bridge. The next best option, then, is to sail. It’s not a far destination, so it would work.

A thousand memories of sun and surf flash through your head, and you find yourself agreeing before Mal can so much as finish trying to convince you to go along with her plan.

Mal blinks in surprise. “Really? You’re sure? I thought you would have mixed feelings about that time in your life.”

You breathe out slowly, trying to calm yourself. “Certain things scare me more than others.” Certain people, that is.

Mal winces as she leads you out of your dorm and back into the hallway. “Actually, we might have a problem with that.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Mal casts you a nervous glance. “Before I continue, remember that you already agreed. I’m not letting you leave now.”

You laugh. “I’m starting to get worried. No, Mal, I’m not backing out. Just tell me already.”

Mal holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Never doubted you for a second. It’s just, well, we don’t have a ship at our disposal, obviously, so we’re borrowing one from Uma.”

You shrug. “I have no problem with that. Uma’s great.”

“Yeah,” Mal says, drawing out her syllables in an attempt to buy herself time, “but she insisted on having a skeleton crew present. You know, to make sure we wouldn’t run aground or something like that. That includes her first mate.”

Your head snaps up. “Harry’s going to be there?”

You can feel Mal’s gaze on you, but you refuse to look at her. Instead, you’re scanning the hallway, every door you pass, sure that he’s going to be waiting for you, leaning casually against a wall or peering out of a window or somewhere you could find if you just looked hard enough.

“He is,” Mal confirms, “is that going to be an issue?”

Yes. “No, I’ll be fine.”

You can’t really tell if Mal believes you or not, but then you’re rounding the corner and the rest of the VKs are in front of you, and the conversation must be dropped as Mal explains her plan. You’re going to join the four of them and Uma’s guys in piloting the ship over to the Isle of the Lost, where you’ll search for a talisman hidden somewhere on the island. Once the talisman is secured, you’ll head back. Easy as that.

Mal leads your group to a boathouse on the southern part of the shore. You take up a position in a corner of the room, hidden by the shadows. You suppose that’s why the pirates don’t see you immediately when they come in a matter of minutes later. You suppose you chose that place on purpose so you could get a good look at Harry without him seeing you.

He looks just the same. You don’t know why you thought he would change, that he would have to look different to explain how different you feel, but he’s the same. It makes a soft smile rise to your lips at the same time as the weight of all your memories pierces you through the heart.

Uma’s talking to Mal, doubt lacing her every word. “I hope you have a good idea of how to run a ship, because I don’t think any of your friends have the slightest clue what to do on the sea. That’s my territory, in case you forgot.”

“I know,” Mal says, temper just as strong as always, “that’s why I brought a friend.”

Harry arches a brow. “What friend?”

“That would be me,” you say, and step out of the shadows to face him.

For a moment, you swear that time stands still. Harry’s breath catches in his chest as he looks at you for the first time in months. He has never been one to show off weakness, always laughing off injury or claiming not to feel pain, but in this instant, you can see the shock lancing through his eyes, wracking his frame until he has no choice but to stand there and stare.

Uma breaks the silence, wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a grin. “Y/N, good to see you! I take it back, Mal. Y/N could captain a fleet of ships with her eyes closed.”

It’s easy, after that, to pull yourself together. Uma’s friendship is something familiar, a rock you can stand on. “I appreciate your confidence,” you reply, “good to see you too, by the way.”

“Of course,” Uma says dismissively, then adds somewhat unnecessarily, “Hey, Harry, look who it is!”

Harry swallows hard when Uma addresses him, tries to pretend he’s just like normal. “Yeah, I saw. Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey yourself,” you say quietly.

Evie looks at you nervously, then quickly speaks up. “So, should we get to the ship? We only have so much time before people start looking for us.”

Uma rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you guys are too popular, I get it. Ship’s docked outside.”

Harry takes this as his excuse to bolt out, and you watch him go with wide eyes. Evie heads over to you as soon as everyone’s attention is off you again. “Hey, is everything alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” you whisper back through gritted teeth. Of course it is a lie. You couldn’t be more affected by this.

You avoid Harry the entire duration of the trip over to the Isle of the Lost. It’s difficult, especially when you push off from the shore and the wind is on your face again and everything is just like you remember. You tug a few lines into place, tie them down with the knots he taught you, and race to the bow as soon as you’re free.

You forgot just how wonderful it is to sail. You laugh delightedly as the ship picks up speed, skipping over the waves as the wind snaps the sails almost to bursting. This close to the surface of the water, you can’t hear anything, but you sense something anyway, and that’s how you know to lean back up and look to your side to see Harry standing there, smiling as he takes in the sight of you.

Your laugh dries up in a moment and you feel frozen there, trapped in this moment with him. Someone calls your name a second later and you’re able to spirit away to safety, but you can still feel his gaze burning like a brand into your back every moment until the ship docks at the Isle.

Mal announces that you’ll be splitting up in pairs so you can properly canvas the island for the talisman. Before you can look at her or Evie, Uma suggests that you and Harry work together, and the rest are already partitioned into pairs before you can fight it.

Fine, then. You’re certain he’s put her up to this, but you won’t give him a scene if he wants it. Instead, you march resolutely towards your assigned location, and pretend that you’re just really invested in finding the talisman so you can’t hear him when he tries to talk to you.

Eventually, Harry has enough and puts his hand on your arm, trying to get your attention. You spin back around by reflex, dagger in hand and held to his throat before Harry can get so much of a word out. The Isle has always brought out a different part of you, more of a villain than any princess’ daughter.

Instead of looking afraid, Harry just laughs. Usually, this is the time at which you’d join in, but you narrow your eyes and hold strong.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he says when he’s finally able to get his laughter under control, “I don’t think your friends would like it very much if you killed someone on your little vacation to the island.”

You glare at him. “We’re not friends anymore, sweetheart, or have you forgotten that already?”

“When your knife is to my throat? Couldn’t forget that if I tried. Out of curiosity, why are we enemies again? I seem to remember you liking me very well just a couple of months ago.” Harry says, reaching up to tap your forearm where you still hold your blade.

You pull your dagger away but stand there still, thrumming with the urge to run. “We’re too different. You’re a villain, and I’m a perfect angel, obviously.”

Harry grins. “What, just because you’re the daughter of a princess? You’ve never let that come in between us before. You’re not Ariel, you’re Y/N, and I have always loved that about you.” Something like doubt flickers across his face. “Is that why you left? You thought you had to become more like her?”

You glance away from him, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. “I left because I had to. We weren’t working out.”

“Why not?” Harry asks, and suddenly he’s the one in control now, he’s the one stepping forward until your back hits the wall and you have nowhere to run, “What was so wrong with us, Y/N?”

Your hands are shaking. Harry takes the knife from you, carefully sliding it back in the holster on your side. His hands linger there a second longer, and when he finally takes them away, you can’t tell if you’re glad of it or deeply unhappy that you can no longer feel him.

“We could never work,” you insist.

“Why not?” He replies, “Show me we could never work. Prove me wrong.”

Harry Hook has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, just as unpredictable as the sea that both of you love, but somehow you know it’s coming when Harry leans forward and kisses you. For a moment, you consider pushing him away, and then you realize that you do not hate this, not him, not in the slightest, not at all.

Surrender is not the worst thing in the world. Sometimes it’s like the release of a sail to the wind, the acceptance that even though you let a person go, they will always come back to you. You surrender the last of your inhibitions and you kiss him back. It is everything you missed, the fighting and the laughing, the good times and the bad all in one. It is all that you love about him and more, what you didn’t realize you held most dear until you were gone.

Harry breathes quietly against your lips and you breathe back, one small circle of in and out and together. He grins, says, was that really so bad? And you laugh and tell him to shut up, so he does, but only by kissing you again. The island can wait, the talisman and the life waiting back for you at school. You have your boy back, and you could not care about anything else.

requested by @thatfangirl42, i hope you enjoy!

disney tag list: @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @/thatfangirl42, @amortensie

#harry hook #harry hook imagines #harry hook x reader #harry hook oneshot #descendants #descendants imagines #descendants x reader #descendants oneshot #disney #disney imagines #disney x reader #disney oneshot #descendants harry #descendants harry imagines #descendants harry x reader #descendants harry oneshot

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doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months ago

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Season 3 Masterlist

A/N: Published every Saturday at 3:00 PM CDT! Taglist is closed unfortunately, but requests are open!!!

The Magnificent Seven

The Kids Are All Right

Bad Day at Black Rock

Sin City

Bedtime Stories

Red Sky at Morning

Fresh Blood

A Very Supernatural Christmas

Malleus Maleficarum

Dream a Little Dream of Me

Mystery Spot

Jus in Bello

Ghostfacers

Long-Distance Call

Time Is On My Side

No Rest for the Wicked

Am I Making You Feel Sick? | A doctorbitchcrxft original

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consultingskeletondetective · 3 months ago

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Virginal, chapter 3

Michael is stalking you now, there's nowhere you can go to escape from the devil.

You just have to convince yourself to hate his visits, because you do... don't you?

masterlist ❤️🖤 ao3

chapter tags: serial killer, murder, death, violence, blood, gore, weapons, knife, female reader, non con, stalking, hair pulling, forced orgasms, choking, squirting

You’d become an anxious little creature.

Everywhere you went, you looked twice, constantly checking over your shoulder for something you couldn’t see. You were living behind yourself, because that was where he lurked.

It was nearly two weeks this time, fourteen days, since you’d last seen Michael Myers, since he’d broken into your home and destroyed your one place of refuge, where he’d laid you out on your living room floor, spread your legs and torn you apart as he’d torn apart innocent bodies across town - twenty-seven, now, by the way.

He fucked with the same unkind and uncaring ferocity that he killed with, gentle was not a word in Michael’s vocabulary. Not that he had a vocabulary at all.

You wore the remnants of his brand on your body. The bruises on your hips had yellowed out by now, and the deep bone ache in your thighs and pelvis had lessened to the point where you could walk and sit without limping and wincing, but you were still tender.

Used, your brain reminded you.

You’d had to lie to your co-workers, you’d pretended that you’d attempted an intense crossfit routine the day before and that was why you were sore and swollen and bow-legged, little did they know that the killer being discussed on the radio perched on the bar, the seven-foot goliath who was dwindling your local population like he was born to do it, was responsible for the devastation to your body.

Your boss had tried to send you home at first, but you’d refused - the last thing you needed was to be alone with your thoughts any longer than you had to be, sat on your threadbare sofa and staring at the patch of carpet that you’d stained with your own release when you’d come hard and dreadful on a murderer’s cock.

Though you tried your best to keep your mind blank of the memory, however, you often found yourself straying to it. You felt changed by the experience, somehow. Ruined, maybe.

You felt complicit in the gruesome murders your grisly bedmate had committed, like if he hadn’t have found you that night, then he would have moved on and no one would have died.

You knew it was stupid of you, a demonic beast like Myers couldn’t be stopped or swayed or persuaded, all you could do was run and hide and hope he didn’t find you. Why he’d taken such an interest in you was anyone’s guess.

You’d surmised, unconfirmed of course, because it wasn’t like you could fucking ask him, that Michael was a virgin. Was, you shivered.

It explained why he didn’t fuck you that first night, and why he’d investigated you so thoroughly on your living room floor. It made sense, the man - ghoul, demon, beast - had been institutionalised practically his entire life, now he knew what the long cock between his legs was for and he couldn’t get enough.

Why he’d come back for you, that’s when things began to make a little less sense. Perhaps he hadn’t realised yet that he could fuck literally anyone, that seemed silly, but you had no gage on Michael’s intelligence. He’d escaped, twice, and tracked you down, and evaded capture for nearly a month - but was that just down to brute strength? A lion tearing through a herd of gazelles that were unprepared and weak, you were all mere defenceless prey against whatever stronger mutation of life Michael was.

You couldn’t even entertain the idea that he might like you, it was absurd, and something you highly doubted he was even capable of. What were you, a speck? A nothing? And what was he? Magnificent. Terrible. Extraordinary. Your living nightmare.

You didn’t like thinking about what he thought about you, because it always led traitorously to what you thought about him. You hated him, obviously, he was a monster. He was your abuser. You’d accepted his presence in your life as some sort of inevitability, you had no way of stopping him. Except for contacting the police or luring him into some sort of trap, but was doing that just inviting some poor officer to his or her death? At least if you were quiet, the only one that died was you. It was a flimsy excuse, but it was all you had.

It was still light out when you left work that day, shucking off your apron and leaving it on the hook. It was only a small bistro pub where you worked, but it paid the bills and you enjoyed the friendly regular customers and the fast-paced working environment. It was especially useful lately. You said goodbye to your friends with a smile before pulling on your cardigan and slinging your bag over your shoulder.

The front of the bistro opened onto the town's high street, filled with other shops and people walking around and enjoying the afternoon, cars passed leisurely by and kids skipped, holding dog leads, chatting and laughing and arguing. A perfectly normal afternoon.

Michael was stood waiting across the street, directly in your line of sight as if he’d somehow known exactly where you would stop. His bone white mask and dark boiler suit stood out in stark contrast against the green trees of the small park behind him, tucked back a little behind the high street so that passerbys didn’t notice him.

But you did.

You shuddered in fear just at the sight of him, gripping the handle of your bag with a clammy hand. Your cunt twitched entirely without your consent.

You didn’t know what to do, feeling like you were in stalemate with the murderer, eyes locked on his fake ones as he stared at you, as still as marble, and making no attempts to move.

The first thought that popped into your head was to turn and head straight back into the bistro. There were too many people, customers and staff alike, for him to follow you without being caught. Once you were safely inside, you could call the police and end this once and for all. Surely he couldn’t kill that many people between then and now?

Your eyes hadn’t left him, but they did begin to waver as you noticed the people walking not five feet away from him, as if they were suddenly coming into sharp focus over the mist Michael made in your mind. They had no idea they were bypassing a murderer. If you turned and went back in, if you deviated from what Michael expected you to do, it would take nothing for him to yank anyone walking by, a child perhaps, behind the trees and bury his knife in their neck. You felt your eyes glisten just at the thought. If he followed you, which you highly suspected he would, then maybe no one would get hurt. No one except you.

You kept your bag clutched to you as if it could provide some sort of comfort as you turned and began walking shakily home. You knew he was following you from a distance, but every time you anxiously threw your head over your shoulder, he was nowhere to be found. That was the scariest part, that you couldn’t see him but you could feel him, your silent stalker, wearing you like a second skin.

You thrummed with fear, or anticipation, you didn’t know at this point. Was this the day you died?

Michael finally made himself known to you when your key slotted into the lock of your front door. It was a quiet street, most of your neighbours nine-to-fivers who hadn’t returned home yet, so no one saw him when he appeared like a shape from the mist.

You felt him before you saw him, his warm, rough hands on the tops of your arms and his solid front pressed against your back, caging you from behind and shoving you face first into the wood of the door. His mask was against the crook of your neck, that steady breathing in and out, in and out, breathing you in, sounding almost ragged in its metronome.

You could smell him, too, blood and fire and dirt, as if a scented map of where he’d been the night before. What he’d done. You shivered, trapped utterly within this killer's body and the stench of death.

“Michael!” You gasped out.

Perhaps he’d already been planning it, or maybe it was a lightning strike reaction to hearing his own name stuttered from your breathless mouth, that his hands surged forwards and wrapped around your hips, his fingers settling instantly into the thick grooves of your body that he’d left there for himself before.

You hissed immediately as pain coarsed through your body from your already abused hips. His breathing didn’t change, nor did the strength of his grip on you, instead he responded by sliding his large hand down your side and yanking until your jeans bit painfully against flesh, like he was trying to ruck your trousers down there and then against the door, right in the middle of the street.

“Michael, fuck, wait.” You gasped, wriggling against his tugging hands, already feeling and hearing your trousers rip at the waistband. It thrilled you as much as it scared you, how desperate he was, in his own stoic way. You could tell pretty well from the thick lines of his prominent cock pressed hard against your back.

You just managed to shove the door open before he fucked you against it, Michael’s body weight pressing against yours made you tumble inside, crashing painfully into the arm of the sofa and vaulting you over it.

His heavy breathing was like a lion’s pant as he crowded you again, you doubt he even lost his footing, looming over you from behind like a gargoyle. His hands curled under your thighs and shoved you up and over the couch and you squeaked in shock and discomfort as your thighs were forced over the arm of it, your face pressed into the couch cushions and your ass up and on display.

There was no exploring this time, no confusion or hesitation, there was just the rip of your jeans and the scorching heat of Michael’s thick fingers between your legs, searching for what was his. You were utterly breathless, he was insistent today.

His large fingers sank inside you, two at a time, right up to the knuckle. Your position with your back bent over the couch meant that his fingers were surging upwards, stretching you open with immediate pressure against your spongy walls. You gasped, your hips bucking against the intense sensation, away from the intrusion.

Michael didn’t like that.

His free hand came down hard on your hip, holding you like a brick would hold down a scrap of paper, rendering you utterly immobile as he twisted his meaty fingers disinterestedly inside you. He was playing with the vulnerable flesh of your core with the same ferocity he would crunch a bone, but your insides weren’t a bone, they were soft and pliable, vulnerable, and your mouth fell open and your hips tried to buck, for an entirely different reason this time, but they couldn’t. The helplessness overwhelmed you and the only thing your eyes saw were the back of your skull as Michael forced you to take him, prodding cruelly at that place inside you that soaked his fingers with your traitorous desire.

How did this killer give you more pleasure than anyone else you’d ever been with? How did those hands that killed bring you to life in ways you didn’t even know you could experience?

You moaned, soft and low, your head resting near-comfortably into the couch cushion. Michael’s fingers stilled inside you and you felt like you were dying, but you dared not move. The nightmare of stillness lasted mere seconds, his presence within you solid and heavy, before he was moving again and you gasped again, biting your lip to stop yourself from making any more noise. He didn’t seem to like that, but if he was truly angry with you, he wouldn’t have carried on, would he?

Michael pulled his fingers from you with an obscene squelch and you buried your face in the crook of your arms, wondering if he got some sick satisfaction from what he was doing to you. Maybe that was why he’d chosen you, because he could see the darkness in you that enjoyed what he did to you. Monsters together.

No, you ground your teeth together, you weren’t a monster, you were clutched in the claws of one.

Michael only had one hand gripping your already bruised hips, hard enough to bring tears to your eyes, and you shuddered in arousal when you realised where his other must be, gripping the base of his thick and burning erection as hs crown kissed at your seam, running up and down your sopping opening and making you clench desperately, your animal brain couldn’t wait another second to have his cock in you again even though you knew it would hurt, even though you knew it might kill you. Everything zeroed down to that moment when he forced himself into you, breaching you wide against his unforgiving length, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. The only thing that made sense to you.

You wailed desperately and gratefully, his cock sliding into you actually weighing you down to the arm of the sofa in its heft. Your feet kicked uselessly at his shins, your thighs spreading desperately around his thighs and oh yes, this was so much better. Michael sunk deeper into you immediately, until his clothed hips were pressed against your bare ass, then his mask was in the cleft of your neck again. If he’d not had his face covered, you would have been sharing the same breath. His weight was like a comfort blanket, warm and safe, but you knew it wasn’t, it was a body bag, killing you from the inside.

He kicked your ankles apart wider and you shrieked, the thin bone bending dangerously under his steel-capped boots. Your scream was muffled by the couch cushion but it turned into a continuous molten yell as his hips began that brutal, familiar pistoning, fucking up into you until you thought his huge cock was prodding at your spine.

The pain was a familiar ache now, blossoming inside you like a bruise, like a mouse not meant to take the cock of a tiger. You realised you were waiting for the moment his breathing sped up in your ear, like an ex boyfriend, but that never came. He was silent, stoic, fucking you like a machine whose only purpose was to plough you to stupidity. It made you throb and clench as your thighs were forced painfully against the hard arm of the couch but you just didn’t care. Stupid, indeed.

You felt so fucking good in your core, pleasure spiralling inside you like deadly spikes, sending ice-cold shivers through your nerves that were burnt out by each scorching line of Michael’s body against yours. He made you feel so much, too much, with the enormous length of his hard cock pulsing into your poor cunt again and again. The pink flesh of your seam was stretched white around his veined girth, the wet squelch of your whorish liquid spend lubing him up to go faster, harder, gliding into you.

You imagined what you must look like from the outside, his body dwarfing yours as each one of his hard thrusts scraped your couch across the carpet. If the wood of your floors was juddering, imagine what was happening to your insides, being pulverised like fresh meat.

Michael’s hand pushed up your spine, as if pushing the air out of you like a tube of toothpaste, until his fingers were curling around the back of your neck like the first night. It took you a moment, in your delirious haze, to realise that he was holding you down, in place, keeping you submissive. You gasped, pained and dizzy, you couldn’t understand why he was cutting off your air, holding you immobile, you weren’t struggling, you were being good -

Michael’s free hand tucked under your hip and pulled your ass flush against him, sinking him even deeper still inside you, before he began to pound you relentlessly. There was no space between you this way, just glorious, intense, delirious, inescapable pressure.

You yelped and surged forward from shock more than anything, trying desperately to expel this new, deep sensation, but the hand on the back of your neck rendered you utterly immobile.

You sobbed as he fucked your poor hole for all that it was worth, each brutal thrust of his hips sending electric shocks of pain and pleasure through you, lifting your feet fully off of the ground until you were being held up off the floor entirely by Michael’s cock inside you. The thought made you quiver with heat.

There was nothing in the room for a few long moments except for your muffled cries and his heavy breathing, and the squelch of desire quite literally between the pair of you. You felt yourself going hazy, your mouth fell open and drool soaked your cushion as any notion of holding back your orgasm this time went completely out of the window.

Your cunt clenched uselessly around him and your liquid release spurted around Michael’s cock so forcefully that he slipped out a couple of inches and lost his rhythm, cock nearly completely expelled from you with the intensity of it.

The hand on your neck squeezed painfully and you knew he was furious, fingers curling and gripping until he cut off your oxygen supply and you wheezed. The relentless pounding began again, aggressive this time, so deep in you there was no chance you’d push him out again, his front pressed so tight to your back that your lungs were crushed as forcefully as your windpipe.

The fingernails of Michael’s free hand dug viciously into the skin of your ass as if to anchor himself, and the pain combined with the dripping pleasure and you wailed, high pitched and helpless, as your hips bucked up and back uselessly, escaping or chasing, you didn’t know. You just fucking didn’t know.

The obscene stretch, the overwhelming fullness of his monster cock in your small little opening, the constant pressure against your sweet spot, and your rapidly deflating lungs, were making you hazy and humbled and delirious. Your eyes fluttered and your collapsed exhaustedly, even your pitiful attempts at breathing in seemed to have ceased.

Oh yes, your brain hummed, what a way to die.

Michael’s hips snapped forward and then stilled deep inside of you, you felt the hot heat of his erupting orgasm slathering your cervix and boiling you from the inside. His hands left your throat and you desperately sucked in air, half-mad with the live wires of electric pleasure surging through you.

Michael’s large hands clamped down on your hips, reigniting that familiar pain you were beginning to associate with him, as he held you utterly immobile on his coming cock. He was spearing you open with it, stretched wide and wrecked around his throbbing length, like the good, warm little hole that you were.

Your senses returned to you agonisingly slowly as air returned to your pained lungs, you became aware of your body - sore and stiff, and Michael inside you. He was still coming, you registered somewhat numbly, you could feel it spraying you like blood sprayed the walls when he went on a spree. It burned you the same.

You were sure your stomach was going to bulge with his seed, but of course that space was already taken by the bulbous head of his monster cock practically making a home for itself against the soft flesh of your belly. You reckoned if you could snake your hands beneath yourself, you’d be able to feel him.

All you could do now was shiver and spasm as you lied there and took it, feeling his cock with every involuntary spasm of your spent cunt. It was too much for your overworked nerves.

“Michael, please let me go.” You begged quietly, voice half-muffled by the cushion beneath you. “I can’t take it. Hurts.”

Michael was still impossibly hard inside of you, despite having just come, and either he didn’t hear you or ignored you completely as he kept you pinned firmly on his cock with the vice-grip of his hands, like he was enjoying himself too much to release you. You’re not going anywhere .

You didn’t even know why he was doing this, did he just like how warm and wet you felt? He wasn’t even moving, he was just rock solid against your core. Was he preparing to kill you?

You clenched, maybe from fear, or arousal, probably both, and your mouth curved and your back bowed in utter surprise as you vaulted over that edge again, liquid spend dribbling pitifully around the base of his length, stoppered by the sheer size of his cock.

Well, that’s embarrassing, you registered hazily, you just came on Michael Myer’s cock and he wasn’t even moving, you desperate slut.

Suddenly, Michael pulled himself free and you gasped as you felt the gush of warmth as your come sprayed out onto him, your cheeks burning in glorious release and embarrassment alike. You couldn’t gauge Michael’s reaction because he didn’t give you any time to. In a matter of seconds of hearing your own squirt hit the carpet jesus christ, Michael had flipped your small frame onto your back.

You saw him, sweet god you saw him, his boiler suit was unzipped but still shrugged over his shoulders so you could see nothing beneath, his white mask was staring sightlessly down at you, but a pair of very human, if deadly, looking hands curled under your knees (you didn’t know why that ignited something white hot and molten inside you) and hauled your ass up onto the arm of the sofa, bringing your core level with his. Michael held your legs, which looked positively tiny in his calloused hands, against the brickwork of his chest, sliding his fat cock right back home again.

Your eyes fluttered and your shoulders shook, thighs quaking in his hands from oversensitivity of the stretch and the burn you couldn’t handle yet utterly craved. God, you were fucked.

Michael didn’t wait, not even for a second, before he began to build up that pace again. His hips pistoned until they became a jackhammer, his hands under your knees bringing your useless and spent body down onto his cock as much as he was fucking forward into you. Your head was tipped back, your hands scrabbling for anything and latching into the cloth of the couch as the delicious rubbing against your walls had you seeing stars.

“Michael-” You tried weakly, wincing as your cunt contracted and flooded him again, orgasm-loosened and pliant and sending waves of endorphins and exhaustion through your body. “I can't-”

You lost your words, you were coming again, uncontrollably, blushing when you could feel how wet you were, how you’d soaked the front of his boiler suit, you could feel it in every squelch. A part of you that your fuck-drunk brain allowed through liked the way you were almost marking him as he marked you, that he’d have something to remember you by when he inevitably left you again. Or killed you.

Michael didn’t care, he seemed as unaffected as always, but his hips sped up just as you came, as if enjoying the challenge of fucking you mercilessly through your abortively clenching walls, or maybe he enjoyed the tight grip, the vice-like milking of his cock.

Michael didn’t make a sound as he stilled, pumping you with his seed again, boiling hot and excessive like he was just producing this stuff. You could hardly believe it.

He softened a little after the second orgasm and you breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t react as his cock slipped freely from your absolutely drenched opening, too wet and fucked open to hold anything in. He didn’t move back any either, nor did he release his grip on your legs that was making you shiver, he just let his cockhead rest thick and twitching against your clit, his half-hard cock still lazing coming on your folds and dribbling down obscenely to join the wet heat that, you realised with scarlet and shameful cheeks, was beginning to drip from your ruined hole.

Michael dropped your legs and stood back, his cock hanging heavy and spent and swollen between his legs from his twin orgasms and you knew then he wasn’t human, not now, he was something else.

Your exhausted head hit the cushion beneath you but you sort of just left your legs hanging in the air for the time being, you knew your muscles would be sore and pulled and you just couldn’t face that right now.

You could feel yourself begin to disassociate as you looked up at the cream paint of your living room ceiling, feeling the tears leaking from your eyes.

You’d played this game before. Michael would leave, the beast having had his fill, until he wanted you again, whether that was days or weeks or even years, you didn’t know. You’d dread the day he returned and you’d miss every single second he wasn’t inside you.

You heard his measured albeit heavy footfalls on your carpet and you didn’t turn your head, you didn’t want to watch him leave.

Then, rather unexpectedly, thick and wet fingers were tangled in your hair and yanking your head to the side with enough force to make something pop that probably (definitely) shouldn’t have.

You hissed in pain, eyes widening when you were greeted with Michael’s thick cockhead pressing against your lips and you had no time at all to ponder before he shoved the whole thing cruelly down your throat.

You coughed and screamed as you felt the skin of your throat tearing as he shoved himself deep into your oesophagus. Your nose was tickled by the dark pubic hair at the base of his cock.

You thought you might pass out, from the pain and the cock so thick and deeply jammed down your throat that no oxygen could fit around him.

He didn’t fuck your throat like you expected him to, he just held your head immobile on him, watching down on you almost expectedly as you spluttered around his rude and painful intrusion.

Your survival instinct kicked in and you did the only thing you could think of, and began to lap desperately at the underside of his cock with the flat of your tongue. He didn’t move or react in any way except to keep his gaze level down on you, his hand strong and unmoving against your scalp. He didn’t hurt you or pull you or shove you, which you took to mean you were doing the right thing, so you continued.

You could feel your eyes welling with tears and your vision going hazy as you choked on him, but still your tongue lapped at him, tasting his flesh, his come, and, shamefully, yourself too. A needy whine ripped itself from your stuffed lips before you could stop it.

Michael ripped free from you then, it was harsh and immediate, and when you coughed and spluttered, your spittle-slicked chin was shining with red. Your throat was on fire but you could still taste Michael there.

He let your hair go but you kept your head turned, watching as he tucked his wet, but now clean, cock back into his boiler suit and zipped himself up, readying himself to perform his usual nightly activities.

Your whole body was shaking as you watched him, used, devastated, he didn’t look at you.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked hoarsely.

He didn’t answer you, he didn’t even look back as he walked into your kitchen, probably from memory of where the back door was. You heard the door opening and shutting and then you felt nothing but your own company in the house.

After the eerie presence of Michael over your shoulder all afternoon it felt kind of lonely.

You stared up at the ceiling as the tears and blood and spit dried on your face, and suddenly you didn’t feel so sorry for Michael’s victims, not the same way you had before.

They didn’t know the living hell it was when he kept you alive.

link to chapter 4

#virginal #skeleton_detective #michael myers #Halloween #michael myers x reader #fanfiction #pls read the tags #dark fic #multi chapter

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aphroditelovesu · 9 months ago

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⸻ The Lost Queen - XI ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy.

— pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader, yandere!generals x female!reader.

— word count: 2,268.

— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @silmawensgarden, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23.

— the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 11

In agitated and pulsating Babylon, life flowed incessantly, without pause for rest. Its inhabitants were driven by an inexhaustible energy, immersed in different activities that filled their days. Under a sky permeated with seduction, the city exuded an irresistible charm, conquering all who dared to cross its limits. And in the midst of this frenzy, the Hanging Gardens stood majestically, silent witnesses to the magnificence and beauty of the city.

The city's famous Hanging Gardens not only added beauty to the urban scenery, but also aroused admiration in everyone who looked at them. It was said that it was one of the Seven Wonders and that it should be worshiped.

The story of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon was even more fascinating.

A long time ago, in ancient Babylon, the powerful king Nebuchadnezzar II reigned. He ruled firmly, but also had a sensitive heart for the beauty and well-being of his people. However, his wife, Queen Amytis, felt a deep nostalgia for her homeland, the lush mountainous region of Persia, where gardens were abundant.

To gladden the queen's heart and create a grand gift, King Nebuchadnezzar II ordered the construction of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Built into a magnificent structure of raised terraces, these gardens were designed to recreate the exuberance and serenity of Persian gardens amidst the hustle and bustle of the city.

The architects and engineers worked tirelessly, bringing to life a true verdant paradise in the heart of Babylon. Using an intricate network of water channels and irrigation systems, they managed to flow water from the depths of the Euphrates River to the highest terraces, nourishing the exotic plants and leafy trees.

When the Hanging Gardens were finally completed, they became a breathtaking spectacle for all who beheld them. The terraces were adorned with a dazzling array of fragrant flowers, fruit trees and lush greenery, creating a haven of peace and beauty for their beloved Queen.

It was a beautiful city, with a rich and vivid history. It would be a shame if the city fell into the hands of the savage Macedonians. The Persians believed that if the city fell into enemy hands, then the entire Empire would be doomed.

Darius knew this, he was more aware that if something happened to the city, everything would be lost. His defeat in the last battle had already been crushing, he could not be defeated again.

The Persian King sighed, frustrated and sat down on the chair in front of the table full of maps. He poured some wine into his glass and drank it, rubbing his temples irritably. He would have to do something quickly about this or risk losing everything.

The tent flap was opened and Darius frowned when he saw his detestable relative, Bessus. The man smiled mischievously and approached his King.

"You look terrible." Bessus commented, as he took a seat in front of Darius and grabbed some wine for himself.

Darius didn't respond, just drank his wine.

One side of Bessus' mouth quirked up and he chuckled, "You look tense."

"I am tense." Darius grumbled, adjusting his posture. He could never show himself weak in front of this relative of his.

"I can see that," Bessus murmured, stroking his black beard, "Maybe you need some good news."

Darius looked up and looked at Bessus, curious.

"Ah, have I piqued your interest?" Bessus laughed.

"Say it at once."

Bessus placed the glass on the table and smiled like a predator, "Our friend, Alexander, recently got married."

Darius raised his eyebrow, clearly interested in where this conversation was going.

"A certain (Y/N), from what the spies told me."

(Y/N)? It was a different name, one he didn't remember ever hearing.

"And who would this be (Y/N)?" Darius asked, placing the glass on the table.

"Someone who can be useful to us." Bessus licked his lips, as if savoring the idea. Darius stopped himself from shuddering.

"And how could she be useful? She's just his wife."

"That's why, my King. She's his wife and from what I've heard, he seems to care a lot about her. I've heard rumors that he almost killed his own General because of her."

Darius thought. Maybe she could be of help after all. If Alexander really cared so much about her, there would be an advantage.

"And from what my spies are saying, she could be pregnant." Bessus said, rubbing his hands together.

"And what do you suggest I do with this information?"

Bessus laughed darkly, "Bring her to us, Darius. I have spies ready to infiltrate the Macedonian camp, one word from you and she will be brought to us."

Darius didn't like the idea of kidnapping a pregnant woman, but these were desperate times. He could not suffer another humiliating defeat to Alexander. These were war times, after all. And all is fair in war.

Darius nodded hesitantly, "Do it."

Bessus smiled widely and stood up, turning his back to Darius.

"Bessus," Darius called in a serious, lethal voice, "Don't hurt her."

Bessus nodded, "I won't."

As Bessus exited his tent, Darius sighed loudly. He wasn't sure what he had ordered, but he knew it was too late to reverse it. He could not show weakness in front of his soldiers. Not now.

He needed to relax and so he called a name, "Bagoas."

Darius didn't even blink when the eunuch appeared in front of him and began to remove his overcoat. He needed this to clear his mind about what he was about to do.

The women looked terrified.

You felt sorry for the Persian women, the captives. It was obvious what would happen to them and you felt sick to your stomach just thinking about their possible fate. Although Alexander had prohibited rape, it was inevitable.

You would have to talk to him about it. It was unacceptable and since you were the Queen, you would have something to say about it.

You watched the Persian royal family carefully. After Darius's defeat at the Battle of Issus, he left his mother, wife and daughters behind. You already knew this story and couldn't help but be curious as you watched the women.

You were next to Hephaestion and Alexander, who were also watching the women carefully. At least these wouldn't suffer a bad fate.

Not now, at least.

The oldest of the women, who you immediately recognized as Sisygambis, the mother of Darius, approached Hephaestion and fell at his feet, prostrating herself and begging for mercy.

You bit back a laugh when you saw how Hephaestion's eyes widened in surprise.

"Please, Grand King, I ask that you spare my granddaughters..." The woman muttered, as she still had her face lowered in her hands on the floor of the tent. Hephaestion muttered something under his breath and looked desperately at Alexander.

Sisygambis turned pale when she realized her mistake, fearing that she had offended the King by mistaking him for a mere general.

Alexander decided to say something, "Don't worry, mother. He's also Alexander."

You held back a laugh when you heard the well-known words of Alexander the Great. It was like watching a movie in first person.

Alexander turned to you, "And here is my wife and Queen, (Y/N)."

You blushed a little at being called that. It was still strange and you were sure it would take a while to get used to being called that.

Straightening your posture, you smiled gently at the women, who watched you carefully. With a calm and serene tone of voice, you greeted them, ''It's a pleasure and an honor to meet you.''

Sisygambis smiled and nodded at her granddaughters, who bowed at you.

You waved your hands, "No, no. Don't worry about it, it's not necessary."

They seemed a little disoriented and confused, but they respected your request. Alexander seemed satisfied and began talking to the women.

You didn't pay much attention when you felt a wave of nausea. You bottled it up and held firm, but you knew full well what that could mean.

After your wedding night a few weeks ago, you continued to share a bed with Alexander a few times and, obviously, there were no contraceptives available and a very high chance of you being pregnant was plaguing you.

You didn't know what you were supposed to think about this. Having children had never been a goal of yours, sure, you had thought about it before, but the idea of actually expecting was scary.

You considered yourself too young to be a mother and the current scenario definitely didn't help. By the gods, you were more than two thousand years in the past, married to one of the greatest conquerors in history and possibly pregnant.

It all seemed like a very bad joke.

And there are still conflicts to be resolved. Cleitus had recovered well and an understanding between him and Alexander was made, it seems, the General forgave Alexander for trying to kill him and everything would return to normal between them. There was tension between the generals over this, but it seemed like everything would be fine.

Thanks to Hephaestion's diplomatic skills.

And there was the matter of Perdiccas.

You sighed just thinking about him. You hadn't spoken in weeks, he seemed determined to ignore you and you'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt you. You had felt something for him, but it seemed to become less and less the further away you were.

You missed him. He was one of the first, no, the first to be kind to you and someone you thought could become a friend, an ally.

But now he avoided you like the Devil avoided the Cross. When you were forced to be in the same room, he would remain silent and avoid your eyes. And when you spoke to him, he only spoke short, sharp words.

There was no longer that warmth, that kindness that you shared before.

You missed him. A lot.

But that was his choice and you would have to live with it. If he wanted to pretend that nothing ever happened between you, that you were mere acquaintances, you would do it. He could be stubborn, but you were more so.

And you couldn't put yourself at risk, not now when there was a chance you could be pregnant. This was for yourself and for this possible child.

You closed your eyes and pressed your hand over your stomach. Fearing for the uncertain future.

Perdiccas knew this was treason.

He was very aware that what he was doing could lead to him being sentenced to death. He knew it but he didn't care.

It was a crime of treason, a serious betrayal against his King, against his childhood friend and his beloved Macedonia.

But he didn't care. Something inside him just exploded on your wedding day and he knew there was nothing he could do to destroy that uncomfortable feeling.

He was jealous and angry. Jealous that Alexander had you in every way and angry with you and himself. Anger at you because you didn't choose to run away with him and at himself for not insisting.

But he was hurt, feeling betrayed. Perdiccas thought you liked him, maybe you could even be falling in love with him, but you chose Alexander over him.

And he hated you for it.

He loved you, Perdiccas knew he loved you. You awakened feelings he had never felt before for anyone and he wanted you. He wanted you just for himself, he wanted to be able to love you and adore you like the Queen you were.

You could have been happy together, just the two of you and with children in the future. Perdiccas could envision a happy future with you. You playing with his children while he watched.

You could have had a life next to each other.

But you chose to throw it all away and Perdiccas wouldn't allow it.

You would be his, one way or another.

These words repeated in the General's mind as he stealthily approached your tent with Persian spies at his side.

The camp was dark and strangely silent. Even the swashbuckling soldiers were silent.

Alexander would not share his tent today, he had much work to do with Hephaestion and Ptolemy.

It would be the perfect opportunity.

He waved his hand and the spies quickly knocked out two guards who were assigned to protect you.

Perdiccas was sure you would be asleep at this time. With silent steps, he lifted the flap of the tent and entered it, moving silently inside to where your cot was located.

He smiled like a fool in love when he saw you, asleep. You were covered by a thin blanket and your sleep seemed restless. He looked at the Persian spies and nodded.

It was now.

One of the spies approached you with a piece of fabric in his hand that had some kind of poison on it that would keep you asleep for as long as necessary.

When the cloth was placed under your nose, you woke up with a start and tried to scream, but the spy covered your mouth and pressed the cloth harder against your nose. Eventually, you stopped struggling and your eyes grew heavy, until they closed.

Perdiccas approached you and picked you up carefully. He smiled widely when he glimpsed your beauty.

Now was the time to finally have you for himself.

— lady l: WE'RE BACK, BABY! I know it took me a while to get back to this fanfic and I apologize for that. But we're back and the updates will continue as before! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and… Well, what happens now? I leave the doubt in the air… See you soon!

#the lost queen #tlq #yandere history #history #yandere historical characters #yandere alexander the great #yandere alexander the great x reader #alexander the great x reader #fanfic #long fanfic #yandere au

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redclercs · 1 year ago

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DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

xi.it’s okay we’re the best of friends

— the one where all you do is think about the feelings that you hide.

warnings: guys, my brain was failing during this so not really proofread, also please pretend the dress is the same in both pics lol, alcohol consumption. 2.5k words.

currently playing: drive by halsey!

masterlist ✢ next

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softyn FIRST POST SINCE MAY AND MOTHER WANTS US DEAD

ynstars I LOVE YOU SO MUCH SLAY

aid4anfeels ugly bitch

lecsainz516 whose wedding is this, charles and carlos were there too

formulayn did @/charles_leclerc take these?

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THE COMMENTS FOR THIS POST ARE LIMITED.

August 5th, Madrid, Spain.

WHEN Charles said you needed to make new memories in Spain to replace the bad ones, you didn’t have a wedding in mind. However, with the rollercoaster that is your life as of lately, you don’t swim against the current anymore. Just going with it is not a bad way to live when you’re still trying to reach the surface and get away from the wreckage.

Things aren’t good. Not yet. The press is still having a field day with all that he said, she said merry go round. Aidan and Victoria are fighting to play the victim and Mia Kim is on a mission to paint you as the worst sister-in-law who could have ever existed. Which, to be fair, paints her in a weird Freudian light.

But things are better than they were the last time you were in Spain. And that’s something to be grateful for.

“Are you sure?” You asked Charles on FaceTime for the third time that night two weeks ago, he had just asked you to be his plus one to one of his Ferrari mates’ wedding. “Are you a hundred percent sure they won’t mind?”

The last thing you wanted was to feel like an intruder, and with the type of attention you carry around like a dark cloud over your head, ruining someone’s special day was not an experience you wanted to add to your repertoire.

“Of course they won’t mind, soleil.” Charles assured, he was still in Hungary after the Grand Prix. “Tommaso told me I could bring anyone, and I want to bring you.”

The last time you saw Charles in person was in New York City, almost two months ago. It doesn't mean, of course, that you stopped communicating. Whenever Charles is on his phone, you can be certain you'll receive a text, a picture or a random iMessage drawing. You handle time zones as best you can without sacrificing too much sleep time, especially for the one who has to drive a car at 300 km/hr.

Although he insisted on you coming to any Grand Prix of your choice, you thought it best to stay away from the paddock for a while. Plus, you had some work to do. You didn't love Talk Shows while promoting, most hosts did horrible, unfunny jokes, and you were the butt of a lot of them, but if being in some of them helped you to speak about your situation and dismiss whatever rumor Victoria, Aidan or Mia (or just about half the internet) had going on, you were willing to make the sacrifice.

You were also willing to attend a complete stranger's wedding just to see Charles again, but you didn't want to give that thought the depth it demanded from you. Not in the seven hour flight from New York to Madrid, and not now, as you're getting ready for Charles to pick you up to go to the wedding.

Your blue dress is frankly magnificent, and you are aware of how good you look, but it doesn't hurt that the first thing Charles does when the doors to the lift open, is compliment you. Well, to be fair, the first thing he does is gather his thoughts and try not to feel stupid after basically picking his jaw up from the floor.

"You look gorgeous," Charles says, clearing his throat. His sudden anxiety makes you chuckle, as his Adam's apple bobs up his neck. "I missed you so much, soleil."

You are mildly disappointed when he doesn't hug you the way he did back in New York, and you dismiss the feeling almost as quickly as it appeared. Although his words linger in the air, he missed you, and you did too.

"I don't want to ruin your hair," he explains, as if he's read your mind, and smiles wider.

"Right," you shake your head, it was obvious. "You look pretty good yourself, Charlie," you add, always trying to return the compliment, and only managing to make it awkward.

There is something about men in suits that makes them twice as attractive, and it's unfair when it comes to someone like Charles, who is already way too handsome as it is.

"Thank you," Charles is always nice enough to accept your half-assed, anxiety induced compliments. "Shall we?"

You nod, and when he offers his arm to lead you to the car, you link yours through it taking a breath so deep, it makes your lungs ache.

"Do you like weddings?" Charles asks as the engine of his car roars to life. A red Ferrari is the only way you manage to describe it, afraid of getting details wrong. Although you're certain Charles would patiently explain anything you needed to know about it, you don't ask.

"Everyone likes weddings," you reply, setting both hands on top of your knees. "Right?"

Charles chuckles and shrugs, "I guess so,"

You love weddings, except when you're expected to be the bride.

"Charles," you pat his shoulder and he takes his eyes off the road for the briefest second. "Are you completely sure the bride doesn't mind my presence?"

You don't want to give yourself some sort of importance you don't deserve—the bride has more important things to worry about—but particularly nervous about how your presence will be received at the celebration.

"Seriously, y/n," Charles soothes, his right hand leaves the steering wheel and searches for your own blindly, accidentally landing on your empty lap. He takes his hand back immediately, red creeping up his neck. "It's fine." he resolves, his sight way too focused on the road now.

"Alright," you whisper, smoothing the skirt of your dress. "Alright."

Both of you remain silent the rest of the way as you take in the Spanish landscape and Charles drives like his life depends on it. You promised yourself you'd ask for as much information on the happy couple as you could, but your voice is lost in the pit that opened in your stomach.

And the evening is just beginning.

It's after the ceremony, at cocktail hour that you find everything out about Tommaso and Bárbara thanks to none other than Carlos Sainz, who seems to really have a thing for gossip and also, for making fun of you for crying during the vows.

"Leave me alone, Carlos," you warn for the last time, this time threatening him with your closed fist. "Not my fault you don't have a heart in that big-ass chest."

This makes him laugh harder, and even Charles chuckles against the lip of his whiskey glass.

"I miss you so much around the paddock, y/n!" Carlos sighs, patting the place above his heart. "For real."

You click your tongue. "Sure you do,"

Carlos and you talk a lot less than Charles and you do, of course. But if Charles calls you during whatever free time he has while in the Ferrari Suite, you can trust Carlos to insert himself in the conversation.

"And a lot of the other drivers do too," Carlos' tone is mocking again, and you glower at him.

"Stop picking on me," this time you punch him on the shoulder.

"I'm being serious. Lando has a crush on you,"

You talked to Lando a few times, mostly when he and Carlos were being boys and hitting each other in the balls outside the Ferrari Suite and Lando made small talk as he tried not to touch his private parts. A crush is an exaggeration, Lando just told you he thought you were cool for making movies.

"Why don't we take some pictures?" Charles suggests before downing the rest of his whiskey. You don't miss the look he gives Carlos.

"Why not?" you smile at Charles, shrugging. The place is beautiful and you would love to have a memory of this whole thing that you can go back to.

"I'll catch up with you guys," Carlos calls as you two walk away, uninterested in the impromptu photoshoot.

Charles directs an annoyed look at him again and then makes it go away to return his attention to you.

"What was that?" you ask, taking Charles' arm again for him to lead you to where the rest of the guests are more scattered and won't photobomb your pictures.

"What was what?" Charles lifts an eyebrow, forever the expert at playing dumb. Or, not really.

You shake your head, this is another deep thought you don't want to venture into. There is enough of this weird tension already, and you're not sure if Charles feels it too.

─────────

"Your girlfriend is beautiful," a lady is patting your hand, a gentle smile on her face as she looks at Charles. She's the spouse of another Ferrari team member, and the first thing she did was compliment your dress before even asking for your name.

"Oh, I'm not—"

"We're just friends," Charles clears up, gentle as well. "But y/n really is beautiful."

The woman raises both eyebrows and laughs, an 'oh you kids' snicker that isn't unkind. "Of course, of course."

It's the first time of many during this party that Charles has to say you're not in a relationship, and it seems to get easier every time the words come out of his mouth.

Although it's true, you're not sure why it nags at you.

You cry again during the couple's First Dance and verbally threaten Carlos to leave you alone as you wipe your tears carefully, doing your best to keep your makeup intact. He laughs, but takes your threat seriously and remains quiet. This whole Tom and Jerry thing is amusing but he doesn't want to actually make you angry.

A few songs in, after you're done bickering with Carlos and you have finished your third glass of champagne, Charles asks you to dance with him.

An slowed-down version of Sixpence's 'Kiss Me' plays as you take the dance floor. You blame your giddiness on the fact that you finished that flute of champagne in record time.

"What is it?" Charles questions, smoothly placing one hand on your hip while the other holds your palm. His thumb runs up and down the curve of your wrist.

"What if I step on your foot?" you retort, looking up at him. That's only one thing that makes you nervous, although you know how to dance. You took lessons for both Supercut and Parisian Valentine.

Laughter bubbles from Charles' chest and you join in, although this makes you even more nervous. It would be stupid to say you don't see how handsome he is, even if he's just your friend.

"I won't mind," Charles promises, and his fingers press a little harder against your hip bone.

"Okay, then."

It's obviously not a complicated endeavor to sway around the dance floor with Charles, he lets you set the pace, lacing your fingers together after you spin back to him.

"Thank you for coming with me, soleil," he says in a low voice. You can smell the alcohol in his breath although it's been a while since he stopped drinking, he still has to drive you back to your hotel. "I really missed you these two months."

"I love weddings. Thanks for inviting me," you squeeze his shoulder, the contrast of your manicured nails against his shirt distracts you momentarily from the fact that you can feel his breath against your jaw.

It's the second time today that you miss the chance to tell him you missed him too, and you know he notices it by the way he leans away.

The song ends before your tongue decides to respond to you again and Charles lets go of you. A few seconds feel like an hour as you stare at each other, unable—or unwilling—to say anything of what either of you really want to say.

"Care to dance?" a guy with longish hair and dark eyes is offering you his hand now, as a faster song starts and the lights around the room turn brighter.

You break eye contact with Charles and when you look at him again, he just nods, taking a step back to your assigned table.

"Sure," you tell the guy, a tense smile on your face. "Let's dance."

The ride back to your hotel is silent again, and you're too tired to find a way to fill it.

Charles' energy has shifted and this makes your stomach turn. Your anxiety worsens every time you feel someone is 'off' towards you, and that someone being Charles makes it a hundred times worse.

He takes the elevator to your room with you, placing his hand gently in the middle of your bare back to let you in first.

"We're okay, right?" you whisper, looking at your distorted reflections on the silver wall of the cubicle.

You see Charles' reflection frown and then his face turns to you. "Of course we're okay, y/n. Is something wrong?"

You shake your head, the loose strands of your bun tickle your nape. "I'm just wondering."

Charles is never bothered by your need for reassurance, not even when he needs reassurance himself. That he's not being a complete and absolute moron by wanting the woman all the boys want to dance with, and holding onto that little slither of hope that he might have a chance with her. He's the one standing next to you after the party, still.

"We are okay. Didn't you have fun today?" he asks, pushing those thoughts aside. You're friends. Just friends.

"Of course I did!" you inhale sharply, "I just— nevermind." you take your hand to the back of your head, already tired of the half undone bun that threatens to give you a headache.

"I had fun. I always have fun when I'm with you," Charles follows you out of the elevator and down the hallway to the third door marked with a 3321.

You're still struggling to find the exact hairpin that holds your hairdo together, and Charles pinpoints it almost at the same time as you do, pulling it out swiftly to make your hair fall down your shoulders.

It's a meaningless gesture, Charles hasn't given it a second thought or stopped walking. But a shiver runs down your back as his knuckles graze your nape.

"Thanks, Charlie." You say, swallowing.

"Of course," Charles puts the pin inside the pocket of his trousers with a shrug.

You stand in front of the room for a minute, having a stare down again as you rub the back of your head.

"Thank you again for today, Charles." you're the one to break the silence, keycard already between your fingers. "I had a great time."

"I'm glad, soleil." Charles his dimples appear when he smiles and your breath hitches when he leans towards you. It feels like you've been showered with ice cold water. "Good night, y/n," he says and presses his lips against your cheek.

"Good night, Charlie," you wave him goodbye from the door as he walks back to the lift.

The feeling of his lips against your skin is there, even after you've washed your face and tucked yourself into bed.

─── team principal radio: ❝thank you for reading! surprisingly, i don't have much to say this time other than i really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that I appreciate each one of you dearly!♡❞

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#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #formula 1 imagines #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 x reader #charles leclerc fluff #cl16 fanfic #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine

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pickled-pena · 11 months ago

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🥒The Pickled-Peña Masterlist in all it's salty brine glory!🥒

Thank you to everyone who took part in this super fun challenge! You're all amazing!

☝️If you missed the January 1st deadline, not to worry, you can still submit your story until 31st Jan. Please use the tag #PickleTrickle so we can find those coming in at a later date so we can add your work to this masterlist.

☝🏻Please be sure to show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work.

⚠️ Please check out all warnings/triggers on the individual stories themselves.

Happy reading Pickled-Peña Friends! 🥒💛

💛 In no particular order, please enjoy the wide selection of pickles...

🥒Landslide - @frenchiereading

🥒Pickles, Peppers & Photos - @undercoverpena

🥒Toast - @secretelephanttattoo

🥒Pickled Interruptions - @avastrasposts

🥒In A Pickle - @inept-the-magnificent

🥒These Foolish Things Remind Me Of You - @maggiemayhemnj

🥒Chucho's Magic Pickles - @nerdieforpedro

🥒Javier Peña The Pickle Thief - @connectioneverywhere

🥒Good Impression - @pedroshotwifey

🥒More - @toomanystoriessolittletime

🥒A Cup Of Kindness Yet - @ladamedusoif

🥒Resolutions - @trulybetty

🥒A Bear Of A Night - @rhoorl

🥒Old Acquaintance - @alwaysbethewest

🥒Aisle Seven - @goodwithcheese

🥒Save The Last Dance - @linzels-blog

🥒Getting In A Pickle - @ladybess-a03

🥒Close Up The Hole In My Vein - @imalrightllama

🥒For The Record - @drabbles-mc

🥒Happy New Year - @djarinmuse

🥒Holsters, Lies & Videotape - @sin-djarin

🥒Break My Heart - @megamindsecretlair

🥒Prepping For Parents - @musings-of-a-rose

🥒Bailando - @lwfics

🥒More fics to be added as they trickle in! If yours is missing, please let us know!

🥒All Roads Lead To A Jar Of Pickles - @mrsjavierpena

Special thanks to @trulybetty & @musings-of-a-rose for the banners/graphics. 💛

#pickledpena #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pickledpeña writing challenge #pickledpeña #javi peña #javi pena #javier peña #javier pena #javier pena x you #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javier pena fluff #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #pickles

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arcane-vagabond · 1 year ago

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Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Seven

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger Gang of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you?

Warnings: Swearing, Reader having a crisis, Guilt, Shame, Jake Seresin. I think that's it?

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: I am still so overwhelmed by how much you guys love this series. I never thought I'd make it this far, but here we are! As always, reboots, comments and likes are greatly appreciated!! 18+ ONLY!! Find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond!

Series Masterlist || DGU Masterlist

The house truly was a magnificent sight, even more so now that you had been away for so long. The massive, three story brick house sat perched behind an expanse of trees that shielded it from the road during the spring and summer months. Now, the trees were barren save for the patches of snow that laid on the branches. Jake smirked down at where you were fidgeting excitedly in your seat.

“What?” You asked him, squirming even more under his gaze.

He shook his head, smiling softly now. “Nothin’. Just seeing you so excited is cute is all.”

You blushed, refusing to meet his gaze. At that moment, the carriage stopped in front of the large steps that led up to the front door. An older couple stood at the base of them, smiling as they saw you. You reached for the handle, jumping out and rushing into the arms of the woman. She smelled of calming lavender, a scent that reminded you of your days as a child where you would run through the halls and sneak into her room to peak into her jewelry box. Her hands were gentle as they held you, cooing as you hugged her tightly.

“Aunt Jo,” you murmured into her shoulder, her hand reaching up to stroke your hair gently.

“It’s so good to see you, my darling,” she said, pulling back to look at you. An affectionate smile graced her lips as she looked you up and down. Your Uncle Walter stepped up to grab you from your aunt and wrap you in a hug of his own. He smelled of clean linen and the smoke from his pipe, a smell that reminded you so much of your father.

“How are you, my girl?” He asked you as he pulled back. You held onto his hands as you stared at the pair.

“I’ve been well, and so has Benji,” you smiled, hearing rustling from the carriage. Aunt Jo looked up, a curious smile instantly alighting on her face as Jake stepped down onto the cobblestone. You turned to see him just as he straightened up, glancing between you and your aunt and uncle. You let go of your uncle’s hands to gesture for Jake to step forward. “Aunt Josephine, Uncle Walter, may I present to you Jake Seresin.”

Uncle Walter stepped forward, reaching out his hand to Jake, which he took. The two men shook, Jake offering a polite smile while your uncle studied him closely.

“It’s an honor, sir,” Jake told him sincerely. The two dropped their hands, and you found yourself glancing nervously between the two. You weren’t sure why you were so anxious, but you felt a wave of calm as your uncle broke out in a smile, clapping Jake on the shoulder as he led him towards the house.

“Please, call me Walter, my boy,” he chuckled. “Come inside, you must be freezing in those clothes.”

You heard Jake let out a quiet sigh in relief as he allowed himself to be steered into the house, you and your aunt following close behind.

“There isn’t a lot of snow out in the desert,” you hummed by way of explanation as the tips of Jake’s ears turned a bright pink.

“No, I suppose there isn’t,” Uncle Walter laughed as the four of you made your way into the parlor.

“Benji’s clothing was just a bit too small for him,” you frowned, sitting down next Aunt Jo on the sofa as Uncle Walter gestured for Jake to sit in one of the armchairs. Jake glanced at you anxiously, and you smiled, nodding just enough for him to pick up on the gesture. He sat down carefully in the armchair as your uncle did the same. Jake’s green eyes darted around the room, taking in the ornate woodwork and expensive decor that your aunt and uncle seemed so fond of.

“That’s an easy fix,” your aunt said, smiling warmly at Jake who still seemed uneasy. You frowned at him, not understanding why he was so nervous. Your aunt and uncle were well off, yes, but they were kind people, practically saints when compared with the rest of high society in Baltimore. You knew Benjamin had prepped him on what to expect, but you supposed that he was feeling much like you had felt when first arriving in Maverick. It’s one thing to be told, it’s another thing entirely to experience firsthand.

“Of course!” Uncle Walter exclaimed, turning to the younger man. “We can go first thing in the morning and get you all sorted out.”

“Oh, I couldn’t-” Jake started, looking at you with wide eyes for help, but your aunt waves him off.

“Nonsense,” she said. “We insist. We’ll have to find something for you to wear in the meantime to help keep you warm. I think your cousin, John, might still have some clothing upstairs in his old room. I’ll have Michael fetch them for you, Jake.”

“I appreciate that,” the blond said quietly, watching as the old butler nodded at your aunt before turning and disappearing out the door.

“Now,” Aunt Jo smiled, looking between you and Jake. “The two of you must be simply exhausted from your journey. I’ll have the maids show you up to your rooms, and we can meet back downstairs in an hour for supper.”

“That sounds wonderful, Aunt Jo,” you grinned at her.

The next morning brought a sense of familiar comfort as you awoke in the lavish guest room. Fine furniture was scattered in different areas of the large room, and several scenic paintings adorned the walls. You had gotten dressed quickly, eager to start your day. Aunt Jo had told you that your best friend, Lucy, had been calling upon the house every day since word had arrived that you would be arriving back in town. Lucy was a cheeky redhead who you adored more than any other socialite in town, and you were excited to see her again after so many months apart.

You sat at the dining room table next to your aunt just as Jake walked into the room with your uncle. He wore a simple pair of wool pants and a brown jacket that looked to be about two sizes too small on him, but it would serve the purpose of shielding him from the cold. He sat down across from you, sitting at your uncle’s right hand.

“Good morning, my dove,” Uncle Walter greeted Aunt Jo, smiling fondly at her. She returned the gesture, resting her hand on top of his briefly before resuming her meal. He continued. “Jake and I will visit the tailor’s straight after breakfast. I’m sure it’ll take us most of the morning to get him situated with some things to wear. Scout, what are your plans for the morning?”

“I’m going to go have tea with Lucy,” you answered him simply. Jake looked at you, nerves once again showing themselves on his face. You gave him a reassuring smile before the conversation moved on to another topic.

Breakfast was finished quickly, and your uncle told Jake he would meet him by the carriage while he went to grab something from his study. You were putting on your coat when Jake grabbed your wrist. You turned to see his eyes searching yours uncertainly, and you gave him a puzzled look in return.

“Are you alright?” You asked him, a frown tugging at your lips.

Jake swallowed thickly. “What if…what if I do something wrong?”

“Jake,” you chuckled, “you’re going to buy a couple of outfits. You stand there as the tailor takes your measurements and then you pick out what ones you like best. What could you possibly do wrong?”

“What if I say the wrong thing? Or what if I insult someone on accident? Benjamin tried to help me prepare for what things would be like here, but I feel like a rattlesnake amongst coyotes. I just know I’m going to screw things up, and then I’ll make you look bad, and-”

“Jakey,” you cooed softly up at him, taking his hand in one of yours as you reached up to brush the hair out of his face with the other. His mossy green eyes darted between yours anxiously as you stared up at him with a small smile. “I’m fairly certain you could charm the pants off of a mannequin if you tried. Why are you so nervous that you’ll say the wrong thing?”

“I assumed you were a prostitute when we first met,” he said glumly, pout growing bigger as you giggled, thinking back to when you first met the blond in front of you.

“You did,” you agreed. “But I would hope you’ve learned your lesson about assuming things about other people and then voicing them.”

“Yeah, I have,” he muttered. “But I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing either when I first moved to Maverick,” you told him, smoothing your thumb on the back of his hand. “I was scared too, then. I didn’t know what to expect or how people would act, but I did my best. That’s all I expect from you.”

Jake smiled at you softly, squeezing your hand lightly.

“Besides,” you smirked, “rattlesnakes still have teeth to fight off the coyotes.”

Jake laughed at that, and you felt a flitter in your stomach at the sound. You heard footsteps coming down the hall, and you quickly pulled away from him just as Uncle Walter turned around the corner. He looked up, stopping in surprise when he saw Jake standing in front of you.

“You’re still here,” he said, causing the tips of Jake’s ears to turn bright pink yet again. You were surprised they hadn’t stayed that way permanently yet.

“I was just wishing Scout a pleasant time out with her friend,” he said quickly, Uncle Walter humming.

“Alright, well, let’s be off!” Uncle Walter grinned, clapping Jake on the back as he passed. Jake gave one last look your way, smiling as you offered him a small wave. You turned to grab your gloves from where you had set them on the side table when you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You turned around to see Aunt Jo looking at you knowingly, a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Jake is a very fine young man,” she stated. You felt your cheeks heat up, turning your attention back to your gloves in an attempt to distract yourself.

“He is,” you replied. Aunt Jo hummed, walking closer to you.

“He seems very taken with you,” she pressed. “And you with him.”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Aunt Jo,” you scoffed, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. “Jake is just a dear friend.”

“Of course he is, dear,” she smiled. “However, there was only one dear friend I ever looked at that fondly, and we’ve been together for thirty years now.”

“Is there a point to this, Aunt Jo?” You blushed, unable to meet her gaze.

“No point at all, dear,” she hummed, barely suppressing her smirk as she waved you off. “Go and have a nice time, Scout. Give my warmest regards to Lucy.”

“You must tell me all about the west!” Lucy cried excitedly, practically bouncing in her seat. Several of the older patrons gave her nasty looks, and you placed a hand on top of hers to calm her down. You gave the other patrons an apologetic smile before turning your attention back to the redhead in front of you.

“Alright, alright,” you laughed. “What do you want to know?”

“How is your brother?”

“He’s staying busy. Won’t tell me what business he’s been dealing in, so don’t even ask. He bought one thousand acres of land to start a ranch on,” you hummed, sipping your tea. Lucy’s eyes widened.

“One thousand acres?” She exclaimed. “A ranch? What does Benjamin know about running a ranch?”

“I said the same thing,” you admitted, “but he’s surprisingly adept at it. It’s hard work, but it leaves one with a sense of pride to see everything that’s been accomplished at the end of the day.”

“I’m not surprised you’ve taken to life out in the west so easily,” she teased. “You always were a wild thing at heart. I don’t know if you were ever truly happy here.”

“Of course I was,” you argued, brow furrowing. “How could you say something like that? I loved my life here. I loved my family, my friends, my charities. I didn’t want to give any of that up.”

“Because you never had that twinkle in your eye that I see in it now,” she said softly, placing a hand over where yours rested on the table. “I know you loved all of those things, I do, but seeing how you talk about your new life? I can see now that you were never truly happy here. You always wanted to go and wrestle with the boys and you were never truly interested in things deemed fit for a ‘proper lady,’ and that’s okay!”

“You seem to have given this some thought,” you grumbled, and Lucy chuckled.

“I have, yes,” she nodded. “Your aunt has shared yours and your brother’s letters, and thought it breaks my heart to say so, it’s clear to me that out west is where you belong.”

“Oh, Lucy,” you murmured, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. Her smile quickly turned into a wide smirk as she leaned into you.

“Now tell me about this cowboy Benjamin mentioned in his letters,” she whispered. You nearly choked on your tea, coughing as you fought to regain your breath. Lucy patted you on the back gently until you gained back control of your airwaves.

“What about him?” You asked weakly.

“Is he handsome? Is he charming? Is he rugged? Does he have a gun? How wild is he compared to the other cowboys? What-”

“Slow down,” you laughed. “His name is Jake, for starters.”

“Jake the cowboy,” she mused. “What’s he do for a living?”

You took another sip of your tea with a snort. “What, is ‘cowboy’ not good enough?”

She glared at you, and you sighed.

“He’s working on our ranch.”

“How romantic,” Lucy sighed, eyes softening at the idea. “I’m sure he’s a vision walking around in leather.”

“Lucy!” You chided her, looking around to make sure no one saw. She giggled, but before she could say anything else, the smile dropped from her face as she glanced behind you. You felt a presence at your back, and you turned to see a familiar face.

“Henry?” You blinked in shock. Henry had been courting you before you moved to Maverick, and he hadn’t taken it all that well. He was a handsome man with dark hair and baby blue eyes. You had known him your entire life, much like Lucy, as your fathers had been boyhood friends. He had an air of charm about him that was outmatched only by Jake’s. Dimples framed the smile he cast down at you.

“It’s so good to see you again, Scout,” he greeted you. You gave him a thin-lipped smile back, casting an anxious glance at Lucy who was staring daggers into Henry’s profile. “I heard you were back in town.”

“I am, yes,” you replied stiffly. “Only for the holiday and then I’ll be heading back to Maverick.”

“A shame,” he hummed, sitting down next to you as Lucy scowled at him. “I was hoping this would be a more permanent arrangement. One that would benefit the both of us.”

“I have no intention of moving back to Baltimore at this time,” you told him curtly. His smile faltered, but he quickly regained his composure.

“I see, well you still have plenty of time to change your mind,” he chuckled. “I’m assuming I’ll be seeing you at Lucy’s party tonight?”

You shot a look at the redhead who’s scowl turned into a full-blown glare at his words. “I wasn’t aware she was having a party.”

“I was going to tell you about it as soon as we finished talking about more important things,” she hissed. Henry hummed, moving to stand.

“It was good chatting with you, Scout,” he smirked, taking your hand and placing a light kiss to the back. “I look forward to seeing you this evening.”

“I hate that man,” Lucy growled as he walked out of earshot. “I don’t know why you even entertained the idea of marrying him.”

You sighed, looking at her wearily. “You know why.”

“I do,” she admitted in a grumble. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I don’t much like it either,” you replied. “But the past is the past. We should get going. You have a party to finish preparing for and I need to go get ready for it.”

“You’re right,” she murmured before perking up. “Be there by seven o’clock! And bring your cowboy with you!”

Your breath caught in your throat at the sight before you. You had asked Michael to make sure that Jake was ready to leave by 6:45, Lucy’s home not too far away from your own, but wanting to get there a little early. You had been dressed and ready to go five minutes before. You wore a long-sleeved gown, the dark blue top ending at your waist and flowing into a mossy green skirt. You wore a pair of emerald earrings and a small diamond pendant along with it, and your hair was pulled back into a simple, braided bun. You had forgotten how good it felt to dress up for social gatherings. You had been smoothing down the skirt of your dress when you heard footsteps enter the room behind you. You turned to look, and that’s when you saw him.

Jake wore a black waistcoat with a matching coat atop a pair of beige trousers. He held a hat in his left hand and a pair of dress gloves in the other. You knew you were staring, but you couldn’t stop. Jake fidgeted under your gaze, cheeks flushing as he waited for you to say something.

“Is it that bad?” He asked quietly, unsurely, so unlike his usual confidant self. You snapped your mouth shut, shaking your head as your own blush began to spread up your neck and onto your cheeks.

“No,” you stated. “No, you look very handsome.”

He smirked at that, walking to a stop just in front of you. “You look beautiful tonight, Scout.”

You felt your cheeks grow warmer, and you ducked your head.

“We should get going,” you murmured, glancing up at him. He stared down at you, eyes twinkling.

“Alright,” he said quietly, slowly moving to let you lead the way.

The carriage ride to Lucy’s was silent, and the two of you got there with plenty of time to spare. Jake offered you a hand as you stepped out of the carriage, and you took it, smiling at him gratefully. The head butler greeted you at the door, taking your coats before escorting you to the parlor where several people were already gathered. Lucy spotted you and walked over to you excitedly.

“You made it!” She grinned, taking your hands in hers. Her eyes darted behind you, widening when they saw Jake. “Is this the cowboy?”

He chuckled behind you, taking her hand and in his to shake it. Lucy gasped at the gesture, shooting you an awkward glance. “Jake is just fine, miss.”

“And Lucy will do just fine for you as well,” she smiled. She gestured for the two of you to make your way farther into the room. The two of you followed her, and Jake leaned down to whisper to you.

“What was that reaction about?”

You leaned up slightly to answer him. “It’s polite to let the lady initiate the handshake,” you whispered back at him. He hummed, following dutifully as Lucy came to a stop beside the fireplace.

“Scout, you remember Diana and Andrew?” She said, gesturing to the pair of brunettes by the mantle. The Barclay twins were a pretty pair. Andrew stood half a head taller than Diana, but the resemblance was uncanny. Big, dark brown eyes stared at you and Jake as they took you in.

“Of course,” you smiled at them. Diana smiled back at you while Andrew nodded. “It’s been too long.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” Diana drawled, looking around. “No brother of yours?”

“I’m afraid not,” you responded politely. Her eyes turned to the man behind you.

“And you might be?” She smirked, reaching out her hand to Jake. Jake took it, giving her a polite smile.

“Jake Seresin.”

“Seresin,” Andrew hummed. “I’ve never heard that name. Where do you come from?”

“I was born and raised in the New Mexico territories,” Jake said. The chatter died down as the partygoers looked on in intrigue.

“A cowboy?” Someone asked, and the whispers started up across the room.

Jake chuckled, slipping into his charming persona as he let his eyes wander around the room. “Y’all make it sound much more exciting than it actually is,” he drawled.

“Scout?”

You stiffened at the voice, turning to see Henry approaching you from the far side of the room.

“Henry,” you acknowledged him, feeling Jake’s eyes dart between the two of you. You grabbed a glass of wine from the side table, needing something to take the edge off of what you were sure was to come and also needing something to keep your hands occupied. You chanced a glance at Jake who was already frowning at the man before you. Henry stood before you dressed in his evening best as he looked you over, giving a nod of approval that had you suppressing an eye roll. You settled for pressing your lips into a thin line instead.

“I’m glad you could come tonight,” he smiled, and you wondered how you ever considered it to be swoon worthy once.

“Of course,” you hummed. “It’s Lucy’s party after all.”

“Yes,” he said, turning his attention to the blond behind you. “And who’s your friend here?”

“Jake Seresin,” he said coolly, eyeing Henry up and down. Henry did the same before extending a hand out.

“Henry Cargill.”

The two men shook hands for a brief moment before letting go.

“So,” Henry began, “how do you know Scout here?”

“I work on her and her brother’s ranch.”

“A ranch hand?” Henry chuckled, brows darting up on his forehead in surprise. “What a charming profession you have, sir.”

“What is it you do?” Jake asked him with a narrow of his eyes.

“Me?” Henry clucked. “I’m working at my father’s bank. One day I’ll inherit it.”

“Something he reminds us about all the time,” Lucy chimed in with a vicious smirk towards Henry, who looked mildly put out by her comment.

“There’s no shame in what a man has,” he sniffed, looking back at Jake. “Especially when he’s looking for a wife.”

“How exactly do you and Scout know each other?” Jake asked, causing another wave of whispers to break out amongst the spectating crowd. You frowned as Henry guffawed, throwing his head back.

“You call her Scout?” He grinned, causing Jake to frown in confusion.

“Doesn’t everyone?” He asked, glancing down at you uncertainly. You glared at Henry as he continued.

“No, my friend, they do not. Only close friends and family call her that, and you don’t seem to me to be either,” he smirked.

“Which category do you fall under?” Jake asked with a raise of his eyebrow. Henry’s smirk became almost triumphant as he puffed his chest out.

“Neither,” he stated proudly. “Scout and I are practically engaged.”

Jake whipped around to look at you as the murmuring grew around the room. You slammed your glass down onto the table before fixing Henry with a venomous look. “No, we are not.”

“We were courting until you left all those months ago,” Henry reminded you, but you weren’t having it.

“And I’ll remind you that nothing came of it,” you spat. “You never proposed, and I left to move west. What’s done is done.”

“I’m surprised you feel that way after everything,” he frowned. “What would your father say?”

You stilled at that, and the room fell silent. You felt the prickle of tears behind your eyes and you blinked furiously to try and hold them back. You let out a shaky breath before turning to Jake who was already looking at you with troubled eyes. When he saw the tears on your lash line, he looked up. If looks could kill, Henry would have been six feet under in seconds.

“I know we just got here,” you said quietly, holding the tears back by sheer force of will, “but I’m suddenly not feeling well. Would you escort me home?”

Jake turned back to look at you with a soft expression, glancing over by where Lucy stood. You saw her nod slightly, and he looked back at you.

“Of course, pretty girl,” he murmured. “Anything for you.”

The two of you departed from the house, and the carriage ride home was filled with a much different kind of silence.

“Scout,” Jake murmured, reaching out to you, but you shook your head.

“Don’t,” you sobbed, finally letting the tears flow. Jake hesitated. “Please, just don’t. Not right now.”

The two of you said nothing more until you walked into the house. You handed your coat to one of the maids who looked after you worriedly as you made your way towards the stairs.

“Goodnight, honey girl.”

You stopped halfway up the staircase, your heart clenching tighter in your chest. You thought back on Henry’s words and their meaning. You turned to fix Jake with a forlorn expression, and you saw him gasp at the sight. You stared at each other for a few moments before you offered him a timid, watery smile.

“Goodnight, Jake.”

You crouched in the snow, inspecting the indented trunk of a tree. It had been a week since the night of the party, and you had thrown yourself into charity events and social gatherings, effectively leaving Jake to spend time with Uncle Walter and Cousin John. The two had made plans with some of the other men in their social group to go out hunting, and you had been invited along with some of the other wives and sisters.

“What’s it look like, Scout?” John called over to you. You straightened up, turning around to face the hunting party.

“Looks like beavers,” you replied, turning to peer into the trees. “We should set up some traps along the river. I saw some fresh deer droppings not too far back as well. They probably haven’t gone far.”

“It’s a shame that child wasn’t born a man,” you heard one wife murmur to another. You frowned. You knew your skills were practically wasted on you, you certainly heard it often enough. Your father had never made you feel inadequate though, rather he encouraged your gift for tracking and hunting. He took you out as often as he could, showing you how to set different traps and the best way for stalking prey unnoticed. You had always enjoyed doing it because it was time spent with the man you loved most. The one who made you feel safe and encouraged you to pursue your interests and wants.

“Impressive as always, Scout,” Henry called from off to the side. You ignored him, making your way quietly into the woods. You stepped quickly but carefully as you moved deeper into the trees, listening for any sound amongst the stillness. You heard a twig crack behind you, and you turned to see a whitetail deer picking at the patch of frozen grass to your right. You slowly brought your rifle up to the crook of your shoulder, taking aim at the deer. Another twig snapped to your left, startling the deer who took off. You whirled around to see Jake looking at you sheepishly, hands raised as you glared at him.

“Dammit, Jake!” You cursed. “That was a perfect shot!”

“Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. The tip of his nose was beet red and his cheeks were close to matching. You imagined he must be miserable out there in the snow. You huffed as you looked after where the deer had run off. If you hurried, you could probably catch back up with it.

“Scout.”

You turned back to look at him, seeing him frown at you with a worried expression. You raised an eyebrow at him, signaling for him to continue.

“I wanted to talk to you about the other night,” he began, but you shook your head.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Scout,” he started again, and you let out a frustrated groan, feeling your control begin to snap.

“What do you want to hear Jake?” You snapped. “Do you want to hear how Henry and I have known each other our entire lives? How our fathers were best friends as kids?”

His eyes widened as you began to stalk towards him in your rage.

“Do you want to hear how I allowed my mother to mold me into a proper young lady despite how much I hated it? Or how I allowed myself to be pushed towards Henry by my father because the thought of disappointing him destroys me? Nothing would have made him happier than to see his daughter and his best friend’s son get married one day. He would have been so disappointed to know that I left and gave up the life he wanted for me. Not to mention my mother! She wanted me to be happy-”

He cut you off. “What makes you happy?”

“What?” You blink up at him, just then noticing the tears that were falling down your face.

“What makes you happy, Scout?” He asked you again quietly, studying you. You stared up at him, taking in the different hues of green that made up his eyes, the quiet sincerity they held.

“I don’t…” You trailed off with a frown. Jake took a deep breath.

“I’ll tell you what makes me happy,” he murmured, moving closer to you so that the puffs of your breaths intermingled. “It makes me happy when I beat Bradley and Javy at darts. It makes me happy when I feel the wind in my hair as I ride Whiskey. It makes me happy knowing that you moved to town all those months ago. It makes me happy when you chew my ass out the way I deserve instead of swoonin’ over me like all the other girls do.”

You sobbed out a laugh, and he smiled softly, resting his forehead against yours. He reached up to cradle your jaw in his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs.

“It makes me happy,” he continued, “when you say I look handsome. It makes me happy when you laugh at something I say. It makes me happy when that nose of yours wrinkles when you scowl at me. It makes me happy when you let me hold you like this. It makes me happy when you let me feel and see all of you.”

You blushed at that, and he closed his eyes with a hum, gently swaying the two of you from side to side.

“You make me happy, Scout,” he sighed. “You make me happier than I’ve been in a long, long time. I want to spend the rest of my life finding out all the things there are to know about you, and even then I’ll still want more of you.”

He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with a mixture of desperation and stoicism.

“That’s what makes me happy,” he whispered, pulling away from you. He moved past you, walking to join back up with the hunting party. You stared after him, feeling now more than ever, torn between duty and happiness.

The hunting party returned to your aunt and uncle’s house a few hours later. John shot the deer in the end. You had been lost in your thoughts the remainder of the day, and if anyone noticed your sudden change in mood, they didn’t mention it. You started making your way up the staircase to change into your evening gown when a hand caught your wrist. You turned, frown deepening when you saw Henry.

“Scout,” he smiled up at you from a few steps down, “might I request your company in the library for a moment?”

Your eyes flickered to the other guests who were gathering their things to leave. You nodded at him slowly before turning fully to follow him to the library. You looked over once more as you hit the base of the stairs to see Aunt Josephine watching the two of you with a slight frown. Henry led you to the fireplace at the far end of the spacious room before turning to you and taking your hand in his.

“Scout,” he began, “I know things haven’t always been the best between us, but like you said, what’s done is done. And you’re right, I didn’t propose to you back then, but I’ve had your father’s blessing from the start, and when I found out you were coming back to town, I asked your uncle for his, and he gave it. So, Scout…”

He dropped down to one knee, and your eyes grew wide, a sinking feeling twisting in your stomach as he pulled out a large, diamond ring. “Henry-”

“Scout, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

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