#ONCE my hair journey is complete ofc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

realcube · 3 months ago

Note

hiii my sweet toe bunny😍😚🤎 i have an upcoming gigahuge exam bc it will determine whether i have to go to school for another whole damn year or not so im getting the stress hornies big time!! your requests seem to be open for some reason?! good writers like you are usually busy with a flood of them so i can never request anything😭 but anyways i was gonna throw you this little peanut, a classic really: size kink with lev! dont even know if you write for him lol, couldnt see it on ur profile🥲 i think he’d have the size kink more than any of us ever could, i just feel like he goes crazy especially if its a much shorter person. bc having a size difference from far away is one thing, but being right next to the person and interacting with them and putting your hand on their back and realizing you’re nearly twice their size… is another.

feel free to ignore this pookie butt im soo sorry if this is too specific or something ☹️☹️ writing is hard and getting inspired by someone elses idea is even harder, so yeah. stay hydrated and keep emitting gamma rays☃️

LEV HAIBA + SIZE KINK

a/n → not the sweet toe bunny 😭 stress hornies is so real, sorry for replying so late rah. but i hope your exam went well. or if you haven't sat it yet , good luck and i hope this helps :) also thank you so much for i compliments i can'tttt aaa 😩 wc — 2.5k

tags/tws → size kink (ofc lol), petite!reader, breeding, vaginal, fingering, oral (giving), frenching, petnames, semi-public, pregnancy implications & no beta

you've seen haiba lev before, in magazines and on billboards. sometimes even on television, promoting luxury perfumes in advertisements or modelling designer clothes on the runway.

you knew he was tall — most models are — but it was only when you saw him in person that you realised how truly big he is, how he towers over everyone else on set.

you work as an intern for a famous fashion brand, and you met haiba during a photoshoot he was doing for their new office wear campaign. your job was mostly fetching food or drinks for the models; making sure they were comfortable at all times.

the first interaction you ever had with him was when you were handing out water bottles to the models as they walked onto set, and as soon as you saw his huge frame saunter in, you almost froze from shock. he flashes you a polite smile and mouthed a quick "thank you" as he followed the director to where ever she was leading him.

and though it was brief, that was enough to have you fixated on him for the rest of the photoshoot. you were attentive to your duties but still so mesmerised by him. his lean figure and silvery hair. you had always known lev haiba was exceptionally attractive — he's a model, for fucks' sake — but something about seeing him in person made you feral.

and little did you know, after he first saw you, lev kept an eye out for you too. admiring from afar how hard you worked, and making sure to flex just a little bit more for the photos whenever you were nearby. he just thought you were so cute.

you assumed this whole situation would end as a little temporary work crush. you can fangirl over him for now and blush whenever he smirks at you from across the room, but once this shoot was over, he would never think of you again, while you'd go back to seeing his face plastered nearly everywhere and fantasize about what could've been.

but that wasn't lev's idea. he was used to pursing what he wants.

when the shoot is nearing completion for the day, lev has a long conversation with the photographer and is one of the last models to leave the set.

you were tasked with helping the models remove the designer's clothes, if they needed it. thankfully the majority of them didn't and by the time lev entered the changing room, all the others were leaving to go home, and you were wishing them a safe journey.

"excuse me, ms?" you hear a voice call from the changing room, followed by lev stepping out from behind curtain. he was previously wearing a full suit, but you can see he's shedded the black blazer and was now in only the fitted white shirt, black trousers and dress shoes.

he was looking down and fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, "could you help with this, please?" he asks with an awkward chuckle.

lips slightly parted at his unexpected inquiry, once the initial shock fades, you hastily nod and guide him back into the changing room, and this time you enter with him.

it's a confined area but still somewhat big. there's enough space for the two of you to stand, a stool, a clothes rack and full length mirror. he stands before you while you work on unbuttoning his shirt, starting from the top.

"sorry for asking you do this. the buttons are just too small for me." he holds his hands up as a size comparison, and they're undoubtly big.

"it's okay," you stutter, not daring to break your intense stare with his buttons because you know if you were to look up at his face, you might die. "i know these can be very fiddly sometimes."

"exactly." he nods in agreement.

it takes you quite a while to even reach his mid-torso because your hands are shaking so much from being in such close proximity to a celebrity you admire so much. and not only that, but you're literally taking his clothes off. and lev takes notice of his and comments, "nervous?"

your eyes widen and you freeze, heart jumping to your throat. eventually, you're able to squeak, "kinda."

"why?" he laughs, but not in a mocking way. he's genuinely confused as to why you'd be scared of someone like him. it's funny because people usually praise him for being very friendly and approachable.

"you're just.." your voice trails off, trying to think of a way to explain yourself without sounding offensive. "intimidating, y'know, in stature."

lev laughs even harder this time, "woah, that takes me back to when i was in high school. people used to be scared of me because i was the tallest kid in class." he explains, and you detect a hint of pride in his tone.

"that makes sense." you muse, continuing to work on his buttons but it becomes increasingly difficult. especially as he captures your chin between his fingers and pushed your head up so you meet his fiery gaze.

"doesn't make any sense to me." after soaking up your cute flustered expression, he glances down and sees you've only got one button left to do, so he prompts, "go on."

since your fingers are already latched onto it, you're somehow able to undo it without looking. he then releases his grip on your chin so he can slip the shirt off, hanging it up on the adjacent rack.

now shirtless, he turns to you and hums, "your turn?"

lips pressed into a line and heat burning your cheek, the only response you're physically able to give is a meek squeak accompanied by an eager nod. which doesn't even begin to encompass your enthusiasm but perhaps that's for the best.

he smiles at your agreement and grabs the bottom of your top and pulls it off in one swift motion, leaving you standing in your bra in front of him. and before you have a moment to process any of this, he slips one arm behind your shoulder and his other hand reclaims its spot on your jaw to manoeuvre your head upwards, so it's ready to receive his kiss when his lips suddenly come crashing down onto yours.

despite your tact, now that his lips have locked with yours, you find yourself melting into his touch and moving your against him rhythmically. your bodies — though vastly different in proportions — arching into each other desperately.

while one hand sloppily undoes his belt and pulls his cock free from the designer trouser, the other hand on your jaw slowly moves to hold your cheek as the two of you kiss fervently, then it shifts up to your ear, then tangles itself in your hair which he uses to gently pull you away.

you whine quietly at the seperation, missing his hot lips against your own, and he smirks at your reaction. eyes glued to yours, he rasps, "you want it, pretty?"

he motions downwards and you bite your lip at the sight; his size alone is enough to leave you dumdfounded and nodding pathetically, eager to hop on to his monstrous length.

"good girl. think you can handle it?"

"uhuh." you whisper, shaky hands wandering down to take hold of him, and he lets you. in fact, with his grip on your hair, he yanks you down until your face is mere inches away from his tip, "taste first."

with hesitation, you drop to your knees and graciously accept as much of him as you can into your mouth, though that is barely even half. lev still appreciates it; the warmth of your mouth causing his breath to hitch. his cock even twitches at the sight of your cheeks puffed out, struggling to hold him inside.

when his tip prods the back of your throat, it causes you to gag a little, so you immediately jerk away from his cock and cough into your arm.

a concerned look crosses his features and he lightly rubs your back to aid your coughing, "ah, sorry." he apologises, as if it was his fault his cock was so huge that you were gagging on it.

"it's okay." you grate once your coughing fit has calmed down, throat still a bit dry.

he offers you his hand to help you stand up, "c'mon, cutie, that's enough teasing." he reassures you.

you place your hand upon his and as he guides you to your feet , you can't help but notice how big his hand is compared to yours. your thoughts suddenly becomes flooded with fantasties of what you want those big hands to do to you, which he notes by how your touch lingers for a couple moments extra after he lets go.

identifying what your longing for, he presses his lips against yours once more, engaging in a heated make-out while his hands wander down to unzip your jeans and tug them off, leaving you in only your underwear.

while he creeps in tongue into your mouth to make for a french, his long slender fingers rubs your labia through the fabric of your panties, amused by how wet you are already. "still think you can take it?" he basically breathes into the kiss, parting for barely a second to mutter his inquiry.

you reply with an affirmitive moan into the kiss. and just in case that wasn't clear enough, you hook your leg around his hips to give him better access.

he gladly slides the damp strip of material out of the way and sticks his two fingers into your hole, silently snickering at how you writhe at the stimulation of his fingers alone. but you can't help it; they're just so long at push against your walls in just the right way that makes your needy pussy flutter.

the wet noises from your pussy fill the changing room, shortly followed by your stifled moans — afraid other staff might be nearby to hear. his palms rubs against your throbbing clit, as his fingers shallowly thrust inside you. the minimum amount of stimulation needed to make you squim.

lev simply stares at you, enchanted by how your tight hole clings to him, and how the size of his palm compares to your pussy. it's like he could scoop you all up in one hand; hold you tenderly in his hand like a precious doll.

"sweet girl.." he idles, fingers stirring inside you, "fit me so well."

just as he says that, a hiss is drawn from you at how he harshly pulls his fingers out of your hole.

"bend over for me." he commands nicely, and without a second thought, you turn around and bend over, positioning your forearms against the changing room walls to balance you. while you do this, lev has already hooked a finger under the lace of your panties and dragged them down until they fell to your ankles.

his fingers rubbed over your labia, occasionally teasing your clit and soaking up your slick with each seductive movement. his other hand worked on aligning his cock with your glistening hole, until the bulbous tip was prodding against your enterance, at which you let out a low whine of confirmation.

however you didn't fully understand the capacity of what you were giving yourself up for until it was halfway stuffed inside you, contorting your plushing walls to accomodate his massive size and creating a slight buldge in your abdomen. truly it had knocked the wind out of you and despite him no longer being crammed down your throat, you were still choking on it.

as you writhe and mewl in attempt to cope with the intrusion, lev pauses and takes a moment to admire your figure beneath him. how you're so kindly bent over for him, and your tight cunt is struggling to accept his cock.

you were just the right size. with you bent over, he was still tall enough to place his hands on the wall above you, essentially capturing you under him. his sweet angel ready to take him all, and he couldn't help his eagerness to give you what you want.

before he knows it, his hips start to move autonomously against yours, ramming his length into sopping pussy repeatedly, making a lewd squelching noise with every sharp thrust. the volume of which made it clear to anybody nearby what was going on in this changing room, though you didn't have the power to try and silence it, as the hot arousal pooling by your pussy was the only lubricant that facilitated lev's entrance into you, and main reason it was possible for him to move within your homey walls.

his dick stabbed into you over and over, while his slender fingers drew lazy circles over your clit. you were trying your best to stay hushed in fear of being overheard, but lev didn't seem to care. he was allowing the moans, profanities and obscene exclamations to flow freely off his tongue with out a care in the world for who might hear.

"fuck, cutie, so tight." he squeezes the flesh of your ass, then lets his hand wander up so it rests on the small of your back. he's just so much bigger than you, if he wanted he could probably pick you up and fuck you at his height so he doesn't have to bend his knees so much. it's a miracle you're even able to fit him all inside that petite little pussy.

it gets him so hard so see you like this. stripped bare and trembling under him, stifled moans brewing behind your lips and legs trembling as his colossal dick thrashes against your insides. relentless and bruising your cervix with each fervish thrust. completely fucked out from being impaled by his dick, your arms have given out which levaes your cheek pressed lazily against the wall of the changing room. the cold plastic making contact with your skin, hardly enough to combat the waves of searing pleasure he sends rushing through your quivering body.

"can't take it, huh?" he leans over you, his breathy words tickling your shoulder, "too much for this little pussy? too big for my sweet girl?" mindless dirty talk spills from his mouth as his eyes squeeze shut and he basks in the warmth of your walls clamping down on him.

and he pries them open again only so he can get another look at your shaking body, struggling to take him all but persevering. and with the friction of your hole , along with the sight of your small waist held in his soft hands, it wasn't long until lev finished inside you, spilling his hefty load within the confines of your gummy walls.

his cock was pushes out in the process, which made you sigh of relief, but with his hand already positioned on your clit, he was hasty to stuff his fingers right back into your creamed pussy, causing you to gasp.

"sorry," he whispered, straightening his posture and shuffling back, "just don't want to get any on my trousers. they're designer." he chuckles to himself, meanwhile you are still bend over with his load filling your insides; fully exposed and panting.

"maybe i should've used a condom." he muses, playfully curling his fingers, resulting in an erotic moan departing from your lips.

lev laughs heartily, as though he had just cracked the funniest joke, "nah. raw's more fun." he yanks his fingers out, leaving you to feel the full force of his cum stirring within you, "who knows, maybe next time i come back here, there will a tiny version of me."

he places a final kiss to the nape of your neck before heading to pick up his shirt, "and i don't just mean tiny because of your genes."

#haikyuu lev #lev x reader #lev haiba #lev smut #haikyuu smut #lev x you #haiba lev #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #👾nsfw

83 notes · View notes

strawberryya · 10 months ago

Text

The art of seduction - part one

pairing: jeong yunho x reader

synopsis: Since she left you, it feels like your life has been turned upside down, and you're struggling to find your footing. He sees that, and he wants to help. Or maybe it's not as pure as that. Perhaps he's just looking for a new plaything — an artist to inspire, or someone to slowly destroy.

word count: 4.5k

genre/cw: angst, smut, suggestive, fantasy, thriller and/or romance, yandere themes, supernatural au, faery au, leanan sídhe!yunho, human!reader, they/them pronounces for reader, I tried my best to keep all descriptions gn as well - I welcome all feedback on this area ofc, grief and death depicted/mentioned, specific smut warnings will be listed in each part.

rating: 18+

a/n: this has been a big project for so many people this year, and I would like to thank all of the inspiring people in this collab for all the fantastic ideas that has been contributed to make all of these fics possible. it has been a journey writing this, but this fic is only the beginning of the even longer journey that yunho and our mc will be going on ;)

this is part one of my first fic for the wonderful collaboration thrill of the hunt, hosted by @cultofdionysusnet - check out the other exciting and thrilling stories on the official master list here!

the second part to this story will be found here once it's posted. if you wish to be tagged in the continuation you can dm me, send an ask, or comment on this post <3

network tagging: @svthub @cultofdionysusnet @k-labels @kvanity-main

“Oh, he’s the most wonderful man I’ve ever met, y/n! He’s perfect… I didn’t think anyone could be so perfect until he came into my life. He makes me feel like I’ll never need anything ever again… like he and I are enough forever. I need you to meet him someday soon! I wanna introduce you to him, I promise you’ll love him too!”

You never got the chance to meet him. The more you think about it, the more you regret not making more of an effort to do so. Your best friend Anna had been in love with someone, and you hadn’t even had the chance to meet the man she spoke so fondly of.

“I haven’t been feeling very good lately, y/n… I’ve been to the doctors and they say there’s nothing wrong. They said it’s all in my head, that I should go talk to someone… y/n, do you also think I’m making myself sick?”

She only got weaker after that.

And he had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth after she became bedridden.

She said he came to visit, but she wasn’t in her right mind in those final weeks. Nobody had signed in at the reception. Nobody had seen a beautiful man with dark brown hair that gleamed blood-red when the sun shone. During all that time when she was admitted into the psychological ward at the city’s second-largest hospital you and Anna’s mom were the only visitors.

They said she was mad…

You had wondered a lot about who he might’ve been during those times when she had talked about him as if she had just spoken to him, but nobody had seen anyone in her room. Had he been a fraction of her imagination the entire time? Or had her mind created a lie based on a man who had left her before her illness took over her mind and body?

When she passed he was the one piece of the puzzle that you couldn’t let go of. If you had tried harder to meet him, would her illness have been caught earlier? Could it have been found and treated before it took her life…?

You’ve been staying late at the studio lately, trying to get through your feelings about losing her through your art. The shadows in the room seem to close in on you at every chance they get, and you don’t fight them. Hugged by the darkness is somehow better than being left so completely alone.

The brush strokes soothe you like nothing else is able to. Fizzling seas crash along the shore, a looming tree stands barren and alone, and her face appears in the dark clouds.

The only things you know to be true are that: she is gone, you are in pain, and you can only paint this one single picture. The lonesome tree at the cliff, watching the storms and waves trying to pull the ground away from beneath the large oak tree. You paint it over and over again, day after day, and you haven’t even paid any mind to when other artists have come and gone through the studio. People painted right next to you, people posed on the podium in front of you, and you didn’t care about any of it. All that matters to you is that you have been left all alone.

Your best friend has died, and you can’t even do the one thing you have been able to do your entire life ー paint. You had pursued your passion fiercely, not budging even as your parents pleaded with you to be reasonable and try “having a career worth having”, and let painting stay as a hobby. It was how you had met Anna. She was a dancer, and she had gotten into the same art college as you. Back then you had both been carefree young adults, simply trying your best to survive on your own for the first time in your lives. Now, she has left you, with the bittersweet taste of the last conversations you had had with her on your tongue.

“He inspires me you know, I’m just a dancer anymore when he looks at me, I become the air itself.”

You had smiled and nodded at her nonsense, she seemed to be dreaming of it. Her limbs were too weak to be of use, but she had the same smile on her lips as when she performed. You had tried your best not to be mad at her for only speaking of this man even as she lay dying in a hospital, dreaming of her passion was at least better than dreaming of him. The tears had stung your eyes as you held her hand before leaving her to her rambling.

It has been a while since her funeral, and you have practically been living at the studio. Home doesn’t make you feel any better, so you sleep on the small pullout couch in the corner instead. It isn’t meant to be slept on and your back is sore from the many nights in a row you have spent on it. But the art studio is at least comforting you more than home. You have too many memories of Anna in your apartment. Here you can focus on your art. At least, that’s the idea. You have had no inspiration since her death. It’s strange, she hadn’t exactly been the reason you painted, but everything that happened still affected even that part of you.

You had begun questioning if you should give it all up, move home to your parents for a few months, and go back to your waitress job until you had processed all of this. But could you give up on your passion? After years of struggling to pass courses and hustling on the side of your studies just to make it all work? What would Anna say if she knew…?

You aren’t sure how it happened, it might've been a dream. It’s barely been three weeks since Anna’s funeral and you woke up with the clearest picture of a man you had never met in your mind.

He’s handsome, just like she had told you. He has gentle features, and dark, captivating eyes that catch hold of your mind and refuse to let go. You can’t seem to escape the image of the stranger you know in your bones is the same man Anna had known.

Sometime after the day you had first seen him in your mind, after hours in front of your easel and a blank canvas, you finally force yourself to pick up the brush. This couldn’t be the end of pursuing the only career you had ever wanted. You need to get over it and paint something, other than that stubborn tree and the punishing sea. His features burn your eyelids, and you see him as you blink and dream of him as you sleep. You can’t escape the visions, so you make him real, tangible. You create a portrait of the man in your head. Watching the finished portrait once you put down the brush.

You look at it until it gets dark again, staring into his eyes until you fall asleep on the couch in the corner.

You wake up with a headache. You groan quietly since you neither have the energy nor the will to get up and take something for the throbbing pain stemming from the sides of your head. Before you could even summon the will to get up despite this, you almost jumped off the couch in surprise. There is another person in the room. You’re still in the corner of the room, so the stranger might’ve missed that you were even there, you reason. It looks like a man from behind. His short dark hair lay in a rather messy way against the back of his head. He’s turned away from you, watching the painting you had fallen asleep staring at. He’s tall, his shoulders are broad. You panic, because what did this man want, and why was he here in the middle of the night?

“Who are you?” you ask breathlessly, jumping up from the couch, trying to see if he’s someone you know in the dim light. Could he be another artist here to paint at an odd hour? You don’t recognize him, but you aren’t the best at remembering people, so you’re not sure if you should be screaming or apologizing for your hostile greeting.

The man didn’t even flinch at the sound of your voice. He didn’t seem like a threat, but then again, something about him creeped you out. You ignore the fact that he also intrigued you, and try to catch his attention again. “Hey, I asked you a question.” In response, he simply raises a hand as if to shush you.

This man hadn’t just broken into the studio late at night – he was also incredibly rude. The air around him is so still, so calm that it’s giving you chills. You want to see his face. If he was going to murder you, you want to have looked the fucker in the eye so you can, at least, curse his existence. You take a step forward, grabbing a long paintbrush from the drying rack. Maybe you can get his eye if you’re fast enough.

“So aggressive, little dove,” the man finally says. His voice is smooth and deep. It’s an attractive voice, at least your murderer has a nice voice, not that that makes this situation salvageable. You’re still prepared to stab him with the wooden brush in your hand.

“Wouldn’t you be aggressive if you woke up to a stranger in your bedroom as well?”

You had tried putting on a brave face, hoping that he wouldn’t notice how scared you were. He seemed to see through this facade easily though, chuckling at your attempt instead of turning around to face you. “Not your bedroom. I’ve been to your bedroom and this isn’t it. Also, not really a stranger, am I?”

Your breath won’t calm down, and your heart is beating mercilessly in your chest. This man had been in your apartment? And you know him? What the hell is he talking about? “Are you some kind of stalker you fucking creep?” you wheeze out, taking a step away from him.

You desperately wish for this to be some kind of nightmare.

When he turns around you’re sure it is because there’s no way the man you see in front of you isn’t just a fiction of your imagination. Dark hair, streaks of red when the light from the window hits it. Perfect lips, and captivating eyes. It’s him. The man in your painting, alive right in front of you. Your grip on the brush tightens, the bristles folding backward from the pressure of your palm. The world began to spin, he wasn’t real, he couldn’t be real. You see the edges of your vision blur and his smile widens at the visible panic you were displaying.

He was right, he isn’t a stranger.

“I think you might’ve heard about me, little dove. She used to talk about you ー the talented artist she had met in college.”

It couldn’t be, you hear the blood rushing in your ears like thunder. “Who?”

He smiled innocently, “Don’t you remember your friend? Anna, I think her name was.”

No. It couldn’t be true. The brush fell from your hand as you fell to the ground. Your already sleep-deprived mind couldn’t handle the thought that maybe the man Anna had spoken about was real, and right in front of you. Knocking yourself unconscious was the only thing your body could do to stop your heart from giving out.

Have you gone mad as well? Maybe this was your way of grieving? Should you go to the hospital?

The questions spun in your mind. He was gone when you woke up. But the long brush in your hand and the bruises on your knees and shoulder felt like substantial proof that you had not lost your mind. He had been here, you know it, but who would believe you if you told them? Who would even care?

You decide to let it go, instead, you force yourself to go back to your apartment. A change of clothes was needed and you know that the lady down the hallway will be worried after not having seen you for days yet again. She had been at Anna’s funeral, wondering how and why your roommate had passed so quickly at such a young age. You hadn’t known what to answer. You still didn’t have your own answers as to “how” or “why”. At least, none that you could share…

You had managed to shower and get into some clothes when your neighbor knocked on the door.

“Hi, Auntie,” you greet her as she had insisted you do ever since you and Anna had first moved in. She’s older than any of your real aunts, but remarking on that had felt incredibly inappropriate, so you had both simply accepted your fate and begun calling her “Auntie”.

"Darling!" How are you? I haven't seen you here in days! I was beginning to worry. You know, this was just how it was with Anna, I didn’t see her for days and then she would show up saying she had been busy practicing and dating and whatnot!”

You don’t respond, forcing a smile. She meant well, but when she insisted on bringing you some food you wanted to refuse her. She didn’t mind your protests, “Oh, dear child, you don’t even know how sunken your face looks. You need some of my home-cooked food to get your spirits back up!”

In the end, your refrigerator was filled with casseroles and little boxes of different dishes, and a bitter feeling, knowing you wouldn’t be here to eat it. You left your apartment as swiftly as you had arrived, not wanting to stick around long enough to see the traces of a life lived – a life you didn’t feel belonged to you anymore. You brought what you could carry in your bag back to the studio.

You fall asleep again, after hours of trying to create something, only creating more pain in your back from sitting on the wooden stool all afternoon instead. It’s not like you hadn’t tried your best to think about anything else besides him, you had actually tried your very best! But in the end, your mind kept wandering back to the dip of his lips, and the grin on his face as you fainted. You painted the outline of his lips, over and over again.

You hated him.

Would he come back?

He had mocked you with his words.

Why had you felt such a rush when he spoke?

You never wanted to see his perfect face ever again.

Why couldn’t you stop wishing to see him just one more time?

You woke from a cool hand on your hair. Slowly and gently he patted your head until you opened your eyes. It was still dark out, and he was back. Leaning over your sleeping body, a large hand caressing the side of your head. You scream, and he smirks. He shushes you, and you push him away angrily.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you shout.

“You wanted to see me again, I thought it best to wake you so your wishes could be fulfilled.” His voice coursed through you, giving you goosebumps again. “Don’t be angry with me, little dove.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Don’t lie. It’s not polite,” he retorts as soon as the words leave your mouth.

“I don’t care, I hate you. Leave me alone!” You bark out the words, tears stinging your eyes. You don’t know why you’re reacting so strongly to him.

His tongue darts out to lick at his lips in annoyance. “Little dove,” he chirps menacingly, “Lie one more time and I won’t help you anymore.”

He terrifies you. He’s beautiful, but nothing about him feels true. He’s like those beautiful flowers forever trapped inside glass orbs. You wanted to protect the frozen beauty from getting the slightest scratch and smash it to pieces, all at once.

“Help me…?”

The gentle smile on his lips came back when you revealed that he had managed to pique your interest. “Mm, I help people. Artists, especially… it’s an interest of mine, the arts.” He winked at you, which caught you off guard.

“And you came here to help me?”

He nodded, but you weren’t convinced.

“Why? I didn’t ask for any help from you.”

He looked around the room, gaze wandering over the canvasses you had painted in the last couple of weeks, all depicting the shore and the dead tree. All except two. The portrait of him, and the sketches of his lips.

“You did that?” You ask incredulously. His gaze snaps back to you sharply.

“Of course. Didn’t it feel different? It felt like you had been inspired by something again, did it not?” His voice is honey in your ears, but the sticky feeling is making you want to flee for your life. You don’t.

“Want me to prove it?”

You frown, “What do you mean prove it? Are you going to inspire me to paint something on the spot in the middle of the night?”

“Tell me you want it and I’ll make sure you feel inspired for the rest of your miserable human life, little dove.”

His wording is so unnatural, you think for just a moment. You don’t trust him one bit, but perhaps this is the way to convince yourself that he is indeed just some creep that you need to get away from. You take a deep breath before answering, “I’ll agree if you tell me your name.”

The man stepped back, you had made him flinch. You don’t know why you made that exact demand. Maybe you had just really wanted to call him something other than “the one Anna spoke of” in your mind. It hurt each time you remembered her name.

“A name can be more powerful than you think, little dove,” his tone warned you of something. He seems on edge for the first time since you met him.

You don’t budge, his reaction only makes you more sure that you need to follow your gut. “Tell me, and you can help me.”

He hesitated before seemingly giving in to some innate need that you didn’t understand yet. “Yunho. That’s one of my names… Use it with care, little dove.”

You turned his name around in your mind, tasting the sweet taste on your tongue as you said it out loud. “Yunho… Sure, help me find inspiration to paint again.”

The same excited and menacing grin he had worn the last time you spoke now grace his lips again, and you feel you have committed a horrible mistake.

You look around the room, the sun is rising and casting long shadows from the easels placed around the podium. How has the entire night already passed you by? You have no memory of sleeping. You look at your hands, they are covered in paint. Why had you been so messy? You couldn’t remember right away. You know that you have painted. Yunho had kissed your hand, you can still remember the heat of his breath on your skin. Then you had picked up your brush. You hadn’t been frightened by the fact that you weren’t in control of your actions. After the weeks of forcing yourself to do the most basic human functions to stay alive, having something else move your hand in your stead was somehow freeing.

When you look at the canvas your breath stops. It’s him, you have painted him again. He’s not completely like himself, however, he is just as captivating in the picture as he is in reality. You had managed to capture his beautiful features, from the way his cupid’s bow dips graciously on his lips, to the way his hair gleams blood red when light shines through it. But behind him is something new, something you have never seen belonging to a human before. Wings, almost translucent wings, appearing on the canvas as a shimmer of light blue and white, adorned with shimmering ruby gemstones. He looked magnificent.

“Pretty,” you hear his voice whisper on your neck before you feel his soft lips press against your skin. You shiver, it feels good but you’re still in shock, watching the man who’s behind you on the canvas in front of you.

“How is this possible?” you mumble.

“You were inspired,” he responds calmly, brushing your hair away from your face from behind. “Did you enjoy it?”

You have a feeling that the answer to that is yes, but you also know you shouldn’t reveal that. “I don’t remember.”

“I think you did… I know you did.”

The way he seems to know everything, even the things you don’t, scares you a bit. But you might be addicted to the feeling of his touch, you’re addicted to what he can do to you, addicted to what he makes you feel deep inside. He has given you your passion back, he has helped you paint again, and you had enjoyed it this time. This shouldn’t be possible. Why does this man have so much power over you that he could help you paint as you had used to, for the first time since Anna’s passing?

There’s no way he’s human, no human looked like he did. In the morning light, he was even more dashing, even more unreal. You want to smash his perfect exterior to pieces and see the flower inside rot as the air hits its delicate petals.

“Go away. I don’t want this,” you choke out, pushing down the sobs that threaten to escape your throat. He kisses your neck again, but you don’t move. “I think I’ll die if I don’t end this Yunho. Please, just leave me alone.”

“It’s possible, but maybe you’ll be the one who makes it out alive.” His honey voice rang in your ears as the day began and his touch against your back disappeared. You cried yourself to sleep. You knew everything was wrong, Yunho was wrong. But there was nothing you could do about it anymore.

Two days passed without so much as a glimpse of Yunho. The hours of the night when he didn’t come to see you had almost been enough to convince you that you had truly gone mad. But then, suddenly, there he was, as dashing as ever. Pretty eyes watching you stare at an empty easel.

A chilling chuckle escaped him, nothing more. He stands and gazes upon your hopeless state for a while in silence. You will never get rid of him, you realize. You’re not upset about it. You can’t be upset. Nothing feels real anymore.

Yunho circles you, a predator watching his prey. You don’t flinch under his gaze this time. When he leans his lean body against the stool next to yours you feel disgusted. You weren’t upset that he would never leave you alone, but you deserved to know why, at least.

“What do you want from me?”

“Want?” He sounds almost offended.

“You’re not here just because it’s fun to sit around and watch me paint all day.”

He didn’t give you an answer, he just smiled at you with that perfectly enchanting smile of his. He’s dangerous, his beauty is dangerous. He leans forward on the stool, his face now scarily close to yours. Will he kiss you…? You can feel Yunho’s breath, hot against your lips, his gaze burning as he stares into your eyes and flickers down to your mouth. Do you want him to kiss you…?

What do you want from him?

You almost forget that he hasn’t given you an answer when he bends forward, his lips inches away from yours. This time you do flinch. Can he read your mind too? No, your eyes stare right back into his, a flash of maroon tints his irises an unnatural color before it disappears just as fast as it showed up.

His thumb drags across the side of your cheek, a small smirk plays on Yunho’s deceptive lips. “I’ll make you a promise,” he whispers, “I promise to make sure you’re motivated to do what you love the most, for the rest of your life.”

His breath burns hot against your wet lips. You want to kiss him. “A promise…?” you exhale, mind not quite able to focus on his words, but they sound good to you right now. You swallow, eyes flickering to his perfectly shaped cupid bow, his rosy lips, and the tongue that teases behind his plump lips. “What… what would I have to do…?”

“A clever dove, I knew you would ask the right questions.”

You didn’t truly understand though, too distracted by Yunho’s eyes mirroring your flickering gaze, teasingly watching the way your hands fiddled with the brush in your hand.

“All you have to do in return is say that you agree, and I will fulfill all of your wishes.” His soothing hand moves around to the nape of your neck, his grip gentle but secure.

Will he fulfill them all?

Does it even matter? Almost anything would be good enough to accept right now, at least you can’t think of something that would be worse than walking through life as the zombie you had been since… Since Anna’s death. If you accept his proposal, will you find out what happened to her?

“I agree.”

Your stomach flips when plush lips are pressed against yours. It seems he had already begun living up to his word. At least he wasn’t playing a trick on you when it came to that part. His hands travel over your body, he knows exactly how to touch you the way you like it. Has he been watching you for a long time? Or is it something magical, like those shimmery wings you had imagined he had? You’re not sure, but knowing could wait until later. Right now you have a couple of needs. Needs that Yunho had promised to fulfill. His leg firmly presses open your legs, strong muscle relieving some of the intense pressure that had built up in your lower abdomen since the thought of having him in this way had sprouted in your mind. You need more. You close your eyes even tighter as you let the brush fall from your grip. Hands moving across Yunho’s perfect form without hesitation.

The sound of the brush hitting the floor didn’t reach your ears. You were already lost to the world of humans.

“Do you believe in fairies? I do. I think there are things we don’t know in this world. Magical things. If I could go there I would, I think it’s a beautiful place, nothing like Earth. I’d want to dance for them…”

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

#kwritersworldnet #thrill of the hunt #yunho smut #ateez imagines #ateez smut #yunho angst #ateez x reader #atz #yunho #jeong yunho #yunho x reader #ateez yunho

145 notes · View notes

assortedseaglass · 1 year ago

Text

Borne & Bound - I

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

[Masterlist]

Summary: When Prince Aemond insults the commander of the Braedel cavalry, Viserys sends him to their kingdom so that he may learn the art of diplomacy and do battle with the commander herself, the spirited Lady Geowyth.

Content Warnings: Strong Language, Violence, Smut, Canon-typical Sexism, Mentions of Incest¸ Mentions of Sexual Assault

Word Count: 2.6K

Note: Just a little intro chapter. This is completely canon divergent. I am rubbish at intricate plotting and relatively new to this fandom. This idea has been rummaging around for a good while in my head, and it’s time to put it into action. If you do want an amazingly plotted, political Aemond Targaryen story, please please please read You Were Always With Me by @myfandomprompts. I was on tenterhooks for every upload, it’s a masterfully crafted story with complex character analysis and so many tense and thrilling moments. I adored it!

I think many people have done this, but I’ve aged up the Targaryen children to their mid-twenties.

“Pay attention,”

“It’s too fucking hot,”

“Be quiet!”

Casting his eye over his sister’s head, Aemond watched his mother and brother hiss lowly to each other. The afternoon was hot. Oppressively so. The clock tower above the sept chimed, marking an hour since they had appeared on the barbican steps, and an hour of passive bickering. A mustard butterfly flew across his face, and he looked down to see Helaena’s mournful gaze follow it. She smiled at him half-heartedly and turned back to the crowded steps as Ser Harrold’s voice carried over them.

“Lord Jason, of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Ward of the West.”

In a sweep of embroidered velvet, Ser Tyland moved from his sentinel behind the royal family to greet his twin and the other members of his house.

“Lord Borros, of House Baratheon, Lord of Storms End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.”

The list of houses was endless. Despite the Targaryen proclivity for heat, even Aemond could feel a trickle of sweat journey its way along his spine. Thunder rumbled around the walls of the barbican and the gathered crowd stirred. Aemond cast his eye upwards, and the clear sky stared back.

“It won’t rain,” came Helaena’s soft voice beside him. Still Aemond watched the sky. “They would let us know.” At this, he turned to his sister. She was pointing to a beetle on the stone steps. A little way off, a sparrow watched it with glinting eyes.

“Mmm,” his eye moved to Aegon, who had stopped his fussing to listen to his sister-wife. He rolled his eyes at Aemond, who ignored him and turned slowly back to the approaching nobles. The youngest Baratheon girl gasped as his eye moved over her, and she inched closer to her sisters. The stiff leather of this doublet hid his sigh, for Aemond was used to this response, especially from the younger women of the court. On his eighteenth nameday, he decided once and for all to forgo the ugly eyepatch he wore to cover his disfigurement. The serving boy acting as his valet made to place the patch over his braided hair, when the young prince grasped his wrist.

“Not tonight,”

The boy bowed and left the prince to his chambers. In the candlelight of the room, the sapphire in place of the prince’s missing eye shone vivid and the violet of the other, so famed in Targaryen lore, looked dull by comparison. With one last glance at his reflection, Aemond smoothed his green tunic, flicked the unbraided strands of blond hair over his shoulder, and made his solitary way to the feast. How rude of him, to keep his guests waiting.

With excited steps, he hurried through the keep and to the throne room. A few maidservants gasped upon seeing him and scurried aside, curtsying deeply as he passed them. Even today, Aemond could feel pride swelling in his chest. Maesters, heading back to their cloisters bowed with solemn utterances of his name, and Aemond nodded back, not noticing how their eyes trailed after the young prince with pity and horror. Two guards jumped into position as he approached the great doors of the hall, Aemond barely registering their exchange of shock. Light poured into the hall as they swung open the doors, the orange glow of flame illuminating the prince at the head of the hall. Ser Harrold’s voice announced his arrival, faltering as he turned to look at the young man. No sooner had he entered the hall did the whispered chatter begin. Members of every house gazed upon his nightmarish visage. Some couldn’t look. Girls from noble houses, adorned in their finery, some whom he had hoped to court, turned from his face when he looked upon them. The rest of the memory was a blur of hot tears and screamed vengeance. Since then, the eyepatch remained firmly in place.

“Brother,” Helaena’s hand brushed his own. “You’re staring.” Aemond blinked once, twice and averted his eye from the poor Baratheon girl, her own boring into the ground, quaking as her sister held her hand. Lord Borros and Queen Alicent talked quietly, exchanging pleasantries and glancing occasionally in Aemond’s direction. Ah, so that was the order of it. Marry him off to a Baratheon. Well, the youngest was certainly out of the running.

Another rumble of thunder rattled off the stone walls, accompanied by the clatter of metal against leather. Beside Aemond, Helaena gasped and clapped her hands together. The sound was not due to thunder at all, but the cavalry of horses making its way through the Red Keep’s portcullis. Many of the gathered crowd scuttled to the sides of the barbican courtyard, the Baratheons huddled next to the Queen and the Lannisters stopped in the doorway of the council chamber, eager to assess the party’s new arrivals.

At least three dozen dark stallions poured through the gates, their loose manes rippling in the breeze. The clap of their hooves across the courtyard sent deep tremors through the prince, and at his side he felt his sister shiver. With excitement or nerves, he didn’t know. Above the horses, banners of bronze, blue and wine-rich red flew in the air, the horses emblazoned on them riding the wind, and atop each steed sat a knight, their riding leathers adorned with the sigil of their house; the bucking horse with teeth bared. The helmets of their armour produced plumes of horsehair, no doubt to give the impression they were at one with their mounts. Aemond scoffed. It was a sweet attempt to seem commanding, he supposed. His amusement turned to horror however, when he noticed the slightness of some of the warriors. It couldn’t be. Beneath many of the helmets, scattered amongst the knights, were women. Women in battle dress, shields slung over their backs and swords at their side. The prospect of marrying a Baratheon girl did not seem so dreadful now, if the only women at court were to be Helaena’s ladies-in-waiting, the noble ladies his mother pushed at him or these horse maids.

“Gestillan!”

The cry came from the front of the cavalry, the language one that Aemond could not place, and the cavalry shuffled to a halt. Every head turned towards them. Three riders led the troop, two men and a woman.

“Lord Geodred, of House Beridan, heir to Braedel and commander of the Renward, his sister, Lady Geowyth, and Ser Herumbrand Fasthelm, captain of the Renward.”

Lord Geodred, the man who had issued the call, was at the centre of the three. Unlike the rest of the riders, the three leaders wore no helmets, and Lord Geodred’s hair shone russet like a crown about his head. Stubble decorated his round cheeks, and his small eyes twinkled with mirth. There was something in him that reminded Aemond of his mother in her happier days. The tunic he wore was made of velvet, the fabric coloured the same as the sky when Aemond rode Vhagar just before sun’s rise; that deep, endless blue. Bronze pattern work wound around his sleeves and cape, draped nobly over his mount’s back.

The man to his right was an imposing beast. Ser Herumbrand. The old knight’s dark armour was flecked with scratches, though none could quite match those across his face. His white hair was roughly shorn close to his scalp and, combined with the jutting of his square jaw, gave the man a look of stone come to life. Grey eyes scanned the royals and gathered nobles. He looked down his wide nose at them, though his mouth gave him away. The faintest smile played at the corners if his lips. At his side, his hand rested against the hilt of an enormous sword, the other lax on the reign of the chestnut horse he rode. The two men dismounted and Aemond watched their progress up the great steps towards the royal family. Lord Geodred bowed deeply to the Queen, and when she held out her hand, rather than bend to kiss it, Geodred clasped it warmly with both of his.

“An honour, my Queen, that you would have us attend the King’s council. I am only sorry that it is I and not our uncle,”

“And I am sorry that my husband is not here to welcome you, and that your dear uncle is ill. How is the good King?”

“He is well enough, for now-”

A glint of gold caused Aemond’s eye to drift from his mother and her guests to the woman now dismounting from her own stallion. The black horse she rode was an enormous creature, perhaps the largest horse he had ever seen. The tangle of mane covered its eyes, and it huffed through its flared nostrils as its rider departed with a firm pat to his sleek and muscled neck. From beneath its muzzle she appeared, removing her leather riding gloves and handing them to the rider beside her. Like her brother, the Lady Geowyth was bonny faced, though her hair was much darker. It cascaded in frizzy strands to her waist, the effect giving her the look of something haunted, like a witch fresh from a bog. Where her brother wore blue, she wore the red of her house, dark like blood, the velvet gown frayed and sprayed with mud no doubt from the journey. Lifting the skirt of her dress, she approached her brother, who turned and introduced his sister to the Queen. Aemond watched she curtsied, deeper than any who had come before her, and thanked her for her hospitality.

The Braedels moved along the row, first Lord Geodred, then his sister and Ser Herumbrand. Geodred shook Aegon’s hand jovially after bowing, and the poor prince looked jostled. His ability to stand upright was already hampered by his drinking and the vigorous shaking by a warrior lord did nothing to help him. The lady, Geowyth, curtsied to the prince who took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to it. He muttered something and she laughed, from genuine pleasure or politeness Aemond could not tell. When the party moved towards Helaena, Aegon looked to his brother and winked, licking his lips. He laughed as Aemond imperceptibly shook his head, but ceased when his mother smacked his arm. Aemond distinctly saw her mutter the word “behave.”

Unlike with his mother and brother, Aemond noted that Lord Geodred did not touch Helaena, merely bowed with a gentle “hello”, to which she nodded and clasped her hands. Instead, he stepped aside and introduced the princess to his sister. Helaena, taken by one of her flights of fancy, held out a hand and caught the dark velvet of Lady Geowyth’s cape. She ran her fingers along it murmuring about the delicacy of the embroidery.

“Perhaps we could go to the haberdashers,” Geowyth said gently. “And choose fabric together? By the old Gods and the new, it would be nice to have the company of another young woman.”

Helaena beamed, nodding as she let go of the fabric and swung her arms in front of her. Geodred stepped before Aemond and raised his eyebrows, the act denoting fondness rather than annoyance at their two sisters. The Lord’s calm countenance and assuredness belied his true age for up close, Aemond noted he could have been no older than thirty.

“Prince Aemond,” Geodred bowed. “A pleasure. Your father’s letters to my uncle tell that you are a great student of history.” Beside him, Geowyth looked up.

“History, yes,” Aemond’s voice was measured. “And the languages.”

Geodred nodded. “I hope that you would find the time to show me some of your favourite volumes. I have not the head for history but must learn if I am to inherit my uncle’s kingdom.”

“Of course,” Aemond bowed his head only slightly. “And I might enquire as to your language-” He let the sentence hang, waiting on Geodred to answer.

“Braehic, spoken only in our kingdom. Aed grundset,” At these unknown words, Aemond’s lips twitched into an uncomfortable smile and he bowed, signifying to Geodred that their conversation was at an end. The other man smiled and moved aside. “My sister, Geowyth.”

She was already deep in a bow when Aemond looked upon her. The hair she left untied, tangled like that of her steed, fell forward from her shoulders and near swept the floor. When she straightened to her full height, she met Aemond almost eye to covered eye. At once, Aemond’s eye fell to the ground. The flicker was quick, and he recovered to look at her once again, but nonetheless, they had caught him off guard. Like the bronze of Beridan banners, her eyes gleamed amber. Framed beneath her dark and straight lashes, they stared into his own like an eagle after prey, so bright they were almost yellow. She smiled.

“Your Grace,”

“My lady.” Aemond possessed none of the easy charm of his brother, nor the intriguing gentleness of his sister and, frozen under the gaze of her eyes, said nothing at all. The lady had clearly not expected his silence and glanced quickly to her brother.

“My Queen,” Geodred stepped forward and offered Alicent his arm. “I believe we are the last to arrive-”

“Thank the mother, the maiden and the crone’s sagging-”

“Thank you, Lord Geodred,” Alicent cut Aegon off, taking Geodred’s arm and leading him inside the Red Keep. Behind them followed the royal children and the nobles of the other houses. Helaena tucked her arm into Aemond’s, watching the party from Braedel every now and again over her shoulder.

“Borne and bound,” she muttered.

“Hm?” Aemond followed her eyes. Lady Geowyth and Ser Herumbrand were deep in conversation. The old knight’s eyes caught Aemond’s and the young prince turned around.

“I like them,”

“I’m glad, sister,” he squeezed her hand. “They seemed very taken by you too.” Helaena blushed and clung closer to him.

“Shame the same can’t be said about you,” Aegon took Helaena’s arm from Aemond’s. When the time was right and he was sober enough to remember, Aegon liked to act the doting husband to his sister. Aemond bowed his head and took great strides to be away from his family and the party behind them, catching Aegon’s words as he departed for his chambers.

“Only a few more hours of council and then the drinking can begin.” A roar of approval rose from the noblemen and Aemond sighed. Between the council and the King’s nameday festivities, women being forced upon him or being ignored completely, Aemond knew this week was to be excruciating.

Note: Gestillan = halt

Aed grundset = of course

The language that the Braedel kingdom speaks is Old English. I was inspired (no surprises here) by Tolkien and the Rohirrim, and the area of the UK that I am from when creating this house. There will be a lot more about them and their society in upcoming chapters! The names in old English names are typically said how the are written, though the prefix “geo” is said as “gay-O”, rather than the “geo" in “geography”.

Tags: @arcielee @mefools @bladeofdreadfort @glitterandgoldfinds @heimtathurs @ewanmitchellcrumbs

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond #aemond one eye #borne and bound #ewan mitchell x reader

220 notes · View notes

dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

Text

Running From The Flames {Epilogue 1/2}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x OFC Warnings: parenting - that should be a warning lmao, sexual themes

F1 Masterlist || Previous Chapter - Epilogue 2/2

There was only one word to describe my life and that word was: chaotic. That being said, I still wouldn’t change it for the world.

The family calendar on the fridge was completely full and colour coded so we could all see where we were needed on any given day. Even so, I still lost track of my husband or our kids at least once a week.

“Sydney, honey, have you seen your father?” I asked the spitting image of Pierre who was in the race simulator. He was always in the machine, practising for his upcoming debut into Formula 4 now that he had turned 15 and could move up from karting.

“Picking up Addie from the airport.” He barely looked away from the triplet of screens in front of him as he answered with all the attitude of a teenage boy being interrupted in life. “It’s on the fridge.”

I looked at the calendar and realised I was looking at the completely wrong day. “Shit.”

“Ha,” he laughed loudly as he navigated the virtual track of the Red Bull Ring. “You forgot.”

“I didn’t forget,” I said as I scanned over the correct day and saw I had a board meeting to prepare for tomorrow. “I just thought it was Tuesday today.”

“Whatever you say, maman. You can tell me I’m your favourite, I won’t say anything.”

“I don’t have a favourite, I love you all equally. Now, can you finish that game and go do your homework? You still need to pack your bag for the weekend too.”

Addie was coming home from London for the week, taking a little break from her own busy schedule, to watch Sydney’s first race with us in Austria.

It had been difficult to let her leave home at 18 but she had worked hard to get a place in the Arsenal Women’s Under 21 team. I had left home at the same age and Pierre had left even earlier, so we were hardly the exemplary figures to deny her. All we could do was make sure she stayed safe and she knew she could call either of us 24/7 if she needed help. It was also never that long between visits, making plenty of stopovers in England as we travelled.

The travelling for work was tiresome but so far we had yet to miss a football match on Saturday or a karting race on Sunday. It did help being our own bosses so Pierre and I could manage our schedule around the kids. He had been running Strauss Fashion for the better part of the last ten years, after Granny finally retired properly, while I had been the Chief Technical Officer at Alpine, which Grandpa had purchased.

When Harry passed away three years ago I found myself suddenly thrust into the ownership of the team and though there were plenty of offers to sell it, I decided to take the leap of faith and see where the journey would take me. I hadn’t looked back and so far we had two Constructors' Championship wins with our seasoned pilots, Gabriele Minì and Oliver Bearman.

We had come so far, it was hard to believe until I saw the wisps of grey hairs among the dark strands.

“Maman!” I was pulled from my reminiscence and looked at my watch to realise how quickly the afternoon had gotten away from me as Clare bounded through the front door and leapt into my arms. “Maman, look!”

Clare had been a wonderful surprise that completed our family two years ago. After Sydney’s unexpected and frightening early arrival Pierre had been reluctant to try for another child, though he had always wanted three. I thought maybe he would change his mind after the terrifying memory faded with time but then a few years passed, we both got caught up in work, and after that it seemed too hard to imagine returning to sleepless nights with a newborn.

But, the universe had other plans for us. What I thought was a long-enduring hangover, after celebrating the rebranding of Alpine into Gasly Racing, actually turned out to be morning sickness. Those final weeks before her birth were stressful enough to send Pierre to his doctor for a vasectomy but thankfully her arrival went exactly to plan and he could breathe calmly once again.

“Hello my Clare-bear, wow, you have another bracelet.” You quirked an eyebrow at Charles as he arrived with Clare’s backpack on his shoulder and her spare carseat under his arm. “Uncle Charles has absolutely spoiled you.”

“Of course. A princess deserves it,” he stated proudly as he placed her belongings down and nodded his head to the simulator. “Is he all ready for the big day?”

“He is, I’m not sure I am,” I admitted as I put Clare down and she immediately went to interrupt Sydney by climbing onto his lap mid-race. If it was anyone else they would have received an earful but he just paused the game and listened as she told him all about her day at Uncle Charles’ house. “God help me when he gets to Formula One, I think I’ll have to revert the car back to a slower predecessor for my own sanity.”

Charles laughed but I wasn’t completely joking. The cars were so much faster than they were when he and PIerre raced. Though the safety features improved along with the technology that made them rockets on wheels it was still difficult to imagine putting my little boy inside one and sending it off.

“You could keep him as a reserve driver,” Charles offered before shaking his head at the thought and taking a seat at the kitchen island. “But he’s stubborn like his father, he’d just find another team to race for.”

“No way, I can at least trust my own team to keep him safe. Same goes for Marc.”

Charles chuckled at the mention of his son who at 8 years old he was already a junior karting champion. “He said someone called him Il Predestinato after his race last weekend.”

“Yikes, I’m sure they meant it in a good way.”

The front door opened again and Addie blew in with all the gusto of a tornado, whipping around the rooms to greet everyone before she was up the stairs to her old room. Entering a little more sedately was my husband, his arms laden with more suitcases than anyone needed for a week away, especially when she still had a wardrobe full of clothes upstairs.

“You are lucky you only have sons,” Pierre said to Charles as he kicked the door closed behind him. “I don’t work out enough anymore to be carrying this shit.”

He dropped the suitcases in front of the elevator and hit the call button rather than carrying them up the stairs before pushing them inside as the door opened. After a few bad winters, where not even the central heating could keep the aches of my bones at bay, Pierre had made the call for the elevator to be installed and it had been a godsend in moments like this when heavy items needed to make it to the floors above.

Sticking his head up the staircase he called out, “Addie, your entire life and everything but the kitchen sink is heading your way.”

“Thanks, dad!”

“What was that about?” I asked after he joined us in the kitchen while the coffee machine churned out our usual drinks. “I thought she outgrew the ‘I’m too cool to hangout with my parents’ phase.”

Pierre's lips pressed together and he took a seat next to Charles, picking up Clare who had left Sydney to return to his practice. “Elias.”

“Vettel?” Charles asked, his eyebrows lifting when Pierre nodded and pushed his mug away so Clare couldn’t reach the hot liquid.

“They have been out on a few dates, apparently. I’ll have to ask Davis about it, assuming he went with them, it’s not like it’s his job or anything. Did you know that?”

I shook my head at the news, cradling my mug in my hands as I leaned against the bench and wondered if she had ditched her bodyguard once again. “He’s a sweet boy from what I remember, much like his father.”

“I don’t like it. I don’t care who his dad is,” Pierre grumbled before repeating, “You are so lucky you only have sons, mate. Teenage girls are stressful.”

“Ah, but I have two boys who think it is funny to have a competition to see who can fart the loudest,” Charles said as he took a sip of his drink.

“I mean, that’s kind of funny,” Pierre said with a smirk.

Charles sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. “Not when one always pushes too hard to win.”

The sip I was taking went the wrong way and I spluttered as Pierre laughed, “It’s all shits and giggles, until someone giggles and shits.”

“To think my poor mother went through this too. Drives me insane, mate. Bet you’ve never had to worry about that?”

“Thankfully, no,” I answered after recovering from choking on coffee. “But it also wasn’t bad enough to stop you from having another.”

“And on that note, I should get going. Mia won’t let me back in the house if I don’t pick up her favourite carbonara on the way home.” He smiled as he thought of his wife’s pregnancy cravings. It was the same one she had when she was carrying Marc and Antonio so it came as no surprise at the gender reveal when the backyard was splattered with blue confetti. “Thank you for letting me borrow Clare.”

“Any time,” Pierre chuckled as he clapped his friend on the back. Charles had been busy reinstalling all the baby gates and safety locks in his home, despite the baby boy not even being born yet, and wanted a toddler to help test his craftsmanship. “I won’t complain about a little free babysitting.”

Charles placed his empty mug in the sink and before kissing the top of Clare’s thick wavy hair. “Bye petite chérie, I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“Bye Uncle Charles,” she said with a wave, but it sounded more like Unk Cha and made him laugh as he approached the simulator.

I saw Sydney pause the race and Charles crouched down beside him, sharing a few quiet words of encouragement for the upcoming debut race. I couldn’t help feeling incredibly lucky to be surrounded by so many supportive people and my smile grew as a pair of arms wrapped around my waist.

I turned to meet his lips over my shoulder and the magnetism that attracted us was still evident even after 17 years. Of course, like any relationship, there had been times when stress led to arguments and I would find him hours later in a spare bed, wide awake because he couldn’t sleep without me beside him. Those fights never lasted long enough to even remember what they were about and forgiveness came easy.

I turned in my husband’s arms and draped mine around his neck to admire him. Pierre was truly like a fine wine. Age had made him even more handsome and the small wrinkles at the corners of his lips and eyes were a testament to a life that was full of smiles and laughter.

“Addie said she’ll watch the kids tonight,” Pierre whispered in my ear as he gently swayed to the melodic tune of his voice and I hummed with contentment. “And I got us a table at L'Ambroisie. You’ve been working so hard I thought we could do with a night away, just the two of us.”

“You think I don’t know your game, baby,” I whispered back, all too aware Charles was still chatting with Sydney and imparting some real world advice. “Wine and dine, pretty words, a hotel room. There’s only one thing you want.”

His lips curled into a smile against my cheek. “You know me too well.”

“You would actually get a full night’s sleep if you put your foot down.”

Pierre looked over at Clare who had helped herself to a banana from the fruit bowl and as if sensing she had been caught she looked up with an innocent smile. “How can I tell her no when she looks like that?”

“Mhmm, and that’s why she keeps climbing into our bed. You are a big softy.”

His smirk was flirty and fun as his arms tightened around me, pulling our bodies flush together. His breath was hot on my neck as he hid his face in the curtain of my hair. “Not tonight, ma femme. Tonight you will see just how hard I can be.”

Pierre backed up with a smirk but not before he sucked at the sensitive skin above my racing pulse. He knew exactly what he was doing and the smugness showed as he whistled a little tune on his way to help Clare peel the banana.

Shaking my head, I made my way to the stairs and said goodbye to Charles with the message to remind Mia that our plans for a spa day had been booked - but that didn’t mean he could slack off from the ankle massages he was giving her each night. He gave an amused salut but I didn’t see it as I pressed the button for the elevator. He was well used to the reminders by now, it wasn’t his first rodeo.

Knowing my evening plans had changed I went to my office and shut the door to silence the music drifting down the hall from Addie’s room. As CEO of Gasly Racing there was an endless stream of paperwork to be checked and signed, especially with the new expansion plan for the factory about to break ground. On top of that were the invites to attend fundraisers or speeches to prepare for the various charities I was ambassador for such as Women's Refuge.

When I finally emerged with my inbox up to date I could hear the laughter of all my children from where they lounged in front of the tv and the sound never ceased to make me smile. I had missed the sound since Addie moved out because it was rare to have all five of us here at the same time and I was reluctant to leave even for just one night when it came time to pack an overnight bag.

“We are allowed one night away, mon amour,” Pierre said as he stepped into the master bedroom to see me hesitating to step inside the wardrobe. “You and me, no interruptions.”

I relaxed into his embrace and sighed as he brushed my hair over one shoulder before kissing my collar. “And what were you planning that was so important it couldn’t be interrupted?”

His chuckle sent a shiver of delight down my spine and his fingers trailed down my ribs to the hem of my shirt before they slipped underneath the material to caress the soft skin over my stomach. I had to take a shaky breath when his thumbs caught the waistband of my skirt and I held it as I waited for them to hook underneath.

His lips brushed the shell of my ear and my lips parted in anticipation of his dirty words. “To sleep.”

“Huh?” I blinked twice, peeking over my shoulder to see his green eyes sparkling with amusement.

“To sleep. Why, what were you thinking?” He tried to look innocent but when he drew his bottom lip between his teeth and his hand slipped down beneath my skirt he let the truth show. “Did you want me to tell you how I am dying for a taste of you? How I can’t wait to have these sexy legs wrapped around me when I make love to you tonight? I don’t need to tell you, baby, I’ll show you.”

I knew he could feel how damp my panties were for him from the smirk on his face and I almost whimpered when he withdrew his hand from where I needed it. “Now pack your bag, and make it quick, I’m absolutely ravenous.”

I bit my lip at the depth of his tone and knew exactly what it was he was dying to taste. I didn’t even look at what I was packing, tossing the first items that touched my hands before he stopped me and grabbed one dress instead.

“This one,” he said as he held a colourful sundress that I rarely wore anymore, a soft smile warming his eyes. “It’s my favourite.”

Click here for the final chapter. 🥺

Tagging: @my-only-way-tocooperatewithlife @prrttysposts @alwaysclassyeagle @dr3lover @adalynneva

#pierre gasly x poc!oc #pierre gasly x oc #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly imagine #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #running from the flames

184 notes · View notes

ladylaviniya · 3 months ago

Text

The Bronze Dragon ★ Chapter 10 ★

||Chapter 9|| Masterlist || Chapter 11||

Chapter Summary: Threats and false promises are made with a knife, blood and a little bit of fun.

Pairing: Dark!Aemond Targaryen X Laviniya Targaryen (My OFC)

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Post-War Dance of The Dragons, Mentions of Targaryen Heritage, Alternative Universe, Humiliation, Threats and Coercion With A Knife *Some Smut This Chapter*, Oral Sex F!Receiving, Dubious Consent.

Word Count: 9,480k

Author Notes: ★ I do not have a beta, and I am grateful for everyone who helps me edit. I type this story on my phone using Microsoft Word App. Thankyou and please be kind. (If it's simple spelling like colour vs color, understand I am Australian and we love adding extra vowels.)

Inspiring Song: "Bad Liar" by Imagine Dragons

The forest was alive with the sounds of nature. She ran through the trees with all her might, hoping to lose those hounds and their galloping master. There were hounds barking in long, mournful tones, and other hounds with shorter, more angry howls and yips. The night air was thick and heavy, and by the time she reached the stream, her dress clung to her body, soaked with sweat and sticking to her skin. Her long, snowy-white hair was plastered to her neck and shoulders, damp with sweat. Bugs stuck to her ankles covered in the king’s blood.

She allowed herself to slow down from her initial sprint, switching to a more stealthy mode of navigation. Carefully, she moved through the trail, ducking behind trees and avoiding the pursuing riders. The forest floor was unforgiving, littered with sharp rocks and pointy sticks. Every step was met with a sharp intake of breath as her unprotected feet were constantly assaulted with small thorns and stones.

Moving as quickly yet as quietly as possible, she kept to the shelter of the forest, slipping between the brush and trees with practiced skill. Fortunately, the path she had chosen was bordered by a stream, and once she neared the edge, she didn’t hesitate to step into the cool water, moving silently forward. Moonlight filtered through the dense canopy of trees, casting a silvery, bluish-gray hue over the surroundings.

The water was still and silent, its surface barely rippled except for the small waves she created with her movements. She searched for any sign of movement in the water, but saw none. She assured herself that if any creature was concealed beneath the surface, its presence would be betrayed by ripples or splashes.

She placed the hilt of the knife into her mouth.

With an impulsive plunge, she submerged herself in the cool, dark water. Rising from the depths, she buried her hands in the damp grass on the bank. She slammed the blade into the dirt above the muddy bank. She ran her fingers through her clean, ivory hair and smeared handfuls of mud on her face and dress. Then, a sharp pain in her shoulder caused her to wince, suppressing the urge to rip the bandage from under her gown. She dug her hands once more into the mud, coating her arms and legs with a thick layer of mud, grass, and moss. Once she was completely covered from head to toe, she pushed herself up, taking the dagger into her hands and carefully moved along the bank of the water, trying to avoid disturbing the surface and revealing her presence by the sound of careless splashing.

Her progress was hindered by the precarious bank, as every few steps, her foot would slip off, plunging into the mushy embankment below. Occasionally, she’d lose her balance and end up tumbling into the water. However, she never let go of her knife and would manage to quickly return to her task, ensuring to coat herself with more mud once again before resuming her journey.

The effort of her mad dash through the forest had pushed her to her physical limits. Her chest ached, and though she was young and fit, the heavy air was proving taxing to her burning lungs. Gasping for breath, she heard a distinct wetness in her breathing, each inhalation sounding laboured and strained. Seeking refuge beneath the protective cover of two thick trees, she paused to rest, her eyes wide and her body teeming with a restless, buzzing energy. Her hands clenched the blade hilt harder, ready to strike.

With each passing moment, she was acutely aware of the urgency of her situation. She hurriedly pushed herself to her feet, continuing on her path. The intense effort was taking a toll on her body, her heart racing at an unhealthy pace. She dared to glance over her shoulder, yet she heard nothing—no sounds of hounds or riders. The night had become eerily silent, an unnerving quiet that sent chills down her spine.

She had to find a way home and rally a support to her cause of defense. She would go live with the sister she had never known in the Eyrie. The Eyrie was impregnable. The Eyrie had a army twice as trained and better armoured than any northerners.

The words echoed through her mind like a mantra, providing a shred of comfort in her dire situation. “I do not have to marry the king. I do not have to marry the king. I do not have to marry the king.” She repeated them three times, each repetition a desperate attempt to assuage her mounting panic. Another fifty metres passed beneath her feet before she was suddenly halted by a pair of powerful arms that encircled her and pulled her back against a chainmail chest as cold as a winters morning and hard as the Runestones walls.

She tried to yell but a large hand swiftly smothered her cry. A nearby hound bounded out onto the path, leaping and jumping joyously, emitting a long, low bark of victory. The excited canine jumped and spun, clearly enjoying its success while Laviniya found herself incapable of squealing, as the knight’s iron grip on her face kept her mouth firmly shut.

She tried jerking the blade back into his side but the sharp point was no match for his chainmail. He grabbed and squeezed her wrist hard enough for it to drop the knife with her tiniest whimper.

His fingers holding her tight and firm suddenly pinched her nostrils together, making it harder for her to draw breath. She fought back with all her might, her body writhing and struggling against his hold. She managed to open her mouth wide and snapped her teeth down hard on the top of his hand, tasting the metallic tang of warm blood. With a violent jerk of her legs, she tried to free herself from his grasp.

“Fuck! That hurt, you little-!” The knight that she realised was Ser Gilbar, cursed as he involuntarily released his grip, dropping her hard, trying to free his bitten hand. On her hands and knees she took advantage of the momentary reprieve, she tried to dart forward, but a sudden wave of nausea overpowered her senses, sending a powerful shudder through her body.

Her ankle was ruthlessly seized in a powerful grip, and she was pulled back forcefully. Strangely, the thought of screaming didn’t even occur to her; her mind was solely fixated on trying to escape as quickly as possible. She clawed at the ground, desperately trying to find purchase and pull herself away from Ser Gilbar.

A massive bicep encircled her throat, followed by the vise-like grip of a second arm around both of her own. Her airway was instantly blocked, her body instinctively trying to gasp for air, but the pressure on her throat kept her mouth sealed shut. The arm around her neck constricted even further, cutting off any chance of inhaling or exhaling.

“Please do not struggle, Lady Laviniya,” the knight spoke calmly, his voice cutting through the din of the celebrating hounds, “Please try to calm yourself and be still, it will be over soon, I promise.” He grunted.

As her vision began to blur and spots danced before her eyes, she pondered the irony of her impending death. She probably looked like a fish, with her mouth gaping open, her eyes bulging, and her body desperately thrashing around in a futile attempt to catch a breath.

“Apologies, Lady Laviniya. Just go to sleep now,” the knight, Ser Gilbar, softly instructed. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, leaving her unable to continue fighting. With no choice, she allowed herself to yield to the darkness, her world slowly fading into deep, unconscious slumber.

The skin around the sutures was a sight of redness, rawness, and swelling. The wound extended across his palm and reached a point just shy of the top of his wrist. The maester had done an examination of the injury and thankfully, no major damage to his tendons had been detected. Aemond was able to move his fingers and although his grip strength was somewhat impacted, it could have been far worse. However, the maester had informed him that he had been exceptionally lucky, for it appeared that Aemond’s life was spared by the fact that the artery in his hand had only been nicked.

The revelation had shocked even the king, a man who had faced countless dangerous battles on dragonback and engaged in hand-to-hand combat with seasoned warriors who had honed their skills throughout their entire lives. Yet, here he was being told that a young woman, who he found himself growing increasingly infatuated with, had come precariously close to bringing him death.

Aemond knew that the wound would undoubtedly scar, but strangely, he found an odd sense of satisfaction in this fact. It would serve as a constant reminder of the danger he had just narrowly escaped. He had to admit, he had underestimated her just as he had with his nephew in their youth. And yet, he had thought that was a mistake he would never repeat.

Aemond’s mind was filled with shame as he thought of how easily she could have struck higher. The blade could have sliced through his throat, leaving him to bleed out on the floor like a slaughtered pig, unable to cry out for his guards in time before meeting the bitter end of his reign.

The king then felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he considered what might have befallen Laviniya if the outcome had been different. Ser Gilbar was indeed a man to be trusted, but the other knights in his employ were not. They were nothing more than a pack of hungry dogs, always looking for an opportunity to rape and pillage where they could and without their king to command their mercy, Laviniya could have been a torn up corpse of blood and cum.

Despite himself, Aemond found himself grinning as he gingerly traced his finger along the edges of the stitches. It was a delightful turn of events, and he had to admit, she had managed to impress him at every turn without even requiring to remove her clothes.

It had been a long two years for him, filled with nothing but indulging his primal desires, but never having his intellect and personality so fiercely engaged. She had broken that pattern, and it was a welcome change for him.

He thought about how filthy she was when she had arrived and he had paid a elderly woman, the sister of the Maester to wash and care for his woman. After many hot buckets of water and towels and soap, she was finally clean, but he recalled walking in on her and worrying as she stirred and cried in her delirium state. She was so small and helpless and he had done this to her, forced this onto her. It reminded him of Jaehaera. He could not fault her for trying to escape him. But he would be obeyed.

He told the Maester’s sister to wash and cloth Laviniya in the cleanest thing possible. He paid her fifteen gold pieces, a wage that would support her and her brother for a year.

A soft knock on the door and he called for them to enter. Ser Raynard entered with the Maester's sister.

“She is awake my lord.”

Her head throbbed mercilessly, the voices around her sounding distant and somewhat distorted, almost as if they were being filtered through water. She wondered if she was underwater pondering whether some stream creature had claimed her in the murky depths. Uncertainty reigned as she lay disoriented and dazed, struggling to make sense of her current predicament.

Her body felt dry and uncomfortable; it was as if she had peeled off a layer of skin, revealing a new, fresh layer beneath. But in her distortion space of sleep, she found herself dreaming of peeling away and shedding skin, an endless supply of it. Like she was a serpant, or maybe- a dragon. But the dream was to hazy and every so often a blue orb filled the dream, an eye. But the space around the blue kept trembling and swaying. Even now, she couldn’t shake the sensation, as if she were still in the dream, with the itchy feeling of scales beneath her fingers.

A flask of cool water was placed to her lips. She sucked on it greedily. Her mouth was very dry. Her head hurt so badly. But she felt so warm and beneath her was something soft like a blanket of the softest sheep wool. Was she in her room in the Runestones? Was the maester nearby? Had she been hit by a large boulder? She recalled there was a loose risk in the wall near the stable heard that needed reinforcing. Why did her throat hurt so bad? She couldn’t afford to miss her class with Septa Tanisha and her best friend Myrielle. She needed to wake up soon.

Through the haze of her dreary eyes, she could see a single face.

“Is she going to be alright?” a familiar, warm, masculine, voice worried. She felt a warm hand on her cold one and shuddered at the difference in temperature, her insides felt so warm by the hand touching hers alone. She wanted to hold that hand again. It was so soft.

“The little dear shall be alright, your grace ,” an old woman’s kind voice, calmly assured, “She merely needs rest. We gave her a rather strong sedative to keep her asleep while we washed her. She’s fighting against the medicines of the sedative though – or nightmares are coming through her sleep.”

“Nightmares?” the King replied.

“She keeps mumbling things about blood and fire and then nonsense about eggs and saddles.”

There was a warm chuckle. And then silence for a long time. She felt her body grow warmer and then a breeze would make her skin impossibly icy. She couldn’t move and when she tried to speak all she could manage were weak whimpers.

The knight’s voice, tinged with concern, reached her from a distance. “I swear, I didn’t want to harm her. I did everything I could to be gentle, sire. I promise, I would never harm such a sweet girl,” he pleaded sincerely.

In response, the king grunted, then sighed before speaking, his tone conveying a sense of trust. “I believe you, Ser. I entrust her care into your hands. Thankyou for bringing my bride back to me.”

An uncertain amount of time passed before a bright light intruded her eyelids, forcing her to scrunch her face in discomfort. The King’s soft laughter filled the room, followed by a gentle command, “Come now, Laviniya, wake up please. Avy jorrāelan.”

Another flask of water was presented to her lips, and she obediently drank the cool liquid, although she still felt filthy, caked in dirt from head to toe. The light stabbed her eyes again, pain radiating through her aching head.

A gentle old woman with kind eyes spoke to her, holding a bar of soap in her wrinkled hand. A warm smile Laviniya d her face as she carefully offered a sip of water. As she lifted her hand to her face, she noticed the thick layer of mud coating her skin from head to toe. She started to remember her panicked flight through the forest. She recalled being pursued by something, but it wasn’t a wolf or a lion. It was a man. Yes, a man had attacked her. Ser Gilbar.

Darkness took hold of her again.

She slowly regained consciousness, her head throbbing with pain, and her jaw aching intensely. Her hand instinctively rose to touch the tender skin on the side of her face. She gently pressed her fingers against the soreness, finding it tender to the touch. Taking a moment to gather herself, she carefully opened her mouth and gently cracked her jaw. The action caused a sharp bite of pain, but it also brought a small sense of relief.

“Gods,” she sighed. She was in the small inn room again, this time there were many towels and buckets around the floor and bed. Her dress that was filthy was gone, all the cracked dirt coated her arms was gone. She was clean and made new, wearing only an stain and aged nightgown.

She opened her eyes, though the effort proved taxing on her sore eyelids. Each passing moment brought more clarity as the memories of the previous night began to resurface. Awareness of her surroundings, her actions, her failed attempts, and the overwhelming sense of impending doom slowly returned to her. A chill crept through her as the weight of her defeat settled deep within her core.

The memory of attempting to follow the stream played vividly in her mind. Although she was aware that her actions could pose a threat to her people, she couldn’t bring herself to confront the king’s wrath in the confining space of the inn. Instead, she had chosen to face him as she stood safely behind the fortified walls of Runestones. She knew that she hadn’t gotten far before being captured.

Despite the knowledge that it would take over a week of walking on foot to return to her home, the thought of being free from the king’s executioner for that period of time provided a small measure of comfort. Even though she believed that she had acted responsibly, a deep sense of guilt gnawed at her. She truly hadn’t wanted to maim the King, she just wanted him to let her go and cease his torment. The pain throughout her body reminded her of her failed escape and the consequences that lay ahead.

A mix of feelings coursed through her, and she found herself questioning whether she had caused significant harm to Ser Gilbar. Almost immediately, she chided herself for even considering his well-being. The metallic taste of blood was faint now in her mouth, a gruesome reminder of when she had bitten him. Within her own denial, she lied to herself that she was glad to have hurt him. She tried to tell herself that the knight deserved to have a bite scar on his hand forever to remind him of the woman he brought back to be slaughtered by a vicious and cruel king.

As she observed her surroundings, her gaze lingered on the window at the far left of the room. It was undoubtedly the same opening the king had leaned out of the previous night, using it to taunt her with his menacing presence. With a sense of dejection, she concluded that it was too high off from the ground to jump from without killing herself or breaking a few bones. She realised eventually that her own ankles and wrists were tightly trussed and tied to the four corners of the bed posts, each limb secured by a combination of sturdy leather belts and tightly knotted rope. Consumed by fear in her helplessness, she kicked and thrashed to try to break free, but the limited space she could move in only caused her body to be pulled even more taut.

Laviniya tried not to cry in her hopelessness, but it was a great feat. Laviniya couldn’t hold back her tears as her emotions overwhelmed her. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, letting her sobs wrack her body. She wept for her Cousin Gunthor, sobbing for him to save her somehow. She cried out prayers to the gods to save her. She wanted to go home.

Eventually, however, she turned her face towards the lone window in the room, her tears continuing to fall silently. As she looked out at the blue sky and the tops of the trees, she allowed herself to become lost in the peaceful swaying of the branches in the gentle breeze. She tried not to think about the impending doom or execution for her crime. For now, she wanted just to remain in this small bubble of peace.

After an indeterminate amount of time, the door to the room creaked opened. The Kings face appeared, hard and firm like that of a disappointed father.

“Good morning, Lady Laviniya.”

“Good morning, your grace," she said meekly.

His eyes took in the sight of her, and acknowledged his own excitement influence by the fear that was rolling off her in waves. Seeing her like this was exciting, it was a powerful feeling, thick and sweet like syrup, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“You look lovelier now that you’ve been cleaned up and scrubbed of all that muck.”

“Yes, my king,” she shuddered, her voice catching slightly as she tried to keep her fear under control. “Thank you.”

She was afraid to say more, afraid to anger him further. He could see it in her eyes, in the way her body tensed and trembled as he drew closer. The king circled the bed, his gaze locked on hers. Her purple eyes were wide with fear, a testament to the power he held over her. A thrill of pleasure coursed through him as he watched her, knowing that she was powerless to resist him. He yearned for her, wanting to bathe his senses in her presence. To inhale her scent, to taste her flesh, to devour her completely.

Yet his voice was calm and almost casual as he asked, “How are you feeling?”

The question seemed to catch her off guard, her face betraying her confusion. He watched as her nose crinkled and her brow furrowed, the emotions flickering across her features like the flames of a newborn fire having oxygen breathed into it.

Her voice was so quiet that he had to lean forward to hear her clearly. “Terrified,” she breathed. “Scared.”

He smiled, enjoying the feeling of power that coursed through him at the sound of her soft admission. She was defiant, yes, but only because she had never been taught how to submit or respect a king properly...She had never known the pleasure of surrendering to him, her king.

There was something pure and untouched within her, a genuine goodness that was rare to find in this godforsaken land. It called to him, stirring a primal, possessive instinct that he could not ignore. He wanted to shield it, to protect it from the harsh realities of the world, to keep it all to himself. It would be his, and his alone.

He would build a fortress around her, a fortress with walls of solid steel and doors that only he held the keys to. No one would be able to touch her, to corrupt her innocence or extinguish her light.

The thought of the challenge ahead sent a jolt of pure excitement through him. How to mould her delicate mind, to exert his control without causing it to shatter completely? He wanted to dominate her, to make her bend to his will, but not in the same brutal way that his brother had to Helaena. He wanted to possess Laviniya, to own her, but not by breaking her spirit. No, he wanted her to surrender willingly, to give herself to him completely.

He leaned in even closer, his voice low and sultry as he spoke. “You needn’t be scared,” he assured her. “If you simply obeyed me.”

She met his gaze, her eyes darting back and forth in a futile attempt to hide her thoughts. “I’ll obey,” she promised, her voice trembling slightly. His smile widened at her hasty promise. He could see the deception in her eyes, the way they darted back and forth, giving away her true feelings. He knew full well that she was lying, but he found her attempts at dissemblance amusing and cute.

He flexed his hand, grimacing as the pain in his palm flared up again. The soothing salve applied by the maester had done little to ease the throbbing, and he could hardly wait to make her suffer for it. But he had to bide his time, patience being the key to all things. He would have to wait, but the punishment he would inflict on her would be all the sweeter for the delay.

He took a deep breath, trying to push aside the tantalizing images that were racing through his mind. The thought of her, bent over a table in his chambers in King’s Landing, her dress up around her waist, her bottom red from his hand...it was almost too much to bear. He loved fucking a woman after a good thrashing. He had to remain in control, no matter how much he wanted to give in to his desires. There would be time for that later.

His gaze roamed over her body, taking in every inch of her soft, enticing curves. Her creamy inner thighs, her blushing face, her tousled hair. She really was the perfect creature, a masterpiece in human form. He could see her growing restless under his scrutiny, her discomfort making her shift and shiver. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice a soft whisper as she vowed, “I promise.”

He paused beside the bed, holding his injured hand up for her to see. He could see the shock and guilt written all over her face, her lips parted in a silent gasp as realization of what she had done hit her.

“Oh, I don’t know,” He chuckled, seeing the surprise and fear written so clearly on her face, “You promised not to throw wine in my face if I did not tie you up and gag you, and yet here we are- a cut hand and you back to being tied up... So please forgive me when I say that I’m not convinced you’re telling the truth right now.”

They were frozen in place, each looking deeply into the other’s eyes. There was a charged tension between them, the air thick with emotions and unspoken truths. For the first time since they had met, they were both completely honest with each other. No more lies, no more games, no more denials. The moment felt like an eternity as they stood there, their gazes locked together, the only sound the slow, steady beat of their own heartbeats. All pretence and subtlety had been stripped away in an instant, replaced by pure, unfiltered honesty. She could see the stark reality of her situation, the power he held over her. He was her captor, her master and King now, and there was no denying it. For a moment, it felt like he was seeing her for the very first time, his gaze searching her eyes intently, taking in every detail of her being.

She wet her bottom lip, nervously.

“You forget,” she reminded him, Her voice was soft and shaky as she spoke, but there was a hint of challenge in her tone, “that you still owe me two truths about yourself that no one else knows... If you want honesty from me, my king, you shouldn’t have thrown away your advantage in cyvasse so frivolously.”

He couldn’t help but let out a warm, deep laugh as her words sunk in. His eye still locked on hers, a smile spreading across his face at the unexpected boldness of her words. She had the audacity to challenge him, after everything that had passed between them. It was both ridiculous and admirable, and he found himself totally drawn to her spirit.

He leaned in closer, his eyes narrowed as he replied, “Ah, my little lavender lamb, you are entertaining. That is partially true,” he continued, a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I did tell you about why I killed my brother, but that was only one truth. I promised you two, did I not?”

He fixated on her breasts beneath her thin shift. The room felt chilled, the air cool against his skin. The nipples appeared, small and hard, sat beneath the material of the, beckoning him. His mouth salivated at the thought of tasting them, and he pondered what her skin would taste like admits sweat covered sex. Deep down, he longed for the sensation of the hardened teats against his tongue, their sweet taste hopefully remaining when they would swell up with milk for his children.

He kissed her forehead.

Her face flushed.

“Something true about me that none knows but me-” he paused, “As a boy, after my eye had been carved out, I used to keep a dagger under my pillow, because I feared my brother or my nephew’s would try to kill me in my own sleep. It is a habit that surprisingly almost became my downfall when you decided to fight me.”

“I have no intention of fighting you anymore,” she asserted, her voice laced with sincerity. “Please, give me another opportunity. Untie me, and I’ll prove to you that I’ll do as you desire. I will go with you without fight and serve you without complaint.”

The king’s interest was piqued, his gaze unwavering. “Hmm, you’ll do as I want?” he repeated, his voice a mixture of scepticism and intrigue.

“Yes, your grace,” the young woman replied, her voice tinged with a hint of desperation. “I’ll do whatever you ask, I promise, sire, I’ll-....I’ll-.”

The king chuckled at her fumbling words. “Be sweet, submissive, and loving, is that right?” he prompted.

A tear left her eyes as she swallowed hard, she shuddered with a forced smile, “Yes, I will be all those things,” she agreed, her voice filled with purposeful hope. “I may not know what you expect, but I am willing to learn. Teach me, your grace, and I will do my best to please you.”

Aemond’s gaze drifted downwards, a sly little smirk playing upon his lips. The expression lasted but a moment, replaced almost instantly by a thoughtful frown. He slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket, the gesture subtle yet deliberate. Sensing an opportunity to speak, the young woman opened her mouth, but her words caught in her throat as her eyes instinctively followed the path of Aemond’s hand.

He lifted to the light, a dagger.

He gently touched the blade to his finger and rotated it slowly. She grew paler as she fixated on the blade. She froze, processing the sight before her as all the thoughts races through her mind.

Aemond paused, his brow furrowing in mock concern. He continued to slowly twirl the knife in his hand before addressing her directly.

“Is something troubling you, Laviniya?” he inquired, his voice cool and controlled. “Or are you trying to sweet talk to me, as you’re so fond of doing?”

Sweet talk? She hadn’t sweet talked to him? That was all he had ever done to her since they’d met along with his manipulation and cruelty. Nonetheless his words were a subtle warning, his tone making it clear that he wouldn't fall for her schemes again.

“I guess you don’t love your beautiful fingers as much as I thought you had? Maybe if I cut something far more precious it would solidify the reality of my tolerance? Maybe your nose? Or one of your pretty purple eyes. I envy them you know, you carry true Valyrian genes and hold little appreciation for their beauty...maybe I should send them to your Cousins in the Runestones to remind them I am always watching out for rebels.”

As her mind connected the dots, a look of sheer terror washed over her face. Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Forgive me, your grace,” she pleaded in a shaky whisper. “I’m sorry – I’m sorry.” Her voice quivered as tears streamed down her cheeks, trickling down her temples and seeping into her hair.

He looked up at her, soaking up her sorrowful face, and posed a simple question, “What are you apologizing for?”

Without breaking eye contact, he twirled the dagger against his finger pad, letting the prick enter his skin, and the hot bite of blood rose up the surface of his skin, gliding down his fingertip.

She struggled to maintain her composure, her voice cracking as she spoke. “I’m truly sorry for cutting you, hurting you,” she choked out, her body wracked with tremors of fear. “Please believe me, it was not my intent. I never wanted to cause you harm. I wasn’t thinking. It was just on the bed and I just wanted you to release me and let me go home!”

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she looked up at him, wailing out her pleas for his forgiveness. He lowered his weapon, his stern expression softening as he took in her quivering form.

He yearned to see what her blood would look like, pressing the tip of the blade into the skin of her soft thigh. The tip of the dagger wiggled a little dent on the pale flesh like a dimple of the face. She started to cry, terrified of the prick potentially piercing her flesh.

“Are you going to kill me?” she sniffled. His eye glanced up from the pink knife made dimple back to her scrunched up face. “I know I am to die for treason sire, but I want to know if it will be you or one of your knights as my executioner.”

He studied her reaction.

His gaze fixated on her as he gently pressed the blade flat against her skin, a grim fascination in his eyes. She twisted her head towards him, her amethyst eyes wide and brimmed with tears, now red and puffy from crying.

Her lip wobbled and she sniffled, “Please don’t give up on me just yet, Your grace. Please. I will be good, I swear it. Please.”

Her eyes met his, silently begging him to stop.

She let out a deep sigh, her despair palpable. It was almost laughable how perfectly she played her part. The presence of the knife had obviously brought out some legitimate emotions in her, but she knew exactly what he wanted to hear. He couldn’t help but smile slightly as he watched her, his lip twitching with a blend of astonishment and enjoyment.

“Why must everyone forsake me?” she sobbed, her voice filled with bitter despair. He let her weep a few moments longer, amused by her manipulative tactics.

“My cousins will not rescue me...my own father rejected me, and my mother abandoned me in death. I am tired of feeling unloved and unwanted.”

Her breathing hitched as she spoke, her voice trembling with vulnerability. “You don’t even want me,” she whispered, her eyes looked away and squeezed as she braced for his torture..

His eye widened in surprise, his eyebrows furrowing as a smirk still played on his lips. “Is that so? And yet, I went to all this trouble to kidnap you. I suppose I was mistaken—are you not Laviniya Targaryen, daughter of Daemon Targaryen, the traitor?”

She swallowed hard, struggling against the bonds that held her wrists to the bed. Frustration and anger boiled within her as she tried to speak through clenched teeth, but her words came out as a frustrated whimper instead. “Exactly,” she spat, her voice laced with bitterness.

“You don’t want me, not really. You want me because of my name, my bloodline, but not me. Not just me. No one has ever truly wanted me, just for who I am!”

He let her yell and scream. He looked down at his own lap and waited for her to stop crying and thrashing. When she had calmed her wild self down, he brushed her hair away from her face. His eye fluttered shut.

Aemond’s tone hardened as he asked the question, his eye narrowing slightly, “Do you want to survive this, Lavinyia?”

His words hung in the air like a thick, heavy fog, and the weight of them was unbearable. This was no ordinary question, it was a test of her will, a challenge to her very existence. The axe or the hangman’s rope were not distant threats in this moment, they were very real possibilities.

“Yes,” she said with a wobbly lip.

“I could pardon this treason and allow you to live Laviniya,” he stated clearly, “But this was a heavy crime, this is something that is worthy of death or being sent to the Wall if you were a man. But as you are not a man. I am at a stand still as to what I shall do with you. Despite your violent appetite, I still have use of you, and therefore I ask that you prove to me you’re ready to learn,” he said. “I cannot teach if you do not want to learn. And I believe firmly that you have the potential of a queen. I said so last night and this upset you into a spiralling event that left me with a scarring wound. So I ask for your survivals sake, are you ready to learn, ready to obey me?”

With a weary sigh, she finally spoke, her voice a strained whisper. “I’m ready, I’m ready to learn. I...I’m just so tired of being abandoned sire.”

He watched her, hearing the raw truth in her words, the confession that she ached to know something he alone could teach her. For a moment, his own isolation echoed in the silence between them, but he pushed the thought away.

“Then prove it,” he said brusquely, his gaze firmly fixed on her face.

As his fingertips grazed her cheek, Aemond felt the cool, dampness of her skin beneath the pulsating heat of his injury. She responded to his touch, pressing her face against him, her lips finding their way to the sutured skin with a gentle, contrite kiss.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice a low, sincere whisper, filled with remorse and willing submissiom.

Aemond sat down on the bed, leaning over her with an intense gaze. He gently wiped away the tears that streamed down her face, his touch surprisingly tender.

“Will you run from me again, Laviniya?” he asked gently, his voice soft but firm.

She took a trembling breath before answering, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” she said, meeting his eye with a fierce intention. “I won’t run.”

Aemond’s gaze was firm as he held her chin in his hand, his fingers holding her in place. His eye travelled over her features, taking in the way he lilac eyes glimmered with tears, the soft blush of colour on her cheeks, and the way her hair splayed out in a halo around her head.

“Will you be a good girl?” he asked, his voice a deep, authoritative rumble.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. “Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered, her tone obedient and submissive.

Aemond’s blue eye narrowed as he studied her, his voice low and suspicious. “Are you lying to me?”

She answered immediately, her words coming out in a breathless rush. “No.”

He watched her carefully, his face guarded. “Are you trying to trick me, Laviniya? If I release you from your binds and you try to harm me, Ser Raynard has been commanded to cut your head from your shoulders.”

She shook her head quickly, her eyes widening with a mixture of fear and honesty. She did not wish the end to come so soon.

“I’m ready to obey and serve you,” she whimpered. She knew she was lying through her teeth in ways, but she hoped that her words would convince him. Aemond noticed the deception in her eyes, but he still smiled, giving a slow nod in response. He reached for her restraints, his expression sadistic and uncompromising.

“Very well then, I will untie you” he said gruffly. “We leave for the Red Keep today, and because I am most merciful, you will be inside the carriage and not be dragged behind it. If you attempt to run away again Laviniya, I will not hesitate to drag you all the way to the red keep by your hair alone. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my King.” She continued to whimper, “I understand.”

Aemond set the dagger beside the expanse of her pale thigh before reaching up to untie the leather restraint wrapped around her right wrist. It was the same weapon she had wielded when she sliced him open, the one she had dropped during her struggle with Ser Gilbar. But her memory was fuzzy, and she couldn’t recall what had become of it after that.

She could practically feel the cold steel of the knife against her bare skin, a threatening reminder that she was completely at his mercy. There was no escape, no way to break free. This man, this dangerous, unhinged, violent man held her life in his hand, and there was no way to change that.

With a sinking feeling, she knew that even if she could somehow grab the knife and drive it into his throat, it would be a futile effort. Aemond had been right all along – if she killed him but failed to escape, her fate would be sealed. And there were indeed fates worse than death that awaited her if she was captured, or if the guards outside discovered the truth behind the King’s death.

Aemond carefully released her other hand from the leather restraint, lowering it slowly down to her side. She didn’t dare reach for the dagger, he smirked. He untied her left wrist.

Her eyes widened slightly as he lifted her wrist up to his mouth, his lips brushing against the delicate skin with a feathers touch. Aemond placed a warm, gentle kiss on the sensitive spot where her pulse fluttered, then inhaled deeply, his breath warm on her wrist. He placed her hand at her side once more, and she lay still, barely daring to breathe.

She knew she had to be careful and play the pieces of this board right. She needed to convince him that she was truly submissive, that she would yield to his will and obey his every command. Aemond was too astute to fall for a sudden declaration of worshiping love and devotion. She had to be both convincing and subtle, finding the right balance between feigned obedience and genuine vulnerability.

She knew that Aemond’s ego and arrogance were his weaknesses. The fact that he was untying her bonds meant that he believed he had control over her, that she was no longer a threat. So she decided to appeal to his ego, to play the part of the scared, sad, tired girl who was willing to obey him, even to eventually come to love him. It was a dangerous game, but she had no other options left.

Laviniya resigned herself to the reality of her situation. Even if it meant spending endless nights, weeks, months, or even years in Aemond’s bed, she knew that eventually, an opportunity to escape would arise. But in order to seize that chance, she would have to be absolutely perfect. She would have to play her part flawlessly.

She knew that she could not afford to overthink or worry about the future right now. Her immediate priority was to focus on the man in front of her, the man who was even now untying the bonds holding her ankles. Nothing else mattered in this moment but convincing him that she was willing to submit herself to his will.

As Aemond’s fingers glided over her calf, the heat radiating from his fingertips sending tingles across her skin. She couldn’t help but glance down at the knife on her thigh, the cool, steely blade a stark contrast to the searing touch of his fingers. The great difference between the two sensations sent a shiver down her spine and caused goosebumps to ripple over her flesh.

Aemond smiled down at her, his lips pressing against the delicate skin of her ankle in a gesture that was both tender and possessive. His hand traced the contour of her foot before he lowered it back to the bed, the touch sending a wave of tremors through her. Despite her attempt to maintain control, her body betrayed her inner turmoil, trembling beneath his touch.

Aemond carefully untied the final restraint on her ankle, then stood beside her, watching her with a strange fascination. She remained motionless, lying flat in the position he had placed her. Unbidden, a single tear trickled down her temple and into her ear. He paused, then leaned down and tenderly brushed away the tear with of his smooth knuckle. She stared at his stitches, a big, black, ugly ladder that climbed up his palm to his wrist. She did that.

Aemond’s callused fingers reached out and took the knife from her thigh, he moved the weapon safely away from her. He held it for a moment, observing its weight and sharpness before setting it down beside him. Then, with surprising tenderness, his thumbs moved upwards, slowly pushing up the fabric of the yellowed chemise that she wore. The movement was intimate and deliberate, as if he was uncovering a prize he had been waiting to claim.

Her eyes widened in alarm as he began to push up the fabric of the chemise, her body instinctively moving to stop him. Without thinking, she reached out and grasped his uninjured wrist, her fingers clenching around it in a desperate attempt to halt his movements.

Aemond's frown deepened as he felt the pressure of her hand around his wrist. He gave her a stern look, his voice firm and demanding. "Laviniya, release my hand," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "This is your punishment, face it now so we can find peace. Prove to me that all the words you said before had honest meaning and were not just conjured nonsense.”

Laviniya’s hand trembled slightly as she obeyed Aemond’s command, her fingers slowly releasing his wrist from their grip. She swallowed hard, her heart hammering in her chest as she wondered what further punishment he had in store for her.

Although she couldn’t understand why he was punishing her, particularly after the knife show and implied threats he had shared earlier, she knew better than to question him now.

“Lay back down,” he softly commanded, “lay your head against the pillows. This shan’t take too long.”

As she lay there, her body rigid and taut with tension, a few silent tears brimmed in the corner of Laviniya’s eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Aemond, and instead fixed her gaze on the ceiling above. She did her best to distract herself from the present moment, to think of anything other than what the king might be doing to her.

Despite her best efforts, her mind kept creeping back to the possibilities, the uncertainty adding a layer of anxiety to her already tumultuous emotions.

She could feel the chemise being lifted gently past her hips, the fabric slowly revealing her to Aemond’s gaze. He was silent for a moment, taking in the sight of her. Aemond’s single eye roamed over the expanse of pale skin, his breath catching at the sight of the thin patch of white wool that covered her most intimate of parts.

It seemed like an eternity before he spoke, his voice a low, guttural groan. “I have not seen such pale hair on a woman in many years.”

Her intimate area was as Aemond would describe, perfect. It was untouched, it would be for him. She looked like a peach, with a windowing slit of her lips poking through to greet him...and his mouth. Towards the top of her blush red lips was the peeking pearl of his lusts desire.

“My, what a pretty pussy you have Laviniya. Had I known sooner this is what shared my bed, I perhaps would have dishonoured your virtue for good.”

As Laviniya lay there, her body exposed to Aemond’s view, she couldn’t help but sniffle and nod in response to his words. It wasn’t so much a sign of agreement or approval, but rather an acknowledgement that she had heard him speaking.

Her breaths came in short, shaky huffs as she waited for him to continue, her body tense and anxious in anticipation of the king’s next move.

“Will you please hold the backs of your thighs for me please?” he asked, his eyes gleamed and his mouth watered.

He did not demand it of her in that arrogant tone he so often used, rather he asked politely – or as politely as could be expected under the circumstances.

Her body trembled slightly as she brought her trembling hands down to her thighs, her fingers grasping the back of her legs. She did as he requested, but her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, refusing to look at the man who now had complete control over her.

Aemond’s smile spread across his face as he studied her, his eye tracing over every detail of her perfect form. He let out a sigh of admiration, then spoke once more, his voice both firm and commanding.

“Truly perfect,” he repeated, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. He paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on her face. “Now, you must promise me that you will hold completely still as I punish you. Otherwise, the consequences that follow will be far more unpleasant. Do you understand, Laviniya?”

“Y-yes,” she quivered, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Aemond was not satisfied, “Yes, what?” he hummed, “Who is speaking to you?”

Laviniya paused, her mind racing for the correct answer. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could feel a bead of sweat forming at her temple.

“Ñuha dārys kessa,” yes my king, she gulped.

Aemond’s eye widened in surprise as he heard her respond in Valyrian, his lips parting in a slight gasp. “Oh, you clever little thing you,” he praised, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “And you got the structure of the sentence correct, too.”

Leaning down, Aemond pressed a hot kiss to the soft skin of her thigh, his lips lingering there for a moment before he added, “All I want to hear is you to say that. You may not be bright, but you are immensely clever, my lavender lamb.”

His face was so close that she could feel his hot, even breaths fanning over her clit and lips, the sensation causing a small, involuntary twitch of her body and a loud hitch of her breath.

As she jerked back slightly, Aemond chuckled, his voice low and dark. “So sensitive,” he murmured, “and I’ve barely started.”

Aemond moved without warning, his mouth descending upon her suddenly. His tongue, large and flat, lapped at her with a gentle but firm touch. The feeling of it was both unexpected and intense, forcing a outcry of wordless noise from her mouth. Her eyes blew up wide and looked down to watch as he lavished her cunt like the sweetest desert.

He glided the tip of his tongue from her tiny puckering back entrance all the way up her crimson slit to the tip of her clit before wrapping his lips around the pearl and sucking it hard. His hands spread her thighs further apart and thumbs spread her lips wide so he could continue licking and sucking away at every possible crevice of her cunt.

As Aemond’s tongue worked its magic, Laviniya’s eyes rolled back in her head, unable to keep them open as the sensations overwhelmed her. Her mouth, too, lost the ability to stay quiet, and she found herself panting and gasping for air.

Her pleas and words, usually so measured and composed, turned into a jumbled mess of confusion and incoherence as Aemond continued his relentless assault. She was no longer his fiancée, no longer the untouchable fair lady. She was nothing more than a quivering mass of sensations, entirely his moaning lavender lamb.

Who would have thought that a single act of defiance could lead to such a strange and unexpected turn of events?

Laviniya had never imagined that after slicing up the king’s hand, she would be rewarded with such new and forbidden pleasures. She had expected retribution and punishment, not this whirlwind of sensations and emotions that Aemond was unleashing upon her.

The lewd suckling noises he made had her whole body shaking in delight and fear.

In that moment, Laviniya lost all pretense of control. Her self-restraint vanished, and she reached down, her trembling hands finding Aemond’s head and tangling in his soft, silvery hair. Her fingers brushed through the strands, and she gripped them tightly, tugging him closer into her with a needy grunt.

Aemond’s eye gazed up at Laviniya intensely. It could almost be mistaken for a glare, his single eye boring into her with heat and frustration. The interruption had been unexpected, and he had been the victim of her hand tugging his hair.

As soon as she realized what she had done, she quickly released his hair and pulled her trembling hand back, her eyes filling with tears.

“Ñuha dārys,” My King, her words a whining plea. “Forgive me, please,” she begged, her voice thick with pleading and remorse.

Aemond shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips as he gently took her trembling hand and placed it back on his head.

With tentative movements, she experimentally closed her fingers around the roots of his hair again. She lightly tugged on them, urging his glistening lips closer to her clit. There was fear and anticipation coursing through her entire body.

This time, Aemond’s mouth latched on once more, his tongue resuming its pleasuring pace. Laviniya choked on the pleasure that coursed through her. As he groaned it sent a rush of deep, shuddering vibrations through her core and up her entire spine. She felt an intense desire to be closer to him, wanting nothing more than to sink deeper into this overwhelming sea of sensation.

She got her wish as the tip of his tongue wiggled it’s way inside of her.

Even as her mind attempted to grapple with the reality of the situation, a nagging doubt crept in. Was this truly a punishment, or just a delightful dream? If it was a dream, it was a happy one, that’s for certain. As Aemond continued his relentless assault, the memory of their hatred began to fade, replaced by the intoxicating pull of pleasure.

As Aemond continued his relentless assault, her broken heart seemed to slowly stitch together, piece by piece. This man, a stranger mere days ago, made her pant and writhe beneath him, filling her with a perverse sense of devotion. The feeling of being small, vulnerable, and protected was alien to her, yet it didn’t fill her with fear. She found herself feeling oddly safe and cared for, and a part of her welcomed this change.

She felt his nose press against her clit, and she choked as her lower body buzzed.

She whimpered, feeling something she had never felt before take over. Her body felt like it was rising off the mattress and her hands left his head to grab the blankets around her as she thrusted her hips forward to chance that burning ecstasy...

Such things were short lived as Aemond launched himself back and away. Laviniya’s body shivered violently, a cry of confused anguish escaping her lips. The abrupt departure left her feeling bereft, her body still humming with the memory of the sensations he had wrought upon her.

Aemond’s laughter echoed in her ears, cruelly interrupting the delicate balance of the moment.

His chin was drenched in her wetness.

He had halted the extraordinary surge of ecstasy that had been on the brink of cascading within her, leaving her feeling incomplete and unable to suppress the tingling, maddening sensation now that he had ceased.

Her eyes fluttered hazily in search of her bearings, her fingers feeling sore and her insides swollen.

Her eyebrows were drawn together, and it took a few moments of his amused laughter at her hopelessness before she grasped the nature of this punishment fully. With faltering strength, she awkwardly pushed the chemise down her thighs, shamefully averting her gaze as the king kept up his mocking chuckles.

“Sweet Lavander Lamb, what’s wrong?” he teased, giggling, “You look so forlorn. I did warn that if you didn't hold still, the consequences would be unpleasant and you moved quite a fair bit... I’ll let you finish when you start to behave like a good girl.”“

Avy jorrāelan!” she snapped. With a huff, she whipped around and hid her tears, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her reaction prompted an even louder bark of laughter from him.

The door of the room knocked.

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

3 notes · View notes

potatos5165 · 2 years ago

Text

My OC backstory.

I've been working on it for several years now, like a hunk of glass in the ocean, slowly becoming a beautiful, well rounded bead, but I'd love any tips for the storytelling, and if anyone here's an artist, I'd love it if somone drew him for me, as I'm pretty bad at drawing anything remotely humanoid.

But, ofc, back to the story lol:

Far away, on a planet so obscure and out of the way that it didn't even have a name, only a number designation, something broke the silence of the cool, breezy day.

A flaming piece of wreckage fell from the sky, until it crashed in the middle of a lush forest.

It was the wreckage of a ship, which had broken into many pieces, all raining down, burning everything away, until the once lush forest was instead a massive field of ash and charcoal.

Fast forward a few hundred years, and the forest was now a field, with potatoes growing in it, and a beautiful stream. A potato had even grown into the wreckage, and through the main computer!

Suddenly, a root bridged the gap between two wires in the console, causing the potato to suddenly have access to all the knowledge in the ships database, and giving it sentience.

This potato then spent many months learning about its universe, until it believed it was ready. It used the ships fabricator to make itself a robotic body, to help it get around. Then, it began the process of digging up his potatoey brethren, and giving them exoskeletons as well, and, after many years of this, and many years of progress, they were a thriving civilization.

But, after many years, they realized that they were slowly getting closet to the nearest star, slowly turning them into BAKED potatoes!!

So, they built 14 ships, as fast as possible, and made the attempt to get out of there.

Each ship had 1/14 of the potato population in chryo stasis, with one matenence officer to keep it intact.

This, is where POTaTOs comes in. You see, the potatoes didn't use names, and instead referred to each other as the model and serial key of thier exoskeleton. So, his full name was POTaTOs 5165, or, short for Potato Operated Thoruim and Titanuim Operating syestem. His body was meant to be state of the art, and requiring no matenence, as he wouldn't have time to fix himself of he was fixing the ship.

But, back to the rest of the story.

"10... 9.... 8.... 7.... 6.... 5.... 4.... 3.... 2.... 1... LAUNCH!!"

"All ships, please send a confirmation that your thrusters have engaged."

"Ships 1-7 clear!"

"Ships 8,9,and 12 are clear, but 10,11,13,and 14 all couldn't get started! They'll have to stay behind and try to catch up if they can get repairs"

"Understo-- *static*"

"This is ship 3, ship 5 just exploded, causing ships 4 and 6 to explode as well due to thier proximity."

Over the course of the launch, the shoddy spacecrafts slowly ended up all bieng destroyed or disabled, until only one made it out of the solar syestem. This, was the one POTaTOs piloted.

He had a sinking feeling in his stomach, as he watched his home star slowly fade away... but he didn't have time for that. He set his course to the colony world, the one they had chosen to start anew on, and went on his journey.

But, the thing is, they didn't have faster-than-light space travel, so this process would take thousands of years. So, POTaTOs sat for thousands of years, maintaining the ship, and watching as chryo pods got destroyed one by one, as asteroid impacts, power failures, or solar radiation killed the people within.

And that's the whole story for now, I'm not sure what kind adventures he should go on or anything, but I do want to work in some stuff, for example the way I imagine POTaTOs looking is a humanoid robot, with vines running over his head in a way that looks like hair, with a "backpack" which supplies power to the mech via the use of a thoruim RTG. I also imagine him as wearing a trench coat, with mud boots on, and one arm completely removed, to show wear and tear from the thousands of years of repairs, and him having replaced it by reprogramming matenence nanobots to function as a form of liquid-esc arm.

Thank you for reading, and also, yeah I totally did make a Tumblr account for the specific purpose of sharing my OC backstory lol

#tech #original character #machines

2 notes · View notes

chryblossomjjk · 2 years ago

Note

omg kiki!!! this is like mad random but I need ur help. I remember u posted ab ur hair journey and I’m rlly curious ab what u did to help it!!! I’m malaysian and I grew up with THICK and voluminous hair but since I started wearing a hijab like six yrs ago my hair starting thinning bc I stopped taking care of it 😞 do u have any tips or recs to help ??? I’m lowkey starting to lose my confidence (even tho nobody can see my hair rlly lmfaooo) and I miss having a lot of hair lol. ofc only share if ur comfy!!! I just rlly appreciated you for sharing ur story w us!!!

p.s I literally luv u sm, ur work is amazing and all around u just seem like such a lovely person ok bye thx ILY <3 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

omg hi friend! i completely get how you feel. hair is such a huge part of your identity and losing it is genuinely traumatic! im so sorry you’re dealing with this! i can definitely share what ive done but pls know that im not like a health professional or anything and all of this is anecdotal! 💗

so one of the reasons i lost a lot of hair was bc i have pcos. i started taking medicine which im sure has contributed to the regrowth. but it doesn’t sound like yours is hormonal so i think probably the other methods could work well for you!!

1. i started taking biotin 10000 mcg (this was not prescribed, i just got the supplement from amazon. ik its just a supplement but pls be careful n take all of my advice with a grain of salt ily 🥺)

2. i only wash my hair about once a week, which really helped with breakage. i have v thick coarse hair, like you, and washing it too frequently definitely leads to dryness and breakage. thas no no >:( i also don’t really brush it that often, but that’s partially bc i have type 3 hair and brushing it out makes me look like i got electrocuted lol. but either way, being v careful when u brush, like starting bottom to top, can also help w breakage!

3. before i wash it, i massage mielle rosemary mint hair oil all over my scalp and let it sit for three hours. rosemary is a dht blocker and helps with the circulation in ur scalp and stuff.

4. when i wash my hair, i use one of these lil things w my shampoo bc it also increases the circulation

5. every night i use a few drops of the ordinary hair serum on the areas where i lost the most like my temple area

i know a lot of people have had success with rogaine aswell. i havent tried it bc it could possibly make another symptom of pcos worse, but ive heard a lot of great things about it! could be worth looking into!

also diet is a huge one too.without going into too much detail, my diet also really contributed to hair loss. so eating enough is a big one and ik protein and healthy fats helps you grow stronger hair, so maybe trying to incorporate more of those could possibly help!! wishing you the best of luck! feel free to reach out to me if you ever want to talk more about it! i know how heartbreaking it is so im here if you need anything 💗

#anon #naur only men should go bald 🙄#not us hot girlies !!#we don’t deserve it lmao !!!

5 notes · View notes

violetswritingg · 2 months ago

Text

Valkyrie

Mark Grayson x OFC!

Description: In which two superpowered teens meet and fall in love amongst blood, death, and betrayal

Rating: M (Canon typical violence, betrayal, mental health issues, abandonment issues, child neglect, angsttttt)

Want to read the other chapters?

Click here

4: Attacked From All Sides

~~*~~

I was being attacked

From all sides

I was being

Attacked

~~*~~

Cecil walked into his office, flipping on the light switch as he closed the door behind him. Turning to face the open part of the room the man's eyes zeroed in on the body sitting in one of the brown leather chairs facing his desk. Blonde hair thrown up in a claw clip telling him who it was.

"Stella-"

"Two days." Stella interrupted, not looking at Cecil, making him complete the journey to his desk, "You've been ignoring me for two days."

"I haven't been-"

"Why else would Donald be fielding my calls? Don't lie to me." Stella's glare softened as her voice turned watery. The girl clearing her throat and crossing her legs to regain some kind of control, "What is going on with the Guardians' case?"

"I can't tell you." Cecil heaved a sigh as he sunk down into his chair.

"Bullshit Cecil. And why the hell did you not pull me from that interrogation-"

"It wasn't an interrogation; it was a debrief-"

"Oh that's rich! Since when did debriefs come with a dose of truth serum?!" Stella sprung up from her chair, blue energy uncontrollably misting around her hands. Silence invaded the cacophonous mixture of angry and defensive voices clashing together.

"I apologize for that. But I couldn't let there be any suspicion that you could have killed the Guardians. I had to make sure it was bulletproof." Cecil laid out, taking a breath, laying his hands out flat in front of him on his desk. "I promise I wouldn't have done it in any other circumstance."

Stella huffed a breath out of her nose, her energy contracting once she realized it was there. The girl crossed her arms over her stomach as she walked over to the window overlooking the pentagon parking lot. A small succulent she had gifted him a while back was still living on the ledge.

"Why didn't you pull me for the flaxan invasion?" Stella demanded, voice like steel.

"You were under the influence of a truth drug, that, if you remember, we had to flush out of your system because it doesn't go away on its own." Cecil's voice took on a deadpan quality, his frustration clear.

"People died! Because the Guardians weren't- Because I wasn't there. But I could have been. If you had pulled me and flushed my system sooner." Stella turned away from the window, icy eyes locked on Cecil, "Instead I was left to pick up the mess and wash away the blood stains."

"And make yourself sick while doing it." Cecil raised an eyebrow and the girl scoffed, shaking her head at the man.

"Fuck you Cecil."

"Stella- Hey!" Stella turned on her heel, stomping towards the door with heavy feet, Cecil darting up from his seat, "You need to be more-" Cecil tried to call after the girl but was interrupted by the slam of his door and it's rattling within its frame from the force, "careful..." the man finished lamely. Sinking back down into his chair.

~~*~~

Much lighter footsteps than before carried Stella down the bright white hallways of the GDA hospital. The lone Guardian, in full gear, nodding to the workers that she passed. Stopping in front of the room she had come to visit.

Taking a breath, she lifted her fist and knocked lightly, hearing a muffled clearance of entry. Her eyes meeting those of none other than Mark Grayson. The teenage boy's hands over the hero's as he laid passed out in the bed. Still looking worse for wear.

"Holy shit- You're-"

"Valkyrie. You're Omni-man's son?" Stella rolled her shoulder's back, taking on the persona she put on when dealing with the public in hero dress.

"Y-yeah, Mark. Mark Grayson. It's an honor to meet you." The boy didn't know what to do with himself, standing quickly and holding out a hand to shake but then retracting it and laughing awkwardly.

"I'm sorry about your dad- I..." Stella sighed and motioned towards Nolan, "Can I?" The girl waited, an awkward moment while Mark registered what she was asking.

"O-oh, yeah, yeah. Sorry."

"I should be the one apologizing Mark..." Stella didn't continue while she placed her hands over Nolan's chest. A faint blue light glowing under her palms.

"What do you mean? What are you doing?" Mark watched with wide eyes.

"I'm checking his energy levels. And transferring some of mine to him, it helps speed up the healing process." Stella's voice tripped up on the last couple of words, an involuntary grunt passing through her lips as she transferred a lot of her own energy to the man. Pushing it farther than she knew she should, but her own guilt wouldn't let her stop.

"That's so cool," Mark breathed, noticing the strain on the hero though his awe quickly morphed into concern, "Are you okay?" He asked, stepping around the end of the bed to get closer to Stella.

"I'm fine." She breathed, raising her hands from Nolan's chest. Shoulder's heaving for breath for a second before she stood tall. Grinning over at Mark, like she had so many other times at civilians, but the boy could tell she was off. "It's just been a long couple of days."

Oh.

Right.

Mark almost forgot, how could he almost forget?!

"Uh, I'm sorry about the Guardians... That, uh, that must suck." Mark winced visibly at his words, cursing himself mentally, "I can't imagine..." He trailed off, somber notes infecting his voice.

Stella just nodded, her smile falling to a forced, thin lipped grin.

"Uh, I didn't know you could do that," Mark gestured to his dad and held up his hands and shook them, internalizing his groan at his own actions. "That's pretty cool."

"I don't advertise it. Gotta keep something up my sleeve." Stella smirked hollowly and Mark frowned but nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, definitely." He mumbled. His eyes trailing down to his dad's now slightly less bruised face and felt an ounce of relief from the worry that had been plaguing him. Missing how Stella's smirk softened as she took the moment in, her guilt, that had previously been screaming profanities at her, silencing for just a moment.

At least she could do this. That's what mattered.

"You shouldn't worry too much. If anyone will pull through it's your dad. He's gonna be okay, just gotta give his body time to recover. Rest." Stella did her best to comfort the boy, laying a hand on his shoulder with a soft grin. Mark looked at her hand in shock and then at her face. His eyebrows lowered on his forehead as he took her in for a second. Stella's soft grin stiffened as she released Mark and swerved around him. "I gotta get going. But it was good to meet you." Stella waved and gently closed the door behind her before Mark could say a word.

~~*~~

Time seemed to fly by, but also stand still since the Guardians demise. Stella had felt like she was in a fog, Cecil not calling on her at all, leaving her to sit alone in her apartment with nothing but her own mind and trashy reality TV. Not a great spot to be in.

Walking through the halls, Stella resembled something more akin to a zombie in the early stages of decomposition rather than a living breathing teenage girl. Her dark circles only seeming to grow, her once bright eyes dull. Shoulders caved in as she walked, not a thought to how she was weaving through the crowds. Meaning she was bumping into many a innocent bystanders.

Coming to a stop in front of her locker Stella rested her pounding head against the cool metal and let out a sigh. She knew she only had a couple of minutes before she needed to be on the third floor for her first class and she was tapped out of energy, running on the miniscule atoms she had left after too many nights of interrupted sleep.

"Hey..." A boy's voice next to her dragged out the y, Stella doing her best not to snap at the most likely innocent person next to her. Popping open one eye, Stella saw a slightly familiar face and internally groaned.

"Hey William. What can I do for ya?" Stella pushed off her locker and crossed her arms loosely over her stomach.

"Well, It's more like what can I do for you. I know we aren't, like, friends or anything but, you look a little..." William searched for the right word and Stella chuckled, shaking her head.

"Like I got hit by a bus." She filled in and William's eyes went wide, already shaking his hands in front of him and denying the truth. "It's okay, I have a couple mirrors and I'm not blind. Thanks for checking in, but really, I'm just tired. School work has been ramping up for finals so, more homework, less sleep. You get it." Stella grinned, but William could see through it. The smile not reaching her eyes. But he knew not to push, especially since they weren't close at all.

"Right, yeah. Well, if you're not doing anything, um, you could sit with me and my friend Mark, you've met him in passing before. Mayhaps after witnessing him bravely stand up against a bully harassing your friend Amber." William raised up a hand, scratching at the back of his neck, chuckling with his head tilted down, eyes looking up at her with a sly grin.

"I wouldn't call Amber and I friends, but sure. Yeah, I remember him. Maybe..." Stella let her voice trail off, turning up at the end like a question. "I just typically do homework in the library during lunch."

That was a lie, she was normally rushing out to save the world and getting back, hopefully, in time for math class.

"Oh wow, are you in like a million AP's or something?" William asked, eyebrows shooting up as his arm dropped and he looked at the girl in shock, "That's a lot of homework."

"Hehe, yeah. And I just like to get ahead so..." Stella shrugged, opening her locker, as if to hide from William's questioning gaze.

"Okay.... You're a little weird ya know that? Mysterious." William's face slowly morphed into a knowing smirk, "I know someone really similar; you wouldn't happen to be a fan of comics, would you?" William asked, just as the warning bell rang and Stella looked up to the ceiling as if it had been the one to murder the Guardians, huffing out a breath and quickly exchanging her books, "Let's put a pin in this conversation, and pick it back up at lunch yeah?" William was already walking backwards not letting Stella deny his request before he was taking off with a 'see you at lunch!'.

Stella just shook her head and chuckled, a genuine smile – a small one, but it still counts – on her face for the first time all week.

~~*~~

Just as Stella was walking to the cafeteria to catch the second half of lunch with William her phone vibrated in her pocket.

Unknown: Flaxan attack

Stella's whole body went stiff as she read the address. The girl's feet were moving faster than her brain. Already ripping a protein bar out of her backpack as well as drinking the pre-workout she kept in her backpack for situations like this as she sprinted out of the school and took off.

Stella kept her eyes peeled and as soon as she saw other heroes on a nearby roof she dived down, silence following her landing. Invincible, Atomeve, and Rex Splode standing in front of her.

Eve smiling at her, said smile tinged in worry as she took in her friend she hadn't seen or heard from in days. Rex's jaw on the floor from seeing a Guardian in person for the first time. Invincible swallowing thickly, remembering their last interaction.

"Well?" Stella snapped, sharp eyes turning down at the corners in dissatisfaction at the lack of information she was being given. So used to the well-oiled machine that was the Guardians, also not enjoying the celebrity treatment from other heroes, they were all on the same team.

"Valkyrie, thank you for coming, if I could have everyone's attention on the matter at hand." Robot cut through the silence, Standing on the edge of the building with Dupli-Kate beside him.

"Guess who's back." The purple clad hero spoke, looking down at the city square.

"No shit." Stella muttered as she trudged over to the ledge quickly. Missing how Eve frowned at her display. "Are you all just going to stand there and watch? Just because we need to wait for them to get old doesn't mean they're going to wait to start killing civilians" Stella snapped at the teen team plus Invincible over her shoulder before stepping off the ledge and flying into battle. Grabbing running civilians in her arms and bubbles of blue energy and carrying them by the horde to a safer spot and letting them run, safe and unharmed, from the site of tragedy.

She did this all the while taking down Flaxans like it was the last thing she would do on this earth. Disks were thrown, crushing platforms formed and dropped over large groups of the invaders, heavy punches followed by energy covered kicks. Stella saw the Teen Team drop in and start fighting back as well but their efforts were miniscule to the amount of aliens that were pouring through the gate. They were never going to win this way.

Blocking Rex's explosions from being thrown back at him Stella's eyes darkened, the insidious gaze directed at the flaxans as she rose up slowly. Hands coated in her energy, eyes glowing dimly.

"Big mistake."

She flew at the row of beam cannons, destroying each and every one of them with a disk of energy, throwing out more at their tanks and heavy artillery. Keeping an eye out for civilians in harm's way. She was quickly losing steam but pushed ahead. No one was dying today, not if she had anything to do with it.

She was too late though, seeing the emp deploy and hit Robot while he drove the Teen Team's flying motorcycle. Both crashing to the ground. Stella's heart clenched in her chest, and her throat started to get tight. Flashes of crushed heads and blood on her hands, Stella froze.

Screams of civilians ringing in her ears, her chest constricting, her lungs protesting any kind of cooperation to breathe.

This wasn't happening. Not now. Not here.

Eve landed beside her, throwing out her arms, atoms forming wide pink walls, defending the civilians behind them from the blaster shots of the flaxans.

"Valkyrie! Valkyrie! Snap out of it!" Eve screamed and Stella gasped, shaking her head as it felt like she was swimming through a swamp.

Eyes finally taking in the situation, Stella looked to Eve, nodding for her to take down the shields. Eve doing so without question. Stella rushed forward a couple steps, spinning in a circle. Like one would wind up to throw a shotput. Energy gathered over her hands in fluttery layers before she threw out her arms in front of her. A wide wave of energy being sent out and decimating the oncoming wave of flaxans.

Stella wasn't without suffrage though. The hero fell to a knee, breathing heavily, head swimming. Throwing up her hand when more blaster shots were sent their way. Stella motioned for Eve to do the same and the girl followed the silent order. Crippling the next wave. But they still came.

Both Stella and Eve saw the projectiles heading their way, Eve taking them out as Stella tried to get up but fell again. Landing on hands and knees. Muttering to herself all the while.

Seeing the last projectile attached to Eve's face Stella screamed "No!" as Invincible flew overhead, landing in front of both of the girl's in a cloud of concrete dust. The force of the landing threw the oncoming flaxans. But it did nothing to their tanks rolling forward, heavy red beams powering up and being fired at Invincible. All four focused on him.

"No!" Stella cried, trying to once again push herself up but failing. Her shaky arms gave out as cold chills shook through her body.

The beams shut down but Invincible was trapped with a grey sticky substance against one of the smoking tanks. Dupli-Kate was getting killed as fast as she could duplicate, rex's explosions blowing up in his face.

Stella wasn't used to doing this alone. She was used to the Guardians, and getting decent sleep, and eating an okay amount of food. She was not at her best and it showed. She was a Guardian, the last Guardian, and she was failing.

"They seem-" Robot started, only to get pistol whipped by one of the flaxans, "-to have spent their time wisely." He finished, sparking all the while.

Eve was left struggling with the face-hugger, Stella seeing the captain of the flaxans walking over to her and grabbing the red-head by the hair. Pulling her up onto her knees. Leveling his blaster at her throat.

And then something just... flipped. Stella couldn't describe the feeling, but it was close to an out of body experience.

"Don't touch her!" Stella's eyes lit up an electric blue, her body being engulfed in crackling energy. She was mildly aware of Invincible breaking free from his bindings, blowing away the other flaxans as Stella flew like a bullet towards the Flaxans' leader. Hands out and ready, grabbing him by the collar and tackling him into the building behind him. The impact crater left behind creating a cozy spot for his broken body to rest as Stella started wailing on him. Ripping off his chest plate and grabbing his wrists when he tried to fight back. Throwing his arms back with more force than necessary.

"I'll fucking kill you! Get. Off. My. Planet!" Each word was punctuated by a punch that drew a spurt of blood and a loud crunch of bone. When Stella was sure he was down she lifted back up into the air, turning quickly, seeing Invincible with Eve and the rest of the teen team. Flying over quickly Stella skidded down beside Eve.

"Are you okay?!" Stella frantically checked the girl, getting a nod from Eve. Which didn't really settle Stella, the girl reaching out to her friend, but Eve pulled back.

"No, you need it more than I do." Eve purposefully avoided direct contact with Stella, the Guardian huffing as Robot spoke up.

"Why aren't they getting old Robot?" Stella snapped at the leader of Teen Team.

"The wristbands protect them from our time stream." Robot, with the help of Rex got up, the heroes standing together, Stella still keyed up on whatever shot of adrenaline she had gotten. "Destroy their wrist bands."

"What? All of them?!" Rex shouted as flaxans flooded them.

Stella didn't deem that worthy of a response and took off with Eve and Invincible into the sky. Focusing more on creating the small pockets of energy around wrists and crushing them or sending out disks like Eve was doing rather than fully attacking now that they knew what needed to be done.

Dropping to the ground when she felt her energy fluctuate, Stella took a second to breathe. Nausea rolling over her like a truck on a highway. She was quickly surrounded though, ten flaxans on all sides with their blasters pointed at her. She quickly used marble sized energy projectiles and shot all of their wristbands. Watching as they all started to shrivel and die right in front of her.

Stella clutched her ears at the high pitched whine that flowed over the area, the squealing coming from Robot, hundreds of little puffs of smoke being sent up as wristbands short circuited. Stella let herself fall to her knees on the asphalt as the Flaxans retreated.

The leader stopped for a second and, from what Stella could guess, cursed at them. She would ask Robot later, to see if it's creative enough for her to steal.

She was a couple feet to the left of the Teen Team and Invincible, taking her time getting up to join the party.

"Way to go psycho there Invincible, I take back everything I said about you before. And I said a lot!" Rex zoned in on her when she slowly made her way over, taking deep breaths so as to not empty her stomach in front of a crowd. "And holy shit, you're Valkyrie. I'm a big fan, you are so hot honestly, you're my favorite Guardian."

Stella glared at the boy, pretending to be a man. He just chuckled and sent her finger guns, mimicking explosions with his mouth.

"I don't know what happened. I got mad... I guess?" Invincible shrugged, not really knowing himself, looking over to the beat up and spent Guardian, "Hey, are you okay?" His concern was palpable.

"I'm fine."

"Don't get me wrong, it was cool! But also, the scariest thing I've ever seen, Same thing for you Val, but also hot. Murderous rage is a good look for you." Rex smirked at Stella and the girl simply looked at Robot, her message clear in her eyes.

Control your teammate or I'm gonna kill him.

"Don't listen to Rex, you did great Invincible, and thank you for helping Valkyrie. We really appreciate your time. I know you and the Guardians must be busy. Since it was just you who showed up to something so important, you guys must be stretched thin?" Eve stepped up, trying to help but only made it so much worse. With each mention of the Guardians Stella's chest only got tighter, her nausea only getting worse.

"That is literally what I said, Eve."

Stella just shook her head as Eve and Rex started bickering, Stella wondering why Eve stayed with him more and more each day. Invincible getting a phone call. Stella glanced over at him. Invincible looking back at her.

"I gotta go." Was all he said before he took off. Rex made some kind of comment about how they'll handle clean up but it was all just water in Stella's ears. If Stella didn't leave right now, somehow getting to the GDA for an emergency nutrient drip she was probably going to go into shock.

"I have to go too. I'll call Cecil. The GDA should be here soon to help with clean-up... again." Stella risked a glance at the town square. Once again covered in blood stains and debris. Shaking her head before shakily taking to the sky.

~~*~~

Stella was only steps into the GDA Hospital when she couldn't hold it in anymore. Her stomach contents spewing along the ground in front of her and onto the boots of a GDA operative.

Doctors and nurses were at her side in an instant, the threat of losing their last Guardian making her a priority. Stella was delirious as she was lifted onto a stretcher and rolled through the hallway. Doctors shouting orders and demands to the nurses who were working as fast as they could.

Mark, still in his Invincible suit, sans mask and goggles, watching as she is wheeled past. A heavy frown on his face.

"Mark?" His dad's voice brought him back to the happy moment inside the hospital room. The boy shaking his head, pushing away the worry for Valkyrie, knowing she was in good hands and going back to his parents.

~~*~~

#invincible #mark grayson #female oc #superhero bullshit #invincible fanfic #invincible fanfiction #adameve #Teen team #angst #trauma #ow #it get's better #claw clip gang #valkyrie

0 notes

middleearthpixie · 2 years ago

Text

After the Fire ~ Chapter Thirty-Two

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a grievously wounded Thorin is brought back to the kingdom of Erebor, which is still mostly in ruins. Although he’s survived the wounds he received at the end of Azog’s blade, his recovery is far from complete. Grief, regret, anger, all are making his journey that much more difficult and the physical recovery isn’t quite the most difficult challenge he faces.

Jasna Stoneham is no stranger to loss, as she is a survivor of Smaug’s wrath upon Esgaroth. When she is asked to help the dwarves healers of Erebor, her instinct is to say no, but she needs the job, and so agrees to it. However, no one told her that of all the patients, she would be responsible for the king himself, Thorin Oakenshield.

Unfortunately, the road to recovery isn’t necessary a smooth one, but if there’s one thing Thorin will learn, it’s that Jasna is just as stubborn as he is and for every step back he takes, she is there to push him three steps forward. And Jasna will soon find out that there is a gentle, softer side to the dwarf king, one that very few people have ever seen and one he fights to keep hidden from her as well. But like his recovery, that is also easier said than done.

Jasna learns a family secret while Thorin calls the Elder Council to convene

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Jasna Stoneham

Characters: Jasna, Arabella Stoneham, Thorin, Fíli, Dís, Balin

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,061

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @ggfamert @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorioosyaa @ruthoakenshield @quiall321 @dianakc

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

At the door to her flat, Thorin smiled down at her. “So, I will tell Balin what I’ve decided and I’ll arrange the meeting and Mahal willing, I will get the laws changed. Then, we can decide how we wish to be married.”

“And if your council still won’t allow it?”

“It changes nothing and I’ll not change my mind. But, would you still wish a wedding if it is without fanfare? I know you are the fanfare sort.”

She smiled. “I still rather fancy the fanfare.”

“Then you shall have it, mesmel.”

He bent to brush her lips with his just as Mama opened the door. She cleared her throat loudly, and when she did, Jasna snaked an arm about Thorin’s neck to keep him from jerking back.

Mama cleared her throat again and this time, Thorin gently pulled free. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Do not antagonize your mother, mesmel,” he murmured with a smile. “I will see you tomorrow.”

He straightened up then and smiled at Mama. “It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Stoneham.”

She didn't smile, but Jasna didn't miss that her eyes weren’t as cold as her expression. “And you, Your Majesty.”

“Ah, Thorin, please,” he told her. “Because we won’t know for several more days, or even possibly weeks, whether or not I will, in fact, be the king of Erebor.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Jasna will fill you in. I must get back before the hour grows too late. Until tomorrow.” He brushed Jasna’s lips with his once more and then took himself off, the sunlight glinting off the silver ornament gathering his hair at the back of his head.

“Jasna,” Mama broke into her reverie, “what did he mean, he may no longer be king of Erebor in the coming days?”

Jasna stepped into the sitting room and closed the door behind her. “Erebor law will not permit the king to marry outside of the dwarven race,” she said softly, leaning against the door. “So, he plans to convene what he called a council of elders to petition them about rewriting that law. If the council either won’t meet or won’t allow the amendment, Thorin has chosen to abdicate his title and the throne.”

“What? Council of elders? I thought he was the king?”

A heavy sigh bubbled to Jasna’s lips as a certain weariness crept over her. It was amazing, how quickly things could go from so perfect to such chaos in so short a time span. “I would think so, too, but apparently we would be wrong. Remember, Mama, they are dwarves and they do things differently than we do.”

“And he is going to abdicate if they will not grant him permission to marry you.”

She nodded slowly. “He told me earlier.”

“And you are encouraging this? You wish him to simply walk away from his responsibilities, from his people? Are you so selfish that you would ask him to do this?”

Jasna stared at her mother, for these were the last words she’d ever thought her mother would utter. “What?”

Mama nodded. “You are being incredibly selfish, Jasna Stoneham. You are asking him to forget everything he knows, to give up all he has worked for, for you.”

“I didn't ask h-h-him to d-do anything, Mama. He wants to do this. I didn't even know about the law until only a short while ago.” She shook her head slowly. “This was his decision. M-m-made well before he even thought to tell me about the law, never mind what he’s chosen to do.”

“Well, perhaps that’s because he knew what you’d say.”

“I would never ask him to give up anything for me. I told him as much.”

“Jasna,” Mama’s hands came to rest on her shoulder, her eyes soft and her expression sympathetic, “think long and hard about this. He had been raised to assume the throne. He nearly died to reclaim that throne. Do you really wish to have him give that all up? Because if he comes to regret it… I shudder to think what will happen between the two of you. I do not wish him blaming you for his decision or resenting you for it.”

“Blaming me? Resenting me? Why would he? I’ve not asked him to st-st-step down.”

“No, but he is putting you before his responsibilities and in time, I fear that might come back to haunt him. To haunt the both of you. I should hate to see it come, but it will, once you are no longer new to him.”

“Mama, why do you do that? Why do you look so negatively on him?”

“Because,” Mama stepped back, hands clasped at her stomach now, “you are so young and love is such a powerful, heady emotion. Especially first love. But, I do not wish to see it cloud your judgement. I did and it was a terrible mistake.”

Jasna could only stare at her mother. “But you and Papa were happy. Weren’t you?”

“We were content and that is not the same thing. I had given my heart to another and had it smashed to smithereens by him. I was only a little older than you and he was the Master’s son.”

Jasna couldn't help her face. “The Master?”

“Not the one you remember. The one who came before him. He was handsome and strong and I was in love. I let him take liberties because he promised me the sun and the moon and everything in between.”

Jasna moved to sink onto the arm of the sofa, a strange knot forming in the pit of her stomach. She’d never seen her mother look so serious or sound so faraway before. “What happened, Mama?”

Mama turned sad violet eyes to her. “You happened, sweetling.”

“What?” Jasna could only stare, her stomach kinking even more now. No… that couldn't be true. Papa was her father, not some nameless, facelesss son of a former Esgaroth Master. Papa was the one who sat up with her when she was sick. Who taught her how to swim in the summer and how to ice fish in the winter. He was never too tired to give her shoulder rides or allow her to come to the market with him.

He was her papa.

But Mama nodded slowly. “When I told him I was expecting you, he said he wished to marry me, but his father would not allow it. He thought to run away, to fetch me and we would live happily elsewhere. You were not quite two years old when I awoke one morning and he was gone. I went back to Esgaroth and to his house, and he told me that the life he’d promised me was not the one he ever wanted. He didn't wish to give up the life he had planned on living and he requested I not trouble him again. He refused to see me, refused my letters, it was as if you and I ceased to exist to him.

“When I met the man you knew as your father, he told me he cared not that you were sired by another man. As far as he was concerned, you were every bit his daughter. And he promised to love both of us no matter what.He was true to his word and loved you as if you were his child.

“But I was heartbroken and it took me a long time to heal from that. I came to love your papa, but it took me a long time to realize how I’d hurt him in the beginning, pining for another the way I did, one who was not worth my pining. And I do not wish to see that happen to you.”

“What if it doesn’t happen, Mama? What if Thorin never comes to regret choosing to step down?”

“And what if he does?”

“But what if he doesn’t?”

“Is that a chance you wish to take?”

“Mama… not all men are as your Lakemaster was.” She stood, shaking her head. “And you should have told me all of this long before now.”

“Why? It changed nothing for you.”

“Because you just sh-sh-should have.”

“Your papa loved you and you loved him and that was what mattered.”

“And Thorin loves me, Mama. I know y-y-you have s-s-some need to believe the opposite, b-b-but he does.”

“Do not confuse love and sex, Jasna. For they are not the same.”

“Stop it. Just st-st-stop it.”

“Jasna—”

“Leave me be!” She stormed past her mother, to her room, and took a great, if childish, delight in slamming the door as hard as she could.

She half-expected her mother to knock on the door and look to talk it out, as she always did. But no such knock came. Jasna stretched out on her bed, staring up through the thickening darkness at the ceiling. So many things whirled through her mind, although the least troubling was her mother’s confession that her father wasn't her father.

If she was completely honest with herself, she had to admit that she had the same hesitations her mother had voiced. Would Thorin come to regret his decision? He’d spent a good portion of his life preparing to ascend the throne, never mind how hard he fought and what he’d overcome to actually claim it. What would happen, should the council deny him permission, deny him the right to change what he saw as an unjust law? What would happen, should he find himself miserable in Ered Luin, or in the Shire or wherever they found themselves setting up house? What would happen, should they have children and he found himself resenting her, or found himself blaming her for his decisions?

He said now he’d never come to do that. But what if he was wrong as well? After all, he’d always had the knowledge the throne would be his and now it was his. What if he detested life outside of Erebor?

Her head began to ache. She could never stand it if he was unhappy because he’d chosen thinking he’d make her happy.

****

Thorin stood at the door to Fíli’s chambers, and knocked without hesitation. “Fíli?”

“Come in.”

He thrust open the door and found Fíli on the small sofa, his still-casted right leg resting on the equally small table across from him. “Thorin? What brings you here?”

“Don’t get up,” he replied as Fíli reached for his crutches. He skirted the sofa, and stood before his oldest nephew, who had aged considerably since they left Ered Luin nearly two years earlier. “I needed to speak with you about something.”

“You look so serious,” Fíli replied with a hint of a nervous grin. “Am I in trouble for something?”

“Not at all. Why, have you done something for which you think you might get into trouble?”

He smiled. “Not at all.”

“Why am I not so certain I believe that?” Thorin grinned, sinking into the armchair across from his nephew. “I came here because you know Miss Stoneham and I are planning to marry.”

“Yes. She broke my heart when she told me you were a couple.”

“I’m being serious, Fíli.”

“As am I. She’s very cute.”

He smiled at that. Jasna was very cute, indeed. “Well, it’s been brought to my attention that as King of Erebor, I am not permitted to marry a woman who is not of dwarven extraction.”

“What?” Fíli’s eyes went round. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not.”

“Oh, Uncle, I don’t know what to say… I’m sorry.”

“No, you needn’t apologize,” he said, shaking his head. “I am requesting the Council of Elders convenes and will petition them to allow me to change the fool law, to allow me, in essence, to marry Jasna. But, should they deny me, I’ve given it a lot of thought and I’ve decided that I will step down and abdicate my title. Which means you would become the king in my stead.”

“What?” Disbelief rang through that one word.

Thorin nodded slowly. “I’ve given this a great deal of thought, Fíli. You’re ready. You’ve grown, matured to the point where I would be perfectly comfortable with my decision. I leave Erebor in capable hands.”

“No, Thorin, I am not ready to be king of anything. Surely there is some way around this?”

“There is not. Balin has been trying to find it, but so far, it seems nonexistent. So, the next step is, as I said, to convene the Council of Elders. And if that goes south, I either step aside or I give up Miss Stoneham, which is something I am not willing to do.”

“But, I am… Thorin, I could not possibly do this.”

“Of course you could. As I said, you’ve a good head on your shoulders now, and I have faith in you.”

Fíli didn't look any more convinced. “I am not the king. You are.”

“Stop being so blasted stubborn,” Thorin growled, shaking his head. “I am the king now. I might not be in the coming days.”

“How can you simply walk away from this? This is what you’ve worked for for the last two years, if not longer.”

“A year ago, I’d have agreed with you,” Thorin replied slowly, clasping his hands between his knees. “But, since we left the Shire, since we began the journey that brings us here to this very moment, you know all we’ve gone through. You know what we—your brother, you, and I—all went through to arrive at this moment.

“I love Jasna. I want to spend the rest of my days with her. I want us to have children and raise them to have children of their own. Once, I dreamed of the crown and the throne and the power. Now? They are but things. And those things pale in comparison. One day, Mahal willing, you will meet someone and you will understand. I am willing to give up whatever I must in order to be with her.”

Fíli sighed softly. “You feel that strongly about her?”

“I do, yes.” Thorin replied softly, meeting Fíli’s gaze. “She has, in a very short time, become everything to me.”

“She must have, if you are willing to give up all that you’ve worked for.”

“I don’t see it as giving up all I’ve worked for, Fíli. I see it as trying to improve upon what I’ve worked for. The law is wrong, and should be amended. And if the council refuses to see that, then I see no other choice for me.”

“Do you think they’ll agree? About amending the law, I mean.”

“I have no way of knowing,” Thorin replied softly. “I hope they will. I think if nothing else, Jasna has proven herself. But, one can hardly predict which was the wind might blow.”

Fíli sat back against the cushion, his expression more serious than Thorin had ever seen it before. “And you think me ready, should you abdicate?”

“Fíli,” Thorin leaned forward slightly, “a year ago, I’d have said no. You still had some maturing to do. But now? Now, I would be comfortable handing the reins off to you.”

Silence stretched between them, with Fíli opening and closing his mouth several times, as if trying to find just the right words. Then, he drew in a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and said, “I am uncertain how I’m supposed to respond, Uncle. This isn’t anything I’d expected.”

“Nor is it what I expected, either,” Thorin told him with a slight smile. “But then again, I had no way of knowing I’d meet Jasna, either.”

“And when will you know? I mean, about the law?”

“I don’t know, exactly, but it won’t be for a bit yet.”

Fíli nodded. “I have to admit, this is the last thing I thought I’d be hearing, the last thing I expected as a whole.”

“I didn't expect it, either, but here we are and you need to accept the possibility that it will happen.”

Another nod. “She’s introduced me to Miss Whitbow, you know.”

“Jasna did?”

“She did. And I’m glad she did. I rather like her.”

Thorin smiled then. “Good. She’s a lovely person.”

“You mean, you don’t mind?”

“Why would I? If she makes you happy, that is all I can ask. And I suppose Jasna saw something, since she introduced the two of you.”

Fíli chuckled. “She was not wrong.”

“Good. Then perhaps it won’t be long before you understand fully.”

“I do, to a certain extent. Are you certain there is no way around the law? Is a petition before the Council the only way?”

“Balin is combing through the archive but I’m not very hopeful, so yes. I believe it will be.”

“That is wrong. You should be allowed to marry as you see fit.”

“I agree, but our forebears weren’t quite as modern as we are. But, it would be a small price to pay in the end, I think. I will be far happier with Jasna than I would be with a throne.” He stood. “And I’d leave Erebor in the best of hands.”

Fíli’s expression spoke volumes of how he saw his newfound responsibility, for Thorin had never seen him look so serious. “I won’t let you down, Uncle.”

“I know you won’t. Which is why I’d be perfectly at ease with that decision.” He moved to the door. “I’ll let you know when the Council convenes, if they agree to it, and what the outcome is, of course.”

“I’ll try not to too upset if that happens.”

Thorin chuckled as he let himself out and made his way down to the far end of the corridor, where he knocked on Dís’ door this time. She opened it to peer up at him. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all. May I?” He gestured to the flat’s interior.

“Of course.” She held the door open and stepped back to allow him to pass. “What brings you here?”

“I was just telling Fíli he might be crowned king in the coming days.”

Dís’ eyes went wide and her jaw slightly slack. “Thorin, surely there is another way.”

“There is one last solution and that is to convince the Elders. But I cannot guarantee they will see this my way, so I just wished to give Fíli a heads up as to what may happen in the coming days.” He smiled. “Don’t look so horrified, Dís. Fíli would be a fine leader. He’s matured into a level-headed man and would have good people around him.”

“I’m not horrified by that, you dolt. This is your kingdom. You’ve earned the right, more so than anyone else in Erebor, to sit on that throne. This is all your doing!”

“I did not do it alone, though. And Fíli has also earned it. And this may not even come to pass. That remains to be seen.”

“I know, but Erebor is yours. And Fíli is not ready yet. He is still so young, though.”

“He is, but he would be fine. He’d have Balin and Dwalin and his brother as his confidante.”

“And you would leave, if they deny you?”

“I wouldn’t have a choice. If I were to remain here, Jasna would always be made to feel the outsider and everyone would continue to look to me as the king and I will not usurp Fíli’s authority. It’s best for all of us if Jasna and I set up our home elsewhere, should that happen.”

“Ered Luin?”

“Most likely. We can both find work there. Perhaps we will travel a bit first. There is so much for her to see and don’t worry, I’d come back from time to time to make certain all is well with everyone.”

“You’d better.” Dís sighed softly. “We would all miss you, you know.”

“You all wouldn’t even notice I was gone in time.”

“I’m not so certain of that.” She stepped up to slip her arms about his midsection and hugged him tight.

He sighed softly, wrapping his arms about her in return. “Everything will be fine, Dís. It will work out as it should. You’ll see.”

“I hope so.”

He pressed a kiss into the top of her head. “It will be. Now, I need to go and see Balin, to make sure, for once and for all, that the laws are as ironclad as he thinks. And then, tomorrow, I will send word to the Elders to bring them here.”

Dís stepped back. “It is a stupid law, Thorin. And our great-grandfather was a bit of an ass for writing it. Hopefully the others will see it your way.”

“That I cannot say, but I hope so as well.” He moved to the door and tugged it open. “But, if not, it is as it is and we cannot change it for now. But, as I said, everything will work out as it should. I’ll see you at supper.”

She nodded and he left to make his way to Balin’s workshop. “Balin, I am sending word to the Elders, requesting their presence here in the coming days to listen to my petition to change the marriage laws regarding the Durin family.”

“Do you think it stands a chance of being successful?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I cannot say.”

“Well, they are all reasonable. Your Miss Stoneham is a lovely girl and if anyone can win over those grizzled stonehearts, it will be her. But, if they deny it, do you still plan to step down?”

Thorin looked over at him and nodded. “I do, yes. I’ve already spoken to Fíli. For the first time in a long time, I am happy. I’ll do nothing to jeopardize that, Balin. I love her and I wish to be with her. And that is all that matters.”

“Have you told her they will wish to speak with her as well?”

Thorin shook his head. “I’ve not, no.”

“You should. She needs to be aware and you do not want to have her sit before them blind.”

He sighed softly. “I know. But first, I have to make certain they will even agree to convene.”

****

Clouds obscured the stars and thunder rumbled in the distance. The winds picked up, blowing in from the north to sweep his hair almost perfectly straight back from his face. Thorin ignored most of it as he stood at the parapet, gazing off toward Dale. Although he had to admit, this wasn't how he saw his life unfolding, he wasn't exactly sorry to see it go this way. There was more to life than a crown. He’d learned this the hard way—dragon sickness, madness, almost dying.

But with Jasna, he felt whole—felt whole in a way he’d never felt before, a way he’d never known could exist before. He’d long ago assumed marriage and children were for other men, but not for him. And he’d accepted that. After all, it didn't happen for every dwarf. Many never married. Even fewer were fortunate enough to be blessed with children.

Now he might have both. And he found himself looking forward to the coming days, to building a new life with Jasna at his side. To starting a family with her.

He’d sent his raven, Roäc to the Iron Hills. He’d start with Dáin first, since he was a member of the council as well. The other dwarven tribes elected their representative to sit on the council, and he had no way of knowing who’d be sent to speak for them. Once, it was simply the clan leader, but things being what they were, and with the tribes in theory united under the Arkenstone—thereby making the King of Erebor the ultimate leader, which Thorin found somewhat amusing, considering the circumstances under which he was convening the council—now each clan just choose who would speak for them. In a day or two, they would all convene at Erebor and Thorin would stand before them to try and convince them the law was unjust and wrong and should be amended at once.

And hopefully, they would agree. If not? Well, if not, then Fíli would become king.

#Richard Armitage #The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Everybody Lives AU #The Hobbit BOTFA

27 notes · View notes

twdsunshine · 2 years ago

Text

The World At Our Feet: Epilogue

Summary: It's been eighteen months since Alexa Rushmore broke the man she loved out of prison. She and Daryl now live in fear, unable to let their guard down in case their true identities should be revealed. When Daryl's brother tracks them down, life becomes even more difficult. Will Merle Dixon prove to be their downfall? The third and final instalment of the Conviction trilogy that began with 'In Dark Corners.'

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x OFC

Warnings: Mentions of the death penalty

Word Count: 2,375

Check out my bio for a link to my Masterlist!

Author’s Note: It’s finally finished! The journey that began at Carrington Prison in In Dark Corners back in 2019 has come to an end. I can’t quite believe it. If you’ve read the first two series of this saga recently, you might notice that I’ve stolen bits and pieces from them (particularly the first part of IDC) to really give a feel that we’ve come full circle, but that’s just me being emotional and pretending to be a proper writer who uses fancy devices like that. I have put Alexa and Daryl through hell as they’ve journeyed from Carrington to Mexico, and I am now finally going to leave them in peace. I really hope you enjoy the ending. Thank you for sticking with me. For the last time, here we go...

*****

Alexa was tired. It had been a long day, and her eyes had that grainy feeling that could only be attributed to a lack of sleep. It was warm in her office, which did nothing to relieve her lethargy, the blinds raised to allow the golden sunlight to filter inside and light the room, and she stretched, feeling the muscles in her back complain after sitting in her chair for most of the afternoon. Pale fingers ran through her hair, working the knots free from her ponytail before twisting it up into a messy bun and securing it with another band, allowing the breeze from the air conditioning unit in the corner to cool her neck as it churned out cold air, humming quietly. She had less than an hour left to go before she could leave behind the working week and head home, and the second-hand of the clock seemed to be rotating impossibly slowly, taunting her with the promise of freedom.

When she’d decided, at the age of thirteen, that her future was in medicine, she could honestly say that she’d pictured herself in a place just like this. The small-town medical practice was a red brick building, set just off the main street, instantly welcoming and a million miles away from the concrete hell of Carrington. The patients were mainly locals, older people with their various health complaints, and young mothers dragging in their children. It wasn’t as exhilarating as patching up the knife wounds and injuries of the prison inmates, but she genuinely enjoyed the work and had settled in quickly since taking up the position six months ago. She was a creature of routine, of habit, and she enjoyed having her weekends free to spend with Daryl and the familiar faces of the other doctors and nursing staff. Plus, it was only a ten minute stroll from home, so, really, it suited her down to the ground.

Speaking of… Her eyes flicked to the clock once more, and she sighed when she realised she still had over half an hour to go. She’d completed her paperwork on the patients she’d seen since she’d started work at nine that morning, so there was little more for Alexa to do, and she stifled a yawn as she sat back in her chair and toed off her heels, drumming her fingers on her desk. She could, she supposed, slot the few files that were still lying on top of her printer, waiting to be put away, into the filing cabinet. That might pass a couple of minutes, at least.

It was while her back was turned to the door as she did exactly that that she heard a soft knock, and she turned towards it with a grin, already anticipating who would be on the other side.

“Come in.”

She was met by the gentle face of Hershel Greene, smile half-hidden by his bushy white beard, eyes sparkling as he stepped inside. “Doctor Dixon. Hope you don’t mind. I thought I’d drop in and check on you.”

“Not at all.” Alexa motioned for the older man to take a seat, propping herself on the edge of her desk, her hand coming to rest instinctively on the curve of her stomach.

“So, how are you feeling?”

“Good,” she assured him, and it was true. With the stresses and strains of the past couple of years behind them, she finally felt like herself again, gradually growing out the dark colour that disguised her coppery waves, the tension that had forever seemed to hold her rigid, jarring her joints and tightening her muscles, ebbing away, until she found that she was filled with a sense of hopeless optimism that she’d thought had disappeared with her youth. “Really good, actually.”

“Morning sickness?”

“Finally seems to have eased off, thankfully.”

“I’m glad. You’re well into the second trimester now, so I was sure you wouldn’t be suffering with it for too much longer.”

“It was worth it,” Alexa admitted, despite knowing how many days she’d showed up to work over the past few months looking drawn, her skin clammy, having to avoid the break room in case anybody should have brought in anything remotely odorous for their lunch. Still, she’d been waiting for this for such a long time now that it was a small price to pay, and she’d never complained, even when she’d been feeling particularly unwell. “Eighteen weeks and counting. I have a scan booked for Tuesday.”

“How exciting! Are you planning to find out the sex?” She nodded, and he leaned forward to take her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of her knuckles. “I’m very happy for you both.”

Doctor Greene owned the practice and hadn’t hesitated to offer Alexa a job, despite her record. He’d made a point to reach out to her when she’d first started, putting her instantly at ease with his innate kindness and soft-spoken voice, and, as time went on, he’d become the closest thing to family she had, other than Daryl. He’d heard their story - of course, everyone had - and he’d seemed to understand that she was in a strange period of adjustment, that she was desperately trying to get her life back on track, even arranging with the local pastor for Alexa and Daryl to be married in a tiny private ceremony, with only Hershel and one of Daryl’s co-workers at the auto-shop as witnesses, which suited them just fine - they’d been living as husband and wife for the past couple of years anyway, so it seemed pointless to make a fuss. He had two daughters, one of whom was only a little younger than Alexa, but they’d both moved away, and so, it seemed, he had affection to spare, and she considered herself lucky to be the main recipient. “What about you? Only six weeks to go until you retire! How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m just looking forward to being able to slow down,” he told her, though she knew he would miss his patients and working in the practice that he’d helped to build every day. He wasn’t selling up, but he was stepping away from taking patients, and the community would miss him just as much, she was sure. “The farm could use my attention, so I’ll have plenty to keep me busy. And, of course, I’ll be on hand should you need anyone to watch the little one when you go back to work.”

Alexa felt a glow of warmth in her chest at the generous offer, and she gave the other doctor’s fingers a tight squeeze. “You know we don’t expect that.”

“And I know you’ll want to make your own arrangements. But things come up, and you’ll need someone you can count on. I just want you to know that I’m here.”

Maybe it was the hormones, or perhaps it was the fatherly nature of the gesture, but tears were pooling in Alexa’s eyes, threatening to spill over and trickle down her cheeks, and she hurriedly brushed them away, casting around for a change of subject and catching sight of the clock once again. “Oh, hey, look: home time!”

Hershel huffed a laugh and levered himself to his feet, planting his hands on his hips as he stretched out his back. “I’ll leave you to get going then, Lexi. Have a good evening.”

“And you.”

Gathering her belongings and stuffing them into her bag, she hitched it up on her shoulder, pausing only to shut down her computer and slide her feet back into her shoes before making a hasty exit. The warmth of the day was still lingering, the sky a vast cloudless blue, and she wanted to make the most of the last hours of daylight before the evening crept in. She called goodbye to the girls on reception as she stepped outside, ready for the walk home, only to find her attention captured by a broad figure leaning up against the wall of the parking lot.

Daryl Dixon still had the ability to make her knees go weak, pure want and need flooding through her as she drank him in: his dark waves, shorter now, though no less unruly; the crooked smile that was still reserved only for her; the jut of his collarbone above the neckline of his tank top, and the way his overalls emphasised how the width of his strong shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist. She could feel her cheeks flushing as she made her way over to him, and she felt the rumble of his chuckle as he reeled her in and cradled her against his chest. “I wasn’t expecting you to meet me.”

“Quiet day. Jim said we could knock off early.”

“You didn’t wanna go grab a beer with Glenn and Aaron?” She knew that was the standard practice when they had an early finish, especially on a Friday, but Daryl just shook his head, pulling back so that she could push herself up on tiptoes and steal a kiss.

“Nah. Thought about it, but I missed ya. Wanted to see how you an’ Li’l Asskicker were doin’.”

“We are doing just fine.”

He smiled, ducking his head as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and she laced their fingers together as they turned and started towards home, a small one-storey house on the edge of town. It wasn’t much, but Daryl had fixed it up, just as he had their tiny casita, and it had a wraparound porch that they spent most mornings and evenings on, sipping coffee or beer and looking out over the neighbourhood. “Heard from Merle today.”

Alexa cast a glance at her husband, trying to read the look on his face, only to find it schooled into an expression of nonchalance. “Oh, really? How is he?”

“Gettin’ by. Lawyer’s still tryin’ to get the death penalty off the table. S’draggin’ on.”

“Even so, he’ll still be looking at life, right?”

“Mmhmm.” Daryl sighed, rubbing his free hand over the back of his neck, and Alexa leaned into him, trying to lend him some support. “Honestly, think he’s only fightin’ it till the baby comes. Wants to meet his li’l niece or nephew ‘fore…”

“We’ll visit as soon as we can,” Alexa assured him. A small part of her hated the idea of taking a newborn into a prison, remembering the type of men she’d had to deal with at Carrington, some of whom still haunted her nightmares on occasion. But she also knew how much Merle had given up for them, how much it had cost him to do the right thing, and she couldn’t deny him the chance to see the result of his sacrifice.

Reaching their yard, Alexa waited for Daryl to unlatch the gate before stepping through and meandering up the path, pausing to admire the flowers that bloomed in the beds that he’d planted for her when they first moved in. Moving ahead, her husband jogged up the porch steps and unlocked the door, flinging it open to release a speeding blur of black fur.

“Perro!” he shouted, his voice gruff, though softened by affection, as the Calupoh barrelled towards Alexa, narrowly missing colliding with her before circling back and jumping up to rest his paws against the swell of her belly.

“He’s okay. He’s just been shut in for too long today.”

“Needs to be more careful round ya,” Daryl grumbled, but he still dropped to his knees, calling the dog to him so he could stroke along his sides and scratch at his belly, finding himself rewarded by a slick tongue licking up the length of his face. “Disgustin’ hound.”

Alexa was laughing as she lowered herself to the ground at Daryl’s side, slumping against him as she finally gave in to the ache in her lower back that was plaguing her through the second trimester. As if he could feel her pain, his hand came up to rub soothing circles over the base of her spine, and she hummed in contentment, tipping her head back to let the rays of evening sunshine dance over her face. The yard wasn’t big, but she could picture all too easily where she might put a paddling pool through the hottest days of the summer, could hear the giggles and splashes of children as they played, could smell meat grilling as Daryl tended the barbecue, his arms painted a deep golden-brown by the sun. She could feel the grass between her toes as she picked her way over to him, barefoot and glowing, her auburn locks back to their natural glory and burning like fire in the bright light of the afternoon, could imagine the kiss he’d brush against her lips as the kids shouted their disgust at seeing their parents indulging in a little physical affection. The scene played out in her mind as if she was seeing it on a cinema screen, and she knew her mouth was curved in a dreamy smile as Daryl glanced down at her where she rested against him.

“Y’alright?”

She nodded, craning her neck to press a soft kiss to the line of his jaw, wrinkling her nose when his scruff tickled her skin. “Mmhmm. Just trying to imagine what our life’s gonna look like ten years from now.”

He huffed a laugh, his breath ruffling her hair. “Ain’t never been able to do that before, I’ll bet.”

“No,” she admitted, “but I feel like I can see it now.”

“And?”

“And it’s gonna be perfect,” she told him with absolute certainty.

“M’finally gonna be able to give ya the life y’always wanted.”

“It’s only just beginning really, isn’t it?” Daryl nodded, and Perro let out a soft groan as if he, too, was agreeing. Alexa rewarded him with a scratch behind the ears, the one thing they’d brought back with them from their time in hiding, the first addition to the family that she was determined to grow with the man at her side. “I love you so much, Daryl Dixon.”

“Mmm.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer so that she almost wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. “Love ya right back.”

*****

Drop me an ask if you’d like to be added to my Daryl Dixon or TWD tag lists!

Feedback is always appreciated and reblogs set me free 🖤 Thank you for reading x

#the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x ofc #daryl dixon x oc #twd #twd fanfiction #conviction #the world at our feet

19 notes · View notes

twisted-crumpets · 4 years ago

Note

The soft Vil and kissing headcanons I'm- 😭😭😭😭😭 Could I have headcanons for NRC having a ball and MC just walks up to Riddle, Azul, Vil, Idia and Malleus (seperately ofc) being like "I've decided that you're gonna be my date for the ball 😊". I know I picked like, the 5 worst characters for this, imagine the audacity and guts you gotta have to pull that on Vil and Malleus 😂

Pff MC strolling up with guts of steel

I- Imagine like slamming down a corsage or smth and being like “you, me dance a lil, get to know each other, maybe smooch idk” to Vil 😂😂

Also, thank you very much for liking my Vil headcanons, it made me smile.

━━ Riddle Rosehearts ━━

To say that Riddle wasn’t stressed out of his mind would be a complete and utter lie.

After spending a good chunk of his time dedicated to scolding Ace and chasing Floyd the poor crimson leader was staring at his watch, panicking as the seconds tick by.

Hearing soft footsteps, he whipped his head ready to berate whoever was dawdling in the dorms and not laying out the table for the upcoming unbirthday party, but froze upon the sight of his darling.

“Oh! Love, I’m sorry you have caught me at a bit of a bad time. What is the reason for your visit?”

He was not at all prepared for his darling to demand his presence at the school ball and couldn’t help but splutter as his face slowly began to turn into a shade that could rival his hair.

“I- you... do you have any sense of decorum or poise?”

Ignoring the blush smeared across his cheeks, Riddle began to criticise the “invitation” and how it did not comply with the rules of the queen of hearts.

However, he soon quietened down when his love teasingly asked if that meant he was rejecting them, reducing the strict dorm leader into a flustered mess.

“That most certainly was not a no!... I just, I believed that we were automatically going to arrive together... I didn’t expect to be asked so abruptly.... I... let me try this again.”

Clearing his throat, Riddle knelt onto the ground, surprising the dorm members who were slowly filing into the room, sweetly holding onto his dearest’s hand.

“Darling, it would be the upmost honour of the highest degree to accompany you to the ball.”

Laying a kiss onto the back of their hand, he couldn’t hide the smirk beginning to grow onto his face as he amusedly watched their face grow as brightly as his own.

━━ Azul Ashengrotto ━━

Due to the rise in contracts during the exam season, Azul’s paperwork began to increase as well and the poor octopus could already feel every part of his back creak in protest everytime he leant down.

Opening the heavy door to his study, his darling was not surprised that he barely even looked their way before pressing his nose against his documents, scanning their contents tiredly.

Attempting to gain his focus, his darling decided to demand that he join them at the ball.

His response was lacklustre at best, not even taking his eyes off his his work to reply.

“Hm? Ah yes, of course my treasure.”

Suddenly, his quill paused in its journey across his contracts and he froze, dropping it against the pristine desk.

At first, his response was “hmmm? Ah yes of course, my treasure.”

That was until, the demand finally processed in his mind, then he just stood wide eyed and froze, dropping his quill.

He gasped at his darling, his azure eyes getting increasingly smaller in shock.

After a few minutes, his darling was finally able to call his name through their giggles, and he snapped back to life.

“Oh my angelfish~ what a tempting command. But, I can only make wishes come true if they are a request.”

Smiling coyly, he observed his darling floundering for the proper words to ask him.

Crooking a gloved finger, he beckoned them closer, mischief practically glowing in his eyes, and gently pulled them into a slow kiss.

“That is a deal I could simply not turn down. Alright, I will gladly join you, my pearl.”

━━ Vil Shoenheit ━━

As a deep lover of all things intricate and organised, this was nothing short of messy.

Fabrics ranging in colour, texture and pattern covered every inch of his room, and Vil was extremely critical of which would be worthy to be used to decorate the dorm room.

He revelled the peaceful silence that lingered in the room, which demanded complete and utter focus, until his darling came barrelling into the room.

“Ah! Fairest no! You could’ve sullied the fabrics... whatever possessed you to come stumbling in like an elephant better be of high importance.”

Returning to his work, he did not expect shaky warm hands to cup his face, and he slowly moved his gaze to their face, observing the rosey flush due to their exercise prior.

In a shocked trance, Vil watched as his darling bolted from the room, after loudly proclaiming that he was coming with her to the ball.

Snapping his manicured fingers, his poor love was dragged like a sack of potatoes over the shoulder of his loyal huntsman, who overheard the events that unfolded with a wide grin.

“My dear, whilst your confession was executed rather... uniquely, I believe I must be the one to give an answer on whether or not I shall attend with you.”

With a cat-like smile, he basked in the nervous gaze of his darling which bounced around the room, whilst he pretended to find his nails exceedingly interesting, before finally accepting with sophisticated air.

Striding up to his darling briskly to tenderly cradle their face, peppering sweet kisses and giggling at the look of bewilderment and shock that graced their face.

━━ Idia Shroud ━━

Finding Idia furiously slamming his fingers into his keyboard, fully enamoured with the happenings on his computer, was not new.

Observing his hunched and focused figure, his darling decided that it was due time for him to take a break and attempted to tear his eyes away from the harsh glare of the screen.

“Oh pixel, I promise I will stop right after this round don’t worry.”

Unfortunately, he couldn’t even press a single key when he heard his lover announce that he would be attended the ball alongside them.

Turning a blind eye to the blatant ‘game over’ on his monitor, Idia’s hair began to burn a vibrant assortment of deep reds and he muttered incomprehensible half sentences, his current state akin to a phone after being dropped into a pool.

“You... me... public... together... d..dancing..”

Like a mouse, he burrowed his way inside the cozy depths of his hoodie, squeaking out his agreement, before flinging his arms around their middle and smooshing his face into their stomach in an attempt to distract them from his vermillion hair and face.

“.. I would love that very much thank you.”

━━ Malleus Draconia ━━

For Malleus, midnight strolls are the highlight of his day.

From exploring the picturesque ruins of castles he might’ve known once upon a time, to marvelling at the loyal gargoyles that remain standing guard at the entrance, that frequently remind him of the two guards of his back at his dorm.

Although, he couldn’t deny that, the main reason for his enjoyment in his nightly activities was when doing so with his truest love.

On this day, instead of the usual lighthearted air between them, a nervous yet determined one replaced it, filling the horned boy with curiousity, which grew as he gazed deeply into the eyes of his love, who appeared to be summoning every ounce of courage to look back into his.

“Truest, what is ailing you?”

Nothing could quite prepare him for the explosive torrent of words that spilled from their lips that took his brain a whole series of seconds to decipher.

When it finally clicked that he had received that invitation, no one could’ve possibly smiled brighter or laughed merrier than he, as he whisked his beloved into his arms, pressing his lips against theirs passionately.

Pulling away, his chest rumbling with laughter, he cheekily beamed at the dumbfounded expression that graced his love’s features.

“My my, inviting me so suddenly, and with such a demanding tone too. Why this is an interesting declaration, and I would be a fool to not accept. Very well my truest, I accept. You best do well to not be late, I am looking forward to this.”

I’m so sorry this took so long, school said no❤️

I hope you enjoyed your meal!

#brain frying #twisted wonderland #twst #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #vil shoenheit #vil shoenheit x reader #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #g/n reader

408 notes · View notes

cannedstring · 3 years ago

Text

hiiii! i’m ella :-) here’s a quick lil’ intro on violetta below before i hope off to w*rk. i’m sry it sucks. i do more later? maybe? so excited to be here.

◜ * : alisha boe . cis woman & she/her . the beach ii by wolf alice . ━━ the legend surrounding london’s l’academiae furorum would not be complete without VIOLETTA LARSEN . the academy's TWENTY-THREE year old FIRST SOLOIST has returned to furore for SIX MONTHS , oft described as LAX, STARRY-EYED, CANDID, DISTANT & has proved utterly indispensable to the company. in passing , they’ve come to be associated with SALTED CITRUS ON THE RIM OF SOMETHING CRISP AND BURNING — CRUSHED LEAVES SEEPING EARTH BETWEEN CLASPED HANDS & vibrations on a worn-out stage, feet against warmed hardwood, leaping and spinning . hair in waves, held by saltwater, dewy-afterglow as the sun’s first rays fall upon last night's sparkles and laughter . and mind masked by the right amount of hazy, chest bubbling as everything shifts to more pretty, more nice . whether this will be their final curtain call is anyone's guess & the company’s worst nightmare .

pinterest.

sahra rose quickly, naturally gifted but also a hard worker. danced on air, moves as smooth as they were sharp. style noted once as ‘uncomfortably beautiful’. alexander was a quiet, serious pianist who at first glance would go unnoticed, blended into the rest of the orchestra, but when he played, all eyes fell on him. a classic tale of romance. she danced to his music. he created music for her to dance to. they became bonded by the endless act of creating something great from nothing.

violetta was a ‘something great’ in their eyes, despite the way her formation had cut the careers of her mother and father short. they wished for something beyond the halls of furore. to create their own legacy and they did. traveled all over the place with baby, then child, then teenager, violetta, in tow. sahra and alexander — goodwill ambassadors, worked to build schools to spread dancing and music all over. socialites at the brim of the best events and ideas.

they never imposed any boundaries on their sole daughter. she grew up learning from her parents but also whoever and whatever caught her eye. exuding confidence in the most cool-girl-culture-esque way with the shadow of nepotism ofc but you could never really pin violetta down.

she seems to deal with everything (annoyingly) with so much ease, doesn't know the concept of worrying (may be because of the fact that she always carries the best weed and shrooms — a must), knows about all the drama but never involved in any of the drama.

quintessentially she’s kid cudi dancing during electric feel at mgmt coachella set but as a person ifykyk

her venture at furore may have been expected all things considered but it wasn’t. a whim like many other things that violetta decided to tread into. although, she had her mother’s trainings and her father’s music and did all the right things albeit in very wrong ways, but it created her own unique style, not as perfect as her mother’s, but effortless, ripples in a stream. she kept at it for two years, the promise of principal dancer was there before she decided that her journey was over and went onto pursue other things to the chagrin of the academy. just bc she felt like it. violetta was seemingly unperturbed and went into acting, traveled some more, did a few apartment-tour-what’s-in-my-bag maunders.

two years passed and she decided to return. by another whim was a reason accepted by most, although many had expected the academy to completely bar her, but again preference by bloodline ruled. violetta wasn’t made principal dancer though, first shunted to second soloist (to set an example) but then quickly first soloist once more.

in reality, violetta’s return was the most planned thing she had ever done in her entire life. meetings with her parents were booked as ‘dinner with sahra & alexander at 8 pm’, but their family dynamic was never the norm. still filled with love and joy. the news during one said dinner cast an ugly dent onto all of the great things that had been built. (illness tw) alexander was sick, had months — maybe — but it was all uncertain. the only uncertain violetta ever had difficulty dealing with in her life.

love was always characterized by passion in violetta’s mind and it felt right, needed, that both of her parents saw her dance on the stage to the song alexander had written for her, when she was born composed of notes that her mother had danced to all laced together. it was a way of managing grief. of saying all the things she wanted to say to him, and them.

#furore.intro #illness tw #a gorgeous giggle

15 notes · View notes

djarrex · 4 years ago

Text

Countermeasures || 1