#Oh Lord - Please Make Them Canon!

[dynamitekansai]

THE USOS REUNITE WWE SMACKDOWN (OCTOBER 25, 2024)

[multishipperbish]

i don't know how this would work vis-à-vis the island at all lmao. maybe some metaphor about how the dragonets of destiny are forced to fix the war alone even though they're kids ++ something about the LOTF kids being. kids. whatever. i just wanted to draw some dragons chat. close ups under cut cause i'm proud of these dragons finally

[flowerandblood]

The Song of Promises [2/3]

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, unprotected sex, fingering, drunk sex (consensual), targcest stuff, smut, angst, description of drastic scenes of violence (hunting, attacking another person with a knife, memory of Aemma's birth and her death), senile amnesia, dark Aemond on the brink of madness ]

[ description: Plans and dreams collide with a gray reality: Viserys smells of death, and Alicent and Otto want to make sure that they strengthen their family enough for what will come. Many years ago, Aemond did not care about his mother's words that according to her will, he would marry one of Lord Baratheon's daughters in the future, counting on the support of his father. He and his cousin must decide to whom and what they will remain loyal. ]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

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Lady Royce

She saw the look on his face during the tournament – the way his lips curved in exasperation when she dared to offer her wreath to his uncle. He didn't look at them: he sat erect like a stone sculpture with his eyes directed ahead, pretending not to care about what he had just witnessed.

Had Aemond participated in the tournament, she would have had no problem either choosing the man she favored or accepting the one who desired her wreath. However, her cousin despised such performances and preferred to boast of his proficiency in battle in the courtyard of the Red Keep, not among the crowd and men who wanted to show their worth before the King at all costs.

He felt he was above that, or perhaps he was just too proud to allow himself to fail in front of hundreds of people.

This put her in a situation where it was obvious that another man would ask for her favor, and she knew it would be Gwayne Hightower. It seemed to her that the son of the Hand of the King took satisfaction in tormenting his nephew, teasing her and chatting with her whenever he had the chance.

His uncle was showing him that he knew how valuable his little toy was to him and that he could take it away from him if he wanted.

This was patently untrue: young Hightower was a bright and handsome man, and could even amuse her at times – but this did not change the fact that she understood exactly the reasons for his interest in her, and his efforts made no impression on her.

He fascinated her, but she did not love him, just as he did not love her.

Her heart was filled with thoughts of someone else.

However, her cousin, as a man without an eye, with a long, pale scar running across much of the left side of his face, despite his huge ego, felt threatened by any individual of the same sex who did not have similar defects.

He was possessive, and he never hid it: the price for his protectiveness over her was her fidelity in every sense of the word. She was to be devoted to him; this meant that he expected her to reject any man's courting and treat it with utmost indifference.

However, it was difficult to treat the Queen's own brother this way; she was not in a position to put up strong resistance to him, at least when it came to matters that seemed in good taste to everyone.

“I'm about to fall asleep from boredom. Spare me and dance with me.” Gwayne said to her almost reluctantly, leaning over her ear during a magnificent feast in the throne room, given in honor of the King himself.

She involuntarily glanced at her cousin and noticed his healthy eye focused on her figure, his hand lying on the table clenched into a fist told her what he would do to her if she dared to agree.

“Forgive me, my Lord. I feel unwell,” she muttered, feeling that for some reason her heart was in her throat, “however, I'm sure Princess Helaena will be happy to dance with her uncle.”

Helaena, sitting right next to her, clapped her hands enthusiastically.

“Oh, yes!” She exclaimed softly – a grimace of displeasure ran across Hightower's face, but seeing his niece's reaction, he couldn't refuse her.

When he extended his hand toward Helaena, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief, escorting them with her eyes toward the other couples spinning on the stone floor. She shuddered, snapped out of her reverie when she heard the loud creak of a wooden chair, the tall figure to her left rose from the table and moved lazily toward her.

She heard him stop behind her – a pleasant shudder shook her body when he dared to run his fingers along the line of her bare back in public.

He was showing everyone who she belonged to.

She was afraid to look in the direction of the Queen and the Hand of the King, convinced that those were watching them closely.

Her son's affection for her did not fill them with joy, as both had long planned to marry him off to one of Lord Borros Baratheon's daughters.

She had seen them gazing at him during the tournament, begging for at least one look from him. He, however, was focused on her arm pressed against his, her little finger running innocently over the side of his hand once in a while.

She saw him involuntarily cross his legs, trying to hide his swollen erection from her and the rest of the world.

“You should rest. It's late.” He suggested in a calm but definite voice, letting her understand that he would not take her refusal well.

He took his hand off her back when she nodded and hummed contentedly, moving ahead along one of the side entrances.

She knew he had been expecting her to come to him.

She knew he had been waiting for this for many hours.

But she didn't know what she would experience with him that night – the feeling of his thick, hard length deep inside her body was at once as strange and frightening as it was exciting and fulfilling. She couldn't decide what she actually felt when he began to move inside her until he began to moan softly, and his bed beneath them began to creak loudly.

Their bodies clung to each other, and she opened her thighs wide to him, trying to find a shared rhythm with him – their hips pounded against each other, splatting with the embarrassing, sticky sound of bare skin and moisture leaking from her onto the bedding. A wonderful, unfamiliar shudder shook her body each time he involuntarily rubbed against the upper wall of her womanhood, teasing the space he had previously caressed with his tongue and fingers.

“– here, brother – please, here –” She mewled, arching her spine so that with each determined, deep thrust her cousin rode his entire manhood over her sweet spot.

She saw a sort of dangerous glint in his eye, wide open and fixed on her face – his large, warm hands gripped her hips, and he shifted the weight of his body to his knees, slamming into her from a completely different angle.

Nothing but loud, girlish moans and cries came out of her mouth when it turned out that in this position she saw stars – she heard him ask her if it was pleasurable, but she was unable to answer him – she threw her head back, closed her eyes and let him fuck her like a whore.

The sound of pleasure that ripped from his throat when he came inside her was vulnerable and sweet – the thought that, against everything and everyone, he had filled her with his seed made her reach her peak a moment later, hearing and feeling nothing but the wonderful pulsing of her own cunt and the tickling heat that surged through her body in waves.

He collapsed on top of her, panting heavily, all sticky from sweat and hot from exertion – she heard him lick his lips before his mouth whispered into her ear words that, although she knew his intentions, she had not expected.

“Marry me.”

She opened her eyes, trying to calm her breathing – she thought it was madness for him to ask her to marry him now, as she lay beneath him with her legs spread wide, his half-hard manhood deep inside her warmth, his spend leaking down her buttocks.

“Wouldn't it be in good taste for you to kneel before me first and confess your love with at least a short, thoughtful poem?” She muttered, struggling to keep her mind sober.

She heard his involuntary chuckle – she knew he was grinning, and that it was a grin full of malice.

“You must have mistaken me for another man. Probably some twat.” He replied lightly.

Although she tried, she couldn't hold back a smile of amusement – she pressed her lips together, but knew he saw it, for his hand ran slowly over her cheek.

“You break my heart.” She sighed, finally turning her face toward him – their gazes met, his gaze calm and satisfied.

“Marry me. I will cherish you and all of our children. I will be a husband who will not neglect his duties to his wife. I will make sure that your womb is always full of my seed.” He said softly, almost tenderly.

For some reason she felt moved, because although these may not have been the dream words a woman would want to hear, they were his – straight from his heart – his sincere dreams and plans, his vision of their life together.

Their happiness.

“You say that because you just reached your peak inside me.” She said quietly, running the back of her hand over his long, sharply outlined jaw.

He snorted softly, however, the expression on his face remained gentle.

“You know it's not true.” He replied, but added nothing more.

She wondered if this was a moment when they could speak honestly.

He was now relaxed, vulnerable, content – and thus, for some reason, eager to talk, even though he so despised words so much.

“You have always protected me, and I know you would never hurt me, but your mother and grandfather will never agree. You are well aware that their desire is for you to marry one of Lord Baratheon's daughters.” She said calmly, without regret or accusation, looking him straight in the eye.

She didn't want him to think she blamed him for this: she knew he had no say in his family's decisions, but that didn't change the fact that it complicated the whole matter.

His face clouded over at the mention of this apparently uncomfortable fact – his lips clenched into a thin line, his nostrils twitched in an impatient breath.

“I am the blood of a dragon, not a breeding stallion. I don't live to leave my seed in some vain mare.” He replied with a frustration that surprised her.

How often had he thought of this?

Although his words were filled with prejudice and vanity, she understood that they had a second bottom: the sense of injustice he carried within him that he was expected to beget children with women with whom he had nothing in common.

She sighed quietly and ran her fingers through his hair, brushing a long white strand away from his face. The expression on his face softened, as did his gaze – his healthy eye grew large, his gasp full of some kind of relief.

“What do you plan to do?” She asked at last, recognizing that she had already gotten more out of him than she had ever expected him to want to confess to her.

She couldn't exaggerate, cross a line that would make him retreat again, hiding behind silence.

She heard him sigh heavily and lean in, his forehead pressed against hers.

“I will speak with my father.”

She didn't know that by saying “I'll speak with my father” he meant “we'll speak with my father.” The fact that he expected her to be there for this conversation honestly scared her.

“He needs to understand that you are doing this of your own free will. I'm sure he will assume that I want to force you.” He said dryly, taking a deep sip of wine from his cup the next day, apparently trying to give himself courage.

The sight of them walking side by side through the corridors of the Red Keep in the morning aroused interest: she knew that this view would be widely commented on, as well as the fact that she left his chamber in the same gown she had worn the day before.

She had the impression that everyone around her knew that she was no longer a maiden.

She lowered her gaze, looking down at her feet, feeling a strange kind of embarrassment and fear – she realized that although she had lost something, her cousin had remained just as valuable in the eyes of others, including Lord Baratheon's daughters.

She was the only one who was deprived of something.

An uncomfortable discomfort squeezed her throat at the thought.

“Open.” He ordered to one of the guards, without any explanation or courtesy.

The man nodded with a kind of strange awe and fear – the door to the king's chamber opened before them and her cousin stepped inside without a word, apparently thinking that she would simply follow him in.

So she did – she was immediately struck by the intense smell of oils, most likely meant to mask the unpleasant smell of decay.

“Father.” He said calmly, approaching slowly to the royal bed veiled by transparent white curtains.

She moved uncertainly to follow him and turned when she heard the door behind them close with a quiet clatter, leaving them in complete silence.

“Aemond. It's good that you're here. Can you hand me my tea?” She heard a weak, hoarse voice – she stopped where she couldn't be seen, afraid that if Viserys saw her, he would immediately realize what had happened.

For some reason, her heart was pounding like mad with terror.

She had wanted this for so long, so why was she afraid now?

Was it because she knew that the Green's considered her to be her father's daughter, someone who could not be trusted after all?

“I can't, Father,” his son replied with seriousness and weariness, as if he were speaking to a child, “I need your mind to be clear now. I come to you with a matter that cannot wait.”

He nodded at her, a cold determination in his gaze that made her heart hit harder in her chest.

She approached him uncertainly and finally glanced at the figure lying on the bed – the sight of her uncle's thin, frail figure so close up made her have trouble taking a deeper breath.

“We ask for your blessing.” Her cousin added finally, and silence fell in the chamber.

Viserys furrowed his brow, as if unable to comprehend, bothered by his own pain, what his son expected of him.

“I don't follow. Could you hand me my tea?” He asked again, pointing with his long, blue finger at a small table standing next to his bed.

“I want to take her as my wife, but I won't do it without my King's blessing.” His son replied in a tone full of impatience.

He felt humiliated because he had to beg for help from the man who, when he lost his eye as a little boy, did not stand up for him.

“Does Aemma know about this? I won't make a decision without knowing your mother's opinion.” Said the King, and after a moment he frowned, as if realizing something.

“Could you ask her to visit me? It seems to me that I haven't seen her for so long.” Viserys said, and she glanced quickly at his son, feeling a cold drop of sweat run down the length of her back.

He froze, but at the same time she had the impression that he was quivering all over – his face looked like stone, his hands were clenched so tightly that they had turned blue – the only things that betrayed that he was alive were his unevenly moving chest and wide-open eye.

She didn't know what she should do, how to behave to comfort him now, that it appeared his father had been living in the past all these years.

“I took her. My cousin can now carry my child. Mother can't know.” He finally replied in a voice filled with deep regret, as if he wanted to tell him something completely different at that moment.

Only then did Viserys look at her – his gaze expressed worry and concern, making her know immediately what he was going to ask her.

“Tell me what you want, sweet child. Even if it contradicts my son's will.” He said, implying clearly, according to her cousin's assumptions, that he didn't believe she had given conscious consent to what had happened between them.

That Aemond had taken her by force.

She shook her head, dismissing this unpleasant thought from herself.

“He has been taking care of me since I was a little girl. He's the only one who really knows me, and he's the only one I'll marry, uncle.” She mumbled out in a breaking voice, knowing that she was the only person in the room who could beg for anything out loud.

“I cannot decide your destiny without Daemon's approval.” Said the King and hissed, placing a hand on his chest where he apparently felt a piercing pain.

“My tea.” He mouthed, and she moved swiftly toward the table, eager to relieve him of his suffering – Aemond's broad hand, however, clamped down on her arm and stopped her with a short, determined shrug.

“No, I said.” He growled quietly, so that only she heard him.

She looked at him uncertainly, feeling that her whole body was trembling, his gaze piercing and threatening.

Mad.

“Give us your blessing, Father. Announce our betrothal. Tell your subjects that in this way you are reconciling two feuding parts of the family. That you are strengthening our House.” Her cousin did not say, but commanded in a voice full of annoyance and impatience, like a child who demanded a toy.

“My tea.” The King replied.

For a moment, she thought his son wanted to finally give him the poppy milk, as he reached for the vessel standing to his right, however, she gasped, shocked to see him spill its entire contents on the floor before his father's eyes.

“What is this? Some fucking liquid gold, that it is more important than your own son's request? Have I ever asked you for something, hm? Did I complain that you didn't defend me when that bastard took my eye? When you publicly insulted my mother, Alicent Hightower, calling her again and again by the name of the woman whose womb you yourself ordered to open?” He hissed in a voice filled with venom, staring as if in a trance at the last drops of liquid falling to the stone floor.

She involuntarily covered her mouth with her hand and froze in place, unable to believe he had said it out loud, terrified of the consequences of what he had just done.

Viserys looked at him dully, as if he didn't understand what he had just said.

“I want to see Aemna.” He muttered finally, and she thought it was at that moment that something snapped in his son.

“You can see her at any time. Her ashes lie in a beautiful, cold tomb beneath the Red Keep. According to legends, echoes of her pleading cries can still be heard in the corridors.” Aemond answered him, tossing the cup carelessly to the floor with a loud clatter of steel.

Viserys howled like an animal – at first she thought it was from pain, but then she saw that he had closed his eyes, as if consciousness had returned to his mind for a moment.

“No, no, no, no, my sweet Aemma, no, I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to, my dearest, my love, forgive me,” he sobbed aloud, apparently forgetting their presence, immersed in his memories and guilt.

For some reason, she grabbed her cousin's arm, feeling that it was all out of control, but instead of saying anything, she simply pressed her face against his body, only now feeling that, like her, he was shaking all over.

He surprised her when he embraced her around the waist and pulled her close, his face sank into the hollow of her neck.

“He deserved it. He deserved every word. It's his fucking fault. Say something,” he whispered in a breaking voice, his father's cries echoing throughout the chamber.

“I…” She mumbled, but didn't have time to get anything out because the door to the royal quarters opened and the Maester stepped inside.

Prince Aemond let her go immediately and turned his back on them, walking toward the window, his hand wiping his face quickly.

He cried.

Aemond

Even when Luke took his eye, he wasn't as furious, bitter and disappointed as he was now. He didn't know what to do with these feelings, completely unwanted and cruel, smelling of the defeat and humiliation he had suffered from his father.

He didn't like to think about Aemma; the fact that he continually called his mother by her name made him create a kind of hatred towards her person over the years, even though he had never met her personally.

She seemed to him the personification of all his father's desires: apparently, she was so dear to him that he was unable to forget her, and not even a second, younger wife could fill the void she left behind.

However, every time he subconsciously tried to come to terms with the fact that maybe it was just that Viserys truly loved her, he reminded himself that it was, after all, he who killed her.

It was known that she would die in childbirth, however, unlike Laena Velaryon, she was not given the opportunity to leave this world on her own terms.

His father allowed her womb to be slit open like that of a pig, wishing to get his offspring and heir out of her. Even the gods must have found this act disgusting – Aemma was still conscious when it happened, and her screams and pleas for him not to do it were said to have been heard by the entire fortress – so they made a mockery of him and took his awaited son from him.

The fact that he had three sons with Alicent Hightower, including himself, did not satisfy him – he wanted back the one who had burned in the dragon fire with Aemma on the big wooden pyre.

This realization made him incapable of putting it together in his head, his rational mind unable to find justification for his behavior; he understood that he was the king and needed a male heir at all costs, but since he loved this woman, how could he do this to her?

Strip her of her dignity at the moment of death, treat her like a butcher would treat his cattle?

His imagination suggested terrifying visions to him: the image of his cousin lying in his bed, her belly swollen from his inheritance, the blood under her thighs, her face twisted in horror as the Maester began to approach her with a knife, appeared in his mind.

How could he ever do this to her?

“No,” said his subconscious to the Maester, “give her more poppy milk. May she not suffer. Let my son or daughter remain in her womb, where they are safe.”

“I don't want to die, lēkia (big brother). Help me.” She whimpered toward him, her pale face flooded with tears of terror and grief.

He felt a strong squeeze in his throat, an unpleasant wetness gathered under his eyelids as he approached her on trembling legs. His hand stroked her sweaty, burning cheek, his lips hushed her like a small child.

“You're not going to die. You just need to rest. When you wake up, you'll succeed. Do you understand?” He asked in a voice breaking with pain, trying to be strong, giving her what she needed.

He saw that she nodded, a naive smile of hope adorning her sweet face.

“Lēkia.” She said and he flinched, hopping in his chair like a scalded man, hearing the word not only in his head, but also outside of it.

As he looked around he realized that for some reason he was in the tent – only after a moment's reflection did he remember that a great hunt had been arranged to celebrate his father's Name Day, in which their family, as well as the mighty lords of the entire kingdom, were to participate.

The King, for reasons well known to him, had fainted and was to join them the next day if his health permitted, but everything had been organized several months in advance and, according to his grandfather's orders, was to proceed as previously arranged.

He sighed heavily, seeing that his hāedar was standing in the entrance and looked at him as if she had seen a ghost – her face expressed concern and understanding, her eyebrows arched in sadness, the source of which was what had happened that morning.

He couldn't get the words out.

“Helaena needs me. I promised her that I would accompany her.” She said softly, as if she was afraid of offending him with these words, the fact that she had to give her attention to someone else.

He was no longer a small child who couldn't share his toys.

He grunted loudly and crossed his legs, twisting in his seat, trying to maintain a semblance of calm and composure.

“Of course. You are her lady of the court. Perform your duties as you should.” He replied, not knowing what else he could say to her.

He pretended he didn't feel a stab of regret and disappointment at the thought that now, when he needed her, she would spend her day with his sister.

Although his answer, at least in his mind, absolved her of any guilt toward him, she still stood in the same place. He swallowed hard when he noticed out of the corner of his eye that she moved toward him after a moment – her silhouette settled over him before climbing onto his lap.

He couldn't stop the loud sigh of surprise or the fact that his length pulsed aggressively in his breeches at such sudden, shameless closeness. He thought she was going to pursue fucking, but she surprised him again when she simply pulled her knees up to her chin and snuggled into him, burying her face in the hollow of his neck.

His hands embraced her in some subconscious gesture of protectiveness, his fingers combing through her long, smooth, soft hair. He knew that she liked it and that it calmed her – even as a child she had asked him to stroke her head when they lay in his bed.

This made her fall asleep almost instantly, and then he could shamelessly look at her face, illuminated only by the moonlight.

Lying next to her as a little boy, he thought deeply about their future and how to achieve what he wanted. He knew that he desired a family, strong and broad, an extension of his line and his House. He had no ideas on how to make his first-born son inherit anything worthy of the Targaryens: everything that really mattered was to fall to his half-sister, or to Aegon.

He recognized, in the end, that these were considerations for future years: as a prince, he was certainly entitled to some beautiful estate, or perhaps even a castle, that would be associated with his family. He wouldn't have disdained some fortress in Old Town, filled with the history of his ancestors as well as the entire Kingdom, away from the fetor of King's Landing. The most important thing, at the end of the day, was that he would finally have something of his own alone.

His children.

The older he got, the more he liked to imagine his cousin with her abdomen swollen from his child; there was something simultaneously perverse and soothing about that vision.

On the one hand, it would prove that he had taken her and was a man performing his duty; on the other, he could watch as a new life grew inside her, in which their blood flowed.

He felt committed to her, but not trapped; he knew that was the key difference when it came to the relationship between a man and a woman. He would never allow himself to be dominated, and the girls' crying, demanding constant attention irritated him.

Therefore, he was glad that the one he chose was different, at least in his eyes: she would allow him to keep quiet and remain in his solitude when he felt the need to do so, while at the same time not holding any resentment towards him.

That he would marry her was as obvious to him as the fact that he would become a father; he saw no other future for either himself or her.

That's why his mother's suggestion when he turned sixteen shocked him so much.

“Rhaenyra has the support of the Eyrie, and probably Winterfell as well. We already have to think of a response to such a threat. I and your grandfather think we should secure the support and devotion of Storm's End.” She said to him, embarrassing him.

“I don't follow.” He replied dryly and crossed his legs, for some reason feeling that something unspeakable hung in the air.

“Lord Borros has as many as four daughters. Rarely does one have the privilege to choose from so many. Serve our family and marry one of them.” Said his mother, her hand in some pathetic attempt to soften her words caught his wrist.

He looked at her, feeling that his face expressed complete indifference, although his heart was pounding like mad in his chest.

“I'm not a breeding stallion for sale.” He said coldly, and his mother took her hand from his.

For some reason, when he saw this, he felt pain in his chest.

He could only experience her love and tenderness if he obeyed.

“No one suggests it. Choose the one who will most endear you with her appeal, character and demeanor. I will accept any of them as my new daughter.” She replied, apparently recognizing that this was a brief, sudden outburst of his rebellion that would pass.

“I don't give a shit about any of them. I will marry only my own blood.” He said with strange calmness and involuntarily grinned.

His mother didn't like his words.

“You think of Daemon's daughter?” She asked, and his grin turned into a frown of displeasure.

“Maybe.” He replied dryly.

“You are naive. Do you think she will remain faithful to us? She may not love her father, but she doesn't hate him enough to betray him. When the time comes, she will be at our mercy, and you let her too close to your heart. You are not thinking soberly.” She said with a voice filled with cheap feminine exasperation, proof that, like others of her kind, she could not control her emotions, though she pretended to be an equal to men.

“Her loyalty to me is one of the few things in this world that I am certain of.” He said lightly, cocking his head, throwing his mother a wide, mocking smile that didn't reach his eye.

The Queen snorted and shook her head, clenching her eyelids for a moment, as if she wanted to wake up from a bad dream.

“I thought you were wiser. That you are more in control of yourself and your urges. I know she spends her nights in your chamber. It's a miracle she's not carrying your bastard yet.” She said with a pain from which he himself felt a piercing discomfort in his chest.

“It's no miracle,” he hissed exasperatedly, “nor a coincidence. But it's true, I'm taking her to my bed.”

“You're making a mistake,” his mother said, throwing him a long, tired look, “you should be seen with other women as well, so as not to give her the feeling that you are her property.”

He drew in a loud breath, feeling the hot rage spread across his loins like a sea wave.

“I'm no one's property.” He hissed, completely out of balance.

Alicent snorted at his words.

“Then prove it. Take another girl. One who will be willing to you. One who will sow unrest in her heart.” She said with a seriousness from which he felt a twinge in his throat.

“No.” He replied without thinking, breathing loudly to calm himself. “You desire me to break her. For her to run away from me. To betray me.”

Silence answered him.

“You said yourself that you are certain she would never do that.” Said his mother with a kind of mockery from which he felt he was beginning to lose patience.

“One does not pay for loyalty with humiliation, Mother. You, as your husband's wife, should know this best.”

“What are you thinking about?” He heard his cousin's voice as if from afar and sighed heavily, turning back to the tent they were sitting in and her warm body snuggled into his.

His hand ran lazily over her back, stroking it in some involuntary desire to give her shelter and comfort.

“About many things.” He replied truthfully.

He heard her swallow hard, her fingers brushed his jaw.

“I want to have your children. Even if I never become your wife.” She whispered so quietly that he barely heard the words leave her lips.

He pressed her tighter to him, hiding her face in the crook of his neck, and closed his eye for a moment, feeling that for some reason tears had gathered under his eyelid.

He was unable to answer her.

“I know you despise bastards,” she continued in a voice trembling with fear and shame, “but I think I would be able to love these children. They would be something just ours.”

“Stop.” He exhaled, pressing his lips together, a distinctive burning sensation in his eye, the tightness in his throat testifying that he was struggling to hold back the pain he felt in his heart.

The pain of how much he craved it.

Her, with his sweet, babbling babe in her arms.

His lack of answer saddened and frightened her at the same time – she snuggled into him, remaining completely silent. He felt that she was twitching under his fingers, so he leaned towards her and placed a long, warm kiss on her temple.

“I will find a solution. Now, devote your time to Helaena and come to me at night.” He said, forcing himself to be calm, his voice strangely solemn and cold.

He was unable to open up to her, to admit that he was suffering as much as she was.

He felt nothing but regret when she got off his lap, when she threw him one brief, embarrassed look, her cheeks red and swollen from tears.

You are the only one I want, he thought in the back of his mind, but no words left his mouth.

It was safer that way.

She nodded and left, leaving him with a terrifying feeling of emptiness in his heart. Only when she was gone did he lean over and hide his face in his hands, allowing himself a brief moment of weakness.

Now that he was alone, he could cry.

No sound left his lips: his body shook, his breath heavy in his chest, warm, salty tears flowed down his cheeks to the corners of his mouth.

He could savor what pain tasted like.

The truth was that after his mother announced her will to him, he had no idea how he could get out of the situation he was in. Speaking to his father was some pathetic, desperate attempt to regain control of his life.

He was the rider of the mightiest dragon living on earth, the prince everyone feared, and yet he couldn't decide which woman would become his wife.

He found it humiliating.

He desired his cousin not only because he felt good with her in bed: what he valued most in her was how well she knew him.

How well she understood his needs, including those that were not purely physical.

He couldn't imagine how he could establish a similar, deep connection with another woman: even if he was physically attracted to her and liked to fuck her, she wouldn't be able to comprehend him as a person on a daily basis.

It would have to be years before he would want to share his thoughts with her, and he suspected that by that point her despair that he was showing her coldness would have annoyed him so much that he would never have gained the desire to do so.

He realized that his hāedar was not only his kin, which of course was important in the extension of the Targaryen family line, but also his companion for many years in the most ordinary activities of his day. One look at him, a movement of his hand or head, the grimace of his lips told her all she needed to know.

He realized that somehow he had learned to communicate with her without words.

It was this fact, this freedom she gave him, the deep breath he could take at her side that made it so that even though she gave him everything a man could want, he wasn't bored with her.

He was fond of her.

This thought disheartened him even more for some reason.

He loathed hunting. He considered it senseless cruelty: many young lords could not use their weapons properly and only wounded the animals, which fled in terror into the depths of the forest to die there in long agony. He didn't feel like speaking to anyone, especially his uncle or brother, so he would venture between the trees with his dagger, wanting to spare the hapless deer and boar their suffering.

Aegon had been drinking wine since the morning; he found several servant girls interesting, and they giggled when they saw him returning with other men from the depths of the forest.

He guessed that his older brother was hoping to spend the night with them, though he had no idea how he was going to do it completely drunk.

He swallowed hard and lowered his gaze, rushing his black mare, seeing before his eyes the image of his cousin lying beneath him, his thumb running over her plump lower lip when he finally came inside her with a loud, low groan of relief.

He thought he needed wine, too.

He had spent the evening and the great feast organized by his grandfather outdoors, sitting behind a large wooden table in the company of flushed, drunken lords and their bawdy stories about women.

He felt small; he couldn't find his way around them, their hoarse, loud laughter filled him with discomfort.

He involuntarily glanced at Lord Borros, and that was his mistake; Baratheon apparently sensed an opportunity to broach a subject so uncomfortable for him.

“I admire your calmness and composure, my Prince. So does my daughters.” He said lightly, as if it were a casual remark.

He nodded, glancing nervously toward the other table where the women were seated.

He immediately found Borros Baratheon's daughters with his eyes, because they resembled him: they had inherited his long black hair and sharply defined cheekbones.

Each of them straightened up and took a pose in which they apparently thought they looked the best as soon as they noticed he was watching them: they pretended to converse with each other, but he knew they were actually praying for him to finally make a choice.

He wondered if he should respond to Lord Baratheon's words, but his gaze fled sideways to his sister, Helaena, and the figure that sat right next to her.

Helaena was leaning over Daemon's daugther, holding her hand in hers – an unusual act of tenderness on his sister's part, as she usually never touched anyone of her own free will.

It seemed to him that his sister was trying to comfort her; his cousin's gaze was lowered downward, her lips were moving, he saw that once in a while she swallowed hard, as if what she was speaking about was causing her pain.

He felt a strong shiver run along his back as she lifted her gaze to his; her familiar, dark eyes looked at him, her face sad and tired.

He thought, looking at her with a kind of melancholy, that during the night he would take her slowly and tenderly, and then hold her close and stroke her head, just the way she liked it.

He blinked and turned his head away from her when he heard his grandfather get up.

“Let the music play!” He called out jauntily, the women and men around him making sounds of approval.

He thought at one point that he had drunk too much: as he rose to walk away for the need, he felt that everything around him began to whirl; he rested his hand on the table top and stopped for a moment, closing his eyelid, hoping that the feeling would pass.

It didn't pass, however, and he moved with difficulty ahead, between the trees.

He sighed loudly as the sounds behind him finally became blurry and indistinct, and he emptied his aching bladder. He pressed his lips together, tying his breeches back on when he felt an unpleasant tightness in his stomach and a burning sensation in his throat – he leaned against a tree trunk with his hand, bent over and vomited.

Fuck.

He decided that there was nothing to go back to the feast for – he was discouraged and tired, and his only dream was to lie in bed, next to her.

He decided that he would wait for her in his tent.

When he went inside, he approached a large bowl standing on one of the tables – he rinsed his mouth and throat with clove water, wanting to get rid of the unpleasant, sour taste. Indeed, it brought him relief; he sighed heavily, reaching for the belt buckle of his tunic and undid it with difficulty, not seeing well in the dark now, when his mind was clouded with wine.

His heart thumped with excitement in his chest when he heard someone come inside.

“So early?” He asked lowly, though he was in truth glad that he wouldn't have to wait for her.

He would have just fallen asleep for sure.

He felt discomfort when silence answered him: he turned around and froze, seeing a completely different person in front of him.

One of Lord Baratheon's daughters was standing in front of him, her fingers with a surprisingly confident and nimble motion untying the ribbon holding her gown in place.

He had no idea which one it was: Floris, Maris, or whatever the fuck their names were.

“What is the meaning of this, woman? Have you no shame?” He asked coldly, still too shocked by the sight of her to react more aggressively.

“Everyone knows that you take her to your bed. Aren't you bored of eating one fruit every night, every day? It may be sweet, but there are so many other flavors in the world.” She said softly, smiling at him in a way that sent a pleasant shiver through him.

He might have liked the fact that she was so shameless and straightforward had it not been for the fact that even if he had reached his peak inside her, other than purely animal pleasure, he would have felt nothing.

Although he was a rather crude and frigid person, the tenderness in intimacy that he discovered in bed with his cousin was something that the woman in front of him could not offer him.

She could only give him her wet cunt, a few firmer squeezes of his cock, nothing else, when meanwhile his hāedar was giving him the touch of her hands, the warmth of her breasts, the sweetness of her kisses, the depth of her gaze and the affection that lurked deep in her eyes.

“She is my favorite fruit. I don't need to try yours to know that it will be a disappointment to me. Don't bother untying your dress, I wouldn't take you even if you stood in front of me bare.” He replied, tossing his tunic carelessly onto the grass.

He swallowed hard, feeling that he was probably about to vomit again.

He didn't notice neither the expression on Borros Baratheon's daughter's face nor what flashed in her eyes.

“I thought you were a real dragon, not some little girl's servant.” She said with a kind of challenge from which a wave of rage surged through his body.

He didn't even know when he took out his dagger, the same one with which he had killed several wounded animals that same day.

He didn't know when he threw himself at her as they fell, his blade pressed against her throat.

“I will open you up like a pig, and not in the way you dreamed.” He said with a grin wide and wild, the girl opened her mouth as if she was going to scream, so he covered it up with his other hand.

For some reason, he saw Aemma in his head, her face contorted in an expression of complete hysteria, heard her screams and pleas, several servants holding her in place, the Maester's blade mercilessly cutting her swollen abdomen.

“Aemond! Aemond, good gods, let her go!” He heard a hiss above him, his grandfather's strong hand pulled him away from Borros' daughter, who turned to her side and drew in the air loudly, whooping her cry.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” His grandfather growled, shaking him as if he were a small child.

He was unable to answer his question: instead, he leaned over and vomited.

Lady Royce

She didn't know what to make of the fact that she passed Lord Baratheon's daughter in the entrance to Aemond's tent: her face expressed not satisfaction, but complete horror. She ran out of there like a scalded man, sobbing – she led her away with her eyes, wondering if she had taken his rejection so badly.

For some reason, she felt a pleasant, warm feeling of pride ripple through her body.

When she stepped inside, she froze: Otto Hightower threw her a startled look, bent over his grandson, who was kneeling on the ground, leaning forward, keeping his balance on his hands.

Only after a moment did she notice the dagger lying next to him.

“What happened?” She muttered, not knowing if she should ask, or if the Hand of the King expected her to just walk away.

“Help me raise him.” Lord Hightower replied instead.

She moved immediately toward them and together with his grandfather grabbed her cousin's arm, in an attempt to lift his numb, heavy body: it took a lot of effort to put him on his bed.

Only after a while did she see that his face was dirty from something, as was his shirt.

“He drank too much wine. The girl apparently came to speak with him, and in some drunken frenzy he threw himself at her with a knife. Perhaps he took her for someone else, a thief or an assassin.” Otto said with such certainty and calmness that she was willing to believe he was right.

“I see.” She mumbled with difficulty as she sat down next to his grandson on the bed, wiping his mouth with a cloth previously soaked in water. “Let's get it off him.”

Otto answered nothing to this but lifted him up, and she with difficulty pulled his linen shirt over his head. She covered him with the fur and cupped his cheek with her hand, thinking that the fact that his grandfather was looking at it didn't matter anymore anyway.

She knew he would never let them marry.

“He is just like your father. The second son: eternally eager to prove his worth, proud and vain. Is that why you are so insistent on fooling yourself that he will ever change?” He asked her out of nowhere, surprising her completely.

She took a moment to ponder the answer, looking at his grandson's face sunken into a deep sleep.

“I don't want him to change. Unlike my father, he has principles and is a man of his word. He never lied to me or gave me false hopes. I don't hold any grudge towards him.” She finally replied and pressed her lips together, only now, when she finally spoke the words aloud, feeling the tears burning under her eyelids.

“You will never marry him.” He said finally, and she nodded.

“I know. But I still want to give birth to his children.” She replied with an effort.

Lord Hightower was silent for a moment.

“I will not deny you the right of the joy of motherhood.” He replied surprisingly softly, as if speaking to a small girl.

She swallowed hard and nodded, feeling relieved for some reason.

“Thank you, my Lord Hand.”

She was awakened by the first rays of the sun; she sighed, feeling her cousin's arms tuck tightly around her waist, his face snuggled between her breasts, his lips leaving a low hum once in a while. She combed his long white hair with her fingers and he murmured like a cat, one of his hands slid lower and clamped down on her buttock, hidden under the material of her gown.

It seemed to her that he was still in a half-sleep when he began to rub his swollen erection against her thigh: he was too weak and drunk to call his need, his breath heavy in his chest. His mouth began to search for her nipple as if he were a small child, wanting to caress it: she took pity on him and slid the material of her dress off her shoulder, exposing her breast to him.

He clung to her warm skin with a quiet, sweet sigh of relief. His tongue swirled around her hard nipple before he began to suck: the rocking of his hips became more insistent and desperate, she felt her womanhood clench greedily around nothing.

She knew that he, in the state he was in, would not be able to do his duty, although he was very eager to come; she therefore decided to relieve him and herself. With a gentle but firm motion of her hand, she pushed him onto his back and sat on top of him.

He stared at her as if he thought it was a dream – his mouth was slightly open in disbelief, his hands roamed her waist as her fingers untied his breeches, shamelessly revealing what was underneath.

“– yes –” He gasped, and she smiled tenderly, leaning over him, placing a soft, warm kiss on his lips.

Her cousin closed his eyes, the tip of his nose ran over hers.

He wanted affectionate and slow caresses, not quick ones, she thought, opening her thighs for him. They both sighed in some kind of anticipation when the thick tip of his manhood began to push against her slit – this time she was the one in control.

She was the one taking him.

With a light movement of her hips, she allowed him to sink deeper into her, and then she lifted herself again, sliding him out of her almost all the way.

“– hāedar (little sister) – mmm –” He mumbled, thrusting into her impatiently, apparently wanting to hide himself as deep inside her as possible.

She allowed him to fill her fully at last; she rested the weight of her body on his shoulders and began to bounce up and down, rubbing herself with his length where she felt the greatest pleasure.

“– keep going – yes – ah –” He panted along with her, one of his broad hands grasped and squeezed her breast, the other slid under her skirt, clamping down on her buttock.

His tent was filled with a shameless, sticky, loud sound of naked skin smacking against each other, her cunt in some natural impulse began to squeeze his manhood, sucking it inside.

“– Aemond –” She moaned out, and he froze and gasped, throwing his head back, coming far too soon.

“– fuck – gods –” He exhaled wearily, his eyelid closed, as if he wanted to think of nothing but the fulfillment he had just experienced and the pleasant warmth that filled his chest.

She sighed, understanding full well that she couldn't hope for reciprocation now, when he was still not fully sober: she decided that she would wait her turn and simply lay down on top of him, letting his half-soft, throbbing manhood remain deep inside her.

Her cousin embraced her immediately and they both fell asleep in that position, his cheek snuggled into the top of her head.

She wished they could stay like this forever.

They both flinched when someone stepped into his tent: the look on Criston Cole's face, seeing them in such a position, with fur that only covered their hips, said everything about what he was thinking on the subject.

“The King will join the hunt. He will appear in the camp soon.” He announced, turned and walked away, apparently too disgusted by this sight to continue looking at them.

Her cousin ran his hand over his face, apparently suffering now from the amount of wine he had drunk the day before.

“Help me with the bath.” He grunted.

She assumed he meant it in the literal sense of the word, he, however, expected her to help him take a bath while sitting in the tub with him.

“What are you doing? Join me. How else are you supposed to do it properly?” He asked with a kind of frustration, as if it was obvious that he wanted to bathe together with her.

She wasn't sure if this was a good idea since anyone could walk in, but she decided that at this point neither she nor her cousin cared anymore if anyone saw them together, bare.

So she joined him in a bath scented with fragrant oils and sat between his thighs, resting the back of her head against his shoulder. They stayed in silence for a while; his fingers traveled thoughtfully over her wrist, lying on the edge of the tub.

“She came to me to fuck her. Borros Baratheon's daughter.” He said finally, and she nodded.

“I know.”

“But I didn't. I wanted to cut her open like a pig.” He continued.

“I know that too.” She replied calmly.

He was silent again.

“Won't you say anything? Don't you appreciate my loyalty, my devotion?” He asked regretfully, like a small child who craved attention and a warm word from his mother.

“I appreciate it with all my heart, lēkia. Didn't I prove it enough this morning?” She asked softly – she heard him swallow quietly, running his pointing finger over her arm, his manhood pulsed, pushing against her buttocks.

“Maybe.” He replied lightly.

She closed her eyes and sighed as his other hand slid lazily between her thighs – proof that, although he certainly didn't want to admit it, he remembered perfectly what had happened, and that she was not relieved.

Not even a word left his throat when his fingers began to play with her pearl with circular, sure strokes – she opened her mouth wide and threw her head back, nuzzling her nose into his neck, a pleasant warmth filled her lower abdomen when she felt his tongue run over her cheek.

She moaned quietly, lifting her hand up, wanting to feel him: her fingers ran over his cheek and jaw, his sigh told her how much he enjoyed it. For some reason, she was surprised at how familiar he was with her body: his two fingers rubbed the space between her bud, building a wonderful tension inside her – his free hand cupped her breast when he noticed that her nipples had hardened again.

She clenched her hand in his hair, rocking her hips back and forth: she could feel that he was completely hard again, she could hear his loud gasps against her ear, the quiet splashes of water accompanied the faster and more intense movements of his hand.

She didn't even know when the heat in her loins became unbearable, when sweet, soothing pleasure spilled over her lower abdomen, her warm womanhood pulsing around nothing in ecstasy. She placed her free hand on his wrist, panting deeply, wanting to still feel his fingers down there, for some reason feeling safe in his arms.

There was something beautiful in their complete silence: in the fact that he simply let her linger in his embrace, that his cheek rested against the top of her head, and they continued like this, trying to calm their breathing. She turned her face toward him and leaned her side against his torso, snuggling into his chest, placing her hand on his bare skin.

“I love you.” She whispered softly before realizing she hadn't said it in her head.

She felt him completely freeze, shocked as she was, his breath stuck in his throat – he grunted quietly as she pulled away from him, unable to look him in the eye.

“Forgive me. Forgive me for saying that. It was a mistake.” She muttered and got up from the water with a loud splash, grabbing her nightgown lying on one of the chairs.

He didn't answer anything, but she knew he was looking at her.

Did he feel compassion for her? Was he reflecting on how naive she was? That after so many years he had managed to bend her to his will, to tame her like a dog, to be sure she would never escape him again?

She loved him, so she was weak: and he despised weak people.

She swallowed with difficulty the tears that squeezed into her eyes, deciding that she would not give him the satisfaction and cry.

She heard him rise from the water as well: he stepped out of the tub right behind her, his wet hand touching her waist as she just reached for her gown.

“Is that the choice you made? To love me?” He asked, surprising her completely.

His voice was calm, one might even say soft, as if he was careful with every word.

She lowered her gaze, feeling shame.

“I explained this to you years ago. We don't choose who we love.” She said with a kind of weariness and regret, knowing that he did not reciprocate her affection: not in the way she would have wanted.

“I'm not a good person,” he hummed, his fingers trailing up and down from her ribs to her hip, making a pleasant shiver run through her body each time, “and I don't want to be one. Good people die like flies, forgotten and bitter.”

She felt a twinge in her throat at his words, which terrified her on the one hand and fascinated on the other.

For some reason, he was completely honest with her now.

“You are what you are and I know I won't always be beautiful. One day I will be replaced by another – then I would at least be left with our children.” She whispered, feeling his breath on her neck.

“I was never beautiful. However, that never stopped you from being devoted to me.” He replied lowly, nuzzling the tip of his nose into her damp hair.

“You are beautiful. You are the most beautiful man I know.” She whispered in a trembling voice – his fingers clenched tightly on the material of her nightgown, his nails digging into her skin.

“Don't lie.” He said warningly. “I'm not a child anymore.”

“I'm not lying.” She mumbled and closed her eyes, letting the tears finally run down her cheeks.

He must have heard her heavy, breaking breath, seen that her chest trembled with each of her sighs, because he embraced her from behind at the waist, completely bare, still wet from the bath.

“Aegon repeatedly urged me to go to the brothel. However, I never did it. I've never fucked servants, ladies of the court, hens met at night in some dark alley of King's Landing. I don't want a stranger to touch me. For someone I don't trust to take advantage of my weakness, to see me vulnerable. This view, my bare body, my pleasure, my warm seed, are meant for you – for my little sister.” He whispered in her ear, trailing his soft lips along her neck.

She closed her eyes, feeling her whole back become soaked with the wetness of his body, her hands clenched on his wrists, holding him close.

“Are you ashamed of me? Of what I said?” She asked quietly, and he sighed, his warm breath enveloping her bare skin.

“No.” He replied. “Your love is innocent. Graceful. Admirable. Respectful.”

She turned her face toward him and dared to look at him – he lifted his hand up, his thumb wiped a trail of tears from her right cheek.

They kissed like they did when they were children, simply pressing their lips together.

There was something sweet and naïve in that caress, a conviction that they both retained a part of those children who fell asleep holding hands.

His fingers roamed her cheekbone and jaw a moment longer when they broke the kiss, his forehead pressed against hers.

“Let's dress. We shouldn't keep my Father waiting.” He said finally.

She swallowed softly, not taking her eyes off his face, his expression full of melancholy.

“Are you certain? After everything you said to him yesterday, aren't you worried about how he'll react to seeing you? What if he says something that will hurt you?” She asked, and he let out a quiet breath, releasing her from his embrace.

“He won't do such a thing. My father is a craven.”

Although she expressed her doubt about the idea, her cousin insisted that they head outside together. By the time they left his tent, the sun was already high on the horizon: the lords, their wives and children were seated at large oak tables, apparently eating a meal before leaving for another hunt.

Their figures aroused mild interest: she felt that everyone was looking at her. Both old and young women were assessing her and her appearance, noticing apparently that she was wearing the same dress as the day before, the fact that they both had damp hair.

That they must have taken a bath together.

She involuntarily found Lord Borros' daughters with her eyes: she thought that if they could, they would kill her with their gaze. Only one of them looked at her plate, pale, and did not dare to lift her head, apparently still terrified of what had happened to her.

Why did you come to him, you silly goose, she thought disapprovingly and sighed, turning her attention to the King and Queen, seated at a separate, more richly decorated table. Beside them she saw Helaena, Otto Hightower and Gwayne. Aegon sat between them, pale – clearly he had not yet dealt with the consequences of how much wine he had drunk the evening before.

“Father. Mother. Grandfather.” Aemond said calmly, apparently pretending that there was nothing unusual about the fact that they had come together.

He sat to his mother's right, and she took her place next to his sister, trying not to exist.

Helaena caught her hand in her own.

“How do you feel?” She asked her in a whisper.

She forced herself to smile, feeling grateful that he cared so much about her well-being.

“Very well, princess. Thank you.” She lied.

She involuntarily looked at the King, who seemed absent to her: he sat hunched over, leaning forward, with slightly parted, blue lips, as if he had trouble breathing.

After a moment, he lifted his head and looked forward, as if awake, his thin, pale hand reaching for the wine cup.

“I want to raise my cup,” he announced in a hoarse voice, and the bustling conversation around them quieted, “for my children and their future. Each of them matured for marriage, which rejoices my heart.”

Everyone looked at him, Borros Baratheon straightened up in his seat: he must have known what had happened at night in the prince's tent, however, he could not accuse him of anything knowing that his daughter had gone to him alone, which was unworthy of a lady.

One would be ready to think that his daughter was not a maiden.

“My sons, Aegon and Aemond, have grown and become men. Their task, like that of my ancestors and mine, is to strengthen our line. Our family has broken in half like a frothed branch – for this great tree to survive, we must strengthen its roots. That is why I announce in your presence, my lords, the betrothal between my first-born son, Aegon, and my daughter, Helaena, as well as my second-born son, Aemond, and my niece, the first-born daughter of my beloved brother. May these marriages and the offspring that will be born from them strengthen both the Realm and Crown, forming a bridge above the precipice over which we all stand.”

Complete silence answered him: she looked at her cousin, seated across the table. His eye was wide open in disbelief as was hers, his gaze fixed on his father.

They were betrothed.

“My King, we have not discussed this. Some arrangements have already been made with…” Lord Hand didn't have time to finish, because Lord Baratheon rose from his seat like an enraged bear.

“What is the meaning of this? What about the promise your Queen gave me years ago? Everyone knows that your son is taking this girl to his bed, but I kept quiet, for the sake of the Prince and my daughters. But enough of that!” He thundered, cutting the air with his broad, muscular hand, as if he had just decapitated someone.

Aemond stood up, furious, his mother grabbed his arm in an attempt to restrain him, however his Father-King was the one who spoke.

“My wife made her arrangements and plans without my knowledge, as did you, my Lord. I do not recall you or your daughters asking for my blessing. I am old and frail, that is true. But to the best of my knowledge, it is Viserys Targareyn, not Alicent Hightower, who is the King of the Seven Kingdoms. So whose word is final in this matter? Should I consider your plotting behind my back as treason?”

Lord Borros sat down, his anger-filled face now staring at the Queen.

She had apparently assured him that the King knew about everything.

“Does anyone else want to undermine the will of the father and the King regarding his own children and heirs?” Viserys asked, looking around, but was answered by silence.

“Then it's settled.”

Aegon and Helaena remained silent with lowered heads as the first dishes were served: venison roasted over a fire, hunted by the men the day before and topped with a mushroom sauce. Neither of them touched anything, while she and Aemond had wolfish appetites.

She realized that she hadn't eaten anything since the morning the day before, horrified by what had happened in the royal chamber.

It turned out that contrary to what they thought, Viserys really took his son's words to heart.

She glanced at her cousin out of the corner of her eye and smiled involuntarily seeing that he was looking at her too. He did not reciprocate the smile, but his face expressed calm contentment.

He had gotten what he wanted.

She preferred not to provoke Lord Borros and did not approach men for the rest of the day, spending that time with Helaena: unlike her, the princess was not happy.

“I don't want him to touch me. To have children with him.” She muttered more to herself than to her, wandering with anxious, distracted eyes through the forest that stretched around the clearing where their camp stood.

She grasped her hand in hers, feeling an involuntary squeeze in her heart at her words, understanding what she wanted to tell her.

She didn't wish to bed him.

“I will help you. I'll explain to you how it's done. So that you won't feel any pain or discomfort.” She whispered – Helaena looked at her with big eyes, a question in her gaze.

“And how do you know such things?” She asked anxiously, as if she saw some terrifying vision in her head.

“Do not fret. Your brother is not hurting me. On the contrary, he always ensures that I experience pleasure with him. I know that you and Aegon are not close to each other, but he is experienced in the matter. You just need to guide him properly.” She explained quietly, looking around to make sure the other women didn't hear those shameless words just coming out of her mouth.

Helaena breathed deeply, apparently trying to calm herself down.

“How?” She asked finally.

She swallowed hard, wondering how to put it into words.

“For a woman to experience pleasure, she must be moist down there, deep between her thighs.” She said in a whisper, the king's daughter's fingers clenched on her hand.

“What do you mean? Should I take a bath?” She mumbled.

She shook her head quickly.

“No, that's not what I mean. It's your own moisture. A woman's body produces it under touch in very delicate places.”

“What places?” She asked further, extremely eager to understand everything.

She pressed her lips together, not knowing how to explain it to her.

“In the evening, before you fall asleep: touch yourself there with your fingers. Gently and slowly. See where your touch makes you feel a pleasant tingling and tension. Touch yourself there more and more intensely, think of something pleasant. You'll know when you've found the right spot.” She finally explained, feeling that she was all red from the mental effort she had inflicted on herself during this conversation.

Helaena nodded and, to her relief, regained her good mood.

She couldn't promise her that Aegon wouldn't hurt her, but she didn't want her to be completely unaware while her brother did what he considered appropriate with her body.

She had the right to demand that her husband pleases her, to experience the loss of her maidenhood with dignity.

Throughout the day, she thanked the gods for being the princess' closest confidante and companion; thanks to the fact that they were together, Lord Borros' daughters could not approach her or say anything to her that apparently pressed against their lips.

She knew they loathed her, but she couldn't care less.

In fact, it was her Prince who had promised marriage first, long before the Queen turned her proposal to their father.

The men returned from a hunt at sunset; Aegon, on his mount, looked as if he was about to die and vomited once after he settled on the ground. She smiled involuntarily when she saw the embarrassed, even annoyed look his younger brother threw at him: his gaze softened when he noticed her silhouette standing in the distance.

She didn't run up to him or throw herself at his neck: she simply watched him, feeling a strange peace in her heart.

They only had a chance to speak during a grand feast around the campfire. As a betrothed pair, they had the right to sit next to each other. Her cousin gave her a sign that he was ready when he raised his empty cup toward her, apparently wanting her to fill it with wine.

She did so without a word and handed it to him; when he took a sip, seeing that she wanted to pour wine for herself as well, he stopped her by placing his hand on her arm.

“No,” he hummed, “there is no need.”

He extended his hand with his cup to her, letting her understand that he wanted them to drink from one. She found it both shameless and clever behavior: eating and drinking from one vessel was a proof of great intimacy and confidentiality.

In this way he was showing to whom she belonged.

She looked at him gratefully and took a deep sip of wine from his goblet. A pleasant shiver ran through her body at the thought that it was almost as if they had kissed in public; after all, their lips were touching the same place.

It seemed to her that he was thinking the same thing, for his gaze was fixed on her face, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly upward in a grimace that showed he liked what he saw both in front of him and inside his head.

Their future together.

[fairysluna]

I have a request 🙄🤭 threesome cregan Jace and reader no plot just smut maybe? Either modern or not

MASTERLIST

Hope you like this story made especially for you!! please enjoy it and thank you for sending this request🤍 This is the first threesome I've ever written, so this is complete new territory for me, I hope I did good tho.💀

Reblogs, comments and feedback are highly appreciated!

PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader x Jacaerys Velaryon.

TAGS — canon!time, targcest (brother/sister), porn w/o plot, smut (threesome, F/M/M, oral sex - both receiving, face fucking, p in v, slight degrading, breeding, praising, spit, pussy slapping, belly buldge, overstimulation, aftercare), cursing, a tiny bit of cregan x jace, cregan and reader are betrothed, dom!cregan/switch!jace/sub!reader. If something is missing let me know!!

WORD COUNT — 2k.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenglish is not my first language.

Cregan loved to hear how overstimulated you were. His hands were gripping your thighs - keeping your legs spreaded. He saw how Jacaerys was eagerly lapping at your throbbing clit, moaning and whimpering against your flesh. You were crying already, tears of raw pleasure streaming down your face as your entire body trembled between his arms. You were barely able to hold it together anymore, laying against Cregan's chest - eyelids closing by themselves.

Jacaerys, your sweet brother, had no intention to stop. His tongue doing wonders as he dived it inside of you - his nose rubbing against your clit. His face was red and sweaty, covered in your slick after stealing three orgasm from you - yet it seemed he hadn't had enough. Your hips would twitch, trying to squirm away from his hungry mouth without success.

“Please, stop! It's- it's too much… I can't!” you mumbled, digging your nails in Cregan's arm. “Jace- Jace, please…”

The youngest man looked up from his position, his tongue still attached to your folds, slowly circling around your swollen pearl while his deep, brown eyes stared at you through a layer of lust. He searched for Cregan's approval, and he denied it.

“Don't listen to her,” he huskily said. His hot breath against your neck caused shivers down your spine. “She's a tough girl, right? I bet she can handle another one.”

“M-my lord… please…”

“What kind of host would I be if I don't make sure my guests are satisfied?” A deep laugh followed his words, a simple sound that almost pushed you over the edge. “Your dear brother hasn't finished his meal yet, be a good princess and keep your legs open for him, okay? He’ll know when it's enough.”

Jacaerys followed Lord Stark's words, indulging further in your taste until you were nothing but a mess between their arms. He would use his fingers to tease your entrance, pushing them in and then pulling them out to lick you off. He repeated this action multiple times, until you were cumming on his face once again and coating his long fingers with your slick. He hummed, delighted to drink from you, enjoying the sweetness of your release and devouring every single drop that came out of you.

Once he finally decided to pull away, you sighed - relieved that he had finally stopped and gave you time to rest. Cregan cooed against your ear, praising you with soft words as his thumbs wiped the tears that had fallen down your warm cheeks.

“Such a good job,” he murmured. “Taking everything we give you, huh?.”

“I'll never get tired of her taste,” Jacaerys added- almost in a whine, caressing your thighs. “So sweet, and so addictive.”

“Oh. Do you hear how greatly your brother speaks of you? He's so sweet, so nice to you- to us…” he added, looking at the Prince who was kneeling in bed in front of the both of you. “I think you should reward him for what he has done to you.”

Jacaerys whimpered, thrilled with the idea.

“Look at him, princess,” Cregan added, stretching his arm and holding Jace's cheek. His thumb brushed against his plump lips. “Our poor Prince has his lips sore after eating your sweet little cunt for too long ”

You observed in awe how your brother parted his lips to receive Cregan's thumb inside his mouth - his tongue twirling around his digit as his brown eyes glint with lust. A moan escaped from you, feeling the arousal pooling on your soaked flesh. The neediness inside your body only increased once you saw your lordship bringing his thumb to his own mouth, and tasting the mixture of your juices and Jace's drool. Your mouth parted, bewitched by the scene.

“Mhm…” he groaned in approval, “it still tastes like you.” He let out a throaty chuckle. “I suppose now it's time for you to give your dear brother a reward for what he did to you. He deserves it after being such a good boy, isn't that right?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, agreeing with him.

“What if… you suck his cock while I fuck you with mine? Doesn't that sound good?” Cregan proposed with a smile.

“Please,” your brother replied before you did.

Cregan looked at you for your consent and you effusively nodded - a satisfied smile appeared on his face.

You sighed tiredly once you felt his arms wrapping around your body and moving you around as if you were his doll. He did it so effortlessly, positioning you on your back with your head almost hanging from the edge of the bed and with a pillow below your hips. You noticed how he signed to your brother and he immediately moved until he was standing in front of your face - his leaking tip just mere inches away from your drooling mouth.

“Spread your legs for me,” Cregan commanded, and you immediately obeyed. Your exposed flesh was burning red, drenching with all the stimulation it had before, glistening under the dim lights of the candles and the fireplace. “So pretty…” he murmured, using his thumb to play with your clit, slowly drawing circles on it - you mewled. “I understand why your brother is so obsessed with you, my princess. You have the prettiest cunt in the whole fucking realm.”

He pulled away, enough to stand up from the bed and get rid of his pants. Seconds later, his hardness stood proudly as he crawled back at you, bouncing with every movement he made until he was towering your smaller frame. Cregan gathered his drool on his mouth to then let it fall right on top of your folds - he spreaded it with the head of his cock and, before you knew it, he was slowly stretching your tightness. Your walls would clamp around him, involuntarily trying to push him out as he struggled to sink deeper into you.

“Seven hells,” he grunted, “you're still struggling to take me, huh? Guess I'll have to fuck you more often then.”

As you felt the air leaving your legs with each thrust, you saw Jacaerys grabbing his cock and giving a few strokes at it. With his tip, he tapped on your swollen lips and you opened wide to receive him too. “There you go…” you heard him saying, before he let you wrap your mouth against him. “Mhm… so good,” he praised you.

The whine that escaped you once Cregan was fully sheathed on you was muffled due to your stuffed mouth. Both men moaned at the same time, looking at your body laying there, ready to be used as they pleased.

Gods, they truly loved their little princess.

Cregan was not being very patient as other times, and he quickly started to pound roughly against you, holding your hips to keep you in place as the movement made you take Jace deeper in your mouth. The youngest man started to move his hips too, unable to be still and longing for more - obsessed with the sight of your breasts bouncing in your chest with each thrust.

The main room in the Winterfell castle soon was filled with desperate panting and moaning. The sound of Cregan's body slamming against yours was buzzing in your ears while he managed to hit every right place inside your soft walls, abusing that sweet spot that would make you see stars behind your eyelids. All while you were choking around Jacaerys' cock, who was moving himself deeper with each passing second.

Both of your brother's hands wrapped around your throat to find some stability, this gesture made you cry out in pleasure - loving the way you felt with his hands around your neck.

“Come on, little one,” he grunted as he looked down at your drooling mouth, receiving him so eagerly while you gagged and gulped around him. “I know you can take me deeper… Go on- oh fuck, just like that… shit.”

“Who would've thought that our Princess was such a good slut?” Cregan added, breathless as dig his nails on your hips. “Can't wait to marry our little whore and fill her with my seed until she's round with my pups…” The way your walls squeezed him so tightly made him know that you loved the idea too. “Perhaps I'll let your brother fill this cunny too, mhm? Bet you would love it- fuck… ”

Jacaerys hands involuntarily tightened his grip around your throat, and you knew he was getting closer. “Fuck- M’so close…” he whined. “Fuuck…”

“Imagine it, my prince,” Cregan teased him, smirking as he locked eyes with him. “Her pretty cunny leaking with your seed, her belly filled and round. Isn't that such a pretty sight?”

“Y-yes…” he mumbled, struggling to keep his movements steady. “Oh, fuck… yes.”

His eyes closed as he leaned his head back, and suddenly his length escaped from your lips - you gasped. He peaked right there, letting a few drops of his seed spurt on your breasts before he would put his cock back into your mouth so you could swallow the rest. You eagerly licked it all, cleaning him as felt his legs getting weak with the subtle overstimulation you were providing him - yet, it felt too delicious to stop.

“What a piece of art,” Cregan mumbled, seeing your skin being tainted by pearly drops. “So fucking pretty.”

Jacaerys fell on his knees next to you, you felt his hand slipping down your body as Lord Stark pounded against you like a savage. Your brother's fingers found your swollen pearl, slowly stroking it while you were being filled. Cregan groaned in approval, fastening his pace.

The creamy sound of your juices covering his cock was so obscene, bringing a slight embarrassment to you - Gods, you were so wet. With the overstimulation you were receiving once again, you felt closer to edge faster than you thought.

“Come on, my pretty girl,” Jace cooed in your ear as he peppered soft kisses around it. “I know you're so close… you were so good to us, letting us use you as we pleased. You deserve to cum.”

His fingers stopped tracing figures on your clit, only to replace it with soft taps against your sensitive flesh. You mewled.

“Look how deep Cregan is,” he mentioned with a smirk. “I can see it in your tummy…”

“M’so close…” you mumbled. “Gods! Please, I need it so bad…”

Jace removed his hand from your core, taking it to your mouth where he slipped in two fingers. You receive them eagerly, twirling your tongue around it and sucking them off as you taste yourself. Meanwhile, Cregan grabbed the back of your legs, pressing your thighs against your body and going deeper and harder against you. You tried to keep up with the intensity of it all, but it was too much - tears were falling down your face as you were fucked against the mattress, barely able to move.

“Come on, let me feel you, princess,” he grunted as he buried his face on your neck. “Want you to fall apart in my arms…”

Your skin was burning and you were gasping, trying to fill your lungs with the air they needed - Cregan would grunt against your skin, being loud and shameless as he was about to reach his peak. You suddenly felt the waves of an intense orgasm washing over you as you released your pleasure in spurs, soaking the sheets beneath you and your Cregan's hair trail. That sight must have been the limit for him, who immediately filled you up with his seed, covering your insides with his pearly drops until it started to leak out of you.

His body pressed against yours as he tried to calm down. His length would twitch inside you each time you clenched around him, until he was absolutely dried and spent.

Jacaerys went to look for something to clean you up, almost moaning when he saw Cregan pulling out of you and his seed oozing from your entrance. Such an obscene view had both men drooling.

You were too tired to even move, so after they made sure to wipe out the sticky mess between your legs, they grabbed your body and took you to the center of the bed - laying between them. Right in that moment, you felt like you were in heaven, being pampered by the two men you loved the most and receiving all the attention you desired.

The fact that this was your future brought a smile on your face.

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[inotaku-talkz]

I cannot stress this enough.,,...... baby daddy daisuke 😣😣 I KNOW U GET A LOT FOR HIM BUT LORD HIM AS UR BD IS JUST AHRHFHHHH

*drowns*

a/n: sighs I have resigned to my fate😔

banners by @cafekitsune

The monster’s gone, he’s on the run and your Daddy’s here (Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy)

Warnings: allusions to sex, no actually sex tho, fluff, angst, semi-canon compliant (Asshole Jimmy)

a/n: I search up what dad is in Filipino. If there are ANY mistakes please let me know :(

You met Daisuke in high school. You were semi-popular around the school, but Daisuke had all the high school fame.

You both met when you were 17, in a holding room in your junior year. He had seen you around the school, so he decided to talk to you. 

Little did both of you know, a talk led to a wave in the hallway and then to skipping classes to ditch school. He asked you to prom as friends but ended up asking you to be his girlfriend there. You obviously said yes.

That was 2 years ago.

Where were you and Daisuke now? Well, Daisuke accepted an internship in space under his mother’s suggestion and you were…

Down on earth, unknowingly pregnant at the time.

You and your two-year-old boy, Tomas were living with Daisuke’s parents. They welcomed you with open arms when you told them about your pregnancy. They never questioned you about whether Daisuke was the father or not, they knew that the child growing inside of you was their son’s, their grandchildren.

Tomas Jaurez was a bright-eyed boy. He was identical to Daisuke. From the nose to the lips and eyes, but the boy does share your eye color and your face shape and such.

But every time you look at Tomas, you think of Daisuke and of how he doesn’t even have an inkling of a clue that Tomas exists. You wish that you had taken that pregnancy test sooner, maybe Daisuke could have stayed down on earth, where it’s safe and he’s with his family.

Thoughts plagued his mind. You, his mother, his father, and for some reason he keeps seeing a younger version of himself, but the appearance is slightly skewed.

The boy would just stare at him, but this time the boy reached out. He said only one word.

“Tatay.”

He’s jolting awake next. Waking up in the backseat of a spacey SUV. A woman sat on the farther side of the backseat. An authoritative look on her face as she coughs to get his attention.

“Mr. Juarez.” She kept her eyes on him.

“The Pony Express would appreciate if you stayed quiet about the contents of your arrival.” 

That’s right, Jimmy attempted to get Daisuke to the closed-off vent to get to Anya. When Daisuke refused, Jimmy blew up on him. If not for Swansea who managed to wake up in time to shove Daisuke into the escape pod, Daisuke would have ended up dead.

“The higher-ups will compensate you for your silence. Your family is already informed of your arrival and its reasoning.” She took his silence as compliance.

He just nodded. Wanting to get home to his mom, his dad, and you. His beautiful, amazing girlfriend. His girlfriend who waited two years for him to return home. 

Daisuke’s coming home. Your boyfriend is coming home. 

His father spent all morning making his favorite meals, his mother spent all morning cleaning the house, and you, you were preparing a way to tell Daisuke about Tomas.

But right now, Tomas was in Daisuke’s old room taking a nap. You softly shut the door when you hear the front door open and then close.

Hearing the exclaims of an excited mother and cheers of an ecstatic father. You saw him. He looked worn and battered like he had been through hell and back twice.

Daisuke locked eyes with you. The moment his mother released him, he took you into his arms. 

”Oh, baby! I’ve missed you so much!” He looks drained, but he manages to have the strength to squeeze you so hard and plant dozens and dozens of kisses on every inch of your face.

“Daisuke! Oh, god it’s been too long!” You hugged him back, two years' worth of unreleased love and despair boiling over.

His parents watched the scene unfold in front of them. Their son reunited with his one love, but one thing remained.

Tomas.

You rub the tears out of your eyes. You brace his shoulders. “Daisuke. I want you to meet someone.”

Confusion painted every inch of his face but his attention snapped the stairs at one word.

“Mama.” 

A boy a little older than two years old stood at the stairs rubbing his eyes. He must have woken up from taking a nap and went looking for his mom. 

The boy walks up to you, arms outstretched. You take the child into your arms. Your eyes meet Daisuke’s, fear and guilt sit in deep pools in your gaze.

“Daisuke. This is Tomas. Our son.” You spoke slowly.

Son? You were pregnant and raising his kid for the two years he had been in space?

“Oh, baby.” A sob tears him apart.

“If I had known, I would have stayed.” He takes you both into his embrace.

“Tatay?” The boy looks at Daisuke with a curious expression on his face.

With a broken voice, Daisuke pats the boy on the head. 

“Tatay. I’m here. Your Tatay is here forever.” 

Tomas smiles, giggling and clapping his hands together before wrapping his arms around his Tatay’s neck. 

Daisuke takes Tomas from your arms and holds him close, he wraps an arm around your shoulder. Embracing his first hug with his girl and his son.

[sillygoofyqueer]

oh my god i love seeing wei qingqwei content in the tags hes so funny. anyways i personally believe hes one of the few peak lords who refuses to let shen jiu's jabs get to him and keeps trying to tell him his bad puns and it makes shen jiu SO mad

Everyone else whispering and spreading rumours about what Shen Jiu does with his time, and then you see Wei Qingwei carefully scribbling down a list of jokes that he's going to send with a letter about the next sword choosing ceremonies to Shen Jiu; this man WILL succumb and become his didi. Yue Qingyuan seemed to have awkward history with the man, but WEI QINGWEI doesn't. I like to think Shen Jiu receives these shitty jokes, reading through them with the upmost straight face because the messenger from Wan Jian Peak is still hovering around and will report back to Wei Qingwei if Shen Jiu's lips so much as twitch. Then he calmly, slowly writes a single note for the messenger to take back - "your puns suck. Do better." While most people would take this as an insult, Wei Qingwei sees this as nothing but a challenge - it's the longest he's spent away from the forge, coming up with the best puns possible and putting them on the xianxia equivalent of flashcards, meaning that Shen Jiu will have to read the puns one by one, flipping each one over to read the punchline. He does not stop, will NOT stop until he gets his shixiong to laugh. It's a matter of principle NOT to laugh, Shen Jiu thinks - as though he isn't sort of, kinda, pleased that someone is putting in such a sincere effort to make him grin. Not get angry or snap or become embarrassed. Wei Qingwei wants him to laugh. There isn't even any ulterior motives of guilt as there is with Yue Qingyuan. (This is the reason we don't hear much about Wei Qingwei in canon - Shen Jiu has no fight with his existence (provided he keep up with the puns) /j/j)

[augustjoy]

Stick to What You Know.

Sneak peek: Reader is asked to join the BAU by none other than Director Cruz himself. She is a child psychologist and Cruz thought she would make a great asset; it would seem though that Agent Hotchner doesn’t agree.

Aaron Hotchner x (Fem) Reader

Angst

Word count: 3134

Guys...I feel like this is shit, I wrote it in like 3 hours soo…. it’s not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, implied age gap, some language, one use of y/n I think, Hotch is a DICK in this for a minute (SORRY), reader has children, talk of dissociative identity disorder (in reference to a case), canon case talk/info, mention of murder (in reference to a case), Reader in a child psychologist, reader is friends with Director Mateo Cruz, implied death of Haley. I think that’s all, let me know if I missed anything!!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You were so late. You were thanking the lord that you knew Mateo well from having previously worked with him, otherwise your lateness would probably come across as a lack of seriousness or appreciation for the strings he had pulled to get you here. And of course, being lost in thought while simultaneously rushing through an unfamiliar building had you barreling into a handsome stranger…or maybe a handsome acquaintance.

“I am so sorry!” You’d hurried out.

His large hands steadied you with a gentle but firm grasp on your arms. Your eyes glance upward to meet his.

“No worries, are you alright?” He offered.

“I’m good thank you. Wait, you’re Aaron Hotchner, I’ve sat in on a few of your lectures at the university.”

“I am, and thank you, I hope you were able to take something from them.”  He blushed.

“I did, oh shoot sorry! I have to go; I am so late!” You said, speed walking away from him.

Aaron couldn’t help but watch as you walked away from him. And you couldn’t help but think to yourself that he was far more handsome up close.

After explaining your tardiness to Mateo, he led you to the sixth floor to officially meet your new team. The rest of them anyway.

“Mat, you told them I was joining right? I ran into Agent Hotchner, and he didn’t show any signs of recognition. And I told you I didn’t want to join a team who wasn’t ready and willing to have me.” You ranted.

“Yes I told him, you have nothing to worry about.” He lied. “You head down into the bullpen and meet the agents; I will go up and talk to Agent Hotchner.”

You nodded in agreement and made your way to Emily and Spencer.  You exchanged greetings, and Emily took you around to meet everyone else.

“Director Cruz, what can I do for you?” Hotch asked.

“I have a new recruit for you. She will be starting today.” Mateo gestured toward the window.

Aaron glanced out, finding the beautiful woman from this morning standing amongst his team. Morgan must’ve tried to charm her because she threw her head back in laughter with the most beautiful smile. Why her? Why did she have to be joining his team?

“Why didn’t I receive her file?”

“Truthfully Aaron, I didn’t have it together. She and I have worked together on some classified cases. But I have a file here with some of her info.  She specializes in child psychology which is something your team is lacking, I figured that she could work with your team on all of your child related cases, but then can occasionally consult with other teams should they need her expertise.” Mateo explained.

“Okay.”

It had been three months since then, and things had not been going well. You had gone on all but one case with the BAU since you’d started. Every single time, Aaron kept you at the local precincts, not allowing you out on any real field work – this was hindering your ability to do your job effectively. You needed to observe the unsub’s home and belongings and dumpsites etc. but he was denying you the opportunity.

The rest of the team had been nothing but welcoming, inviting you into their little family with open arms. None of them could have predicted that Hotch would ice you out the way he was.

Every time you offered a theory or statistic or any sort of information, Hotch shut you down. He would belittle you, constantly making you feel small, and he purposely called you agent instead of referring to you as doctor and well, why should today be any different.

You had been called out on a case and based on all the information the team had acquired so far, you had a pretty good working theory.

JJ, Spencer, and you had been sitting in the room the local precinct had designated as yours for the duration of the case.

“I have an idea…it’s a little out there but hear me out,” You started, your gaze shifting to JJ and Spencer, who both encouraged you to continue. “Okay, so some of the details in this case match, while others are all over the place, like the MO is essentially the same but some of the victims’ injuries show signs of hesitation where others show none, I know hotch mentioned multiple unsubs, but what if it is one unsub, with multiple personalities.”

“Like dissociative identity disorder. You know that would make a lot of sense considering people with DID tend to have highly varying alters or identities. They can range in race, gender, age which would explain why the murders have been so different, it would also explain why the comfort zone is so small.” Spencer validated you.

“See that’s what I was thinking too, they would want to stay close to home in the case that perhaps there was a switch in alter, that way they would be somewhere familiar and be able to return home…”

“That’s enough Agent!” Hotch’s voice boomed through the small room. “I have put up with this for far too long. You came in here unannounced and have continued to provide absolutely ridiculous theories that do nothing but waste our time and resources…”

“Hotch” JJ tried to calm him.

He lifted his hand to silence her before continuing, “You have continued to get in the way of my investigations again and again and I won’t have it anymore. Cruz spoke so highly of you and frankly I don’t see it. I’m sorry if I’m the first one to tell you this agent, but perhaps you should stick to what you know.” Hotch finished.

There was no way in hell that you were going to let yourself cry in front of this asshole. You refused to let him win in this moment.

“You know what Agent Hotchner, I have done nothing but work my ass off for this team and I have provided valuable feedback and information that has led to the capture of multiple unsubs over the last few months. But if you want to sit up there on your high horse and act all delusional, go ahead. I don’t want to be a part of a team who is led by someone so pompous and misogynistic. And one last thing, if you are going to sit there and berate me then you will address me properly. It’s Doctor, not agent…I know that may be hard to remember since it’s a title you don’t hold. Goodnight.” With that you grabbed your jacket and bag and made your way outside.

You ordered an uber and made your way back to the hotel. The nerve Hotch seemed to have filled you with rage, but you wouldn’t stick around to entertain his outburst any longer, you had a call to make.

“Hello?”

“Mat, I need a flight home.” You said, the tears finally beginning to fall.

“Is everything okay? What happened?” Mateo questioned.

“It’s fine, I just have a personal emergency and I need to get home as soon as possible.”

“Sure thing, I am booking your flight now, can you be at the airport in two hours?” He asked.

“Yes, that’s perfect. Thank you.”

With that you hung up the phone, packed your bag, ordered another uber and made your way outside. You were purposely ignoring the texts coming in from Spencer and JJ. You made sure to slide a note under Spence’s door before leaving.

“Has anyone seen y/n this morning?” Dave asked.

“She left.” Spencer confirmed, holding up the note.

“What why? Is she okay?” Emily asked, concern laced in her tone.

“I can’t blame her. You guys should have seen it, Hotch yelled at her. And I mean full on yelled. I’ve never heard him speak that way to anyone before.” JJ chimed in.

“What are you talking about? He yelled at her. About what?” Morgan questioned.

“He completely flew off the handle. She and Spence were going over a theory about the unsub and he just started yelling, telling her that she was wasting our time and resources.”

The team was in disbelief, Hotch wasn’t mean or condescending, so why was he acting this way now? How could he treat arguably the sweetest member of the team so disrespectfully?

Dave shook his head; he was pretty sure he knew exactly why Aaron was acting out this way. He just couldn’t believe that Aaron had said such harsh things to the girl. His heart broke for her knowing that someone she idolized had been so awful to her, and for all the wrong reasons.

The team had wrapped up that case fairly quickly, you had been right, and the unsub turned out to be a nineteen-year-old male who had been struggling with dissociative identity disorder. Hotch had felt uneasy knowing that he had questioned your intelligence, despite you being an excellent agent.

Upon returning to the BAU, Dave was sure to confront Aaron about his inappropriate behavior.  Telling him that he couldn’t treat you terribly just because he couldn’t wrap his brain around the feelings for you he was refusing to acknowledge. Aaron had scoffed at him and told him that he didn’t have feelings for you, but Dave knew he was lying.

You had quite a different experience since returning. The first thing you did was cry, you let yourself release all the pent-up frustration you’d been holding onto since you had started at the BAU. Then, you texted Mat, letting him know that you needed to meet with him.

He was curious and waiting for answers, but he ultimately agreed and waited to ask all his questions until you were face to face.

“So, what’s up? This meeting request was so formal.” Mat laughed.

“I know and I am sorry I have been so vague about everything, but I am here to resign.”

Mat’s smile fell from his face immediately.

“What happened? Did something happen, because I promise you I have looked into the complaints filed against Agent Morgan and Ms. Garcia and I can assure you, they just have a strange friendship.” Mateo tried to explain.

“Mat, slow down! It isn’t like that. I just don’t think it is a good fit, there’s just too many differences between how I work and how the team operates. It’s okay really.” You tried to smile to really sell your lie.

“Well, I can’t help but be disappointed, I really thought that you would be a perfect fit for this team.” Mateo trailed off.

“I know and I am so sorry. I know you had to pull a ton of strings to get me here and I don’t want it to seem like I am not grateful because I can assure you, I am!”

“I know, and it’s alright! If it’s not a good fit then it’s not a good fit.” Mateo flashed you a sad smile.

A few weeks had passed since you had left the BAU, and truly, you had been doing well! You had spent some much-needed time with your family. You had reached out to a good friend of yours and inquired about a job teaching at the local university, which you were truly looking forward to. It had also meant that you would have a free summer to spend some quality time with your kids.

Tonight, you had one of your best friends over, your kids had grown up together and so you liked to do these big “family” dinners together at least once a month, that however meant chaos in the house. Kids yelling, teenagers gossiping, dinner burning…I guess that means you’ll be ordering a pizza.

Your friend and you had been talking about your new job and the excitement you were feeling for it, a movie long forgotten playing in the background, the kids were playing some card game you didn’t recognize when the doorbell rang.

“Oh, I bet that’s the pizza!” You said, making your way to the door.

“I left the cash on the table there!” Your friend shouted.

“Hi…Oh. What the hell are you doing here?” Shock painted its way across your face. Standing at your door was not the pizza delivery guy, but Aaron Hotchner.

“I uh, I came here to talk to you. I know that I do not deserve your time, but I am truly hoping you’ll allow me a few minutes to explain myself.”

“Dude, do you need help or…oh, shit. Sorry! Did you guys need a minute?” Your friend interrupted.

“Um” your gaze shifted from Aaron to your friend. “Agent Hotchner, why don’t we go to the back. Can you keep an eye out for the pizza?” You suggested.

“Of course! You go.” She replied.

Aaron and you made your way to the backyard, in doing so he took note of all the children sitting in the living room, sprawled out across the floor and couches.

“I didn’t know you had children.” Aaron started.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Is that why you came here agent Hotchner? To see my home and profile me?” You questioned him.

“No of course not! I was making an observation. I’m sorry. Like I said, I am here to explain my behavior, none of which will excuse how I acted but I am hoping it might help you to understand some of it.” His gaze shifted around your face. “From the moment I first laid my eyes on you, I knew I was ruined. You were breathtaking, even when you plowed right into me in your rush to the director’s office. You bumped into me and God, then you looked up at me with those big, beautiful eyes and I was a goner. But then you said something to me, and I knew I was done for. Do you remember what you said?”

“I apologized and then I told you I’d gone to some of your lectures. Hold on Agent Hotchner are you saying you were horrible to me because you had a crush on me? What are we? Seven-year-olds on the playground! That is such bullshi….” He didn’t let you finish.

“Hold on. You did mention that you had been to my lectures, but it was what you said as you walked away that had me hooked…you said, “he’s far more handsome up close” and I don’t think you meant to say it out loud, but at that moment I told myself that I was ready. I was ready to move on and I was going to ask you out later that day, but then you walked into the bullpen and Cruz said you’d be a part of the BAU, and I knew it wouldn’t be possible. I couldn’t date my subordinate and I didn’t know what to do, you had called me handsome and I…”

“Now wait a minute! I didn’t mean to say that out loud and this still isn’t…”

“I’m not finished. You had some sort of attraction for me even if it was just an appreciation for my looks. I already had it bad for you, and to top it all off, you came in and just had to be the sweetest, most loving person in the BAU and I couldn’t have you. It wouldn’t be appropriate. I figured the easiest thing to do would be to make you hate me, then I’d be able to shake these feelings for you, but no. You continued to be kind to me, even if I was awful to you and I couldn’t take it. My breaking point was the look on your face after I yelled at you on that last case. I felt sick with myself. I couldn’t leave things like that; I needed you to know that I don’t think those things. You are an incredible agent and an even better person and I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” Aaron finished, looking down at his shoes.

You were speechless. While it felt amazing that the man you had harbored feelings for, returned your feelings. It also felt terrible that he wasn’t mature enough to just be upfront with you from the beginning. Instead, he felt the need to play some arduous game with you. It would be so easy to just throw yourself into his embrace and kiss him and call it all forgotten, but what if this is some insight into his communication skills, or lack thereof?

Your mind and heart were battling one another like an angel and devil on your shoulder. It was a back-and-forth quarrel that seemingly had no correct response, both had the same potential outcomes; you getting your heart broken, regret, potential happiness. What were you meant to do?

“I um, I don’t know what to say. You said some horrible things to me and that doesn’t just go away. Agent Hotchner, we’re adults.”

“Please call me Aaron, or at least Hotch.”

“Aaron we are adults and you acted like a child. Am I meant to just forgive and forget the way you made me feel?”

“No, I would never expect that. I do hope that one day you can forgive me, and if you give me the chance, I would truly love to make it up to you.” He explained.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He questioned.

“Okay, you can make it up to me. And maybe, just maybe I will forgive you. It’s not going to be easy though.” You said.

“I wouldn’t want it to be easy.” He smiled.

“Alright well you can start tomorrow. I’d invite you to stay but this is a family dinner and with all the kids it might be a bit chaotic.” You told him.

“That’s fair.”

You could see the wheels turning in his head, he’s trying to figure out the dynamics of your little family, and maybe you could spare him a little bit of leeway.

“Her and I combined have nine kids. I have five and she has four. And before you ask, only two are biologically mine. A close friend of ours passed and I was listed as the personal guardian for her kids. That’s also how I have a teenager.” You explained. “That’s all you get for now.” You teased.

“I will take what I can get. Thank you, for giving me this chance.” Aaron smiled at you.

You smiled back and led him to the door, not missing the shit-eating grin your friend was wearing on her face. You bid him goodnight with a promise to text him to make some sort of plan. You didn’t know what would come of this, or if you’d end up together, but for now, you didn’t need to know. For now, you’d take it one day at a time.

[queers-gambit]

Now and at the Hour of His Death

prompt: any who say, "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," were never loved by him.

pairing: Osferth x female!pregnant!wife!reader

fandom: The Last Kingdom

word count: 6.1k+

note: fuck you, Netflix.

warnings: you already know - author needs therapy, projects hard, pregnant wife, Lord’s name in vain, Christianity (obviously), and a fuck ton of fucking ANGST because fuck your feelings. hurt NO comfort, drama, oneshot, cursing, canon-typical violence, injury, and blood. character death and spoilers - yeah, i'm giving you THAT scene. requires maturity and caution. good luck.

also please note: NO, i do not age Osferth to be 16 - that's just a reference age for when he eventually runs away from the monastery.

again, you are missing nothing if this upsets or triggers you and you choose to skip. value your wellbeing, my angels. author is not responsible for the media YOU choose consume, but still, as usual, MDNI

"You should not be doing this sort of work," Ingrith's voice scolded you, and when you turned, you saw the blonde woman standing with her hip cocked and a stern expression. "It's bad for your health to be in such filth, we've stable boys for this sort of chore."

"I do not mind," you sniffled in the brisk air, shoveling the horse shit of the stable into a muck bucket to be dumped into the fields later. "It keeps me busy," you grunted lightly, sure to bend your knees when lifting the pitchfork, "keeps me humble," you listed, dumping the waste to grin at your friend, "and keeps me young."

"In what way?"

"Reminds me of my childhood," you eased, continuing your work. "I slept in a stable from the ages of 4 to... Oh, shit, I guess I was about 16 before I left The Loft."

"What?" She breathed in confusion. "Never knew that."

"Yeah, yeah, true story," you beamed at her, still shoveling shit. "I slept in the stalls with the horses, sometimes in the grain rooms - basically anywhere I could since my work didn't include official room and board, so, I had to make do with what was available. Then, one day when I was about ten, Old Man Rivers said I could use the hay loft if I cleared it out, fixed the rotten planks. Stayed up there till I was about 16, and after that, I kinda ran away."

"Old Man Rivers?"

You nodded, "My mother lived on his homestead, but she was real sick, you see. So, he kinda took me in without assuming responsibility for me," you cleared your throat, shrugging, "let me stay in his barn if I worked with the horses and livestock for him."

"Why would you want to be reminded of that?"

"Seems simpler when I look back."

Ingrith sighed, "C'mon, put the pitchfork down. Come help me prepare the rabbits. The scouts say the men aren't too far off, they'll want a hot meal."

You chuckled with ease and set your pitchfork aside, giving a hearty pat to one of the horse's necks as you passed by to exit the stable. Ingrith made sure you washed up before you were both mounting rabbits on the rack to start skinning them.

"Could I ask something?" She wondered after a time.

"Anything you'd like."

"Why'd you run away? From Old Man Rivers?"

You laughed, "I was in love."

"Oh, you and Baby Monk go that far back, huh?"

"Try even farther," you teased. "Our mothers were friends, and when I worked in the stable, he was in the monastery, but when he came to me, saying he couldn't do it any longer, I couldn't let him go alone. Life was supposed to offer more than what we were given, so, we set out to find the legendary barbarian, The Dane Slayer," you teased, both giggling, "our Lord, the legendary, Uhtred of Bebbanburg."

"And all this time...?" She smiled, watching you shuck hide like you've done it your whole life. Ingrith inferred you probably did.

"Yeah," you eased, "all this time, he's been by my side. Kept me close, never left me behind. The others weren't too sure about me on account of being a woman, they told us to piss off a few times - but they came around after Osferth refused to send me away."

"He's a good lad, Osferth," she nodded.

"Arguably one of the best ones," you agreed, nudging her arm gently, "but look who I'm telling, right?"

"Oh!" She giggled, swatting at you loosely before going back to your work for a moment. Suddenly, the townspeople of Rumcofa stirred to life, and over the voices, you heard them announcing their Lord's return - which meant all of your men were home. You both grinned and breathlessly left your post, Ingrith pausing a young lad to ask, "How many return to us?"

"Does it matter? Come, c'mon, let us see ourselves!" You all but squealed, overwhelmed with excitment; eager for your own reunion with the man you've loved since you were a young lass.

"Warn the alehouse!" Finan was heard shouting. "Osferth's thirsty!"

"Jesus," you laughed, dodging around the procession of people waiting to greet their warriors on their return home so you could approach the white gelding your husband rode.

His face was absolutely priceless when he caught sight of you. As Osferth eagerly dismounted, your hands smoothed over the small swell of your belly - purposefully wearing a dress that accentuated your ever-changing figure. "Am I dreaming?" He laughed, a stablehand taking hold of his horse so his hands were free to caress your belly. "Oh, my God, I'm not, 's real, oh, God," he beamed, laughing with you. "You're pregnant? Truly? Yes? I-I am not - I am not being deceived?"

"No, my love, I guess our prayers were finally heard."

"OH-HOOOO!" You heard Finan holler as Osferth finally pulled you in for a sweet kiss; both ignoring the Irishman. "Lord! LORD! Uhtred! Hey! Did you hear!? Baby Monk's got some spunk in 'im afta all!"

"Oh, God," you laughed against Osferth's lips, but he was quick to shush you with another breath-stealing kiss.

"A baby Baby Monk! AHA!" Finan was still laughing, your husband's hands caressing both your cheeks when he pulled back just in time for Finan to descend. You grunted lightly when his heavy arms dropped over both yours and Osferth's shoulders, his laugh still booming as he gave a squeeze and cooed, "Oh, congratulations, yah two love birds! Wasn't sure you had it innyah, boy!"

"Don't be so rough with her, Finan, for God's sake," Osferth scolded, nudging his friend to get out from under his arm.

"What?" Finan looked at you gobsmacked. "Sayin' I gotta treat yah different now or somethin'?"

"I didn't say that," you told him prettily with fluttering lashes, fist quickly balling up to jab him in the weak spot of his armor - making him grunt and wheeze. "Aht-aht!" You warned with a pointed finger when he flinched as if to retaliate, "Can't hit a pregnant woman."

"Oh, yeh li'l shite," Finan laughed, Osferth pushing him towards his wife so he could stand in front of you and command all attention.

Osferth took a moment to simply look at you; thumbs gently tracing over your cheeks in sweeping motions, a slow grin breaking across his lips. "This almost doesn't feel real... But how I have to praise God for this blessing. A baby," he breathed.

"A little you and me," you agreed softly. "Sound okay to you?"

"More than okay," he chuckled, pecking your lips, "sounds like a lifetime together."

"Good by me." His nose nuzzled up yours, the sweet moment broken when he sighed sadly; eyes shut and smile dropping. "What is it? What's wrong, love?" You asked, stepping into his embrace so you were nuzzled into his neck and his arms were wrapped around your form in a vice.

"Uhtred means to move us again," he whispered in your ear. "Brida, she... She's got Father Pyrlig, and - "

"What!?" You snapped, rearing back slightly to pin him under your hardened glare. Pregnancy hormones would surely give Osferth whiplash.

"My love, I did not - "

"Brida's got Pyrlig? Fuck are we standin' here for, let's go!" You reached for his hand, ready to march off.

"Uh, no, no, no, no," he pulled you back to him; anchoring his hands on your hips so you could not escape. "You are not going anywhere. Not now - especially now," he glanced at your still-growing bump. "The men will go, you know we will return, but you have this new responsibility, and that's keeping this little one safe. For us," he smiled at you.

You huffed, "I'm not unfit to do what needs done, Osferth."

"I did not say you were unfit, but look at the timing of it," he frowned. "I should've been here when you learned, but I was not, and I am truly so sorry for it. Look, I do not know how long this venture will be, but you know I will return. We've waited for our family for far too long, I will not jeopardize this - so I will return. If you go with us, and something were to happen," he shook his head, "my angel, I would never forgive myself. So I need you to stay here, stay safe, if for nothing else but for me."

"But Pyrlig - "

"Will be saved," he assured.

"And Brida - "

"Will be dealt with," he eased, chuckling lightly. "My angel, you worry too much about everyone and yet never about yourself."

You pouted, "Well, why is it just me meant to stay back? This is your child, too, Osferth, and should have the right to meet them! You can't always control what happens, accidents are real, what if you don't return - "

"Don't think like that - "

"But it's a real threat to us - "

He agreed, "Of course, but - "

"Yeah, I know," you nodded, cutting him off, "we serve Lord Uhtred. This comes first, and I'm not - "

"I've made a vow to him."

"You made one to me, too, you know."

"Angel, please, don't do this. Do not ask me to choose," he begged with a frown, and you caved.

So, with a sigh, you nuzzled into his embrace and relented, "All right, yes, fine, go after Brida and Pyrlig. And when you find them, tell him I am waiting for his safe return, he is dearly missed. Ideally, I'd have him birth our child."

"Of course," he breathed, finding a small reprieve of relief that you did not fight him further about leaving - about choosing which vow to fulfill: the one to his Lord Uhtred or the one to his wife.

Both made to God.

Luckily, Osferth married his best friend and you were never one to pick fights with him. You liked the harmony you had; the peaceful environment you had both cultivated to preserve the trust and love you built through the years. He was genuinely one of a kind; a man who walked many lines between faith, humanity, right, wrong. He was the voice of reason, constantly striving to do better than he did before, learning all he could as if a rag soaking in water. For all he was, Osferth has always been enough for you, and for that reason alone, you never felt the need to argue.

To fight. To voice contempt.

"Question," you perked up, smirking at him as your pregnancy symptoms ran a little wild, "think we've time to, you know, really give our thanks?"

"Angel - "

"What?" You grinned. "You fucked me on the alter all those weeks ago and look - your seed stuck. We might as well go give thanks in the same manner, just to really show God how thankful we are for this blessing he's given us."

"Think the Devil's gotten into you," he laughed.

"Or your child is ruining my hormones," you countered, his lips meeting yours in another passionate display of his excitement.

"C'mon," he whispered, taking your hand, and leading you to the chapel - thinking you were being sneaky, but your matching giggles made Ingrith and Finan beam at each other.

"He does know she can't get more pregnant, right?" Finan teased, flinching when Ingrith smacked his upper arm.

"WHY!?"

"My angel, please - "

"What the fuck is going on, Osferth!?"

"I'm trying to explain - "

"The Queen? The fucking Queen is dead in our village! How can that possibly be explained!?" When Osferth didn't answer, just sat in the wooden chair before the shared hearth of your humble home, you snapped, "Well!?"

"Are you finished? May I speak now?"

With a huff, you nodded and gestured for him to speak; arms crossing around your swollen tits. He explained to you the reason for Haesten's arrival, the wagon his men toted, and why he brought the Queen's dead body to the settlement of Rumcofa. He told you Haesten wanted to keep the peace when King Edward found out, claiming Uhtred's son-in-law, Stiorra's husband, Sigtryggr, had ordered this death - thinking war would surely roll over his lands.

You never knew Haesten to be a generous man, nor much of an honest one, but it seemed the severity of the situation made everyone eerily on-edge. Uhtred dispatched his men; leaving Finan and Osferth in the village with you, developing a plan that would save both Saxon and Danish life. And yet, it was all futile when evil forces worked against good.

You didn't feel safe in Rumcofa anymore, there was a stench in the air; tension that mounted to embrace all residents with discomfort. Something was about to happen, but nobody knew what. You didn't claim or pretend to know what was happening, but Haesten's abrupt appearance spelled danger for everyone involved. So, as a security measure, you kept a long sword buckled around your swelling waist and a dagger strapped under your skirts. With Lord Uhtred gone, there was no invisible fence protecting Rumcofa - leaving it up to you, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf to pose as guard.

Yet you'd never be enough.

Like the surf over sand, a group of angered men descended on Rumcofa. "Who's men are yah?" Finan asked, you lingering at Osferth's side to watch the interaction from a short distance.

"We come from the King," a burly Saxon replied, your head cocking in interest - swearing you've seen him before. "Dane murderers are hiding here and you must hand them over."

"You're mistaken, sir," you kindly offered, the man's eyes shifting over you, "because we live in peace. Any murderers have surely moved on from here. We do not host them."

The man growled, "Don't think that's true, love."

Finan held a hand back at you, meeting your eyes and nodding simply. He turned back for the man in fur, diverting, "Of course, my men will attend to it."

Finan turned from the group, his eyes connecting with yours as he passed by. There was urgency, a quickened pace he adopted; having no intention to hand anyone over, wanting to remove these men without bloodshed. However, that was a distant thought because Father Benedict tried to assure the Saxon leader that nobody in Rumcofa would murder Queen Aelflaed.

You wanted to step in when the Saxon evidently didn't know about the Queen's demise - getting in Benedict's face and demanding to see what he spoke of.

"No, no, no," you muttered nervously, "he can't see the body, love, no, no, no, this is bad. Very bad."

"We can't stop Father Benedict without altercation," Osferth whispered back, keeping a tight hold of your hand, just watching the group. "If something happens, you need to get yourself safe."

"How do we truly know they're from Edward? What credentials do they have?" When Osferth shook his head, you worried, "Got a bad feeling 'bout this, angel."

Then the violence began.

The strange men took charge when their leader walked away, starting to physically harass the citizens; making both you and Osferth step in to try and diffuse the tension. You pushed men off unarmed women, got in between them and the children, did what you could without drawing a weapon.

When a man shoved you away from him, Finan wrangled him away, sneering, "Get yer hands off of her!" He kept the violent men at bay for a moment, telling you, "You need to go, darling - "

"Not now, Fin, look around us! We need to contain the situation, you'll need all hands you can get," You snapped, the two of you forced to part way.

Osferth panted nervously and looked left and right, turning to meet the Saxon and demand, "Tell your men to stand down!" But then, his eyes squinted when you joined his side to pull him back a step or two, recognizing him just as you did.

"I don't think they're here for the Queen, love," you heaved for breath in warning, still backing him up. "They've planned this."

"Finan!" Osferth barked, "These men have been here before!"

The Saxon roared over the fray, "Danes of Rumcofa have murdered our Queen!" His men jeered in anger, making Finan brandish both swords and for Osferth to push you back further from the attention. "Do your duty and rid the cockles from the wheat!"

You were left no choice. Osferth and you both armed yourselves, starting to fight off the Saxons as their leader demanded Danes and Christians be separated. You were unable to help, engaged in battle, but Young Uhtred gathered the Danes and begged Father Benedict to declare the church a sanctuary - thinking it would save lives.

It was only leading the Danes to slaughter.

The Saxon, Bresal, punched Father Benedict when he tried to stand in the way; his men holding Young Uhtred in the doorway to let their men enter the church the Danes were gathered in. They forced Young Uhtred to watch the massacre - men, women, and Danish children all slaughtered with no escape. No hope. No answer to a single prayer. Nobody to stop this bloody situation.

You fought on, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf doing their best to protect you by keeping you in the middle of their wee group. But you still got plenty of action.

"This is madness!" You cried out, slicing a man's throat open. "We need aid! We need more men!"

"This way!" Finan encouraged, "We must cut a path for Ingrith! Check the docks! Check the docks!"

You and Osferth ran towards the water, Cynleaf not far away. You searched for Ingrith, but you had no time to linger; engaged one-on-one again, forced to protect yourself and unborn baby. Not a minute later, you saw Ingrith on horseback, being stalled by a Saxon and for your husband to rush to her aid. He punched the man away from the horse, you hacking at another enemy, in time to see Osferth engaging with two Saxons - one being the leader, Bresal.

It all happened so fast.

You were already racing towards them when the unexpected. Osferth was battling on two fronts, holding Bresal at bay, fending off the other Saxon, screaming for Ingrith, who only managed a few paces before the Saxon's dogs spooked her horse. The noise was deafening; people screaming, crying, dogs barking, horses whinnying, swords singing as they clashed.

You watched it happen in slow motion.

You sprinted faster than ever before.

"INGRITH!" Osferth bellowed in worry when her horse reared back and dropped her to the dirt. It left an opening for Bresal to stab his dagger into Osferth's lung - freezing time and wrecking your world.

"NO!" You screamed, Bresal smirking at you and yanking his dagger free. Osferth wobbled, eyes wide as he met yours, the Saxon walking away as Osferth dropped to his knees. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Oh, God, no, no, you can't take him - not yet! Please, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," You repeated, sliding on your knees in the dirt to catch him. "No, no, oh, my God, no, Osferth, no, please! Not now, not now, please, no, God, no! Don't do this! Please, please, please," you rambled, readjusting to better hold him, hearing Cynleaf and Finan yell for Baby Monk, too. You raged at God, "You can't take him yet! You can't have him! He's mine!"

But you heard nothing except your husband's labored breathing.

"An-Angel, angel, my angel," Osferth choked, wheezing and crying as he couldn't hold himself up and completely slumped back into your body. He pawed at your arms in an attempt to get closer.

"No, no, no, you're all right, you're okay, you're okay, my sweet love, you're all right," you insisted, hands stained in his blood as it poured from his wound. You knew it was essential to add pressure to a wound, but also, that this was all futile. Yet you needed to try. "Hey, hey, hey, look at me, just look at me, sweetheart, please, only look at me, nothing else matters," you pleaded with him in a rush, the lads sprinting to where you held your husband to your lap.

Nobody interrupted you.

"Where's the wound?" Osferth sobbed, trembling, blood spurting from his mouth; going paler by the minute. "Angel, please, the wound? Where's the wound?"

"No, no, no, don't worry 'bout that, hey? Don't you worry, you just keep looking at me," you sobbed, holding his neck and cradling him to your swollen belly. "Just at me, my love, okay? Just look at me - don't look anywhere else, okay? Nothing else matters."

"H-How bad? How ba-ba-bad-bad is i-it?"

"You're going to be all right," you lied to Osferth for the first time.

"Oh, my God, oh, my God," Osferth repeated through his tears and fears, "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die."

He held onto you desperately, sobbing, you slowly rocking. "No, you're all right, Osferth, it's okay, just look at me." You caressed his cheek, smearing blood, but locking eyes. "My love," you whispered, "listen to me - "

"I don't wanna die, please, please, angel, my love, please," he coughed, holding your arm tightly as if it would give him life. "Don't let me die," he wheezed, "don't let me die, my love, please, please. Don't let me die, I don't wanna die. I-I wanna meet our baby, please, I want to meet our baby, I want to be a father. Don't let me die, love, please, I-I wanna be your husband longer - "

"You'll never not be my husband and you'll never not be a father, hear me?" You sniffled, trying to smile at him. "Don't you worry, you're gonna be okay, you're okay, Osferth. You'll always be my husband, nothing will change that - I swear."

Blood pumped with each beat of his frantic heart, making it gush over your fingers. You didn't even feel it.

"Please," he choked, more blood bubbling from his lips, "don't let me die, I don't wanna die. Don't let me die, please, not now, not when our baby isn't here yet, please, I just wanna meet 'em, be a family, I wanna stay with you, don't let me go. Please, don't let me go, I don't want t'go! Don't let me - "

"Shh, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here with you. I'm right here, Osferth, you're not alone, you're never alone. I'm here. I've got you. I'll always have you, I won't ever let you go. Never."

He sobbed harder. "I don't wanna leave you. Please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be without you - " But the words choked him, a splatter spraying across your face when he coughed; you didn't even flinch.

"Listen to me," you begged, "I commend you, my dear, sweet husband, to Almighty God, and entrust you to your Creator."

Finan was heard behind you, retching jarring sobs as you read Osferth his death rite prayer. "Don't let me die," Osferth begged still, as if you held that power.

He had always looked at you as if you hung the sun and stars, and now, as if you were his very reason for living. You hated God in that moment for forcing you two through this.

"May you return to Him who formed you from the dust of the earth. May Holy Mary, the angels," now, you choked on your words, emotion clawing your throat, but still continued, "and all the saints come to meet you as you go forth from this life. May Christ who was crucified for you bring you freedom and peace." You sobbed, "May Christ who died for you admit you into His garden of paradise. May Christ, the true Shepherd, acknowledge you as one of His flock. May He forgive all your sins, and set you among those He has chosen. Amen. Please, please, say amen, Osferth, say it, please!"

"A-Amen - Amen!" He coughed, trying to get closer to you, nestling into your warmth as he felt impossibly cold. "Don't leave me, don't leave me, please, please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be alone. I can't go without you, please, don't let me go - don't let me die, angel, please, I can't go without you. I-I’ve never been without you my whole life, I don’t wish to start now. I love you. I-I love you, please, don't let me go, I love you. I need you."

"You'll never be without me," you promised, face coated in blood, grime, dirt, and ash; all streaked with your tear tracks. "You will always be my husband, hey? Hear me? You're always gonna be with me, I will never be apart from you. I'll love you forever, Osferth, I won't ever stop." You felt your chest cave in as you sobbed, "Please, don't you leave me - "

But Osferth was wheezing and panting, only staring up at you. "I only need you," he whimpered, "I've only ever needed you, I can't do this without you. Please, I can't - I can't go without you. I don't want to leave you, I can't leave you, please!'

"So don't leave me," you sobbed, him still clawing at you in desperation. "I love you more than life, Osferth, please, don't leave me, okay? Don't go. I love you so much. Being loved by you was my greatest pleasure in this life, I want our child to know your love, too, Osferth, please, don't go."

"I-I wanna meet our baby, I wanna hold 'em, love 'em," he repeated. "Please, this can't be the end, don't let this be the end. W-We have so much more - we were supposed to have eternity together, my love, my angel, please! This isn't the end, I can't - I can't go without you!"

"You're okay," you soothed uselessly, rocking more prominently. "Just stay with me, my love, okay? Stay with me. Don't go. Only look at me, all right? You hear me?" You sniffled, caressing his cheek. "You're the best thing in my life, Osferth, yeah? Understand me? Where you're going, y-you'll be welcomed a hero, with open arms. You'll be my own angel. My real angel. The reason I keep going for our child. An-And you'll stay there just for a little while until I join you, okay? You'll watch over us, me and the baby, right? Our own angel? Hey? 'Cause you'll never be part from us - you'll never be apart from me. You and I are a forever sorta thing, we'll never be apart, we'll always be part of each other no matter what."

Osferth lost his words, eyes widening and pulling you closer.

You just soothed, "I'm here with you, my love. I'm here, I've got you. You're not alone, I'm right here, I have you. I've got you. I love you. I love you so fucking much, Osferth, okay? I love you more than anything, you're my everything. I love you," you sniffled, breaking down in worse sobs, repeating, "I love you, I love you, I love you so much, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I wasn't faster, I love you, this shouldn't be happening. I'm so sorry, I should've come faster! I love you, I'm so sorry."

With his last breath, Osferth choked, "L-Love y-y-you."

"I love you," you hushed, bending at the waist to rest your forehead on his, "I love you so much. You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be all right, you'll be safe - where you're going, you'll be safe. I'm so sorry, my love... I'm so sorry."

You felt him go still. You felt the last of his breath exhale, his body deflate. You felt his soul detach from his body.

You froze.

"Oh, my God," you breathed, pulling back to look down at his petrified features. "Oh, my God, no, no, no. God, please, please, give him back," you sobbed, "give him back to me! Do not take him! It's not his time, you selfish cunt! Give him back! It wasn't supposed to end like this! Give him back to me, please! Please! This isn't how this was supposed to happen! We promised eternity together, please! Let us have that! Let us be together, give him back to me! I need him!"

Your shrill hysterics were heard all over Rumcofa.

Finan sobbed into his wife's arms behind you, Cynleaf knelt to slowly extend his hand onto your shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he offered, but you pushed him away harshly; knocking him into the dirt.

"No! I don't want your fucking condolences!" You snapped, holding Osferth tighter, "I want my husband! I want my husband back! Can you give him to me? Can you, Cynleaf? Can you give him back to me!?"

"No - "

"Then you have nothing to offer me! I want nothing else, nothing from you! I only want him!" You looked away from the young lad, finding Osferth's wide open eyes staring up at you. You whimpered, "I only need him, so, please. Please, give him back to me. Please. I need him, I need him, I can't do this without him, please, God, don't do this. You take so many lives, why add him to the mix!? Give him back! C'mon," you begged the cooling body, "c'mon, love, get up. Get up for me, please, just wake up. Come back to me, get up... Get up, Osferth, get up! Please! WAKE UP!"

But Osferth never moved. Never blinked. Never drew breath. And God never answered your pleas. Your dress was saturated in your husband's blood; a pooling puddle seeping into your knees, bodice drenched, his baby moving in your belly. You wailed into the still air, holding your husband tight to your chest; mouth agape to release the terrible screams of anguish, tears never ending, rocking on your knees. You didn't know what to feel... But devastation was prominent.

You wept until your throat went raw, jaw tender from your open mouth. "I'm so sorry!" You repeated, "I should've been quicker! I should've been at your side! You shouldn't have been alone! This is my fault! This is all my fault, I shouldn't have been away from you. I should've been with you, you did not deserve this end. Please! Forgive me, wherever you are, forgive me, I did not intend for this, I shouldn't have left you, I should've been at your side, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault, I'm so sorry."

"No," Ingrith whispered, "no, do not say this is your fault, you did nothing - "

"Exactly!" You snapped at her, eyes ablaze, her husband silent. "I did nothing, I wasn't with him! I wasn't where I was supposed to be! And he was stabbed because of you!"

Finan whispered your name in reprimand.

"No! How many times have you rode a fucking horse, Ingrith!? And now, today, the time it truly matters, you fall; you posed distraction," you sobbed, crumpling in on yourself. "He was distracted by your fall... This shouldn't've happened, this is all wrong!"

The trio just watched you, knowing your emotions were raw and unwavering, that your words did not have meaning because your husband had just died in your arms. Hours passed, you did not move. Hours passed, your husband did not return. Hours passed, and your heart shattered with each passing breath you selfishly drew.

Because living felt selfish now without Osferth.

"Sweet one," Finan whispered, the sun setting, "we should move him. Bring him to the church so Benedict can pray."

Your head shook, "No."

"Darlin', we have to - "

"No," you whimpered, "because if you take him to Benedict, it's real. If we move, he's truly gone... He can't be gone, Finan," you sobbed, meeting your friend's eyes. "If you move him, he's gone, I'm not ready to say goodbye, please. Please, don't take him from me."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "but he should be laid to rest."

"Don't take him from me," you begged, a new wave of tears starting. "I just - we were supposed to be a family. We were supposed to have this baby, and now, it's just me? This cannot be, so please, don't take him from me, I only need him back. Give him back to me, Finan, please, I can't be without him."

"I know," he nodded, gently encouraging you into his embrace. It meant you had to let go of Osferth, something you did slowly and gradually, leaning into the Irishman's chest. "All right, I got yah," he whispered, looking to his wife. "C'mon, stand with Ingrith. I'll carry him."

"Be gentle," you sobbed, feeling Ingrith grip your arms to help heave you to your feet; watching Finan scoop Osferth over his shoulder. The change of position made more blood splatter to the dirt, your heart stalling in your chest when you heard the mess.

You felt your soul shriveled and hidden somewhere deep in your chest, following as if in a trance. You watched Finan and Cynleaf slowly lower Osferth to the ground with the other dead Danes, feeling yourself drop to the ground in shock.

Seeing Osferth amongst the dead made it so much more real.

"It's all my fault," you sobbed, Finan moving to your side, "it's all my fault, I got him killed. I should've been quicker. This is my fault, my fault, I did this, 's my fault."

Finan knelt beside you, bringing your foreheads together to hold you tightly and let you sob into his embrace. "You didn't do this," he promised, "you did nothing wrong. You are not at fault. Do not carry this guilt."

You sobbed without reprieve.

Young Uhtred halted Father Benedict from praying over the Danes, telling the older man they had different customs, but looked back at you. He asked your name softly, wondering, "Do you wish for a prayer for... Him?"

Even Young Uhtred couldn't stomach the truth, avoiding using Osferth's name out of sheer disbelief.

"That'd be nice," Finan agreed, turning to sit beside you and hold you under his arm. You leaned into his embrace, head to his shoulder. "She read him his death rites when... It happened."

Young Uhtred nodded, bowing his head, leading, "Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, On earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Then, you joined from under Finan's heavy arm, sobbing through your words, "Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death."

Benedict finished, "Glory Be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end."

Together, you, Ingrith, Young Uhtred, Benedict, Finan, and even Cynleaf ended, "Amen."

Feeling the most level-headed, Ingrith stepped in and directed the men; informing that Young Uhtred should lead the remaining Danes to Daneland, Finan and Cynleaf would meet Uhtred on the road, and she would accompany you to Wessex - where Osferth could be laid to rest at the place of his birth. Then, the people mourned together for their fallen.

Finan disagreed initially, telling his wife you were his responsibility now that Osferth was passed. But there was no way you could continue with the company, not in your pregnant state. Finan didn't like the idea of you being without him, considering you close to a sister; something of a best mate, someone he couldn't turn his back on - no matter the situation. However, he understood the predicament and finally agreed to part ways, but not before he untied Osferth's crucifix and latched it around your neck. At the gates of Rumcofa, before separating, Finan gifted you his rosary; thinking it might bring comfort in his physical absence.

Years from then, you would bring up a single son named Gabriel (a name your husband favored, a name benefitting an Angel) under Lord Uhtred in his birthplace of Bebbanburg. You never remarried. You never even so much as looked after another man with lust. Gabriel would grow into a handsome warrior and a devoted man of God, satisfied on tales about his father; being painted as a man of honor, integrity, and bravery. Osferth, too, was a man of God, a man of the sword, and a man of his word... Until the very end. And when your time came, you were brought back to Wessex to be laid to rest with your husband; your son having a son, naming him Osferth, and knowing, both his parents shined down on him in pride.

It was a comfort for everyone to know, somewhere in the afterlife, in God's warmth, you and Osferth were reunited; looking just as you did the day you parted from one another.

requesting rules and masterlist

[townslore]

you dont wanna know how many times i teared up drawing this,

LOTS of explaining stuff under the cut,,

my bestie and i came up with a lot of new hcs for them today. mostly age stuff which i'll talk abt later but FIRSTLY oh my God the mouse plush. because they're kitty cats.

their mama made it for del originally when he was a baby. because they couldn't afford a lot del ended up giving it to bas when he was born. unfortunately, bas lost it during their time at the igniter facility, just like the paripus charm del gave him at some point.

also before anyone does point this out-- i do know metaphor has its own language letter writing system but Holy hell i'd rather die than figure that out. the way i wrote their names is supposed to be as if del wrote them, in reality it'd be like the actual letters they use. i tried simulating how kids write their names ( bc i see that a lot at my job ) and even wrote it with my left hand, aka my non dominant one, since i hc del is left-handed but he'd write these with his right hand, making it even more difficult for him.

ok now onto the stupid age timeline stuff that gives me a HEADACHE so i apologize if not everything makes complete sense

they live in a small hole-in-a-wall house which is basically just a big living room with a small kitchen space, and an attic. its in some different small corner in grand trad where mostly paripus stay

when del is 4 years old ; bas is born, their papa disappears not long after. presumably ended up like the first paripus you see in grand trad.

when del is 6 and bas is about to turn 3 ; their mama disappears ( well, dies, but they dont know how ) and they eventually end up homeless, still in grand trad

del 12 y/o bas 9 y/o ; as bas says in his third rank, he tries to enlist in the military but gets shut down for being too young, gets invited to the igniter experiment facility instead, not being told their true intentions. he tells del about it and he decides they'll join out of necessity for food and a better place to sleep.

del Maaaaybe around 16 y/o bas 12-13y/o ; this is the age where del stops growing, and bas doesnt proberly wake up one day. hes still short enough to carry and del breaks them out of there after around 4 years of hell. he makes it back to grand trad and rella hears him yell for help near the church ( dear lord please dont ask me how her canon age plays into this i cant think anymore )

; some point after this event they try enlisting in the military again and get in this time, where they.. presumably? meet louis and he takes interest in them.

all of this was put together with the help of my bestie and a lot of inspiration from my fav fanfic ever, "o welche lust" by antelopunny on ao3. go read it. now.

anyway dear god I hope this is good LOL feel free to add stuff or maybe even correct me if i happen to get anything wrong which was different in the game ( i dread the day their actual timeline gets revealed and all my headcanons die alongside it )

[gomtangii]

omg rafayel's promised wildfire in japanese is actually fucking insane and i don't think the english localization did it justice!!!

6:15 「随分欲張りになったんだね」 "you've become quite greedy" GREEDY, NOT BOLD!! please greedy makes mc sound so much more needy and i love it also the way he says it? oh lord

6:21 「じゃあ僕も。。。いつもより酷いことしてもいいよね？」 "then in that case... i can do something more intense than usual, right?" literally translated he asks if he can do something //bad// but in this context im pretty sure he's asking if he can be more intense/mean and then he proceeds to escape the binds mc put on him and it was actually so hot i think this was the first secret times i listened to properly and screamed

6:52 「ここまで来たら謝って逃げおうとしても遅いから」 "after coming this far, it's too late for you to apologize or run" i DIDN'T THINK RAFAYEL COULD BE LIKE THIS CANONICALLY IM ACTUALLY GOING INSANE

those were the only lines that stood out to me in comparison from the english localization and the other two timestamps were just them having sex and actual audible sounds of it that i didn't expect lol

7:15 HE PUT IT IN DKAIHERFKUAJNKSDJN 8:33 WHY IS IT WETWTEVETWHDSVHJBAJN 8:46 HOLY FUCK THIS IS JUST A SEX TAPE

anyway if yall have any secret times recommendations for zayne and sylus too please lmk<3 also no i don't speak jp fluently

[ghost-bxrd]

Saw the Phoenix!Jason possibility mentioned... Thought of a more hilarious/traumatizing version.

Phoenix Tim. Dick's Baby Bird.

As in, if he dies, he'll just come back to life in a few minutes, all former injuries healed.

Tim being Tim, he's gonna use the resurrection ability to skip having to stay in bed and recuperate, giving the Batfam multiple panic attacks.

They are still trying to talk him out of it when Hood turns up...

The Titans Tower attack happens.

As in canon, Tim loses the initial round and flee to another room, injured.

Well. His hand is broken, he can't fight a crime lord with a broken arm. Plus, come on, that's gonna be a major hazzle, Dick and Bruce will fuzz over him for a month!

He knows how to fix this, right?

Jason, following him in dramatic slow motion, is just in time to see Tim shoot/stab himself dead.

The revival takes a few minutes... And Jason has absolutely no idea about the Phoenix Part.

Fun times : )

G A S P

Counter offer, they’re both phoenixes but none of them knew that about Jason because he was always terrified of dying! (No clue how the Ethiopia part works but hear me out on further angst first!)

and when he comes back to confront Tim he obviously doesn’t know just how good he was replaced.

And then Tim stabs himself and Jason just blanks, all his rage forgotten because he just wanted to beat the kid up a little. He never wanted him to die.

So we have Jason frantically trying to staunch the blood flow, trying and failing to shift enough to grab even a single feather that might save the kid (*gestures because phoenix magic*), asking Tim again and again “Why would you do that!?” without waiting for an answer because the kid is bleeding out.

And Tim is just so confused because… isn’t this what Hood wanted? Why is he panicking? And also, shit, he should have stabbed somewhere else because this hurts like a bitch.

And then Jason can’t breathe because he thinks he’s the cause a teenager felt scared enough to commit suicide rather than face him, and he can’t get the bleeding to stop, and being a phoenix is useless if he can’t even shift to save him. But- but he can give the kid some comfort in his last moments. He can do that much.

And Tim totally thinks his brain is going bye-bye when Hood takes off the helmet and it’s Jason Todd cradling and crying over him, apologizing over and over and— oh no, ohhhh no, Tim screwed up big time. This is bad. He needs to let Jason know it will be okay. That Tim will be okay. That it was a mistake!

But Jason isn’t listening and Tim is doomed to die for a couple minutes and good gods does he hope Jason will stick around until he wakes back up because if Tim gets this one chance to give the Batfam their happy ending only to have it slip through his fingers because he chose to ignore Batman’s “Do NOT kill yourself over every minor inconvenience!”, he’s going to… he doesn’t even know.

Please, gods, please let Jason stick around…

(Honestly this works even without Jason being a phoenix but look I’m attached to the image of Jason deliberately walking into explosions after the whole Ethiopia thing and making everyone have several hundred flashbacks)

[hollowdeath]

Oh hello, I just wanted to tell you that what you wrote is amazing! I read it over and over and couldn't stop reading. You are soooo amazing! *((Ugly crying😭❤️))*

And umm.. I would like to share about the imagination in my head about Dark Harry Potter. He joins the Lord Voldemort and betrayed all his friends. When the war ended, the Lord's side Voldemort wins. Everything is in chaos but Harry ignores it all because he only cares about the reader, his old girlfriend. (Harry still loves the reader even though the reader hates Harry.) He might have requested that the Lord Voldemort gave the reader as a reward to him after the war. Something like that, and ummm, a drama that is both bitter and sad and angry at the same time full of longing for each other? A rough and sad lovemaking? 🥺

hi! thank you so much for requesting! i hope you enjoy!

pairing: dark!harry james potter x fem!reader AU (18+)

summary: harry's all-consuming anger successfully tempts him to join voldemort in the war, sending you, his girlfriend, away in an attempt to keep you safe. years later he asks for your return, and is met with bitterness and rage as you struggle to navigate your feelings for each other in a post-war world.

c/w: smut!!! angst!! slow burn! mentions/threats of weapons, violence, abuse, and death/murder. smut is all the way at the end (grinding, oral, penetration, submissive!harry & dominant!reader) lightly edited, not book/movie/canon accurate

word count: 12.6k

a/n: this is giving me manacled x star wars and i love it lol, so so so much fun to write. i tried to make the reader more angst-y and dominant than normal, so if you like this please let me know! sorry if the plot doesn't make much sense. i also started school this week so please be patient with me! going to try and start posting shorter blurbs/headcanons between requests <3

harry was standing at a window in the lord's manor, watching the street below him as people sulked aimlessly by. it was a typical, gloomy day, the clouds gathering heavily above. it had been raining for weeks, maybe even months at this point, and it was beginning to cast a permanent gray shadow across the city. not even the weather could escape the tragedies of the war.

though harry chose to not dwell on the war, he felt its lingering effects. even from his lofty spot in the comfort of the lord's castle, which he barely left anymore. its walls had become harry's second skin. so long as he had everything delivered to him whenever he desired, it was disgusting to him to even think of stepping outside.

yet still, harry could see the abandoned and damaged shops just outside the lord's gates lining the courtyard along the cobblestone streets. the burnt remains of what once was. the sunken-in faces of the remaining people in the city. the lack of light, the lack of life, the lack of magic.

there's a part of harry, a weak cry from deep inside his repressed past, that feels bad. he was once a young wizard with bright eyes walking the streets of these same shops. he once enjoyed the sounds of shared happiness, and found solace in the fact that despite his lack of, there would always be joy in the world around him.

however, as harry grew older, and the circumstances around him shifted, he found himself getting angrier more often. not just on a weekly basis over small interactions or mistakes, but all the time, from the moment he was awoken by his nightmares to the moment he fell back into them. harry simply had no room inside of him left for anything else. it was just anger. pure, unbridled anger that only caused annoyance at first, then small outbursts of irritation after a while, and, eventually, he couldn't look at anyone or anything without wanting to physically destroy it for no reason other than he was just angry.

harry was angry at the world for having magic in it in the first place. he hated the divide it caused between muggles and non-muggles, pure bloods and half bloods. he was angry that divide is what took his parents from him before he could even properly know them. he was angry he had to grow up in abuse and neglect under the guise of 'safety'. he was angry he never received an apology, an admittance of guilt, not even a hint of closure for the past that was still controlling his present.

the boy who used to risk his life to save hogwarts and the students inside of it would eventually be the same one to let them fall.

when voldemort came back, and harry's anger was at its worst, he knew there was a connection. he didn't know about horcruxes yet and he certainly didn't know he was one. and yet he knew, somewhere deep inside him again, that it wasn't a coincidence. there was a reason his anger was consuming him, and the reason was voldemort.

after cedric's death, harry had begun to spiral. the nightmares were worse than before, he felt deathly paranoid constantly, and couldn't escape the intruding memories of the graveyard. though harry had managed well enough afterwards, still suppressing his rage, he couldn't hide the change in his personality from those closest to him. ron and hermione were the first to bring it up, but, of course, harry had snapped and told them to mind the business that pays them. despite his resistance, they tried until the very end to help their best friend see through his anger, to remember what was right and wrong.

however, once sirius was dead, it was all over.

harry had simply lost any hope that was left within him. watching sirius fall through the veil, his eyes lifeless and cold, was like watching harry himself die. he didn't think he could get any lower, and then he watched the only family he had left be cursed just within his reach.

harry was never the same after that. when he sat in bed late at night staring at the marauders map in his lap, he thought about how much he hated this life that's been made for him. the boy who lived, the scape goat, the hero, our only hope. it was crushing. harry was just a boy. he wanted to live a normal life.

but he knew he never could. not after tom riddle, not after cedric, not after sirius. even if everything went away tomorrow and harry could just attend his classes and be with his friends, nothing would change. he would still be alone, he would still be angry, and he would still suffer from his traumas. what was the point in fighting for good or living to see the end when you would always end up alone?

except, harry wasn't alone, really. he had you.

if there was one thing in this lifetime, one thing throughout this entire war that could have saved harry, it was you.

you and harry had been classmates for a year or so before really getting to know each other, and started dating not long after. when you were around, harry knew there was something worth fighting for. though he may feel angry and everything and everyone and everything everyone said, harry could never truly be mad with you. it's like when you looked at him the anger was muted, numb, deep inside him, and as soon as someone would interrupt it was bubbling at the surface again.

you were worried about harry, of course, and saw the effects his anger had on his relationships with everyone else around him. besides you.

he remembers you clearly, still to this day, and just how upset you were anytime he lashed out. if he'd felt anything other than anger at that time, it would've been guilt. guilt for hurting you, for scaring you. guilt, but not guilty enough to stop.

the anger was stronger.

even when you asked him, begged him, please, harry, please stop letting your anger win, and even when he promised, swore on his own grave, that he would try harder to stop for you, he never did.

harry was beyond angry. he was spiteful. all he had ever been was kind, a pushover who gave everyone the respect he was never graced with. he's saved strangers who wouldn't spit on him if he was on fire. he's lost his family in their sacrifice for the greater good that now rested upon harry's 16 year old shoulders.

he was beginning to think the fight wasn't worth it.

not only did the fight for good no longer seem worthy to harry, the fight against it only seemed to become more enticing. why should harry continue to risk his life and sanity when there would always be fights of blood purity? why should he be the hero everyone else has always wanted him to be?

for a long time, the answer was you. you were reason enough for harry to keep fighting, to keep his anger under control. when he looked at you things made sense for just a moment, his suffering was worth it to see you alive and well. until it wasn't.

everyone has a breaking point, and harry felt like he had finally reached his. as the war had geared up to a point of no return, harry had to make a decision. he had always assumed his decision was already made for him since birth, but he soon realized he never actually had to follow this path set for him in the first place. he was free to do as he pleased. he wasn't dumbledore, he wasn't his parents, he wasn't even the hero everyone thought he was. he was angry. he was spiteful.

worse than that, harry was vengeful.

so, when he met voldemort in the woods during the battle of hogwarts to accept his death, harry instead offered him a proposal the dark lord simply couldn't refuse. harry potter, his living horcrux, would become his successor upon his death. harry would fight with and for voldemort, training to become the most powerful dark wizard in history, and to finally let tom riddle rest well knowing the world was in just as dark, evil hands as his own.

though voldemort was skeptical at first, naturally, as harry expected him to be, he could eventually see the darkness within harry nearly consuming him whole. he was as serious as death itself. he no longer had the desire within him to continue fighting for, what he saw as, a lost cause. voldemort was rather pleased with this news, though never expected harry to come around like he did. he hadn't even considered it, really. but who was he to deny his own successor?

upon harry's return to hogwarts with voldemort and his death eaters in tow, every single person who watched was stunned into silence. even mcgonagall, who had been instructing and encouraging the students all night in their fight, had become speechless and teary eyed at the sight. ron had to catch hermione, who nearly fell to the floor.

but nobody was as upset as you were.

you had already been sobbing watching harry walk off into the woods towards his own death thinking you would never see him alive again. only to watch him emerge from the same treeline with the enemy by his side. it's like you got kicked in the gut. you would've almost rather never seen harry again.

"harry!" you had screamed in a broken voice as he crossed the bridge, voldemort's snake slithering at his feet. you were running to him, breaking through the multiple arms that tried to hold you back.

voldemort tried to raise his wand to you, but harry had stopped him, telling him to let him handle it. he was suspicious at first, still not fully trusting harry's intentions just yet, but was reassured by the sinister look in his eyes.

harry looked at you. he remembers feeling a twinge of that same guilt from before, the tiniest spark of hope deep within his rage. he really did love you, at least at some point he did. you would've made all of this worth it, you would've been the reason to keep going. but not even you were reason enough anymore. for so long he had been ready to take his revenge on the world that failed him.

"harry, what are you doing?" you had asked him, voice shaking. you were almost whispering, your eyes nervously glancing towards voldemort every other second in fear for your safety. harry grabbed your hands but you pulled them back, a look of disgust coming across your face.

"come with me." harry had told you. your look of disgusted transformed into shock, anger, confusion, and guilt. there were mumblings coming from the crowd of students behind you. "what?" you had asked, nearly breathless at this point, your eyes searching him for answers.

"come with me, [y/n]. i want you by my side as i become the most powerful dark lord in the world." harry explained, taking steps towards you with an excited grin on his face, his eyes still dark with corruption. you were still in shock when he grabbed for your hands. he kissed your knuckles softly with a quiet, "i love you,"

he had meant it, but not like he used to.

it took a few moments of silence and some tense eye contact before you pulled your hands away, letting the tears fall again as you attempted to gather your words. "you can't do this, harry. i will never join the dark lord. you know this isn't right, why are you doing this? why? why?" you're practically begging for an answer as harry looked away, an irritated expression on his face, clenching his jaw together. your hands reached for his shirt and jacket, trying to shake some sense into him as you grasped them tightly and pulled him closer.

"don't you love me?" you had asked him in the most heartbreaking, soul crushing voice. your words were weak, but your sentiment was palpable. you were bloody, dirty, covered in scars from fighting, holding harry close to you as you begged him with wide eyes. not too much earlier in the year he would've folded immediately looking at you, so innocent and desperate, his last bit of hope in the world.

but it was already far too late.

"take her to azkaban," harry had announced, angling his head back to the deatheaters behind him, keeping his eyes locked with yours. your grip on his clothes loosened and shocked gasps came from the crowd. harry looked at voldemort, who was a bit puzzled by the situation, but backed up harry's real nonetheless. "you heard the boy," he snapped towards the men behind him.

the deatheaters walked towards you as you stepped away from harry. "no, no, no, stop!" you were screaming, trying to back away from them, but they had grabbed your arms aggressively and began dragging you towards the bridge. "[y/n]!" a few students had shouted, running towards you before their attempts were blocked by a wave of voldemort's wand. the students fell to the ground, watching helplessly as you continued to fight your way out of the deatheaters' grasps. harry stood still, emotionless, completely stoic as he heard your desperate wails and calls for his name disappear into the woods behind him.

the rest of that night or day or whatever it was has since been completely blocked out of harry's mind, forever. his rage had reached a level he didn't know was possible. all he could recall anymore is the blood, the screaming, the running, and the light of his wand in his hand. many students and professors died during that battle at his hand, along with voldemort's and the deatheaters'. the castle was then burned to the ground, signifying the end of the battle. hogwarts had never stood a chance.

and, now, harry stands in the dark lord's manor, staring at the abandoned buildings lining his street, and he's thinking of you.

he often wondered how life would have been if you had joined him that day. though his years since have been packed with death, fights, destruction, and chaos, there were moments alone or in peril where you crossed his mind like a gentle breeze. a simpler part of his past, a light in his darkness. your soft, kind eyes, wide with shock as you back away from him, fixated on the deatheaters coming to collect you. your sweet, melodic voice screaming and breaking as you were dragged away, fighting for your freedom. harry could remember the moment perfectly despite everything else in his life being a blur.

he wonders how you would have filled the role as his partner in crime after choosing him. two dark lords unstoppable against the forces of the wizarding world, fighting 'good' and spreading evil just as he had been this whole time. would you have succumbed easily to the temptation? would you be as dark as harry was? could you maybe even be darker?

but harry knew it was a fruitless endeavor from the beginning. he had wanted to ask you anyways, to at least give you a chance to make the decision to be with him, even if he already knew what your response would be. harry was a bit let down at first, hoping maybe there was enough love between you to push morals aside, but he knew he would never be that lucky. part of why he fell in love with you way before his anger began was your commitment and dedication to what you believed was right. that same trait would be the driving force behind his decision to lock you away.

harry knew you. and he knew you wouldn't stop fighting until your body gave out, and maybe even after that. he may have lost you by sending you to azkaban for the foreseeable future of the war, but he'd rather know you were safe somewhere solitary than spend his years wondering where your dead body had been rotting into the dirt all this time. though azkaban was desolate, dark, isolated, and torturous, it allowed harry to sleep at night thinking of your still-beating heart resting safely behind those impenetrable walls.

lately his nights had become more restless, though, as the thought of you still residing in azkaban began to sit with him. he didn't feel guilt, really, he knew it was what was ultimately best for you. but he did miss you.

after the war had died down and voldemort took his place as the rightful dark lord of the world, harry's anger began to subside for the first time in years. rather than rage fueling his insatiable desire to destroy, he felt incredibly numb and disengaged with everything around him. the desolate streets and grim sky and abandoned city outside the windows began to fit his mental state more and more. for the first time since he was a teenager, harry could see past the anger.

and all he wanted was you.

so, harry had reached out to the dark lord, who spent most of his time at his new ministry castle across the country from the old manor he let harry watch over. they communicated every so often, checking in on business and social matters, but otherwise never had to meet in person. 

harry sent him a letter asking for your release and direct delivery to his household, barring from reason. he felt after the war he had lead with and for voldemort, he owed harry a singular favor all these years later.

it only took 2 days for a confirmation letter to be sent back to harry, signed by voldemort himself, dating your arrival for the next day.

harry had his house elf, jinx, make up your room, asking her to be sure it was comfortable and clean before your delivery tomorrow afternoon, and to also provide plenty of options for dinner.

harry spent all night thinking about you, wondering what you'd look like after all this time. how similar or different you would be from what he remembers. how you'd react to seeing him. he knew you well enough to know you wouldn't react well, likely needing an extended period of alone time to adjust being here before he'd ever get a civil moment with you. but he was up for the challenge, otherwise he'd never ask for your return in the first place. he was releasing his anger, and instead building his patience, if not just to hold you one more time.

there was a delicious smell filling the mansion as the clock drew nearer to your arrival. harry was dressed better than he had been in years, and had jinx make the usually desolate looking building feel warm and inviting. fireplaces roaring, warm lamps flooding the hallways, and the grand dining table set to perfection for 2 particular guests.

harry didn't want to make it too obvious, but it was hard for him to hide how excited he was to see you again. even if you were different, even if you hated him, all he wanted was to see you in person, his eyes locking with yours for the first time since the day you were dragged away at his command.

once the hour was upon him, harry could hear footsteps and voices on the second floor. his heart leaped, setting down his glass of wine before heading for the stairs.

"let go of me, let go of me," a strained voice was crying down the hall, the sounds of a struggle coming from harry's left. he saw two house elves, rather squat and bulky, holding onto the arms of a frail body covered in a simple striped prison dress.

one elf turned to harry and gave him a devilish grin, "ah, there's the man himself!" he growled, his partner turning as well. "sorry we were late, mr. potter, someone here wasn't too keen on leaving azkaban, for some reason," he apologizes, pulling at the arm he's holding.

you slowly turn your head and stop struggling, your eyes wide with fear and mouth dropped open. "harry?" you whispered to yourself, your knees nearly giving out beneath you before the elves aggressively pulled you back up.

the first elf groans, rolling his eyes at you. "where can we put her, huh?" he asks, his tone impatient. harry pulls a few gold coins out of his pocket and hands them over to both of the elves. "right here is just fine. thank you, boys," he tells them.

the elves happily accept the tips and drop you to the ground, quickly disappearing in a flash.

you're left heavily breathing on the floor of the hall, sniffling and groaning in pain before diverting your attention to harry. your eyes were still wide, your eyebrows creased in confusion as you tried to move yourself further away from him on your hands and knees.

harry gave you your space, but watched intently as you nervously increased the distance between both of you. your hair was long, tangled, greasy, and falling around you like a curtain. you were smaller than he remembered, your eyes sunken in and cheeks more hollowed than before. you were pale, and visibly dirty. the soles of your feet were nearly black.

harry felt a pain in his stomach, his blood pressure rising imagining how you lived inside the walls of the prison. he couldn't identify the feeling. it was different from anger, but it wasn't far off.

as you continued to back up, your eyes shifted to a widow on your right. you slowly gained the energy to lift yourself and reach for the window, throwing it open before attempting to stick your hand out.

your hand hit the open window like you had never moved the glass barrier. you continued trying to stick your hand and head out, hitting at the invisible barrier with all your strength, making frustrated sounds.

"there's a spell on the house, love. you can't leave, just for now, until we can work things out," harry tried to explain gently as you continued trying to escape. he took a step towards you and you stepped away, leaning on the wall for support as you began to cry harder.

"get away from me, get away, what the fuck, what the fuck is happening," you tried to shout at him, your faced turned away and other arm putting distance between you and harry. you were gasping for air, your voice stressed and broken, shaking your head as you tried to continue backing up into the wall.

harry still attempted to give you your space. he hated to see you like this. you were so defensive and scared of everything going on around you. he wanted to give you time to calm down, but felt you needed to know what was going on.

"[y/n]," harry said, causing your head to snap towards him with curious eyes. your arm lowered slightly, your knees still weak beneath you. "listen to me, okay? just for a second," harry tried to ask kindly. he hadn't realized just how long it had been since he talked to someone this gently.

you continued to stand defensively, your eyes scanning harry up and down nervously as your breathing slowly started to still.

harry sighed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before turning his attention to you again. "i know this is a lot, and i know it's confusing," he starts, his voice unexpectedly shaky. "but i asked voldemort, and i had you released from azkaban. i figured you may like a warm place to stay, so i had you brought here,"

you still looked confused for a moment before you narrowed your eyes, your arm coming up once again to defend yourself. "what are you talking about? where are we?" you asked harry suspiciously, still scanning him from head to toe.

"my manor. well, the lord's manor, but, essentially mine," harry says a bit awkwardly. you gave him a look of disgust, leaning further into the wall for support. "why would i want to be here? with you?" you practically spat at him with hatred in your eyes. harry was unaffected.

"i know you don't. but there's nowhere else to go. i promise." harry tells you solemnly. your eyes widen a bit again, a flash of fear coming across your face, but the anger quickly returns.

"i'd rather live in rubble than prop my feet up in the dark lord's manor," you say sharply, taking a step towards him in attempt to intimidate him. though you weren't much shorter than harry, you were weak, and tired, and he wasn't necessarily afraid of your threats.

he took a step back anyways, giving you more space. "look," he says, his eyes turning to the floor before he can steady his breathing and reply. "it's just for now. if you really don't want to stay, i won't make you." he says softly before returning his eyes to yours. they're not as bright as he remembers them in his dreams about you.

"but," he says, causing your jaw to clench. "you will stay until you're well again. and it's not up for debate." harry tells you firmly, his tone not as gentle as before.

you swallow harshly, your stomach growling audibly as the smell of the food downstairs begins to settle into your senses.

harry notices this and smirks to himself before quickly returning to a neutral state. "now," he announces, straightening out his blazer. "until the food is ready, there's a room made up for you just down this hall and to your left. it has a bathroom, and clothes. take all the time you need." he says before promptly turning on his heels and heading downstairs, his heart still racing from his encounter with you.

sitting in the living room watching the fireplace in front of him, harry eventually hears the door of your new bedroom click open and swiftly close. not long after he can hear the plumbing rumble as you take your first shower. he smiles at the fact that you're finally in his life once more, even if the circumstances were completely unusual.

harry's nearly concerned and wanting to send jinx to check on you after 2 hours of running water before it stops, the sound of the bathroom fan taking its place. harry's relieved.

"jinx, could tell our guest the foods ready," harry tells the elf as she brings the last tray from the kitchen to the dining room. she nods to herself, shuffling up the stairs sluggishly.

harry's pouring another glass of wine in the kitchen and decides to pour you one as well. on his way into the dining room, he sees you standing in the entryway. you're dressed in a large jumper, oversized pajamas bottoms, and your hair is still rather wet plopped into a bun on top of your head. your skin is rubbed raw, your cheeks still flushed pink as you analyze the table full of food in front of you.

harry smiles at your shocked gaze, your stomach growling again as he tries to hand you your glass of wine. you turn your nose at him, taking a step back. he smiles curtly and heads to his seat, setting your glass with his.

"figured you might be hungry," harry says as he sits down, his plate made for him already. he looks at you, arms still crossed, nose turned away, but eyes peeking at the endless food at your disposal. he can tell you're trying to keep your guard up, but your stomach hasn't stopped rumbling since you came downstairs.

he gestures to your chair just across from him, a plate made for you as well. you look at him, your eyes curious but expression still tight. you carefully take a step closer to the table, but you're still weary.

harry gives you a sympathetic smile. "after tonight you can have any meal you want in your solitude. i just thought i'd be nice and host my guest for the first night," he tells you, catching your gaze.

your curious look quickly turns to one of anger. "i'm not your guest. i'm practically a prisoner again." you hiss, your eyes boring into his with contempt. harry can sense the rage building inside of you. he's familiar with the feeling.

though you were different in so many ways, your dull eyes and lifeless voice, you were also similar in your determined attitude. you had always been the type to stand up and take charge, which harry completely admired and was impressed by. he found your beauty to be most potent in your strong will and cunning mind.

he admired you for just a moment, looking down at him with enough hatred to send shivers over his body. you looked so young, your skin supple and smooth under the light of the candles and fireplace, your hair falling loosely to frame your furrowed brow. you were just as pretty as he remembered, even if your expression always contained a hint of sadness and fear around him.

harry simply smiles softly, sitting back in his chair. "i prefer guest," he says teasingly. you suddenly snap at him, grabbing for his steak knife and pushing your arm to his neck against the back of the chair, holding the point of the knife to the side of his neck.

if looks could kill, the knife would've been unnecessary. your eyes were nearly black as you shakily push against harry's throat. "let me out of here now or i swear, harry," your voice cracks saying his name. "i swear i'll fucking kill you," you spit, leaning further into your grasp him on, your jaw clenched tightly.

harry, to your surprise, just chuckles to himself, not even struggling to breathe as he looks up at you deviously. your eyes widen just before you feel your arms start to move for you, as well as your legs. your neck is strained as well, an invisible force pushing you away from harry as the knife drops from your hand.

you're suddenly released from the mysterious grasp, and you choke out a breath, looking back at harry. he's smirking, but trying not to let you see as his pointed hand lowers from you. he fixes his shirt and chair, gesturing again to your seat across from him. "as thrilling as that was, love, not yet. i'd like you to stay here for at least a month before i consider placing you elsewhere." harry states, picking his knife back up to place on the table.

you stare at harry incredulously. "a month?" you ask, your face turning red again. you take another step towards him but you falter in fear of him using the same force as before to stop you. you stumble as your mind races to gather your thoughts. "how…you…i'm not staying here for a month! this is insanity! how could you send me away like that and just bring me back like it was nothing? a shower and a plate of food and suddenly those 5 years in azkaban never happened?"

you're now shouting at harry with a broken voice, your emotions on high as the tears threaten to fall again. harry watches you, just watches, and simply gestures to your chair again. "just join me," he insists.

you go to yell again, but harry sternly interrupts. "we can discuss this another time. please. sit down." he commands from you.

your mask drops for a moment, a look of fear crossing your face before diverting your eyes away completely to your chair. your stomach growls again, your hand covering it to hide the sound.

it takes a few moments until you slowly make your way to sit down, glancing at harry before taking your seat. harry begins eating silently, and, not long after, you're digging into your first real plate of food in years.

harry can't help but smile to himself subtly watching you indulge yourself for a moment, the mask slipping again as you gratefully shovel spoonfuls of food into your mouth with a sigh of relief. he was glad you were eating, even if he had to put up a bit of a fight to convince you.

as harry finishes up, you're still making your way through your second plate. he stands, grabbing your attention and making you curl back into your seat. "jinx," he calls out before sipping the last of his wine. jinx comes to the table and grabs harry's glass and plate, turning to take them to the kitchen. 

"[y/n], this is jinx," harry motions to the elf, who gives you a warm smile. you return the smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "if you ever need anything, anything at all, don't be afraid to ask her. she lives to serve," harry tells you proudly, earning a slight look of disgust from you before returning a smile at jinx.

"this was a lovely dinner, ms. jinx, thank you so much, truly," you thank her honestly. she bows to you slightly before continuing her way through the doors to the kitchen.

you shoot harry a glare. "the harry i knew would've never kept a house elf," you say, your words dripping with disdain. harry ignores your statement, turning to the stairs before ascending them.

he leaves you alone at the dining table, closing himself off in the master bedroom for the night. just as he's finishing up brushing his teeth, he hears your door click shut. that night he fell asleep feeling more reassured than he had in years knowing the pretty girl he couldn't keep his mind off of was asleep just down the hall from him.

it had been a few weeks since harry moved you in, and he rarely ended up seeing you in the mansion. you were often locked away in your room, or taking showers, and harry only ever saw you when you were finishing up a meal with jinx.

you had become quite close with her, it seems, which harry found sweet. he was worried at first that you may be using jinx as a way to find an escape from the house, but after a while without incident, harry realized how silly the idea was. you truly could connect with anyone.

one of the only other times he saw you, though, was when he passed by the open library one night. harry had been restless, thinking about his past in depth, feeling emotions he couldn't place, and decided to watch the sunrise to clear his head. he took a quick glance through the doors before spotting you curled up on one of the couches, a book in hand, fast asleep beside a warm lamp.

harry stopped, taking a moment to admire you from afar. you had gained some weight back being here, which harry loved to see. your cheeks were full and rounded, your hands not as frail, and the color was coming back to your skin. your hair looked impossibly soft under the light, sprawled everywhere around your angelic, sleeping face. harry couldn't help the cheesy smile that overcame his face. he was just happy that you were okay.

outside of that, harry spent most of his time alone, thinking about you. you hadn't reached out to him yet, which he expected, but was surprised when a month came and went and you still didn't confront him. he hadn't made his decision just yet, so he didn't have an answer for you even if you had asked him. he saw you were doing better, but still wasn't confident in letting you go. not just for selfish reasons, of course, but he wanted to be sure you were equipped enough to live on your own.

but, harry had to admit, his heart raced when he heard your soft footsteps pass his door to the stairs. his mind went blank seeing your figure standing in the dining room with jinx, chatting over a plate of snacks together. his blood ran cold when he heard your soft giggle from somewhere in the mansion. like a beautiful ghost haunting his past.

harry knew even before he sent his letter to voldemort that his feelings for you had never truly gone away. deep under his rage, his unforgiving heart, his cold blooded nature, his love for you had always remained. but he was learning to accept your departure if you chose to do so. a final goodbye to the most beautiful part of his unsightly life. harry wasn't sure he could handle the idea.

he was struggling with his thoughts, the constant back and forth he was feeling about you. at first harry was sleeping better with you there knowing you were safe, but now he stayed up late worrying himself sick over the decisions he had to make now that you were actually there.

sitting in bed, staring at the rising sun through his window, harry's mind was exhausting him. he hadn't slept all night and could feel the effects setting in. slowly, he stood from the bed and slipped on his house shoes along with his robe. he quietly leaves his room to not disturb you so early just down the hall.

he walks to the opposite end of the hall towards the balcony, and takes his usual seat facing the sunrise.

harry contemplates here most mornings, but never comes to any radical conclusions. he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know what's best for you anymore. he knows he selfishly wants you all to himself still, but also knows you deserve to live the life you want no matter what his opinion is. it's the same conversation with himself every time, and it leaves him confused and upset for keeping you here like he is. even if his heart is in the right place.

his thoughts are interrupted by jinx, who offers harry a cup of tea. he thanks her, but quickly calls her back to ask a question. "jinx, um…[y/n], how is she doing?" he asks.

jinx, a quiet house elf, gives harry a smile, and pats his shoulder. her smile is warm and reassuring, as well as her hand. as she walks off, harry smiles to himself a bit. he's not completely satisfied with the answer, but he takes what he can get.

finishing his cup of tea with the sun shining over the horizon, harry turns to head inside before being met with the sight of you standing at the open doorway of the balcony. 

you're dressed in a simple long sleeve pajama shirt along with comfortable pants, your arms crossed as the morning chill sets into the air. harry's a bit startled at first, but gives you a polite smile, diverting his eyes and walking around you to leave you be.

"harry," you said softly, turning to him.

harry's heart dropped, but turned to you promptly with eager eyes. the way you said his name, your soft voice, he was already so captivated by you.

"can we talk?"

now harry was worried. this is what he's been afraid of since you got here. he's not ready to answer you. he doesn't know what he's going to say when you desperately ask him to leave and never come back.

"of course," he says calmly, gesturing to the balcony so you could sit together.

once you've joined him in watching the sun, you two fall into a somewhat comfortable silence as the soft wind whistles past.

"i never thanked you," you said quietly after a while, almost a whisper in the wind. harry looked at you, looking at the sunrise. your face was radiant. you were brilliant in the light of the sun, your hair still impossibly soft and beautiful, falling around you, following the flow of the air. harry was overwhelmed with the beauty your presence held in this moment. "you never had to."

you glanced at harry, studying his expression, before turning back to the sun. "it's also been a month." you state coldly. harry's gaze drops, sighing. "57 days, technically," he mumbles.

a few moments of silence pass again, leaving harry an anxious mess in his seat. he tried to think of a gentle way to let you know he still needed time to decide what to do. a way to tell you without putting his life at risk to your anger.

"well, as much as i hate to say this, you were right," you say, still watching the sunrise in deep thought. harry was shocked by your words, immediately sitting up in his seat to get a better look at your face.

you were stoic, your eyes fixated on the scene out beyond your reach. "what?" harry asked, not believing his own ears. a small smile crept to your lips, the first one he's managed to see himself since you've been here. his heart aches at just the hint of seeing it again.

"don't make me say it again, potter," you try to say threateningly with that small smile, your eyes falling to your lap.

harry is stunned into silence, watching you with careful eyes. "but, you were right. i needed time to be healthy again." you said to him, your back still turned. harry stayed quiet, allowing you to continue. "i was angry with you. i still am. i don't think it'll ever stop," you inform him, the coldness returning to your voice. "but," he was preparing himself for the rejection, the questions, the begging.

"i'd like to stay, if you'll have me," you offer in a slightly embarrassed tone, your face turned the other way.

to say harry was shocked at your request is an understatement. he was expecting you to have a plan to take him out if he had rejected your request to leave yet. he never considered the idea that you might actually want to stay with him.

"i'll have you forever, if you let me," harry responds, a small smile on his face as well. you shoot him a warning look. "not forever. just until i feel well again." you tell him, your voice cold once more. you turn back to the sun, now completely over the horizon. "figured you owe me that much," you say in an accusatory voice.

harry just smirks to himself. you could never be soft for long when he was around. but he appreciated that you felt you could ask him to stay, though you never had to in the first place. harry really would have had you forever, if you'd let him.

"stay as long as you need to." he says.

you glance back at him again, your eyes softer this time. you're analyzing him for a moment before turning to him a bit. "it took me a long time to understand why you sent me to azkaban," you tell him, your voice steady and emotionless. harry just watches you, admiring the light surrounding you.

"you would've never stood a chance in destroying the world had i been free," you state, your eyes still examining him. harry offers you another small smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes the same way. "you knew you were weak," you say.

harry's now analyzing your expression, your words swimming around in his mind. "i did," he admitted to you. "it was just easier if i knew where you were all this time," he says breathlessly.

your eyes narrow at him once more, the anger returning to your body language. "easier for you. i would've never done the same if the roles were reversed." you snapped at him harshly. harry believed you. he thought about it a lot in his nightly battles with his own mind.

"you're right," harry stated, still admiring you in your anger. you were upset, but gave harry a questioning look. your eyes softened only a bit. "i think about it all the time," he admits to you gently.

you're a bit puzzled by his admittance of guilt, but don't let it stop you. "i hope it haunts you at night the way it haunts me," you say sharply, your eyes dark.

"always has," harry says to himself, only making you more angry. "you poor thing. must've been so tough relaxing in this mansion knowing i was rotting away in solitary confinement." your voice is strong, powerful, a contrast to the broken words you gave harry your first day here.

"it was," harry says simply, sensing your rising impatience with him. you stood from your seat, towering over him as he continued watching you in wonder. "you evil little rat. you're just lucky my magic is restricted by this spell. i would've killed you in your sleep that first night." you threaten him, gesturing to the protection spell around the castle and balcony.

harry wants to stop himself, but can't keep the smirk off his face. this only angers you more, pulling your arm back and slapping harry square across his face.

he doesn't react, instead allowing himself to stay facing away from you. "i hate you," you state weakly, your hands balled at your side. harry looks at you, the smirk still playing on his lips. "i know," he says softly.

you frustratedly sit back down, turning to look back at the sunrise once more.

a long silence settles over you two, listening to the sounds of the city as it awakens around you. eventually, you stand, turning to leave harry alone on the balcony. you pause before you leave.

"i still never thanked you, harry." you speak softly, your back turned to him. he looks over at you, your curves glowing in the morning light. "you never had to," he replies, and you're off down the dark hallway.

for the next few months, you and harry live together amicably. he sees you around more often as you start to leave the confines of your room. of course the library was a place of solace for you, but he started to see you more in the living room, on the balcony, or in the dining room enjoying jinx's company. for a while you two exchanged polite greetings, simple glances and acknowledgements, before asking about each other's days, or commenting on the weather. it was agonizingly slow for harry, but he was breaking through your walls one way or another.

one day not long after you'd slapped him on the balcony, you sat in the living room with harry, across from his seat on the couch. he was surprised by your presence, but gave you a small smile over his book anyway. "jinx tells me you've been acting different," you'd stated bluntly, watching his face for a reaction.

harry put down the book he was reading, giving you his attention. "have i?" he asks. you were always examining him, your eyes critical but curious at the same time. "she says your anger used to be terrible. even worse than i remember." you lead him on.

harry bit his lip thinking about the years where his rage was at its worst. he tried not to dwell on them, and instead tried to focus on the newfound emotions consuming his life. but he couldn't deny the path of destruction he'd left while seeing red.

harry eventually nodded, his eyes distant. "it was," he admits, his voice just as lost in thought. you shifted in your seat. "you let it ruin everything, harry." you said softly, leaving him looking at the floor in disappointment. "i know," he admitted.

the silence between you was palpable. harry felt the weight of it on his shoulders before you spoke again. "i would hear about the things you did while in azkaban. the guard would tell me even after i asked him to stop." you inform him. harry can still feel your eyes shooting daggers at him.

"for so long i fantasized about being the one to kill you, to finally put an end to voldemort." you said wistfully. harry glanced at you, seeing a longing look on your face. "how brave of [y/n] to put her love aside to kill the dark lord's apprentice." you said in a mocking tone, leaning back in your seat.

harry watched you, imagining you in azkaban, dreaming of putting an end to his life, while he dreamed of freeing you. it was a fair trade, he thought, and not one he would argue against at this point. and it didn't go unnoticed that you mentioned your love for him, either.

"you still can," harry says, causing you to snap your eyes back at him. "excuse me?" you ask with a sneer. harry puts his book to the side and sits up, his feet planted on the ground. "kill me, that is. it's not impossible." he tells you with intrigue.

you're staring at him incredulously, your eyes always searching him. "you're…you're kidding, right? i mean, you took my magic while yours seems to be highly skilled. you really think i'd stand a chance?" you ask with a sarcastic laugh.

harry stands from his seat, taking achingly slow steps around the coffee table towards you. "yes, while your magic is weak, you are not, [y/n]. i've gone out of my way to keep the knives, fire pokers, swords, and hundreds of books on potions and charms out for your use, at any time, have i not?" harry questions you, getting closer now. though you would normally pull back from him, you stay seated, trying to process his words.

standing just before you, harry admires the curves of your face against the light of the fire. "with your nimble step and cunning wit," harry lifts his hand to gently put his fingers to your chin. the first physical contact he's had with you. unless you count the time you held that knife to his throat. "you could gut me like a pig before i even have the chance to squeal," harry's voice is soft but dark, your breathing caught in your throat at the contact.

as he backed away, harry could see the physical effect he had on you. your nervous blinking, your jaw tightening, hands trembling; he found it sweet he could still do that to you, even if you claimed to hate him.

after that day, harry felt less tension between you two. maybe being vulnerable around you made you realize he was never a threat to begin with. he didn't want anything from you, and he didn't care if you never wanted anything from him. as long as you were safe, that was all he cared about. he hoped you were starting to understand that.

though conversations between you were still tense and cryptic, there was a sense of unspoken comradery that felt nostalgic to you both. your serious, brooding angst matched with harry's calm, collected coldness made for an interesting match. it was never the same as before, you were both fairly aware it wasn't ever going to be, but there was an undoubted chemistry that still lingered from your teenage years together.

however, something else that always lingered during your interactions is your distaste for harry's actions. at any chance you can, you poke and prod at his past, partly to understand, he assumes, but also to test his limits. you were always cautious and suspicious of his submissive behavior when it came to this kind of confrontation; how could someone who was, at least at one point, so evil, so cruel and heartless, become so nonchalant about their past? who wipes out entire cities just to 'not dwell on it'?

this was always a point of contention between you, even if everything else until that point had been somewhat playful. it never so much upset harry as it riled you up, bringing strong emotions to the forefront, causing you to lash out at him. though he always stayed calm, he also always seemed to listen. he never disagreed with your feelings or sentiments, if anything he agreed with your hatred for himself. it's like that day in the living room when he tempted you with his death, and yet you never took the bait.

harry rather enjoyed watching you work yourself up, and admired how quick you were to defend yourself. he never wanted to upset you, of course, but sometimes he couldn't help his cheeky responses knowing it would get a look out of you that made his heart jump. it might not be the most gentlemanly thing he does, but something about your anger excited him. it was nothing like his vengeful rage from the past, but it had its own potency that ran a chill down his spine. harry was so used to everyone cowering away from him in fear of his power that he relished your open aggression towards him. it was thrilling, and it was exactly what he needed.

harry tried to remain respectful of his guest, but having such a beautiful mind and body occupy his space with him was hard to ignore sometimes. his eyes would wander, as well as his thoughts, and he had caught himself fantasizing about you a few too many times to admit. you were stunning, of course, you always had been, but there was something about you now that elevated your beauty in harry's eyes. maybe it was the dark, unforgiving coldness of your eyes, or the strong scowl that your expression rested in, or the underlying anger that was ready to bubble over at any point, but harry was completely infatuated with who you had become.

he knew how hypocritical it was for him to admire the parts of you that were forced out in your desperation to survive the decision he made for you all those years ago. though you seldom mentioned your years in azkaban, harry could see and feel the effects it continued to have on you. they weighed on him heavily, and though harry wasn't one to regret what's happened in the past, he wished he could've figured out another way to protect you at the time. a way that didn't dim the light inside of you the way that it has been.

but still, that light was there. when you smiled to yourself at your own quips, when you admired the food jinx prepares you, when you lost yourself in your books, harry could physically feel the light radiating within you. it was familiar, like an old hug from a friend, and was unmistakably beautiful.

sometimes he felt like a teenager again, discovering the parts of you that made him fall in love in the first place. your natural charm, your captivating eyes, the innate draw he felt to you simply by being in your presence. it was unlike anything he's felt for another person, before or since meeting you. but rather than two teenagers flirting over study dates, you were now two closed off adults with a complicated history and 'break up', if you could even call it that. it was nothing like the past, yet it was entirely too similar.

you and harry had been sitting in silence together in the living room, reading your respective books, enjoying each other's company. it was one of harry's favorite things to do with you now, and one of the only ways you two could be together without it ending in tension. neither of you talked, neither of you made noise outside of the occasional chuckle or gasp at your readings; it was a peaceful excuse for harry to be near you, and sometimes admire you from over the pages.

this night, however, you broke the traditional silence by asking harry a question you'd been keeping to yourself. "harry," you started. he loved the sound of his name in your voice, it was invigorating to listen to.

harry turned his head to you, his book still in his lap, noticing you've long since placed yours on the table beside you. "[y/n]," he responded with his typical smirk, returning his eyes to his book.

you cleared your throat a bit, your ankles crossing in front of you. "how often did you think of me," it was more of a statement than a question, your tone not as cold and questioning as it typically was.

harry knew what you meant, of course, and waited a moment before answering you. "i'd never stopped," he said simply. it was true, and it still is.

you turned to look at the fireplace, your knees bouncing out of the corner of harry's eye as he pretends to continue reading. "but you never came back for me," you stated. harry's eyebrows furrowed, glancing at you again before looking away to leave you with your words. "you left me there to die," you said, that familiar coldness returning to your tone.

harry let out a sharp breath. "that was never my intention, and you know that." he says without a reaction. you become visibly irritated, your jaw clenching with your fists. "you never thought about me," you insisted, your words heavy with contempt.

harry shut his book and threw it beside him, leaning towards you. you turned to glare at him, your nostrils flared. "i was lucky to sleep one full night in the last 5 years without a singular dream of you." he tells you, his voice as steady as his eye contact. "you haunt me like a ghost, [y/n]. you always will."

you're looking at him questionably as you stand from your seat across from him, now making your way towards him. "good. i hope you never forget about what you did to me. i won't." you hiss at him, your cheeks turning red. harry's mind races with you towering over him, leaning back in his seat to fully enjoy the view.

"how could i forget about you?" he quips, that same damn smirk making you grit your teeth. you take another, heavier step towards him, your fists trembling at your sides. "stop fucking doing that," you spit threateningly.

harry cocks his head to the side, looking you up and down. he likes seeing you like this, even if it scares him a bit. "what?" he asks, pushing you even further.

you step between his legs and lean into his face, only leaving a few inches between you. "that, you fucking creep. is this funny to you?" your voice is raised now, the anger finally starting to boil over again. "not at all," harry says, still smirking at your reaction.

"then wipe the smirk off your face and stop doing this to me, harry." you instruct him, leaning back to cross your arms in front of you. harry's biting his lip, not able to resist the lustful thoughts he's having of you in this situation. "doing what, exactly?" he asks, curious what you mean.

"this, all of this, harry. you look at me like a starving animal. you watch me around the house like a stalker. you say you think of me all the time and yet you've only so much as touched my chin." you rattle off, clearly frustrated with these thoughts you've kept inside. "you bring me back here and have me live like a princess when there's people outside who live like animals because of you and what you've done," you continue to raise your voice at him, now getting yourself completely worked up.

harry just watches you, like always, not disagreeing with any of your sentiments. as he normally doesn't, he knows you're a smart girl.

"and you're still fucking looking at me like that," you growl, your arm coming across his neck once more, like the first night you were here, holding him against the cushions of the couch.

harry doesn't stop you, as he never does, and instead enjoys the feeling of you kneeling between his legs in an attempt to further choke him. "i swear on my own life i'll still kill you, potter. what the fuck do you want from me?" you interrogate him, your dark eyes searching him for answers.

the smirk on harry's face only grows, causing you to push further into his throat. it's ironic how much he wants from you right now that would only further put his life at risk in your hands.

"i…never wanted…anything…" harry chokes out. he knows he's stronger than you and could easily escape your grasp, but he enjoys the feeling of letting you have control over the moment, and over him.

"that's a fucking lie," you say through gritted teeth, getting nose to nose with harry. "tell me what you want." you insist.

harry's heart is racing, his mind going blank from the lack of oxygen, and an inconvenient erection growing through his trousers. he could tell you so many things he wants, how many nights he's spent imagining you on top of him like this once again. he knows it would only anger you more, and he was almost tempted by that thought alone.

after a few moments of harry struggling to keep his eyes focused on you, you could feel something against your thigh that caught your attention. glancing down, your weight on harry's throat lessened enough for him to breathe slightly. you looked back up at his eyes with a look of confusion and shock before quickly returning to anger.

"seriously? are you fucking turned on right now as i'm threatening your life?" you ask him with disgust, slightly pulling away. harry's cheeks flush as he tries to catch his breath, your arm still resting across this collarbone. he stays quiet, his eyes glancing between you and his lap.

you scoff at him. "you're so pathetic, potter. how you were ever a leader of anything is a mystery to me." you ridicule him, an amused smirk coming across your own face.

your condescending attitude only fuels harry's excitement more, trying not to let his expression expose how much he's enjoying this.

"it's almost like you want me to kill you," your voice is quiet but dangerously cold, giving harry goosebumps as your breath falls across his blushing face. he tries to stop it but his body can't resist a low whine being forced from his throat.

your eyes fall to his lips for just a moment before you lean into them, surprising harry with a hungry kiss as you relax your weight onto his body. more moans escape harry's mouth as you roughly force your tongue past his lips. his hand naturally finds your waist, but you slap it away harshly with your free hand. "no touching." you warn him, your lips brushing against his.

"yes ma'am," harry responds.

you give him a look, your other leg kneeling beside his as you straddle his thigh, your skirt falling perfectly over his knee. "i still hate you," you growl, choking him against the couch once more. "i know," harry says breathlessly, staring at you like a helpless puppy.

forcing him into a suffocating kiss, you eventually let harry breathe as your lips find his neck, your teeth sinking into his skin and hands grasping his shoulders tightly. he groans at the pain, earning a slight roll of your hips on his leg. harry wants nothing more than to touch you right now, guiding your hips into his body, pleasuring you like he's wanted to for so long. but for now, he's just glad you're kissing him, and enjoys the feeling of your breath against his bruised skin.

"shirt off." you command, sitting back to observe the puddle harry's become in your grasp. he wastes no time taking off his sweater, throwing it behind him as your eyes trace over his scarred torso. your cold gaze softens at the sight, your fingers tracing the healed wounds carefully.

for a moment, when you glance at harry through your eyelashes, he feels that same love you shared as kids. the soft, innocent admiration that came with inexperience. for just one moment, nothing was complicated, and there was no history. you were discovering harry all over again, like he had been with you.

the moment didn't last for long as your gaze hardened once more looking at him. you stood from your straddling position, much to his disappointment. he was ready for you to end the moment and leave, but you didn't.

"on your knees." you instructed him. again, harry wasted no time as he sunk to his knees in front of the couch, eye level with the hem of your skirt. he looked up at you eagerly, hardly believing the privilege he had to see you above him like this.

harry's heart was racing as you lifted your skirt to expose your panties to him. his eyes never left yours, his breathing hitching at the beauty just in front of his face. his hands were patiently folded in his lap, aching to grab every part of you.

you slowly lifted one thigh onto harry's shoulder, reaching down to take the glasses off his face for him, setting them to the side. "now," you told him, your voice seductive as you lean your weight into him once more. harry holds his shoulders steady, his mouth close enough to your soaked pantines to nearly taste you already.

"let me ride your face," you coo, your hands finding their way to his cheeks as he continues staring at you with hungry eyes. "it's the least you can do for me," you smirk, your voice still chillingly cold and cryptic.

harry lets out a sigh of relief and desperation, eyes glancing at your panties before returning to your gaze. you slowly push his open mouth onto you, not able to hold back a sound of relief yourself.

harry's eyes flutter shut as your hips roll onto his face, losing himself in your smell and taste. your fingers tangle into his hair to keep him in place, soft, breathy gasps falling from your lips as you watch from above.

after a minute you become too desperate and pull your panties aside, instructing harry to hold them as you force his mouth onto your dripping pussy. harry listens like a good boy and holds the fabric, his hand also taking the chance to grip your inner thigh. a deep moan escapes your throat at the feeling.

harry's tongue quickly works its way across your arousal, enjoying every part of you as he pushes himself further into your pussy. your hands try to pull his hair back to relieve some of the overwhelming feeling, but harry doesn't let you control him for once. he's desperate to please you, his hunger growing the more of you he's allowed to have.

harry's other hand grabs for your skirt to hold it above his head, opening his eyes to meet your gaze. your face is twisted in pleasure, lips bitten, eyes glazed over as you watch harry disappear between your legs.

harry moans at the sight of you, sending shivers across your skin. you moan, biting your lips closed, your hips stuttering against his mouth. "fuck," you mumble, earning another moan from harry as his tongue circles your sensitive clit.

a hand rushed to your mouth as you attempt to hide your filthy noises, the feeling making your eyes roll back. you're trying to mask your pleasure, but harry can see right through you.

you finally successfully pull his mouth off of you, lips swollen and wet as his head rests in your grip. "good," you say breathlessly. your voice falters a bit. you take your thigh off harry's shoulder, again, much to his disappointment.

"sit," you tell him, gesturing to the couch once more. harry complies, returning to his spot on the couch behind him. you reach forward and unbutton his pants, pulling them down a bit with his assistance. you can see his erection through his briefs, causing you to smirk a bit before returning to your neutral expression.

"no touching," you remind harry as you position yourself to straddle his hips, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. harry's sure you can hear his heartbeat racing under your control.

you start grinding your soaking wet panties against harry's clothed cock, your mouth falling open with his at the sensation. the light of the fire behind you leaves harry with the beautiful sight of you glowing in his lap, your warm skin pressed against his as your breathy moans fall into his neck.

harry can hardly take the teasing any longer, his moans becoming needier the harder he gets under you. "fuck, [y/n]," his voice is deep with desire, his head rolling back once your roll your hips into him harshly. you moan at the sound of your own name, your hands returning to his shoulders as your nails dig deep into his skin.

"that's right, say my name," you smirk, grinding into harry at a faster pace. "so pathetic," you remind him.

harry continuously lets your name fall from his lips as you watch him, a helpless, desperate mess beneath you. he loves the feeling of letting you use him any way you want to.

soon you can't wait much longer, and you pull out harry's cock from his briefs. the feeling of your hand grasping his shift makes harry's hips buck up involuntarily, silently asking for more.

you can't help but chuckle at just how eager he is. you're more than enjoying the control and effect you have over him.

"now," you say again, causing harry to look back at you with needy eyes. "you're gonna let me use you until i cum," you tell him, teasing yourself with the feeling of him against your wet pussy. harry's eyes nearly roll back again as he nods for you, his lips parted with uneven breaths.

you slide harry inside of you, adjusting to the feeling as harry's head falls back once again in pleasure. "so fucking wet," harry sighs softly, nearly whining. once your hips lower completely onto his length, you start to ride harry slowly, still adjusting to him. he's a full blown whining mess beneath you, his chest flushed and heaving as your pussy tightens around him.

you take in the sight of him, your eyes exploring every sweaty part of his body as you continue riding at a slow pace. you unwrap your arms from his shoulders, leaning back into your hips. "take my shirt off," you tell harry.

his eyes open again, looking at you eagerly. his hands nervously begin lifting your shirt, holding the fabric carefully between his fingers, and savors the sight and feeling of pulling it off of you, his eyes glancing at your chest before locking with yours again.

"so beautiful," he tells you, your skin looking deliciously soft in the warm lowlight. "i know, now be quiet," you shut him up, picking up the pace of your hips.

harry's eyes narrow at you, the intoxicating feeling of you wrapped around his cock only making him hungrier for your pleasure. the sight of you bouncing in his lap, your breasts just in front of his face as you lean your hands next to his head on the back of the couch.

"open," you tell harry.

he doesn't have to be told twice before his lips part, his tongue eagerly waiting for you. you guide your nipple into his mouth, your hips rolling onto harry's cock in circles. his teeth and tongue tease the sensitive skin, your pussy gripping harry even more and earning a low growl from his chest. his hands remained at his sides, but he wanted nothing more than to feel you everywhere on top of him.

you start riding harry once more, his teeth still gripping your nipple making you whine at the feeling. "fuck," you let the word slip out, your own teeth sinking into your bottom lip. harry's more than aroused at your reaction to him, his cock aching inside of you to release.

you pull harry's head back by his hair, forcing him to look up at you. you reach for his glasses that you sat down earlier, returning them to his face delicately. harry appreciates the gesture and can better see the pleasure in your eyes, a soft smile falling across his lips.

"so pretty," he whispers. he can see the blush you try to hide, looking away from his eyes and down at your hips.

you start groaning in frustration, your grip on his hair tightening, causing harry to wince. "you're gonna make me cum," you tell him through broken moans, your thrusts becoming uneven. harry can feel you tightening around him again. he groans at the feeling, your name slipping from his mouth again and again. this only makes you fall apart more, high pitched whimpers coming from you as you chase your high.

you soon sink into harry's neck, your cries of pain and pleasure falling across his skin as your legs start to shake. you can't even form words as your body feels the waves of intense pleasure from each thrust onto harry's cock. your hands move to his shoulders again, holding onto him for stability as you continue to ride out your climax.

harry grows impatient at the feeling of your orgasm and watching you break down into him. he finally grabs for you, moving your hips to the couch beside him, staying inside you while you gasp at his movement. he kicks off his pants and adjusts himself between your legs.

"harry," you try to protest, your voice weak and shaky. "just let me do this, darling," he growls, his hips becoming flush against yours as he pushes his cock completely inside of you. you let out a gasp, your hand slapping over your lips once more.

harry hungrily digs his cock deeper inside of you with each slow thrust, his hands holding himself up above you as he watches his cock easily slide in and out of your soaking wet pussy. he folds your legs back as he sinks even deeper into you.

"holy fuck," he groans, his breathing heavy, hands gripping the back of your thighs to keep himself steady. "so beautiful, [y/n]," harry tells you again, his droopy eyes focused on your face twisted in pleasure.

you look at him, your eyes full of lust, but still cold as ice. "i…hate you," you remind him through strained breaths, struggling to take his entire length, still glaring at him.

this pushes harry over the edge, his hips quickening until he feels himself start to unravel. he pulls out of your warm pussy and cums on your stomach, groaning at the sight of you below him.

you gasp at the feeling, looking at harry with shock. "did you just cum from me saying i hate you?" you ask, your tone mocking his desperation. harry nods, still stroking his cock slowly, his other hand remaining on your thigh as his moans quiet down.

"you're disgusting," you tell him coldly, but harry can see the smirk on your face and the lust in your eyes. he watches you below him, smirking in return.

"and you love it."

[marionluth]

Jason guilt-tripping Bruce to the point of malfunction to get Tim and Damian out of trouble.

*Bruce chewing out Damian and Tim for some dangerous shit they pulled at patrol without clearance that could have led to their untimely demise.*

—------------------------------------------------

Bruce: [...] Irresponsible! Careless! You could have both died tonight!

Damian: *mumbling* not like we have a Lazarus Pit or anything…

Bruce: What was that?

Tim: B, it wasn't that bad *secretly activates comm* we wouldn't die tonight. *Cough* Jay sos *cough*

Damian: *mumbling* And even if we did…

Bruce: Timothy I am so disappointed in you. You of all people should think before you act, consider the implications…

*Jason casually walks in*

Jason: Did I hear something about someone almost dying?

Bruce: Damian and Tim did something irresponsible, idiotic and…

Tim: We almost died and B is totally blowing it out of proportion!

Jason: *death glares Tim* Oh you almost died? You ALMOST died?

Jason: *shifting death glare to Bruce* You know who REALLY died once?

Bruce: *OH-DEAR-LORD-NOT-AGAIN mode activated*

Jason: I died. For real. But sure, you have to make everything in this damn family about your golden duo. The replacement and the demon brat!

Tim: Oh not again with the DRAMA Jason. We all know you died, let it rest, man!

Jason: I RESTED IN FUCKING PEACE, DRAKE!

Bruce: Jason, for the millionth time…

Jason: No, cool, it's fine! You can pretend I don't exist, I don't fucking care! Why should you even give a shit about me dying? Not like you avenged me or anything! You're vegnance my ass…

Bruce: Jason we've been over this…

Jason: I bet you'd avenge them. You'd shred into pieces any fucker that killed them. But Jason? No! Hell no! Ain't nobody got time for that!

Tim: Ain't nobody got time for this, zombie drama queen!

Bruce: Tim, please that was uncalled for…

Jason: Tim please? Tim please? Why don't you give him a fucking cookie, too?

Bruce: Jason…

Jason: No it's cool, it's fine, I don't give a fuck that you care more for them than me. Their lives matter. Cool. Cool.

Bruce: *fatal error - ability to talk about complicated feelings and resolve resentment not found-

Damian: Technically if father was to break his moral code to avenge anyone after their death that should rightfully be…

Jason & Tim: SHUT UP DAMIAN!

Bruce: *incoherent grunts*

Jason: Don't know what I was even expecting, B. Your little precious lap-dogs are more important than my stray ass. The billionaire brat and the demon!

Tim: *to Bruce indignantly* You're not gonna tell him anything? Of course not. God forbid you yell at the prodigal!

Damian: So disappointing, Father.

*Bruce retreating to the dark inner part of the cave grunting incoherently*

*Tim, Jason, and Damian storm out of the cave yelling at each other*

*Yelling immediately stops as soon as they step into the living room.*

*Tim & Jason High five with pleased smirks*

Damian: Wait, that was staged?

Tim:

Jason:

—-----------------------------------------------

Every time I start working on a canon-compliant WIP on this fandom I get so freaking depressed and angry that I then start writing non-canon batfam crap just as a pick me up. Sorry, not sorry!

[hederasgarden]

Sins of the Father - Part 2

Summary: When the Greens win the Dance of the Dragons, your father must answer for his support of Rhaenyra. (AU) Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lady!Reader (house unspecified) W/C: 1.3K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU, forced/arranged marriage and reference to canon level violence. Future chapters will be explicit.  A/N: Thank you to @mythic-rose for beta’ing! The fantastically talented @writercole created the beautiful graphic! 

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day. 

Part 1 | House of the Dragon Masterlist

After your audience with the Alicent, you and your father are escorted to accommodations in Maegor's holdfast. Both rooms are opulent and luxurious, befitting of your station but you see them for what they truly are. A gilded cage that will be your home for the next two months until you’re wed to Prince Aemond. 

Once the guards leave, your father speaks, his hushed voice vibrating with anger. “I never should have brought you here. When they asked for me to bring my heir I did not ever consider…”

“You could not have known they wanted more than your coin,” you assure, reaching for him. “We knew there would be a cost to pay for supporting Rhaenyra. My brother paid with his life. Marriage pales in comparison. The rest of the family will be safe.”

“Aemond is a monster. At best a Kinslayer,” he hisses. You raise your hands to quiet him, aware of the two guards outside the door. 

“Father, please….”

He deflates at your words. “I wanted better for you. A gentle, honorable husband to protect and care for you as you deserve.”

He pulls you into his chest to press a kiss to your brow. A strong wave of emotion climbs up your throat  Even as your eyes sting, you force your tears not to fall. Grief has made your father wild and you worry what he might do if you showed him the depths of your fear.  All you can do is wrap your arms around his middle, taking comfort in his familiarity. Soon he will be gone and you will be alone in a den of dragons. 

“It is done,” you say finally, covertly swiping at the dampness on your lashes when you pull away. You clear your throat and steady your voice. “I will write a letter to mother and my sisters for you to bring home. Yo wi’ll need a list of my personal effects to bring back too.”

“Even now, you are thinking ahead,” he says, cupping your face. He carries so much love in his expression it hurts. “Any future correspondence will be monitored.” 

“It will. I think we should prepare for the chance…” you begin, only to trail off when you hear the doors open.

Otto Hightower sweeps, the golden highlights woven into his green robes catching in the candlelight. Behind him trails Prince Aemond like a dark shadow. He stops at the threshold of your room, hands clasped behind his back. 

“Pardon our interruption,” the Hand begins with that same false smile Alicent wore earlier. “Prince Aemond has kindly offered to show you the Red Keep while I speak with your father.“

“That is kind of him,” you acknowledge. 

“If there are important matters to discuss, my daughter should be present,” your father says.

“Oh, it is only the matter of the dowry and a few other issues she need not concern herself with,” he tells your father with a dismissive wave.

“I am my father’s heir.” Otto shifts his attention to you with a raised brow and you know then that you’ve spoken too harshly. “It is only that I wish to ensure everything with the betrothal goes smoothly,” you add hurriedly with a demure smile. 

“Such dedication,” the Hand praises. “Dutiful daughters make for obedient wives,” he notes, looking meaningfully at you.  

There is no mistaking the subtle message underneath the compliment he gives you. A reminder of your place.

“You are kind to say, Lord Hand.” 

You drop your gaze and wait until your father touches your shoulder. When you look up through your lashes, you’re surprised to see Aemond mere inches from you. 

He offers you his hand, palm rough against your soft skin. As you walk, Aemond guides your hand to rest on his bicep and pulls you closer to his body. You glance back behind, relieved to see an older Septa fall in step behind you at a respectable distance. Aemond follows your gaze with a smirk that you suspect might be part of his natural expression. 

"Tell me," he begins as you walk together, "do you agree with my grandsire's assessment that a wife should be dutiful and obedient?" 

The directness of his question surprises you. 

“The seven teach us there are many virtues a good wife should possess,” you respond carefully, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction to your words. You’re unsurprised to find him watching you closely. It’s unnerving to be the sole focus of his sharp attention. “I think the more important question is what virtues do you desire in a wife, Prince Aemond?”

“Obedience is a desired attribute in hounds, not a wife," he reveals. "I am more interested in loyalty.”

Fear coils in your belly in response to his words, a cold knot that tightens with every step you take beside him. Loyalty was a demand that cut deeper than obedience, especially with your own family’s fidelity in question. 

“It is an admirable trait,” you agree, choosing your words with care. Your father’s gold could only ease so much doubt. They would always remember that your family chose Rhaenyra over them. No pretty words you might spin for Aemond would change that. 

“I have heard dragons are loyal creatures,” you add, hoping to direct his attention to a less volatile topic. “They say you ride the largest one that ever lived.”

“Her name is Vhagar.” 

“A dragon worthy of a prince,” you reply. That comment earns you a quick look you can’t quite decipher. Then Aemond hmms, returning his attention ahead. “Where are we headed?”

“The gardens. My sister is fond of them. Or perhaps we can see the new tapestries my mother had made in Essos.”

“Oh,” you reply, quick to hide your disappointment. You suspected most women would have found a stroll through the beautiful flowers with a Prince romantic, but there were other parts of the keep you were keen to explore.“I have heard the gardens of the keep are unmatched, even compared to the Reach.”

A hint of your true feeling must show because Aemond looks curiously at you. “You wish to see something else?"

“No, my prince,” you murmur, gaze downcast. “The gardens sound lovely.” 

Aemond stops abruptly, stepping in front of you.

“Do not lie,” he hisses, grasping your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze. His long fingers span the length of your jaw and an anxious sort of energy skitters down your spine at the look on his face. “You may spin pretty words to tell others what they want to hear, but never me.” 

You search frantically for the right words to appease him or redirect his attention. In your experience, men wanted you to be agreeable, deferring to their desires and whims. “Forgive me your grace,” you stutter. “I promise to be forthright in the future when asked for my opinion.”

He watches for one long, agonizing moment, his one-eyed gaze searching for something beneath the surface. It isn’t until the Septa behind you coughs politely that Aemond’s attention leaves you. The look he offers her is less-than-kind.

“Now,” he says softly, his focus once more on you, “what do you wish to see?”

There is nothing to give him but the truth. “The library.”

If Aemond is curious about your choice he does not show it. He offers you a curt, “very well,” and guides you back to his side with a hand on your wrist.

You continue on in silence as the stone walls adorned with tapestries and flickering torchlight give way to a large, open courtyard. It’s busier in this part of the keep, servants and nobles alike stopping as you pass to bow or curtsy. Aemond pays them little mind, but you can’t look away, all too aware that they will bow to you as well once you become a princess of the realm. 

The weight of that expectation settles on your shoulders like a heavy yoke and with each step forward you find yourself more and more uncertain of how the future will look beside Aemond. 

♡

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[spxllcxstxr]

Being a Tully and in an Arranged Marriage with Tyrion Lannister • Headcanon

(Gif not mine)

Request: hi!! Would you consider writing headcanons for a Tully!fem!reader x Tyrion Lannister in an arranged marriage? you don’t have to & take your time if you do :)) — anon

Warnings: canon divergence - the timeline isn’t exact but oh well, fem!reader, derogatory names used for Tyrion (sometimes by reader until she learns to love him), drinking, no reader description as per usual

A.N: I hope these are alright!! I’m actually a Tyrion Lannister simp so I found this little thing pretty fun! Hope you all enjoy!!

•

“Absolutely not, father.” You say, your face screwed up in disgust, hands clenched into fists at the dinner table

He sits there, unfazed by your outburst

“Anyone but the imp, father, please!”

While you absolutely hated the idea of your father arranging a marriage for you, it certainly wasn’t a surprise; Catelyn, your older sister, had been married to Eddard Stark for a few years, and now it was finally your turn

You had never met the Lannisters but the stories you have heard of them throughout the Riverlands frightened you to your core

Their endless amount of riches and vast power was somehow overshadowed by the evil and danger that surrounded them

“It is final, daughter. You will be wed at Casterly Rock and from there…I do not know,”

It takes you time to really process this

You being married off to some wealthy lord is your duty, something you had come to terms with years ago

But marrying a Lannister?

Marrying the unloved and disgraced son of Tywin Lannister specifically?

You spend days in your room, writing letters to your sisters, crying about your loveless marriage

You do not see him until you arrive at Casterly Rock, he waits for you draped in red

You’re shocked to find that he’s not grotesque at all like you were led to believe…he’s actually quite…handsome

His Lannister blonde hair shines in the afternoon sun and the slight smirk on his face is quite attractive as well

But looks can be deceiving, you remind yourself

"My Lady, it is nice to finally meet you,"

"It is a pleasure, my Lord,"

"Please, call me Tyrion...since we are soon to be wed..."

He certainly does not seem excited about this marriage either

The two of you don't really see each other in the few weeks leading up to your wedding - Tyrion was frequently drunk and you were mostly left to your own devices

The wedding is beautiful, you must admit, the Lannister's loved flaunting their coin

Your family does not make the long journey from Riverrun to Casterly Rock and Tywin Lannister makes only a brief appearance

The dreaded bedding ceremony

Tyrion actually forbids anyone from touching you; he stays sober enough to get you back to your now shared quarters

"I will not bed you, my Lady wife, you should not be subjected to someone such as me"

"Tyrion, that is not why I wish not to bed you…” You’re nervous, his kindness out of the ordinary for men. “I simply wish to keep my maidenhood for someone…for someone I love.”

Your marriage starts off…well, actually

You and Tyrion start off getting to know each other, becoming friends first

You admire his quick wittedness and intellect, his jokes always land and you always laugh

He never pushes you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with and neither do you

You teach him about Riverrun and the streams you grew up by

And your sisters

He tells you about his childhood and his brother Jamie

You have quite a lot of differences in terms of upbringing and power, but you find it easy to laugh at each other’s childhood plights

You think you can learn to love him

After spending a few months at Casterly Rock you and Tyrion are moved to King’s Landing, which you absolutely dread

The entire ride there you and Tyrion talk in hushed tones about his family, he prepares you for the worst

The entire time he’s holding your hand, thumb slowly rubbing across your knuckles

Of course when you arrive you have to meet everyone in the Throne Room

The Iron Throne looking as menacing as the writings say it does

Cersei looks at you skeptically, before turning her calculated scowl towards her brother

“Back already brother? I was hoping your wretched little body would stay over at Casterly Rock.”

Unknowingly your hand tightens into a fist, disgusted with Cersei’s words

“Yes, always a pleasure to see you, sister. Now can me and my Lady Wife retire to our quarters?”

After brief introductions, you and Tyrion are back in your wing on the castle, resting on the bed

“She should not speak to you like that.” You tell him, your hand grabbing his. “It isn’t right.”

“Since the day I was born into this cruel world I was a wretched thing, so take no offense, I have not for years now…” He smiles at you.

“But Tyrion, you are not wretched or monstrous or any of these foul things…I do not see that. I see your kindness and bravery…” You smile, lifting your hand up to caress his face. “And quite handsome too, I must admit…”

“(Y/N)…May I kiss you?” He asks softly, his eyes glimmering

“I would love that, my husband…”

Your heart beats as you kiss him, and you know for sure that you could very easily love Tyrion Lannister

[ironunderstands]

Rant about how yall perceive Dr. Ratio bc I’m tired

I really wish people would stop projecting their hatred of debate bros and egotistical college students onto Dr. Ratio. Like yeah, they suck we know we are tired but please he is not a frat boy trying to convince you that 12$ being minimum wage is a good thing actually. The funny thing is that most of Ratio’s haters would probably have him agree with them on a lot of topics, but the problem is people don’t use their brain, hear “ratio is racist” and run with it without ever questioning if it’s true or makes sense for his character. Y’all cannot handle a character being kind but not nice, and honestly I’m so happy ratio isn’t a woman in canon bc oh my lord the misogyny that would happen if he was.

And honestly, I can’t even blame them considering how OOC half of Ratios “fans” write him.

Like please the next time I get hit with stoic, emotionless, unempathetic, uncaring, self-centered, narcissistic asshole (and even racist slaveowner ew god kill it with fire) ratio FROM HIS “FANS” I’m done. Stop, please get your grubby hands off of him. I’d rather read 10 dead dove fics in a row than be subjected to the horrors that is fanon Ratio. Especially mfs who write him this way in Aventio, I despise how a genuinely loving ship dynamic got warped into “toxic yaoi” bc people can’t read and/or be normal about mlm ships ever. I’m genuinely begging for a new popular gay ship to exist so all the weirdos can go run to that one and I can enjoy Aventio in peace.

To everyone who writes him correctly, thank you I love you, begging for more wholesome Aventio and Ratio content in general pls it’s the closest to canon (if you care ab that) I beg