#The Ruthless Destiny | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

benjinotes · 2 months ago

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𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐗𝐘 — jacaerys velaryon

PAIRING. jacaerys velaryon x fem reader SUMMARY. while trying to escape the arranged marriage, you meet your betrothed, who turns out not to be as terrifying as your father suggest. WARNINGS. spicy but no actual smut. family issues. mostly daddy issues. fluff. no war au. rhaenyra is the queen. kissing. arranged marriage. jace and reader are in their 20s. N/A. after 2 weeks, i finally finished this! english is not my first language so be understanding. 8K+ words.

requested! -> masterlist

The fierce late spring sun blazed through the narrow gaps in the heavy curtains, its relentless rays searing your skin with persistent, vexing heat. You drummed your fingers impatiently on the rough wooden table in the meeting hall, trying to hide your frustration and nervousness as you listened to the whispered conversations among the gathered people drifting through the room.

Still, the serenity of Casterly Rock, though comforting, did little to ease your anxiety. The constant whispering of those around you seeped irritatingly into your ears, while their watchful eyes remained fixed on you. Not only were you subjected to relentless scrutiny, but you had your future laid bare for everyone to judge and comment on as they wished, which was frustrating to say the least.

What was most exasperating was the fact that no one dared to speak to you directly. Instead, all you received were discreet nods and brief looks of pity and some form of solidarity, as if these gestures were carefully calculated not to deepen the anguish you already felt at the prospect of marrying the eldest son of the Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The name of that woman was met with reverence. As a queen who openly defied patriarchal traditions, her strength and ambition embodied the very essence of legends. She was known for making tough decisions without hesitation, placing duty and power above all else. To some, she was a visionary; to others, a tyrant. Yet no one, not even your father, could deny her cunning and ability to manipulate the political landscape to her advantage, always steering her destiny with unyielding control.

Marrying the son of the queen Rhaenyra meant joining a lineage forged in fire and blood, a dynasty accustomed to winning at any cost. The thought sent a chill down your spine, knowing you were about to become part of something so vast and merciless.

The air in the room grew heavier as the whispers faded into silence, and although there was plenty of air around you, it felt as though you were drowning. Your fists were clenched in your lap as reality slowly seeped through your body, tightening its grip on your heart. Across the table, your father, Lord Lannister, sat silently, his eyes fixed on you with a cold, relentless gaze. The barely perceptible warmth that had once lingered in his stare was now completely replaced by a biting chill, making you lower your head and shift your eyes to your hands in an attempt to escape the penetrating judgment that surrounded you.

You felt sullied, but more than that, you felt utterly lost.

You couldn't understand why your father was looking at you with such severity, especially when he was the one who had arranged your betrothal to the crown prince. It was even more perplexing to realize that he had made this arrangement behind your back, fully aware of the ominous rumors circulating through the stone corridors of Casterly Rock-rumors depicting Jacaerys Velaryon as a man of ruthless ambition, a volatile temperament, and a sense of duty that often bordered on cruelty.

The rumors your father shared about the crown prince were disturbing, to say the least. Though you had never met him personally, you had heard from your father and the other lords about his boundless ambition and unpredictable temperament. It was said that he was a man whose sense of duty often veered into harshness, driven by a calculated pursuit of power that sacrificed compassion and humanity for his goals, exactly like his mother, and the idea of marrying someone so dedicated to conquest and control only heightened your apprehension.

Nevertheless, the decision your father made left you stunned. How could he, who always claimed to act in your best interest, force you into such a cruel and desperate position? How could he send you to face someone whose reputation for cruelty he himself had helped to spread?

You couldn’t understand how the father you had trusted so deeply could impose such a harsh and merciless future on you. He wasn’t perfect, but you had hoped he would at least fulfill his role and be a good father. Yet, he proved you wrong.

The weight of betrayal and helplessness was overwhelming. The silence that enveloped the room seemed to amplify your sense of being trapped in a situation not of your making. Every distant whisper and glance now felt like a direct assault, heightening your feeling of isolation.

The reality of your predicament pressed down on you, making the silence almost unbearable. You could feel the tension in the room, thick and suffocating, as if the very walls were closing in, leaving you nowhere to turn.

When one of the lords shifted in his seat, the sound startled you, causing you to flinch. Unable to meet his questioning gaze, you kept your eyes on your lap, trying to memorize the gold and red patterns on your dress, struggling to ignore the constant, gnawing presence of scrutiny.

And even without the whispers, the weight of every gaze felt tangible, as if silent condemnations hung in the air. Your father's unwavering, cold stare only deepened your sense of betrayal, making you feel small and insignificant in an atmosphere that already felt suffocating and heavy.

After a few minutes, as if finally sensing that the moment—or perhaps you—had reached its limit, your father moved abruptly in his chair, letting the sun beam shine into his eyes, making him complain slightly. This small disturbance was enough to shift the attention of everyone in the room, who turned their gazes from you to Lord Lannister with a mix of curiosity and subtle apprehension.

"Leave us." He ordered after a few seconds, cutting through the oppressive silence that had settled in with a sharp, commanding tone. He didn't even spare a glance at the others in the room; his furrowed brows and the rigid, unyielding posture made it abundantly clear that he wasn't about to entertain any questions or objections. His mere presence commanded immediate obedience, and no one dared to challenge him. No one would be foolish enough to challenge Lord Lannister in his own home.

Biting your lip anxiously, you kept your gaze fixed on your lap, tracing your finger over the small lions in the dress’s pattern. As the lords began to rise, their footsteps echoed off the stone floor, their murmurs—now almost audible—starting up again as they moved toward the exit. Yet, you kept your head lowered, focusing on steadying your breath and straining to catch the distant sounds of the wind outside, desperately trying to fend off the anxiety gripping your insides.

As the lords' footsteps faded, the weight of the moment seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. The sense of being on the brink of a life-altering decision was overwhelming. You felt isolated, powerless to change the course of events, and faced with an almost tangible sense of the unknown pressing against your chest.

When the last lord left and the heavy doors shut, their echo reverberated through the stone walls like a warning. With only you and your father left, the room felt like it was closing in. The air was thick with the tension that hadn't faded with the others' departure. The silence that followed wasn't comforting; it was a suffocating weight, pressing on your chest and making it harder to breathe, pushing you to steady yourself in a struggle to regain control.

Looking up, you met your father's unyielding gaze. He watched you with cold, judgmental detachment as you anxiously bit your lip, and the icy intensity of his stare on your nervous behavior made you release your lower lip as a shiver ran down your spine. His rigid posture, assessing you with merciless precision, made it seem as though he didn't see his daughter but merely a pawn in a ruthless game of power, to be moved regardless of what it meant for you.

The feeling of betrayal cut deep, though you had long stopped expecting anything different.

Then, shattering the oppressive silence in the room, your father rose from his seat and began to walk toward you. Each step echoed with a weight that seemed to reverberate through the very walls, his boots hitting the floor with such force that they nearly drowned out the frantic beating of your heart.

Stopping in front of you, your dad scratched his throat lightly, prompting you to take a deep, pouty breath. You turned to him, your expression a mix of confusion and hurt, causing him to wrinkle his nose slightly. He lifted his chin with a smug air, his cold gaze unwavering.

"If you are awaiting an apology," he began, his voice edged with disdain, "you may as well abandon the expectation now." You struggled to maintain your composure, fighting the urge to glance at the opulent decorations on the wall for any distraction from the harshness of his stare.

Of course, an apology would never come from him; you hadn’t held any hope for it.

Fixing his gaze on your fingers, nervously tracing patterns on the fabric of your red dress, your father rubbed his forehead in irritation. For a brief moment, a flicker of doubt seemed to soften his stern expression.

"I did what was necessary," he spoke again, his voice carrying a rare touch of gentleness, aware that your silence was unyielding, but despite his softer tone, the firmness and gravity in his words remained unchanged. "You are a woman, and above all, a Lannister; marrying into greatness or being part of it is in your blood.”

His declaration felt like a crushing defeat, and the bitterness in your mouth made it hard to tell whether the weight of his words or your own desolation was more oppressive. Noticing your head once again bow in defeat, his gaze grew even colder. His eyes, which had offered a hint of softness, briefly fixed on the golden paintings on the walls of the room, as if seeking distraction from the sentimental conversations he disliked. However, the coldness in his gaze remained unchanged, almost as if he wanted to reinforce the possibly unhappy future he had laid out for you.

Lord Lannister took a step back and lightly adjusted his clothes, noting that you were clearly not going to speak. You nearly sighed with relief as you saw his shadow move slightly away from the table.

“You may find this difficult now, daughter,” he said again, the sound of his boots echoing as they entered your ears along with his sharp voice. Yet, your heart seemed to skip a beat when he called you "daughter." “But in time, you will understand that this was for the best. What you are about to do is part of something much greater, something beyond what you can see right now.” He continued, and you bit your lip once more, unable to lift your gaze from the fabric of your dress.

The marriage, your father’s indifferent treatment of it, and the daunting reality of becoming the future queen consort and mother to the future ruler of Westeros felt like a weight too great to bear. For a fleeting instant, you wondered if your betrothed had faced a similar turmoil when he first heard the news. But you swiftly dismissed such thoughts, haunted by the tales of his ruthless nature. Too afraid to have a second thought.

Lord Lannister took another step toward the door, his cloak trailing like a dark shadow over the cold stone floor. “Make your preparations,” he instructed, and you glanced up just enough to see him open the door, his back resolute, his gaze unfeeling. “In a few days, you will depart for Dragonstone.” With a final, authoritative word, he closed the door behind him, the sound resonating through the walls and making your heart ache.

Finally left alone in the room, you curled into yourself, drawing your knees tightly to your chest. With your head bowed, the tears you had kept at bay for so long finally began to fall.

The weather was not pleasant in Kings Landing.

For three interminable weeks since your arrival at the Red Keep, the skies had remained perpetually overcast, and the relentless rain had not ceased for even a moment.

Wish as you might, it was peculiar to say the least—despite this being your first visit to the Capital, you had always been told by merchants and villagers that the Capital’s weather was milder than that of the Westerlands, though its people were more arrogant and petty. Yet, to your chagrin, you found both claims to be mistaken.

You had not had the opportunity to meet many people within the Red Keep. Your interactions were limited to a few servants who, unlike those in your own household, extended a measure of respect towards you. You also encountered some nobles who, despite their aloof demeanor and occasional condescension, chose to withhold their judgments and refrain from speaking of you in whispers.

On the other side , your betrothed's family proved to be a pleasantly unexpected surprise. Although you had met them, their treatment of you was surprising. Despite your initial reservations, you found yourself genuinely appreciating their demeanor more than you had anticipated.

His younger brothers were charming and exhibited a genuine warmth towards you. Whenever you exchanged words with them, your heart would quicken at the thought of having such affectionate and adorable siblings like Lucerys, Joffrey, and, of course, the little twins, who, despite their tender age and limited speech, were always eager to play with you.

In contrast, when you arrived at the fortress, his cousins, Rhaena and Baela, made a strong impression. They were the first to greet you, guiding you through the stone corridors with ease and engaging you in lighthearted gossip. Their linked arms and gentle smiles created a welcoming atmosphere, helping you to feel more at ease amidst the grandeur of the fortress.

The impression left by the Queen and King consort was notably different. Their presence conveyed undeniable authority, and their demeanor naturally inspired a sense of apprehension. This reflected some of the rumors you had heard about them. Despite this, their treatment of you was unexpectedly kind, providing a surprising degree of comfort amidst the formality and gravity of their status.

Yet you had not had the opportunity to meet your future husband. Despite your attempts to learn about him, the family that had welcomed you so warmly consistently avoided any discussion of his person. Whenever his name arose, they quickly changed the subject, a practice that only heightened your unease. This persistent evasion led you to ponder whether the rumors of his alleged cruelty might indeed have some truth to them.

You hoped that this was the reason you now stood before the towering wall, your wedding cross firmly clutched in your hand, after hastening through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep. It seemed as though the cross might offer the comfort and strength that your heart so desperately yearned for.

However, though the cross afforded you a measure of solace, the imposing wall before you offered nothing but a stark contrast. With a deep breath, you resolved to go ahead, turning with determination toward the tree beside you, intent on scaling it to reach the other side.

And even though doubts about your decision were increasingly overtaking your thoughts, your pride would not permit you to retreat. Not in that moment.

Taking tentative steps toward the tree, you hesitated, adjusting the cross around your neck one last time. With a deep breath, you lifted your dress and began to climb the tree awkwardly, nervously watching your feet as you ascended.

Truth be told, you had never engaged in anything of the sort before. While you had observed your older brothers undertaking various daring exploits, your own experiences were vastly different. Forever engrossed in books or strolling through the gardens of your home, you had never ventured into their adventurous pursuits, and even despite your yearning to join them, they consistently excluded you, insisting that girls lacked the courage for such undertakings.

Yet here you were, clambering up the tree with hasty but clumsy efforts, striving to escape a grim destiny after being sold as a mere pawn by your own father. So absorbed were you in your plight that you failed to perceive a pair of brown eyes drawing near, observing you with a hint of quiet amusement.

You could already see the sea on the other side of the wall and feel the sudden wind hit your flushed face gently. For a moment, you were so distracted that you barely noticed your foot that was now stepping lightly on the back of your dress, and before you could realize anything, you lost your balance.

Just as you began to fall, strong arms seized you mid-descent, pulling you back before calamity could strike. The stranger had moved with startling swiftness, and before you could fully grasp what had transpired, you found yourself securely held in his embrace, your feet barely brushing the ground.

His hold was firm yet gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to still, as did your breath. You looked up, startled, and met a pair of amused yet strangely beguiling brown eyes, close enough for you to discern an indescribable color within them. A faint smile played upon his lips as he aided you in regaining your balance, watching intently as you dusted the hem of your red skirt; his expression still touched with quiet amusement.

Still, you couldn’t help but notice how strikingly handsome the young man was.

You opened your mouth to offer your thanks, but the stranger interjected with smooth courtesy. “It seems the tree bears you no favor, my lady,” he remarked, his voice tinged with refined irony. As you took a step back, his gaze remained unwavering, and he continued with an air of gentle provocation, “May I inquire what grand quest compelled you to seek what lies beyond the wall?”

You blinked in embarrassment, your fingers instinctively gripping the cross around your neck, unwilling to disclose the harsh reality of your future. Meanwhile, the stranger's lips curled into a subtle smile as he noted your reaction, though you remained unaware of his quiet amusement.

It was a rare sight to see a lady in such haste, particularly when she was his betrothed.

“So?” He inquired with a casual tone, a hint of mockery in his voice as he observed the flush of annoyance rising to your cheeks.

Raising your chin, you tried to meet his gaze with composure, though you faltered slightly when he remained unmoved. “I do not see how this is any of your concern, my lord,” you finally said, irritation clear in your voice as you tightened your grip on the cross. Jacaerys, upon hearing your words, tilted his head back and laughed heartily, leaving you bewildered; his evident satisfaction seemed to grow with the sharpness of your response.

Jacaerys had not anticipated that his betrothed would be so defensive, yet he could not deny that he was intrigued by the tone of your voice. “It appears,” he began, his voice taking on a measured curiosity as he studied your face and felt his own heartbeat quicken while he noticed how the wind gently tousled your hair, “that you possess a spirit I had not expected. This surely bodes well for our future encounters.” He attempted to flirt, clearing his throat slightly to hide a smile when he saw your confused expression directed at him.

You clearly did not grasp the meaning behind his words, nor did you have any desire to understand his intentions. The day had already been fraught with mishaps—first, you had narrowly escaped injury from a fall, and now you found yourself in the garden of your betrothed’s castle, unwittingly admiring the presence of a man you had thought was a stranger.

Sweat dampened your palms, and your heart pounded heavily. For a moment, you thought you were enduring the torment of sinners, and a wave of shame overtook you.

Perhaps this was a divine punishment from the Seven for daring to flee the fate that had been decreed for you.

"What do you intend by that?" you inquired, releasing your wedding cross and lightly folding your arms in front of your chest. Jacaerys had to exercise considerable self-discipline to refrain from briefly casting his gaze upon your bosom. You’re too pretty, too hot to be true. You are far too beautiful, too captivating, for reality to bear.

“Me? Nothing at all, my lady. Save for the fact that I had not expected to meet my betrothed under such... curious circumstances,” the prince replied with a casual air, his voice tinged with wry amusement, as though the matter were of no import. The moment his words reached your ears, your breath stilled, a sudden wave of disbelief washing over you—he must surely be toying with you.

Your hand rose once more to the cross at your neck, fingers trembling as your gaze fell upon him, and there, hanging from his throat, gleamed a matching cross. Your heart, before steady, now raced with a force that echoed through your very being.

Before you stood none other than the crowned prince, a man whose reputation, stained by dark tales and bloodshed, echoed throughout the Westerlands, and even worse, the man destined to become your future lord and husband. To deepen your dismay, you had made a spectacle of yourself in a vain attempt to escape the impending marriage set for the following week. It felt as though some celestial force took cruel delight in your misfortune.

Jacaerys let out a soft chuckle, his gaze still filled with amusement as it lingered upon you. His eyes drifted to your neck, now flushed with embarrassment, yet he remained silent, merely folding his arms across his chest and waiting for you to break the silence.

You blinked slowly, striving to fully grasp the weight of the revelation you had just received. As the truth settled within you, your eyes widened in surprise. Releasing the cross from around your neck, you performed a courteous bow, murmuring, “I—I deeply apologize, my prince.” You shut your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for the anticipated reprimand or punishment. Instead, you felt a gentle touch on your hand, and when you finally dared to look up, you met your betrothed’s gaze, now softened with unexpected tenderness. He drew you gently to your feet and brought you close to him.

“Apologies are not needed, my lady,” he said with sincere warmth, drawing closer in a way that might have seemed improper were it not for your betrothal. Yet he cared little for such formalities, his heart quickening as the soft scent of you reached his nostrils.

"Besides, I must confess that this first encounter was quite unexpected." He paused, his gaze softening as he regarded your startled expression and parted lips. "Yet, it is most gratifying," he concluded with a sincere smile. Noting your visible discomfort, his smile softened into a tender frown, and he took a step back to afford you more space.

Jacaerys was well aware of Lord Lannister’s disdain for him, and he had no illusions about the sentiment being mutual. He knew of the cruel rumors Lord Lannister spread about his true nature—rumors that, though largely unfounded, were completely absurd and far from the truth of his character. It was no secret, despite Lord Lannister’s attempts at discretion, that the man harbored a deep-seated loathing for the Westerlands.

The fact that you had been sent to him, despite your evident fear, only served to deepen the prince’s dislike for the man. What sort of father would cast his daughter away when he had spent a lifetime cultivating her fears?

He was aware of your fear; upon his return from travels, his first action was to inquire about your well-being from his mother and cousins. Their accounts were unwavering: you feared the union and, indeed, feared him. This knowledge weighed heavily on him. He had been pledged to you not as a source of dread but as your protector, meant to soothe your anxieties, not to heighten them. The thought of causing you such discomfort was nearly unbearable to him.

“So you vow you will not harm me?” You asked after a few moments, your voice trembling with uncertainty. Seeing him shake his head in denial, you took a hesitant step toward your bethrothed.

The prince did not seem so cruel up close; indeed, he appeared rather charming—too charming.

Jacaerys moved closer to you as he saw your posture visibly relax, his cold hand quickly resting on the curve of your neck while his thumb gently caressed your throat. This made your cheeks flush furiously, and you instinctively leaned into his touch. “I am prepared to offer you all my love” he confessed, his voice low yet gentle, sending a shiver through you and deepening your blush. “And I hope you will do the same.” He admitted, and without realizing it, you took another step toward him.

“What if I cannot?” you dared to ask in a hushed tone, feeling his fingers gently trace the cross upon your neck.

He smiled, lowering his head close to your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he placed a soft kiss, causing you to bite your lip in response. “If you cannot bring yourself to love me, even just a little,” he murmured against your skin, his cool breath stirring a shiver within you, “then I suggest you hate me entirely.” He concluded with one final, lingering kiss near your wedding cross.

Stepping back with deliberate grace, Jacaerys turned away, casting one final glance over his shoulder. He left you standing alone in the midst of the garden, your heart racing.

And though you might not yet admit it, the urge to flee had waned, and in its place, a budding resolve to love him began to grow within you.

The next few days passed quickly.

Amidst the whirlwind of preparations for your union with Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and the steady arrival of lords from across Westeros, time slipped away like sand through your fingers. So absorbed were you in the endless tasks and the moments shared with your betrothed and his family that you barely noticed a full week had passed since that fateful, improper encounter, and the thought of fleeing King's Landing had quietly drifted from your mind.

In truth, thoughts of home were the furthest from your mind. Since that inescapable encounter with your betrothed, he had made it a point and effort to be by your side in every spare moment both of you had.

Jacaerys proved ever thoughtful, ever watchful, always a step ahead to anticipate your every need; his hand extended before you could even ask. Though his temper seemed quick in the few council meetings you had witnessed, the patience he reserved for you was a tenderness unlike any other, a quiet devotion that made your heart soften with each passing day.

Now, as his gentle hand held yours and he led you through the halls, you couldn't help but feel silly for believing your father's harsh words. Nothing your father had said seemed true. How could he be the monster you'd feared when his every glance was so full of tenderness, making your heart flutter and warmth spread through your chest?

He was kind, and none who genuinely knew him could contest that.

“Do not be so fearful,” he encouraged, casting a reassuring glance over his shoulder as you nervously bit your lower lip. “Come now, Vermax means you no harm,” he promised, his gaze softening as it fell upon the small cross hanging from your neck.

“Jace, I am quite uncertain about this,” you murmured softly, your heart pounding with a fervor you could not wholly place—whether due to the warmth of his touch upon your hand or the prospect of meeting a dragon. Either way, a flush of heat crept upon you, warming your cheeks with apprehension.

Your future lord husband halted suddenly, causing you to stumble and lightly press against his chest, the wedding cross grazing gently against your forehead. As you looked up, you found yourself caught in the depths of his warm, hazel eyes, which regarded you with their usual blend of tenderness and amusement.

“There is no need for fear,” Jacaerys said softly, his voice laced with gentle charm as he spoke your name. His hand cupped your face, and his thumb caressed your cheek soothingly. “Vermax is loyal to me and tends to favor those I hold dear.” He added, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his touch and his endearing words made a rosy blush rise to your cheeks.

With a tremulous sigh, you acquiesced, unaware of the pleased glint in his eyes. “Very well, I place my trust on you,” you declared with earnest and apprehensive commit. Before further words could be spoken, Jacaerys gently took your arm, guiding you towards the dragon pit, where soon the majestic form of Vermax appeared.

The dragon lay majestically upon a bed of straw and scattered bones, and you instinctively grasped the prince’s arm, a gesture that seemed to please him. The dragon’s emerald scales gleamed softly in the dim light, and as its eyes opened, they fixed upon you and Jacaerys. The heir greeted the beast with a small smile, which prompted the dragon to respond with a gentle, approving rumble, causing Jacaerys’s smile to broaden even further.

You observed Jacaerys reluctantly extricate himself from your embrace, casting you an apologetic glance as he approached the great beast. He murmured softly in an unfamiliar tongue, his voice a soothing murmur against the backdrop of the dragon’s deep, rumbling breaths. The massive creature turned its head to regard you with a curious gaze, causing you to hold your breath in trepidation.

He was too big for a young dragon.

“Wait a moment,” Jacaerys said gently, stepping closer as he beckoned Vermax to advance. The dragon’s enormous head lowered in response, yet Jacaerys’s gaze, filled with warmth and reassurance, remained steadily upon you. You instinctively touched the cross around your neck, striving to steady your breath as Vermax approached. Jacaerys’s hand gave your arm a brief, reassuring squeeze. “He possesses a loyalty grand as his size.” He murmured softly, his voice imbued with a calming reassurance.

As Vermax drew closer, you instinctively sought out Jacaery’s hand, finding solace in his steadfast presence. He tightened his grip reassuringly, his own heart echoing the intensity of the moment, and his touch provided a grounding comfort amid the dragon’s grandeur. “There is no need for fear,” he murmured in a quiet tone, his gaze tender as he observed you. “He's gentle, despite his appearance.” You took a hesitant step forward, your heart racing as Vermax’s large, watchful eyes met yours.

You swallowed hard at the sight.

Your betrothed’s thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, offering silent encouragement. Yet he could not help but cast a quick glance at the neckline of your dress and the way you clutched the small cross, shaking his head to clear the indecent thoughts that had entered his mind. “He is not so different from me,” he said almost abruptly, trying to dispel the images from his mind while meeting your apprehensive and fearful gaze. “Gentler than the tales might suggest.” Hearing this, you let out a soft laugh despite the situation, recognizing the subtle hint in his sentence.

Jace couldn’t help but feel relieved when he heard your small laughter.

He let out a soft, reassuring chuckle, his grip on your hand tightening to anchor you to the moment, and you instinctively returned the squeeze. Vermax, now only a few steps away, lowered his massive head, his watchful eyes observing you once again both with a serene curiosity as though acknowledging the connection forming between you and his rider. He seemed too smart for a giant beast.

Jacaerys stepped closer to the dragon, gently drawing you by his side. His voice, steady and tinged with pride, broke the silence. “See? He is at ease with you.” His gaze shifted back to you, a warm smile playing on his lips. “You have nothing to fear.” He said softly, his eyes never leaving yours as you once again focused on the young dragon.

As you drew nearer, the warm breath of the dragon stirred the air, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Yet, with Jace by your side, you felt a sense of calm. His hand, still holding yours, provided constant reassurance, and you could feel his thumb tracing gentle, reassuring circles on your skin.

As you approach the dragon, its warm breath stirred a gentle, soothing breeze against your face, heightening your anticipation. Drawing a deep breath, you extended your trembling hand towards the dragon, your fingers brushing against the cool, smooth scales of its vast snout. The texture is both unfamiliar and captivating, the dragon’s scales feeling like a blend of polished stone and supple leather beneath your touch.

You could almost hear Jacaerys holding his breath behind you.

Vermax remained still, his large eyes half-closing as if acknowledging your gesture, his steady, rhythmic breath resonating through the chamber. When he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, you widened your own eyes in wonder, your mouth slightly agape as you glanced back at Jace, who struggled to stifle a chuckle.

“By the Seven!” you exclaimed, blinking slowly. “I did it!” you nearly shouted, gripping your betrothed’s hand tightly, which drew a hearty, amused laugh from him in response to your delight.

“I told you,” he murmured softly amidst his laughter, squeezing your hand reassuringly. His eyes, twinkling with both amusement and something more profound, regarded you with tender warmth.

As you and your betrothed made your way back to the castle, your hands remained intertwined, a detail neither of you seemed to notice amidst the comfort you found in each other's presence. The corridors of the castle, bathed in the soft light of flickering torches, seemed to contract, leaving just the two of you in your own world. The only sounds were the gentle rhythm of your breathing, the passage of time unnoticed, and the cool air that lightly brushed against your faces.

Jacaerys, however, could not help but steal occasional glances at you, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of your face and form. His eyes lingered on the neckline of your dress, the softness of your lips, and the small cross around your neck—the emblem of the union to come tomorrow. For a brief moment, he reached with his free hand to touch the cross, feeling a warm flutter in his chest as his fingers brushed the delicate metal.

The prince blinked slowly, his heart pounding with anticipation at the thought of the wedding to come. He could hardly contain his eagerness.

“I must say,” Jacaerys spoke gently, finding any excuse to linger near you as you stood by your chamber door. “You’ve been a delight in the dragon pit, especially considering it’s your first encounter with dragons.” He chided himself internally for the awkwardness of his words, yet his smile remained tender and sincere, his eyes reflecting genuine admiration.

You blushed and blinked slowly, a touch of bewilderment in your eyes, though your heart raced at his tentative praise.

“I am glad to have shared the experience with you,” you replied sincerely, noticing how he swallowed hard, as if wrestling with an unspoken urgency and desire.

Little did you realize, Jacaerys’s heart ached with a longing as deep as the ancient woods. The thought of waiting until tomorrow to share your first kiss at the altar felt like an eternity of torment. He yearned to taste the sweetness of your lips in a moment that was uniquely yours, far from the prying eyes of the court. Perhaps that was merely seeking any excuse to close the distance between you, his heart aching to turn his longing into a cherished reality.

Regardless, Jacaerys drew closer, his hand gently releasing yours to rest upon your neck. As his thumb softly caressed your throat, a wave of memories from the past week washed over you, bringing a delicate flush to your cheeks. Despite your growing shyness, you stood still, your breath mingling with his as he leaned in. “There is something I have longed to do,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a yearning tenderness. “I need this, I need you.”

Before you could utter a word, his lips met yours in a fervent kiss, tongues entwining and teeth brushing lightly. The world around you seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sensation of his warmth and the pressing desire of the kiss you shared. You felt his fingers pressing firmly against your throat and his hand gently grasping the small cross around your neck, and you swiftly mirrored the action, drawing him closer as the kiss deepened.

Jacaerys's heart beat in unison with yours, the kiss growing more intense, and both of you felt a growing warmth as the passion heightened. Yet neither of you cared, too lost in the taste of each other's mouths to think of anything else.

When at last he pulled away, his breath was heavy, his eyes searching yours with a tender yearning that made your heart race.

“Thank you for another amazing day.” He whispered, his voice soft and full of affection, as though the words themselves were a caress. He lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, his lips lingering there, sending a shiver through you. Your breath caught, and you bit your swollen lip, every part of you longing for his touch once more.

“I can hardly wait for being completely yours,” he murmured, stepping back slowly, as though reluctant to part from you. His hand fell from yours only when necessary, and you turned toward your chamber door, heart still fluttering. As you crossed the threshold, you glanced back to see him standing there, a soft, private smile touching his lips.

You could hardly wait to be his, too.

The atmosphere was filled with warmth.

At the great table laid out for both your families, Jacaerys beheld you from across the room, his gaze alight with a tender affection. His smile conveyed the warmth and admiration he felt, as if he were savoring the very sight of you amidst the grandeur of the feast.

The vows of your union had been spoken mere hours past, and though he had already basked in the wondrous sight of you in your bridal attire, Jace could not help but be entranced by you. His eyes roamed over you, captivated by how the gown clung to your form, as if shaped by divine hands. You appeared as if sculpted by the gods themselves.

It took all of Jacaery’s self-control not to kiss you as he had the night before or to press his lips to your neck and savor the softness of your skin. He was also haunted by the countless times he had anxiously clutched that cross, now missing from both of your necks.

Yet, though the cross that once adorned both your necks was no longer present, the crown prince could not stifle his smile. The torchlight danced upon your fingers, casting a radiant gleam on the ring that now symbolized your union. It was a silent proclamation of your bond, mirrored by the way he placed his hand upon the table, a reminder that declared his heart and soul belonged to you.

Jacaerys still recalled the first time he beheld you, some three years past, on the day of his mother’s coronation. He remembered your father’s countenance darkening with displeasure as the crown was set upon his mother’s brow. Yet, more vividly, he recalled you: the timid maiden who sought to retreat from the prying gazes of the court.

He still remembered how, towards the end of the coronation feast, you had quietly slipped away to the garden. He had followed you from a distance, drawn by a curiosity he scarcely understood. From the shadows, he had observed as the moonlight cast a gentle glow upon your face. In that moment, seeing you bathe in such soft radiance, he felt his heart race with fervor he had never known before. However, he was too afraid to speak to you.

When the queen spoke of the union between you and him, Jacaerys had been taken aback too surprise to say a word, yet he was far from opposed. Indeed, his heart had nearly leapt from his chest upon learning that the bond between both of you was to be secured.

He was glad for the marriage, and from the smile his mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, bestowed upon him, he could see that she, too, was delighted by his joy.

Turning his gaze away from the gathered company, Jacaerys furrowed his brow in concern. When he looked back and found you missing from view, he felt a pang of worry. Yet his anxiety was swiftly eased when he noticed you slipping through the crowd of lords and saw the door ajar. A soft chuckle escaped him as he ignored the glances, and he followed your retreating form toward the door.

The prince followed after you, his footsteps resounding against the cold stone walls, mingling with the fading echoes of the banquet's revelry. His mind stilled when you glanced back, gifting him a playful smile that stirred something deep within him, urging him to quicken his stride. But before his hand could reach yours, you took off, lifting the delicate fabric of your wedding gown as you ran, leaving Jacaerys momentarily stunned. But it took him only a heartbeat to recover before he surged forward, chasing after you with determination.

Both of your laughs, now distant from the fading echoes of the banquet, echoed through the castle halls. As you and Jacaerys raced through the corridors, your hearts pounded and your breaths came in quick bursts, the joyous sound of your chase reverberating through the echoing stone halls.

You swiftly reached the garden, the cool night air embracing you as you stepped outside. Yet, before you could proceed to the heart of the garden, Jacaerys closed the distance, his hands gently resting on your waist. His touch sent a shiver through you, eliciting one more merry laugh from your lips.

His playful gaze met yours with a mischievous glint, and you placed your hands upon his chest, feeling his heart beat as strongly as, or perhaps even more than, your own. His breath brushed gently against your face.

“Do you intend to run from me all night long, my love?” Jacaerys inquired softly, his voice tender as he sighed deeply, feeling your chest press against his. You merely blinked, slightly surprised by his affectionate term, but a smile still blossomed on your lips.

You tilted your head gently, a faint blush rising to your cheeks, while your eyes shyly averted from his. “Perhaps I enjoy being pursued by you,” you teased, though Jacaerys saw the truth in your words.

He was certain you would be his ruin, but he was ready to embrace it willingly.

“Good for you, because I am willing to follow you everywhere you go,” he whispered softly. Your heart fluttered, and for a moment, you felt foolish for ever believing the tales your father had spun about your lord husband. In his embrace, you discovered warmth and protection unlike anything you had known before.

Jacaerys was all that your father was not: respectful, honest, a man of virtue and loyalty. For a fleeting moment, you were moved to seek forgiveness from the gods for your attempt to flee days earlier. To wed Jacaerys now seemed a divine blessing, and despite the brevity of your time together, you felt assured that the future ahead would be bright with him by your side.

You raised a hand to smooth a stray curl from his brow, feeling him lean into your touch. “I’m not sure I could ever escape you,” you said, meeting his gaze with a playful glimmer. “Even if I tried.”

Jacaerys chuckled softly. “And indeed, you made quite an effort, did you not, lady wife?” His teasing tone brought a delicate blush to your cheeks. As you lowered your hand, his laughter subsided, and he regarded you with a more subdued, yet still playful, expression. “Are you upset with me, my love?” he inquired, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You bit your lip, striving to conceal the flush of embarrassment and the laughter bubbling within you. Yet, despite your best efforts, a laugh escaped, echoing through the garden. Your husband looked upon you with wonder and delight, soon joining in your laughter.

Neither you nor Jacaerys knew how long your laughter had lasted, but when it finally subsided, he pressed his forehead to yours. A smile lingered on his lips, growing even wider as you rubbed your body against his as he gently tightened his embrace around your waist.

You could burn in that moment.

“You cannot fathom how long I have yearned for this union,” he confessed with a soft sigh. You held your breath, reluctant to disturb the moment. “You know not how deeply I wish to continue loving you,” he continued, his eyes still closed, as if he lacked the courage to speak those words while gazing into your eyes.

Your mind seemed to cloud, and your heart pounded against his chest. “Do you love me?” was all that escaped your lips. The moment the words were spoken, you felt a pang of foolishness for your sudden question.

Yet, he just chuckled a little dryly.

“If I do love you?” Jacaerys asked, his eyes opening slowly to reveal a depth of feeling that made it impossible for you to look away. “My heart is yours,” he said, his voice soft. “If you command it to still, it shall obey; if you tell it to depart, it will go. Whatever you ask of it, it shall do. Every part of me belongs to you, for you to guide as you wish.”

He paused, his gaze earnest as he searched for the right words. “To say ‘I love you’ hardly captures it; my soul is wholly and desperately yours.”

You blinked slowly, deeply touched by his words, oblivious to the almost desperate look he wore as he searched your face for any sign of doubt or hesitation.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of his confession, you leaned in and sealed your lips with his. This kiss was unlike the passionate embrace you had shared the previous night; it was imbued with a tender and soft love that transcended mere desire. It was so right, so warm, that Jacaerys felt as though he might dissolve into your embrace, just as you felt you could in his.

He could feel that you were beginning to love him, and he cherished every second of that kiss.

As you slowly withdrew from the embarace, you felt his hands once again gently encircling your throat, his thumb tenderly caressing your neck. His eyes remained fixed upon you, brimming with a love so profound that it quickened the heartbeat of anyone who beheld it.

“I desire that my soul be wholly consumed by yours,” you declared softly, watching as his eyes widened in astonishment and his grip around your throat tightened ever so slightly.

“What are you trying to say?” Jacaerys asked, though he already knew the answer. His voice was rough yet soft, and his eyes darkened as his breath quickened. "Are you certain, my love?" he inquired, even though it was clear that this was his deepest longing in that moment and had been since he first beheld you.

“Lead me to our chambers husband.” you commanded with unwavering certainty, pressing yourself closer to him as if seeking to become one.

Jacaerys leaned in to place a tender, slightly lingering kiss upon your neck, a smile gracing his lips. “What my lady wife desires,” he murmured softly against your delicate skin, “she shall have.”

And you definitely did.

2024 © do not repost or translate my work anywhere else.

tag list: @earth4angels @princessvelaryon @princessbellecerise @eldrith @astrxq @cregnstark @housetargaryenloyalist @princessbellecerise @divinesolas @hobis-hope95 @xxselenite @vee-mage @ethereal-athalia @velaryonbastard @jelloholic

likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated. 🫶🏻

#— 💭 lua works #jacaerys velaryon x reader #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon #hotd x reader #hotd #jacaerys targaryen x reader #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd imagine

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longlivechips · 7 months ago

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Orpheus and Eurydice AU

Where Merlin is given the opportunity to lead Arthur out of Avalon.

However, if he turns around and looks at Arthur before they reach the surface he forfeits their destiny and Arthur will never return.

Merlin can. He looks straight ahead. He's suffered worse than this for Arthur's sake and he won't throw it away now for a glance. He knows Arthur, he knows he will follow.

Arthur on the other hand ....

He's fresh off the betrayal of a magic reveal. He died in Merlin's arms with so much left unsaid. He follows, of course he does it's Merlin how can he not.

But he's not used to this Merlin. The Merlin that gets shit done, the Merlin that's been defending him and his kingdom for a decade. The cold, calm, ruthless man Merlin has forced himself to be for Arthur's sake.

He NEEDS Merlin to turn around. To flash him that goofy smile that lets Arthur know that despite everything Merlin is still there. His Merlin. Kind and affectionate and trustworthy. Merlin who would cry over the death of a stranger. Merlin who is always by his side.

He doesn't know the Merlin in front of him and he's scared. And maybe he begs Merlin to turn around. Fueled by grief and fear and isolation.

But Merlin doesn't. He keeps going forward.

#merlin #arthur pendragon #bbc merlin #merlin emrys #merthur

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newsbrand · 2 years ago

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Daz Dillinger x Lil Eazy E - 8Ball Sippin (Dirty Version)

The DPG veteran and the eldest son of the Late Eazy E has come together for an official audio for their collaboration titled “8Ball Sippin’” which the hook is based on an Eazy E line

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cassimothwin · 2 months ago

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Which house will be you be assigned at Brackroot Academy??? Pause or Screenshot the gif at the top to learn your destiny!

Then "Keep reading" to learn more about your house!

Brackroot Academy is part of Tangled Blessings, a magical school horror roleplaying game that uses tarot cards to uncover your fate as a student.

If you like this fun exercise, learn more about the crowdfunding campaign happening now!

Learn more about your house further below! Does it suit you?

House of Celestials

The skies borrow from the elements to paint a backdrop for life. Featuring iconography of the sun, moon, and constellations, celestials are known for their inner glow. Still, they do not shy away from the dark surrounding them, understanding that all things require balance. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: discipline, passion, or indifference. This dorm overlooks the lake.

House of Dahlias

Dahlias rely on the energy of celestial bodies for growth and endurance. As a vibrant flower, dahlias are a symbol of elegance and devotion. The plant may seem abundant, but it requires careful nurturing in the wet and cold climate of Brackroot. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: creativity, perfectionism, or obsessiveness. This dorm is connected to the greenhouse.

House of Panthers

The panther needs a garden to rest from its daily stroll, and the dahlias always supply. The panther is a symbol of grace, athletics, and agility but still elusive and rare — a fierce creature of the shadows. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: observation, punctuality, or ruthlessness. This dorm is at the edge of the forest.

House of Spires

The spires are only safe in their tower because of the panthers who keep guard. The House of Spires represents the connection blades, pens, and spirituality share. While members of this house may only show interest or aptitude in one of the represented icons, they are a full member of the spire. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: empathy, isolation, or judgment. This dorm is in the high tower.

House of Elements

Elements are the wildest of the quintet, but they maintain control with help from the spires. The elements symbolize excess and power, but together, they represent the strength of unity. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: cleverness, hunger, or negligence. This dorm is under the school, but furnished with enchanted windows that overlook the neighboring mountains.

House of None

Accessible by only walking along the edge of a bridge in the right invisible spot, students in the House of None often think of themselves as beyond reality. These thoughts only worsen the more they understand magic on cosmic and atomic scales. Students in this house are often detached, cold, and fiercely intelligent Symbols commonly associated with this house include the number zero, a black hole, a vortex, lanterns, and knots.

House of Divines

Hidden beneath the campus Chapel and graveyard, this house was annexed centuries ago for blatant misuse of dark magic. Some stories claim this house serves as the birthplace for demons and vampires. Whatever the reason for the House's former eradication, blood stains remain in the foundation. Students in this house are often vengeful, patient, and not above harming others to get what they want. Symbols commonly associated with this house include blood, fruit, teeth, bones, claws, horns.

#dark academia #solo journaling #indie ttrpg #ttrpg #tarot #gothic horror #tabletop rpg #horror #journaling #dark academia aesthetic #two-player ttrpg #kickstarter #backerkit #crowdfunding

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natsaffection · 5 months ago

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Mafias Mistress pt. 6 | N.R.

MafiaBoss!Natasha x CivilianYounger!Reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (Natasha is 32 = reader ist 22) Fingering, begging, strap on use (r receiving), rough sex, dirty talk,

Word Count: 6,8K

A/N: It’s overrr. Thank you for all the support on this story! I really liked it to write and see talk reactions on it🫱🏼‍🫲🏻 As with all my other series, requests are of course welcome for this story! 🫶🏼

The room was silent except for the gentle sounds of Natasha's movements as she carefully tended to you. The air was filled with a mixture of lingering tension and the soft light of early dusk filtering through the curtains. You lay on the bed, your body aching from the intense punishment you had received, but the warmth and care in Natasha's touch brought a sense of comfort you hadn't expected.

Natasha gently cleaned your marks, applying soothing ointments and massaging where necessary. Her movements were delicate, almost reverent, as if she was trying to ease the pain she had caused.

Your eyes fluttered open, your voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you doing all this..."

Natasha paused for a moment, her eyes filling with a mixture of regret and determination. She took a deep breath, her voice soft and firm as she considered Maria's words.

"Talk to her. Help her understand."

"I... was born into a world of chaos..." she began, "My parents were involved in organized crime, and it was only a matter of time before I got sucked in, and before that happened, I ran away... I lived on the streets for 2 years, struggling to get by. Until a powerful organization took me in and from then on I regretted my first decision. They saw potential in me, potential to be more than just a foot soldier."

She sighed, her expression pained. "They trained me to be an assassin, ruthless and efficient. They taught me how to kill, how to manipulate, and how to use every tool at my disposal, including my own body. Part of that training was.. using control and dominance to get what I wanted. It became a part of who I was, a way of surviving in a world where weakness meant death.”

You listened, your mind forming a picture of the girl Natasha had been, forced into a life of violence and manipulation.

"But I didn't want to be just another puppet for anyone, because then I might as well have stayed with my father," Natasha continued, her voice growing firmer. "I wanted more. I wanted control over my own destiny. But leaving wasn't easy. I made a plan. I began gathering information, building connections, and identifying those within the organization who were dissatisfied. It took years, but eventually I had enough support to make my move. I staged a coup. It was bloody and brutal. I had to be ruthless. There were no second chances. Those who supported me joined me, and those who didn't... didn't survive."

She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. "That night changed everything. I became the head of my own group, but it came at a cost. I lost friends, allies, people I cared about. But it was the only way to take control and build something new.”

Natasha's expression softened as she turned her gaze back to you. “I didn't want to run an organization like the others. I wanted to be different, better. I set up rules and codes of conduct. We still operated outside the law, but we had a sense of honor. We protected the weak, fought against those who exploited the weak. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than what I knew.”

She turned her gaze back to you. “And then I met you. You were different from anyone I'd ever known. You were kind, innocent, and full of life. You saw something in me that I didn't see myself. You didn't know who I was, and you treated me like a normal person. For the first time in my life, I felt something other than anger or fear. I felt...love.”

She continued, her hands now calm as she looked deep into your eyes. "I tried to keep you away from this life, to protect you from the darkness that surrounds me."

You felt tears well up in your eyes, touched by Natasha's words. "I didn't know that."

"how were you supposed to know?" Natasha looked into your eyes to see a reaction, "But you still had secrets from me," you said, your voice shaking.

Natasha nodded, her expression pained. "I know. I remember seeing you in the hangar for work. You were there, so focused and determined, and I couldn't take my eyes off you. I invited you to my house under the pretense of work, but in truth, I just wanted to be near you. I didn't just want you physically, I wanted you in every way. You were the only one I thought about, even when I was with someone else. I know that's hard to hear, but you have to understand that you changed everything for me."

She continued, her voice softening as she remembered those days. "Every time I saw you, my heart raced. You were a light in my dark world. I knew I was falling in love with you, and that scared me so much. I tried to keep my distance, but I couldn't stay away. When I finally confessed my feelings, I was terrified. I had never been so vulnerable in my life."

Natasha's face darkened with anger and fear. "And when I saw Viktor in your apartment, my heart stopped. He was sent by the former mafia to hurt you, to get to me. The moment I saw him, I knew I had to act. I couldn't let him hurt you. I would do anything to protect you, even if it meant becoming the monster I so desperately wanted to leave behind."

She took your hand and squeezed it tightly. "I know it was awful, and I'm so sorry you had to see that. But I would do it again if it meant protecting you. I love you more than anything and I can't lose you."

You felt a mix of emotions - anger, fear, sadness and love - swirling inside you. "I understand..." you said quietly, your voice full of emotion. "I understand why you did what you did. But that doesn't make it easy though."

Natasha nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry for everything, Y/N. The secrets, the punishments, the fear, the isolation, everything I've caused you. I promise I'll be honest with you from now on. No more secrets, please... I...I don't want to lose you..."

You reached out and took Natasha's hand in yours. "Okay." Natasha looked at you in surprise, a genuine smile full of hope and love. "O-Okay?"

"Yes." You looked at her with a gentle and serious look, "I'll try. But no more lies! No secrets, I want you to talk to me about everything that happens here. Both you and everyone else here."

Natasha's eyes filled with tears that she tried to suppress, she nodded frantically, "Yes...Yes, I promise you." You looked at her and saw how serious Natasha was. You nodded and Natasha got up to leave, to give you some rest. But as she wanted to turn away, she felt your hand holding hers.

Natasha understood immediately and lay down next to you. She gently pulled you into her arms and stroked your back soothingly. "Sleep now. Tomorrow will be a new day, okay?" she whispered, calming you in small, circular movements.

You sighed softly and gave in to the pleasant exhaustion that Natasha's presence brought you. Just before you fell asleep, you heard Natasha whisper softly, "You are the most important thing in my life."

But you were too tired to fully understand the words. You fell asleep in Natasha's arms, and Natasha stayed awake, her heart filled with a mixture of love and guilt, determined to do anything to regain your trust and protect you forever.

The sun shone through the large windows of the property in Spain, filling the rooms with warm light. You woke up in Natasha's arms, your bodies still close together. The closeness, the warmth and the calm of the morning made the events of the previous night seem almost like a dream.

Natasha was already awake and watching you with a gentle smile. "Good morning," she whispered, her voice soft and reassuring. You blinked sleepily and returned the smile. "morning."

After breakfast, while you were sitting together in the garden, Natasha took your hand and looked at you with a mischievous smile. "I have a surprise for you."

You raised an eyebrow and smiled curiously. "I'm afraid of your surprises..."

"I want to invite you to a ball tonight," Natasha said. "It's an important social event and I want you to be by my side." You were surprised, but also excited. "A ball? I've never been to a ball before. I don't even have anything suitable to wear."

Natasha just grinned. "Don't worry. That's already taken care of."

A little later, you were in your room and were amazed when a group of stylists arrived with a variety of beautiful dresses. The stylists, who had a wonderful sense of humor and fashion, immediately brought life into the room.

"Oh my God, darling, look at this beauty!" exclaimed one of the stylists, a tall man with perfectly styled hair, when he saw you. "She's like a canvas waiting to be painted," agreed another, a shorter man with lively eyes and a wide smile.

The stylists immediately began to attend to you. Your hair was artfully pinned up, strands carefully curled and arranged in an elegant hairstyle.

"Turn around, love," one of the stylists said, gently turning you to look at your hair from all angles. "We want to make sure you look perfect from all angles."

As they worked, they chatted happily, making you laugh over and over again. "Did you hear what happened on the red carpet last week?" asked the short stylist, telling a funny story that made everyone in the room laugh.

After the hair was done, one of the stylists brought in a selection of dresses. "We have a selection here that would make any princess jealous."

You tried on several dresses while the stylists helped you and gave you tips. Natasha watched carefully the whole time and occasionally gave her opinion. "This dress makes her eyes sparkle," Natasha said, looking at you in an emerald green dress.

"Ms. Romanoff is absolutely right," the tall stylist agreed. "But I think the blue dress would look wonderful on her too." After several fittings, you found the perfect dress - a stunning floor-length dress in a deep shade of red that perfectly accentuated your figure and made your skin glow.

"Oh my God, you look like a goddess," the short stylist said, stepping back to admire you. "Ms. Romanoff, what do you think?" Natasha had to hold back from letting her mouth drop open in admiration. "She looks incredible," Natasha said, her eyes sparkling with pride and desire.

The stylists set about perfecting your makeup. They chose subtle but effective colors that emphasized your natural beauty. "A touch of blush here and some shine there," the tall stylist murmured as he carefully applied brush strokes. "Perfect."

Meanwhile, two other stylists came over and began choosing your accessories. They chose delicate earrings and a matching bracelet that complemented the dress perfectly.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door and Maria entered. She stopped and her eyes widened in surprise and admiration. "Wow, she's beautiful.." Natasha had to smile.

The evening arrived, and you and Natasha drove to the ball in an elegant car. The magnificent estate where the ball was held was decorated with lights and flowers, and the guests wore the finest dresses and suits.

As you and Natasha entered the hall, many heads turned to look at you. Natasha, in her elegant smoking, held your hand tightly and confidently led you through the crowd.

You felt a little overwhelmed at first, but Natasha's presence calmed you down. You introduced yourselves to various high-ranking guests, and Natasha made sure you felt comfortable and included.

Back in the ballroom, you and Natasha danced to the soft music played by the live band. But suddenly an elegant woman in a black dress approached you. She had an aura of confidence and a clear aura of past intimacy.

"Natasha," the woman said, placing a hand on Natasha's arm. "It was a long time ago." Natasha turned around and immediately recognized her ex-girlfriend, Elena. "Elena," she said coolly and pulled her hand back. "What are you doing here?"

You watched the scene and felt a slight uncertainty rising. But Natasha quickly made it clear where her loyalties lay. "Y/n, this is Elena. An old... acquaintance."

Elena smiled charmingly, but her eyes flashed with curiosity. "Oh, and who is this charming woman at your side?"

"This is Y/n,” Natasha said firmly and pulled Y/N closer to her. "My partner." Elena raised an eyebrow, "Well, I see you've finally found someone who makes you happy. Good luck to you both."

Natasha nodded just a little and then turned completely to you again. "Let's keep dancing," she said and led you back to the dance floor without even looking back at Elena.

Suddenly Natasha felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. She took a quick look at it and saw that it was an urgent call. "I have to take this call," she said apologetically to you. "I'll be right back."

You nodded understandingly. "Okay, I'll go to the bathroom in the meantime." You looked at your reflection in the mirror. How did Elena convince Natasha back then? Was she just one of those girls? Or something else?

You couldn't help but let your mind wander until you felt Natasha's hands on your shoulders again. "I can see something is going on. Please don't tell me it's because of Elena." You turned around. "And what if it is? How long has it been between you?"

Natasha studied your gaze until she had to grin. "Is someone jealous?" Your eyes stayed on hers, but she could see the frown. "It was over with her years ago. Don't worry about it... I only have you on my mind." Her hands ran down your arms.

Her lips met yours in a hungry kiss, tongues mingling and swirling in an intimate dance. Your heart pounded against your chest, an artesian well coming to life inside you. Natasha slipped her hands under your dress and caressed your bare back. You couldn't help but laugh “seriously? Here?”

You leaned your head back and bared your neck, your breasts rising and falling rapidly as you gasped for air. "S-S-Shit, Natasha.."

She pushed you against the cold tiled wall, grabbing your face and lifting it up so your eyes met. She kissed you again, this time slowly and deeply, your tongues wrestling and exploring each other. The heat between you grew steadily, your breaths mingling and fueling the fire that burned within you.

Slowly, Natasha's skilled hands began to wander, moving down your front and caressing the soft fabric stretched tight over your nipples.

"I want to feel every inch of you."

You fluttered your eyes shut, your body melting into the intimate embrace. Natasha seemed to embody that very quality, her firm grip and commanding presence sending shivers down your spine.

"What do you want, baby?" Natasha asked, kissing your jaw. "Do you want me to touch you? Taste you?"

"Yes," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper, your breath catching as Natasha's fingers danced tantalizingly close to your aching breasts.

Natasha grinned, her eyes shining with desire as she traced a trail of wet kisses down your neck. Her hand finally slipped under the fabric of your bra and roughly cupped a breast.

"Oh god," you moaned, your fingers clenching in Natasha's hair as the nipple hardened under the older woman's touch.

"You're so sensitive," Natasha whispered against your flushed skin. "And I'm just getting started." She teased the sensitive tip with her thumb, drawing a helpless gasp from your lips.

Then she quickly unclasped your bra and let it fall from your body, exposing your bare breasts. Instantly, your nipples tightened even more under Natasha's heated gaze. Without a second's hesitation, Natasha leaned down and took one of your nipples into her mouth.

"Oh, f-fuck!" you cried. You couldn't believe what was happening. Every thrust of Natasha's tongue, every flick and swirl sent sparks of pure ecstasy through your veins. You moaned loudly, your hands tightening in Natasha's red hair, urging her on.

With a growl of pleasure, Natasha sucked harder on your nipple, pulling it deeper into her hot, wet mouth, then released it with a pop.

"God, you taste amazing," Natasha gasped, turning her attention to your neglected other breast. Her fingers slid down your waist, exploring the soft skin of your stomach before dipping under the waistband.

Natasha's touch was electric, and you couldn't help the tremors that shook your body as your desire grew stronger. You writhed in pleasure as Natasha expertly teased your aching tips, each tug and pull sending waves of scorching heat through you, igniting your nerve endings.

Her other hand dipped beneath the elastic of your panties and she slid her fingers through the silky auburn locks that protected your core. Her fingers penetrated deeper, sliding over your swollen, wet folds as she sought and found your weeping entrance.

Natasha's touch was masterful and she knew exactly how to control your body. She slid her skilled fingers through your dripping slit and ran a deft finger over your sensitive clit, making you buck against the wet, warm invasion.

Natasha breathed heavily and slid her fingers deeper inside you, her touch slippery as she curled her fingers and caressed that inner spot no one had discovered inside you before.

Your moans intensified, the world spun around you. She began a rhythmic, relentless pace, driving her fingers in and out of your wet heat, your bodies melding in an intimate dance, an erotic ballet of pleasure. Natasha's lips found yours, consuming your moans and whimpers in a lingering kiss.

"You like this, don't you?" Natasha asked, her words hot and labored as she broke the kiss, leaving you breathless and trembling.

You nodded, unable to find your voice.

All that escaped your lips was a hungry moan as Natasha curled her fingers into your wet folds again. With each thrust, you thought you might just fall apart, that the wave engulfing you might finally crash over you.

"Oh, how you love this," Natasha whispered in your ear, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "You're so fucking wet for this, you need it."

You gasped, unable to deny the truth of those words. Despite everything, you couldn't help but squirm and moan as Natasha continued her skillful assault. Her talented fingers moved in and out of your sweltering wet heat, rubbing at that inner spot that made you see God and stars alike.

"You know what to do," Natasha said, her breath hot against your ear. Her fingers continued their relentless assault on your quivering core.

Your mind swirled, overwhelmed by a whirlwind of pleasure. You felt yourself slipping deeper into blissful oblivion with each thrust of Natasha's talented fingers.

"Please!" you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "I... want... Please let me come!"

Natasha's lips curved into a wicked smile. "Good girl," Natasha murmured, her voice deep and sexy. Seeing your flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes, she knew she had you on the edge of arousal. She pressed firmly against your clit with her thumb and forefinger, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive you wild.

With a final flick of her wrist, Natasha slid a third finger into your wet heat, filling you completely. You gasped and arched your back, your head resting on her shoulders.

Natasha slid her other hand ne hind your back, holding you firmly against the sink as she rhythmically plunged her fingers deep into your tight channel.

Your breathing quickened, your chest rose and fell in irregular patterns as your orgasm approached a painful climax.

"Don't hold back, Detka. Let me feel you." Natasha coaxed you, her commanding tone urging you to let go. Her movements became faster, almost frantic.

"Come on. Don't fight against it. Fall apart for me." With a strangled moan, you succumbed to the delicious burst of pleasure that coursed through your body.

Legs shaking, orgasm washing over you like a flood, your nerves tingling with the sheer force of your release. Your body spasmed as wave after wave of euphoria enveloped you, each trembling contraction pushing you to the edge of a deep abyss that threatened to swallow you whole.

And Natasha watched with wild satisfaction, her fingers never trembling as she pounded relentlessly into your wet, throbbing core.

After your intense moment, Natasha helped you compose yourself. Her eyes were still full of intensity, but also of something else. "Y/n," Natasha said seriously. "There's a plane waiting for you tomorrow. It will take you back home."

You looked at Natasha confused. "W-What? Why?" Natasha took your face in her hands. "I love you. But I don't want you to be in danger. Dreykov is here in Spain and I need to take care of him. It's safer for you if you go home."

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "But you brought me here? Why should I leave now?" Natasha sighed "My team set a trap for Dreykov. He's here in Spain now and I need to make sure he's no longer a threat. I can't leave you here while that happens."

You nodded slowly, your tears streaming down your face. "But I don't want to leave you." Natasha kissed your forehead gently. "I'll come as soon as possible. I've booked an apartment for you where you'll be safe. It's only for a short time."

In the morning, you sat quietly in the car and looked out the window. The Spanish countryside rushed past you, but your thoughts were on Natasha. You felt empty and confused, not sure what the future would bring. Maria sat next to you, concentrating on the road, but she too seemed to be deep in thought.

Suddenly Maria's phone rang. You noticed the urgent expression on Maria's face as she answered the call. "Yes?" Maria said curtly.

You looked over at her curiously, and Maria quickly changed to a serious tone. "Stop the car," she suddenly said to the driver. "Right now."

You looked at her worriedly. "What's wrong?" Maria turned to you, her eyes full of determination. "Y/n, you have to stay in the apartment, am I clear?"

Y/N nodded hesitantly. "Yes, but What happened? Maria got out of the car and looked at you with a serious look. "I can't explain it to you now. Please, trust me. Stay in the apartment and wait for Natasha.”

You nodded again, although you still felt uncertain. Maria got into another car that had suddenly appeared and drove away quickly. The original car continued its journey and you looked out the window thoughtfully.

Back in your country, you entered the luxurious apartment that Natasha had booked for you. It was breathtaking. large windows offered a breathtaking view of the city, the decor was modern and elegant. But despite the beauty of the place, you felt lonely and abandoned.

You tried to call Natasha, but every time only the voicemail answered. “Hey, Natasha. Please call me as soon as you can. I'm worried,” you said into the voicemail and hung up with a sigh.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you decided to visit your best friend Sarah. When you stood in front of Sarah's door and rang the bell, it didn't take long for her to open the door. Sarah's eyes widened in surprise and relief when she saw you.

"Oh my God, Y/n!" Sarah exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug. "Where were you? I thought you'd been kidnapped or worse!"

You smiled weakly. "It's a long story. Can I come in?" Sarah pulled you into the living room and sat next to you, worried. "Tell me everything. What happened?"

You began to tell your story, leaving out the dangerous details and Natasha's criminal activities. "I met someone, Sarah. Her name is Natasha. She took me to another world, and it was... exciting and scary at the same time."

Sarah looked at you with wide eyes. "You just disappeared! We were so worried. Tell me about her if she's so important that you'll drop everything!”

You smiled and nodded. “She's... special. She always knows what she wants. She makes all my sexual fantasies come true... And she's just... perfect. This woman has no fat, no spots, everything... just gorgeous.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “And what does she do for a living?” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Her family... is very rich and they respect traditions... and stuff.”

Sarah shook her head. “You also think I'm the last pea, don't you? Truth, now.” A few minutes later, you and Sarah were sitting there with a bottle of wine. After all, you had told everything - about the death of the man in your apartment, Natasha's connection to the mafia and the reasons why Natasha had sent you back.

Sarah looked at you, shocked and worried at the same time. “That's... How are you??” You sighed deeply and took a big sip of wine. "I don't know. She showed me that she would do anything for me. But it's also scary how far she would go."

Sarah put a hand on your shoulder. "I understand now why you're so in love, but also why you're so scared. What are you going to do now?"

You looked out the window and thought for a moment. "I don't know exactly. I just have to trust that Natasha will come back and that we'll somehow find a way to get through all this."

After thinking about it for a while, Sarah leaned forward and smiled mischievously. "I have an idea. Why don't we have a real girls' day today? We'll go for a massage, to the hairdresser and to a club in the evening. What do you think?"

You hesitated for a moment, but then you nodded slowly. "That actually sounds pretty good. I could really use a distraction."

Sarah beamed. "Perfect! Let's get started."

Sarah dragged you from one place to another. First, you went to a spa where you treated yourselves to a relaxing massage. You could feel the tension in your shoulders slowly easing away and you sighed deeply in relief.

"This is heaven," you murmured as the masseuse skillfully eased your tension. After the massage, you headed to a fancy hair salon. There, you got your hair cut and styled while Sarah got a new hairstyle as well. You laughed and chatted with the stylists and enjoyed the pampering treatment.

In the evening, you dressed in fancy dresses and headed to an exclusive club that happened to be near your apartment. The club was located in a wealthy area of the city and was known for its elegant atmosphere and high-profile guests.

Sarah and you entered the club and were immediately greeted by the lively music and sparkling lights. You danced and laughed, leaving the worries of the day behind you and enjoying the moment.

Towards the end of the evening, as you were making your way back to the apartment, you noticed a man following you. He was charming and chatting to you, but you could see the underlying intentions in his eyes.

"It really was a great evening," the man said as you arrived at the entrance to your apartment. "Perhaps we could extend the evening a little longer?"

You smiled politely but firmly. "Thank you, but I think it's better if I go home now." The man didn't seem to accept that and took a step closer. "Come on, just one last drink."

Suddenly you heard a familiar, icy voice behind you. "I think she said no." You turned around and saw Natasha standing in front of you with sparkling eyes and a determined look on her face. The man backed away, startled.

"I think you should go now," Natasha said threateningly. The man didn't hesitate for long and hurried away. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked at Natasha.

Your relief quickly turned to anger. "Where were you? Why didn't you answer my calls?!"

Natasha sighed and stepped closer. "I couldn't answer the phone. I'm sorry." You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "You have no idea how worried I was. And now you just show up here like nothing happened?"

Your shoulders sank and you felt your anger slowly subside. "I was really scared, Natasha. I thought something had happened to you." Natasha pulled you into a tight hug, her voice soft and soothing. "I'm sorry for making you so worried..."

Finally, you let the tears flow freely and clung to Natasha. "Promise me you'll never make me so scared again." "I promise," Natasha whispered, holding you tightly in her arms. When the embrace broke, the two looked at each other. Natasha's face spoke volumes.

Your legs wrapped around Natasha's thighs and you forced your hips against hers. Natasha's lips curved into a smug grin before throwing you onto the bed.

With a playful glint in her eyes, she took off her shirt and tossed it aside. She leaned over you and ran her hands down your body to your waist, and with a deft flick of her hips, removed the remnants of your clothing. You lay before her in all your glory, your eyes wide with desire.

"You are so beautiful," Natasha purred, her voice deep and heavy with desire. You felt another surge of heat in your core as Natasha's eyes roamed over your naked body, lingering on every curve. Natasha hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her own pants, slowly sliding them down inch by inch, revealing her proud strap-on.

You looked up at the sight, suddenly fearless and excited. The very thought of taking something so impressive inside you was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure, but you didn't hesitate for a moment. You wanted it, no you needed it so much that you would risk your dignity just to get a glimpse of what this could offer you.

You stared at Natasha, your eyes fixed and full of desire. You nodded slowly, a silent expression of your approval. Natasha's grin widened, her eyes shining as she leaned in to whisper in your ear. "You don't know how much I've wanted this."

Her breath tickled your ear, making you shiver as Natasha's teeth gently bit into your earlobe, ripping a gasp from your lips.

"Is this what you want?" Natasha growled, framing your face with her strong hands and guiding you to look up at her with deep, mesmerizing eyes.

With a pinch of her lips and a roll of her hips, you forced Natasha to take the initiative and do what she wanted with you. Overcome by your lust, Natasha didn't hesitate - she took your mouth and pressed her lips roughly to your own. Your tongues met and mingled, your mouths opening wide as you pressed against each other, your wet bodies tangling.

You sucked in a sharp breath as the tip of Natasha's cock entered you, stretching you wide. Your legs tightened around Natasha and you gasped and moaned, unable to control yourself. Your skin felt like it was burning with pleasure, electric currents radiating from where they were, combining with an ache in your chest as she pushed further and further.

Natasha was all muscle and strength as she took your hips and lifted them up to her. Your throbbing clit was pressed against Natasha's hard pelvis, the dual sensation of penetration and friction sending an escalating wave straight to your soul and making your body tremble.

Your legs tightened around Natasha's waist, pulling her in deeper, urging her to take your body all inside her. The slick grip of your hip made Natasha moan as she plunged deeper into oblivion, sweat pouring down her brow. She was almost all the way inside you and the sight of your flushed skin and swollen lips made Natasha's heart race with desire.

"Please! Oh God, y-yes!" you screamed, your fingers digging into the bed sheets. Somehow the older woman managed to find even more energy, increasing her pace and grinding hard against your throbbing core until every last shred of her restraint was broken.

"F-fuc-k…!!!!" you begged, your body writhing and grinding against Natasha. She did not disappoint. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she pushed deeper and faster, determined to send you over the edge of pleasure.

As your body twitched and shook beneath her, Natasha gripped your ass and drove every inch of her rock-hard fake cock into your quivering hole as if she was trying to pierce the earth's core.

Without a moment's hesitation, Natasha wrapped her arms around your trembling thighs and held you tight as she moved in and out of your body like a piston at a dizzying, relentless pace. The wet, slick sounds of your bodies touching echoed through the small room, punctuated by your cries of delicious pleasure.

Fingernails scratched and clawed at flesh, your bodies contorted in Ecstasy. You clung to Natasha, your legs wrapped tightly around her waist as Natasha impaled you over and over, going deeper with each thrust.

“S-Soo..rough!! Fucki-ng..”You cried out between labored gasps, a string of throaty curses escaping your lips as Natasha worked your body raw. With each invasion of that glorious phallus, inch by delicious inch, your mind reeled.

The thickness, the length you could feel inside you, filled you with an intensity beyond pure pleasure. Every thought, every doubt vanished in the heat of your lust. All you knew was that you never wanted it to end.

Natasha was insatiable. Her body moved like an unstoppable machine, thrusting in and out of you with a passion that made you both feel like you were losing your minds in that moment of exquisite sensation. Sweat dripped from her skin at the intensity of your contact.

Her hips bucked wildly as Natasha thrust deep inside you, drawing a throaty gurgle from your half-open mouth. "Oh, fuck yes..!" She cursed, unable to hold back.

Your climax was building, your whole body shaking with the intense pleasure that threatened to overwhelm you. A sheen of sweat covered your body and your breathing became shallow and ragged as you felt the walls of your pussy tighten around Natasha's thrusting shaft.

You threw your head back, releasing a dull mixture of pain and pleasure that only made your impending orgasm more intense.

Natasha's pupils were wide as her fingers found your swollen clit, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger.

Your back arched, your moan an uncontrolled scream that echoed off the bathroom walls like a wounded animal.

"You're going to cum, aren't you?" Natasha growled, her voice dropping an octave with each word, sending shivers down your spine.

Your legs trembled and your teeth clenched like vices as you stared into Natasha's piercing eyes. Those eyes followed every breath, every gasp, every fluttering eyelid.

"I - Natasha! I'm close... so fucking c-close!" you whispered hoarsely, your bucking hips rolling in time with your partner's relentless thrusts.

Your nails left flesh-red streaks on Natasha's back, each stroke capturing your lover's primal animal essence. Intense musky scent bloomed from your wet connection, smearing your pierced skin as the steady rhythm swelled to a crescendo.

With a strangled cry, you reached the edge. Your entire body shuddered as waves of pleasure washed over you. Natasha's hand, expertly placed on your clit and synchronized with her thrusts, brought you over the edge.

Your body tensed, then convulsed as you exploded in a shudder of ecstasy. Your scream echoed off the tiles and reverberated through the bedroom.

Natasha watched with satisfaction as your orgasm ripped through you, her eyes half-lidded in lust. The animalistic quality of the woman before her had ignited something deep within her.

With one final eruption, Natasha thrust into you with an intensity even she hadn't expected. "Ah, s-shit... almost-" Her head fell back, the feeling of dominance an exquisite aphrodisiac. She thrust one last time , “Yebat (shit), I'm coming!" Natasha cursed with a low growl.

Natasha bucked violently, her body tensing, and she surrendered to the orgasm that had developed into a feverish frenzy. Her thrusts gradually slowed as she breathed in unison with you, still intimately connected to you.

With a deep mixture of pleasure and agony, she felt herself collapsing against your chest, her vision blurring as the powerful aftershocks pulsed throughout her body.

You remained fused together, trembling in the aftermath of your shared orgasm. Your mingled breaths came in short, sharp gasps.

The silence that spread after the stormy night was soothing and filled the room with calm. "Will you marry me?" she asked, her voice rough and serious. You blinked in surprise and looked at Natasha as if to make sure you heard her correctly. "Are you serious?" you asked, your voice quiet and trembling.

Natasha nodded and took your hand in hers. "Dreykov is gone. He's history." she said, looking you deep in the eyes. "I let half of my team go. I closed my last deals. The house in Spain is empty now, and we could-"

"Yes," you said quietly, then louder and more determined. "Yes, I want to marry you."

Natasha smiled, "Say that again..." Natasha said, making your heart beat faster. "I want to marry you," you whispered, pulling Natasha into a hug. You leaned into Natasha and felt the relief and joy wash over you.

Later that morning, you prepared breakfast together. You laughed and chatted, enjoying the normality and simplicity of the moment. The threat of Dreykov had disappeared, and you could finally live in peace.

Natasha continued. "... and those who are still here will take care of legal business. My last big business deal is done, and I have everything sorted out so we can live without worries."

You looked at Natasha admiringly. "You really thought of everything." Natasha nodded and smiled. "Yes, I wanted to make sure everything was perfect."

A few weeks later, you and Natasha were seen at a home decor store, choosing furniture and decorations for your home in Spain. You laughed and discussed colors and styles, Natasha letting you make many of the decisions.

"What do you think of this one?" you asked, pointing to a sleek but comfortable looking piece. Natasha smiled. "I think it's perfect."

Back at the house, construction workers were working on implementing the changes you had planned. You and Natasha walked through the rooms together, discussing the progress and enjoying the changes.

"I want you to feel as at home here as I do," Natasha said, squeezing your hand. You smiled happily. "I already do. Thank you for including me so much."

Meanwhile, Maria was seen still in charge of the security staff. She glanced at the screens and gave instructions, but her expression was calmer than before. The danger was over, and she could focus on ensuring safety in more peaceful times.

In the evening, you sat together on the terrace of your house, the sun slowly setting, bathing the surroundings in a warm, golden light. You held hands and enjoyed the silence and calm of the moment.

"I can't imagine anything better than this," you said quietly, leaning your head on Natasha's shoulder.

"Me neither," Natasha replied gently. "We got through everything, and now we can really enjoy our lives."

Your love was stronger than ever, and you knew that as long as you were together, you could overcome any challenge. The future was bright, and you looked to it with hope and confidence.

The End.

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scarlet-star-witch · 3 months ago

Note

yay... can you write one where you've heard all the nasty rumours about the Targaryens, especially how cruel they can be sometimes, but Aemond proves you wrong. He is sweet, kind, and compassionate towards you. You know he's not like that around other people, so you ask him why he acts different towards you.

Hope you like the request.

This took way too long for me write, but I hope this is what you were looking for!

Warnings: implied smut and a whole lotta fluff

WC: 3.2 K

They say the Gods flip a coin when a Targaryen is born. Greatness or madness were the destinies that followed the otherworldly family.

Closer to Gods than men, they would say. Quick to anger, that burned hotly, destroying those in its ruthless path.

That was all she knew of the Targaryen family.

It was the only warning she had before she was shipped off to King’s Landing to marry the one-eyed prince.

She knew nothing of her betrothed except for his reputation that gleamed nothing but anger and a fiercely cold nature. She didn’t want to listen to rumors, but she couldn’t help but feel apprehensive to meet the man of mystery that was Prince Aemond.

The night they first met, she had approached the table of royals, curtseying politely, her heart racing as she met the gaze of her betrothed for the first time.

She smiled, hoping to start off on the right foot, but his expression never changed, beholding her as if bored, as if unmoved by the knowledge that she would soon be his wife. His disinterest seemed to confirm every fear she had. It left her shaken, the picture of a terrified woman at the altar who could barely meet the gaze of her new husband.

The night of their wedding, she was terrified, practically trembling as he took her to bed.

She had shut her eyes and prayed for the seconds to pass quickly.

It had been awkward, stifling and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t awful. The pain was momentary and he didn’t take her like a mindless beast who only sought his own pleasure as she had been warned some men were known to act by her kind maids.

Aemond only ever had gentle touches to give her.

It was by no means the passionate love she had read about in books she hid from her mother, but she was at least grateful she bore no marks from a husband who only had anger to bestow upon her.

Over the months together, they didn’t spare many words for each other.

The Prince was polite and cordial, but their conversations never went any deeper than small talk that amounted to nothing important.

She often found herself wondering if he even tolerated her, let alone liked her, but as the weeks passed and he stayed by her side, lingering in their chambers together, joining her for walks in the garden, did she begin to soften her opinion of him, no longer fearing his presence as she had in the beginning.

Almost daily, she would spot him, his face impassive, almost hardened, but the moment he saw her his expression would lighten, a small smile growing as he approached her.

He would always greet her politely and offer her his arm.

“Tell me about your home.” He asked her out of the blue one afternoon as they lounged under the shade of the Weirwood tree.

She looked to her husband nervously, feeling exposed under his gaze that portrayed an undeniable curiosity.

“What would you like to know?”

“Anything you would like to tell me.” He answered with a smile that brought one to her own lips. “I will gladly take anything you are willing to give me.”

Her breath caught in her throat, surprised by his words, so brazen, so unlike the man she had thought him to be.

Before she could speak again, Ser Criston approached the pair and she watched as Aemond’s easy expression shifted so suddenly, his face now drawn tightly into a scowl.

“My Prince, your mother is expecting your presence in her solar.” Ser Criston reminded him.

Aemond barely spared a moment of attention to the Knight, his hand squeezing hers as if in apology for the interruption of their time together.

“She will have to wait, Ser Crsiton. I am with my wife.”

She knew that was a moment she would not soon forget, for it was the first time she felt as though her husband cared for her, the first time she realized he didn’t loathe their arrangement.

There were moments, too many to count now, when she couldn’t help but wonder if he longed to be closer as she would feel his gaze on her, seeking her out no matter where they were.

At every festivity, in the midst of crowds and countless lords pushing their way to bestow well wishes onto the royal family, it never failed that she always found Aemond’s eye, his attention focused solely on her.

Her favorite would be the moments of quiet connection in the solace of their chambers. Her eyes would wander from the book she read to land on him, barely catching a glimpse of his face before he would quickly look away from her, as if not wanting to get caught admiring his own wife.

It always left her breathless in ways she couldn’t explain, in ways she couldn’t make sense of.

Despite the slowly growing bond, she felt lonely in her new home without her family, without a great love to lean on.

Music was her only escape from the isolation. She often found herself in the grand hall, hours before the festivities were to start, dodging the servants that readied the tables, just to hear the musicians practice.

They always spotted her and, as the months dragged on, no longer looked at her in annoyance, but would smile politely and play, as if just for her, enjoying their one woman audience who seemed to hold onto every note as if it meant the world to her.

They indulged her in the many questions she asked about their music and their instruments, letting her have her moment of reprieve.

At every feast, as she sat by her husband’s side, her gaze would remain on the band, admiring their work others in the room steadfastly ignored

One night, as she took in the music with tranquility, a gentle hand lay over her own, startling her out of her daze. She looked over at her husband with wide eyes, confused yet surprised by the gesture.

“Would you like to dance?”

She froze for a moment, taken aback by his question, but finally nodded, too surprised to answer with words.

He took her hand in his, his touch soft, as if she were made of glass, as he guided her to the floor with the other dancing couples.

They faced each other and Aemond wasted no time in laying his hand on her waist, bringing her in closer to him.

She felt nerves creep through her as they danced. She could feel his eye on her as they twirled, as he brought her back into his arms, as he held her close.

Finally gaining the courage to meet his gaze, she found his eye held nothing but light, a look of contentment watching her carefully.

A flutter unfurled in her chest, a feeling she had never felt before. The way he looked at her made her cheeks heat and she could’ve sworn she saw him smile, as if he knew what he was doing to her.

She couldn’t help but wonder if his touch was supposed to make her feel so cared for, if he knew it was making her melt.

A part of her desperately hoped he did.

Aemond had been ready to write her off completely, to resign himself to the fact that he was to marry a spoiled girl who would cower at the sight of him.

He’d had enough of meeting Ladies who flinched or outright winced at the sight of him and his scar, that whispered they could never lay with, let alone marry, a man with such a deformity.

But the moment he met her, as she met his gaze with little hesitation, as she smiled his way, a gleam of hope in her eyes, did he feel as though his entire world tilted on its axis.

It wasn’t until her smile faltered, her eyes averting from his shyly that he realized he hadn’t returned her smile, had only stared back at her as if disinterested.

He had cursed to himself, close to letting Aegon smack him for being so hopeless.

He could plainly see her fear on the day of the wedding, had whispered apologies he didn’t think she heard as he took her to bed for the first time, had tried his best to assuage her nerves, yet he knew it was because of him, because of that first damned look that he ruined everything before it even began.

He longed to reach out to her, to apologize for his abysmal first impression, but he found he couldn’t muster the words, or the courage.

So he settled for admiring her from afar, entirely discontented by the distance but unsure of how to bridge it.

He spent his days with her, his mind torturously blank, no words coming to him to at least try to begin a bond with her, his sweet wife that never looked at him as though he was a deformed monster as the other ladies in the Keep had.

He had no idea how, or that he was even capable of such a connection, but he couldn’t help but feel lighter in her presence. Knowing such a sweet woman who never had a harsh word to say about anyone, especially him, left him longing to bestow every praise and sweet nothing upon her.

He never considered himself to be swayed by such romantic ideals, but whenever he was face to face with his wife, he found himself wishing he had spent more time perusing through the books of poetry in the library rather than the history tomes.

He wished he had the words to tell her how absolutely magical he found her, how her smile lit any room she was in, how he wished he could bathe in her warmth, how much he appreciated that she looked at him so differently than any other lady in the court had.

He found himself seeking her out any time he was not with her.

“Have you seen my wife?” He asked a member of the White Cloaks, becoming desperate after having no luck finding her in the gardens or with Helaena or his mother.

“There is a feast tonight. Your Lady wife is known to spend time watching the musicians practice. My best guess would be to look for her there.”

Aemond’s brows furrowed at the answer.

“The musicians?”

“Yes, my Prince. She seems quite fond of them.”

His stomach twisted at the realization there was something his wife was so obviously delighted by that he had no idea of and he quickly made his way towards the great hall, spotting, not his wife, but a group of musicians assembling their instruments.

“My Prince.” The lead conductor bowed to him politely when he noticed his presence. “I am glad to see you, we were just discussing your Lady wife and we would appreciate if you would speak to her about her presence here as we prac-”

“You will allow her to watch.” Aemond interrupted the man, looking at him sternly, as if daring the man to defy him. “You will indulge her with your practice. You will answer any question she poses and if she deems it a want, you will let her play your damn instruments.”

After his warning, he began to watch his wife, smiling to himself as he noticed the look of delight in her gaze as she watched the musicians perform.

It took weeks to build the courage, but one night as the band played and she watched with eagerness, he asked her to dance for the first time since their wedding.

That night, he had never felt so nervous as he danced with her, but he felt closer to her than ever before.

That night, she seemed to feel it too as she looked at him with a desire he had never seen from her before as they retreated to their chambers for the night.

That night, he made love to her. He touched her so softly, reveling in her beautiful moans and cries of his name. He felt as though he was a God as she felt her touch on him, as he felt the sting of her nails in his back as he thrusted into her with a desperation so unknown to him.

It was the first time they felt so connected to each other.

As they lay with each other, their hearts slowing their rhythm from their peaks, he held her in his arms, not yet ready to lose the feel of her touch just yet.

“Tell me about the music.” He asked softly.

She laughed softly, the sound like heavenly bells to his ears. The knowledge that he had even noticed her infatuation with music was enough to have butterflies unleashed within her.

“My mother used to play the harp. Apparently, when I was a babe, the sound of her harp was the only thing that could calm me down, the only thing that would stop my crying. She would always make up songs to sing me to sleep.” She explained wistfully and he listened to every word.

“Sometimes I feel as though my mind gets too loud. There are too many thoughts that are entirely unhelpful and… I don’t know, it sounds silly, but I think music is the only thing that quiets it, that brings me back down to myself when those thoughts take over.”

“It’s not silly.” He told her earnestly. “I think it’s beautiful to admire something so passionately.”

“I wish I could learn to play myself, but I don’t think I have the patience for it.”

Aemond scoffed, the sound holding nothing but disbelief.

“My sweet wife, you are the most patient person I have ever met in my life. If you can conquer me, you can conquer anything.”

“Have I conquered you?” She asked, looking up at him with a playful challenge, to which he smiled.

“You certainly have.”

She smiled and leaned in closer to his touch, finally feeling as though they were on the same wavelength.

By the next morning, Aemond was gone before she woke.

Her maids helped her get dressed for the morning and they couldn’t help but notice the lovesick smile that adorned her lips.

“You seem quite happy this morning, my Lady.”

She blushed and bowed her head bashfully.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the Prince, would it?” Her maid teased, the group of them laughing as their Lady swatted their hands playfully.

“I have never seen Prince Aemond so smitten before.” One of the younger maids commented. “You seem to have him under a spell, my Lady. I don’t think I had ever seen him smile until you came around.”

“Oh yes, he was always so surly. I was terrified to even pass him in the halls.” They continued as if she were no longer there, not noticing the surprise on her face as they spoke of her husband. “He seems like a different person. He is nothing but a lovesick fool now.”

She felt as though her heart would burst as she listened to their words.

Only a few minutes later, as she was dressed, did her husband return. His smile faltered at the sight of her maids and he seemed to retreat into himself, his cool demeanor shifting into one of discomfort, his body rigid, his nod of acknowledgement stiff.

Her maids giggled to themselves and bid her goodbye before leaving.

Only then did Aemond relax once again, his expression now nothing but one of love as he approached her.

“I have something for you.”

She raised a brow in question as he took a seat next to her.

He then handed her a stack of papers. She didn’t recognize what they were at first, her eyes flitting over the markings over the page, before it suddenly dawned on her.

It was sheet music.

“You said you wished to learn.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. She was stunned to silence, his gesture, so thoughtful, had her floored.

“This is… I don’t know what to say.” She spoke quietly. She looked to her husband and felt so unprepared for the love she would feel for him, in disbelief that the man she had been terrified to marry could make her feel this way.

“What is it?” Aemond asked worriedly, watching as her expression became one of thoughtful contemplation, suddenly fearing he had overstepped in some way.

“Why me?”

The question caught him off guard and his frown deepened, his heart beginning to race as doubt crept through him.

“What do you mean?”

“You do not act this way with anyone else. The maids were practically terrified of you before. You never smile with anyone but me. I don’t understand what is so special about me to have a place in your heart.”

The insecurities came spilling out before she could stop them, leaving her feeling more exposed than she intended and suddenly wishing the ground would swallow her whole.

Aemond’s face shifted, his eye looking at her with a mix of disbelief and sadness. He leaned in close to her, his hand reaching out to cradle her jaw.

“You cannot truly mean that.” He whispered, as if his words had physically hurt him. “Do you really not see how easily you have carved yourself into my heart?”

She didn’t have an answer and merely looked stunned by his words.

He let out a long breath and hesitated, his teeth worrying his bottom lip for a moment before his hand reached out and slowly took his eyepatch off.

She felt as though her breath was stolen from her as she saw the sparkling sapphire in place of his eye.

He watched her carefully and as he saw only awe in her gaze, did he feel as though he could melt into nothing.

He smiled and took her hand, guiding her to the scarred side of his face, laying her palm against his skin.

“I was ridiculed my entire life, looked at as if I were a monster because of what was taken from me the night I claimed Vhagar.” He told her, almost shuddering under her touch as her thumb grazed the edge of his scar.

“You have never once looked at me as though I was less, or that my scar made me someone unlovable.”

Her gaze met his and she was floored by the genuine reverence with which he looked at her.

“That night, I was kicking myself for not returning your smile, but I…” He paused, letting out a small, bashful laugh. “I was too in awe of you to do anything but stare like a fool.”

“You don’t understand what is so special about yourself?” He repeated, a tone of derision in his voice as if it disgusted him to even speak the words aloud. “Darling, you had me bewitched from the very first moment I saw you.”

She let out a laugh, her eyes beginning to brim with tears, his words wrapping around her like the warm embrace of a lover.

He leaned in, his nose brushing against hers.

“I am truly sorry I made you feel as though there was any doubt. I’ll have to try harder to make you realize you are the most special being in this entire castle.”

Her laugh was cut off as he crashed his lips to hers, kissing her with the ferocity of a dragon in love.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #aemond targaryen fanfic

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cynic-spirit · 3 months ago

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Dragonsoul

aemond x reader

fluff pining, longing waiting

In a world where finding your soulmate is as simple as passing them on the street, the black thread tattooed on everyone’s wrist serves as a constant reminder of what could be. When the thread turns gold, it means you’ve found the one person destined to be yours. Most people don’t have to wait long—weeks, months at most—before their tattoo changes, leading them to a love that will last a lifetime.

But in the shadowy alleys of King’s Landing, where power and fear walk hand in hand, there's a man whose thread has never changed. Aemond Targaryen, a name that sends shivers down the spine of even the most hardened criminals, bears the same small black thread on his wrist as everyone else. Yet, for as long as anyone can remember, it has remained as black as the night.

Aemond is no ordinary man. He rules the underworld with an iron fist, his name whispered in hushed tones by those who dare to cross him. Tall, with the signature silver hair of his house and a single sapphire eye that misses nothing, he is as feared as he is respected. His other eye, covered by a black leather patch, is a reminder of the battles he’s fought and won.

People say that Aemond’s thread will never turn gold, that he’s too cold, too ruthless for love. He scoffs at the idea, dismissing it as a weakness he cannot afford. Love, in his world, is just another weapon to be used, another way to manipulate and control.

His siblings, Aegon and Helaena, have both found their soulmates. He remembers the day his brother’s thread turned gold, Aegon’s cocky grin spreading even wider as he flaunted his newfound bond. Helaena’s thread changed not long after, a quiet, serene smile gracing her lips as she met the person fate had chosen for her. They both had their destinies laid out before them, their golden threads a constant reminder of the love they had found.

But Aemond? His thread remains unchanged, stubbornly black, as if it knows something he doesn’t.

It’s easy to tell himself he doesn’t care. Aemond indulges in his work—crime, training, and the endless tasks of maintaining control over his empire. There’s always another rival to crush, another deal to broker, another lesson to teach his men. In the quiet moments, when the city sleeps and he’s left alone with his thoughts, he reminds himself that he doesn’t need or care for a soulmate. His power is all that matters; love would only be a distraction.

He convinces himself that the ache he sometimes feels is nothing more than a passing weakness. That he’s better off alone, unburdened by the complexities and vulnerabilities that come with finding a soulmate.

So Aemond throws himself deeper into his work, his every waking moment consumed by the pursuit of control and power. He trains harder, fights fiercer, and builds his empire brick by brick. Every night, he walks the streets of King’s Landing, overseeing his domain, his cold eyes missing nothing. The black thread on his wrist remains, a silent testament to the life he’s chosen.

But in the darkest corners of his mind, where even he doesn’t dare to tread too often, Aemond wonders if his thread will ever change. And if, perhaps, it does, what it will mean for the man he’s become.

Aegon leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at Aemond. "You know, little brother, it’s almost amusing that you’re still running around with that black thread. The most feared man in King’s Landing, and yet... no soulmate. What’s the matter? Scaring them all off?"

Aemond didn’t even look up from the map he was studying, his voice calm, measured. "I don’t need a soulmate, Aegon. And even if I do find her, I’ll reject her."

Aegon chuckled, shaking his head. "You say that now, but just wait until that thread turns gold. You’ll be just as—"

Aemond cut him off, his eye finally meeting Aegon’s with a cold intensity. "It won’t. And even if it does, she’ll mean nothing to me."

The finality in his tone silenced Aegon, the room falling into an uneasy quiet.

Aegon raised an eyebrow at Aemond’s response but decided to let it slide. He leaned forward, changing the subject. "Speaking of things that mean nothing to you," he began with a grin, "there’s a party tonight. Big affair—Targaryens are hosting it. Almost 500 people, all the major players in the city, and some from beyond. Strictly business, of course, but it should be... entertaining."

Aemond’s expression remained impassive as he folded up the map. "And you’re telling me this because...?"

Aegon chuckled. "Because, little brother, it’s expected of you. You know how these things work—show your face, shake a few hands, remind everyone why they fear you."

Aemond sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Fine. But don’t expect me to stay long."

Aegon shrugged, still grinning. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Aemond stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his all-black suit. The fabric was immaculate, tailored to perfection, every line sharp and precise. Black was the only color he wore, the only one he owned. It suited him—uncompromising, severe, just like the reputation he had carefully cultivated over the years.

He reached for his cuff buttons, his gaze flicking to the small black thread tattooed on his wrist. It was a habit he couldn’t seem to break, even though it had never changed, never given him any reason to hope. The thread was as black as the suit he wore, a permanent reminder of what he didn’t have and had convinced himself he didn’t need.

Aemond’s fingers lingered over the thread for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Maybe I don’t deserve love,” he thought, the words cold and unbidden in his mind. He quickly dismissed the thought, fastening the cuff buttons with practiced precision. Love was a luxury, a distraction. He had other things to concern himself with—like the party he was about to attend, a gathering of the city’s most powerful players, all there to solidify their alliances under the Targaryen name.

He straightened his jacket, giving his reflection one last glance before turning away. The party didn’t matter to him, but his presence did. It was a necessary part of the game he played, the world he controlled.

Without another thought, Aemond left the room, his steps measured and deliberate, ready to face the night and the role he played so well.

The grand ballroom of the Targaryen estate was alive with the buzz of conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the opulent room, where nearly 500 of the city’s elite mingled, making deals and forging alliances under the guise of celebration. Aemond moved through the crowd with practiced ease, his every movement purposeful and controlled.

Aegon was in his element, charming guests with effortless charisma, his golden thread plainly visible on his wrist as he exchanged pleasantries and flirtations. Aemond, on the other hand, gave the crowd the bare minimum of his attention, offering a polite nod here, a brief conversation there. Women, drawn to his aura of power and danger, flocked to him, their gazes lingering, their touches bold. They threw themselves at him with obvious intent, hoping to catch the eye of the infamous Aemond Targaryen.

But Aemond’s responses were distant, his interest almost nonexistent. He was polite, detached, offering them just enough attention to be courteous but never more. His mind was elsewhere, focused on the business side of the evening, on the faces of potential threats and allies.

As the hours passed, the night seemed like any other—a routine, a necessary part of his life. Until suddenly, it wasn’t.

Aemond felt a strange sensation creeping into his chest. His heartbeat, usually steady and controlled, began to quicken, pounding erratically in a way that he couldn’t ignore. The sudden intensity made his breath catch, and his hand instinctively moved to his wrist.

The tattoo—it was burning.

Aemond’s eyes widened, a flash of shock and confusion crossing his face for the briefest of moments. He clenched his fist, trying to focus, but the sensation only grew stronger, more insistent. The burning under his skin became almost unbearable, and for the first time in years, Aemond felt genuinely off balance.

He quickly excused himself from the woman he had been barely listening to, his voice calm despite the turmoil inside him. “Apologies, I need a moment,” he said, his tone clipped but polite.

Without waiting for a response, Aemond turned on his heel and made his way through the crowd, his steps brisk as he headed toward the restroom. The sensation in his wrist was intensifying with every step, the burning now almost searing, as if his body was reacting to something—or someone—in the room.

He pushed open the door to the restroom and quickly locked it behind him. The mirror in front of him reflected his composed exterior, but inside, he was anything but. His chest tightened as he looked down at his wrist, dreading what he might see.

For a moment, he hesitated, his breath coming in shallow bursts. The room was quiet, the noise of the party muffled behind the closed door. Aemond swallowed hard, then slowly rolled up his sleeve, his heart pounding in his ears.

What he saw made his breath hitch in his throat.

The black thread on his wrist was no longer just black. It was shifting, shimmering as if something deep within it was coming to life. The darkness that had always defined it was fading, giving way to something... brighter.

Aemond stared in disbelief, his mind racing as he tried to process what was happening. The burn, the erratic heartbeat—everything suddenly made sense, and yet, it was the one thing he had convinced himself would never happen.

His thread was changing.

Y/N stood backstage, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and anxiety. As a professional pianist and music teacher, she had performed countless times, yet tonight felt different. The Targaryen party promised an audience of the city’s elite, and the stakes felt higher than ever.

Her long black hair flowed down her back, framing her face as she adjusted the collar of her elegant dress. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter of nerves in her stomach. The murmurs of conversation and laughter filtered through the walls, but all she could think about was the weight of the crowd’s gaze.

When the time came, Y/N stepped onto the stage, the grand piano gleaming under the soft lights. She faced the instrument, avoiding eye contact with the audience, and placed her fingers above the keys. The fear of scrutiny loomed large, but she was determined to lose herself in the music.

As she began to play, the rich, melodic strains filled the air, weaving through the chatter. The haunting beauty of the piece captivated the audience, drawing them in as Y/N allowed the music to envelop her. Each note flowed effortlessly from her fingertips, yet her heart raced with the fear of being watched.

Then, just as she lost herself in the performance, she noticed a flicker of gold at her wrist. The black thread tattoo that had always defined her began to shimmer, transforming into a radiant golden hue. Her breath caught in her throat as realization washed over her—her soulmate was near.

But before she could turn her gaze to find him, a loud shout broke through the melody. “Get away, you freeloaders! The party’s over!” Aegon’s drunken voice rang out, followed by the sharp crack of gunfire as he shot into the ceiling.

Panic rippled through the crowd, and Y/N's heart dropped. The music faltered for just a moment as startled guests turned toward the chaos, their eyes wide with fear. In that instant, the golden glow of her thread dimmed against the backdrop of confusion and disorder, the connection slipping away before she could grasp it.

Her pulse quickened, and she instinctively looked down, the brilliance of her thread overshadowed by the chaos erupting around her. The moment of potential connection vanished, leaving her standing alone on stage, the applause fading into distant murmurs as she struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

Aemond stood frozen, staring at the golden thread on his wrist, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he could barely contain. For a few moments, all he could do was try to steady his breathing, grappling with the realization that had just hit him like a bolt of lightning.

His soulmate was here, at the party.

The truth of it washed over him in waves. She was close—close enough for his thread to change, close enough to alter the course of everything he thought he knew about himself.

“Who is she?” he thought, the question burning in his mind. He needed to find her, to see the face of the one who had unknowingly changed his fate. His pulse quickened again, this time with urgency, as his eyes darted to the door. It was just 500 people, right? He could find her, he would find her. He’d turn over every stone, every guest, if he had to. The cold calculation that had guided him all his life kicked in, and he knew that he would not rest until he identified her.

But just as he reached for the door, ready to step back into the crowded ballroom, he heard a noise outside. It was faint at first, but unmistakable—a muffled shout, followed by the sound of something crashing to the floor.

Aemond’s hand hovered over the doorknob, his instincts shifting from the desperate need to find his soulmate to assessing this new potential threat. The noise came again, louder this time, accompanied by hurried footsteps and the murmur of raised voices.

His mind snapped back into the mode that had served him so well for years—alert, calculating, and prepared for anything. Whatever was happening out there, it wasn’t part of the evening’s planned events. Aemond knew better than to ignore disturbances, especially in a place that was supposed to be under his family’s control.

He took a deep breath, pushing the rush of emotions aside, focusing instead on the immediate task at hand. He needed to know what was going on, to assess the situation before it spiraled out of control. The search for his soulmate would have to wait—at least for now.

With a swift motion, Aemond opened the door and stepped into the hallway, his eyes scanning the corridor for the source of the commotion. The noise was coming from just around the corner, near the entrance to the ballroom. He could hear more clearly now—raised voices, the unmistakable edge of panic creeping into the tone of the guests.

Aemond’s jaw tightened, the golden thread still gleaming on his wrist as he moved toward the sound. Whatever was happening, it couldn’t be good. And it seemed that, for the moment at least, the mystery of his soulmate would have to remain unsolved.

As Aemond stepped into the main area of the party, the scene that greeted him was chaotic. Guests were hastily leaving, their faces painted with a mix of shock and confusion. The atmosphere that had once been lively and filled with laughter was now charged with panic.

In the center of it all stood Aegon, clearly drunk, a wild grin plastered on his face as he brandished a gun, shooting it toward the ceiling. “Get away, you freeloaders! The party’s over!” he shouted, laughter mingling with the chaos.

Aemond’s heart raced, and he sprang into action, his instincts kicking in. “Aegon!” he called, his voice sharp and authoritative, cutting through the commotion. “Put that down before someone gets hurt!”

But Aegon, in his drunken haze, seemed oblivious to the danger. Aemond pushed through the throngs of fleeing guests, his mind racing as he assessed the situation. Half the guests had already left, their hurried exits echoing the urgency in Aemond’s chest.

He closed the distance to Aegon, his expression hardening with determination. “You need to stop this right now!” Aemond shouted, trying to get his brother’s attention.

Aegon looked at him, still grinning, but Aemond could see the flicker of mischief fading. “Oh, come on, Aemond! Just having a little fun!” he slurred, waving the gun around carelessly.

Aemond felt a surge of frustration. “This isn’t fun; it’s reckless!” He lunged forward, grabbing Aegon’s arm and forcing the gun down. “You’re ruining everything!”

In the chaos, Aemond’s wrist brushed against his suit, and he instinctively peeked at his tattoo. His heart dropped. The golden shimmer was gone, replaced once again by the familiar black. The warmth and connection he had felt moments ago had vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving only a hollow ache in its place.

“Aemond?” Aegon’s voice broke through his thoughts, the drunken haze giving way to confusion. “What’s wrong?”

The weight of the moment settled heavily on Aemond’s shoulders as he looked around at the disorder. He had been so close—so close to discovering his soulmate, to understanding what it meant to feel this new connection. But now, as the last remnants of the party unraveled, he felt the threads of fate slip through his fingers like sand.

“Just... stay out of trouble,” Aemond said, his tone clipped as he forced himself to refocus. He had to regain control of the situation. He glanced back at the dwindling crowd, noting the last few guests who lingered, unsure of what to do next.

With a resolute breath, Aemond stepped back into the fray, ready to salvage what he could of the night.

As Y/N stood at the piano, the chaos of the party unfolded around her. She caught a glimpse of Aemond Targaryen through the throng of guests, emerging from the restroom, his expression dark and determined. He moved swiftly toward Aegon, who was still brandishing his gun and shouting.

A rush of anxiety flooded through her. What would happen next? The tension in the air was palpable, and Y/N felt a cold sweat on her brow. She could see Aemond’s outstretched hand, his brow furrowed with intensity, and she knew he was about to intervene.

But the thought of the confrontation made her heart race with fear. Aemond’s fierce demeanor, mixed with Aegon’s reckless behavior, created an atmosphere that was volatile, and she couldn’t bear to witness what might unfold.

With a shaky breath, Y/N made a decision. She couldn’t stay here any longer, caught in the tension of the moment, so she slipped away from backstage. As she moved, she avoided making eye contact with anyone, feeling the weight of their gazes on her, and the fear of being drawn into the chaos overwhelmed her.

The music faded behind her as she hurried out of the room, the sounds of shouting and gunfire echoing faintly in her ears. The allure of the golden thread, the connection she had felt just moments ago, was overshadowed by the turmoil that had erupted around her. All she could think about was escaping the madness, leaving the uncertainty of the night behind.

As she stepped outside into the cool air, she felt a mixture of relief and regret wash over her. The opportunity had slipped through her fingers, lost in the chaos of the party, and now she could only hope that whatever happened inside would resolve itself without further violence.

The morning light streamed through Aemond’s window, casting a warm glow across the room. He sat on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on the small black thread tattooed on his wrist. It was unchanged, the familiar darkness mocking him with its permanence.

He couldn’t shake the memory of the previous night—the fleeting moment when the thread had shimmered gold, the realization that his soulmate was near. It had felt like a revelation, an awakening, but Aegon’s reckless antics had shattered everything before he could grasp it.

“Damn it, Aegon,” Aemond thought bitterly, frustration bubbling within him. “You couldn’t just behave for one night? Was it too much to ask to let me have this moment?”

He felt anger course through him, fueled by the knowledge that his brother’s stupidity had cost him something precious. “You’re such an idiot. Do you even realize what you’ve done? You had to go and play the fool, waving a gun around like a child! Do you think this is a game?”

Aemond clenched his jaw, recalling the chaos Aegon had wrought, how quickly the atmosphere had shifted from anticipation to panic. “You’ve ruined everything. You had your fun at my expense, and now I’m stuck here, still waiting.”

The thread on his wrist, once a symbol of the potential for love and connection, now felt like a chain binding him to his frustration. “How could you be so careless? You’re supposed to be my brother, not my downfall.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he tried to focus. “So close yet so far,” he mused, longing filling his chest. “If only you could keep your mouth shut for five minutes. I could have found her. I could have finally understood what it meant to feel whole.”

Aemond glared at the thread, wishing for it to transform again, to be the golden mark of his soulmate that would signify a future he desperately craved. But now it remained black, just as it always had, a reminder of the connection he’d nearly grasped but had been cruelly denied.

“Next time,” he thought fiercely, “I’ll be ready. I won’t let you ruin this for me again.” He vowed silently, determination sparking within him. The world felt heavy on his shoulders, but he knew he wouldn’t give up. He would find her. One way or another, he would make it happen.

part 2

LIKE AND REBLOG PLEASE <3. ITS MY FIRST FIC MOBSTER AEMOND!!

Let me know if I should continue this 🌼

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond x soulmate #aemond targaryen soulmate #mob au #modern aemond #modern aemond targaryen #modern aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n

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pmamtraveller · 3 months ago

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VALKYRIE /1915/ by EDWARD ROBERT HUGHES

The Valkyrie is a mythological Norse warrior-maiden in the Scandinavian sagas. She was said to select those who may die or live during battle. In fact, "Valkyrie" literally means "chooser of the slain," and those chosen will fight with Odin in Ragnarök. Hughes's interpretation, therefore, associates itself with themes of fate or destiny.

She holds her helmet tucked under her arm, with her sword held by the ricasso, a moment of pause rather than battle. This brings out her reflective nature. Light from above, soft and diffused, illuminates her in a dreamy way that heightens the mystic feel. She is also barefoot, illustrating her connection with the earth and nature.

It is in the qualities of great attention to detail, coupled with an ornate, almost medieval touch, that one sees the strong influencers of Hughes. The rich texturing and overall color palette is warm and inviting, full of deep blues and subtle golds, which invoke a sense of tranquillity and reverie.

This concept is opposite to that of a Valkyrie, who could be imagined to be a ruthless character associated with death and battle. Here in Hughes's work, she is more of a guardian character who gives this work the vulnerability and emotion it needs. The absence of a wolf or raven, symbols of war, goes on to underline this softer interpretation further, letting viewers delve deep into the depths of her character beyond a warrior.

#valkyrie #edward robert hughes #pre raphaelism

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madwomansapologist · 4 months ago

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one look and you knew | shan yu x fem!reader

for shan yu, you are his destiny. for you, he is the man that kidnapped you. love at first sight is a tale as old as time. he just didn't expect you wouldn't believe in it.

cw: love at first sight. meet cute. public nudity. accidental voyeurism. murder couple in the making. yandere. kidnapping. shan "i'll make you my empress" yu x fem!reader "what's your name?". in this house we hate the misogynist version of Shan Yu in Mulan (2020).

an: rip moon you would've loved hearing nu metal while doing the dishes. also my favorite dinamic is war criminal x someone that would have the time of their live being a nun.

The wind howled against his ears. Trees spoke in their ancient language. Silently, the world continue to move. Harmonic in its apparent chaos, carefully built even in its broken pieces, the world continued to be.

It was quiet there. Not maddening as the silence of soldiers well aware of their wrongdoings. Not numb as the moment right before a battle. Not debilitating as his sleepless, lonely midnights.

It was quiet there in the mountains, but not still. The world wasn't holding its breath, muscles clenching in tension or fear. It was what it has always been: uncaring, an indiferent witness to mankind.

Man can die, man can kill. The wind will keep on howling either way.

Marching forward in the monster's belly, he thought. A battle against time. An unstoppable war against the inevitable end.

Stupidly feverish, Shan Yu then admitted to himself. He ignored as his body plead for rest, instead riding his horse away from comfort. Shan Yu is the one to blame for his boiling mind and those irrational, melancolic thoughts.

Following an old path hidden by trees, Shan Yu travelled deeper into the mountains. The cut on his forearm throbbed. It would need new bandages, he could feel the blood drying against his sore skin.

Still, Shan Yu chose the ruthlessness of the mountain and whispers of a tired mind rather than the bought hospitality of an warm inn. More so, he chose silence over chaos.

He needed to think. To plan.

His armies invaded China. Battle after battle, they were always victorious. Now they understand this place. His generals trained soldiers with new formations that fit this land better. But real victory isn't as near as Shan Yu would want to.

His army is at disadvantage. They are in the enemy's territory. They are the ones moving forward instead of defending what they already own. They are the ones making arrangements with villages because a war this long means more food, more water, more time.

Shan Yu left his army behind, allowing them to celebrate. It was a good deal with the village's leader, whom only desire was to keep his people safe. He need his man confident, excited with the prospects of war. Let the alcohol soothe their minds, they earned it.

Alone, facing the place he must conquer, Shan Yu could deal with the stratagems. Challenged, he must find a way to humiliate the Emperor. To make even his own people turn their backs on him.

A sneeze made the strategist give place to the warrior.

The horse stopped with the pressure of his feet. Still as stone, Shan Yu searched for the source of it. He wasn't being followed. That he knows. This can't be a trap. At least not a good one.

He jumped to the ground, hand already searching for his jagged jian. He stopped at the handle, not wanting the steel to reflect light and warn his enemy. It was time to hunt.

Following his instincts, he wandered between the trees. His feet were light on the ground. This threat won't be able to gasp before he attacks.

He found a river bank surrounded by stones. No signs of an ambush. He couldn't smell anything strange in the air, only the... No. Shan Yu stopped moving. He felt something sweet. A strong perfume in the air.

Shan Yu glared at the river, now unsure of what he was looking for. Maybe it wasn't a trap. After all, that's not an important village. No soldiers or officers live here. Maybe this old hidden path isn't as old or as hidden as he thought. Maybe he's hunting something that simply isn't aware of him.

Then he noticed. Clothes folded in the river bank, a towel spread on a stonr, a basket half-filled with shells and stones.

Deep into the river, your fingers brushed against a shell. You grabbed it, and checked if anything lived inside of it yet. It was a few inches bigger than your hand, and in a beautiful shade of green.

A cold breeze welcomed you to the surface. You took a deep breath, shaking your head and getting the water away from your eyes. Your face felt like it was burning, but you know the cold was causing it.

You cleaned the shell, brushing your fingers against the mud stucked inside it. It really was a beautiful shade of green. Brighter than you could see underwater.

Absolutely perfect for your collection. All other green shells you've ever found had crustaceans living inside of them, and you would never leave them without a home. This one will make it all even more special.

You laughed to youself, observing all its details. You continued to explore the surface, crossing the river a few more times. You knew it like the palm of your hand. Maybe even better than your own bedroom.

You can be bored, overwhelmed, exhausted: this place solves it easily. Its silence involves your brain, and its water washes over the very fabric of your soul. You can feel it. The knots coming lose, the tissue shining, each thread becoming softer.

Shan Yu released the handle of his jian when you emerged, froze in place as his eyes followed your every movement. As if cursed, his body wasn't his to control anymore. Immovable muscles, unstoppable heart. His worries were shut down, any hardship simply erased from his usually sharp memory.

Moonlight blinded him for an instant. No, it was you. Your light was that bright. Was he seeing your soul? Brighter than the moon, as enebriating as barley, more soothing than popy.

Your light casts no shadow.

Were you a witch? A sorceress dominating his body and mind, sinking Shan Yu into a trance he would never want to get out of. Or were you a siren? Luring him into the water, waiting for the perfect chance to bite his heart out of his chest.

He can't believe you're any of those. None could be half as beautiful as you. A nymph. Only that could explain your beauty.

He admire you. The old scar on your knees, stretch marks on your waist, freckles on your back. The way your eyes shone as you collected your shells, how your body moved as if the water wasn't an obstacle but a path made for you to follow.

It was so cold, but that didn't stopped you from doing what you wanted. It takes a certain hunger to do something you desire despite the world around you. For now, deep into the mountains, you were free.

Your laugh made him forget about everything. That sound was deserving of a thousand praises. People should dedicate their lifes for the chance of witnessing you blossoming.

A small price for such a great gift.

But you sneezed, and that woke up Shan Yu from his trance. He was reminded of where he was and who he is. Of how cold it was. Shan Yu looked at your clothes again. Such a light tissue would never fully protect you. Unlike his fur.

Unlike him.

With a storm for a heart, Shan Yu approached. Glaring at your back, he purposely stepped on a branch.

Part of you hoped to be surprised by an animal, but you knew someone was standing behind you. You couldn't see who was there, but you knew someone not looking for trouble wouldn't be there.

It's fair ground then.

"If you want to approach me, do it", you whispered. You didn't need to be any louder to be heard. Your fingers clenched around the shell you were studying, aware the only thing stopping it from being a weapon was your intent. "But I am not fazed by blood."

A chuckled was heard. A man, of course it was. What surprised you was to hear him walking away.

You turned around, but all you saw was the stranger's back as he dissapeared among the trees. Folded over your clothes, you found a wolf fur coat. You hesitate before brushing your wet fingers against it. It was so warm and soft.

Warm, soft and real.

You were quick to get out of the river, drying yourself with a towel. You put on your clothes, took the basket and ran towards the old path you made sure to hide with stones. Apparently not everyone was deceived by it.

A scream came out of your throat as you bumped into someone. Your basket fell on the ground as a familiar hand squeezed your shoulder.

"Mom", you whispered. You blinked, trying to stop yourself from feeling... whatever it was that you were feeling. You gave her your brightest smile, kneeling down to grab all your things. "I know it's late, I was already heading back home."

That earned you a hiss. You did your best to hold the smile. "You're trembling", she said. "I've warned you. You'll get sick."

"I won't", you said. "I promise."

She bit back a smile. So calm, so full of certain. Making promises you can't possibly keep, and somehow keeping them anyway.

"You better", she took the basket from your hand, looking at your new findings. "Your father already has enough patients as it is."

Going back home was always the worst part, but even there you could feel the cage closing around you. One thing is to be alone at the river, other to be lonely at your home. There nothing can distract you from thinking until your mind is far away from this village.

Instead of walking forward, you glanced back.

Part of you knew he would be there. Like a ghost at the corner of your eyes. It still chocked you to see his sillhouet there, a blurr in the darkness, right where you left the coat.

Now, you were the one observing him. Trying to understand him. Had he stayed there, hidden somewhere to observe you after his gift? Or did he heard your scream, and only then decided to come back?

You forced yourself to move away. Your mother could never see him. It would be the end of your free evenings if she ever discovered you were naked, futhermore if she even dreamed a man was near.

Unaware of your curious gaze, Shan Yu brushed the mark of your wet fingers on his coat. It got your attention, earned your touch, gained the sweet perfume of your skin. It was a gift, and one you so politely declined.

As if a saint would ever accept anything coming from a conqueror. "Now that is a challenge."

Back at the inn, Shan Yu was a new man. Maybe it was your laugh. Perhaps your freedom. Now, Shan Yu wasn't worrying anymore.

He already knew what to do.

⋆✦⋆

A scream woke you up.

You pulled the blanket away from your sweaty body, hands trembling as you moved. Surrounded by darkness, your heart beating so loud you could feel it twitching on your ears, you sat on the bed and faced the darkness surrounding you.

A nightmare. Squeezing the fabric of your nightgown, you tried to force yourself to calm down. Don't allow it to consume you, you thought. Be good, be quiet.

They were gone for a while now. It's been a few weeks since you last woke up at midnight, silence devouring you alive, searching for a comfort that just wasn't there. After a lifetime of nights filled with terror, you saw the anesthetized sleep as a good omen.

Should you see this night as a bad one?

Part of you hoped to be proven wrong. With your fingers brushing against your lips, you wonded if you really screamed in your sleep. In worse nights, worse times, you would wake up to your father holding you down. He isn't there, your house is silent.

Everything is fine.

But hope is a treacherous thing. So easily it lift you up to your feet, so quickly it shoves you down on the ground again.

Of course you father isn't holding you down. Of course your house is silent. Of course you feel alone. It's because you are.

A messenger came a few hours ago. Someone was injured. If they didn't bring the girl there, the reason was obvious: it was so bad they were afraid to move her. And if your parents aren't home already, then it is worse than you have imagined.

You hugged yourself. You know that being alone in that house is the first step for your mind to break you. You would start to think about this place, about your old home, and soon your mind would worry about the place you need to go when he is back.

If he comes back. After this war is over, will you have a husband you despise or a funeral to attend? A husband you dislike is easy to deal with, specialy if he comes back sick and tired. To find another one is worse: they might chose one you hate.

Steps made you stop worrying. Your heard the gate swing open, and that made you walk barefeet to the entrance of your home. Brushing your eyes, you noticed a shadow getting closer to the main door. They're home now.

For now, all you wanted was to not be alone anymore. "I had another nightmare", you spoke while sliding the door open, aware they could hear you from the other side. "Is she dead?"

Instead of what you expected, you saw him.

His golden gaze felt so heavy on your skin. The tall man, surrounded by darkness as if it was his to command, covered by fur and smelling like steel and iron. His sword glistened, his teeth too.

You felt like a prey. A sleepy rabbit facing a hungry wolf. His gaze reminded you of a predator, a cruel one playing with its meal.

Then you saw the eagle on his broad arm. That made you aware of his name. Oh, how you head the whispers. A man surrounded by death and blood. The bearer of destruction and fear. Leader of an army with a single duty: to break China apart.

"No one died tonight", Shan Yu whispered, somehow apologetic. As if he was an unexpected visitor with a good reason to surprise you, not a wild man that appeared in the middle of the night armed while you're alone. "You had another nightmare?"

You should've screamed. You should've ran away from him. But instead, understanding the only thing keeping Shan Yu from being violent is his desire to do so, you looked into his eyes and pretended to be fine. "What do you seek here?"

Closer, Shan Yu discovered he was wrong about you. The light inside your eyes was a mistake of his. They're on fire. Burning inside you, you soul warmed him.

"Your heart", Shan Yu answered, taking a step back. "Care to join me?"

You glared at the open gates, then at his eyes again. You waited for a manic laugh, a mean gaze, anything that showed the violence implicit on his words. If it was there, your eyes didn't catch it.

A hun after a chinese. A man oathed to destroy your nation asking for your heart. Maybe a few years ago when you were young and stupid this could almost sound like a fairytale. You know how to name this situation: spoil of war.

"You said no one died tonight", your throat burned. "But if I don't follow you... someone will, right?"

It took him a second, but the true meaning of your words hit Shan Yu like a poisoned arrow. "I wasn't threatening you", he started to clarify his intentions, but you stepping forward shut him.

Shan Yu saw anger on your eyes, disgust on the curl of your lips. Violence fits you heavenly. "But you will hurt others", how dry you sounded. Heartless. But he could see the truth behind it all. You were about to explode, but couldn't allow yourself to. "I rather not see this village burn like the others you passed by."

Shan Yu takes what he wants, claims what he desire, get rid of what doesn't fit his goals. But you're not a thing to be possessed. You're a person. A person that shines and burns. He can't take your love from you. Shan Yu can only hope for it.

Shan Yu wants to earn you.

"You will be my empress", he declared. "My heart is yours. I will wait until you feel the same. I won't touch you unless you allow me. I will protect your honor, defend your body and mind."

You chuckled. "Shan Yu, do you really believe in love at first sight?"

"Moon, I will give you China as a dowry", was his answer.

Your name coming out of his mouth made shivers run down your spine. You sighed. "You won't give up, will you?"

He wouldn't. Shan Yu would never.

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pin-k-ink · 7 months ago

Text

fated // dazai osamu

tw: mention of death and violence, one night stand, a small teeny weeny age gap

wc: 2.1k

a/n: this was more of a self-insert than an x reader fic

Dazai was a man who scoffed at the notion of fate, rejecting the idea that some invisible force could be guiding his life's trajectory. He preferred to attribute his successes and failures to his own decisions and actions, a belief system forged in the harsh realities and tough choices of his upbringing. Raised in a world where relying on fate was a luxury he couldn't afford, Dazai learned early on that he had to carve out his own path in life.

His disbelief in fate stemmed from a childhood marked by instability and uncertainty. Growing up in the Port Mafia, he witnessed firsthand the randomness of life's outcomes. There were no predetermined paths for him, only the constant struggle to survive and shape his own destiny. It was a world where the strong thrived, and the weak perished, and Dazai had no intention of being the latter. He had clawed his way to the top, relying on his wits, cunning, and sheer determination to overcome every obstacle in his path.

Amidst the chaos of his surroundings, a familiar face caught his eye, pulling him from his thoughts. It was her, his little pupil whom he had taken in along with Akutagawa years ago. However, the woman standing before him was a far cry from the timid, scared girl he had once tried to train. Back then, she was a scaredy-cat, a fragile little mouse in a den of lions, who would pass out at the mere sight of blood. Dazai had practically given up on her, considering either passing her along to someone who would take care of her or putting her out of her misery himself. He doubted she could survive in the mafia or even make it on her own outside of it.

He remembered the countless hours he had spent trying to toughen her up, to mold her into someone who could withstand the brutal realities of their world. But no matter how hard he pushed, she seemed to retreat further into herself, her wide eyes filled with a terror that never quite seemed to fade. It was as if she was too pure, too innocent for the life they led, and Dazai had resigned himself to the fact that she would never be cut out for it.

Ultimately, Dazai had left the mafia shortly after, without having to make that decision. He had never given her much thought after that, assuming that she had either found her way to a safer, more peaceful existence or had met a grim fate at the hands of the unforgiving underworld. But now, seeing her here, he realized just how wrong he had been.

The scene before him was a bloodbath, with dozens of dead and mutilated bodies scattered at his feet. The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood and the acrid smell of gunpowder, a symphony of death and destruction that would have made even the most hardened criminals recoil in horror. And yet, there she stood, in the middle of it all, idly wiping her gun clean before holstering it with a nonchalant air, as if this was just another day at the office.

As she lifted her head, her face was indifferent and devoid of emotion, a stark contrast to the carnage that surrounded her. She raised her hand in a small, casual wave, as if greeting an old acquaintance. "Oh. Hey, Dazai-san." Her voice was flat, almost bored, and it sent a chill down Dazai's spine. There was no mistaking it; this was definitely her, but not the her he had once known.

Dazai found himself gaping as she coldly stepped over the bodies, making her way past him with a pat on his shoulder, as if he hadn't been sent there to detain her. For a moment, he was too stunned to react, his mind struggling to reconcile the girl from his memories with the ruthless killer that now stood before him. But then, on an impulse, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her forward, finally regaining his composure. "My, how you've grown, my little flower. I didn't think you'd even make it into your twenties."

"I'm... eighteen, Dazai-san," she replied, her voice flat and matter-of-fact. There was no trace of the timid, stammering girl he had once known, no hint of the fear that had once consumed her. Instead, there was a coldness in her eyes, a hardness that spoke of a life filled with pain and suffering.

"Right, right." He paused for a moment, his mind racing. Why had he stopped her? What did he want to say? A thousand questions burned on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't seem to find the words. Finally, he settled on the one thing that felt safe, the one thing that might give him a chance to unravel the mystery of the woman standing before him. "Wanna grab a drink with me?"

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, hanging in the air between them like a lifeline. Maybe it was second nature for him to ask any beautiful woman out on a date, or perhaps he hoped to unravel the mystery of his once-hopeless pupil's transformation. Either way, he found himself holding his breath, waiting for her response.

He watched as she stared at him blankly for a couple of minutes, her expression unreadable. It was as if she was weighing her options, trying to decide whether he was worth her time. Finally, she nodded. "Sure."

And with that, the two set off, leaving the carnage behind them. As they walked, Dazai couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the girl he once knew, and what had shaped her into the woman she was today. He had a feeling that this drink would be the start of a very interesting conversation, one that might just challenge his long-held beliefs about fate and the paths we choose.

But more than that, he found himself curious about her, about the life she had led since he had last seen her. What had driven her to become so ruthless, so cold? What had she seen, what had she experienced that had hardened her heart and turned her into a killer? And why, despite everything, did he find himself drawn to her, to the mystery and the danger that seemed to surround her like a cloak?

As they made their way to the nearest bar, Dazai couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a chance encounter. Maybe, just maybe, there was something more at play here, some invisible force that had brought them together after all these years. And while he still didn't believe in fate, he couldn't deny the sense of anticipation that thrummed through his veins, the feeling that something big was about to happen.

For now, though, he would focus on the present, on the woman walking beside him and the secrets she held. He would buy her that drink and see where the night took them, and maybe, just maybe, he would find the answers he was looking for. Or perhaps he would simply find himself drawn deeper into the web of mystery and intrigue that seemed to surround her, a willing participant in a game he didn't yet understand.

They settled into a booth, ordering drinks and making small talk. But as the alcohol flowed and inhibitions lowered, the conversation took a deeper, more personal turn. She began to open up, sharing glimpses of the life she'd led since he left the mafia - the struggles, the triumphs, the choices that had shaped her into the person she was today.

Dazai found himself drawn in, captivated by her every word. There was a magnetism about her, a sense of danger and mystery that called to something deep within him. As the night wore on and the drinks kept coming, the air between them grew charged with a palpable electricity.

Perhaps it was the alcohol coursing through their veins, or the weight of the secrets they'd shared, but at some point they found themselves stumbling out of the bar, hailing a taxi to Dazai's apartment. The ride passed in a blur of heated glances and barely restrained touches, the anticipation building with every passing block.

As they stumbled into Dazai's apartment, the tension that had been building between them all night finally reached its breaking point. Dazai's eyes roamed hungrily over her figure, drinking in every curve and contour that had been hidden beneath her clothes.

She had grown into a stunning woman, a far cry from the scrawny girl he'd once known. Her body was lean and toned, honed by years of training and combat. But there was a softness to her too, a feminine grace that made his fingers itch to explore every inch of her smooth, supple skin.

She seemed oblivious to his heated gaze, too focused on removing her jacket and shoes. Dazai took the opportunity to admire the way her shirt clung to her breasts, the swell of her hips in her tight jeans. He could practically feel the warmth radiating off her, beckoning him closer.

Unable to resist any longer, Dazai closed the distance between them in two quick strides. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him as his lips sought hers in a searing kiss. She let out a small gasp of surprise before melting into him, her arms coming up to wind around his neck.

The kiss quickly turned heated, Dazai's tongue delving into her mouth to tangle with hers. His hands slid lower, cupping her rear and pressing her closer still. He could feel every inch of her body against his, supple curves and firm muscle setting his blood on fire.

Breaking away from her lips, Dazai trailed kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat. She let out a breathy moan, her head falling back to grant him better access. The sound shot straight to his groin, his already painfully hard cock throbbing in the confines of his pants.

Impatient to feel her skin on his, Dazai tugged at the hem of her shirt, yanking it over her head and tossing it aside. His eyes immediately fell to her breasts, encased in a lacy bra that made his mouth water. Reverently, he traced a finger along the edge of the delicate fabric, marveling at the contrast against her skin.

She shivered under his touch, her nipples pebbling against the thin material. Dazai couldn't resist dipping his head, placing an open-mouthed kiss to the swell of her breast. She gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as he laved attention on the sensitive flesh.

Growling low in his throat, Dazai reached behind her to unhook her bra, letting it fall away. Her breasts spilled free, perfect handfuls topped with rosy peaks that just begged for his touch. He obliged immediately, palming the soft mounds and rolling her nipples between his fingers until she was arching into his touch, little mewls of pleasure escaping her kiss-swollen lips.

Lost in a haze of lust, Dazai walked them backwards towards the bedroom, unwilling to stop his exploration of her incredible body. They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, hands roaming and mouths fused as they frantically removed the rest of their clothing.

And then she was laid out before him like a feast, miles of creamy skin and toned limbs, a flush of arousal painting her from head to toe. Dazai took a moment to just look at her, to marvel at the absolute perfection of her form. She was a goddess, a siren, and he wanted nothing more than to worship at her altar for the rest of his days.

Starting at her ankle, Dazai began to map her body with his hands and mouth, determined to learn every dip and curve, to catalogue every spot that made her gasp and moan. He kissed his way up her legs, nipping at her inner thighs until she was writhing beneath him, begging for more. He laved attention on her breasts, sucking and biting until she was a keening mess.

By the time he finally settled between her thighs, she was dripping with need, her hips canting up in search of friction. And as he finally placed his mouth on her pussy and tasted her, as he felt her shatter apart under his skilled touch, Dazai knew that he would never be the same. She had ruined him for all other women, had branded herself on his very soul.

And as he slid into her tight, welcoming cunt, as he lost himself in the slick slide of their bodies moving as one, Dazai couldn't find it in himself to care. Let the world burn, let fate do as it willed. In this moment, in her arms, he was exactly where he was meant to be.

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