#Thunder in the Distance [Musings]

[txe-txunderer]

((Stop! Tag time!))

[brunchable]

Winter Prince, Part One: I Was Enchated To Meet You

Pairings: Prince, Soon to be King AU Bucky Barnes x Out of place, Princess Reader Words: 4.5K Themes: Regency Period AU, Instant attraction, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut. Summary: Trapped in the palace gardens, Y/N’s escape attempt is interrupted by a mysterious charming man who offers to help. Little does she know, the man she’s avoiding is the one lifting her over the wall. A/N: You're damn right I took inspiration to Queen Charlotte. Let's call this a "retelling" Bucky will still have his metal arm in this to keep it interesting.

The sound of hooves echoed in the distance, the rhythmic gallop of a horse cutting through the stillness of the early morning. You clutched your dress tighter around you, the fabric tangled in your fingers as you stood before the towering stone wall, your heart pounding. You were almost free—almost—but the moment stretched painfully, as if the world itself held its breath with you.

You glanced over your shoulder, the imposing silhouette of the palace barely visible through the mist. It loomed behind you, a symbol of everything you were bound to—everything you were trying to escape.

Your breath hitched as the soft thudding of hooves grew louder, and you turned back to the wall. Climbing it had seemed easy in the few moments of adrenaline-fueled desperation, but now, standing before it, you realized how futile it was. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t scale the stone, couldn’t flee the life that had been thrust upon you.

The horse slowed, and you heard someone dismount, the creak of leather and the solid thud of boots hitting the ground. Your fingers trembled as you placed them against the wall, ready to make one final, frantic attempt. But before you could take another step, his voice cut through the mist.

“Running away?”

You froze, heat rushing to your cheeks. His tone wasn’t harsh, nor was it amused—just… curious, and that only annoyed you more. 

Slowly, you turned toward the voice, expecting to see one of the palace guards ready to drag you back inside. Instead, a man stood before you, taller than you had imagined, with dark hair tousled by the wind, his sharp features softened by the morning light. He was dressed in simple riding attire, a cloak draped over his broad shoulders, but there was an elegance about him. Certainly not a guard, then?

“Are you going to stop me?” you asked, your voice breathless, daring as your fingers tightened against the stone. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

He chuckled softly, and the sound sent a strange warmth curling through you. “I don’t know,” he mused, a playful glint in his eyes as he stepped closer, “Should I? You seem to be doing a fine job of stopping yourself.”

Your mouth parted in disbelief, heat rising to your face again. “Excuse me?”

He nodded at the wall. “Well, you don’t exactly look like you’re about to make it over, do you?”

You scowled, crossing your arms over your chest. “I didn’t ask for your commentary.”

The man raised a brow, his lips twitching into a smile. “I’m just saying, climbing walls isn’t for everyone. Especially not someone in a gown.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed your approval to escape,” you shot back, glancing at the wall again and then back at him, frustration bubbling inside you. “Why don’t you just go about your business and let me fail in peace?”

His grin widened, and he crossed his arms, his posture too relaxed for someone who’d just found a would-be escapee. 

“I could help you.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the offer. “Help me?” you echoed, suspicion lacing your words. “Why would you help me?”

“Maybe I like seeing people succeed at impossible things,” he teased, the smirk never leaving his face. “Or maybe I’m just curious to see how far you’ll get.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms tighter. “I don’t trust you.”

“Smart,” he said with a laugh. “But if you want to get over that wall, you’re going to need more than distrust.”

You looked up at the towering stones again, dread gnawing at you. He was right, as irritating as that was. But still…

“And what do you get out of this, then?” you asked, glancing at him warily.

He leaned casually against the wall, watching you intently. “A conversation,” he said, his voice suddenly softer, less teasing. “Tell me why you’re running.”

You scowled at him, the heat rising in your cheeks again, and turned your gaze back to the wall. Frustration bubbled inside you, and you began pacing, sizing up the towering stones as if staring at them hard enough would magically make them easier to climb.

“I don’t need your help,” you muttered under your breath, though you weren’t sure if you were talking to him or the wall at this point. 

You glanced back up at the impossible height of the stone barrier, chewing on your lip as you tried to mentally map out some kind of strategy—any way to make it work. You huffed, planting your hands on your hips, and shifted from foot to foot, casting the man a glare every now and then. He just stood there, arms crossed, watching you with an amused expression, as if you were the most entertaining thing he’d seen in a long time.

After a few moments of pacing and staring—then pacing some more—you let out an exasperated sigh and kicked a small stone out of your path, turning back to face him, arms crossed.

“Well?” you asked, your voice a little more breathless than you’d have liked. “What’s so funny?”

He shook his head, but the grin he was trying to hide betrayed him. 

“Nothing,” he said, the words dripping with humor. “Just… you look like you’re trying to intimidate the wall into letting you pass.”

You glared at him, heat flooding your cheeks. “Maybe I am. Maybe it’ll work.”

His chuckle turned into full-blown laughter, and the sound of it—rich and genuine—sent a strange warmth curling through you, despite your annoyance. He had that kind of laugh that you hated admitting was contagious, and you found your lips twitching upward before you could stop yourself.

“I’m serious!” you huffed, though the playful tone was creeping into your own voice.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, still chuckling softly as he shook his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, a mix of frustration and embarrassment bubbling up inside you, but you couldn’t help the flutter in your chest at the way he looked at you.

“Are you just going to laugh at me the whole time, or are you actually going to help?”

He raised his hands in surrender, his grin still firmly in place. “Alright, alright. I’ll help.” 

He took a step closer, the playfulness still in his eyes as he lowered his voice, leaning just a fraction nearer. “But only because I want to see how this goes.”

“Fine,” you muttered, stepping back toward the wall. “Just… don’t get in the way.”

Behind you, you could hear him chuckling softly to himself again, and though it made your frustration bubble over, there was something undeniably magnetic about the way he seemed to find you so… endearing.

And as you started pacing again, casting glances at the wall, trying to figure out just how on earth you’d manage to get over it, you caught him out of the corner of your eye—his gaze still fixed on you, the smile never leaving his face.

You huffed to yourself, kicking at another stone. Of course, the man who found you trying to escape was now laughing at you, and somehow, it didn’t feel as awful as it should.

“How long will you keep pacing around like that?” 

“I’m not pacing,” you grumbled, though you absolutely were.

“Oh, you are,” he countered with a grin. “You’re doing laps. Like maybe if you circle it enough, the wall will shrink. Or get tired of you and let you through.”

Your jaw tightened as heat rose to your cheeks. “I’m sizing it up,” you snapped, planting your hands on your hips as you glanced back at the wall, your frustration bubbling over.

He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he was enjoying this, and it only made your chest tighten with frustration. Why did he have to look so effortlessly amused by your struggle?

“Well?” you demanded, trying to maintain some semblance of authority in the situation. “You know you’re actually not helping?”

“Forgive me, but watching you intimidate the wall might be the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all week.”

You let out an exasperated huff, resisting the urge to stomp your foot in frustration. “I wasn’t intimidating it, I was—”

He cut you off with a light chuckle, waving his hand dismissively. “Sizing it up. Right.”

You were too stunned to respond. The man was infuriating, no question about it, but the warmth in his voice, the look in his eyes—there was something about him that softened the edges of your frustration, made it feel less like a confrontation and more like… banter.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus. No, this was not the time to get distracted by some smug, arrogant man who was finding far too much joy in your struggle. You turned back to the wall, determination flaring inside you.

“If you’re going to help, do it already,” you muttered, planting your hands on your hips again.

“Let’s see how far you can get with a little help.” he said, his voice low and teasing.

He stopped in front of you, eyes gleaming with amusement as he glanced at the towering wall. “You ready?”

You crossed your arms, lifting an eyebrow at him. “Do I have a choice?”

He smirked, leaning down slightly. “Not if you want to get over that wall today.”

You eyed him warily, but there was something in his smile, something disarmingly warm beneath all that arrogance. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you sighed and placed your hand in his.

His grip was firm, strong, and you felt the warmth of his palm seep into your skin as he stepped even closer. The flutter in your chest deepened, but you swallowed it down, ignoring the strange thrill of having him so near.

“Alright,” he said, crouching slightly and motioning toward his shoulders, “Put your foot here, and I’ll lift you up.”

You blinked at him, a sudden rush of heat flooding your face. Wait, what?

“I’m going to boost you over,” he explained, clearly amused at your hesitation. “Unless you’d rather keep pacing around?”

You huffed, your cheeks burning. 

“Fine,” you muttered, carefully lifting your foot toward his shoulder. “But—” You paused, biting your lip as another wave of heat rushed through you. “Don’t look up.”

His grin widened, but he managed to keep his voice steady. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You gave him a skeptical look, your heart thudding loudly in your ears as you gingerly placed your foot on his shoulder. 

“Don’t look up,” you reminded him, your voice sharper, but the flush in your cheeks was impossible to ignore.

“I heard you the first time,” he chuckled softly, keeping his gaze firmly straight ahead.

He hoisted you up easily, his hands firm at your waist, but as soon as you tried to gain some leverage, the fabric of your gown bunched awkwardly around your legs, trapping you mid-air. Your heart pounded as you wobbled, your foot slipping slightly, and for a moment you flailed, trying to catch your balance. The wall still seemed impossibly high, and every move made your gown twist tighter around you, making it harder to gain any footing.

“Careful,” He grunted, steadying you with his grip. “Got it?”

You didn’t. Not at all.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice strained with effort as you tried to move again. The fabric pulled tighter around your legs, making it impossible to lift yourself further. “This dress—how do women escape anything in these things?”

He laughed, and you could feel the vibrations of it under your hands. 

“You’re doing great,” he teased, clearly biting back more laughter. “But if you keep kicking like that, I might not be able to hold you much longer.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, heat flooding your face. “This isn’t funny!”

“Oh, it’s very funny from down here,” he said, still chuckling, though his grip on your waist stayed steady.

Another attempt to maneuver only resulted in more tangled fabric. You groaned, realizing that this wasn’t going to work. No matter how hard you tried, the dress wouldn’t let you lift your legs high enough to get over the wall.

“Alright, alright,” you sighed, feeling thoroughly embarrassed as you gave up. “Put me down.”

“You sure? You were making great progress,” he teased, but his hands were already lowering you back down to the ground, the warmth of his touch lingering even as your feet found solid ground again.

As soon as you stood, you stepped back, brushing dirt from your gown and trying to ignore the way your heart still raced, both from the failed climb and from how close he had been.

“Well,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him, “that was a disaster.”

He leaned back on his heels, his grin wide and playful. “Not a total disaster. I got a front-row seat to the best entertainment in town.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him, though the blush creeping up your neck betrayed how flustered you were. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He chuckled again, crossing his arms to mirror you. “Can’t say it’s not entertaining.”

You sighed and looked around, now you owed him an explanation as to why you’re trying to run away.

“I don’t want to marry a stranger,” you whispered, surprising even yourself with the truth. “I don’t want to be locked away in that palace for the rest of my life, tied to someone I’ve never met.”

He didn’t speak for a second, his expression softening as he studied you. Then, in a gentle tone, he asked, “And who is this stranger you’re so desperate to avoid?”

You sighed, casting a quick glance around as if the mist might swallow you whole. 

“Prince James,” you admitted quietly, your words barely louder than the mist. “I’ve never seen him, never even heard his voice. I don’t know if he’s kind or cruel, if he’s young or old. For all I know, he could be—”

“Hideous?” the man supplied, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his eyes again.

You gave a small, reluctant smile despite yourself. “Or snotty. Cold. Aloof. Traits that I most certainly cannot stand nor find attractive.”

The man chuckled softly, shaking his head as he took a step closer. “Snotty, huh?”

“Well, royalty,” you said, with a little shrug. “They tend to be.”

He studied you again, something like amusement flickering across his face, but there was no mockery in it, just something warm and knowing. 

“You could say I’ve met him a time or two.”

Your brows furrowed at his familiarity with the prince. “Then what’s he like?” you asked, searching his expression for any hint of truth. “Is he… good?”

He seemed to consider your question, his gaze turning thoughtful as though weighing each word. “He’s... complicated,” he finally said, his voice softer, almost wistful. “Not the man people expect him to be.”

You frowned and sarcastically you said, “That’s really comforting.”

But before he could answer, a loud shout echoed from the palace grounds, and you both turned, startled. Your stomach lurched in panic.

“I need to go,” you whispered frantically, your pulse racing as you prepared to bolt.

His hand caught yours before you could move, the warmth of his skin against yours sending a jolt of something startling through you. You looked up at him, breathless.

“I could still help you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. His eyes held yours, deep and unreadable, as though he were making a decision only he could understand.

But there was something in his gaze now, something almost… regretful. 

“Speak what you need to say.” you whispered, the realization dawning on you in slow, staggering pieces.

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes searching yours like he could read the thoughts swirling in your head. He let out a soft sigh and tilted his head, a playful sparkle returning to his eyes.

“What if…” he began, his voice low, “what if the prince isn’t some distant, unfeeling man? What if he’s just a person who hates the cage he’s been placed in as much as you do?”

You blinked, confusion tightening your chest. “What are you talking about?”

He took a step closer, his thumb still grazing the back of your hand, sending that maddening warmth through you. “What if Prince James isn’t the man people whisper about? What if he’s spent his whole life wondering if anyone would see him instead of the title?”

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words settled like stones in your chest, and you stared at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “Why would he care? He’s a prince—soon to be King. He’s powerful, he has everything.”

He gave a small, almost sad smile. “What if the power isn’t worth much if it means living a life filled with expectations instead of choices?”

You frowned, shaking your head. “But he could change things if he wanted to.”

James—because you were sure of it now, he wasn’t just some rider—tilted his head, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “What if it’s not that simple? What if the weight of the crown is heavier than it looks?”

Your heart raced as the pieces slowly started to click together. He was still toying with you, but now there was a seriousness beneath it, something deeper. You could see the flicker of emotion behind his blue eyes, like he was daring you to understand.

“What if…” he continued, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper, “the prince is standing right in front of you, hoping you’ll see him?”

The world tilted beneath you. The way he spoke, the familiarity in his tone, the way he carried himself… it all made sense now. And suddenly, the puzzle that had been scattered before you came together in a startling rush of clarity.

“You’re—” The words stuck in your throat as your heart pounded harder, realization hitting you with full force. “You’re Prince James.”

He smiled, a mixture of apology and relief in his expression. “I suppose I am.”

Your mind reeled, his confession crashing over you cold bucket of water. Prince James. The man you had been speaking to, was the very one you were trying to escape. The very one you had feared. Your heart pounded, your pulse a frantic beat in your ears as you looked up at him—really looked at him—for the first time.

Prince James.

"Hello, Y/N." He smiled earnestly, taking your breath away.

You took a step back, your breath hitching in your throat as your gaze swept over him. The dark hair tousled by the morning breeze, the sharp features softened by the mist, the broad shoulders, the casual strength in the way he stood. How had you not realized before? How had you missed it?

Your mouth opened, but no words came. You were speechless. Absolutely, utterly speechless.

His lips twitched in that same infuriating, knowing half-smile, the one that had seemed so harmless before but now felt charged with meaning. 

“I suppose I’m not what you were expecting,” he murmured, his voice low, almost apologetic.

You shook your head, still trying to find your voice, but it was like the words had fled, leaving only the rush of your thoughts, jumbled wildly together. He’s the prince. The one you had dreaded. The one you had tried so hard to avoid.

But he wasn’t at all what you imagined. He wasn’t cold, or distant, or cruel. He was standing here, watching you, his expression open, almost vulnerable, as if he was waiting for your reaction, for you to decide what came next.

Your eyes darted over him again, taking in every detail as if seeing him for the first time—the way his cloak clung to his broad frame, the way his eyes, intense and unwavering, seemed to burn through every wall you'd built around yourself.

And then the shouts echoed again, louder this time, and your stomach clenched with a fresh wave of panic. The palace. The guards. They were looking for you.

His gaze flickered toward the sound, the slightest crease forming between his brows before his eyes were back on you, sharp and unrelenting.

“You need to go,” he said, voice low but urgent. Like the moment itself was slipping away.

“I—” You swallowed hard, your words tangled with the storm raging inside you. You—him—everything felt too much, too fast.

He stepped closer, his hand lifting as if to touch you—like he had to—like he needed to—but stopped just short, his fingers lingering in the air, his breath mingling with yours. 

“I felt the same,” he said, his words rushing out, fierce, quiet. “Curious about you. Wondering if you were like the rest of them, if you were cold, detached. Wondering if you were trapped like me.”

You blinked, caught off guard, your pulse roaring in your ears. What?

“I was afraid,” he continued, his eyes searing into yours. “Afraid you were someone I wouldn’t want to know. Someone I couldn’t stand to look at. I was afraid of you.”

His words hit you like a thunderclap, stealing your breath, your heart stumbling in your chest.

“But gods,” he breathed, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I was wrong.”

You stared at him, utterly speechless, the air thick between you. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

He took another step closer, his eyes wild, full of something unnameable. “You’re everything I didn’t dare to hope for. You’re bold, you’re brave, and you’re—” His voice broke off, and you watched as his gaze dropped to your lips, then snapped back to your eyes, something fierce and desperate flickering there.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. His words slammed into you, your mind reeling, your heart racing as his admission hung between you, fragile and powerful all at once.

The shouts echoed again, and your body jolted with the reminder of reality crashing back in.

“I need to go,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the world swirled around you.

But before you could move, his hand finally touched yours—fingers brushing against yours, sending a spark through your skin that made you freeze.

“I was wrong about you,” he murmured, his gaze locking with yours, eyes blazing with a heat that made you want to lean into him, to forget the world. “So wrong.”

You swallowed, every nerve in your body alive, humming. His hand slid up, cradling your wrist, his thumb brushing the delicate skin, like he couldn’t stop touching you. 

“Go,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “Go before I make you stay.”

Your feet refused to move, your heart slamming against your ribs. But you nodded, turning to slip back toward the palace, your body buzzing with his words, the intensity of his gaze.

But before you could disappear into the shadows, you heard him call out—his voice loud, clear, commanding.

You froze, crouching behind the tall hedge, heart hammering against your ribs as you peered through the mist. The guards had gathered around him now, their faces tense with focus as James, with that steady authority in his voice, pointed them in the wrong direction.

“She went the other way—toward the east gate!” His voice was sure, a lie delivered with the ease of someone accustomed to being obeyed. And just like that, the guards nodded, falling in line with his instructions as they turned, their heavy footsteps fading in the opposite direction.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears as you watched them leave, your body still coiled with tension, waiting for something to go wrong. But James remained still, standing tall as the mist curled around him, his face calm, unreadable. And when the last of the guards disappeared into the distance, he did something that made your breath catch.

He glanced back over his shoulder—directly at where you were hiding.

His gaze found yours through the thick hedges, that same intense, burning look he had given you earlier, and for a brief moment, the world stood still. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but his eyes held yours with a weight that made it hard to breathe, the unspoken connection between you hanging in the air.

Then, with a slow nod—so subtle you almost missed it—he turned, walking away, his figure swallowed by the swirling mist.

You exhaled, finally letting out the breath you’d been holding. Your entire body was trembling, your mind reeling from everything that had just happened. He had protected you.

Prince James, had lied for you, bought you time, and now the palace loomed ahead, quiet, waiting. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your gown as you stood up, pressing yourself against the stone wall, making your way back toward the safety of the palace.

You moved silently, your steps soft against the cobblestone as you slipped through the garden paths, every corner casting long shadows. You had to be careful. You couldn’t risk being caught now.

Reaching the palace doors, you hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the mist-shrouded garden. James was gone now, but his presence lingered, the promise of his words still echoing in your mind.

With one last breath, you pulled open the door, slipping inside the familiar corridors of the palace, the warmth of its stone walls closing in around you. It was quiet here, the rest of the palace still asleep, unaware of the storm that had passed just outside its walls.

As you hurried back to your chambers, your heart finally began to slow, but your mind buzzed with everything that had just unfolded. James hadn’t just protected you; he had seen you—really seen you. And now, there was no denying it.

You weren’t running from him anymore.

You were walking straight back to him.

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 .

# with roronoa zoro.

zoro feared the prospect of sex, for his cock was much too large for comfort. you made sure to reassure him on the contrary.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day two. smut (mdni). cock worship. deepthroat. oral (male receiving). afab!reader.

WC: 2k.

zoro was a sizable man. he was neither towering nor lean, more often than not short in comparison to the opponents he faced in the new world. his height remained above average for a common man, yet it was not length that made him; it was width. one had no need for a ten foot stature if the forethought disadvantage happened to be compensated with strength — and that was the one thing zoro did not lack in. muscles the size of a head and a body made for largeness, it was of no surprise that the same statement applied to his cock.

zoro was not prone to over-compensating competition with other men when it came to size, however, whenever the shitty cook was concerned, he was not beyond it either. sharing baths was a common activity, and he’d be caught dead before admitting to checking curly’s length — but he did. sanji was longer; whereas zoro was larger. he figured the other man’s cock would slide easier, cause less struggle, and when such thought traveled to you, zoro’s mood was quick to sour.

his yearning was nowhere near hidden. eyes trailed to your figure; a never-ending hunger; the redoubled effort to protect you alone. wasted months as a pirate-hunter, previous to the acceptance of an offer that would grant him the iridescent value of life, were but a blur of steel and blood; the meaningless pursuit of foreordained woe. a famished beast wielding sharp canines was unfit to claim the passionate touch of another, for it was meant to maim rather than to sooth. yet, under the golden grace of his captain’s command, zoro had become neither a hound nor a fiend. he was the fierce protector; the shield and the sword that soared above those deserving of his strength.

the acceptance of such character had cost him months of lonesome pondering. yearning for one he could not have; finding himself an ogre daring to dream about a deity’s kiss. being separated from the crew had countless disadvantages, but perhaps distance could present a cure for the enchantment you had placed on him.

he was — as expected — wrong.

the castle zoro had been sent to was one of many hallways and rooms, ensuring considerable privacy if one was to disconsider the ghost woman’s antics. whenever he was spent from training, a phantom at night secured under covers, his hand would trail itself to his aching cock, testing the waters; finding what pleased him the most.

you’d then invade his thoughts as though a promise of heavenly bliss. his hands were rougher; calluses born from a life of sword-wielding. his grip was brutal; his pace relentless. the length not fitting quite well around his palm, inches left uncovered. zoro would lose himself in the image of your struggle — tear-stained face and wide-opened mouth, the recurrent effort of swallowing him whole. he’d picture his hands on your head; your nose against his pubic hair. zoro would then rut his hips, pleasure born from the sound of your gagging, muffled by his cock. you’d whine and scratch at the flesh of his thighs; a trail of thin, pale, rose marking the muscles as yours to ruin. glossy eyes aimed at him, spit dripping down your chin. his bliss thereafter would be thundering, and though his load would cascade from his restless palm to his abdomen, zoro dreamt that it was meeting your tongue and face instead; coating your figure with spurs of white.

the act was recurrent. two years coated in training and masturbating. re-encountering you — the muse whose sacredness he dreamt of ruining —, zoro failed to return to the previous camaraderie. he withstood but six agonizing days before claiming your lips on the crow’s nest, the pent-up desire clouding logic. yet, the you from his subconscious — fucked-up, writhing, struggling — proved to be easier to ruin. zoro struggled to convey the idea of doing it so to the real you, meaning that, while your relationship was anything but cold, it wasn’t as passionate as you’d figured would be.

zoro feared his length to be an unwanted monstrosity; an overbearing amount of flesh. you were eager to prove him wrong.

his usual nightwatch approached, accompanied by guaranteed six hours of alone-time with your swordsman. when zoro reached the crow’s nest, a bottle of cheap sake in hand, and found you sitting the couch with a sly glint to your eyes, he seemed conflicted — both fearful and excited. you tapped on the cushion, and he grinned in faux confidence upon his approach.

zoro’s teeth dug on the cork and he spat it out, drowning his nervousness with awful-tasting alcohol. a solitaire string slipped past his parted lips to drip down his chain, a droplet of it resting on his clothed thigh. your fingers gripped the fabric of your shorts, not quite enough to contain the desire.

“how was your day?” he inquired, amused by your reaction.

“solid, nothing worth-sharing,” you rasped, glancing at his lips. “what about yours?”

“it’s better now,” he answered, intonation carrying a smoothness enough to leave you flustered.

zoro grabbed a fistful of your thigh before guiding your legs to his lap, making himself a tool for your rest. another swig; a renewed cascate of alcohol sailing through the rough seas of tanned skin.

“came to sleep with me?” zoro teased, tapping his fingers on your leg without proper rhythm. it was a double-edged sword hidden amidst inoffensive silk; ambiguous inquiry meant to embarrass, for he had never dared to surrender to lust. yet.

“trying to, but you’re a hard shell to crack,” you blurted, fearing the possible loss of bravery.

the bottle hovered mid-path; damp glass meeting chapped lips. zoro held himself with certain astonishment, unplaced doubt whose roots you could not find. he cleared his throat, perhaps pondering on a suitable approach for subject shift. you were swifter, readjusting the angle of your legs in order to sit on his lap.

zoro’s heartbeat was a wild flutter of butterfly wings under the touch. he shuddered when your lips were dragged through the flesh, tender kisses with warm tongue following-in-suit. you resisted the urge to recoil at the bitter taste of sake, smearing your palate as you wiped his chin clean. you blew a gust of air over his earrings, teeth around cheap gold.

his free, calloused palm gripped the covered flesh of your ass, the back of his head resting on the wall as zoro guided your movements; a grunt at the leisure roll of your hips.

your fingers toyed with the hems of his kimono, parting it open. the sleeves hang on his forearms before zoro freed his upper figure from the fabric altogether, allowing it to pool on his hips. your lips left a trail of kisses in its wake, hickeys drawn from his collarbone to the thin, large, scarred tissue on his chest. zoro groaned, muffling a pathetic moan with the swallowing of sake.

your figure retreated, coating his flesh with saliva, adoring the sword-wound who had once been fresh and bloodied, skin relinquishing to another’s blade. the scar was a symbol of his survival; the token of his dream. zoro had not once seen it past the image of strength, unable to convey it as an object worth-loving. yet, your lips held nothing but fondness, and that had been his uttermost undoing.

zoro’s cock hardened, a constant poking under the weight of your ass. his hips rutted after a particular swirl of tongue around his nipple, and he grew desperate; a tender attempt to nudge you away.

your fists clenched around his muscles, face pressed against his chest. you looked up at him, a voice coated in confusion. “what is the matter?”

zoro’s lips parted, yet his voice was lost when a particular roll of your hips dragged your cunt above his aching cock. his eyes trailed down to the covered bulge, breathless at the idealization of what was to come.

“zoro,” you hummed, brushing your cheek against his muscular frame.

“it’s too large,” he grunted, gripping the bottle. “you will hurt.”

you were confused, biting it down. the frustrating hesitation from his part; the absence of lustful touches. for the briefest instances, you were drawn to believe that he deemed you unattractive. yet, all could be resumed by his fear of bringing you pain. it was adorable, although not what you had the need for whatsoever. for there was a looming beast, starved and yearning for a decent prey.

“of course it will,” you grinned, aiming to provoke the creature under the man. “you would be a disappointment otherwise.”

his demeanor shifted, tenderness vanishing amidst a gust of wind. zoro leaned back, drowning down a considerable amount of sake. he raised an eyebrow; challenging, demanding.

“what are you waiting for?” he grunted, gripping the back of your head; tearing your face off his warmth. “get on your knees and work.”

your legs clenched at the command, and your figure slipped to the ground; knees pressed against the harsh wood. your figure arched, so as to offer him the clear sight of your ass. zoro grunted, pressing your face against his covered member.

“don’t make me spell it out for you,” he rasped, curling his fingers in a bruising grip. “strip me.”

zoro made no efforts to aid you in such a task. you undid the knot of his kimono; tugged on his haramaki; removed his pants and underwear all but enough to witness the sight of his leaking shaft slapping against his abdomen.

he was not one to trim. the extension was curved; prominent veins twitching the second you had licked your lips. the tip was of violent swolleness, urging to be touched. the source of previous apprehension shone clearer, for zoro — although not quite as long —, was far larger; enough to stuff your mouth full.

“done watchin’?” he mocked, wiping a drop of sake from the corner of his lips. “all bark and no bite?”

he was offered a glint of faux innocence, your lips parting to produce yet another provocation. zoro had clutched the opportunity then, shoving his member inside, groaning at the warmth of your mouth wrapped around him.

a snap of his hips had pushed his length further, his tip brushing the back of your throat. you gagged, overcome with shock. tears rolled down your cheeks, and you struggled against his grip, a failed attempt at retreat. zoro pushed you back, suffocating your nose with his pubic hair; halting the flux of air with his cock. you moaned around him, squirming under his strength.

“look at you,” he cooed, caressing your chin with his thumb. “wasn’t i the one at risk to disappoint? can’t handle it, can you?”

obscured spots overcame the crystalline tears, clouded vision and an aching head as you were drawn closer to unconsciousness. zoro laughed, pulling you back. your burning chest filled itself with oxygen, desperate gasps and coughs all but amusing him further.

“open up,” he snapped, inserting a thumb inside your mouth and parting your jaw. zoro angled the bottle and poured sake on your tongue, liquid-fire igniting your throat. once he had enough, he pushed your chin up, forcing your lips sealed. “swallow.”

you obeyed, a slap of his cock meeting the side of your face. he teased his tip on the entrance of your mouth, gripping your nape. you gave him the desired access, and without an inch of hesitation, zoro filled you with his cock. no longer unused to his largeness, you began with swirling movements of your tongue, wetting the twitching veins; hollowing your cheeks to increase the pressure.

zoro groaned with unthought loudness, raising his hips to force himself deeper. one hand massaged his ball; nails dug on his thigh, scratching the surface, fresh blood pouring from the muscular flesh. his tip teased your uvula, returning to the tip of your tongue before reaching the end yet again. the up-and-down bobbing of your head was a constant; repetitive sounds of your gagging.

spit dripped down your chin, the salt of his essence nudging your palate. zoro chugged down the remaining sake, moaning as he glanced at your tear-stricken face; sweat and spit and pre-cum maiming the sculpture of your being.

“ngh— ‘m close,” he warned, snapping his hips and forcing himself further, uncaring as to whether or not you had relaxed your throat to receive his largeness.

you hummed around him, shutting your eyes in order to appreciate the entirety of his bliss. zoro snarled, snapping. “don’t you dare close your eyes. i want you to see me.”

your lungs burned, pooled tears. zoro was but a hazed image, though you could see the pleased glint in his eyes, the face contorting with the thrill of desire.

“you will swallow,” he stated, his head falling into the wall. zoro clenched the muscles of his abdomen, offering you a clear sight of his bobbing throat. “you’re close to passing out, aren’t you? i will fuck you unconscious if you do.”

you whimpered, failing to nod as zoro’s load drowned your throat and tongue. swallowing it all was but impossible, multiple strings of white dripping past your lips; traveling down your chin and throat. the removal of his cock left your mouth oddly empty, and zoro dragged your body to his lap, pressing you against his figure. he placed a hand above your chest, guaranteeing that your heart and breathing were steadying.

zoro’s thumb pushed his essence yet again into your mouth, humming when you offered him the sight of your tongue, stained with his cum.

“not a disappointment at all,” he mused, kissing your temple. “i wonder, does your cunt stretch as much as your mouth?”

— 🐈‍⬛ : zoro fuck my mouth challenge. happy second day of kinktober!

[strawburry01]

Ain't No Love in Oklahoma

Summary: Tornado wrangler Tyler Owens and his crew find themselves on your farm as a tornado touches down

2.2 k words, nothing crazy.

“What a view,” Tyler mused as he looked out at the great country landscape unfolding below him. Oklahoma wasn’t known for hills or anything that really detracted from its flat-ness, so finding a spot like this where someone could see a far distance out into the expanse was rare. For storm chasing- it was a downright game changer. Like now, him and his motley crue of chasers there was a dark gray cloud formation starting to look interesting to the north. 

“Dude this is so great. The thumbnails are going to go crazy if we can see one from here,” Boone agreed next to him, already swinging his iPad side to side to try and get it all. The crew of them had just been driving when they saw a break in the fence letting them get closer. Sure it might have been trespassing but who was going to care about them all the way out here? 

There was a loud crack that split the silence and the ground next to Tyler sent mud flying into his pant leg. He quickly turned. 

Jesus. 

You sat perched on top of a brown horse, a few yards away, shotgun balancing on your hip. A wide white cowboy hat on your head covered your features, but he was equally turned on and terrified at the same time.

“Y’all got 30 seconds to start moving or the next shot won’t be as friendly,” you called out from your horse. You could see the tallest man chuckle and say something to the shorter one next to him before turning and leisurely jogging to you. What thoughts were running through his head to convince him running towards a woman with a shotgun was a good idea?

“Afternoon ma’am! Pardon my crew and I, but I feel like we’ve started on the wrong foot,” he said as he got closer. He looked straight out of a magazine cover. Chiseled face, scruff, blonde hair peeking out from his cowboy hat, with a red button down that was one button too unbuttoned. You did feel a pang of guilt for almost hitting him.

“Perhaps we did. I just don’t take kindly to trespassers on my property,” you said, swinging your horse to the side so you could face him better. Tyler rubbed his neck. Ah shit.

“That’s my bad ma’am- see we’re storm chasers, we’re always trying to find an edge to get ahead of the next storm or tornado,” he said, gesturing to the darkening sky. You slowly nodded. “My name’s Tyler Owens, you might’ve heard of me on Twitch,” he added with a charming smile as he held his hand up for a handshake. You slowly shook his hand, taking in the weird man.

“My name’s Y/N. What the hell is a Twitch?” you asked after letting go. He opened his mouth to try and explain, but decided it was fruitless. 

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you miss Y/N. Apologies again for stepping into your land, but we’ve got the looks of an EF-4 starting out there on the horizon and damn it’s going to be a good one,” he said, turning back to the crew and the sky. 

“Hate to tell you Tyler but we don’t get tornadoes out here. It’s been years,” you said with a nod, but following his eyes to the sky, leaning closer to your horse and patting his neck whether for your own anxiety or his. As if on cue, a rumble of thunder rolled overhead which caused your horse to whinny. 

“Global warming Y/N. Spots in Oklahoma that have never gotten hit before are getting struck. It’s up to you, but-” he said as he turned back, the clouds getting lower, “I’d get low,”. Rain started to fall in big drops as you tried to think.

“I’ve got animals Tyler, I can’t handle losing this farm,” you said as you chewed your bottom lip. 

“My crew will help. Before we head out,” he said instantly as he started waving to his crew. 

“IT’S COMING TYLER!” Boone shouted, waving the iPad above his head, “IT’S A BIG ONE!”. Another roll of thunder went overhead and your horse brayed again, getting antsy. Okay maybe these strangers had a point. Seeing their suped up trucks and RV showed that they either had way too much money and free-time or they could actually be trusted when it came to this stuff. Fuck it don’t be stupid.

“Get on, I have to get the cows, but you’ll tell me if it gets closer alright?” you stammered over the rain, holding out your hand to Tyler, “tell your guys to head straight for 5 minutes, there’ll be a barn and a house,”. Tyler nodded and relayed the message to Boone as he slowed the truck down passing you. Boone passed a walkie talkie out to Tyler with a nod, and waved politely to you.

“Don’t you worry ma’am you’ve got the best on your side!” he chirped, before peeling out on the truck sending a wave of mud behind him and leaving a large dent in the ground. Best? Tyler sucked air in through his teeth and sheepishly turned back to you. Before you could try to help him up he was already behind you. Obviously not his first time getting on a horse which did catch you off guard. You slung your shotgun over your back as you started heading back to the house. You felt Tyler move closer to you, gripping his hands onto your sides as your tightened your grip on the reins trying not to overthink this. Dammit you can be horny when this is over, not when a tornado is about to come through. It had been a while since any man had been so chivalrous or intriguing to you. The rain started coming down harder, making it tough to see, which only increased the worry in your stomach as you reached the cows. 

“I’m gonna open the gate, you stay here!” you shouted to Tyler as you jumped down into the muddy grass, before hauling your ass to the wooden gate where the cows were already anxiously pacing by. You unlatched it and swung it open before jumping back onto the horse to start cornering the animals back to the barn. Luckily you only had a handful of cows this season, but it was still tough enough. You shouted over the rain to keep the cows moving and Tyler started doing the same. He turned his head and held a hand up to his forehead to try and get a better view.

“Y/N I don’t mean to alarm you, but I believe there’s been landfall,” he said, breathing close to your ear. You wanted to turn and check, but you also knew your job right now was keeping these animals safe. 

“Just tell me if we’re in danger Tyler,” you shouted back, willing your horse to move faster. By the time you got to the barn a few minutes later the rain had turned into hail. You slid off your horse as you tried to unlock your barn gate, but the adrenaline and water made it hard. Tyler appeared next to you and gently tried his own hand at unlocking the door. 

“The lock is 5999!” you shouted, the small number lock keeping the bigger doors shut. You mentally cursed this decision to have it locked at all. Tyler finally got the lock loose and threw the door open. You started pushing and shouting the cows to get inside, where the sides were already shuttering. Tyler grabbed your horse’s reins and brought him inside as well before he ran off in the chaos.

“Is that it?” Tyler asked in the doorway, wind whipping his shirt. You wiped your hands on your jeans to try to focus and dry off before nodding. Tyler suddenly grabbed the shoulders and faced you in the doorway.

“It’s going to be okay Y/N,” he said, locking eyes with you, “we have to get underground now though,”. You nodded furtively, going back to real life and focusing on the task at hand. Tornado, stay alive. You threw the barn door shut and locked it before grabbing Tyler’s hand and pulling him towards the house. The wind whipped against your face and caused your hat to fly off. 

“Shit!” you screamed as you watched it get blown away in the blink of an eye.

“Come on!” Tyler shouted back, pulling you forward again towards the house. Boone was on the porch holding the door open shouting at the two of you to get in. 

You two jumped into the house before Boone slammed the door shut behind you. You wanted to lay down and curl up right there, but Tyler’s crew were all trying to ask you if you had a basement or somewhere to hide or somewhere to keep down. Tyler placed his hand on the small of your back to try and help. “Hey guys one at a time alright,” he said, quieting the group. 

“There’s a basement, it’s not much and I don’t know if it’s storm-proof and all that but-” you said as you moved to lift up the small door that was in the corner of the kitchen. There was a dark staircase downstairs and you shouted for everyone to get in. You screamed as the kitchen window bursted in, letting rain and hail into the house. Tyler grabbed your waist and dragged you down into the basement, door slamming shut behind you both. Everyone was huddled in the corner, light illuminating from their phones as they watched the storm overhead, continuing to chatter.

You slumped against the wall and finally took a breath. You felt the presence of someone slide beside you. 

“How you feeling?” Tyler asked. 

“Tired. I don’t know how you do this for a living,” you laughed as you looked up at him, laying your head on his shoulder. 

“I’m not sure how I do it either all the time,” he sighed, “being able to help people feels good though. Knowing that the more we understand these things the safer the future can be,” he continued.

“Noble,” you remarked.

“When Boone isn’t recording all of it at least,” he chuckled looking over at Boone who was sure enough recording it all on his phone.

“So you’ve got fans?” you asked.

“Lots. Well, okay a fair amount? A million? Saying that to you makes it feel kind of stupid though,” he said.

“What do you mean?” you said, “a million is a lot of people watching you, that’s crazy,”.

“It’s nice and all, but damn. You have it all out here. Alone. Not needing a million people watching you. Just seems nice,” he explained, placing a hand on your knee as he waved his hand during his explanation.

“Lonely though. I bet you’re never lonely,” you murmured. He shrugged.

“I have friends, it's hard to keep a lover with this lifestyle though,” he said absentmindedly.

“Yeah, I can relate to that,” you said softly, “uhm, if we get out of this tornado thing, I’ll give you my number,” you quickly said, before hiding your face into your shoulder. Ugh what were you a high schooler? You felt his chest rise as he laughed.

“You’re cute Y/N, and I’d love to see your farm under less stormy conditions,” he grinned. Your chest fluttered. 

“I’d love to show you it,” you nodded. The two of you kept chatting as the storm went on for another 30 or so minutes. Luckily the basement did a sufficient job of keeping everyone safe, but you couldn’t help but think of the barn and the rest of the house upstairs. You talked about your time growing up in Oklahoma and Arkansas. About how he went to school for meteorology, and how you dropped out of OK State to take care of the property, but you had really wanted to go back later.

“Seems safe guys!” Boone said as he stood up and kicked open the door. The kitchen was still there, and so was the house. You checked out the window, and breathed a sigh of relief to see the barn was still there.

“Cut right through- spared your stuff by like 50 yards!” Tyler said, relieved. Seemed like the best case scenario here happening. You helped his crew get set up to head back out and slowly lead the cows back out to their slightly damaged pasture. 

Tyler stepped into his truck and rolled down the window. You stepped up onto the running board of the truck to get closer. You handed Tyler a post it note with your number scrawled onto it.

“Like I promised,” you said with a smile. Tyler grinned and stuck it to the computer screen in the middle console. He took off his cowboy hat and put it on your head.

“Since you lost yours. I’ll be back for it though,” he said as he moved your hair behind your ear. 

“Alright tornado cowboy,” you smiled as you stepped down.

“It’s tornado wrangler actually,” he noted before blowing you a kiss and rolling up his window. 

It was a few hours later when you were finally making dinner when your phone buzzed. 

Hey Y/N, hope you’re doing well. Sitting at a motel. Wondering what you’re doing.

AN: let me know if anyone wants a one-off of you trying to get divorce papers to your insane storm chaser husband in the middle of the midwest ->(https://www.tumblr.com/strawburry01/756685031316062208/all-yourn-summary-you-visit-your-husband-tyler)

[hopesangelsprite]

Finders Keepers

Synopsis: Illumi's been tasked to take out a rival family, leaving no survivors, and that's exactly what he does... with the exception of you.

Warnings: Dubcon/noncon, Unprotected p in v, Overstim, Dacryphilia, Light choking, Creampie (this is Illumi what'd you expect-), analifyousquint, fingering, mentions of bl00d

MINORS/AGELESS ACC DNI

Thunder rumbled in the distance, a telltale sign of the impending storm on the horizon. The wind was chilled and heavy with the smell of earth and smoke as Illumi watched. Below him was a compound, an estate of sorts, under the protection of a dozen armed guards. Past its walls he could see maids and servants busy with daily tasks, too caught up in the hustle and bustle of life to sense neither him nor the storm coming.

Though he couldn't see them, he knew that deeper inside the compound were his targets. It wasn't often his family attacked other families, getting by with sheer intimidation and wealth. Still, when rival families got out of line... they had to be dealt with accordingly. Thunder rumbled once more, this time closer, and Illumi stood from his perch on a high oak branch. This wouldn't take nearly as long as he thought it would.

Dealing with the first wave of guards was less than anticlimactic, each falling quicker than the last. The second wave was able to get a few shots off before they too succumbed to his needles. Illumi placed a hand on the main gate and pushed sending the heavy steel doors flying off their hinges. The screams and squelches of people being crushed met his ears as he made quick work of the servants outside, as well.

The stench of blood, death, and rain was thick in the air as he entered the estate's front doors. Illumi made his way through its walls, killing everyone he found as he traversed floor after floor. Finally, he reached the master bedroom, kicking past its weakly barricaded door, and stared into the terror-filled eyes of the last four living people in the house. "Consider me your reckoning.", he mused as he stepped into the room and began picking them off until no one was left.

He looked around at the carnage around him and sighed. The rain would be coming soon, and he wanted to be home by then. He turned to leave the room but stilled as sound met his ears. Illumi turned and scanned the room's interior, sure that no one he'd confronted had survived the massacre. Illumi spotted the cracked-open wardrobe almost immediately and rolled his eyes. He'd missed one.

He took several steps toward the wardrobe before it burst open, your teary-eyed figure pushing past him toward the open door. Illumi reached and grasped a handful of your hair before taking in your features. You were small, not much younger than him. Though you bore a striking resemblance to the older man and woman he'd just killed, his intel hadn't alluded to either of them having children.

Upon further inspection, he found you healthy-looking; a tad on the heavier side with plush thighs, your soft breasts heaving with every sob that shook your frame. You were quite attractive aside from how bloodshot your eyes were becoming as you begged him to spare you. It didn't sound like a bad idea the more Illumi looked you over. So, he slung you over his shoulder, advising you to keep your eyes shut as he stepped onto the bedroom's balcony.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You trembled as you crossed the threshold of the Zoldyck estate in Illumi's arms, eyes screwed shut in fear as he took you deeper into the mansion. You didn't bother trying to remember how many turns you were taking; it was becoming increasingly clear that you wouldn't be leaving alive. You only allowed your eyes to flutter open as the two of you entered a room, the door locking behind you.

Illumi sat you on the edge of a large bed, uncharacteristically gentle considering how brutally he'd ended the lives of those you loved minutes prior. "You've two choices: accept me voluntarily or involuntarily.", he offered as he let his blood-soaked top drop to the floor near the edge of the bed, "You'll find I'm much more agreeable should you choose the former.".

His belt and trousers dropped to the floor leaving him only in his underwear. Your face grew hot at the sight, your hands trembling at the weight of his words. Fighting would wax futile; you knew that well enough. Cold fingertips met your cheek and tilted your face toward his. A few more tears slipped from your eyes as you weakly clasped his wrist. "Please... don't d-do this.", you pleaded once more before Illumi leaned down to kiss your cheek.

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle.", he hummed into your skin as leaned in more, caging you underneath him. His lips felt icy as they trailed across the expanse of your skin, stopping at your lips. You whimpered and Illumi swallowed the sound. You reciprocated his movements sloppily, unfamiliar with the motions. The kiss broke, a trail of saliva connecting your lips which he broke with a swipe of his thumb. "How cute.", he breathed into your skin as he began marking a fiery trail down your throat.

As he traveled lower, you clenched your teeth in hopes of silencing the tiny moans building in your throat. Illumi took a break from his attack on your breasts to look over your dress. "There's no use in trying to keep quiet, you'll only tire yourself out.", he mused as he tugged harshly on the fabric causing it to rip. Your bottom lip trembled at the sight of what was left of your favorite sundress fall to the floor, and Illumi noticed. "My apologies, little dove. I'll have you a boutiques worth of dresses here in the morning if you're good for me.", he explained as he rid you of your undergarments leaving you bare.

Your eyes flickered up to his face as he placed butterfly kisses down the expanse of your stomach, eyes dark with lust as they met yours. So, this was your life now. "P-promise?", you asked as your heart began to settle. Illumi rose and placed both hands on your thighs, pulling you until your bare core was flushed with his clothed member. He hummed as he leaned down, bracing himself on one forearm and slipping the other between the two of you to slide between your moistening folds. "I promise.", he assured you as two of his fingers scissored open your entrance, his thumb working over your bud with expert skill.

A broken whimper left you as you let yourself succumb to the pleasure, as you let yourself succumb to fate. Your body trembled as his ministrations quickened, a knot forming in the pit of your abdomen. Everything was so wrong, yet it felt so, so good.

Just as the knot within you came close to snapping, Illumi pulled his fingers from you. You whined in frustration as you watched him clean your slick from his fingers with his tongue before beginning to remove his underwear. You watched in awe and terror as his cock sprang free, tip flushed pink and dripping with his own arousal. He was just as pale there as the rest of his body, a bit longer than he was girthy. "That's n-not gonna fit...", you whispered into the air between you. For the first time since he'd taken you, he cracked a smile. "We'll make it fit, little dove.", he replied while easing you onto your stomach.

Illumi's lips met your shoulder, cold and soft, and traveled down your back causing you to shiver. He shifted a bit, resting his chin in the nook between your shoulder and neck. "This might sting a bit, for that I offer my apologies.", he warned as you felt his tip catch on your entrance. Your breath hitched as he rolled his hip forward, allowing the first few inches to slip inside you.

He was lying when he said it'd sting a bit. It hurt like hell. You yelped and pushed your face into one of the plush pillows beneath you to muffle the sound. Illumi cooed and whispered praises into your skin, voice laden with sympathy as he continued to fill you. He rolled his hips once more filling you up fully, his tip threatening to push past your cervix.

"Such a good girl taking all of me.", he purred as you lifted your teary eyes from the pillows, "Now, let me take the pain away.". With one hand, Illumi laced his fingers with yours while the other reached between you to resume abusing your clit. His pelvis retreated from the swell of your ass, all of him leaving your walls apart from his leaky head, before thrusting forward again slow and deep. The moan that left you would've made even the finest of whores blush.

His hips rolled on, the room filling with the obscene sound of your slick coating his cock and your little whimpers as the pain was swiftly washed away with mind-numbing pleasure. Illumi continued to praise you between quieter moans of his own only stopping to tug at the shell of your ear with his teeth.

The intimacy, the steady pace of his body colliding with yours; All of it was becoming too much for you to handle. Illumi shifted, his tip kissing your cervix too suddenly for your liking drawing a gasp of discomfort from your trembling lips. He hummed and abandoned your clit to steady himself before rising with you in tow. You yelped and scrambled to your elbows when you felt the pad of his thumb swipe over your ass, thrusts gaining in speed. "N-not there-", you tried to reason with him before your jaw slackened upon the foreign intrusion.

Your thighs shook, threatening to give out, as Illumi hooked his thumb into your spasming hole up to the first knuckle. Heat crept across your body at the feeling of the knot in the pit of your stomach snapping. "Coming already? Who knew my pretty girl was so perverted. ~", Illumi groaned. His words fell upon deaf ears, your mind blank and full simultaneously. You buried your face into the sheets beneath in a weak attempt to save face, orgasm taking you forcefully.

The walls of your cunt fluttered, painting his lower half with your arousal. Illumi hissed, thrusts growing sloppy, at the sight and grasped at the fat of your ass. "Look at that pretty little cunt of yours. Almost like she wants me to fill her up.", he practically mewled, "Isn't that right, little dove?". All you could do was cry out in response, thoughts occupied with the delicious drag and sting of his cock inside you. Illumi huffed at your lack of response, hand abandoning your ass cheek for the column of your neck and squeezed.

"I asked if you wanted me to paint your walls white, dove, now answer like the obedient little wife you're going to be.", he hissed into your ear. You nodded vehemently, head light from the lack of hair. "Yes, please cum in me! Please please please-", you babbled as another orgasm ignited your overstimulated core. A string of wild curses and strangled moans fell from Illumi's lips as his hips snapped forward once more, locking as hot ropes of cum filled your sputtering hole.

A few moments passed as both of you came down, your smaller body trembling, before Illumi relaxed and pulled both of you down to the mattress. You shifted and shuttered at the feeling of still being full while listening to his breathing. "I'll have a ring and paperwork ready for you by noon, so I suggest you get some rest.", he hummed whilst pulling the sheets over your bodies,

"Besides, I need you fully rested and ready to take me in the morning."

[apricot-blossomss]

Hellooo can you write a fic with Apollo x reader where he has to convince his father to grant her immortality so that they can get married, and later in the story their telling they’re kids how they fell in love and please make reader a daughter of poseidon. Thank u💋💋

☛ apollo asks his father for fem!daughter of poseidon! reader's immortality & his uncle for reader's hand in marriage

☛ sfw

☛ changed it a bit, hope you don't mind!

"father, have i ever asked something from you?"

apollo was a young god. not age-wise, of course. but his appearance had always been that of a young man, and though he had lived for a millennia, his bright and youthful character had never made him look a day older than twenty-one. now, his palms upward as if in prayer, his eyes pleading, he looked even younger. his lyre he had placed before his fathers throne, where he, too, stood. not as a fellow god, but as a son.

"no, you don't ask. you just take" zeus mused, frowning at his sons defeated stance. the god looked as if he was about to fall to his knees and prostrate if he didn't get what he asked. whatever kind of spell you had on him, it was working. "but this you can't take, can you?" with a sigh, he rose and stepped down the steps of his throne.

"i love her," apollo breathed, green eyes shining with the intensity of the declaration. "what must i do to convince you? i'll do anything, father." he meant it. he was ready to face every obstacle and trial, to fight sny creature, endure every torture to be with you forever.

"anything?" his father raised his brows and stepped away from him towards the center of the throne room. the gold tinted windows, reflecting the sunlight off the walls, surrounded his son with a golden hue, as if emitted from his golden locks themselves. he was one of the most glorious and mighty gods in the pantheon. as the mightiest one himself, he of course knew how crazy love could make you. but an eternal life? he frowned. "for this one mortal woman?"

"what are you saying?" apollo asked challengingly but his father raised a hand to silence him. with a sigh, he stepped closer and placed an understanding hand on his sons shoulder.

"son, I know how love can make you feel. I know how a good woman can uh", he chose his words with caution, "twist the mind of any man. but she is a mortal woman. son, you may be head over heels in love, but think of all the men and women you have loved." he chuckled. "the number may rise close to mine. the way i see it, she's just a fling. you'll grow tired of her. marriage does that."

"don't project your character onto others," apollo replied coldly and the golden glass of his eyes hardened with a frown. he didn't like the way his father was talking about you.

his fathers eyes widened slightly. but he overplayed it with a fatherly chuckle, stepping away a safety distance or two. "out of all the ladies, why did it have to be this one?"

"don't worry about your brother. i will take care of him," his son replied immediately and with a confidence that zeus could only admire. he wouldn't feel overly keen to break the news of his lovesick son over poseidon's daughter to him. he doubted it would be that easy, though it had not been the original intent of his question.

"that wasn't my concern son," he said calmly and began to stroll next to the windows. "just... i get a beautiful woman messing with the mind. but this one... not that she isn't fairly pretty, but you can't say she's a beauty, not compared to the mortals that usually catch our divine eye. in comparison with them, she's plain. beneath you."

"how dare you."

zeus was surprised to find his son's furious eyes gritted teeth and clenched fists. his father's raised eyebrow only made the storm swirling inside apollo thunder. until he heard your soft voice in his head. yes, if you were here, you would tell him to calm down. then, you would snort and say that his father wasn't really wrong, you know? And he would lean over and press kisses all over your face, trying to convey to you just how wrong he was. and you would giggle and pull him towards your lips.

the thought of you allowed him to calm down for now, unclench his fists and change his gaze from a glare to a firm look of determination. "i don't care about your opinion on her looks. all i want is her. forever."

"and what if i say no?"

apollo felt his heart skip a beat. "i-" his voice trembled. the iron grip around his soul tightened and a desperation crept up, up his throat, out of his mouth. "i'll come upon the mortal realm a monster. i'll be a catastrophe, wage war against your worshippers until you grant me my wish."

he didn't dare imagine your reaction should you ever hear of those words. oh how you would scold him, how you would hug him, ground him to the earth. the longer he was away from you, the more he craved your touch, your voice, your reassurance. you would never condone the actions he was threatening his father and the world with, but he couldn't exist without you. that's why he held his fathers shocked gaze. "my arrows will wipe out all that pleases you, father, if you take her from me."

zeus was, contrary to what some would have you believe, not stupid. the only thing stopping him now from granting his son this wish was his stubbornness. but he had to recognize that you were not worth the war his son was threatening- at least not to him. "alright," he said begrudgingly. "if you manage to persuade my brother, i will grant you your wish."

the iron grip around his heart loosened and apollo felt like he could finally breathe again. a triumphant smile crept onto his lips as he picked up his lyre. he couldn't wait to get back and break the news to you, you, who had been so rightfully skeptical. there was only one obstacle in the way. your father.

☀️

poseidon let him wait, but that was just to make him antsy and apollo knew that. your father had known of the relationship for a long time for you would frequent the beach -this beach more specifically-for your picknick dates. no doubt the ocean and its inhabitants had informed him of his daughter's company. but this would be the first time the two men would get to talk about your relationship.

not that apollo cared very much for your or his father's approval. poseidon had never taken a great interest in you or your life, apollo didn't see what right he had to approve or disapprove of any of your choices. but you had sensibly reminded him that he should at least pretend to ask for your hand to not offend your quick-tempered father. so, here he was, as the last rays of sunlight, golden, orange and red, danced ontop of the surface in an ethereal display of beauty and poseidon emerged from the waves.

apollo rose from his sitting position to go over and greet him when your father stepped onto the fine white sand of your favorite beach. "uncle"

"apollo," poseidon said, sizing him up in suspicion. "you wanted to talk to me. is this about your relationship with my daughter?" when apollo simply gave him a nod, the god sighed and began walking up the beach, the younger god walking next to him.

"so?"

"i'm going to propose to her."

poseidon stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to face apollo, who stared him down without a hint of reluctance. the god knew that you were his nephew's latest favored mortal, but nothing could have prepared him for this. marriage? "you can't marry her, apollo," he said. "she is a mortal. you are a god."

"that doesn't matter anymore," apollo replied and resumed their walk.

"need i remind you of your past relationships with mortals?" poseidon argued. "your lovers have a strange habit of dying or turning into vegetation, you can't deny that."

the other god didn't answer. of course, he had pandered the risk for a long time, it had haunted him every time you weren't in his sights and the worry could only be forgotten when you were there, wonderful as you were, and kissed them away. the truth was, he had nothing to say in return.

"did you tell her about the risks involved?" poseidon pressed and the question drew an ironic laugh from the sun god.

"she knows of the risks involved. you may not know because you didn't care but she is smart and she always has the upper hand. she decided to be with me, and when i had worked up the courage to talk to her about them, tell her being with me was dangerous, she only smiled because she, of course, already knew." he locked eyes with your father who had fallen silent. "she can make her own decision. she has made her own decision."

poseidon's eyes narrowed in realization. "you didn't come here to ask me for her hand."

"no," apollo said coolly. "i came here to ask you to respect her decision, whatever it may be."

apollo had expected another protest, maybe even a fight, but, as unpredictable as ever, poseidon nodded hesitantly. "fine. do you want to ask her now? because I think she is heading our way"

as soon as he saw you in your white and blue dress, smiling brightly and hurriedly approaching him on the beach, all the stress and uncertainty of the last hours washed off of him, leaving behind nothing but love and excitement. your father had left, and like a little child, he ran towards you to lock his arms around your waist. you shrieked in surprise when you were lifted clean off your feet and into the air by your lover who spun you around with the brightest smile you had ever seen.

"good news?" you asked when he set you down, still holding on tightly onto your waist. your lover settled for a simple hum and leaned down for a kiss, but your hand got in the way. only reluctantly he opened his eyes and lightly kissed the fingers blocking his mouth. your eyebrow was raised and he knew that you knew. "apollo, how many lives did you threaten to make this happen?"

☀️

"dad?"

"hm?"

"how much do you love mommy?" your son asked, laying on his fathers chest, just having finished his bedtime song. you were closing the nursery's window and looked over at your boys expectantly. it had been five wonderful years of marriage, yet just a small part of what would be your immortal life with the person you loved more than anything.

"that's a good question, darling. how much do you love me, apollo?" you smiled and walked over to them, running a gentle hand through the golden locks your son had inherented from his father.

a grin flashed over your husbands face and he reached out to you with one arm, the other one draped over his son's shoulders. "i love you from the upwards most point of the sky down to the depths of tartarus. so much that years would not be enough time to sing all the songs I have composed in honor of our love. so much that aphrodite cried at our wedding, do you remember that, sunshine?"

"of course," you laughed and let him pull you closer. "i love you too, my love" apollo came up to meet you for a sweet kiss. his lips tasted of the apple cake you three had made together today, a baking session that resulted in dough-stained shirts and a messy but delicious and only slightly burned cake.

"eww," your toddler squealed and trashed in his fathers arms, causing the two of you to break the kiss. apollo pouted jokingly at his little boy who pouted back. "why do you kiss mommy so much?"

"'cause mommy wants to be kissed,” his father retorted and ran his fingers over his sons tummy in a way that had him giggling and kicking his feet. "and now, you're going to bed so i can kiss mommy some more."

"nooo," your son protested but apollo swiftly tucked him in and ruffled his blond hair. you took a hold of his small hand and pecked his little palm, still sticky from the dough. he hadn't properly cleaned himself up.

"good night, darling," you hummed and followed your lover out of the room, turning off the lights. now, the only thing illuminating the room was the night light in the form of a sun.

just when you had closed the door, warm lips consumed yours once more. you smiled into the kiss and buried your hands in his hair as apollo deepened the kiss. head angled back, back against the doorframe, and an apple-tarte-kiss. "what about another one of those?" he whispered in between kisses before moving on to your neck.

"that doesn't sound bad." your hands sneaked around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. "doesn't sound bad at all."

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

“You’re gorgeous.”

Lips brush softly against Billy’s temple. Fingers card into his hair at the base of his scalp, holding him like he’s something precious.

Billy scrunches his nose.

“Knock it off,” he scoffs.

When he bats his hand around, shrugging away from the touch, his wrist is snatched with a gentle grip.

“So fussy over nothing,” Eddie muses. He smooths his thumb from side to side against Billy’s inner wrist, leaning forward and planting another kiss on the bridge of his nose. “Why do you always get so grumpy when I compliment you, hm?”

Now, Billy’s brows draw together. Eddie kisses the crease, snorting into Billy’s palm when his free hand flies up to shove at his face.

“‘Cause it’s gay.”

“Well, I have some news you’re not gonna like.”

The brunet’s voice is muffled. He wiggles his eyebrows from between Billy’s fingers, and Billy only retracts his hand when lips press against his palm.

He makes a show of wiping his hand against the front of his shirt, and Eddie snickers.

“I don’t like it, okay?”

“Don’t like kisses? Blondie, I’m wounded.” Eddie closes the short distance between them, crowding Billy against the headboard. “You sure seemed to like ‘em a minute ago when I was—“

“Shh, stop,” Billy interrupts.

He can feel his skin grow hot when Eddie cracks a face-splitting grin, so close he can almost taste it.

In the back of his mind, on loop, is the sound of the headboard thunking against the wall over and over. The box springs creaking. Those damn fucking handcuffs rattling around his wrists.

As if sensing how deep his embarrassment runs, Eddie reaches up to tuck a curl behind Billy’s ear.

Just enough softness to cut the edge. Always.

“C’mon, you know how pretty you are, how can you expect me to not wanna smooch all over your face?”

“I said knock it off,” Billy warns.

Eddie stays close. Lingering well within the short reach of Billy’s personal bubble, but his expression dulls ever so slightly. Like a switch being flicked off, the light behind his eyes vanishing.

It has Billy holding his breath.

“Do you think we’re doing something wrong?”

The brunet’s voice is lower than before. Quieter. Billy opens his mouth and closes it again, looking for the answers in the other’s expression.

When he doesn’t provide a response, Eddie huffs amusedly and tilts his head to the side. Releases Billy’s wrist in favor of interlacing their fingers.

“Just ‘cause you don’t want love to come your way doesn’t mean it won’t, y’know.” He leans back against his free hand, giving Billy adequate space to breathe, and chews his lip in brief thought. “Don’t have to be naked to be loved, either.”

For a long beat, Billy just stares. He almost wants to run to Munson’s bathroom and look in the mirror, just to check and make sure his thoughts aren’t written all over his face for Eddie to read aloud. It’s a silly urge, all things considered.

He’s sitting in a trailer that he spends more time in than his own bedroom, wearing a stupid t-shirt and boxers that aren’t his, surrounded by pillows that he forced Eddie to buy because one pillow just wasn’t up to code.

The devil is in the details, and suddenly the air feels thin.

Even with the small space between them, Billy is still boxed in with no feasible way out. He furrows his brows and clenches his jaw.

“You don’t love me,” Billy spits.

Then Eddie laughs and it brings his blood to a simmer.

“I kinda do, though,” he lilts. “I get this happy little rush whenever I see you, I think about buying you cassettes and other shit with my negative account balance, and I quit lookin’ at nudie mags a little while back. If you’re mopping up what I’m drippin’.”

He fucking winks and Billy’s sure his face is redder than a tomato right now.

“What do you look at?” he hears himself ask.

His voice sounds far away over the thundering in his ears. Eddie snickers and leans over towards the edge of the bed, pulling the top drawer of his nightstand open and routing around.

How he keeps track of anything in this room is beyond Billy. Still, he manages to produce exactly what he’s looking for; a Polaroid.

Eddie sits back up, looking over the picture fondly for a moment before he hands it over. Billy accepts it with shaky hands.

The camera has made it into a few of their sessions before. For later, Eddie always says, and then snaps the most diabolical picture any lens has ever seen. The pervert probably has a whole shoebox full of them by now.

Not that Billy would ever ask to see.

He’s expecting something filthy when he turns it over in his hand. A shot of cum all over his face, or his mouth full of cock with a fist in his hair, shoving him deeper. The last thing he needs to see right now.

Instead, it’s an image of him smiling. Fully clothed. Eyes shut, and crinkled at the corners.

He looks genuinely happy, and he can’t even recall when the picture was taken. All he can deduce from the background is that he’s in Eddie’s room.

Go figure.

“We were smoking,” Eddie says, leaning closer to tip the picture down so he can peak at it once more. “One of those first times, before we ever did anything, and you were so giggly. Laughed at damn near everything I said, and I knew I wanted to remember that sound and how pretty you looked when you smiled all big like that.”

“Wanted to remember?”

“Mhm, you immediately smacked the camera out of my hand and yelled at me,” Eddie snickers. “Wasn’t sure I’d get another opportunity.”

He sighs fondly, like that’s endearing to him, and Billy presses his lips into a line.

“You jerk off to this?”

“Well, when you say it like that—“ Eddie pauses. Dawns a bit of a blush and shrugs one of his shoulders, still peaking at the picture. “You look relaxed. Totally at ease and happy, and it just gets me excited, I guess.”

Billy nods.

“How many times have you whacked to it?”

Eddie clears his throat and averts his eyes, sitting up straight reaching to toy with a lock of his hair.

“Like, uh, I dunno. A lot?”

“What’s a lot?”

Briefly, Eddie’s eyes flit back to Billy’s, and he looks away again. Tugs his hair in front of his face to hide his rapidly reddening complexion.

“Maybe something like 20-ish?”

Billy’s brows shoot upward.

“20 times?”

“Just counting the times I’ve used it exclusively.”

“Christ.” Billy shakes his head, spreading the faintest hint of a smile. “No wonder you keep saying you like me so much, you fuckin’ Pavloved yourself.”

“No, I felt that way the first time!”

Billy laughs, and he doesn’t miss the way that Eddie stares at him through half-lidded eyes. Like he just did something sexy with the intention of getting a rise out of the brunet.

It makes everything too real.

The air between them is suddenly hot again like it was mere minutes ago. Billy swallows thickly.

“That’s really your ultimate fantasy? Making me happy?” he asks. Glances back down at the picture. “More vanilla than I would’ve guessed.”

“Oh, you saying I can’t fuck you nasty and make you happy at the same time? That’s a challenge I’m willing to accept.”

Eddie crawls closer again. Dips down to nudge his face into Billy’s chest like a cat, pressing kisses against the worn fabric of his shirt.

When a hand brushes up his side, Billy goes rigid. Takes a few calming breaths and fights the urge to squirm away when Eddie kisses at his collarbone. He warily pushes his fingers through the brunet’s hair instead, cradling the base of his scalp.

Because maybe he’s something precious, too.

“You’re weird, Munson.”

Eddie chuckles, nosing fondly at his neck.

“You’re gorgeous, Hargrove.”

[stellarbit]

Hiiii! I love your writing so much! Can you please do one with crosshair and his adorable general who’s super sweet but is super shy and easily frightened. Because of this crosshair is SUPER protective of her and every time someone teases him about it he completely denies his feelings for her. And of course, his general is totally oblivious to this.

Though I am slow at requests, I so appreciate what y'all send me. I hope you enjoy <3

Word Count: 1.9k Pairing: fem!reader x Crosshair No Warnings Summary: A little drabble of Crosshair basically being a grumpy shadow for ya in the best way.

Crosshair stuck the butt of his rifle in your path. "Not a chance," he stated flatly.

You were deep into a recon mission for the legion you both were aiding. As the Jedi General assigned to Clone Force 99, your task was to locate and rendezvous with the commanding General. The journey required traversing two kliks over a rugged ridge, and having Crosshair, with his keen sniper's eye, was indispensable. Just as you were gearing up to leap down to a lower vantage point, he intervened.

Gently pushing his rifle aside with two fingers, you questioned, "Why not?"

His gaze followed the trajectory of your intended jump. "Doesn't seem like your kind of jump," he remarked coolly. He’d gotten a glimpse of your fear of heights a few missions ago and had yet to let you live it down.

“I can handle it.” You challenged him.

“Sure you can.” Crosshair replied. He readjusted his rifle and pivoted away, signaling for you to follow without awaiting a reply. "Let's move."

Catching up, you prodded him, "Who's in command here, exactly?" Your tone was light, playful even. It was this easy going demeanor that had landed you with Clone Force 99; your leadership style didn't clash with the team's dynamic, as you knew when to lead and when to listen.

Crosshair snorted, but continued on in silence. He’d welcomed your being assigned to his squad. Despite not being fond of over the top accolades, he couldn’t deny he enjoyed the recognition. Even without the Force, he found you impressive. You were skilled and selfless, sometimes to your own detriment. 

Despite your clear nervousness, you never allowed fear to dominate. The entire squad had noticed your jumpiness, a stark contrast to your fearless command. Crosshair, with his sniper eyes, noted the small tells: the slight purse of your lips before diving into water, the held breath as you squeezed through narrow gaps. Your reaction to the sudden boom of cannons or the sharp crack of thunder was almost instinctual, a flinch that you could barely control.

Yet, for all your sensitivities, you never let them hinder the mission. You pressed on without complaint, earning not just Crosshair’s respect but his silent guardianship. He watched over you, often from a distance, ensuring that nothing would compromise your focus or safety.

That protectiveness went into high gear when you’d nearly slipped down a steep cliff. You’d caught yourself well enough and in doing so you clung to Crosshair immediately beside you. Even through his armor he could feel your trembling. It was only for a moment, you released him quickly enough, but Crosshair picked up on it all the same.

Once you scouted the ridge, you commed the commanding General and headed for the rendezvous spot. 

“He said he and his captain will meet us back at camp,” you relayed, checking the coordinates on your comm device before glancing at Crosshair. “We should make it back before they do.”

“Is that a challenge?” Crosshair asked, a scoff at the end.

You hummed playfully, “I didn’t realize that would be a challenge for you.”

Crosshair held his rifle close, positioning himself to sprint. “Don’t expect me to catch you if you trip.”

The suggestion sent a jolt through you—was it the fear or the thought of his arms catching you? There wasn’t time to ponder as Crosshair surged ahead. Show off, you mused silently, though the view of him leading the way was something you never complained about.

Before returning to camp, you had to make it down a steep incline - about 50 feet. Crosshair slid down the incline, as nimble as ever. At the bottom, he secured his rifle across his pack and shifted his weight onto one foot, signaling you to follow.

“Don’t worry,” He said, his teasing bordered on mocking. “When you fall, I’ll catch you.” Even with his helmet concealing his features, the slight tilt of his head suggested a smirk.

Without pausing to gauge the distance, you summoned the Force behind your movement and launched yourself down the incline. It was a controlled, forceful descent aimed directly at the sniper. His helmet jerked back slightly, caught off-guard by your bold maneuver, as he braced to intercept you. 

You could have eased the landing, but the opportunity to test Crosshair's assurance was far too tempting. True to his word, he caught you adeptly, his movements syncing perfectly with your descent. He pivoted, his arm securing around your legs while his other hand steadied at the small of your back, guiding you safely against him. Your waist nestled just below his chest, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders as you looked down at him with a smile.

A subtle motion caught your attention—the soft brush of his thumb across your back, almost imperceptible.

“Nice catch.” You whispered down to him. 

Crosshair’s helmet, angled up towards you, tilted subtly to the side—a silent question or perhaps contemplation. He made no move to lower you to the ground, his arms creating a gentle but firm cradle. You remained as motionless as possible, acutely aware of every point of contact. The warmth from where your bodies touched seemed to radiate, intensifying the sensations.

Under the fading light of dusk, shadows played across your faces, cloaking the flush that had started to climb up your neck. You hoped the dimness concealed your reaction, though part of you wondered if Crosshair, with his keen senses, could detect the change in your pulse or the slight tremor in your breath.

With a slight shift, Crosshair broke the silence in a dry tone, “Should we include you jumping into my arms in the debrief or was the little show just for me?” Even hidden behind his helmet, the slight tilt of his head suggested a smirk.

A flush of embarrassment warmed your cheeks as another thumb brushed the small of your back, the slow, deliberate motion sending a shiver through you. You arched involuntarily at the touch, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. Squirming slightly under his gaze, you managed to wiggle free from his loose embrace and found your footing on solid ground. Your hands lingered on his chest briefly, feeling his arms still encircling you.

Before he felt your hands trembling, you gave him a light pat on the chest. “Best keep it between us - wouldn’t want to have to explain your slow reflexes.” You were impressed by the steadiness in your voice.

Crosshair stepped back, feigning offense. “Slow reflexes? You launched yourself at me.” It wasn’t an accusatory statement, more of a reminder.

Backing away in the direction of camp, you wagged a finger between the two of you. “Between us it is.” At the rate you walked away you were practically fleeing the scene.

You ended up making it back before the other general. Crosshair joined his brother’s at the landing strip of the Marauder while you checked in with the Commander on duty.

As Crosshair approached he pulled his helmet off and slipped a toothpick between his lips. 

Hunter leaned against the wing of the shuttle and said, “Took you long enough.” The comment earned a sharp glance from Crosshair, his expression tightening just enough to convey his annoyance. Hunter had watched his brother pick at you and knew him enough to know Crosshair was fussing over you in his own way.

Tech's voice preceded him from the ship. “Right on time. The other general is arriving momentarily as well.” Descending the stairs, Tech barely lifted his eyes from his datapad. “We should be departing shortly.”

True to Tech's prediction, the Jedi General in command and his Clone Captain emerged through the underbrush soon after. While you engaged in a discussion with the General, the Clone Captain approached the rest of the Batch. 

He tilted his helmet respectfully. “Thanks for the support, troopers. They weren’t kidding when they said you were effective.”

Wrecker snorted, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, someone's gotta be good at their job around here.”

The Captain did a double take at the large clone, but only shook his helmet in response. Resting a hand on his hip, he glanced towards where his Jedi General was standing. With a chuckle, he mused aloud, “I wouldn’t mind being under her command.”

Tech audibly groaned, while Crosshair’s head snapped towards the Captain, his body language tense. “And why is that?” His voice was sharp, a clear edge underlying the question.

Hunter inhaled deeply, sensing the brewing storm. Wrecker, meanwhile, stood by grinning, evidently enjoying the unfolding drama.

Nonchalantly, the Captain gestured towards you, unaware of the undercurrents swirling around him. “Who wouldn’t want to get to look at her all the time?”

Crosshair’s helmet muffled his simmering as he pulled it over his head. Turning to face him directly, Crosshair tilted his head towards the Captain. “You’ll have to say that again.”

The Captain, caught off guard by the sniper’s intensity, scoffed dismissively, “Is that right?”

In a taunting, egging-on voice Crosshair said, “Either you say it to her.” Crosshair pointed to you then stepped closer, invading the Captain’s personal space, his posture menacing. “Or you say it to me.”

A dismissive chuckle came from the Captain and he said, “Fine.”

Meanwhile, you wrapped up with the General. “Anytime Master, we’re happy to have helped.” You were about to shake their hand when you noticed a commotion at the edge of your vision.

The next moment Crosshair rammed his helmet into the Captain’s with enough force to send the man on his ass. 

“Time to go,” you sighed, rushing towards the unfolding scene. A few regs were gathering by the time you made it through. 

Crosshair was poised to advance on the fallen Captain when you intervened. Slipping in front of him, you wrapped your arms around his armored torso, your presence an immediate barrier. His rage simmered down to a trembling restraint under your hold.

“Cross,” you said with a firm tone, but softened immediately when he pushed against you again. “Hey, hey, hey. Who’s jumping into whose arms now, huh?” Crosshair held the pressure a moment longer, his breath heavy against you, then growled softly and stepped back.

Realizing your hands were still at his sides, you snatched your hands back as if he was too hot to touch.

“Wise choice,” Crosshair sneered over your shoulder at the Captain, who was clumsily regaining his footing. His hand found its way to your waist, and with a hiss that betrayed a blend of annoyance and protective instinct, he murmured, “After you, General,” guiding you towards the Marauder’s ramp with an unexpected gentleness.

As you passed Hunter, his smirk broad and clearly entertained, Crosshair snapped, “Stow it.”

Your head swiveled between them, confusion knitting your brows. Once on the ship, you halted and pushed back against Crosshair’s guiding hand, spinning around to face him while trying to ignore how his touch lingered. “You just had to fight, didn’t you?” Despite your attempt at authority, your voice cracked, revealing your weak resolution.

Crosshair looked down, a soft chuckle escaping him. He gently turned you back around by the waist and nudged you deeper into the ship. “Your fault,” he crooned, his voice low and teasing.

Your heart skipped despite your frustration. You craned your neck to look up at him, demanding an explanation, “Tell me how.”

“I don’t think I will,” he replied, the hint of a smile still in his voice, leaving the words hanging between you like a challenge.

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 14

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, angst, drinking, sadness, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, swearing, references to the loss of a parent or parents, reference to past bedroom activities

Seresin Ranch, Clifton, Texas, Now

The ride home was spent in silence. The girls had quickly packed their things and mounted their horses after Savannah had shrieked at their father that she wanted to go home, right that second. Jake had nodded at them that they were going home, and they were all fully packed within a half an hour.

Savannah hadn’t made a peep since, only hissing at their father that his ‘chances’ with her father were now impossible before plopping herself onto a boulder and ignoring them all. Jake had only huffed a sigh and packed both of their bags up before tacking up the horses.

They had taken the short trail back to the ranch and took no stops, so they ended up back at the ranch just before dinner time, their mother peeking her head out of the curtains and frowning at them.

Savannah clumsily dismounted, Angel stomping her foot in discomfort until the petite blond had her designer cowgirl boots on solid ground. With a huff, Savannah whipped her hair as she turned towards their father and hurled her engagement ring at his chest.

“You could’ve been so much more than this,” she hissed at him, jerking her chin at his girls. “We could’ve sent them to a boarding school or to live with their mother, and you could’ve joined the Navy again like you wanted to! Instead, you’ll never be anything but some…some…farmer!”

Jake shook his head slowly at her, his eyes locked on her with a look that Charlie was very happy she had never seen directed at her.

“I would never have let you send my girls to boarding school. Being their father is the best thing I have ever done. And if you can’t see that, then it’s your fault,” Jake’s voice was calm and cool, but Rooster recognized it as he and Buttercup emerged from the house, trying and failing to look nonchalant as they rushed towards the tense looking confrontation. It was Jake’s mission voice. His Hangman voice. The same voice he had used when he had confronted Rooster about the Uranium Mission, about him not having what it takes to fly, about how he was only there because Maverick had flown with Rooster’s old man. Hangman was pure arrogance and jet fuel, with none of Jake’s tenderness and homespun, golden boy manners.

“Or is it your fault for not telling me there were two of those little demons?” Savannah sneered.

“Watch it,” Buttercup stepped forward. “Nobody gets to talk about my girls that way.”

Savannah rolled her eyes. “You can have him,” she scoffed as she turned her back on them all and strolled towards the big, black SUV that was thundering up the drive. “Nobody will want him now anyway.”

Rooster moved to stand next to Jake as Savannah clambered up into the SUV that her father was driving, offering the retired Air Force Colonel a sarcastic salute before crouching and retrieving the fallen diamond ring.

They watched in silence as the SUV roared away, a collective sigh of relief rippling through them all as it disappeared into the distance.

“I feel like I should burn this thing,” Rooster mused, staring down at the platinum band. “Y’know, douse it in holy water and set it on fire so it doesn’t attract any more hell spawn.”

Jake groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Shut up, man. Hey! Slow your roll, you two!”

Rooster peered over his shoulder at the twins, who were trying to make a sneaky exit into the house. Rooster chuckled as they glanced at each other and slowed their footsteps but didn’t stop.

“Freeze, ladies!” Buttercup barked, striding towards them. “You know what your father meant.”

With a sigh that heaved their shoulders, Abby and Charlie halted on the porch and turned towards their parents.

Jake crouched in front of them and scanned their faces with his pilot’s precision.

“Someone better start talking…” he murmured into the still air.

“Well, you see—”

“We didn’t actually do anything wrong—”

“It’s only that—”

“Nothing dangerous—”

Jake held up a hand and the air went still again.

“Chipmunks don’t just miraculously appear in a closed saddlebag,” he started, staring between them. “They have to be placed there. And I don’t know anyone better at handling rodents than my daughter Charlie, who has been helping remove chipmunks and squirrels from the hay loft since she was a toddler.” Charlie flushed, kicking at a stone beneath her boot. “And while I appreciate the concern you both had about Savannah having an allergic reaction, that doesn’t explain this.” He pulled the open packet of itching powder out of his jeans pocket. Abby gulped. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the hay around the tent spikes of Savannah’s tent either.” He looked between them. “All I want to know is why?”

He stared at them for a long moment, green clashing with green, until Abby groaned and crumbled. “I’m sorry, Dad, but Savannah was awful. She bragged about being a champion rider, but anyone with eyes could tell she had never been on a horse! And she was always hanging off you like she couldn’t do anything by herself. And…”

“And her vibe was way off, Dad,” Charlie added, stepping forward. “And I think you knew that. That’s why you didn’t introduce us until after you proposed.”

“I didn’t introduce you because you were off at camp,” Jake argued, biting back a groan as he stretched back to his full height. “And I’ll admit that I should’ve told her that you’re twins, but at the time, I thought you didn’t know about each other.”

“So, you kept Abby a secret from me, and I kept my feelings about Savannah a secret from you,” Charlie grinned slyly. “Sounds like we both did the wrong thing, old man.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Maybe…but I’m the adult here. Which means I’m the one who gets to dole out any punishment for unnecessary pranks pulled on the trail ride.”

Charlie gulped. “You’re not going to make Mom and Abby go home early are you?”

Jake’s eyes softened. “I would never do that, Charlie-girl. But you and your sister are going to be doing extra chores around here. You’re going to have to muck out all the stalls in the morning, feed the horses, and polish the tack.”

Abby and Charlie grinned at each other. “Is that it?”

“Restricted phone time,” Buttercup shot them a stern look. “You can have your phones for an hour in the morning and an hour at night. But that’s it. I have no doubt you used your phones to help coordinate these schemes of yours, so this is just a natural consequence.”

“Can Abby still sleep in my room?”

Jake met Buttercup’s eyes and nodded. “We’re okay with that.”

“And we can still go to Uncle Javy’s football game?”

Buttercup grinned at Jake and rolled her eyes fondly. “I suppose that’s alright.”

The girls cheered and hugged each other. “We’re okay with that!”

They grabbed their backpacks and ran into the house, chattering away, and Buttercup sighed before following along behind them.

“Not so fast.”

She blinked and turned to him. “What did I do?”

Jake folded his arms across his broad chest and cocked an eyebrow at her. “You know what you did.”

Buttercup’s hands met her hips as she shifted her weight to jut a hip out. “Do I?”

Jake rolled his eyes as a smile played on his lips. “What exactly did Savannah say to you to make you bail on the trail ride? I know you. Spending time with Abby, getting to know Charlie, the opportunity to see me potentially make an ass of myself? You were ready and willing to go on the ride until I went outside to get the horses ready. So, what did my ex-fiancée say to my ex-wife to scare her off the ride?”

Buttercup scoffed. “I wasn’t scared. I figured it was a good opportunity for the girls to get to know their stepmother.”

“And if their stepmother got the chance to get to know them, and didn’t like what she saw?” Jake’s grin was sharp with challenge.

“Then that would be her loss, just like you said.” Buttercup tossed her hair over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows at him. “I don’t know what you’re implying here, Hangman.”

Jake’s answering chuckle sent a small thrill through her. “I’m implying that I spent three months with Savannah, and the only way she would get near a horse would be if there was a risk of her losing face. And the only person who would be willing to put her in that situation is you. But you wouldn’t do that without reason, so c’mon, darlin’. Out with it.”

Buttercup sighed lightly. “She asked me to write her wedding vows for her. Her vows to you.” She could’ve giggled at the way Jake’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but the whole situation had left her with an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. “It was a power play, plain and simple. So, yeah. Maybe I got the feeling that the girls didn’t like her and would probably make her life hell on the ride, so I might have suggested to Savannah that she should go on the ride because it would make you happy and she would be able to bond with the girls.”

Jake chuckled in spite of himself. “You’re just as diabolical as they are, you know.”

Buttercup shrugged delicately. “They had to get it from somewhere. Too bad for you, I’m an adult too and you can’t dole out any punishment to me.”

Jake shifted on his feet, his quiet chuckle sending tingles through her body as the air around them spiked with…something.

“Not like I haven’t before,” he breathed, mostly to himself.

Buttercup folded her arms across her chest, almost as though she were afraid that her heart would beat right out of her chest. The memories of them, the things they had done together, surged through her brain, her bloodstream, lighting her up like a firefly. But he was still Jake, and any fire between her and Jake had been doused a long time ago, and it had to stay that way. For the good of everyone involved.

“Um,” she swallowed. “Rooster made chili. He said it was some sort of post-trail ride tradition. We were just setting the table when we heard the commotion.”

Jake nodded and patted Firewall’s flank. “Let me just take care of these guys, and I’ll be right in. Make sure you save me a bowl, alright? Charlie would eat the entire pot if we let her.”

Jake groaned as he pushed his bowl away.

“That was your best batch yet, Uncle Roo,” Charlie grinned a sleepy smile, inching towards food coma territory.

“I’m still pissed you couldn’t cook like this when we lived together,” Natasha grumbled, though the smile on her face stole any bite the words might have held.

Bob nodded in agreement. “The whole squadron would be shocked that Mr. Ramen and Burnt Toast has a degree from culinary school.”

Rooster grunted at them. “I only burnt my toast once. You two just won’t let me forget it.”

“More than once,” Javy grinned at him, leaning back in his chair, and Jake smiled. It seemed like, for tonight at least, Javy and Nat had called a truce. They hadn’t glared or shot thinly veiled remarks at each other all night. Of course, they hadn’t spoken or looked at each other either, but Jake found himself grateful for the lack of anything between them.

“Alright, well maybe I should prove my badass kitchen skills then, huh?” Rooster leaned forward, a smirk tugging on his lips. “I think it’s high time for a Daggers Reunion. What do you say? We can celebrate the fact that Jake isn’t gonna marry that absolute pain in the ass he called a fiancée.”

“Rooster!” Buttercup looked shocked. “I know you didn’t like her, but Jake wouldn’t have asked her to marry him if he didn’t have feelings for her.”

Javy scoffed. “More like feelings about his future. Your boy here didn’t want to have an empty nest when Charlie grows up, so he was gonna—ow, shit!” Javy winced as Jake’s foot connected with his knee. “Dude, what the hell?”

Buttercup felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “It’s alright, Jake. I get it. They’re almost 12. In six years or so, they’ll be off and we’ll be left on our own. I don’t know what the future holds for me either, and it’s a scary thought.”

“Don’t worry, Mum,” Abby yawned, leaning against her sister. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Buttercup grinned. “Thank you, baby. But I do think maybe you two should go upstairs to bed. You’ve had a busy day.”

Abby nodded and tugged Charlie off her chair before hugging her mother, then her father.

Charlie followed suit but stilled at the landing of the staircase. “I like Uncle Roo’s idea. A Dagger’s reunion sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Alright, kiddo. We’ll see if we can make it happen,” Jake smiled softly at the girls as they ascended the staircase.

“Can we also go out to dinner tomorrow?” Abby paused a few steps from the top. “Just the four of us? As a family?”

Jake nodded. “Sure, baby. Whatever you want.”

“Okay. Night, Dad. Night, Mum. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” their parents chorused.

“Dude, you’re such a softie now,” Natasha smirked at him over the lip of her wine glass. “They just cost you your fiancée, Bagman. And you’re letting them call the shots.”

Jake fixed her with a look. “I’m not soft, Phoenix.” He grinned. “In fact, everyone else on this ranch have been pulling their weight, except you two. So, I’d really appreciate it if you and Baby On Board would do the dishes while Javy and I go make sure everything is locked up tight.”

Natasha gaped at him. “What about Buttercup? Or Rooster?”

“Rooster cooked,” Jake shrugged. “And Buttercup’s been working on her novel. What have you and Bob been up to? Other than drinking my wine, eating my food, and eating up my Wi-Fi?” Natasha glared and he grinned. “Enjoy. C’mon, Javy.”

The two men rose from their seats and left the room, clearly headed to make sure the ranch was locked up for the night. Rooster rose with a groan and mumbled something about watching the football game in his room, leaving after patting Buttercup on the head.

Natasha looked around at all the dirty dishes and grumbled. “Your husband is such an asshole.”

“Ex,” Buttercup clarified quietly, running her finger over the lip of her glass. “Besides, you shouldn’t have shot your mouth off with the softie comment. You had to have known he’d retaliate.”

“Yeah, but did he have to bring me into it?” Bob sighed, already gathering dishes and taking them into the kitchen.

Buttercup giggled as her family disappeared into the kitchen, the soft sounds of their bickering carrying through the archway as she stared at the darkened front door, waiting for Jake to return.

The next day passed smoothly, and the four occupants of the main house (plus the grumpy uncle living in the attic) fell into a rhythm of sorts. Jake and the girls were out of the house by the time Buttercup woke up, jetlag and a sleepless night weighing on her mind. However, she found a breakfast of cinnamon oatmeal and fruit salad waiting for her on the stove and a box of her favourite tea sitting next to the kettle. Buttercup settled into the desk in her bedroom and cranked out a few more pages of her book, the characters finally deciding to play along and follow the plot, though the plot wasn’t turning out exactly the way she had imagined it. By the time noon came around, she had wandered down into the kitchen, where she helped Rooster prepare barbecue chicken Ceasar wraps for everyone before going out into the ranch and calling her family home to eat. After their meal, Jake stole them all away to the local high school, where he assisted Javy with coaching their football team. Even when they had been together, Buttercup hadn’t been much of a football fan, but she found herself enjoying the time spent in the bleachers, especially when Jake would demonstrate a play for the rookie quarterback (though she would deny that last part to the ends of the earth and back).

By the time they got back to the ranch, the girls were hustling their parents into their bedrooms to change for their family dinner.

“Babe, we didn’t even make a reservation,” Buttercup sighed as Abby shoved her make up bag into her hands and pushed her towards the ensuite bathroom.

“Any place that would dress code me for not wearing a suit would be booked up months in advance, kiddo,” Jake protested as Charlie tossed his navy-blue suit onto his bed.

“Don’t worry about it,” both girls had reassured their parents. “Our aunt and uncles took care of everything.”

The statement had been less than reassuring, but both parents were determined to play ball. Buttercup had conceded to wearing her aqua coloured midi dress (a dress Charlie had insisted she pack once she had seen it in her mother’s closet back in London) and had even put on the diamond necklace that had been a joint Christmas present from her family last year. Jake had begrudgingly put on his navy suit and the silver and blue aviator watch he had bought on a whim a few years back. The girls had dressed up in matching black dresses (no doubt a gift from their Uncle Bob) and ushered them out of the house before they could say goodbye to Bob, Rooster or Natasha. 

“Alright, ladies,” Jake grinned, spinning his car keys around his finger. “Ready to tell me exactly where we’re going?” He started as Charlie clamped onto his wrist, dragging him down the dirt path towards the dude ranch.

“Right this way, old man.”

Jake craned his neck back just in time to see Abby take a much gentler grip on her mother’s arm, steadying her as the heels of her shoes sunk into the dirt.

“Charlie, your mother is going to break her neck out here without much light.” In truth, the sun would be going down in a few hours, but the way it hung low in the sky had shadows painting the path in darkness. Charlie blinked up at him, a challenge gleaming there, and Jake sighed. “Let me go, kid.”

He shook off his daughter’s grip and strode backwards until he could offer Buttercup his elbow. “C’mon, darlin’,” he murmured. “Can’t have you breaking an ankle out here. Don’t want a lawsuit on my hands.”

Buttercup chuckled as she wrapped her arm around his. “Thank you…” she whispered as Abby pranced up the path to join her sister. “Honestly, I don’t know how they come up with so many harebrained schemes.”

“You think they’re scheming?”

She shot Jake a knowing look. “Do you know any family friendly restaurants where the diners dress up like this?” She gestured to their semi-formal clothing. “And if you do know any, are any of them located down this dirt path?”

Jake nodded his head towards her, conceding her point. “They’re your daughters, alright.”

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “I’m not the scheming parent, thank you very much.”

“Seriously? Wasn’t eloping in Vegas your idea?”

She bit her lip to hide her grin. “That wasn’t a scheme. That was taking advantage of the air show in Vegas and the fact that everyone we loved was there. Besides, that didn’t run the risk of potential bodily harm.”

Jake shook off the zing of pain that ran through him at the memory and forced the smile to remain on his face. “Maybe for you, but I have only the haziest memory of the morning after our wedding. Rooster and Fanboy kept pouring marga-beers down my throat even though you told them to stop.”

Buttercup giggled, and something warm flared in Jake’s chest. “Maybe they get it from them then. Rooster, Javy, and Natasha are all pretty heavy handed with the schemes, aren’t they?”

“Oh, more than you know,” Jake laughed as they approached the gazebo that overlooked the manmade pond. They’d put both features in a few years previous, trying to make the dude ranch more attractive for people who wanted more of a vacation than a chance to prove themselves on a ranch.

“Girls?” Buttercup called as they jumped up onto the gazebo before ducking out of sight. Within seconds, the whole structure was lit up, the tiny fairy lights glittering off the water.

“Speaking of schemes…” Jake muttered, guiding Buttercup over the rocky terrain and up onto the gazebo.

In the center, a small, round table for two sat invitingly, a vase of fresh wildflowers pushed to one side to make room for the plates, cutlery, and linen napkins that waited to be used.

“Hoo boy,” Buttercup whispered as he pulled out one of the wrought iron chairs and helped her sit comfortably.

“Girls, what are you doing?” Jake turned to find them standing by the stairs of the gazebo.

“We…wanted to thank you!” Charlie grinned. “Y’know, for being so nice about us switching places.”

“And blackmailing you,” Abby added.

“And blackmailing you,” Charlie nodded her agreement. “Oh! And we wanted to apologize for chasing off Savannah.”

“And you decided that a romantic dinner for two was the best way to do that?” Buttercup’s face was filled with such bemusement that Jake had to laugh.

“Well, if you’re going to coparent, you need to be able to get along,” Abby chirped cheerfully. “Consider this our way of trying to make that happen!”

“We’re going to leave you to eat,” Charlie grinned. “I really hope you can make it through a simple dinner without arguing. That would bode really well for all of us.”

Jake groaned as the girls skipped away, then groaned again when a shadowy figure stepped into the gazebo, carrying two serving trays.

“Hey man, don’t groan at me. Those two little demons are your spawn,” Javy muttered as he set the two trays of food on the table. “They’re better at finding information and using it to their advantage than the freakin’ Navy.”

Natasha scoffed as she stepped up beside Javy, brandishing a bottle of wine in each hand. “If they weren’t so damn cute, I’d want to kill them.”

Buttercup blinked at them. “You got sucked into another one of their schemes?”

Natasha shrugged. “Apparently, I need to watch what I say when Abby and I are watching trashy TV and eating junk food. The kid’s got Fort Knox as a memory. Don’t know what his excuse is though,” she added, jerking her head at Javy. “Now, do you want red or white? Because Rooster said either will work with the food, but Abby will throw a hissy fit if I don’t play along.”

“They got Bradshaw into this too?” Jake turned to Javy, who shrugged.

“You two somehow managed to raise two extremely intelligent blackmailers, with zero input from the other person and an ocean between you. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t kinda terrifying.” Javy sighed. “Natasha and I will be watching from the cabin. Buttercup, as much as you may want to, please don’t drown him in the lake.”

Buttercup stifled a giggle as their friends strolled away. “Well, at least they’re not arguing anymore,” she mused before lifting the lid off her meal and smiling. “Penne a la vodka with a side salad. How did they know?”

Jake gulped and hoped the dim lighting did enough to hide the redness in his cheeks. They had gone for Italian food for their first date, and that’s what they had both ordered. Buttercup because it was her favourite, and Jake because he’d been so taken with her that he had just said “Same” so that they could get back to their conversation without the waiter being present.

“I might’ve mentioned it once, I guess,” he murmured, taking the lid off his dish and picking up his fork.

“Should we toast or something?”

Jake smiled softly and picked up his glass of red wine. “To…fresh starts?”

Buttercup smiled so sweetly at him that his chest ached with it. “Yeah, fresh starts sound good.”

Buttercup couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so hard. Her sides ached and her cheeks hurt and she desperately hoped that she had put on waterproof mascara because, otherwise, she would have racoon eyes from the tears of laughter she had shed.

She had to keep reminding herself that it wasn’t real. This was the part of her relationship with Jake that had been easy. Falling in love with him had been as easy as breathing. He could make her laugh until she cried, and he would hold her while she cried until he could make her laugh. He made her want to pull her hair out, but one look at those bright green eyes and that sinful smile, and she would forget all about why he frustrated her. She always counted herself lucky that he was there to frustrate her. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that she would rather run the gamut of emotions with Jake Seresin than risk not feeling anything so strongly with another person.

Loving him was easy. Making it work with him was another story. And now, they had two young daughters who were depending on them. She wasn’t about to risk letting them down again. Still, she found she couldn’t quite keep her guard all the way up around him.

“…and that is why I will never take Charlie to another baseball game,” Jake finished his story to Buttercup’s peals of laughter.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you two,” she giggled breathlessly.

“Hey, she’s half you. She doesn’t get those nerves of steel from me.”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “Oh please. How many confirmed air-to-air kills do you have under your belt?”

“Hey! That’s totally different. Having nerves of steel in the air while facing down enemy aircraft is completely different from having your six-year-old daughter try to beat the shit out of the opposing team’s mascot because it kinda looked like a monster from her nightmare.”

Buttercup snorted. “I don’t know about that. Sounds like you were both protecting yourselves with those nerves of steel.”

“You were too,” Jake said quietly, taking a sip of his wine.

“When?”

“When you left…” Buttercup froze, and Jake almost regretted saying anything. Almost. “It took guts to leave. I didn’t want to admit it at the time, but you were doing what was right for you.”

“I…” Buttercup took a fortifying sip of wine. “I hope you know I didn’t leave just because of you. I mean, I hope you know that I didn’t leave to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Emboldened by the wine, Jake reached out and took her hand. “C’mon, darlin’. Of course I know that. I know you never wanted to hurt me, and I know it felt like you were ripping your own heart out to leave Charlie behind.” He gave her hand a firm squeeze and something squeezed in his heart when she returned the gesture.

“I wish the pandemic had never happened,” Buttercup sighed. “It would’ve been so much easier to keep to the custody schedule if air travel hadn’t become so dangerous.”

Jake nodded. “I wish the court lady hadn’t transcribed our phone numbers wrong.”

Jake had called his lawyer earlier in the day and found that both of their numbers had been written wrong in the paperwork. It had happened to a few other clients, and that’s how they had come to realize that the court stenographer had been drinking on the job.

Buttercup scoffed. “Yeah…the odds were stacked against us at every turn.”

“You really think so?”

Buttercup blinked at him. “You don’t think so? Your deployments, my diagnosis, the pandemic, the clerical error? You don’t think that was fate stamping a big red X on our family?”

Jake leaned forward, close enough to her that she could smell the sharp tang of his cologne and the deep woodsy undertones that were pure Jake. “I think we had a hell of a lot going for us but neither of us knew how to handle the bumps in the road and we fell apart. Tell me, Buttercup. If we knew then what we know now, would we have made it?”

The question made her pause, made everything inside of her freeze. If her past self had all of her present knowledge, would they have made it? Would they have been able to dig through the tunnel of bullshit and make it out clean on the other side? She could imagine it. The open communication, the therapy, the fights they’d have, but together, not against each other.

She shivered at that imaging and met his green gaze. “I’m getting cold,” she whispered. “I think it’s time we go inside.”

Jake sighed but nodded, taking off his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

Knowing that Javy and Nat were on dish duty, he offered Buttercup his elbow and slowly guided her down the path, the silvery light of the moon illuminating mere feet in front of them. She leaned against him more now than she had when they had initially walked the path, but Jake knew that was the jetlag and wine working against her.

“We’ll have to thank Rooster for dinner,” she mumbled as they strolled. “That was probably the best penne I’ve had since—shit!” Her heel caught on a rock in the path and she pitched forward. Quick as a flash of lightning, Jake had her secure against him, one arm wrapped around her waist and one pressing between her shoulder blades.

“I’ve got you, you’re okay,” he murmured into her hair, only realizing how close they were when the scent of Hawaiian orchid wafted over him.

“S-sorry,” she whispered, leaning into his chest more as she steadied herself. She looked up and met his gaze, their noses almost brushing. All it would take was a tilt of her head, and they would be—

Buttercup abruptly pulled away from him, leaning down to take off her shoes and dangling them between her fingers.

“Sorry,” she murmured again. “I didn’t mean to…I can’t…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jake’s hand warmed the middle of her back. “No harm done, right?”

Buttercup gulped back the knot in her throat as she nodded. “Yeah…no harm done.”

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[ficsilike-reblogged]

As High As Honour - III

Summary: You never expected Aemond Targaryen. Pairing: Soft Dark!Aemond Targaryen/F!Reader (No use of Y/N) Warnings For This Chapter: Attempted assault (not by Aemond) Emphasis on the soft and the dark! Highly dubious consent! Fem-receiving oral, unprotected p-i-v sex, age-gap, canon typical violence, babies Word Count: 26.5k (is anyone surprised?)

Book Three: The Dragon and The Lark

You scarcely remembered shoving Aemond’s hands off of you before stumbling toward your dragon. The mournful cry he let out had fresh tears stinging your eyes as you climbed atop his back. You flew back to your camp in a haze—the one thing you do remember is that Vhagar was nowhere in sight. It could be hypothesized that Vhagar had done her rider’s bidding and then flown back to the Red Keep, but surely you would have seen her massive form in the skies, even from a distance.

You did not want to believe that Aemond would do this. But what other option did you have? Other than a dragon, nothing else would be able to burn a fortress like Harrenhal. You would never forget the heat of those flames. Never forget how green…

“Not all green is true.”

What had Helaena meant?

You turned that question over and over in your mind as you went through the motions of informing the Crown of what had happened and having your traveling party turn around to return to the Vale. Their efforts wasted. In a single night, the future you thought you could have was ashes.

Your temporary apartments in the Red Keep were comfortable, as usual, but you could not shake the feeling that something else was on the horizon, waiting for you.

Rhaenyra and Alicent had been kind to you, offering their company in your sullen silences as you tried to make sense of it all. You did not tell them of what Helaena had said and you refused to ask the younger princess about it; you would not ruin the first few moons of her marriage with your questioning.

It seemed that your one avenue was Aemond. Despite knowing that he could very well be lying to you, what other choice did you have? You found him in the shadows of the Red Keep’s library, long fingers curled around the leather spine of a book.

“You have not gone to my father with your suspicions,” he mused quietly before setting it aside. The prince waved a hand at the chair opposite him but you did not move to take it. His tilted lips slowly slid into a sharp smirk when he realized you would not sit.

“You and I both know that taking anything to your father is a waste of time.” You sucked in a breath, trying to steady your thundering heart. This was someone you had trusted. Someone you had a fondness for. You wanted to believe him but you could not deny how damning it looked. “Make me believe that you did not do this, Aemond. Tell me what you know. Why you were there.”

Aemond hummed as you looked at you, eye dragging from the toes of your boots to your silver hair and you had to stop the shiver you felt trying to work its way down your spine. But it was visceral and consuming. “You seem convinced of my guilt.”

“I am giving you the opportunity to try to sway me. I do not want to believe that you did this. Do you not understand? The boy I knew-”

In a flash, Aemond was standing, pushing toward you with quiet but purposeful steps. “I am not a boy any longer, my lady.” The heat of him once again bled through your gown and your next breath stalled in your lungs. Everything about him burned. Burned like dragon fire. But you could not and would not voice that to him. It would only give him hope where you know there could be none. “You were a boy when I told you I’d race you through the skies. You were a boy when you called me a witch. A boy when-”

“Not anymore. Would you have me do to prove myself to you? What task would you set for me to prove to you that I am a man?”

“Tell me what you know, Aemond.”

He was quiet for another stretched moment before his chin tilted up. The move let more sunlight bloom behind him, framing in light but casting the sharp, beautiful angles of his face in dark shadow. He looked like some sort of dark god, craving vengeance.

Or something else. Something, someone you would not name.

“I did go to Harrenhal with the intent of seeing you. But I arrived on horseback. Ser Criston can confirm that as we traveled together. Vhagar remained in the valley outside the city. I was welcomed into Harrenhal’s storied halls by Lord Larys.”

Larys had been the only Strong to survive the fire. Everyone else had perished, having gathered together to celebrate your betrothal to Harwin. He had not accompanied you to the Red Keep but arrived later and was welcomed with softly spoken condolences and offered his father’s spot on the Small Council.

“He had invited me. It seemed I was not the only one who believed you were throwing your life away by tying yourself to an oaf like Ser Harwin Strong.”

You recoiled as if he had struck you. “Harwin was kind to me.”

“You deserve more than kindness.” The smoke of his voice had your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. You did not understand why he had such an effect on you. “And I plan on giving everything to you.”

“Aemond.”

He hummed again as if he were amused. “I left the castle after dinner, wanting to see the godswood. I noticed the fire had started when I started to walk back. There was nothing I could do. Nothing you could do.”

You shook your head. That was too easy. “The fire was green. Only Vhagar and my dragon breathe green fire. Are you suggesting I set Harrenhal ablaze?”

“Of course not. You have a soft heart.”

A scoff tore itself out of your throat. A soft heart. You did not have a soft heart. “Tell me, then, what it is I saw.”

The prince moved closer and you could once again smell him, dragon, mint, lavender, and leather. Intoxicating and-

Stop it. Stop it.

“I do not know what it was, my lady. But I intend to find out.”

Before you could tell him that answer was not adequate, he had grasped your hand and pressed a searing kiss to your fingers. And then he was walking away, leaving you only with the scent of him to burn your throat.

But Aemond, it seemed, was simply waiting for you to confront him before truly revealing his plan. On the eve before you were set to return to the Vale without any sort of answer, your presence was demanded in the Great Hall. What greeted you was nearly the whole of the court waiting in anticipation and Larys Strong in chains.

Your ears rang as he was accused of killing his family and destroying his ancestral seat. And it was Aemond who had brought forth the accusation.

“And how do you plead, Lord Strong?” Rhaenys asked.

Larys looked at Aemond for just a moment before blandly looking back at Rhaenys and Viserys, who sat slouched on the Iron Throne. Aemond stood at the edge of the royal dias, hands folded neatly over the pommel of his sword. He said nothing and the silence stretched throughout the Great Hall.

And that, it seemed, was damning enough.

“I, King Viserys Targaryen,” Viserys started, his voice shaking and wet from his affliction, “first of my name, sentence you to die for your crimes of murder and kinslaying.”

Larys turned and his eyes landed on you, almost as if he were expecting to see you. His gaze did not move from you, he did not blink, even as he was forced to his knees and Ser Harrold raised his sword. And you could not look away either, and then-

“I would prefer if Prince Aemond took my head, if it is all the same.”

The crowd held its breath as Ser Harrold turned to look at his king and the prince. But, like Larys’ refusal to speak out against the accusations, Aemond said nothing but he drew his sword from its sheath at his waist and in a handful of steps, stood in front of Larys. And still your gaze did not move. Larys was still looking at you and Aemond moved his head just enough to follow the other man’s line of sight…and saw you.

Larys’ head was cut from his neck and fell to the floor with a wet thud. His body fell, too, and crimson started to puddle immediately across the light stone. And that was the end of House Strong. A small splash of blood streaked across the high arc of Aemond’s cheek but he did not brush it away, instead focusing on cleaning his blade before walking away, his stride long and powerful.

As the crowd’s murmurs started to reach a crescendo, you blindly walked back to your apartments and tried to wrangle the thoughts coursing through you. Larys had killed Harwin. Larys had killed him and the entirety of his family…

Your thoughts came to a screeching halt with the announcement of Aemond’s presence in your rooms. You turned to see him striding him, skirting around the serving girl who had let him in.

“It is done, my lady.”

“It is.” The words sounded muffled in your ears. But it was done. Silence stretched between you, tight and uncomfortable, but you could not find the words to break it. What could you say? What else could be done? “What did you say to him to have him reveal such atrocities?” Was all you could ask.

Aemond hummed and his chin tilted up, and it reminded you of a cat who had just devoured a fat canary. “I simply appealed to him as a fellow second son.”

The simple sentence felt like you had plunged into an icy lake. You remembered how they spoke at Jacaerys and Helaena’s wedding and one thought jumped to another to another before... “It was you who gave him the idea.”

“Careful, my lady,” Aemond said softly but you could hear the iron beneath it. “Be wary of your accusations.”

“Accusations?” You hissed. “You have already confessed to appealing to him as a fellow second son. What other conclusion would you have me make? What other option have you given me?”

“It was not I who killed him. And it was not my intent to have him burnt to ash. Harwin deserved a cleaner death than that.”

“Stop it! Do not be so cruel!”

Aemond moved closer. “But he was always going to die, my lady. He claimed what was mine.” He reached out and gently set his hand against your cheek; a soft touch in contrast to his cold words. “But now you can rest knowing that it was not my hand that struck him down.” His thumb traced the curve of your cheek and he leaned in just far enough to brush his lips against your temple. You should have pulled away. Should have told him, again, that his affections were misplaced and unwanted. But you were rooted to the spot and your skin burned where he had kissed it.

The next breath rattled out of you and you felt Aemond’s lips pull into a smile against your skin. “Larys could have taken the Black.” You weren’t even sure why you were still speaking or why you even would suggest Larys still draw breath with his crimes.

Aemond pulled back just enough to look at you. He did not move far, his chest still brushed yours with each of his steady breaths. “I would not have doggedly pursued him if he had not meant to kill me as well. He had wanted to leave you no option but himself.” The prince paused and then his hands curled around your arms. “Nothing and no one will keep you from me, my lady.”

Even as you shook your head, you burned. “You will find another. Someone closer to your age-”

His grip tightened and then moved, anchoring at the base of your skull and giving you no room to wrench yourself free. “There is no one who could compare to you, your light, your fire. I have deprived myself of you and your attentions and I shall suffer no longer.” Aemond pulled in a slow breath. Calm and measured. “I will give you time to mourn. I am a man of honor and I know you felt something for Harwin, no matter how unworthy he was of your heart.” He dragged his lips down your temple to press another whisper of a kiss against the highest part of your cheek. “But I’ll not wait forever. My patience grows thin.” And then he was gone, leaving you with the echo of his scent and the burn of his touch.

If you thought that Larys’ execution was the end of it, you found yourself sorely mistaken. Aemond was not finished. The green fire that had destroyed Harrenhal had been a mystery you thought would never be solved, thinking that perhaps there was something in Harrenhal’s stone that turned the flames green. Larys was gone, that was what mattered, wasn’t it?

Not to Aemond. Rhaenyra summoned you into the Small Council chamber on the morning you were set to leave again. Aemond sat beside her as she sat next to her father who looked like he had been roused from a deep sleep. The golden mask Viserys had taken to wearing to hide the rot was loose around his head. But the light in his purple eyes was more present than it had been in years—that gave you pause, more than the tight line of Rhaenyra’s mouth. Rhaenys almost looked relieved and the rest of the royal family had also joined you alongside the Small Council. Helaena took her place beside you and wrapped a hand around the meat of your arm, as if she needed grounding for what was to come.

“Tell them, Aemond. Tell us all what you have found.”

Aemond nodded once and his lilac eye dragged across the crowd for a moment and then settled on you. He explained the Alchemists’ Guild had created something called Wildfire. A synthetic dragonfire—and wild, as the name denoted. The order to create it had come directly from the Citadel itself.

Larys had procured a handful of jars for himself and had stashed them within Harrenhal, waiting for the correct time, as he had put it. Those jars had been enough to destroy the largest of the towers of the storied fortress and kill dozens.

Larys killed them with fire. Killed his father and brother for their titles and inheritance…and for you. (His confession of that last point came to you by the shaking hand of a servant girl who had been told to wait to deliver it to you “at the right time.” She had found you the night after his execution, slipping through the passageways you had once traversed yourself as a girl in the Red Keep. The missive had been brief but would haunt you for the rest of your days. If you had been mine, my brother would still live. There had been other accusations, too, stating that you had intoxicated him the moment your eyes met his when you first were introduced at the Eyrie. It had been a cruel final act, leaving you under the crushing weight of guilt you had to suffer with alone.)

Aemond enlisted the one-time paramour of Daemon, a woman named Mysaria, who had a network of “spiders” throughout the city. When digging further, Mysaria’s spiders found that the plot was truly beyond what anyone could have been expecting. Since the Conquest, a certain powerful subset of the Conclave had been hellbent on destroying the dragons and any trace of magic left in Westeros. They had studies of how the dragons’ growth stunted since the creation of the Dragonpit. There were collected tomes upon tomes of how to kill dragons within their eggs.

The suspicions you had about something being wrong with the dragons had proven true. Did you feel any pride or righteousness about being right? Of course not. You would have preferred to be wrong—but the truth was out now.

Your mind was filled with thoughts of your dragon and how there was a centuries’ long plot to destroy him and all others like him. He was yours. Your freedom made tangible. How could you ever think to live without him? How could anyone think to take him from you?

When you were finally able to leave the Red Keep, you pressed yourself along your dragon’s spine, wanting to feel as close as you could to him. Each flap of his massive wings echoed in your chest. And he seemed to feel your want for closeness and took a few extra turns around the Eyrie before landing, keeping you atop his back for a little longer.

It was a balm to be back in the Vale. Dealing with your duties was a welcome distraction from the ache in your chest. Harwin was gone but your dragon was safe. Perhaps that was all you could have. A dragon of your own and the diadem on your head.

True to form, Viserys was slow to act upon the information Aemond had presented. He feared gaining House Hightower’s ire by demanding the maesters and archmaesters still involved in the plot be remanded to the Crown’s custody. Daemon and Aemond held no such qualms and landed Caraxes and Vhagar atop the Seneschal’s Court in the Citadel and demanded all who were involved to be handed over.

From what you had gleaned from the whispers in the Vale, there had been a short-lived stand off before Lord Ormund Hightower faced threats of a revolt of his vassals and also pressed the Citadel to yield to the princes’ demands. Your courtiers sometimes whispered of how Aemond had ordered the maesters who had taken part of the conspiracy to be fed to Vhagar and the wildfire caches to be destroyed in the maw of the Dragonmont on Dragonstone. When that was finished, Aemond and Rhaenys destroyed the Dragonpit atop Meleys and Vhagar when he returned. The dragons would be cared for on the outskirts of the city, without chains and dark roosts.

“He is a true Targaryen,” Lady Waxley said. You weren’t entirely sure if you liked the breathy tone she used but you quickly dismissed that thought. Aemond was not yours to covet.

“And I hear he is still unattached,” another woman added. “Unusual for a prince—even a second son, no?”

Aemond was not just a second son. He was his family protector. He rode the largest dragon in the world. He was studious and a master swordsman and-

You bit your tongue so hard it bled.

Moons waxed and waned, and you thought that you had rid yourself of Aemond and his attentions. And you worked to set him out of your mind as well. It was strange, how often you thought of him. He was haunting you.

And you knew that was what he wanted.

But you knew this wayward infatuation he thought he had for you would fade. He would marry a young highborn lady and you would find a suitable heir from one of your distant cousins. The events of these past moons would be…relegated to the dark of your memory. In time. Even if the ghost of his kisses still followed you in your dreams. The thought of telling Alicent of his affections briefly crossed your mind, but decided against it, knowing it would only embarrass you and Alicent. And with the burn of his touch came the realization that you would be alone. It had been a girlish, childish hope that you would find a husband and have a family of your own. You had put your obligations to the Vale above your own wants. It had been the honorable thing to do. And then Harwin had given you hope. He held you gently and kissed you passionately. He had wanted a family, too. One with you despite your differences. The tears you shed for Harwin were, selfishly, also for the life you would not get to live. A handful of new suits were brought before you after returning to the Vale and you rejected them outright after they made it seem like they were granting you a boon by even considering you as a potential bride. You could and would rule the Vale without a husband and a few were even younger than Aemond. Harwin had been the ideal choice: older than you, mostly understanding of your position, and in possession of a kind heart and handsome face. And now he was gone. So be it. As you looked over the subpar qualifications and lives of your Gulltown cousins to pick a potential heir, Ser Oswin came into your solar, holding a missive and his cheeks sunken with shock: Viserys was dead.

While you led a coalition of the highborn of the Vale down to the Red Keep, your dragon circled restlessly overhead. You would have preferred to fly with him, but you knew that leading the Vale and publicly showing your support for Rhaenyra as heir was more important than your comfort. The Houses of the Vale may not follow you blindly, but they did trust your judgment. And you were going to see Rhaenyra crowned without question.

When you arrived, the city was draped in black and mostly somber, but you did hear a few whispers about the impending coronation. You had your handmaidens distribute food on your way in, stating it was a gift from Queen Rhaenyra. It was a small way you could help sway favor. Things were changing—you just hoped it would be for the better. And as your wheelhouse continued on, you were pleasantly surprised to realize the city did not hold as putrid of a scent as it had previously. There were fresh water fountains tucked between buildings and it looked like the streets had been recently cleared. Daeron’s plans seemed to be working marvelously to better the city for everyone.

Your dragon settled in the deserted tourney grounds and you made sure some of your younger lords and ladies were comfortable in their apartments before you set off to find Alicent and Rhaenyra. You found them in Rhaenyra’s solar, quiet and holding each other’s hands. You greeted them with a curtsey followed by tight hugs. “Tell me what you need,” you whispered.

Rhaenyra shook her head. Salt from dried tears had left streaks down her cheeks. “His suffering has ended.”

Alicent brushed a lock of Rhaenyra’s silver hair away from her cheek and kissed her temple gently. She also had tears in her eyes, making the brown of her gaze all the more vibrant. “And he went into the Seven Heavens knowing you would carry on his legacy faithfully.”

Rhaenyra nodded before sighing. “He has been ill for so long, but I still feel as if he was taken from me too soon. What if I still have more to learn? More for him to teach me?”

Truthfully, you thought of telling her of how she had been ruling in his stead for years with Rhaenys and Alicent as her guides and a strong Small Council at her back. But she was still delicate and she loved her father, no matter his faults. “He was a peaceful king. And I have no doubt you will be much the same. You have a strong council, a respected and loyal Hand, and you have us,” you said, curling your hands around one of hers. “We are here for you, Rhaenyra.” You turned to Alicent and saw the ache in her eyes as well. No matter how unfair her marriage had been, Alicent was still a dutiful wife. “And I am here for you as well, please never forget that.”

After the prayers and services for Viserys were finished, Alicent was the one who crowned Rhaenyra, setting Jaehaerys’ crown on her brow and proclaiming her Queen for the Seven Kingdoms to behold. The crowd, full of highborn and smallfolk alike, cheered and chanted her name like a benediction. Jacaerys was publicly named as her heir as Helaena stood at his side. You were pleased to have been given a seat in the first row of revealers and you readily curtsied with the rest of the crowd as Rhaenyra held out her arms, like she was greeting all of them, welcoming them all into her arms. Daemon chuckled at his place beside Lucerys—his lady wife and daughter were seated beside you and were likely to be busy with courtly life as they had been away from Westeros for some time.

As the crowd continued to cheer, you caught Aemond’s eye as he stood behind Rhaenyra on the raised dias. His sword was sheathed at his side and in his fine leather and linen clothes, he looked every inch the prince of a dark fairytale of Old Valyria. His silver hair was a curtain of silver silk and his lilac eye nearly sparkled in the sunlight of the Great Hall. Yes, a dark prince indeed. And you steadfastly ignored how a flock of hummingbirds seemed to have taken up residence in your stomach when you looked at him.

You danced with Lord Blackwood’s nephew, Davos, at the festivities that night, Daemon, and then also took a turn with Aegon’s Lady Farwynd. She was a riot of spring colors and bright smiles; you understood why Aegon was so taken with her. Hopefully their betrothal would be announced soon. But as you looked at Jace and Helaena, Aegon and his lady, and Rhaenyra and Alicent, any joy you might have felt soured in your chest. Of course, you were thankful that Rhaenyra seemed to be at least mostly welcomed by her subjects, but you were alone. And you had no one to celebrate with at your side. But you shoved that self-pitying part down until you could hardly feel it. You were the Lady of the Eyrie. You had so much to be thankful for. That was what mattered.

“That’s her,” someone whispered as you nibbled on some roasted boar and honeyed carrots at one of the tables. “Ser Harwin’s betrothed.”

“Well, certainly not anymore.”

Someone tittered a laugh and your heart twisted.

“A shame, is it not? And she was lucky to-”

You stood from your chair and walked away, unable to listen any more nor caring if they saw you. Yes, you had been lucky. And that luck ran out. But you would still be an honorable Lady of the Eyrie. That would be your legacy. Something wet splashed against your neck and it took you a moment to realize you were crying. Hot, fat tears were trickling down your face and you hastily wiped them away as you ducked behind a pillar, hoping no one saw your pitiful display. Now was not the time for your heart to crack open.

Seven Hells, these last handful of moons had been confusing and volatile. You had mourned Harwin and the future you had hoped for. Larys had been dealt with. A plot to destroy the dragons had been foiled. Viserys was dead. Rhaenyra was Queen. And you would support her and quash any murmurs you heard of dissent. You had to be…content with that, with what the gods have given you.

“What has you so forlorn?” You turned to look at Helaena as she rounded the pillar to stand beside you.

You pressed a smile to your face but you knew it was not convincing as she continued to frown at you. “It is a joyous night, princess. I simply am a little overwhelmed.”

Helaena’s purple eyes moved across your face before nodding. “There are many people here. And they all seem to want something. Even if it is only a moment of our time.”

You could only imagine what an event like this would be for Helaena. It had to be an assault on her senses but she seemed to have resigned herself to soldiering through it as a duty. “Shall we hide here together, then?”

Helaena nodded, a soft laugh pressing at her mouth. “I think that would be wonderful.”

You spoke quietly with her for a few moments, letting her tell you of the newest additions to her collection and how she was settling into married life. She seemed to be handling all of it with the soft grace you knew her to always possess and that she would need as the future queen. Jacaerys eventually came to steal her away for a dance and they smiled at each other, heads angled toward one another with matching pink on their cheeks. You leaned against the pillar and watched the pair move through the steps of the dance with a wistful sigh. Yes, they would be good—together, to each other, and for the Realm. You had no doubt. It was something you could feel in your bones.

“You have been avoiding me.”

You had not been avoiding Aemond, per se. The funeral and celebrations and all the pomp and pageantry between had been exhausting. As a head of a Great House, there were certain expectations. An example you needed to set. And if all of that kept you from this exact situation? That was a happy happenstance. “What do you need, my prince?”

“You know what I desire.”

Your eyes shuttered for a moment as the smoke of his voice wrapped around you. “I know what you think you desire.” Steeling yourself, you turned to face him. Gods, he was beautiful. Even more so from this distance. You could see the fine stitching of his doublet and the silver and blue threads of the three headed dragon embroidered over his heart. It suited him, the blue. “But I do suppose I have been remiss in thanking you for uncovering the plot to destroy our dragons. You have done a great service to us all. I do commend and thank you for that.”

Aemond moved closer and you fought the childish urge to turn and flee. It was strange to find yourself feeling like prey. But with that knowing light in his eye and the set of his shoulders, what else could you be?

“I would not leave the Crown or House Targaryen defenseless.” His eye dragged down your body as he said it and you felt every inch of it. “I must protect them. Just as I must protect you.”

You were not entirely sure what you could or should say to him. You thanked him, that should be the end of it. It needed to be the end of it. Rolling your shoulders, you prepared to leave and gathered a handful of your skirts. “I will leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening-”

“I did not say I was finished yet, my lark.”

“I do not need your per…” Words stalled. “What did you call me?”

Aemond moved closer again, with all the grace of a trained warrior. One of his long fingers trailed down the fine stitching of your sleeve, and then pressed against the scar you had hidden. Again, your senses were clouded with the heat of him, the scent of him. Of metal and dragon and heat and lavender. “A lark.”

“Lark.” You knew the bird. You knew its sweet song and its gentle nature. You knew its place in the songs of lovers and on the tongues of poets. You were not a lark. You were your mother’s shrike. You were House Arryn’s falcon. But a lark? Is that how he saw you?

“Yes, my lark.”

“I am not yours, Aemond,” you nearly hissed before turning on your heel and walking away before he could whisper again. But with each step you took, the sobriquet echoed in your mind.

My lark.

My lark.

My lark.

You sat beneath the shadow of the heart tree and watched as Jeyne walked around the Red Keep’s godswood with Cregan Stark at her side. The young lord of Winterfell and a host of other Northern Houses had come to the capital to attend the coronation and swear fealty to Rhaenyra. And it was there that Cregan had caught Jeyne’s eye.

It would be a good match, to be sure. Politically it made sense and the way Jeyne was smiling was certainly an indication of how she felt, too. Cregan’s cheeks were often pink in her presence and you were fairly certain it was not because he was unaccustomed to the southron weather. Rhaenyra had asked you to chaperone them as they became better acquainted with each other. You were happy to oblige. The youngest princess was about to reach the age of majority and Cregan had just done so himself, after a long regency over his own seat of power. It was a little melancholy for you to see the last babe you had held in your arms now entertaining suitors.

You would watch them out of the corner of your eye as you worked on the embroidery in your grasp and look away whenever Cregan nervously looked in your direction. The last time he did so, he seemed confident enough to grasp Jeyne’s hand and press a shy kiss to her fingers when he thought you were not looking. Jeyne’s answering giggle kept you from stepping in. By the time you finished the moonbloom and dragon’s breath flowers on your small bit of linen, Jeyne was floating over to you with a smile on her face.

“Come, my little love,” you said as you rose from your seat. “Let us go speak with Her Grace, hm?”

Rhaenyra was pleased Jeyne was so smitten and you let yourself out to allow them discuss what the future could possibly hold—that seemed like it would be a special moment to be had between mother and daughter. To pass the time before tonight’s feast, you had a serving woman get you a bit of Arbor Gold from the kitchens and you sipped on it as you reclined on one of the holdfast’s balconies, watching the comings and goings of the city below.

“Lady Arryn, is it not?”

You stood and turned at the sound of the unfamiliar voice and saw a tall man dressed in extravagant silk and samite robes the color of the sky at dawn. “It is. And it seems you have caught me unawares; I apologize but I do not recall your name.”

The man bowed with a laugh. “I am Alios, a Magister of Pentos. Your queen was gracious enough to extend an invitation to me for her coronation.”

You tried to keep the surprise from your face. Inviting foreign dignitaries wasn’t unheard of but you knew the current Sealord of Braavos in attendance and the bad blood between Braavos and Pentos was storied. “And how are you finding our fair capital?”

“It is pleasant enough. But I am most fond of its art.” His sand colored eyes made a lazy path down your form as the corners of his lips turned up into an appreciative smile.

And you had to laugh at the unmitigated gall of it all. “The art is hanging on the walls, my lord. I am sure you would appreciate it all the more.”

Alios stepped closer and you found your grip tightening on the chalice in your hand. He might be handsome in certain ways, but there was something rotten about him—it did not help that his pallor reminded you of curdled milk. “What is paint and fabric compared to the beauty in front of me?”

Another laugh escaped you but it sounded stilted and uneven to your ears. “You are bold, my lord. It has been some time since I have been in Essos, but I do not recall such overtures being polite across the Narrow Sea.”

Alios waved it away. The golden rings on each of his fingers parkled in the dying sunlight. “I am an impatient man. If I see something I find beautiful, why waste my time on being polite?”

“And am I to assume that you are accustomed to getting everything you desire?” You replied. It was almost charming for a complete stranger to approach you in such a way. An affront to good decorum, but charming in a way that reminded you of a child that had not yet learned the way of courtly machinations.

He stepped closer still and smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth. “I am.”

The Arbor Gold was sweet on your tongue but you had to consciously keep your face from pulling into a frown as he took yet another step closer to you. “A pity, then, that I will have to be the first to teach you the lesson that you cannot also get what you want. Usually it is babes in arms who are learning such.” You pushed out another laugh, trying to retain some sort of jovial matter. It would not do for you to insult one of Rhaenyra’s guests, no matter how ridiculous you found them. “I would be obliged to show you where the tapestries House Targaryen saved from the Doom are hung. The Red Keep can be a maze to those not acquainted with its halls.”

“I would accept your offer, my lady. Please, lead the way.” He was saying everything correctly, aside from his overt flirtations. He was arguably handsome. Wealthy, if his clothing and standing as a Magister was any indication. And about your age. He could be…suitable. But why could you not find anything but barely checked revulsion for him? You hurriedly gulped the rest of your wine and led him through the halls to the storied tapestries. Thankfully, there were other courtiers viewing them and a small bit of tension slipped from your shoulders. You were not alone with him. “Will you not tell me their histories?” Alios asked.

Your tongue rolled in your mouth for a moment. “I do believe there are placards beneath each. They would be much more succinct than I could ever hope to be.”

“And if I do not care for brevity?” He arched a brow. “I must confess, Lady Arryn, that it seems you want to be rid of my company.”

You pressed a smile to your face. Well, at least he was not completely dense. “I do apologize for any slight you may feel, my lord, but I do not have the patience for such frivolities today. I am needed elsewhere. Please excuse me.”

You were quick to quit the hall, even when you heard him call your name with a laugh on his tongue. You would not suffer his presence any longer. And it was fortunate that you spied Rhaenyra rounding the corner a few paces later, flanked by a pair of Queensguard. She smiled as she spotted you and was quick to wave you to her side. “I have much to tell you,” she said as she linked her arm with yours.

Finally pulling in a full breath, you let her lead you into the Great Hall where the kitchen maids and staff were preparing for the night’s feast. A handful more were starting to lead carts filled with bread and vegetables out of the hall, too, no doubt being distributed throughout the city. Lady Mysaria, the new Mistress of Whispers on Rhaenyra’s Small Council, Princess Rhaenys, and Daeron had continued to voice the need to provide for the Smallfolk in abundance and Rhaenyra was happy to oblige.

Rhaenyra plucked a bit of cheese from one of the platters on the nearest table and handed it to you before popping some into her mouth as well.

“You are in a jovial mood,” you mused.

Rhaenyra’s smile widened and she drew you closer with a hand in yours. “Helaena is with child.”

Something akin to a yelp escaped you before you were pulling Rhaenyra into your arms. “Blessed news. A babe on the way. They will be wonderful parents.”

Rhaenyra pulled back after a moment, a smile still splitting her face. “I cannot fathom it. My boy will have a child of his own. And Helaena, the sweet girl, has been simply glowing.”

A giggle slipped by your lips as you shook your head. “Of course she is. I expect nothing less.” The news had something fluttering in your chest. Rhaenyra was queen, her line secure, the Realm at peace. House Targaryen was flourishing.

The feast that night was jovial, even more so with your secreted knowledge of Helaena’s condition. You made sure she had an extra plate of lemoncakes sent her way after the first course was finished and Helaena gave you a smile as bright as sunlight when they were placed in front of her. It was enough for you to focus on and not how you felt two insistent and very different gazes trailing your every move.

One burned. The other made you itch.

When the feast was finished, you welcomed your handmaidens insisting on you resting for the night. To be true, the festivities had taken a toll on you. You preferred the infrequent crowds of the Vale and Eyrie to the constant bustle and pageantry of the capital. But you would not squirrel yourself away for long. It was time to celebrate. Hopefully this would be the first, last, and only coronation you would have to attend. Focusing on the smiles of your dear friends and family would surely be enough to soothe any discomfort you had. Only a small group of your fellow Valemen had come to you with grievances they wanted you to mediate or settle during the celebration, so you supposed that was another mark of good fortune.

You slid into the near-scalding water in the copper tub with a sigh. Lavender oil had created small, rainbow slicks in the water and you let it soak into your skin as you rested your head against the back of the tub. Pulling in a deep breath, your tight muscles started to unclench and your mind finally went quiet.

Just for a moment.

Your eyes snapped open as you sucked in another lungful of the floral fragrance. Lavender. Aemond smelt of lavender. It would be egotistical to think that he had taken to using lavender oil simply because you did, would it not? But now the seed of the thought had been planted. You dragged a hand down your face and sunk a little lower in the water, letting it lap at your upper lip. Lavender. Lavender. Lavender.

The scent had always reminded you of home, of your mother. Wherever you went, so did the scent of the purple bloom. Your mother had used it, credited it to her healthy glow and soft skin. And you had always wanted to be like her and had insisted your maids use it with you as soon as you could accurately form the argument.

And now it was Aemond. Aemond who smelt of dragon and mint and leather and lavender.

Despite the coming autumn, it was a warm day. You fanned your face as you watched Jeyne and Helaena try to capture a dragonfly with a fine silk net. The younger princess had wanted to gift it to Helaena in celebration of her pregnancy, but could not figure out how to best capture the insect and eventually had to ask Helaena for help. Helaena didn’t seem to mind, spouting off all the ways she had tried before and had led Jeyne this way and that for materials for their “hunt.” It warmed the recesses of your heart to see them together. Jeyne did insist on being the one to wait in the tree for the dragonfly to pass by again, telling Helaena she was to remain “both feet firmly planted!” on the ground. Jacaerys eventually joined the pair, shouting a brotherly “be careful!” to Jeyne in the tree before sitting beside Helaena on the soft grass below.

The coronation celebrations were slowly coming to an end and you would soon be home in the Eyrie again. Away from Alios and his disconcerting attentions. Away from Aemond and his silent stares. After arriving in the capital, you thought Aemond’s quiet had meant a new chapter had started. Perhaps his feelings for you had started to wane. But he stared. And his stare burned. You could not deny the heat of his gaze nor the tilt of his mouth when you caught his gaze. He was unrepentant and would not look away.

Your thoughts of Aemond were quickly usurped as Rhaenyra settled beside you on the bench. “They are considering the name Aerion for the babe,” she said instead of a greeting.

“And what if they have a girl, hm? What shall they name her? You were quite taken with the name Visenya as a girl, if I remember correctly.”

Rhaenyra hummed, not taking her eyes off the couple as they continued to sit quietly together in the shade. “Your mother was the one to sway me from that name.”

“Oh?”

Rhaenyra nodded. “She said that some names hold more weight than others.”

You knew what she meant. Your mother had long pondered if Queen Visenya had placed a curse of some sort on her own name, guaranteeing that she would be the one and only. Tragic demises usually awaited any babe that was considered for it. “Well, we shall just have to see what they choose for their little heir when the time comes.”

That seemed to be enough for Rhaenyra who sat quietly beside you for a moment—until Jeyne fell out of the tree. Thankfully, the princess was unharmed but it was deemed best that her hunt for the dragonfly resume tomorrow. You plucked a few blades of grass from Jeyne’s hair as Rhaenyra herded everyone back into the shadows of the Red Keep.

“Lady Arryn!” You turned and saw Alios striding toward you, a gaggle of similarly dressed men at his back. “I was hoping to have a moment of your time, if you would be agreeable.”

You certainly were not agreeable but courtly politeness kept you from voicing your displeasure. “Is there something you need, my lord?”

His smile stretched across his face and it instantly rolled your stomach. “Just as I said: a moment of your time. I would have you walk with me.”

You smashed your tongue between your teeth for a moment before nodding. “A moment, my lord. I have other duties to attend to.” As you passed a handmaiden, one of Alicent’s retinue, you were quick to wave her to your side. You would not leave yourself alone with Alios and his ilk. His intentions were unclear and you did not want to know them, truthfully. The more time you spent in his presence, the less you wanted him near you. It did not leave you with any comfort when Alios eyed the handmaiden at your side with barely checked contempt, but when you blinked again, his face was back to its placid smile again.

He led your small group back out into the gardens and you again bit your tongue to avoid something unkind slipping by your lips. This was a waste of time. Surely he had to see your disinterest.

“Have you ever been to Pentos, my lady?”

“No. But I hear it can be agreeable.”

“‘Agreeable.’” He laughed. “It is far more than agreeable. It is the jewel of the Free Cities.” Pride oozed from every syllable as he tapped at his chest. “I would be honored to show you its beauty and wonders.”

“That is a most gracious offer, magister, but I must decline. I have my duties and responsibilities here. I must not shirk them. No matter how tempting the offer.” The offer was not tempting but, again, courtly politeness kept you from saying so. But you were tempted. Gods, you were tempted.

“Perhaps I shall spirit you away regardless. You would warm to my city eventually.”

The handmaiden gasped behind you—the man had just proposed kidnapping you, it was a polite reaction compared to what you wanted. But still, you reached back and looped your hand through her arm and held her to your side. “I will not be warming anything of yours. I would thank you for the company but I found no enjoyment in this exchange. Please excuse us.” You then steered you and the handmaiden back toward the Keep without fanfare and your tongue now bleeding behind your teeth with how tightly you had bit. As soon as you were in the safety of the shadows of the Keep, you shooed the handmaiden back to her duties after thanking her for her company and hurried to Rhaenyra’s solar.

Luck, it seemed, was on your side as the royal family was still inside and the Queen was fussing over her daughter, just as she had been before Alios had rudely intruded.

“Where did you go?” Helaena asked, turning to look at you from her perch on an overstuffed chaise. “You were here one moment, gone the next.”

“I was called away. It is no matter now. It shall not happen again.” You pressed a smile to your face and hoped you were telling the truth. Surely Alios would now understand that you wanted nothing from him. Short of telling him that you found his very presence repugnant, you had made your opinion of him clear. Briefly, you thought of telling Rhaenyra of Alios and his unwanted attentions, but as you watched her fuss over her daughter and then pivot to also fuss over Helaena while balancing her father’s crown on her brow, you decided against it. It was not the time. You handled this yourself. Asking anything of Rhaenyra now would simply be selfish.

Over Rhaenyra’s shoulder, Helaena caught your eye. Her purple gaze was heavy, like she was seeing something on you that you could not scrub away. The queen-to-be saw something.

The door to the solar opened and Daeron strode in with a teasing smile at the ready. “I heard you fell out of a tree trying to catch a bug.”

Jeyne squawked in embarrassment. “Who told you?” And as the room descended into familiar familial chaos, you tried to smile. You had made the right choice, hadn’t you?

The day faded into the next and you were thankfully tied up in showing a few of your younger bannermen and their families around the capital and presenting them to the Crown. It was a bit monotonous but you would not complain. You were helping, in your own way, to solidify Rhaenyra’s reign and your own power over the Vale. And it mostly kept you out of Aemond and Alios’ lines of sight. They were off…busy with their own endeavors, you were sure, and you were happy to not think of them. But your mind did wander to Aemond. Now would be the most suitable time for him to find a more agreeable match. You hoped whomever he found would treat him well. He deserved it.

And you steadfastly ignored how hope and something you could not name twisted in your chest at the thought of it.

But it was no matter as you retired to your chambers before supper service, trying to regain a bit of energy you would need in order to play the part of Lady Arryn for the masses. And it was a blessing that you had such a high title and sway. But gods be good, it could be tiresome.

As you took a moment to breathe and attempt to sort through all the dynamics between your bannermen’s houses (there seemed to be a bit of tension between Lord Coldwater and the newest Lord Elesham and Lady Waynwood had come to you in hopes of helping her son and heir secure a suitable match and that was just the last hour) and how you should approach each of them. It helped soothe your mind as you rolled one of your mothers rings around your finger. Unladylike, true, but it helped nonetheless.

A quick knock at your chamber door had you turning, thoughts halting for a moment. You expected to see one of your handmaidens, or one attending to one of the other royal women summoning you to one solar or another. But what you found instead was Alios, leaning against your closed door, fingers twirling the lock with a smile on his face. “It should not have been this difficult to get you alone.”

Something vile rippled down your spine. Nothing good could come of this and your stomach twisted. “This is inappropriate, my lord. I must ask you leave at once.”

But he only stepped toward you. “Why should I? I have gone through much and more trouble to finally speak to you like this. Without any unwanted ears listening.”

Danger. Blood. Violence. Something whispered at the back of your mind for you to run. To scream. To flee. To fight. “Leave. It has been some time since I lived on the other side of the Narrow Sea, but I do not recall unannounced and unwanted visitors being polite.”

He took another step. And then another. And you took one back—only one as the back of your legs hit the edge of your featherbed. Your eyes darted to the door behind him. Surely you could be swift enough to evade him.

“If you try to run, I assure you that you will regret it, my lady.”

Ice ran through your veins at his words. “You dare threaten me?”

“I dare,” Alios said, smirk pushing at his mouth. “And I am certain you would prefer that your mother’s transgressions were not revealed to the court.”

Questions ran through your mind as your ears rang. What could he possibly mean? What connection did your mother have to this grievous and foreign man? And what did he want? He did not wait for you to voice these questions and pressed on with another taunting step toward you.

“Pentos and Lys do not often trade with one another, but I enjoy their wares when they arrive on our shores. And one such man came to Pentos not a year past, with quite a story to tell.”

You knew instantly of whom he spoke. Ghael. Your kinslaying uncle. But you would not let this interloper know that he had struck at a part of you that still ached. “I would not have you waste your breath recounting stories. I’ll not ask again: leave.”

But Alios inched closer still. “Your uncle told me stories of his maiden niece, locked in a tower of her own making, surrounded by stolen wealth.”

“He was the thief,” you seethed. “He stole my father’s life and livelihood. He would have murdered me in my bed, a child, had my mother not spirited me away to Westeros. Whatever he has told you, you have been misled.”

And as Alios’ infuriating smirk continued to grow, you realized you had already shown your weak spot. “I do not believe I have, my lady. Here you stand, as he said. A lady of considerable standing and wealth. You are kin with the new queen. Her children seek you out for comfort and conversation. Now, tell me, why would the only daughter of a Lyseni merchant be of such high standing if she had not taken something that belonged to another?”

You rolled your lips into your mouth for a moment. It would be worthless to try to convince him in seeing how he had been led astray, would it not? But still, you could not stand for such slander. “My position in court has nothing to do with my misbegotten uncle. My mother was the queen’s aunt, she was a cousin to the late king. Anything my mother brought from Lys was my father’s. All of it was my father’s and Ghael usurped what he could after murdering him. All that my father had was my mother’s by right. I now see Ghael has not learned in these years how to handle his own affairs. He offered you a great sum, did he not, to return what he says was stolen from him? The last man he sent this side of the Narrow Sea met his end swiftly.”

“That man was not me and your uncle promised me something far greater if I returned what you and your mother stole.”

Another step.

Another.

“And what is that?” You asked through gritted teeth. Sweat lined your palms but you fought the girlish urge to wipe it away on your gown.

“You.” And then the man lunged and his grotesquely slick lips pressed against yours. Your next breath was a half muffled shriek as you shoved at his chest. He stumbled back for just a moment before he surged forward to again claim your mouth with his; one of his hands wrapped around the back of your neck as the other grasped your breast with a cruel grip. One of his boots knocked into your feet and had you falling backward against your featherbed with a yelp. Alios laughed as you, again, shoved at his chest, and you nearly screamed as his tongue traced against the seam of your tightly closed mouth.

You raked your nails down his cheek and snarled in near delight as blood bubbled beneath your fingers but you were not done. Shoving your knee up, Alios let out a gasp of pain as you found your mark and he reared back, giving you just enough room to move out from under him and stumble to your feet. But he lunged again, grasped at the sleeve of your gown and yanked. The seams popped beneath his grip but you surged backward as the fabric tore and ripped down your arm. Alios threw the ruined fabric aside as he stood straight again. His sneer returned even as his chest heaved.

The door burst open and Aemond strode in, no doubt having heard the disturbance. And to your horror, several courtiers were peering around him into the room, already whispering.

And Alios was the first to speak. “I did not know the women this side of the Narrow Sea were so tenacious!”

The whispers increased in volume but you scarcely heard them over the roaring of blood in your ears. “You impudent liar! He has attacked me-”

“She is embarrassed! You have caught us in quite the position; I daresay I usually leave my lovers much more satisfied than this.” His following laugh had your blood boiling.

“He continues to spew falsehoods!” Despite wanting to appear calm and collected, as you were known to be, as the Lady of the Eyrie should always be seen, the terror and unbridled rage was starting to gnaw at your bones. This could ruin you. Ruin everything. Your mother’s legacy. Your legacy and legitimacy as the rightful ruler of the Vale. All of it would be lost to the scandal.

But Alios simply laughed again and bent to grab your discarded sleeve. He waved it around like a tourney favor. The blue and silver fabric shimmered mockingly in the dying light. “We were in quite a rush, as you can see, Prince Aemond.”

It took you a moment to realize Aemond had his sword readied in his hand and he had not moved to sheathe it again. “And will you deign to tell me that the blood on your face is from her passionate embrace?” Aemond’s tone held the icy formality you knew him to use in court but it now had a steely underbelly you could not ignore. And his sword still glinted in the light.

Alios’ smile faltered a fraction and he touched his cheek, as if he had forgotten the small injury you had bestowed upon him. “As I said: we were in a rush.”

The whispers at the prince’s back continued to grow and your heart raced. You stared at Aemond, silently begging him to believe you. Despite your rejection of his suit, he had to believe you in this, did he not? He had to know you better than to cavort with a near stranger so openly.

“I know Lady Arryn to be a woman who holds honor above much else. Her honor has been without question.”

Tears sprang to your eyes as Aemond’s words as the smallest bit of tension fell from your spine. He believed you. “Thank you, my prince.”

But it seemed that the Pentoshi Magister was not yet finished. “Fine! I was trying to protect her honor by implying our tryst was amicable but Lady Arryn attacked me.”

Someone gasped and any relief you might have felt vanished as bile coated the back of your mouth. “Cease your lies! You are-”

“That is a dire accusation to levy against Lady Arryn,” Aemond said, his tone not wavering, but you would swear you saw the grip he had on the hilt of his sword tightening for a moment. Just a moment.

The fortress shook for a moment and your dragon’s distinctive shriek echoed through the halls and air. He had come for you, too.

“Indeed it is,” Alios agreed, the smile returning to his face for a flash before he schooled his features into a mockery of genteel resignation. “I wanted to spare her the embarrassment of-”

“You will not accuse me of your own crime.” Despite the shake in your voice, it rang out for all to hear. This would not stand.

“And I will not have you accuse me of such treachery,” Alios sneered in return before turning to Aemond again, his chin tilted up for a moment. “Your country allows trials for such matters, does it not? We should have this settled, for all to hear.”

“I choose violence.” The words spilled from between your lips and you would not and could not take them back. He had tried to dishonor you. In front of the court and your Valemen, no matter how small of a crowd. And your honor was your armor. “I demand a trial by combat.”

The smirk that stretched across Alios’ face was all teeth, like a rabid jackal. “I was so hoping it would come to that. Have I mentioned that I was once a bravo? I have killed many men for less.”

You bit back the snarl you felt growing. Alios being a bravo might give him a fair fight, but you knew Oswin would fight gallantly and prevail. The truth was on your side. He had never faltered in his protection of you. You might not be able to truly wield a mace, and your true weapon was a dragon. Your dragon. But you knew that using your dragon as such would be seen as dishonorable if not completely underhanded. Yes, you would have to rely on him, your sworn shield.

You were herded out to the training yard, the crowd growing with each step you took. Seven hells, how were you going to explain this to Rhaenyra? She was to be celebrating her ascension and you were demanding a trial by combat against one of the foreign dignitaries during the festivities. You asked one of your handmaidens to fetch Ser Oswin with haste before you were all but shoved into one of the chairs on the small overlook of the training grounds. A queensguard was posted at the entrance to the hall and you were unsure if this was to keep you safe or to keep you still. Your heart was still thundering in your chest and blood roared in your ears. How could so much go so wrong so quickly? The crowd had grown, too, much to your horror. The whispers you could catch told the story of how this could be the end of you. A harlot or a lady caught unawares by a man with ill intent? The gods would decide. Your dragon had followed you, paced atop the Red Keep, to peer down into the training yard with his blazing eyes as he loomed over you. For better or worse, he was with you.

You looked down at your hands and saw streaks of Alios’ blood beneath your fingernails and soaking your nail beds. You must have dealt him quite a blow—but you could find no satisfaction in it now. But you still pushed out your next breath as you curled your fingers together against your palms, whispering one of the few chants your mother had drilled into you for protection. She had once told you that having the blood of your enemy made it all the more potent. And with the fear and growing loathing coursing through your own veins, you knew it would be formidable. But you wished not for your own safety, but for Ser Oswin’s. His son was still growing. His lady wife adored him. And then regret started to tug at the back of your mind—should you have asked for someone else? Anyone else?

But as your handmaiden slipped back to your side—alone—your hope for protecting Ser Oswin might have come to fruition regardless.

“Where is Ser Oswin?” You whispered, blood pumping past your ears.

“I have not been able to find him, my lady.” Her eyes lowered and you saw tears lining her lashes.

Alios laughed as he lounged against a training brace, a thin and sharp sword dangling between his fingers. He no doubt heard your handmaiden. “Do you not have anyone who would fight for you and your supposed honor, my lady? Perhaps they see you as I do.” His self righteous smirk only faltered when your dragon blew green smoke into the air.

“Hold your tongue.” It was Aemond who spoke next.The gathered crowd parted for him immediately, letting his powerful stride carry him forward. He wore no armor but his sword was sheathed at his side, waiting and wanting.

Whispers ripped through the group as Aemond continued to close the distance. What would a prince of the Realm be doing here?

“I shall fight for Lady Arryn’s honor.” Your heart started to claw its way up your throat as you watched his long fingers curl around his sword’s pommel. “I know she tells the truth.”

Alios scoffed and stood straight. “The woman is a trollop. Trying to seduce me and then turning to violence when I declined her advances. She is no lady.”

Aemond hummed and looked at you as you leaned forward in your seat. “I think I should have your tongue for that.”

“You may try, princeling. But I’ll have your blood first.” Before the septon could even recite his prayer or Aemond unsheathe his sword, Alios lunged. His sword arched toward Aemond’s neck who simply stepped back to avoid the blade. With Aemond’s next step, his own sword was pulled and met with Alios’ in a heavy clash.

Aemond shoved Alios back and ducked in time to miss the blade coming at his face again and then rolled as Alios swung down, hoping to stab the prince in the back. But Aemond was quick. And cruel.

He pivoted and thrust his sword out, driving the blade through Alios’ knee. Alios tumbled into the dirt with a scream as Aemond pulled his sword free and stood tall again. Blood dripped from his sword but you doubted he cared as he calmly crushed Alios’ wrist beneath his heel. The other man’s screams choked him and you leaned further still and watched as Aemond pried the sword from Alios’ grip and cast it aside.

“Recant your accusations against Lady Arryn.” His voice was smooth and light. The fight had been short, true, and had presented him little challenge, apparently. “Now.”

Alios spat at him but it did not land, instead slithered down Alios’ splotched cheek. “I spoke true! She is-”

The point of Aemond’s sword sunk into the center of Alios’ sternum. “Careful, my lord. I would consider letting you keep your life if you proclaim that you falsely accused Lady Arryn. But I will not allow you to continue to proclaim these lies.” With a flick of his wrist, you watched blood bloom across Alios’ chest and he let out a short gasp as Aemond stared down at him.

Something you could not name stirred in the dark of your chest. Aemond was an unmoving force. A shadow of death cast across his opponent.

You could see Alios’ chest heave with each breath before he nodded, body going lax. “Lady Arryn did not try to seduce me. It was I who sought her company and was refused.”

Hushed conversation ripped around you but you could not tear your eyes away from Aemond. And, as if feeling your gaze, Aemond turned to look at you. His lilac gaze met yours—just for a moment—before he turned back to the man beneath his foot and sword. He did not move.

“You said you would let me live if-”

“I said I would consider it. I have considered it. And I still find you lacking.” He hummed. “But it would be dishonorable for me to kill an unarmed man. I shall let you try to best me.” The prince pulled his foot and weapon back and watched, almost disinterested, as Alios scrambled to find his footing and sword again. More blood started to dribble out of Alios’ chest but he still raised his weapon.

And then Aemond moved. He parried Alios’ sluggish advance and then turned and sunk the entirety of his sword through the other man’s chest. Up to the hilt. Alios froze for just a moment before pulling in a stuttering breath and then sprayed blood across Aemond’s face with his last moments before the Stranger took him.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

The crowd’s whispers reached a crescendo just as the septon, pale and shaking, stepped out into the dirt of the training ground and clasped his hands together. “Th-the Seven have spoken. Lady Arryn has been proven innocent of…of the accusations levied against her. Lord Alios was a deceiver…” He droned on a little longer but you scarcely heard it. And you could not tear your eyes away from the growing pool of blood beneath Alios’ body. Not until your dragon extended his ridged neck and took the magister’s body between his blackened teeth as the crowd below screamed again and quickly fled. But he paid them no mind as he devoured his snack before taking to the skies again, satisfied that you were safe and his own hunger sated. For now.

It took you a stretched moment to realize Aemond had gone. And you were alone on your little perch as the rest of the crowd dispersed, satisfied with your innocence and their unconscious need for bloodshed. Alone with your thundering heartbeat and racing thoughts.

You curled your hands into your skirts for a moment, trying to breathe through…everything. Your hold shook. How had this happened? All of it? And now it was over. The blood was surely cooling on the dirt now, waiting to be washed away by some squire or master-at-arms who tired of looking at it.

A soft footfall on the stone floor at your back had you rising and turning—and there stood Aemond. Crimson stained his hand. The wound he had dealt Alios must have been deep, deeper than you witnessed. Before you could form a single word, he moved, closing the distance. The blood was still warm as Aemond grasped at your face, pressing his hands to your cheeks and dragging you close. “Do you see now, my lark? Have I not sufficiently proven myself to you?”

You could feel Alios’ blood starting to grow tacky and cool, leaving streaks across your face that you would feel even after you had scrubbed the crimson away. “I did not wish for you-”

“But you have me. And I have spilled blood for your honor. For your house. For you.” His thumbs pressed into the plump of your cheeks, burning and viscid. “I have proclaimed it for the Realm to see. No one shall speak against you. Not while I have air in my lungs.” Aemond leaned his forehead against yours and his eye shuttered.

“Aemond…” The scent of blood had your throat tightening. He was safe. You were safe. “Thank you.”

His eye opened again and for a moment you thought he would kiss you but his grip on your face only tightened a fraction before he reached up and dragged one of his bloody fingers between your brows. Another hum rumbled through him as he looked at the mark he’d made before he turned and walked away without another word. As he disappeared back into the Keep, the blood grew cold on your skin.

It was not until you were back in your room that you realized that he had marked you in the way a groom would in a Valyrian marriage ceremony. And your heart ached.

You could feel Alicent and Rhaenyra’s eyes boring into each side of your face as you stirred honey into your tea.

“I have already apologized,” you muttered into the fine porcelain as you raised it to your lips.

“You needn’t apologize at all,” Alicent said, again, as she glanced at Rhaenyra. “I was the one who arranged for the magister to attend the celebrations.”

“His actions do not reflect upon you, Alicent. How was anyone to know that my kinslaying uncle had such reach or such patience?” The tea cup rattled in its saucer as you set it down. “But I must, again, apologize for having Aemond be wrapped up in this folly.”

And for the umpteenth time in your life, Alicent and Rhaenyra exchanged a look before turning back to you. “Aemond can act rashly, I will admit, but I believe that his defense of you was something we all knew was inevitable.”

You froze for a moment, fingers still half-curled around the teacup’s handle. “What do you mean?”

Rhaenyra let out a small noise—you weren’t entirely sure if it was a laugh or a sigh. “You cannot be so blind to see that my brother is devoted to you.”

Devoted. It was a terrible, heavy word. But your heart still skipped a beat at the thought of it. And you hated that it did. But it was involuntary.

Before you could form a thought to sway them away from the current topic of conversation, they were, thankfully or not, called away to wish some of their guests safe travels back to their homes in the Westerlands.

You found your way back to your own apartments and were pleased to find Ser Oswin at your door. The gold cloaks you had sent out to find him after your trial concluded had returned with news that your sworn shield had been found and was being tended to by maesters. While you had a strange solace in knowing that he had not abandoned you, it was quickly wiped away by concern for him when you saw the bandages around his head. The maesters told you that he would heal completely, but he would need some time to find his bearings again. They hypothesized that he had been struck about the head and moved into the dark alleyway near the Red Keep where the gold cloaks had discovered him. It seemed Alios had planned for nearly everything in his attempt to destroy and possess you. Having Ser Oswin indisposed when you were alone in your chambers and still missing when you called for a trial by combat had been a devious plot.

Ser Oswin was not wearing his armor and you were quick to have him sit on the chaise your apartments offered and sent another handmaiden to fetch tea for him. “It gladdens me to see you upright, Ser, but are you sure you should not be resting?”

The knight shook his head but grimaced with the movement. “The maesters said I am well enough to return to the Vale with you, my lady. And I had to see you.” He pulled his lips into his mouth for a moment. “I have not fulfilled my oaths to you as your sworn shield.”

“Ser-”

“You have given me a sacred duty to keep you safe. And I was caught unawares when you needed me most. I will wear this shame forever.”

As your handmaiden returned with the tea and quietly made herself scarce in the shadows of your chambers, you tentatively reached out to grasp Oswin’s hand. “Alios was a cunning man. Underhanded and cruel. You are a man of honor—you are not to blame for anything. I am grateful that you will be well again soon.”

Oswin set his other hand over yours and his gentle eyes met yours for just a moment before he, again, shook his head. “You have always been kind to me, my lady. You and your lady mother both.”

“You are deserving of that kindness, Ser Oswin,” you whispered, trying to press as much gratitude as you could into your voice. He was a stalwart sword and shield. A good man. A loyal father and husband. “I am thankful, truly, that I still have you at my side. And I would have no other. You must know that.”

Oswin eventually excused himself after you swore to him that he had not lost his place as your sworn shield and that you would not hear a single word against him and his honor. It was not his honor that had been revealed to be wanting. Alios was more of a villain than you had first thought. It was one thing to plot to destroy you but to also destroy the life of your stalwart shield was another. You hoped his soul was never given rest.

Princess Rhaenys, wearing the thick necklace of interlocked hands denoting her position as Hand of the Queen, had told you to refrain from drawing any more attention during the remainder of your stay. But as soon as the words left her mouth, she had to stifle a small smile. She gently squeezed your shoulder with a shake of her head. “I am glad you were not harmed further.” That was a kindness, to be sure. But you did keep to the edges of the last day’s celebrations. It was a balancing act; being seen in public to show you were victorious but not be too much of a spectacle as to invite more whispers. Everyone needed to believe the fact that you were innocent.

Daemon was the only one who found some humor in it all and bemoaned the fact that he had not borne witness to the short trial and asked you, only somewhat jokingly, to “accidentally seduce” another magister so he could have his turn at killing someone. “It’s been too long. My gentle lady-wife despises violence.” You tried to laugh. It marginally worked.

As you sat in the shadows provided by one of the pavilions set up along the courtyard to watch a troupe of mummers reenact the love story of Florian and Jonquil, you could hear a few whispers. Most, thankfully, were content with your innocence being proven by the trial by combat. But there were some that questioned why a prince was the one to defend you.

“Perhaps that simply shows her innocence all the more,” a woman bedecked in the colors of House Reyne said. “The gods sent a prince as her champion and he prevailed. And swiftly.” The woman waved a hand. “I’ll hear nothing more of it. I am not one to question the gods.”

You almost smiled at that. Almost. It was a boon that the masses of the Seven Kingdoms took the Faith of the Seven as law. It was hard to argue with a god’s will.

But you knew it had been Aemond.

As if you could not help it, you turned your head and spotted him in the crowd. He was seated behind Rhaenyra and beside Jeyne and Daeron who both looked like they were enjoying the performance. But he was looking at you.

He had once told you that his patience was growing thin. That had been many moons ago. Even with his defense of you against Alios, could he possibly…finally be seeing that whatever feelings he thought he harbored for you were mislaid?

And why did that twist at something in your chest?

You shook that thought away as the mummer’s finished the first act of their performance and you clapped politely with the rest of the crowd. The crushed velvet curtains that had been strung up that morning to create a stage closed and you smiled as Jeyne caught your eye and waved at you, full of girlish giddiness.

You stayed seated as others milled about, socializing during the intermission. A few were brave enough to give you shallow pleasantries in passing but they scattered as Alicent approached and claimed the seat beside yours with a flutter of her cerulean silk skirts. “How are you, my lady?” Her mouth tilted up with the honorific, mirth coloring each syllable.

“I am pleased Her Grace’s reign has started with such peace and festivity.” I am grateful to be going home soon was unspoken but understood with how Alicent patted your hand with a wry smile. The Dowager Queen linked her fingers with yours and stood, wordlessly tugging you to your feet and leading you away from the crowds and into the shadows cast over the yard by the Red Keep’s reaching towers. It was only when you were truly alone did she drop your hand.

“Tell me true: are you well? You have been out of sorts these last days.”

And you could not deny her and her gentle, brown eyes. “It has not been without its surprises. But I am thankful that I have not sullied Rhaenyra’s celebrations.” You sighed and squeezed her hand. “You mustn’t think any more on it. I am trying to do the same.”

Alicent nodded after a moment, accepting your want to not speak of Alios and his plots. “My son, Aemond, asks of you.” She paused and your heart thudded. What had he told her? “You must know that what Rhaenyra said was true: he is devoted to you. I want to see him happy. Content.”

Alicent loved her children, you could not and would not deny that. If her children needed warmth, she would burn the world for them. But sometimes, you noted, that she seemed to have missteps in connecting with them. Your mother had been the one to say it out loud: Alicent was a child herself when she was forced to become a mother. It was unfair and another strike against Viserys that you would never forgive. Alicent would fight for her children, support them, make sure they were cared for. She loved them. She did. Truly. But the divide persisted. It might have lessened a fraction as the years passed but you knew that families and the blood they had running in their veins were complicated.

“That is a worthy want.”

She nodded, the golden circlet atop her auburn curls catching the sunlight with the movement. Four tiny, golden dragons curled around it, each with different gems for eyes. Rhaenyra had commissioned it for Alicent’s last name day and you had smiled like a fool when you received Alicent’s raven detailing it. You were so pleased that she and Rhaenyra were so fulfilled with each other, finally free of the constraints of societal obligations and the like.

But the joy you felt fizzled when you saw her gnaw at the edge of her thumb. Why was she so nervous? “Alicent?”

“My son has told me he has been courting you. Why have you kept this from me?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. “I… I assure you, he is not courting me, Alicent. He has made…overtures but I told him that-”

“He has said you make him happy. You make him happy.. Do you refute it?”

Your tongue was sand in your mouth as you stared at Alicent, your surrogate sister. “I have given him nothing to have him think that way.” It was the gentlest of phrasings you could muster at the moment. How could you tell her that her son was delusional in his affections for you?

Alicent took a single step toward you, the soft sole of her slipper silent on the stone. “But you make him happy. Surely you could at least consider him-”

“Consider him as what?” You asked, agog. “I am more than a decade his senior. He is-”

“He is devoted.” Her voice rang out, clear and unmoveable. “You wanted a family, a husband. You have been the one to encourage him in all of his endeavors and now you want to deny yourself this because it is my son?”

The unchecked vitriol in her tone nearly had you recoiling but you could do little else besides let your jaw drop. “Alicent…surely you would want someone more suitable for him. Younger, more-”

“He wants you. While I shall not force you to accept his courtship, I would ask that you do not dismiss it out of hand. My son…” She rolled her lips for a moment and her dark eyes hardened. “Aemond has been denied most everything. I’ll not have you refuse him so callously.”

“It is not out of callousness. It is out of concern. I am not… I am so much older than him. I want the best for him, as you do. I am… I have come to realize that having a family is not what the gods have planned for me.” The words hurt to say but the next rolled your stomach, “If Aemond also has a hope for a family of his own, I can help him find a suitable bride-”

Alicent scoffed and you recoiled as if she had struck you instead. “He has chosen you. You are the sole heir to a Great House and a Prince of the Realm wishes to take you to wife. There is no one else worthy of him.”

Before you could even think of a rebuttal, she turned and walked away, letting her words echo in your mind as she retook her seat at Rhaenyra’s side. Your entire chest ached. One of the few people who had been an unmoving presence in your life was mad at you. It felt like a knife between your ribs. And it only continued to bite at your marrow when you looked out into the crowd and saw Aemond watching you. Again.

Why couldn’t he see that you were trying to help him? Even if it left you feeling sick and cold for reasons you could not name. Even if the show had not finished, you murmured to one of your handmaidens that you were retiring for the afternoon and she hurried to keep step with you back to your chambers before you dismissed her for the remainder of the day.

It was better to be alone right now. To try to gather your thoughts that were racing through your mind with increasing, dizzying speed. What had Aemond said to his mother to convince her, so fervently, of his supposed feelings for you? In your desperation, you pushed the fat of your thumb into the quill on your vanity until blood bubbled across your skin. The pain was fleeting but the solace it gave you, as you murmured the chants your mother once whispered to you, was immeasurable. You would move through this. You would go home. This would end.

You licked the blood away and wished, as you so often did, that you could see your own future as you saw others when they had come to you and your mother under the shadows of the Eyrie. It had to be willingly given, not forced as it had been with Alios. If you could have seen his death, perhaps you could have… Well, that doesn’t matter now.

You eventually collapsed across the fine blankets of your bed and shut your eyes against the sunlight still streaming into your room. Perhaps more rest would help you. Or at least distract you from your thoughts for a moment. And the brief nap was restful, thankfully. When you opened your eyes a few hours later, it felt as if you hadn’t moved at all.

A knock sounded at the door—that must have been what woke you. You stood and shuffled toward it and welcomed in the handmaiden who said you were being called to supper with the Targaryens. She helped you change into yet another fine gown and straightened your appearance.

Just as she finished righting the ties on the back of your gown, another knock sounded. She was quick to answer it and turned with a small smile. “Prince Aemond, Lady Arryn.”

The silver-haired prince stepped in as the handmaiden curtseyed and dismissed herself before you could think of keeping her from doing so. Your stomach clenched as you looked at him. Both dread and a strange sense of furor swirled beneath our skin. “What do you need, Aemond?”

“Is it so uncommon for me to come and visit the lady whom I defended?”

That was a fair point but, thankfully, he did not wait for your reply and swept his hand into the folds of his doublet and produced your silver necklace, the one Alicent had given you ages ago which matched your diadem.

The necklace was one of your favorites, even if it was now always associated with the first time Aemond kissed you. But why did he have it? When did he spirit it away from your chambers?

“Aemond…” You started, already reaching out for it.

“Turn around.” He twirled a finger between you, that same smirk tilting his lips.

You wanted to argue and perhaps mention that he had stolen the necklace from you and the entirety of this situation was inappropriate and unbecoming. But you bit your tongue, hoping that this small acquiescence on your part would hurry this along. Your eyes fluttered shut as the scent of him enveloped you and the warmth of him bled across your back as he stepped closer. It was involuntary, wholly out of your control. And you could not stop the shiver when you felt the metal of the necklace wrap around your neck. It was warm, almost uncomfortably so, from when Aemond’s body heat had leached through it.

But your eyes snapped open when something heavy fell against your sternum instead of the delicate feathers you had memorized from your constant wear.

You looked down and your gasp nearly choked you as you grasped at the new addition to your necklace. The sapphire was large. It fit neatly into your palm and had been cut so it sparkled with even the smallest of movements. It took your breath away. Even more so when you noticed how the delicate silver feathers fell towards it. The clasp at the back of your neck clicked in place and Aemond’s long fingers moved over your shoulders, pressing until you turned in his grasp. His minted breath swept across your mouth. He looked down, watching as your fingers mindlessly clutched at the sapphire. His mouth tilted up into a smirk, pleased.

“It suits you.”

Your mouth opened with a rebuttal but all that came out was another soft breath. There were no words you could conjure at that moment. Nothing you could say.

He curled his hand over yours and then raised your joined hands to his mouth, brushing his lips against your knuckles. “Come. They are waiting for us.” And then he was moving, pulling the sapphire from your grip to let it rest against your sternum, and linking your fingers together as he started to lead you from your chambers. And when you tried to pull your hand from his, his grip only tightened until you were hissing. “Do not fight me, my lady. I have told you: my patience wears thin.” His voice was low, steady, but you could not deny the authority that dripped from every syllable.

It did not stop you from loosely tugging at your hand again with little success. “Yes, I have been informed by your mother that she believes we are courting.”

“We are.”

“Aemond. You must cease with this delusion. If you want a wife, I shall find you one. One that is worthy of you, closer to your age, and-”

Aemond drew you both to a sudden stop and his lilac eye blazed as he looked at you. “You are mine. You have always been mine. Did I not tell you that the gods shaped you for me? And I for you? I will have no other.” And then he was moving again, and you were pulled alongside him, trying to match his long, powerful strides. And it only took you a moment to do so. Your steps fell beside his with ease once you put in a small bit of effort. Each step was in sync. Aemond seemed to notice it as well and let out a small hum as you neared the doors to the Great Hall. The men at the doors bowed to both of you and announced your names as you walked inside.

Almost immediately, Alicent’s brow arched and Rhaenyra leaned over to whisper something in her ear as you bowed to them, seated at the high table. Seven Hells. How were you going to explain this? You had little time to think of anything before you were tucked into your seat at the table. Of course, Aemond was at your side. You bit your tongue for a moment and watched silently as food was loaded onto your plate by a few of the serving men and women but your heart gave yet another lurch when Aemond’s hand covered your plate just as a ladle of mushroom sauce was about to be poured over your boar.

“My lady does not care for mushrooms. Thank you.”

The serving man dipped his head in apology and carried on to the next plate and you stared uselessly at your unmarred plate as words tangled in your throat. “When did you learn I detested mushrooms?”

The smile that pushed at Aemond’s mouth was soft and you fought the urge to return it. “I listen, my lark.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest and you hated it, just for a moment. No one had… Your people listened when you gave decrees and held mediate disagreements. But you knew they didn’t listen when it came to small matters as to what you liked or disliked on your plate. And why did that make this small act of knowing all the more precious to you?

That realization had you pressing your fingers to your mouth for a moment. You could not feel like this. Not with Aemond. Harwin had made you smile. He was kind. But he had not listened when you tried to tell him how you felt about your dragon, what he meant to you. But you knew that Aemond would understand. Your nails dug into your upper lip for a moment, trying to will the comparison away. Aemond had overstepped. He had put into motion Harwin and House Strong’s demise. He had kissed you and kissed you and kissed you despite your protests and simply said that you were his for the taking. Surely you could not be feeling…

Your chair nearly toppled as you stood up. “I am afraid I’ve taken ill. I must retire.” You then hurried from the Great Hall after making another quick curtsey in Rhaenyra’s direction. Your heart thundered in your chest as you swept down the hall back toward your chambers. As you turned a corner, you pulled at your necklace, needing to be free of its added weight and the way Aemond’s sapphire thumped over your heart.

But it would not come free.

The necklace’s clasp would not give, no matter how you pulled or how you fussed, it would not come undone. At your wit’s end, you strode over to the looking glass and turned the necklace around so you could look at the clasp and you nearly screamed. The clasp had been replaced—you had only seen clasps like this in Lys as a child, meant for jewels denoting a man or woman’s status as a prize within a pillow house. Only the madam or master of the establishment had the small, intricate key to undo them.

And Aemond had made sure the necklace, with his jewel, his mark, would not leave your neck without his consent.

Rage and something akin to delight bubbled beneath your skin for a moment. And then you were moving, throwing the entirety of your traveling wardrobe into your trunks and yanking off your gown and changing into your riding clothes. Your handmaidens would see that you were ready to leave when they came into the room tomorrow but you would not be there.

No.

You pushed at the hidden door, muscle memory telling you to lean into it for an extra moment, before it clicked open. You hurried down the sloped staircase and finally pulled in a breath when the chilled night air hit your face. You pulled your cloak higher and slid its hood over your silver hair as you made your way through the still-bustling city streets. And while your dragon tended to roost wherever he wanted, you always knew where to find him. Tonight, it was just outside the Iron Gate and at the start of the Rosby Road. What you weren’t expecting, however, was your dragon to be coiled around Vhagar.

His large head was nestled between her wing and flank, content to watch you approach in the dark with his blazing green eyes. Vhagar rumbled a greeting, too, not moving. You weren’t…entirely sure what you should make of this revelation. True, your dragons had flown together over the city. But this was more than that. This was a familiarity usually reserved to bonded pairs. Mated pairs. And that feeling you wouldn’t name twisted behind your ribs again.

“We must go, my darling,” you said to your dragon in Valyrian.

He huffed.

“Please? I cannot stand to be in this place for a moment longer.” You hated how petulant you sounded, how desperate. But you needed to leave. Before Aemond did something else. Before another move was made against you.

Your dragon grumbled but started to move, nudging his head against Vhagar’s as they slowly disentangled from each other. It was a sight to see, to be true, to see the two largest dragons move so effortlessly around each other, imposing shapes made gentle in the moonlight. He bent his wing to you and you slowly took your seat astride his spine. The familiar heat of him settled your frazzled mind for a moment and he let out a worried grumble as you curled your hands over the spikes you usually held.

“I simply need to go home,” you muttered before leaning down to pat at his side. “We need to go home.”

The night air bit at your skin as he took to the skies but with each lungful you breathed in, your heart felt a little lighter. Home. You were going home. A loud rumble had you turning in your perch and you saw Vhagar behind you, slowly flapping her wings as she followed you north. If your dragon went left, she followed, if she curled east, he matched her movement. They were dancing. Then, just as you hit the border of Rosby, your dragon started to climb higher into the sky. You held tighter and leaned forward to counteract the sudden change in altitude, content in knowing he would never let you fall, and watched as Vhagar mirrored him. They twisted together for one turn, then two, and three before they both spit green fire into the air with a matching, heartbreaking roar as they leveled out. You shut your eyes against the flames but felt them warm your skin for a moment. But, as you opened them again and your dragon continued northward, you turned back to see Vhagar holding her spot in the moonlight, watching you and your dragon fly away.

The Eyrie was growing colder by the day. It would be a short Autumn. You tried to focus on the coming Winter instead of the unease you felt brewing like a storm in your stomach.

You had received four ravens from the capital. The one from Helaena was short and lovely, thanking you for the embroidered blanket you had given her before your abrupt departure, meant for her coming babe. Another was from Alicent who maternally scolded you for leaving without a proper goodbye and then immediately forgiving you for it. But, with the next line of her flourished handwriting, she told you, again, of Aemond’s wants. Alicent remained ever confusing. The next was from Rhaenyra who thanked you for your attendance at the festivities but also questioned you about your lack of proper goodbye. Much like Alicent, which should not have been a surprise to you as they shared much more than a close friendship, the Queen mentioned Aemond, although in a much more subdued way. My brother remains devoted to you, as ever.

Devoted. It was a double-edged word, you were coming to learn.

The last was from Aemond himself. I shall let you have your peace for now, my lark. But I will claim recompense soon enough.

You threw his into the fires of your solar’s hearth with shaking hands as if that would protect you. For a few days, there was the blissful quiet of the Vale. You were glad to see the resolution you had demanded between Houses Coldwater and Elesham seemed to be sufficient and Lady Waynwood was delighted to tell you that her son was delighted with the match you had made with Ser Oswin’s comely niece. It was fine. Until it wasn’t.

It seemed that you wanting to hear any whispers from Lys years ago was still bearing fruit. You heard rumblings of further discontent in Essos. When the Triarchy had dissolved after Daemon and Lord Corlys smashed their hold on the Stepstones (and constant infighting between the city states), there had been a tepid peace in the Disputed Lands…for a moment. But soon old grudges were reignited and war erupted again. Some captain, Shakaro, had been vying for the affections of the famed courtesan, The Black Swan, and had been murdered. That was only after the Myrmen and Tyroshi captains stewed in their anger that Shakaro had held back her fleet of Lyseni ships during a bloody and long battle with Lord Velaryon and his fleet—and it did seem to have a kernel of truth. The Lyseni suffered the fewest losses. But the specifics of why didn’t particularly matter to you right now. What mattered was that Lys was in the middle of a war and your uncle had tried to have you destroyed in one way or another for his own gain. The war must be hurting his coffers.

It started with whispers of a skirmish here or there in the Narrow Sea. Someone new called himself the King of the Stepstones and the northern Free Cities of Braavos, Pentos, and Lorath were quickly pulled into the war as well. It should have been a foreign war that you simply monitored via whispers or raven. But you soon received reports that the war was hurting trade from King’s Landing up to Gulltown.

You would not stand idly by when there was a threat to your people. Trade was crucial and necessary. Doubly so now with the threat of a looming winter. You flew your dragon down to Gulltown to receive their reports personally. And it was true. The blockade the war had created had spilled as far north as your shores. And while your granaries were full now, you would not have your people potentially starving in Winter because of a war you did not start.

Lord Torrent was watching as you looked over his reports, taken by his men as they sailed from Littlesister in the Bite into the Narrow Sea. You were not going to ask why his men were sailing in the Narrow Sea nor why he had a large gold necklace with a pendant stamped with the mark of the powerful Rogare family from Lys that looked like it had blood on it. That wasn’t your problem right now.

“You are estimating we have lost a dozen ships?” You let the parchment furl back into itself before handing it back to Lord Torrent.

“Yes, my lady. If not more.”

“Livelihoods were on those ships,” Lord Grafton said, stepping forward. His pallid cheeks were splotched with red, emotion he was trying to suppress. “House Grafton and the people of Gulltown will not survive if this were to happen again.”

You rolled your lips into your mouth for a moment. “I am giving you both leave to defend your lands as necessary but you may not engage further. There must be no aggression from the Vale until I am given leave from the Crown. I will not have our people die needlessly by inviting this war onto our shores.”

Your dragon grumbled at your back and both of the lords gave you a cautious look, wondering what you and your dragon would do. He was an extension of you. And while you had learned to swallow your anger in mixed company, he was still free to express it. But, as the years had passed, you thought he had learned to stymie his anger when others were around, too. Most of the time.

“My lords, I thank you for your reports and I pray the gods bless you all. I shall fly to King’s Landing to bring our concerns to the Crown.” And fly you did, telling Ser Oswin and your trusted handmaidens that they would be sending out ravens to the rest of the Vale, preparing them for the near-inevitability of war. You tried to focus on that instead of the growing, gnawing pit in your stomach when you thought of who else awaited you at the Red Keep.

Your dragon landed atop the remnants of the Pit and then took to the skies when you steered him away from landing atop the Red Keep again. He watched over you as you made your way through the city but finally deemed you safe when the Queensguard posted at the front bowed to you and let you in.

You were led to the Small Council by a grim-faced Jacaerys who met you in the hall and then shuffled into one of the vacant seats around the table. The somewhat spacious room was far more crowded than you had ever seen it, filled with gold cloaks, Queensguard, heads of noble houses and the like. Rhaenyra was the picture of regal power at the head, with Alicent and Rhaenys on either side and Jacaerys stood at his mother’s back, spine straight. There were already discussions of the coming conflict and you heard of the incursions onto the isle of Tarth and Estermont and the battering of the Stormlands, the edges of the Riverlands, the Crownlands and, much to your astonishment, Dorne. When the ruling Princess of Dorne, Aliandra, had refused to engage with the envoys from Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr, they had sent small but creative bands of mercenaries to Dorne’s shores to show their displeasure. While Dorne continued to prove itself a formidable adversary and quickly dealt with the mercenaries, Princess Aliandra wanted retribution.

And who better to help than the Dragon Queen? Their alliance was tenuous at best, everyone in the room knew it, but it was still an alliance. The Princess would arrive with her councilors within a fortnight and Lucerys blushed the tiniest bit when Rhaenyra announced that he was the Princess’ betrothed as part of the alliance. He and his dragon, Arrax, would patrol the easternmost Dornish shores. You could tell that it made Rhaenyra nervous, just as it did when she gave Jacaerys leave to patrol Blackwater Bay. Jeyne and Silverwing would remain at the capital as a safeguard, doubly so as Helaena could not fly in her condition, despite her love of doing so. Daeron and Aegon would bolster defenses along the Riverlands and Stormlands shores while Laena, Rhaella, and Rhaena were asked to fly above certain parts of the Royal Fleet as they guarded Dragonstone, Driftmark, and the rest of the Gullet, including their home of Sweetport Sound. Ser Laenor would provide coverage to Lord Coryls’ fleet as they pushed into the Narrow Sea with Princess Rhaenys and Meleys.

“My hope with all of this,” Rhaenyra started, hand curled tightly over the marble ball in front of her, “is to keep our people safe, to finish this quickly. We must be victorious.” Her purple gaze cut to Daemon as he sat in the chair opposite her. You had tried to avoid looking in that direction as Aemond was seated beside him. “Princes Daemon and Aemond have graciously accepted to fly to Essos and meet with the magisters of the other Free Cities.”

“Even Pentos?” Someone asked—you vaguely recognized him as Ser Alfred Broome. Why he was even in attendance was beyond your comprehension at the moment and you felt several pairs of eyes move to settle on you.

“Pentos was the first of the Cities to ask for aid. They know that Alios’ crimes against Lady Arryn were an abomination. Or need I remind you what happened?” Aemond’s voice cut through the tension-thick air with a vicious ease and you saw Aegon trying to stifle his smirk behind his hand.

Ser Alfred’s face went red and tried to hold the prince’s gaze for only a moment before looking down. “No, my prince. Everyone here knows of how you defended Lady Arryn’s honor.”

“What news do you bring from the Vale, my lady?” Rhaenys asked, effectively pulling the conversation into a different direction. But she, too, was fighting a smile of her own. It faded, however, when you spoke of the lost ships and the sightings of the boats nearing Gulltown.

“It seems we must truly fight on all fronts,” Rhaenyra said, grave. She then gave you an order to protect your shores and the Bay of Crabs atop your dragon and your bannermen were given leave to defend their shores and lands.

The queen reiterated that she wanted this dealt with quickly. There was a hint of darkness to her tone but no one commented on it. It stirred a strange sense of pride within you. She was the sword and shield of the Crown. She wanted her people safe, by any means necessary. You were thankful that the crowd dispersed quickly when she dismissed them, either to ready their bannermen or deliver news with the like. Before you could also take your leave, Rhaenyra called out your name and told you to wait a moment. A handful of people sent you glances out of the corner of their eyes but none had the audacity to linger in an attempt to understand what the queen wanted with you. And as the gods continued to test you, Alicent and Aemond were the last to leave, each of them giving you looks you could not decipher before leaving.

“I was not expecting you today,” Rhaenyra said, shoulders finally losing a bit of the rigidity they’d held throughout the meeting. “But I will never be unhappy to see you.” She rounded the table and took one of your hands in hers with a squeeze.

A small smile pushed at your lips. “I did not want to wait to bring you reports from the Vale. I had not known you were gathering others.”

“It was not planned to be so large, but I am pleased that you were able to attend. I am sure it was the gods themselves who sent you to me at this moment.” She sighed and squeezed your hands again. “I am also wondering why my brother has been so despondent this last moon. Could it be because his betrothed absconded to the Eyrie without a proper goodbye?”

Your breath stuttered in your throat. “I am not betrothed to Aemond.”

Her silver eyebrow arched. “That is not what he nor Alicent seem to think. And the way he behaves around you, and you with him, it does not seem as if you are opposed to the match?”

You tried to steel yourself to the fact that yet another person had been sucked into this delusion but all you could do was shake your head. “Your brother and I are not promised to each other, Your Grace.”

“It would be a fine match, though, would it not? Dragons in the Vale.” She sighed and you fought the urge to scream. How could Aemond be so adamant with this lie?

“I will fly back to the Eyrie. I-”

“Oh, you must stay for the night. Surely your dragon needs the rest, and you as well. Before this war truly starts, rest now; let me know you are safe for a few hours more.”

You could not deny her that, not when her purple eyes looked at you like that. But you did not allow yourself to stay a moment longer and left before the first light of dawn started to crest the horizon. You left missives for Alicent and Rhaenyra this time, wishing them and their children safety for the upcoming conflict.

And you meant that. You wanted them all safe. Healthy. Happy. Even Aemond. No matter his delusion and your own conflicting feelings, you only wanted the best for him. And soon you were consumed with readying The Vale for war. The armor your mother had commissioned for you still fit with a few additions and your dragon seemed pleased to see you in it. A small comfort to you both. Your mother was with you still. As was he.

Your handmaiden, a girl of barely ten-and-four namedays named Mya from House Woodhull, helped you out of your armor after your latest fitting. She had just started her duties at the Eyrie a moon ago and was a quiet, timid girl. You hoped her time under your care would bring her a little more out of her shell.

“You depart tomorrow for Gulltown, do you not, my lady?” She asked as she set one of your gauntlets atop the velvet cushion on your table.

“I do. And I know I shall return here to find the Eyrie just as I left it, in your and the others’ capable hands.”

Mya went pink with the compliment but nodded and tucked her chin to her chest. “Of course, my lady. I would never dream of letting anything go wrong in your home.”

She was a sweet girl and you smiled as you dismissed her for the evening after she helped you into your nightgown and robe. Your skin still smelt of lavender from your bath—you never could find the will to stop using the oil, even if it now also reminded you of Aemond. And you once again ignored how your chest twisted and your traitorous mind conjured his face whenever you closed your eyes.

You turned toward your bed, seeing that Mya had turned down your blankets for you as well. Sweet girl. Your pillow was cool, too, and you shut your eyes tightly as you murmured a chant to your mother’s gods. Tomorrow was the day. Tomorrow was the start. Tomorrow was…

You pushed out a breath.

A familiar roar rattled the night sky and your eyes shot open. Just as your feet hit the cold floor, a quick knock snapped against your door and Mya was bursting in again. “Lady Arryn, a dragon has come to the Eyrie.”

You knew who it was. In your bones, you knew it.

She led you out to the High Hall where you knew he would be waiting.

“Prince Aemond, my lady,” another of your knights said with a quick bow in your direction as you entered.

Aemond stood in the center of the cold hall, draped in his riding leathers and a deep, dark cloak stretched over his shoulders. “Lady Arryn. I would have a word with you.”

Your heart leapt and raced. He was meant to be leaving for Essos soon, was he not? Just as you were to start defending the Vale in earnest. What was he doing here? Before you could even think of doing something else, you mindlessly led him to your solar as thoughts raced. Had something happened? Had someone been killed?

Mya set about stoking the fire in the room before skittering out of the room with a quick, matching pair of curtseys toward you and Aemond. He, on the other hand, seemed to be trying to memorize the entirety of your apartments and lingered on the open archway that led into your bedchamber.

“What have you come to say?” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could think of a proper greeting or line of questioning. “Is it Helaena? Are she and the babe well? What-”

“I am leaving for Braavos at dawn. I will meet Daemon in Pentos after securing the city’s alliance and we will then move to destroy Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh’s strongholds in the Disputed Lands.”

Even as you felt your brow furrow, you nodded. That was a suitable plan for him and Aemond, the riders of the largest and most battle-hardened dragons with matching temperaments. They would be a formidable pair and cutting off their supplies should keep their focus pulled into two directions and make them easier to defeat. Hopefully.

“I wish you good fortune and blessings upon your endeavors, Aemond.” You paused and felt his lilac gaze rake down your form. “But why are you here?”

Aemond took a step toward you and you instinctively took a step back, feeling like a mouse being cornered by a cat. But your retreat only seemed to spur him on and in a few short steps, he had closed the distance between you, filling your lungs with that familiar scent of Aemond Aemond Aemond. Leather, mint, dragon, lavender.

“Would you have me sent out without knowing that I would return? You would deprive me of one last taste of you?” The tips of his fingers were firebrands against your skin as he closed his hand around your wrist and tugged you close. His breath puffed against your mouth as his lilac eye bore down into yours.

Your next breath stalled in your lungs. Gods, he was beautiful. But you could not. “I do not wish you dead, Aemond. You must know that. I only wish that you see-”

“See what? See that you refuse to accept my affections?”

“They are misplaced!” You retorted.

His grip tightened on your wrist, just shy of painful. “They are yours. My affections, my heart, my body. They are yours. I am yours. Just as you are mine.” The prince moved ever closer and the familiar burn of him enveloped you instantly. “Ask anything of me, and you shall have it.”

“I ask that you find a lady wife that will love you as you deserve.” It was your last, gentle refusal.

And Aemond shook his head. “There is no one else. There is only you. There has always only been you, my lark.”

A knock at the door had him pulling back and Mya once again stepped inside, carrying tea for you and Aemond. She smiled at you and you must not have managed to press the answering look to your face quick enough because she lingered at the table, her small fingers still fiddling with the teapot. “Are you well, my lady?”

Just for a moment, you thought of telling her to call for Ser Oswin, for the guards further down the hall. You could have him sent away, surely seeing the error of his thoughts and actions in a way he could not unsee. You licked your lips as your eyes darted between your handmaiden and Aemond. But a small movement, just a simple change of stance, had Aemond’s hand brushing against the hilt of one of the daggers sheathed at his waist. It was a silent threat, but a threat nonetheless.

And so, you pressed a smile to your face and shook your head. So be it. You would not put an innocent in harm’s way if you could prevent it. “Retire for the night. Prince Aemond and I have much to discuss. You have more than earned your rest. I thank you for your hard work.”

She waffled for a moment longer before sighing and dipping into a curtsey. “Good night, my lady, my prince.” And then she was gone and you were alone with Aemond once again.

A satisfied hum slipped between his lips as his hand slipped from the dagger’s hilt. He had won. “See how simple that was? Not everything need be a fight, my lark.”

“Simple?” You spat the word. “When you threaten the lives of the people in my care, what choice have you given me?” Your next breath stalled in your throat but you pushed it out anyway. “What do you want? You have made it so I cannot refuse you. Let us get on with it.”

Aemond moved closer still, clouding your mind for a moment with the scent of him. For just a moment, you wished that your body did not react to him in such a way. But it was visceral and unconscious on your part. It was like every part of you was simply waiting to be devoured. By Aemond.

“Take off your clothes.”

Your heart stuttered and shattered. Tears stung at your eyes as you shook your head. “That is not fair, Aemond.”

The prince smirked. “I did not ever state that I was fair.”

“You would take this from me? Unwillingly?”

“You can deny it all you want, my lark. But I know your heart is mine. If I must start with claiming your body, so be it.” He reached out and undid the velvet tie of your robe, spurring you on, before moving back, allowing himself to enjoy the view.

Your hands shook as you peeled away your robe, leaving you only in the fine silk of your chemise. Aemond cocked his head to the side, wordlessly telling you that you were not finished. You clamped your eyes shut as you reached for the straps and pushed one and then the other off your shoulders. The fabric pooled at your feet with a whisper, leaving you in just your smallclothes and the necklace you still could not remove.

And then he moved. Again, he grasped your hand and led you through your solar and into your bedchamber, to your bed as your heart thundered behind your ribs. You could do little else but stare as he undressed, revealing his pale skin and corded muscle until he was standing tall and bare before you.

It felt as if you had walked through your dragon’s fire the more you stared at him. Gods, he was beautiful. Carved from marble by the gods themselves. And then shame burned, too.

You could not want this. “Aemond-”

But he simply reached out and pushed you back across the bed until your spine pressed against the mountain of pillows you usually slept on. Your heart hammered behind your teeth as he climbed atop your bed and closer to you. His warm hands slid up your legs and curled around the plush of your thighs and a slow breath slid out from between his lips. “I have dreamt of this. Of you. I always knew you were perfect.”

What would he do to you first? Would he simply rut into you like an animal and spill his seed inside you? Or would he toy with you more? Try to-

The questions went still in your mind and Aemond simply pressed himself over you. He reached around to the back of your neck and you heard a distinct series of clicks before your necklace finally came loose. He let the sapphire drag over your heart before he set it aside and then pressed his head between your breasts. It was almost gentle. Almost innocuous. Almost the careful touch of a lover you had quietly yearned for and read about in the scandalous books of your younger years.

Then, as if you could not help yourself, your hand found the silk of his hair. You gently pushed your fingers through it and let it glide against your skin. His next breath was a slow exhale that wet your skin.

Aemond reached up and pulled the ribbon from around his head and set it aside. And then all you saw was blue blue blue. The sapphire he had used in place of his eye glimmered in the low light of your chambers, cut beautifully and cruelly; it matched the jewel of your necklace, the collar he had given you. Without a thought, you reached out to press against his cheek but he caught your wrist before you could touch him. You could see the question in his gaze, the want, the ache. And you pressed forward again until your palm rested against his warm cheek. You traced the cruel, jagged scar beneath his eye with the edge of your thumb before simply holding his face in your grasp. You could not help it. He was beautiful. So beautiful.

And the prince leaned into the touch, like he needed it like his next breath.

“You care for me.” The words were whispered before he turned to skirt his lips against the delicate skin of your wrist.

“Of course I care for you,” you murmured. How could you do anything but care for him? Even at his worst, even when his affections scared you, hurt others, you could not simply stop caring for him.

His fingers traced circles up your sides until they brushed against the soft skin of your breasts, soft but purposeful. “You told me, promised me, that I would have a dragon. You knew it.” He turned his head just enough to drag his lips above your thrumming heart. “You came, you rode your dragon hard, when you heard of the loss of my eye. You came, knowing that I would not understand that you were risking your honor and reputation to make sure I was well.” His large, warm hands cupped your breasts fully, thumbs skirting against your nipples until they pebbled. “And, despite how I know you will deny it, I know you had a hand in House Harlaw’s eradication.”

“I-”

He turned and pressed the point of his chin to your sternum so he could look up at you. “You cannot lie to me, my lark. I have mine own spiders whispering their truths to me.” He paused, lilac and sapphire anchoring on your face. “You killed for me. Because I was harmed. When my mother cried and my father refused to move against a lesser house, you killed them.”

“Your mother did all she could.”

“She did. And she called for you and you came. For me.”

And you could not deny it. You had gone, dashed to your dragon and sped through the skies to do all you could to help heal him.

But your thoughts of how you had only wanted to heal him quickly fizzled to nothing when his long fingers started to do the ties at the sides of your smallclothes. He pulled the fabric away from you and, just for a moment, brought the bundle of cloth up to his nose and he sucked in a greedy lungful of air, like he was trying to memorize the scent of you. The simple action had heat racing through you, coiling further in your belly.

But still, he set the small bundle aside and Aemond’s warm hands skimmed up your thighs again, kneading the supple flesh there as he pulled in a slow, steady breath. It brushed against you, making you embarrassingly aware of the slick that had pooled there, betraying your own ache. His nose brushed against your curls, and the pleased hum he let out vibrated against you, stealing a whimper from between your lips.

“Divine,” he murmured. You were not sure if he was speaking to you or simply about you. But it mattered little as he pressed a kiss right above your mound before licking a bold stripe up your folds. A gasp tore itself out of your throat and another came closely behind it as Aemond continued to lick and suck and twirl his tongue. He was ravenous. Immediately insatiable. Your hips lifted, either in an attempt to buck him away from your core or to pull him closer, you could not tell—but it mattered little when he slung an arm across your waist to pin you to the bed, pliant and controlled.

His tongue continued to move, delving into you and then wrapping around your clit until your chest heaved with each breath. You still leapt when you felt his fingers start to slide against the soft skin of your thigh. Aemond deftly circled through your folds, coating them in your slick. But then he moved, and you gasped as you felt the pads of his fingers circle your entrance before pressing in. Further and further he delved, as his tongue continued to pull you apart. His fingers curled and found a spot inside of you that had you keening. Pleasure sparked up your spine and your hands tugged uselessly into the fine blankets of your bed as the prince hummed against you, drunk on your taste, before pulling your clit into his mouth entirely and sucking on it until you let out a choked wail into the sticky night air. Your entire body hummed with the aftershocks but Aemond continued to lick at you for a few moments longer, only pulling back when you whimpered. He pressed his cheek against your damp thigh and looked up at you as he pulled his fingers free of your cunt and pressed them into his mouth. His eye closed as he groaned at the taste. “I will never get enough of your taste.” He turned his head just enough to press a searing kiss where your thigh and your hip met before he sat up.

His cock was rigid and long and wanting. Your heart continued to hammer in your chest as Aemond moved to press his hands on either side of your chest, staring down at you with a sense of vicious knowing. You could feel him, warm and hard against your thigh. “Aemond?” His name broke in your throat.

“I could stuff you full of my seed right now, leave you dripping. I could put a bastard in your belly and have you need to marry me when I return to avoid the scandal.” His long fingers trailed a meandering path over your womb, dancing across your heated skin. “You’d look so beautiful, round with my child.” He hummed.

Tears stung at your eyes again, for an entirely different reason. “Please…Aemond. Please do not do this to me.”

But he simply leaned down and pressed a kiss just below your navel. “I could do it, my lady. And I cannot tell you how I have contemplated it when I am alone in the dark, with naught but your memory to soothe me. But I am a man of honor. And any child I have you bear will be trueborn.” He sat straight and gently cupped your face as if he had not just threatened to ruin you. “No, I shall wait until I return to know what it feels like to fuck you. And it will be after I call you wife.”

The next kiss he pressed against your mouth was gentle and tasted sharp and sweet as his tongue plundered between your lips. A low groan vibrated against your mouth as he pulled back and it took you a stretched moment to realize he was touching himself. His hand was wrapped around his length, harshly moving up and down, up and down with a wet sound that had your core clenching.

“It should be you,” he said through gritted teeth before nipping at your bottom lip. “This belongs inside of you. I want to see it drip out of you.” His hand moved faster, faster. You could not look away. “I am going to put a babe in you. As many as you want. Make you come on my cock like a whore, my own personal whore. My perfect lady wife.” With the last word, he came, spurting his release against his hands and the warm skin of your stomach. Aemond’s chest heaved for just a few breaths before he stood straight, his pale skin pink with the exertion. You watched, heart in your throat, as his sticky fingers gathered the rest of his spend and he brought his fingers up to your mouth. “Open,” he commanded.

And you did, allowing him to press his digits to your tongue. He tasted…salty with a hint of citrus and his lilac eye was blown wide as he made sure you licked him clean. Aemond drew his fingers back when he was satisfied but still hooked his thumb on your chin and tilted your head up just enough to press a lingering kiss against your mouth with a pleased hum.

“You were perfect. Just as I knew you would be.”

He did not let you leave your featherbed as he curled his sinewy arms secured around your frame. He had cleaned you with a strip of damp fabric and delicately kissed you, now, as if he had not just debauched you so thoroughly.

Sleep sank its claws into you a few moments later, as you listened to Aemond hum against your skin. It was a lullaby. A lullaby for you.

And when the dawn came…he was gone. But your necklace was once again secured around your neck and your skin still burned from where he had touched it.

Your dragon was well fed. But you know he craved more. And you did, too.

You had not heard a single word of how Aemond’s campaign had gone across the Narrow Sea. And no matter who you asked, no one seemed to know if Aemond was successful. Or healthy. Or alive. Your one solace was hearing that the strong defenses to the south were mostly successful and a massive dragon had been spotted off the shores of Myr but that had been the end of it.

Or the start of it. It seemed your thoughts could never be free of the prince. It was a curse, truly. You wanted to see him again. Just to know he was well. And if you spent the nights alone in your tent, hand clutching the sapphire of the necklace, that was your secret to keep. It hadn’t been a lie when you said that you cared for him. You did. You do. But you were not sure when your care had mutated into this. And you could not rid yourself of the ache you now felt between your thighs and twisting in your chest when you thought of him. It was ridiculous and cruel and left you with a sense of self-loathing. How had he manipulated you into this? Into this strange longing? You threw yourself into making sure the Vale and its people were still taken care of to try to rid yourself of those warring emotions. And that was your duty. To provide. To protect.

They still called you The Flame of the Vale. And you heard more than a few of your courtiers whisper of you and your dragon’s wrath as you passed.

Sitting astride your dragon often reminded you of standing atop a rocking boat. Waiting and moving with each of his long, slow breaths. He was an extension of you, and you of him. Both of you stared at the horizon, waiting for the telltale sight of foreign ships. You knew they were coming and you itched to meet them. This was what you needed, what you wanted. You could be a dragon now. You could be cruel and rage and reduce something to ash without care for your reputation.

Only one band of Myrish corsairs had made it ashore and they had been quickly met with the might of the Vale. All others had been reduced to ash in their boats or torn apart by your bannermen’s fleets. But more had come, trying to catch your forces unaware just before dawn. Your dragon’s roar had rattled the very ground, nearly drowning out the alerting horn blasts along the shore, warning all of you of the sneaking threat.

And now, as the sun beat down on the bloodied sand and water, you felt that biting sense of savagery continue to grow. “Dracarys!” you bellowed, diving out from above a cloud and setting ablaze another ship. Green flames danced along the wood and the screams that followed were almost musical to your ears. Another ship came and met the same fate and another and another. But the Lyseni fleet was nothing but tenacious. You had counted five scorpions—four had been destroyed before they could be fired but the fifth-

Your dragon turned abruptly with a screech and a drag of green fire lighting up the clouds. And you felt the scorpion bolt rush by your head. You let out a frustrated scream as you steered your dragon back around to dive down down down toward the ship that had just tried to kill you both. And your dragon echoed your scream with one of his one before bathing that ship in his green fire as well.

But you should have known. Should have known it was too easy. Just as you turned to set your sights on another ship, another bolt barely missed your head—you felt its fletching tear across your face. And then another was shot, clipping the edge of your dragon’s wing but doing little more than agitating him. And then another and another. To your horror and rage, you realized there was a line of small ships just cresting over a large wave, a scorpion tethered to each of their bows. For a stretched moment, you watched the sailors hurry to load their weapons again. They were not going to stop. And neither could you. With your heart in your throat, you chanced a look back toward the shore, watching the few ships that had managed to get through your line of ships and dragon fire start to batter the waiting knights and bowmen on the shore. Your men were holding them back, but you knew that you must keep them from being overwhelmed. You needed to protect them.

You urged your dragon forward with a shout and you heard the sailors screaming for the others to hurry, to shoot, that they were going to kill you and your dragon. But you could not stop. “Angos!” You cried and you instantly felt the rumbling of his growing fire beneath your legs just as another bolt shot past your dragon’s neck, and sprayed your armor with his boiling blood as he reared back, angry, for just a few breaths. But another bolt came and you had to dip down until his feet dragged in the sea for you to avoid it. But they were getting closer closer closer. Your dragon spit his fire at the first ship, turning its crew and scorpion to ash to be washed away.

“Turn! Turn! Turn!” You heard the sailors bellow.

You turned your dragon toward them, watching as they hauled their scorpions to the side, still aiming for you. But, just as you watched one of them pull back the bolt, green fire from above drenched the ship, snuffing out their screams. And your dragon let out a pleased rumble as you craned your head up to see Vhagar descending like a leviathan from the clouds above, dark and terrible and beautiful. As she turned left, you and your dragon went right and in just a few moments, the last of the scorpions and their crews were gone. The ancient she-dragon then turned toward the shore and swept away the invading forces in more green fire. You could hear the cheers from the shore, celebrating with you. Tilting your chin up to feel the sun and smoke on your skin, you saw Vhagar swooping toward you again and without your steering, your dragon moved to mirror her. The massive dragons were achingly delicate in their movements as they turned and twisted, pulling higher and higher into the sky and clouds. They were dancing. Together. An exhausted laugh bubbled out of you at the realization.

It came crashing down on you then, that your dragon was happy. You were alive. The battle was over. And you let your hands peel away from the spikes that served as your reins and held them out straight, letting the air sweep through your fingers. This was freedom. Your eyes closed for just a moment, allowing yourself to revel in the ash-covered victory, but they snapped open when you heard Vhagar’s distinctive screech. She circled left and your dragon flew right and you turned your head to see Aemond in the saddle, his silver hair mussed by the wind and his mouth tilted into his familiar smirk.

He was alive. He was here.

Your dragons eventually leveled out and slowly made their way toward the shore, the very tips of their large wings just barely brushing against each other as they kept each other close.

“Dragons!” Someone shouted as you drew ever closer. The crowds below, victorious and celebratory, darted away from the shadows your mounts created.

Sand spit beneath the pair of dragons as they landed and your dragon rumbled, pleased in several ways, as you slid from his back. Aemond descended the well-worn ladder of Vhagar’s saddle and you watched as he rolled his shoulders back before turning toward you. And your heart leapt.

And you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate it now.

But you still refrained from wanting too much. He was still so young. And you were…you.

Before he could take more than a half dozen steps toward you, he was surrounded by knights, thanking him for his help and lauding in the victory with him. You watched the smallest of smiles pushed at his mouth. Yes, this was his victory, too.

The camp was soon devolving into a somewhat refined celebration of the battle won. Food was carried in from the nearby Gulltown and set up on tables along the beach that now looked more grey than golden. But no one truly cared, not when the mead and wine were passed around and stories were shared of battles not soon forgotten and the honor they had earned. The cut on your cheek was cleaned and bandaged, and would leave you with only a small scar according to the healer. But it was Aemond’s low voice that you listened to, listened for, over the din of the revelry.

He and Daemon had easily secured the allegiance of Pentos, Braavos, and Lorath, before also managing to have Qohor and Norvos join their ranks as they moved into the Disputed Lands. It had been a bloodbath.

“Her Grace wanted this dealt with quickly. My uncle and I were happy to oblige.” His eye anchored on you on the other end of the long table and your grip tightened on the thick tankard in your hand.

Swallowing your pride, and the other rising feelings, you stood and raised your drink. “To Prince Aemond, Prince of the Realm, and hero of the Bay.” The crowd cheered and raised their cups, too. “And to each and every one of you, of my knights, the finest of the Seven Kingdoms: the Realm will speak of this day and of your bravery during this war for ages to come!” The crowd cheered again and the music that had been played in the background grew in earnest volume, letting the merrymaking continue and grow.

You hadn’t spoken to Aemond since you landed. And with every passing second, the sapphire around your neck grew heavier. This was wrong. All of it. You knew that. Aemond’s feelings would fade and yours had been so muddled and confused. You needed to be free of this all. After graciously accepting a few of the toasts given in your honor, you dismissed yourself back to your tent.

How had you become this? Hadn’t Aemond hurt you? Nearly forced you? But hadn’t he also kissed you softly and kept every single one of his promises? As you pressed a damp strip of cloth to your neck, you tried to clear your mind. Tomorrow you would be back in the Eyrie, away from it all. You just needed a bit of peace. A bit of quiet. Guidance. You pulled a small dagger from the dark of one of your bags and raked it across your palm as you settled on your knees in front of the small fire in your tent.

The undulating language your mother once sang to you felt a little stilted on your tongue, but you still continued on, asking for guidance, asking for peace, as you raised your bleeding hand above the fire and let the crimson drip into the flames.

One.

Two.

Three.

You sat on the weirwood throne, a babe on your lap. The little one’s hands drummed against your protruding stomach as they let out a happy giggle, lilac eyes alight with joy.

“Be kind to your mother, my son.” Aemond was at your side, reaching out a hand to cup the back of the little one’s head. “She is delicate right now.” And then his lips brushed against your temple and-

“My lady!”

You pulled back with a gasp, your skin burning from the flames. You curled your hand against your chest with a hiss as flashes of the vision danced on the backs of your eyes. Turning toward the sound of the voice, you saw a man standing at the entrance of your tent, his face hard and furious.

“The whispers are true! You’re a witch! A defilement of the Seven!”

You teetered to your feet. It felt as if all your limbs had been weighed down with sand and your tongue was useless behind your teeth. “I am n-not a witch, my lord. I-”

“Do not deny it! I have seen it and I shall make sure that all of the people who swore fealty to you were-”

The rest of the words were gargled as blood filled his mouth. Aemond stood behind the man, a bloodied dagger in one hand, the man’s tongue in the other. You hadn’t even seen his approach and your knees nearly knocked together as he moved to press the tip of his blade against the man’s throat. “You shall speak no word against Lady Arryn at all. And if you think to write it, I shall have your hands next.” He then grabbed the back of the man’s jerkin and all but threw him out of your tent. “Get yourself to a maester. I’ll be sure to tell everyone that you were too into your cups and mistook your blade for your fork.”

The man stumbled away with a wet cry and Aemond turned his gaze to you. He tossed the man’s tongue into the fire and set aside his dagger as he strode toward you.

“Aemond…” His name was a weight on your tongue.

“Did I not tell you that I would protect you? That you were mine to hold?” He reached up to press his thumb against your quivering mouth before he pulled in a slow breath. “I have a gift for you.” He led you to sit at the small table near your bedroll and then grabbed at a dark bag he must have dropped near the flap of your tent earlier. He set it atop the small table and opened and…

It took you a stretched moment to realize what he had set in front of you. The hair was grey, longer, too. Age had lined his dull orchid colored eyes and he still wore a single gold hoop in one of his ears. This was…

“Aemond…”

“He will never threaten you again.”

He had given you the head of your uncle.

You had not asked for it. Had not entertained the thought of killing him with anyone aside from your dark daydreams in years. “How…” the question trailed off. “Why?”

The prince did not look away from you as he answered: “I swore to you that no harm would come to you, did I not? You refused to become a kinslayer but he was no kin of mine.” Again, he reached out to hold your face as he stood above you. “I care not that you have secret rituals and gods to which you pray. I want you and all of your shadows.”

You had prayed for peace and guidance and the blood and flames had shown you Aemond and children. He had carved a man’s tongue out for you. He had bathed your enemies in dragonflame when they thought to shoot you from the sky. But, gods, there was a darkness to his affections for you. But were you not a child of shadow, too?

You stood from your seat and Aemond’s hand fell from your face for a moment, allowing you to be the one to reach out now. Your fingers shook as they pressed against his cheek. His scar was scalding beneath your thumb. “Any children we may have would not carry the Targaryen name. They would be Arryns. You would have to defer to me for counsel whenever another house came to the Eyrie to settle a dispute. I cannot and will not ask you to lower yourself in such a way-”

Aemond all but snatched your hand from his face and pressed it against his chest, letting you feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “Let me be the one to judge if something is lowering myself, my lark.”

You shook your head but couldn’t find it in yourself to take your hand back. “Aemond-”

“Your mother was a Targaryen to her core but carried the name Arryn. You were born in Lys and adopted the House and its colors only after you were named heir. You ride one of the largest and oldest dragons in the world. You may be called an Arryn, my lady, but you are a Targaryen. You are the Blood of Old Valyria. Our children, no matter their name, would be the same.” He moved closer, until you could feel each of his breaths against your mouth. “I love you, my lark. I have loved you since I was a boy and I shall love you until my heart no longer beats in my chest.”

Tears started to cloud your vision as you nodded. He loved you. There was no escaping it. And perhaps you loved him, too. With that thought, you surged forward to press your mouth to his.

The wedding was a grand but small affair. Well, your second wedding was. The first had simply been you and Aemond on the shores of Dragonstone, wed together in the Valyrian tradition with blood on your mouth and staining your tongue. The second had been in the small sept of the Eyrie, after the Daughters’ War had officially ended and the Realm was at peace. He draped you in a cloak embroidered with a three headed dragon, stitched in blue. His color. Your color.

Both of you refused a bedding ceremony. And it was probably for the best as Aemond certainly took his time taking you apart on his tongue and then again on his fingers before finally sliding his cock into your velvet vice.

His thrusts were slow but powerful. Stars burst behind your eyes with each of them, only coupled with his wet mouth clamping over your neck, the swells of your breasts, anywhere he could sink his teeth. He hauled one of your legs into the crook of his arm so he could drive deeper deeper deeper into you until you would swear you felt him in your throat.

“Do you feel me, my lark?”

“I…” Sparks of pleasure were cracking at every nerve ending and hazing your mind until that was left was Aemond. “I feel you.”

He took you three times that night, leaving you gasping and leaking of him. Sated. And, despite it all, because of it all…happy. Little Rodrik Arryn came screaming into the world less than a year after your wedding. It became a regular occurrence for anyone visiting the Eyrie to see the little lord asleep on his father’s chest as Aemond sat on the Weirwood throne beside you. When he reached his sixth moon, Aemond secured Rodrik to his chest and climbed onto Vhagar’s back, letting his son have his first flight on the oldest dragon in the world. He did the same when Artys was born a year later. Your vision had come true.

It had been a conscious decision for you both to give your children names native to the Vale. But, when your daughter was born, it had been a mutual decision to bend the rules. A subtle nod to Visenya and your mother.

“Lady Vaella Arryn!”

The crowd assembled in the High Hall cheered as you held your daughter close, nestled safely against your breast. One of her small hands was tightly curled into the soft fabric of your gown and she let out a short whine when Alicent came to hold her granddaughter.

“Well done, darling,” Alicent cooed as she let the babe get comfortable in her arms. “Oh, she is just as perfect as your boys.”

Aemond hummed and pressed a brief kiss to your temple. You could feel his smile against your skin. “Of course she is.”

When the guests had retired for the night, Rhaenyra being the last as she sang a Valyrian song to the giggling babe to help settle her, you heard a familiar rumble come from above. Echoing elation nearly consumed you as you sped through the halls of your castle until you were in the gardens and staring up at your dragon.

“Have you come to meet her?” You asked, holding Vaella close with a smile.

Your dragon grumbled, as if this was not his idea (and as if he had not come to meet your sons, too), and moved closer, his uncareful steps spitting rocks and trampling flowers. But you hardly cared. Holding Vaella a little higher, you smiled as he neared her, bright green eyes focused entirely on the small bundle in your grasp. The elation you felt settled in your bones, a far cry from the panic you’d felt only a few moons ago when you’d given birth. He always worried over you. But he knew you were happy and he was happy, too.

“This is Vaella.”

He rumbled in greeting and Vaella reached out a tiny hand toward him with a gurgle of her own. He then nudged at your hip, as softly as he could, until you got the hint and strapped Vaella to your chest and climbed onto his back and held tight.

“Just a few turns, yes?”

An answering plume of smoke curled from between his teeth and then he took to the skies, letting the winter air sting your cheeks. But your daughter smiled contentedly up at you, letting out a happy sound as your dragon burst through a cloud. She would be a fearsome little one. You knew it.

The Vale, even as the last vestiges of Winter were slowly slipping away, was prospering. As were the Seven Kingdoms. As part of the alliance with Dorne, Rhaenyra declared the Stepstones were granted to them. Lucerys was a fine consort to Princess Aliandra, and it seemed that Dorne had accepted becoming part of the Seven Kingdoms. They retained their titles and their customs and Rhaenyra seemed pleased that she would rarely have to mediate any of the disputes between Dornish houses anyway. As long as Lucerys was happy, Rhaenyra was happy. Jacaerys and Helaena had welcomed Prince Aerion just at the war’s end and then Princess Rhae soon after. Aegon and his Lady Farwynd were starting their own family on their remote island and Jeyne was busy planning her wedding festivities to Lord Stark, set to be held on the first true day of Spring. Rhaenys was pleased when she announced that Laena had given birth to another girl, a beauty named Alysanne, and Rhaenyra proposed a tentative betrothal between Aerion and newest addition to House Sunglass. Daemon and his wife and daughter had been invited to Pentos as guests of esteem and they were taking full advantage of it. Daeron was on his own adventures, too, discovering the secrets of Qohor and hoping to visit Qarth soon, as well.

Yes, the realm and your family were at peace.

Aemond was waiting for you as you landed, a teasing smile on his face. “My ladies are courting scandal by staying awake at such an hour, out of bed.”

You laughed and stole a kiss against his mouth as you dismounted and your smile only grew as he bent to kiss Vaella, too. He stood straight and your heart clenched as you looked at him, your husband. You no longer fought against the feelings he conjured within you. He was all you wanted, him and your little family.

“I love you,” you murmured against his mouth after putting Vaella in her bassinet.

You felt his smile against your lips before his hands curled over your hips and he dragged you close. “I know, my lark.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought of it all! I have a side-story Aegon and Lady Farwynd coming soon(ish) and two more Aemond one-shots on the docket, too.

[pink-sparkly-witch]

Everything

Summary: Dumped by her boyfriend, Y/N goes home with her tail between her legs, praying that her roommate, Dean Winchester, isn’t there to witness yet another failed relationship. But fate doesn’t work that way, and what seems like the universe conspiring against her might actually be what she’s needed all along.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Warnings: angst, break-up, language, douchebag ex, Dean’s a bit of a dick at first, insecurities, heart to heart, frenemies to lovers

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: I’m so sorry. This summary is awful. I hope you enjoy whatever this is 😅 Please consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a little comment. It really does fuel our muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

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The rain pours down, and thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. You laugh bitterly at how the weather reflects your mood. Rain soaks your hair and clothing, your feet sodden and squelching; the stilettos you’re wearing offer zero protection from the torrents of water falling from the sky and running down the sidewalks.

You’re grateful for it, truth be told. At least this way, no one knows the mascara that runs in black streams down your cheeks is from the tears you’ve been crying over that asshole. The asshole you’ve been dating for two months who just dumped you at your local bar while sitting next to his date for the night.

Fuck, how did this become your life? How did you become this gullible, desperate woman who keeps falling for these kinds of men? Men who date you and sweet talk you, saying all the right things until they get what they want from between your legs and then leave you for someone prettier. Someone younger.

Maybe the asshole’s right. Maybe you are the type of girl to have a fun time with, not the kind to take home to meet someone’s mother. But fuck, that hurts to admit and fuck, you lose more of yourself with every asshole that spews those kind of lines to you. If you’ve said it once, you’ve said it a million times. You’re done with men. And this time, you mean it.

You turn the corner onto your street and stop in your tracks. Dread settles in your stomach as you see your roommate’s car parked on the side of the road. He just had to choose tonight of all nights to stay home, didn’t he? That’s all you fucking need right now. You consider turning around and walking away. Hell, he wouldn’t miss you. You were meant to be staying at the asshole’s place anyway.

But, this is your home. Well, the place you live, at least, and you need to go there eventually. Might as well get it over with. Your lip trembles, knowing you need to face the one person you really don’t want to right now, especially in this state. He already thinks you’re pathetic enough as it is.

You walk up the stairs, dread settling heavily in the pit of your stomach the closer you get to the door. You cast up a silent prayer that the only reason Dean is home is because he’s got female company over. At least then, you can get in, grab some whiskey and get to your room quietly and unnoticed.

“Hey, what are you doing home so early? Thought you were staying at Chuck’s tonight?” Dean says from the couch, not even turning to look at you.

“Yeah, well, plans change. Why are you here? Thought you’d be chasing some skinny ass, barely legal bitch at the bar.” Your tone conveys pure disgust, and you curse yourself for it when he turns to look at you. And, of course, he laughs.

“What the hell happened to you?” he buckles, scanning your absolutely hilarious appearance. “You look like someone threw you in the river and left you to claw your way back out again!” Dean laughs, and you huff, desperately trying to stop the fresh batch of tears threatening to stream down your face.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Dean, there’s a torrential downpour out there.”

“Yeah, that explains the puddle at your feet, but not the rest of you, bitch,” he laughs, and that does it. You know he’s not being serious; you constantly hurl insults at one another, and it doesn’t usually get to either of you, but this time, it hits differently.

“The only reason I kept you around so long is because you’re like a bitch in heat. Always needing to be fucked. But that’s all you’re good for, and it grows old pretty quickly.”

Your eyes water, and your lip trembles. A sob escapes unchecked, and you wish the floor would open you up and swallow you whole. “I’m going to bed,” you mutter and turn to walk away.

“Y/N, wait,” Dean says, his face softening into concern.

“What, Dean? What? You wanna laugh at me more? Call me a bitch again, huh? Look, I know you don’t like me, but you know what? A little compassion can go a long way. Some humanity might make me actually believe you have a heart.”

Your mind replays every conversation you’ve overheard Dean having about you with his brother, his friends, and his conquests, and your heart sinks to the floor at how true your words are.

“Who? Her? She’s just my roommate. Baby, you don’t have to worry about her. We’re not even friends, and she’s not my type. She’s basically my live-in maid. She cooks and cleans for me and pays me for the privilege.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, what happened?” Dean asks, stepping towards you, frowning when you step back.

“Doesn’t matter,” you sniffle.

“Come on, you’re upset. Talk to me, tell me what’s going on.”

“Why? So you can make fun of me like you always do? We're not even friends, Dean. Stop pretending you give a damn about me.” The hurt furrowing his brow surprises you, and you scoff. “Don’t look so hurt, Dean. I’m only repeating your words back to you. I’m the live-in maid, remember?” you turn and walk quickly to your room, slamming the door.

Whiskey will have to wait until Dean’s gone to bed.

It’s been quiet in the main section of the apartment for over an hour now. It’s probably safe to assume Dean has gone to bed, and you can get the whiskey you’re so desperate to drown yourself in.

Leaving the sanctuary of your bedroom, you pad down the hall in your bare feet, trying to be as quiet as possible. Dean is a light sleeper, and he’d complained before about you waking him whenever you get up in the middle of the night suffering from a bout of insomnia.

“I was wondering when you’d come out,” Dean’s voice makes you jump as it rings from the small dining table by the kitchen window. He’s sitting in the dark, with just the moon’s light shining enough to see his silhouette. “I was getting worried,” he states, sipping from a tumbler.

“Oh, so you do have a heart?” you respond. It’s a bitchy comment, and you know it, but you’re in defence mode after Chuck. “Might want to show it once in a while.”

“Nah. Makes me look weak,” he chuckles. His joke caught you off guard, and you let out a little huff of laughter. “See? I knew I could make you smile!”

“Barely,” you quip back and sit across from him, grabbing the whiskey bottle and filling the empty glass Dean must’ve put on the table for you.

“What happened, sweetheart? You left here tonight looking stunning and happy, and when you came home—”

“I was crying, and you called me bitch,” you state, watching Dean’s head drop.

“Not my finest moment, I admit,” Dean says as he reaches for the bottle and refills both glasses. “I didn’t know how upset you were, and I was only teasing you. If I’d known that it wasn’t just the rain that made your mascara run, I’d never have said it, and I hope you know that.”

“I really wanna believe that, but you’re always saying hurtful things,” you say, draining your glass.

“The things you said earlier,” Dean nods. “I didn’t mean… look, Y/N, you’re a beautiful woman, and some of the girls I bring home get jealous, you know? I say those things to keep them sweet.”

You nod, thinking it’s a fair excuse. Dean does have a lot of women over, and you’ve pulled out the sting from more than a few of them.

“As for what I say to Sam and my friends, well, they tease me about living with a pretty girl and don’t believe me when I say we’re just roommates,” Dean continues. You have to admit that was also sound reasoning. It didn’t excuse it; he was still a dick, but you understood it a little better.

“It’d just be nice if you stopped for a second and thought of me as a person with feelings before you say those kinds of things in front of me,” you say, filling your glass again.

“Alright, sweetheart, I promise I’ll work on that,” Dean agrees, and you notice he’s watching you intently.

“What?” you ask, feeling uncomfortably exposed under his gaze.

“What happened with Chuck,” Dean asks again.

“I don’t want to tell you,” you sigh.

“Why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” you whine and hit your head on the table.

“Come on,” Dean says, topping up their glasses again. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I promise whatever it is, it won’t be as bad as you think.”

“I got to the bar, and Chuck was there with another woman. He told me we were over and that Anna was his date for the night. Then, to rub salt in my wounds, as I was walking away, he told me that all I was good for was a great time in bed. Always up for anything, like a bitch in heat.”

“And then you came home, and I called you a bitch. Y/N, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Dean takes your hand in his, and you can see that it’s a genuine apology, and he really does feel awful about it. “You know he’s wrong, right? You’re worth so much more than that?”

“I don’t think I am. He’s not the only guy to tell me that,” you shrug. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m done with men and dating.”

“You don’t mean that. You think I don’t know about all the romcoms you watch on Netflix? All those girly books you read.”

“Yeah, well, a fat lot of good they did me. I’m starting to see why people are boycotting Disney Princess movies because they’re filled with romantic disillusionment and give a false idea to women that their Prince Charming exists somewhere out there.”

“This is more serious than I thought if you’re losing faith in the Disney Princesses!” Dean chuckles, and it makes you smile slightly. “Seriously, though, I think this is more about the men you date than you, sweetheart. They are way out of your league.”

“I am not out of anyone’s league, Dean. If anything, it’s probably the other way around,” you huff a bitter laugh.

“I’m out of your league,” Dean says quietly.

“You have that backwards. I’m the one out of your league. You’re gorgeous and charming, and I have seen the girls you bring home, and they are the most stunning women I’ve ever seen. I can’t compete with that.” The words spill out of you before you can stop them, and you think Dean might be blushing, but it’s hard to tell when the only sliver of light comes from the moon shining through the kitchen window.

Dean laughs, and it takes you aback slightly. “I have called you beautiful or some other variation of it several times tonight, and not once have you picked up on it. Those women are hot, sure, but you… You are on a whole other level of hot. You are stunning and so much classier than they will ever be.”

You scoff at his words, not believing them but not wanting him to know they affect you. You know Dean’s type, and it is definitely not you. “You don’t have to try and make me feel better, Dean.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. There’s a reason Sam and Cas and Benny are on my case so much about you, and it’s because I really, really, like you—”

“So, all the insults and barely tolerating my presence was what,” you smirk over at him, “you pulling my pigtails and pushing me over in the playground?”

“When you put it like that…” Dean cringes. “I guess it was. Look, you’re hurt and sad, and we’ve had a lot to drink, so I’m not going to push you to tell me if this is one-sided, but I will talk to you tomorrow when we’re both sober.”

The warmth of the sun wakes you, and you stretch in its gentle heat. You’re not nearly as hungover as you should be, and for that, you’re grateful. Dean had some interesting things to say last night, and you’d rather your brain was running at full capacity.

Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen, mindful that Dean’s door is closed, so it’s likely he’s still sleeping, and start the coffee machine. 

You busy yourself with clearing up from the night before. You rinse dishes, put them in the dishwasher and put the almost empty whiskey bottle back in the cupboard. You grab your and Dean’s favourite mugs and place them next to the coffee machine.

Taking the cleaning spray, you spritz all the surfaces and wipe them down while patiently waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

“How did I manage to find the only person in this city who likes cleaning?” Dean’s groggy voice sounds from the doorway, and you smile.

“Morning, Dean,” you say as you pick up the coffee pot and fill his mug. You place it on the breakfast bar and fill your own before hopping onto one of the stools and making yourself comfortable.

“Morning, sweetheart. Thanks,” Dean says as he picks up his mug and takes a sip. “So, about last night…”

“Wow,” you chuckle. “Straight to the point, huh?”

“I’ve wasted enough time, and now that my feelings are out there, I can’t sit on this any longer,” Dean pauses to take another mouthful of coffee. “I meant what I said. I like you, Y/N. I’m sorry if anything I did when I was in denial of my feelings hurt you. And I’m sorry for pushing you away and making you think I hated you so you wouldn’t find out how I really feel.”

“Dean, I don’t know what to say,” you say. “I used to like you in that way, but with how you were with me, I turned it off because, for the past year, I’ve been thinking you don’t like me, and I don’t know if anything is still there for you.”

Dean nods, looking a little deflated by your words, but it’s clear he accepts them. “Can I at least try and make you get it back?”

“I don’t know—“ you begin, but Dean cuts you off.

“Please, Y/N. One date is all I’m asking for,” Dean begs, and you feel your resolve waning. You know you still have feelings for him.

“I’ve seen the girls you bring home, Dean. And I’m nothing compared to them,” you try. It’s your last bit of fight, the last time you’ll be able to give him an out from this.

“You’re everything, Y/N. And I mean that. You are smart, funny, kind, beautiful… you’re everything they weren’t. Please,” Dean begs again. “Just one date. Let me prove it.”

“Okay,” you nod with a small smile.

“Yeah?” Dean says, breaking out into a boyish grin.

“Yeah. I’ll go on a date with you, Dean.”

“Awesome!” he grins, looking like he just answered the million-dollar question. “I promise you won’t regret it!”

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

[facelesssbirds]

Dancing In The Rain || Genshin

A.N. I found that some of these were longer than others, which I'm so sorry for <33 Enjoy! You dance in the rain, with, or without them. Implied F!Reader, Neuvillette, Dottore, Kaveh, Arlecchino Warning: None, though the Harbinger sections makes allusions to their "work,"

Neuvillette had never liked the rain, it was a reminder of his duty, a sick, twisted sign of his failures. He was the reason for the rain today, a court trial having just been finished when you had burst in, long after everyone else had left. Only he remained, standing in the centre of the room almost dramatically.

"Neuvillette," You spoke softly, setting down the umbrella you had been carrying to look at him.

He may've looked calm, composed even, but you could tell he was a mess, his face set in a firm frown, but his eyes softened when they met yours. You took his hand, quiet, intimate.

"Dance with me." You murmured, coming to rest your hand on his shoulder.

He frowned, looking around the court room, askew with chairs, desks and other obstacles, "We can't dance here," he said, a hint or remorse peaking into his voice, it was was hoarse from speaking all day.

You nodded in agreement, listening to the rain outside grow louder, a crack of thunder in the far off distance. Smiling, almost hesitantly you lead him out the doors, through the large, grandiose halls of the opera and out into the pouring rain, your umbrella long forgotten.

"We'll simply dance in the rain," You said, ignoring his protests, and forcing him into a ballroom waltz.

His hand slipped to your waist with little resistance, the harsh droplets of rain softening, wetting both of you to the bone. You should be miserable, standing here, dancing in the rain, and yet, a smile comes to your face, and maybe, just maybe, a hint of sunshine peaks through those dark, looming clouds.

Dottore was a man of science, cold and cynical, but the seemingly unending rain of the Sumeru Jungles bothered him more than he cared to admit. Omega had gotten some water in through his eye sockets, normally this wouldn't be an issue that he would deal with, and Omega could've just taken care of it himself, but naturally the idiot (himself) had ignored every sign of malfunction to work on the god project.

The one bright side was that he got to visit you, you oh, beautiful, perfect, you who stayed in Sumeru as a street dancer, and a scholar, despite the akademiya's terrible treatment of someone as perfect as you. That truly, was the only reason he was out in the rain, watching as you, despite being drenched in the warm rain, preformed a beautiful dance, your aerial dance had long been discarded, you hadn't wanted to ruin the silks, he assumed.

Truly, though, he was your only spectator. The only watcher of your fruitless efforts. The market had long since closed down, but you had barely seemed to notice, your eyes focused solely on completing your routine. He smirked from under his mask, watching as finally, your dance ended, your chest heaved as he offered you his umbrella, shielding you from the rain.

"Are you finished already, darling?" He questioned, watching as you glanced up at him, surprised.

"Zandik!" You gasped, your eyes widening, though you grinned, "I didn't know you were in town-"

He chuckled, "I had... matters, to attend to, and of course, I had to stop by and see you, my darling."

You giggled, giving him a look, "Well, then, I suppose you owe me a dance for being gone for so long."

"In the rain?" He mused, "Darling, perhaps we should wait, you could catch a cold--"

You hush him, patting his shoulder, "Oh it'll be fine~"

He huffs, but complies, his hands coming to your waist, watching as you revel in the feeling of water hitting your face, soaking you to the bone. He'll be there to nurse you back to help after you get sick, either way.

Kaveh was a hard worker, you knew, and sometimes, he worked a little too hard. You had stopped by his and Al haitham's house, looking for Kaveh, who had promised to go on a date with you, only to learn he had been in the library since yesterday.

Naturally, you were worried, thanking Al Haitham before running off to go look for your beloved. The rain hardly stopped you, running into the library drenched, your rain jacket soaked, and your hair a mess. The Library was empty, the lights shut off as you perused, looking for your darling little blonde.

"Kaveh," You mumbled when you saw him, rushing over to his sleeping form.

He was hunched over books and a intricate blueprint of some architectural design, it was beautiful, almost as breathtaking as him, even sleeping with ink smudged on his cheek he looked perfect. You knew he thought the same about you, his eyes lighting up when he saw you, rubbing the sleepiness away from his eyes in an instant to sit up, nuzzling into your arms for a hug.

"Darling!" He said into your arms, not minding the cold wet water drenching you, only for him to quickly turn sad, "I forgot-- shit-- I'm so sorry--"

You cut him off patting his back, "Kaveh, it's fine really, just-- rest." You said firmly, giving him a stern stare.

He grinned, looking out at the glass balcony behind him, before deviously turning to you, "Say... do you like dancing?"

You raised an unamused-- slightly confused-- brow, "It's fun, yes, but really--"

You were cut off by him practically dragging you towards the balcony, opening the door, not minding as rain wetted his clothes, his hair, his face, smudging his makeup and washing off the ink stuck to his cheek.

"Dance with me." He muttered, breathlessly, looking out at the rain, the air surrounding him, at you.

And, god, those eyes. You couldn't help but comply, spinning out as you waltzed, a night to remember for you both.

Arlecchino had always enjoyed ballroom dancing, the elegant refinery of performance. She had taught the children how to dance when they were young, cultivating dance into an art form of itself, a show that must always go on. And now, the performance they had made Fontaine was finished, only the epilogue to be enacted.

"Father." Lyney said, bowing slightly, "This performance has been finished."

Arlecchino smiled, restrained in elegance, sharp as a knife and hard as an edge, "Very good. Fetch your Mother for me, Lynette."

Lynette nodded, disappearing as quickly as she had appeared, a flurry of wind replacing her, sleight of hand at its finest. Arlecchino directed her eyes towards Fontaine, unaware of the hours that would soon await it as the sun set.

"Arlecchino, darling-" You came to stand beside her, smiling, "You called?"

She nodded, looking over at you, tracing your shoulder, "Yes, walk with me one. One last performance."

You glanced up surprised, "Of course."

And so, it was. Arlecchino's hands gripped yours as you walked through the garden, marveling at the sunset, and the looming clouds in the distance.

"Arle..." You murmured softly, "It's going to rain soon. We should head back inside."

Arlecchino's grip on your hand tightened, "Nonsense. Dance with me," She smirked, her free hand coming to play with your hair, before trailing down to your waist in slow, languid movements. You couldn't ever resist this woman.

"I suppose I must," You say, sighing through a smile, watching as rain hits the pavement around you. Soon, you too will be drenched, but happier than before, after all, dancing with your darling was something everyone wishes for.

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Twist of Fate; Chapter Fifteen

Pairings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word count; 2.6k

Themes; isekai, eventual smut

Rating; 18+ for swearing and mature content

Notes; Last chapter for the weekend (I say weekend but it's only friday–) I'm really thinking about posting chapter sixteen, but I think I need to put more distance between my chapters I'm posting and what I'm currently working on, since twenty is real close to sixteen. I'll probably be working on chapter twenty this weekend and if I get to twenty-one, I might post sixteen! 🩷

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Melodious music serenades the luxurious banquet hall that’s illuminated by dreamy lighting.

Sylus calmly guides you across the dance floor, swaying to the song’s slow rhythm. He blocks the prying shadows around you both and when you look up, all you see is his face, which is quite infuriating because it’s a good face. It’s distracting.

“Y/n, you need to be smarter if you want to retaliate against me,” Sylus says with a small sigh. “Sorry, I’m not really used to these kinds of social gatherings,” You glance away from him with a small, sheepish smile and clumsily lift your heel off of his foot.

“Did you actually get information on the aether core?”

“You can choose not to believe me,” Sylus muses as you continue your dance. Catching a glimpse of a flashing red dot in the shadows, you use your hand that’s on his shoulder to push him in the opposite direction.

“But they wouldn’t leak such important information. Unless..” You trail off, trying to get him to talk about what you heard over the earpiece earlier, “It’s a trap.” “Exactly.” A smile tugs at the corner of Sylus’ lips, almost as if he’s proud of you for coming to that realization.

You look back up at him, a little concerned. “You’re not going to throw yourself into their trap, are you?” The man shakes his head before speaking with a smile, “Be content with your role. Don’t scare away the fish that already bit the hook.”

You sigh, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment, “There’s��eight evol bombs, fifteen high-frequency guns…They really want you dead. Sylus, you made a lot of enemies.” “This isn’t the first time it’s happened,” He replies nonchalantly as the music reaches a crescendo. The notes from the orchestra are layers on top of one another, like surging tidal waves.

The lights dim to the passionate beats and shadows surround you both on all sides.

“You have something up your sleeve, right? Even if you have a death wish, I don’t intend to die here with you,” You harshly whisper, feeling a panic build up in your chest.

“Don’t worry, you won’t die that easily.” Is all he says. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Boom

A deafening explosion drowns out the music and ensuing screams. The beautiful hall is instantly reduced to rubble.

Amidst the surging chaos, Sylus tightens his grip on your hand and while your heartbeat thunders in your ears, you can barely make out a scoff coming from him. To your surprise, you see him nonchalantly crush something before throwing it into the debris.

“You…had the detonator this whole time?” You ask, ears slightly ringing from the explosion as you look up at him. He laughs, a smile on his lips, “The vermin were taking their sweet time. I was getting impatient.”

 “The metaflux is quickly increasing and there’s more than one wanderer…be careful.” You look around at the rubble, hand subconsciously squeezing his tighter. Your free hand quickly pulls your gun from your thigh holster to fire several shots at the wanderer that was about to attack Sylus.

“Well, that was close..” You let out a sigh of relief. “How long do you think you’ll last with an outdated weapon like that?” He asks, jerking his chin in the direction of your pistols. “Hey..” You pout, holding your gun close to your chest.

They were like your babies. You couldn’t just get rid of them.

Sylus tosses over another gun and you fumble with it in your full hands. “Don’t waste your efforts.” he says, not elaborating on what he means. You shake your head with a small sigh, re-holstering your other guns to hold the new ones. They were definitely lighter than your old ones and seemed to be better made.

“Did Sherman make you do this? Where’s the aether core? Hey, answer me!” After you had handled the last wanderer, you found a henchman cowering in the corner. You press the muzzle of your gun against the back of his head as you spit-fired questions at him.

“You haven’t won yet! We still have a backup plan…! That thing is terrifying. When it shows up, not even Sylus– agh!” Black-red mist throws the man into a broken stone pillar. With a scream, he falls to the ground like a puppet whose strings were just cut. You jerk your head toward Sylus with a glare. “Violence should be used strategically,” He says with a shrug, calmly wiping the blood off of his face as the mist disappears from his hands.

“I would’ve believed you if your hands were clean,” You grumble with a small sigh, annoyed that you have to fight in heels– which is insane by the way. You’ve almost fallen over so many times.

Despite the venue being cleared, strong energy fluctuations manifest above you both and shake the ground you stand on. “What’s making that noise? Are there still some left?” You rub the back of your neck, before remembering that the henchman was talking about something being their backup plan.

“Let’s go.” Sylus turns to walk away and you throw your hands up in annoyance, “Where are we going?” The older man grabs your wrist and swiftly starts walking. “To the place that has what you want,” He says, his fingers deftly wrapped around your wrist.

The almost transparent elevator quickly ascends and the colourful night-time scenery is obscured by the clouds. The elevator doors creak open on the roof and your eyes widen as you notice the huge wormhole in the sky.

A sense of panic and foreboding claws at your chest from the image of something huge and alien-looking in the sky.

“What is this place..?” You manage to say as you both step out from the elevator and onto the dilapidated roof. Countless pieces of metal are strewn across the spacious rooftop. The area around you was shrouded in mist and in the haze, barely visible, are abandoned collection vessels, transporters, and other devices.

Broken steel bars poke out from the overgrown weeds. Rusty frames are propped up, outlining a bygone era. “It looks like a laboratory for experiments or something..” You murmur, hands gripping your guns tighter.

“It was one many years ago. But they abandoned it a while back,” Sylus finally answers, turning to look at you with his thumbs in his pockets. “They?” You parrot, head cocking to the side. Stepping over broken fragments and glass shards, Sylus’ tone remains aloof, “EVER.”

You pause at that bit of information. The EVER Cooperation? They were the leading force of intelligence in Linkon. Doing all kinds of research and good. Why were they ever in the N109 Zone?

As the most prestigious international business group, it basically supports the whole of Linkon City. So…how could they be involved with the N109 Zone?

“...I heard that before the Chronorift Catastrophe, the N109 Zone was the most prosperous tech hub so I guess it makes sense that EVER used it as a research base.” You say as you nod your head, managing to make sense of it before Sylus tears that thought down, “You really are a naive Linkon citizen.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You raise a brow. Hell, you weren’t even a real Linkon citizen to begin with. You weren’t even from here. You were just going off what you knew from the game itself!

Sylus gives you a look, crossing his arms over his chest, “Many locations were affected by that catastrophe, yet only the N109 Zone turned into a wasteland. Why do you think that is?”

Ohh…You recall some unverified theories, but your mind is a mess right now. You can’t think of anything useful to this situation.

“We’re here.” Sylus stops walking and you almost run into his firm back.

Slow vibrations resembling heartbeats pulsate through the sky and you look up to see the Deepspace Tunnel– at least that’s what you assume it is. You’ve never seen one since being in the game, after all, but it must be that, since you had no other explanation. It was eerily beautiful.

Dense clouds and vortexes churn amidst the darkness and occasionally, a stream of light flashes across the night sky like heat lightning. The silent tunnel is like a telescope peeking into the universe.

“The Deepspace Tunnel…This is the first time I’ve been so close to it,” You murmur, taking a deep breath as tiny beams of light enter your line of sight. You can’t help, but take a step closer– before you notice a stone fixture. “It’s a Flux Nexus. I saw one in the no-hunt zone!” You exclaim, remembering what it looked like from that one mission with Xavier, before you entered the game.

“Then you should know what it contains. These fluctuations aren’t produced by normal protocores,” Sylus says from next to you and you nod your head.

The aether core.

Sylus stands next to you, looking at you with his eyes that have unfathomable depths. “Think about it first. Once you take it out, there’s no going back.” You take a deep breath. You’re already here, why would you give up now?

Gritting your teeth, you put your hand on the Flux Nexus’s intricate patterns. The power of resonance instantly flows through your body and dazzling light seeps out from your palm. A shiny, floating gem appears from the slab. “The aether core..” You reach out to touch it and as soon as your fingers brush against it, the ground starts to shake violently.

A storm appears.

Violent fluctuations lash out from the Deepspace Tunnel’s entrance. A huge shadow emerges from the vortex. It’s getting closer and closer. Its wings blot out all light in the sky.

“Is this…the backup plan they were talking about?!” You quickly turn toward Sylus, worriedly, and he chuckles, “We finally get something presentable.” A huge protofield unfolds before you and then, the ferocious wanderer charges toward you both at breakneck speed.

It’s a large blue-black bird, an Arbiterwings. It might be a bit difficult to take on without resonating with Sylus, so you’d have to try. Its feathers were made of crystalized metaflux, so it seems like that would be the way to take it down, destroy the feathers and the bird will fall.

A blinding light comes from your palm as you press it against Sylus’ shoulder, concentrating on resonating with him as the bird flew about in the dark red protofield. Finally– You break apart from Sylus and hold your guns up. “Ready?” You ask and without waiting for his response, you begin shooting at the bird.

 The first didn’t take too long, maybe four or five minutes at most but, once it was over, you quickly turn to look at Sylus excitedly before you realize you’re not on the roof...

What...

The scenery before you is blurry, but you can make out that it’s a war ravaged, desolate planet.

“Where…am I?” You mumble to yourself as you look around.

All you can see is darkness. The sky is dark with smoke pluming from the burning planet, cracks in the ground reveal bright reddish orange magma.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest as your gaze slowly moves down to your trembling, bloody hands.

“There’s…so much..blood.” Why were your hands so bloody? What was going on?

“You must press on.” Sylus? You quickly look around, tears pricking your eyes in your terror, desperate to see a familiar face in this hellscape.

But you can barely make out the figure in front of you. His blurry figure seemed to have corroded crystals growing on his shoulders, neck, and lower half. You could see his bare chest with dark blue and purple veins clearly visible. “That’s..” You murmur, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Was he turning into a wanderer like those people from before?

You felt his thin, spindly hand squeeze yours around the hilt of the sword that was plunged into his chest.

“Because…if you don’t..There’s no going back.”

His voice was coming from this thing?

Your hands shake as you realize you stabbed Sylus and you have no idea why. Seriously— What's going on? 

“Sylus–” An inferno blazes before your eyes, your vision blurring and amidst the blood and fire, the Deepspace Tunnel appears. It shakes violently. “Y/n, you must press on.” You flinch as a red electrical current strikes before your eyes and once your vision clears, you notice Sylus is holding his hand out toward you.

“The life you owe me– now is not the time to repay it.” He says and as you look at the hand reaching out toward you.

You see Sylus’s cold face..there was a hint of worry beneath his usual gaze. But there also seems to be a shadow above him. You can’t help but reach out as well.

Unprecedented power swells between your intertwined fingers and, instantly, you feel a tremor from deep within your heart. Something flows through your veins. The wanderer’s dissipating particles fall like a misty rain, yet a brighter light pierces through the haze.

You lift your free hand up to shield your eyes from the light, your eyes squinting as you tried to make out where the light was coming from. The aether core emits countless rays of golden light that seeps into your chest. The warm, familiar power continues to surge.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when the fluctuations around your body slowly start to subside. The movements within your body cease. It’s as if an ocean’s roaring waves have silently calmed down, turning into ripples on a lake’s surface.

A tiny golden stone hovers in the sky above your head and you reach out for it, holding it between your thumb and index finger.

“So this is the aether core…” It shines for a moment before a crack appears on it. You quickly turn toward Sylus in shock, noticing he’s looking up at the sky. “...Sylus?” You question and he closes his eyes before saying, “Its power belongs to you now. Naturally, the vessel will break as a result.”

“To...me?” You raise a brow as the white haired man looks at you. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” He asks, looking away from you. He turns his back to you to walk away with you being dragged behind him.

“Hey! Where are you taking me?” You say, exasperated. Your feet hurt from wearing your heels all day and fighting in them. “Wait– This is...?” He stops walking as you stare down at your hands with wide eyes. He wasn’t even grabbing your wrist.

He lifts your hands with a small sigh, an invisible force binding them together. He shakes his arm back and forth, your hand being forced to move with him. “Let go already!” You groan, glaring at your arms as you notice they weren’t even that close together. They were a few inches apart, so why were they stuck together?

Then, a deep orange light swirls between your hands. The light circles around both your wrists with a string connecting the circle together like handcuffs. “What…is this thing?” You question, tugging at your hand before looking up at Sylus, who sighs.

He doesn’t respond and the powerful tremor that shook the Deepspace Tunnel ignites a chain reaction within the N109 Zone.

Those shadows, who believed they controlled Onychinus, are eliminated from fate’s tapestry. Unable to see the undercurrents beneath the water’s surface, you can only smell the scent of smoke becoming more poignant as it’s carried by the wind.

Structures crumble and collapse, and Mephisto’s wings pierce through the boundless darkness. He’s accompanied by the distant tolling of a bell. 

It’s almost like an announcement, as if the world is saying…The true leader of Onychinus has returned.

Taglist; @orphicmeliora , @yoongi-tunes, @mitzkooni, @hiqhkey, @tanspostsblog

[johnwickb1tsch]

Vino Veritas - Part III

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. NSFW. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. 😆 chapter map.

III. Just what the world needs, Another Fucking Sunset Wedding

It’s almost sweet. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Frank had been waiting for you to catch the shuttle to the wedding venue, dallying in the lobby pretending to look at an atrocious modern art print while keeping one eye on the hallway.

“You look nice,” he grumbles, taking in your white A-line sundress printed with big red roses.

“Thanks,” you say, admiring his navy blue suit unabashedly, since he brought it up first. “You look very handsome.”

This makes him stand up a little straighter, clearly not sure how to take the compliment, but you dare to think, he liked it.

When the shuttle drops you off at the base of the vineyard you look up the steep hill planted with curling grape vines in their nice neat rows with a sense of dread.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“I am not wearing the right shoes for this.”

He looks down at your platform heels. “It said in the itinerary you’d have to walk up a hill.”

“Ok, but what was I supposed to wear? Hiking boots? The unfair standards of women’s dress clothes don’t allow for that.”

He holds out a hand, albeit begrudgingly. “Come on. I’ll help you.”

“I swear, these shoes are actually usually the sensible option.”

“Sure they are. Wearing anything that elevates your feet four inches off the ground is a sensible option.”

You sigh, and take his hand, trying to ignore the thrill running through your bones as you feel the strength in his fingers and his arm, as he helps propel you up the incline.

“I can’t believe they don’t have…stairs, or something? Did the old people have to do this?”

“Presumably not.”

“Then what the fuck?”

“Quite.”

Men’s dress shoes aren’t exactly made for rough terrain either, and at one point you both almost slip, clutching each other in a bid not to tumble back down the hill. It’s…nice, you have to admit, to be held close by this man.

He looks at you with wide eyes, for a moment for all the world appearing as though he’s drowning, before that thunderous frown appears. “Fuck this.”

You yip with surprise as he sweeps you up into his arms, and marches determinedly the rest of the way up the hill. Before you can even think about taking it as a romantic gesture, he practically drops you back to your feet at the top, releasing you as though you’d burned him.

You sit together in the back, as usual, though Frank very pointedly crosses his arms and is careful to keep a respectable amount of distance between you.

That shouldn’t make you feel sad, but it does.

The excruciatingly drawn-out bullshit Reception

“I used to like this song,” you muse, watching the dancers on the floor with an odd mixture of wistfulness and distaste. Keith dips his new bride, and a mean little part of you really wishes he would drop her.

“Do you…want to dance?”

Frank could have knocked you over with a feather, after how he’d behaved earlier. It definitely colors your answer, the knee-jerk impulse to push him away too.

“I said I used to like it.”

“Fine.”

Then, of course, you feel bad. And maybe you feel…a sliver of hope, however stupid.

“Why, do you want to dance?”

“Of course I don’t want to dance. It’s moronic and ridiculous. No one wants to fucking dance.” There is more venom in this statement, than perhaps the situation calls for.

After a moment, a bit softer and with a hint of apology, he qualifies, “I just thought it might take your mind off things.”

If you looked miserable, it’s ironic that for once, Keith was not the cause of it.

Perhaps this should send you running in the opposite direction too.

“Do you want to take a walk?” you ask instead.

He looks pointedly down at your questionable footwear, but you point at the basket behind you bearing what are professed by a whimsically written sign: Walking Shoes. They’re some kind of slide on deal that will do in a pinch. Honestly you’re willing to go bare foot, if it gets you out of that tent.

The meandering and pointless Walk

“You know, I was actually diagnosed with PTSD after the whole Keith thing?”

Frank snorts at that, the farthest reaction from sympathy he can manage. “Rich people’s PTSD.”

“I’m not rich.”

“Fine. Privileged.”

That’s probably true. Goddammit.

“Well…am I not allowed to have problems?”

“Sure, just no one wants to hear about them. Anyone who doesn’t have to worry about food, housing, or getting shot by the police should just keep it to themselves.”

“That’s not very healthy.”

He shrugs. “It’s not just you. No one should care about my problems either.”

“What if I care?”

He snorts. “Then I will feel even sorrier for you than I already do.”

“Ok, fine. Maybe not me specifically. But what if…say, you find someone else you actually like. Isn’t it ok to talk about your problems with friends?”

“Isn’t that a terrible thing to do to someone you like? Making friends or a significant other listen to your problems for free, when you should be paying a shrink for it?”

“It’s just a thing people do who are close to each other. They talk.”

“People who aren’t close too, apparently.” He says all this with a surprising amount of cheer in his tone, either enjoying himself, or the walk, or the view…or maybe even your company.  

He changes the subject as you round a bend. “So, are you glad you came to this thing? You made your show of strength, you’ve got your closure now that the knot is tied and they’re legally bound to be miserable together, and you’ve fled the scene with his half-brother, whom he despises, which the family surely will gossip about. You could almost chalk it as a win, if you squint just right.”

You huff, breathing a little heavy as you walk up a hill on the ridge the path follows. It truly is beautiful in the backcountry of the vineyard, rolling mountains planted with nice neat rows of green vines.

He makes a good point, but strangely…you don’t feel satisfied. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I’m not sure how I feel,” you admit, pausing to incline your head up at him. He pauses too, looking down that straight nose at you, and he is standing very close. You fancy you sense him tense, as though about to take some great leap, and he looks at your mouth with something like consternation, when a god-awful yowling roar travels down the path at you.

You both turn to see a very big, very unhappy cat displaying its impressively large and sharp canines at you.

“What the fuck is that?”

“I think it’s a mountain lion.”

“What the fuck do we do?”

“I don’t know. We’re too far away, no one will hear us scream.”

“Is it a bobcat?”

“It’s not a fucking bobcat. Look at the tail.”

“You should run. It’s going to eat me anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m smaller and slower.”

“I wouldn’t presume about the last part.”

It roars again, and you clutch at his arm.

Suddenly Frank charges the thing, making that god-awful hissing sound from earlier with his finger in his ear. They both sound like demons from hell, and with shock you watch as the predator backs away.

“Now, we run,” says Frank, grabbing your hand and booking it down the hill.

You run what feels like a long way. Your legs are burning, and the stupid little slide-ons are not made for athletic activity. And the thing about running downhill is…sometimes gravity gets the best of you. Like now, when you trip over a rock, and take Frank with you. Suddenly you are both tumbling down a steep grassy incline, locked together in a death roll.

“Fuck!”

“Fuck!”

“Fuck!”

“Fuck!”

When at last you come to a stop you are utterly stunned. “Y/n?”

You just lie there, unable to move.

“Y/n?”

Are you even alive?

Suddenly, Frank grabs your arm, hauling you around. “Ah!”

He looks…so worried, that if he hadn’t wrenched your back, you would have been touched.

“I’m fine! Jesus!”

“Ok. Sorry.”

You lie there for another moment looking up at him. He has grass in his hair; it’s endearing somehow, seeing this put-together grouch of a man just a little undone.

“You saved me,” you tease, sitting up beside him.

“I saved us.”

“Yeah right. It would have eaten me anyway. Why’d you save me?”

“Because I’m an idiot.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Just trying to spare myself the guilt.”

He reaches up to pluck grass out of your hair. His light touch gives you a thrill down your spine. Again, you are aware that you are very close, and his dark eyes have gone wide again, that slightly panicked look he gets. His gaze flicks to your mouth, then back to your eyes, and you are completely taken by surprise when he grabs the back of your head and pulls you swiftly into a hard kiss.

He retreats from it just as quickly, and now he does look like he’s seen a ghost. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“I—”

Before you can say anything he’s grabbed you again, and this kiss is less forceful, though maybe no less desperate. You’re able to reach up to cup his cheeks before he shoves you away again, this time hard enough that you topple back in the grass.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” he pants again, looking for all the world like a horse that would like to bolt. “I don’t—it’s been a long time. Heat of the moment. Near death experience. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“How long?” you ask, incredulous. Because, this man is so…so. Fucking. Good looking. How has he not been with anyone?

He scowls at the grass. “I don’t think I’ve felt real pleasure since 2006.”

This admission makes your eyes go wide. You sincerely hope he’s exaggerating, but then again, the way he behaves towards people…maybe he’s not.

“It’s just…” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “If it all sucks, then fuck it, but if it doesn’t? Then there’s so much pressure.”

A part of you wants to snark at him. Well well well, welcome to the human race at last. But another part of you…another part of you just wants to kiss him senseless and fuck him silly, and make him feel all the things you’ve both been missing out on because he’s been such a goddamned coward this whole time and you’re not much better.

 Maybe he reads the pity on your face, because he feels the need to defend, “Not that I haven’t been with anyone. Just…”

“You weren’t that into it?”

He looks away, glaring at the world again. “Yeah.”

“It’s been a while for me too,” you admit.

“Please don’t say it was Keith,” he snarks. “I’ll kill myself.”

You laugh. “No, your brother was incredibly, monumentally selfish in bed. I literally could have had better sex with a lamppost.”

He looks at you sideways. “That really shouldn’t make me as happy as it does.”

Your lips twist as you try not to smile. Frank, however, is back to frowning at the vineyards again. “We can’t have sex right now. I don’t have any protection. It would be irresponsible.”

You’re a little amused, that his brain has leapt immediately to sex, while you are sitting in the dry grass together. Apparently just kissing was not enough—or maybe he’s been thinking about it for a while. You’d be a liar, if you said you haven’t.

“What if I said you’re in luck?”

“I would say that’s highly improbable.”

You feel bold enough to cup his cheek, bringing his attention back to you. It doesn’t take much persuading this time, when you press your lips to his. He kisses you back, his fingers digging into your ribcage, and you’re not really sure who’s more desperate to feel alive after defying death at the claws of a tiger or whatever the fuck that thing had been.

“That’s not helping,” he pants when you part.

“Why? Are you actually into it?”

He pulls you closer with hands on your waist. “Pretty into it,” he admits begrudgingly. You smile against his mouth, suddenly feeling electrified from head to toe. The colors of the world around you seem brighter, somehow. You take him by surprise when suddenly you straddle his waist, perching on his legs and pushing him back down into the grass, your pretty skirts spread around you.

“What—”

You unbuckle his belt and undo his pants, freeing him to the desert air. “Oh…” When you bend over to lick his tip and take him into your mouth you get an even more emphatic, “Oh…”

“What about now?” you ask him as you withdraw with a pop.

He blinks, for the first time since you’ve met, speechless. At least, for a few long moments.

“I think I’d like to be inside you.”

“How’s your health?”

“Fair to middling, for a man my age.” You give him a look, and damn if he doesn’t soften for you, even if just for a fleeting second. “Clean,” he answers quietly. “You?”

“Clean. And fully armed with IUD.”

He blinks. “Like they use to blow up humvees in the Middle East?”

You laugh, throwing your head back, your curls bouncing around your shoulders. You haven’t had this much fun in a long time. “Like, an intrauterine-device?”

“That definitely makes more sense.”

“Well?”

You watch as he licks his fingers, reaching under your dress to push your panties aside and find your center. The saliva is appreciated but not necessary. You are drenched, and his big fingers rubbing your clit feel like magic. “Is all that for me?” He sounds genuinely surprised, like this was a gift from the universe he did not expect to receive. Usually it’s more inclined to deliver a kick to the balls.

“Who else would it be for? The lynx?” He snorts, and in a softer tone you confess, “I have been a wet little mess for you since…the moment we started arguing in the airport.” He blinks at this, dumbstruck for a moment, before kissing you with an edge of desperation you both feel keenly in your bones.

He guides you onto him with his big hands on your buttocks. That feels like magic too, his thick tip at your entrance sinking in. It’s your turn to say, “Oh,” with your head thrown back, his big cock sliding deeper and deeper inside you, until he’s filled you to the hilt. For a moment you just sit like that together, joined, wrapped up in each other’s arms. It’s wonderful.

You imagine how ridiculous you must look, to an outsider looking in. Two people tangled in the dirt, grass in your hair, dust all over your nice clothes. You giggle a little to yourself.

“Something funny?”

“Just…do you ever think about how silly humans look, doing the things we do?”

“All the time.”

You laugh joyously, but you feel him withdrawing from you, that subtle tension returned in his limbs. You realize he thinks you’re making fun of him. It’s like this man expects he’ll have to defend himself from the world at any given moment. Then, from what he’s told you about his life, you guess he has. You don’t let him get too far, pulling him closer. “But fuck it feels glorious. I don’t care. Fuck me, Frank. I need you.”

 You feel him relax, and maybe even surrender. He moves for you, and you with him, his thumb on your button and his mouth on your neck as you ride him out…it’s the fastest you’ve ever orgasmed, with another person involved, that shining pleasure ambushing you in the cradle of your hips and spreading outwards. It’s almost embarrassing, except he’s right behind you, holding you almost desperately with arms locked around your waist, his face buried in the bend of your neck. Neither of you are quiet about it, your yells echoing across the empty hills.

“Oh my god…” you pant, resting your forehead against his.

“Can’t say…I believe much in god,” he informs you, out of breath.

“Me neither,” you admit. “But that was fucking fantastic.”

“Yeah. That was pretty damn good.” He sounds so surprised about it.

He kisses you, more softly this time. There is a long moment of eye contact between you; it is vulnerable, and electric, and raw. He is the first to look away, almost flinchingly. Then he focuses on the business of disentangling yourselves.

“I’m afraid we’re about to make a huge mess.”

“You don’t have a handkerchief?”

“What am I, a nineteenth century dandy?”

“Okay, relax, Romeo. I’ve got it.”

You rather cleverly, if you don’t say so yourself, use the petticoat of your dress to avoid staining his trousers as you uncouple, in a way that won’t leave you an embarrassing mess when you return to the tent either.

“I like that dress even more now,” he quips, looking at you with something almost akin to tenderness as you right yourselves. He reaches up to pull another sprig of straw out of your hair with a smirk.

“Frank…” You’re not really sure what you want to say. There’s a pent up ball of something in your chest, and it kind of actually hurts, and you’re not sure you like it at all.

“No,” he answers resolutely, but he cranes his neck down to kiss you anyway. “Want to go back to my room?”

“Yes.”

TBC...

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ahhhhh I didn't have the courage to make it as awkward as the movie 🤣🤣🤣 but I feel like I need to make a note here bc i'm always writing wildly irresponsible sex practices: always use protection with a new partner. It's just a good idea. And ALWAYS use some kind of birth control, or you WILL get pregnant. mother nature is a bitch.

[amplifyme]

Reposting because the muse said so. You can read it here, too.

Third Time's a Charm

He rolls over onto his side and finds her looking back at him in a mirrored position. They’re both still struggling to catch a deep breath. His bedroom smells of sheets a week past needing changed and just concluded sex. How does one describe that particular aroma? He thinks about it for a second and decides that mutual insanity fits pretty well right now. Folie au deux.

“Do we…” he hesitates, not sure how to put it. She is solemnly studying him with eyes that shouldn’t be as dazzling as they are, since his bedroom is illuminated only by the streetlights leaking their dim and hazy light through his open blinds. Far-off thunder rumbles quietly in the distance. “Should we… do we talk about this?”

Because Mulder thinks that falling into bed with Scully once is an anomaly. But twice is deliberate. And this third time is… what? A commitment? A habit? Maybe a declaration that this is no longer just a thing they do when under extreme stress? That perhaps now it’s something they engage in simply because they want to?

After all, it’s just a weeknight, and like many others before it. Living room well-lit as they go over files, sharing decent take-out and maybe a beer. No stress other than the low simmer of anxiety that’s always there. Everything just like it's always been before. And yet, somehow, they've found their way out of their clothes and into his bed. For the third time.

“What’s to talk about?” she lazily counters, drawing a damp palm across his collarbone and down his chest. “It is what it is.”

This is not the sort of remark Scully makes. She considers everything very carefully. Disassembles a thing and studies each separate part before she begins to reassemble the disparate segments into something she can explain in lengthy and often incomprehensible language. Her laissez faire attitude unsettles him.

“Well,” he begins, “because this isn’t.. it’s not. I mean, this is not what we do.” He takes in a deep breath. “Normally.”

“Apparently it is now,” she rejoins.

“And what do you think about that?”

“Do we need to discuss this?”

“I think so, Scully. You know how important you are to me, right? I mean, you do know. Don’t you?”

She’s still stroking him, up and down his body where she can reach, slow and precise, and it makes it hard for him to think. He’s thirty-seven years old and should require a bit of time between rounds of the horizontal mambo, but apparently his body is dialed into eighteen and perpetually horny. He’s flabbergasted by the ability of his penis to take a licking and come back ticking so quickly. Or maybe it’s just because it’s Scully.

“I know how you make me feel,” she declares.

“How’s that?” He’s honestly curious. Because the tone of her voice leads him to believe it’s something good. But nothing comes easily with Scully. She makes him work for almost everything.

It’s quiet long enough that he decides she's going to ignore his query. But if it’s reticence, she hasn’t informed her hands of that. They’re still busy speaking their own language against him. Her legs have become tangled in his, dragging the satin of her skin across his. He can’t help it: he has to reciprocate. It’s too tempting to keep touching her in all the places he hasn’t been able to before.

He pulls her closer and gets busy with her mouth for a minute. They break their wet kiss and she breathes, “Desired,” against his lips. “Necessary,” she whispers across his chin. “Alive.” The word brushes the line of his cheek. She pulls back and cups his jaw in her talented and capable hands. Her swimming pool eyes threaten to swallow him whole. “Safe,” she proclaims.

His eyes slip shut at that. He wishes it were so. More than anything. She says it a second time, softly upon his face, and kisses his closed eyelids.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

[dawnbreaker-mylove]

𝑨𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒂𝒘𝒏

Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction of the game Love and Deepspace. Some characters are from the game, and some are original characters. The rituals and traditions aren't from any specific religion. If there are any similarities to real people, it's purely coincidental.

Warnings and A/N: Implications of rape and suicide. To me, this feels like a weak chapter, but I still hope you guys enjoy. (^3^)/ Everything is for the plot, trust. I also don't like the LI's doing evil things even for fanfiction.

‘The Dragons’

"Brother!" The man before you waved exuberantly at Zayne, his voice light with cheer. "It has been far too long. I’ve missed you!"

Zayne’s expression darkened as he stepped forward. "Release her, at once."

Rafayel sighed dramatically, though his mischievous smile remained intact. He let go of your wrist with exaggerated reluctance. "No need to shout, brother. Such temper." He flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder, then glanced back at Zayne. "How have you fared?"

Zayne’s eyes narrowed as he moved to stand in front of you, shielding you from the other god's persistent gaze. His presence felt protective, though his voice was sharp. "What brings you here, Rafayel?"

Feigning a look of innocent confusion, Rafayel tilted his head and pouted slightly. "One hundred years have passed. What else would I be doing here?"

A flicker of realization crossed Zayne’s face, his lips parting in a low mutter. "Already? Has it been so long?"

"Indeed," Rafayel said with a knowing nod, his tone far more serious than before. "The others are on their way. You should have been expecting us."

His gaze drifted back toward you, and a playful gleam lit up his eyes, as though he had found some new and unexpected entertainment. "And pray tell, where did you find this one?" His head tilted ever so slightly, appraising you openly. "You’ve never brought mortals into your domain before. Curious.”

“You speak as though I were some mere pet,” you murmured, but Zayne’s sharp glare silenced you before you could say more. Reluctantly, you bit your tongue, the unspoken words burning on your lips. Rafayel’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he crossed his arms, resting his chin lightly on his knuckles. “Such fire in this one,” he mused, his voice a lazy drawl. “Feisty for a mortal.”

Zayne’s expression darkened, his voice low and firm. “You will not speak to her.”

Before Rafayel could reply, a thunderous roar shook the air, causing you to freeze. Your eyes darted to the heavens, where a dragon with gleaming red and black scales coiled through the sky. The sheer presence of it struck a primal fear deep in your bones, something you couldn’t explain.

Zayne muttered a curse under his breath before leaning in close, his tone urgent but quiet. “Return to our chambers,” he commanded softly. The tension in his voice left no room for argument.

As the three of you stepped into the courtyard, your eyes were drawn to the figure standing by the jasmine tree—a man towering over both Zayne and Rafayel, his form imposing even at a distance. His long platinum hair shimmered like sunlight on water, and his broad shoulders were clad in the gleaming kaihō armor that only enhanced the severity of his already commanding presence.

Zayne bowed his head respectfully. “Brother Sylus.”

The man, Sylus, moved slowly, each step deliberate, and Zayne lifted his chin to meet his gaze. The air in the courtyard thickened with the weight of power, a force you instinctively knew was beyond human understanding. It was a power that did not tolerate weakness.

“Elder brother!” Rafayel called out with the same bright enthusiasm he’d shown earlier. “You’ve not changed—you look magnificent!”

Sylus did not acknowledge him, his crimson eyes fixed on Zayne, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the earth itself. “Let’s make haste,” he said. “The dead do not like to wait.”

Three. Three of the four Dragons were gathered in the other room, their voices a murmur behind closed doors. Zayne had been quick to shield you from their sight, relief flickering in his eyes when Sylus didn’t notice your presence. He had told you to stay in your quarters, but curiosity gnawed at you. What could they be discussing? Why did they gather every hundred years?

Inside the room, the gods sat upon silk cushions, wind spirits gliding soundlessly around them, pouring tea into delicate porcelain cups. Zayne held his cup with both hands, sipping quietly, his eyes closed. Rafayel, ever restless, tapped his fingers on the wooden table, a rhythmic beat of impatience. Sylus, imposing and silent, sat with his arms crossed, a scowl etched deeply into his features. The tension in the air was palpable.

“What is keeping him?” Sylus’s deep voice cut through the quiet, frustration thick in his tone.

Rafayel shrugged, a lazy smile on his lips. “Perhaps he’s dozing off atop some cloud, or lying among the snowy peaks. It would not surprise me.”

“This is nonsense,” Sylus grumbled, throwing his hands in the air with a snort. “We all have duties.”

Rafayel cast him a sidelong glance, his lips curling mischievously. “Only you, brother. We are in no such hurry.”

Sylus’s crimson eyes darkened as they fell upon Rafayel, the silent threat evident in his gaze. Before the tension could snap, Zayne cleared his throat, lowering his cup to the table with a soft clink. “I’ll not have a blood feud ignited under my roof,” he said calmly, though his words carried the weight of command.

Sylus scoffed, though his arms returned to their crossed position, his voice gruff. “There would be no feud. A single strike is all it would take.”

Rafayel feigned offense, pressing a hand to his chest in mock outrage. “How uncouth. Should you attempt such a thing, I’ll have Father turn you back into the very rock from which you came.”

The origins of the Dragons had always been a source of amusement to you despite how divine it sounded to other people, especially their worshippers. To children, it was said that the Sun, in love with the Earth, blessed the stones she offered him, and they hatched into the Dragons. In truth, however, the story was far more crude. The Sun, in a moment of divine impulse, cast his seed upon the stones of the earth, and thus the eggs were formed. From one of those eggs emerged the First Dragon, the God of the Underworld and War. Followed by the Dragon of the Mountains, then the Sea, and lastly, the Light.

"Have they begun?" A warm breath brushed against your ear, startling you. You yelped, stumbling out of your hiding place and catching the attention of everyone.

Before you stood a figure with golden hair and eyes like the fair sky. His face carried a youthful innocence. This must be the fourth brother, the Fourth Dragon.

"Xavier!" Sylus called out, his tone sharp but not harsh as he strode past you. "Where have you been all this time?"

Xavier rubbed his eyes and yawned softly. "I was resting upon a cloud. Have you already begun?"

"Not yet," Rafayel said with a calm voice. "We waited for you.”

Zayne was at your side in an instant, ignoring his brothers. His hands reached out to steady you as you rose, his gaze sweeping over you with a quiet intensity, searching for signs of injury. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice soft and steady. A faint glow radiated from his hands as they hovered near your skin, his breath releasing in relief when he found no broken bones, no bruises. The tenderness in his eyes almost made you believe the gods had hearts that could feel, but you quickly pushed that thought away. Surely, he was only concerned because he did not wish to trouble himself by taking another mortal, you thought to yourself.

Unfortunately, Zayne’s attention on you had drawn the notice of his brothers. Sylus’s scowl deepened, the sound of his armor clinking as he approached. Just as Sylus drew near, Zayne stepped between you and his brother, blocking his path.

"Why do we have a mortal here?" Sylus demanded, his voice low, full of irritation.

"It is no concern of yours," Zayne snapped, his tone growing sharp.

"But she is mortal," Xavier chimed in, rubbing his eyes lazily. "You do not often bring mortals into your home."

"That is what I said earlier," Rafayel added, his gaze steady on Zayne. "Is this another of your priestesses, Zayne?"

You raised an eyebrow at Zayne, but his face remained unreadable. "She is none of your concern," he repeated, his voice firm.

"Perhaps," Sylus said, though now his voice carried a darker edge. "Yet it seems you are the issue. Why is there a mortal wandering in our realm?"

Zayne fell silent as his brothers waited, tension thickening the air. Sylus took another step forward, a dangerous aura beginning to ripple from him. His eyes, now glowing red with the fury of a dragon, signaled his impending transformation. "Is this yet another selfish indulgence of yours?"

"You think I would be so reckless as to bring such a thing here?" Zayne snapped back, his own temper rising. His voice cut through the tension like a blade. "She is my wife.”

Sylus and Xavier's eyes widened, though only slightly, while Rafayel’s jaw dropped in disbelief. You shared their surprise, unsure what to make of their reactions.

"No..." Sylus muttered under his breath, his face clouded with unease.

"What do you mean ‘no’?" you asked from behind Zayne, frustration creeping into your voice. Zayne shot you a warning look, silently urging you to hold your tongue, but you refused to be silenced. Matching his gaze, you demanded, "What is happening?"

Rafayel’s sudden laughter echoed through the air, his hand pressed to his forehead as he tilted his head back. "You truly do not know?" he asked, shaking his head in amusement. "By the Heavens, Zayne, you are utterly doomed."

"Married?" Xavier asked, still blinking in disbelief. His eyes searched Zayne’s face for some sign of denial, but Zayne averted his gaze, refusing to meet their eyes or yours. There was a weight in his silence, a hint of what might be guilt. "Should it matter?" Zayne muttered, his voice low, as though the answer itself might change nothing.

"Of course it matters," Xavier scoffed. His expression softened as he looked at you, pity threading through his words. "You are leading yet another mortal astray."

There it was again—those veiled accusations. "What do you mean by that?" you asked, turning your attention to Xavier. The god shifted uncomfortably under your gaze. "I’m not sure if I should say..." he replied quietly.

"Oh, I would!" Rafayel interjected, raising his hand with a smirk dancing on his lips. "Behold the great Master of Fate," he began, his tone mocking, "the god who watches over mortals from his sacred mountains. But come nightfall, he descends, choosing a woman—often a priestess—upon whom he bestows his divine… attention.”

Your eyebrows arched in surprise, as if a veil had been lifted from Zayne, revealing not a god, nor a dragon, nor a mere traveler, but something far more unsettling. A shiver coursed through you, causing your stomach to churn. You instinctively stepped back, seeking refuge against Rafayel’s bare chest.

“He took great pleasure in their cries,” the sea god whispered, his tone still mocking but in it held true.

“Enough,” Sylus's voice thundered, causing you to flinch. “She has heard everything.”

“Oh, but I was nearing the most delightful part,” Rafayel said, his voice teasing as he rested his hands on your shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. “He impregnated one of the priestesses, you know. Poor mortal—driven to madness, she ended her own life. You should have seen his face; not a trace of remorse. I daresay he might do the same to you—”

Before he could finish, Zayne raised his hand sharply, and with a sudden force, Rafayel was hurled against the wall. Xavier stepped forward, a soft golden glow radiating from him as he shielded Rafayel from Zayne’s rising anger. Just as he prepared to strike, Sylus moved between them, his expression calm yet unyielding.

“You would defend him?” Xavier’s voice remained level, though curiosity flickered in his azure eyes.

“Unwillingly,” Sylus responded coolly. “But I warned Rafayel. I won’t stand by while this continues.”

Rafayel, now rid of his earlier playful demeanor, scowled with reptilian menace. His once vibrant eyes shifted into narrow, slitted pupils, their colors blending in a dangerous mix of blue, purple, and pink. Scales began to spread across his skin, shimmering in iridescent hues like the sheen of polished pearls. With a sudden burst of speed, he lunged at Zayne, sending both crashing into the courtyard, their divine forms crackling with raw power.

You turned to Sylus, your voice sharp with worry. “Aren’t you going to stop them?”

Sylus met your gaze with a cool, unreadable expression. “There is no need for concern,” he said lightly. “Consider it a spectacle.”

“They could kill each other!” you exclaimed, but the elder god remained unmoved.

Before you could say more, Sylus covered your eyes with his hand as a blinding light erupted around you. When it faded, both gods had taken on their true forms—towering dragons, their presence overwhelming the courtyard. Zayne’s scales shimmered with emerald and gold undertones, his gaze sharp and predatory. Rafayel’s dragon form was equally fearsome, his iridescent scales of blue and purple catching the sunlight, making him appear otherworldly, like a creature from the depths of the sea.

The two dragons growled, circling each other.

“You are not in your domain, Brother,” Zayne speaks, his voice carrying the weight of his confidence. “Here, you are weaker.”

If a dragon could smirk, you were certain Rafayel’s twisted lips showed one. “Must you always be so arrogant, Zayne?” The dragons roared at each other, their massive bodies twisting and coiling as they clawed and bit, scales flashing under the sunlight. Their battle moved upward, rising into the sky in a spiral of fury, their serpentine forms tangling as they ascended. You, Sylus, and Xavier watched them from below. Xavier sighed.

"They're idiots," he remarked, his tone almost bored.

"Truly," Sylus chuckled, watching them closely. "They’re getting too close to Father."

"Oh no," Xavier’s expression turned serious as he glanced between you and Sylus. "If Father discovers that Zayne is wed to a mortal, we are all doomed."

"A little drought won't hurt," Sylus jokes, but Xavier was in no mood for humor. The elder god rolled his eyes. "Very well."

With a resigned sigh, Sylus stepped forward into the courtyard. You blinked as his form shimmered and grew, transforming into the largest dragon you had ever seen. Though you knew Sylus, the First Dragon, held dominance over the others, his sheer size and presence still took you by surprise. His massive, coiling body glistened with power as he shot into the sky, effortlessly separating the two battling dragons. He grabbed them in his claws, like a mother pulling her cubs apart, and brought them both back to the ground.

Zayne and Rafayel, still bruised and glaring, stood there, barely keeping their fury in check as they reverted back to their human forms. Sylus, towering over them, set them apart with a stern gaze. His tone was one of annoyance as he addressed them. "It seems we will have to postpone this meeting. I have more important matters to attend to."

He gave Zayne a light push toward you, as if returning your husband to your care. Zayne, weakened but standing, allowed himself to be guided. Sylus still held onto Rafayel, who sulked in his defeat. Xavier walked up to Sylus’s side, giving you a polite nod.

"We look forward to meeting you again," Sylus said with a respectful bow, though there was an undeniable edge to his words. With a wave of his hand, he gestured for you to close your eyes as he and his brothers once again shifted into their true forms, the dragons’ long bodies coiling upward and away, disappearing toward their respective domains.

You helped Zayne to your chambers, his body battered and weak. Despite everything you had just learned about Zayne’s past, your instinct to care for him overpowered your racing thoughts. His wounds oozed molten gold instead of blood, a shimmering testament to his divine nature.

With a pained breath, Zayne’s hand weakly reaches for yours. “You need not trouble yourself,” his voice rasped, hoarse from the strain of battle. You gently pulled your hand from his grasp, but your tone remained firm, though soft. “Had you not been so reckless, I would not have to,” you murmured.

Moments later, the wind spirits entered the room, their presence as light as a breeze, carrying trays of medicine, ointments, and bandages. You were no stranger to healing, your hands steady, your knowledge deep. But this was no ordinary patient—Zayne was neither mortal nor human. Still, your duty remained clear.

Carefully, you cleansed the open wounds, wiping away the golden ichor that seeped from his divine flesh. His skin, cool beneath your fingertips, felt foreign yet familiar as you worked. As you applied ointment to the bruises and cuts that marred his form, you couldn’t help but notice the shimmer of his skin beneath the medicine—a reminder of his celestial nature.

With practiced precision, you wrapped the bandages tightly around him, securing them with care. Finally, you exhaled, stepping back to survey your work. “There,” you said, your voice softening. “You will recover, but you must rest.”

Zayne’s eyes softened as the tension in his body gradually eased. He reclined against the pillows, letting out a quiet sigh. “You speak as though you were an old mother,” he murmured, a faint glimmer of amusement playing on his lips despite his weariness.

You raised an eyebrow at him, your tone carrying a mild reprimand. “I may be many things, but a fool is not one of them. Rest now, and perhaps you will gain the strength to stop throwing yourself into peril so easily.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he leaned back further into the cushions, his laugh fading into a deep exhale. You only then noticed that he was still holding your hand, his thumb tracing slow circles against your knuckles. His eyelids fluttered shut, and his hand grew slack as sleep claimed him.

Normally, this would be the moment you’d gently pull your hand away, but tonight, you found yourself lingering. Rafayel’s words crept into your thoughts, his voice echoing ominously as he reminded you of the dark deeds Zayne had committed in the past. Unease stirred within you. How could this same god, who looked so vulnerable before you now, be capable of such cruelty?

Yet, as you watched Zayne sleep, the rise and fall of his chest steady, you couldn’t shake the feeling that when he looked at you, there was something genuine in his gaze. As though, despite the divine power and authority he wielded, he truly cared—or had the capacity to care. He called himself your husband, yet in truth, he was a stranger, a god who had taken you from your world into his. And still, a strange curiosity tugged at you.

What could be his true intentions? And why did you find yourself wanting to understand him?

Chapter 4... (Coming soon)