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fushitoru · 6 months ago

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chapter 3: the manor a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you and gojo have just uncovered your mothers' matchmaking scheme: a plan that sends you both to his extravagant countryside manor in kent, arriving a week earlier than the rest of the ton. the question remains—can you endure gojo's insufferable nature during this secluded stay? (8.3k)

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n krnfeknfkejrn i was so tired writing this chapter but used it to procrastinate on the reports and papers i have to write for internship/reports (wtf is quantum physics anyways). ty as always to @/sinn-clair for being the best beta reader <33333

Dear readers,

Apparently, last week, there was an altercation in Lady Itadori’s drawing room involving Lord Gojo, Miss Itadori, and a dog. The dog was the victor.

Furthermore, If one is to trust the betting books, then Lord Gojo shall be witness to wedding bells before the year is through.

As much as it pains This Author to agree with the betting books (they are written by men, and thus inherently flawed), This Author must concur in the prediction.

Duchess Gojo will soon have her daughter-in-law. But who she will be⸺ah, Gentle Reader, that is still anyone’s guess.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman⸺a work I have long heard whispers about but never fully encountered until now. Her words, as bold as they are revolutionary, have struck a chord deep within me. She speaks of the education and independence of women, of our capacity for reason and our right to be regarded as more than mere adornments to the lives of men. Her arguments are so meticulously crafted, so unwavering in their conviction, that they have compelled me to reflect on my own circumstances.

I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?

I cannot help but wonder if there will ever come a time when these two worlds might reconcile⸺the status quo and that of what the book articulates. When women might be both respected and fre

Before you could finish writing in your diary, you suddenly heard frantic footsteps down the hallway, leading closer and closer to your door. Nobara bursts into the room, and you look up at her in confusion and, partially, dread. Nobara wouldn’t be bursting into your room unless there was someone who absolutely couldn’t see what you were doing in your past time.

Before she could catch her breath, she wheezed out, “Your mother.”

You quickly hopped into action with practiced and routine movements. Lunging for the floorboard that had hollow space beneath it, you moved it so you could place the book and your diary underneath and quickly hide evidence of you reading scandalous and radical works.

Just in time, it seemed, as your mother walked into your room to see you on your bed.

She squinted her eyes in suspicion. “What were you doing?”

You averted her gaze. “Nothing, just daydreaming, Mama.”

Usually, she would prod further into the matter, but it seemed as if she was too excited for that. Clapping her hands, she exclaimed, “I have just got an exclusive invitation for you! One that could secure you a very good match.”

You gave her a quizzical look as she walked closer, sitting at the foot of your bed with an expression of barely contained glee. “We shall be visiting the Gojo estate in Kent!”

At the mention of his name, your left eye twitched, though your mother remained oblivious. “Indeed, Mama? As is every other lady in London, I presume.”

“No, no,” she replied, waving your quip away with a dismissive hand. “We are to arrive at the Gojo estate before the house party.”

Your heart sank, dread pooling in your stomach. Oh, no, no, no, no. A sudden pressure gripped your chest, and you found yourself clutching at the bodice of your dress as if to steady your racing heart. “Before the house party, Mama?” Your voice, despite your best efforts, came out higher-pitched than usual, though you tried to maintain a semblance of composure. “Whatever for?”

“To secure an advantage, of course!” she replied with a bright smile, as though the matter were the simplest thing in the world. “The Gojo family has extended a personal invitation for us to stay with them for a few days prior to the event. It is plain to see⸺he is quite taken with you. Even that dreadful Lady Whistledown has noted as much.” She smiled indulgently, reaching out to gently smooth a stray lock of your hair. “It is your natural grace and charm, my dear, that has made you the season’s diamond.”

As your mother continued to speak, the twisting in your stomach began to intensify, morphing from nausea into something sharper, something more akin to anger. You kept nodding, trying to maintain a slightly pained smile, but the thought of spending time at the Gojo manor, in such close quarters with him, became increasingly unbearable. The memories of your recent encounters⸺his biting remarks, his mocking gaze⸺were still fresh in your mind, and the idea that you were being pushed toward an engagement with him made your skin crawl. But you knew better than to express your true feelings to your mother.

“That is… unexpected,” you managed to say, choosing your words carefully. “Are you certain this is a good idea, Mama? Perhaps we might appear too eager and ward off other potential suitors, lest they mistake me as claimed by Gojo?”

“Nonsense!” she replied with a dismissive laugh. “If all goes well, you’ll be announcing your engagement at the house party itself!”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hardly breathe as the full weight of what she was saying sank in. An engagement. To Gojo.

You almost felt faint, but as the initial shock wore off, it was replaced by a simmering anger. How dare he? How dare Gojo make a game of this, toying with you as if your future was nothing more than a sport to him? And how could your mother not see that she was playing right into his hands?

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the anger was bubbling up, threatening to spill over. “But, Mama, what if he does not wish to marry? What if he simply enjoys… toying with people?”

Your mother’s expression softened as she reached out to pat your hand, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. “My dear, you are overthinking this. Men like Lord Gojo may seem playful and insouciant, but they are ultimately driven by duty. A man in his position knows the importance of finding a suitable wife, and you⸺my darling⸺are just the woman for the role. You are intelligent, accomplished, and beautiful. He would be a fool not to see that.”

Each word only fueled the fire of your anger. Duty? Suitable wife? You bit your lip, feeling the weight of her expectations press down on you like a suffocating blanket. But beneath that weight was a growing resolve, a refusal to be treated like a pawn in some grand game of power and prestige. Gojo might enjoy playing with others' lives, but you would not be his plaything.

You gave her a pained smile. “If you say so, Mama…” you replied, the anger now evident in the tightness of your voice.

“Of course, I do!” she declared, rising from the bed with a self-satisfied smile. “Now, we must begin preparations immediately. There is much to be done before we depart.”

As your mother closed the door, you stormed over to the floorboard, whipped open your diary and prepped your quill to furiously write:

Lord Gojo is a most intolerable wretch. Though his outward appearance might deceive many, there is an endless well of impurities within his character.

Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.

Were Sukuna here, I daresay he would assist me in disposing of the body with great enthusiasm.

While the Gojo dinner table was stocked with the finest of meals⸺that deserving of a wealthy dukedom, of course⸺Satoru found himself eyeing one dish of all⸺the scones.

Observing his mother and father, who were engrossed in deep conversation, he realized he could make the move. As discreetly as he could, he stocked his plate with many of the treats. The cook, bless his soul, knew how to make scones exactly right: soft, yet hard around the edges that have Satoru drooling when he takes a bite in to get a burst of flavor. He discreetly tucked a few sweets into his pocket for tonight’s work session on some Gojo business, thinking himself subtle.

Satoru could continue writing endless love poems in his head towards his chef’s scones, But Lady Gojo, ever watchful, noticed his little scheme. She arched an eyebrow, her tone teasing as she remarked, "Satoru, darling, it astonishes me that you remain so fit with such a fondness for sweets."

Without missing a beat, Gojo flashed his usual charming smile and responded, “Perhaps it is because I am kept on my toes constantly by you, Mother.” His parents shared a laugh at this, clearly amused by his playful banter.

The Gojo dining fell into a comfortable lull once again, sounds of forks and knives scratching against porcelain plates. The silence was better, Satoru believed. Because he knew he was not going to be pleased at what his father had to say to him next, judged based on the thoughtful look he adopted while staring at Gojo.

“And how fares the season, Satoru? Have you made any progress?”

Satoru wanted to groan so bad, but instead, he straightened in his seat, the smile on his face now simply a facade. “I am confident all will proceed as expected, Father,” he replied, though his tone lacked its usual certainty.

Duke Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing something amiss. “Are you sure about that?” he probed. “You know very well, Satoru, that your inheritance of the title is contingent upon securing a wife and producing an heir. This is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

The weight of his father’s words hung in the air, pressing down on Gojo with the full force of expectation. Would it be eccentric if I decided to scream to the heavens right now?

Before Gojo could even formulate a response, his mother, ever the one to steer the conversation, interjected with a delighted exclamation. “Oh, it’s all handled, my dear! Did you not hear? The diamond of the season is arriving a week early to our manor in the countryside!”

All thoughts of screaming himself mute vanished as his mother’s words piqued his interest. Now, this was interesting. You? Spending time with him, under his roof, with no escape? The idea alone was enough to spark a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Satoru almost started cackling maniacally at the thought of pestering you until you broke that oh-so-perfect and uptight demeanor of yours, until you were reduced to exactly what you were: an unruly and highly emotional know-it-all.

One could say Satoru was very bitter about the losses he had bore for that horse race.

As a self-assured smirk started to creep up Satoru’s face, Duke Gojo blinked, surprised by the news. “A week early? That’s quite unusual,” he remarked, turning his gaze back to his son.

Satoru offered a sweet smile. “Yes, unusual indeed.” He knew his parents were well aware of the marital implications of such an arrangement, and he could feel their eyes on him, gauging his reaction.

But Duchess Gojo, satisfied with her announcement, continued with a gleeful smile. “I daresay, it’s all coming together perfectly. Even matchmakers could not have planned it better.”

Indeed, Mother! The prospect grew more delightful with each passing second, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin. You were in for quite the week, and he would relish every moment of ruining your composure.

Yuji leaned in closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Sister, did you perhaps neglect the chamber pot today?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “Your expression is quite telling.”

The carriage, though spacious, felt suffocating with the tension hanging in the air. Your mother sat by the window, her eyes sparkling with what could only be described as gleeful scheming regarding your imminent week at the Gojo manor. You, on the other hand, simmered with barely contained fury, with a pinch of nausea, your thoughts consumed with how you would confront Gojo at the ball you were all headed to. Yuji’s scrutiny only added to your irritation, his amused yet concerned face a stark contrast to your stormy mood. Across from you, Choso couldn’t suppress a snicker at Yuji’s comment, clearly enjoying the exchange.

You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “Yuji, if you do not cease your incessant prying, I shall see to it that you regret ever opening your mouth!”

Yuji flinched, visibly startled by your outburst. His confidence wavered as he stammered, “I⸺I meant no harm, sister.” He quickly extended his elbow to you, his movements almost robotic in their sudden politeness. “Please, allow me to escort you inside.”

You ignored the offer, your focus already elsewhere. The moment the carriage came to a stop, you heaved yourself off, stepping into the entrance. Grand revelry was before you; many suitors and young ladies were present, necks glittering with diamonds and hands adorned with gloves. Roving your gaze around, you saw him.

The world around you seemed to blur as your gaze locked onto Gojo, everything else fading into the background. A sleazy and handsome grin on his face, definitely talking about some useless nonsense.

Like a bull seeing red, you marched forward with determined fury, your sights set solely on him. He stood there, the picture of nonchalance, completely unaware of the storm heading his way. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your anger propelling you forward with each step. Yuji and Choso exchanged confused glances as they lingered by the entrance, unsure of what had just transpired.

As you closed the distance, Gojo finally noticed you, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But there was no time for his usual banter; you were ready to confront him head-on, no matter the consequences.

“What have you done?” you roared, striding towards Gojo. His head turned slowly, an amused and condescending smile creeping across his face. “I know this is⸺”

“Miss Itadori,” a voice hissed, dripping with offense. You turned to see Miss Yuki glaring at you. “Lord Gojo and I were in the midst of a very private conversation.”

You blinked, realizing that in your anger, you had entirely overlooked Miss Yuki’s presence. Though inwardly rolling your eyes, you knew it was best to maintain decorum. You curtsied in apology. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Yuki. I shall leave you both to continue your conversation.”

As you stepped back, giving them respectable space, Miss Yuki side-eyed you with a sharp “hmph!” before turning back to Gojo with a flirtatious smile.

“So, my lord,” Yuki began, her tone coy, “what type of woman would be to your liking?”

Gojo scratched his chin, feigning deep thought as he prepared his response. “Well, Miss Yuki, I would imagine she must be intelligent, accomplished, and⸺” He paused dramatically, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with a slow, deliberate drawl, “⸺and beautiful.”

You suppressed a sigh. Does he never tire of that tiresome gesture? It’s grown exceedingly dull.

Yuki’s pleased grin widened. “And what level of intellect do you find satisfactory, my lord?”

“Well,” Gojo mused, “I would prefer a lady well-versed in calculations. I often find myself making errors in my ledgers late at night, and a wife who could assist would be most valuable. Moreover, I would enjoy engaging in debates on scientific matters.”

Is he seeking a wife or an accountant?

The unusual nature of his request clearly left Yuki taken aback. She blinked, her smile tightening. “Indeed, Lord Gojo, these are rather...uncommon expectations for a wife.” Yuki then hesitated, glancing around as though searching for an escape. “Well, my lord, as intriguing as this conversation has been, I fear I must take my leave. My mother has been awaiting my return, and I would not wish to keep her waiting.”

She curtsied with a strained smile, clearly eager to extricate herself from the awkward situation Gojo’s peculiar standards had created. Without waiting for a reply, she swiftly turned and made her exit, leaving you alone to confront Gojo, who now had an amused look on his face, as if he had purposefully answered that way to ward Miss Yuki off.

You pointed your finger at him, wagging it accusingly as you hissed, “Gojo, I know this was one of your ploys.”

He let out an exaggerated groan, and he dropped all flirtatious pretenses he had adopted when conversing with the other lady. “Ah, yes. Please, by all means, heap more blame upon me for things entirely beyond my control. I derive immense pleasure from being the target of your needless and misdirected fury.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

With a strained smile, he sighed. “It seems our mothers have taken it upon themselves to orchestrate this entire charade.”

Your hands flew up in exasperation. “I cannot believe this! I would sooner perish than marry you, and heaven help me if I were ever to bear your children!”

“Spare me the theatrics,” Gojo replied, shaking his head as if amused by your outburst. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing toward something in the distance. “We are being observed.”

You followed his gaze and saw, across the dance floor, both of your mothers trying—albeit poorly—to appear inconspicuous as they exchanged furtive glances and whispered behind their fans.

You huffed in frustration, turning back to Gojo. “This is absurd.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. “But would it be so terrible to bear my children?” he murmured, his tone teasing yet somehow serious.

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you refused to let it show. You straightened your posture, meeting his gaze with as much poise as you could muster. “I can’t think of far worse fates, my lord,” you replied, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words.

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly undeterred. His hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch fleeting but enough to send a shiver down your spine.. You felt a slight tremor of awareness course through you, and despite your best efforts, a hint of warmth crept into your cheeks.

He leaned in even closer, his voice a low murmur. “You seem flustered, Miss Itadori,” he said, his breath warm against your skin. “I must admit, the idea of a future with you is… intriguing.”

Flustered and at a loss of witty remarks, you stammered, struggling to find your voice. “I⸺I hardly think that⸺”

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. He gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His eyes had this sultry expression to them, one that you didn’t need to ponder more than one second to know had no good intentions.

With that, he released your hand, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your cheeks aflame.

Gojo ⸺ 1, You ⸺ 1.

Choso crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Mother, why are we departing a week earlier than the rest of the ton?”

The carriage rocked gently, the luggage rattling with the motion. You slumped in your seat, weary from the long hours of travel, your thoughts drifting to the comfort of a soft, fluffy bed. Your mother, noticing the beads of sweat forming on your brow, handed you a handkerchief before turning to respond to Choso. “Well, my dear, your sister has caught the eye of Lord Gojo, and his mother has personally invited us to arrive early so that we may become better acquainted.”

Your eldest brother frowned, while Yuji stared vacantly out the carriage window, enraptured by the sheep present on the farm you were passing. “But why should we do so?” Choso pressed, his tone firm. “It is not as though Sister is lacking in suitors. Why should we entertain Lord Gojo’s interest above all others?”

Even in your heat-induced lightheadedness, your attention was drawn to Choso’s defense of you. A flicker of hope ignited in your chest; as the viscount, Choso held considerable authority over your mother, and he could potentially influence the matrimonial decisions made on your behalf.

“Lord Gojo is the most eligible bachelor of the season,” your mother insisted. “We would be foolish not to seize such an opportunity.”

Choso retorted quickly, “And Sister is the most eligible lady of the season. She is the diamond. If Lord Gojo’s eligibility rests on his title, would we not do better to pursue a match with Duke Nanami?”

You silently cheered Choso on, hoping he might sway your mother’s mind away from the ridiculous notion of a match between you and Gojo.

But your mother was not easily deterred. “I am quite set on Lord Gojo, Choso,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Your sister seems to have formed a rapport with him, and this is about more than just titles. We must also consider her inclinations.”

Both your mother and Choso turned their expectant gazes upon you, awaiting your response. Flustered and unwilling to directly oppose your mother, you swallowed nervously and nodded. “Whatever you think best, Mother.”

The remainder of the ride was marked by the satisfied smile on Lady Itadori’s face and the glowers⸺yet paired with concerned glances⸺from Choso.

The slowing of the carriage and its turn onto a smooth pathway roused you from the gentle lull of travel. You blinked your eyes open and glanced outside. A magnificent flower bed greeted you, a sea of blues ranging from the palest sky hues to deep indigo. But what truly stole your breath was the manor itself⸺more a castle than a mere country home. Its grandiose structure rivaled Buckingham Palace in regality, with elegant blue spires and stately beige stone walls that seemed to stretch towards the heavens.

The carriage came to a complete halt at the base of a grand staircase, where Duchess Gojo stood waiting, surrounded by footmen and maids all dressed in coordinated baby blue livery. As the carriage door was opened, you, your mother, Choso, and Yuji stepped out into the warm afternoon air.

“Lady Itadori!” Duchess Gojo descended the stairs gracefully, her arms extended in greeting. Your mother met her with an equally warm embrace.

“Your Grace,” your mother replied fondly, her face lighting up with familiarity. The duchess then turned her gaze towards you, her smile gracious and welcoming.

“And this must be our diamond,” Duchess Gojo said warmly, her eyes twinkling.

You offered her a polite smile and curtsied. “Miss Itadori, Your Grace. I am deeply honored by your hospitality.”

She waved off your formality with a flick of her hand. “The pleasure is entirely ours, my dear. We are delighted to have you with us, and I do hope that you and my son will find ample time to get better acquainted before the house party.”

You returned her smile, though unease stirred within you. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Choso and Yuji introduced themselves with the same practiced politeness, and after the formalities were concluded, the duchess clapped her hands together. “Come now, let us take tea. You must be quite fatigued from your journey. I shall have the staff see to your rooms so you may rest after.” She directed the servants to unload the luggage from the carriages and then motioned for you all to follow her into the manor. “To the drawing room!”

As you crossed the threshold into the manor, you were struck by the sheer opulence surrounding you. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate gold and blue detailing, and the walls were lined with endless portraits of the Gojo family. Your gaze was momentarily drawn to a portrait of Lord Gojo himself. The artist had rendered his eyes in a cold, oceanic blue—quite unlike the electric blue intensity they held in person. The painting failed to capture the vitality, and perhaps the insufferable smugness, that characterized his gaze.

You quickly looked away before anyone could notice your lingering stare, hurrying to catch up with your family as you reached a grand set of double doors. Footmen stood at attention as Duchess Gojo led you into a drawing room, elegantly appointed with plush furnishings and laden with trays of sweets.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” the duchess urged, gesturing towards the seating. She and your mother settled at a small table near the door, while you and your siblings gravitated toward the couches in the center of the room, where a tempting array of desserts awaited. As you sat down, maids swiftly arranged teacups and began pouring the tea. Yuji and Choso took seats across from you, their expressions reflecting varying degrees of interest—or lack thereof—in the proceedings.

“So, Miss Itadori,” You looked across the room to look at the duchess, who was leaning further to grab at her teacup and take a sip. “How do you find this season?”

“I find the suitors of this season very pleasing and kind, Your Grace,” you sat up fully, placing the scone you were eating down to fully face the duchess. “It has been a very extravagant season; I hope to continue my search to find a suitable match for myself.” Duchess Gojo nodded. “An admirable pursuit, of course. Is a love match what you are searching for?”

Her question hung in the air, and in that instant, you felt the weight of every gaze in the room fall upon you. The most searing of them all, though, was your mother's. You could feel it like a prickling heat against your skin, a silent reminder of the expectations that had been laid out before you long ago.

A love match. The words echoed in your mind, each syllable twisting into a knot of uncertainty. The very idea of love seemed foreign to you—elusive, abstract, something that belonged in novels rather than in the practical world of arranged marriages and alliances. Love was not what you had been taught to seek. No, your upbringing had been grounded in duty, decorum, and the quiet understanding that marriage was a contract, a union of convenience rather than passion.

But how could you say that aloud? How could you tell the duchess—tell anyone—that your dreams did not include the fiery passion of a love match, but rather the comfort of a peaceful arrangement? Your throat tightened, and the words that had once seemed so simple lodged themselves in the back of your mouth, refusing to emerge.

Your mother’s eyes bore into you, filled with unspoken expectations. You knew what she wanted to hear: that you were pursuing love, that you were open to it, that you were the ideal picture of a hopeful young lady seeking her romantic equal. But that wasn’t your truth. Your truth was more complicated, filled with desires for stability, understanding, and a life unburdened by the chaos that love so often seemed to bring.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the beat almost deafening in the sudden silence of the room. What were you supposed to say? How could you balance the delicate line between honesty and propriety?

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it nearly impossible to find your voice. The tension swirled within you, an unrelenting force that made you wish you could simply disappear. What if they could see through you? What if, with one wrong word, they uncovered the truth of what you really wanted—a marriage that was practical, peaceful, and devoid of the complications that came with love?

But that wasn’t something you could admit. Not here. Not now.

You forced a polite smile, hoping it hid the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before the weight of the room could settle further, the heavy double doors swung open with a soft yet deliberate creak. Every head turned in unison, and the air seemed to shift as your savior, Satoru Gojo made his entrance.

His attire was impeccable—a finely tailored waistcoat of deep blue, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light just so, paired with polished boots that gleamed as if they had never touched the ground. Yet, despite the formal attire, there was an air of disarming casualness about him, a kind of effortless elegance that made the room's grandeur seem almost insignificant by comparison.

His damp hair, still tousled from what must have been a recent bath, added an edge to his otherwise polished appearance. Droplets of water shimmered at the tips of his white locks, catching the light as he ran a hand through them. The scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating, seemed to announce his arrival to you even before he spoke.

He strolled in with an air of ease. “It seems that our guests are finally here!” He moved with an easy grace, crossing the room in a few long strides, bowing slightly to the duchess and your mother before turning his attention to you. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary, a playful glint in his eyes as if he could sense the internal battle you had been fighting mere seconds ago.

“Miss Itadori,” he greeted you with a smile that could have melted the iciest of hearts, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Ah, Satoru! Come, sit with us.” She motioned to the spot next to you with enthusiasm. “Why don’t you and Miss Itadori sit together?”

Choso’s sharp gaze followed him with a hint of suspicion, but he made no objection as Gojo accepted the invitation, seating himself beside you with an infuriatingly confident smile. Yuji and Choso remained on the opposite couch, observing the scene with varying degrees of curiosity and caution.

“Well then,” Gojo began, grabbing an obscene amount of scones to heap on his plate, “I was just at the

archery range earlier today. Quite the exhilarating sport. I find it sharpens the mind as much as the aim.”

Yuji, ever the admirer of feats of physical skill, leaned forward with interest. “Archery, my lord? That sounds remarkable! I must admit, I’ve always found it to be one of the noblest of pursuits.”

Gojo leaned back into the couch, resting one arm casually behind you on the backrest, his posture the very picture of relaxed confidence. He smiled at Yuji’s enthusiasm and continued, “Archery has long been a favored pastime of mine. It requires precision, patience, and an understanding of balance—qualities I find both necessary and rewarding. I've dedicated many years to perfecting my skill with the bow.”

He paused, allowing a slight, reflective smile to touch his lips. “In fact, just last month, I competed in the annual tournament at Her Majesty’s estate and managed to hit the bullseye in every round. Some of the other competitors remarked that it was almost unnatural, but I assure you, it is merely the result of countless hours spent at the range.”

Yuji’s eyes widened with admiration. “Every round? That’s incredible, Lord Gojo! Your dedication must be unparalleled.”

Gojo shrugged with mock humility, though his eyes glinted with pride. “It’s all in the discipline, really. Once you understand the rhythm of the draw and the release, it becomes second nature. Of course, the challenge is in maintaining that focus while under pressure. But I’ve found that to be the most exhilarating part—especially when the crowd is watching.”

Yuji nodded fervently, clearly enthralled. “I would love to see you in action, my lord! Perhaps you could give me a few pointers one day.”

Gojo chuckled, his gaze shifting to you for a moment before returning to Yuji. “Ah, I’m sure you’d take it quite well, Yuji. Perhaps we could all visit the range together during your stay here.”

The nonchalant arrogance in his voice, paired with the image of him lording his skill over others, irritated you. You couldn’t resist a small quip, your tone light. “Oh, indeed, Lord Gojo. Your accomplishments are so profound that I fear I might believe you are telling tales. Of course, I wonder with all this focus on archery, do you leave any time for pursuits that require a bit more… finesse?”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they met yours, his gaze sharp with understanding. Yet, rather than take offense, he allowed a playful smirk to curl on his lips, his voice laced with teasing intent. “Ah, Miss Itadori, archery indeed requires finesse, I assure you. But perhaps you’d care to test that claim yourself? I’d be more than happy to provide a demonstration.”

As he leaned in closer, you found yourself all too aware of his presence. The scent of his cologne, a warm and intoxicating blend of vanilla and tobacco, filled the air between you, making it difficult to maintain your composure. His face hovered just near enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

“In fact,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I’d wager that with a little practice, you might find yourself hitting the mark with more than just words.”

His proximity made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Despite your resolve to remain composed, the effect of his closeness and the quiet intensity in his voice left you momentarily at a loss for words.

Choso, sitting across from you, gave Gojo a sharp look. Meanwhile, Yuji was practically beaming at the prospect of an archery lesson from the lord himself.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice more controlled than you expected, though there was still a slight quiver in it. “But I’ve found that words can be just as powerful, if not more so.”

Gojo smirked, his gaze lingering on your face as if savoring the moment. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable, and you could feel the weight of it, pressing against your own resolve. But you wouldn’t allow him to see just how much he affected you—at least, not yet.

Despite the warmth in your cheeks and the flutter in your chest, you held his gaze, meeting his playful intensity with your own determined calm.

However, your mother’s voice broke through the spell. “Oh, Your Grace, might we have a tour of the manor sometime?”

Duchess Gojo, clearly delighted to show off her home, nodded eagerly. “Of course! There is a pavilion overlooking our garden where we can play pall-mall, and the library is quite extensive.” Your interest piqued at the mention of the library, and you made yourself a mental note to explore where it was.

Then she turned her gaze towards you, her expression growing more conspiratorial. “And as for Miss Itadori, Satoru has promised to give her a personal tour of the grounds tomorrow after she takes rest today.”

You stiffened at the suggestion, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gojo lean in slightly, his mischievous grin widening as he whispered, “I’ll be sure to make it… thorough.”

You couldn’t sleep.

Restless thoughts kept you tossing and turning, denying you any hope of finding solace in slumber. The events of the day had left you drained, and after the conversation in the drawing room, you had collapsed into the plush, inviting bed. Sleep had claimed you almost instantly. But now, in the dark silence of the night, you awoke with a start, your mind refusing to quiet. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t escape the whirlwind of thoughts that stirred within you.

The prospect of the coming days loomed over you, a storm of anxiety brewing. Spending time with Gojo, of all people? Your mother’s insistent push for this potential marriage was unbearable. How could you possibly tell her that you despised the man? The mere thought of being bound to him in matrimony was a nightmare⸺marriage itself was daunting enough, but to an arrogant, loquacious, and insufferably self-assured man like him? It would be nothing short of Hell on earth.

With a frustrated sigh, you rose from bed and rubbed your face, trying to dispel the fog of sleeplessness. Perhaps a visit to the manor’s library⸺the one mentioned during tea⸺would offer some distraction. Grabbing a lantern, you slipped out of your room, treading softly down the stairs and into the main hallway. You moved with the caution of a thief; your mother would surely not approve of your nocturnal wanderings. Her voice echoed in your mind, sharp and reprimanding: “Good things never happen in the dead of night!”

As you opened the library’s grand doors, a soothing fragrance enveloped you⸺the scent of aged paper mingled with a hint of vanilla, a fragrance unique to this room. But what truly took your breath away was the sheer size of the library.

Bookshelves lined the walls, rising two stories high, creating a space that could easily have served as a grand ballroom. Cozy nooks beckoned you to sit, while further exploration revealed tables and armchairs tucked away behind towering shelves. It was a bibliophile’s paradise.

Your eyes roved over the multitude of volumes: ancient ledgers, personal family records, scholarly works on politics, astronomy, and the sciences. Though you did not often indulge in scientific pursuits, you found them fascinating whenever the opportunity arose. One book in particular caught your eye:

Observations on the Planet Venus.

Drawn to the back of the library, you found a large window offering a stunning view of the garden and pavilion, bathed in starlight. You couldn’t resist the allure of the table beside it, where you settled in and began to read.

“The planet Venus is an object that has long engaged my particular attention. A series of observations upon it, which I began in April, 1777, has been continued down to the present time…”

Time slipped away as you became engrossed in the text, the lantern’s light flickering softly as you pored over the meticulous observations and calculations. Your hands were soon stained with ink, evidence of the notes you had been feverishly jotting down on scraps of parchment you had found in a supply cabinet. A good hour or two had passed before you finally leaned back, stretching your tired muscles. You rested your head on your arms, intending to close your eyes for just a moment. Soon, you found that your sleepy brain forced you to reflect and muse upon your life, as a mind often does at three.

What a pity it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Gojo. If only he were different, you might have lived in this manor, with its perfect library, forever. You could imagine it: waking in the mornings in your fluffy bed, sharing the latest discoveries in astronomy and medicine with your handsome husband…

Truly, what a pity. Your sleep-deprived mind began to conjure an image of this imagined husband—tall, nearly Gojo’s height, with kind eyes and lips that would kiss you gently awake each morning (unlike Gojo’s snark). You envisioned banter over breakfast, late-night rendezvous in the library, and tender embraces in bed…

Before you could delve deeper into your fantasy, the sound of footsteps jolted you back to reality. The tread was deliberate, too similar to your mother’s for comfort, and panic flared within you. Your mind, already muddled with exhaustion, conjured the worst possible scenario—your mother finding you here, in the library where you had no business being at this hour.

Memories of her discovering forbidden books in your childhood flashed before your eyes, and your breath quickened in fear. Rising as quietly as you could, you pressed your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound, creeping toward a bookshelf to hide. But the footsteps drew closer, relentless in their pursuit. You felt like prey, cornered and desperate.

Getting out of your chair as quietly as you could, you squeezed your eyes shut and put both of your hands over your mouth so you didn’t start making audible gasps that would let the person know where you were immediately. Softly⸺but panickedly⸺walking towards a bookshelf, you hid as you traced the footsteps getting closer and closer to you. You tried to walk away from the sound, but it seemed like the person was listening intently for your movements. You couldn’t help but think you were like prey, cornered and desperate.

However, it was all for naught; your heart sank as you realized you had ended up in an alley of bookshelves that were up against the wall, essentially creating a dead end for you. The steps got closer and closer, and you drew yourself closer and closer to the wall. Your eyes was still shut, but you could hear the steps around the corner, coming closer and closer.

The footsteps were merely a few feet away from you, and in a moment of sheer panic, you blurted out, “I am sorry, Mother⸺”

“Excuse me,” came a voice that was decidedly not your mother’s. Your eyes flew open to find none other than Gojo, his blue eyes alight with offense. “Do I resemble your mother in any way?”

You blinked, struggling to process the sight before you. He was holding a quill, ink, and a stack of notebooks that resembled the ledgers you had seen earlier, along with a plate of scones that looked absurdly sugary.

“I—” you stammered, taking a sharp breath to compose yourself and paused, looking at Gojo⸺who was shooting you a petulant frown⸺take a big bite of his scone. “Your tread was uncannily similar.”

He paused, chewing on a scone with a sulky expression, while you averted your gaze in embarrassment.

When he finished chewing, he cleared his throat. “You must possess rather poor hearing to mistake a man of my stature for a lady.”

You shrugged, still flustered. “Perhaps you have an unusually light step.”

An awkward silence settled between you as Gojo took another loud bite of his scone. You hastened to break it. “It is quite late; I must take my leave. Good night, my lord.”

You bowed your head slightly and moved to leave, but before you could slip past him, he blocked your path, suspicion narrowing his gaze. “What business do you have in the Gojo library at this hour?”

“Nothing of import,” you squeaked.

At the not-very-innocuous tone in your voice, his eyes narrowed further. “Your tone suggests otherwise.” He leaned in, his gaze sweeping over you with exaggerated scrutiny. Noticing the ink stains on your hands, he quipped, “Were you tampering with important records?”

Your heart raced, knowing that he wouldn’t be entirely wrong to suspect you⸺what else would a lady be doing in a library at this hour? It was a no-win situation: confess to reading a book and risk your mother’s wrath, or be accused of something far more serious.

It was best to come clean. “I was merely reading a book,” you confessed. “I can show you precisely where I sat and what I was doing.”

Gojo’s expression softened, but he quickly continued his theatrical suspicion and hmmphed. “Of course. I must be certain that no mischief has been afoot.”

You led him back to the table where you had been reading. He sat across from you, depositing his supplies onto the table with a flourish and leaned back, crossing his arms. Ever the investigator, he watched as you retrieved the book. It bore no resemblance to the Gojo ledgers, which had the telltale blue cover and Gojo insignia, which consisted of six eyes.

Upon seeing this, he nodded in acknowledgment. “You are exonerated.”

At that, you sighed and clutched your chest. For a moment, you contemplated pleading with Gojo to keep your late library visit secret from your mother but you shot the idea down for two reasons. First, you would never lower yourself to plead with Gojo, and second, Gojo⸺ever the insufferable man⸺would definitely make sure to mention it to your mother and further exacerbate the issue.

As he began arranging his ink bottles and quills, preparing to work on his ledgers, you took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in casual attire, loose-fitting trousers and a white shirt with several buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. Slut.

It took you a moment to realize that he was settling in at your table. You frowned. “I beg your pardon, but this is my spot.”

Gojo looked up from his work, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “My dear, this is my library. Thus, it is my spot.”

You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it in frustration. He was right, after all. The entire manor was his. Your silence seemed to amuse him, as he returned to his ledgers with a smug smile.

Now, you didn’t really know what to do⸺should you go back to your room, or should you stay and continue reading the book? In your indecision, you continued to flip through the pages of the book, particularly because you wanted to finish the conclusion section before going to bed. But you soon felt his gaze upon you, the sound of his quill slowing down.

You didn’t look up. “Might I suggest you cease staring at me? It is quite improper.” “What? Why would I do so? To watch you peruse a tedious romance novel?”

“This is a book on the state of the art of astronomy.”

“Indeed? I confess, I am surprised.”

Your irritation flared and you whipped your head up to glare at Gojo. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“I was under the impression that young ladies’ interests lie solely in matters of the heart.”

“So, in addition to gossiping, you are also prone to narrow-minded assumptions?”

Gojo scoffed. “Narrow-minded? It is a simple observation. Both men and women often indulge in fanciful notions of love.”

You scoffed. “Ah, so you hold yourself above other men. What are you, God?”

Gojo ignored your remark. “Those who read such frivolities are seldom engaged in serious thought or the appreciation of true art.”

“Romance allows one to experience love and joy. Does the prospect of happiness through art truly horrify you?” You stood, glaring at him. “Unlike you, my lord, ladies such as myself cannot frequent dubious establishments such as brothels to seek out lovers. Our reputations and futures are at stake.” Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. “To deny women the solace of love is cruel. It is our only refuge in a world that forces us into unwanted marriages!”

When you were done ranting to Gojo, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. Truly, this man could bother you like no other; only your siblings have caused this much heat on your face due to anger. The only sounds in the library was your rushed breathing, from anger.

Gojo scoffed. “You truly think too much.”

You offered a sharp scoff. "And you, far too little. Even Sukuna Jr. possesses more emotional intelligence than you."

"Do not compare me to that wretched creature," Gojo retorted.

You gasped in disbelief. "How dare you speak of Kuna in such a manner!"

"Then perhaps you should keep him from fouling the air around me!" he snapped.

A sly smile crept across your lips. "He merely knows whom to guard me against."

At reference of That Night, Gojo sighs exhaustedly. “Do you find trouble with the judgments I made that night? None of that was meant for you.”

“Are you quite serious?” You were in disbelief. Does he truly feel no remorse? Frustrated, you ran a hand over your face. “Your words may not have been intended for me, but they were no less cutting. I cannot abide such arrogance, my lord.”

Gojo leaned back, crossing his arms with an air of indifference. “Arrogance or simply honesty? I merely spoke the truth as I see it.”

“Your so-called truth is nothing more than disdain wrapped in wit,” you snapped, feeling your temper rise again. “You speak as though your opinions are infallible, as if you alone have the right to pass judgment on others.”

“I only say what others are too afraid to voice,” he retorted, his tone cool. “If that makes me arrogant, then so be it. But I will not apologize for it.”

“Of course not,” you said bitterly. “An apology would require some measure of humility, and that is something you clearly lack.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his voice growing more clipped. “I fail to see why my opinions should trouble you so much. Perhaps you are simply too sensitive.”

Your anger flared at his dismissive tone. “Or perhaps you are too blind to see the harm your words cause. You claim to be honest, but what you truly are is cruel.”

“Cruel?” Gojo’s voice was sharp now, his composure slipping. “For speaking the truth? For refusing to coddle those who cannot handle it?”

“For refusing to consider the feelings of others!” you countered, your voice rising in frustration. “Not everything is a game or a joke, my lord. Your words have consequences, whether you acknowledge them or not.”

A tense silence fell between you, each of you locked in a stubborn glare, neither willing to yield. Finally, you shook your head, the weight of your frustration pressing down on you. “I cannot do this,” you muttered, turning away. “You are utterly impossible.”

You began to walk away, but Gojo’s voice cut through the silence. “Running away so soon?” There was a hint of something in his tone⸺something almost like disappointment⸺but you dismissed it.

You paused, glancing back at him with a hardened expression. “There is no point in continuing this conversation. You refuse to see reason, and I refuse to waste any more of my time on you.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and left the library, your heart pounding with irritation and anger. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of heaviness in your chest.

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n gojo the type to hit ur g spot every ti---WHAT WHO SAID THAT?

anyways yes we r getting (sort of) freaky in the next chapter (gojo busts in his pants seeing reader's ankles /j)

gojo when reader thought he was her mama

also tysm for all the asks, and comments, and love you guys have shown me. super motivating that you guys are enjoying the story and propels me to write more <3

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

TAGLIST

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

@hyori2 @babyblue0t7 @iwanttoberich420 @rosso-seta @ladytamayolover

@kalulakunundrum @r0ckst4rjk @mo0sin @angelina7890 @jaeminaur

@yamiyas @cherry-blossoms-in-red @r3inae @lagataprrr @sasfransisco

@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx

@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

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shinehalley · 2 years ago

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I just realized that in the seven children Frankenstein headcanon, trans woman Victoria Frankenstein can do a very funny werewolf-related thing 👀

#I'm Latina so the “seventh child werewolf” thing has stuck with me my whole life #but the version I know says he is the seventh son of a lineage of daughters #or the seventh daughter of a line of sons #...you see what I'm trying to get at don't you?#penny dreadful #victor frankenstein #trans woman

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manixpixiefangirl · 2 months ago

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Mel being an empath

(Okay i just got say arcane has sparked passion in me i haven’t felt for a show and fandom in yeeeears i haven’t written a meta in forever so bare with me.)

Anyway at first watching act 3 the reveal of Mel being empath felt crazy like that’s such a huge bomb that we didn’t get build up on or much follow through but i do think it explains so much about her character. Traditionally empaths are written to be overly emotional or sensitive sort of like telepaths and being smart but Mel wasn’t written like that she’s quite calm and collected her most emotional outbursts are with her mother and jayce and even with jayce it’s only because he’s hurling accusations at her and she still remains relatively calm in her responses. I think her knowing people’s emotions wether she was aware of this or not plays into this she knows Jayce is coming from a place of hurt and confusion where as her mother back in season one she knows she’s being disingenuous with the reasons of being in piltover.

First watch this just seems like a disgruntled daughter and her mother trying to get on her good side but knowing that Mel can read people’s emotions adds another layer she see right through her mother which not only from just being raised by her but through her her empath skills.

also wanted to bring this up someone pointed this out tiktok and someone else pointed out that this maybe because we’re seeing this scene through Mel’s POV and since she is empath she see that Maddie is secretly enjoying executing Caitlyn. This got me thinking about her career as council member/politician I’ve wondered how she got so high up while seemingly not only being the youngest member but being young period if she’s assumed to be Jayce’s and Victor’s age this makes her about 24-27 in s1 which is extremely young for council member which essentially this region’s governing body. Being able to sense people’s true intentions allowed her to know who to align herself who not to, knowing when people agreed and disagreed with her, or when people sympathize with your views, causes, or concerns on certain issues which all helped her advance quickly her career. I’m sure being from a high born house helped but we see other high born houses in council positions but they’re all older.

She also seems to be somewhat bored with politics and somewhat disillusioned when we meet her i mean giving a fellow council member a child’s toy almost like a practical joke doesn’t seem like someone who views politics and her colleagues with utmost seriousness it isn’t until she meets Jayce that we see the passion for change. I think being empath she saw that Jayce and Vicktor’s vision for hextech and Piltover and Zaun were pure and genuine which is why she supported them. I also hate the rhetoric that Mel never loved jayce and just manipulated for her own gain she does everything in her power to stay true to him and Vicktor’s vision she doesn’t push him to do anything that goes against their morals and goals. When Jayce is worried about Vicktor and his absence at the council may lead to she reassures she won’t let them corrupt their dream. Like i said early she isn’t written like a typical empath she also isn’t written like a typical manipulator(if you can call her that) she is genuine in what she’s says to Jayce she just also knows how people work and his feelings on the matter so she’s able to play on that.

Ambessa describes her to be too soft and she tells Jayce she didn’t Medarda standards i think the way she operates as empath is the cause of that I don’t think Mel is welling to corrupt herself or others when getting what she wants unlike her Mother and the rest of her family i think they operate much more cut through in their goals.

Whew anyway mind any typos i didn’t mean for this be as long as turned out just wanted to share revelation i had!:)

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creativepromptsforwriting · 4 months ago

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Fic Titles: Song Edition

Part VI

Teach me how to get my smile back - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, HAN feat. BAE

You keep a lot of secrets (and I keep none) - Fireproof, The National

Too much darkness for a rainbow - Gone, Rosé

I always say goodbye - World spins madly on, The Weepies

We can set the world on fire - You are the solution, Loving Caliber

Drop a single tear drop - Tomboy, (G)I-DLE

I still dream of you - Ghost towns, Radical Face

Love is not a competition - Collide, Rachel Platten

Demons are friends, angels are enemies - @ my worst, blackbear

We're such a mess together - Using you, Mars Argo

I've found a love to love like no other can - Nara, alt-J

All for freedom and for pleasure - Everybody wants to rule the world, Tears for Fears

Why you asking? (No, I'm not ok) - Not ok, Loco feat. Minnie

In the fantasy it's so convincing - Dirty thoughts, Chloe Adams

The only memory is us kissing in the moonlight - Can't remember to forget you, Shakira feat. Rihanna

Searching for something that ain't lost - Don't waste my time, Victor Lundberg

A little more delicate - Clementine, Sarah Jaffe

Tonight we are victorious - Victorious, Panic! at the Disco

I want you so much, but I hate your guts - Landfill, Daughter

Your idols betray you/Your heroes will fail you/′Cause we are no saints - We are no saints, Blind Channel

Are we best friends? Are we somethin' in between that? - Heartbeat, Childish Gambino

'Cause sometimes the wrong ones are just what you need - James has changed, Phoebe Ryan

Heart made of glass, my mind of stone - Lovely, Billie Eilish & Khalid

Chasing visions of our futures - Youth, Daughter

Why is love so contradicting? - Contradicting, Hyunjin

I wanna be found by you - Adore, Amy Shark

Somebody might die (but nobody gets hurt) - Honey, Måneskin

The history books forgot about us - Samson, Regina Spektor

I like us better when we're intertwined - Cool, Dua Lipa

Baby don't go away (love me like you loved me) - Miserable (You & Me), HAN

More titles!

#fic titles #song lyrics #song titles #writing prompts #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing ideas #just like life #it starts with hanpop and it ends with hanpop #skz

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hlblng · 5 months ago

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"Never again, never again shall I look on the light of the sun" - Euripides' Hekabe (transl. Anne Carson)

When the Greeks sail to Troy to retrieve Helen, wife of Menelaos, and lay waste to the city of Troy, the greek army is prevented from sailing on in Aulis. Artemis has been angered and demands a blood sacrifice in exchange for the winds that will carry the ships to the shores of Ilium.

So Agamemnon, chief commander of the army of Hellas, sacrifices his daughter Iphigenia at the altar of the goddess. Her death in exchange for eternal glory.

After the sacking of Troy, the remnants of the victorious greek army make ready to sail for home. But Achilles' vengeful ghost halts the winds, demanding proper sacrifice at his grave. Achilles demands blood in exchange for the winds that will carry the ships to the shores of Hellas.

So Odysseus and Agamemnon choose Polyxena, the youngest daughter of Priam and Hekabe, a princess of Troy. Her death in exchange for a homecoming worthy of the victors of Troy.

Though these two events are 10 years apart in the context of the story of the Trojan war, these two girls have always been connected with each other in my head. I imagine them at a similar age, looking similar even. I imagine Agamemnon thinking of Iphigenia as he watches Polyxena bleed out in front of him. Two sides of the same coin.

#iphigenia #polyxena #hekabe #hecuba #iliad #odyssey #homer #euripides #greek mythology #greek mythology art #ancient greece #greek myth #greek myth art #greek gods #iphigenia art #watercolour #traditional artwork

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leiandroid · 7 months ago

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yakuza au

ok fam this au is now separated from my previous inohina yakuza/bratva au. had to fly the girls back to japan and they got a whole new backstory ! big wall of text incoming ↓↓↓

-- uchiha clan

a clan that was once powerful but was slowly eating itself from the inside. rife with internal conflict and distrust, key figures sought to strengthen the clan and each had an idea of how to bring about that change, though no two could come to an agreement on a single method. tensions amongst the ranks began to fracture the uchiha.

taking advantage of the power struggle, madara, with the hopes of seizing total control, ignites a spark that quickly turns into a bloodbath. many low level thugs employed by the uchiha flee the compound as each key figure and their loyal followers battle it out until so few are left standing it could barely be called a clan anymore.

the power vacuum left behind by the dissolution of the uchiha has created an extremely volatile environment in the crime world as different yakuza families seek to claim the uchiha’s previously held operations and territory.

-- hebi

sick of the endless politics and weakening bonds amongst the clan, sasuke left to forge his own path. as punishment for leaving the clan itachi takes his eye.

he had never expected that the power struggles within the uchiha would lead to a massacre. so when he heard about the bloodbath occurring inside the uchiha compound, he rushed home to save his parents from a grim fate. but was too late when he witnessed itachi kill them by his own blade.

sasuke quickly enacted revenge by killing itachi and when the dust settled and madara emerged as victor, sasuke turned his blade on him too and snuffed out the flame of the uchiha forever.

karin is an ex-cop that was the uchiha's informant within the police. she brokers deals and negotiations on behalf of sasuke. she is his mouthpiece, so to speak.

sasuke is also seeking two who were once allies/friends. suigetsu who had always dreamed to join the seven swordsmen's guild, and juugo a talented and brutal fighter who dominates the underground fighting scene.

together he hopes to form a small mercenary group for hire.

-- inoshikacho alliance / inoshikacho rengo

one of the first yakuza family alliances ever made going back generations. inoshin yamanaka, chosuke akimichi and shikanazai nara where the first of each clan to join the families into an alliance that has since become one of the strongest and long-lasting alliances in yakuza history.

at the age of 25 each member of the alliance is to have at least two children to ensure the next generation of the inoshikacho alliance grow up together and are trained to take on the mantle for the sake of the alliance's future. this also ensures that at least 3 generations are alive at any one time (if they don't meet an early grave that is).

the yamanaka run brothels, which act as a communication and information network. every girl is hand picked by ino or by trusted subordinates and trained in the art of seduction and information gathering. the yamanaka have large underground garden operations that cultivate plants for poisons with all kinds of effects and traceability, from the quick and painless to the slow and destructive.

akimichi control entertainment districts, money laundering operations and run the largest underground fighting scene. money flowing in and out of casinos and other avenues are fully controlled by the akimichi.

the nara are drug traffickers that control market price and distribution.

-- hyuuga clan / hyuuga kai

the strongest and most notorious yakuza in all of japan. their efficiency in all that they do make them a fierce clan. when the clanhead was found dead, many other groups thought this was finally the crack in the hyuuga shield and made moves to try and see if they could challenge their authority. but the second daughter stepped into place and ordered everyone in within a certain radius of the hyuuga estate dead.

if they thought hyuuga hiashi was a ruthless leader, hanabi, in one day alone, managed to put herself up as one of the deadliest and horrifying yakuza leaders in recent history.

their efficiency in the business and economics sector, as well as having ties within governmental and political bodies, makes them a very powerful clan with many branching factions reaching far and wide across the country.

someone, somewhere, always answers to a hyuuga.

-- neji hyuuga (tian)

after hizashi failed to protect the hyuuga leader's eldest daughter, he had to pay with his life in front of his only son.

watching his father commit seppuku and then swiftly beheaded by hiashi in front of the elders and close family, stuck with neji his whole life. he made a silent vow to exact revenge on hiashi. the bitterness in his heart made living amongst the hyuuga a slow acting poison. his hate for hiashi became stronger than his love for his father and he could never look upon a picture of hizashi anymore because his face was the face of his enemy.

neji bided his time for years and years until one fateful night he murdered hiashi in cold blood and fled the hyuuga estate. he made his way towards mainland china with some aid from a contact in the chinese triads. he disappeared for many years living amongst a guild of killers and started going by the name tian.

his next order of business was to find the abducted daughter that caused the death of his father and kill her himself.

-- hinata hyuuga (makoto)

the abducted hyuuga heir, taken from the hyuuga clan at a very young age. makoto lives her life as a simple woman, adopted by an elderly couple in the countryside, unaware of who she is or where she comes from.

when a 'chinese' man that bears an uncanny resemblance to her shows up at her cottage one day, calling her a name that does not belong to her, her life is flipped on its head and she finds herself plunged into the underbelly of society.

-- chinese triads / pirates

tenten is a weapons smuggler. though she is affiliated with the chinese triads, she smuggles and trades weapons for anyone that buys them, as her true loyalty is to money.

tenten's operations are done by sea and she has control over a small fleet of boats that answer to her. other than a port owned by the triads, she has claimed a small remote island as her home and base of operations.

she was also neji's contact that helped him sail the seas to mainland china after he murdered hiashi.

-- korean mafia

kiba is an animal trafficker. he acquires exotic animals for their ivory/fur/leather as well as selling them alive to the wealthy for their collections and keeps.

he has sold exotic birds to the yamanaka for their gardens. gathered all manner of cervidae antlers from around the world for the nara's collection. has captured the most venomous snakes known to mankind for several organisations, including certain individuals of the uchiha family. has also sold a number of species of animals for tenten for her island.

he is generally in good graces with all kinds of people/groups due to his connections and ability to acquire the even the most endangered and rare species in the world.

-- suna siblings

kankuro and temari own a small medical clinic. kankuro is a general family doctor. people come to him for check-ups and simple treatments and minor operations. temari handles all the logistics, and appears as the clinic's secretary. they have 3 nurses: matsuri, yukata, mikoshi.

kankuro is also a certified surgeon and operates on all sorts of gang members in the hidden basement operation room. matsuri has been trusted to help kankuro with these operations when needed. their practice offers complete discretion and the clinic has become off-bounds for any gang violence, even if rivalling groups happen to meet each other on the premises. they enter a truce for as long as they are within a certain radius of the clinic.

the brother and sister duo are a respected, unaffiliated group, and they also use their operations to get clues on their brother's whereabouts.

gaara was kidnapped at a young age and was tortured to the point that psychosis was induced. he is held in the same place as juugo and both are used in fights that many come to pay dearly to watch and bet on.

-- police

with his parents killed and taken from his home, naruto was raised by a gang who kidnaps boys to beat and torture, and train them into savage fighters. he dreamed for a life where he could see the sun and the sea, to eat a hot bowl of ramen once again.

when a police investigation finally bore fruit, naruto was rescued from the place. he was taken in by iruka, one of the cops, and eventually followed in his footsteps. he made a promise that he would find and save the redhead that had once clung to him down in those dark cells.

tsunade is chief of police. sai is a detective. lee is a chinese detective commissioned by the chinese police to go to japan to work alongside the tokyo metropolitan police dept to follow the chinese triads operations in japan. (or is it the hosting country that commissions?? anyway) a number of jonin from naruto are also police including: kakashi, yamato, genma, anko, etc etc.

-- sakura

sakura is the head of a large hospital that was once tied up with the uchiha who used her as an in for smuggling medical supplies. she was called upon as their emergency doctor to treat key figures when needed.

upon hearing about their massacre she felt total relief that the family threatening her life were finally gone. she thought she was free from them when a certain uchiha and 2 others showed up at her door demanding treatment.

she can't say she was happy to be back in such a predicament but it seemed that this uchiha didn't have a penchant for threatening her life as his family did. and for selfish reasons, she was okay with this arrangement.

-- the aburame

a family of assassins. their efficiency and untraceable methods make them a highly coveted group of hitmen whose services are sold to the highest bidder. the aburame have close ties with the yamanaka of the inashikacho alliance as they outsource some of their poisons from the yamanaka gardens.

even though the yamanaka, akimichi, and nara families formed an alliance generations ago, this agreement between the yamanaka and aburame remains a secret from the rest of the alliance.

the aburame are a completely neutral party and the yamanaka understands this. to pay for their secrecy and treachery towards their sworn brothers, the yamanaka accept that if a hit were ordered against their own, it wouldn't affect their business with the aburame.

if u read all this many hugs and kisses mwah

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gojohatemail · 2 years ago

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Making a fankid for me and Adachi and getting kinda emotional over it ;_;

#victor beeps #once again thank you picrew :)#she has no name yet but i already love our daughter!

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novaursa · 1 month ago

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The Wolf Who Challenged Fire

- Summary: A short story where Brandon Stark steals you and starts the Rebellion.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Brandon Stark (The Wild Wolf)

- Note: Lyanna Stark does not exist in this AU.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for the death scenes)

- Next part: extra chapter

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The crowd's roar of excitement feels almost suffocating as you sit upon the high dais, a living ornament of regal grace and Targaryen beauty. The silk of your gown, dyed a deep shade of crimson and embroidered with silver thread, glints faintly in the sunlight. Beside you sits your father, King Aerys II, his nails clawing into the armrests of his ornate chair. His pale hair falls in unkempt strands over his shoulder, and his violet eyes dart between the two knights below with a mixture of irritation and suspicion.

Your mother, Queen Rhaella, sits on the other side, her hands trembling as they clutch the edge of her cloak. She looks far too frail to be attending a tourney, her pallor nearly blending into the ivory silk she wears. Her gentle whispers to you earlier—pleas to keep your head down and avoid catching undue attention—linger in your ears.

But avoiding attention has never been your gift, not when your lilac eyes gleam like polished amethysts beneath the sunlight and your hair catches the wind like a cascade of molten silver and gold. The eyes of the realm are always on you, including, it seems, those of Brandon Stark.

You try not to meet his gaze as he sits astride his stallion, his broad shoulders and wolf's-head cloak making him look every bit the Stark heir that he is. Yet, the air crackles with unspoken words as his gray eyes flicker to you once, twice, before shifting back to his opponent: your older brother, Rhaegar.

Rhaegar looks serene, as always, the perfect picture of a prince. His armor is brilliant in the sunlight, polished to perfection, and his hair silver falls in elegant waves. His hands grip the lance as if it were merely an extension of himself. The dragon and the wolf, facing each other on the field, as if the gods themselves had orchestrated this moment.

“Do you see how the Stark boy stares at you, daughter?” Aerys mutters, leaning toward you. His voice is a rasp, low and sharp like a dagger drawn across stone. “He thinks himself worthy of what is mine.”

Your chest tightens, but you do not answer. You know better than to draw your father’s wrath in public, even though your heart hammers with dread at what he might do later. Instead, you keep your gaze fixed on the jousting field below, willing yourself to stay calm.

“Brandon Stark is a fool,” Aerys continues under his breath, though his tone is low enough that only you can hear. “Like his father. Wolves do not belong in the company of dragons.”

Rhaella shifts uncomfortably beside you, her hand trembling as it rests briefly on yours. A silent plea: endure this.

The herald’s voice rings out, announcing the final tilt. The crowd erupts as Rhaegar and Brandon lower their lances and spur their horses forward.

You grip the armrests of your chair tightly, your breath catching as their steeds charge toward each other. The earth beneath them trembles with the force of their gallop, and your heart clenches as Rhaegar’s lance strikes Brandon’s shield with a deafening crack. But Brandon’s aim is truer. His lance collides with Rhaegar’s chest plate, shattering upon impact and sending your brother tumbling from his horse.

The crowd gasps. You shoot to your feet, your hands clenching the edge of your seat.

“Rhaegar!” you call, fear lacing your voice.

Rhaegar moves almost immediately, pushing himself to his feet with a grimace but no visible injury. Relief floods you as he raises a hand to signal his well-being, and the crowd erupts into cheers.

Brandon wheels his horse around, his expression victorious yet restrained. He dismounts smoothly, handing off his shattered lance and accepting the victor’s crown from the herald. It is a wreath of blue roses, the color vibrant and fresh against the dusty field.

You expect him to crown his betrothed, Lady Catelyn Tully, seated among the northern contingent. But he does not. Instead, Brandon mounts his horse once more, his wolf’s-head cloak billowing behind him as he rides toward the royal dais.

The murmurs in the crowd swell into a crescendo of astonishment as Brandon halts directly before you. His steel-gray eyes meet yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“My queen of love and beauty,” he declares, his voice carrying over the stunned silence. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out and places the crown of blue roses in your lap.

Your heart stops. The world around you seems to blur as the enormity of what he’s done settles over you. This is no simple act of admiration—it is a public claim, a defiance of the natural order. He has passed over his betrothed, and he has chosen you.

“Brandon, no,” you whisper under your breath, your voice barely audible. But it is too late.

Beside you, Aerys stiffens. His nails dig into the armrest, and his eyes narrow with barely-contained fury. “He dares,” he hisses, so quietly that only you and Rhaella can hear. “That wolf dares.”

Rhaella’s trembling hand grips yours tightly, silently urging you to keep your composure. Across the field, you see Lord Rickard Stark rise from his seat, his face pale and drawn. He descends the stairs quickly, presumably to speak with his son in private. But the damage is already done. The crown in your lap feels like a brand, scorching you with the weight of its implications.

Brandon inclines his head slightly, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips as he turns his horse and rides away.

The crowd erupts into cheers once more, but you barely hear it over the sound of your own pounding heart. You glance at Rhaegar, who has remounted his horse. His expression is unreadable, though his gaze flickers to you briefly before he turns his attention back to the field.

Aerys leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. “He has signed his death warrant,” he mutters, his voice laced with venom. “And his father’s. I will see to it.”

You swallow hard, your hands trembling as you clutch the blue roses in your lap. Brandon Stark’s defiance may have ignited the spark, but it is your father’s madness that will set the realm aflame.

Brandon barely dismounts his horse before his father, Lord Rickard Stark, strides toward him with long, purposeful steps. His cloak of gray wool lined with dark fur trailing behind him, and his expression is as cold as the snow of his homeland. The crowd’s cheers fade into a dull hum as Rickard seizes Brandon by the arm, his grip firm but not violent, and pulls him toward a quieter corner behind the pavilion.

“What were you thinking, boy?” Rickard’s voice is low but cutting, the tone that always made Brandon feel like a chastised pup.

Brandon shrugs off his father’s grip, his gray eyes fierce and unyielding. “I was thinking of her,” he says simply, his voice steady but firm. “Y/N deserves better than to be caged in King’s Landing, surrounded by her father’s madness. She deserves—”

Rickard cuts him off with a sharp gesture. “You crowned a Targaryen princess as Queen of Love and Beauty in full view of the court and her father, the Mad King! Do you realize what you’ve done? This isn’t the North, Brandon. Down here, every word, every gesture is a weapon.”

Brandon’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “You think I don’t know that? I don’t care. I won today, Father. Me, not Rhaegar. And when I saw her sitting there, looking like something out of a song, I knew I couldn’t let it pass. She’s more than just a Targaryen—she’s the woman I—”

Rickard raises a hand, his eyes darkening. “Don’t finish that sentence. Not here. Not now.” He glances around, his instincts honed from years of navigating court politics. “You may have won the tilt, but you’ve dragged our house into dangerous waters. Aerys won’t forget this, nor will Rhaegar.”

Brandon smirks, a flash of his wolfish grin showing. “Let Aerys stew in his madness. And as for Rhaegar—he knows he’s lost her. That’s why he tilted against me so fiercely.”

Rickard’s expression softens slightly, a glimmer of concern breaking through his stern facade. “Brandon, this isn’t just about her. It’s about the North, about our family. You’ve made enemies today, powerful ones. And you’ve slighted Catelyn Tully in the process. Have you thought of that?”

The mention of Catelyn makes Brandon’s grin fade. He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “I didn’t mean to dishonor her. But I can’t pretend to love someone I barely know, not when—” He hesitates, lowering his voice. “Not when my heart belongs to Y/N.”

Rickard steps closer, lowering his voice as well. “And do you think Aerys will simply allow you to take her? That he’ll overlook what you’ve done today? The man burned his own courtiers for less, Brandon. He’s mad, yes, but not stupid. He’ll see this as a challenge to his power.”

Brandon’s defiance wavers for a moment, the weight of his father’s words sinking in. “Then what should I have done? Sit back and let Rhaegar crown her? Let her be his, or worse, left to wither in her father’s shadow?”

Rickard exhales heavily, his hand briefly resting on Brandon’s shoulder. “I know you think you’re protecting her, but you’ve made things more dangerous for her, for all of us. The court is a viper’s nest, and you’ve kicked it. Now we’ll all feel the venom.”

Brandon’s eyes harden again, his stubbornness flaring up. “I’d face a hundred vipers for her. You know that.”

Rickard studies his son for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You’ve always been headstrong, Brandon. Too much like your mother. But headstrong doesn’t win wars, and make no mistake—war is what you’ve invited today.”

“I’ll face it,” Brandon says, his voice steady. “I’ll face whatever comes. For her.”

Rickard doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he steps back, his gaze shifting toward the royal dais, where King Aerys still sits, his expression unreadable but his violet eyes burning with something dangerous. The old wolf’s instincts scream at him to act, to salvage what he can before it’s too late.

“Come,” Rickard says finally, his voice quieter now. “We need to leave this place before more damage is done.”

Brandon hesitates, his gaze flickering back toward the dais. Your lilac eyes meet his for a brief moment, filled with worry and something unspoken. He nods slightly, a silent promise passing between you.

Rickard notices the exchange and sighs. “The heart of a wolf will always defy reason,” he mutters under his breath. “Let’s pray it doesn’t cost us all.”

With that, he steers his son away from the pavilion, the blue roses in your lap the only lingering reminder of what Brandon Stark has done.

The night is heavy with the lingering scents of spilled ale and crushed flowers, the din of the tourney fading as lords and ladies retreat to their pavilions. You walk alone through the dimly lit garden adjoining Harrenhal’s grand hall, your heart pounding in your chest as you glance over your shoulder. The festival atmosphere still hums faintly in the distance, but here, surrounded by ancient stone walls and shadowed paths, the air is hushed, conspiratorial.

The blue roses Brandon placed in your lap earlier remain tucked into the crook of your arm, their delicate petals bruised from your grip. You press deeper into the garden, past hedges and fountains, until you reach a secluded alcove where the lanterns do not reach. The moonlight filters through the overhanging branches, casting silvery shadows on the ground. You wait, the stillness broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the distant murmurs of drunken revelers.

“Y/N.”

The voice is low but unmistakable. You turn swiftly to find him emerging from the shadows, his wolf’s-head cloak blending into the darkness. Brandon moves with a predatory grace, his broad shoulders framed by the dim light as he approaches. There is no hesitation in his stride, no hint of regret in his eyes, only determination.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you whisper, though your voice lacks conviction. “If anyone sees us—”

“They won’t,” he interrupts, his voice steady but fierce. He steps closer, his gray eyes locking onto yours. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, but you quickly avert your eyes, clutching the roses tighter. “Brandon, do you have any idea what you’ve done? My father—he’s furious. He didn’t say much, but I could see it in his eyes. He’s plotting something. And Rhaegar—” You pause, your voice trembling. “Rhaegar won’t forget this insult.”

Brandon reaches out, his hand brushing against yours, his touch warm despite the chill of the night. “Let him plot. Let Rhaegar brood. None of it matters.”

You shake your head, stepping back from him even as your heart aches to stay close. “It does matter. You’ve put yourself—and your family—in danger. My father is mad, Brandon. Truly mad. He’s burned men alive for less than what you did today.”

“I’d do it again,” he says without hesitation. “A hundred times over. I won that tilt, and I wasn’t about to hand that crown to anyone else. You deserve better than this—better than being paraded around as some prize in a mad king’s court.”

“Better than being the reason your father and brothers suffer?” you retort sharply, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear. “Do you think Aerys will stop at just you? He’ll find a way to punish all of you for your defiance. And me? He’ll—he’ll—” Your voice falters, and you look away, tears threatening to spill.

Brandon’s hand cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away a tear that escapes despite your best efforts. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he says softly, his voice steady but laced with unyielding resolve. “Whatever comes, I’ll protect you. I swear it.”

“You can’t make that promise,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You’re just one man, Brandon. You can’t fight a king.”

“I’ll fight a hundred kings if it means keeping you safe,” he replies fiercely, his grip on your cheek firm but tender. “You’re worth it, Y/N. You’ve always been worth it.”

Your resolve crumbles under the weight of his words, and you lean into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. “You’re a fool,” you murmur. “A brave, stubborn fool.”

“And you love me for it,” he says, a hint of a grin breaking through his intensity.

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the weight of the world fades. In the moonlight, he looks like the wolf you’ve always known him to be—wild, fierce, and unrelenting. Your lips part to respond, but before you can, he leans in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that is both tender and desperate.

The roses fall from your arms, forgotten, as you cling to him, your fingers tangling in his cloak. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as if he can shield you from everything beyond this moment. The kiss deepens, a silent promise of love and defiance, of everything you wish the world could allow you to have.

When you finally part, both of you breathless, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice a whisper. “Say the word, and I’ll take you away from all of this. Tonight. Now.”

You shake your head, tears spilling freely this time. “And where would we go? My father would hunt us to the ends of the earth. Your family—your brothers—they’d pay the price.”

He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching in frustration. “Then what? Do we just keep sneaking around like this? Hiding in shadows?”

“For now, we survive,” you say softly, placing a hand against his chest. “For now, we love in secret. Until we can find a way to be together without bringing ruin to everyone we care about.”

His hand covers yours, his warmth grounding you despite the chill of the night. “Then I’ll wait. For however long it takes.”

You nod, your voice trembling as you reply, “And I’ll hold you to that.”

The two of you linger a moment longer, stealing what little time you can before the weight of the world presses down once more. Then, reluctantly, Brandon steps back, his eyes lingering on you as if memorizing every detail.

“Go,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Before someone sees us.”

He hesitates, then nods, pulling the wolf’s-head cloak tighter around him as he slips back into the shadows. You watch until he disappears, your heart aching with every step he takes away from you. Only when you are certain he is gone do you stoop to pick up the blue roses, their petals crushed but still fragrant.

As you make your way back to the hall, the weight of his love and your fears settles heavily on your shoulders. You know this affair is dangerous, reckless even. But you also know that for Brandon Stark, you would face every shadow in this world.

The journey to King’s Landing was supposed to be routine—a formality, Lord Rickard Stark had said, though there was tension behind his words. Aerys had summoned them to court after Brandon’s brash actions at Harrenhal moons prior. The blue roses, the crown, the whispered conversations in shadowed corners—it had all led to this.

Brandon Stark, the Wild Wolf of Winterfell, had ridden alongside his father with his jaw clenched, his mind racing. He had not shared his full plan with anyone, not even his father. But now, as the Red Keep loomed like a blood-red sentinel in the morning sun, he knew there was no turning back.

The Red Keep’s air was stifling, heavy with the weight of unseen eyes and whispered schemes. Servants scurried about like mice, their heads bowed, while guards in Targaryen black stood like statues, their hands resting on their swords. Brandon walked alongside his father, his cloak trailing behind him, the leather of his boots scuffing against the cold stone floors.

"Keep your head down," Rickard muttered under his breath, his voice low and firm. "This isn’t the time for your pride, boy."

Brandon bristled but said nothing. He wasn’t here to grovel, not when so much was at stake. The thought of you—your lilac eyes filled with fear as you clutched your stomach, your voice trembling as you begged him to leave you behind—gnawed at him. He had promised to protect you, and this was the only way.

As they turned a corner, Brandon's steps faltered, his hand brushing against the hilt of his sword. He glanced over his shoulder, his keen eyes scanning for any sign of pursuit.

"You’re distracted," Rickard observed, his voice sharp. "What have you done, Brandon?"

Brandon hesitated, his heart pounding. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, piercing and unyielding, demanding the truth. But he couldn’t tell him. Not yet.

"Nothing you wouldn’t have done in my place," Brandon replied cryptically, his voice tight. "Just trust me, Father."

Rickard frowned but said nothing, though his suspicion was visible.

It wasn’t until they reached the small chamber set aside for them that Rickard cornered his son. The room was sparse, the only furnishings a table, two chairs, and a narrow bed. A single window overlooked the city, its sprawling streets winding toward the distant horizon.

Rickard shut the door firmly, his face grim. "Out with it. What madness have you brought upon us this time?"

Brandon leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression defiant. "I did what needed to be done."

Rickard’s patience snapped. "Stop dancing around it, boy! What did you do?"

Brandon pushed off the wall, his voice rising. "I sent her away."

Rickard’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening. "You what?"

"I smuggled her out of the Red Keep last night," Brandon confessed, his voice steady but his heart racing. "She’s gone, safe, far from here."

Rickard took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And where, exactly, have you sent the princess of the Seven Kingdoms? With whom?"

Brandon shook his head. "I won’t tell you. It’s better if you don’t know."

Rickard stared at him, his disbelief turning into fury. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Aerys will see this as treason! You’ve not only defied him but stolen his daughter from under his nose. You’ve doomed us all."

"I had to," Brandon said, his voice breaking slightly. "Don’t you understand? They would have hurt her. Or worse."

Rickard’s anger faltered for a moment, replaced by confusion. "Hurt her? What are you talking about?"

Brandon’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looked away, his voice barely above a whisper. "She’s with child."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking like a stone into the air. Rickard’s face paled, his breath catching. "By the gods… Brandon, is it—?"

"Mine," Brandon said firmly, meeting his father’s gaze. "The child is mine. And I wasn’t going to let them use her—or our child—as pawns in their games."

Rickard staggered back a step, his hand gripping the back of the chair for support. "Do you know what this means? Aerys will burn us for this. Both of us. And when he finds her—"

"He won’t," Brandon interrupted, his voice steel. "She’s gone, and no one will find her unless I want them to. I made sure of it."

Rickard’s eyes narrowed, his anger rekindling. "You arrogant fool. You think you can outmaneuver a king? Aerys will burn the North to ash to get to her."

"I couldn’t leave her here!" Brandon snapped, his voice echoing in the small room. "Not when I knew what he’d do to her. Not when I knew they’d take our child—use them, hurt them. I won’t let that happen, Father."

Rickard stared at his son, a mix of anger, disbelief, and something resembling admiration flickering in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, his voice heavy. "You’ve set the realm on fire, Brandon. And we’ll both pay the price for it."

Brandon’s jaw tightened, his gray eyes unwavering. "I’ll pay whatever price I have to. But I won’t let them touch her—or my child."

A knock at the door shattered the moment, and a guard’s voice called out from the other side. "Lord Rickard, Prince Rhaegar requests your presence in the great hall. His Grace awaits."

Rickard straightened, his face hardening as he turned toward the door. "This is it," he said quietly, his voice tinged with resignation. "We’ll die in that hall, you know that."

Brandon squared his shoulders, his wolfish defiance returning. "Then so be it."

Rickard hesitated for a moment, then nodded, opening the door. Together, they stepped into the corridor, the sound of the guards’ boots echoing around them as they were escorted toward the great hall—and their fate.

The great hall of the Red Keep is a cavern of shadows and firelight, its high vaulted ceiling seeming to echo the weight of the accusations hurled across the chamber. Rows of courtiers, guards, and lords line the walls, their faces painted with a mixture of curiosity, fear, and malice. At the far end of the room, the Iron Throne rises like a jagged mountain, its ominous blades reflective in the flickering torchlight.

Seated atop the throne is King Aerys II, his frail frame nearly swallowed by the massive seat of power. His silver hair falls in wild, tangled strands around his gaunt face, his violet eyes blazing with an unholy fire. His nails, long and yellowed, tap erratically against the armrests, the sound reverberating in the sinister silence.

At the base of the throne stands Prince Rhaegar, his expression carefully composed. His indigo eyes flicker to Brandon and Rickard Stark as they are led into the hall, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Brandon walks with his head high, his wolf’s-head cloak draped across his broad shoulders, his jaw clenched in defiance. Beside him, Rickard Stark’s face is a mask of stoic calm, though his eyes betray the storm brewing within. They are the embodiment of the North—unyielding, proud, and unbroken.

Aerys leans forward on the throne, his voice slicing through the silence like a dagger. "Rickard Stark," he hisses, the words dripping with venom. "You come before your king as a traitor. As a thief."

Rickard steps forward, his voice calm but firm. "I am no traitor, Your Grace. I have come to answer your summons and to demand justice for my son."

Aerys’s laughter erupts, high-pitched and manic, echoing through the hall. "Justice? Justice? You speak of justice, yet your wild wolf has stolen what is mine!"

Brandon steps forward before his father can reply, his gray eyes blazing. "She is not yours!" he snarls. The words reverberate through the hall, causing a ripple of gasps from the gathered courtiers. "Y/N is not a prize to be kept in a cage. She’s free now, far from your madness."

Aerys’s face contorts with rage, his nails clawing at the armrests of the throne. "You dare defy me, boy? You dare steal my daughter and think there will be no consequence?"

Rhaegar’s expression tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides, but he says nothing. His eyes, however, flicker briefly to Brandon, a flicker of suspicion passing through his gaze.

Rickard steps forward, his voice rising over the chaos. "Your Grace, I came to King’s Landing in good faith, to answer your summons. My son’s actions were not sanctioned by me. I demand trial by combat, as is my right."

Aerys’s lips curl into a cruel smile, his eyes alight with glee. "Trial by combat, is it? Very well. You shall have your combat, Stark." He gestures to the pyromancers standing by the walls. "Bring the wildfire."

The room erupts into murmurs as pyromancers begin to move, fetching the green liquid that glows with a sickly light. Rickard’s calm demeanor does not waver, though Brandon stiffens beside him, his fists clenching.

"You call this justice?" Brandon spits, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "This is madness!"

Aerys’s laughter cuts him off, a shrill and terrible sound. "Madness, you say? No, boy. This is power. This is the price of treason."

Two guards seize Rickard, dragging him toward the pyre set in the center of the hall. The wildfire is poured into the brazier, its noxious fumes filling the air. Rickard glances back at his son, his eyes calm and steady. "Brandon," he says quietly, his voice firm. "Do not lose yourself."

Brandon shakes his head, his voice breaking. "Father—"

The guards tie Rickard to the pyre, stepping back as the wildfire is lit. Green flames roar to life, climbing hungrily around Rickard’s form. The heat is unbearable, the air thick with the stench of burning flesh. But Rickard does not scream. His eyes remain fixed on his son, unyielding to the very end.

"Father!" Brandon roars, his voice raw with anguish. He surges forward, but guards grab him, forcing him back. Aerys gestures with a flick of his hand, and a noose of Tyroshi rope is brought forth. It is looped around Brandon’s neck and tied to the brazier.

"Let the wolf choke on his own defiance," Aerys says with a sneer.

The guards begin to tighten the rope, pulling it taut. Brandon fights, his hands clawing at the noose, his boots skidding against the stone floor as he struggles to reach his father. His face turns red, veins bulging as the rope cuts into his neck.

Through the haze of pain and fire, Brandon’s gaze finds Rhaegar, who stands motionless at the base of the throne. His lips move, a whisper barely audible over the crackling flames and Aerys’s mad laughter.

"Y/N," Brandon whispers, his voice hoarse. The name carries through the hall like a ghost, reaching Rhaegar’s ears.

Rhaegar’s eyes widen, his composure cracking for the first time. He takes a step forward, his gaze flickering to his father, who is too consumed by his triumph to notice. The name lingers in the air, a spark in the dry kindling of the North’s fury.

Brandon’s struggles slow, his strength ebbing away as the noose tightens. His vision blurs, the last thing he sees the green flames consuming his father. With one final, ragged breath, he collapses, his body limp against the restraints.

The hall falls silent, the only sounds the crackling of the wildfire and Aerys’s quiet, satisfied laughter.

Rhaegar’s fists clench at his sides as he stares at the lifeless form of Brandon Stark. The name whispered in death echoes in his mind. Y/N.

The North will not forget. And neither will he.

The gates of Winterfell groaned open as Eddard Stark rode through, his grim face framed by the gray fur of his cloak. The chill wind of the North cut through the courtyard, carrying whispers of his return as servants hurried to greet their lord. His bannermen followed close behind, their horses weary from the long ride. At the center of the company, wrapped tightly in thick furs, was the child.

The infant stirred, his small cries barely audible over the clatter of hooves and the rustle of banners. Eddard held him protectively, his jaw clenched, his expression as cold and unreadable as the snow-dusted landscape around him.

At the top of the stairs leading into the great hall, Lady Catelyn Stark stood waiting. Her auburn hair spilled down over her shoulders, a stark contrast to the pale blue of her gown. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line as she watched her husband dismount.

The sight of the bundled infant in Eddard’s arms was like a blow. Her heart sank, dread pooling in her stomach as the truth dawned on her. A bastard. He’s brought a bastard into our home.

When Eddard finally reached her, the tension between them was palpable. He paused, cradling the child, and looked into her eyes. “Catelyn,” he said softly, his voice steady but distant. “We need to talk.”

Her gaze flickered to the child, then back to him, her expression tight with fury. “You dare to bring him here? After everything?”

“Not here,” Eddard said firmly, nodding toward the doors of the great hall. “Inside.”

The warmth of the great hall was nothing to the frost in Catelyn’s glare. She stood rigid near the hearth, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as Eddard laid the baby in a cradle brought by a servant. The child, with dark hair and pale skin, cooed softly, unaware of the storm brewing around him.

Catelyn’s voice trembled with barely contained anger. “You bring this… this boy into my home, and you expect me to accept him? To raise him among our children, as if he were one of them?”

Eddard turned to face her, his expression unreadable but resolute. “He is my blood.”

“Your blood,” she repeated bitterly, her voice rising. “A bastard! Do you know what they will say, Eddard? What they will whisper behind my back? They already called me the jilted bride of The Wild Wolf. Brandon’s betrayal humiliated me before the realm, and now this?” She gestured toward the cradle. “Another Stark disgrace for me to bear?”

Eddard’s face hardened, his voice sharp. “I will not let this child suffer for the choices of men.”

“Choices you made!” she snapped, her voice echoing in the hall. “What of me, Eddard? What of your wife? Did you think of me when you lay with another woman? When you fathered a child out of wedlock?”

Eddard flinched, but his resolve did not waver. “You know nothing of what I’ve done,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with unspoken pain. “And you never will.”

Catelyn stared at him, her chest rising and falling with the force of her emotions. “You owe me more than that, Eddard. I am your wife. The mother of your heir.”

“You are,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “And I will never dishonor you again. But Jon is here now, and he will stay. He is innocent in all of this.”

“Innocent,” she repeated bitterly, her gaze flickering to the cradle. “And what of Robb? What of our son? What will he think when he grows older and learns his father brought a bastard into his home? How do I explain this to him?”

Eddard sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You will tell them the truth—that Jon is my son. That he is their brother, no matter the circumstances of his birth.”

Catelyn shook her head, her voice trembling with anger and pain. “You ask too much of me, Eddard. Too much.”

Eddard stepped closer, his gray eyes meeting hers. “I ask only for your kindness. For the sake of the boy.”

Catelyn’s throat tightened, her nails digging into her palms. “You’ve already asked for my forgiveness. Don’t ask for my kindness too.”

Eddard’s face remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of sorrow. He nodded once, then turned back to the cradle, his hand resting on the edge as he looked down at the child.

“This is Jon,” he said softly. “He will be raised as a Stark. And I will ensure he knows he is loved, no matter what the world says.”

Catelyn turned away, unable to bear the sight of her husband and his bastard child. The pain of betrayal cut deep, the wounds still raw. She knew she had no choice but to endure, for the sake of her family, but the bitterness in her heart was a cold comfort.

As Eddard stood by the cradle, the weight of his decisions pressing heavily on his shoulders, Catelyn left the hall, her footsteps echoing through the empty corridors of Winterfell.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #got #got/asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #brandon stark #house stark #house targaryen #the wild wolf #brandon x reader #brandon x you #brandon x y/n #x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #fire and blood

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lovelykhaleesiii · 1 year ago

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hi there! would you be up to writing smut

Dark!Aemond? something for example with age difference, daddy kink, corruption kink, degradation and breeding? If you are comfortable then Reader could be a Targaryen what would be great but if you aren't comfortable then Stark is perfect too

Twisted, Beautiful Minds.

PAIRING: Dark!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Niece!Reader

WORDS: 2,677.

WARNINGS: mentions of warfare/murder, mentions of death-threats, swearing, degradation kink, choking, Daddy kink, corruption kink, breeding kink, manipulation, narcissistic tendencies, male oral receiving [cock sucking], mentions of p in v sexual intercourse.

A/N - you know I'm always down for some dark!Aemond... I want to also dedicate this piece, as a small bday gift to my wonderful friend Mar @aemondsmoon you have been an absolute light for me on this hellsite, and one of my dearest friends... thank you for always being there for me, and thank you for being you. you are an absolute gem, don't ever change. ilysm! 🤍

The turmoil and toils of war had finally come to an end, when Aegon the Elder, your Uncle, had commanded Sunfyre to set your beloved mother, Rhaenyra, and younger brother, Aegon III, to death by dragonfire. Your heart shattered, and mind numb, you were certain your own death was imminent in the moments after: at the very least, your Uncle would punish you with a dragonrider's death... Yet that would not be the case at all.

It seemed other plans had been set in stone. Chained and escorted by the Kingsguard to return to King's Landing once more, where you had only days previous, fled in fear, were you welcomed by the cold stares of the "Green" Council. Your chains removed, as neither the King nor his Mother, had seen you as a threat, you felt no purpose to resist nor to fight back... Your family dead, your will had died along with them.

"Fetch for Aemond. Tell my younger brother that his betrothed has returned."

His stern words felt incomprehensible in your thoughtless mind, lagging to understand the notion. You felt a cool, chill course through your weak body, rigid as though you had turned to stone, and yet, you were still breathing, still ever so present. No one had consulted you on such plans or schemes. And you were certain that Aemond himself would definitively refuse to marry the daughter of a traitor [as you presumed he would justify]. Your Uncle, Aemond, was a formidable man, fought against your late father, and had emerged the victor... And as the war, and the recent imprisoned days had taken its toll on you, your eyes darkened with the lack of sleep, unable to eat a crumb of bread, you did not look as you once had in your frivolous court, as he had once remembered you.

Although, as he sauntered into the room with such poise and stature, a certain charisma of that of a victor oozing about him, with not a single word exchanged, other than a devious smirk supplanted across his once serious face...It seemed there was more to the union than meets the eye.

Since your captive return to King's Landing, a place in which you had once considered your home, felt nothing more foreign. The stone sand walls that you had walked and run through as a child, now looked strange, the unfamiliar symbols of the Seven proudly hung around every available wall and space, gave an ominous feel. The halls seemed less brighter, even during the break of day, with the sunlight blatant in the sky, you instinctively felt as though a shadow lurked around every corner, attentive to your every move.

Dragonless, and defenceless, you were less of a threat than the younger Princess, Jahaera. The King and his Council had deemed you stable enough to roam the castle grounds freely, with a close knight in pursuit, only to ensure your own "protection" [as Aegon would admit that Aemond insisted], although you saw it more as means to deter you from being tempted to run away.

Regardless, Aemond had not spoken a word to you since hearing of the betrothal. He attended dinners with you in sight, although you rarely spoke yourself, mostly pleading and bickering with Alicent to remain in the desolate confines of your chambers. She was incessant about you joining the family, as the union was to be set in a moon's turn.

He dared not even to sit beside you: constantly at opposing ends. Although, there were rare occasions you had caught the younger Prince, brazenly staring at you with his one good eye. Unapologetically, his full attention spanned towards you, even if he had noticed you had become aware, he did not cease gawking.

Something about his looming gaze made you feel uneasy, very much on edge: a dark tinge to his violet eye, his pupils darkened as they seemed dilated. It inevitably made your stomach churn, only forcing you to resign in defeat, often excusing yourself to bed.

And often you were left undisturbed to recluse in your chambers... Although tonight, it seemed you were not alone in your ventures.

Retracing the exact steps you would take most nights, often on your lonesome return to your quarters: this time there was an accompanying sound in the distance, echoing down the hallway behind you. Heavy footsteps that caught your immediate attention. Slowly panning around, the shimmer of his lengthy, silver hair against the pale moonlight that peaked through the open crescents of the corridor, was alluring to your eye. Halting in your tracks, your breath hitched against your throat, all in trepidation, as Aemond effortlessly caught up with you in a few short strides. This was the closest he had ever truly come up to you, his towering height against you, made him even more daunting face to face.

"Running off to bed again, I see. And why is that?"

The sudden eruption of his deep, low voice breaking the stillness of the castle passage, startled you uneasily. You had exchanged many words and conversations with your elder Uncle before, during an ancient time long before the Dance had spurred. Although, the dynamics had inevitably changed, blood had been shed viciously and cruel words spat. Despite the same Valyrian blood coursing through your veins as of your betrothed, you felt solitary in their surrounding presence.

"I-I lost my appetite, U-Uncle. I wish to retire for the night," You aimlessly stutter, too weak to hold eye contact with Aemond, whose gaze remained fixated on you. His vibrant lilac orb luring over every inch of your timid body.

"Do you think it wise to roam the castle your lonesome self? Has the war not taught you otherwise? Is my niece still that same stupid, little whore I have known?"

His harsh remarks shadowed by that familiar, sly grin struck across his slim face, was plenty to furnace an incoming reaction from you, your blood boiling beneath your tender skin.

"Ah- tongue tied now, princess? Have I struck a chord with you, hmm? Mayhaps you are as weak as your father was... Now, how would he feel knowing you are to marry me? That I'll fuck his little girl, like the common whores he saw."

Your mind had no correlation to your hand, and yet the simmering rage that blistered through your body sent your mind to abyss. The small palm of your hand, strikingly latched across Aemond's face furiously. And yet, although a sharp stinging sensation poured across your hand, Aemond remained unfazed and sturdy. It seemed you had smacked the grin across his face, and in its stead, that familiar, unnerving dark tinge in his eyes scorned across at you.

Before you knew it, Aemond gripped your sides firmly, forcing your body forward, as he harshly shoved you against the cold, stone wall.

"You think that wise, whore? After the mercy I fucking showed you. I could have your fucking hand for that, or worse your head. My pretty wife's head on a spike, I'll have it right outside my window."

The cruelty that oozed from his precise lips was relentless. You wanted to burst into tears or more, burst into flames there and then...

"Do you know how long I have waited to have you under my very touch? All the sacrifices I made, the arguments I fought against my own Council to keep you alive? Ungrateful fucking bitch. Did your Daddy not teach you to be a good, obedient girl?"

One of Aemond's calloused, rough hands reached up hastily, his long fingers wrapping just so lightly around your throat, as his thumb gently stroked at your lips. His viable eye ogling tentatively over your mouth, smacking his lips innately.

"I'm your fucking Daddy now. Teach you how to be a proper lady, and a good fucking wife. I'm going to fuck that pretty pussy of yours, till you are dripping of me. I'll have you begging like a pathetic, stupid whore. I'll fuck you till I have heirs of my own, till I see fit that you have disgraced your extinct, traitorous bloodline."

"A-Aem, U-Uncle-" You breathlessly whimper in fear: freshly, swelled tears glaze your vision, as they begin to clear with each shedding streak.

"What did I just fucking say? I'm not your Uncle anymore, bitch. I'm your fucking Daddy. You would be helpless without me. Probably dead without my doing. You fucking owe me."

"Y-Yes-" Another breathless whimper, although Aemond's grip loosened, his other hand began to slowly move its way over towards your breast. His uninjured eye moving in motion with his hand, eagerly wandering over your bust. That same, very hand, began to keenly grope at your plush side, kneading at your breast tenderly, it felt foreign and sensitive under his strange touch.

"All fucking mine... Finally. Did you really think, I would let some insolent lord have you to himself? I'd start a war for you, I won the war for you. And now you're going to repay me, just so-"

A mindless moan flew out of your wet lips, catching you abruptly by surprise, and by the looks of it Aemond, as his blackened pupil dilated with a ravenous hunger, his ears pricking and leaning forward in delight.

"I'll have you moaning for more, precious. Now on your fucking knees-"

Even with the hatred that roared deep within your belly, you felt reluctant to retaliate, as you knew Aemond would effortlessly overpower you. As he had in your youth, when you were caught in a brawl with him, often ending with him wrestling you to the ground. And after his detailed spill of such vile threats, you dared not to risk the second chance of life, you had been granted.

Your knees hit the concrete floor with some brutality, although you regained from the ache. As you steadied your propped position, your hands gripping tightly at Aemond's slim waist, he began to undo his grey, washed out trousers.

The sheer sight of his cock, was intense enough to have you questioning whether you could even take him. Although slim in girth, his length was extraordinary. A reddened tip just oozing lusciously with a white, clear film glistening over the crown.

"Suck Daddy real good, bitch. Show me that, that mouth has other good uses than for talking back."

Your attention lurking from below, dropping from Aemond's face to his cock and back up once more to his face: the sudden change in his mood shifting was palpable. The momentary, light-hearted look of ecstasy dismantled as a cold, unsettling gaze resumed across his handsome face, lingering over your kneeled state.

"Make me fucking repeat myself one more time, whore and I'll treat you worse than a whore. I'll have you forget that you are a Targaryen princess."

Aemond's large hands found their way at the base of your skull, teasingly stroking your loose strands away from your face, within a few seconds the sudden shove towards him, left you physically speechless. Your mouth slightly agape, was enough for Aemond's stiffened, pulsating tip to propel its way into your tight mouth. The friction of his hard cock against your silky, warm flesh inside, was enough to set Aemond's breathing into a speedy pace. Lean chest heaving, the mindless groaning on his behalf was somewhat alluring. You had never seen nor heard such sounds or vulnerability in Aemond before.

"F-Fuck, that feels so fucking good- Just as I prayed to the Gods. I'm going to make your mouth so numb, so fucking filthy of me, you'll be tasting me still in the months to come."

No coherent words exchanged from below his waist, only muffled moans and breath hitches, as you sulked with crave. As much as it infuriated you, pained you to admit, the feeling of Aemond's rigid, throbbing cock in your mouth, was elevating. You had to admit, in your youth, previous to the blood that had been shed, you had a childhood feverish crush on your elder Uncle, although thought it unlikely that anything would flourish from it.

"Seven Hells. Such a pretty whore, with a pretty mouth. J-Just the p-prettiest whore in the Seven Kingdoms."

With each plunge, rhythmically bobbing backwards and forwards, the raw taste of Aemond's cum, tastefully filling your mouth to capacity, as a mixture of his reside and your own saliva oozed from your crevices. The dreading thought of being caught in such a contentiously vulnerable position, especially before being wedded, was disturbing enough, for you were not yet widely favoured by the Council...

"Ughh- Swallow and get up, whore."

Self-disgust stirred nauseatingly in the pit of your gut, as you reluctantly devoured small mouthfuls of Aemond's load, almost convincing yourself you would retch it all up in a matter of seconds. Much to your relief, you remained poised, meekly wiping away the mess across your lips, shying away from Aemond's unmoving regard. As you regained your normal pace of breathing, Aemond lent a hand over, grasping your undivided attention. With such ease, Aemond aided you, lifting you up to stand, before confining you closely between the wall and his heated body once more, closing whatever space was made between.

"Now let's see what that cunt has to offer."

His skilful hands hiking your layered gown up, making way for his arms to snake around your bare thighs, lifting you idly off the ground.

"Can't wait till the wedding to tarnish you, I've waited long enough."

A sudden bolt of lightening pain shot from within your inner thighs, as your tight walls stretched out ceaselessly to accommodate, as Aemond shoved his rigid cock inside. Your back flattened against the sandstone wall, its texture rough against the delicate silk of your gown. Burying his length deeper and deeper with each harsh thrust, his heavy balls collided with your silky folds as he vigorously pumped himself back and forth. His pace, although rough, remained steady. His raw, sensitive tip pummelling at your cervix, felt scorching inside your lower belly.

"And if I fuck you so good, that you begin to swell with my child... What would your dead family think of their precious daughter then, huh? These tits belong to me now, and the mother's milk that comes with it. Your entire being belongs to me now. That babe in your belly will be all because of me, and you'll fucking love every bit of it."

"I-I owe you my l-life, D-Daddy-"

The words mindlessly slipped from you lips, and yet it felt instinctual to say. As Aemond's mouth lapped at the sensitive crook of your neck, you felt the smirk of his grin against your skin, his sharp teeth faintly biting at your soft flesh.

"That's right, baby. That's so right my needy, little slut. You have a Daddy now that can really take care of you, protect you... Love you."

The epitome of his words, the calm depth in his voice, had reached its glorifying peak, as Aemond's hot load shot up directly into you, reverently coating your insides. Like some royal orchestra in unison to his final thrust, did a growling moan escape his lips, followed by an whisper of a swear. Leaning his exhausted, heavier mass over you, as he safely guided your legs back down to the surface, his breath densely hot against your ear, his outstretched palms cladded against the wall for support.

"Clean yourself up, Y/N... Wouldn't want anyone else to see you as the whore that you are, and get any ideas-"

His heavy breathing made his voice less formidable and more husky. Eyeing over your form, as you once more scoured and polished up the mess he made between your thighs, with the inner layer of your gown. You simply nodded in response to his demand, before hastily attempting to rush back to the confines of your quarters.

Yet, a firm pull tugged at your elbow, causing you to halt in your tracks, unavoidably.

"I will seek you out again tonight... Be ready for me."

general taglist - @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @aegonslawyer

Aemond taglist - @megatardisbaby @harrypotteranna23-blog

credit for divider - @/itbmojojoejo

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