#alliances inch closer

[chronokepts]

Law: I cannot fucking take it anymore man. This alliance is killing me. That whole crew is killing me. Every minute I was onboard that absurd ship of theirs trying to keep up with their antics I was inching closer to throwing myself overboard. Because you know Maybe by slowly sinking in the ocean I would've been granted at least half an hour of silence. They tied– Listen. They tied a baby deer to my head. On my hat. Their captain carried me like a surfboard for half a day. I'm at the point where I can hear their arguments even when they're not around. God fucking– Whatever. One day I will be free of this torment. Thanks for lending an ear I appreciate it

Bepo:

[idkyetxoxo]

Aemond Targaryen - The Art of Persuasion

Summary - A determined woman uses her strategic charm to win the favour of the powerful Prince Regent. She navigates a delicate dance of influence and intimacy, aiming to transform their fraught relationship into a potent alliance while exploring the limits of their mutual desire.

Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2119

Masterlist for Aemond • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Aemond Targaryen, now ruling as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm due to his brothers grievous battle injuries, commands respect across the kingdom. Yet, he remains unmarried, a notable void in his life. 

As fate would have it, he needs a bride, and I am conveniently available.

I sat drumming my fingers against my teacup, the warm liquid causing the china to burn my fingertips. Lost in thought, I pondered the many ways I could persuade Aemond to marry me.

As the daughter of Jasper Wylde, spending time in the castle was not unusual for me; I practically grew up around Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena. My familiarity with the royal siblings was a double-edged sword.

Unlike Aegon and Helaena, Aemond never particularly liked me. His demeanour was often egotistical and unbearable, a trait that only intensified after he claimed Vhagar. Our interactions became increasingly strained as we grew older, creating a chasm between us.

Despite this, I couldn't ignore the opportunity before me. Marrying Aemond would secure my position and grant me unique influence within the realm. The prospect was too significant to overlook, and I needed to find a way to bridge the gap that had grown between us.

Aemond's cold demeanour and prideful nature presented a challenge, but I was determined. I would need to appeal to his sense of duty and ambition, perhaps even find common ground in our shared history.

I placed my teacup down, stood up, and smoothed my dress. My eyes flicked to where Aemond sat, a scroll in hand, surrounded by councilmen who seemed to be walking on eggshells around him. His intense focus and commanding presence filled the room a reminder of the power he wielded.

Loosening the bracelet on my wrist, I walked toward him with confidence. Just as I reached him, I bumped his chair, stumbling slightly to let the delicate jewellery fall. 

The councilmen glanced at me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and annoyance, but I paid them no mind.

I bent down, maintaining eye contact with Aemond. My cleavage was in clear view as I picked up the bracelet. 

"Apologies, your grace," I whispered, clasping the metal in my hand.

He looked into my eyes, then at my chest, his gaze lingering too long before he nodded, a grunt of dismissal escaping his lips. I straightened up and walked away without looking back.

This encounter, though brief, was a step forward. I had caught his attention, and now I needed to maintain it. Each moment with Aemond would be an opportunity to shift his perception of me, to transform from a mere childhood acquaintance into a potential partner worthy of standing by his side.

As I navigated the castle, I contemplated the next steps. I would need to weave a delicate balance of allure and respect, challenge and support. 

Aemond's pride and sense of duty could be the keys to unlocking his heart, and I was ready to use every tool at my disposal to secure a future where we ruled together.

Days passed, and I inserted my presence into Aemond's life like a bee to nectar. Everywhere he went, I was there, sometimes in the background, sometimes in the foreground, reestablishing my place in his world.

I knew his routines, his preferences, and his triggers. I made sure to be there, subtly influencing his thoughts and actions, drawing him closer to me.

At the moment, I sat in my chambers, a hot steaming bath drawn by the handmaidens. Suds of soap covered a few inches of my body, and the flowery scent of lavender filled the room. I sat with my eyes closed, head tilted back, legs outstretched, and arms resting on the lip of the bath.

My chamber doors swung open, and I masked the smile forming on my face. I cracked open my eyes, staring at Aemond across from me. His face was contorted with confusion.

"A servant told me you wished to speak with me," he said hesitantly.

I sighed, feigning frustration. "I had wanted to speak later, not this instance," I said, making it seem like the servant had erred in conveying their message.

He hesitated, raising an eyebrow. "I have much more important matters to attend to than answering to your every beck and call," he said, taking a step forward. 

His pride was evident, but I could see a crack forming in his facade.

I sat up slightly in the water, my movements teasing and slow, placing both my arms on one side of the tub, water droplets dripping onto the stone floor. 

"You're right. I apologize, your grace," I said, standing up slowly. 

His one good eye widened slightly, his intense gaze roaming over my body, a look of lust and hunger masking his face. He was giving in, slowly but surely.

I exited the bathtub deliberately, the water droplets pooling on the floor around me. I walked towards my thin robe, donning it and tying the belt tightly against my body. 

The wet fabric clung to me like a second skin. I shook out my hair a little, taking a step towards him.

"I suppose now that I'm dressed, we can talk," I said. He blinked slowly, his stoic composure fading ever so slightly.

"What is it you wish to speak about?" he whispered as I took another step towards him, our bodies now only a couple of feet apart.

Aemond's pride was slowly crumbling, and I knew I had to strike the right balance to win his favour. My heart raced with the thrill of the challenge, and I was more determined than ever to make him see me as his equal, his partner, and his future queen.

"I've been observing the court," I began, my voice steady and confident. 

"I noticed there's a growing discontent among some of the lords about the way certain territories are being managed, especially in the Riverlands. Their dissatisfaction could lead to unrest if not addressed properly."

Aemond's eye narrowed, his interest piqued. "And what do you suggest?"

"The lords need to feel heard and valued. We should send envoys to engage with them directly, listen to their grievances and offer tangible solutions. It's not just about imposing royal decrees, it's about showing that we care for the well-being of all our subjects."

He nodded slowly, clearly impressed by my insight. "That's a sound strategy."

I took a step closer, the scent of lavender still clinging to me. "Someone on your council needs to have their ear to the ground, someone who understands the subtle intricacies of court politics and the needs of the realm. Someone like me."

Aemond's gaze intensified, his admiration for my knowledge and strategic mind apparent. "You believe you can fulfil that role?"

"I know I can. I've grown up in this castle, observing and learning. I understand the dynamics at play and the motivations of the lords and ladies. I can be your ally, your advisor, and much more. Having someone like me by your side would not only strengthen your rule but also ensure a more stable and prosperous realm."

He studied me for a long moment, his pride and pragmatism warring within him. 

Finally, he spoke, his voice softer, almost reluctant. "You make a compelling case. Perhaps I have underestimated you."

I smiled, the triumph tempered with genuine warmth. "I am here to serve, your grace."

With those words, I took a final step towards him, our chests practically touching now. I looked up at him, grabbing his hand and guiding it to the belt of my robe. Slowly, I made him untie it, shaking the material off. 

He glanced down, following the droplets of water still running down my body. I maintained eye contact, watching for any signs of resignation before undoing his belt and slowly removing his clothes.

His breathing grew heavier, his body betraying the stoic facade he tried to maintain. I grasped his arm once more, walking backwards until the back of my legs hit my bed. 

"Perhaps, your grace could use a moment of pleasure, a brief respite" I whispered, guiding him onto the bed and straddling him, my hips rocking back and forth against his crotch.

"Perhaps," he said, sounding almost bored, but his body said otherwise. 

His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer, his lips finally breaking into a smirk that spoke of both desire and amusement.

I leaned in, my lips brushing against his ear. "You carry a heavy burden. Let me share it with you. Let me be the one who stands by your side, in both the council chamber and in moments like this."

He let out a low chuckle, his grip tightening. "You are quite persuasive," he murmured, his voice thick with restrained passion.

"I aim to please," I replied, my voice equally hushed. "And I can offer so much more than just pleasure. I can offer loyalty, intelligence, and an unwavering commitment."

Aemond's eyes flickered with something more profound than mere lust. It was a mixture of intrigue, respect, and a reluctant recognition of my potential. 

"Show me, then," he said, his voice a challenge.

I accepted that challenge with a smile, leaning in to kiss him, a kiss that was both a promise and a declaration. Our lips met, and the connection between us deepened, the boundaries of power and passion blurring.

My lips trailed down his neck, each kiss deliberate, my wet hair tickling his skin as I made my way down his body. His breathing grew heavier with each touch, his composure slipping. 

When I reached his hardened cock, I swiped my tongue across the tip before licking down his length slowly, savouring the taste of him.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair, halting my movements. "Don't tease," he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

I smiled up at him, nodding. "As you wish, your grace."

I positioned myself on top of him, taking him in one smooth, deliberate motion. Aemond's groan of satisfaction was immediate, his hands gripping my waist tightly as I began to move. 

The sensation was intoxicating, I rode him with a precise rhythm, every movement deliberate and controlled.

My hips moved in a steady, practised motion, angling myself just right to maximize the pleasure. I could feel his body reacting to each shift, each twist, and I adjusted my movements to keep him on edge. 

The intensity of his groans and the way his hands gripped my hips told me I was hitting every mark perfectly.

"You're doing well," he murmured, his voice laced with approval. 

His hands roamed my body, caressing my curves, and exploring every inch of me. I leaned forward, my breasts brushing against his chest, my breath mingling with his.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice trembling with both effort and delight. "I'm going to be everything you need, everything you want."

Aemond's gaze was fixed on me, his eyes dark with lust and admiration. "You might just be," he admitted, his tone softening.

I quickened my pace, our bodies moving together in a perfect dance of desire. My movements were fluid and confident, each thrust and grind calculated to drive him wild. I felt every pulse, every tremor of pleasure as I adjusted my angle, finding new ways to make our connection even more intense.

The room was filled with the sounds of our passion, his groans, my soft sighs, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. We were both nearing the edge, and I felt the mounting tension in every fibre of my being. With each shift in rhythm, I pushed us closer to that precipice of climax.

As our movements became more urgent, Aemond's grip on my hips tightened. "You feel amazing," he gasped, his voice breaking with the strain of his mounting pleasure

I adjusted my angle slightly, aiming to increase the intensity. "Let go," I urged softly, my voice a seductive murmur against his ear. "Feel everything."

Aemond's eyes fluttered shut, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

I continued to ride him with a relentless rhythm, pushing both of us to the brink. With a final, perfect thrust, Aemond's body tensed beneath me, his release spilling over in a series of deep, shuddering groans. 

"Yes, yes," he moaned, the intensity of his climax overwhelming.

His pleasure triggered my own, a wave of euphoria crashing over me as I reached my peak. I gasped, my body trembling with the force of my orgasm. I cried out, the sound mingling with my breathless cries.

We both rode the wave of our climaxes together, our bodies entwined in a final, ecstatic embrace. As the intensity faded, I collapsed onto him, my breathing heavy and satisfied.

Aemond's arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. His voice was hushed but filled with a mixture of admiration and wonder. 

"You've truly proven yourself," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "In every way."

A/n -  turns out being persuasive can be quite the workout, who knew diplomacy had so many... physical benefits

[little-star-library]

If you have the time, I’d like you to imagine if you will:

You and Astarion are in the middle of a small clearing just outside of camp and he has you pinned against a tree, staring you down with an intensity of his eyes, but there’s a flash of worry that crosses over his face before he replaces it with his usual mask of facade.

Only moments ago, he witnessed you speaking with Karlach in what sure as hells looked like something that was far more than friendly conversation. The two of you were speaking in hushed tones, giggling at each other’s anecdotes and inside jokes. He’s only just beginning to know you and has successfully bedded you already to ensure his protection and alliance, so why does he all of a sudden care about who you talk to? He was never one to get jealous over someone, surely, but there was a vague flash of possessiveness that overtook his mind and it was overwhelming to say the least.

“So, my dear,” he drops his voice into a low rumble. “Care to explain what you and Karlach were up to earlier?”

“I’m sorry, but what?” This took you by surprise and you honestly don’t know what brought this on.

“Oh come now, don’t be coy.” Astarion scoffed, taking a step closer to further intimidate you and trap you under his hardened gaze. “I saw everything that was going on between you two, your little whispers of shared delight. You were practically oozing into a puddle by her side.”

Oh. Now you understood what this was about. You didn’t think that he was one to actually care with his ‘devil may care’ attitude and you weren’t going to apologize for some friendly banter with one of your fellow companions. You felt like you were never in the wrong in the first place and it wasn’t his business to know who you were conversing with. But this was an advantage for you to see if he actually wanted something more than just a one night fling and a plan started to brew in your mind.

“Wait, don’t tell me you’re actually jealous.” You matched his gaze and your lip twitch into a little smile in defiance. He grimaced at your response and his fangs gleamed in the low light of the setting sun with a disgusted curl of his lip. That was all the confirmation you needed and you couldn’t help but feel bad now that you caught him, but you wanted to see how far you could push him in retaliation for his blasé remarks he made of the last night you spent together.

“You know,” you teased. “You’re pretty cute when you’re angry.” That was the last straw by the look on his face, clearly unamused by how nonchalant you were about the situation.

“Oh really?” He leered, grasping your chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your jaw until there was nothing but a few inches of space from his lips making contact with your own. “Well I’m about to be fucking gorgeous.”

“You already are.” Your breath hitched at the sharp inhale he took in, expecting him to yell at you for being so infuriating, but you were pleasantly surprised when Astarion pressed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss that left you shuddering from head to toe. You melted instantly in his embrace and instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck to further deepen the embrace, but it was shortly lived as he curled his fingers through the hair at the back of your neck and yanked your head back to glare at you with a look that held such a ferocity it made you weak at the knees.

“You’re truly insufferable.” He was seething at this point and a pang of guilt dropped low in the pit of your stomach for not taking him seriously. It was clear now that this was something that was gnawing away at him. “Pretending to be so oblivious to the rather obvious onslaught of flirtations from the others, it’s a rather pathetic act to uphold if you ask me.”

“I’m sorry, Astarion.” You huffed out a laugh, trying to maintain a cool demeanor to not upset him more. “But you know that I only have my eyes set on you, right? I would never stoop so low to lead you astray like that and I quite enjoy spending my time with you. If you say that I’m ‘oblivious to their flirtations’, then I can only say that part is true because I’m not actively looking for it. That’s because I’m not interested in them. I’m interested in you, if you’ll still have me.”

Your confession had him pause unexpectedly and his stiff demeanor began to roll off of him in an instant as you saw the light in his eyes soften and his shoulders slumped lower. Of course he was quick to assume that you were anything but loyal to him, however that lingering sense of jealousy in the back of his mind began to fade as he flitted his narrowed eyes across your facial features in search of any hints of deceit and found none. Your face only reflected your reassurance of your feelings as you smiled softly up at him and he suddenly forgot why he was upset at all. You were too kind and sweet for your own good and Astarion felt as if he could never really deserve someone as devoted as you were, but here you are.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He chuckled lightly at the absurdity of the present situation, clearing his throat to chase away the anxious tension. “You don’t have anything to apologize for and I should be the one begging for your forgiveness. And I really am sorry, darling. I suppose I did get a tad carried away and assumed something was…off, to put it plainly.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you grinned cheekily. “You had your reasons and I understand where you’re coming from, honestly. And if there’s something on your mind that’s bothering you, I also hope you know that you can always come to me if you need to talk. We don’t have to rush into anything you’re not comfortable with yet and there’s no hurry to make anything official between us if that’s what you want, but I’m here for you nonetheless.”

You once again stunned him into silence and you could swear that you saw the faintest blush bloom across his cheeks when you raised up to the tips of your toes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. He really was cute in his own way. Through your eyes, you saw a man slowly learning to become his own person and you knew all too well how painful it could be when you feel like you were always being taken for granted. But you also witnessed a good number of his quirks that began to shine through as you grew closer to one another over time and you hope that one day he can see that he deserves to be loved and cherished just like anyone else does.

“Thank you.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, his touch gentle as he took your hand in his own to kiss at the back of your knuckles. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

You could tell that there was more on his mind, but didn’t know how to put his thoughts into words presently and that was okay. As long as he knew that he had your support, then that was enough for you.

[chaeyoei]

Could I request jing yuan x fem_zhongli!reader? I think it would be fun to incorporate how much older she is and maybe spar with jing yuan and yanqing teaching them new moves? You could also add a bit of angst if you want with the fact that zhongli has admitted that with time, his memories do start to erode.

This is actually fuelling my brainrot. I'll incorporate the dragon part too. And other requests are coming out soon.

I kept her as a friend because the age gap bothered me alot. Warning: bad writing.

The situation was dire, the Denizens were wreaking havoc upon the ship. The Cloud Knights who remained strong, felt fear for the first time. What kind of tragedy would this bring?

All they could do was hold faith in their General and keep fighting with hopes high. Jing Yuan could the hope entrusted upon him by his subordinates but all seemed to be in vain. He was gravelly injured and his life was draining out of his body.

But with unknown fortune, appeared a figure that launched ginormous spears accompanied by meteors all raining on the enemy finishing it quickly.

Relief and suspicion overshadowed all his former emotions. Who was this figure? Most importantly, the motive behind their help. However he saw this same silhouette fall. He rushed forward to catch this unknown saviour, as he inched closer, he saw it was a woman who seemed to be half conscious. He held out his hands in time to catch this mysterious lady.

————

"She's fine." The Dragon Lady assured, her doe eyes darting from the unconscious woman on the bed to the General infront. "But, she's also a dragon and similar but different from us. I believe she's a sicon of Qilopoth(Preservation) as we are Long's(Premembrance) Sicons."

"A sicon of Preservation?" He titled his head. From what he witnessed in the battlefield, it looked more like you followed the path of the Hunt or Destruction rather than Preservation. But protecting also serves a form of Preservation.

A grumble came from the lady's mouth drawing both of their attention. "Looks like she's waking up, I'll leave you both to talk, General." Bailu took her leave.

"Where?" The lady mummered getting up. "You're in the Alchemy commision." Jing Yuan answered.

"I'm here to question you." He added.

"First question, what is your name?"

"Zhongli."

"Where do you hail from?"

"From Liyue."

That response made him speechless. Liyue as in the place where the Xianzhou Empire's origin were.

"Explain."

"Huh? I hail from Liyue.. that's it."

"How old are you?"

The lady fell silent. "600.."

"Don't lie. Liyue is a place where the Xianzhou Empire arrived and that was 5000 years ago. The planet of Teyvat was abandoned." He narrowed his and his tone only got stern.

"..6000."

"hmm.." He wasn't questioning the age but it felt like you were hiding something.

But all would come to light because you'd still have to attend the trail between the alliance and take responsibility. Your deeds may be good but they still need to know your intentions. A person who can showcase such power can also stab them in the back.

"That concludes as what the suspect had told." Jing Yuan finished his report.

"Very well. Lady Zhongli.. You admit that your home place is the Loufu. If you're as old as you admit, would mind telling the ruler of that period?" Marshal Hua started her questioning.

"Jade lady, Ningguang." You answered calmly.

"I believe you know what happened in that timeline as well?"

"Yes, the lord of Geo, Morax died in that period." You hoped she wouldn't catch you.

"Are you perhaps a descendant or successor of Morax?

"..Yes." You knew well that your lie would be caught soon enough.

"Let me revise history, the lord Morax, had no descendants or successors. It was later found that his death was just a masquerade as he stepped down from his position. What statment can you give to prove that you're him?" The Marshal's statement may sound rash but she wasn't wrong in the slightest. History states that Morax can change forms.

"..I have nothing to say in regard to that."

"Tell me your age again."

"11,000.."

And with some other questions, you were revealed to be the Ancient lord of money, Morax. But Mora really didn't have a value in this economy of credits.

"That concludes are trial. You are free to go."

————

"Phew." You could handle intense questioning very well but your age caught up to loads of time.

However, instead of a foreign traveler's recognition, you were given citizenship. You know the Alliance was making use of you but you always had the option to leave. Coming to basic needs, you'd be living in the Cloud Knights Quaters.

————

"hmmh.." The kid grumbled not being able to get his stance right.

"Your footing is wrong, you need to have a firm balance on the ground to get your strike correct." You fixed the young man's position.

"Do you also work the Cloud Knights?" The kid was interested in knowing your identity.

"So not only are you excelled in ancient literature but also weapon handling, though that doesn't come as a surprise, you did invent the methods of swordsmanship and pole arm handling that are used till this day." Jing Yuan appeared randomly.

"General!, You mean this lady?" The kid turned to you. "Greetings lord.. Lady of Geo." The kid bowed formally.

"You don't have to bow kid, I've long stepped down from that position."

"And humble as well."

This small interaction really sparked Yanqing's curiosity. He could ask as much questions as why even the trivial things mattered. As for Jing Yuan, his moves only got more perfect with your guidance. If Jingliu would've been here, she would've taken a liking to you even Dan Feng..

He sighed, these thoughts would never be possible. He looked at you who was looking at his weapon, commenting on it's quality and full of details quality.

"General! a mara wave is coming through." A knight informed.

"Advise the civilians to stay in their homes and form a stance around the creatures, don't let them escape." Jing Yuan ordered quickly.

A blade came through the formation, it's aim to lodge into the General's chest but it disseminated into the area when it met with impenetrable shield.

"General are you okay?" You asked.

Now he understood why you were form the path of preservation. "Yes."

You were old.. Ancient would be a better them. But your stories where better that those pesky writers in the Alying Sanctum.

You could be considered a role model and a person to go to. You had advice, were calm and just had that social butterfly effect.

But being old has it's downsides often. As your age increases, erosion casts it's effect. You forget trivial things and even names unless they were in your daily interactions.

"..." You groaned walking through the corridors.

"Do you need help, lady of Geo?" A passing Cloud Knight asked.

"..Do you remember where my room is?"

".. It's on the east wing close to the General's chamber. You're in the west wing."

"..oh. where is the east wing again?"

"Let me guide you."

Although the situation of you forgetting your wallet was funny, as it was also saddening that you would succumbed to life where you would forget everyone and everything.

In the Xianzhou terms, Mara wouldn't have an effect on you but at the cost that you would be forgetting bits of yourself and there's nothing you can do about it.

I tried my best to crossover elements from both games and something has happened to my english. Thos fancy words don't come out anymore. And it's so short...

[insxghtt]

the moon — aemond targaryen x reader

After pushing you away, Aemond tries to apologize. He hoped the full moon could help him.

warnings: +18 only, some spicy shit but no actual smut, angst but also fluff, mentions of violence but no actual violence, aemond being sweet as fuck.

this was based on this request. english is not my first language so i’m sorry if you find any mistakes. hope you enjoy!

You were aware that marriage was about politics, and not about love. You’ve always known that. But somewhere inside of you still wished to believe that someone like Aemond would make it different.

Before the marriage, you had only seen him three times. Three times you would talk about everything and anything. Three times you came home wondering if he had liked you the same way as you had liked him.

At eighteen, people had been talking about how you should’ve been already married, but you were used to being the black sheep of the family. You were the middle sister. Your older sister had been married for a while, giving your parents a great alliance. Your younger brother was already betrothed to a beautiful lady from the north.

But you? You were the one your parents always forgot to mention. And when you met Aemond, you felt like he understood this better than anyone. You two were friends. Not really close friends, but friends. You’ve heard people talk about how cruel he could be, but it was hard to believe when he was so kind to you.

That is why you were happy when your parents seemed to remember that you existed and suggested to the King that you were betrothed to Aemond. He was polite, he was beautiful and he was respectful.

But the marriage was weird. He didn’t look at you all day. Maybe he was shy, you thought. The night came and he took you to his chambers. You were sweating cold, nervous about what should happen next. People said it hurts. Would it bleed? Was he going to be delicate? Would he like it? Would he like you?

He sat on the edge of the bed looking down while you stood in front of him. You didn’t know what to say. It was the first time you were alone with him in a few days and it was also the first time that the silence between you two was uncomfortable.

“Will you kiss me?”, you asked after a few minutes.

He looked at you, surprised by the question. “We do not have to do this tonight if you’re uncomfortable...”

“Do you wish to bed me?”, you interrupted.

His pupil was dilated and it made it look like his eyes were darker than usual. Someone once told you that when a person looks at something they desire, their pupils dilate. Maybe that meant something, you thought.

He stood up, stepped closer to you and touched your cheek. You wished to close your eyes to enjoy it, but you didn’t. You continued to look at him. His lips, his eye, his scar, every inch of his face seemed to be carved by the gods themselves.

He ran his other hand through your hair until it stopped on your shoulder exposed by the beautiful gown you were wearing and sighed. “I believe only a foolish man could ever say no to your question.”

It was a compliment, wasn’t it? It seemed so. Then why wasn’t he kissing you?

Aemond walked around you and stopped behind you, his delicate touch never leaving your shoulder. You didn’t dare to move, enjoying every moment of it.

It felt like you were in heaven when his lips touched your neck on a delicate kiss. He slowly began to release the braids on your hair one by one. And when you realized, he was untying the laces of your dress. You closed your eyes and hoped that he continued to be that calm all night. You’ve heard stories about men who did not care to be soft.

But Aemond was not like that. He could hurt many people on battles, but not his lady. He swore to protect you and he would.

When your hair was finally free from the braids, and your dress slipped down your body, you turned to him. He stared at your body, your lips and then your eyes. Part of you wanted to get dressed again and run away, but the other one wanted him to look at you.

You had to kiss him. You needed him.

So, you took your hands to his neck and brought your lips together. He was fast to return your touch and held your waist tightly. Not even on your wildest dreams you imagined that it would feel so magical. His tongue was warm like the blood of the dragon and his lips were soft like they were made for kissing yours. His fingers were pressed against your waist so hard that for the first time, you wished them to touch you somewhere else.

Without separating your lips, you took a few steps back, guiding him to the bed behind you, and before you fell on the bed, he grabbed your legs. You wrapped them around his body and let him pick you up. He sat on the bed with you on his lap.

It was perfect. His hands running over your body, his lips leaving kisses on your chin and neck. It was too good and you wanted more. And that was your mistake. To think that he would let you see him fully just like you let him see you.

You reached for his eyepatch, but before you could even touch it, he held your wrist. His touch was not kind this time. It was firm and brute. You opened your eyes and looked at him surprised. He was looking at you, but not like before. His pupil was no longer dilated, the blue and cold eye stared at you like you were a stranger.

“Did I do something wrong?”, you asked.

But Aemond did not answer. He pushed you away and you sat next to him with a confused look. He stood up and looked at you. You wondered if he was mad at you. It looked like he was, but you did not understand why.

Maybe he just didn’t like you. Your eyes filled with tears just thinking of it.

And Aemond felt like a monster. You were right there, naked on a bed, looking at him with tears on your eyes. He tried to say something, but the words were suddenly gone.

So, he just turned away and left. You hugged your legs and watched as he closed the door behind him, feeling used and discarded. That night, that was meant to be shared with your husband, became just another sad story in your life.

The next day, it took you a lot of courage to get out of bed. He did not come back. Maybe he had been to a brothel, you thought, to find a woman of his taste. It was humiliating. Your parents would be ashamed of you if they knew that you couldn’t please your husband not even for one night.

And what hurt you the most was that you liked him. You liked his touch and his kisses. You wanted him.

The maids did not question when you asked for your meals to be delivered on your chamber, but you saw the confused look on their faces. It didn’t matter, you just wanted to be alone. What if Aemond told someone? What if he talked about you?

The day passed so slowly it felt like torture to you. You cried, a lot. And every tear made you feel more like a fool for actually thinking that Aemond would be so different from any other man. Slowly, your sadness turned to anger.

How could he? You would’ve never done this to him. It was not your fault if you were not the girl of his dreams.

But that was what men did. Men were stupid and mean. Aemond was stupid and mean too. At least, that’s what you were trying to convince yourself of.

When the night came, you felt more comfortable to finally leave your chamber. You needed to stretch your legs and the four walls of that room were starting to annoy you.

The guard outside your door had left for a while. Maybe to go eat something. Maybe to drink some water.

“Or maybe to go look for a whore, like all men do”, you mumbled low to yourself.

You walked through the halls of the castle until you got to the garden. The Red Keep was not your favorite place, definitely not your home after last night, but it had a beautiful garden. There was no one but you there, so you were not ashamed to sit on the grass to look at the stars. The moon was full, which made the night clearer than the usual.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”, someone behind you said.

You knew damn well who that voice belonged to. And it was definitely the last person you wanted to deal with right now.

You stood up, ready to leave if you had to. “Go away, Aemond.”

You sounded hurt, he noticed. Of course, who wouldn’t be? He felt like an idiot.

“Usually, wives refer to their husbands in a more... loving way”, he said.

“Yes, because everything about our marriage is very loving, isn’t it?”

He looked up at the moon and took a step forward to be closer to you. You did not move away, but crossed your arms and stared at him with anger. “Some people believe that the full moon fulfills wishes, my dear wife.”

“People believe all sorts of nonsense”, you rolled your eyes and he looked at you.

“I think it’s true”, he said and you froze for a minute. “It was a night of a full moon when I claimed Vhagar.”

Aemond had his hands behind his back and his posture made him appear so beautiful it made you angry. How dared he? He left you alone, naked, crying, and now he was there, talking about the moon as if nothing had happened.

“It’s late”, you said, trying to escape that situation. “I should go rest now and so should you, my prince.”

“Wait.”

From his voice, if you didn't know better, you'd think Aemond was desperate.

“I hope the full moon really does fulfill wishes”, he whispered. He took his hand to his eyepatch, removing it from his face. It took him a while to look at you again. It was the first time you saw him like that. “Because I wish you do not fear me as I am.”

The light of the moon on the sapphire that replaced his lost eye made it shine in the most unique way. Suddenly, it all made sense. He was ashamed of himself. And all those hours trying to create some kind of hatred towards him were wasted.

“How could I fear you?”, once again, your eyes were filled with tears. Only this time, they were not from shame or disappointment. “How could I ever...”, your voice failed.

You got close to him and raised your hand to touch his face. This time, you waited for him to nod, allowing you to touch him. He closed his eye when he felt your fingers running over his cheek, hoping that you wouldn’t be disgusted like his own family was. Everyone, except for his mother, avoided looking at him when he was not covering his scar.

“Does it hurt?”, you asked and he took the courage to look at you again.

You did not seem scared, or disgusted.

“Sometimes.”

Every time, he wished to say. The pain was constant, and some days were worse than others. But he got used to it, just like he got used to the looks they gave him and to the rumors of how cruel he was.

Aemond was never cruel. Sometimes he was cold, yes, because people haven’t been kind to him. But he had seen cruelty before and that was not him.

“It is beautiful”, you whispered.

“It is not.”

“Shut up, husband”, you held his face. He smiled a bit. “If you ever leave me like that again I will burn all of your clothes and throw them out the window.”

He chuckled and wrapped you in his arms. You buried your face in his neck and snuggled into his embrace.

“I thought you didn’t like me”, your voice was muffled and he felt a tickle on his neck from your breathing. “Thought you went to a brothel to find a prettier woman for you.”

“I did not go to a brothel, but I was with a lady”, he said and you tried to get out of his embrace, but he held you tighter.

“You bastard!”, you complained, your voice still muffled because of the hug.

“Do not worry, the lady in question was Vhagar”, he chuckled and you snorted, relaxing again on his arms. “And I'm afraid it would be impossible for me to ever find a woman who is prettier than you.”

You raised your head to look at him again. He touched you lips with his thumb, remembering how good they felt last night.

“You are the only woman I ever wanted”, he whispered.

[asa-do-your-thing]

Mine is the Vengeance

18+ MINORS DNI (Dark)Aemond Targaryen x F!Reader (/OC, hair colour is mentioned), mentioned Aegon x F!Reader 3.8k Warnings: DEAD DOVE I REPEAT DEAD DOVE, dubcon, noncon, blowjob, cunnilingus, P in V sex, smut duh, derogatory language, sexism, parent-child incest mentioned, as always no proofreading no nothing

Time had seemed to slow around you. Biting back tears, you flinched every time Queen Alicent took another section of your dark locks to braid them sweetly up onto your head, creating a beautiful updo. Two moons had passed since you’d been married, and it was common knowledge that Prince Aemond Targaryen had only ever touched you on your wedding night, refusing to interact with you more than he had to, only the two of you and Queen Alicent knowing why.

It was not your fault, you thought to yourself and sighed. You were not to be blamed. Though still, you had to be grateful that he stepped up the way he did. A true Prince, you thought with a tiny sneer.

“‘Tis alright, my dear, he can be peculiar about your… previous duties to King Aegon. It is now in your responsibility to give him a son, seeing as… the realm does not have a clear successor. To keep the peace, you’ll gift Prince Aemond a little son, so that Jaehaera can marry someone befitting her position,” Alicent whispered soothingly, yet the frigid coldness of her voice did not soothe you at all.

Ah yes, having to give your husband your body, because your rapist is burnt and broken beyond repair, so no heirs may follow. Wonderful. Wonderfully splendid news indeed. Though, with a resigned nod, you accepted the Queen Mother’s dubious advice and flinched as she pinned your veil into your braids.

“Now you look beautiful enough for him. Go now, child, and do what must me done. And oh, before I forget it - do give him one of the smiles that enraptured King Aegon so. You know, he told me that that was the reason why he… paid you such attention. He always used to ramble on about your smile. Now go, child, go, and show Aemond how pretty you can be.”

With a lingering trace of hesitation, you rose from the stool, your royal dress rustling softly against the stone floor. The reflection on the grand mirror struck you; you were a vision of pure elegance and regality, every inch the consort of a prince. As you walked towards the door, Alicent's words rang in your ears, "...show Aemond how pretty you can be."

The long hallway leading to your marital chambers seemed like an endless path. It was as though each step echoeed back into the silence, reminding you of your duty and what had to happen for you to walk this shameful path. Aegon, drunk. Aegon, sobbing. Aegon calling you ‘Mother’ while he held you down onto the mattress.

Aegon, who had screamed at you. Aegon, who after having received an earful by the Hand, Lord Otto Hightower, rashly betrothed you to Prince Aemond. Aegon, who caused all of your and Aemond’s misery. Though… it was your misery, first and foremost. Aemond never had to cry because Aegon had ripped him up because he was too drunk and eager. You clutched the delicate fabric of your gown, feeling knots in your stomach. Swallowing hard, you lifted your hand to knock on the door.

Prince Aemond sat his desk, engrossed in scrolls bearing news of the current situation across Westeros. Alliances, Troop movements and such things. He looked up as you enter, his violet eyes betraying surprise before he quickly masked it with hateful indifference. His gaze travelled over your form, taking in your carefully arranged hair and the gown that fell around you like a dark green waterfall.

"Are we receiving guests?", he asked with a hint of sarcasm in his cold voice. Your heart fluttered uneasily but summoning all the courage you had left, you flashed him a radiant smile - one that was reportedly fondly spoken about by King Aegon himself. Maybe… maybe he’d play along, just this once…

"No," you replied softly, moving closer to where he sat. "I just thought... perhaps..."

You trailed off, aware that your cheeks were red with embarrassment. He regarded you for a moment longer before sighing and setting aside his papers. He stood to his full height and stepped closer to you, glowering down from his not insignificant height.

“Did the Queen Mother send you?”

Clenching and unclenching your fists, you nodded gently. “Yes, my Prince. I was to, well I still am to… fulfill my duty.”

The Prince looked down at you with a blank face, before disgust took over his fine, Targaryen features. Stepping ever closer to you, he held you by your wrists and looked you over, like cattle in the markets.

“Hm. Wouldn’t it be the greatest way to show my dear brother, the King, that I despise what he had done by just not touching you? Hm? So that I’ll be the next in line? Hm. I doubt that the Queen Mother really wished for me to bed you. Maybe you are just such a harlot that you’ve decided that you neded to get your fill again, now that my darling brother is burnt and crippled?”

His words stung, every syllable colored with venom. Your eyes welled up, threatening to spill over with unshed tears. Your heart clenched as he let go of your wrist. You turned away from him, unable to bear the scorn etched on his face.

“No,” you whispered lost in the silence of the room. “I am not a harlot,” you affirmed more firmly, turning back to him, your chin held high even as your eyes betrayed an ocean of hurt. “You know I am not. You know exactly what the King has done. Does that truly make me a whore? And I came here because it is my duty. Whether you choose to fulfill yours or not is up to you.”

Aemond crossed his arms over his chest, appearing unmoved by your heartfelt plea. But you saw something flicker in his eyes, a spark of understanding perhaps? It was quickly extinguished by a cold hardness that made you shiver despite the warmth of the room.

“Your duty?” he echoed, his tone laced with mockery and bitterness. “What a pleasant duty it must be for you ��� first my brother and now me?”

He began pacing around the room, looking more like a caged beast than a prince. You watched him quietly, feeling small and insignificant beneath his irate gaze.

After a long silence that felt like ages, Aemond stopped before the hearth, its flames casting ominous shadows on his face making him appear more dragon than man. He finally said in an eerily calm voice, “I will take you, then. Take you in every way known to man. You’ve been a whore once, so why not be a whore now? Give me my damned son and then you can go and fuck my corpse-like brother again for all I care.”

The words hit you like an ice-cold gust of wind in winter's heart. The world seemed to crumble around you as you grappled with the gravity of his words.

“My Prince, Prince Aemond,” you implored softly. But a single glare from him stopped your protest. “As you wish, my Prince.”

Silence between the two of you spread as the two of you stared at each other, not quite knowing what to do now.

“Take off your clothes, but be slow. With every piece of clothing that you lose you shall tell me what my brother had done to you. Tell me all about yourself and your wonderfully wretched body, my dearest Lady Wife,” he murmured and sank into a chair with a small smirk, pouring himself a cup of wine.

You felt like a deer caught in the glare of a predator, frozen and terrified. But this was your duty, as painful and degrading as it was. Each slow inhale and exhale felt like a shard of ice piercing your lungs as you reluctantly began to unlace your dress from the back. As the fabric loosened, you began to speak, each word echoing sharply in the silent room.

"His hands...he was rough with them," you started, trying to keep your voice steady. "He tore at my clothes with an eagerness that scared me."

The room was silent except for your voice and the soft rustling of fabric. The first layer of your dress fell to the ground, pooling around your feet. You could feel Aemond's gaze on you, cold and unyielding.

"He pinned me down in the council chambers...," you continued, paling slightly at the memory. "His breath stank of wine... he didn't even look at me... not really. I was two and ten, I’ve not even flowered then."

As you spoke, another layer fell away. You stood before him shivering slightly, feeling naked despite being partially clothed, your veil tickling you softly.

Your eyes met Aemond's gaze and for a moment, there was silence - a tense void filled with resentment, hatred – but also a seed of understanding that seemed to have sprouted from his icy demeanor.

“He didn't care about me... I was just an object to him,” you whispered, stepping out of your last dress, standing there like a doll, which some girl used to dress up, as you stood there in your shift, your hose and your luxurious headdress. “He always wanted me to tell him that I loved him. All while he was fucking me, scraping my face against stones, letting me bleed.”

Aemond’s eyes widened slightly at your statement while his jaw clenched tight. He downed the rest of his cup in one go and sat onto the bed, motioning you to come forth.

“That sounds like you were not a whore at all… but your gasps and moans were heard all through the Red Keep. Why did I always have to listen to your moans, never your sobs? Why did I even have to see you bouncing on his cock, tits out as if you were on the street of silk?” He asked slowly and bent you over his knees, methodically rolling up your shift to bare your arse to him.

All the heat rose to your face in embarrassment and anger as you tried to lie down in a more comfortable position, or, preferrably, to wriggle out of his grip completely. All you got, in return, was a hard slap against your supple arsecheeks. “Aemond! My P-prince! What are you-?”, you yelped, but were cut off by another rough spank.

"That's 'Prince Aemond' to you," he said, his tone firm. "And you will speak to me respectfully or you won't speak at all."

You bit your lip, forcing back the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes as your face burned with shame. But under his gaze, you found the strength to continue.

"My... my moans," you choked out, swallowing dryly. "They were not of pleasure but of pain. The King... He... He enjoyed making me cry out..."

Another slap made you gasp with surprise, your body jerking under the sudden pain, your headdress jangling at the sudden motion. You glared at him, your eyes aflame with anger and hurt. But he remained stoic, his face impassive as he stared back at you.

"You were there in the shadows, watching... listening," you said bitterly. "Did it bring you pleasure too? Hearing my cries? Seeing my discomfort? Pumped your fist while I bled?"

Aemond didn't respond but his grip tightened on your wrist and for a moment his face hardened.

"Am I expected to believe that?" he asked softly. "You expect me to believe that it wasn't consensual? That you weren't enjoying yourself? You looked so serene. Like the statue of the maiden in the sept…"

His words were like a knife in your heart and you jerked away from him only to be pulled back into place by a strong hand on your shoulder.

"Look at me, woman," he commanded, forcing your head up so your eyes met his. There was a strange look in his eyes now – not quite apologetic but no longer filled with rage either. “Tell me that you’ll look at me the same way and that you will not be complaining, chattering or crying. I want you to be as serene as you were back then.”

Bile rose in the back of your throat but you nodded slowly, getting up, but yelped as Aemond ripped your shift off your body, leaving you there in your bejewelled veil and your stockings. Not for long though - he pushed you down onto his bed with a force that knocked the wind out of your lungs.

“Tell me you want me too. Tell me that you’ll be as wanton for me as you were for him,” he whispered into your ear, his long silver hair brushing over your shivering, naked form. “Don’t deny it, I know you liked it, just as you’ll like this… But I’ll be gentle, I’ll treat you like a Lady…”, he mumbled on as he fumbled with his doublet.

Was he… was your sick, twisted husband truly trying to get himself to forget that you were here against your will? That you would never truly give yourself to him or his brother?

You did not immediately reply and received another slap, this time against your mound, making you yelp. “I… uh… yes?”

"Good. That's a good girl," Aemond purred, his eye flashing dangerously in the candlelight as he worked the buttons of his doublet. "Remember, you're here to please me. You're here to make me feel like the king my brother is."

His words stung, but you chose not to respond. Instead, you lay stiffly on the bed, your eyes fixed on an intricate pattern on the ceiling, trying desperately not to think about what was about to happen.

"What happened with my brother... It doesn't matter now," Aemond said softly, interrupting your thoughts. He dropped his doublet onto the floor and moved to unbuckle his pantaloons. His eyes ran down your exposed form greedily. "I will make sure that it is different. I will make sure you enjoy this."

His hands roamed over your body — fingertips barely skimming your skin, followed by gentle caresses and soft strokes that made you shiver despite yourself. He was true to his word: he was gentle — at least so far.

"Stop it," you whispered, your voice breaking as you pulled away from him and covered yourself with your arms. "Please."

Aemond's brows furrowed in confusion — or perhaps frustration — as he looked at you questioningly.

"I said I want... I want you too," you lied through gritted teeth, forcing a smile onto your face. You had to keep him appeased — keep him from hurting you any further. "But I want you... naked too. Show me how I should touch you."

Your plea seemed to surprise him as he quickly rid himself of the last articled of clothing. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, such a wanton little wife I have. Laying there with Jewels and a modest veil covering her hair… wanting to touch me. Alright then, Lady Wife, touch me,” he tutted and pushed you back up onto your knees, his finger pressing against your chin. “And do keep your wonderful smile while you try and take me with your mouth.”

You looked down at Aemond, the glow of the draping curtains casting shadows along his chiseled body. Forcing a shaky breath through your lips, you nodded and gently wrapped your hand around his hard cock. The contact made him hiss and you glanced up through your lashes to see him watching you intently, a peculiar look in his eyes.

"Well? Don't just sit there," he growled, his fingers tangling in your hair, playing with your veil. You swallowed hard against the knot in your throat before you lowered your head down onto him, his swollen, leaking tip staring at you teasingly as you wrapped your lips around him, quickly bobbing up and down along.

But Aemond had different ideas. He guided you at a leisurely pace, drawing out the experience as he muttered deeply under his breath. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear that hadn't fallen yet.

"Slow down," he murmured. "I want to enjoy this." The way he spoke to you was as if he truly believed that this was what you wanted too. It was like he was coaxing you along, encouraging you like one might a timid horse.

You could feel the heat radiating off him as he pulsed subtly under your touch, his fingers relaxing their grip on your hair as if he was trying to fight against the pleasure coursing through him. His other hand fumbled for something on the side table - a small vial of sweet smelling oil - and tilted it into his palm.

"Open," he commanded softly. As much as you didn't want to obey him, fear of punishment had you complying immediately. He slowly poured the warm liquid into your mouth before pulling back slightly to watch it run down your chin and onto your heaving tits. It tasted nice, at least, you thought. At least he hadn’t hurt you too much. At least, you thought with an embarrassed blush creeping up your cheeks, it felt… okay. Not good, not great, but there had been a certain head between your thighs. Maybe it had just been the lewdness of the situation.

"That's a good girl," Aemond purred in your ear, his voice thick with lust as his cock twitched against your cheek. "Now, back to it."

You swallowed him deeper this time, taking him all the way down, your nose brushing against his pubes. He moaned approvingly, his grip on your hair tightening again as he started bucking his hips into your eager mouth in short, shallow thrusts. Your mind drifted away as you thought of anything but what was happening: the feel of sea breeze on your face, the smell of wildflowers blooming on the hills of your home, and the sound of your mother singing one of her lullabies.

Aemond's breathing became ragged and uneven above you. "I'm close," he panted, warning you just before hot, sticky seed shot into your mouth. You didn't stop until he told you to pull away, gasping for air as you wiped your face and chest with the edge of the bedspread. There was a tense silence between you both before he finally spoke up again.

"Get on all fours and spread yourself for me," he said simply. “I wish to taste you.”

As you were unpinning your veil, you felt Aemond’s big, sleek hands on your shoulders as he shook his head. “No, keep that on. I want to fuck my little doll - the doll Mother has dressed, the doll my brother has played with. But now you are mine. My pretty doll. Taking me so innocently…”, he rambled once more as he lowered himself between your trembling thighs.

Were men not supposed to be spent after their release? What was he doing to you?

You braced yourself as best as you could against the intrusion, trying not to whimper as he spread your lips apart. His tongue lapped at your clit, teasingly at first, then firmly, compelling you to arch your back and cry out in both pleasure and pain. His fingers plunged inside of you simultaneously, stretching you impossibly wide while his tongue continued its ministrations on your overly sensitive button.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked smugly, his voice full of satisfaction. "Tell me you like it."

"I... I-I," you couldn't help but moan as he pressed his face against your core harder, his tongue leaving a trail of fire along your sensitive folds.

"Say it," he growled against your thighs, his cock hardening once more against your thigh.

"I... I like it," you panted. "Oh.. oh Gods Aemond - I like it. Just like - mmph!”

His finger pushed into you to the hilt, curling and stroking inside until you were trembling on the edge of climax. "Say my name again, whore," he demanded low.

"Aemond," you gasped out, panting for breath. "I - I like it Aemond!"

He chuckled darkly against your core, his tongue flicking over your clit furiously as his fingers moved in and out of your wet channel. The waves of pleasure crashed over you like a tsunami, rendering you helpless underneath him until your back arched from the mattress and you cried out his name once more, clenching around his invading digits.

He pulled back just as quickly as he'd started, leaving you panting and drenched with sweat. "Good girl," he praised, wiping his mouth with the back of his forearm before capturing your lips in a searing kiss, forcing his tongue roughly into your mouth. As much as you hated to admit it, your body responded to him regardless of what your mind thought of him; juices slicked between your thighs as he ground against your core, hardeness poking your soft flesh.

You hated it. You loved it. You hated him. You loved him. You -

"Now let's see how tight that cunt really is," he growled against your ear before roughly rolling you onto your stomach, spreading your legs apart and plunging his length inside with one smooth motion, placing your veil over your hair in a way his mother used to do in the sept.

You could do naught but squeal and moan, trying your hardest to push him out with your cunny while tears formed in your eyes. Did he not promise to be gentle? But if you were to complain, what would he do then? What was he doing now? Your mind raced incessantly.

Would he also want to call you Mother? Suckle on your teats after he was spent? Or was he different to Aegon? Aegon would’ve finished minutes ago, you thought nervously. Why was Aemond toying with you like that?

He pulled back, almost fully before slamming in again, mercilessly repeating the motion until you were begging for mercy. "Aegon was right," he grunted as he pounded into you, grunting with each thrust. "You are tighter than a maiden!"

The mention of his brother's name sent daggers through your heart and spurred you onwards. Your walls clenched and unclenched around him, desperately trying to force him out.

"Yes," he moaned, interpreting your actions as pleasure instead of pain. “That's it my pretty doll, squeeze me tighter... tighter! Show your husband how good you can treat him!”

With a final grunt, he released his seed inside you, collapsing on top of your trembling frame. "You're mine now, doll," he panted, spent but still hard inside of you. "Mine and only mine. Put on a cloak and go show yourself to Aegon in his sickbed. Show him my dripping seed. Tell him that you’re mine." A few seconds passed before he pulled himself out of you and turned away. “I’ll see you in a month, if your blood has come again. If not, well… Fare well, until you can hand me my heir. Good night.”

[monstatron]

THEY’RE HEEEEERE! the full designs of faline and layla, the main characters of my upcoming monster romance novel “hunted heart”!

check under cut to read more!!

Hailing from a nomadic extraterrestrial species, the Neura, known as the “Harvesters” amongst humans, Faline was once a feared matriarch of her kind. She had led dozens of attacks, though she realised that a life of killing was not one of fairness or nobility. She refused to bend the knee to the Neura's cruel ways. After being outcast for rebellion, Faline returns to the Neura’s ancient hunting grounds in search of redemption.

Earth.

For Faline, Earth is a second chance.

Hundreds of years ago the Neura had plummeted a Victorian Earth into a post-apocalyptic state. Humanity now lives in a primitive world separated between clans. During her first days on Earth, she encounters a young human boy, Orion, whom she manages to save from falling to his death. Little did Faline know, he would be kidnapped just days later. It’s been five years since she saved that boy, five years since she came to Earth.

Five years and she still remains lost.

That was until she had encountered a farm. Unknowingly she had stolen some crop from it, only to be met with the brutal strength she had never before seen in a human.

After losing Orion, Layla, a herbalist now lives alone with caution outside of these clans, trading and doing whatever is necessary to survive. She holds the weight of her life in the city, desperately trying to find any clues as to what happened to her son.

She cared little about the consequences for attacking a Neura when the time came.

This had led to tension between the two of them, but Faline had found a certain fascination in Layla. She just wouldn’t give up on that human that had the courage to drive a knife into her shoulder.

After learning that Faline had encountered her son five years ago, Layla, although sceptical, decides to allow Faline to stay with her. Now, they stick together in hopes of rescuing Orion from the city. In the time of their begrudging alliance, they find comfort in one another.

After so long, they’ve learned how to feel once more. Layla learns to open up her heart to others, or at least Faline, and Faline learns what it means to truly have a heart.

Even when they inch closer to their goal, all is far from well: little does Faline know, she isn’t the only Neura on Earth, and Layla learns that the leader of a powerful city may be hiding more secrets than they could have ever imagined...

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Do you think that the whole cake island would be the first place sanji and nijis fiancé darling meet?. Or did he know about her/see her during his childhood but was never permitted to speak to her because of his status as the weakest Prince. And potentially causing possible issues with the political alliance if it looked like judge was going to offer a betrothal with the noble girl/princess and his weakest child as that would be considered a insult

Initially, I had planned for that to be their first meeting, but this ask quickly made me considered the other option and it spiraled out of control from there. Here is the result.

I decided to use (y/n) instead the the name established throughout the au since this was supposed to be a reader insert originally. I apologize for any inaccuracies that there may be in this. I haven't gotten to this arc yet, so I'm just working off of random spoilers and wikis.

Confrontations and Complications

Sanji x Princess Reader

2.9k words

warnings: implied afab reader, this is straight up angst no comfort

Heels click loudly against the floor as you run through the quiet hallways. The skirt of your dress and your petticoats were bunched up in your fists to prevent you from tripping. There was no telling how long of a window you would have to do this, and you refused to miss your chance at this.

Niji became distracted at the perfect moment for you to slip away undetected, and Reiju had given her word that she would do her best to redirect him should he notice your absence. While you and Reiju weren’t on the friendliest terms as of late, she appeared to be acting in your best interest for the time being. It was debatable how trustworthy she truly was, but you were willing to take the risk in this one instance.

This was of the utmost importance.

The flurry of clicks from your shoes slow as the door you’ve been searching for comes into view, then eventually comes to a complete halt. You pant as you catch your breath and stare at the door. You make a hasty attempt to fix your clothes and hair, then straighten your tiara that had been bouncing freely on your head as you ran. After all of this time, you didn’t want to look unkempt when he saw you.

Steeling yourself with one last deep breath, you grasp the knob and open the door.

Sitting at a small table and absentmindedly flicking a lighter on and off was just the man you were hoping to see. Reiju had not led you astray with her directions. The man, Vinsmoke Sanji, looked startled at your sudden intrusion and was staring at you questioningly.

Oh. In your haste to confirm that this was, in fact, his room, it had slipped your mind to knock and you had just let yourself in. How unlike you.

“Can… Can I help you, miss?” Sanji removed the smoked down nub of a cigarette from his mouth and snubbed it out in a shockingly full ashtray before reaching for the cigarette pack on the table. His exposed eye kept darting back to you while waiting for an answer.

Ah. So he did not recognize you… This fact pained you, but it wasn’t wholly surprising. It has been a very long time since your last meeting. You swallow thickly and step the rest of the way into his room before closing the door behind you, “Please forgive me for barging into your accommodation. I was so overcome with emotion that I forgot my manners.”

Sanji offered a small, but noticeably forced smile, “No need to apologize. I would never complain over being sought out by such a lovely woman. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We have.” You inch closer to him while wringing your hands nervously. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you were certain that it had nothing to do with your previous exertion. “Though I do not blame you for not recognizing me. The last time that I was in your company, we were mere children sneaking into a kitchen to prepare a lunch for your dear mother.”

The fresh cigarette that was dangling from Sanji’s lips falls onto the table as he stares at you with a wide eye. He is momentarily slack jawed before he finds it in himself to whisper out your name.

A genuine smile spreads across your face as you see the recognition in his eyes. “Yes, Sanji. It’s me, (Y/N).”

In an instant, Sanji is up and out of his seat. He stumbles a bit from tripping over the leg of the table, then comes to a halt in front of you. His hands reach forward, then pause, unsure of whether or not he should touch you. You take the decision out of his hands and quickly close the gap. Your arms wrap around his middle in a tight hug, which he returns after only a brief moment of hesitation.

The harsh and overpowering scent of tobacco stings at your nose as you rest your face on his shoulder, but you wouldn’t dare complain over something so trivial. Not when you were experiencing such a foreign rush of joy and relief. 

With much reluctance, you force yourself to pull away first. Sanji held you a beat longer, but acquiesced to your action. His hands traced up and settled on your shoulders. The baby blue eye that wasn’t obscured flitted across your face, seemingly taking in every detail.

“I can’t believe it’s really you… I never thought I would see you again,” Sanji speaks to you in a hushed reverence that encourages your heart to feel ways that you know very well that it should not be given the current circumstances.

Your own hands are settled on his waist, not quite wanting to sever the physical connection. You offer him a half-hearted smile, “I could say the same for you. Prior to the last week, I believed you to be dead.” Your gloved hands clutch at his shirt, no doubt wrinkling it. A rude action, truly, but the only thing restraining you from cradling his face like you so desire. “I cannot quite put into words how relieving it is to see you alive and well.”

Sanji purses his lips and breaks the eye contact between you. He releases your shoulders and steps back, prompting you to relinquish your hold on him as well. It takes everything you have to not match every step he takes with one of your own. He heaves a sigh while reaching for his dropped cigarette, “I’m sorry. If there had been a way for me to let you know that I was okay, I would have done that in a heartbeat.”

“Oh, no!” The words come out so strongly and with so much force that it startles even you. You take a breath, then continue at a much calmer tone, “Please don’t misunderstand. I am not begrudging you for this. There are certainly people to blame, but you are not amongst them.”

A small smile is the reward for your clarification. Sanji flicks his lighter to life to ignite his cigarette. He takes a long drag of it, then exhales it. “Thank you. You’re too kind to me.”

“Hush, I am not. Dare I say, you could benefit from more kindness.” Everyone could, but you did not care about everyone right now.

Sanji chuckles, though it’s distinctly lacking any real humor. “You haven’t changed a bit since we were kids. I don’t know how you’ve done it.”

The silence that fell over you as he puffed away at his cigarette was neither comfortable, nor tense. So many things were left unsaid, and Sanji appeared to be content to leave it that way. You itched to ask him countless questions. How did he escape Germa? Where has he been this whole time? What was it like being part of such a notorious pirate crew? With so many queries running through your mind, it felt impossible to choose just one.

“What are you doing on Whole Cake Island, anyway? I didn’t think your family was close enough with Big Mom to be invited to a wedding.”

In an instant, your heart leaps up into your throat and you balk. This was precisely the topic you had hoped to avoid. Both for your own comfort, as well as his own. Ignorance is bliss, and you wanted him to know peace.

Unfortunately, your silence successfully attracts his attention. He turns to face you fully, and you can feel his eye boring into you despite the fact that you’re staring at the floor. “(Y/N)... Why are you here?” The thinly veiled urgency in his voice indicated that he was already coming to his own conclusions.

“I’m… here with my fiance,” the volume of your voice decrescendos with each word until ‘fiance’ comes out at a barely audible whisper.

It is unclear at first if the silence that followed was brought on by shock, or if Sanji simply hadn’t heard you. You get your answer shortly when he asks a quick and straightforward question.

“Who?”

Answering this was significantly more trying than explaining why you were here. You still couldn’t meet his eye, and you were grateful that he wasn’t forcing you to. There was no way to dance around or sugarcoat who it was. As much as you knew that he wouldn’t like the truth, he deserved to hear it.

“Niji.”

From your peripheral vision, you could see his cigarette hit the floor. Before you could be alarmed about the rug catching to fire, it was snuffed out under Sanji’s foot as he rapidly closed the gap that he had once made. His hands find purchase on your shoulders again, though he’s far less gentle this time. If it weren’t for the ironclad grip he had on you, you’re certain that you would have toppled over from the strength he took hold of you with. You’re forced to look up at him and take in his expression. The eye that you can see is wide with a shrunken pupil. The color in his skin has paled noticeably, and his mouth hangs open as his breath comes out in frantic pants.

His hands tighten around your shoulders more as he spits out an accusation laden in desperation, “You’re lying.”

Oh, how you wish you were. How you wish that there wasn’t an engagement ring weighing down your ring finger. But that simply isn’t reality. You hold up your left hand, actively ignoring the way it trembled under the intensity of Sanji’s gaze. His eye zeros in on the gleaming, blue jewel that was the centerpiece of your ring.

The sight of it repelled him. You were released from his touch once more as he backed away until he crashed into the table, effectively tipping it over and sending it crashing to the ground. The ashtray that had been sitting on it flew and rolled across the floor, spreading cigarette butts and ash everywhere, but Sanji paid it no mind.

“No… no, no, no! You can’t be serious! Niji?!” His raised voice startled you. While you had been anticipating a poor reaction, this was far worse than you ever would have guessed. His hands shot up and threaded through his hair. The way that he pulled on it had to be painful, and you held out your hand to try and coax him into letting go, but then he evaded you by beginning to pace. His steps were quick and forceful, the soles of his shoes making more noise than your heels had made when you were running to get here.

As much as you wanted to speak, it was beyond you what there even was to say that would soothe him.

Sanji abruptly spun around to face you again, making you flinch. He all but ran to you and took your hands in his, pulling you towards him so hard that you almost crashed into him. He speaks in a frantic but hushed tone, “You need to leave.”

“I… I beg your pardon?”

“You need to leave now. It isn’t safe for you to stay here.” His head snaps to the side and he lets go of your hand briefly to slam the window shut before grasping it again. “I need you to listen to me. My cr- My former crew is here. They will be more than happy to take you away and keep you safe. I’m not sure how I’ll get you to them yet, but I promise you that I won’t rest until you’re under their protection.”

All that you can do is stare at him. Your heart is thudding in your chest, but an undeniable warmth is spreading through it as well. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought that this could happen. You squeeze his hands and speak breathlessly, “You wish to run away together?”

Sanji freezes at your words. His mouth opens and closes several times, and then he averts his eyes, “I can’t do that. This is just for you.”

You rip your hands away from his and step away. “What? What are you talking about?”

The way he looks at you as if you’re clueless infuriates you. He speaks slowly as he explains himself, “I’m getting married to Pudding. I’m sure that you know that.”

This explanation leaves you appalled, you all but shriek at him, “You’re actually going through with that?!” The entire reason that you were so desperate to have this meeting in the first place was because you had assumed that he would leave with his crew before the wedding could occur.

Your shouting startles Sanji, giving him a quick moment of pause. He clears his throat before doing his best to speak in a calm and assertive tone. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I? Our marriage will be a good thing.”

Hearing him say this breaks you. All grace and decorum is forgotten in your outburst. “A good thing?! Nothing good can come from marrying someone like Pudding!”

While you generally tried to be kind and gracious to everyone, you were unable to grant Pudding the same courtesy. Not after you became privy to her true feelings towards Sanji when you overheard a conversation between her and a few of her siblings. The way she spoke of Sanji was as maddening as it was sickening. It took all of your self control to not burst into the room and demand that she trade her fiance for your own if she disliked him so much.

Maybe you should have. 

“Pudding is a lovely woman… And the marriage is good for political reasons as well.” Sanji was refusing to meet your enraged gaze, which only fueled the fire within you.

A sarcastic bark of laughter escaped you. “A lovely woman?! She’s a spoiled brat who doesn’t understand how fortunate she is!” That girl had everything that a woman could hope for in a political marriage, and she had the audacity to look down on her betrothed as if he wasn’t worthy of so much as breathing the same air as her. 

When Sanji only stared at you with a shocked expression, it made all of the hideous emotions that you had been suppressing up to this point bubble to the surface and boil over.

“That girl has it all, and she can’t even be grateful for it! She won’t have to put up with her husband lusting over everyone but her! She won’t have to be little more than a mere obligation to her husband! She won’t just be used to bring about a new generation of living weapons!” 

You fall silent as the words settle into the air, thickening the atmosphere until it became difficult to breathe. Hot tears begin to pour down your face in a shameful display. You turn away from Sanji as raw, pained sobs wrack through you.

“(Y/N)...”

Sanji stepped towards you and rested a hand on your shoulder, but you ripped away from him as if his touch burned you. The last thing that you wanted was his pity. You hastily dabbed at your eyes with a handkerchief as you hurried to the door, but Sanji put himself between you and the exit.

“Please, (Y/N)... I know you don’t like it, but you need to leave without me. You have no idea how much danger you’ll be in if you stay.” His face and tone are equally pleading. His hands reach towards you once more, but halt just before making contact.

“I am many things, but please don’t think me naive, Sanji… I know precisely what is expected of me in my marriage.” Every word out of your mouth is bitter and laced with contempt.

“Then why are you being so stubborn? I know that you don’t want this.” Sanji is visibly exasperated. 

“The better question is: Why are you being so stubborn? You are not compelled to do this like I am! You have an entire crew that is willing to fight for you, yet you’re refusing their help!” You exhale and shake your head, “You are almost as ungrateful as Pudding, perhaps you two are meant to be after all.”

“This is not as simple and straightforward as you think it is. There is much more going on… It’s better for everyone if I go through with this.”

Your hands ball up into fists at your sides and you snap at him, “Oh, what a martyr you are! How brave! How proud!” Having finally had enough, you fully abandon etiquette and shove Sanji out of your way. You grasp the doorknob, but rather than leaving, you decide that you have one last sentiment to tack on. “Martyrdom is the coward’s choice! If you really care for the people in your life, you will fight to be with them, not sacrifice yourself at the first opportunity!”

With that, you wrench open the door and slam it behind you the second you’re out of the room. You take off down the hall with no clear destination, only desiring to put as much distance between yourself and Sanji as reasonably possible.

Despite what you had said, you realize that you were actually quite naive. It was foolish to have ever believed that this meeting would have gone any better than it did.

[coralinnii]

I love the villain scorned by the world feat: Leona genre: budding romance note: continuation of the sequel to Villain/ess au Leona’s ver., not gender-specific reader, no pronouns used, established political relationship, Leona and reader are adults, roughly 1.5k word count, reader is interpreted as extremely ticklish,

Series masterlist

The Royal couple is in trouble!

No, not the King and Queen. And you and Leona are not really in danger, nor are you breaking up or anything…ok no one is really in trouble.

But there’s definitely some tension between the newlywed couple as the servants fear the honeymoon phase has finally fizzled (though you wanted to argue that there never was such a phase to begin with).

First, it started with the lover’s quarrel (the lovers part is also debatable, you muttered) the day Leona revealed fresh scratch marks on his shoulders and chest. The knights recalled the frustration and embarrassment on your face when you verbally tore into Leona over the marks, yelling at the young prince how humiliating it was that King Farena himself had to mention it.

Leona’s words didn’t help your ire, casually replying, “I couldn’t care less what my brother or anybody says about me or our relationship, and neither should you”

Unfortunately for him, you don’t agree with that as you left the training grounds right after calling him a “tactless housecat”. The knights kept their awe for you internally so as to not get caught by the stunned prince. No one but you could ever call Leona Kingscholar that and leave unscathed. Kudos to you

Since then, you have avoided your shared bedroom with your husband, making excuses of obligations and signs of illness (a huge migraine counts, right?). but no one knew you were actually just fearful that Leona would exact his revenge on you through tickling. You don’t regret pissing off the great Leona, you just regret showing a vindictive beastman your weak spots.

Leona was pissed but not because you called him a housecat (ok, maybe a little), it was mostly because your absence has disrupted his naps.

Since your union, you two were obligated to share a bed frequently to maintain your relationship despite having your own personal rooms. At first, it was a pain for Leona to share his peace and quiet with someone but he has grown accustomed to you as the two of you come together to sleep.

The warmth of your body that radiates that perfect amount of heat beside him, the pleasant waft of your scent that sticks to the sheets and pillows that doesn’t overwhelm his senses unlike the obnoxious perfumes of those gold-diggers, your soft breathing that lulls him to sleep as he unconsciously inches closer to you to hear and feel you better. He finds himself waking up in a much better mood and more well rested after your shared nights. You can’t just take that away from him after getting so comfortable.

You ruined his napping routine so you gotta fix it now.

Leona came up to you, calling a truce to “that incident” and promising not to tickle you as revenge for your yelling and insults. You immediately picked up his wording, noting he didn’t say he’ll stop tickling for good, but you figured that’s fine for now.

Ironically though, you really did have obligations that required you to stay in your personal bedroom. You have been exchanging letters with someone from a neighbouring kingdom who was planning a visit soon. So, you were now avoiding sharing a bed with Leona since you didn’t want to disturb his sleep as you stayed up to make preparations for the visiting Royal.

With your prolonged avoidance and Leona’s growing grumpiness, the castle has been tense with worry that the peaceful alliance may be at risk. Everyone was on edge and nearly in tears, especially one young lion cub.

“The kingdom’s in danger!” Cheka bawled as he buried himself into your arms, clutching to your clothes. He had walked into your bedroom with tears in his eyes, towards your seated position by your work desk and climbed into your lap.

You were at a loss at the young cub’s sudden proclamation. You turned to Leona who was lying on your large bed, spreading himself across the mattress like he owned it. He only shrugged his shoulders, confused as you are (though clearly not as worried).

“Cheka honey, what do you mean? Did your father say something today?” You asked worriedly, wondering what news could lead to such a statement.

But Cheka shook his head, still holding onto your shirt. If you weren’t so concerned with his words, you would have joked about how the young heir acts more like a koala than a mighty lion right now.

“Then spit it out, you brat” Leona irritably said, earning a side glare from you which he ignored, “What do you mean the kingdom’s in danger?”

“Hic…everyone is saying you two are gonna b-break up” Cheka choked out, tears filling his eyes again, “Then the union is gonna fail and everyone might go to war”

…

There was now silence as you and Leona processed the child’s words. That was one hell of a stretch of a scenario. Sure, your union with Leona was one of political benefits, but you weren’t crazy enough to start a war with an entire kingdom over a bad break up.

“We ain’t breaking up”

“Oh right, that too” you thought, realizing the obvious that Leona pointed out with an angry growl in his throat, his tail thumping down against your bed in visible annoyance.

“You and Unca aren’t?” Cheka asked, finally lifting his head to look up at you with hopeful eyes. You smiled at the cute cub beastman, weaving your hand through his fluffy hair.

“No, your uncle and I are perfectly happy. We’re not breaking up anytime soon” you reassured your nephew, too distracted to notice the way the aggressive thumping on your bed had stopped.

“Happy? Like mommy and daddy?” Cheka asked with a quizzical look, leaving you to gush internally over such cuteness.

You absentmindedly nodded your head. “Yes, just like your mommy and daddy”

“Then how come Unca and you don’t kiss?”

Oh, the silence is back.

“Mommy and daddy are always happy with each other, and they kiss all the time” Cheka continued, tapping his mouth to show where he sees his parents leave kisses, “If you’re happy, don’t you kiss each other?”

You’re cursing to yourself a mile a minute in your head, a rush of emotional stress going through your body. You didn’t want to explain the complexity of your relationship with Leona to the young Cheka, especially when you didn’t want to destroy his views of love and romance.

“How dare King Farena call me out on my PDA with Leona when he goes ahead and does this?” You frustratingly thought as you looked to Leona who has been unhelpfully laying on your bed, suspiciously quiet for a while. You glared at him while tilting your head to his nephew, wordlessly demanding help from your husband.

Surprisingly, it looked like Leona was willing to help you afterall. He finally got off your comfy bed and walked towards you and Cheka, settling to place his hand atop the backrest of your chair and leaned down towards your head.

“Yea, why don’t we kiss?”

You take back everything you thought. Leona Kingscholar is never helpful and you’re a fool to ever think that. You hoped your glare would eventually burn Leona, but sadly he still stood proudly over you with a smug look on his handsome face. Damn his handsome face.

“It’s your move, herbivore” Leona said, purposely baiting you by calling you a herbivore. He took the teasing further by leaning further down towards you, eager to see your next move.

He’s calling you out, waiting to see if you’ll chicken out and make an excuse to Cheka as he was watching you with anticipation. Fine, you’ll make the great Leona Kingscholar think twice before testing you.

You made the first move, boldly capturing the cocky prince’s lips with your own.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. The two of you have done it before on your wedding day. It should mean nothing to you as it did that day, just a formality to show your dedication to this alliance. Just a meaningless skinship between adults, right?

But why did it feel so good?

Why did you enjoy the surprising softness of Leona’s lips, or the way he didn’t seem shocked by your sudden attack but instead pressed his lips further onto yours. Why did it feel so nice to feel the Leona’s warmth on you, his natural scent strangely attractive to you. Even the stray locks of his dark mane felt nice as it lightly tickled your cheeks. You rather perish than to verbally admit, but your prideful husband was a good kisser. Firm and confident, if a little strong.

Actually really strong, why is he getting more aggressive?!

You had to fervently whack the tall prince on his shoulder to signal him to get off, to which he very slowly did. He backed away from you slightly, a little annoyed but still satisfied according to his little smirk. He certainly enjoyed the flustered mess of your face.

“Yay! No break up!” Cheka’s chirpy voice broke your daze and he cheered over your apparent “happy” relationship.

You sighed, but at least you were thankful to settle this weird confusion. You should probably speak with the servants to clear the misunderstanding around the castle.

But Cheka once again surprised both you and Leona

“Now, you and Unca can sleep together again!”

The life of royalty is not easy.

[grapegalaxy]

To Love, To Die, To Be One in Eternity

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x MALE! Targaryen reader

summary: In the midst of war and shifting alliances, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Prince M/N Targaryen share a bond stronger than blood, a love strengthened by promises of a shared future. But when duty calls them to separate missions to secure their mother's claim to the throne, tragedy looms. A deadly encounter leaves one prince lost to the skies, and the other shattered beyond repair. As a grieving mother vows vengeance and a kingdom inches closer to civil war, the two princes find each other again in the afterlife, beyond the reach of bloodshed, their souls finally at peace among the stars.

FEMALE READERS AND UNTITLED BLOGS WITH NO NAMES AND 'HE/HIM/HIS' WILL BE BLOCKED!

It is dusk on Dragonstone and the air hums with tension. The sky tinged a deep red, seems to reflect the foreboding emotions of those who walk its weathered paths. Clouds swirl like a storm above the island, the whispers of the sea murmuring against the rocks as waves break against the shore. Shadows stretch long over the castle walls as if trying to capture the fleeting peace. In the coming days, these shores and halls may know only war, but for now, the sons of Rhaenyra prepare for their missions in silence and anticipation.

Jacaerys Velaryon stands on the bridge, his dark hair whipping about in the evening breeze, his expression one of determined resolve. At seventeen, he carries himself with the confidence of a leader, the heir to the Iron Throne, though the path to that throne now appears littered with blood and betrayal. His eyes reflect the depth of responsibility too weighty for one so young, but he bears it willingly. Beside him stands his half-brother, M/N, a young man of equal age, with sharp features softened only by the affection he holds for Jace. M/N is the firstborn son of Rhaenyra and Daemon, a proud scion of both Targaryen blood. Though they share different fathers, the two brothers share a bond forged in the fires of youth and tempered by shared secrets, lingering glances, and unspoken promises.

Rhaenyra, queen of the Blacks, waits near the edge of the bridge Luke at her side, her face shadowed with worry. Her sons are her life, her blood, and the key to her strength in the coming war. But to send them off into the unknown, to trust them with missions that may steal them away from her forever… it feels as if her heart is being wrenched from her chest. And yet, a queen must remain strong. M/N steps away from Jace’s side to walk over to his father.

“Father,” M/N greets him.

Daemon’s face softens as he takes in his son’s form. In M/N, he sees his own reflection, the same fierce Targaryen spirit, the same unyielding will. Daemon’s hand rises to clasp his son’s shoulder. “Remember, my boy,” he says, his voice a low murmur, thick with unspoken emotion. “Baratheons are stubborn as stone. Meet Borros with strength. Show him no fear. You’re a dragon, after all.”

M/N smirks, the hint of a rebellious smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll make him see, Father. I’ll make him understand what it means to cross us.” But there is a flicker of vulnerability in M/N’s eyes, as if he senses the weight of Daemon’s concern, though he would never voice it aloud.

Daemon’s grip tightens slightly as he studies his son, his voice growing softer. “Be careful, M/N,” he says, almost a whisper. The sea is wild, and dragons may fly, but even dragons can fall.”

M/N wraps his arms around his father, the rare embrace surprising both of them. For a heartbeat, Daemon’s mask slips, and he holds his son tightly, unaware that this will be their last touch, their last shared heartbeat. M/N releases his father, feeling the warmth of that bond lingering long after. He doesn’t realize this simple moment will soon be all that he has left of his father.

Meanwhile, on another stretch of the bridge, Rhaenyra stands in front of Jace and Luke, her long hair flowing in the wind, fierce and proud. She looks at her sons, her face a mixture of sorrow and pride. She had dreamed of a different path for them, one free from the shackles of duty and the threat of bloodshed, but fate has pulled them here, and she will not allow weakness or fear to taint their legacy.

“Winterfell,” she murmurs to Jace, her voice a soft command and blessing. “The Starks will respect loyalty. Show them our strength, Jace, but remember that they value truth and honor above all. Speak to Lord Cregan as an ally, as an equal.” She reaches out, touching his cheek with a rare tenderness that pierces Jace’s heart.

He has seen her fierce, and resolute as a queen, but in this moment, she is simply his mother, and the weight of her love is as heavy as the crown.

She looks at Luke, her secondborn son, her gaze softening as if she sees the boy he once was, the boy she desperately wants to protect. “The Eyrie has long been our ally. Lady Jeyne Arryn is our kin. Show her the honor of our house, and she will not forsake us in this time of need.”

Luke nods, trying to hide the fear that flickers in his eyes. He has heard tales of the Eyrie’s daunting heights, of its dangerous mountain passes but he steels himself for his duty.

After Rhaenyra speaks to them, Jace walks over to M/N, who’s standing nearby. Jace moves closer, his expression softening as he searches M/N’s face.

“M/N,” he murmurs, his voice laced with something raw, a need that only the two of them understand. He reaches for M/N’s hand, gripping it tightly as the bridge falls silent around them. For a moment, they are alone in this vast world, two young men holding onto each other as if by this touch alone, they can defy the fate that looms.

“Wait for me,” Jace whispers, his lips so close to M/N’s that they can feel each other’s breath. “When I return from Winterfell… wait for me.”

M/N’s eyes glisten with something unsaid, something that binds him to Jace in a way that no one else could ever understand. He nods, his voice trembling as he breathes out his promise. “I’ll wait, Jace. I swear it.”

Their lips meet in a kiss, slow and deep, the world falling away as they pour all their unspoken fears and hopes into the touch. They hold each other, a heartbeat of eternity stretching between them, before they part, their foreheads resting against each other, unwilling to break the connection. But duty calls, and they know that they must answer.

With a heavy heart, Rhaenyra watches them prepare for flight, her sons mounted on their dragons—Vermax, Xerxes, and Arrax, with Rhaenys upon Meleys. The dragons roar, their voices filling the sunset, wings spreading wide as they prepare to take flight. Daemon stands by Rhaenyra’s side as they watch their sons lift into the sky, their silhouettes framed by the last light of the setting sun.

~ ~ ~ ~

Late into the evening, a messenger arrives with the news that turns blood cold. Prince M/N has been killed. His dragon, Xerxes, has been bitten into pieces and M/N was devoured by Vhagar. The news spreads through Dragonstone like wildfire, tearing through every heart that hears it, each soul breaking under the weight of the message. M/N, the beloved firstborn son of Daemon and Rhaenyra, eldest brother of Aegon III and Viserys II, the fierce prince who held loyalty and love in equal measure, is gone. The whispers grow louder as the truth settles into aching bones: Aemond Targaryen chased him, relentless and unyielding, and Xerxes, M/N’s noble dragon, was no match for the monstrous Vhagar. What remained was nothing but smoke and silence.

Daemon, who has faced countless battles, and has known loss and grief, feels the ground fall away beneath him as he hears of his son’s death. He stands motionless, his hand gripping the hilt of Dark Sister with a strength that could break the stone. His heart pounds with an agonizing mix of sorrow and fury, his mind racing back to that last embrace, the warmth of M/N’s arms around him, the quiet strength in his son’s gaze. The ache in his chest grows, spreading like poison, until he forces himself to move, to find Rhaenyra and deliver this wound that neither of them will ever truly heal from.

Rhaenyra is standing in front of the fireplace where he finds her, her face bathed in the flickering orange light. She is lost in thought, the shadows playing across her features, painting her in the likeness of a queen carved from grief and fury. Daemon hesitates, his heart breaking anew as he watches her, knowing that what he brings will destroy her.

“Rhaenyra,” he says softly, his voice breaking as he stands before her.

She turns slowly, her eyes meeting his, and he sees the question there, the hope that will soon shatter.

“Our son,” Daemon whispers, his voice hollow, his gaze darkening with a fury that rivals the flames in the hearth. “Our beautiful boy is… gone.”

They stand together, frozen in their grief, a grief that will fuel the fires of vengeance and drive them to the edge of reason. Rhaenyra’s face hardens, her gaze fixing on the flames, and Daemon stands beside her, his hand clenched into a fist, his mind already spinning with thoughts of revenge.

For the first time, they both understand the true cost of this war, and it is a cost they will bear together, bound by the shared agony of losing their son. The fire crackles in the hearth, the only sound in the heavy silence, but it pales in comparison to the flames igniting in their hearts. Rhaenyra’s face is a mask of grief, fury, and sorrow all twisted into one. Her lips press into a thin line as she swallows down the scream building within her chest, a scream for the child she will never see again.

Daemon moves closer to her, his hand trembling as it finds her shoulder. They do not need words to convey the devastation shared between them; the depth of their loss hangs heavy in the room. Slowly, Rhaenyra’s gaze lifts to meet Daemon’s, her expression both hollow and fierce, as if she stands poised on the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to succumb to her despair or let it drive her forward.

“That bastard Aemond will pay for this,” Daemon growls, his voice low and menacing. His face is cast in shadows, his gaze unyielding as he stares into the fire as if he can see his revenge reflected in the flickering flames. “For what he’s done… he will pay dearly.”

Rhaenyra’s lips part, and her voice is barely a whisper as she speaks, each word laced with an intensity that could rival dragonfire. “They have taken my son,” she breathes, her hand tightening into a fist as her nails bite into her palm. “They will know what it means to lose everything.”

Her words hang heavy in the air, a vow sworn in blood and loss. For a brief moment, they stand together, two grieving parents united in their shared pain, their sorrow forging an iron bond that no enemy can shatter.

But as the embers of their anger continue to burn, they know that this grief will not be still. It will demand action, demand retribution. And as Rhaenyra stares into the fire, she knows that this is not the end of her family’s suffering, but only the beginning of a dark, twisted path that will demand sacrifices they are only beginning to comprehend.

~ ~ ~ ~

A cold mist hangs over Dragonstone as Jacaerys returns from his journey to Winterfell. The familiar cliffs loom ahead, shrouded in dark clouds, and the sea churns below as Vermax soars through the gray dawn, his powerful wings slicing through the air. Jace feels the thrill of victory and purpose in his chest. He has done what was asked of him, securing House Stark as a steadfast ally in the fight for his mother’s throne. Cregan Stark, with his unyielding loyalty and fierce sense of honor, has promised his support, and Jace finds hope for what lies ahead.

Yet a strange, chilling apprehension lingers in his heart. Winterfell was colder than he’d expected, not just in climate but in spirit. The Starks had looked at him with quiet solemnity, as though sensing the shadows that clung to him. Jace brushed off the feeling, chalking it up to the North’s grim atmosphere, yet he can’t shake it now, not as Dragonstone looms closer. He tells himself it’s nothing, just the weight of the task, but his heartbeat quickens with an urgency he can’t name.

As Vermax lands, his powerful claws scraping against the stone, Jace dismounts and strides toward the keep, the rush of battle plans and future strategies still alive in his mind. He has news for his mother, news that will strengthen their cause. But when he enters the great hall, he pauses. Something feels wrong. Servants look away as he passes, their eyes downcast, their faces drawn, casting him glances that make his skin crawl.

The doors to the living room stand ajar, and he catches sight of his mother waiting inside. Rhaenyra sits, her figure slouched, wrapped in a dark cloak that seems to swallow her whole. Her face is pale, almost ghostly, her eyes rimmed red and shadowed as if she hasn’t slept in days. She looks up when he enters, her gaze sharp yet vulnerable, a broken queen trying to hold herself together.

“Mother,” he greets her, keeping his voice strong. “Winterfell stands with us. Lord Cregan Stark has pledged his banners. House Stark is ours.”

Rhaenyra nods, managing a faint smile. “Well done, Jace,” she says, her voice trembling. “You have done our House proud.”

“Luke succeeded too, didn’t he?” Jace asks, a little hope creeping into his tone as he searches her face. “He secured the support of House Arryn?”

“Yes,” she replies, nodding again, her gaze drifting away as if her mind is miles from this room. “The Arryns stand with us, thanks to Luke.”

A silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. Jace frowns, noticing her hesitation. He’d expected his mother to be overjoyed, to feel victorious, but she seems to sink deeper into sorrow with every word. Her gaze is distant, her face etches with anguish, and the emptiness in her eyes unsettles him.

“And M/N?” he asks, his heart hammering. “Has he returned?”

Rhaenyra flinches, her gaze dropping to the floor. The quiet that follows is deafening, each second a knife twisting in his chest. She doesn’t answer, and a creeping dread coils around his heart, squeezing tighter and tighter. He takes a step closer, his voice pleading now, his mind refusing to accept the terrible silence.

“Mother…” he whispers, his tone desperate. “What about M/N?”

She presses a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shuddering as if under a great weight. For a moment, she looks like she might crumble completely, her face twisting in pain. She takes a deep breath, her fingers trembling as she wipes away a tear. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she finally speaks, each word drenched in sorrow.

“Jace… M/N will not come home,” she says, her voice breaking. “He… he’s gone.”

Jace blinks, the words not registering, their meaning foreign and unfathomable. His mind rebels against them, refusing to process the implications. “What…?” he chokes on the word, the disbelief clawing at his throat. “No. No, he’s not. He promised… he promised he’d be here. He’s waiting for me now.”

She shakes her head, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Aemond chased him down. M/N tried to escape, but Vhagar… Vhagar devoured him whole while Xerxes had been bitten into pieces. There was nothing left. Nothing.”

Her words shatter the fragile hope that clings to his heart. His chest tightens, his breath coming in short gasps as the truth crashes over him, unrelenting and brutal. He stumbles back, shaking his head, denial tearing through him like a storm. “No,” he mutters, his voice rising with each word. “No, he’s not dead. He can’t be dead! He promised he’d be here!”

Rhaenyra reaches for him, but he flinches away, his whole body trembling as anger and despair twist inside him, tearing him apart.

“He promised,” he cries, his voice cracking. “He said he’d wait for me! He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t break that promise. He wouldn’t leave me.”

Rhaenyra moves closer, her arms wrapping around him as he thrashes against her hold. “I’m so sorry, Jace,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she holds him tightly. “I’m so sorry, sweet boy.”

Jace’s anger breaks, giving away raw, wrenching grief. He sags against her, his fist pounding against her shoulders as sobs wrack his body. His voice is hoarse, torn from the depths of his soul, as he weeps in his mother’s arms. All his dreams, all his hopes, crumble to dust in that instant, the weight of loss crushing him as he clings to her, his tears soaking into her long dress.

That night, after his tears have dried and his mother has left him alone to grieve, Jace wanders the cold, empty halls of Dragonstone. The silence presses down on him, suffocating, each echo of his footsteps a reminder of what he has lost. He finds himself at the door to M/N’s bedchamber, his heart heavy, his mind numb.

He pushes the door open, the familiar scent of his beloved lingering in the air, wrapping around him like a ghostly embrace. The room is dim, with only a candle on the desk of M/N and shadows pooling in every corner. He crosses to the bed, the covers still rumpled from the last time M/N had lain there. Jace sinks onto the mattress, his fingers trembling as he brushes over the empty sheets, feeling the cold that has settled in M/N’s absence.

A shuddering sob escapes him, and he presses his face into the pillow, breathing in the faint scent of M/N’s hair, his skin, and his warmth. The weight of his grief is a physical ache, a hollow void that devours him from the inside. He lies there, clutching the sheets as his body shakes with silent tears, his heart breaking all over again with each breath.

Time loses meaning as he lies there, drowning in memories of laughter, stolen kisses, and whispered promises under starlit skies. He remembers the warmth of M/N’s touch, the sound of his voice, and the way his eyes softened whenever they looked at Jace. All of it feels like a cruel dream, slipping further and further away with each heartbeat.

After what feels like an eternity, he forces himself to sit up, his gaze drifting to the window. The world outside is dark, the stars hidden behind clouds as if even the heavens mourn his loss. He rises, crossing the room on unsteady feet, drawn to the window’s edge. He stares out into the void below, the cliffs sharp and jagged against the faint glimmer of the sea. A strange calm settles over him as he contemplates the drop, the final release it promises.

But he has something he needs to do first.

He moves M/N’s table, where papers and quills lie scattered across the surface. He sits, his fingers shaking as he dips the quill into the ink, each stroke heavy with purpose. He writes slowly, carefully, each word an offering, a farewell.

To My Dearest Family,

It is with a heart so heavy that words scarcely serve me now, for I know what sorrow and anger my choice will bring upon you. Yet as the dark night calls me to follow my beloved Prince M/N into eternal slumber, I must heard it, for what use is a life if it must walk alone, a hollow echo of what was once a symphony. To my dearest mother, Rhaenyra, I am grieved beyond measure for the agony my actions will inflict upon your heart; you, who fought so fiercely to secure my path to the throne, I now abandon it. Know, though, that no ambition could ever soothe the wound left by M/N’s death. Without him, the throne is but a lifeless relic, a kingdom barren of meaning. Daemon forgive me, too, for not possessing your strength to press on, for it was M/N who tethered my soul to this world, and with his passing, my own spirit has fled like ashes scattered to the winds. To my brothers, Luke and Joffrey, and my half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys—may you remember me as I was, not as I have become, one bound by love so deep that even death’s dark chasm could not keep us apart. You will lead where I cannot; you must carry forward the blood of the dragon, for I go now to M/N’s side, where perhaps even the bitterness of death may feel as sweet as the touch of his hand once was to me. To my grandmother Princess Rhaenys, a Queen Who Never Was, and my grandfather Lord Corlys, whose wisdom and courage I have always aspired to mirror, I ask forgiveness if my actions seem a disgrace to the name of Velaryon, yet I am only a boy who found in love something so profound that it cannot endure separation. And to dear Baela and Rhaena, who shared the shadows and sorrows of my heart—thank you, my cousins, of the soul; remember me with the gentlest of thoughts, for I leave you not out of malice, but out of love that transcends mortal binds. Pray, do not weep for me but hold fast to one another, for it is you, my family, who must rise like dragons anew. Though I depart from this world, know that I love you all still, more than words could ever tell, and that my spirit shall be forever intertwined with yours, as close as breath, as close as blood.

Forever with love and sorrow,

Jacaerys Velaryon

When he finishes, he places the letter on the bed, laying his sword beside it as a final tribute. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, feeling the strange peace that comes with the decision. He walks back to the window, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his heart silent, ready.

With a last, lingering breath, he closes his eyes, and he… falls.

The night is still as Jace plummets through the cold air, his descent silent, and peaceful, an end he has chosen willingly to be reunited with the one he loved more than life itself. His body strikes the ground with a sickening thud, and a crimson pool begins to form beneath him, the blood seeping into the Earth, bearing witness to his final act of devotion.

The guards stationed nearby are the first to find him, their faces paling as they approach. They stare in disbelief, horror flooding in their expressions as they realize who it is lying broken on the ground before them.

“Prince Jacaerys…” one of them whispers, his voice quivering with shock.

They exchange stricken looks, understanding the weight of what they have just witnessed. One of the guards stumbles back, calling for help, his shout piercing the quiet night and echoing through the stone halls of the Dragonstone.

The news of Jace’s death spreads quickly, rippling through the keep like a wave of sorrow and disbelief. Servants whisper in hushed tones, their faces pale and their hearts heavy. The death of two beloved princes within days is too much for the realm to bear, it feels like the very heart of Dragonstone has been ripped out.

Two days later, Dragonstone is shrouded in a heavy silence, the grief so palbable that it feels as though the castle itself mourns. The skies are gray, the air thick with the weight of unspoken sorrow. Outside the castle, a small gathering stands somberly around a large pyre where Jace and M/N’s clothes lie folded neatly, ready to be set alight in a final tribute to their lives.

Rhaenyra, who’s holding the clothes of M/N, stands at the head of the pyre, her face a mask of unyielding grief, her eyes hollow, distant. Beside her, Luke, who’s holding the clothes of Jace, and Joffrey, the boy’s small fingers clutching his older brother’s clothes as though he understands the magnitude of this loss. Lord Corlys stands nearby, his face etched with sorrow, his shoulders weighed down by the grief of losing yet another grandson. Beside him is Rhaenys, her face set in a grim line, her eyes fierce with the anger and pain of a grandmother who has lost far too much.

Baela and Rhaena stand together, their faces pale, eyes red from weeping. They hold each other tightly, sisters united in sorrow, mourning the cousins they loved as brothers. The fire crackles and snaps as Rhaenyra steps forward, M/N’s clothes in her hands, her gaze fixed on the fire. She gently throws the clothes of M/N, her expression a mask of resolve even as her heart shatters anew. Luke follows, throwing gently Jace’s clothes before he takes Joffrey’s hand.

As the flames begin to consume the clothes, Rhaenyra stares into the fire, her face illuminated by the flickering light. She remembers the letter Jace left behind after receiving the news of Jace’s death, the words that cut through her like a blade. He had loved her, she knows, but his heart had belonged to M/N, and in his death, he had found a way to be with him. The thought brings her no comfort, only a bitter, seething rage that coils within her feet.

She clenches her fists, her gaze hardening as she watches the flames rise higher, consuming the last remnants of her beloved sons. At that moment, she makes a silent vow—a promise to bring her pain upon the Greens, to ensure that Aemond and all who supported him would know the depths of her loss. Her heart is forged, burning with a wrath that only blood can quench.

The ceremony is brief, marked only by the sound of crackling flames and the soft murmurs of grief. When it is done, the gathering disperses slowly, each person lost in their own sorrow. Rhaenyra remains by the pyre long after everyone else has gone, her gaze fixed on the dying embers, her heart a wasteland.

In another world, far removed from the realm of the living, Jace finds himself at peace. He stands on the tranquil beach, the sky a gentle shade of twilight, the waves lapping softly at the shore. He feels a presence beside him, warm and familiar, and he turns to see M/N standing there, watching him with a quiet smile.

M/N steps closer, reaching out to take Jace’s hand, his touch grounding and real in a way Jace hadn’t dared to hope for. They stand in silence for a moment, letting the weight of their reunion settle between them. Finally, M/N speaks, his voice soft and filled with regret.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his gaze earnest. “I promised I’d wait for you, and I broke that promise.”

Jace shakes his head, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he replies, his voice steady, his heart finally at peace. “When you died, half of my soul died with you. I couldn’t stay without you.”

M/N’s eyes shine with a mixture of love and sadness as he pulls Jace close, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I love you,” he whispers, the words carrying all the weight of his devotion, all the moments they had lost, and all the eternity they now had to spend together.

They share a deep, lingering kiss, one filled with the promises they can finally fulfill. When they part, Jace feels the warmth of M/N’s hand in his, steady and unyielding, a bond that death could not sever.

Above them, a familiar roar echoes, and they look up to see Xerxes, M/N’s loyal dragon, circling above. His scales glisten in the light, and his eyes shine with recognition as he watches his rider reunited with his love.

M/N smiles, tugging Jace with a glint of excitement in his eyes. “Come,” he says, gesturing to Xerxes. “Let us fly together, as we were always meant to.”

Without hesitation, Jace nods, following M/N to the great beast waiting patiently for them. They climb onto Xerxes’ back, Jace settling in behind M/N, his arms wrapped securely around his beloved’s waist. The dragon roars again, a sound of joy and freedom, as he takes to the sky, his powerful wings lifting them above the endless horizon.

Together, they soar through the afterlife, free from the pain and sorrow that had once bound them. They are whole, and at peace, their souls forever entwined as they ride through the eternal skies.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Alliance of Shadows (5)

A/N: I'm thinking this will end up being between 10-12 parts so we are only halfway through!!

Pairing: Adar x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: slight violence, no spice yet but I SWEAR it's coming- patience is a virtue lovelies.

Taglist: @zoya-olenko, @annatartastic

Previous- Next

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The path to Eregion stretches out before you, winding through dense forests and craggy hills. The air is crisp, the scent of damp earth and pine heavy in the air. Your horse's hooves clatter against the uneven stones as the path narrows, forcing the party closer together. Two of your apprentices, Revan and Ysha, ride slightly behind you, ever-watchful, their dark blue robes marking them as members of your inner circle.

Adar rides beside you in silence, his eyes sharp, scanning the wild landscape with a practiced gaze. His Uruks—silent, powerful figures draped in shadow—move with an eerie coordination around your group. Though they had been bred for war, there is an undeniable discipline to them, a loyalty you hadn't expected.

The tension between you and Adar had only grown since your duel, the memory of his hand around your throat, the burning fire in his eyes, lingering like smoke in the back of your mind. While you might have claimed victory then, it had opened something—a crack in the walls between you. That spark flared with every passing glance, every moment of silence.

Still, you focus on the task ahead. Eregion lay far to the west, and there are many dangers between you and your destination. The farther you travel from your hidden domain in the mountains, the more exposed you become. Wildmen, beasts, and worse roam these untamed lands.

Adar’s voice cuts through the stillness. “We are not alone.”

He didn’t need to say more. You feel the ripple of foreign minds brushing against the edges of your awareness—wild and unfocused, but dangerous. The apprentices sense it too, their postures stiffening, hands inching toward their staffs.

Then, from the shadows of the trees, they appear.

Wildmen, scraggly and desperate, with crude weapons raised high. They surge from the underbrush with guttural cries, their faces twisting with greed and hunger. Their disorganized charge is met with the thunderous roar of Adar’s Uruks, who spring into action with frightening precision. The clash of steel on steel fills the air as the two forces collide.

The first attacker comes at you, swinging a rusted axe in a wild arc. You extend your hand, drawing on the magic that hums just beneath your skin. His eyes widen in surprise as reality itself shifts around him—the air rippling, bending—and then his body stiffens. You’ve reached into his mind, twisting his will with the ease of a puppet master. The axe falls from his hand as he turns and, without hesitation, buries a dagger into his comrade’s side.

Beside you, Ysha’s magic flares in bursts of violet light, weaving illusions that send the wildmen stumbling, attacking phantoms that aren’t there. Revan, more brutal in his methods, unleashes waves of force that send enemies flying through the air, crashing into trees with bone-shattering impacts.

But the wildmen are relentless, their numbers greater than you had anticipated. More spill from the forest, overwhelming the Uruks with sheer volume. You feel the strain as you pull harder on your magic, manipulating the minds of those around you, sending them into confusion or turning them against one another.

Next to you, Adar fights like a storm incarnate, his blade slicing through flesh with deadly precision. He moves like a shadow, slipping through the chaos with terrifying grace. His Uruks follow his lead, cutting down the attackers with practiced efficiency. One of his lieutenants, Sherak, shouts orders in their guttural tongue, and they respond as one—unstoppable, ruthless.

Had you a moment to spare, you would be more than a little impressed. Still, the battle presses on. You feel the sharp sting of fatigue creeping into your limbs, the constant strain of bending reality and controlling minds weighing on you. From your peripheral you notice a rogue figure moving toward you—a wildman, silent and quick, slipping past the Uruks’ defensive line, eyes locked on you.

You turn too late.

The wildman lunges, a wickedly curved blade aimed directly for your heart. In a heartbeat, you raise your hand, ready to summon a defense, but exhaustion makes your magic falter. The world seems to slow as the blade comes closer—too close.

Then, a shadow slips between you and death.

Adar.

With a roar of fury, he slams into the wildman, knocking him aside with brutal force. His sword flashes, and the wildman crumples to the ground, lifeless. The space between you and Adar shrinks to nothing as he turns, his face inches from yours, his chest heaving from exertion. His hand lingers on the hilt of his sword, the other hand brushing against your arm as if to steady you.

For a heartbeat, the world falls away—the battle, the danger, all of it fading into the background as your eyes lock with his. His breath is warm against your skin, his gaze intense, burning. You can feel the weight of the moment—the pull between you, raw and undeniable. There is something primal in his gaze, something that mirrors your own desires.

His hand moves from your arm, up to your neck, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw. Your heart pounds, the air between you thick with the possibility of what could happen if you just leaned in, closing the distance. His lips hovered so close, the taste of the moment electric.

“My Lord!” Sherak’s voice slices through the tension, shattering the fragile spell. “We need to move. Now.”

Adar’s expression shifts, frustration flashing briefly in his eyes before he steps back, the connection between you severed. You swallow the rush of disappointment, steadying yourself as you turn to face Sherak. The Uruk is covered in blood, his eyes sharp with urgency.

“There are more coming,” he growls. “We must move quickly.”

Adar’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “Fall back,” he commands, his voice steady once more.

You are regrouped quickly, with Revan and Ysha taking up the rear as you press on. The battle has slowed your progress, and now the urgency to reach Eregion weighs heavier on your shoulders.

______________________

You ride hard for the next several days, the adrenaline of the battle slowly ebbing away, replaced by exhaustion. You glance at Adar, who has resumed his silent vigil at the front of the party. His presence is steady, his leadership undeniable, but there is something else—a tenderness beneath the stoic exterior that you hadn’t noticed before.

One of the Uruks, a scarred creature with a sharp intelligence in his eyes, rides beside you. His name is Ghor. He speaks in a low voice, careful not to draw too much attention.

"You fight well," Ghor grunts, his voice respectful. "But our Lord Father... he saved you."

You raise an eyebrow. “And?”

“He does not save lightly,” Ghor continues, his gaze flicking to Adar. “He calls us his children, and he means it. He fights for us, protects us. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He would fight for you too- if you asked it of him.”

The words send a ripple of realization through you. You glance at Adar again, seeing him in a new light. He is not just a leader of his people, but something far more complex. His devotion to his Uruks is fierce, paternal, and their loyalty in return seems unshakeable.

As the final stretch of your journey comes to an end, the dense forest gives way to an open plain where Adar’s legion of Uruks have made camp. The setting sun bathes the rugged terrain in a deep crimson glow, though you notice most of the Uruk stick to the shadows where they can, pulling up hoods when they must step into the fading sunlight. It is a stark, harsh place—little more than a collection of crude tents and hastily dug fire pits scattered across the rocky ground.

The air is thick with the smell of sweat, blood, and earth. It is a people that have known no peace, no luxury—only survival.

Your horse slows as you approach the camp, and your eyes sweep across the scene before you. Uruks move about in near silence, a few sharpening weapons, others tending to their injuries. Their faces are hard, lined with the scars of countless battles. Their armor is mismatched and battered, but there is a determined resilience in their movements, a kind of discipline borne from years of hardship.

You catch sight of the tattered furs they wear to protect themselves from the sun, the meager rations they share—little more than scraps of dried meat and stale bread. Even the water they drink is drawn from muddy streams, unfit for any other race to consume. Yet they endured.

Your gaze lingers on the ragged tents they sleep in, barely enough to keep out the cold of the night. And though their eyes are sharp and their bodies strong, you can see the toll their endless war has taken. The Uruks have known no home, no place of peace. Only this. Only the battlefield.

"They’ve lived like this for years?" you ask, the question slipping from your lips before you can stop yourself.

Adar, riding beside you, gives a small nod. His expression is unreadable, but you sense a deep, quiet sorrow beneath the surface.

“They have had no home," he replies, his voice low, steady. "The one they gained they may lose just as quickly."

You pause as you take in the weight of his words. These Uruks—his children—had been cast out, much like you and your people. They have lived in the shadows, in exile, scraping by with nothing but each other and their will to survive.

Your heart aches as you watch a young Uruk, barely old enough to fight, crouch by a fire, his eyes hollow and tired. The living conditions are brutal, a testament to their resilience, but it is clear they can not continue like this forever.

"They deserve more than this," you say softly, almost to yourself.

Adar’s gaze flicks to you, his eyes dark and intense in the fading light. “That is why I fight,” he says, his voice carrying a deep, unspoken promise. “To give them the home they deserve.”

There is something in his tone—something raw and true—that stirs something deep within you. You have always believed in protecting your own people, and have kept them safe in the hidden sanctuary of your mountain. But now, as you look out over the Uruks, you see a reflection of your own past, your own people’s struggle.

They have been denied safety, denied peace. And in Adar’s eyes, you see a fierce determination to change that.

"I will ride with you," you say, your voice firm with newfound conviction. "Not just for my people’s sake, and our allegiance, but for your children as well."

Adar’s gaze holds yours for a long moment, something unspoken passing between you. Respect. Understanding. And something more. He gives a slight nod, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest hint of a smile.

“Good,” he murmurs. “For they will need someone as powerful as you by their side.”

As the moment lingers, a slow awareness of your shared purpose settles between you. You had both fought your own wars, built your own defenses, and now—perhaps for the first time—you were aligning your strength with another.

The night was creeping closer, and the urgency of your mission pressed in. In a few days time, you would leave this camp behind, and the true battle would begin. But tonight, as you stand at the edge of the Uruks’ camp, you make a silent vow to fight for more than just power. You would fight for something far greater.

And you know Adar will be at your side.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

OUR SECRET MOMENTS, IN A CROWDED ROOM

chuuya x reader

afab! reader

you and chuuya share a private moment in a crowded room.

your high heels tapped against the marbled floor as you moved to prop yourself up against a wall, glass of wine you desperately needed in your gloved hand. every now and then, mori would throw elaborate parties specifically for the port mafia. in his words, he wanted to raise the moral of his workers. yeah right, you thought. it seemed awfully convenient that he’d throw one of these event’s right when he was about to pull some pompous bullshit like an alliance with the agency, and he wanted his people on his good side.

but how could you resist an open bar? how could chuuya?

the satin fabric of your dress clung to your curves like the stars cling to the night sky. it was the last nice thing you had that wasn’t tarnished in blood or tears from your life as an executive. you made wearing a simple black dress look like the moon rising over the night- chuuya thought so, at least.

chuuya stood across from you, downing at least his third glass of liquid courage. he knew he was a lightweight and would dump out his regrets in the washroom tomorrow morning. but right now, chuuya wasn’t planning on promising tomorrow, he wanted to promise tonight- with you.

he walked towards you in a sway of confidence you had never seen someone wear before. it wasn’t overconfidence or boastful, he seemed to walk towards you like he had always belonged there. that he was simply returning to his rightful place- right next to you.

“you look beautiful.” he leaned in to your ear, as if he were afraid someone would hear his words. perhaps because his words were only for your ears. his warm breath lingered on your neck for a moment before pulling away, gazing into your eyes with love and hunger. the bluest eyes you have ever seen lingered on your lips. he wanted to move on, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

“you’re a dangerous man, chuuya nakahara.” you tempt him, fingers caressing his tie and tugging him closer to you. he chuckles at your statement, his voice singing a sweet harmony that only you could compose.

“what makes me dangerous?” chuuya plays dumb, because he wants to prolong this interaction. he’d speak only one word at a time if it meant being in your presence for just a second longer. he’d stop time, if he could. let you two float up into the sky under the gaze of the moon, because thats exactly how you made him feel.

“because you make me weak.”

“oh? i feel special..”

you had never seen eyes so blue. like the sky had opened its gates to a celestial realm, just for you. chuuya’s gloved hand found its way to your waist, fitting himself onto you like his hands were especially crafted just for holding you. in a sea of people, in a crowded room of dazzling faces and glamorous stories, chuuya only chose to look at you.

how could he not fall for you? chuuya was a man of taste, and he knew not to treat you like you were his woman- simply because you weren’t. you’re you. and thats what he believed to be the most beautiful thing about you. you weren’t something he could, something he could take out his selfish, misled desires on- no. you were beautiful, and smart, and incredible, and it was no ones business. chuuya was enamoured with you right from the start.

its funny how even in a crowded room full of everyone you know, you and chuuya still managed to capture moments only for your eyes. staring into his eyes made it seem like no one else was there with you, just you and him. no one was watching- and even if they were you couldn’t bring yourself to give a fuck. not when chuuya nakahara stood in front of you.

and before you could open your lips to ask, chuuya dragged you in for a kiss. his lips pressed against yours with a patient yet passionate fervour. he had taken his hat off and held it behind your head, keeping you as close to him as possible. he could have had every inch of your body pressed up against his and he would still pull you in even closer. your love was not a want, it was a need.

your heart was so full of him you could barely call it your own. because of you, chuuya knew heaven without death. you were like all of his favourite songs trapped in a vessel, his love for you like a cup overfilled. you were all he ever wanted love to be. he made kissing feel like stats danced across your lips. if he wanted to taste the universe, all he had to do was kiss you.

for as long as he existed, you would always be loved.

[ilguna]

☼ NFWMB pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you'll do anything to protect Finnick, you can't live without him. so when it comes to saving Katniss from the arena or leaving her behind to save him, you make the obvious choice.

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, weapon use, fighting, blood, fire, hunger games stuff.

wc; 6.2k

notes; this is not canon compliant!!

part one.

--

It’s easy to forget just how soul-sucking the Hunger Games can be when you haven’t been inside of an arena for nearly a decade. It’s different when you’re mentoring, because all you have to do is give your tribute advice, but trying to put it into action is a completely different scenario.

Some victors are incapable of moving past the trauma inflicted, like Annie or Chaff, who are both disabled because of it. While others had fairly smooth Games, and even look back on it without issue, like Brutus or even you. Which isn’t an easy feat to achieve, at least for you. You would never have chosen to come back in here if it weren’t for a cause. For Brutus, this really is just a game.

You won’t lie, you definitely came in with so much hope, thinking you would be able to change the way the Capitol treats you, but now it’s been pulled out of every inch of your body. It’s especially bad this time, considering you know these tributes—these people. A lot of them you’ve mentored with, you’ve taken care of tributes with, that you’re friends with.

It’s only every night, when you’re forced to see the faces in the sky, are you faced with the reality you’ve been hiding from. This is real. The casualties of this war are real. You’ll never get to see any of these people again. They’ll forever be in a casket in their home district. They will never know if their efforts helped to better Panem.

Yesterday, the victors you lost were: Cashmere, Wiress, Blight, the man from District Ten, the woman from District Five, and the morphling who jumped in front of the mutt to save Peeta. 

Six dead. 

The Games lost a pretty significant amount on the first day too. The ones remaining now are Gloss, Brutus, Enobaria, Chaff, Beetee, Johanna, Katniss, Peeta, Finnick and you. There are only three enemies now, and it’s the Careers. It would be nice to find Chaff before the end of tonight. There is no guarantee, considering how vastly large this arena is.

The faint sound of tinkling interrupts the early morning silence you’ve been sitting in, watching the sun slowly rise from behind the tall jungle trees. No one moves from where they’re sitting on the sand, letting the parachute tilt from side to side, before eventually landing in front of Finnick.

Katniss sits up to scoot closer to Peeta, rubbing the sand from her eyes. You keep an eye on them for a few moments while the bread is counted. When Finnick is sure of the amount, he quietly announces there’s another twenty-four rolls, and they’re from District Three. This brings the grand total to thirty-three. 

You each take five, leaving eight left over.

It doesn’t take long for you to finish what you have. You steal glances at Katniss every so often, curious on what her expression is looking like, and it’s pretty grave. There’s a crease between her eyebrows, eyes wandering to the water. She’s thinking, and you’re afraid to know about what exactly. 

Actually, it might be fairly easy to get inside of her head. At this point, the majority of the tributes left in the Games are part of the alliance you’re in. The only ones not part of it are obviously the Careers. This probably stresses her out, making her worried about how much longer it’s going to last, and if you’re going to turn on her soon.

It’s a good thing that the plan is to get out of the arena tonight, because she’s not going to stay for much longer. In fact, you wouldn’t put it past her if she tried to escape sometime today.

Katniss suddenly gets to her feet, reaching for Peeta’s hand. He gives it to her willingly, letting her pull him up. “Come on. I’ll teach you how to swim.” She says, pulling him to the water.

You keep an eye on them for a while, with Johanna seemingly doing the same. When you’re sure there’s nothing going on between them, you turn your body halfway away to give them some privacy. Johanna relaxes too, making a bed in the sand so she can take a nap, after losing so much sleep the first couple of days.

Finnick gets up to gather a good armful of vines, then he takes a seat next to you. Once he begins to weave the net, you lean into him, head on his shoulder. You watch his hands move, noticing how clear it is that he’s done this many times before. He moves with confidence, tying knots that are hard to undo. You hum softly while he works.

“I miss laying in our bed together.” Finnick murmurs. “The lazy days we would take and then feel guilty for.”

“There’s always so much work to be done.” You sigh.

“Soon there won’t be any.” He whispers. “Once this is all over.”

You lift your head, reaching over to guide his lips to yours, thumb rubbing his jaw. He kisses you gently, keeping you there for only a couple of seconds before pulling away. You admire his eyes, a smile peeking at the corners of your mouth.

“I love you.” You tell him.

“I love you more.” 

“I don’t think so.” You laugh, looking away.

You catch Katniss standing up in the water, waving her arm. “Hey, Finnick, come on in! We figured out how to make you pretty again!”

He lets out a noise, which dissolves into a laugh. He presses a quick kiss to your temple before getting up, following them into the water. You watch as they gather handfuls of sand, rubbing it against their scabs so that they fall away. They take their time, being sure to get every one of them, including on their backs. When they’re done, they come back onto the sand to apply another layer of the medicine, joining you shortly after.

Beetee clears his throat. “I think we’ll all agree our next job is to kill gloss, Brutus and Enobaria.” He says. “I doubt they’ll attack us openly again, now that they’re so outnumbered. We could track them down, I supposed, but it’s dangerous, exhausting work.”

“Do you think they’ve figured out about the clock?” Katniss asks.

“If they haven’t, they’ll figure it out soon enough.” You tell her, shaking your head. “They’re smart, you should’ve seen their strategies in the past.”

“I got an idea of it.” Katniss nods.

“Perhaps not as specifically as we have.” Beetee says somewhat hopefully. “But they must know that at least some of the zones are wired for attacks and that they’re reoccurring in a circular fashion. Also, the fact that our last fight was cut off by Gamemaker intervention will not have gone unnoticed by them. We know it was an attempt to disorient us, but they must be asking themselves why it was done, and this, too, may lead them to the realization that the arena’s a clock.” Beetee tells you. “So I think our best bet will be setting our own trap.”

“Wait, let me get Johanna up.” Finnick says, taking a step away. “She’ll be rabid if she thinks she missed something this important.”

“Or not.” Katniss mutters quietly, you give her a small smile. You can’t blame her.

Once Johanna is up and awake enough to comprehend Beetee’s babble, the plan continues. Only, he has you scoot back a few feet in the sand so he has room to work it out in front of you. He effortlessly draws a circle, dividing it into twelve wedges. It’s obviously a map of the arena, just not as nicely drawn as the ones that Peeta have been making.

“If you were the Careers, knowing what you do now about the jungle, where would you feel safest?” He asks.

You withhold a sigh that threatens to release. You’ve worked with Beetee—and Wiress—a few times in the past to collaborate for the sake of your tributes. It’s funny how the technology tributes and the water tributes attract to each other like magnets sometimes. You don’t mind it when they explore outside of the Career pack, you even encourage it if they feel like they can do more.

However, that means you have to deal with the Three mentors. Which isn’t inherently bad, but you can’t stand the way that Beetee talks to people when he thinks they won’t understand a plan straight-forwardly. He will give you all the pieces to put together, and then he’ll tell you what he’s come up with. And Wiress wasn’t much of a help in these situations, because her sentences would drop off and she’d dissolve into laughter. Like they have their own joke about treating other victors less than.

It’s part of the reason why everyone groaned when Katniss decided she wanted Beetee and Wiress in her alliance. But they were going to be a vital asset either way. Even if she didn’t want them, Haymitch and Plutarch would’ve organized it so they agreed. 

“Where we are now. On the beach.” Peeta answers Beetee. “It’s the safest place.”

“So why aren’t they on the beach?” He asks.

“Because we’re here.” Johanna says impatiently.

“Exactly. We’re here, claiming the beach. Now where would you go?” 

Katniss’s eyes drift to the jungle. “I’d hide just at the edge of the jungle. So I could escape if an attack came. And so I could spy on us.”

“Also to eat.” Finnick chimes in. “The jungle’s full of strange creatures and plants. But by watching us, I’d know the seafood’s safe.”

Beetee smiles, like he always does when he’s satisfied his tests worked out. “Yes, good. You do see.” He says, you press your lips together in annoyance. As if all of you aren’t part of a bigger plan to take down President Snow. “Now here’s what I propose: a twelve o’clock strike. What happens exactly at noon and at midnight?”

“The lightning bolt hits the tree.” Katniss says.

“Yes. So what I’m suggesting is that after the bolt hits at noon, but before it hits at midnight, we run my wire from that tree all the way down into the saltwater, which is, of course, highly conductive. When the bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the wire and into not only the water but also the surrounding beach, which will still be damp from the ten o’clock wave. Anyone in contact with those surfaces at that moment will be electrocuted.”

That’s not complicated at all, you think. There’s a bit of silence that follows, though, as they properly digest this plan, weighing the pros and cons themselves. No matter what happens, Katniss will be protected, you’re here to make sure of it. Even if all else fails, you’re supposed to prioritize getting her to the end.

You’re not worried, though. You, Finnick and Katniss will get out of here, at least. The others will follow. 

“Will that wire really be able to conduct that much power, Beetee?” Peeta asks after a minute. “It looks so fragile, like it would just burn up.”

“Oh, it will. But not until the current has passed through it. It will act something like a fuse, in fact. Except the electricity will travel along it.”

“How do you know?” Johanna asks.

“Because I invented it.” Beetee says to her, as if it’s obvious. As if he’s not the type of guy to risk his life by running into the Cornucopia on the first day of the Games for some random wire. “It’s not actually wire in the usual sense. Nor is the lightning natural lightning nor the tree a real tree. You know trees better than any of us, Johanna. It would be destroyed by now, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.” She answers reluctantly.

“Don’t worry about the wire—it will do just what I say.”

“And where will we be when this happens?” Finnick asks.

“Far enough up in the jungle to be safe.”

“The Careers will be safe, too, then, unless they’re in the vicinity of the water.” Katniss points out.

“That’s right.” Beetee agrees.

“But all the seafood will be cooked.” Peeta says.

“Probably more than cooked.” Beetee nods. “We will most likely be eliminating that as a food source for good. But you found other edible things in the jungle, right, Katniss?”

“Yes. Nuts and rats.” She says. “And sponsors.”

“Well, then. I don’t see that as a problem.” He shrugs. “But as we are allies and this will require all our efforts, the decision of whether or not to attempt it is up to you five.”

Well, really it’s up to Katniss and Peeta. You, Johanna and Finnick should be on board already. Either this is a real plan that Beetee has set up to make sure you’re at the tree at midnight, or he genuinely believes that this is the best way to get rid of Gloss, Brutus and Enobaria. Or both. Regardless, you have no choice but to follow his guidance.

Katniss looks between everyone in the group, eyes landing on you. You give her a small encouraging nod, a push in the right direction. You won’t be in the arena past midnight, there is no reason to preserve the seafood. 

Katniss must trust your judgment. “Why not?” She asks, looking at Beetee. “If it fails, there’s no harm done. If it works, there’s a decent chance we’ll kill them. And even if we don’t and just kill the seafood, Gloss, Brutus and Enobaria lose it as a food source, too.”

“I say we try it.” Peeta agrees. “Katniss is right.”

Finnick looks between you and Johanna, raising his eyebrows. “All right.” She says. “It’s better than hunting them down in the jungle, anyway. And I doubt they’ll figure out our plan, since we can barely understand it ourselves.”

You almost laugh at that last remark.

Beetee declares that he wants to take a closer look at the lightning tree before he has to mess with it tonight. Katniss observes the sun, saying that it has to be about nine in the morning, meaning you’re going to have to leave in an hour when the wave comes. So, it’s better to go now.

Peeta brings you to the beach that borders the lightning section. He and Finnick briefly discuss what to do with Beetee, because he’s still recovering from the cut on his back. Finnick suggests taking turns carrying him, and Peeta agrees, despite the fact that he’s not running at full power, either. He’s still weak from the forcefield on the first day, and he’s got a prosthetic leg.

Johanna leads the way because it’s a straight path to the tree, with Finnick, Peeta and Beetee following directly behind her. Katniss insists on taking the rear because she has the arrows, so you keep in front of her. You just watch the jungle carefully on the way up, in case there’s spying eyes on the trees.

The journey to the top of the slope is irritating. You get your foot caught in several tangles of weeds, wiping an ocean of sweat from your skin every couple of minutes, and you can feel the burn beginning on the top of your thighs from the constant stepping. Not to mention, the air is so thick and hard to breathe with how hot it is here. You’d think it'd be cooler because of the canopy of leaves above, but the beach is better because of the breeze from the water.

“We’re almost at the top.” Johanna tells you after about a half hour.

“She should take the lead, then.” Finnick suggests through heavy breaths, pace slowing to allow a break. “Katniss can hear the force field.” 

Beetee’s eyes narrow, turning his head to look back at Katniss. You move out of the way to allow a clearer sight. “Hear it?” His voice is skeptical.

“Only with the ear the Capitol reconstructed.” She explains.

He slowly nods. “Then by all means, let Katniss go first.” He pulls the glasses from his face to wipe the steam away. “Force fields are nothing to play around with.”

She nods, passing you to go to the front. Finnick looks to you to make sure that you’re okay being back there, and you give him a smile. The hike continues for about another ten minutes, but you can see the lightning tree way before that. It’s unmistakable compared to the others that surround it. 

Katniss gathers a handful of nuts to use to confirm where the force field is. She stops suddenly, tossing a nut. The group of you watch as it bounces off what appeared to be a fern. If you had to guess, she’s about fifteen yards away from it.

“Justy stay below the lightning tree.” Katniss tells you.

Duties are quickly divided up by Beetee. Finnick is told to guard him while he takes a look at the tree. Johanna goes to tap for water, because you’re all thirsty after the way up here. Peeta goes ahead to gather nuts to sizzle, and Katniss disappears into the jungle to hunt for the tree rats.

You keep close to the tree, patrolling around it, while Finnick stays where he is next to Beetee. Who is currently taking laps, peeling off bark, measuring with his hands. It’s mildly amusing to listen to his mumbling nonsense. You really can’t stand being around him for longer than an hour at a time, especially when he’s doing that.

Luckily, the ten o’clock wave shakes the ground, letting you know a little more than an hour has passed since getting to the tree, since the wave signifies the end of the hour. Katniss shows up soon after with her tree rat, taking a seat next to Peeta. She draws a line in the dirt to separate her and the force field, and then goes on to clean her kill, cube the leftover meat, and then sears it by throwing it at the force field. Peeta follows her example by roasting the nuts one at a time. They start a pile of food on a large leaf.

Beetee peels another piece of bark from the tree, wandering over to Katniss and Peeta, only to throw it at the force field. It bounces off, landing in the dirt, glowing a bright orange color. It takes a few seconds for it to return to its normal color. And when it does, he murmurs, “Well, that explains a lot.”

A clicking interrupts his thoughts, he raises his head. The group of you fall into silence to hear where it’s coming from. It’s almost musical, and it sounds like it’s in the second next to you. It seems as if you weren’t crazy last night, you were hearing correctly. Johanna swore up and down that she couldn’t hear it. Now, she has no choice.

“It’s not mechanical.” Beetee tells you.

“I’d guess insects.” Katniss murmurs. “Maybe beetles.”

“Something with pincers.” Finnick nods.

The beetles get louder, excited by the sound of your voices. 

“We should get out of here, anyway.” Johanna says. “There’s less than an hour before the lightning starts.

The group of you don’t go very far, only to the identical tree in the next section over. You gather around the large leaf in a squat, eating the nuts and meat in turns until there’s nothing left. You’re not exactly full after, but that doesn’t stop you from sitting on the ground and leaning against a tree to rest.

As soon as the air starts to show signs that it’s getting staticy, Beetee asks Katniss to climb up one of the jungle trees to check out the first couple of lightning strikes. She does this without issue, staying for a couple of minutes to observe, before coming down the branches. When she describes the brilliant blue the tree turns with every bolt, Beetee nods thoughtfully. He thanks her for her help, and then it’s suggested to go down to the beach to wait out the next eight hours.

—

The anthem plays, but since there were no deaths during the day, there are no faces to show in the sky. Panem is undoubtedly on the edge of their seat. The people back home in the districts have their fingers crossed that there are no significant casualties of their beloved victors. And the Capitol will hardly be able to contain their excitement for the bloodshed to come.

Unfortunately for them, the only blood that will spill tonight will be of their favorite Career victors. The plan is to kill Gloss, Brutus and Enobaria, and for the rest of you to make it out of the arena alive. The more time ticks on, the more you’re sure this plan will go without a hitch.

When Katniss and Finnick are sure that it’s about nine, you leave camp, which is now littered with shells from this evening's lunch. You hike up the twelve sector’s jungle in the same formation you had earlier. Beetee’s feeling somewhat better, so he’s able to carry himself up the first half of the way before he needs help from the other two boys.

At the tree, Beetee asks Finnick to help him, while the rest of you guard them. He starts by unrolling several yards of the wire, making a pile to the side. He then goes on to order Finnick to tie the loose end around a broken branch, and then leave it on the ground. Next, they stand on opposite sides of the tree, passing the spool back and forth.

Over time, you can see it begin to layer, shimmering gold in the moonlight. 

You know what time it is when the wave hits, shaking the ground. Beetee announces that he’s done with the tree, which means that it’s time to carry out the second half of the plan. He tells Johanna and Katniss that he wants them to take the coil down to the beach, slowly unraveling it as they go. 

Beetee tells them it’s really important for them to lay some wire across the lightning beach, and to get rid of the spool deep in the water, so that it’s impossible to retrieve. Once it sinks, they have to run for the jungle to take cover. If they leave now, they should be able to make it to safety.

“I want to go with them as a guard.” Peeta barely lets Beetee finish before he talks, shaking his head.

“You’re too slow. Besides, I’ll need you on this end. Katniss will guard.” Beetee tells him. “There’s no time to debate this. I’m sorry. If the girls are to get out of there alive, they need to move now.” He hands the coil over to Johanna.

“I would feel better if (Y/n) went with them, at least.” Peeta says, looking at you next.

There’s an issue with that. While you’re supposed to guard Katniss at all costs, it was decided before the Games that Johanna would be the one to take care of the tracker in Katniss’s arm. Since Katniss trusts you, and she’s not the greatest fan of Johanna, it was Haymitch’s idea to make Johanna do it.

In the case that Johanna died, then you would do it. But you also have another prominent problem, and that’s the Careers. Johanna is a fantastic fighter, she’s incredibly vicious, but she doesn’t have the practice or stamina to fight three Careers at once, if the occasion were to arise. It was impossible to predict only one of them would die before it was time to be rescued. You were all hoping that none of them would try to get in your way, but the Gamemakers really screwed things when they gave Katniss and Peeta high training scores.

So, you can’t go with them. Johanna will protect Katniss and get the tracker out of her arm. Finnick will protect Peeta and keep him occupied at the tree. Beetee will make sure that the tree works the way it’s supposed to. And you will either lead the Careers to the beach to get electrocuted, or you’ll stalk them and kill them one by one. Whichever is more convenient.

“I can’t.” You tell Peeta plainly. “I’ll be here with you. Johanna is more than capable of keeping your girlfriend safe. Let them go or we’ll have to come up with another idea.”

Katniss nods, motioning for Peeta to go to her. “It’s okay.” She tells him. “We’ll just drop the coil and come straight back up.”

“Not into the lightning zone.” Beetee reminds her. “Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o’clock sector. If you find you’re running out of time, move over one more. Don’t even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage.”

Katniss cups Peeta’s face in her palms. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you at midnight.” She presses a kiss to his lips, and then turns to Johanna. “Ready?”

“Why not?” Johanna shrugs, beginning to head down the slope. “You guard, I’ll unwind. We can trade off later.”

The four of you watch as they disappear into the trees, taking the wire with them. It’s rigid, suspended in the air. You stand there for a couple of seconds before turning away, wandering, patrolling. Nothing is said between you guys, but it’s clear that Peeta’s unhappy by the way the tension just rolls off of him.

You hum quietly, swinging your spear in your hand, waiting for the arena to tell you what time it is. You share glances with Finnick, mostly because you can feel his anxiety about the situation, too. Between him and Peeta, your muscles begin to lock up, your moves becoming more rigid. 

There’s no reason to be worried. Johanna will bring Katniss down to the water, they’ll deposit the wire. In the jungle, Johanna will remove her tracker, by then the Careers should be dead. Katniss should chase her all the way up the blood rain section, where the four of you will be waiting, and then you’ll get taken out of the arena.

Or something along those lines.

The sound of clicking begins, you pause your movements to look in the direction of where the beetles will be. SInce time isn’t exactly clear here, it could be eleven on the dot, or a quarter of the time after. Either way, hopefully they’re pretty far down the slope, they don’t have much time.

You let out a sigh, beginning to turn back in the direction of the wire, when it snaps. A metallic sound fills the air, making you wince. You watch one of the ends fly toward the tree, bunching up into curls before laying on the ground. Unmoving.

That’s bad, you think. This is about to get really, really bad.

You open your mouth to speak, thinking maybe you can convince Peeta not to run away just yet. Katniss and Johanna will come right back to you, since the plan is obviously a bust, and you’ll need to come up with something different. But a shadow in your peripheral stops you. A large shadow.

You draw your arm back, launching the spear in the direction of the threat before you can stop to think about it. Finnick lets out a choked noise behind you, maybe to tell you to wait a second, but it’s too late. It’s gone into the jungle.

A surprised yelp comes from the area, you jerk forward to attack, pulling a knife out of your belt, holding it at your side. You stop flat in your tracks when Brutus emerges from the treeline, shadows hiding half of his face, making him appear sinister.

“Brutus!” You shout to the boys, stealing a glance over your shoulder. 

Gloss is coming out of the other side, sword in his hand. Peeta and Finnick show their own weapons, a machete and a trident. You can barely see Beetee out of the corner of your eye, and he’s inching closer to the force field.

“Beetee, stay away from there!” You tell him, turning back to Brutus.

He’s closer now, you swing at him, he dodges. It goes back and forth like this, with him gaining on you. The boys are easily fighting off Gloss, they have the upper hand. You would have some even ground with Brutus, if you hadn’t thrown your spear. If you had waited half a second more, he’d probably be dead.

Brutus is twice your size, it doesn’t take long before he’s basically on top of you. No matter how close your blade gets to his body, he’s good at dodging. A heavy feeling starts to weigh in your chest, because you know you’re going to lose this fight without help.

A canon blasts, making your next stab weak. Brutus easily grabs your wrist, twisting it harshly. You hiss through your teeth, grimacing at the pain. You try to punch Brutus with your other hand, but Brutus just smiles. His hand covers yours entirely, making it impossible to get away.

“Peeta, no!” Finnick shouts. “Stop!”

“Finnick—!” Your voice is shrill, Brutus is beginning to squeeze, cutting off circulation.

Beetee appears from behind Brutus, the branch wrapped with wire in his hand. He manages to throw it around the Career’s neck, before throwing his entire body back. Brutus lets go at once, going with Beetee to avoid being garrotted. You stoop to the ground to retrieve your knife, taking a steep jump onto Brutus, when he kicks you square in the chest.

You fly for a second, and when you land, it’s on your back. The air is stolen from your lungs. You struggle to suck in a full breath, a deep ache beginning. You try to speak, but all you can manage is a moan, eyes closed.

Another canon.

“(Y/n)!” Finnick shouts. “Breathe!”

A hand touches your face.

“Help!” Beetee chokes out.

Your eyes pop open as you twist in the dirt, finally being able to breathe. You find Gloss dead in the dirt, three puncture wounds across his chest. On the other side is Brutus, who’s slowly crushing Beetee beneath him.

Finnick pulls you to your feet, together, the two of you attack Brutus, which is easier said than done. It doesn’t matter if he’s on the ground or standing, because he manages to hold the both of you off. You have your knife, Finnick has his trident, and Brutus has his strength alone.

Beetee is practically useless, he only recently started feeling better, and now he’s out again. 

You don’t know how long you fight for, how many times you get Brutus into a vulnerable position, how many times he gets out of it. It’s a frustrating process, building up inside of you. You’re about to take a risky move, but Finnick beats you to it, losing the trident in the process, getting his hand smashed and broken before Brutus punches him across the face.

Finnick collapses in a heap on the ground.

The sound of clicking is getting quieter. You swipe at Brutus, trying to catch him in a pattern so that you can counter it. He’s so precise about his punches, so much weight thrown behind them. You’re surely going to have bruises covering your body. Your arm, your legs, your face, your torso, your wrist.

“Fuck!” Brutus suddenly shouts, a red stripe begins to come alive across his chest.

Blood.

Like an animal, triggered by the sight, the whole rest of the world gets dark as you pounce on Brutus. In the matter of seconds, you have him torn apart, your own skin covered in his blood. When the canon finally blasts, when he’s finally dead, the hair on your arms stands straight up.

“(Y/n), get away!” Johanna’s voice cuts through the air.

In the next second, there’s an electric zap! You’re thrown away from Brutus’s body, stumbling toward a tree. You land on your hands and knees, an unfamiliar energy coursing through your body. 

When you blink, the arena goes dark. You throw your head back, watching as the hexagon’s that make up the force field begin to go dark, revealing that the arena is only a projection made by the Gamemakers. The black spreads across the dome, taking away the moonlight, too.

The next thing you know, the sky is falling and the jungle is on fire.

“Finnick?” You call, pulling yourself to your feet.

You face the lightning tree, and your eyes are able to lock in a few faces, but not all of them. Beetee has been completely singed, the wire that had been wrapped around the tree is now completely gone, which means he went about the wire in a different way. Maybe he blew the fuse when the lightning struck?

You find Johanna and Peeta nearby, unconscious in the dirt. You spin in circles, eyes searching the area around, desperate to find your boyfriend. You need to make sure that he gets on that hovercraft. He’s more important than anyone here. He needs to survive.

Finnick is closer than you thought, lying face down. You flip him over, dropping to your knees to feel for a pulse. When you find his heart beating strong and steadily, you move to Johanna and Peeta. They, too, are alive.

Right as you begin to drag them to line up with Finnick, a familiar voice is shouting from somewhere close in the jungle. You almost drop Johanna’s ankles to go search for her, remembering that it’s your job to save her over everyone else.

How much time? You wonder, looking up to the opening in the dome, which has now revealed a bright blue sky beyond it. The claw belonging to a hovercraft is coming down, answering your question. There is no time. They’ll only be able to grab a couple of you before it's too late and they’re caught by the Capitol. 

Plutarch’s following your tracker location. If you begin to follow Katniss’s voice, that means they’ll abandon the victors you have here. Peeta, Johanna, Beetee and Finnick will be left behind. You and her will be saved. You can’t go chasing after her.

“Katniss, quick!” You shout to her. “Peeta’s here! He needs you!”

You tug at Johanna one last time before dropping her legs. Right as you step away, the claw wraps around Finnick and Johanna’s bodies, beginning to pull them to the sky. When they see that it’s not their beloved Mockingjay, they’ll send another claw down. You can get them to take Peeta, at least. Beetee’s too far to drag.

“(Y/n)! Peeta!”

“Katniss, run!” You move on to Peeta, straightening him out, making him an easier target to grab. 

The claw reaches the hovercraft, and it’s immediately sent back down. Katniss isn’t here yet, meaning she’s moving too slowly or she’s too far away to make it. You can’t start towards her now. They’ve got the claw in motion.

“Shit.” You shake your head, Beetee groans quietly, telling you he’s alive. But who knows how much damage was done from the force field? “Katniss, you need to run!”

It doesn’t matter. The claw comes down, positioned over you and Peeta. You take a seat, letting the claw clasp beneath you before beginning to pull you up. You close your eyes, shaking your head. They’re going to be pissed when you get up there. They don’t have much time.

The jungle burns a bright orange and red beneath you, black smoke billowing in the air. You can see a speck run into the clearing around the tree, and you know that it’s Katniss, coming too late. The claw pulls you inside of the hovercraft, and the trap doors close, making solid ground.

“Where’s Katniss?” A voice demands, you slide off of one of the claw teeth, looking over to see Plutarch. “Why is Peeta here? The deal was to get Katniss.”

“She wasn’t at the tree.” You tell them with a slight head shake. “Beetee’s down there, too.”

“Katniss is the Mockingjay.” Plutarch says, as if it isn’t obvious. “Your priority was to make sure she got out of the arena.”

“I know, but she wasn’t at the tree. Everyone else was there except for her. Even Johanna made it.” You motion to the ground. “Can’t you go one more time?”

“No, the Capitol is right behind us.” Plutarch closes his eyes, letting out an angry sigh. “This is not how this was supposed to go. What are we going to do with the boy?”

“I don’t know, Plutarch.” You move away from the claw. “But I did what I could.”

You got Finnick out of the arena, that’s what matters most to you. While you would’ve taken Katniss had she gotten there in time, she wasn’t. She was too far away to get to. Did they really want you to take one girl over three other people? It makes no sense.

They’ll just have to figure it out. You did your best. You made a judgment call.

“President Coin will want to talk to you when we get to District Thirteen.” Plutarch tells you, you pause in the doorway, looking over your shoulder.

“And I’ll stand by what I did.”

[readyforthegarden]

When the Nightingale Sings - Masterlist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x F!Reader

Synopsis: Medieval AU! In a world where noble alliances dictate futures, you have been betrothed to Prince Emers, a man you barely know and certainly don't love. As you travel towards the royal palace for your impending wedding, your journey is upended, causing you to run straight into a kind, lonesome hunter. With no choice but to trust him, you embark on a journey together towards the nearest village, navigating through the forest and it's perils. As the solace you find in his companionship builds will you choose to honor your duty, or will you abandon everything you've ever know to follow your heart?

Warnings: this fic will contain mentions of death, blood, brief depictions of murder, smut, angst, fluff.

A/N: I’d like to thank @joshsindigostreak for always believing in my AUs and helping me workshop them to find the plot, and a big huge thank you to @earthlysorrows for helping me write through all my brain funks and beta-reading/editing. I truly don’t know what I would do without you!! 💖

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

“Does the prince not charm you?” Danny asked, the firelight dancing across his tanned skin. You bristled slightly, your memory pouring through the letters you had exchanged with the monarch. 

“He,” you paused, finding the right words. “He is not as verbose when it comes to the written word as I would like.” Danny smirked, knowing the rumors the prince was a dud were proving themselves true. 

“What would you want him to write?” Taking a sip of your ale, you almost snorted into the pint glass. 

“Anything other than the acres of land I lived on or how the castle in Farrynden is one of the best in the world.” you made a face, rolling your eyes. “I once wrote him a letter, telling him that thinking of our upcoming nuptials had my bosoms heaving.” 

“And what was his response?” Danny asked softly.

“His response was to ask if my father had any cattle.” Danny’s smirk fell, his eyes darting over you. His iris's darkened, his tongue licking his lips before he spoke again.

“If you had written me a letter about your heaving bosoms I would write you one back telling you all the ways I would touch them, tease them.” your cheeks reddened as your breath caught in your throat, watching as Danny leaned closer to you, the tip of his nose nearly bumping yours. Feeling a ghost of his breath upon your lips, your eyes fluttered shut, heart pounding calling to him to move just a few more inches so his lips would touch yours.

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[branwendaughterofllyr]

Thank you so much for the lengthy reply!!!!!

I was also having a discussion with @robbrhaenys the other day about how Goldengrove and Hornhill essentially cut the reach in half (especially without Highgarden doing anything about them) so I do get why George picked them, but the Lady Sam plot line is, as you’ve said, pretty ridiculous lol. I do respect her for running over the fantasy!pope with her horse (what a girlboss lol) but I do not respect her illogical place in Reach alliances.

(Also, yeah! Why the hell is Garmund even in Highgarden then, if not as a mark of trust? I have many questions about the Lady Regent.)

I think the things that also really bothers me, is that so many of Rhaenyra’s allies should be really turned off by the fact that Daemon is her consort. Really wild to me that Corlys and Rhaenys commit to Rhaenyra despite Daemon looking like he like he killed their son, but I guess they’re into too deep with their grandkids. And I guess Rhaenyra killing all those Velaryon cousins didn’t mean much.

And never mind how Lady Jeyne forcibly ejected Daemon from the Vale.

The fact that Daemon didn’t kill any of Rhaenyra’s alliances was truly an act of magnanimity on the part of the author

Probably not the discourse you want, but I literally lie awake at night thinking about why the fuck houses Rowan and Tarly sided with Rhaenyra. There’s not a reason given really?????? And Ormund Hightower had married Lady Sam not that long ago, so presumably they were down with the Hightowers then. Beesbury makes sense for obvious reasons, (lol) and the Lady Regent Tyrell deciding to sit it out because she’s a widow with a baby lord, but the rest? The Battle of the Honeywine bothers me so much???? It shouldn’t have happened. But I guess Daeron needed someplace to be daring? And also the Reach had to be nerfed, otherwise the Greens probably would have had more of fitting chance. This just drives me up the wall.

I’ve seen some explanations for why the Starks went with Rhaenyra, including that the Starks actually with the Velaryons in supporting Laenor’s claim at the GC, which is very interesting! Maester Yandel speculates it’s because they were still upset about the New Gift, but it could be for several other reasons, and maybe those reasons are still extant when it came to picking sides in the dance. I don’t really think the Pact of Ice and Fire, if real, is that compelling of a reason tbh.

Seven blessings, Branwen, and thank you for dropping by!

I have an entire tag dedicated to this topic, if anyone is interested. I have also tried to think of an explanation, but haven't been able to come up with many that satisfy me. It really does seem that George worked himself backwards from his set-ending of Aegon III and had to make sure the blacks won somehow, but, unfortunately, he ended up overpowering them, defying logic and resorting to many deus-ex-machina moments.

You make a very good point about why/how Lord Ormund would even marry Lady Sam in the first place if House Tarly didn't support Aegon II. Lady Tyrell wants to stay neutral, but somehow the Hightowers leave Garmund in Highgarden? So he can be a convenient hostage if the Tyrells decide to change their minds? The whole explanation with Lyonel Hightower and Lady Sam as to why the Hightowers couldn't raise a second army - I very much dislike it and really feels random AF.

@duxbelisarius pointed out to me recently that a lot of these places, governed by Reach houses that sided with Rhaenyra, cover the distance between Oldtown and King's Landing: Uplands, Honeyholt, Highgarden, Bitterbridge, Horn Hill, Longtable. That's mightily convenient, since it basically prevents another Hightower host from reaching the capital.

As for the reasons why - George is really going to have to invent blood feuds from scratch, basically - because I can't imagine that Otto spent all those years after Viserys' dismissed him as Hand and did not go on a full propaganda and lobbying offensive to secure the Reach for Aegon. When has Rhaenyra lifted one finger for the Reach lords, by the way? Why would the Reach lords not prefer a Reach-adjacent King to unhinged royal consort Daemon Targaryen? What could they possibly gain by disregarding Andal Law in favour of Rhaenyra? Don't they have bastards and elder sisters, too?

Even Lady Jeyne is a mystery, to be honest. Yes, she is blood related to Rhaenyra, fair. I could accept this explanation. But her claim has nothing to do with Rhaenyra's. She is her father's only living child. She is disputed by her cousins, not her inexistent little brothers. Lady Jeyne as ruler of the Vale is very much in line with Andal Law. Why would the greens take that away from her? She's been Lady of the Vale since she was a baby (under a regency) and no green has ever contested her. What exactly does she gain with the legal precedent of Rhaenyra taking the throne ahead of her brother? Lady Jeyne has no brothers. A daughter inherits before an uncle.

Furthermore, Daemon kills his wife, the kinswoman of her regent Yorbert Royce, and she is fine with it? Very well, it's more ambiguous in the books, but Daemon goes to petition Lady Jeyne for his wife's estates and she must have found that insulting, since she kicks him out of the Vale. And now she wants to commit her armed forces to help this man become consort?

Couldn't Lady Jeyne have decided on a military alliance with the greens in exchange for them supporting her as ruling Lady of the Vale any time she needed it? Or at least remained neutral? There was nothing to gain from throwing her lot with Rhaenyra.

The Starks may very well could have been upset by the New Gift, but that was Alysanne's doing, Rhaenyra's and Aegon's grandmother. What bearing does a long-dead queen have on anything? Yandel says this is why the Starks sided with Rhaenys/Corlys at the Great Council of 101, because they had beef with Jaehaerys and Alysanne, but let's examine that for the moment.

Jaehaerys and Alysanne are divided on this matter. Jaehaerys' preferred heir was Viserys. He had the ultimate authority to deny Alysanne re: the New Gift, but he didn't. Alysanne was the instigator in this regard. Her preferred heir was Rhaenys - yet the Starks vote as Alysanne would have liked? How is this payback/revenge, exactly?

Furthermore, Rhaenys is still a Targaryen, so it's not like the dynasty would have ended with her. I very much doubt Laenor would have used the last surname Velaryon if he ascended. It is very likely they would have reached a similar agreement like in the show, let's be serious. In addition, Rhaenys has nothing to do with the New Gift either? Neither does Viserys.

Also, the decision during the Great Council of 101 is very different. Both their fathers were dead by then, so proximity to the King is not an issue - both Rhaenys and Viserys are two generations down from Jaehaerys. So the question really is eldest daughter of the first son vs her male cousin (from the second son), similar to Lady Jeyne's predicament. By Andal Law, Rhaenys should have been Queen. The Starks, therefore, in a man v woman situation, prefer to vote for a man, even though the man in question is a cousin. Yet during the Dance, they side with a woman, even though the man they pass over is a brother, i.e. more closely related? What exactly are they doing here, just voting the opposite way Andal Law indicates, any time they get the chance? If the Starks are such staunch feminists, ahead of their time, how come Rickon's daughters, Serena or Sansa, don't later inherit Winterfell?

If you ask me, it would have been in the Stark's best interest (and in line with their ideology) not to get involved in this at all. What do they gain? What incentive do they have to side with Rhaenyra? An oft-given argument for the Starks is their honour and them not wanting to "break their oaths". But we already have an in-universe character obsessed with the law, that is Stannis Baratheon, and he eminently doesn't seem to think that oaths taken before Aegon's birth have any legal value - he calls Rhaenyra a traitor. So what oaths would the Starks be breaking then?

I don't know, at least the Pact of Ice and Fire could have provided some incentive for Cregan's support - he trades his military intervention for a future daughter-in-law - a Targaryen princess that's (likely) to come with a dragon of her own. I'm not inclined to believe Jace was as irresponsible as to marry Sara Snow, but if he did, Cregan also got a future Queen that could have influenced policy in favour of the North. It's a more straightforward and understandable military alliance - each party gains something by this agreement.

IMO this distribution of power for the Dance would have made more sense.

[pendarling]

A Proposal

Female Hero, Male Villain

Villain hesitated, his fist just inches away from hitting them. Hero saw a flicker of something unfamiliar, but her foot had already kicked the enemy back.

She quickly stood back up on her feet, her breath coming out in short gasps as she gripped her hands tightly into a ball. He stumbled and crashed into a collection of debris before getting back up.

Something had changed.

She knew he had changed. The way Villain's eyes glared at her came with a ferocity that further deepened their connection. It was an intense gaze, but Hero knew it was also harmless.

Villain smiled coyly, "You're getting confident." He dusted himself off.

"And you're getting distracted."

His jaw clenched, "Just a series of lucky hits."

"Luck shouldn't be this often as of late. What's gotten into you?" She squinted at him, her feet steady under her weight.

He clicked his tongue, hands behind his back as Villain walked slowly up to the ledge of the roof. "I figured perhaps there is something more beneficial here in our interactions, Hero."

She lowered her hands, yet her suspicions did not die down. "What do you mean?"

"I figured it would be wrong to have you eliminated so soon." He turned around, "There is a potential for you that I can help you achieve."

Oh, she was starting to understand now. His respect for her abilities must've made Villain take an allegiance with her. Hero sighed and shook her head, "Just because I am fond of our rivalry doesn't mean I am interested in joining you."

"Well," Villain played with the collar of their suit, "I was referring to an alliance between us only."

She couldn't lie, Hero was flattered that Villain acknowledged her strength. However, the circumstances they were in weren't easy. "I cannot do that, sorry."

"Why not?"

"I have commitments toward my friends, my fans, everyone who believes in me."

"And I believe you are more than ready to go beyond this journey you've taken."

"What about you?" She urged him to answer. Whatever idea he had in mind was interesting to her.

"My proposal to you…" he paused, words hanging in the air. "Doesn't include any of this." Villain waves his hand in the air.

She tilted her head with confusion, "This?"

"This whole business, and association with certain ideologies." He stepped forward, "I have only one goal, my dear. I intend for our agreement to be long and withstand a lifetime." He pointed at her, "you," then at himself, "and I can create something greater than what this is."

"How?" Hero whispered, still lost within his words. The gears in her head were working as fast as they could, but she wasn't entirely sure what he was implying.

"You have something invaluable to me." He stared into her. She held it as his eyes lowered below her chest and to her stomach. Hero's face turned red at the prospect of his idea.

"You mean— a child?" She wrapped her arms around herself, "you want a child from me?"

He tilted his chin down, satisfied with her response. "I'm more than willing to help you become—"

"Is that why you avoid hitting me there?" She asked. It made sense now; he hadn't intended to hurt her if she were to become the future mother of his child.

An image of a family appeared in her head. It wasn't making her ill; the colours were warm and bright.

Villain's hand laid on her shoulder, "Don't be afraid. You're a hero, remember? There is nothing you fear," his hand rubbed her back slowly, and strangely, it was comforting enough for Hero to gather her breath again. Yet, she was so nervous, had he always had this in mind or was it only recent?

She was so shocked that if her head kept spinning, she might topple over. Villain's arm came around her waist as she crashed into him.

"Take your time." He lifted her chin, "I don't mind your rejection, but I do hope you consider this offer."

"A marriage..." She mumbled between her lips, "W-what… what will I gain in return?"

His face lowered, lips closer to hers than expected. "You'll get a fine and loving young man as your husband."

It wasn't as if she didn't find him attractive enough. He did fit her standards, and he did meet her requirements; she just didn't expect this to happen to her suddenly.

"I guess you're handsome enough." She twirled with her hair.

"Perfect, your hips will serve their purpose well." He hummed momentarily and looked out into the distance, "We will leave this place behind and find a nice place to settle to put this nonsensical waste of our lives behind us."

She could imagine it: a nice home somewhere out in the country or hidden in an apartment in a different city.

~~~

MASTERLIST

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