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textmel8r · 4 months

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[ SMAU + DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( sixth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; profanity , mentions of sex

୨୧˚ an; so sorry if anyone asked to be tagged recently and you didn’t get tagged!! tumblr is being screwy again and i can’t see any of my comments😭😭 also apology time from nanami woo hoo!!!

Nanami stole yet another glance at the expensive watch wrapping around his wrist. Your promptness was certainly an issue; how does she show up nearly thirty minutes late to a meeting she called?

And then he scoffs at himself, giving a little shake of the head. Meeting? There he goes again, speaking in corporate tongue.

But finally, you do show up. Bursting through the entrance of the quiet café, making an embarrassing show of noisiness with your heaving breaths and wheezes. Not that it had been much of a disturbance to anyone else—only two other patrons resided in the small establishment; one too engrossed in her book to care, and the other scrolling mindlessly through his cellphone with a pastry in his free hand. Even so, you bashfully clapped two hands together as you peeked around the room. “Sorry!”

The older woman behind the counter nods in appreciation. Nanami can’t help but exhale roughly through his nose in sort of an almost-chuckle. God, you were a mess, weren’t you?

“Sorry, I’m so late!” You approached the table he resumed, one near the front window like you’d asked for. Your heels clopping against the grainy tile, knee-length dress flowing like water around your legs. He stands, walking to the opposite side of the tiny, rectangular table and pulling out the chair for you.

“Impressively late,” Nanami derides, but it’s not full of any malice. Truth be told, he did have the patience of a saint when situations like these were called to question. He didn’t mind waiting, because despite your utter tardiness, he trusted that you'd show up eventually, rather than ditching him altogether and leaving him to sulk in the humiliation of being stood up over a cup of black coffee. You were scatterbrained at times, yes, but dependable? Always.

Nanami returns to his side of the table after pushing your seat in. It wasn't meant to come across as a romantic gesture; Nanami had made it a habit of serving the women in his life nothing but a respectful demeanor. Whether it be lovers, colleagues, friends, and anyone in between. Though admittedly, his behavior towards you these past couple of months has been anything but respectful. It’s too late to start making amends to things, but the least Nanami can do now is try.

You shudder. Flustered, maybe? “Y’didn’t have to do that,” you tell him, placing your phone and clutch bag onto the table.

Nonsense. “My mother would have my head if she knew I let a lady pull out her own seat.” While true—his mother, bless her heart, raised him to be the gentleman his is today—he also just… wanted to do it. It felt right to serve you a seat.

Your elbow slams rudely on the table, finger reaching across to wag in his face. “Sounds like a good woman!” You laugh, and Nanami gingerly swats your hand away. He’s about to say something, but you beat him to the next sentence. “Hey, what gives? I thought this was supposed to be a day of relaxation?”

He worms under the scrutinized glare you wave up and down from his face to neck to chest to abdomen, finally peeking under the table to gawk at his shoes. Nanami curls his toes, a feeble attempt to shrink away from the judgement casted in your eyes. “What? Stop looking at me like that.”

“You’re dressed in fancy-man clothes.” At that, he takes it upon himself to look down at his wear; an ironed dress shirt clung to his chest, tie resting flat and perfectly centered between his pectorals. His slacks were ashy grey and devoid of any wrinkles, cut and hemmed around his ankles just above those stiff, leather shoes snug on his feet. The matching suit jacket was slung neatly over the backrest of Nanami’s chair, sleeves tucked away into its pockets.

His least expensive suit, sure, but still far too pristine and tidy for a little coffee shop outing. "Is it so bad that I like to remain presentable?" Nanami offers the question while he busies his hands, plucking open the pearlescent buttons at his wrists and rolling back the sleeves off the off-white button down.

"Presentability and discomfort don't always go hand in hand, you know. I mean, look at me," your voice echoes the mocking tone of cockiness, clearly a joke but also not at the same time. With a gesture towards yourself, you beam and shimmy in the simple, breezy dress. It had a floral pattern, Nanami notices. "Cute, stylish, and comfortable."

He isn't jumping to disagree with that. "Sorry, all my sun dresses were in the wash." He surprises himself with the jest, but it has you splitting an unladylike snort, so he doesn't come to regret it.

The toe of a thick, wedged heel jabs into his sock-clad ankle. "You business men are all so sassy." Nanami glowers at the adjective chosen to describe him, but doesn't refute. You sigh. "It's fine, I guess. Nothing we can do about it now. Wear some sweats next time though, would you?"

Next time. There’d be a repeat of this?

“Sure.”

“Great.” Your toothy grin beams over your clutch purse, of which is now wrangled in your grabby hands. Rifling through its unorganized contents, dumping out tubes of chapstick, loose change, and sticks of gum onto the table before fishing out a wallet. “Right, I’m starved. Did you look over the menu any?”

Nanami looked it over five times during the wait, if not for anything other than something to pass time. “Not really. Tell me what you recommend.”

You bite. Rambling about the array of pastries and baked goods that have been worthy enough to be placed in the category of y/n’s favorites. Nanami soaks in your excited, leaning in ever so slightly with open ears a you passionately ramble about cake.

“I take it you come here often?”

The question has you nodding. “Like, all the time man. This is my spot, you should be so grateful that I’m not a gatekeeper.” You look back at the menu once more before verbally deciding: “I want pistachio cheesecake and peppermint tea.”

The man poorly stifles his chuckle, rising from his seat. "Alright then, stay here. I'll go order."

"Oh, okay thanks." You shove your wallet into the wall of Nanami's chest, "take my card with you."

He is bewildered that you would even think he'd let you pay for your own meal. "I've got it," Nanami tells you, gently pushing the leather thing back to you.

"Nanami, stop."

"Stop what?"

"Take my fucking wallet," you gnarr, and he thinks you look much like a soaked kitten in this state of agitation. "Don't make me slap you."

It's an unserious threat, but Nanami plays a long. He raises two thick, blonde eyebrows. "Jesus, okay, you win. Just please keep your hands to yourself.” He revels in your little smirk of satisfaction, snatching your wallet back before making his way to the front counter.

Nanami kindly asked for two slices of pistachio cheese cake and two drinks; for you, peppermint tea, and him a coffee, black. Of course, everything was charged to his card. You didn’t need to know that, though.

You scarfed your portion down with swiftness, slinging spoonfuls of chartreuse custard into your mouth with such savagery that Nanami feared you might choke. He was a much more serene sight, preferring to savor each bite between slow swigs of piping coffee. The dark roast complimented the nutty pistachio flavor stunningly. For such a nameless little eatery, the food was exquisite. He takes another calculated bite of cake.

“You like?” The question was garbled behind a mouthful, cheesecake clinging to your milky teeth as you smiled brightly. A childlike excitement radiated warmly off you, clouding across the table to heat him up, too. It was sweet how wired you were, hopeful that he’d, too, enjoy your choice of confection.

Nanami huffs, amused. “Swallow before you choke.” You make a show of swallowing, a big hearty gulp with your eyes squeezed shut. “And yes, I like it a lot. Your tastes are surprisingly refined.”

“Surprisingly?” You gape, offended.

Nanami wants to crack a quip, something referring to your sub-par taste in men, but this little get together was nice. Yeah, it was really nice, actually. So he refrained from ruining it like the asshole he’d been lately, and drowned the snide remark with another toss of coffee. “Sorry, sorry.”

The remainder of the evening was cushy; you both fell into easy conversation about the randomest of topics. Discussions that never breached corporate subject matter, and he was eternally grateful for that. You spoke in tangents, whistling appreciation for a new movie you caught recently, to describing a long list of bands you enjoy, to lamenting about the headache that your minty iced tea sprang upon you: “Ah, brainfreeze!” Nanami doesn’t add much to the conversation, but he is content to listen and provide little hums of encouragement to urge you to keep talking. His eyes, inquisitive honey-colored things, found your lips and stayed there. Despite the uncouth display in which you carry yourself ( Nanami had been itching to tell you to close your legs, what with the way you sit spread-thighed in your seat donning that dress. So careless and unabashed. If the cafe had been a little more crowded, had a little more men around, and he might’ve slipped his foot over the imaginary boundary line to your side underneath the table and nudged them shut himself ) there was an elegance in the way you spoke about topics of interest. Passion flourished from the little curve of your lips, teeth bared in a great smile because you really were just that happy. Nanami feels envious when he watches you.

“I’m shocked at how well this is going.” You grin cheekily, licking cream from the pad of your thumb. “Kind of makes me sad that we didn’t get off on the right foot, you know? I think we could've been good friends.”

“Is it too late for atonement?” Nanami bites back a frown. “I understand if you can never see me as anything other than an asshole. But I never got to formally apologize for my behavior these past few months, Y/n. And I’d like to, if you’ll let me.” Why was this humiliating? It was a seldom occurrence when Nanami was in the wrong, but he was never one to let his faults drift by unaddressed. You deserve an apology—a proper one, not over measly text messages. Still, he miscalculated how awkward this would be.

You flail. “A formal apology? Nanami please, a simple ‘I’m sorry’ will work. It doesn’t have to be a whole thing, I’m mostly over it anyway.” But that was a lie and an obvious one, at that. You weren’t over it, he could see it in your eyes.

The blonde clears his throat and rubs his hands together mindlessly. “No, please. It’s long overdue, and if we’re going to be working in alliance, then you deserve to feel secure with me.” Though Nanami’s hands wrench restlessly, his gaze never detracts from yours. He bares his sincerity in the intense eye contact, offering a peek into his soul. Vulnerability. “I’ve been nothing but rude and ignorant and vulgar towards you, ever since…”

“That night.” You finish for him. “It really upset you, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess it did.”

“Why? Do you have a revulsion to sex or something?”

“What? Wh—I—No, t-that’s not…” Nanami sputtered, his ears growing warm from your accusation. “I don’t… mind sex?”

You play with the dainty straw flouncing around your drink, seemingly oblivious to Nanami’s flummoxed reaction. “You seem to have a strong opinion of whores, though.”

He groans, embarrassed with himself, and drags a palm down his pallor face. “Who you choose to sleep with does not make you a whore. It never did, I was just being petty and grasping at straws for anything that would get a reaction out of you.” Nanami runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth, inwardly wishing that the mug of coffee before him would turn to water so he could cure the dryness that ached in his throat.

“Why go through the trouble?”

Nanami opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens again, “I don’t know.”

A piss poor attempt at playing the fool. Surely there was a reason for his unabashed cruelty towards you, but what the fuck was it? “Well, when you figure it out, let me know?” To his utter surprise, your expression doesn’t hold an ounce of animosity; you’re smiling at him. Finding humor in any situation had to be your special talent. Nanami nods dumbly. “In the meantime, you’ll just have to start making it up to me. You were a dick, big time.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm,” you make a comical show of humming, touching your index to the point of your chin, and now Nanami knows you’re fucking with him. “Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm. I guess I can start the forgiving process if…” A pause for dramatic effect? The man raises his brows expectantly. “You and I make this,” you gesture between both bodies at the table, “a weekly thing.”

Nanami was expecting a punishment, but this suggestion was anything but. “I’ll need to take a look at my schedule first.”

“Listen, man, do what you gotta do. But I’m telling you, we are getting together at least once a weekend.” You scrub the corners of your lips with a napkin before crumpling it into a tight ball and discarding it on your empty plate. Nanami looks down at his own to see a healthy portion of his cake left. Wordlessly, he slides his plate across the table, and you accept the offering with open arms. “Oh shit, thanks! Like I was saying, this is fun, what we’re doing here. You’re having a good time, right?”

Sitting in a desolate coffee shop and listening to you prattle on has been the most fun he’s had in a devastatingly long time. “Yes, I am.”

“Good. You look fun-deprived.”

Fuck, I am. “I’m not.”

“Keep lying, I see through them all.” You scoop the last bite of Nanami’s cheesecake into your mouth, sighing with satisfaction and rubbing over your full tummy. “Anyway, I think hanging out would be good for us. Healthy, you know? Besides, I’ve been dying to know what off-duty Nanami looks like.”

He cracks a chuckle. “He’s nothing special.”

Your finger snaps in his face, invading his bubble of personal space, but this time he doesn’t shoo you off. “Another lie!”

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lovelytsunoda · 2 months

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my fun // oscar piastri

(gif is by @/oscarcito!)

summary: it’s not every day that a first date lands you in the emergency room, or gives your date a concussion before the food has even left the kitchen

pairing: oscar piastri x female reader

warnings: hospitals, blood, the awkwardness of a first date. low key inspired by season 1 episode 3 of the big bang theory when leonard and penny go on their not-date

yn yln must have been dreaming.

as she sat on one side of the wooden table inside the smokehouse, arms crossed in front of her as she looked over at her date, there was a part of her that kept telling her that there was no way it could be real.

she was quiet and smart, and could recite the entire periodic table in order from memory, and the boy sitting across from her was leagues prettier, with an athletes body and the ability to control a room with one singular lame joke.

he’d moved in across the hall from her earlier that year, and she and her friends had immediately dropped everything to watch shamelessley as the young man and his chiseled athlete friends and carried cardboard boxes up four flights of stairs.

oscar piastri was thinking the same thing. how a big famous athlete like him got someone as sweet and humble as yn to agree to date with him. sure she was awkward, and sometimes very shy, but at her core, she was sweet and funny and kind. not to mention the simple beauty of someone who never wore makeup (not to say oscar wouldn’t have adored it if she did, he just knew that she was pretty without it as well).

neither party really knew what to say, sitting in a nervous silence with the menus spread in the table, a glass bottle of water from the waiter sitting next to two half-full glasses.

oscar reached for the popcorn, a sweet and salty mix he quite enjoyed, trying not to tip the bag over as he contemplated what size brisket to order.

“hey, do you want to see something neat?” oscar blurted, picking out for decently sized pieces of the sweet popcorn. “do you know how to juggle?”

“juggle?” his date asked hesitantly, eyeing him over the popcorn. “you do?”

“went to a circus camp when i was seven.” oscar shrugged. “there’s not much to do in my part of australia to be fair.”

it took a few tries for oscar to get started, but soon enough, he was juggling with the popcorn, the kernels delicately passing through his pale, calloused hands.

and believe it or not, yn was impressed. she broke out in a wide smile, giggling from her seat as she watched the young man in front of her. he had a goofy smile on his face, and seemed well in his element. he caught her eye across the table, stuttering his movements as he shot her a wink, losing two kernels. the kernels rolled under the table, and the boy cursed.

“don’t worry about it, that was really impressive.” yn laughed. “nobody has ever juggled popcorn for me on a first date.”

oscar laughed. “glad to be of service.” he took a small bow before accidentally knocking the steak knife off the edge of the table, wincing at the sound of metal hitting floor.

he cursed, pushing his chair back. “I should probably pick that up, shouldn’t I?”

“can you reach it with your foot? it might be easier.”

“don’t worry, I’ve got it!” oscar insisted, slipping off the chair.

“are you sure?” yn asked hesitantly, bare knees pressed against the cool cast iron that was holding the slats of the table together.

oscar slipped under the table, on his hands and knees in the dark smokehouse as he fumbled around the the steak knife, crushing two kernels of popcorn underneath his khaki pants in the process.

yn, meanwhile, was hyper aware of the fact that her date, who she barely knew, was crawling around under the table, in public, near her slightly parted legs.

oh my god, she thought. do they think he’s going down on me?

there was a bang under the table, the slats shaking. she reached over the menus to grab the glass water bottle as it threatened to topple over.

“oscar?” she shouted “you alright?”

“yeah.” his voice came out strained, almost as if he was hurt. “hey, did you happen to spill any ketchup?”

she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, as a droplet of something warm fell against her toe through the lip of her sandals. “no. there isn’t any on the table.”

“fuck. I think I might need an ambulance.”

————

the emergency room is not where she wanted to spend her first date. it smelled like antiseptic soap, the lights too clinical and the plastic chairs too stiff. her neighbour looked pale, skin stained red from where he had bled.

as she understood it, oscar had hit his head on the cast iron hard enough to draw blood, but not enough that he was at risk of trauma or hemorrhaging.

or at least, that’s what the off-duty medic seated two tables over had said.

“how much blood do you think I’ve lost?” oscar wondered aloud, almost certain he was concussed. “if it’s less than a pint, I should be fine.”

yn laughed, rubbing him on the shoulder. “oscar, you’re fine. you still have most of your blood.”

“I’m so sorry our date ended like this. I ruined everything.” he exhaled, leaning to rest his head against the wall, still clutching g the bag of frozen peas given to him by kitchen staff against his cut.

she smiled to herself, reaching for his free hand. “what makes you think you’ve ruined anything?”

“the fact that there’s blood streaming down my face? or that were in the emergency room instead of sharing a hot chocolate fudge cake?”

they both laughed at the sheer absurdity of their situation, and yn resisted to urge to rest her head on his shoulder.

“you’re quite the man, oscar piastri. maybe you can make it up to me? I’m sure the smokehouse will be tripping over themselves to give us a free meal after tonight.”

oscar laughed lowly, a look of pain crossing his eyes. “you’d still want to go out with me after tonight?”

“of course I would, you adorable idiot.”

oscar looked like he was about to say something else when a tired-looking nurse in pink scrubs came rushing out of a hallway.

“mr and mrs piastri?”

yn flushed, her face heating up under the nurses gaze. “oh no, we’re not married. not even together, really.”

with all the energy he could, oscar winked at her before shakily getting to his feet in the sterile room. “wait for me, my love.”

yn laughed, watching him walk towards the nurse.

as far as first dates go, this one wasn’t bad at all, was it?

#oscar piastri x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x you #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 x reader

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livinginshambles · 1 year

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I want to be loved first | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.0k

Summary: Established relationship and angst: James still loves Lily, it's clear to you. You try to ignore the way your heart aches when you always seem to be second on his mind, knowing you will never compare to her and unsure how much more you can take.

Notes: Its happy ending again, sorry guys. I'd say no beta, we die like fred, but that feels too soon so anyway, spelling and grammar mistakes probably.

Masterlist

____________________________

People have often told you that you need to toughen up and grow a spine. That your lack of backbone had everyone trample on you like you were a crosswalk, and you could definitely say that they were right.

Perhaps that's why you were crying in the middle of the night because of James Potter. He was laying behind you, pressed against your back with an arm draped over you. His face was hidden in the back of your neck, breathing steadily against it as he slept peacefully, unaware of the heartache he was causing you when he whispered Lily's name. Again.

When he'd done it the first time, your blood had run cold, goosebumps showing up and littering your bare arms. Tears had prickled in your eyes at his barely audible, mumbled confession. "Love you so much Lily."

You had turned around to face him and your rustling had woken him up. Eyes still closed, he'd groggily shifted and pulled you against his chest. “Everything alright, love?”

“Yeah, just a nightmare,” you had responded in a small voice. Your answer had him finally open his eyes, somewhat concerned. He had lifted his arm to yawn against it and then settled it back on top of you in such a way that his hand had easy access to your nape, drawing circles in an attempt to calm you.

“I've got you, love. Nothing can hurt you, as long as I'm here,” he had assured you.

Ironic.

So now here you were lying down, your tears were freely rolling down your face and you were glad that the curtains of the bed were closed, leaving you in a private space, despite sleeping in the boy’s dormitory. It would be another sleepless night for you, it seemed.

When James stretched his arms to reach for you about four hours later, he frowned and sat up, confused at the lack of your presence. He pushed the red drapes aside and peeked into the room. Sirius was still asleep, face down. Peter was most likely curled up inside the pile of blankets on his bed and Remus was sitting up in bed, a book in his lap.

Even though it was the weekend, and you were anything but an early bird, you slipped out of bed in the early morning. You were sure that your eyes were red and puffy and didn’t want James to mention it.

He looked up when he heard James and raised his eyebrows in question when he noticed no one else behind him. “Have you seen Y/N?” James asked, sleep still heavily laced in his voice. Remus shook his head in thought. “No,” he whispered quietly, an eye on Sirius beside him. “I’ve been up since four in the morning though.”

James’ frown deepened. That meant that you had snuck out before that. But why? He got dressed impressively fast and descended the stairs to the common room. You were sitting at the tip of your chair, deeply engrossed into your transfiguration assignment, several books piled, some laying open, scattered across the small table.

You felt two arms securely wrap around you, almost melting in their designated position. “Morning,” James kissed your cheek.

You bit your lip, took a breath, and cast your hurt feelings aside. You turned your head and flashed him a smile. “Good morning, Jamie.” James took the opportunity of your head, tilted upwards at him, and dipped down to press his lips softly against yours, pecking you once, twice. “You’re up early,” he commented and nudged you. He slipped behind you, body fully relaxing into your back now.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you replied honestly and you leaned back into him. You laughed softly when you noticed his eyes drooping. “You’re tired, Jamie. Go back to sleep.” James made a sound but didn’t move, instead slouching even more against you.

“Hm, no, I missed you this morning. I’ll stay here,” he decided and drifted off to sleep. You didn’t doubt that he loved you.

“Go on a date with me next Friday,” James asked you while he was escorting you to your herbology class. You looked up at him surprised. “A date?” you dumbly repeated, trying not to be too excited about the prospect of a date. James usually ended up having things to do that he really couldn't get out of, so you would always end up canceling your dates.

James laughed and slung his arm around your shoulders. “Exactly. You and me alone. I was thinking of a picnic by the lake, no one else around, and maybe we could snog, but I’m also down to cuddle.” Your eyes crinkled up amusedly. “Don’t you have Quidditch, Jamie,” you raised your eyebrows. “You always have Quidditch practice after class,” you pointed out.

“Not next Friday. I already checked to make sure I didn't double book anything, and I warned Pads that I'm not taking on any new pranks until next week to avoid detention.” he grinned. “Friday will be one of those rare days when I have time to have my girl all to myself the entire afternoon.” His face then turned apologetic. “I know I don’t have much time to take you out, so Friday'll be perfect and I’ll make it up to you.” You threw your arms around his neck and hummed appreciatively in it. “I’d love that.”

James wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for a kiss. “Prongs!” Sirius shouted from a distance. “Everyone is already waiting for you for Quidditch practice, how far are you going to escort her? I mean the greenhouse is on the other side of Hogwarts, mate,” Sirius complained but he blew you a dramatic kiss that James waved away with a sour look.

“Go on,” you laughed and untangled yourself from his arms. He quickly pressed a kiss to your lips and sprinted off towards the Quidditch field.

James dropped into the seat next to you. “Long time no see, love,” he said. You snorted. “James, I saw you two hours ago.” James shrugged, and flirtily smiled. “I said what I said.”

Professor McGonagall entered the classroom and class started. You were jotting down everything she said in a neat handwriting, knowing that James would end up asking to lend your notes, of course by offering kisses in return.

You glanced beside you and were surprised to find him hunched over his notebook, scribbling away. Impressed at the thought that he was actually paying attention, you couldn’t help but peer down at his notes and saw that he was sketching a girl.

Though he wasn’t the greatest artist, you could clearly see that the girl on the paper looked nothing like you, and instead had features that were strikingly similar to Lily. When James looked up from his drawing and glanced to his right where she was sitting, her eyes focused on Professor McGonagall, you felt your heart constrict again, but still decided not to comment on it. He was free to draw whoever he felt like drawing, you reminded yourself.

Jealousy is ugly.

You were sitting in the library, helping a third year with Defense against the dark arts theory, when James barged in, earning several disturbed looks and a threatening glare from the librarian.

“James?” you called to him quietly and motioned for him. James’ eyes spotted you and he slid over to you, wringing his hands together, biting his lips and his eyes darting around.

“You’re nervous,” You remarked while you eyed him up and down. “Or you feel bad. What is it?”

James let out a deep sigh at your bluntness, though he supposed it would be better to get straight to the point. “We can’t go on a date next week, I’ve got prefect stuff, gotta patrol.” You stared at him, your disappointment was visible on your face and James looked at the ground.

“But you already had patrol this week? Isn’t it every other week?” You asked, a bummed out look on your face.

“Well, actually, Lily asked me if I could do rounds with her next week,” he admitted. “Her usual assigned partner was injured during Quidditch practice apparently.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say. You were pretty sure she could ask anyone else for next week or just do the rounds herself as you’ve seen James do it alone for two weeks too when his assigned partner had gone home for a family emergency.

“Is it really vital that you have to go?” You couldn’t help but ask.

"I already said yes." James offered an apologetic smile. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We can go on a date the week after.” There was a pause and then, “Actually that’ll probably have to wait for the week after that.”

'Imagine having to schedule a simple date, three to four weeks in advance and even then not being guaranteed that nothing would come in between,' you sighed.

You shrugged, a sudden wave of defeat and exhaustion crashing over you. Why did you have to compete for your boyfriend in the first place? 'How tiring', you realized.

You waved him away. “It can’t be helped, I guess,” you somewhat coldly told him, and turned back to the student next to you who was awkwardly looking away. James stood next to you in silence for a moment, still looking at you. You looked up at the lack of the sound of receding footsteps and looked at him questioningly, waving your hand in a ‘what is it?’ manner.

“I can tell her no,” James said, something that looked like a pout on his face. He hated making you feel bad, despite constantly but unconsciously doing it.

“You don’t want to tell her no,” you retorted.

"I would for you.”

“Well, considering that you haven’t told her no by now and are instead here telling me that we have to rearrange our plans, I think you should just go help Lily with rounds.”

James was taken aback by your bitter tone, eyes immediately wide, alarmed that you were really affected by his decision. “Love, I-“

You waved your hand again. “No, I’m sorry,” you apologized before he could. You rubbed your eyes in an exhausted manner. Jealousy was not a good look, you reminded yourself again. “Just really looked forward to that picnic with just you and me.”

“We’ll still have that picnic another time though,” James tried to assure you, but you were no longer looking at him. He realized that the conversation was over and that you wanted to be left alone right now.

“I love you,” James tried one last time and you sighed. " I love you more.” Your words resonated even after James left, knowing that they might be more true than you wanted to admit. You cleared your throat and when you faced the girl next to you, she shot you a sympathetic look.

The last drop was during Potions class. Potions was something you were good at. Maybe not better than Severus Snape, but you did excel in it.

So, if there was one class in which you expected James to want to be your partner, it was Potions class. Perhaps it was arrogant of you to assume such a thing, because when Professor Slughorn had announced that everyone would be paired up, and asked James who he wanted to partner up with, you hadn't expected him to glance at Lily first, which resulted in Professor Slughorn pairing the two together before James could say your name, which in his defense, was what he was planning on saying.

Without sparing you a glace, he left your table to take the seat next to Lily's. Sure, it was mostly a miscommunication issue on Slughorn's part, but did James have to skip over so happily?

“Love you so much, Lily.”

The words repeated in your head when you saw him look at her so fondly and before you could stop yourself, you scribbled a message on a piece of paper, in which you asked him to meet you in the tower, before sending it his way.

You had clung onto James because you were absolutely in love with him and refused to lose him. But it really was a futile battle, you would never compare to her. His first crush, first love, first kiss if you count that one time during ‘spin the bottle’ and his first heartbreak. You’ll always be second, even if he genuinely loves you.

James snapped his head up at you from his attempted conversation with Lily when he got your note, suddenly remembering you, but you were laughing, engrossed in a conversation with a flustered Peter who had almost set the two of you on fire by adding the wrong ingredient. When you left class, you saw James and Lily still talking while calmly packing up.

James entered the tower, holding the note that you had passed him during class. He was smiling cheekily and quickly skipped over, arms ready to wrap around your waist as he leaned in for a kiss, no doubt thinking you asked him to sneak away for a snog.

“We need to talk,” you stopped him, and his grin fell from his face, a serious expression now adorning it. “Everything alright love?” he asked, an odd feeling growing inside of him at your tone. He was suddenly rather unsure if he really wanted to.

'Nothing better than to rip the band aid off', you thought.

“I want to break up.”

There was a long moment of silence while James was registering your words, repeating them in his head over and over again to see if there was any chance that he could have interpreted that incorrectly.

“What?” He eventually said out loud in disbelief. Though he wanted to step forward, reach for you and hold you tightly as if to show that he wouldn’t let you go, his body was inwilling to move.

“Why are y-, I thought we were good?” The crack in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by you. Your heart ached for him, but you were determined to stay strong and say your piece for once. To voice your thoughts and go through with tough decisions that you knew would be for the better.

“We’re not, James,” you sighed. “I know that you know that.”

James shook his head in denial. “No, I don’t know that,” he insisted. His brain was racking through all the instances where he did something wrong and - with the exception of next Friday's date - came up blank.

“But you love me,” he stated, mostly to himself, but it came out more of a question. “Of course,” you confirmed without hesitation.

James’ body finally unfroze, and he surged forward, his hands fumbled to hold your hands. “And I love you,” he stressed, panic starting to rise up. “I love you so much, I’ll take a Veritaserum potion if you want. I just, why would you-, I don’t understand the problem-,”

“I know you love me, James. The problem is that I love you so much more,” you calmly interrupted him. James’ eyes scanned your face to look for answers because none of it maded sense to him.

“I want someone who loves me as much as I love him. Someone who gives me all his love, not just a part that he managed to set apart for me too. And I want to be loved first. Not second. I don't want to be a consolation prize because your first option didn't work out.”

James’ eyes flickered in realization, but his head was still shaking in denial. “I am that someone,” he urged, trying to convince you. He shot you a pleading look. “I love you first, I swear.” He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, and you pulled it away from his grasp.

“Not first,” you shook your head sadly. “Not when you call for Lily in your sleep, and whisper that you love her.” You watch as James’ frown deepened, mixed expressions crossing his face in surprise, confusion and even bewilderment.

Would he not even admit it?

“Not when you have us rearrange our plans for her, when you draw portraits of her during class, or when you practically jump to be her potions partner. I'm not stupid, James. I see the way you look at her.” You continued to list off the things that happened just this past week, not even bothering to mention all the things that bothered you the past months. Your eyes looked sad and tired, and you took another deep breath. “So, I want to break up.”

James felt like crying, his mind thinking back to everything you said, and knowing that you were right. “I’m sorry,” he tried. “I’m an absolute twat, I know that. I promise you I don’t love Lily, she’s just still very important to me.” You offered him a sympathetic smile.

“I know she’s important to you, I just think that maybe you don’t know what or who you want. And I won’t share my boyfriend anymore, I’m selfish like that,” You joked halfheartedly. James didn’t react, save for wrapping his arms around you. You allowed James to embrace you and he buried his head in your hair, his eyes closed as if he wanted to go to sleep and forget this was happening.

“Okay,” James whispered. What else was he supposed to say?

You closed yours as well. James would get over you in no time, you were certain. You two hadn’t been dating for that long, and perhaps James could find a happy ending in Lily after all.

James had sort of avoided you after that. You thought he was doing it because he was angry, but in reality, he was just scared that he would burst into tears the moment he saw you, and he refused to watch you laugh happily, swatting your friend while he wanted nothing more than to hold your hand again.

His mind had completely become occupied by you and he stayed in bed over the weekend, mostly wallowing in self-pity and misery.

When Monday started, he had skipped all classes and only dragged himself out of bed for Quidditch practice and patrol with Lily. Walking next to her in silence, occasionally glancing at her, he felt his stomach sink again. How ironic that when he looked at Lily, all he could think about was you.

James walked through the corridor on Friday, on his way to the courtyard to meet up with Lily again to do rounds with her. He hadn’t been able to sleep peacefully without you. At first, he had been thinking about every instance where he prioritized Lily over you, and it had him curse himself out in his pillow. He missed you. It was so ridiculous, but he missed you to the point that he would curl up in bed with a stomach ache.

He had finally drifted off when at some point in the middle of the night, he had been shaken awake by Sirius.

“What?” James had asked, his throat dry and raspy. He’d looked around, disoriented.

“Thought you were having a nightmare Prongs. You kept mumbling her name. How much you loved her,” Sirius had handed James a glass of water.

James became wide awake and sat up straight in panic. “Lily?” He had asked Sirius, his stomach turning with nausea. He still couldn’t believe that he really talked about Lily in his sleep when you were lying next to him.

“What? No, Y/N’s name of course.” Sirius had corrected him. 'Of course,' James shook his head at Sirius’ words. “Figured you were reliving your breakup,” Sirius had explained.

James was looking through the passing windows of the castle where he could see the lake in the far distance. Suddenly something in his brain clicked. What in Godrick's name was he doing, avoiding you? Why was he giving up on you without a fight? You both loved each other; he was just the idiot who couldn’t sort himself out. But it didn’t take him longer than a terrible week to open his eyes.

James’ pace increased and he ran through the corridor. “No running in the corridors young man,” a portrait commented, but he paid it no mind.

Lily was already waiting for him and raised her eyebrows at his disheveled state and the basket that he was carrying. “I can’t do rounds with you today,” he puffed out. “I told Y/N that I would take her out for a picnic and then you asked me if I could help, and I agreed, but it’s so stupid because I should be-, I am choosing her,” James ranted. “I’m not letting you come first, or even second.”

Lily wasn’t really sure what James was rambling on about but gave him a kind smile, nonetheless. “Well, what are you waiting for,” she encouraged him. “Sounds to me like you shouldn’t be here, but somewhere else.”

“Yeah, I definitely should.”

You sat by the lake, skipping stones from a sitting position, not that you were having any luck. You hadn't seen James in a while because he avoided you, and you felt sadness wash over you. You were sure that he would get over you quick enough, but you wondered how long would it take for you to get over him?

You heard rustling behind you but kept facing forward. It was only when a delicious smell reached you, that you turned around, slightly annoyed that someone would really choose this spot to have an afternoon meal at when they could’ve sat literally anywhere else near the lake, as well as choose this moment when you wanted to act like a depressed main protagonist gazing in the distance.

You were, however, not prepared to see James stand behind you, out of breath and making his way over to you, a blanket and food spread out behind him. He didn’t really need to say anything. You understood from the way he showed up here, a hopeful expression on his face.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you got up, dusting yourself off.

"Hi," James breathed. An unsure smile formed on his face when you waved back. "I uh, I brought food." He awkwardly motioned to the picnic behind him and you couldn't help but smile at his adorableness.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else,” you couldn’t help but lightheartedly remark. James let out an airy chuckle, immediately relaxing at your open demeanor.

“100% sure I’m where I should be,” he affirmed. He considered his words and corrected himself. "Where I want to be."

His words had you take off in a sprint towards him and James opened his arms to catch you when you jumped, locking your legs around him. Ironically enough, it felt as if a weight had fallen off of James. His head fell against your shoulder and he shakily laughed while your blouse stained with tears of relief.

"I'm really sorry," he looked up at you, still holding you steadily. You leaned down to press your forehead against his, and your hands came up to his cheeks. "You made up your mind," you said, but it came out like a question, and James nodded hastily.

"And you'll make it up to me."

"Of course," he earnestly replied. "I want us. I'll fight for us." You closed the gap between the two of you.

“I love you,” he whispered breathlessly against your lips.

Not first or second, not more, most or less. He just loves you.

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erosmutt · 8 days

Text

　⯌　𝘽𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡　⨟　𝗝. 𝗞𝗲𝗹𝗹𝘆, 𝗦. 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝗿𝗼𝗲, 𝗦. 𝗕𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿

〣 ﹒▨﹕CONTENT WARNINGS﹒foursome, incestuous activities, free use undertones, objectification, somnophilia, double penetration, degrading, face slapping, pussy eating, bukakke, large age gap (James is 46, Scott is 21, Sam is 20, reader is 19).

┄﹒WORD COUNT﹒⤹ 4,152

BNUUY'S NOTES┆Finally, the long awaited fic! Part of the "Partnered Up!" series, which is a series of fics where all the characters are paired up and are with reader. The first installment is this one! Titled after a Red Hot Chili Peppers song. Originally, I was going to title it after a Rob Zombie song, but here we are! I'm so excited to share this with all of you. Eat well my loves!

≻ㅤ﹒ㅤlet's have a coffee together!ㅤ﹒ㅤノ

"You're welcome over anytime y'wanna be, sweetiepie."

You snap out of your daydream, lifting your gaze. In front of you stood your best friends' dad, James, a spatula in his hand. The kitchen was filled with the scent of seasoned beef, the familiar sizzle in the cast iron skillet on the stove a comforting sound. Your eyes rake over his broad shoulders, his waist, and down to the curve of his ass in his dark blue boxers. His jeans rest low on his hips, barely held up by his butt. Man, he really needed to invest in a belt.

Right as you open your mouth to respond, the sound of heavy boots hitting the creaky floorboards accompanies the sizzle of the patties James was flipping. "Hey dad, hey babes." One of James' two sons, Scott Kelly, greets the two of you as he sits a hefty 30-count case of beer on the kitchen table. His brother, Sam Kelly, was scrolling through his phone as he nodded to you. "What’s up?"

Scott's hand slams down onto the top of the large case of beer. "Found a new flavor. Peach Busch." He grins triumphantly, while Sam snickers, shoving his phone into his pocket and sitting down in a chair next to you. "A girly drink." He sticks his tongue out at his brother, making the blond sneer. "Go fuck yourself." He mutters, tearing the flimsy cardstock handle to reach a can.

James kills the heat on the stove then tosses the spatula down onto the counter. "Watch your fuckin' mouths, alright? Jesus," he shakes his head, gathering the condiments - barbecue sauce, ketchup, mustard, mayo, and an assortment of other burger toppings - then he sets them down onto the counter. "Now sit down and hush so we can eat."

Sam licks his lips as he gets up, grabbing a few paper plates off the top of the microwave. "Huh," he hands everyone a plate, then plops down in the creaky kitchen chair, making it scrape against the dirty linoleum floor. The four of you join hands and a quick prayer later, you all take in the assortment he cooked. "So," his father begins, cracking open a beer. "How's it been goin' babygirl?"

You look up at him, in the middle of squirting ketchup onto your hamburger. "Uh, what does that entail?" You ask with a lopsided grin. Scott shrugs. "The usual, you know? Like, I dunno, any boyfriends or somethin'?" His baby blues flick up to glance at you before focusing back on his dinner. "You coulda made the fries last, Jesus." Sam mutters from next to you before taking a massive bite of his burger, brows furrowed as he hums in satisfaction.

After chatting, hot beers, and dinner, the four of you were piled on the couch, watching whatever movie you caught on TV. James had his socked feet kicked up on the busted up coffee table, his arm around you, the stench of cheap cologne and potent motor oil clinging to his skin and clothes. His hand caresses your shoulder, fiddling with your sleeve, squeezing, tracing shapes. Your eyelids flutter closed, feeling heavy. James looks down at you. "Sleepy, babygirl?" He pulls you closer up into his side. "Snuggle up buttercup." He chuckles, ruffling your hair affectionately as he removes his arm from around your shoulders to put it around your waist, large hand resting on your stomach.

As the movie goes on, Sam and Scott end up on the floor, playing UNO, oblivious to their father and best friend up on the couch. James' hand slips up your shirt, rubbing over your soft tummy, over your womb. His dark gaze falls on you, eyes half-lidding as he rubs over your warm skin, your stomach distended with all the dinner you ate. "Sheesh..." He whispers to himself, teeth gently digging into his bottom lip.

He'd be absolutely lying to himself if he tried to say he didn't have dreams about you full and round with his baby. Disgusting, he knows. He's pushing 50 years old, his knees creak when he gets up after sitting awhile, he has to be in bed before 10pm or he'll get pissy - he has zero business wanting to knock up his young sons' barely legal best friend. You kept him young, kept him on his toes, kept him wanting to keep up with the times. He'd do nearly anything to get just a glimpse of your teenage pussy. Oh, he could already imagine how tight, how warm, how wet, how -

"Dad!" Scott's grating voice snaps James back to reality. He looks down at his son. "What?" He hisses, rubbing his hand over his dark stubble. Sam turns around and looks up at his dad, then at you, then back at his dad. "Wanna play cards with us?" He asks, waving the cards as if tempting James. You stir out of your half-asleep state, then you smile, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. "Mmm, UNO?" You move away from James, standing up. You turn to look at him and hold your hands out, giggling as he lets out a heavy sigh, taking your hands and rocking back and forth before using you to get up off the couch with a groan that makes your stomach coil. "To the kitchen. I ain't gettin' down on that damn floor." James says, making his way to the kitchen. You follow as Sam and Scott gather up the cards.

"James?" Your voice calls, your hand resting on the door frame of James' bedroom. He groans, opening his eyes to look at the digital clock on his nightstand - 2:52AM. He turns his head to look at you and waves you into the bedroom. "Mm, what's wrong dollface?" He sits up, rubbing his hands over his face. You make your way over and sit down, a pout on your lips. "I can't sleep. Sam and Scotty are up playing games." You go quiet. James listens, and the resounding sound of his sons’ joint bitching at the TV reaches his ears. He rolls his eyes and licks his dry lips. "C'mon, you can lie with me." He pats the mattress. You climb into his warm bed, and once the two of you are settled in, the only sounds that grace you are your breathing, the muffled voices of the boys in the living room, and the rhythmic clicking of his rickety ceiling fan above the bed.

"Usually you're out like a light." James comments. "Well, 'least you used to be able to sleep through anything. Guess that changes when you ain't a kiddo no more." He says, a warm hand rubbing your arm to soothe you to sleep as he did when you were little on nights you would sleep over, when you would come crying to him about a nightmare. Even now, all these years later, it was incredibly endearing to him. The way you suckle around nothing and end up sleeping on your stomach. That wouldn't do if you were pregnant, though.

Throughout the night, James found himself unable to sleep. He had a raging boner, his cock aching, boxers nearly sopping with pre from all the leaking his tip had been doing. You had your cheek pressed against his shoulder, your arm draped over his doughy middle. He stares down at you in the dark, the moonlight streaming through the dusty blinds helping him see your parted lips as they catch the pallid glimmer.

James brings his hand up and rubs his thumb over your bottom lip and the corner of your mouth, collecting the drool that accumulated during your peaceful slumber. He brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks the drool off it, his eyes fluttering closed and nearly rolling back in perverted satisfaction. Removing his thumb with a gentle 'pop,' James rests his hand on your side, beginning to rub up and down, up to the side of your chest then down to your hip. "Christ," he whispers, digging his fingers into your flesh with a gentle squeeze. He finds his way into the side of your camisole, calloused hand rubbing over your breast and soft nipple, thumb caressing the bud.

He was at a really horrid angle, his joints beginning to ache already, but he deemed it worth the pain to be able to grope you in your sleep. James' other hand goes down to his crotch, slipping into his boxers and grabbing at his velvety shaft. After hearing noise he stopped for a second, then went on, rubbing his thumb over his damp tip, assuming the boys were packing it in for the night.

"Dad?" Sam's voice calls, and right as James snatches his hand out of his boxers, the bedroom light flickers on. He stares at his sons, his hand still around your soft, fatty breast. Sam's lips part as if to comment, and Scott just stares at the print of James' hand through your thin navy blue camisole. Oh, he was fucked.

“Um, are we interrupting something?” Scott finally comments, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. “We came to see whose bed she wanted to take, or if she wanted to stay in the living room. For fucks sake…” He sneers, and his brother watches, fiddling with his labret as he watches his dad slowly retract his hand from your top.

Sam's big blue eyes travel down to your now exposed stomach, blinking silently. "Hey hey, calm down," James coos, pushing himself up into a sitting position, unintentionally making you stir awake. His cock strains against his soft boxers, tip threatening to peek out from underneath the fabric scrunched around his thigh. "She can stay in whichever one'aya's bed she wants. No need to fuss." He says, and you lift your head to look at the twins, returning Sam's slow, cat-like blink. "Huh?"

With a disgusted scoff, Scott turns on his heel, his hand resting on the wood of the doorway as he readies himself to leave. "I can't believe this." He mutters, walking out and down the hallway. Sam took a moment before making a move to leave, though, but he soon followed his brother, disappearing down the hallway.

Left in a tense silence, neither you nor James commented. Just sat, oddly content, until he spoke. "I know you might think this is gross," he begins. "But... do you mind helpin' me out, babygirl?" He asks, and the two of you make eye contact, his gaze pleading while yours was surprised. "James," you murmur, your hand finding his hairy thigh. "I can try."

You make your way between his thighs, your hands resting on either side of his penis. “Can you show me what to do? I’ve never seen a guy’s thing in real life before.” You admit, examining his cock curiously. When you wrap your hand around it, a bit harshly, James hisses. “Gentle, dollface, gentle.”

“Here, slow. Slowly. Up and down. Yeah, just like that.” He watches, a smile coming across his face. “You got the hang of it already.” So, you began to stroke him, getting a feel for it, taking in the warmth, the scent, the texture, the way his shaft twitched in your grasp. You watch as his hands fist the sheets beneath him, his nostrils flaring as he nears what would be his first orgasm of the night. With a shudder, James comes undone, warm semen spurting onto your hand. “Oh.”

“You’re a natural,” James pants, his hand coming up to brush some wispy hairs away from your face. “Good job sweets. My boys are missin’ out.” He grins lazily, then falls back onto his pillow with a sigh.

You get up and adjust your top. “I should get to bed.” You make your way over to the bedroom door, and as soon as you open it, Scott and Sam stumble in sideways. Those little creeps, they had their ears up against the door, listening in. You yelp in surprise, and step back from the door. “What the hell is wrong with you two?!”

Scott’s eyes go from your face, to your cleavage, then over to his dad’s exposed cock, then back up at your face. “No fucking way his jizz is on your hand right now.” Sam chimes in, glaring at your hand with contempt. Overcome with embarrassment, you look down at your sock-clad feet, eyes tracing the checkerboard patterned fabric. “Are you listening to me?”

You and Scott were so preoccupied that neither of you noticed James come up behind you, hand coming to rest on your shoulder, his dick still out of the confines of his boxers. “It ain’t somethin’ to be ‘shamed of, you know.” He reassures, caressing your shoulder as he looks between his twin sons. “I never got to give y’all the talk, did I? Maybe now’s a good time, yeah?”

Scott was a bit more enthusiastic than you anticipated. Sam, on the other hand, seemed more hesitant. Though judging by the tent in his shorts, he was far from unaffected. With a deep breath, you settle down onto the bed, the boys on either side of you. James stands in front of you three, his cock noticeably hardening. “What the fuck,” Scott whispers to himself, meanwhile Sam was shifting around, trying to relieve the friction in his bottoms.

James begins pacing, starting his impromptu sex ed lesson. “It’s not a weird thing to talk about. Sex is how we all got here. ‘S a natural thing.” He reaches down and tucks himself back in, thankfully. “It’s not just a way to make life, but to pleasure yourself, too. Everyone likes it.” Their father turns and looks between his sons, then his eyes settle on Sam. “Especially you,” he points. “You think I don’t hear you?” He then looks at Scott. “You? Don’t even get me started on the shit I hear you watching.” The blond raises an eyebrow, parting his lips to bitch back when James goes on. “Both’a’ya think she and I are disgusting for doing shit like this when really, we not. You just ain’t mature enough to get it through your heads that you two not the only ones that think with their dick.”

Sam looked especially uncomfortable now, doing his damndest to not make eye contact with any of the others in the room. “Then give us a hands-on lesson if you give so much of a shit.” Scott quips, making everyone look at him. Realizing his mistake, he widens his eyes. “Wait! I’m fucking with you, I’m fucking with you, I’m fucking with you!” He rambles, making you snicker, until Sam finally chimed in. “Can we?” He asks. The other three of you turn to look at Sam, his cheeks reddening a deeper shade.

“Fine then,” James says, making his way to the bed. “Lay down sweetpea.” He urges you, gently pushing your shoulder, a silent instruction for you to lay back. “Usin’ you for some edjumacation, just relax dollface.” He smiles, and you make a noise of confusion as he runs his hand over your stomach. “Watch boys,” he instructs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. He tugs them down, your thighs jiggling as your hips plop back down onto the bed.

You can’t help but feel embarrassed, you were being put on display for a less than ideal anatomy lesson, and the two boys you’d called your best friends since you could remember were staring at you like they could just devour you. The room fills with the nervous laughter of the two others as your body unfolds before them, eager to learn the intricacies that make you so unique. Your stomach was revealed first, followed by your thighs. As Scott giggles, you flush, feeling a sudden heat fill your face.

With your underwear the only thing keeping your intimate parts hidden, James gives a shit-eating grin to his audience, who tap their feet and shuffle in anticipation. James then hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and gives a swift tug down, revealing your fat, squishy mound and puffy pussy lips, soft and inviting. The sight of your hidden treasure causes the boys’ eyes to widen, taking in every detail of your body.

Your cheeks flame with mortification, an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment and arousal. The twins sat gazing at your exposed body, their eyes raking it in all its glory. You shudder, goosebumps forming on your skin as you sense their unabashed curiosity and lust. Pleased with his handiwork, James steps back, hands resting on his hips. “Go on, you two always were hands-on learners anyways.”

Scott, on your left, reaches out and touches your breast, his palm cupping the mound, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. You were overwhelmed with humiliation and pleasure, which was only amplified when you felt someone between your thighs. When you lifted your head to look down, you saw Sam on his knees before you, lips inches away from your pussy. “There you go, touch on ‘er.” James encourages the boys before taking a seat on the bed to your right, his large hand coming to rest on your stomach. “You’re such a trooper babygirl.”

You felt heat coursing through your veins, and you were unsure whether to be disgusted by the incestuous display or to just continue going with it. The feeling of being stripped of your dignity and autonomous power left you in a state of confusion, but your stomach coiled with a twisted thrill that came with the degradation. “Eat ‘er out, Sammy.” Scott tells his brother, sitting up straight. He swings one leg over your body and straddles your chest, then pulls his sweatpants down enough to remove his cock comfortably. His musky shaft bounces free before hitting you in the face. “Open your mouth- open it,”

You open your mouth willingly, the tip of Scott’s cock gliding past your lips and into the warm sanctuary of your mouth. Your tongue traces the underside of his shaft, sending tremors through his body. James watches in satisfaction as his sons take turns pleasuring you. Scott’s rough, unskilled hands gripping your head to guide his cock into your mouth contrast with Sam’s gentle, teasing tongue that flicks at your clit. As you begin to get into it, the twins sense it, their eagerness increasing tenfold. The blond bottoms out, balls against your chin as he groans, barely able to hold himself up, his thighs tensing. “Fucking- oh my- oh fuck,” he hisses, fully intent on keeping the two of you that way until James had to guide him back out. “Off.”

When Scott and Sam move out of the way, James settles between your legs and with a firm grip, finds your hips and snatches you to the very edge of the bed, his lips meeting yours for a slow, deep kiss. He groans softly against your lips, cock resting on your mound, the taste of peach beer like honey on his tongue.

James breaks the kiss and looks up at his sons. “Fuckin’ hell, Sam, play with ‘er tits.” The teen nods, hands finding your breasts, kneading the flesh gently. He drinks in the sight of the mounds jiggling beneath his touch, the curves and contours calling to him like a siren. “Scott, get under her.”

Scott doesn't waste a moment, his bottoms getting kicked across the room and hitting the floor, joining all the clutter and shit in his dad's room. He maneuvers underneath you, arms wrapping around your middle. “You good doll?” James asks, and you nod, hands on top of Sam's, guiding him to play with your nipples in a way that'll bring you the most pleasure. “Yeah, ‘m good,”

“Good.”

With the help of James’ hand, Scott's cock pushes into you, pulling an embarrassingly loud moan from your lips. “Oh, fuck!” You arch your back and Scott pulls you back down. “Stay,” he whispers hotly against your ear. “Stay right there.” In the heat of the moment, you didn't even notice that James was beginning to push into you as well until your poor cunt was being stretched to the brim. “James! James- ‘s so- ohhh, can't fit it,” you slur, making the man chuckle. “Yeah you can. Cunts are made for this, it's just a lil’ difficult ‘cause you're so young, babygirl.” After a bit of struggle, James penetrates you, your warm walls enveloping him. A guttural moan escapes him as he starts to grind against you, the friction from his son's cock against his paired with your wet heat almost too much for him to handle. “Atta girl, grippin’ me tight.” He smirks, drinking in the moans and cries that came from your lips.

Sam leans down and captures your lips in a soft kiss, much different from the other two on a mission to ravage your poor body. One of his hands tangles in your hair while the other is shoved down his pants, palming his shaft over his boxers. He was waiting, itching to have a go at you.

Your eyes flutter open, hazy gaze meeting James', whose eyes were sparkling with a devious triumph. “You gonna let us cum inside ya sweetiepie?” He asks, moving his hips in a rhythm that compliments Scott's. Since you were stretched so far and the friction was so great, the two of them had to find something that worked.

“Fuck, ‘m close,” Scott moans, his fingers digging into the flesh of your sides, tugging at you. The desperation in his voice is almost laughable. Sam breaks the kiss with a snicker. “Think it’s been like two minutes, dude. Pull out, let me.” Scott nods and does so, his cock glistening with your juices as he crawls out from underneath you.

With everyone out of the way, the three of them looming over you like a hungry pack of wolves, you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. The others join in, the sound of their laughter mixing with the shuffling around. “I can’t even sit right,” you giggle, running your hands through your damp hair.

“I know. It’ll be fine babycakes. Get up.” James grins, turning you over so you were now on your tummy. “Gonna run a train through ya baby. Ready?” He lifts your hips, hands coming to rest on your ass. “Gonna take all of us, yeah?” His sweet talking distracted you from the way the teens were maneuvering your body, putting you in a position they wanted you.

James spits down onto his cock, lubing it up before he pushes the tip of it against your tight cunt. He grunts, feeling the resistance, but he’s determined. With a swift thrust, he breaches you, his cock sinking deeper with each rock of his hips, making your pussy stretch open. The boys, not to be outdone, get to work on their part. Sam guides his cock into your inviting mouth, your tongue swirling around his cockhead while your saliva bathes him. Scott groans, smacking your cheek with his own member, smearing precum onto your skin. “Fuck yeah,” he grins. “Take it like that baby, take Sam’s dick in your mouth.”

“Ghhk- hhg, kkh-” you gag on Sam’s cock, eyes shut as you struggle to breathe. Your body is a mess of pleasure, tits bouncing with every thrust, your pussy gripping James’ cock and your mouth moving up and down Sam’s. Your moans are muffled, but it only makes it all the more arousing. Sam pulls out and his dick is replaced with his brother’s, Scott’s tip hitting the back of your throat. The springs in the old, cheap mattress squeak and creak underneath the combined weight of the four of you.

Scott’s fingers tangle in your hair and grip your skull, being fed off the sounds of you choking and struggling. “Fucking take it, don’t fucking stop,” he growls, teeth gritting. “I wan’ cum on ‘er face,” Sam chimes in, getting off the bed, hand beginning to fist his cock as he waits for the other two. Following suit, James pulls out and so does Scott, the pair pulling you down onto the floor.

You cough, attempting to catch your breath before they get their hands on you again. You steady yourself with your hands on the dingy carpet, getting ready for the facial. “Fuck babygirl, close your eyes and stick that tongue out.” James commands, watching as you oblige. “Oh shit, keep it right there,” Scott pants, and you let out a surprised squeal as your face is covered in sticky sperm. You give an open-mouthed giggle and slowly open your eyes, keeping your tongue out.

It frosted your nose and cheeks and tongue, and your lashes were matted as you looked up at the three of them, meeting their satisfied expressions. Hopefully there would be a second class for James’ anatomy course.

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @addictedtohobi , @102hannah , @emmaloo21 , @vixxensvoid , @ilovekmchenzie ﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @laylaplease , @brooklynb8by , @geekforhorror , @gallerygourmet , @anakinsbbgirl ﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @literally-izzy , @anakinstwinklebunny , @jadegmfu , @bimbo-baggins17 , @thesassypadawan ﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @t03soup , @trippyhippywitch , @valloos , @demieyesore , @piastricentric ﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @s1aywalker , @s1ck-skv1l , @catnipaddictt , @gabsskkk , @slutforfinnickodair﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @realscott , @jediavengers , @enchant5d , @zapernz , @starlmbed﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @offthethirlwall , @tfmerc , @dazednstars141 , @anisluvrgirl , @stepdadjameskelly﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @cocobear18 , @poutypisces , @mugwump327 , @espinathena-17 , @fallout-girl219﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @necromancerrrs , @decaffeinatedunicorn , @speaknow-sw , @lunarnightt﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @jyinnc , @haydenslittlegirl ﹒📧

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novaursa · 22 days

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The Dragon's Right (1)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!targ reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is firstborn and only son of King Viserys I and late Queen Aemma, is older brother of Rhaenyra and bonded with Silverwing. For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+ (rating will go up)

- Word count: 6 000+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: This story is heavily rewritten my AO3 fanfic that was deleted with my account there. The jist is the same, but now it's a reader insert work.

The small council chamber is drowned with anticipation, the grand room filled with the scent of parchment and the low murmur of voices. A fire crackles in the hearth, casting silhouettes across the stone walls adorned with tapestries of dragon lore. King Viserys I Targaryen sits at the head of the table, a rare glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he speaks, the tone of his voice vibrant with pride.

"It has been far too long," Viserys begins, his hand absently stroking the armrest of his chair, carved with intricate dragons that seem to come alive under the firelight. "Three years... three years since my son rode off on Silverwing to defend our borders, and now, at last, he returns." There is a warmth to his voice, a father’s pride that softens the usual formality of the council. "He has done well, our borders are secure once more. The Dornish have been driven back, and our lands are safe. It is high time for a celebration, wouldn’t you all agree?"

Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, leans forward slightly, his shrewd eyes never missing a detail. "Indeed, Your Grace. Prince Y/N’s valor has become the talk of the realm. His presence on Silverwing alone was enough to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. His return will surely bolster the morale of the court and the realm alike."

Viserys nods, the pride in his son clear on his face. "He is as brave as he is handsome, and wise beyond his years. The gods have truly blessed me with a son who will make a fine king one day."

At the mention of Y/N’s potential future on the throne, the room falls silent for a moment, the weight of those words hanging in the air. It is a truth that cannot be ignored, even as Rhaenyra remains the apple of Viserys’ eye. The King’s heir, the eldest son, would always hold a special place in the line of succession.

Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, clears his throat, his voice a deep rumble that commands attention. "While I share in your joy, Your Grace, we must not forget the threats that still linger beyond our shores. The Stepstones remain a festering wound, one that will continue to bleed if not dealt with. Prince Y/N’s return is a boon, but we must not grow complacent."

Viserys waves a hand dismissively, a rare gesture of impatience from the usually composed king. "The Stepstones can wait, Corlys. We have just won a great victory in the south; the Dornish have been repelled, and my son will soon return to us. Let us not dampen this moment with talk of more war. His nameday approaches, and I will not have the mood soured by concerns that can be addressed later."

Corlys’s mouth tightens into a thin line, but he says nothing further, knowing better than to press the issue when the King’s mind is set on matters of the heart. Beside him, Lord Lyonel Strong, the Master of Laws, nods in agreement with the King’s sentiment. "Your Grace is right. A celebration is in order. Prince Y/N deserves a hero’s welcome. His deeds should be sung from the highest towers of the Red Keep."

Otto Hightower shifts in his seat, his sharp mind already calculating the implications. "It will be a grand affair, Your Grace. One befitting the heir to the Iron Throne. The lords and ladies of the realm will flock to King’s Landing to pay homage to your son."

Viserys smiles, the thought clearly pleasing to him. "Yes, they will. And when they see him, when they see the man he has become, they will know that House Targaryen is strong, united. The blood of the dragon runs true in him.

The conversation shifts to the logistics of the upcoming celebrations—feasts, tourneys, and the spectacle that will greet you upon your return. But beneath the surface, other thoughts swirl, unspoken but understood by all in the room. The return of the heir will undoubtedly shift the balance of power, rekindle old rivalries, and perhaps even spark new alliances.

As the councilors discuss the details, Viserys leans back in his chair, lost in his thoughts. His mind is far from the Stepstones, from the politics and the courtly intrigues. Instead, it is on his son—the pride of his house, the dragon who has returned home.

Though you are not yet present, your presence is felt keenly in that room, a force that commands respect, admiration, and perhaps even a hint of fear. The small council, ever the stage for power plays and whispered conspiracies, is tonight a place of celebration, anticipation, and a father's love.

The fire burns low, the shadows growing longer as the hour advances. But the warmth in Viserys' heart does not wane, nor does his excitement at the thought of seeing you again after these long, hard years. Soon, you will be home, and the realm will be reminded of the strength and glory of the Targaryens—of fire and blood, and of the dragon that you are.

The sky above King’s Landing is clear, a brilliant blue that contrasts harshly with the golden scales of Syrax as she descends towards the Dragonpit. Her powerful wings beat rhythmically, sending gusts of wind sweeping across the hillside, causing the banners of House Targaryen to flutter wildly. The Dragonpit, ancient and formidable, looms ahead—a structure built to house the great beasts of House Targaryen, and today it eagerly welcomes one of its own.

Syrax lands with a graceful thud, her massive claws digging into the earth as she lowers herself to allow her rider to dismount. Rhaenyra Targaryen, resplendent in her riding leathers of black and red, slides down effortlessly, her golden hair whipping in the wind. There’s a fire in her violet eyes, a look of exhilaration that always follows her flights with Syrax. She pats the dragon’s side affectionately before turning her attention to the awaiting figures.

Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stands ready to greet her, his white cloak flowing in the breeze, a symbol of his unwavering loyalty. His face is stern, but his eyes soften with affection as Rhaenyra approaches. "Welcome back, Princess," he says, bowing his head in respect.

"Thank you, Ser Harrold," Rhaenyra replies, her voice bright. "Syrax needed a good stretch of her wings. It’s a fine day for flying."

"It is indeed, Your Grace," Ser Harrold agrees, though his expression remains stoic. "The city is bustling with preparations for your brother’s return. The people are eager to see their prince."

Rhaenyra’s smile broadens at the mention of her brother. "As am I. It has been too long."

As they speak, a carriage pulls up near the entrance to the Dragonpit, its polished wood gleaming in the sunlight. The door swings open, revealing Alicent Hightower, her gown of pale blue perfectly complementing her auburn hair. She steps out gracefully, her green eyes lighting up as she spots her dearest friend.

"Rhaenyra!" Alicent calls, hurrying forward, her face a picture of delight.

"Alicent," Rhaenyra responds warmly, pulling Alicent into a quick embrace. "I wasn’t expecting you to come all the way to the Dragonpit."

Alicent laughs softly. "How could I not? The court is abuzz with news of your brother’s return. It seems everyone is eager to see him again." She steps back, regarding Rhaenyra with a knowing look. "And what of you, Rhaenyra? Are you excited to see him after all this time?"

Rhaenyra’s eyes soften, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "Of course I am. I’ve missed him terribly. He’s always been my closest confidant, ever since we were children. The realm may see him as a warrior, a dragonrider, but to me, he is simply my brother."

Alicent smiles, though there’s a hint of something more in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper. "I’ve heard the ladies at court whispering about him," she says, her voice light, almost teasing. "They say he’s become even more handsome over the years."

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her gaze. "None of those ladies have seen him in the last three years. He was always handsome, even as a boy, but I suppose the tales of his exploits have added to the allure."

Alicent nods, her expression thoughtful. "It’s the word from the Dornish border that precedes him. They say he cut a striking figure on Silverwing, that he was a beacon of hope for our men and a terror to our enemies."

Rhaenyra’s pride is palpable, her chest swelling with affection for her brother. "That’s the brother I know. Always strong, always brave. I’m not surprised the tales of his deeds have spread far and wide. But I’m more eager to hear them from him, to see the man he’s become with my own eyes."

Alicent smiles gently, seeing the deep bond Rhaenyra shares with her brother. "The two of you are much alike, you know. Dragons in human form. It’s no wonder the realm speaks of you both with such reverence."

Rhaenyra looks away for a moment, her thoughts lingering on her brother, before she turns back to Alicent, her expression lightening. "Come, let’s return to the Red Keep. I’m sure there are a thousand things waiting for us there. Besides, I need to freshen up before I see him. I want to look my best for his return."

Alicent chuckles, following Rhaenyra as they make their way towards the carriage. "As if you ever need to worry about that. But I understand. Today is special, after all."

The two young women climb into the carriage, and as it begins its journey back to the heart of King’s Landing, the conversation shifts to lighter topics—gossip from court, plans for the upcoming celebrations. But beneath the surface, there is an undercurrent of anticipation, a shared excitement for the return of a beloved brother, a dragonrider, and a prince who has been away from home for far too long.

As the city comes into view, Rhaenyra’s thoughts are filled with images of her brother—of the last time she saw you, of the stories she’s heard in your absence, and of the reunion that awaits. Soon, very soon, the Targaryen family will be whole again, and the dragons will once more soar together over King’s Landing.

The morning sun had only just begun to cast its golden light across King’s Landing, illuminating the bustling preparations already well underway for the day’s grand celebrations. In the Red Keep, servants and handmaidens hurried through the halls, their arms full of silks and jewels, the atmosphere buzzing with the anticipation of the prince’s one and seventh nameday. The tourney grounds outside the city walls were already alive with the clashing of swords and the cheer of spectators, but within the princess’s chambers, a quieter preparation was taking place.

Rhaenyra Targaryen stood before a polished mirror, her golden hair cascading down her back as her handmaidens worked to braid it into an intricate style fitting for the occasion. Her gown, a deep shade of Targaryen red, had been carefully selected, the rich fabric adorned with subtle embroidery that caught the morning light. Yet despite the attention to every detail, Rhaenyra’s thoughts were elsewhere.

Suddenly, a low, resonant horn echoed across the city, its deep tone vibrating through the very stones of the Red Keep. The sound was unmistakable—the return of a dragon. The call stirred something deep within Rhaenyra, her heart leaping in her chest as she pushed away the fussing hands of her handmaidens.

"Princess, please! We haven’t finished—" one of the servants protested, but Rhaenyra was already moving, her eyes bright with excitement.

She rushed to the balcony, her breath catching in her throat as she leaned over the edge, searching the skies. For a moment, all was quiet except for the distant hum of the city below. Then, she saw it—a glint of silver against the blue, a shape growing larger as it approached.

Silverwing.

The great she-dragon cut through the sky with powerful, sweeping strokes of her massive wings, her silver scales gleaming like molten metal in the morning light. Her wingspan cast a shadow over the city as she soared over the rooftops, the people below stopping in their tracks to look up in awe. The sun seemed to dance upon her scales, turning her into a living beacon, a symbol of House Targaryen’s might and majesty.

As Silverwing approached the heart of the city, a roar of cheers erupted from the streets below, followed by the blare of trumpets signaling the return of the King’s heir. The sound swelled and spread, filling the air with the jubilant energy of thousands of voices raised in celebration. From her vantage point, Rhaenyra could see the figures of people flooding the streets, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the dragon and her rider.

And there, atop Silverwing, was you. Even from this distance, Rhaenyra recognized your figure, sitting tall and proud in the saddle, your pale blond hair whipping in the wind, your violet eyes sharp as they surveyed the city below. You guided Silverwing with the ease of long familiarity, a natural extension of yourself. There was a power in the way you commanded the dragon, a grace that spoke of years spent in the saddle, and a bond forged in fire.

Rhaenyra’s smile brightened, her heart swelling with pride and affection. Her brother had returned, the prince of the realm, the heir to the Iron Throne. And now, the whole city knew it. Silverwing let out a triumphant roar as she flew low over the city, a declaration of your presence that sent another wave of cheers echoing through the streets.

As you guided Silverwing toward the Dragonpit, Rhaenyra watched in breathless anticipation. The dragon angled her wings, banking smoothly toward the massive structure where the dragonkeepers awaited her. The escort wagon, finely adorned in Targaryen red and black, stood ready at the entrance, flanked by members of the Kingsguard in their gleaming white armor. The sight of it all—the dragon, the city’s response, the return of her brother—made Rhaenyra’s pulse quicken with excitement.

She turned back from the balcony, her voice ringing with urgency as she addressed her handmaidens. "Hurry! I must be ready in time to greet him."

The handmaidens, who had been momentarily frozen by the excitement of the dragon’s arrival, snapped back into action, their hands flying over the final touches of her attire. They tightened her bodice, pinned the last of her braids into place, and secured the Targaryen emblem at her shoulder with swift, practiced movements.

One of the handmaidens, a girl no older than Rhaenyra herself, smiled as she adjusted the drape of the gown. "You must be eager to see him, Princess."

Rhaenyra’s eyes sparkled as she met the girl’s gaze in the mirror. "More than you can imagine. It’s been three long years. I want to be the first to welcome him home."

Alicent entered the room just as Rhaenyra was giving herself a final once-over in the mirror. "I see the excitement has reached you too," she said with a smile, noting Rhaenyra’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

Rhaenyra grinned back at her, unable to contain her joy. "I’ll never grow tired of seeing him return. I need to be ready. He deserves a proper welcome, don’t you think?"

Alicent nodded, helping to smooth a stray lock of Rhaenyra’s hair into place. "He’ll be just as eager to see you, Rhaenyra. The bond you two share is special."

Rhaenyra smiled, touched by Alicent’s words, though her thoughts were already racing ahead to the moment when she would finally see you up close. "He’s been away too long. Today, we’ll be together again. I can’t wait to hear everything he’s been through, to see how he’s changed."

Alicent chuckled, gently teasing. "Just don’t keep him to yourself for too long. There’s an entire court eager to see the heir to the throne."

Rhaenyra gave her a playful look but nodded. "I suppose I can share him. But only for a little while."

The final adjustments made, Rhaenyra took one last look in the mirror, her excitement barely contained. The morning had begun with a dragon’s roar, a herald of what was to come. Soon, she would stand by your side once more, the dragon prince and the dragon princess, united in the heart of the realm.

With a deep breath, Rhaenyra turned and made her way towards the door, her handmaidens following closely behind. The day had only just begun, but it already promised to be unforgettable. As she stepped into the corridor, her heart raced with anticipation. Soon, she would be at the welcoming ceremony, ready to embrace her brother and celebrate his return to the world they both cherished.

The throne room of the Red Keep was a magnificent sight, its grand scale and ornate decorations a testament to the power and history of House Targaryen. Banners of black and red hung from the high ceilings, the three-headed dragon of the Targaryens prominently displayed. The Iron Throne itself, forged from the swords of defeated enemies, loomed at the far end of the hall, a jagged symbol of absolute authority.

King Viserys I Targaryen sat upon the throne, his posture tense with anticipation. His eyes, the same violet as his children’s, were fixed on the massive doors at the other end of the hall. Courtiers and lords stood in silence, lining the path to the throne, their eyes darting between the King and the doors. The room was filled with a barely contained excitement, the air thick with the importance of the moment.

Viserys shifted in his seat, trying to maintain his regal composure, though it was clear to those who knew him well that he was impatient. It had been three long years since he had last seen his son, and the waiting was almost unbearable. His fingers drummed lightly on the armrest of the throne, his thoughts racing with memories of the boy who had ridden off to war and the man who would return.

Just as the tension in the room reached its peak, the doors to the throne room creaked open, and a late arrival hurried through. Rhaenyra Targaryen, her cheeks flushed and slightly out of breath, slipped in as quietly as possible, her eyes immediately seeking out her father on the throne. She exhaled in relief when she saw that she had made it just in time. She quickly moved to join the courtiers, standing beside Alicent Hightower, who gave her a sympathetic smile.

The doors opened fully with a deep, echoing groan, and the room fell into a hushed silence as Ser Harrold Westerling, flanked by the Kingsguard, stepped inside. "Prince Y/N of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne," Ser Harrold announced, his voice carrying across the hall.

All eyes turned to the figure that stepped through the threshold, and the sight was nothing short of breathtaking.

You stood tall, your presence commanding the room as you entered with the easy confidence of a man who had faced both war and dragons. Your short, pale blond hair, tousled by the wind of your flight, caught the light, glinting like spun silk. Your deep violet eyes, so reminiscent of your father’s, scanned the room with a quiet intensity, taking in every detail. The armor you wore was finely crafted, a blend of polished steel and dragon motifs, but it was the Targaryen sigil emblazoned across your chest that drew the most attention—a bold reminder of the blood that coursed through your veins.

As you strode forward, your movements were smooth and measured, a dragonrider’s grace evident in every step. There was a power in your gait, a strength that spoke of the battles fought and won, of the years spent defending the realm. The courtiers and lords bowed their heads as you passed, acknowledging the prince and future king. Whispers followed in your wake, the court abuzz with murmurs of admiration and awe.

Rhaenyra, watching from a distance, felt her heart swell with pride. Her brother had always been strong, but there was something different about him now—an air of authority and purpose that had not been there before. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched you approach the throne, her eyes glistening with emotion.

Beside her, Alicent Hightower blushed deeply as you passed, her gaze dropping to the floor before sneaking another glance at you. There was a palpable tension in the air, a mix of admiration and something more, as she tried to compose herself. Rhaenyra noticed, but said nothing, a small smile playing on her lips.

Your focus, however, was solely on the man who awaited you at the end of the hall. King Viserys rose from the Iron Throne as you approached, his expression shifting from regal formality to one of barely contained joy. The distance between father and son narrowed with each step you took, and by the time you stood before him, the room seemed to hold its breath.

Viserys paused for a moment, looking you over with the eyes of a father who had missed the growth of his child into a man. His gaze was proud, but there was also a trace of sadness for the time lost. "My son," he began, his voice formal but thick with emotion, "you have returned to us a hero. The realm owes you a great debt for your service."

You bowed your head respectfully, your voice steady and warm as you replied, "Thank you, Father. It was my duty to defend our lands, but it is good to be home."

Viserys nodded, but the formality of the moment quickly gave way to something more genuine. His stoic expression broke, a broad grin spreading across his face as he stepped down from the throne. Before the courtiers could fully register the shift, Viserys crossed the remaining distance between you and embraced you with a hearty, almost crushing hug.

"My boy," he said, his voice choked with emotion as he held you close. "You’ve grown so much. It’s been too long."

You returned the embrace just as fiercely, your own voice betraying the depth of your feelings. "I’ve missed you, Father."

The hall erupted in applause, the sound echoing off the stone walls as the courtiers and lords showed their approval. It was a moment of unity, a rare and cherished sight in the often fractured world of court politics.

Viserys pulled back, his hands still on your shoulders as he looked at you with a father’s pride. "Come," he said, his voice lighter now, almost eager. "There’s so much to tell you, so much you’ve missed in these three years. The court, the realm... you must hear it all. And I want to hear every detail of your time in Dorne."

He clapped you on the back, turning to lead you away from the throne, his excitement palpable. "But first, let’s get you out of that armor. We’ll talk as you prepare for the feast. The entire court is eager to see you again, and your sister has been counting the days until your return."

As the two of you began to walk down the aisle, Rhaenyra watched with a smile, her heart full. She followed at a discreet distance, blending in with the other courtiers, but her eyes never left you. Alicent, still by her side, looked after you with a softness in her gaze, her earlier blush still lingering.

The doors to the throne room slowly closed behind you, the applause fading as the court returned to its usual murmur of conversation. The welcoming ceremony had ended, but the day was just beginning, and it was clear that it would be filled with moments to remember.

Rhaenyra, watching you disappear through the doors with your father, knew that the bond between the two of you was as strong as ever. Today, the Targaryen family was reunited, and the city of King’s Landing would celebrate in grand fashion.

But for Rhaenyra, the true celebration was in the simple joy of having her brother home again. The dragons of House Targaryen were together once more, and nothing could dim the brightness of this day.

The echoes of the applause still lingered in the halls as King Viserys I Targaryen led you away from the throne room and into a quieter, more private part of the Red Keep. The ornate corridors, lined with tapestries depicting the history of House Targaryen, gradually gave way to more intimate surroundings—the King’s private chambers. Here, away from the prying eyes of the court, the formalities of royal life could be set aside, if only for a short while.

As the door to the King’s chambers closed behind you, the weight of the last three years seemed to melt away. Viserys gestured for you to sit at the table near the window, where a light breeze drifted in, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city’s celebrations. The table was set with wine and bread, simple fare for a king, but comforting in its familiarity.

Viserys poured two goblets of wine, handing one to you before taking a seat across from you. For a moment, he simply looked at you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, noting the subtle changes that time and experience had etched there.

"You’ve grown, Y/N," he said, his voice soft, almost in awe. "I knew you would, of course, but seeing you now... it’s different. You’ve become a man in these last three years. I’m proud of you, more than words can say."

You took a sip of the wine, savoring the taste before replying. "Thank you, Father. It wasn’t an easy task, defending our borders, but it was necessary. The Dornish were becoming bolder by the day. They needed to be reminded of our strength."

Viserys nodded, his expression serious. "I’ve heard the reports, of course. Your presence alone was enough to turn the tide, or so they say. Silverwing must have been a sight to behold on the battlefield."

A small smile played on your lips as you recalled the days spent soaring over the arid Dornish lands, the wind whipping through your hair as Silverwing roared her defiance at the enemy below. "She was magnificent. The Dornish learned quickly that Targaryen fire is not to be trifled with. But it wasn’t just about the battles. The men needed leadership, someone to rally behind. I did what I could to be that for them."

"And you succeeded," Viserys said, his voice filled with pride. "The realm is safer because of you. The people know they have a prince who will protect them, a future king who will lead them with strength and honor."

You inclined your head, acknowledging his praise, but there was a wistfulness in your expression that Viserys did not miss. He reached across the table, placing a hand on your arm. "What troubles you, my son?"

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke, your voice tinged with a quiet sorrow. "I was just thinking of Mother. She would have been so proud to see this day, to see how the realm is at peace because of what we’ve done. I’ve missed her, every day."

Viserys’s face softened, his own grief mirrored in your words. "I miss her too," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Aemma, of what she would say, how she would guide me. She was my heart, and I know she was yours as well."

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he continued. "I regret that she is not here to see you thrive, to see the man you’ve become. But I believe she is watching over us, that she sees you and is as proud of you as I am. You were her joy, Y/N. She would be so very proud."

You lowered your gaze for a moment, the memories of your mother flooding your mind—her gentle smile, the warmth of her embrace, the way she had always known just what to say to ease your fears. "I’ve tried to honor her memory in everything I do," you said quietly. "Every decision I make, every battle I fight, I think of what she would want, what she would have done. She’s never far from my thoughts."

Viserys smiled sadly, his hand still resting on yours. "She lives on in you, my son. In your strength, in your kindness, in your sense of duty. Aemma’s spirit is with us, even if she is not."

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of shared loss hanging between you. It was a grief that had shaped both your lives, a void that could never truly be filled. Yet, in that silence, there was also a sense of peace, a shared understanding that you both carried her memory with you, honoring her in your own ways.

Viserys broke the silence first, his voice lighter now as he sought to lift the mood. "But let us not dwell too long on sorrow. Today is a day of celebration, after all. The court is waiting, and I hear you plan to compete in the tourney yourself."

You chuckled, the sadness easing from your features as you looked up at him. "I do. It’s been too long since I’ve had the chance to test my skills. The Dornish provided plenty of real battles, but there’s something to be said for the honor and tradition of a tourney."

Viserys grinned, a spark of excitement in his eyes. "You’ll make quite the entrance, I’m sure. The court will be watching closely. It’s not every day they get to see the heir to the Iron Throne in action."

"I’ll do my best to give them a show," you replied with a grin of your own. "But it’s not just about the spectacle. It’s a chance to remind the realm of our strength, of the unity of House Targaryen. We’ve faced threats from the outside, but there are always threats from within as well. The court needs to see that we are strong, that we stand together."

Viserys nodded, understanding the deeper meaning behind your words. "You’re right. There are always those who would seek to undermine us, to sow discord. But today, let them see that House Targaryen is united, that the blood of the dragon runs true in you."

He raised his goblet in a toast, his eyes filled with pride and determination. "To your nameday, my son. To the future of our house, and to the memory of those who came before us."

You clinked your goblet against his, the sound ringing softly in the quiet room. "To our future," you echoed, your voice steady and sure.

As you both drank, the atmosphere lightened, the bond between father and son reaffirmed. The burdens of the past were still there, but for now, they were set aside, replaced by the promise of the day ahead.

Viserys set his goblet down, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Now, tell me—are you planning to win this tourney? Or should I place my bets elsewhere?"

You laughed, a genuine, hearty sound that filled the room. "I plan to give it my all, Father. But I suppose you’ll have to wait and see if that’s enough to claim victory."

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Very well, I’ll keep my bets close to my chest. But I’ll be watching with great interest."

The two of you continued to talk, the conversation flowing easily as you recounted the events of the last three years, the battles fought, the alliances forged. Viserys listened intently, asking questions, offering advice, and occasionally regaling you with the goings-on in King’s Landing during your absence. The weight of rulership was ever-present, but in this moment, it was simply a father catching up with his son.

Finally, as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Viserys glanced out the window, noting the time. "The feast will begin soon, and the tourney will follow. We should make our way back to the court."

You nodded, standing as he did, your heart lighter than it had been in a long time. "I’m ready, Father. Let’s go and give them a day to remember."

Viserys clapped you on the back as you walked to the door together, his smile full of pride and affection. "That we shall, my son. That we shall."

And with that, the two of you stepped out of the King’s private chambers and back into the grand corridors of the Red Keep, ready to face the celebrations that awaited. Today was your day, a day to honor the past, celebrate the present, and look forward to the future. The dragons of House Targaryen were united once more, and nothing could dim the brightness of the day that lay ahead.

The grand corridors of the Red Keep were filled with the rustle of fine fabrics and the murmur of anticipation as courtiers made their way towards the tourney grounds. The air vibrated with excitement, the prospect of watching the finest knights in the realm compete thrilling everyone. The ladies of the court walked in groups, their laughter and whispers echoing off the stone walls as they discussed the events of the day—and the prince who had returned after three long years.

Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower moved among them, their own excitement tempered by a more personal interest in the proceedings. They had just witnessed your return to King’s Landing, and the image of you standing tall and proud before the Iron Throne was still fresh in their minds. As they walked, Rhaenyra’s mind buzzed with thoughts of you, while Alicent seemed quieter than usual, her expression contemplative.

"You haven’t said much since we left the throne room," Rhaenyra noted, glancing at her friend as they walked. "What are you thinking, Alicent?"

Alicent blinked, as if pulled from her thoughts, and offered Rhaenyra a soft smile. "I was just thinking about your brother. It’s incredible how much he’s changed. I almost didn’t recognize him when he walked in."

Rhaenyra nodded, her lips curving into a fond smile. "He has changed, hasn’t he? When he left, he was still young, still learning how to lead. Now... now he seems so sure of himself, so strong." There was pride in her voice, but also a hint of something else—an undercurrent of longing for the time when the two of you were younger and life was simpler.

Alicent’s eyes flickered with understanding. "You’re proud of him, Rhaenyra. Anyone can see that. But I imagine it must be strange too, seeing how he’s grown in your absence."

"It is," Rhaenyra admitted, her voice quiet. "I’ve missed him so much. We used to spend all our time together. Now, it feels like he’s returned a different person, someone who belongs more to the realm than to me."

Alicent gave her a sympathetic look. "That’s only natural. He’s the heir to the throne, after all. But that doesn’t mean he’s changed in how he feels about you. You’re still his sister, Rhaenyra. That bond doesn’t just disappear."

Rhaenyra nodded, though her heart still felt heavy. She knew Alicent was right, but the feeling of being left behind, of losing the closeness you once shared, gnawed at her. "I know," she said, forcing a smile. "But sometimes I wish we could go back to the way things were, when it was just the two of us."

Alicent was about to respond when the soft murmur of the ladies walking nearby caught their attention. The two of them slowed their pace slightly, enough to overhear the conversation unfolding around them.

"Did you see him? He’s even more handsome than the rumors said," one lady whispered excitedly.

"And did you notice how he carries himself? So regal, so commanding," another added, her voice tinged with admiration.

"I heard he’s competing in the tourney today. Can you imagine how thrilling it would be to watch him fight? I’ll wager every lady here will be hoping for his favor."

The ladies giggled, their words filled with admiration and excitement. Rhaenyra’s chest tightened as she listened, her earlier feelings of pride mingling with a sharp pang of jealousy. She had always known you were admired, but hearing these women fawn over you, imagining themselves catching your attention, stirred something possessive within her.

Alicent, noticing the change in Rhaenyra’s expression, touched her arm gently. "Rhaenyra... you know they’re just infatuated with the idea of him. They don’t know him like you do."

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened slightly as she nodded. "I know, but it still bothers me. It’s like they’re trying to take something that belongs to me." Her voice was low, almost bitter, the jealousy she felt hard to suppress.

Alicent gave her a thoughtful look, choosing her words carefully. "It’s understandable, Rhaenyra. You’ve shared something special with him, something no one else can claim. But he’s the heir, and as much as it pains you, others will be drawn to him. They see the prince, the dragonrider, but they don’t see the brother you know."

Rhaenyra sighed, her shoulders relaxing a little as she processed Alicent’s words. "You’re right," she said, her voice softer now. "It’s just... it’s hard to watch. I miss the days when it was just the two of us, when I didn’t have to share him with the rest of the realm."

Alicent squeezed her arm reassuringly. "I’m sure he feels the same way about you, Rhaenyra. He’s always been devoted to you. Don’t let the chatter of the court make you doubt that."

Rhaenyra managed a small smile, her earlier jealousy easing, though not entirely disappearing. "Thank you, Alicent. I just need to remind myself of that."

As they emerged from the shadowed corridors and into the open air, the roar of the crowds from the tourney grounds greeted them, the excitement palpable. The stands were already filled with lords, ladies, and smallfolk alike, all eager to witness the spectacle. Banners fluttered in the breeze, the sigils of noble houses displayed proudly, while the smell of roasted meats and the sound of trumpets filled the air.

Rhaenyra and Alicent were escorted to their seats in the royal box, a prime position that offered a perfect view of the lists. As they settled in, Rhaenyra’s eyes scanned the grounds, her thoughts still partly on you, wondering what you might be thinking as you prepared for the tourney.

The ladies around them continued to chatter excitedly, their conversations now shifting to the knights who would compete, but Rhaenyra’s thoughts remained on you. She couldn’t help but wonder how you would perform in the tourney, whether you would acknowledge her in some way, and what it would mean to see you in your element once more.

Alicent, ever observant, leaned closer to Rhaenyra. "You’ll see him again soon, you know. And when you do, you’ll have his attention. The bond you share is something these other ladies can only dream of."

Rhaenyra nodded, a determined look settling on her face. "You’re right, Alicent. I’ve spent enough time longing for the past. Today, I’ll celebrate the present—and the fact that my brother is finally home."

Alicent smiled warmly at her, proud of her friend’s resolve. "That’s the spirit, Rhaenyra. Now, let’s enjoy the tourney. I have a feeling it’s going to be one for the ages."

As the trumpets blared once more, signaling the start of the day’s events, Rhaenyra allowed herself to relax, focusing on the excitement of the moment. The tourney grounds were alive with color and sound, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of contentment. You were home, and that was what mattered most.

The day was young, and there was much to celebrate. Rhaenyra settled into her seat, ready to watch the tourney unfold, knowing that no matter what, her brother would always be her closest confidant, the one person who truly understood her. Today, the dragons of House Targaryen were united, and nothing would take that away from her.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x male reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x you #alicent hightower #viserys targaryen #house targaryen #silverwing

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nightdivinity · 8 months

Text

Drink Responsibly: Chapter 1

ABO!Vampire!Batfam x reader

Minors! Do! Not! Engage! +18 only!

Platonic!Alfred, Bruce x reader, Possessive! Batboys x reader

Warnings: Bad life choices, possessive behavior, a/b/o, they're vampires, loooong age gaps, no proofreading, reverse harem.

Writer's Note: I am so tired. I exist only because of caffeine and spite. So here you go, Chapter 2 is done as well. It will come out Friday hopefully.

Grey eyes stare into yours as you try your hardest to not squirm under the intensity. How did you get to be where you are? You have no clue. Honestly, there shouldn’t have been a callback. You should not have landed this opportunity for the second interview. The initial screening process should have weened you out in the first place.

From what you had gathered from the chatty chauffeur in the town car, (the town car! They knew you had no car to get to Wayne Manor, let alone to your job. Yet they still sent you someone to go pick you up from your ratty apartment.) This was all ordained by someone much higher than Mr. Pennyworth in front of you. The talk with the chauffeur had almost put you at ease until you looked out the window and saw the heavy iron gate open to Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. There’s no doubt in your mind. You shouldn’t be here. In more ways than one.

It made your bandages itch the more you thought about it. You couldn't scratch them like the feral animal you were deep down inside. At least, not when you're being as heavily scrutinized as you are now.

“I’m not sure you know what you’re getting yourself into my dear.”, the butler says.

“I want this job.”

He sighs then and reaches for the cup of tea sitting on the table next to him. When you got to the Manor, Mr. Pennyworth had met you at the front step. He still ushered you through a side entrance and a winding set of narrow hallways until you reached the sitting room you were now in. Not that you were complaining about being treated like a servant when you were trying to like hell to land the job.

If ever there was an excellent place to kill someone, this was it. You find yourself thinking as you look away from him and study the art on the walls. The manor itself was far removed from society and the small windowless study with the ornate crackling fireplace was oppressive as much as it was impressive. No one would ever hear you scream.

“The issue is not a matter of want. The issue is a matter of need.”, he says.

You watch him take a sip as a bead of sweat collects at the back of your neck. It was getting too hot in here, and the bandage around your wrist was itching.

“I need it. No one wants to hire me”, You reply.

You’re not sure what you expect after you say that. Half of you were expecting him to start grilling you like he did during your interview two days ago. That one had taken place in daylight, in an ostentatious conference room at Wayne Enterprise's.

You were still waiting for him to pick you to the bone and say, “Why is that?”. The other half feels like the admittance makes you guilty. Guilty of going out that night. Guilty of getting caught in a crowd surge while blackout drunk. Guilty of the infected thralls that were unleashed by the Scarecrow goons. Guilty of killing the infected that had started ripping you to pieces. Not that you remember any of it, frustratingly enough. No one, not even the news, gave enough information on that night. Why was I there?

“How are you doing dear?” Pennyworth asks.

You blink. No one has asked that yet. Not by anyone that you feel genuinely wants to know the answer.

“Good. Sore, and I believe honesty is the best policy. I can’t dance like I used to.”, you joke.

It falls flat in the cramped space as you give him a tight grin. His grey eyes dart momentarily to the crutch that was resting next to the chair, and to the cast going slightly above your knee.

“Yes, honesty is such an important quality nowadays. Might I say, it is fortunate that you survived.”

“No one else thinks that. I’m just thankful that Duke was there. I was told he was the one that got me to the hospital. Now he’s gone and got me this interview.”

It’s funny. Time from that night seems disjointed. While you were black-out drunk, you do feel as though you were only in the club for five minutes. The attack happened at 12:45 am. You remember waking up in the hospital and finding your chart on your way to the bathroom. It said you were admitted at 2 am. The next time you managed to grab it, it had said 12:59 am. Not to mention your wounds were healing at a faster rate than most Omegas. Something was picking deep inside your skull.

“Luckily this job is not strenuous if you are up to the task.”

You nod at him. You need this.

“Well, there are rather strict rules. Breaking them is a breach of contract that will be handled severely. This isn’t like a regular job out there. Any problems that arise will not result in a simple firing.”, he pauses before continuing, “For example, personal electronic devices are prohibited in the Manor. Your bags will be thoroughly checked by me upon arrival. You will be allowed devices that are monitored by security.”

“I can’t just be cut off from my family”, you protest.

“We don’t want you to. You may make phone calls during your allotted time off. They will happen here, or in Master Bruce’s office with either him or me in the room. Your predecessor was fond of skirting her duties and we have found the need for such restrictions.”

“While excursions are discouraged, they are not prohibited. We will go over those security measures at a later time. You are to be readily available when called upon at any time they require something. While day workers are employed here, at no point are you allowed to interact with them.”

You can’t help the way your brows furrow. This was going to be a long year if you were to take this opportunity. With each rule, you wondered if this was why the position was empty for so long.

“I tend to the bedrooms, and at no point should you enter them unless invited by the occupant. You will be given a room as well, and I would appreciate cleanliness. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all served at the same time, tardiness is prohibited.”

“Will I be helping in the kitchen?”, you ask.

“No. Not unless you want to, if you are going to cook, please notify me accordingly.”

“So, wait. I’m confused. Just what is my job here?”

Alfred sighs and for the first time since you’ve met the prim and proper gentleman, he seems a bit haggard. Which did not make you feel good.

“It gets awful lonely here in the manor. As I’m sure you are aware, Alphas live for a long time. Particularly ones infected such as those in Wayne Manor. Now and then it is refreshing to have something that brings more life into such a place. The children have taken an interest in you, and that is enough for Master Bruce.”

“I’m not a toy.”

“No. You’re fortunately not. What you are being offered is room and board, all you have to do is adhere to the rules. In exchange, you have to be a friend. Surely you know how to do that”?

If he had asked your friend, he’d have been met with a resounding no. After that night you had found yourself crippled in the hospital with no friends to speak of. Your friend had been peeved, rightfully so, that you had just packed their wasted butt into a car with a stranger. You had been miffed because hello?? They weren’t the ones chomped on by a deranged rabid Beta. They had made it home in one piece, even getting past the front door and into their bed. Both of you had been wasted, so why act like it was all your fault? You were getting tired of the world treating you like you were the root cause of life’s issues.

“I won’t be doing any of that”, you ask.

Now he just looked downright uncomfortable. You were almost embarrassed, but the question needed to be asked. Being hired to be a friend to Alphas that were at least a century old likely resulted in you waking up in a bed that’s not yours.

“Only if you consent to it. You won’t be reprimanded for not doing it, or if you do find yourself in that position.”, he clears his throat, “Healthcare and dental is provided. Due to your circumstances as an Omega, blockers will be provided along with your daily vitamins. Your health and safety is paramount to us.”

You had nothing more to say. Silently you sat there, running through any alternative options, and yet you kept hitting a wall. There was no denying it, this was the best option you could be given. All you had to do was smile and nod and make it a year. By then you should be able to get your feet back underneath you and be able to reassess your situation. Who knows? You might just like it.

“I’m going to say, you have a deal”, you smile at him.

“Then please, call me Alfred.”

He gets up then and holds a hand out to you to help you out of your chair. His smile back is warm, creases folding up from his eyes, a drastic change from the cold persona that you had started becoming accustomed to.

“Shall I call for the town car Ms. (L/N)?”

This was the start of a beautiful friendship, you decided. You nod your head as he pulls you up and gives you a brisk but friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Duke, you don’t have to do this”, you protest.

It was the thirteen-hundredth time you’ve said it. When Alfred closed the interview, he had taken the time to walk you to the front door, pointing out so many rooms that it all went over your head. You almost made it to the front. Then Duke saw you and took over from there.

“No, no, and for the last time, stop. I want to do it”, Duke grins up at you.

He was on the floor, taping up the last of your boxes. You hate to admit it, but you’re not sorry in the slightest as he does all the heavy lifting. The best part about it was getting to see all the muscles in his back when he turned around. Yum. Hey, you were a red-blooded Omega. There were just some things you couldn’t fight.

“Be careful not to break that”, you warn.

“Right, because what will the world do without these little tchotchkes?”, Duke laughs.

Somehow, not surprisingly, he dodges the stray crutch that you toss half-heartedly in his direction. At this point, he was used to you trying to weaponize your “mobility aide”.

It all started when he helped you get back to your apartment, in a wheelchair that he bought. Then he abandoned said wheelchair and carried you bridal style up several flights of stairs. Citing that the elevator was too dangerous because it hadn’t been inspected in the past decade. Even ignoring you when you told him that it would be far more likely for both of you to fall to your death in the stairwell. This was all two weeks ago, and he still refuses to use the elevator.

He was on the floor now, humming and throwing your shit in boxes. You weren’t sure how he did it. When you agreed to the move, you had been internally wincing and panicking. Thinking it was just going to be you, hopping pitifully around the room. Probably taking breaks and reminiscing over the stray artifacts of your life. You would’ve needed at least three days max to get packed. Duke cut it down to two hours.

“Sooooooooo”, you draw out, “Tell me about the others.”

“There’s not much to say, not a lot that I can either way. What do you want to know?”

Your eyes narrow as he turns weirdly evasive. He always got a little cagey when you brought up his adoptive family. Never quite answering the question.

“What are they like? Are they nice?”, you ask.

He pauses and stands, turning his back to you so he can put a box on the trolley. We’re going to take the elevator. You thought with a smug sort of glee at the realization. That means you’ll be in your wheelchair. See, you’re slowly reclaiming your independence. Sort of.

“Um. Cass is really nice, but you won’t see her often. Same with Steph. They both kind of do their own thing and no one lives at home besides Alfred, Bruce, and me. Though that might change.”

He pauses again. You stick your tongue out at his back only for him to whirl around to face you. Quickly you snap it back in and try to appear innocent as you stare up. Ew. Popcorn ceiling. You wonder for a second if you could have asbestos in your lungs from that.

“Dick, I mean Grayson, he oversees the training of the Alpha taskforce in Bludhaven. Jason avoids Bruce like the plague while doing the most to get his attention, and I can't really get into what he does for a living. You don't want to know. Tim lives and breathes at Wayne Enterprise’s various global sectors, some of the time, he’s the hardest to track. Damian has been somewhere in Pakistan. Where? I don’t know. I would avoid him and Jason if at all possible. Not that you'll likely see them."

You had to smother your cry of relief. This was going to be a lot easier than you thought. There were only going to be three people that you had to worry about. Maybe you were going to finally complete a New Year’s resolution now that you had time. The world was looking up for you.

“I think that’s it, are you ready?”

His question breaks off your train of thought. You can’t help but groan when he gets near you, arms outstretched, ready for a hug and humiliating you. To make matters worse, he says the worst thing possible.

“Up you go!”, Duke crows.

“No! To the chair! Put me down you overgrown bat!”, you say.

Thankfully he does, gently plopping you down in the cushy seat and stooping to ruffle your hair. You were hissing mad. Not that he cared. Just to goad you further, he reached over to the handles behind your back and rang the obnoxious little bike bell he attached to it.

“Run”, you warn him.

He laughs while sprinting with the dolly all the way to the elevator as you try like hell to mow him down. Both of you completely missed the way his phone kept blowing up with notifications, the small dings being mistaken for a bike bell.

#abo batfam x reader #vamp!batfam #vamp!batfam x reader #batfam x reader #still tagging yandere #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #i've got four essays due by the end of this week #going to my corner to cry now

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satangcrush · 2 months

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an ode to nicknames pt.3 <3

✦ CAST: simeon, solomon, diavolo, luke, barbatos ✦ WC: 1.8k ✦ SUMMARY: f! reader, what nicknames (or lack of) will the cast use for you! established relationship (simeon and solomon), diavolo (more than friends), luke (familial) and barbatos (start of program) ✦ WC: 4.4k✦ WARNING: spoiler for OB!SWD for simeon’s part

[PART 1] | [PART 2] | [PART 3] | MASTERLIST

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Simeon thinks you’re an actual saint for putting up with the demon brothers and calls you ‘angel’ somewhat as a joke at first but now thinks you actually can be one. He also regularly calls you ‘sweetheart’, ‘darling’, ‘doll’, and ‘love’. He loves referring to you by a nickname but unfortunately or fortunately (however you see it), he has the vocabulary of a friendly old lady. (Spoiler for OM!SWD in Simeon’s part)

“Angel.”

“Yes?” Simeon was insistent on using the nickname despite you telling him not to. At first, you wondered if this was some kind of weird coping mechanism of his but he had repeatedly assured you that it wasn’t. Thus, over time you have now fully embraced the weirdness of the ex-angel calling you… an angel.

“I overheard this today while manning the cafe. What does a sheep in wolf’s clothing mean in the human world?” His gaze lingers as he looks at you sprawled on the table over a book. The chair beside you made no noise even as it was pulled out for him to sit gently.

“I believe the saying goes something like a wolf in sheep’s clothing instead.” You huffed out a laugh, making a move to close your book to meet Simeon’s curious expression instead.

“How did you even overhear that conversation? Like, what’s the context?” You propped a hand up on the table that you were reading on, raising an eyebrow thoughtfully.

He pursed his lips, clearly racking his head to search for the answer. “Honestly… I forgot. I only heard the ‘sheep’ part and was reminded of when you turned into a sheep during our initial stay in the Devildom. You were very adorable, and I regretted never getting the chance to cuddle you back then.” You stifled a laugh, knowing that he wouldn’t appreciate you laughing at him. He was so cute, you don’t even know if he noticed that he was pouting right now.

“Well, too bad.” You said teasingly. “I’m pretty sure the brothers cuddled me enough for your share too.”

“Maybe I should ask Solomon if he has a spell to turn you into a sheep temporarily,” Simeon winks at you, tone inked with hope.

You hit his shoulder playfully and shot him a glare. “Respectfully, that would only give Solomon too much power. And in case you forget, I’m a fully-fledged sorcerer now too.” Simeon gave you a kicked-puppy stare, and you could swear you almost saw imaginary puppy ears on him.

…Maybe you should ask Solomon to start teaching you about transformation spells.

“Ah right, back to your original question. I could be wrong but I vaguely remember the term deriving from a fable by Aesops. But anyway, the phrase is used to express someone who deceives others by pretending to be harmless when they have evil intentions. It’s not a positive expression.” You shook your head slightly, heart squeezing at the sight of Simeon’s frown deepening at your explanation.

“I thought it would be a different explanation in the human world, but I guess it’s the same everywhere, huh?” Simeon sighed, arms folding across his chest, “I was hoping that it might be a cute expression.”

“I guess not. The Devildom uses something similar too right?” You turn in your chair, flicking your finger on his forehead gently. “Come on, we should start on dinner. Should we cook or eat out today?” You hesitate to get up from your chair when you notice the pondering look on Simeon’s face.

“What if I change it to an angel in human’s clothing? Wouldn’t that refer to you?” You tilt your head, not knowing if you should say something or just let it be. It was ironic coming from the mouth of an ex-angel.

As you froze in your movements, Simeon grabs your hand to pull you into his lap, and you go without question. His lips lay on the crook of your neck and you fondly stroked the top of his head, the repetitive motion soothing your heart. His breath was warm against your neck and then suddenly, a cold flash of teeth and tongue drifted along your neck like he was tracing stars into your skin. You wonder if he could hear your pulse beating deep within you. But it’s not like he would care. You’re certain that if you put your ears to his pulse, his heart would also be beating to the same rhythm as yours.

A sharp sensation of teeth punctured the nape of your neck before he quickly swiped his tongue over the skin. You pulled on his hair, watching as the spit connecting the both of you together broke. “Simeon!” You admonished him with a laugh, “Why did you bite me?” You trace the indentation on your neck, glancing at the sheen of spit that came away with it.

“Disgusting.” You whine, “Come on, let’s eat. Aren’t you hungry from working?”

“Mm. Give me a minute,” He muttered, burying his face in your chest. “Let me have this for a little while longer,” His arms tightened around your waist and you nodded to yourself, steadying your hands on his shoulders.

“Thank you, love.”

Your heart swelled at his declaration as your hands interlocked behind his shoulders. It wouldn’t hurt to rest another five minutes, you supposed.

══════════════════

One would think that Solomon’s experience with his 500 wives and various other relationships would mean that he has at least learned how to act like a proper gentleman. Sincerely, this man lives purely based on menace and instinct. He would address you by all sorts of nicknames but his particular favourite is calling you his dear apprentice, student, and maybe even his other half. Your master-student relationship is the one thing that the two of you shared that the brothers are unable to take part in. With you, Solomon treasures the quiet moments when he can steal you away from the rest.

The apricot-skied evening blooms before your eyes and when you look up, the vast stretches of wilderness expand rapidly and you couldn’t help the gasp that hitched in your breath. It was… ethereal. You would love to take in all of the scenery peacefully… except for the fact that you are currently hanging upside down with all the blood rushing to your head, thousands of feet in the air.

“WAH! SOLOMON! Let me down! You stupid wizard boy! I’m going to curse you!” Tears blotted your vision as you buried your head deeper into the curve below Solomon’s ear. You can feel his chest shaking in laughter as he heaves your legs higher around his waist, steadying you. As frantic as you had sounded, you were still clinging on for dear life to him.

“MC… you know you don’t sound threatening in the slightest, holding onto me like that.” He murmured, lips brushing the tip of your ear softly. Solomon hummed lightly as he recited another spell, to levitate the both of you up a few feet higher. You chanced a glance to look at the ground and immediately regretted it. You could practically feel bile coming up your throat and you quickly squeezed your eyes shut again.

How in the three realms is he okay suspended mid-air while being flipped upside down??

“Dumb old man! Stupid wizard! This is not what I meant when I said I wanted to fly!” You hissed, fearing for your life as your grip on the back of his neck turned tighter. You should have known something was up when Solomon had asked if you had a fear of heights and you cursed at yourself for mentioning that you wanted to freefall after watching that stupid movie with him last week. Your face contorted into a grimace; survival instincts kicking in as you pressed yourself against him as if you were climbing a tree.

“My dearest apprentice, you need to relax. I can’t focus on the spell if you keep yapping beside me, you know.” There wasn’t even the slightest hint of irritation in his tone, you could clearly tell he was enjoying your panic to the fullest. “Also, do you really want me to let you down now? We’re so high up. Though, if you wish for it, I could make your dreams come true.”

You felt his fingers, which has been firm around the plush of your thigh, loosen a little. “N-no! If you let me go, I’m breaking up with you, you ass!” You threw out your words venomously, as your grip tightened into an iron grip. If you were any less scared, you would have worried about his ability to breathe with the amount of strength that you were putting around his neck.

Solomon tsked at you, the corners of his mouth turning up at your ultimatum. His hands slid from under your thigh to the back of your waist and pinched the skin there. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” You could practically envision the stupid smirk he must be wearing but you couldn’t be bothered to reply, fear choking your windpipes.

“Don’t worry darling, we’re reaching the fun part now. Be a dear and hold on tighter to me, kay?” His voice took on a simpering tone and before you knew it, you could feel the magic that was holding you and Solomon up, disappear.

There was no way you weren’t going to murder Solomon the moment you touched both feet on the ground.

You couldn’t even let out a yelp as the air was stolen from your lungs as you felt the wind and your hair whip past your face. Solomon caged you with his body, the sound of his laughter lost in the air. The only thing that you could do was to hold onto him while shaking like a leaf, breath forced out through your burning lungs.

You honestly think you must have passed out on the descent down because the next thing you knew, you were on the ground staring up at the darkening sky, though your limbs were still entangled around Solomon.

“There, there, MC. See, that wasn’t so bad, wasn’t it? You just needed faith in your master to take care of you,” He soothed you, grabbing your hands from around his waist to entwine them together as he planted a kiss on your forehead.

You found it concerning that he was still wearing that stupid smirk on his face as if the both of you didn’t just have a near-death experience. Your mouth gaped open and closed, reminiscent of a fish out of water, as you intended to berate him but the words died on your tongue as you realised that the scratchiness in your throat was preventing you from speaking a word.

“W-water.” You managed to squeak out, face red in embarrassment. Solomon quirked a curious eyebrow at you as he placed a finger on your chin to bring your head up, “...Did you lose your voice?” He could barely fight the grin off his face, fingers now trailing down the curve of your neck.

You glared at him, resolutely not breathing a word. His face seemed to be utterly insufferable today, and you would just love for the opportunity to punch that pretty smirk off his face.

“Well, it seems you’re just in luck, my dear apprentice. It’s about time for our dinner reservation, I’ll teleport us there now.” He mused, drawing his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

“You’re paying for the dinner, you slimy bastard.” You mouthed at him bitterly, while he just laughed your frustration off. “Don’t I always pay? Come here, don’t be angry anymore. I apologise for my wrong-doings,” He cooed at you gently, smoothening the wrinkles in your forehead out with his fingers, as he cupped your cheek.

══════════════════

Diavolo is a certified loverboy, honestly. However, due to the importance of needing to keep up his reputation, he uses your name in public. (Though, he has ‘slipped up’ and addressed you by ‘love’ a couple of times.) Around people he trusts or when in private, he calls you his ‘love’, ‘beautiful’, ‘princess’, and even ‘queen’. He is such a romantic that he even made Barbatos research the trendy nicknames that humans use so that he can impress you.

Diavolo suddenly leans forward in his chair, “MC, I’ve been recently researching human nicknames and I would like your opinion on them.” His eyes sparkle as he angles his body towards you.

You pause in your journey to reach out for another dessert, one of Barbatos’s famous pastries that Luke has been singing praises about. You considered his question for a bit and somehow, you were almost sure you knew exactly where this conversation was going to go, but the allure of the delectable pastries was clouding your judgment.

“Yeah? What kind of nicknames have you come across?” You said, mid-crunch through the flaky croissant, and you internally melted at the taste. If only you had a butler like Barbatos, you would put the demon to work every day just so you could have a taste of this heavenly (devil-y?) flavour. He should be competing in all three realms with his talent, it was indeed a waste to keep it hidden.

Hands, big and burly, catch your attention as he plants them on the table. “I’ve heard humans call their partners or friends… ‘pookie’.” Your eyes had honed on his fingers, now drumming on the table, as the words flew past your head before you registered it with disbelief.

Sometimes, you wonder if the next-in-line for the throne has a screw (or multiple, maybe) loose in his head.

You frowned up at him, embarrassment suffocating you into silence. For an agonising few seconds, he holds eye contact with you before he tilts his head, silently prompting you to give him an answer.

You clear your throat as you wipe your hands on the provided tissue placed on the table, “Um… I believe yes. But, I don’t know much about the term if you require an explanation,” God, you hope the floor would open up and swallow you whole. You don’t understand why you were chosen to discuss such a topic with the ruler of Devildom.

“Ah well, that is fine. I was hoping that I could refer to you as ‘pookie’. I’ve heard that a sign of closeness for humans is to start using nicknames.”

Your distaste for the term must have been unfiltered as Diavolo immediately leans back after seeing your expression, thighs spreading wide against each side of the chair. “If you are unhappy with the name, you may tell me so.”

Honestly, you were at a loss. This seemed like a lose-lose situation no matter how you see it. It wasn’t like you could reject the Prince of the Devildom. (I mean you could, but you dread the scolding that Lucifer would give you once he found out.)

And if you allow Diavolo to call you ‘pookie’... you could almost envision Solomon rolling on the floor, dying of laughter. Even worse, you shudder to think of him calling you by that in front of the whole RAD. Suddenly, you very much regret not letting Belphie make a second attempt on your life.

“It’s not that I am unhappy with the name,” You start slowly, “I just believe that a nickname should be more personalised like… I can call you Dia!” You hurriedly blurt out, waving your hands frantically in front of you.

Diavolo says nothing, and your eyes quickly skim his expression which remains startlingly neutral. For a second, you wondered if you had overstepped your boundaries. Maybe Dia was too chummy of a nickname for you to use?

Before you can continue spiraling, his face breaks out into a wide grin. “I hadn’t even considered that! What a wonderful idea, as expected of the human exchange student that Lucifer chose. I will come up with an appropriate nickname accordingly as well.” He gushed, “As expected, it seems that my knowledge about human world customs seems to be lacking. I will need to brush up on them.”

You scooted back in your seat while laughing politely, heart jumping to your tongue. You had definitely avoided a red flag but somehow… it felt like you had triggered another, which was now waving frantically in your face. You tapped the side of your thighs anxiously, you do hope that you make it out of this interaction without any further embarrassment. You don’t think that your heart could take another shot.

“How about cuddlebug? I’ve also heard that it is popular amongst humans.”

“...Sorry?”

You were going to need someone to sedate you so that you can forget this interaction once you were home.

══════════════════

Similar to Simeon, Luke also calls you an ‘angel’ and he is convinced that you have been born in the wrong world. He believes that someone of your character should have been up in the Celestial Realm. He also tries hard to come up with all sorts of nicknames using your actual name, be it shortening, or even substituting your name to something similar. (He had always wanted to give you a nickname but was too shy to. However, he learned that the demon brothers had been using nicknames and he felt spurred to do so as well.)

“MC!” You spun just in time to see a mess of blond hair barrel into the side of your body as you grabbed onto their shoulder to steady them.

“Woah, hey there.” You gently ruffled Luke’s hair, ignoring his complaints, knowing that he secretly enjoyed it. After all, he had once made a sleepy confession that he found the motion reassuring, and ever since, you always made it a point to do it.

“Did you need me for something?”

He started twiddling his thumbs, looking up at you with a hesitant pout. “What is it? Did you get bullied?” You lifted his jaw with your hand, scanning his face for any physical altercations. After checking that there was none, you let go and took a step back to give him a onceover.

“No! It’s nothing of that sort, MC. I…I just-” He cuts himself off, before looking down at his feet sheepishly, “I want to use a nickname for you too,” He mumbles under his breath, voice only slightly louder than a whisper.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Sorry Luke, you need to speak up. I can’t hear you,” You said apologetically, a small smile playing on your lips. The expression on Luke’s face could only be described as ‘deer-in-the-headlight’ as he shifted side to side. He mumbled again, an embarrassed flush at the tip of his ears.

This time, you waited for him to look up before pinning him with a questioning glance. He sighed before taking in a deep breath, “I SAID…I WANT TO MAKE A NICKNAME FOR YOU!” After shouting his request, his face immediately turned red. “I-if you want! I will make you my special cupcakes if you say yes!”

Your heart swelled up with affection, “Aw Luke, you don’t need to bribe me to say yes. Of course, we can use nicknames. I’ll call you…” You placed a hand on the top of his head and thought carefully. “Puppy?” No matter how you thought about it, ‘puppy’ was the only adjective that you could think to describe him, even more so now as he was looking at you with big shiny eyes.

“MC…” He whined, looking at you with a disapproving stare that eerily reminded you of a certain angel. It was endearing how his actions resembled Simeon at times, it just showed how much Luke admires him.

“But it’s so cute… You can come up with a nickname for me too,” You said encouragingly to him with a hint of amusement.

“Angel. I’ll call you angel! You’re so nice like one,” He said animatedly and your heart fluttered at his visible show of excitement. It seemed like he already had a nickname in mind when he came bounding up to you.

“...Sure.” You knew you had taken a second too long to respond when you caught his worried glance, “Do you not like it, MC?” Luke’s face started to fall as you quickly placed your hands into an ‘X’, “No! I love it! It’s just that I can’t help but think it could be a little offensive if other angels hear you calling me as… one?” You questioned, scratching the tip of your nose bridge in awkwardness.

You didn’t want to get into trouble with the Celestial Realm, after all. Being an angel is a tall order in your opinion.

“No, they won’t! Once they meet you, they will definitely agree with my nickname too!” He said with so much conviction that you didn’t have the heart to correct him.

‘Well, it’s meant with good intention… So it should be fine,’ You mused to yourself as you nodded at Luke, giving him the go-ahead to use it.

“Well, if it makes you happy then. I’ll think of another nickname for you since you bestowed such an honor on me then,” You said teasingly, “I will also take you up on your offer about those cupcakes. Shall we head to Purgatory Hall? I’ll stay and bake with you today.”

══════════════════

Barbatos is another one in the cast who will exclusively refer to you by your name as he shows his affection through acts of service. However, if you ask him to use nicknames, he will, but it won’t be of his own accord.

If he does use a nickname of his own accord, Barbatos will call you little sheep to tease you. Barbatos could easily kill you with a single strike (as does everyone but he is most aware of it) but treats you like a puppy (or sheep) that he leaves alone as he feels bad for you.

(He smiles gently at you but there is not an ounce of care behind it. It is just for politeness's sake.)

“It is surprising to see you here so early, MC. Did the brothers not give you any trouble today?”

“Eh, no. I came from RAD.” Your natural response was to talk informally to Barbatos as you still have not gotten a grasp on the custom here.

“Sorry, I meant to say that I came straight from class. Pardon my rudeness.” You apologised, still feeling unsettled in the Devildom.

“It is alright, MC. However, the young master is still in a meeting and will presumably not be out anytime soon. Would you like for me to serve some tea and pastries first?”

“That would be great. Do you need any help?” Despite your obvious apprehension, you still weren’t beside your manners to ask him.

Caught up in your conversation with Barbatos, you hadn't even noticed that he had led you to the guest room. “Please take a seat here. I will prepare the refreshments for you.” Barbatos replied in a gentle tone, firm in not letting you do any work.

“Ah, could you please prepare cold water for me instead?”

“...I understand.”

After Barbatos had left and you were alone in the room, you did a cursory glance and quickly covered your face with the back of your hand to sigh. The problem was that you still weren’t used to the Devildom and you jumped at every single thing that moved and that butler scares you. His mouth may be curled up into a polite smile but you could not feel any warmth behind it.

‘...Urgh.’

The best scenario now is just to survive the school year without dying since it seems that going back to your realm is impossible.

“MC?”

You quickly straightened yourself and smiled at Barbatos, hoping that he did not notice your worries.

“Ah, thank you.” You took a sip from the cup that Barbatos had brought over and instantly your face scrunched up into a frown as you took in a deep inhale.

“Is this lemonade?”

“It is lemonade, the Devildom version of it. I thought it would help you feel more refreshed.”

You remember clearly saying to prepare cold water instead of lemonade yet he still chose to bring over a cup of cold lemonade, which would have taken more work to prepare. You wanted to be angry at the sour taste but you were afraid of the sly butler who was now looking over at you with a pleasant expression that was telling you to enjoy your drink. God, you never had an issue with lemonade but it seemed that the Devildom version was much sourer than what you were used to.

You continued to drink the lemonade.

“Thank you for the drink. It was perfect.”

��I’m glad to hear that, MC.”

Barbatos’s cordial and gentle smile sent chills straight down your spine and you subconsciously clenched the glass tighter. As a human, you can only trust yourself.

“Barbatos, please continue with whatever you were doing before I came. You don’t have to be around me, I can take care of myself.” You wanted this butler who gave you the creeps to quickly go away as you didn’t want to see his face, but he refused to leave.

“MC, it is my duty as the young master’s butler to attend to his guests when he is not here to do so.”

You inwardly clicked your tongue after seeing Barbatos flash another smile at you, his teeth glinting in the light. You wanted to throw a tantrum but you shuddered at the possible repercussions, so you opted for another method instead.

“Well, why don’t you sit down and enjoy these pastries with me? It’s a little too much for you to be hovering over me and not eat anything.” Despite your best attempts to not let your sarcasm bleed into your words, your tone had taken on a complaining whine in the end. You took a quick peek at Barbatos, who was standing there with a stiff expression.

…Should I not have said anything?

Before you could regret anything, the screeching sound of the chair being pulled made your head quickly turn up to see Barbatos sitting down opposite you, back straight with perfect posture.

“I will fulfill your command then, little lamb.” Barbatos chuckled, and despite yourself, you found yourself letting out a huff of laughter as well. You decided that you would treat Barbatos better and not make him mad following the next interaction, the way he was smiling at you right now made you feel uncomfortable.

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a/n▸ my apologies if barbatos is OOC, he was especially difficult for me to get a read on seeing as I don't play through any of his devilgrams. Thus, i feel that MC would have been very awkward with barbatos initially bc all his actions/words were due to his sense of duty. I also think its funny to see barb fkin w mc LOL Personally, i think its hilarious to characterise MC as jumpy because man, all of these characters are sus as hell, ik i wld be getting heart palpitations every minute #solomon is a menace, the movie they were watching was How to Train your dragon LOL, i was rewatching it and i wondered how it wld be like to freefall

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me x reader #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me luke #barbatos x reader #diavolo x reader #simeon x reader #solomon x reader #obey me mc #obey me nightbringer

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hsundholm · 1 year

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Iron Cast Room by Henrik Sundholm Via Flickr: More than a decade ago, I visited the Old National Archives in Stockholm, Sweden.

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ethereal-night-fairy · 9 months

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A Lick and a Promise

Chapter 1

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGejRbbYp/

Outlaw!Ghost x Outlaw!Soap x Female Reade

This was inspired by the above art

All bruised and broken up, Soap and Ghost are on the run from the sheriff and his posse. They finally come across a run down shack to rest in. Only to find a pretty little lady sleeping there already.

Warnings: MDNI, slight perving, looking non-consensually, light injuries, a small bit of blood, needle and thread stiching, small bit of fluff, period typical misogyny, maybe some future kidnapping? sorry if I missed any.

A Lick and a Promise Masterlist

Masterlist

Words: 1.8k

Night had fallen, a blanket of darkness was cloaking their vision. The only solace they had was the full moon guiding their horses. They needed to stop to find shelter and possibly something to eat. Ghost didn't think Johnny could hold out much longer. He was hurt far more severely than him. Dirt roads are dangerous in the dead of night. They needed to find shelter soon.

They were above snakes for now. But no one knew how long that would last.

They come across a beaten down house? It looked more like a shack, small and decrepit. It was on the outskirts of the town they were entering. They needed to lay low just in case the sheriff chasing them had associates here.

They wrap their arms around each other once they get off their horses and tie them to some trees in this sparse forest. It was enough cover to hide them from prying eyes. In case anyone came snooping here.

They walk towards the shack with some difficulty. There's an outhouse and a small patch of ploughed soil where some sad looking veggies are planted. And an old outdoor campfire with an cast iron pot situated on it. It wasn't lit of course. It's a sorry state but it'll have to do for now. They just needed a place to rest and patch up their wounds before moving on. It looks abandoned with the way the roof has holes in it. And the wood looks like it's about to break if you leant on it too long.

But unfortunately for them it wasn't abandoned. They find a little lady all alone laying in bed. This run down shack (it doesn't even deserve to be called a house) was no place for a delicate woman like you. You don't even stir when they walked in, probably in a deep sleep. They should have left and found somewhere else to rest but going out now would prove difficult especially with their injuries. They didn't want to disturb you, they just needed a place to rest for a bit.

You look ethereal as you lay in your white nightgown. The moonlight filtering through the holes in your roof gave your complexion a heavenly glow. They try not to stare too long. It was rude enough they were in your home without permission. Sure they were outlaws but they had morals and reasoning behind what they did. That's why they planned to leave before you arose from your slumber.

You still don't stir as the boys make themselves comfortable in your sparsely furnished home. There's a single chair and table in the corner where Ghost settles Soap as quietly as possible. He immediately goes to look for some water to wash his wound with. Thank God neither of them were shot.

There's a couple of large pots in the corner. It's probably where you store your water. It didn't seem like there was a well near your house. You probably carried it from the river. It was probably a 5 minute horse ride away. A girl like you shouldn't be expected to do such menial labour. Where was your husband? Or your male guardians?

As Ghost takes the lid of the pot it slips and clatters to the ground. The loud noise vibrating through the small shack. You startle awake sitting up in your small straw filled bed that was falling apart. You clutched your thin blanket to your chest as you stared at the two shadows in your home. They both had bandanas on so you were rightly frightened. Probably too shocked to speak.

It was like you three were in a stalemate. Waiting for someone to make the first move. They stand in awkward silence until Soap decides to make the first move to soothe you, which ends up startling you. Despite your fear he continues to move towards the candle on the table causing you to flinch and bring your legs up to your chest as a form of protection. Ghost doesn't move or say anything, afraid he'll startle you more. Soap manages to light the candle with his lighter. The fire bringing a warm glow to the surroundings.

“It's alright lass..”, Soap puts his hands up in surrender showing you he's not a threat. “We're nae here tae hurt ye, just two blokes who are lost and in need of some rest”, you stare at them with dilated pupils still extremely afraid. You shrink back as far as you can go, your body shaking.

“W-what do y-you want f-from me?”, you shiver and shake trying to prevent your tears from falling.

“Just some water and bandages if you can spare them”, it's Ghost who speaks up this time moving towards Soap where you'll get to see him better. You don't know why they thought that would help because it just sent your frightened mind reeling when you saw that these two men were built like a brick house and tall as an oak tree.

They watch you shakily point to your worn down cabinet dresser. “There s-spare rags on t-the second shelf and the water is in those pots in the corner.” You don't say anything else as you shake in the corner watching them.

“Much obliged”, Ghost grunts out. His own injuries getting the best of him.

Ghost moves to the cabinet with some difficulty. He retrieves the rags and grabs the cup beside the pots to gather some water to boil outside. He leaves grabbing Soaps lighter on his way out. Soap continues to try to sooth you with words but eventually gives up seeing that he was just scaring you. You two just sit in silence as he settles back onto the chair with a groan. When he goes to take off his bloody shirt you flinch and panic again but he tells you it's just to treat his wounds nothing else. You eventually settled, sneaking some glances here and there of his toned body. He finds your embarrassed expression funny. Had a pretty little lady like you never seen a man naked before?

But you refuse to say anything else, deciding to sit on bed staying on high alert.

It was bad enough you only noticed they were in the house when Simon made noise and usually he's silent. So they could have entered and left without you ever noticing. You had absolutely no protection here. A pretty thing like you could easily be kidnapped. You needed to be more careful with your safety, Soap thought to himself. At least get a latch for your door. But considering the little items you had. You were probably already struggling to make ends meet. You poor thing. No man to take care of you. All by yourself at the edge of town. Where you couldn't even go to a neighbour for help.

Simon comes back in with the sterilised water and cleaned rags. Soap felt bad that he was making him do all the work but he genuinely couldn't move. The pain in his rips was getting much much worse he hoped he hadn't fractured it. Ghost crouches down in front of Johnny wiping away his blood and making sure everything was clean. He ended up wrapping his ribs with his shirt because the rags weren't long enough. Johnny heaved from the pain but he was grateful nonetheless.

When it was Simon's turn he tried sitting on the table testing his weight to see if it could hold. Surprisingly it didn't break. Johnny tries to help him but couldn't lift his right arm very high due to his ribs. So he could only watch his lover patch himself through his pain. Simon was sweating profusely as he tried for the third time to wrap a cut on his dominant arm, to no avail. It was a deep one too. It needed to be stitched up.

What the two men hadn't noticed was that you had been watching them intensely. Seeing how gentle and kind they were being with one another brought a smile to your face. You watched intently as they took care of their wounds. They didn't notice your expressions soften as pity took over your features as you watched them struggle.

“D-do you n-need help?”, your soft voice rang out. It surprised the two men that you even bothered to speak with them let alone offer more help.

“If ye don't mind…he's struggling tae wrap his arm”, Johnny answers for Ghost because he knew he'd refused. They watch you gingerly get out of bed. Your blanket falling on the straw mattress. They got an eyeful of your thin gown. Very thin for that matter. They averted their gazes. They weren't perverts, they swear they weren't. You must be cold in such thin clothing…yeah they were just looking because they were concerned…mostly…mostly concerned…

They watch you walk over with a needle and thread in your hand. The first thing you do is put the needle to the flame making sure to wipe it clean of soot before threading it. You look at Ghost for permission to approach, still clearly scared of him. He gives you a simple nod making sure not to look at you inappropriately and turning Soap's head away as well when he caught him eyeing your chest. You were quick and efficient in stitching his shoulder before carefully wiping it clean and wrapping it up. He was grateful you had allowed them to stay. Though it was probably out of fear. You offered them water to drink and some hard biscuits you had stored in a tin. They went down with some difficulty but the water helped. At least they had something to eat.

You were still careful not to get too close to them though. Which was understandable. They promised to leave the next morning. You gave them your straw mattress to lay down on for the night even after they refused. You countered they needed it more since they were injured. A true angel you were. They hadn't met someone as kind as you in a long time. Despite being afraid you offered them hospitality. Though that would be a very stupid thing to do if it was anyone else. They really ought to teach you some common sense. How did you manage to survive on your own this long?

They watch you place the mattress on the floor as you retreat back to the safety on your bed frame to wrap the blanket around yourself. Soap didn't know why that disappointed him so much. He swears he's not a pervert…you were just very pretty…they wouldn't dare do anything to you though! Not unless you wanted it. But they needed to be gone by morning if they wanted to escape the sheriff. So it seemed you weren't in their cards of fate unfortunately. They'd think about that another time. For now Soap and Ghost held each other on the floor resting on their good sides trying to get some rest in before they had to bid their pretty angel goodbye.

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ahqkas · 23 days

Text

♯ GOD KNOWS I TRIED ; kit walker

PAIRING! kit walker x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! kit is a true gentleman at heart, and he does what kind men do : he protects the ones he cares about ( based on this req.!! )

WORD COUNT! 4.1k

WARNINGS / TAGS! angst, fluff if you squint hard enough, mature / suggestive themes, briarcliff asylum warnings, sister jude and her punishments + lmk of more if found

NOTES! my man my man my man . all the credits to the devider bellow belong to @/v6que !!

THE RAIN FELL IN RELENTLESS CASCADE, DRUMMING AGAINST THE GLASS WINDOWS OF BRIARCLIFF ASYLUM. The night was clothed in darkness and the only source of provided light was the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the gothic architecture of the asylum. The heavy rain had changed the surrounding landscape into a dark blur. The expansive green lawn, overgrown and wild, seemed like it came out of a horror story with its ghostly flashes, revealing the twisted forms of ancient trees and the labyrinthine tangle of bushes. The wrought iron gates, their ornate designs now almost swallowed by the storm, groaned softly as they were tossed around by the wind.

Inside, the atmosphere was equally grim. The asylum's corridors, long and narrow, were bathed in a dim, flickering light from the aging fluorescent fixtures that barely pierced the gloom. Each flash of lightning revealed glimpses of the asylum's interior: the scattered, old furniture, the barred windows, and the heavy, locked doors. The harsh light highlighted the grim details of the inside — rusting fixtures, peeling paint, and the long shadows cast by the iron bars on the windows.

The nuns had decided to host one of the famous movie nights. It was a tradition they upheld during every stormy night in an attempt to calm down the residents who would become agitated by the loudness that came with the storm.

The main common room had been transformed for the occasion. The dim, oppressive lighting was softened by the warm, flickering glow of a makeshift projector setup, casting a gentle, almost nostalgic light across the room. The walls, lined with faded, institutional artwork and peeling paint, were obscured by heavy, tattered curtains that had been drawn over the windows to shield the patients' wandering eyes from the storm's fury outside. The dusty curtains hung in uneven folds. The nuns had also arranged a selection of worn, overstuffed chairs and mismatched couches in a semi-circle around the small projector that sat on a makeshift table. The screen was a large, slightly yellowed sheet stretched taut across a wooden frame and its surface bore the scars of countless previous showings.

You sat on one of the overstuffed couches positioned in the back row of the common room, your figure partially hidden by the shadows cast by the dim light of the projector. The couch you occupied was a faded, floral-patterned relic, its cushions soft and sagging from years of use. The upholstery, once vibrant, had long since dulled to a muted palette, its once-bright colors now blended into the overall gloom of the room. Everything was dull here in Briarcliff. Your posture was relaxed because of the warmth the man beside you provided.

Kit Walker, a kind man once you got to know him, was the sanest person in the whole building besides yourself and you were glad to form an alliance with him. Although, there were feelings nestled deep inside you, ones you didn't have to say out loud for him to see and feel. That man had a strong jawline and high cheekbones that gave him a chiseled, almost heroic appearance and that alone gave your knees the right amount of shake to fall for him. You found out he had a natural ability to really listen and offer comfort and he carried himself with a quiet dignity, not seeking validation or praise but simply remaining true to himself despite the circumstances.

Kit Walker was the man of your dreams.

The screen was currently displaying an old, black-and-white film, its grainy images flickering in sync with the erratic flashes of lightning outside but you couldn't force yourself to pay any amount of attention to the supposed entertainment. The film's dramatic scenes, with their exaggerated gestures and artificial emotions, seemed almost absurd compared to the thoughts that were dedicated to the man sitting next to you.

And the same could be said about Kit. The way the occasional light from the projector cast soft highlights across your features, emphasizing the curve of your cheek and the depth of your eyes, made you seem almost ethereal and Kit was losing it. None of the workers could force him to sit on the moldy couch and torture himself with boredom when you sat quietly beside him, distracting him with just simply being there.

He noticed your subtle, distracted glances toward the screen, but your eyes lingered more on him than on the film. Kit could feel the way your eyes followed the play of light and shadow across his face, how you seemed to be drawn to the warmth he provided rather than the outdated drama on the screen. He found himself smiling softly to himself at your distraction with a knowing look in his eyes. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you.

Leaning slightly closer to your body, Kit's voice was low and warm as it hit the side of your face, barely above a whisper to avoid breaking the fragile atmosphere that had settled around the two of you. "You know," he began and a hint of playful amusement appeared in his tone, "we don't really have to stay here if we're not into the movie."

"What do you mean?" you asked in the same tone as him, your voice a gentle murmur that barely competed with the distant hum of the projector. When you exhaled, the warm air hit Kit's face.

Kit's honey-brown irises shimmered in the darkness, and he subtly nodded toward the exit of the dimly lit room, where the storm outside was barely audible against the noise of the film. "I was thinking . . . maybe we could sneak away, find a quieter spot where we can actually do whatever we want. What do you think?"

The suggestion was simple, yet it carried the promise of a more intimate and personal escape from the boredom of the asylum's common room. The thought of stepping away from the dreary atmosphere was an enticing one. Yet, the fear of feeling Sister Jude's sick pleasure held you back. Sister Jude, with her sharp eyes and ever sharper tongue, seemed to delight in catching the patients of the asylum in any moment of weakness or rebellion. Her authority was absolute, an iron hand that loomed over every corner of Briarcliff, and the idea of stepping out of line — even for a brief moment — carried a weighty sense of risk. You could already imagine the way Sister Jude's eyes would narrow in satisfaction, her lips curling into that smug, almost sadistic smile she reserved for moments when she exerted her control.

You still remember what she did to Grace. What she did to Lana.

And yet, the allure of escaping with Kit, even just for a little while, was difficult to resist.

"I don't know, Kit," you whispered in a trembling voice as you voiced your worries to him. "What if we get caught? You know how Sister Jude is. She'd make an example out of us, and I — I don't think I could handle that. I don't want to give her the satisfaction."

He could see the fear in your eyes, the way it held you back, and it only made him more determined to protect you. "[Name]," he said gently, his voice low and reassuring, "nothing's going to happen. I promise you that. We'll be careful, okay? And even if something does happen, even if Sister Jude catches us, I'll take the blame. She won't lay a finger on you."

"Kit..." you began but he cut you off with a slight squeeze of your hand. You didn't question when he took hold of your palm.

"Trust me, [Name]," he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles repeatedly. "I won't let her touch you. I'll take the heat if it comes to that. But right now, let's just get out of here, even if it's just for a little while. We deserve that much, don't we?"

There was a warmth in his voice, a quiet strength meant to reassure you in ways nothing else at Briarcliff ever could. Kit was right — both of you did deserve this. And you could use the sweet release from the asylum's cruel grasp.

You took a deep breath, nodding slightly as you made up your mind. "Okay," you whispered into the darkness. Kit could feel the touch of your words against his lips. "Okay, let's go."

His hand was firm and reassuring as he helped you to your feet. Every movement of his was carefully done, as if even the slightest noise could shatter the fragile veil of secrecy he had cast over the both of you. The dim light of the common room flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the floor, but you moved with purpose, slipping quietly through the rows of seats, avoiding the eyes of the staff and the other patients who were too engrossed in the film to notice your departure. Sister Jude should hire more responsible staff.

Once you reached the doorway, Kit paused, glancing back to ensure no one was watching before gently guiding you with a strong hand against your lower back into the darkened corridor beyond. The heavy wooden door closed behind you with a soft creak, and the two of you were finally alone, the distant sound of the movie a only faint hum behind. You moved quickly through the long, lonely corridors of Briarcliff Asylum, footsteps barely audible on the cold, tiled floors. The rain continued its assault on the windows with no sight of stopping. Kit led the way, his grip on your hand never faltering.

As the both of you rounded a corner, the sound of distant voices reached your ears — staff members making their rounds. Kit's fingers tightened his hold on yours, pulling you closer as you pressed yourself against the wall, breaths held in unison. The voices grew louder for a moment, then faded as the staff continued down another corridor, oblivious to the two figures hidden in the shadows. Relief washed over you along with the vivid pictures of Sister Jude's punishment. You needed to find a place to hide, somewhere quiet where you could steal a few moments of peace away from the watchful eyes.

Finally, you reached the heavy metal doors of the kitchen, pushed open just enough to allow a sliver of light to escape into the dark corridor. Kit glanced around to ensure you were alone before gently pulling the door open wider, gesturing for you to slip inside first. He followed right after you.

The kitchen was quiet, dimly lit by a single overhead light that cast a soft glow across the industrial steel countertops and rows of neatly organized utensils. The scent of cleaning supplies mingled with the faint aroma of fresh bread that had long since been cleared away.

And before either of you could think or second-guess, you were drawn together like magnets. Kit leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with urgency. The kiss deepened quickly though, passion flaring between the two of you like a wildfire as everything else faded away — the asylum, the storm, the fear. All that mattered was this moment, this connection. His hands found their way to the small of your back for the second time this evening, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own. You responded in kind, slender fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as if afraid that letting go would mean losing this fleeting moment of intimacy.

The heat of the kiss spread through you both when Kit's strong hands slid down to the bottom of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The feel of your body against his was intoxicating, and he moved with purpose, carrying you to the nearest counter. With a fast and urgent motion, he set you down on the cool steel surface, hands brushing aside utensils and making space for you, painting his hands with flour in the process.

Your heart raced as Kit's hands roamed your body, exploring with both desire and respect. His touch was precise as if he was memorizing every curve, every inch of your skin to remember for the rest of his days. He kissed you again, this time slower, savoring the taste of your lips as his hands moved from your waist to your hips, then slowly up to your back, pulling you closer to his body and hiking your knees up even more, leaving white fingertips in their path.

You responded in kind, hands tracing the sculpted lines of his shoulders, down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. There was something so raw, so real about the way he touched you — as if this was the first time in a long time he had felt truly alive. Your fingers danced across his skin, exploring the planes of his body with the same amount of desire. Kit's hands slid up your sides and under the hem of your gown, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin just above your underwear, creating a shiver that traveled down your spine. You arched into his touch, breath hitching as you felt the tension coil tighter within you.

"Kit . . . I—" you couldn't finish your sentence, the words lost in a breathless moan as his hands wandered lower, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. The intensity in his gaze was undeniable, a mixture of raw desire and something deeper, something that made your heart pound even harder. That look — told you how much he wanted you, how much he needed this, how much he needed you — made you tighten your legs around his waist. "I've got you," he whispered, his voice rough. It was a look that made your heart race and your body ache for more.

The door swung open with a suddenness that shattered the intimate bubble you had created, the sound echoing off the cold, sterile walls of the kitchen. Kit froze, his grip on your hips tightening instinctively as you both turned toward the intrusion. The harsh overhead light of the corridor spilled into the room, illuminating the figures standing in the doorway.

A tall, stern-looking man in the uniform of the asylum staff stood there, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon Kit and you. His presence was imposing, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the light from the hallway, but it was the figure behind him that sent a jolt of fear through your chest.

Sister Jude.

She stood in the doorway like a dark omen, her presence dominating the small, dimly lit kitchen. The air around her seemed to chill, as if the very atmosphere cooled from her disapproving gaze. She didn't need to raise her voice to command attention; her mere presence demanded it. The rosary beads hanging from her waist clicked softly as she took a measured step forward, the sound eerie in the tense silence of the room.

The staff member followed the head of this asylum, his eyes flicking between Kit and you, the disdain in his expression unmistakable. "Found them, Sister Jude," he said with a cruel satisfaction. "Just like you suspected."

Kit quickly released you and his hands dropped from your hips to tug at your gown. The least he could do was to save your modesty as much as he could. The man stepped back, positioning himself slightly in front of you as if to shield you from the inevitable wrath of Sister Jude. Your heart pounded in your chest, the warmth of the moment disappearing into the cold reality of the situation just like Kit's hands.

Sister Jude's icy gaze shifted from the staff member to Kit, and then to you, her brown irises narrowing further. "Well, well," she began loudly, her voice echoing in the silent room, cutting through the tension easily. "I always knew you had a penchant for trouble, Mr. Walker, but this . . . This is a new low, even for you." She took a step closer to you, her heels clicking ominously against the tiled floor. "And you, Miss [Last name] . . . I expected better."

The weight of her words pressed down like a leaden shroud, suffocating any remaining trace of the warmth and connection that had filled the room just moments before. It was as if the very walls of Briarcliff had closed in around you both, trapping you in.

Kit stood his ground, though every instinct screamed at him to protect you from the storm that was about to break. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his neck tensing as he fought to maintain his composure. His hands, which had just moments ago been tenderly caressing your skin, now curled into fists at his sides. But beneath that facade, there was also a flicker of fear — not for himself, but for what you might endure at the hands of Sister Jude if his plans failed. He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height, and locked eyes with the cold woman before him. "It was my idea," Kit declared, his voice firm and unwavering despite the tension that crackled in the air like a live wire. "Leave her out of this." His words were a shield, a desperate attempt to keep his promise, to protect you from the consequences that he feared would be far worse for you than for him.

Sister Jude's eyes flickered with something that you couldn't quite place — an emotion that lingered somewhere between suspicion and a twisted, almost predatory satisfaction. Her thin lips curled into a faint, humorless smile, and the cold glint in her eyes seemed to sharpen, as if she were savoring the moment. She took another slow step forward and her gaze shifted from Kit to you, who stood just behind him, face paler than usual.

"Oh, I have no doubt it was, Mr. Walker," each word was enunciated with deliberate precision, as though she were savoring the power she held over the two of you. "But both of you will be held accountable for this . . . indiscretion."

"I'm the one who's responsible," Kit's voice cut through the oppressive silence with a determined edge. "It was my idea, and I should be the one held accountable. Leave [Name] out of this."

Sister Jude's expression flickered with a moment of surprise, but it quickly settled back into its usual look. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Kit's words, her mind no doubt calculating how best to respond to his unexpected act of bravery. "Very well," she said, her tone clipped and devoid of sympathy. "If you insist on taking the blame, then you will be the one to bear the consequences." The woman turned her attention to the staff member who had followed her into the kitchen. "Go to my office. Fetch the cane. The one I reserve for my favorite patients."

The staff member's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't hesitate. He gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, disappearing through the door with a purposeful stride. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor as he made his way to retrieve the instrument of punishment.

Sister Jude's gaze returned to Kit and Dahlia, her expression unrelenting. "You've chosen to make this difficult for yourself, Mr. Walker," she said, her voice dripping with a cold satisfaction. "And while I commend your misguided sense of honor, it changes nothing about the punishment that awaits you. And you, miss [Last name], shall watch what happens once stupidity takes over the mind."

Your heart ached at the sight of Kit standing his ground, his body tense with the weight of his decision. You wanted to protest, to beg Sister Jude to reconsider, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the sheer weight of the situation. Instead, you reached out, your hand trembling as you grasped Kit's arm, trying to offer some measure of comfort and support.

Kit looked down at you, his eyes softening just for a moment before he turned his attention back to Sister Jude. "Whatever you're planning, I can take it."

"Your bravery is noted. But bravery will not protect you from the consequences of your actions."

The staff member returned, carrying the cane with a deliberate and solemn expression. The cane was an old-fashioned implement, its polished wood gleaming menacingly under the kitchen's harsh lights. It was a feared symbol of discipline, one that had seen many hands and many uses over the years, and its presence in the room only heightened the sense of dread.

Sister Jude took the cane from the staff member, her fingers tracing its surface with a possessive, almost reverent touch. "This is the cane I reserve for my most . . . memorable patients," she said, her voice low and chilling. "It is reserved for those who require a lesson in obedience. You will stay and watch. This is part of your lesson as well — understanding the consequences of defiance."

Kit's pants were pulled down by the staff member, exposing his bare bottom to the cold air of the kitchen. The sight of his exposed skin, vulnerable and waiting, was a sharp contrast to the determined set of his jaw. He braced himself against the edge of the kitchen counter, his knuckles white as he gripped the surface for support.

The cane was held firmly in her hand, and Sister Jude raised it with a practiced ease, preparing to deliver the first stroke. The sharp whoosh of the cane slicing through the air was followed by a resounding crack as it made contact with Kit's bare skin. The sound was a brutal reminder of the severity of the punishment, and Kit's body tensed, a muffled grunt escaping his lips as the sting of the cane seared into his flesh. The printed redness flared bright against the pale tone of his skin.

Your eyes filled with tears as you watched, heart breaking at the sight of Kit's suffering. The sight of his reddened skin, the way his body flinched with each stroke, was almost too much to bear. Every crack of the cane seemed to echo through your own chest and you felt like throwing up.

The punishment was relentless, each crack of the cane drawing a sharp gasp or low moan from Kit, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. His eyes remained fixed straight ahead, and he tried to maintain his composure, though the strain of the punishment was evident in the tension of his muscles and the way his body shook with each hit. His only concession to the agony was the occasional clenching of his jaw and the muffled sounds that escaped him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sister Jude stepped back, her breath even and controlled. The cane was lowered, and she regarded Kit with a look of detached satisfaction, as if the punishment had been a necessary chore rather than an act of cruelty.

Kit's body slumped slightly, his breathing ragged and labored as he tried to regain his composure. His bottom was marked with the angry red welts of the punishment, the skin raw and tender from the relentless strokes of the cane. Your eyes were filled with anguish as you looked at him, the man who had taken the blame upon himself to protect you.

Sister Jude's gaze then turned to you, her expression one of stern disapproval, before she and the staff member exited the kitchen. "You've seen what happens when rules are broken. Let this be a lesson to you."

Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as you rushed to Kit's side. Your movements were frantic, driven by a desperate need to offer him some measure of comfort and relief from the suffering he had endured. Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you approached him, hands trembling more than ever as you reached out to touch him. "Kit, I'm so sorry."

Kit turned his head slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and something softer, a flicker of gratitude for your concern. He took a deep, shuddering breath and attempted to straighten up, though his body protested with each movement. "Don't," he said softly, his hand reaching out to drape over your shoulders for support. "It's not your fault. I chose this. And I would do it again."

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fanficapologist · 3 months

Text

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-Four

The large hall in Dragonstone was an imposing space, with high ceilings and walls of dark stone that bore the weight of centuries. A massive hearth dominated one end of the hall, its fire blazing warmly, tended by diligent stewards. Lamps hung from iron sconces along the walls, casting a soft, golden glow that flickered as the evening settled in. The sun was setting outside, painting the sky with hues of deep orange and pink, visible through the tall, narrow windows.

In the center of the room stood a long stone table, adorned with an array of food. Platters of roasted vegetables , fresh bread, pies, and soup a were laid out invitingly. The abundance and variety were meant to impress, but to Maera, the smell was overwhelming. Her pregnancy had heightened her sensitivity, and the rich aromas of the feast threatened to turn her stomach. She took a deep breath, steadying herself and attempting to conceal her nausea.

As Maera observed, Hugh and Ulf took their seats at the table. It quickly became apparent they were not of highborn blood. They handled the cutlery with a lack of familiarity, their movements awkward and unsure. Instead of waiting for servants to serve them, they filled their own plates, heaping food onto them with a casualness that spoke of their common origins. There was no pretense of decorum or the polished manners of the nobility, just a straightforward approach to the meal that contrasted sharply with what Maera was accustomed to.

Aemond was the first of the couple to approach the table, his movements precise and deliberate. He pulled out a chair and gestured for Maera to sit, ensuring she was two seats away from Hugh and Ulf. Maera smiled to herself at his slight jealousy, limping slightly as she made her way to the chair. She sat down carefully, grateful for Aemond’s assistance as he pushed the chair in for her.

The Prince then began to serve Maera’s plate before even taking his own seat. He selected a slice of pie and placed it on her plate, but the minute it touched the dish, Maera quietly wretched. Aemond’s concern was immediate, his eye locking onto hers with worry. She shook her head slightly, prompting him to remove the food from her plate quickly.

As her husband took his seat beside her, his posture rigid and formal, Maera picked at the items on her golden plate, choosing the least aromatic items to merely nibble on. She kept a careful eye on Aemond, who was similarly restrained, his wariness evident in the way he handled his knife and fork.

Hugh jumped a seat closer to Maera, his eyes twinkling with interest despite Aemond's efforts to maintain the space between them. He cocked his head, noticing Maera's lack of appetite. “Is the food not to your liking, Princess?” he asked with a teasing smile.

Maera laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, no, forgive my rudeness,” she apologised, rubbing her belly soothingly as she felt the child move beneath her leather dragon riding skirts. Hugh’s gaze lingered on her hand, captivated by the sight. Aemond's glare was sharp and protective, his jaw tightening as he watched the interaction. “The child makes it difficult to stomach certain foods,” Maera added, her tone light but her eyes flicking cautiously towards her husband.

Ulf, seated across the table, leaned forward slightly. “We wouldn’t be very good hosts if the Princess did not eat,” he remarked with a slight exasperation in his voice. “If you could have anything, what would you like?”

Maera’s eyes lit up. “Raspberry tart with custard is my current favorite,” she said almost instantly, a genuine smile spreading across her face.

Ulf nodded, and Hugh rudely barked across the room, “Bring the Princess a bowl!” The servants complied immediately, though Maera noticed a subtle eye roll and a huff from the steward as he exited the room, as well as some glaring at the men from the serving girls. It was clear these dragonseeds were not well liked.

A short while later, a bowl containing the tart and custard was brought in. The tart looked delicious, its golden crust perfectly flaky, while the custard was rich and creamy, its sweet aroma mingling with the tartness of the raspberries. Maera licked her lips, anticipation in her eyes as she picked up her silver spoon to take a bite.

But before the first spoonful could reach her mouth, Aemond’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist firmly. His warning glare spoke volumes, his distrust palpable. Maera looked at him, confused at first, but then understanding his wariness. What if the food was poisoned?

“Oh, for Gods’ sake,” Ulf groaned, rising from his seat and striding over to Maera’s side. He snatched the spoon from her hand and ate the contents, swallowing it down to prove there was no foul play. “See? No poison,” he said, his tone edged with frustration.

Maera sighed, offering an apologetic smile. “Forgive my husband’s reaction. He is just very protective,” she explained, trying to ease the tension.

Ulf nodded curtly, glaring at the one-eyed prince before returning to his seat. “A loyal husband you have there,” he muttered, though the atmosphere in the room had shifted, an awkward tension settling over the table as they continued their meal.

Maera could feel Aemond’s anger simmering beside her, but she forced herself to focus on her food, determined to glean whatever information she could from their hosts.

She knew speaking with Hugh would be more productive than trying to break through the soured demeanor of Ulf. With a warm smile, she turned her attention to the giant and politely inquired about his upbringing. He responded with a hearty laugh, explaining he was raised by blacksmiths and joked how he might have passed for the blacksmith’s true-born son if it hadn’t been for his violet irises.

Ulf scoffed, his expression bitter. He muttered something under his breath about how at least Hugh didn’t have white hair in a family where the seven other children had red hair. Maera chuckled at this, remembering her own upbringing with many siblings, and began to share her past. She spoke of the chaos and camaraderie of growing up in Rain House, recounting funny stories and playful rivalries among her brothers and sisters. Ulf seemed to warm to her, a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he realized she too had been inundated with siblings to compete with.

The atmosphere at the table gradually relaxed as Maera continued her tales. Hugh and Ulf’s rough edges were evident: they talked with their mouths full, reached across the table without hesitation, and displayed a certain honesty in their manner that intrigued her. How freeing it must have been to live without the constraints of highborn etiquette.

Aemond observed the interactions quietly, not uttering a word or eating any food but sipping every so often on his wine. His presence was a silent sentinel, his sharp gaze assessing every move and every word exchanged.

Maera noted the brutish behavior in Hugh, particularly in the way he spoke to the castle staff, barking orders with little regard for their feelings. Ulf, on the other hand, indulged a little too much in the wine, his laughter growing louder and more raucous as the evening wore on. Maera knew these men controlled dragons, and to have them as enemies with nothing to lose would be dangerous indeed.

Once the meal had finished, the wine continued to flow. Hugh and Ulf indulged themselves, their cups never empty as they settled by the hearth. The guests, Maera and Aemond, were invited to join them, but they merely sipped on their cups, keeping their wits about them amidst the increasingly loose-lipped dragonseeds.

As the wine made their tongues more liberal, Hugh and Ulf revealed much about the Blacks’ plans and their own roles in the war. Ulf spoke with a certain pride about how Rhaenyra had encouraged Targaryen bastards to her service, offering them the opportunity to tame dragons and support her claim to the throne. In return, she promised them land and titles once the war was won.

Hugh laughed darkly, recalling how many of those recruited had been burned, killed, or eaten by the wild dragons, leaving only a few bastards still alive. His laughter sent a shudder through Maera. The gruesome fate of those unfortunate enough to fail at taming the dragons highlighted the perilous nature of Rhaenyra’s plan.

The pale-haired bastard continued, revealing that the recent invasion of King’s Landing had been prompted by the death of Jacaerys. Maera’s heart sank with guilt, knowing she had inadvertently contributed to his demise. As a future mother, she couldn’t help but sympathize with Rhaenyra’s pain to an extent.

The giant then explained that Rhaenyra’s strategy to conquer the city included her husband Daemon, her step-daughter Baela, and two dragonseeds, Nettles and Addam, along with all of their dragons. He added that the gold-cloaks remained loyal to Daemon and would assist in claiming the capital. King’s Landing, he boasted, did not stand a chance against such a formidable force.

Maera listened intently, piecing together the gravity of the situation. The hearth’s warmth contrasted sharply with the chilling revelations being laid bare before them. The two dragonseeds, with their uncouth manners and harsh laughter, painted a vivid picture of the brutal reality of the war. Maera’s mind raced, contemplating the dire implications of the Blacks’ plans and the peril that lay ahead.

As the fire crackled in the hearth, Aemond broke his silence with a sharp question. "What did my cunt half-sister ask you to do once I arrived?"

Ulf chuckled darkly, leaning back in his chair. "She asked us to behead you and fly your body to King's Landing to be displayed before the Realm."

Maera felt a chill run down her spine, but she drank deeply from her cup to mask her discomfort. The pale-haired man continued on, explaining once the job was done, he and Hugh were to fly to the town of Tumbleton, a region in the Reach that supported Rhaenyra’s cause.

The giant man, sipping his wine, added, "Rhaenyra sees us as pawns, blindly following orders. She did not anticipate your wife arriving on her own dragon with you, Prince Aemond. Nor was she aware of her grace and charm."

Maera smiled, raising her cup in Hugh's direction. She decided to massage their egos further in order to get more information. Leaning sideways in her seat, she reached out with her hand and danced her fingers along Hugh’s arm. He welcomed the touch, a smirk forming on his lips, while Aemond boiled with rage beside her.

"Why did you not kill us then?" Maera asked, her voice soft and curious.

Ulf scoffed, "It's best to keep our options open."

Hugh nodded in agreement. "Especially after Rhaenyra kept breaking her promises."

Maera noted the bitterness in their voices, recognizing a potential advantage. She maintained her charm, hoping to extract more valuable information. The tension in the room was palpable, but Maera's calm demeanor and strategic flattery kept the situation under control, even as Aemond seethed quietly at her side.

The Princess swilled the wine around in her cup thoughtfully before commenting, "A good queen should not break promises to her subjects without good reason. What was promised to you both?"

Ulf leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. "I was promised a marriage to Lady Stokeworth and Storm's End, while Hugh was promised a marriage to Lady Rosby and Casterly Rock. But Rhaenyra rescinded the offers after Lord Corlys advised against it."

Hugh scoffed, his expression darkening. "The only reason Rhaenyra gives a shit about the Sea Snake’s opinion is because he threatened to leave after learning of his wife’s death." Maera raised a brow as the giant man took a swig from his cup and then slammed it down in anger. "Not only did Rhaenyra elevate Corlys to Hand of the Queen, but she even legitimized his bastards so he would have heirs to inherit Driftmark. And what did Ulf and I get? Mere knighthoods."

Maera glanced at Aemond, who looked back at her with understanding. There was a clear disgruntled attitude from the men towards Rhaenyra, and both Ulf and Hugh struck them as men motivated by payment rather than honor. This presented a potential opportunity to secure their allegiance.

She smiled gently at the men, her mind working quickly. She needed to tread carefully, but if she could turn their dissatisfaction to her advantage, it could shift the balance of power in their favor. "Promises should be kept, especially to men of your valor and strength," she said, her voice smooth and persuasive.

The Princess heard her husband hum in agreement beside her, his gaze fixed on the flames of the large hearth. He very matter-of-factly told the men, "You were fools to think bastards could hold such kingdoms as the Westerlands and Stormlands."

Ulf glared at the one-eyed prince, his anger palpable, but before he could argue, Maera interjected. "Bastards can rise to high stations in this world," she said, her voice calm yet firm. Hugh cocked his head to the side in curiosity, and Maera continued, "Lord Unwin's bastard brother, Meryn, is a knight. And my uncle Friedrick’s bastard son has become a Maester. And in Dorne…” Leaning closer to Hugh she added in a low voice, "Bastards become kings."

Ulf scoffed, his skepticism evident. "Do you truly believe bastards are worthy of such honors?"

Maera countered quickly, "I believe a good queen should make good on her promises."

Aemond couldn't help but add another dig, "The lords of Westeros would never have accepted you to have claim over Casterly Rock and Storm's End. Mayhaps it was the Blacks' fault for offering such large prizes in the first place."

Maera nodded in agreement, her tone conciliatory yet strategic. "But a more realistic offering with the promise of a secure future? I think that is indeed possible.”

Hugh's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he considered her words, while Ulf's expression remained guarded. Maera knew she had planted a seed of doubt about Rhaenyra's character, and now it was time to nurture it into something more beneficial for their cause.

The pale-haired dragonseed raised a brow and asked, “What are you suggesting?”

Maera turned her head to look at her husband, catching the subtle signs of his irritation—the way his tongue swiped across his teeth, his jaw clenched tightly. She knew Aemond well enough to anticipate that his pride would get in the way of offering the men something they would actually accept.

As Aemond opened his mouth, Maera butted in first, her tone confident. “The war is sure to wipe out many noble houses who have fought against us. When our dragons burn their lords, there will be plenty to offer.”

Aemond’s glare was intense, but Maera ignored it. She pointed at each of the men in turn. “Lord Ulf the White of Horn Hill,” she said, then moved her finger across to the giant. “And Lord Hugh Hammer of Harrenhal.” Maera giggled, adding, “I like how those both sound.”

Hugh’s eyes lit up with interest, a greedy glint in his violet irises. Ulf’s demeanor softened as he considered the offer, the tension in his shoulders easing. Maera could see that the seed she had planted was taking root.

She felt a hand on her leg, lightly squeezing her thigh. Turning, she met Aemond’s stern gaze. He said her name with a warning tone, “Maera.”

She responded calmly, “Even you cannot deny that Vermithor, Silverwing, and their riders would make a great addition to our cause.”

Hugh’s broad face split into a grin, his brutish features momentarily softened by the prospect of power and wealth. “Lord Hugh Hammer of Harrenhal,” he repeated, savoring the title.

Aemond’s expression was unreadable, but Maera could feel the tension in his grip. She had taken a bold step, one that could either secure their allies or incite their wrath. But she believed in the strength of their position and the allure of the promises she made. After a moment, the one-eyed Prince nodded in agreement, indicating his support for her plan.

A contemplative silence settled over the hall, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant calls of Ēbrion and Vhagar. The flickering flames cast long shadows, adding to the heavy atmosphere.

Ulf, still guarded in demeanor, finally broke the silence. "You present a generous offer," he said, leaning forward in his seat, his tone suspicious. "But would you truly entrust such estates to bastards who would betray their original cause?"

Maera was momentarily speechless. He had a good point, and her mask of confidence slipped slightly. Before she could embarrass herself by stumbling over her words, Aemond interjected. "The Realm will never accept a Queen," he stated matter-of-factly. "Rhaenyra will not last long." He tilted his head to the side, his gaze piercing. “Better to be on the winning side with a legitimate claim to the throne, is it not?” He took another sip of his drink, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

Ulf and Hugh exchanged a look, their expressions hard to read. The tension in the room was palpable, each side weighing the implications of the conversation.

Maera promptly rose from her seat, her hand resting protectively on her bump. Aemond stood as well, helping her to stand fully. "We will not trouble you to come to a decision tonight, my Lords," Maera said light-heartedly, trying to ease the tension. "The hour is late."

She politely asked the servants across the room to lead them to a chamber where they could spend the night. The maid and steward nodded, and the guards moved to open the doors of the hall. As they departed, Aemond looked back at the dragonseeds. "I expect an answer on the morrow," he stated firmly.

The dragonseeds watched them leave, the flickering firelight reflecting in their eyes. Maera and Aemond stepped out of the hall, the weight of the night's negotiations still hanging heavily in the air.

“Daor dokimarves pāsagon zirȳ?” You cannot seriously trust them?

The room Aemond and Maera were shown to was modest yet comfortable. A large, canopied bed dominated the space, its dark wooden frame intricately carved with dragon motifs. Rich tapestries depicting scenes of dragon battles hung on the stone walls, adding warmth and a sense of history to the chamber. A fireplace was already lit, casting a soft glow and gentle warmth throughout the room. A small table with a pair of chairs was set near a window, offering a view of the now darkened sea.

Maera assumed this was not Rhaenyra’s or Daemon’s chamber due to its size and simplicity. It lacked the grandeur and opulence expected of the ruling couple’s quarters. Instead, she surmised it was either Prince Jacaerys’s or Prince Lucerys’s old room. This realization made Maera’s heart sink; she had inadvertently caused the death of Jacaerys, and her husband, Aemond, had directly killed Lucerys. The weight of these past actions settled heavily upon her as she moved further into the room. The shadows seemed deeper, and the room, though warm and welcoming, felt tinged with sorrow.

Aemond remained guarded, even as the servants of the castle helped the couple prepare for bed. His watchful eye followed the serving girls closely as they attended to Maera, his posture tense and alert. He was insistent on staying nearby, as if he did not trust the women. After everything they had been through, Maera could not blame him for his wariness.

The One-Eyed Prince did not even wish to speak the common tongue in front of the servants, fearing they might relay any information to the dragonseeds. Instead, he chose to converse with his wife in High Valyrian, confident that the bastards would only know the basic dragon commands and not understand their private discourse.

As he sat on the edge of the bed, his violet eye remained sharp, Maera laughed softly in response to his question as one of the serving girls began to undo her hair, the dark strands falling loose around her shoulders. “Jaesi daor,” Gods no, she replied, her voice light yet tinged with pragmatism.

The other serving girl worked on loosening the strings at the front of Maera's dragon riding gear, careful with each movement. Maera looked at Aemond, her green eyes meeting his intensely. “Yn nyke zoklākogon zirȳ lo īlva skoros īlon jaelagon,” But I shall indulge them if it gets us what we want, she added, her tone firm and resolute.

Aemond's jaw tightened, and he gave a single nod, acknowledging her strategy. The servants continued their tasks, oblivious to the deeper meaning behind the words spoken in the ancient tongue.

As the serving girl undid the final lace at the front of her leather bodice, Maera let out a sigh of relief. Her tender, swollen breasts from the pregnancy had been constrained for too long, and the release brought immediate comfort. The serving girls then guided her to a stool in front of a dressing table. One brushed her hair with gentle, rhythmic strokes, while the other began to carefully remove her boots.

Maera glanced at Aemond, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and determination. Speaking softly in High Valyrian, she said, “Se oktio iksos ojūdan, Aemond. Nyke gaomagon daor gīmigon se vējes hen aōha lentor. Isse nūmāzma nyke daor naejot pendagon bē.” The Capital is gone, Aemond. I do not know the fate of your family. In truth I am trying not to think about it.

She winced as the servant accidentally knocked her upper arm, before she offered her sincere apologies. Maera nodded with a sad smile before looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her heart ached in that moment, unable to suppress the vivid images that came to her mind. She could almost see the horror on Helaena’s and Jaehaera’s faces, hear the sound of Maelor’s cries, much like the night Jaehaerys was murdered. Silently, she prayed that Thena had managed to get them out safely, sparing them from further horror.

Aemond's face remained stoic, but his eye betrayed a flicker of shared pain at his wife’s words Once her hair was brushed, the serving girl set down the comb and retrieved a folded white nightgown, its delicate fabric a stark contrast to the tension and sorrow in the room. It might have been Rhaenyra’s, adding a layer of irony to the moment.

Maera sighed, the exhaustion of the day and the weight of her burdens pressing down on her. "“Yn lanta tolī zaldrīzoti naejot dohaeragon īlva ērinis sagon beldan.” But two more dragons to help us claim it would be advantageous, she murmured, the pragmatism in her voice a thin veil over her underlying despair.

The Prince nodded, his expression hardening with resolve. “Xaldrīzes kipagīrosi bona daor hen īlva ānogar hinittan naejot emagon sōvegon dāero.” Dragon riders that are not of our blood are dangerous to have flying freely. Before Maera could reply, she yelped out in pain. As the servants peeled off her black leather coat, it quickly became clear that the healing wounds on Maera’s arm had split. The skin was raised and red, her arm and underdress stained with dried blood.

Maera raised her eyes from her wounds to her husband. She could not help but scowl at him; the wounds would not be there in the first place if he had not been so foolish to entertain the witch of Harrenhal. But instead of verbalizing this, Maera hissed in pain before suggesting, “Pār mazverdagon zirȳ hen īlva ānogar?” Then why not make them of our blood?

The servants moved with practiced efficiency, carefully removing her skirts, leaving Maera in her blood-stained underdress, her enormous belly protruding under the fabric. The sight of her wounds reopening filled her with a mix of pain and helplessness, but she refused to let it show too much. She groaned in frustration, noticing the healing wound on her leg had also split open, the blood seeping through the fabric.

The servants moved quickly and efficiently, bringing forth a bowl of warm salted water and setting it aside on the dressing table. Maera sat down, carefully shifting her weight to avoid aggravating her wounds further. The servants began to prepare to tend to her, but Aemond intervened, snatching the rag from one of the serving girls. He submerged it in the water and approached Maera to clean her arm. She flinched, stepping back, refusing to let Aemond touch her. After a moment of tense silence, he handed her the rag, and Maera hissed as she cleaned her arm herself, the salt stinging her wounds.

“Skori se vīlībāzma iksos ērinagon, lo pazavor umbagon, īlon se ābri Baela se Rhaena, se emagon Ulf se Hugh dīnagon.” When the war is won, and if they remain loyal, we should spare the ladies Baela and Rhaena, and have Ulf and Hugh wed them, Maera suggested through gritted teeth as she scrubbed at the skin of her left arm.

She pulled her white dress to the side, rinsing out the rag and dipping it back in the bowl before scrubbing harshly at her left thigh. Aemond watched on, captivated by the sight of her, his gaze intense and unwavering. The firelight cast a warm glow on her figure, highlighting the strength in her movements despite the pain she was enduring. But Maera looked away from him, focusing on the task at hand.

The servants offered her the new nightgown, a soft, white garment that seemed almost out of place in the harsh setting of Dragonstone. As Maera attempted to lift her arms and pull off her underdress, she screeched in pain. One of the serving girls tried to assist in pulling it over her head, but Maera could not cope. She was sweating from the jolts of pain, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

She then felt a strong, warm presence behind her, followed by the unmistakable sound of a dagger being unsheathed. Aemond’s calloused palm rubbed gently down her right arm, a touch that was welcome in this moment of vulnerability. With his dagger, Aemond gently cut the back of her underdress, the fabric falling to the floor in a heap, leaving her curvaceous body bare. He asked her, while remaining behind her, “Ao pendagon Corlys Velaryon mazōregon lī irūdan syt zȳhon jorrāelagon talanni?” You think Corlys Velaryon would accept those terms for his dear granddaughters?

The servants helped Maera into her nightgown, gently putting it over her head and guiding her arms through the holes. The fabric was cool and soothing against her skin, and Maera sighed in relief as the pain subsided slightly. She then turned to her husband and raised her brow, stating with a determined edge, “Konīr kōrī gūrotir syt qrimpālegon.” There are worse fates for traitors.

Aemond’s gaze met hers, a mixture of pride and concern in his eye. The servants offered to assist Aemond in readying for bed, but he merely looked at them with a look that could kill, a low growl escaping his throat. They jumped, quickly bowing their heads to both him and Maera before scurrying out of the room, their footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Aemond dragged one of the chaises across the room to the foot of the bed as Maera sat on the bed, watching him. He removed his long black leather coat, his movements deliberate and precise. “Nyke pendagon se rōva mēre vaoresagon dīnagon ao,” I think the big one would rather wed you, he remarked sarcastically, his tone dripping with jealousy. Maera couldn't help but smile to herself, sensing the bitterness behind his words.

As she settled against the pillows, she watched Aemond slowly unbuckle his doublet. His fingers worked deftly, loosening the clasps one by one. The flickering light from the hearth highlighted the hard lines of his body, the scars that told stories of past battles. Maera bit her lip, feeling a familiar ache. She was mad at him, she hated him, yet she could not help but want him. Her eyes lingered on him a moment longer before she tore her gaze away, adding with a touch of sarcasm, "Kostilus nyke ojenilla zirȳla jorarghutan zȳhon pazavorve,” Mayhaps I should bed him to ensure his loyalty.

She giggled to herself, stroking her swollen belly as the child within her kicked out, a small reminder of the life they had created. When no other laughter came, Maera looked up to see Aemond staring at her, his expression as stoic as ever. An awkward atmosphere settled into the room, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved tensions. Maera picked at the sheets nervously, her fingers tracing the delicate patterns embroidered into the fabric. The silence was heavy, the only sounds the distant crackle of the fire and the soft rustle of fabric as the one-eyed Prince slipped into a night shirt.

Maera heard the wind rustling through the curtains and glanced out the gap to see the black sky adorned with a canopy of stars. The night was quiet, save for the occasional whisper of the breeze. Turning her gaze back to Aemond, who had settled onto the chaise, she voiced her concern softly, “Lo pōnta gaomagon daor obūljagon, pār skoros īlon gaomagon?” If they do not bend the knee, then what shall we do?

Aemond's response was blunt, his voice carrying a weight of resolve tinged with frustration. “Skoros īlon emagon gaomagon mirros,” What we should have done anyway, he replied, his tone steady but edged with a hint of bitterness. He met Maera's gaze evenly as he continued, “Ossēnagon zirȳ.” Kill them

Maera nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful as she processed his words. It struck her how straightforward it was for Aemond. To him, it seemed, the solution was clear-cut—kill or be killed. It was a mentality that had defined his actions throughout the escalating conflict, a testament to his uncompromising nature. She adjusted her position on the bed, her brown and silver curls cascading over her shoulder, framing her face as she cocked her head slightly to the side.

In that moment, Maera realized anew the stark differences between herself and her husband, particularly in their approach to resolving conflicts and securing alliances. For Aemond, the path forward often seemed paved with swords and bloodshed, driven by a fierce loyalty to his cause and an unwavering determination to uphold his family's honor. As she looked at him, she couldn't help but wonder if there could be another way, one that didn't always lead to violence and death.

During Maera's contemplative silence, Aemond finally broke it, speaking in the common tongue. "I will not find sleep this night," he stated, his voice a quiet rumble in the room. Maera stared at him from the bed, her gaze unwavering. It had been two moons since he had laid beside her, and she still did not feel ready to offer him an invitation to share her bed.

Aemond seemed to understand her unspoken message. He nodded slightly, accepting her silence as a response. "Rest," he told her, his tone softening a fraction. "I will stand watch." With that, he picked up his sword and procured a sharpening stone from his pocket. Settling on the chaise, he began to sharpen the blade with slow, methodical strokes.

Maera lay down against the pillows, pulling the sheet high up to her chin. She watched Aemond for a while, his movements hypnotic in their rhythm. The sound of the blade being honed was strangely soothing, a constant reminder of his presence and his protection. Gradually, the tension in her body eased, her eyelids growing heavy. The steady rasp of the sharpening stone became a lullaby, and soon, Maera's eyes shut, and she drifted into a deep, much-needed sleep.

Notes: Hello! How we all feeling? 🖤 Did we watch episode one? I have many emotions about it 😅 some parts I loved, some parts I did not, and others I thought were not needed. It also kinda felt a bit rushed, and we missed out on so many different scenes I would’ve loved to see (this is coming from the girl who’s written a 100 chapters on a fanfic like 🫠)! But I’m taking it as a positive. I thought seeing the new series would make it hard to write as I would have a difficult time distinguishing the two, but so far so good 👌 and remember friends; it’s 👏 not 👏 real 👏 we don’t need to hate on each other for having different opinions, we don’t need to hate on the actors for how the show is different to the books. If it makes you unhappy, don’t watch it. Same with my fic! You are in control of your own destiny and should let fiction on the internet or TV shows dictate your life 💅🏼

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

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edajcheel · 9 months

Text

Yandere! Overlord! Leech Brothers take in Villainess! MC after she's been discarded by her family

(TAGS: yandere, manipulation, poison, 18th century, cheating, MC is kinda detached, mentions of blood, the leech twins are lowkey mean, Floyd is obsessed with you and Jade is entertained by you. But both love you dearly!)

(A/N) : been very occupied with college.. But on another note, hopefully my fanfic writing hasn't become dusty!

Imagine this,

The notorious wild hound of the Night Raven Empire. A very well known nickname, throughout the capital and underground, and even in the battlefield. An arrogant, ruthless, and fickle young woman. Anything that slights her ends up getting crushed in her grasp, torn apart and disposed.

Nothing could be unseen with her hawk-like eyes. Perceptive, and sharp.

One would never talk about her greed, an immense inability to let something go when shes shown interest in whatever it is. The result of having a diamond spoon shoved into your mouth after your born. The word, 'wild' describes it all, a stubborn wild hound, that has the capability of pulling the strings behind the curtain to get what she desires.

But just like a wild hound, she can't walk away from the urge to throw, shatter, and break whenever she's outplayed. The teacup that she treasured in her heart was left broken into meager pieces of glass, and the potted flowers that sat beside her bed was thrown across the room. The shattering and tearing upon the middle of her heart was as harmful as poison.

Ironic how the only word she can describe the ache- was 'poison'. The infuriating noise click, clack, and click of heels plays over and over like a broken record in your mind. The stunning light grey of the moon, somehow was brighter that night, gleamed on the forbidden lovers– twirling around on the terrace. So distracted by each other's company, they've yet to notice the girl– you –who was the main audience.

The scene distorted in your mind, and another scene was presented. Your eyes are casted upon the lowly girl on the ground– with her strings snapped. Blood crawling down the corner of her mouth– a result from the poison –and her barely alive eyes looking at you. The glass of red wine was but in mere pieces of shards on the ground, and the blood-like wine spilled. Your arrogant eyes look at her– blaming her– this happened because of your own actions.

"This was your plan all along-..!" The silvery and smooth voice of your fiancée was unrecognizable from all the heavy breathing of panic he was enduring. "Was it not obvious to your keen eyes?" You quirked your brow at him.

His light-grey eyes that you loved, never looked at you even at this moment, busy holding his other companion in his arms. You gritted your teeth, and clenched your fist in pure rage. The realization hit you instantly, his sincereness and gentleness was never real– at least never towards you. The tea both of you shared, the times both of you would unite hands at the entry way of multiple balls, the longing letters– nothing was real. It was just an illusion.

Like a tool, used and discarded.

Like a villainess, just an obstacle to their story.

Like an unfortunate soul, never truly wanted.

Like a criminal, awaiting to be beheaded.

The wild hound sat on her bed, the only thing neat in her trashed room. The portrait of you and Azul were scratched, but the most damage was upon Azul's face. The teacup set– given by Azul –was on the ground replicating the broken wine glass on the terrance. The Hydrangea flowers– given by Azul –was on the other side of your room, ridden of its petals. Chairs, couched, and tables were flipped over. Anything you could have taken hold of, was trashed beyond repair.

"Of all things, you decided to poison that lowly baron girl?" Your dad grumbled under his breath, disappointed. "Whatever penalty you receive, do not drag me or your mother along with your foolish mess." He concludes and finally turns away from your back, slamming your doorway shut.

Over and over, hundreds to thousands, you couldn't count how many times you've caused uproar around the capital. Your irritation at the shopkeeper who didn't satisfy your standards was a victim to your anger, and so was the maids who had the nerve to act clumsy in your presence. Not even the butler was spared from your wrath. But the public had never paid a mind to you, always chalking it up as the wild hound being the same as ever. How very humourous.

Not even your parents paid a mind, no, they couldn't careless. They were already so used to your antics. They'd rather pay attention to your high intelligence, and your accomplishments rather than you in general. Of course, with a society always looking for fresh and new inventions and evolutions– it's a must to be smart so as to guarantee you won't fall behind.

But under unfortunate circumstances, you've finally arrived at your ending line. You've pulled the last straw, and now you'll reap what you sowed. You've done something so unforgivable that your parents have also given up on someone like you.

You've exhausted all your worth, and soon, your life will be taken away from your hands too. Truly, nothing to hold onto in this wrench world.

Your eyes –barely sparking with the same confident and sharp glint –dead and glazed out. You shift your weight off your bed, and walked towards your personal terrace, not bothering to check for any glittering shards of glass. You stride towards your balcony, resembling a lifeless corpse holding onto it's last strings.

The rain was softly drizzling onto your windows, creeping down to the ground. The wind piked up to it's highest volume once in a while. And, the moon, bright, and shimmering over the pitter patter of the rain floated above. Serene, and pleasant just like the eyes of the man who cheated on you.

The perfect calming shade of gray over the turmoil.

You pushed the door open, and walked out under the rain. The very cold droplets of water instantly targeted you, and without a doubt, in a few minutes– you would be soaked head to toe. You stood in the middle of your terrace, with your eyes gazing at calming moon.

Soon the turmoil around you was accompanied by your very own. Your tears were unseen, disguised as just another raindrop. But the agony on your face was apparent. Shortly, your legs had lost all the strength to hold your weight and you toppled onto the ground. The puddles of cold water splashed underneath you, and the rain was the only thing that kept you company while you weep under the moon.

"Oya, planning to neglect your side of the contract isn't a very honorable thing to do." A voice spoke, through the deafening rain. Somehow reaching the other man who stood a few feet away from him. "Sorry shrimpy, you can't die just yet, you still haven't fulfilled the contract!"

The unrelenting words fail to garner your attention. The combination of the loud rumbling of thunder and rain with your occupied mind block them out effortlessly.

Two pair of footsteps were unheard behind you, and a pair of hands– bare and cold –wrapped around one of your tangled strands and playfully twirled it around their finger. "Is shrimpy sad that her little partner cheated?~" He jabbed.

You limply turned your head to the left where you felt the motion, and you were met with glowing heterochromia eyes.

"Ya'know you deserve way better than what that bastard did to you." He hummed, and crept even closer towards your face. "He was just a lame ol' sticky octopus that's been in the mud for far too long~ Neh, Jade?"

The mirrored twin chuckled along with his dear twin's statement. "Eh, Floyd. Apologies, but I was truly unable to see what you thought so special of Duke Ashengrotto."

You were helpless to their tomfoolery, and weren't able to retort back with a snarky comment.

Jade raised his brow to your unusual behavior, "You're not as resistant to our comments as you were before. Have you been downgraded so badly because of the lost of your dear fiancee's love?"

Floyd let out a giggle at his brother's witty jest. "No worries~ we're still an option if you want our help, lil shrimpy!" He uses your head as a hand rest as he waits for your response.

But just like before, they were met with silence. No peep out of your tightly closed mouth underneath the company of the rain. Jade frowned at this, and came just as close as his brother was. He swiftly grabbed your chin and directed your eyes towards his.

"Just one word, and we won't hesitate to help you, under the conditions that you come with us, my dearest."

You took a breath, readying yourself for the inevitable. "I don't understand your thinking. I have not completed my first contract, and yet you propose another deal?" You slur your words due to your weariness. This time, you are the one who is met with silence. And you take it as a chance to complete your thought, "I will be sentenced to my execution in just a few hours. I won't be able to finish our still in-action contract. I apologize."

You are fully aware of the consequences of not completing your side of the contract, which was to marry Duke Azul Ashengrotto. They were the ones to hand you the poison, and you were the one who completely ruined the plan just because you weren't able to hold back your emotions. This contract was an utter failure, and you cursed yourself for thinking you were able to win back Azul.

"That's plenty enough for us. Neh Floyd?"

"Yup. We got our answer."

Huh? In the middle of your self-deprecating thoughts, you were interrupted by two men who nodded along with each other's statements. They both turned to you with devious grins, and stared at you.

"Hehe, your face is really adorable when your confused shrimpy. You look constipated~" You quite literally choke on your own spit in surprise to Floyd's offhanded remark. "Eh? Don't worry, we'll let you into our secret! Enough with the long face." Floyd gripped your cheeks with his hands roughly and wiped it as if he was truly trying to wipe your ever-increasing frown off your face.

While you were distracted by Floyd, Jade sneaked up behind you. You flinch as you felt him nonchalantly rest his palm on your shoulder. He peeked over to your startled face, and smiled coyly at you.

"In all honesty, Ms. ______, we didn't want you wedded to that ruffian in the first place. We are quite pleased at how things are already. So you may rest with no concerns." He said as if he was doing you a big favor, and his dear brother and himself weren't so-called "ruffians" either.

"It's waaaayy better to have you all to ourselves!" Floyd chided in, and shockingly rubbed his right cheek on your left cheek.

"Excuse me?" You somehow mustered the strength to respond, and tried to struggle out of their grasps, but their combined strength made you look like a hamster trying to escape a cat's maws. "L-let go of me, now!"

"Oh? So soon? This warmth is quite enjoyable."

"Yah! Stop thrashing around!"

Floyd gripped your waist even tighter, and you felt like all the air you've kept inside was pushed out of your lungs by force, rendering you weak to their movement.

"Hence, we will propose another deal to you. My dearest." Jade teasingly said in your ear, entertained by your reactions. "I-I refuse the deal! Stop this at once!" You instantly decline his proposal, not even sparing him time to fully explain the full details of it.

"Hey, you love us don't you?" Floyd asked, and your dumbfounded look makes contact with Floyd's serious non-joking face. It was unusual to see him act so docile. "I have no idea what you're going on about, though I do know that if you don't let me go this instant I will call my guards."

"Hm? What makes ya think your guards would help you out?" Floyd tilts his head, "You're practically gone from this family. You don't exist here anymore, lil shrimpy." Your eyes become downcast, and you start to realize the depth of his words. All of what he said was true. You really were going to become a minor villainess who was executed, and the story would end with a "Happily Ever After."

It wasn't the prospect that you were going to die that made you so fearful. But the prospect of dying by your lonesome. All by yourself, with no one who fought or at your side. You grimaced. A villainess in the beginning and to the end.

"Oya, she seems to realize what her fate has been dragging her towards." Jade piped in, and twirled a strand of your hair with one of his long fingers. "See now, lil Shrimpy? You have no one." Floyd's voice fell into a deeper octave. He was done playing around with you since you weren't able to take a hint. "It shouldn't hit you too hard. You're the one with Ms. Yuu's blood on your hands, after all." Jade quietly murmured, loud enough for you to hear, but quiet enough so it seems he's talking about something simple like what kind of tea he should have for this gloomy day.

"But, you have us."

"We are the ones on your side, lil shrimpy ♡"

It was a mistake. You shouldn't have agreed to make a contract with two of the most dangerous, and savage people that prevailed over the underground.

How could I...?

It shouldn't surprise you. How obsessive, and dominating the Leech brothers are towards you was your own fault. They aren't normal human beings.

But who am I to talk about human beings as if I'm one?

The baron girl had blood slowly dripping out of her mouth. The glass you kindly offered to her was shattered on the pearly ground of the balcony. Her legs were unable to hold up, and clashed to the ground. You stood there, watching, as she struggled to breath as her terrified eyes locked onto yours. Your dress fluttered in the wind, and your eyes were distant. You turned your gaze towards the Moon. It was so beautiful, but for some reason, it wasn't as beautiful as it once was on this night.

"Today, a new contract will be put into action between the Leech twins and Ms. _____, with the canceling of the contract that was once in operation." You could barely comprehend Jade's soothing voice that spoke softly into your ear.

"In this contract, person A, better known as lil shrimpy, will be faithful and true to person B, better known as the Leech brothers. In return, person B will take care and will not let person A die." Floyd claps his hands, "How do those conditions sound, lil shrimpy?"

Both twins await your answer, and as you slowly raised your head up to meet their gazes once again. You hesitated, but nodded your head along to the conditions.

Floyd grinned with glee and shoved you towards Jade who held the pen and contract in his hands.

A signature to capture your compliance to these beasts.

"Do not be so full of stress, my dearest. We will care for you with all our hearts."

"You won't escape our grasp when you sign those papers, lil shrimpy! Prepare yourself."

A/N : Honestly kinda disappointed in this one. But I hope all of you enjoy it just a lil bit. Felt like I really rushed in my writing and it was pretty messy writing too. But I'm too lazy to rewrite this whole thing. So enjoy this mess 😋😋😋

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