#egg war summary | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nekoashiii · 16 days ago

Text

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ Get out!

Pairings: Lads men x afab!reader

Summary: Your 4 year old child, is fighting with their dad over you. part 2

If you enjoyed this, check this post out too!

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ sylus

The sun had barely crept over the horizon when a small, warm weight landed on your stomach. You let out a soft groan, blinking sleep from your eyes as a tiny giggle filled the air.

“Mama! Wake up!”

A little girl with curly white hair and big red eyes beamed down at you, her chubby cheeks flushed with excitement. Your daughter, Elena, was already full of energy despite the early hour.

You reached out, gently tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Sweetheart, it’s too early… come cuddle with us instead.” You said as you hugged your daughter to your chest and laid on your side, using her like a small warm plushie to hold

Elena pouted, but before she could argue, a deep, gravelly voice interrupted.

“Excuse me, little one,” Sylus drawled from behind you, his arm tightening possessively around your waist. “I believe your mother is mine in the mornings.”

Elena huffed, climbing over you to plant herself between the two of you, effectively shoving Sylus away. “No! Mama is mine today.”

Sylus narrowed his dark red eyes, feigning insult. “Oh? And what am I supposed to do, hmm? Spend the morning alone?” He sighed dramatically, running a hand through his white, tousled hair. “How tragic.”

You smothered a laugh as Elena folded her arms, her tiny frame full of defiance. “You have all day with Mama. It’s my turn now! Get out of bed dada”

Sylus turned to you, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Sweetheart, tell our dear daughter that monopolizing her mother isn’t allowed.”

You stretched with a soft yawn, brushing your fingers through Elena’s soft curls before placing a hand on Sylus’ chest. “Sorry, love, but she does have a point.”

Sylus let out an exaggerated groan, flopping onto his back. “Betrayed. By my own wife and child.”

Elena giggled and latched onto your arm. “Come on, Mama! Let’s go make pancakes!”

Before you could even respond, she was already tugging you out of bed. You barely had time to throw on a robe before being dragged toward the kitchen.

Sylus followed at a much slower pace, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway, watching the two of you. His lips twitched in amusement as Elena enthusiastically handed you ingredients, most of which you didn’t even need.

“Flour, eggs, milk,” you listed off, cracking an egg into the bowl.

“And chocolate chips!” Elena added excitedly.

“That wasn’t part of the original plan,” you teased, ruffling her hair.

“But Mama, chocolate makes everything better,” she argued.

You sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. Chocolate it is.”

Elena cheered as you mixed the batter, and soon enough, the scent of warm pancakes filled the kitchen. You plated them neatly, setting them on the table, but before you could sit down, Sylus was already pulling you into his lap.

“Alright, little one,” he said, smirking at Elena. “I was patient. Now it’s my turn.”

Elena gasped. “No fair! You get Mama all the time!”

Sylus held you close, his lips brushing against your temple. “Exactly. Which is why I should get the first bite.”

Elena narrowed her eyes before suddenly grabbing a piece of pancake and stuffing it into your mouth. “Mama gets first bite!”

You nearly choked, laughing as Sylus sighed in mock defeat.

The morning continued like this, the two of them constantly bickering over who got more of your attention. If Sylus wrapped an arm around you, Elena would climb onto your lap. If Elena got you to braid her hair, Sylus would find a way to pull you into a slow, lingering kiss—only for Elena to dramatically cover her eyes and shout, “Eww, Papa!”

It was an endless tug-of-war, but one thing was clear: you were deeply, endlessly loved.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ Caleb

The day had been long. Between running errands, cleaning up after a particularly chaotic dinner, and making sure your 4-year-old son had actually bathed instead of just splashing water everywhere, all you wanted was to crawl into bed and melt into your pillows.

But, of course, fate—or rather, the two most stubborn males in your life—had other plans.

Just as you pulled back the covers, ready to slide under the sheets, a little whirlwind of energy burst into the room. Your son, Noah, padded in with a determined expression, his favorite stuffed apple plush clutched in one arm.

“I’m sleeping with Mama tonight!” he declared, climbing onto the bed as if he owned it.

You sighed, already sensing the inevitable battle brewing.

“Noah,” you started patiently, “you have your own bed, sweetheart.”

“But I don’t want my own bed,” he pouted, scooting closer. “I wanna sleep here with you.”

Before you could formulate a response, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, and in walked Caleb, still in his colonel uniform, just back from the fleet, arms crossed over his broad chest. His sharp eyes immediately zeroed in on the intruder in his domain.

“Noah,” Caleb said, voice edged with authority. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Noah puffed out his little chest, glaring up at his father. “I’m sleeping with Mama.”

Caleb raised a brow. “No, you’re not. I sleep with Mama.”

“Well, not tonight.”

“Yes, tonight.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Are you two seriously about to argue over this?”

Neither of them responded. Instead, they were locked in a silent battle of wills, Caleb towering over Noah, while Noah, unafraid, jutted his chin out defiantly.

“I got here first,” Noah announced.

“I’ve been here for years,” Caleb countered, placing a knee on the bed as if preparing for battle.

Noah tightened his grip on his stuffed apple plush. “Mama likes cuddling with me more!”

“Excuse me?” Caleb scoffed. “I am a very good cuddler. The best.”

“No, you’re too big! You take up all the space!”

“I do not—”

“You do! And you snore!”

Caleb looked personally offended. “I do not snore.”

“Yes, you do,” you cut in, unable to hold back your smirk.

Caleb’s mouth fell open, betrayal clear on his face. “Sweetheart—”

“It’s true, Daddy,” Noah added smugly. “You sound like a big grumpy bear.”

Caleb scowled. “I am a big grumpy bear.”

“I don’t wanna sleep with a grumpy bear.”

“I don’t wanna sleep with a tiny bed hog.”

Noah gasped dramatically. “I am not a bed hog!”

You sighed, leaning back against the pillows. watching the two go on and on “Alright, enough.”

Both of them snapped their heads toward you, watching as you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration.

“You two fight over me every single night. And honestly?” You sighed, dragging yourself out of bed. “I’m sick of it.”

Caleb and Noah blinked.

“What?” Noah asked innocently.

You grabbed two pillows from the bed, shoving one into Caleb’s hands and the other into Noah’s tiny arms.

“You two can take this argument somewhere else.” You gestured toward the door. “Both of you—out.”

Noah’s jaw dropped. “But—”

Caleb furrowed his brows. “You’re kicking me out, too?”

“Yes. Out. Both of you.”

“But Mama—”

“No buts! I am going to sleep alone, in peace, without a four-year-old climbing all over me or a six-foot colonel trying to wrap himself around me like an octopus.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Go fight over who gets the couch.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sleeping on the couch.”

Noah smirked. “Guess I’ll get the couch, then.”

“Oh no, you won’t,” Caleb shot back.

You sighed and physically pushed both of them toward the door. “Out.”

Noah whimpered. “Mama, wait—”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” You kissed his forehead before turning to Caleb. “And you—” You gave him a pointed glare. “Good. Night.”

Caleb exhaled through his nose, clearly displeased with the outcome. “This is mutiny.”

“Call it whatever you want, Colonel, but it’s happening.”

With that, you shut the door in their faces.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—

“This is your fault,” Caleb muttered.

“I still get the couch,” Noah replied smugly.

You grinned, sinking into your blissfully empty bed, enjoying the first real night of uninterrupted sleep in weeks.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ Rafayel

Life with Rafayel was never dull. Being married to one of the most renowned artists in the world came with its own set of challenges—his erratic work schedule, his bursts of inspiration at ungodly hours, and, of course, the ever-looming threat of someone discovering his biggest secret.

Rafayel wasn’t just a celebrated painter, sculptor, and occasional recluse. he was also a Lemurian—a species of deep-sea mermen that most humans believed to be myths. Lemurians were creatures of the ocean, rarely venturing into the human world.

But Rafayel had. He had chosen to leave behind the waves, to live among humans, to build a life with you. And together, you had a daughter—little Seraphina—who had inherited his everything. His attitude, his stupidly handsome face shape, his genes left nothing for yours to take root in seraphina.

And now, the two of them were bickering. Again.

You rubbed your temples, exhaling deeply. “Can you two please stop fighting over me for five minutes?”

Rafayel, ever the dramatic artist, was sprawled on the couch with a faux-wounded expression, his purple hair draped over his face. “I cannot believe this betrayal,” he murmured. “I, your devoted husband, have been abandoned.”

Seraphina, all four years of attitude and tiny hands on her hips, stood her ground. “You had Mama all day! It’s my turn!”

Rafayel gasped, looking personally offended. “Excuse me, little guppy, but I believe it is always my turn.”

Seraphina pouted, her violet eyes—exactly like her father’s—narrowing. “Mama played with me first.”

“Mama kissed me first this morning.”

“Well—Mama let me sit on their lap while we ate breakfast.”

“Mama lets me sleep in the bed next to them.”

You groaned. “Rafayel, she’s four.”

“And?” He arched a perfect brow. “She must learn that a wife’s love belongs to her husband first.”

Seraphina huffed, turning to you with pleading eyes. “Mama, tell Daddy he’s being mean.”

You sighed, knowing full well that no answer would satisfy either of them.

Rafayel rolled onto his side, reaching a hand toward you as if on his deathbed. “My love, tell our traitorous offspring that no one can replace me in your heart.”

“I am not a traitor!” Seraphina stomped a tiny foot. “Mama loves me so much! Even more than you!”

Rafayel sat up instantly. “Oh, now that’s where you’re wrong.”

“No, I’m right!”

“You wish, little one.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, wondering how your life had come to this—caught between two extremely possessive, competitive merfolk.

Seraphina suddenly latched onto your leg, wrapping herself around it like a tiny octopus. “Mine,” she declared.

Rafayel narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

Seraphina stuck her tongue out at him.

Rafayel smirked. “Well then.” He cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms. “If that’s how you want to play it.”

In one swift motion, he scooped Seraphina up, ignoring her protests as he carried her toward the glass doors leading to the backyard’s infinity pool—built deep enough to accommodate his real form.

Seraphina’s eyes widened. “Wait—WAIT! What are you doing?!”

Rafayel grinned mischievously. “Throwing you back into the sea where you belong, little guppy.”

“NOOO!”

You laughed, watching as Seraphina clung to her father’s arm, suddenly realizing her fight for dominance might have backfired.

“Say it,” Rafayel teased, holding her above the water. “Say I win.”

Seraphina squirmed. “Never!”

Rafayel raised a brow. “Alright then—”

“MAMA HELP!”

You folded your arms, amused. “This seems like a father-daughter matter.”

Seraphina gasped at your betrayal. “Mama, no!”

Rafayel gave you a smug look. “Oh, so now you need me, hmm?”

Seraphina groaned dramatically before finally giving in. “Fiiiiiine. You win.”

Rafayel set her back on the ground, ruffling her purple hair. “That’s my girl.”

She huffed but then immediately clung to your side again. “But Mama still loves me more.”

Rafayel scoffed. “Dream on, little guppy.”

You sighed, shaking your head. This was your life now.

#x reader #caleb x reader #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x you #lnds caleb #lads x you #lads x reader #lads caleb #lads sylus #lads rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #sylus fic #sylus x reader #sylus x you #fluff fic

4K notes · View notes

drgnflyteabox · 8 months ago

Text

can't get much better

pairing: ghost / simon riley x fem reader summary: simon is forced to take some time off - he makes the most of it. tags/warnings: very soft, pregnant sex, size difference, softdom!simon- he's a masculine man who doesn't let his lady lift a finger :'), oral (f), one (1) butthole kiss, dacryphilia, daddy kink (sigh), minor minor foot stuff, allusions to injuries and chronic pain, title from an adrianne lenker song w.c: 2.5k

You try very hard not to think about it, but it's hard not to notice how massive he is.

Even shirtless, he somehow looks bigger, muscles flush with heat and exertion under the sun. He toils and breathes hard like an ox, working while you sit on the porch wrapped in his big flannel. Wearing his clothes is like being swaddled in a blanket straight out of the dryer, warm and nostalgic and syrupy with love. It leaves you feeling some type of tender. You're afraid of that feeling sometimes, of how soft it is and how soft it makes you. He could ask anything of you, and you'd yield like he was pressing his thumb into a bruised peach.

You have.

"How are you two?" Simon is so quiet when he wants to be. One would think he'd clomp like a horse with how big he is, but he can float like dust. It used to startle you, but you've been sinking deeper into the memory foam mattress of this life with him and it doesn't anymore.

"Tired, even though I'm not doing anything," you squint at him through the late afternoon sun. It haloes him like an angel.

"You're growing my baby in there, love. That's not nothing," his voice is rough, it always will be. But it's rough now like earth and soil rather than rough with pain and smoke the way he'd sounded when you met him.

You're feeling especially nostalgic, it seems, not like it's hard here. His hand is warm on your belly.

"I guess so," you let him pet you for a moment. Your stomach is swollen but not as big as it'll get, just enough to veto pants. A few months to go still. "How's your back?"

"Argh," Simon says, taking a heavy seat next to you. Dismissive and yet he groans a little when his muscles unclench. Classic.

You slowly reach up and nudge him until he's facing the field opposite to you, face toward the golden afternoon sun and his back to you. He's never asked you to do this, to take care of him, but it's your favourite thing in the world.

His back is always rock-hard no matter how many times you take your knuckles and fingers to it. Just a condition of a hard life lived for him, countless falls and impacts and pushing through injuries. There's a slight slant to his spine now that isn't there in the pictures he's shown you of his youth, but the stiffness is the same. You might've said he was born to be a soldier, had you not known him as a father. He could do both, but - you'd never say this out loud - you were privately grateful for this injury. It wouldn't take him out forever, but the recovery would be long. Long enough to get the homestead started, to get you pregnant.

Simon would never be completely still. This was compromise. Sweet compromise, a life started and time with him you could think back on the next time he shipped out. Making the most of things, he would always say. Making the time count.

"That feels good, love" he groans. Bending forward slowly, relaxing, he's like an aloof stallion finally accepting an apple from your hand. Acquiescing. Showing you his back. It's trust, and you savour it.

"I bet it does," you tease back, just a little. Your fingers are nimble and attuned to his specific aches and pains. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

"I'm hungry for something," he turns, slowly, hands reaching for your thickened waist. Huge, work-roughened hands. War-roughened hands, holding you like a delicate egg. Sometimes it feels like he's the only thing that holds you together; all your pieces, everywhere, until he's holding you.

Kissing him is a contact sport. It's his hands moving, cupping your breast and then your pussy through your panties, your own hands wrapping around his broad shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you from drowning. It's open-mouthed, breathing into each other. Impossibly, you get softer, melting like ice on a hot day.

Before you can lean back on the bench, he stands and lifts you with him. He's still hot from the day, damp with sweat, pushing you into the house while kissing you still.

"Simon-" you start, with no goal in mind. "Please."

"I've got you, love," he murmurs. He always does. Before you know it, you're laid back onto the plush armchair in your living room. Simon knows this is the most comfortable place for your newly-aching body. Affection swells in your chest uncontrollably and comes out through your eyes leaking down your face. Sure, pregnancy makes people emotional - but you're still embarrassed, touched by how considerate he is.

"It's alright, shh," he thumbs the tears at the corner of your eyes. His cock tents his work pants, aroused by them. "Let me take care of you."

The next words he murmurs are into your cunt, right over your panties, tongue laving over the already-wet fabric. "Just need your daddy, don't you?" You clench in tandem with his words, hot all over, skin prickling. He pushes your dress up, bunching it right under your tits.

It's reminiscent of how you spent the first night with him, on the very first day you'd met. Hurried, his big head between your thighs and clothes hanging off you still while he made you fall apart.

He's fucking good at it, too. Pulls your panties to the side and builds up the pressure with which he sucks on your clit, softly and then harsher until you shake. You've been extra horny lately, always wet around him and always so swollen. The scrape of his five-o-clock shadow against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is what tips you over, clamping his head tightly and shouting your orgasm into the heady summer air.

"That all it takes?" Simon grins, chin wet, fingers moving from your hips to your pussy to gently rub along your slit.

"Give me a second, please," it's humbling how quickly you come nowadays. Quick and intense. Fireworks.

You set your foot on his shoulder and he turns towards it, kissing your ankle. Patience is rare with him, something come about only since you confirmed your pregnancy. You miss being overwhelmed by him, miss the nights where he'd guide you over the edge one, two, three times in succession.

He pushes now, just a little, not waiting for your go-ahead but watching you intently. His fingers spread your cunt in a V and he puffs a breath on your sensitive clit. You jump. He grins again, leaning down to lick you, using one hand to hold both your legs under your knees and push them until they meet the soft bump of your belly.

"Hold them there," he says. It's spoken not to you, but to your hole, which he spears his tongue into. You obey as you're helpless to do, holding your legs up and giving him an unimpeded view. It's more than vulnerable, it's not only baring yourself to him completely but giving him the authority to do what he wants. What you need.

Simon eats you out like it's a kiss, slurping you down and letting you leak until the evidence of your weakness to him is all over you. Your legs are wet, and it drips down onto your other hole. He pushes a thumb into your cunt, dipping it in and out.

"Needed me, did'ya? Watched me all day," he's so smug, sometimes. His lips find your bare foot, kissing your sole. "Been wet like this all day?" His other hand finds the meat of your asscheek, spreading you open further, letting the split of you open to him. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, then your other hole. You whine and clench your pussy around his thumb.

"So needy," he murmurs, finally finally moving back to your clit. Flicks his tongue over it, something that might've been teasing before but is intense now. Your hands tighten against your legs, head thrown back.

"Oh please- Simon!" You shout again, abs drawing up, stars in your eyes. "Ahh- I'm-"

"I know, honey," his lips suction again around the hard little pebble of your clit, eating like a man starved.

This is how he likes you. Losing control, coming apart, helplessly vocal against the onslaught of his tongue. No matter how many times you've done this, it never gets old. The release almost always makes you cry, especially intense like this. You're wet all over, face and cunt and legs. He is, too.

"You still with me, love?" He pets your flank like you're a horse.

"Yes," but that's not what he wants.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl," and fuck if that doesn't always fill you with warm fuzzy energy. Wipes your brain, keeps you soft and floaty.

He guides you up and out of the armchair, lifts you into his arms when your legs shake too much. That electric feeling is still coursing through you, tingles in your extremities as they come back to life.

The hand he strokes over you is half affectionate, half proprietary. You've been his since the first time he laid eyes on you.

He reminds you of it as he sets you down gently on the bed, your hair a halo around your head and hands reaching to his face where you pull him down for a kiss. Hands find his shirt, pulling it off you, and then the dress. Fingertips touch the headboard, your arms stretching up, making room for him. Slips your panties down your legs.

It's a lingering, indulgent kiss. Breathing each others air, gasping into his mouth, he puts his elbows by your head and lays as much weight down as he can without cramping your full belly. He's as vocal as you, groaning and rutting like a dog.

"Ready for me, sweet girl?" He leans out of the kiss, sitting back on his heels. You nod, desperate and pulsing between the legs again like you didn't just come twice.

"Daddy's gonna take care of you, don't you worry," he rearranges you like a doll, turning you to your side and getting between your legs. A pillow is tucked under your belly, and he tests your flexibility by holding your leg tight to the length of his body. Your hamstring burns a little with it.

A hand holds your knee, another to your waist. His jeans scrape against your sensitive skin.

You focus on little details. His scar, touching his eyebrow and splitting through his nose, ending down by his jaw. The knuckles on his fingers holding your knee, and how rough the pads of his fingers feel on your waist. This man has never had soft hands in his life. Those same hands capable of so much force, so much violence, the very same that hold you and guide you. A shepherd, you his lamb.

The weeping head of his cock kisses your hole, catching there and traveling up. He taps it against your clit until you're tensing, whining, needy again. Tears down your cheeks.

He steadies you, pets your waist, guides his cock inside and it feels like you can breathe again. His mouth laves hot kisses over your ankle, the sole of your foot again, reverent and controlling all at once. The stretch burns - it always does, and maybe always will. Simon is just so big, thick all around and the mushroom head of him could always bump your cervix if he's not careful.

He's careful now, but only just. You can sense his control fraying, his hips driving forward steadily but his thighs tensing and his grip getting meaner. This is your favourite part. Watching him sweat, breathe hard, taking his pleasure in you.

"Yeah-" he cuts himself off with a long, drawn out groan. Deep, from the bottom of his belly and out. "Already so full of me, aren't ya? Can't get full enough."

You plead with your sounds, words out of your grasp. Your hands clutch at the sheets but it isn't enough. He's solid, he's your anchor, but he's losing himself in your cunt and you're free falling.

"Play with your tits for me," he commands, pumping faster. You're reflexively tightening around him, clit jumping for attention, squeaking each time he lets himself in as deep as possible and touches the mouth of your cervix.

Sunlight slowly fades on the bed, the last golden rays escaping out the window as you're bathed in dusk.

There's nothing to do but obey, hands finding your swollen breasts and squeezing. They've been sore and huge, like that week before you get your period only it's been a couple months. None of your bras fit anymore.

Simon appreciates it, he loves it. Has you cooking for him with your tits out, nipples peaked and pussy leaking. They bounce, now, stopped only by your hands pinching and twisting. It's insane - no one in the world could replicate the feeling. No artist, no musician. Electricity zips from your breasts down to your clit and shit - you might come just like this, untouched, just full of your man and fondling yourself.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking," he pants, leaning over you, bending your leg. "Pinching my dick, sweetheart. Your pussy's so fucking good."

The orgasm begins in your toes, tingling. Your muscles tighten, drawing up, up, towards your cunt, which is making obscene sounds around him.

Simon sees the signs, sees your eyes rolling and your body going taut. He abandons your leg in favour of rubbing your clit with two big fingers quickly, up and down.

"That's it, sweetheart, come all over my cock. Go on," his voice is a snarl, barely distinguishable as human, beastly. "Be good for daddy.”

It's like the crescendo of an orchestra, like a summer afternoon in august, like waking up without a clogged nose after being sick, it's - really fucking good. You're near sobbing, crying out his name, abandoning your tits to reach for him desperately. He meets you halfway, shuddering his own orgasm into you. The press of his hips against yours is better than buttered toast, the delicate press of his chest against yours as he lets your leg go is bliss.

"Si-imon," you slur, hands on his cheeks. He laughs and kisses your forehead.

"What's that, sweet girl?"

"I love you," you cry a little more then, feeling him pull out and lay next to you. You're boneless.

"I love you too," his arm reaches across you, pulling you into him. "Both of you." Hand on your belly again.

"That was insane," you pant. He barks a laugh against your hair. "I'm serious."

"I know you are, love," he kisses your forehead, petting your stomach. You can tell it's meaning, can feel the gratefulness behind the kiss. He's saying thank you, for staying with him, for making him a father. Your hand finds his, squeezing back a wordless reply. Of course, it says.

4K notes · View notes

justmymindandstuff · 3 months ago

Text

crushing worry - Cregan Stark x TargaryenReader

summary: You are happy and in love with your husband Cregan Stark. The birth of your first child is imminent. But something changes in Cregan and suddenly you feel overwhelmed by his protectiveness. Your husband seems to have forgotten that you are a dragon princess, you are not made out of glass.

words: 4.980

warnings: bad communication/ miscommunication, angst, arguments, kind of domestic violence (reader hits Cregan), kind of canon typical misogyny, talking about death, talking about death in childbirth.

a/n: Reader is Rhaenyra's daughter and described with black hair// no use of Y/N// english is not my first language // not proofread// AO3

have fun and be kind 🧡

requests are open// main masterlist// hotd masterlist

You run across the snow-covered courtyard of Winterfell, snowflakes caught in your black hair, your cheeks are slightly red from the cold.

Fortunately, you are not freezing, the blood of the dragon flows in your veins, and this blood flows hot, so the cold doesn't bother you.

You are looking for your husband, Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell. A raven from your mother from King's Landing has arrived with the announcement that she will send him fifty men for the Wall. You know that Cregan will be pleased about it. Equipping the Wall with capable men is important for the security of the North and all the Seven Kingdoms.

You walk past the stables and through the archway of the inner wall, and finally, you see Cregan. He is currently coordinating the arrival of a new firewood shipment.

You can't help but have to smile everytime you see him. Your heart is full of love, sometimes you can't believe how happy you are.

When you flew to Winterfell with your dragon your task was to win the North for your mother's claim, just as your twin brother Jace was supposed to do with the Vale. But when you first saw the Lord of Winterfell, it was love at first sight. His character, kind, honorable, warm-hearted, only made you fall harder. And fortunately for you, Cregan felt the same way. Before you set off south again to fight the war, you took him as your husband in the Godswood of Winterfell. Your mother was angry after learning the news but only for five minutes, then you reminded her of her sudden marriage to Daemon and assured her that you married out of love. Rhanyra then agreed to your marriage. It was too late anyway, Cregan and you had made your vows before the old gods and the marriage was consummated. After the war was won, you and your husband returned to Winterfell. Every day you are grateful to all the gods for your happiness.

Your hand rests on the slight swelling of your belly, in a few months you would bring your child into the world. You hope for a girl, Cregan doesn't care, Rickon of course wishes for a little brother.

"My Lord." you call across the courtyard to get Cregans attention. He turns at the sound of your voice, you walk towards him.

"My Lady." he greets you with a warm smile and reaches for your hand. His eyebrows knit together. "You are ice-cold, sweetheart." he reaches for the hood of your cloak and pulls it over your head. "Go back inside."

"I don't even notice the cold," you wave it off. "Besides, I have a letter from my mother." you hold out the roll to him. He takes it and quickly reads the few lines.

"She sends 50 men and a dragon egg north." he summarizes, but his voice sounds more annoyed than cheerful.

"Those are great news." you squeeze his hand. "Men trained in King's Landing and a dragon egg for the cradle. I was already worried that Mother wouldn't allow me to continue the family tradition so far away from King's Landing, but our child will have their own hatchling and bond with a dragon, just like me and Abraxas did." you beam at Cregan. His mouth twists into a narrow smile and he nods, as if he would acknowleg the blacksmith's report.

"Are you mad at me?" you ask, a bit confused by his weak reaction. For weeks, he has been worried because just before winter, he can hardly find men in the north who are willing to took the black.

At your question, his gaze immediately softens. "No, of course not." he replies quickly, then looks around and waves a guard over. "I just have a few things to take care of, and while this news is pleasant, it's not so important that you had to show it to me immediately. You shouldn´t have come out just for that."

You roll your eyes a bit annoyed. You know that your mother's answer wasn't super important, you were just happy and wanted to share the good news with Cregan, he's been a bit tense in the past few weeks. "That didn't cause me any trouble. I just thought you'd be happy." you say.

"I am happy about the good news." he assures you once more, stroking your cheek, the leather of his gloves cold, yet you lean into his touch. Cregan kisses your forehead gently. "However, please go back inside now, it's too cold for you and the child."

You have to suppress a laugh, nevertheless you are still touched by his concern. "Our little puppy is doing well," you say and place your hand back on your belly. As if to confirm, you notice the child in your belly moving slightly.

"Don't argue with me." his voice is a bit harsher this time, it's the tone of Lord Stark. He rarely speaks to you like that. He turns to the guard, who has dutifully awaited his lord's orders. "Please escort Lady Stark inside, and make sure she stays there."

Your jaw tightens slightly and you want to complain, but you stop yourself. Cregan would be furious if you would question his authority and discuss his orders in public. Still you wrench your hand from his, spin around dramatically, and stomp back inside. Just because you don't argue doesn't mean he shouldn't notice that you're angry.

In the evening, Cregan acts as if nothing happened. You are too tired to argue, so you decide to forget about the incident in courtyard and blame it on Cregan having a bad day.

You also don't have time to argue with your husband over such trivial matters. You have duties as Lady Stark. And your little puppy needs more and more of your energy. You get tired more quickly, need more breaks. Today your bed looks much more inviting than the letters and scrolls on your desk, but Winterfell's household doesn't manage itself. Your original plan was to only answer a few letters today, but once you sat down, you just kept going, your quill scratches across the parchment, you are engrossed in your work and don't even notice how time flies. When your husband opens the door, you flinch in surprise.

"My love, what are you doing here so early?" you ask, surprised, Cregan unfortunately rarely finds time to retreat before sunset to your shared chambers. He laughs warmly and shakes the slush off his boots before he takes off his cloak and steps into the warmth of your chambers.

"My sweetheart, the day is almost over." he laughs, comes over to you, kisses your forehead first, then places his finger under your chin and kisses your lips. Butterflies are swirling in your stomach and a smile comes to your lips.

"Oh. I was so engrossed in the work," you say, leaning back a little in your chair. Cregan laughs warmly again as he lays down his sword and takes his place at the fire. He pours himself and you a glass of wine.

"Why are you working here?" asks Cregan, he doesn't like it when you sit here and word. The private chambers are not for work he often says. At the sound of his father's gentle voice, the child in your belly moves and kicks vigorously. You exhale heavily to ease the pain, but the joy of the life under your heart and the firm kick is far more greater than your pain, so you don´t mind. You place your hand on your belly. When you look back at Cregan, he has slightly raised his eyebrows, looking at you with concern.

"I swear I just wanted to write a letter to my mother, but the Maester came and brought me the books I needed, so I thought I'd save myself the trip." you shrug, stand up a bit awkwardly, and want to go to Cregan to at least spend the last hours of this day with your beloved. Another strong kick from your child makes you stop and lean slightly on the table. Cregan is on his feet, the chair scrapes across the stone floor as his suddenly move, and you grimace slightly at the sound.

"Is everything alright?" his voice sounds tense. Quickly, you give him a smile.

"Yes. Your child only kicks like a wildling." Cregan starts to laugh, even though the worry doesn't completely disappear from his face. In the past few weeks, that has never happened. He has been walking around with that serious expression all the time. It annoys you a little. Why can't he be completely happy about your child? You push the thoughts aside and want to end the day and sit with him, but your gaze lingers on the stack of books. You should return them first, you know yourself. If you don't take care of it immediately, the books would still be lying here in weeks. And Winterfell's Maester is too respectful to bother his Lady Stark over a few books, even if he needes them.

So you lift the stack of books to bring them back to the Maester. Cregan is immediately by your side.

"I will take them." he says, already reaching for the books.

"It's fine." you laugh and try to push past him.

"You shouldn't lift so heavy."

Heavy? It's just a few books? A little annoyed, you push Cregan's hands away. "I told you, it's fine. I can handel a few books."

"I know you can. But you don't have to. Besides, the way up to the tower is long, and the outer stairs are probably frozen. I'll take care of it. Please, Lady Wife. Sit down at the fire, put your feet up and wait here. I'll be right back."

His concern almost brings tears to your eyes, he takes the books a bit to firmly out of your hand and nods towards the fireplace.

You admit defeat. "Very well, my Lord Husband," you say, kissing him on the cheek and sitting down in your seat. The warm fire makes you relax immediately, you stretch your legs and enjoy your wine while your husband sets off to take the books where they belong.

The last few days have been beautiful, the sun even provides a bit of warmth, and the sky is brilliantly blue. Of course, you took advantage of the good weather and went to the village with Rickon. At the market, everyone is happy to see their Lady Stark and little Rickon, the merchants are friendly, the women give you tips for your pregnancy and birth, and Rickon gets a new set of wooden toys. He runs through the stalls, and you slowly follow him. You notice that everyday tasks are becoming more exhausting due to your growing belly. But even these small inconveniences do not dampen your excitement for your baby. You talk to the villagers about their worries, whether there are any problems that you or Cregan can help with, or even just about how the winter flowers are starting to bloom or how the last hunt went well so the meat prices are low. When you have looked at all the market stalls, you take Rickon's hand again and head back to Winterfell. A few meters before the drawbridge, he lets go of your hand, gives you a light nudge, and runs off.

"Catch me," he calls out as his short legs carry him away slowly. You have to laugh, wait a moment, and then start the chase. You caught up with him in just a few steps and slowed your pace again, pretending to have trouble catching him. The boy laughs joyfully and runs in a zigzag to escape you.

"You are just too fast." you call out, feigning annoyance.

"Yes, as fast as your dragon mama." Rickon calls over his shoulder and then runs onto the castle courtyard, the guards immediately stepping out of the way for the heir of Winterfell. You run after him, catch up to him, lift him up while running, and spin both of you in circles. Rickon laughs in your arms, and when you set him back on the ground, he stumbles slightly. When he finds his balance again, he whirls around to you.

"You cheated." he shouts.

"No, you just lost," you laugh. The little boy pouts, his competitive nature coming to the surface. He jumps forward, lightly hits you on the stomach, and shouts loudly.

"You are it again." but before he can run off again, Cregan's voice rings over the courtyard.

"RICKON!" the tone makes not only the addressed boy flinch but you too. Cregan storms across the yard, his gaze consumed with rage. Rickon recoils in shock, and you quickly wrap an arm around him, pulling him close, ready to protect him from his father's unusual anger. Yes, Cregan has a rough parenting style as a Northerner, but he is never unfair and, above all, he rarely shouts. He stands in front of you, turning directly to Rickon. "You can't play so wildly! You have to be careful and above all, it is never under no circumstances allow to hit your mother." his voice is still too loud. You notice how Rickon starts to tremble.

"It was nothing. We played tag, he doesn´t hit me." you try to calm Cregan.

He turns his gaze towards you. "I explained to him that he shouldn't play with you so wildly, preferably not at all anymore!" you are glad that he at least doesn't scream anymore, still he makes you angry.

"But husband..." you start again. You can't understand his extreme reaction. You know he doesn't like it when Rickon misbehaves, but Cregan mustn't forget that the boy is still young. He must be allowed to be a child, even if he will one day be the Lord of Winterfell.

Cregan interrupts you. "Rickon, go to your chambers, you will stay there until dinner."

"Yes, Father," he says, the boy quietly, turns away, and runs inside; you heard the tremor in his voice.

"You were so strict," you say, crossing your armes before your chest. You trie to control your rising anger.

"No. He didn't follow my instructions, he must be punished." Cregan waves it off, comes to you, and gently puts his arm around you. But you are angry with him, so you push him away. Your husband looks at you in surprise.

"He can't play tag anymore? What kind of stupid instruction is that?"

Cregan looks down at you, slightly shakes his head. "Of course he can play tag. Just not with you."

You stare at him in confusion. What's wrong with him? "For what reason?"

"It's too dangerous. Rickon doesn't know that he has to be careful not to hurt you and the baby. "

"Cregan, it doesn't make any sense what you're saying..." you begin. You are very sure that Rickon can indeed gauge his strength in relation to you, and besides, it's not like the boy is constantly jumping on your belly while playing. You were just playing tag, for the gods' sake. You absolutely cannot understand Cregan's problem. You want an explanation for his behavior, but Cregan is talking over you.

"Please, sweetheart, go now and rest. It's not good for you to be running around outside." he kisses your forehead, pulls your cloak a little tighter around you, and then turns away to return to his work.

You stay behind in the yard and just stare after him. Anger and frustration rise within you. You don't need any damn protectors watching your every step. You are pregnant, not sick. Cregan acts as if every step costs you so much strength that you endanger the baby. And then treating Rickon like that? Why is he so strict with the boy? Annoyed with your husband, you still follow his instructions and go inside, heading straight to the children's wing. Rickon is supposed to stay in his room, but that doesn't mean you can't be there too and read him something.

Cregan's behavior is getting stranger and stranger.

As you wanted to take a bath, the water was only lukewarm, the maid told you that Lord Stark had given this instruction. You know that she is only following her lord's orders, so you don't argue. You bring it up with Cregan, but he waves it off and says the Maester recommended a lower bathing temperature, also because you always bathe in nearly boiling water. You are of the blood of the dragon, of corse your bath is hot.

Three days later, two new guards and a squire suddenly appear at your door in the morning. Lord Stark has given the order that we must accompany you, always. Not even a damn letter can you receive without the squire jumping forward and holding it for you.

Cregan, of course, won't listen to reason. Everything is for your safety, so you can rest. It´s his favorite argument now: you have to rest. You can't hear that word anymore!

You're doing fine! Yes, it's exhausting to carry your ever-growing belly around with you, but it's not like you have to climb the wall up and down every day. And your beloved husband won´t listen to you. It´s make you so angry that you want to scream at him, but everytime you raise your voice Cregans begs you to calm down and rest.

Today, you finally managed to sneak away from your guards and hopped on for a flight on Abraxas 's back. The cold wind blows in your face, your heartbeat synchronizes with Abraxas 's even wingbeats, and as you both break through the cloud cover, you finally feel free again. Your Dragon lets out a cheerful whistle and turns directly into the wind, gliding smoothly through the sky and you can't help but laugh. The child in your belly kicks hard and moves. You are sure that it is also happy. After all, your child, like you, is of the blood of the dragon, and being here on dragonback is as natural for you as breathing. You take a longer route, but before noon, you land Abraxas back on the outer wall of Winterfell. You can almost hear Cregan's voice in your ear. Just don't get her used to it, when she gets bigger she'll tear down the whole keep. But now, your dragon is still young enough, and you are still angry with your husband.

Abraxas bends her front leg deeply, lowers her body more to the side, so that despite your big belly, you have no trouble sliding off your saddle and landing gently on the ground. Your dragon turns its head towards you, and you stroke its nose. Your child kicks hard again and you flinch slightly. Carefully, Abraxas nudges your hand, bringing a smile to your face.

"Don't worry, my girl, it won't be long until we fly together, you, me, and the little puppy"

Anticipation spreads within you, even though you can't get your big pup Cregan to climb onto a dragon's back, your child will be a Targaryen, a dragon rider.

This very husband is running towards you. He seems to be very angry with you. At least his face is contorted with rage and his steps are heavy as he storms towards you.

"Are you out of your mind?" he roars. You take a step back, Abraxas bares his teeth as Cregan approaches.

"The wall is still intact," you say, rolling your eyes.

"I don´t give a fuck about this wall right now. A dragonflight? In your condition? Don't you realize what could have happened?"

A good wife would have taken a deep breath, calmed her husband, and perhaps even apologized for the circumstances. But today you are not a good wife. You've had enough now. Your frustration reaches its boiling point and you scream in anger. "Nothing could have happened. What is that even supposed to mean? I'm not a little child that you have to coddle."

Of course, heads are turning in your direction; it is rare for Lord and Lady Stark to argue, and even more so in public. No, normally the people of Winterfell have to settle for the servants' gossip, but not today. You don't care how many people are listening to you.

"You go inside right now, and your dragon will be chained up." yells your husband and waves a guard over.

"How dare you!" you shout.

"I dare because a dragon flight is too dangerous. You might not understand it now, but I'm doing this for your own good."

You snort contemptuously. "I won't let anyone stop me from dragon riding." you stomp your foot.

"You will obey my commands." Cregan trembles with rage, clenches his jaw, and does not take a single step back. Not even when Abraxas hisses behind you and flaps her wings, causing the snow around you to swirl.

"By what right does the wolf command over the dragon?" you cry, hot rage inside your veins.

"By the right of the old gods and the new, and every damned Valyrian god. I am your husband, you carry my child in your womb. You do what I say. And I said get inside and no more dragon flying. I'm not going to discuss this. You either go inside voluntarily or by force. choose."

You notice tears welling up in your eyes, he has never spoken to you like this before. Never command you like this. What is happening to him? What is happening to you beloved husband. Abrax behind you roars angrily, rears up, and you feel her take a breath to set all of Winterfell ablaze.

"lykirī Abraxas." your Dragon obeys, so you turn to the guards. "Whoever touches my dragon will burn." you say, your voice sounds weak, without another look at your husband you pass by him and go to your chambers.

The door doesn't even close properly before it's pushed open again. You know it's Cregan. But you don't turn around. The door slams shut, silence spreads. You feel hot tears running down your cheek, you can't suppress a sob.

"Sweetheart." you feel his hand on your shoulder, his voice is as sweet as honey. As if you had made a mistake, as if you were the one who had to ask for forgiveness. Anger boils up again, you spin around. Your hand hits his cheek as hard as you can. Cregan flinches, even though you're sure it hurt you more than him. You have to open and close your fist a few times, but the pain still throbs. Cregan's jaw tightens, yet he swallows his anger. "Sweetheart, please, you've already gotten worked up enough. You need to .."

"If you say rest now, I'll kill you. I don't need to rest. I'm doing well. I am healthy. I don't understand what's wrong with you. I can hardly recognize you anymore." you scream at him. Frustration, anger, despair rise up inside you.

You start pacing back and forth, Cregan's eyes follow you, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He wants to say something, but you don't let him.

"I am not a damsel in distress. I am a Targaryen of the blood of the dragon. I do not need you to watch over me like a hen. And I certainly won't let anyone forbid me from riding my dragon." you roar angrily.

You never would have thought that you would ever have such a discussion with your husband. Your heart breaks a little at the thought.

Cregan, however, does not back down. He doesn't scream, but his voice is full of suppressed anger and trembles slightly.

"It's the best for you. I am still your husband, and if I believe it is right for you to stay inside and be safe, then you have to do it."

Annoyed, you groan, "I'm safe with Abraxas too." frustrated, you throw your hands in the air. Why doesn't he want to understand that?

"No! No, you're not," he suddenly yells again, but now there's something different in his voice, not pure anger but despair. "You must understand that you are only safe when you rest and gather your strength. Only then can you survive. You have to survive."

You stop in the middle of your movement, have to blink a few times as your brain processes the information. Your anger dissipates as you finally understand where his strange behavior comes from, everything falls into place. Cregan is not angry, and he is not just afraid. Cregan is panicking.

"You..." you have to swallow, tears form in your eyes. You look at Cregan, but he stares at the ground in front of you. "Cregan, look at me." he hesitates for a moment longer and then looks at you, his whole body trembling, tears welling up in his eyes, his breath quickening, and he chews on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from crying. "You think I'm going to die in childbirth." your voice is no louder than a whisper.

Cregan takes two quick steps towards you, open his armes as if to pull you into a hug, but hesitates. You take the final step and pull him into a tight embrace. Your hands caress his neck as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, you feel tears on your skin, hear his quiet sobs.

"I couldn't do it. I can't do it again. Arra, when she died, I thought I could never be happy again. But then I saw you and I immediately fell in love. I knew this was my second chance at happiness. And sweetheart, I am happier than I have ever been in my life." you can hardly understand him, his voice trembling so much. Carefully, he separates himself from you. Wipes his face. "I can't lose you too. I would die."

You take a deep breath, trying to hold back your own tears. Why didn't he share his worries with you? His entire behavior suddenly makes sense. He just had to talk to you.

"You won't lose me. I will not die. I am healthy and strong," you try to ease his worry. You would like to promise him, but you can't.

"That was Arra too, yet she still died. Please, if you rest, then you will have enough strength."

"I have the strength. I can survive birth."

He shakes his head slightly. "And what if not?"

You suppress a sigh, have to try another way. "When you ride onto the battlefield, what do you say to your men? Do you promise them to survive?"

Cregan has to blink a few times, he is confused by the sudden change of topic, you can see it in his eyes. "Of course not. I can't do that."

"Are you sure you can survive every fight?"

"No, I'm not."

"Nevertheless, you ride out to battle." "

Of course. It is my duty."

"And the birthing bed is my duty. My battlefield. And trust in me, husband, that I will survive this battle. I understand your concern. Believe me, I really understand you, but it doesn't help me if you lock me up. I am a Targaryen princess. I am strong and I have my bond with my dragon from which I can draw strength. I have enough strength and I can fight if there are problems during childbirth. I will fight for you, for our child, for Rickon. I will not leave you alone. I will not die. But I need you by my side. You have to support me." carefully, you place a hand on his cheek. Cregan presses his forehead against yours, takes a deep breath.

"I can't stop worrying," he whispers.

"You don't have to. Neverless, don't let your worry crush you, don't let your worry crush us."

"I'm sorry. I just thought, if you rest." his voice is trembling again. You silence him with a kiss.

"I will rest. But I will not let you locke me away."

Cregan nods. "I should have talked to you. I'm sorry. I was just so paralyzed by my fear. I dreamed of your death, over and over again."

You have to swallow. Your heart breaks at the thought that he is suffering so much.

"It's okay. You have to believe in me."

"I believe in you," he says quickly.

"Then also believe that I can survive. And promise me that you will never shut yourself off from me like that again. Cregan, I love you, but your behavior wasn´t okay. You can't treat me like this."

"I know. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

You nod, give him a smile, and take a deep breath. "I have a compromise. I will not ride dragons until the child is born, but in return, I will get my hot baths back." C

regan has to laugh quietly. "Bath as hot as you want, sweetheart." he concedes.

You kiss his lips again. "Next time, talk to me and don't act like a huge idiot."

"Yes my Lady I Promise." he leans down, kisses your lips as if it were your last kiss. "The worry won't go away, though."

"I know. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, until then I'll rest a bit and you try not to control everything. Deal?"

"Deal. I will support you from now on. I am by your side, all the time." it sounds like a vow.

Cregan keeps this vow, the rest of your pregnancy goes smoothly, and even though the birth is exhausting and the most painful thing you have ever experienced, you bring a healthy girl into the world while Cregan holds your hand.

#cregan stark x you #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fic #cregan stark fanfic #house stark #hotd fic #house of the dragon #hotd

1K notes · View notes

planetpiastri · 1 year ago

Text

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader [no faceclaim] summary: you're a meme rapper with a cult following on youtube, and oscar is always in your comments, but it isn't until you release your first single that everyone puts two and two together. notes: this is one of the very first requests i ever received, and finally FINALLY it is done!! we are so back

liked by oscarpiastri, patriciooward, and others

ynusername guys if i wrote a song about dino nuggets would you unfollow me be honest

view all 1,458 comments

username1 yeah

ynusername 😔

oscarpiastri no

ynusername 😁

username2 maybe

ynusername i'm getting mixed signals

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, landonorris, and 502,876 others

oscarpiastri Oscar goes outside: Japan edition

view all 8,482 comments

username3 you're not even outside in any of these pictures oscar what

landonorris who are we getting dinner with, young man? 🤨

oscarpiastri My mum 😊 landonorris yeah right

username4 omg any yn fans in the comments?? mother liked the post 👀

username5 yeah they follow each other lol i don't think they've ever met though username6 they've definitely interacted, but yeah i think they're just like online acquaintances haha

ynusername nice berries mate

oscarpiastri Thanks, I've heard that before

liked by ynusername, oscarpiastri, and 251,876 others

mclaren Happy Birthday Oscar! 🥳

view all 7,654 comments

username7 guys why's oscar kinda...

username8 WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN??

oscarpiastri 😁😁😁

ynusername happy birthday. oscarpiastri Ok that's a lot of negative energy please step back username9 help these interactions are always so random??

username10 oscar's waist looking SNATCHED omg

username11 guys is this a safe space for me to confess something?

landonorris no, keep it to yourself

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, and others

ynusername finally releasing a single woohoo!! 'bark bark' coming out april 19th on spotify and apple music ^-^

view all 1,874 comments

username12 OMG YESSSS

username13 WHAT YN THIS IS SO EXCITING!!!! CONGRATS!!!!!

oscarpiastri What's it about

ynusername you have to stream the song and find out silly oscarpiastri Is it about me ynusername oh my god

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and others

ynusername the type of face you'd go to war for (look past the camera, he's shy)

view all 2,054 comments

landonorris shucks, i'm blushing

ynusername i am so obviously not talking about you

username14 NEW MUSIC WHEN??

ynusername the single JUST came out CHILL!

username15 the last slide??

username16 new music hint? ynusername no that's just me talking about oscar and lando landonorris ....which one am i? ynusername i literally called you a slut nine times in suzuka username17 so oscar is lust???? oscarpiastri Thank you Barbie!!

liked by mclaren, ynusername, and 516,392 others

oscarpiastri Busy busy week, but glad the secret's out. My girlfriend is cooler and funnier than yours, by the way.

view all 7,990 comments

ynusername you're so hot i am gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

ynusername the hair?? the smile?? the grabbable waist?? WOW!!

ynusername gonna write another song about you

ynusername if i saw you in the street i'd catcall you

ynusername i want you.

oscarpiastri I love you too

username18 FKSDHJGLKHDJG IM SO HAPPY YN CAN BE UNHINGED AND CRAZY NOW GOOD FOR HER GOOD FOR THEM!!

request: hiiii babe! i love ur account! i was wondering if u could do an oscar piastri x meme rapper gf with an @addy_kate fc. like shes actually really funny and her music is oddly good (like tmg).

tagging: @thearchieves @sheridamn @nikfigueiredo @charlig123456789 @ilove-tswizzle @aandreea2005 @sideboobrry @vellicora @eire-the-egg @marymustdie @cocote1410 @taygrls @koalapastries @vroomvroommuppett @nichmeddar @d3kstar @333kiki @ririyulife @resident-swiftie @zimm04 @jupiter-je-taime @ever_bizzare @blue-isnt-avaliable @iifloweringnightsii @graciewrote @formulaal @m0cha-bunny @marvelsimps @mehrmonga @elliegrey2803 @theblueblub @gwginnyweasley @sltwins @f1kenzzz @alexmarie29 @donttouchthegnote @clemswrld @hollieeelol @leireggsworld @luvvtrent @maddie-naps @lilcowboy0 @tygecjjd @skepvids @bwddermilch @pnkwhskyprncss @notawc @landossainz @janegxi @chaotic_version @lookatitlaterlol @cometsrodrigo @lizzypiastri @nixisracing @lavviee @yaesflorist

if you want to be added to any of my taglists, fill out this form

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #instagram au #f1 imagine #oscar piastri imagine #f1 instagram au #social media au #oscar piastri au #saturn writes

2K notes · View notes

zepskies · 1 month ago

Text

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Now we get into the aftermath of the night before, with all the insecurity and heartbreak to go along with it. 💙

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “Danke Shoen” by Wayne Newton

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of cheating, angsty angst, trauma/PTSD, and a cliffhanger…

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 4: Complicit

Sam would give Michael one thing. The guy damn well knew how to drink.

He didn’t stop all night, throwing back whiskey like it was cheap beer. His words began to slur, his movements sloppy, but he was still coherent. When he got up to visit the men’s restroom, Sam got up as well. Maybe he could get Michael talking.

Sam stopped the other man from tripping into the urinal. The two laughed it off, with Michael thanking him before he unzipped to finish his business. Sam did the same.

After washing their hands, Sam looked over and noticed Michael’s gaze lingering on his own reflection in the mirror. It was becoming a rough sight—his blonde hair no longer neatly coiffed, purplish rings under his eyes, the stench of alcohol clinging to his skin and clothing.

“You all right there, Milligan?” Sam asked.

Michael ran a hand over his face, sighing when it didn’t get any better.

“Fine,” he replied. “So, Winchester. What did you say you do for work again? Something about your own business?”

Sam nodded. “I started up a law firm.”

That much, he had to be honest about. It was all too easy for someone to look up his name in the directory.

“Sounds like a good outfit,” Michael said, with an incline of his head. “Every lawyer I know wears a Rolex.”

Sam chuckled, glancing down at his father’s watch. “Well, I’m not quite there yet.”

“Someday soon, I’m sure,” said Michael. He bumped Sam conspiringly on the shoulder.

“And you?” Sam asked. “What’s keeping the lights on at your place?”

Michael raised a hand to sort through his unruly hair, a dirtier blonde in this unflattering light.

“Well, you could say I’ve inherited a business of my own,” he said. “I run a meat packing plant down in the district.”

Sam’s attention piqued. There had been a meat rationing during the war, even some rumors and propaganda about “meatleggers,” black market operators.

“How’s it been with the rations?” Sam asked. “Been hard to even find a good carton of eggs lately.”

Michael gave him a slight smile. “Been on the turnaround, actually. I’ve been able to make some connections with vendors outside the city. A little grease on the palms makes a little go a long way, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly smiled and nodded. A little grease on the palms, huh?

“Do what you gotta do in the times, ‘s what I say,” Sam agreed.

Michael snorted. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s all we can do, you know. Try to make a thing work, with whatever scraps we get. Try to stay afloat.”

“Try to stay alive,” Sam rejoined.

Michael made a low sound of approval. He became more contemplative, crossing his arms as he once again glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sam’s gaze on the other man was perceptive, gaining ever closer to what seemed to be eating at the very core of him. Whether Sam actually believed what he was saying or not, each of his words was a test, a subtle nudge.

“You know,” Michael said. “I was shot down in France.”

Sam sobered further. Leaning against the counter, he retrieved two cigarettes and a lighter. He didn’t often smoke, but he thought it might keep the other man talking. He handed one over to Michael, and he took it gratefully. They lit up together and coiled musky tobacco smoke into the air.

“Where?” Sam asked.

Michael snorted, huffing a bit of smoke. “Lord knows. But when I woke up, I had stitches from here to here.”

He gestured to the back of his head, all the way to above his brow. It explained a small, but noticeable scar near his temple.

“And I had an angel standing over me,” he added, his eyes growing heavy. Guilty. “A bona fide angel. She’d stitched me up, she told me. She also told me I was lucky to be alive. The doc wanted to toe tag me and be done with it, but she thought I still had some fight left in me.”

Michael shook his head. “The next chance I got, I married her.”

Sam’s brows rose. He knew you had been a nurse, but he hadn’t known this part of your story.

“A wartime romance, huh?” he said. Michael quirked a smile.

“She was my anchor,” he said. “After it was all said and done, she followed me here, held my feet down to the ground. Sometimes she had to hammer me down, ya know.”

He hesitated, his eyes somewhat glazing over. He stared over Sam’s shoulder at something only he could see.

“But sometimes…sometimes an anchor just feels suffocating,” he said. “Sometimes, you need to forget your own damn name. Forget that your entire life and mortgage is in a warehouse that might as well be a freezer full a’ dead cow meat. And still, it smells a hell of a lot better than lying on a dirty cot—where the last guy who had your spot probably got his leg sawed off.”

Michael considers the cigarette in his hand for a long while before he takes another puff.

Sam exhales smoke as well. He spent the last three years behind a desk, but he sees the same shaken core in Michael Milligan that he too often sees in his older brother.

“You know, Winchester, there’s two kinds of men,” Michael said, just a hint of a slur in his voice. “The ones who pray to live…and the ones who beg for it to be over.”

“And what kind of man are you now?” Sam asked. His tone was loose, but his gaze was sharp.

Michael snorted. He dabbed the butt of his cigarette on the inside of the sink before he threw it away.

“I’m the guy who can’t die,” he muttered.

He rolled his shoulders, as if to let the weight of his words and everything that came along with them to roll off his back. Then he pushed his way out of the bathroom, leaving Sam considering more than just half a cigarette.

That night after Dean left, you slept in the guest room instead of your bed. You couldn’t even bring yourself to sleep next to Michael when he stumbled in at four in the morning, especially now that you had seen his game with your own eyes.

However, you also felt complicit yourself the next morning. You felt…ashamed. You took your vows seriously. You had never in your life thought you would be someone so brazen. You never thought you would dishonor your husband as well as yourself.

And yet. All while you got ready for work, hearing Michael’s snores from the other room, your mind was filled with warmth and memory—of Dean. His smile, his voice, his eyes, his lips, and of course, his hands. You couldn’t decide which of them was your favorite, but his hands were high on the list.

You shouldn’t have let him in, you reminded yourself. You nibbled on your lower lip while you prepped the coffee maker. You should have told him goodnight at the door and saw him off. You should very well not have invited him up to the apartment, let alone drank with him, or let him touch you…

You paused while the sound of percolation and the smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. You looked up at yourself in the small mirror that hung on the wall. The woman looking back at you was conflicted at best.

Yes, you felt guilty. But at the same time, you didn’t. Was it really betraying your marriage if your husband had been doing far worse, and for God knew how long?

No. This wasn’t a marriage. This was a sham. A mockery of the very thing.

You frowned angrily and almost slammed the carafe on the counter when the coffee was done. Forcing yourself to take a few steadying breaths, you allowed that hate and anger to slowly drain out of you, and you smiled.

You marveled that you could smile at all, but it was only thanks to Dean Winchester.

What the hell am I doing?

Dean stared at the two bouquets of flowers. One was a bound bunch of red roses, the other was wildflowers and other colorful ones he didn’t know the names of. He was having a hard time deciding, namely because he didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked.

Because after all, he barely knew you.

He sighed down at the roses. They were pretty, but expensive. He could imagine your surprise, followed by your smile—the one that actually lit up your eyes and changed your whole face, made you sweeter, almost shy.

I’m buying flowers for a married woman.

The thought managed to make him pause, with a rough exhale of breath. The truth was, he’d crossed the line with you. More than once.

The hard part about it was, he didn’t really care. He did wonder if you cared.

He wondered if you’d be embarrassed to see him again. He wondered if you wanted to keep last night a memory, and nothing more. He wondered if he was better off booking his train home now, and leaving some kind of note for you with Sam. Dean didn’t think he wanted to see that look of mortification on your face, the whiskey finally cleared from your mind to see what he really was: a man with no job, no commitments, and very little prospects on the horizon.

“Ah, ‘scuse me,” a young man said from Dean’s left side.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said, making way for the guy. He wasn’t quite as tall as Dean, lithe, blonde, and blue-eyed. He grabbed an arrangement of blue and yellow iris flowers from the case and took it up to the front. The florist seemed to recognize him.

“Oh, Michael! Been a while since I’ve seen you,” he said.

When the florist asked about you as well, the mention of your name rang between Dean’s ears. A feeling like inky claws raked through his chest; he raised his head from the roses and finally recognized Michael Milligan. He was the same man Dean had spotted in your wedding pictures hanging on the wall last night, right in the foyer.

“She’s all right,” Michael chuckled. “Truth be told, I’ve been working late this week. Hoping to surprise her tonight, take her out to dinner. Somewhere nice, you know.”

“Oh, really? Why don’t you take her to that nice steakhouse off of Broadway…” the florist twittered on as he continued to ring up Michael’s order.

Anger and disgust prickled under Dean’s skin, his fists clenched at his sides. More than anything, he wanted to turn around and lay your husband out flat. If he thought one little bouquet and a Salisbury steak was going to wash him clean, then he was an idiot as well as a selfish bastard.

But Dean knew, deep down, that Michael would be just as justified to throw a swing right back at him.

So Dean left the flowers, the flower shop, and the entire busy street and all its blaring sounds behind.

During your lunch break, you quickly made the trek over to Sam’s office. He’d called you this morning with a story that only confirmed everything you’d inherently felt, and yet, some of it still managed to shock you.

You didn’t even have the patience to wait until after work, but when you got there, he reassured you. It had taken him a few rounds of poker and discreetly following Michael and Dolores after they exited through the back of the club…but Sam had gotten the evidence not long after. They weren’t exactly discreet in the alley. Or in the nearby motel.

You had the envelope in hand filled with the pictures he’d developed from his camera.

“You don’t have to look,” he advised. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No, I want to see it,” you said. You took the pictures out, and your expression didn’t change as you look through them all. Each position captured was more compromising than the next between Michael and Dolores Daye. Apparently, he was paying most of her bills as well with your combined household funds. So part of your own money was financing his exploits.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. He was sincere, with those hazel eyes of his.

You nodded and gave him back the envelope. “What’s next?”

“I went ahead and filed the petition. I’ll take this right to the clerk’s office myself.”

“How long will it take to be over?”

“As long as Michael plays along, should be quick. A few months at most, after he’s served the divorce papers and signs them,” Sam assured.

A few months? That wasn’t quick enough in your book, but you agreed with a nod. You got up from the chair opposite his desk. You hesitated there.

“Oh, I meant to ask…how’s your brother?” you said.

Sam began to smile, but he tempered it. “He just called before you came in. He let me know he was stepping out for a walk.”

“Oh, really? Did he happen to say where?”

You not only found Dean in Central Park, but close to the very same bench you two had sat on yesterday and talked the night away. He was surprised, but he smiled when he saw you. Your pace quickened, until you were hastening over to him. He welcomed you into his arms. He bent his head towards yours, stopping just shy of kissing you. Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours for a moment.

“Well, look who’s here?” he teased. “How’d you find me?”

“I stopped by Sam’s office,” you said, holding onto the lapels of his coat. A cold November wind pushed at you both, ruffling your clothes. “The paperwork is on its way. Soon enough, I won’t be a married woman anymore.”

He tucked a wild strand of hair behind your ear and smiled, but it didn’t altogether reach his eyes.

“How soon is soon?” he asked.

“A few months, according to your brother.”

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. “That’s good…but, I need to head home for a little while.”

That made you pause, tilting your head in confusion. Though you supposed it made sense. He was only here visiting his brother. He was planning on going home eventually.

But surely, that was before we… You lowered your gaze.

“Back to Lawrence?” you asked. Again, he nodded.

“I need to take care of some things, figure out my next move,” he said.

You pulled away from him to brace yourself, and not just against the cold. “Well, when will you be back?”

He stayed quiet, worrying you even more. There was a deep pit forming in your stomach, churning with unease.

“Dean?” you prodded.

He stepped back in to grasp your arms gently.

“Sweetheart…the truth is, I don’t have much to offer you,” he said. “I don’t have a business to inherit from my folks. I don’t even have a job. I’m a man who was about as useful as a jackhammer, until the war ended.”

You frowned, resting a hand against his chest. “Dean Winchester, that’s not all there is to you.”

“Really. When did you figure that one out, in the whole week you’ve known me?” he asked. It was harsher than he meant to be, but he couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of his mouth. “Didn’t that get you in trouble the first time? I’d a thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

You snatched your hand back, hurt filling your eyes. You turned to walk away before he saw your tears. You should have known. You should have known a man like him would never be serious. Not about you.

As soon as he let the words go, Dean realized what he was doing. Yeah, he was frustrated, but it wasn’t aimed at you. It couldn’t be aimed at you.

God knew he didn’t want to hurt you, or for you to hate him. He really couldn’t stomach either thought, so he relented and reached out to grab at your hand, before you could get too far.

“Wait,” he said, managing to pull you back to him. “I’m sorry.”

You tugged your hand to try and free yourself from his grasp.

“You know what, maybe you’re right,” you said, your voice wobbling with anger, dismay, and tears. “Maybe I ought to stop letting a man get even an inch into my heart. At this point, it’s my own fault.”

“Stop,” Dean demanded. “No, it’s not.”

He pulled you back into him, but you looked away from his imploring gaze. Your breaths grew shallow while you tried in vain to stop yourself from crying. It damn well broke his heart.

“It’s not your fault. I’m just an idiot,” He cupped your cheeks and wiped your tears as they fell. “But you…you deserve to be happy. With a man that can take care of you, protect you. A man who has a little more of his life figured out.”

“You’re just saying that so you have an excuse for toying with me. So you can keep chasing skirts,” you said, pushing at his chest. “Yes, your brother told me about all your little exploits.”

Dean took the blow, both proverbial and physical, with a raise of his brows. He guessed he couldn’t blame you for that one. Still, the disdain behind your words stung. He allowed you to break free of him.

You stepped back and straightened your clothes. You took in a deep breath that did nothing to calm you, and you uttered a humorless laugh.

“I suppose it makes sense. Why would you want anything to do with me?” You gestured down at yourself with a dismissive hand. “A-a walking mess. Even when I am divorced, that’s how people will see me. Damaged goods. I don’t even know how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

You covered your face against Dean and the rest of the world, and after weeks and months, you finally allowed yourself the one thing you hadn’t since your first inkling that your husband was being unfaithful. You finally allowed yourself to break.

The first sob shuddered through your body, followed by hot tears. You squeezed your eyes against them and wiped at your face in vain.

Dean broke too, in his own way. He gathered you into his arms, where he shushed you gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I wasn’t giving you an excuse,” he said.

Despite how much you wanted to push him away, the deep, steady timbre of his voice pierced you and soothed you at the same time.

“I meant every word I said. I may not be the right guy for you, but don’t you dare take a scrap of what anyone else might say, you hear me?” he said firmly. “You’re beautiful. You don’t suffer fools like me, and you’re better than that sad sack excuse of a man deserves.”

You looked up at him with watery eyes.

“You’re a lot of things, Dean Winchester, but you’re not a fool.”

He shook his head, not wanting to argue with you anymore. He just kissed you, deeply, thoroughly, the way you always imagined a kiss should be.

Except that you realized…this was goodbye. So you took advantage of every second of it.

You met him with as much as he gave and reached up to touch his cheek. It felt a little rough under your fingers, just like you remembered. You would probably always remember that feeling, long after you left the park.

That evening, you packed as many bags as you could. You put together the savings you’d been collecting for a few months. It had been at your coworker Jess’s advice, ever since you started feeling the inkling that something wasn’t right in your marriage.

After you were all packed, you took one last, long look at the space you had tried to make your home. With one last tear trailing your cheek, you stepped out of the apartment. You took the bus uptown, where you later checked into a hotel.

When your husband finally got home from work, he would find a one-page letter written in your own hand.

For once, Sam was actually home in his apartment. He was helping Dean take his suitcase to the front door after calling a taxi to come shortly. Sam wasn’t happy about it though.

“You don’t have to go so soon, Dean,” said Sam.

Dean gave a humorless laugh. He grabbed his coat from the rack and threw it on.

“I’ve gotta get back to the house. It’s already been empty too long,” he said. Three years too long. “Fact is, I’m just getting in your way here.”

He couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes as he went to the door, but Sam stopped him with a pressing hand on his arm, tugging him back.

“Hey,” Sam said, his brows furrowed. “That’s not true. Where’d you get that idea?”

Dean raised his brows. “You mean the way you’ve haven’t been home more than a few hours a night? The way the only time I see you is if I go find you at that office. You should open up a Bed n’ Breakfast there. You’d make a double killing in this town.”

Sam wilted. “Dean, we opened the firm barely a month ago. I’m just trying to—”

Dean laid a hand on his shoulder, relenting.

“Hey, look. I’m not judging you, Sammy. I’m not,” he said. “You’re building something. I know that. I just need to go figure out how to do the same, whatever that means for me.”

Sam stared back at him, still with that frown. His guilt and reluctance to see Dean go was reflected in his eyes; those sad puppy dog eyes that used to get him out of almost any punishment with their parents when the boys were young. Before.

The corner of Dean’s mouth kicked up into a smirk.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you again soon,” he said.

“How soon is soon?” Sam asked. It was something their mother used to say to John whenever he called late, promising he’d come home after long days in town buying supplies for the farm.

“The divorce papers will be served to Michael Milligan,” Sam added, pointedly raising his brows. “She…could use your support.”

Dean’s smile faded at the mention of you. His hand slipped from Sam’s shoulder.

“She’s got a strong head on her shoulders. She’ll be all right,” he said. He heard the honk of the taxi outside. He grabbed up his hat, set it on his head, and took up his bags. He turned back to Sam at the last moment. “I’m sure you’ll look out for her.”

It was somehow both a question, and an imploring charge. Sam sighed, but he nodded in agreement. His brother could be so very stubborn. Once he got an idea of what he thought he needed to do, there was almost no talking him out of it.

Sam opened the door for him and walked him out to the car, helping him with his bags. Before Dean could get into the cab, Sam stopped him. Their gazes met, but in that moment, no words were needed.

They pulled one another into a firm hug.

I’m sorry. I should’ve been there more for you.

Don’t worry about it. It’s already forgotten.

Dean released him first with a smile, and a heavy pat of Sam’s shoulder. He turned and climbed into the cab’s backseat. Afterwards, Sam watched the yellow cab take his brother away to the train station, feeling a weight in his heart that wouldn’t subside.

He would never know that Dean felt exactly the same way. Except that impossible weight felt a lot like your hand, gently laid over his heart.

Dean took up his suitcase as the train pulled into the station. He stepped up onto the platform and retrieved the ticket from his pocket, but he paused, hearing a familiar voice shouting his name.

He turned his head and saw Sam rushing to meet him at the platform.

“What’s the matter? What’re you doing here?” Dean asked in surprise. He didn’t like the wary apprehension written across Sam’s face.

“I just took a closer look at Milligan’s finances,” he said. “Before you go, there’s something you might want to know.”

AN: Come on, we needed at least one cliffhanger in this series! 😘 What do you think Sam rushed over to tell Dean? What did you think about their "goodbye," as well as her and Dean's goodbye? ...And are you ready for all the drama that's about to go down? lol

Next Time:

Except the loud, insistent knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts. Straightening up with a frown, you set down your glass and went over to the door. Maybe it was Housekeeping coming up to bring you the fresh towels you asked for. The ones that had been laid out in the bathroom smelled musty.

You opened the door to a tall frame taking up room in the doorway. It was Michael, standing there both disheveled and steaming mad. He held your letter crumpled in his left hand.

“Michael, what—what’re you doing here?” you gasped and stepped back. He followed you inside the room and slammed it shut. He looked around at your open suitcases in disbelief, then finally at you.

“What’s this supposed to mean, huh?” he demanded to know. He shook the flimsy piece of paper at you.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 5

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Between the City & the Stars Masterlist

Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new story or chapter. 💜

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1)

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @thebiggerbear

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @impala-dreamer

228 notes · View notes

eviesaurusrex · 2 months ago

Text

tale as old as time | X. Riorson

Xaden Riorson x Aurelia Melgren (OC)

summary: Usually, he’s the dangerous, unapproachable wingleader in public, but since a few days, Xaden Riorson can’t bare to be apart from Aurelia Melgren.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: none really, mentions of past injuries, dragons, Xaden being touch-starved after admitting his feelings, Xaden’s shadows, Tairn being Tairn, two idiots in love, childhood friends-to-lovers, not entirely proofread

author’s note: Lately, I really am all over the place with my writing for fandoms lol. This could turn into a series of oneshots if people are interested—I can also switch this up into a typical reader-insert starring YN, just let me know!

divider by @enchanthings-a

It started right after Threshing.

First, she almost didn’t heed it no mind, not even realizing a change in his daily routines. Sometimes, she felt his eyes lingering on her whenever they passed one another in the hallways of Basgiath on their way to classes or formation in the morning. Other times, she felt him walking closely next to her, the backs of their hands brushing against one another, letting sparks of electricity travel through her bones, dancing on her skin.

All of those incidents, Aurelia categorized as mere blips in reality—undoubtedly enjoying them, but knowing they would not be present for the remainder of their days at the War College.

But then, the shadows started to act up.

Rea knew how masterfully Xaden wielded his signet, being in total control of it; she had watched him train with Garrick and the others and had even gotten a taste of his skills herself. So, for them to act up all of a sudden as soon as she was near a particularly dark corner?

Highly unlikely.

The day on which she woke up with one of those shadowy, smoky tendrils almost lovingly wrapped around her wrist like a delicate bracelet? She knew something had shifted, that something was certainly different than prior to Threshing. And she started to notice more and more:

Xaden casually walking down the hallway of her dorm floor by utter coincidence when she opened her door to head out for breakfast? The way his hand almost naturally found its spot on the small of her back, resting heavily and comfortingly there until they reached the door to the dining hall, his fingers pressing softly into the fabric of her uniform before letting go?

His long-lingering glances across the tables atop the leader platform now so obvious, she had to be blind (or dead) not to notice them?

The way they sat in comfortable silence on the parapet on a particularly starry night because he knew how much she loved stargazing? Hands brushing against one another on the withered stone, one finger wrapped around the other’s? The heavy feeling of his gaze on her profile while she watched the spectacle in the dark-tinted sky in awe and wonder?

She really had to be blind not to see it.

On this particular morning, Aurelia cradled a cup of coffee between both her hands, eyes focused on the dark-haired wingleader as he ate his scrambled eggs while being in deep conversation with Garrick. Taking a revitalizing sip, she patiently waited, smiling softly as Tairn seemed to wake up and growled in her mind. “Your thoughts of the wingleader disturbed my sleep, Stormy One. Keep this up, and I might not be inclined to continue to tolerate him near me.” The Melgren rolled her eyes at that. “Oh, please. I wouldn’t wager my marital bliss because I keep on fantasizing about incinerating the rider of my mate,” she shot back with a humorous tone down their bond, still letting her smile like a fool.

It was exhilarating to be chosen by a dragon, and Aurelia was sure she would keep on grinning like an idiot until the day of her last ride.

The black dragon huffed into her mind. “First: The bond of mates is far more superior to the human concept of marriage, girl. And second: Do not dare think of your last flight—already. We have years upon years, Stormy One. Your skills are too refined to be wasted on an early death. Instead, continue to dream of the rider who is now staring at you—it’s far less insulting.” It was almost as if Tairn chuckled deeply as her eyes fell on Xaden again, watching his onyx eyes soften ever so slightly as he reveled in the attention she granted him.

A small smile danced across her lips as she took another sip of her cooling coffee, her eyes never leaving his handsome face, remembering his whispered words after Threshing when the healers had worked on her bruised and battered body, thinking she wasn’t conscious enough to recall any of it. Until the day before, she had accounted those words to the delirious state she had been in due to the blood loss, but now, with the shadows accompanying her and the expression on his face? The evidence of his shift in person toward her? Aurelia was sure she didn’t dream up his confession.

They held each other’s gazes locked until most of the cadets had left for classes and training, and only then did the woman rise and leave for Battle Brief herself, waiting for him in the hallway. Leaning against a wall, she had her arms crossed loosely in front of her black-clad chest, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as he finally made his way out as well, spotting her instantly. Xaden walked over to her with long, purposeful strides, graceful and lethal as ever, fingers gently twitching as his stare fell from her eyes, raking over the lower part of her face.

“How are you feeling? Is the soreness bearable?”

His question was asked quietly, his voice soft and filled with a warmth barely anyone would receive within these walls, and that knowledge made the butterflies in her stomach whirl like a tornado. He had always been soft to her, ever since their first meeting as children, and he had continued to be like that until they had been separated by fate. Perhaps he still was the boy she once knew—just buried beneath everything he had to be for everyone else.

“Good. Better. It still somewhat aches when I get up too fast, but other than that…” She trailed off when his hand crept closer and touched the spot right next to her navel where she had been run through with a sword during Threshing, a scar now left behind. “But…,” she started again, making him look her directly in the eyes, a teasing smile creeping onto her lips. “I would feel much better if you’d explain this.” And with that, she pulled one of her arms out of their hold across her chest, holding up the wrist with the shadow still in place.

She watched Xaden swallow, eyes lingering on the black, translucent bracelet before he stared down at her again. A hand rose and softly wrapped itself around her fingers, pulling her hand close until it landed on his chest, right above his steadily beating heart. It pushed all the air out of her lungs; her breath hitched as she witnessed the vulnerability the fearsome wingleader showed her at this particular moment.

Xaden watched her intently as he murmured: “Do you mind it? Do they… disgust you? Bother you?” Without having to think about it, Aurelia slowly shook her head, never leaving him out of sight. “Why would you think that? I think they’re beautiful. Immaculate. Watching you wield them is like watching art,” she confessed, still slightly breathless, eyes wide with curiosity and… doubt. Did she never show him what she thought about him, about his talents and skills? Perhaps it had been drowned out by everything happening around them, and a pang of guilt settled in her chest. “Art, hm?” Blinking, Aurelia watched his smile grow, and the guilt lessened for now, making her slap his broad shoulder playfully. “Don’t tease me about my choice of words.”

The Riorson chuckled quietly before his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush against his high-towering form. “So, you want an explanation?” His voice had turned into a raspy whisper, and all Aurelia could do was to nod, eyes enthralled by his gaze, her heart beating against her ribcage, trying to escape. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right, Rea, day and night, when I’m here and when I’m not. I wanted to feel close to you at all times, reminding myself every hour of the day that you’re still here, with me.” The fingers pressed against his chest gripped onto his uniform, burying themselves into the midnight black fabric, holding herself up at his steady confession. “Threshing made me realize something I have forgotten for a while: I cannot lose you. I cannot live without you, Aurelia Melgren. If you wouldn’t have made it, it’s safe to say I would have succumbed alongside you. You…” He took a steadying breath with closed eyes before he bent at his waist, coming closer and closer until their foreheads were gently pressed to one another, onyx black crashed against periwinkle blue.

“You are the keeper of all that I feel, of all that I am. One word and I will never speak of it again. One word and I will lock everything away, remaining your friend as I have always been. But…” And with that, he pulled her even closer. “But if your feelings have changed over the years and I was too stupid or blind to see it… Please, tell me and put me out of this… this… misery.” His voice broke at the last word, and it almost hurt her physically to hear his suffering she never knew about.

When has everything between them changed? Aurelia knew when it had changed for her—years ago during a sparring session with him and Garrick back in Aretia when no one had thought about needing to separate. Yes, her father never liked her association with the Riorson’s, but her mother had been from Tyrrendor and called Fen Riorson one of her oldest friends. And on that day, when Xaden had beamed at her proudly for shooting her first arrow successfully, she had known and protected that little secret of hers until… today.

Softly, almost lovingly, Aurelia let the tip of her nose rub against his, staring into his deep eyes and seeing all the emotions she had always hoped to witness on his face, swimming there, freely visible. “Perhaps stupid, perhaps blind, perhaps a bit of both,” the Melgren chuckled, making him roll his eyes at her but turning serious for this particular moment. “You were never just a friend to me, Xaden. You were never just my most trusted companion and confidant—there was always something different between us. I felt… safe with you, protected even. I could be who I was, not the one others desperately wanted me to be. I was… free. You gave me freedom.”

And freedom was the one thing Aurelia had longed for her entire life.

Xaden stared at her unmoving; he almost didn’t dare to breathe when one of her hands cupped his cheek, the pad of her thumb caressing his cheekbone.

“I have always loved you, Xaden Riorson, and I will always love you until my last dying breath as a dragon rider. If you’ll have me…—”

She couldn’t ask the question, not with his lips crashing against hers without restraint, without fear. He was as wild in his claim as he was in his fight, making her his then and there, incinerating every trace of every other man she had allowed to touch her in her life. He unraveled her in a dark corner and put her back together, infusing her with love, passion, and freedom with every move of his lips, with ever raspy sound escaping his throat when her fingers tangled themselves in his dark strands, tucking him closer and closer, until they where almost one.

With a gasp for air, Xaden parted with a heavy breath, chest heaving and heart galloping under the palm of her hand. “If I could, I would make you a Riorson on the spot,” he mumbled, lips pressing kisses to her cheeks and her swollen lips with utmost tenderness. “Slow your dragons, love,” Aurelia’s chuckled words followed. “Let us survive this death sentence of a War College first before we enter a far less superior bond they will most definitely mock.” The man started to grin at her words, pulling her close into his chest. “Did you already get that lecture, hm?” Nodding, she gently pushed back his hair, trying to make it presentable again. “Oh, I have. And I imagine there will be more coming sooner rather than later now that we…” She didn’t dare say the words, but Xaden wasn’t as hesitant—not in the slightest.

“Now that we are in a relationship, mo chroi? You can say it—the title won’t bite you.” Shoving him away, Aurelia showed him her tongue, but letting him take her hand in his, allowing him to hold onto it. “Whatever. Those dragons are menaces, and I’m afraid he will take over the fatherly talk in lack of a present father to do that. And I’m not sure what alternative I would prefer.” As if Tairn had only waited to share his input, his voice echoed through her mind. “I do not know what you dare to imply there, Stormy One, but mind you, I would only propose exceptional measures in order not to procreate ahead of your time. We have goals to accomplish, rider, battles to win, wars to end. No time for… frolicking with your shadow wielder.”

She couldn’t hold back the laugh at the growled words and let go of Xaden’s hand in order to wrap her arm around his waist, claiming her spot at his side, his arm instinctively snaking around her shoulders. “Tairn warned me not to frolic with you, shadow wielder,” she explained at his cocked eyebrow and smiled with closed eyes as he bent down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “I will keep that in mind, but don’t you think I won’t put my hands on you, Stormy One.”

Walking beside him felt good. Freeing. Empowering. It got into her head, she thought, but it did not matter. She had rarely felt this wonderful.

“Has Sgaeyl spilled Tairn’s secret?” Xaden chuckled humorously as they walked the empty hallways toward Battle Brief. “She did—unintentionally, I think. But it is fitting. You are a tornado, a force of nature to be reckoned with. And with that dragon at your side now? With me? We will be unstoppable, love.” Teasingly, Rea nudged his hip with hers as they stopped in front of the massive double doors leading into the largest classroom Basgiath offered. “Do not over-exaggerate, Xaden darling. You sound like you have an appetite for conquering the world,” she whispered as he bent down again, lips ghosting over hers. “Oh, I have an appetite for many things, mo chroi. And I’ll show you each and every single one of them.”

Kissing Xaden, Aurelia silenced him with flushing cheeks before opening the door to slip inside the now-settling-down cadets. She intended to make her way down toward her usual seat next to her best friend, Merope. Xaden had different plans, though.

His hand snatched hers, and without uttering another word, the tall man tugged her after him, making his row scoot up a seat to create room for her next to Garrick, who watched the interaction with gleaming interest. His cheeky grin was oh so prominent, Aurelia hit his cheek with the flat side of her quill, shaking her head slowly, almost threateningly. “Don’t you dare utter a single word,” she whisper-hissed at him, cocking an eyebrow when he dared to open his mouth, watching him reconsider his next move. “I just wanted to say I told you so, but whatever.” Grinning triumphantly, Garrick winked at her, chuckling when her hand hit him multiple times on his shoulder. “You are unbelievable,” was all she huffed in slight annoyance, forcing herself to look in front, trying to ignore all the stares and the whispers at her new spot. They seemed to increase in volume when everyone bore witness to Xaden Riorson moving his hand in her direction, grabbing her thigh under the small table each seat had sat in front of it, squeezing it tenderly, and leaning in her direction.

“Forget about them, all of them. It doesn’t matter what they think, okay?” He knew her too well, but in their case, she couldn’t give a fuck. Leaning closer herself, Aurelia pressed a lingering kiss to his jawline—it was the only part of his handsome face she could reach without making a fool out of herself—and smiled with a teasing gleam in her eyes. “You won’t get rid of me that easy, Riorson,” the Melgren promised, making him hum in contentment, his hand settling heavily on her thigh—and it would stay there for the remainder of this class and every other they shared.

“I intend to keep you, Melgren. I intend to keep you for a very long time.”

Thank you all for reading! Please consider leaving a like, a comment, and a reblog. Tell me your thoughts about this fic and/or ideas for potential new fanfictions ♡

#xaden x reader #xaden riorson x reader #xaden x reader fluff #xaden riorson fluff #xaden riorson #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing fluff #fourth wing #xaden x oc #fourth wing oc #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing fic #fourth wing fanfiction #the empyrean #fourth wing x oc #tairneanach #fourth wing tairn

340 notes · View notes

xwritingdixonx · 2 years ago

Text

Is It Better To Speak or To Die? | Daryl Dixon |

----------

Masterlist

Summary: After being rescued from Woodbury by Rick's group, you struggle with living a "normal" life in the walls of the prison. The trauma's inflicted on you at the hands of the Govenour drag you to the deepest depths. A certain archer is the onyl one who can drag you back out.

Warnings: slow burn, language, smoking, grief, depression, talk of body scars, implied smut, implied past abuse, Governor (enough said)

Word Count: aprox. 10k

Era: Prison, Alexandria.

Song Recommendation: Cinnamon Girl - Lana Del Ray, Would That I - Hozier

----------

The survivors of Woodbury had called The Prison “home” for only a week. The war and downfall of the Governor and Woodbury were still fresh in everyone’s gut, though others were making themselves comfortable very quickly. You were not. It was such an irony to you. Taking shelter in a prison as if this world wasn’t a prison. As if the traumas of the past year of survival didn’t hold you by your throat. Your own mental prison.

The bowl you held still warmed your hands. Though you knew no appetite arose in your stomach, you still took the bowl Carol offered just to be polite. Standing alone, your back leaned against the support beam of the gazebo all the benches sat under for meals. You had been a part of Woodbury...but you certainly hadn’t been a part of the community. Not near the end at least.

Most people steered clear of you. Avoiding your tired hardened eyes and threatening gazes. Avoiding the tenseness in your persona. Completely removing themselves from the possibility of having an interaction with the emotionless shell you had become. Others were compassionate, showing you any empathy they could bear. You’d get a polite head nod and warm smile occasionally, though you never returned it.

In Woodbury, no one asked questions, they talked and gossiped amongst one another but never bothered. But at the prison, you were new. Fresh meat. So in turn, you had your fair share of stares and whispers from Rick’s group.

Carol had become your latest bother. In the mornings, just like today, people would slowly make their way to line up for their share of breakfast. Your desire was to simply come out in the crisp morning air and smoke a cigarette, attempting to forget the night of terrors you encountered when you closed your eyes. You’d be sure to isolate yourself a bit away so the smoke didn’t bother anyone’s morning. But Carol simply wouldn’t accept it.

The last few days she’d noticed the lack of breakfast passing your lips. You’d smoke a cigarette and then wait to eat a proper meal for dinner. Reminding her of another certain someone.

She couldn’t make you line up and wait like everyone else. She couldn’t make you come and sit at a table and be social. So, she’d make you your own bowl and walk it over to you, giving you a polite smile, and then walk away. She did this for the past 3 days, catching onto your pattern early on.

“How’s she doing?” Rick drawled as Carol handed him his own bowl of powdered eggs and steamed potatoes. “Can bring a horse to water but you can’t make ‘em drink.” Carol joked back, Rick nodded in response and thanked her for his bowl.

Rick had been keeping an eye on you ever since you’d arrived. Unlike most of Woodbury, who willingly came running out to be rescued, you were found by Rick. The door to the room he found you in had been locked from the outside.

Everything he found out about you from that point had been from the mouths of others. You hadn’t even used words to tell him your name, he had been told by someone else. “Morning.” Rick greeted Daryl who was already almost finished his own breakfast, “Mornin’.” He stood with Daryl, neither of the men having time to sit with all the plans to improve the prison.

Daryl followed Rick’s gaze, noticing the way Rick seemed to be lost in thought. When the gaze ended on you, Daryl scoffed. “Figured that one out yet?” He asked, shoving a spoon of egg in his mouth. “Not yet.” Daryl had tried himself to scramble for puzzle pieces of you but had no success. You didn’t talk. Not a word, not even a whisper. There was a part of him that was intrigued by you, a part of him that wanted to dissect. But there was the other part that told him to mind his business.

“Good morning.” Riley begins to pass by, greeting Rick and Daryl. If the term Southern Bell was a person, that would be Riley. Blonde hair, dark emerald eyes, sweet smile, curvy in all the right places, and a smooth southern drawl. Smooth and sweet, nothing like your jagged sharp edges. Riley had been brought in with the Woodbury group and quickly made herself useful in running her mouth…but also in learning medical. “Morning.” Riley’s green eyes darted in the direction the men were looking. Because how dare their attention be on anyone but her.

“I feel so bad for her…” She commented, putting herself into their conversation. Rick and Daryl both gave each other a glance. Rick wanted to know about you from you. Not from the gossip and storytelling of others. “I swear it’s like her mouth was sewn into a frown when Jackson died.” Riley actually looked quite empathetic when she said this. “Who was that?”

“Her twin brother.”

Rick took a pause from eating his breakfast to let this new information marinate into his brain. Though neither of them asked for it, Riley continued. “When they first got to Woodbury, everything was fine. But then the Governor wanted Y/n to be one of his soldiers.” Using air quotations at the word soldiers.

“Y/n refused over and over. One night, Governor took Y/n and Jackson for a walk outside of Woodbury’s walls and Jackson didn’t come back…Governor said he got bit but…” Riley’s words trailed off as she looked at your stone-like features. “Y/n joined him after that…some people thought he killed Jackson and used it to force her to.” Her tone was uneasy as if the Governor would come to get her if she dared speak of it.

Or maybe she was more afraid of you.

“After that, I mean..” Riley scoffed dramatically and tried to ease the tension with a laugh, “I-I shouldn’t be talking about this anyway.” She gave the men a sheepish smile before swiftly walking away, joining a full table.

"Forgot how much people love to gossip huh?"

"Hmm," Daryl hummed in response. Rick took Daryl's empty bowl and stacked it on his own. "Gonna go give Judy her breakfast, alright?" As he nudged Daryl with his elbow, Daryl responded with a hum that was accompanied by a nod.

Daryl had learned the art of minding his business a long time ago. He didn't want people in his...so why pry into others?

You had finished your cigarette and smushed it into the concrete under your boot, now aimlessly poking around in the texture of the oatmeal. Carol frequently cooked her oatmeal for a tad too long and with too much liquid, giving it a mushy, snot like texture. It gave you another reason to skip out on breakfast but you at least wanted to try.

Daryl watched as you took a bite from the bowl. You moved around the food in your mouth, chewing slowly. The texture on your tongue was enough to turn you away. You looked in the direction of the bench where all of the younger children sat. Some talking with food still in their mouths. Their chattering stopped when they saw you approach like a dark gloomy cloud threatening rain.

Without saying a word, you placed your bowl in front of Patrick, offering him your share. Behind his thick glasses, he looked at the bowl then at you, and smiled. “Thanks Y/n.” You replied with a nod and walked away. Patrick was one of the few people from Woodbury who was consistently kind to you. He was always polite and never treated you any differently. You had actually heard him defend your name more than once. Perhaps he was just too young to feed into it but it was an act that didn’t go unappreciated by you.

And your act towards Patrick hadn’t gone unnoticed by Daryl. It wasn’t as if you had saved his life but you could’ve thrown your share away. Snuck over to the pig's pen and scraped it in. Instead, you gave it to a child.

Daryl would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't intrigued by you. He had never been intrigued by anyone in his life, though he couldn't deny the itch that was the mystery of you.

Two mornings after that one, Daryl had woken up particularly early. Readying himself to go outside the fences. There was a steady whisper amongst his friends the true reason he wondered out of the safety of the prison walls. The thought of The Governor still being alive haunted Daryl’s mind as it did the others. But no one would do what he did nearly every morning. No one except you.

Not many were typically up at this hour. The sun had barely risen and the morning air was still chilly from the night. When Daryl walked out into the courtyard, he didn’t expect to see you. He knew you were typically up earlier than others but not as early as him, not on days like this. You sat on the top of a picnic bench, feet planted where someone would typically sit. You faced away from Daryl but he could see the puff of smoke that typically followed you.

He could tell you weren’t in your typical nature. Despite the circumstances, you typically kept yourself put together. You wore a black long-sleeve fitted to your body and a pair of old gray sweatpants. Your hair was untamed and frizzy, having not been brushed yet. What had you up this early? What had you out of your cell so disheveled? And obviously, in such a rush?

The drag of the cigarette burned the back of your throat. It wasn’t as if you actually enjoyed smoking them. They tasted bad, itched your throat, and the smoke made your eyes water. But it felt as if holding them stopped your hands from shaking so badly every morning. It didn’t. But you’d keep lying to yourself and saying it did. You had woken up from another devilish dream, jolting you awake with a rapid heart and heavy breathing.

Typically you’d sit on the edge of your bed, head in your hands until your heart rate returned to normal. But on this particular morning, you couldn’t sit any longer in those walls, feeling the tightness of their build.

“Mornin.” He greeted you. What was he doing? Why was he even over here? Daryl’s mind ran with thoughts and questions as he awkwardly disrupted your own running mind.

You glanced over at him, your eyebrows furrowing with confusion. Someone disrupting you at this time wasn’t expected. As soon as Daryl saw the harsh glare hit your features, he regretted his decision. He didn’t know what to say to you or what he was doing. Both of your heads turned at the sound of a door shutting, Carol lugging a big pot over to the serving table.

“Carol’s gonna start setting up soon…if ya wanna get outta here.” Your eyes followed Carol for a second before meeting Daryl’s.

Daryl had never seen you face to face, he’d never even spoken a word to you. Your initial glare wore off your face and you gave Daryl a single nod, standing up from the bench. Daryl caught his bottom lip and nervously chewed at it. “M’going…out” Daryl pointed in the direction of the woods, “If ya wanna come.” You glanced between Daryl and the woods and thought for a second before giving him a proper nod.

“Alright. I’ll wait for ya at the gate with my bike.”

It didn’t take long for you to meet Daryl. You’d switched your pants out with jeans and your bare feet with boots. Accompanied with your backpack and a pair of fingerless gloves to fight the chilly morning. You had obviously run a comb through your hair as well.

Daryl appreciated the space you gave him on the bike. You sat an inch or two back, your arms loose around him. Typically when people rode with him they held on tight, maybe a little too tight and too close for Daryl’s comfort, but you didn’t. A steady routine had been built between you and the archer after that morning. Along with a growing friendship.

Carol had picked up on this growing routine. By the fourth day, she began waking up even earlier, packing both of you lunches and a snack as if she were a mother sending her children to school.

The first few days your silence made Daryl uneasy. But soon, he actually began to enjoy your company. He even enjoyed your silence. It came in handy when he was tracking a deer or bunny.

The two of you had created your own language of looks, touches, and whistles. One morning you had gotten separated from Daryl while tracking and the song of the whistle was born.

The once colorful leaves were now a dirty brown and crunched awfully loud when you stepped on them. The early Fall months were slowly becoming even colder which meant being on the lookout for anything edible became far more important. Especially meat. Daryl had begun to teach you how to track on your own, which meant the two of you could cover more ground on the same hunt.

Your footsteps were steady and quiet, your eyes trained on the consistent tussle of the leaves. There was a specific herd of deer that had been on Daryl’s radar that he’d spotted a few mornings ago. Daryl walked a few feet behind you, checking that the tracks you eyed were accurate.

The leaves began to blend together, and the steady path you found was now lost from your sight. You kneeled down and dug the leaves away from the ground hoping the tracks would be embedded in the dirt. But the ground was too cold and dense to be marked with anything. It was when you turned to face Daryl and accept your defeat that he was no longer there.

A sense of panic seized through you. Your eyes scanned around the surrounding tree lines for a sign of his silhouette but you saw none. You’re fine, you told yourself, but the comfort Daryl’s presence provided was now gone and you were beginning to spiral. You didn’t know these woods well and you didn’t know your way back to the prison from here.

Out of sheer desperation, you brought your lips together and let out a two-tone whistle. You gave it a second of silence and just as you were about to repeat, a long one-tone whistle replied back. Daryl quickly came back through an opening in the trees looking as if he had run back to you. His eyes were filled with panic. “Ya alright?” You nodded, seeing him again immediately put you at ease. “M’sorry. Found the tracks, they go off this way.”

Daryl spent a lot of time studying you. It wasn’t intentional…but he couldn’t help but pay attention to every detail. He knew when something was on your mind by the way you dazed off more or the more cigarettes you smoked. Or the way you fiddled with the sleeves of your shirts and jackets. He understood the different expressions on your face and what every one of them meant. You expressed yourself a lot through your eyebrows and eyes. No matter what expression, your eyes were always filled with such sadness. You never smiled. Even on days when Daryl felt good and felt as if he was going to have some major breakthrough, you never did.

Daryl enjoyed what he’d built with you over these last few months but his mind and body were becoming restless. He yearned for you, he yearned to know you. It was like being covered head to toe in mosquito bites. And then someone tying your hands so you’d never be able to scratch them. He wanted to hear your voice and he wanted to see you smile. He told himself that if he ever got to hear you laugh, he’d start praying and going to the prison chapel.

He realized he’d never even seen your teeth before, though it was an odd thought, it would be added to the pile of things that itched and irritated.

Then there were the other thoughts. The bites that itched but also ached and throbbed. He wanted you to sit closer to him on the bike and he wanted your arms tight around his torso. He wanted to hold your hands and stop them from shaking in the morning. He wanted to keep you close after running away from a hoard.

Daryl had spent his time dissecting you like a frog in science class.

Now, he had grown impatient of dissecting. He’d never wanted anyone how desperately he wanted you. You were his sweet tooth craving, you were his stomach-decaying hunger, and you were his fucking mosquito bite. But despite all of Daryls itches and desires, he'd never try to change you. He'd never push you out of the comfort of your silence though he would always be waiting.

The time spent with Daryl had put a piece of you at ease. You’d had grown a special attachment while Daryl had practically sewn you to his hip. The only time you weren’t with him was when it came time to shower or sleep.

You met Daryl every morning at the gate, ready to go wandering amongst the trees or scavenging. Some day's you made it back in time to catch lunch together. Especially if you had an early morning catch and had to get back before the meat went rancid. Most days, you'd find a quiet and safe spot to eat the lunch Carol packed and made it back to the prison before sunset and dinner.

There was peace in this routine...but you couldn't live in this routine forever. There were other duties that needed attention around the prison. The early morning adventures had become less but the time together never changed.

When you weren't enjoying the company of Daryl, you enjoyed the company of the garden. And when it was too late in the day for either of those things, you read books about the garden and thought about Daryl. You learned what crops could be grown in the winter and then looked for their seeds in old gardening stores...with Daryl.

Some, Most, Every night you thought of him. You thought of all the things he'd taught you, of his patience with you, and all the stories he told to fill the air. He'd tell you stories of him and Merle. You wanted to tell him that you knew Merle. That when the Governor locked you away, Merle would come visit you and sneak you food. That he was kind to you despite being such a prick to everyone else.

But no matter how much time and peace Daryl provided, the nightmares never left you. You still woke up with shaky hands and a racing mind and memories of your brother. Although you did cut the habit of reaching for a cigarette. Mainly because your pack was running low and it was becoming impossible to find any more.

Unknowing to you, Daryl had been finding them while scavenging and hiding them in spots you didn't look.

You grabbed the carrot at its very base and pulled it from the soft dirt, a soft snap following. The gloves that kept your fingers from freezing were covered in mud and bits of green. It had rained in the night which made the ground perfectly soft to harvest produce. So, instead of going out this morning, you and Daryl were in the gardens. Well, Daryl followed you to the gardens and wouldn't leave.

"This one alright?" Daryl held up a cabbage with his own gloved hand only a few feet away. You glanced over and gave him a approving nod. He tossed it into the basket that already held a mixture of carrots, celery, and fresh herbs for Carol's cabbage soup.

Carol had become less of a bother to you. In fact, you'd actually created a swift routine with her. You read and researched the books about plants and gardening while she read the ones about cooking. You were the farmer while she got to play Martha Stewart.

"How's it going you two?" Rick and Carol approached the gardens with a little extra pep in their step. The rain fall had made this winter day chillier which meant everyone was bundling up and multiple fires were lit in the courtyard and cell blocks for warmth. "S'alright!" Daryl shouted as he fought with a carrot that seemed to be deep rooted in the ground. From your kneeling position on the ground, you watched Daryl with amusement as he struggled. You would’ve thought that carrot was as big as a egg plant with all his pull and tug.

“You got it Pookie?” Carol teased, Rick and her both getting their own dose of amusement. “M’fine.” With one last pull, the carrot popped from the dirt. “Ya gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’” Daryl held up the carrot, it was about the size of his thumb. You heard Rick and Carol have their own set of laughter, “Maybe you should stick to huntin’ those deer.” Rick said between a few chuckles. Daryl scoffed and tossed the baby carrot into the basket, as he kneeled down to continue picking, he caught your expression.

It was so small he could’ve missed it but he didn’t and he was so glad he hadn’t. You looked back down towards the dirt, a smirk tugging up the corners of your lips and poking your cheeks, dimpling them. For a second, it felt as if someone had punched Daryl in the chest. But it was there just as fast as it was gone.

From that moment on, Daryl wanted nothing more than to feel that again…as did you. You felt foolish. There was this awful gnawing inside you that was telling you every day what you already knew within your heart. He was chipping away at every wall you’d built up and beginning to break down the wall to a very soft spot of you. You had begun to feel like a turtle removed from its shell. Mushy, sensitive, and vulnerable. Gross.

"Hey Y/n!" The youngest Greene girl greeted. The community of the prison had begun to warm up to you. They no longer avoided you like the plague opting to actually say "hello" or "good morning" or maybe even a "goodnight." It had become very well known the closeness Daryl and you held and if people knew, people talked.

You looked up from your current book to Beth standing in the doorway of your cell clutching a small pile of tan books to herself. "Can I..come in?" She awkwardly shuffled her feet farther in and adjusted the books, you nodded. Beth let the curtain that covered your doorway drop and happily took a seat on your bed. You sat up straight and set your book of, Wildflowers Of All Seasons, on the bed beside you. While you adjusted yourself, Beth seemed to be studying your room.

It was more decorated than she had imagined. Your cell was on the upper level, one down from Daryl's. You had a very small wooden nightstand beside your bed that had various half-melted candles. Their wax dripped down the sides and embedded itself into the wood. On the wall across from your bed stood a very slim wooden table.

It was decorated with different trinkets and bottles you'd scavenged, a zippo lighter, and a stack of your growing book collection. Shoved underneath was a wire basket that held all your clothes. Your only 2 pairs of boots and bookbag sat beside it. Your everyday black, fleece-lined jacket was hung off the pole of your bed.

"I found these in the library and thought you might like them." Beth laid out the books on your bed, making it a point to show you every single one of them. Peterson - Field Guide to... They all read. They were very small and slim, a pale shade of tan, with various illustrations on the front pertaining to the title. Perfect to slip into your bag.

"I thought they'd be nice for you to carry when you go out in the mornings." Beth watched as you examined each book, "I wanted to grab them for you before anyone else found 'em." Beth held a very innocent hopeful smile the whole time she spoke to you but your silence was causing her to become uneasy. You picked up a specific one, Field Guide to Animal Tracks. You looked up at the girl and gave her a thin-lipped smile to show your appreciation.

A wide smile formed on her face and she left with a very sweet "Goodnight."

Glenn relieved Daryl from watch tower duty later than expected. It had to of been close to midnight when he got back to his cell. As he walked by your cell, he carefully peeled back your green curtain to check on you. You were a restless sleeper, Daryl heard you almost every night tossing and turning or waking up with a jolt.

Most of your features were concealed by the darkness but from what was visible, you appeared to be in a peaceful sleep. There was a veil of softness to you when you slept. A softness and calmness that never graced you during waking hours. He knew it wouldn’t last very long but he wanted to ensure that at least right now, you were okay. But he could not stand and watch all night. He felt creepy enough.

Daryl noticed the little tan book sitting on his bed as soon as he pulled back his curtain. The moonlight slightly gleamed off the sleek shiny cover. Field Guide to Animal Tracks. As Daryl flipped the book open to its title page, he felt his ears and cheeks warm up. Thankfully the darkness concealed his cheeky smile.

To Daryl. Not like you need it. - Y/n.

The group of deer that Daryl had spotted a month ago was still high on his radar. Though he still had yet to actually catch any of them.

The cabbage soup was still hot in your thermal, emitting a cloud of steam when you popped off the lid. You and Daryl sat in each other's company in your typical spot. A large tree had fallen down just at the entrance to a clearing in the woods providing a perfect resting spot. Had it been Spring or Summer you could only imagine the beauty of the green scenery. But this cold winter didn't provide much besides dry grounds, barren trees, and a frozen pond.

There was a peaceful silence that settled, as it always did. You both ate your soups and turned the pages of your books. Surprisingly, Daryl had actually learned a good bit from the book you gifted and he thoroughly enjoyed it.

"Ask ya something'?" You broke your concentration from your book and looked to Daryl. "Ya know why I started coming out here in the first place, right?"

You took a second to think before hesitantly nodding. "Ya never said anything." Daryl truly never understood why. He never hid it from you but still, you never asked questions. You didn't ask what the notes were on all the maps he had, never asked where you were going, or when you'd be back. But he always knew that you knew he wasn't just hunting deer, he was hunting the governor. "What would ya do...? If you ever got to him?"

Perhaps Daryl had pushed too far. Your head snapped back down to your book, though Daryl knew you weren't actually reading anymore. Your eyes were out of focus and your lips formed a frown. You had never taken the time to think about it. You just knew you wanted him to suffer.

Daryl hadn't spoken another word to you since lunch knowing he had poked at a very sensitive subject. "Wait here a second," Daryl said just as you made it back to his bike. He jogged back into the tree line leaving you sitting on the bike, awaiting his return. Daryl returned soon after, a cluster of bright yellow daffodils in hand. You gave him a puzzled glance but as he held out his hand and said, for you, you felt the urgency to cry. Your nose burning up with tingles and your eyes becoming glazed.

"Thought ya might like 'em, I saw them in your book earlier." Your hand gently took them from Daryl's and you stood still. Very still.

Daryl awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "They're uh...daffodils, right? Start bloomin' late January into March?" He had secretly been sneaking reads of your books over your shoulder. It was so fast it startled him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into you, every muscle in his body stiffened. Daryl was reluctant to hug you back but he gave into his heart and gently laid his arms around your torso. The large jackets you both wore proved to be a barrier from feeling the true touch of the other.

“Thank you.” Your words were raspy and just above a whisper. Had you not been so close, Daryl probably would’ve missed them. “Course.” His words were mumbled against your shoulder, not wanting to make a big deal. A low groan in the distance disrupted your short moment of peace, telling you it was about time to go.

The sun was beginning to set when Daryl’s bike rode up the gravel path to the prison. The smell of a brewing soup hit your nose as the two of you began to walk closer to the dining area. “Find a table, I gotcha.” Daryl’s hand lingered on your shoulder for a second longer than it typically did. Despite wearing such a thick layer of clothes, it was as if you could still feel his touch. Even after he was already at the serving table striking up a conversation with Carol.

You sat your pack down at the usual table. It was farthest to the left, farthest away from all the other tables. “Mind if we join you?” Glenn asked, he and Maggie both holding a steaming bowl. Just as you were about to take your own seat, a loud chuckle sounded snapping you around.

“Oh come on Y/n.” Two men had been walking past on their way to fetch their own dinners. You recognized them, they were commonly on wall duty at Woodbury. The taller one motioned to the flowers that poked out from the front pocket of your jacket. “You can’t be serious.” You could feel your heart drop to the very pit of your stomach. It was as if your body was preparing you for the merciless mocking that was sure to come.

“You’re telling me the Governor’s number one soldier is walking around with flowers in her pockets?”

Stop.

You wanted to say but the words became a ball in your throat. Your eyes darted off to the side. All of a sudden, you didn’t know where to look or what to do with your hands or how to stand properly on your feet. You knew the truth behind their “jokes”.

You are not soft. You are not delicate. You are not loveable.

��The hell are ya doin?” Daryl had practically appeared out of thin air, putting himself between you and the men. You saw this as an opportunity to make an escape for your cell block.

“We were just teasing man. We were friends in Woodbury, just joking around.” They still had slimy smirks on their faces that only poked Daryl even more.

Daryl was fuming. “Didn’t look like she was fucking laughin’.” He took a step closer. “She never fucking laughs!” Before Daryl could unleash his fiery rage, Rick intervened. Rick beckoned Daryl to walk away, mumbling that everyone was looking. “Hell if I care.” Daryl snapped swinging his arm in the air. He turned on his boot and snatched up your pack that you’d left behind before going off to find you.

Daryl hadn’t found you in any of your traditional spots. He checked your cell, the library, the garden, and even the showers. He asked everyone he walked past if they’d seen you but no one had, it was as if you just vanished. And the thought of that was throwing Daryl into a deep pit.

The prison chapel had been restored and decorated by Carol to be used for the grieving prison folk. She had put as many candles as possible on a long wooden table. They had been burned and replaced so frequently that the wax dripped down the sides of the table and dropped dots on the floor. There were many different pictures of lost family members or lovers littering the table…it was quite depressing truthfully. The glow of the candles lit up the room and cast an orange glow on your sad features.

You didn’t look at Daryl as he sat down beside you.

“Didn’t know you were religious.”

“I’m not.”

It was an odd thing…to hear you speak so openly but Daryl wasn’t opposed. “I just…” Your voice was hoarse and low, as low as a whisper. “I find this a way to be with my brother.” Daryl had gotten so used to silence that it almost startled him to hear so many words come from your lips. You shook back the hair that fell on your face and let out a deep sigh, resting your back flat against the wooden church pew. Daryl didn’t want to speak, he didn’t want to scare your voice away, he just wanted to listen.

“I hope that doesn’t sound foolish.”

“It doesn’t.” Daryl shifted himself closer to you. “It doesn’t.” He repeated, his thigh pressed against yours. And for some reason, you felt the need to spill your guts. Perhaps being in a church would drag you to confess. “I-uhmm…I never fought against the prison. I refused to do any of it. I truthfully didn’t care if he killed me for it.” You didn’t have to explain yourself to Daryl but you felt the need to. If what you felt towards him was what you thought, you had to. “But, he just locked me in my room. Wouldn’t let me out.” Somehow, Daryl knew. He never saw you with the Governor, never saw you fighting. And when Rick told him the locked room he found you in, he pieced it together.

“Everything is true though. Everything they say about me, everything he made me do before that.”

Daryl didn’t care, he never had. Daryl cared that you didn’t want to. He cared about the fact that you were forced to. You shrugged your shoulders and looked off, “I’m as guilty as they come.”

Daryl couldn’t stand the sad look on your face, “Alright then…put yer hands behind yer back. I’ll take ya to your cell.” His joking manner caught you so off guard that a laugh escaped you. It was airy and gentle. He truly couldn’t believe it.

You laughed. And Daryl was in church.

Daryl returned to his serious demeanor to reassure you, “I care about how he hurt ya, Y/n. Don’t care what you did.”

Your eyes found Daryl’s in the dimly lit room and for a second you felt it, deep within your chest. And it ached and feared but it also loved. “Good.” You couldn’t fight the smile that squeezed your cheeks as you looked at him. Your eye contact broke allowing silence to welcome itself back. But only for a short time. “Daffodils are the birth flower of March…Jackson and I were born in March.”

After that night in the chapel, Daryl wanted nothing more than to hear your voice. It felt like his ears were filled with honey every time you spoke. It was raspy yet smooth with a hint of a southern drawl from growing up in Georgia. A thick rich honey that he wanted in a cup of hot tea and to take down his throat.

Winter was soon turning to Spring. The sky was bluer and most days the sun shined. The green of the grass and trees were returning. The garden was beginning to look even more promising come warmer weather. And just as the flowers were beginning to take bloom, so were you.

Your hard demeanor had softened, especially for Daryl. You still didn’t talk to many people besides him but you said a word or two when you wanted. Daryl took it upon himself to give Jackson a “grave” where the others were. It was just two pieces of wood, formed into a cross with his name carved in it, planted into the ground. “So that ya don’t have to go down to the chapel. Ya can be outside with him and the garden and stuff.” He had said when he showed you.

“It’s rotten work trying to find these deer.” You and Daryl strolled the wooded area, eyes on the deer tracks that embedded themselves in the dirt. Daryl shushed you and continued his concentration on the tracks. You smiled to yourself and shook your head. “I was rotten work…at the beginning.”

“Nah ya weren’t, not to me.” Daryl didn’t even hesitate, he didn’t even turn look at you. He just continued walking ahead of you, following the tracks.

The two of you settled in your usual spot. Leaning against the fallen tree at the opening to the clearing in the woods. You were right about the clearing looking more beautiful in the warmth of Spring. The trees were plump with fresh green leaves and the water in the pond sparkled under the sunlight. The grass grew tall with a mixture of white and yellow wildflowers. Your fingers ran the edge of the book page as you turned it.

Your current book was, Field Guide to Medical Plants and Herbs. There was some type of cold floating around the prison and finding the medical supplies to treat it was sparse and you’d do anything you could to help.

Daryl was interrupted from tending to his bow by your elbow jabbing his side. Without looking at him, you held up a folded piece of paper and pen. Daryl gave you an odd glare before plucking them from your fingertips. You did this often. When you couldn’t be bothered to use your voice or if you didn’t want to break concentration from a book.

There’s so many things I want to say to you.

Daryl could feel his heart begin to quicken its pace within his chest. He didn’t know what your words meant but at the same time, he did.

The folded paper got tossed back into your lap.

There’s so many things I want to say to you.

So say them.

Just then, a rustling sound sounded from within the trees from across the clearing. You gripped for your blade as Daryl grabbed for his bow. Two deers came through the trees, their white and tan tails flicking back and forth. You could’ve sworn you heard Daryl stop breathing for a second. Daryl slowly leaned up on his knees, bow in hand raising to his eye. Your eye caught it before Daryl’s did.

Another deer emerged from the trees, a fawn close behind her…and then another. “Don’t.” You brought your hand to Daryl’s bow and lowered it to point at the ground. He went to protest but when he saw the twin fawns happily nibbling at the tall grass, he stopped. It was a beautiful sight, as were you.

When your eyes broke away from the deers and to him, that’s when he decided. Daryl cupped your cheek lightly and met your lips with his. His lips were gone just as fast as they were there but his hand didn’t leave. He was still so close that your lips feathered his. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled him down to you again.

What happened that day was never spoken of. But as Daryl sat in the darkness of the train cart in Terminus, he so deeply wish it had been.

But now, you were gone as was the prison. The look on your face, when the Governor stood outside the prison, was burned into Daryl’s eyelids. The way your chest heaved with anger, your hands shook with rage, and revengeful teary eyes stared off. The last he saw was you slipping out through the prison fence to go after him. Daryl yelled at you to not do it, to come with him, but you didn’t listen. You’d let yourself die if it meant you finally got your hands on him and Daryl knew it.

You could be dead. You could’ve died weeks ago fighting the Governor. You could be out there alone and starving and scared. Or you could be just fine. Daryl would never know.

When Terminus fell and he watched Rick cuddle and kiss Judith in his arms, he had a surge of hope. And when he saw Carol alive, he had more hope. As everyone said hello, it was as if he waited, waiting for you to magically appear. “Nobody has Y/n?” A deafening silence followed, quieter than you ever were. “Daryl…” Michonne stepped towards him. As he went to walk away, she stopped him placing a hand on rising his chest. “Darlyl. I’m not saying she didn’t make it. I’m just saying she didn’t look good.”

“Yeah? And you didn’t help her?” Daryl snapped shoving her hand off his chest. “Get off me.” Daryl seethed with hot tears in his icy blue eyes. It became an unspoken rule to not speak your name around him.

Your hand pressed firmly on the wound that oozed blood down your side as you limped your way into the cell block. Your right side was stained in the crimson color, all the way down to the knee of your jeans. You strained and let out a groan of pain as you took a step up the stairs that led to your cell. You didn’t need to look at yourself to know you looked awful. The walkers that completely ignored your existence when you limped by them told you enough.

Your entire torso throbbed in pain. The bruising from the kicks you took to the stomach were forming and it felt impossible to move. Your head felt like tv static and you had an undying desire to sleep. But you couldn’t. You likely had a concussion and knew that if you slept now, you wouldn’t be getting back up. Besides, you had to find Daryl. There was a hope that he’d stayed in the area and you’d find him if you just looked. You knew the woods around here well, you could find him. He was waiting for you, he had to be.

In your fuzzy state of mind, you threw whatever you touched into your pack. You changed out of ruined clothes and into clean ones. When the collar of your shirt dragged down your face, you let out a whimper of pain as it got caught on your bottom lip. There was a cut that dragged from the under your left nostril, across the left corner of your lips, and ended at the bottom of your chin.

It became a blur how you left your cell safely and ended up on the path Daryl and you walked every morning. You had to get to your spot. The spot with the fallen tree and clearing. Daryl would wait for you there. You were sure of it. When you got there and he wasn’t there, it was okay, you told yourself. You just had to wait for him.

You lowered yourself to the ground, a few whimpers of pain escaping your lips. With your back resting against the tree and arm draped over your mid section, you slipped into unconscious. You awoke to the sound of a man’s voice. “Hey, hey.” He said trying to wake you but your eyelids were too heavy to lift and you felt the weight of every muscle in your body. “Heath! Go tell Laura to bring the car around. We gotta take her back.”

“It’s a ten hour drive back Aaron, you think she’s gonna make it?”

“I don’t know.”

You awoke with a slight jolt. Your chest heaved with heavy breathes as your eyes dilated to the bright and unfamiliar room. Your body ached but the softness of the mattress you laid on seemed to comfort it. “Pete, go get Deanna.” Aaron instructed, sitting up in his seat next to your bedside. Your eyes wandered the room, trying to figure out where you were. “Hey. I’m Aaron. You’re in the infirmary in a community called Alexandria.” You looked to the man that sat to your right. He had a very kind face and gentle eyes. His clothes were perfectly clean and his curly brown hair was freshly washed and fluffy.

“Myself and others were on a trip along the East Coast to look for survivors to bring here.” Aaron clarified further, “We found you and brought you back, you were in really bad shape…you still…you still kind of are.”

Aaron could see the confusion and panic drawn on your face. Your head snapped to the door when you heard footsteps on the polished wood floors. “Hi” Deanna gently said approaching your bedside. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up. What’s your name?”

Your mouth hung open for a second, your mind still wasn’t clear, and you had no clear memory of the last three days. “Y/n” You finally replied, voice hoarse and raspy. Deanna smiled at you, “Where am I?” You asked finally finding your voice. Deanna and Aaron exchanged a glance, “You’re in a safe community called Alexandria in Virginia.”

Virginia?

You could feel your world begin to tumble, a thousand thoughts racing your mind. You were so far away from Georgia. You were away from home. Away from Daryl. “No.” You attempted to pull yourself out of the bed but were stopped by Aaron softly holding you back. “No, no, no.” You repeated and dropped your head down into your hands as panicked sobs racked your chest. “Pete! Go get her something to calm down.”

You didn’t want pills to help calm down. You wanted to go home. You wanted to be with him. You sat yourself up in the bed despite the pain in your torso telling you not to. “Daryl?” You asked Deanna. She could see the desperation in your teary eyes, “I’m sorry we only found you.”

Aaron sat up from the dirt floor of the barn after Rick had knocked him unconscious. Rick’s group continuously went back and forth with one another debating their plan. Once they finally decided and everyone was being assigned a position, Rick turned to Daryl. “Daryl, go keep an eye-“

“Wait, Daryl?” Aaron interrupted Rick’s order from his spot on the floor. He felt everyone’s eyes on him in an instant. “Daryl Dixon, right? Y-you knew an Y/n?” Daryl stomped over to Aaron and gripped him by the front of his shirt, pulling him close. “How the hell ya know Y/n?” Daryl’s tone was threatening yet shaky. Aaron knew if he didn’t start talking he’d end up back on the floor.

“She’s in Alexandria, she lives with me, she’s safe! A-a little over a month ago, myself and others were on a trip along the East Coast looking for survivors. We found her in the woods down in Georgia.” Aaron took a pause, “She was in really bad shape, we brought her back and she’s been there ever since.”

“She talks about you all the time.” Daryl’s hand shook around the fabric of Aaron’s shirt, his eyes studied his face trying to find any indicator that he was lying. ”I don’t fuckin’ believe ya.” The thought of you being alive and safe comforted Daryl but he wouldn’t so easily believe a stranger. “I’m not lying, I swear.” Aaron frantically said, “She-she gave me something to give to you. It’s in the front pocket of my bag.”

Daryl shoved Aaron back to the ground with a thud. Rick tossed Aaron’s bag to Daryl, practically tearing off the zipper getting into it. Daryl’s unsteady hands pulled out the familiar small tan book. As he flipped open to the title page, he read the words you’d written to another that day.

There’s so many things I want to say to you.

So say them.

As Daryl read the new words you’d written, he could feel the lump forming in his throat.

It was easier to die than to say them.

“I probably should’ve led with that, huh?” Aaron joked attempting to lighten the mood. Rick’s gruff voice responded, “Shut up.”

The sun shined in Alexandria despite the rainstorm that came through the night before. You found yourself where you always were, in the gardens. The heavy rain had bent many of the plants out of shape and the raised wooden garden beds were flooded. The mixture of water and grass squelched under your boots as you examined the damage. With a deep sigh, you pulled out a box of cigarettes from your back pocket along with a zippo lighter. It wasn’t a habit you proudly picked back up. But after the fall of the prison and Daryl no longer being there to help you, it found its way back.

You tilted your head up to the sky and blew the smoke from your lips. You closed your eyes and let the sunlight cast its rays onto your face. And as you did, you tried to imagine that you were standing in the garden of the prison again. That Daryl stood only a few feet away, fighting with a vegetable, and cursing as he did.

“Hey Y/n.”

Spencer disrupted your daydream, standing a few feet away and calling out your name. “Sorry,” He jokingly held up his hands in surrender, “Aaron’s back, he asked for you at the gate.” Aaron had returned to Alexandria several times over the past month with new faces. Every time you’d go to the gate and wait for him to return, your heart full of hope. But every time the same disappointment rained down on you. It was never who you wanted, it was never him. So, when Aaron told you about a group he’d been tracking and trying to bring back, you didn’t care to listen. You saved my ass and now you think you can save everyone? You said to him a few nights ago.

“Going.” You replied bluntly. You wouldn’t allow your hopes to grow just to be smashed into pieces. Your eyes were on the ground as you walked to the front gate, cigarette dangling from your lips, and hair falling in your face. Spencer talked his jaw off beside you, every word he spoke going in one ear and out the other. But the sound of a familiar whistle vibrating against your eardrums perked your head up in an instant.

You tossed your cigarette from your mouth and found your way back to him. Daryl met you halfway, his arms desperately pulling you in close. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, feeling his shaky breaths on the skin of your own. Your hair was soft and smelled of shampoo. Daryl grasped the fabric of your shirt that smelled ever so slightly of cigarettes.

When Daryl pulled away to look at you, he finally saw the fresh scar drawn on your lips. He wanted to scold you. To tell you how foolish you'd been to go after the Governor alone. "Ya got him?" Was all he could bring himself to ask. You avoided answering but you nodded, "Come on, I wanna go see everyone else."

Despite the group still not fully trusting Alexandria, they felt more at ease knowing you’d been kept safe here. After helping Rick settle the group into the Alexandrian homes, you sat on the front porch with Daryl. Daryl hadn’t let you out of his sight for a second. Everything you did and every where you went, he was there. Besides when Carol shoved him away to shower.

The two of you passed back and forth a lit cigarette, comfortable in the silence of the night air. “Tara asked me about the Governor.” Your words were quiet just incase anyone were listening. Daryl looked to you. “Yeah?” With a deep sigh, you blew the smoke from your mouth. “Yeah…asked what he did to me.”

Daryl could see the way the thought of it dragged your lips into that familiar frown. “Told her I didn’t wanna make her guilty conscious even worse.” You said it as if it was meant to be a joke but Daryl saw through it. “It’s gettin late.” Daryl begin to break you from those thoughts. He was right. The sun had set about an hour ago and everyone was setting up their beds for the night.

“Ya ah….Ya gonna go home?” Daryl didn’t want you to leave, he never wanted to be without you again. “I am home.” There was no hesitation in your reply. Daryl’s eyes snapped to yours in an instant. “Ain’t what I meant.” You stood from your spot and reached a hand out to him, “Come with me.” Daryl glanced between your hand and your eyes. The night was dark and the porch light dim but you could see the rosy color blotch at his cheeks. You lightly kicked his foot with your own, “Just wanna show you where I’ve been staying.”

Your room was in the fully furnished basement of Aaron and Eric’s home. Aaron had welcomed you in, knowing you couldn’t be on your own in your condition. The stairs were on the farthest right wall of the basement, leading you down into a lounge like area with tan carpet and white walls. An L shaped leather couch sat in front of a, now useless, flat screen TV. Past the couch, on the back wall, stood two white doors. Daryl presumed behind one of them laid your bedroom.

You walked him over to the left door and pushed it open. There was nothing special about your room. Simply a bed, two nightstands, a dresser, and a bookshelf in the corner. You sat at the foot of your bed, Daryl took it as a sign to do the same. “I’m sorry Daryl.” Your voice was just above a whisper, avoiding his eyes when you spoke. “I should’ve looked harder for him…I shouldn’t of gotten so distracted.” Your head hung low in shame, “I should’ve talked about that day..in the woods.” The dimly lit room hid the tears that fell from your eyes. “I should’ve said everything I wanted to say.”

“We should’ve.” Daryl corrected you, stopping all your blabbering. Your watery eyes met his with a look of confusion. “Everythin’ ya said. I was there too. S’not all your fault Y/n.” The impact of Daryl’s words made you go quiet. “Ain’t yer fault what he did to you either.”

“I love you.”

Daryl had never shut his mouth so fast in his life. You weren’t sure where your outburst of confidence came from but you didn’t regret it. You accepted it every waking day and every sleepless night you were apart from him. “Nah, ya don’t.” Daryl rejects your confession at the grace of his own insecurity. Your hands raise themselves to his face, a stern look gracing your features. “I have since the prison.”

Daryl didn’t know what to do. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest and the warmth from your hand on his cheek. You gently lean in before connecting your lips with his. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his own. If you had just ruined everything Daryl and you had, you at least wanted to bask in his presence one last time. “I love ya too.” Daryl leaned back in, capturing your lips in his.

The night you’d spent together was full of gentle touches and whispers. The only time silence happened was the sleep bestowed upon you afterwards. Your bedroom was dimly lit come morning time. The only windows in your room were up towards the ceiling, just above ground level. For the first time since Jackson died, you woke up peacefully. No panic attack awaiting you, no need to run away and fill your lungs with smoke. Feelings of the night before returned to your mind, memories in vivid detail. Daryl awoke when he felt the movement of the sheet from beside him.

With your back turned to him, Daryl took it upon himself to graze the skin of your bare back with his fingertips. He caught a glance at the deep scarring along your side. The gash had turned into a raised, dark pink, bruised color on your skin. Daryl could see shadow of lines covering its length from the stitches that had held it together.

As his fingertips traveled down, they stopped on another scar. The left side of your lower back was imbedded with the letter “G”. The scarring of the initial raised your skin, though it wasn’t pink and bruised like the other. It had healed to a shade paler than your skin tone. Daryl simply couldn’t believe it. Fucking bastard.

“Branding iron.” You begin, voice slightly rasp from sleep. “Never did it to anyone else…just me.” Daryl’s hand fell from your back, “Come here.” You reluctantly did so, turning to face him. His hand found the side of your face that didn’t rest on the plush pillow. His facial expression’s became serious but his eyes remained gentle. “Ain’t gonna let no one treat you like that ever again. Ya feel like someone breathes around ya the wrong way, you tell me alright?” You playfully rolled your eyes, a cheeky smile forming but you still replied “Alright.”

Daryl thumb drug along your bottom lip, stopping at the pale scar. “Promise ya won’t ever stop doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“…Bein’ happy.”

–––––––––––

A/n: I've proof read this over and over so I hope everyone is able to enjoy it and theres no mistakes! If anyone would like to submit a request, feel free too. If it's a project i'd be willing to take on, I will try my best to get to it.

3K notes · View notes

asumi2020202 · 8 months ago

Text

Midnight Battle

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

Summary: The Kingdom was at peace when a small battle began inside the Red Keep. But.. it was not a normal battle.

Warning: Incest(they are Targaryens, what do you expect?).

A/n: I've been gone for almost 2 weeks. But now I'm back. Hope you all enjoy this. Thank you for reading!

Note: Change in storyline, The Blacks won.

_____________________________ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ____

Night had fallen over King's Landing. The Dance of the Dragon was over. The blacks won. Rhaenyra ascended on the Iron Throne.

The only greens who were alive were your elder sister Helaena, your mother Alicent and niece Jaehaera. Alicent had asked for protection to Rhaenyra for her, her eldest daughter and granddaughter after the death of Rhaenys.

Jacaerys and you had been married before the war. The two of you had two little boys who had their dragons.

You woke up slowly. It was still night. Jacaerys had his hand wrapped around your waist tightly. You took a moment to admire his sleeping face.

You slowly got out of his grasp, reaching for a glass to pour yourself some water to drink. As you were drinking, you heard some whispering in the corridor.

Placing your glass on the bedside table, you slowly went towards the door. You saw two little figures going in the direction of the kitchen.

You slowly closed the door behind to not wake Jacaerys and followed the little figures.

_________________________________________

"No, Aenor. The book says to add sugar next not lemon." Said the oldest, Daenor.

"At this rate we wont be able finish this cake before mother wakes up." The younger, Aenor said, almost at the verge of tears.

"Don't worry little brother, we can do this as long as we follow the book properly." Daenor said, rubbing Aenor's back and reassuring him.

"Ehem.. may I ask what my little princes are doing in the kitchen at this hour?" You came out from behind the kitchen door and asked.

Both princes were startled, clearly not expecting their mother to catch them.

"I- we- mother... Hah... We were baking a cake for you.." Dearon said accepting defeat.

"What for?" You inquired.

"To show our gratitude...." Aenor replied. Both prince had their head low in defeat and disappointment.

Seeing their defeated look your motherly emotions overflowed.

"Well.. why don't we do it together? You both were clearly struggling. I can teach you.." you offered.

As soon as the words left you mouth both of them ran to you legs and started to pull you towards the counters.

_________________________________________

Jacaerys woke up at the lack of warmth beside him. He reached beside him but his eyes opened when he couldn't find his wife.

He got up from bed and got out of the room, searching for his wife.

_________________________________________

Aenor and Dearon were beating eggs and butter together while you were pouring flour in a bowl. All three of yours back was facing the door.

Suddenly... You felt a hand coming to your waist. Startled, you gasped and turned around. The bowl of flour in your hand dumped all the flour over the person.

The children looked back to see what happened.

When you looked, it was your husband. He coughed out flour and blinked his eyes. He tried dusting off the flour on him when an idea came to his mind. His eyes went towards the bag of flour, he was still holding on to you.

He reached for it and took a handful and looked at you. Your eyes could describe only one thing. Fear.

"No- no no... Love it was unintentionally done. Spare me!" You spoke, trying to get away from him. But he was stronger than you.

His hand full of flour met with your head. The children had wide eyes at their parents' behaviour, both staring with an 'o' shaped mouth.

Your face and head was covered with flour. After wiping some from your face, you kept your head low. Jacaerys thought for a second that you were sad but when he reached for you

"My lov-" his sentence got interrupted when you looked at him.

"it's a battle now. My loves.... How about we play a game of tag?" Jacaerys' eyes went wide at the realisation.

The children wasted no minute. They knew when their mother teamed up with them against their father. Each took a handful of flour and climbed down from the chairs.

Jacaerys looked at you in fear but you only smirked. Within the next second, he was running around the kitchen while the kids ran after him with flour.

He took his chance to throw some at you as well which made you join in.

The entire royal kitchen was messed up. Flour and eggs everywhere.

_________________________________________

Rhaenyra was walking towards the servants who seemed to be cooing and talking about something being adorable.

She reached the kitchen and saw servants gathered up, all bowing at the presence of the queen.

When she looked, she could see Alicent and went to stand beside her.

"What has happened here?" Rhaenyra questioned.

Alicent simply motioned her to looked in front. When Rhaenyra looked, what she saw made her giggle.

There laid the Heir to the Iron Throne and his wife cuddle up while being covered in flour and eggs. And their children, who were also covered in such, laid a few inches away from them, coddled up with each other.

"It seems as if a battle happened here..." Rhaenyra spoke to Alicent, referring to the scene in front. To which Alicent replied

"A Midnight Battle at that..."

#house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones #got #x reader #x yn #fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #prince jacaerys #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys x yn #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x y/n

636 notes · View notes

lovemaybankk · 4 months ago

Text

ultraviolence - part 2: stalker!rafe cameron x pogue!reader (18+)

pairing: stalker!rafe cameron x pogue!reader

this is a two-part series, read part 1 here!

inspired by lana del rey's song, "ultraviolence" ♡

summary: unbeknownst to you, rafe cameron had been quietly watching you for months, his obsession growing darker with each day. one day, rafe's delusions reach a breaking point, and he kidnaps you, keeping you away in a secluded location where he plans to keep you forever.

word count: 4,512 words

author's note: HI GUYS FINALLY WAR IS OVER FOR ME. i can go back to religiously writing!! i hope you all enjoy <3 also happy holidays to you all!! NOT PROOFREAD

warning: DARK!, mdni, dub-con/non-con, cursing, virgin!reader, praise kink, breeding kink, teasing, fingering, knife play, rope play, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral sex (fem and male receiving)

you woke up groggily, head pounding and the first thing you noticed was the silence. your body felt heavy, and as you shifted, you realized you were lying on a soft mattress, far more comfortable than any.

blinking your eyes open, you were momentarily disoriented. the room around was pristine, almost unnervingly so. white walls, a neatly made bed beneath with crisp sheets, and a small nightstand where a tray of food sat neatly arranged—buttered toast, scrambled eggs, and a glass of orange glass that glinted under the sunlight streaming through a half-drawn curtain.

your breathing quickened as you shot up, the blanket falling away, revealing you were still in your own clothes, though the shoes were gone.

"where am i?" you whispered to yourself, voice cracking in the quiet.

there were no locks on the windows, though they were too high to reach, and the door looked like any ordinary bedroom door. but something about this place felt wrong: it was too clean and too staged.

sliding over the edge of the bed, the floor felt like cool, solid wood. quietly, your crept to the door, pressing your ear against it. nothing. no footsteps, no voices. just the unnatural silence.

your hand trembled as you reached for the handle. locked. of course. panic surged as you wanted to scream, to pound on the door.

turning back to the room, you searched—checking under the bed, behind the nightstand, even peeling back the corners of the wallpaper. if there was a clue, a way out, you had to find it.

abruptly, you heard the sound of the door unlocking from the outside and you loudly gasped, heart pounding in your chest as you were worried about what would be behind that door.

"good morning." rafe was standing there nonchalantly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his faded jeans, a faint smirk playing on his lips like he knew something I didn’t. the sunlight streamed through the half-open blinds behind him, casting long shadows that danced across the floor.

"you’re up early," he added, his tone casual but with an edge of curiosity that made your tomach twist. you couldn’t tell if it was genuine or if he was testing you.

"couldn’t sleep," you muttered back, laying back down on the bed and pulling the blanket around you as if it could shield from his piercing gaze.

rafe tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes scanning the room, landing on the untouched tray of food by the bed. "not hungry?"

"not yet," that was a lie. the truth was, you didn’t trust it, or him, for that matter. something about his calm demeanor felt too calculated, like every move he made was part of a carefully constructed plan.

rafe's smirk faded as he caught the edge in your voice. "you're upset," he said, his tone soft but with a thread of something unreadable beneath it.

"upset?" you scoffed, crossing your arms tightly. "you kidnapped me, rafe. upset doesn’t even begin to cover it."

he leaned against the doorframe, his eyes fixed on you, steady and unwavering. "i didn’t do this to hurt you," he said after a beat. "i did this because i didn’t know what else to do."

you blinked at him, stunned by the sheer audacity of his words. "you kidnapped me because you didn’t know what else to do? that’s supposed to make this okay? do you even hear yourself right now?"

"i didn’t want to lose you," he said quickly, his voice rising just enough to cut through your anger.

your breath caught, the weight of his confession settling heavily in the room. "so you thought dragging me here and forcing me to stay was the solution?"

"it’s not like that," he protested, stepping closer. "i just… i thought if we had time, if you weren’t surrounded by all those distractions, you’d see how much you mean to me."

"you don’t understand," he said quietly while looking intensely into your eyes. "i’ve never felt this way about anyone. and i know this isn’t the right way to show it, but i didn’t know how else to show you how i feel."

"i just wanted a chance," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "a chance to prove to you that i’m the one who cares the most. that i could make you happy."

for a moment, you said nothing, the silence stretching long and heavy. then, without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the sound of the lock clicking into place.

of course, you had a small crush on rafe too. every time he came into the restaurant and you served him, your heart would skip a beat, your pulse quickening when he flashed you that effortless smile. there was something about the way he carried himself which was confident, yet a little precarious, that drew you in despite your better judgment. but still, you had no idea his feelings for you ran this deep, deep enough to bring you to a secluded location like this.

reluctantly, you gave in and began to eat the food he had provided. the flavors intrigued you, tasty and fulfilling, though they did little to calm the emotions inside you.

as you tried to mentally make sense of everything, rafe walked back in, his presence filling the room and catching you off guard all over again. his gaze was steady, intense, as if he could see every thought running through your mind.

"may i show you something?" rafe asked, his voice low and measured as he sat down on the bed next to you. you shivered slightly, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through you. his closeness felt overwhelming, and you weren’t sure whether to lean away or stay still.

he pulled out his phone, unlocking it with a practiced swipe, and turned the screen toward you. there, in his photo gallery, were images of you, a few from the restaurant, others from your home, and others from random places you didn’t even realize you’d been seen.

"this is how it started," he began, his tone oddly tender, as though he were sharing a precious secret. "i noticed you. everything about you drew me in. the way you move, the way you smile, the way you’re so kind to everyone, even people who don’t deserve it. that's why i gave you so much a tip that day, so you would notice me back. and that's why i kept coming back, in hopes you would fall for me too."

his eyes flicked from the screen to you, searching your face for a reaction. you felt a knot tighten in your stomach as he continued, explaining how his fascination with you grew into something more—something he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried.

"rafe-" you started, your voice trembling, but the words were cut off as he leaned in suddenly, his lips pressing against yours. you froze, your body stiffening as a wave of unease washed over you. his kiss was insistent, his hand grazing your cheek, but instead of warmth, you felt a chill of dread creeping up your spine.

your mind screamed at you to pull away, but your body felt paralyzed, caught off guard by the suddenness of it all. when he finally pulled back, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for something. approval, maybe, or permission.

"you don’t have to look so scared," he murmured, a small, almost amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "rafe, i... i don't-" you started, but your voice faltered under his intense gaze. he tilted his head slightly and the tension in the room only grew heavier.

"it doesn't have to be like this. please, let me go, and we can go out together instead and get to know each other more," you said, your voice shaky with fear. the words tumbled out in a desperate attempt to regain control, but rafe's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you.

he didn’t respond right away, his gaze shifting as if he was assessing whether you were serious or simply trying to escape. the silence was suffocating, and the air around you felt thick with tension. finally, he clicked his tongue, a sharp, disapproving sound that made your heart race even faster.

"you don’t get to decide that," rafe murmured, his voice low and his fingers tightened slightly, and the warmth of his hand felt more like a weight now. "i’ve been patient, but you're not going to talk your way out of this."

suddenly, you felt rafe grab your the sides of your arms tightly, and forcefully pushed you to lay down on the bed. the cushions hit you hard as did the weight of him abruptly getting on top of you. the warmth of his body overwhelmed you as his lips crashed onto yours in seconds.

you were mumbling against his mouth, trying to speak words, but this only made him attempt to slide his tongue into your mouth as your lips parted. you felt him exploring, every part of you, as his hands roamed around your body, where he stopped to tightly grip your plush inner thighs.

"rafe, no!" you mumbled against his mouth but it was no use as his mouth was intertwined with yours. you used all of your strength trying to push him, using your hands to firmly grip his shoulders and try your absolute hardest to push him away. but this only angered rafe as he finally parted his face from yours and looked intensely into your eyes with pure hunger.

"don’t you see how much i need you?!" he nearly screamed in your face, his voice echoing in the confined space. the sheer intensity of his outburst sent a jolt of terror through you, your breath catching in your throat.

you were frozen, your body trembling beneath him as if every muscle refused to obey. the room seemed to shrink around you, the walls pressing in as his presence felt larger. your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out any coherent thought, leaving only the raw, overwhelming instinct to flee.

"all this fucking time! i need you right now. and i finally have you here all to myself." even while laying on top of you, he still managed to pull out a few feet of soft rope from his pockets. he proceeded to pin you down as he tightly grabbed your wrists, joining them together. you winced in pain from how tight he was gripping them, bound to leave marks on your soft flesh. with one hand proceeding to grip them together, he used his other to wrap the rope around it and make a knot to tie it together. with the remaining few feet, he used it to tie your joint wrists on the metal headboard.

you shivered as you noticed the pocket knife he suddenly pulled out and the loud noise of the blade flicking out.

"rafe, no!" you screamed, your voice breaking with panic as you tried to twist away from him, still confined with rope.

he barely flinched, his expression calm but unnervingly intense. "don’t worry, baby," he said softly, his tone almost soothing, though it sent a chill down your spine. ‘i’m not going to hurt you. i just need to get you out of these clothes."

your breath hitched as the blade glinted under the sunlight. you froze, your heart pounding wildly as he brought it to the hem of your shirt. with careful precision, he began slicing through the fabric, the sound of the knife tearing through cloth sharp and deafening in the otherwise silent room.

tears welled up in your eyes, a mix of fear and humiliation coursing through you. you wanted to fight, to scream again, but the weight of his presence kept you paralyzed. he worked methodically, as though this was perfectly normal, while you could barely breathe, your mind racing with desperate thoughts of escape.

you were vulnerable in front of him, stripped down to nothing but your undergarments.

your hands trembled as you wanted to shield yourself, but of course, this did little to ease the sense of exposure when you were tied up. your breath came in uneven gasps, and you kept your eyes fixed firmly on the walls beside you, refusing to meet his. but even without looking, you could feel the intensity of his stare, unyielding and possessive, making it impossible to ignore him.

you shivered as suddenly, the cold blade was held against your skin and you felt it gradually slide down to your waist. even though you were consumed with fear, you were paralyzed, fixed in your position and trying to not get cut by the blade already so close to your skin.

"so beautiful...so delicate." rafe was admiring you nearly naked underneath him as his other hand was gently caressing your skin. he leaned in to your face, causing you to instinctly turn your head to the side but he only leaned in to whisper in your ear, "so soft..."

he was still leaned in to you and your body nearly jumped from the sudden feeling of his rough hand coming down to your mound, where he began to gently rub your clit through your panties.

"you claim you don't want this....yet you're so wet baby."

his face inched closer, his breath warm against your skin. before you could react, his lips captured yours, pressing firmly as if claiming you. his kiss was invasive, his tongue slipping past your lips to explore, dominating the space with an intensity that left you breathless. the kiss deepened, leaving you struggling to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

he was right. if this was not what you wanted, why was your body giving in like this? deep down, you internally had to admit to yourself a part of you wanted this. a part of you was turned on by him doing all of this. and this whole time, you had wanted him.

he leaned back from you again, taking a moment to deeply stare at you, admiring his view of you tied up underneath him like this. he sat on his ankles and used one hand to firmly grab your waist steady and the blade that had been held so still against your skin now was trying to get underneath your panties. rafe proceeded to flip the blade amidst your skin and rise it up, in attempt to cut the delicate lace of the panties. he swiftly moved it out of the way, stuffing it into his pockets for later.

he softly gripped your inner thighs and parted them, holding it in place into the mattress. he lowered his face to hover over your mound and you could feel his hot breath against you.

he licked a long stripe up your puffy folds, causing you to loudly gasp and whimper when his wet tongue held still at your bud, sending waves of pleasure through you. when he continued to intricately explore your pussy with his tongue, making sure to it made you arch your back and curl your toes as you were clenching around his tongue that was abruptly inserted into your hole.

as he continued his movements, your body felt pure euphoria from his touch. rafe was holding your hips roughly down into the mattress, and your thighs were tightly closed onto his face, which only encouraged him to continue and explore your folds with his tongue while rubbing the tip of his nose on your delicate clit.

"such a good girl, huh? taking me so well...i knew you would like this." while gripping his firm grip on ur hips, he leaned out of your crotch, only causing you to audibly whimper from the lack of touch. "don't worry baby..."

he kept one hand to grip your hips as usual, but he released the other to suck two joint fingers, his middle and his ring, into his mouth. after properly lubricating himself, he slowly stuck the fingers into your wet and needy hole, paying particular attention to your reaction. at first, you winced at the sting that came from his abrupt entrance to you. but his face came to yours and he softly kissed your forehead, "it's ok baby, please breathe through it. i promise it will feel so good."

he began to slowly thrust them in and out, pushing them in with ease because of your arousal. while continuing to thrust at a steady yet gradual pace, he lowered his head back in to suck on your sensitive clit. the amount of pleasure crashed onto you and you began to loudly whimper and moan with the eyes rolling to the back of your head. you whimpered to him, "rafe, please keep going..."

of course, he obliged, and continued to suck on your bud so well, and thrust his fingers in and out of your hole, each time hitting that sweet spongy spot was making your toes curl and sending you closer to your release.

you felt the coil in your stomach began to tighten as he was perfectly curling his fingers inside of you and continuing his steady pace. you began to melt onto his touch as you felt your release coming. he was eager to draw your orgasm out, and he continued to suck on your swollen bud while pumping his fingers in and out of your sopping cunt.

your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, each inhale loud and ragged from your intense release. your body glowed with a sheen of sweat, the dampness clinging to your skin as the adrenaline coursing through you kept your heart pounding.

he suddenly came face to face with you, feeling his intense breath on your face and that throbbing feeling in your crotch. "you look so beautiful right now." you blushed at his response and only looked at him through your eyelashes.

he smirked and chuckled at you, "we're not finished yet baby..." you felt surprised at his words and were curious, wondering intensely what he meant and what was going to happen next.

the mattress suddenly sprung back up from the release of his weight on it as rafe hovered over the bed. he slowly, wanting you to pay close attention and to tease you, used his hands to undo his belt, letting his jeans fall down to his ankles. he took his socked feet out of the bundle of fabric and slowly, again, lowered his boxers to free his hard cock that slapped his stomach. his large pink tip was already glistening with his leaking pre-cum and you were drooling at the sight, legs clenched together trying to soothe the throbbing feeling.

he came back onto the mattress, legs spread apart as your chest was between his thighs. you licked a small part of your lips as his large cock was in front of your eyes.

rafe gently cupped your chin, tilting your face upward to meet his gaze. his eyes bore into yours, filled with an intense, almost predatory hunger that made your stomach twist. his touch was soft and tender, yet the weight of his intention was clear.

with a slow, deliberate motion, he brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, the pad of his finger lingering for a moment before gently parting your lips.

he raspily said to you, "are you gonna take me like a good girl?" all you could make out was an eager nod to him. you were desperate and admittedly hungry for him. he chuckled again, "yeah, you're gonna suck me?"

he used one hand to softly cup the back of your head, holding it up to look at him while he used the other to stroke himself in front of you. he spitted in his hand and then proceeded his same stroking motion, releasing a groan.

suddenly, he used his hand to slap his tip on your lips, making you instinctively part them for you to kiss it ever so softly. he groaned at this small movement and murmured, "make sure to flatten that tongue, alright baby?" you listened and opened your mouth wide for him as he moved the rest of your length inside of you. he began to use both of his hands to hold your head as he began to slowly thrust himself in and out of your mouth. his head was arched back, eyes rolling to the back of his head, and he was loudly groaning at the feeling of your wet mouth taking all of him. drool was falling off the corners of your mouth as his leaking tip was hitting the back of your throat. at this point, you were already choking on his length.

he continued to pump his cock in and out of your mouth for a few moments until he abruptly came out, letting you catch your breath. he came back down to meet face to face with you and he began to undo the knot that held you to the bed frame, letting your wrists gently fall into his hands. you softly held his hair as he lowered his head gradually down your body, planting his kisses on your skin.

he gently kissed your folds as he parted your legs, planting them into the mattress like earlier. he adjusted himself to be perfectly between your legs, lifting your waist up and lining himself up with your wet entrance.

"don't worry angel, we can take our time, alright? just let me know whenever you're ready." you nodded and while making sure you were looking at him, he slapped your folds with your tip and glided it gently up and down your folds. he was taking his time, enjoying the sight of you whimpering at this touch regardless and waiting with anticipation.

you loudly whimpered to him, "rafe, please!" he chuckled at you and and said, "ok! ok..." he looked into your eyes as he entered you slowly, feeling yourself sink down on his length. you tightly closed your eyes at this sudden entrance and you felt him scoot his way between your arms so you could have them wrapped around his neck. he began to plant gentle kisses down your neck and cheeks, wiping your tears away. "remember to breathe, alright baby? you can do it..." he waited a minute for you to adjust to his length, staying in his position even though he wanted to thrust into you so much. you were so warm and tight wrapped around him, both of you moaning as you began to gently move, signaling you were comfortable and ready for his length.

he began to gradually move his cock in and out of your walls, making you moan at every stroke. "you were just begging for this cock, weren't you huh?" you nodded at him, arms wrapped around him and tightly gripping onto his hair as you wrapped your legs around his waist, encouraging him to move more. you were bucking your hips to meet his as his pace was increasing, easily sliding in and out of you because of your arousal. you were nearly a moaning mess underneath him as your leaking pussy was wrapped around his rock hard cock. his length was gradually driving into your needy cunt mercilessly.

he groaned to you, "you're so beautiful like this...cock-hungry and taking me so well."

his cock continued to perfectly kiss your cervix with each thrust, arms wrapped around your waist for him to stroke that sweet spot inside of you. you felt yourself already nearing your release but this changed when rafe's hand began to gently rub your sensitive clit, while ramming into your hole. your walls were further clenching around him as you were about to cum for him, his cock already sliding perfectly in and out of you and the skin-slapping sound echoing across the room. his raspy voice echoed in the room, 'm gonna cum inside of this pussy angel..."

his words made your velvety walls spasm around his length as your orgasm crashed over you. your body shuddered with pleasure as loud moans came from you. you squeezed around his length, milking him for all he had as he continued to pump himself inside of you, inside of your snug walls.

"i'm so close..." rafe groaned, burying his head in the crook of your neck. "can't wait to see you with my baby."

you instinctively were trying to rhythmically move yourself on his cock and rafe continued to loudly groan while loud whimpers were releasing from you as he thrusted into you at a faster pace. he moved his head out of the crook of your neck to passionately kiss you, his tongue meeting with yours and intertwining in heat. he twitched while deeply inside of you, ropes of his cum filling you, while he groaned inside of your mouth. he moved himself ever so slightly to make sure he was as deep inside of and as close to you as possible. his thrusts became sloppier and eventually halted as he fell on top of you, cupping your face to meet his and eagerly meeting his lips with yours. you moaned into his touch and kissed him back, only thinking about him.

he moved to lay beside you, both of your breaths eventually synchronizing. after releasing the knot that was on your wrists, he wrapped his arms around you, scooting you to be closer to him. you buried your head in the crook of the neck, seeking comfort in the moment.

"rafe... i want to stay with you," you looked up again and whispered, your voice soft and tinged with vulnerability as you batted your eyes, lying beside him. his expression softened instantly, the intensity in his eyes giving way to something warmer, almost tender.

he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with surprising gentleness. "you don’t know how much that means to me," he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion.

you felt his arm slide around your waist, pulling you closer until your head rested against his chest. his heartbeat was steady, a rhythmic thrum that somehow began to lull you into a sense of calm despite everything. his fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, and you found yourself relaxing against him, your eyelids growing heavy.

"you’re safe with me," he whispered, his breath warm against your hair. those words echoed in your mind as the tension in your body melted away.

before long, his breathing slowed, evening out as sleep overtook him. you lay there for a while longer, listening to the quiet rise and fall of his chest.

tomorrow, you would talk to him. together, you’d slow things down, take the time to truly understand each other, and ensure that this—whatever it was—could become something real, something you wouldn’t regret.

with that thought easing the weight in your chest, you let your eyes close, his steady breathing guiding you into a nap.

taglist! - @purplerose291, @o0itsjustme0o, @gillybear17, @l1ttlesstar, @10ava01, @frankoceanluvr11, @mattyskies, @my-name-is-baby, @ironmakerperfection, @cherry-coloureddfunk, @hoelesslyt, @crazylady20, @itsyourmanjuno, @wtfdudesblog, @pillowprincess4him, @rafesfavouritegirl

318 notes · View notes

rmadridcore · 4 months ago

Text

Cabin Moments

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Requested

Summary: After a hilarious cookie mishap, you and Jude escape the cold and find yourselves melting into each other in a cabin warmed by love and a crackling fire.

Word Count: 3.3K

Warning: Smut! (Minors DNI)

Author’s note: I’ve been wanting to write something Christmas themed and I decided to combine it with one of my requests ✨ Hope you’ll love it, happy holidays everyone 🤍🤍🤍

Jude had approached baking with the same confidence he brought to the pitch, but the batter currently clinging to the ceiling suggested otherwise. It was a few days before Christmas, and after ending the year with a win, Jude had whisked you away on the snowy getaway you’d both been looking forward to for weeks. Nestled in a cozy, picturesque cabin surrounded by a blanket of thick, crisp snow, the two of you had every intention of soaking up this peaceful time together before heading to England to celebrate the holidays with his family.

After a playful afternoon of snowball fights and building lopsided snowmen, you’d returned to the cabin, cheeks pink from the cold and laughter. That’s when Jude had insisted on baking cookies for you — a gesture he’d framed as a “thank you” for always taking care of him during his grueling season. You’d tried, and failed, to talk him out of it, knowing all too well that Jude’s cooking was less “Michelin star” and more “hazardous experiment.”

“Babe, why is there flour on your forehead?” you asked, squinting at him from your perch at the kitchen counter. Your chin rested in your palm as you watched his questionable culinary process unfold.

“Because the bag exploded on its own,” he replied, his tone completely serious as he stirred a bowl of unidentifiable liquid that was supposed to be cookie dough.

“Uh-huh,” you said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “And I’m guessing the whisk didn’t magically fling batter onto the ceiling either?”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Okay, that one might’ve been me.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. It was impossible to stay annoyed when he looked so determined, even if his methods were… unconventional. He whisked the mixture with such vigor you half-expected the bowl to launch itself off the counter. Butter, eggs, sugar, flour, vanilla, and a pinch of salt were haphazardly combined in a way that made you want to intervene at least ten times. The butter wasn’t properly melted, the flour was clearly insufficient, and his measurements were more guesswork than precision — but he was so resolute in doing this himself that you decided to let him be.

And prayed the cookies wouldn’t kill you.

As Jude began shaping the dough, his brows furrowed in concentration. He rolled an oddly lumpy blob in his hands, inspecting it as if it held the secrets of the universe. “Do cookies need to be round, or is that just a societal norm?” he asked, holding up the blob for your opinion.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter, doubling over as the absurdity of the question sank in. “No, Jude, they don’t need to be round,” you teased. “But it helps. Want me to take over?”

Tempted as he was by your offer, Jude stood firm. “No, thank you. I’ve got this.” His voice was confident, even as his hands struggled to mold the dough into something remotely spherical.

After what felt like an eternity, Jude triumphantly placed six misshapen dough balls onto a tray and slid them into the oven. Turning back to survey the kitchen, his eyes widened in disbelief. The once-pristine space now looked like a war zone — flour dusted every surface, utensils were strewn everywhere, and a suspicious trail of chocolate chips led to the corner of the counter.

He caught your knowing look and sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe I’ll let you help with the cleanup,” he admitted sheepishly.

You grinned, grabbing a dishcloth. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As the cookies baked, the two of you worked side by side to restore some semblance of order to the kitchen, exchanging teasing remarks and stifling laughter at the chaos Jude had created. The air was filled with the warm, sweet scent of vanilla and butter, but also the undeniable warmth of shared joy and affection.

A soft ding from Jude’s phone broke the quiet, signaling that his cookies were ready.

“They’re done!” he shouted, darting to the oven with the kind of excitement you’d expect from a five year old on Christmas morning. You stifled a laugh, watching him as he carefully pulled the tray out, his expression radiating pride.

His enthusiasm was endearing, until you remembered the last time he’d insisted on cooking. You prepared yourself for what was likely going to be an unforgettable culinary experience.

The cookies cooled for a few minutes, and then you both grabbed one, each taking a tentative bite. It only took a second for reality to hit. The moment your teeth met the cookie, it felt as though your entire dental health history flashed before your eyes.

“Jude, what is this?!” you exclaimed, your jaw protesting from the sheer effort it took to chew.

Beside you, Jude was in the same boat, though he valiantly tried to act like it wasn’t a disaster. He set his cookie down slowly, as if to avoid offending it. “They’re just… crunchy,” he said, forcing nonchalance.

“They’re not crunchy, Jude. I think I just tested the limits of my dental insurance policy,” you replied, gingerly placing the cookie back on the plate and vowing never to attempt another bite.

Jude’s face fell, a cute pout forming as he stared at the offending baked goods. He looked so disappointed it tugged at your heart. Bless him, he had just wanted to make something special for you.

“It’s okay, my love,” you said, softening your tone as you approached him. You cupped his face gently and placed a sweet kiss on his lips. “I’m still so proud of you. You’ll do better next time.”

Your reassurance brought a small smile back to his face. He hugged you tightly, his chin resting atop your head as he pressed a kiss to your hair.

“You probably won’t,” you whispered teasingly, unable to resist.

“Hey!” he protested, pulling back with an offended look that made you laugh.

“I’m kidding,” you said, pecking the tip of his nose. “How about you go light the fireplace, and I’ll make us some hot chocolate? Deal?”

“Deal,” he replied, clearly agreeing that cooking should forever remain your domain.

You set to work preparing two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, using the adorable Christmas-themed mugs Jude’s mom had gifted the two of you just a few days ago. With the rich scent of chocolate filling the air, you carried the mugs into the living room.

Jude was already sprawled on the couch, the fireplace crackling and casting a warm, flickering glow around the room. The cabin was utterly serene, the kind of cozy that made you want to live in this moment forever.

You handed him his mug before curling up beside him, his free arm naturally draping over your shoulders.

For a while, the two of you sipped your drinks in peaceful silence, the warmth of the fire wrapping around you like a soft blanket. It was a much-needed pause, a rare moment of tranquility amid the chaos of your lives.

“I wish I could freeze time,” Jude murmured, his voice breaking the quiet as he rested his head against yours. “Just stay like this forever.”

“What would we even do all day?” you teased, humming contentedly as the sweet, creamy liquid soothed your throat.

“This,” he replied simply, his fingers tracing soft patterns on your arm. “And maybe… I’d hold you a little closer.”

His words made your heart swell. You turned to look at him, your eyes brimming with affection. The way the firelight danced across his features left you breathless. He was stunning, and in this light, his expression so relaxed, so full of love, he somehow seemed even more beautiful.

“You look so different like this,” you whispered, your fingers grazing his jaw in a tender caress.

“Different?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Softer,” you said, smiling as your hand lingered on his cheek.

“Softer, huh?” he teased, his lips quirking into a grin. “That’s a first.”

“Not your muscles, silly,” you replied, rolling your eyes playfully. “Your eyes. They’re glowing. Like you’re thinking about something.”

He gazed deeply into your eyes, his demeanor calm and tender. “Just thinking how lucky I am to have you,” he said softly, his words making your heart flutter, as they always did.

You leaned in, pressing your lips against his, gifting him a short but heartfelt kiss that carried every ounce of your affection.

Turning your head, you let your eyes settle on the fire burning in the hearth, its soft glow casting a magical warmth over the room. “There’s something about this moment,” you murmured, “something magical, isn’t there?”

Jude brushed a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for a moment as his arms tightened around you. “You’re the magic,” he whispered against your skin. “The rest is just the setting.”

Your gaze flicked back to him, your chest swelling with love as a warm, fuzzy feeling settled deep within you. He reached for your mug, setting it alongside his on the coffee table.

“I don’t want anything between us, not even hot chocolate,” he explained when you gave him a curious look.

Before you could respond, he pulled you into his embrace, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and brimming with emotion. His tongue grazed your bottom lip, and you granted him entry, allowing him to explore your mouth with delicate care. His hands traced slow, soothing patterns along your back as he lowered you onto the couch, his body hovering over yours, never breaking the kiss.

Your fingers found their way to the back of his neck, nails grazing softly along his skin, sending visible shivers through him. He moaned quietly into your mouth, the sound igniting a fire in your belly.

“I love you,” he murmured between kisses, his lips trailing a path to your neck where he began leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses. His warm breath sent tingles coursing through you, your skin heating beneath his touch. “I love you more than anything.”

“Jude,” you sighed his name, your voice a soft groan of pleasure. “I love you too.”

He hooked one of your legs over his hip, his lips continuing their worshipful journey along your neck and collarbone. Jude’s hands worked quickly, pulling his top off in one swift motion before reaching for your sweater, lifting it over your head. You unclasped your bra and tossed it aside, your bare skin now exposed to his hungry gaze.

He cupped one of your breasts, his thumb gently stroking the sensitive skin while his mouth captured the peak of your other breast. His lips and tongue teased your nipple with a mix of tenderness and desire, leaving you breathless as soft moans slipped from your lips.

“Jude,” you moaned again, the sound spurring him on.

Hearing you say his name like that was his greatest reward — a confirmation that he was making you feel good. It fueled him, his own pleasure second to the joy of knowing he was satisfying you.

Within moments, the rest of your clothes were discarded, leaving you naked beneath him. The firelight danced across your skin, painting you in a soft, golden glow that took Jude’s breath away.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours. “I’m obsessed with you.”

His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers exploring your wet folds with slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. You were already ready for him, Jude had that effect on you. Just his touch, his words, even the way he looked at you could leave you completely undone.

You whimpered softly as his fingers left you, watching as he stroked himself a few times before positioning himself at your entrance. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent as he began to push into you slowly.

A deep groan escaped your lips as he filled you, stretching you perfectly in a way that was both intense and utterly satisfying. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging slightly into his skin as you adjusted to his size.

When you tilted your hips upward, your body signaling your readiness, he began to move, his thrusts slow and purposeful as he lost himself in you.

A soft, almost inaudible sigh escapes your lips as Jude begins to move, his hips rocking slowly, savoring every second. There’s no rush — neither of you are in a hurry. For the first time in what feels like forever, you both have all the time in the world to explore each other’s bodies, to bask in the tenderness and love that envelopes the moment.

His rhythm is steady and purposeful, his thrusts full of affection. Each movement feels like a silent declaration of how much he loves you.

Jude lifts his head to meet your gaze, his dark eyes melting into yours, filled with devotion and longing. Your fingers curl into the back of his head, your breaths mingling as your hearts beat in perfect synchrony.

“You’re so perfect, you know that?” he whispers, his voice soft yet full of intensity, as if the words themselves carry the weight of his entire heart. His hand gently brushes strands of hair away from your face, revealing every detail of your expression.

Your eyes hold all the emotion that words could never fully express. If others wear their hearts on their sleeves, you and Jude carry yours in your eyes, transparent and undeniable.

He moves gently within you, every thrust igniting a fire in your core, sending pleasure rippling through your body. His lips find yours, warm and inviting, and his tongue slips past your parted lips to deepen the kiss. Slowly, he trails his kisses along your jawline, then down to your neck, his mouth hot against your skin.

Soft moans spill from your lips as his pace quickens, each movement perfectly calculated to bring you closer to the edge. Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper as your hands explore the expanse of his back. He groans softly against your neck, the sound vibrating through you and making your skin tingle.

“You feel so good,” Jude murmurs, his voice thick with adoration. “So perfect.”

His large hand moves to cup your breast, his fingers teasing the hardened peak with a gentle pinch. He presses open-mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulder, his lips lingering on your heated skin.

“Jude, you make me feel so good,” you say breathlessly, tilting your head back to give him more access. Your words spur him on, his lips trailing even lower, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him.

Hearing you say those words is everything to Jude. It fuels him, his desire to make you happy, to make you feel cherished, surging through him like a tidal wave. He pauses, his lips leaving your skin to gaze into your eyes once more.

“Y/N, you’re my everything,” he says, his voice raw with emotion. His eyes lock with yours, and you see the love radiating from them. It’s overwhelming, almost too much to bear, yet you welcome it, reveling in the intensity of his feelings for you.

Even without his words, you can feel it. His every touch, every glance, every moment you’ve shared has shown you how much he adores you. But hearing him say it, especially now, sends warmth flooding through your chest.

He captures your hand in his, bringing it above your head, intertwining your fingers tightly. His thrusts remain slow and deliberate, his body perfectly aligned with yours as he leans closer, his forehead resting against yours.

“You’re mine, right?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

The question feels so silly to you, but you know Jude well enough to understand the quiet need for reassurance beneath it. Even though he knows your heart belongs to him, hearing you say it, especially in a moment this intimate, brings him a joy he can’t describe.

You smile, your free hand gently cupping his face as you whisper, “Of course, my love. I’m yours. Forever.”

The words ignite something within him. His thrusts pick up slightly, enough to send waves of pleasure cascading through your body, inching you closer to the edge. Your soft cries of pleasure echo in his ears, and he knows he’s exactly where he’s meant to be — wrapped in your arms, lost in the love you share.

Jude gazed down at you, his breaths heavy and labored but his heart fuller than ever. To him, you felt like a dream, a tangible piece of heaven he could hold, yet somehow still untouchably divine. There was an ethereal connection between the two of you, unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

The moment he had you in his life, he knew there was no going back. How could he? You made him feel like he was perpetually on cloud nine. You were the light that brightened even the most ordinary days, a warmth that banished every shadow.

As his pace quickened, your fingers squeezed his tightly. He responded by leaning down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was deep, fervent, and all-consuming. It wasn’t just a kiss — it was a declaration, a pouring out of emotions from the deepest corners of both your hearts.

To Jude, it felt as though he were floating on warm water, his entire being weightless and suspended in bliss. His heart swelled, threatening to burst from how much he loved you.

“I still can’t believe how lucky I am to have you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with sincerity.

And he truly felt like the luckiest man alive. You loved him without reservation, understood him like no one else ever had, and supported him in ways that made him feel invincible. He never thought his life had been lacking before he met you, but now, he understood — nothing could ever compare to the completeness he felt with you by his side.

His thrusts quickened slightly, urgency mingling with tenderness as both of you approached your highs. Your intertwined hands tightened simultaneously, the shared gesture grounding you both in the moment.

Your lips remained locked as the peak hit, his warm release filling you just as your orgasm surged through you, sending tremors down your spine. Your walls clenched around him, eliciting a low, guttural groan from deep in his chest that you swallowed with your own cries of pleasure.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your labored breaths mingling with the soft crackle of the fire. Jude slumped against you, his weight resting on you in a way that felt grounding and secure. He was careful not to crush you, but he also didn’t want to break the closeness of the moment.

Your fingers found their way to the back of his head, gently caressing his slightly damp hair. The soothing motion sent shivers down his spine yet again, a sensation that never seemed to grow old no matter how often you touched him.

The cabin was silent, save for the occasional pop of the firewood. Outside, the snow was falling heavily, blanketing the world in stillness and cold. But inside, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace, you felt untouched by the chill.

Jude rested his head on your chest, pressing lazy, loving kisses along your collarbone as he listened to your heartbeat — steady, soothing, and his favorite sound in the world. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, the crackling fire and the scent of pine only adding to the magic of the moment.

Though it felt like perfection, both of you knew this was just the beginning. With Christmas just around the corner, the love and passion you shared promised even more magic ahead. And as the snow continued to fall outside, you lay there together, hearts full, basking in a warmth that no fire could ever rival.

287 notes · View notes

entitled-fangirl · 9 months ago

Text

The middle of war. (P2)

Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary: The reader is in recovery, and the two must manage life after the incident.

A/n: the High Valyrian is bad. Just... don't look at it

Part 1!

Masterlist

.....................................................................

Her recovery was long and painful, but she managed all the same.

A few days in, Aemond had swore to take her to see Vhagar.

The poor girl looked like a mess.

Due to her injury, she was unable to wear the tight corsets she was expected to, not that Aemond cared what she wore.

Hence why she was in a rather flowy dress that practically hung from her.

He kept a hand on her at all times as they walked through the castle, not only to keep her balanced, but worried she could be taken again if he looked away.

His anxiety didn't relax until they were with Vhagar.

Y/n pulled herself away from Aemond and straight to Vhagar, so comfortable with the large beast that she held no fear for her.

Vhagar's eyes focused on her, resting her head in the dirt to let the woman come near.

She reached forward, hearing the dragon immediately purr with her touch.

Aemond couldn't help the slightly amused smirk that came to his lips. Gods, she was a wonder.

She gently cooed to the dragon as if it was a small puppy, "Pretty girl. I haven't seen you in days. It seems a lifetime."

"You spoil her," Aemond spoke up.

She turned to him, "She deserves it."

He sighed and neared Vhagar, running his hands over one of her scales as well, "She is not mistreated, I assure you."

"You do owe her an apology," she pointed out.

A low rumble comes from the dragon.

Aemond grumbled and shook his head, "Shijetra issa (Forgive me)."

"That's not good enough," she said as she moved her entire body to lean on the dragon's cheek. "You have to mean it. You were so rude."

"I was saving your life!" He reasoned.

"I do not care-"

"Do not say that." He growled suddenly.

She sighed, "I did not mean it that way. Ziry daoriot gūrogon naejot sagon yelled rȳ (She doesn't deserve to be yelled at)."

Aemond looked up at the saddle. A shudder goes through him when he sees her blood still stain the fabric. "She understands I am not angry with her."

"Does she?"

He huffed, forcing himself to take a deep breath, "Shijetra issa syt issa udra (Forgive me for my words)."

Y/n began to get distracted, her hands running down the large dragon as she began to move.

He watched her cautiously as if ready to catch her at any moment.

"You're lucky, you know," she finally said.

His eye softened, "I know."

She turned to him, "I mean it. I… I would have done anything for a dragon. Especially a gentle giant like her."

Aemond felt his chest tighten.

Her egg had never hatched.

"Gevie tala (beautiful girl)," she muttered to Vhagar. Her hands reached out occasionally to fix a scale.

Vhagar purred under all the attention.

"Kiz. Gevie (Yes, beautiful)." Aemond said as he looked at her.

…

"Brother?" Aemond asked as he stood from his chair in the library.

Y/n turned to see Aegon standing in the doorway.

He grinned, "Hello, brother." He quickly rounded everything and bee-lined to the girl, "How are you?"

Her brows furrowed, "'m… fine."

Aegon had never been cruel to her, no. Not the extent he had to Aemond, but he hadn't gone out of his way for her.

Aegon nodded, "Excellent! That's wonderful news." He sat next to her on the sofa. "I must ask something of you. I need an opinion."

Aemond forced himself to sit back down slowly as he watched the interaction closely.

"Oh," she hummed. "I'm not sure I am of much assistance-"

"-Nonsense." He leans back, getting comfortable on the sofa. "You see, I'm getting Jaehaerys a dagger for his next nameday."

"That is hardly a question for me. Aemond could-"

"-Let me finish!" He said annoyed, "I am getting the handle wrapped. I cannot decide a color."

"That is where I help?" She asked.

"Yes." He looked up in mock thought, "I'm stuck between green or…" his head lulled to look at her, "…black."

Aemond leaned forward annoyed, "Brother-"

Aegon held a finger up, "Ah. I did not ask you."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "I suppose you wish me to say green."

"I don't wish you to say anything but the color you believe best." He grinned.

"Aegon," Aemond tried again.

"I am your king!" Aegon yelled, "Do speak to me like one."

Silence filled the room.

"Green," she finally said. "Green would look just fine. Jaehaerys is a fortunate boy."

"He is," Aegon said as he studied her. "He'll be quite handsome, won't he?"

She tilted her head, "I suppose he will. Time will tell."

"And you're a pretty girl, aren't you?"

She could practically feel Aemond's shoulders move back, "I'm… I'm sorry?"

"Your king says you're pretty."

"Oh. T…Thank you, my king."

Aegon looks over to Aemond, seeing him practically seething. He grins before standing, "Green it shall be then!"

He begins to leave before pausing in the doorway, "Oh. And pretty girl?"

Y/n looks over to him, "Yes, my king?"

"You said green is a fine color. Wear it when we all sup tonight."

Aemond felt like tearing the king's throat out.

When the door shut behind Aegon, she asked her husband, "What did I do?"

"He's been acting strange since you left." He sneered.

The door opened. "Prince. Princess. A letter."

Her eyes widened.

Aemond shot up before she could move, adamant about keeping her movement down to a minimum. "I shall take it."

The servant left quickly and Aemond unraveled the note as fast as he could, his eye roaming over the scribbled handwriting.

"Well?" She asked in hope.

Aemond hummed and his head tilted as he read it again.

She huffed and got up.

Only then did his eye look over to her, "Hey."

A hand shot to her forehead and she stumbled.

He quickly moved to her, "No, no, no." His hand moved around her waist, "Sit back down. Sit down."

She sat down with a huff and Aemond sat next to her, "It's from your mother."

"Read it to me."

Aemond looked back down at it.

"The Prince and Princess, I am most overjoyed at the recovery of the princess. As precious as she has become on both sides, I did not imagine her being caught in the crossfire. May the gods watch her no matter how the war may end. I do not bluff when I say your letter was most surprising. And as much as I despise doing so, I must thank you, Prince Aemond, for it being sent. I had lost much sleep in the days before in worry. Please tell her I love her."

Aemond looked back up at his wife, "Please do not expect more letters like this."

She nodded with teary eyes, "I understand."

He reached up and brushed hair from her face, "You're too good."

"Hmm?"

He smiled lightly, "Too good. Too… optimistic. It's sickening at times."

She let out a light chuckle as she wiped her cheek, "I do not believe you."

"You're right." He leaned in and kissed her gently, "You could not sicken me even if you tried." He pulled away with a smirk, "Are you truly going to wear green tonight?"

She faked a grimace, "Now perhaps I'll be sick."

He let out an amused chuckle, "Such is life, my sweet." He sighed and leaned back on the sofa, "But don't worry. I'll rip it off you just the same."

............................................................

#aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #house of the dragon smut #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon memes #house of the dragon #house targaryen

663 notes · View notes

arabellasleopardcoat · 20 days ago

Text

Valar Morghulis (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon cannot understand Viserys. Trusting Otto Hightower was one thing, but a Red Priestess? His brother must be out of his mind. But if he is, why does Daemon want you so much?

Warnings: Mature language. Lord of Light. Stalking (Daemon's version)

A/N: Now with a Pt 2. For the anon that said "I wanna be yours" x Daemon, you have my whole heart. Tagging: @just-some-random-blogger and @aias-fxtns because I need the support (First fic after breakup) and both of you are lovely artists!

EXILE HAD ALWAYS suited him. Or at least, that was what Daemon liked to pretend. It made Viserys’ constant dismissals easier to bear. Easier to accept.

And he had to accept it. Because he could not imagine a world in which he wouldn’t love Viserys, wouldn’t attempt to protect him. If he resented his brother, that task turned harder and harder.

It wasn’t as if exile was so bad. Daemon loved getting to know the world around him. He had a taste for the foreign and exotic, at least per westerosi standards.

It was only natural that when the rumor about the Red Priestess Viserys’s court reached his ears, he had to return. Planning a war in Driftmark could wait. Viserys' sudden bout of madness could not.

A red witch of all things! What was Viserys’ thinking? Daemon knew all about them. About how they were fanatical in their worship, how they performed blood magics similar to those that had brought the doom of Valyria, how they burned alive those they perceived as unfaithful. But most of all, how great they were at bending men to their wills.

So focused Daemon had been on the infestation of local snakes they had at court, he had never thought there would be room for essosi ones. Now, he had to rid Viserys of his latest plague.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen!” The guard announces, and truly, the security here is so lax, Daemon is surprised no one has murdered Viserys yet. Is Otto trying to purposefully get him killed, has he forgotten Daemon is technically exiled or is it just that he is done too with the witch?

Whichever the cunt’s reasons are for allowing him into the Red Keep, Daemon will not question them if they benefit him. He strode inside Viserys’ rooms, finding his brother carving some figurines, accompanied by the mousey Hightower girl.

She has The Seven Pointed Star in her lap, in a pitiful attempt at piety. She is also dressed in a gown that shows far too much of her chest to be considered demure. Daemon isn’t impressed. He has seen prettier whores in Flea Bottom.

“Brother! You have finally joined us.” Viserys sets down the knife and the figurine, looking surprisingly whole for a man who has just lost his wife and heir. But then again, he seems to have gotten himself a far too young distraction to make up for it.

Daemon tampers down his fury at the greeting. It had been Viserys himself who had ensured his distance, denying him even the barest acknowledgment in the form of a dragon egg for his future children.

He takes a deep breath, and channels all his fury into giving a cold glance at the Hightower girl. It sends her scurrying off, which makes him smile. Seriously, what did Viserys see in her? The girl is as common as any of the serving girls. Aemma had been a true Valyrian beauty, even entertaining the thought of replacing her for this mouse was an insult to her memory.

“I heard disquieting rumors.” Daemon says, voice loud enough the girl can hear him from the doorstep, where she lingers. Probably to inform her cunt of a father. “Of strange visits.”

Daemon watches with amusement as the girl splutters, turning a bright red, before she falls out of the room in her haste to get away. He can hear the guards ask her if she is alright, but Viserys makes no move to help her, his attention firmly on him. He cannot help but preen a bit.

The House of the Dragon would always feel drawn to one another. They were flames, meant to burn together. And no Hightower cunt would get in the way of that. Daemon

is not so naive as to think the girl was in his brother’s rooms in the middle of the afternoon only to read to him about the Seven, though. He would ensure someone spiked her usual tea with some moontea. No need to give dear Otto what he craved so much, after all.

“Do you mean the Red Priestess?” Viserys asks him, not even considering he could be referring to his whore.

“Indeed. Are we in Essos now?” On the bright side, if Daemon is bedding the Hightower girl, Daemon doubts he is bedding the priestess. Which makes her far more dangerous than Daemon expected. A woman so adept at manipulation she can get a King to bend to her will without using her feminine wiles? She had to be a sorceress of the worst kind.

Daemon had to remove her before it was too late.

“Oh, not at all! She just made some interesting insights, that’s all.” Viserys gets up from his chair and takes out a book. It’s bound in red leather, and it has nothing on the cover. “Her views are most refreshing.”

He hands the book to Daemon. He pages through it, eyebrows raising. At least the damn thing is written in High Valyrian, though he doesn't appreciate all the talk of R'hllor and this Great Other.

“By the… Viserys, are you losing your faith?” The more Daemon reads, the more he realizes these stories, from past and futures not yet come to pass, are incompatible with any other gods. It is no wonder the Red Priests and Priestesses are known for burning others if this is their sacred book. “Calling the Fourteen false idols…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Daemon.” Viserys frowns. He doesn’t seem to understand what Daemon is alluding to.

“First, you have Lady… Alicent reading you The Seven Pointed Star. Then, a Red Priestess. Should I expect an ironborn here too? What happened to the Fourteen Flames?”

Viserys meets Daemon’s eyes. For a second, there is silence. Then, much to his indignation, Viserys starts to laugh.

“Oh, brother, is that what worries you? My faith in our ancestral religion is firm. The Red Priestess interested me because she made mentions of an ancient prophecy, one her order should not know about. It was originally made by Aegon the Conqueror.”

A prophecy made by Aegon the Conqueror? Daemon had never heard such a thing. He was quite knowledgeable about the dreamers of his line, yet he had never read mention of Aegon being one.

“Aegon the Conqueror? A dreamer?” Daemon doubted it was true. The priestess must have made it up to get an in with Viserys. He had to admit it was rather clever of her. Somehow, she had looked at him and saw his weak spot. His fascination with dragon dreams.

“He was one. Our grandfather had told me so. The Priestess had no way to know, yet…” All of this was news to Daemon. His eyebrows raised. As if sensing his disbelief, Viserys went on. “His dream is passed from King to heir. It has only made me more confident in naming Rhaenyra as mine. There is no one else better suited to hold the realm.”

“I see.” Daemon, did not, in fact, see. What was the connection between the dream and Rhaenyra ruling? And if this prophecy was passed from king to heir, why was he just learning of it now?

“The Red Priestess isn’t so bad. In fact, I think the two of you would get along quite well. Otto has insisted on banishing her, but I cannot do so in good conscience. Not when she sees so clearly, and when she is able to wield the magic of the pyromancers of Old Valyria.”

“Does she?” Daemon echoes, faintly. His mind is still reeling with the fact that Viserys had never truly considered him his heir. Viserys continues talking, and Daemon continues making all the right noises, but the thought haunts him for the rest of the day.

R’HLLOR HAD BLESSED you with a large family. Your heart swelled when you thought of it, the joy you felt so profound, it brought tears to your eyes.

You had sisters and brothers strewn all over Essos, and soon you would have more of them in Westeros. At least, if things went as planned. Which you were now doubting, knowing you would mess this up.

You had never met your birth family. When you had been very young, they had sold you to the Red Temple in exchange for six gold coins. You remembered nothing about them, and for it, you were glad. It was best, your mentors have said, to not remember the night and its terrors and to only know light.

Many of the children who were sold to the temple never managed to amount to anything. If they were lucky, they became servants, cleaning and cooking after the priests and priestesses. If they were not, they grew up to be the temple’s prostitutes.

When you had arrived at the temple, young and half starved, one of the priests had seen something in you. No otherworldly beauty, no talent at servitude, but an unyielding spark and a keen intelligence that one could not acquire, no matter how much one meditated and prayed.

Some people were just born with it. Touched by the God of Light, a shining crown placed atop their heads that only trained eyes could see. Destined for great things.

You had never seen it yourself, but whatever the priest had seen had been proven right. They had soon learned you had an uncanny ability when it came to learning new languages. It had made you star rise among your peers. You were the perfect envoy to spread the word of salvation.

Anyone could scry through flames, if given enough practice, and any could manipulate fire if they knew the secrets of the ancient arts. With the careful nurturing of your mentors, you had been ready to go out in the world as soon as you had reached your majority, but this was actually your first trip. Any woman on her own was in danger, and so, not only learning the mysteries of your god was needed, but confidence and abilities at self-defense.

By the time you had been ready to venture out in the world, you were a respectable age, though absolutely inexperienced. Not that you would tell King Viserys that, of course.

You had chosen the Seven Kingdoms as your first destination on recommendation from your mentors. It was likely you would be rejected by the King, though you would not face any danger. The followers of the Faith of the Seven had mellowed out after that nasty business two Kings ago, and so, no one would call for your immediate execution.

It was supposed to be a good experience, to learn how foreign courts worked and to practice your opening speech. There was nothing really at stake, not their faith nor your life, so the rejection wouldn’t matter much in the great scheme of things.

Yet, you were still nervous. Crippling, terrible doubt had taken hold of your heart. What if the people hated you so much, their hearts and minds closed to the word of your Lord? If you made such a bad impression they refused to be saved?

The only thing that reassured you was that everything was going as expected. The commoners feared you, the Hand protested your presence and the King, too peaceful to refuse, had agreed to see you.

Today was the day you had been waiting for, and you were feeling nervous. Speaking in public, thanks to your training, wasn’t longer nerve racking as it once had been. Speaking in front of a court caused you a bit more anxiety, but you took comfort in all the formalities. What worried you wasn't making a bad impression, you worried you were about to be so terrible they would refuse to let you speak at all.

The throne room was filled to the brim. Nobles and commoners alike had come to see the foreign witch, said to be able to kill men with a glance and make night into day. Between all of them, one face stood from the crowd. The Hand, Otto Hightower, had a pinched expression, and he clutched at the pin denoting his station as if it would protect him from you.

He, just as the crowd did, imagined you as some enchantress, a sorcerer capable of bending reality to her will. You didn’t want them to be disappointed, so you had put on your best red gown, one that cling to the curves you had, and gave the illusion of those you didn’t. The curly red hair, that you dyed every month with crushed leaves, only served to give you a more otherworldly air.

The Iron Throne was a terrible thing, made from half melted swords that looked more likely to stab anyone sitting on it than serving its purpose. King Viserys was sitting on it, fresh blood dripping from a cut on his forearm. A bad omen, if what you had heard was to be believed.

You dropped into a graceful curtsy, making sure to keep a coy smile on your face. The King didn’t seem interested, which was good. You weren’t interested in him either.

“Your Grace, I come bearing news about salvation.” You started, as you got up. “I was hoping you would allow me to share them in your court.”

“Of course, Lady…” King Viserys was beginning to agree, but as your eyes scanned the crowd, you saw her. The silver woman.

She was standing a bit to the side, hands clasped behind her back, looking just as lovely as she would in a few years, when she would birth the Prince who was fated to be a part of the line that would bring Azor Ahai.

Dazed with the revelation, you stumbled towards her. To think your order had sought all over Planetos, only to find her here. In the single corner of the world your light had not managed to reach.

And, oh, the honor it was, to be the one to meet her, to guide her, to serve her… You could hardly believe it. Your heart beat so hard inside your chest, you feared you may faint. Your hands sweated. This was your destiny, your purpose. You could finally understand it all.

As you moved towards her, a spear was placed in your path. You stared at it, and at the man who held it. Young, tanned, and wearing a white cloak. With a gesture, you set it alight. It took you considerable effort to do so in such a small amount of time, flames weaker than you would like, but it was enough to burn the fingers of the knight and not make you look too threatening.

“Ah!” He jerked back, letting go of the burning metal. Before he could draw his sword, you lunged for the silver woman.

“I have seen you in the flames.” You said, curtsying as low as you could. Yet, another white knight stepped in, sword drawn. “In hearths, candles, in pyres. Wearing a golden crown.”

The Hand scoffed. But the King, suddenly, was attentive.

“Let her pass.” He ordered.

“Father, surely…” The woman, your silver princess, looked afraid, but the knight obeyed and you were already moving. You threw yourself at her feet and kissed her hands. Her skin, pale as alabaster against your darker one, felt supple in your grip.

She was lovely and terrible, and silver. A beacon of light, in this very room. Unbidden, the prophecies dropped from your lips as water poured from a goblet. Even with the little time you had been in her presence, you could feel your powers sharpening, your vision extending. She was a being of pure magic.

“Azor Ahai shall be born from your line. The Prince promised to unite us all.” You looked into her eyes, hoping to convey the importance of your message. There had been times when you had doubted your faith, but when her amethyst eyes met your brown ones, you felt alight with righteous purpose, flesh turning into goosebumps.

The silver woman gasped, breaking the eye contact to look at something above your head. You turned to look, too, annoyed at the disruption. The only thing you found was the King looking at you in what you thought was the same way you looked at her.

“Rise, Priestess. I would like very much to have you in my court. I look forward to hearing your insights.” King Viserys said, voice shaking.

And that was it. The matter was settled, you were staying in the Red Keep. You even had a suite of rooms for yourself, that included a working space, a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathing room. You! The girl who had been sold to a temple for six gold pieces.

Your whole life had been leading up to this. R’hollor had light up your path, guided you through the darkest nights, pulled you down the worst terrors, only to get you here. Next to your silver princess.

As you willed a small bonfire to life, you prayed to your god for guidance, during the vigil that awaited you. King Viserys had only allowed you small fires, contained to the braziers placed in your workspace. It didn’t matter. You knew he was listening regardless.

“Lord of Light, guide me. Defend me, protect me in this darkness. Lord of Light, that your face shines upon us. Guide me to the right path, allow my mouth only to form words of praise to you, allow me to speak the right sentences to convince them of our righteous cause.”

This was the greatest challenge you would face, you thought to yourself, as the flames raised higher and higher. As the sun fell, and you stood, alone during the long night.

“Strengthen me, show me the way. If you have chosen me for this task, you must guide me to complete it. Celestial father, God above. You who sees it all.”

He had to help you. He had to. Because no matter how good at sorcery you were, you had never preached his word to anyone beyond the faithful of your temple. Now, you stood between Westeros and the long night, and it was imperative that they converted so you could save them all.

Around you, the flames roared.

A SHAME YOU were the worst kind of snake there was, for you were the most exquisite creature Daemon had ever laid eyes upon.

He had been standing in the secret passage for a good half an hour, watching you putter around in your working space. The suite of rooms Viserys had given you was adjacent to the rooms that he was placed in, which made observing you much easier.

The rooms looked like a nightmare come to life, a roaring inferno inside them that made Daemon worry you would catch fire. Between braziers and candles, you stood, dressed in long red robes. You were chanting under your breath, in rapid fire High Valyrian that even he struggled to understand.

“Keep us away from darkness, my lord. You are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the warmth in our bellies. Yours is the sun that warms our days, the stars that guard us in the darkest nights. For the night is dark and full of terrors.” You spun around the room, in figures that only made sense to you, dancing in wild abandon. A lesser man might find it terrifying, but Daemon only saw beauty.

Dangerous beauty. Beauty that could be destroyed at any instant, if you moved the wrong way and your robes caught fire. Yet, somehow, you steered your steps just right, dancing between the flames.

“Thank you for the sun that warms us, the stars that light our paths. Thank you for the fires in our hearths, and the torches that will keep darkness at bay.” In the confusing low light of the chambers, bathed by red light from the fire, you didn’t look human. You looked like something beyond humanity, a terrifying witch taken straight out of the cursed Valyria. Yet, it was impossible to look away. Your beauty was inhumane, dark skin shining like polished obsidian in the low light, red curls tumbling like a cascade of fire over your shoulders.

“Lord of Light, protect your servant. Guide me, do not allow me to stray.” You danced in an odd circle, stopping right in front of the wall where Daemon was hiding in. “Show me your mysteries.”

And somehow, it felt as if you were talking to him. Daemon froze in place, not even daring to breathe. How could you know of the secret passage? You had only resided in the Red Keep for a couple of days.

You didn’t move. You stared at the wall, or rather, through it. Even with the stone and the metal screen separating the two of you, Daemon felt as if you were staring him down.

Perhaps, your sorcery wasn’t just clever parlor tricks. Perhaps, you were even more dangerous than he imagined.

You were pure fire. And dragons loved to burn.

197 notes · View notes

claramelooo · 2 months ago

Text

WOVEN FATES (6/20)

Things are heating up around here, huh? Ready to melt?

What a hot chapter!!!

Be prepared and enjoy <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio X Fem Reader

Summary: After a long day, you see something that would change you forever.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist.

Desire

The next morning, the mansion was silent, but the atmosphere felt charged with something invisible, like static electricity in the air. You woke up to the soft light filtering through the window, Lucky still sleeping beside you, and a strange sensation of relief mixed with anxiety. Something was changing, but you couldn't quite define what.

Getting dressed that morning was a different experience. There was calm—a luxury you couldn’t afford before. You no longer had to grab the first piece of clothing you saw in the closet or calculate every minute to leave the house an hour early. That wasn’t necessary anymore. Not when Agatha took you, and Rio picked you up at the end of the day.

Now, you could wake up without rushing, stretch beside Lucky, tend to your meticulously arranged plants by the window, and finally, choose your outfit with care. You opted for a soft and comfortable cappuccino-brown T-shirt, loose around the arms but fitted at the bust. The V-neck added a casual touch, contrasting with the dark brown tailored pants that hugged your waist perfectly. You looked at yourself in the mirror, and for a rare moment, you felt beautiful.

As you walked downstairs toward the kitchen, a muffled sound caught your attention—the clinking of silverware, the rustling of fabric, the faint sizzle of something in a frying pan. You stopped at the entrance and saw Rio with her back to you, leaning over the stove, visibly confused about what she was trying to do. Her fingers drummed impatiently against the counter as she kept one eye on the coffee maker and the other on the culinary disaster unfolding before her.

The corner of your mouth lifted involuntarily. It was rare to see her like this—distracted, slightly clumsy.

“Good morning,” you announced, trying to suppress a laugh.

Rio startled slightly before turning her head in your direction, her eyes immediately scanning you. She seemed to assess you for a brief second before smiling.

"Hello, darling." Her voice was husky from sleep, and she turned off the stove to give you her full attention.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head toward the scene before you. “Hm… where are the staff?”

Rio let out a dramatic sigh. “The cook had to step away, and now I’m paying the price for never learning how to cook.”

You looked at the frying pan and tried to hide a grimace. The bacon was reduced to ashes, and the pan looked like a war victim.

Rio followed your gaze and shook her head in resignation. “Before you say anything—yes, I know it looks bad. But I think it’s still edible.”

You let out a soft laugh, stepping closer. “I can try…” You gestured toward the stove, offering sincerely.

Rio crossed her arms, tilting her head. “You don’t have to, sweetheart. I’ll manage.” But her eyes betrayed her hesitation as they flicked to the ruined food.

“I’d really like to try.” Your voice came out softer than expected.

Rio held your gaze for a moment, then smiled and stepped back, giving you space.

As you cracked eggs into a new pan, you glanced at her casually. “Where’s Agatha?”

Rio leaned against the counter, watching you with amusement in her eyes. “Still asleep. Aggie is not a morning person.”

The way she said it, with a touch of affection hidden in her tone, made you smile without even realizing it.

Rio just leaned slightly against the counter, arms crossed as she observed you. “Are you okay?” she finally asked, her voice low, almost casual, but you could feel the weight behind the words.

“Yes... I think so,” you replied, not entirely sure. “I mean... I’m sorry about what happened yesterday. I didn’t want to cause trouble for you or Agatha.”

Rio let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “Trouble? Girl, you don’t know what trouble is.” Her expression softened quickly, almost as if she wanted to correct herself. “What happened yesterday was... unexpected, but it wasn’t a big deal.”

You lowered your gaze, unsure how to respond. It was always like this with Rio—she said so much in so few words, yet it felt like she was holding back even more.

With a light sigh, you placed the scrambled eggs and bacon on a plate and stepped closer, serving her almost ceremoniously. Your hesitant fingers brushed over her hand in a gesture that surprised both you and the slightly intrigued expression on Rio’s face.

“Rio, I—” you began, your voice carrying something between hesitation and need. “I wanted to thank you… for helping my brother. He was really happy.”

Josh’s satisfied voice and smile from that day flashed in your memory—you were happy for your brother. But something was still missing, and you knew it.

Rio watched you for a moment before her expression softened slightly. A hint of satisfaction flickered in her gaze.

“I told you I’d help, didn’t I?”

“Yes…” You nodded, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Something inside you knew you had to choose your words carefully, had to find a way to address what really mattered. “And I’m very grateful. But… what about my job?”

You noticed the subtle shift in Rio’s posture. Her body tensed for a brief moment, her thumb tracing an almost imperceptible pattern against your skin before she slowly released your hand.

Rio kept her eyes locked on yours, her dark gaze studying every detail of you with an intensity hard to decipher. She hesitated for a moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was almost gentle—but firm enough to leave no room for debate.

"I’ve thought about it." She subtly twisted the ring on her finger, a distracted habit, as if carefully choosing her words. "You already have a job, bunny. Your internship with Agatha."

You felt the weight of that sentence. It was true, but it wasn’t the answer you were expecting.

“But the internship isn’t paid,” you argued, frowning. “And I—”

“—And you don’t need to worry about that,” Rio interrupted softly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Money shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but something in her tone made your voice falter.

“Maybe…” Rio tilted her head slightly, her fingers brushing along your wrist absentmindedly, sending a strange shiver down your spine. “An allowance could be a solution. You could focus on your studies, on what really matters, without having to chase after some random job.”

Her words hit you in a strange way, something warm and unsettling spreading in your chest.

“An allowance?” You repeated, more to buy time than out of real confusion.

Rio smiled slightly, as if your surprise was endearing. As if you were being stubborn for refusing something so simple.

"Yeah, little one. You don’t need to worry about these things." She tightened her grip on your wrist, almost like a warning. "Leave that to me."

You bit your lip, feeling your pride twist inside you, that old need for independence screaming at you not to accept it. You had always handled things on your own. You always knew that relying on others meant giving them power over you. But Rio already had power over you, didn’t she?

And deep down, something about the way she said leave that to me made your stomach sink in a way you weren’t sure was fear or something else.

Before your thoughts could go any further, the unmistakable sound of Agatha’s heels echoed through the kitchen. Each step felt deliberately measured, filling the space with her presence before she even fully appeared.

She walked in—impeccable, as always—dressed in black with an almost cruel elegance. Her flawless brown hair cascaded in waves, framing her sharp features and enhancing her poised stance. Her gaze landed on you immediately, assessing every detail of your presence. But to your surprise, there was no trace of anger or impatience—just that ever-present intensity in her eyes.

"Good morning." Agatha’s voice was soft but carried an undeniable authority. You felt your face heat up, memories of the previous night rushing back. Your eyes dropped to the cup in your hands.

"Good morning," you replied, barely above a whisper. After a moment of silence, you hesitated before adding, "Agatha, I... about last night... I’m sorry."

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem surprised by your attempt at an apology. "There’s no need to repeat that," she said, reaching for a slice of bread. Her tone wasn’t cold, but there was a hint of impatience, making it clear she had no interest in dwelling on the past.

"But I—" you started, your voice slightly trembling.

"It’s over," she cut you off, her gaze now fixed on you. "I accept your apology. It’s not something we’ll be revisiting."

Agatha glided over to the counter, stopping beside Rio and pulling her in for a kiss—one that you, despite your lack of experience, could tell was anything but ordinary.

They kissed with an intensity you had never seen before, so tangible that you felt your cheeks flush just from watching. Agatha’s hands slid along the curve of Rio’s waist, pulling her closer, as if trying to fuse their bodies together.

The tension between them was palpable, anything but discreet, like a silent electric current. Rio took a step to the side, slightly unsteady, still intoxicated by her wife’s scent.

Agatha took your nearly empty cup from your hands with a gesture that was both gentle and firm. For a brief moment, her fingers brushed against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. She turned the cup between her fingers as if she were evaluating something beyond what the eye could see before handing it back to you.

"I see you're ready," she said, her voice low, charged with authority—but lacking the sharpness you had expected. "We leave in five minutes."

Rio cast a quick glance at Agatha but said nothing, merely stirring her coffee again, a nearly imperceptible smile on her lips.

A tense silence followed, but Agatha’s directness felt more like a relief than anything else. You nodded slowly, your cheeks still warm, and focused on drinking your hot chocolate.

You nearly choked on it. "What?"

She arched an eyebrow again, as if daring you to question her. "You heard me. Go get your things."

"I can go alone, you know. There's no need to worry," you tried to argue—more out of reflex than actual conviction.

"This isn’t up for discussion," she replied, sharp but not unkind. There was something in her expression that made it seem as though, despite her tone, the decision was final—and, in some way, more about her than about you.

Rio watched the interaction in silence, a faint smile playing on her lips but not interfering. When you hesitated, unsure whether to argue further, Agatha tilted her head slightly, as if gauging your reaction.

"Trust me, dear," she finally said, her tone low and layered with a deeper meaning.

You nodded, a little nervous but also strangely moved by the gesture. Something about the way she said it felt... protective, even if it was masked by her usual stern demeanor.

"Then go," Agatha repeated, and you nearly jumped from your seat, mumbling another "thank you" before hurrying off to your room.

As soon as you disappeared down the hall, Rio spoke, breaking the silence. "You're going to scare her off with that approach, you know?"

Agatha took a sip of her coffee, not taking her eyes off the door you had just walked through. "But I didn’t do anything," she said, turning her attention back to her phone.

Rio let out a low chuckle, shaking her head, but said nothing more.

The car slid smoothly through the city streets. The muffled hum of the engine filled the almost oppressive silence inside the vehicle. You sat in the passenger seat, your hands restless in your lap, trying to focus on the passing urban landscape outside the window. But it was impossible to ignore Agatha’s presence beside you—the scent of her perfume, her impeccable posture, the way she held the steering wheel with an almost exaggerated elegance.

You had always found her intimidating, but at that moment, the proximity was unsettling. Part of you wanted to stay silent, to respect her quiet nature, but another part—the more impulsive and anxious one—couldn’t stand the idea of letting the ride pass without saying something.

Should you speak? About what? And how could you make it sound natural?

Ignoring all the intrusive thoughts, you adjusted your posture in the leather seat and focused on the view outside, as if looking at her was too difficult. Then, you decided to take a risk.

"I’ve been thinking about your films..." Your voice sounded hesitant, and you immediately wanted to bite your tongue, but you pushed forward. "It’s impossible not to admire how you... bring stories to life."

Agatha arched a brow slightly, which already felt like a victory. You swallowed hard and rushed to continue.

"For example, Whispers in the Dark..." you began, your fingers twisting in your lap. "I’ve watched it at least ten times. It’s brilliant. The way you film the characters’ eyes... it’s like the silence speaks louder than the words. And that play of light and shadow? It feels like every scene has a hidden layer, like you want the audience to feel like voyeurs but without knowing exactly what they’re witnessing."

Agatha didn’t answer immediately, but you noticed the corner of her lips twitch in a barely perceptible smile.

"You noticed that..." she said, her voice low and faintly surprised. "Few understand the true intention behind that film. It wasn’t meant to be obvious... it was meant to be unsettling."

"And it is. Impossible not to be, actually..." you said quickly, encouraged by the fact that she hadn’t cut you off. "That scene where Diana is alone in the room, looking into the mirror, and the camera focuses on her reflection but never on her real face? It’s like... like the reflection is more real than she is. Like she’s hiding who she really is. That was your intention, wasn’t it?"

Agatha’s eyes finally left the road and landed on you for a brief second. Something flickered in the deep blue—maybe recognition, or maybe a hint of pleasure at seeing someone grasp her intent.

"Hmm... Observant," she admitted, her tone almost praising but still laced with her usual reserve. "The reflection represented what she couldn’t admit to herself. The audience was supposed to feel that discomfort, that duality."

You nodded eagerly, feeling your heart race. "I felt that! It was like... like I was invading her privacy, but at the same time, she wanted to be seen. It’s so rare to find a film that makes you feel something that visceral."

Agatha smiled again, this time more noticeably, her lips curving into a gesture that seemed to know too much—almost like a silent challenge. The movement brought out the soft lines around her eyes, an expression that was as confident as it was disarming.

"You really have a good eye, don’t you?" she said, her voice low, husky, carrying something that made your heart race.

"I can’t help it," you replied, feeling your mouth act before your brain. The words came out laced with a raw honesty you didn’t know you had the courage to verbalize. "Your films are… different. They get under your skin. Mine, at least."

Agatha’s eyes flickered toward the road, but something in her posture shifted subtly. Her shoulders, once so rigid, relaxed almost imperceptibly, and silence settled between you. But it wasn’t an empty silence. It was heavy, dense, as if the words left unsaid hovered between you, filling every inch of the car with a nearly palpable tension.

As the car began to slow, Agatha parked with precision a few blocks from the university. She kept her gaze fixed on the steering wheel for a moment before speaking, her voice low but commanding:

"You get out here."

The order was direct, breaking the small spell of the moment. You knew it was inevitable, but still, the coldness of her words made something inside you wither. Of course, you couldn’t be seen together. Any "special treatment" you were getting had to remain a well-kept secret.

You were about to reach for your backpack in the backseat when she continued:"I’m giving a lecture today. I want you there."

The surprise made you freeze. "M-me?"

Finally, she turned to you, and her eyes held you captive. It was as if she were stripping you bare with that gaze, assessing you, testing you, but also… desiring you. She adjusted the collar of your blouse, her fingers grazing the skin of your neck. "Yes. Pay attention."

"I will," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, unable to hide the small smile forming on your lips. But as you leaned down to grab your backpack from the car floor, the unexpected happened.

Agatha’s hand reached for it at the same time as yours, and the touch was brief but charged with electricity.

The tips of her fingers brushed against yours, and the simple contact sent a shiver down your spine, heat rising to your cheeks and trailing down paths you tried to ignore.

She didn’t pull her hand away immediately. On the contrary, she pressed her fingers against yours with a firm but gentle touch, as if trying to hold you in place. Her gaze dropped to the small scar on your finger from yesterday’s cut. She brushed over it lightly, and you shivered at the touch—so subtle, so unlike anything you’d expect from Agatha.

She leaned in, just enough that your noses almost touched. Her perfume—floral and mysterious, a forbidden garden of black roses—wrapped around you, leaving you frozen, unable to look away from those piercing blue eyes that now seemed to consume you whole.

Her proximity was intoxicating, like standing at the edge of a cliff, feeling the rush of a possible fall.

"Behave for me. Be good for me." She whispered, her voice trembling, full of promise and control. Every word seemed to sink straight into your core, your clit pulsing, reverberating in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You nodded, your breath caught in your throat, as if your entire body were tangled up in hers. The way she held your hand was contradictory—possessive yet incredibly delicate. It was as if she were studying you, playing with you like a cat with its prey.

Then, just as quickly as she had leaned in, Agatha pulled away, releasing your hand slowly, almost reluctantly, and handing you your backpack with a precise movement. The car door opened, but you were still dazed, her touch burning into your skin as if she had left an invisible mark.

"I’ll be," you repeated, your voice weaker than you intended, your eyes still locked onto hers. There was something in the way she looked at you—like she already knew the effect she had on you. Like she already knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.

She didn’t reply. As soon as you closed the door and took a few steps, the car drove off smoothly, disappearing around the corner. You stood there for a few seconds, heart pounding. For the first time, you felt like you had carved out a small space within the fortress that was Agatha Harkness.

You walked through the hallways, your heart still racing—not from academic pressure, but from the fresh memory of Agatha. Of course, her lecture was the highlight of the day, and everyone seemed excited about it, but what you felt was something entirely different. Nervousness mixed with admiration and… something deeper you preferred not to analyze too much.

At the entrance of your classroom, Peter was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a mischievous smile on his face. Next to him, Darcy was scrolling through her phone with a bored expression, probably mentally complaining about something.

"Finally!" Peter exclaimed when he saw you. "I thought you’d been kidnapped by that grumpy cat."

"Lucky is not grumpy," you replied, trying to hide a smile.

"But he’s definitely not friendly," Darcy added without looking up from her phone. "Shit." She huffed, sounding frustrated.

"What’s wrong?" you asked.

"I’m trying to see if anyone backed out of Harkness’s lecture. Come on! They announced it so suddenly that I didn’t have time to sign up. There are literally no spots left!" Darcy whined. You knew how much she admired Agatha.

And the fact that you needed to register just to be in the same room as her didn’t surprise you. If anything, it made more sense now. Agatha was a busy woman—she wouldn’t waste her time with an audience that didn’t know what they wanted.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled out your phone.

"Maybe I can help," you said, unlocking it and looking for your message thread with Agatha.

Darcy scoffed, incredulous.

"So, just because you work there now, you have her personal number?"

Yes. Exactly.

"No! Are you crazy? I’ll talk to her assistant."

You typed a message:

Hey. Are you very busy? I need help with something, if you’re available. :)

The response didn’t take long:

I’m always busy. But I can try to help you, dear.

Her tone felt so characteristic, even in text. You took a deep breath, feeling your cheeks heat up as your mind drifted back to earlier—her fingers tracing your scar. Suddenly, your finger tingled.

You let out a shaky breath as you composed your next message.

A friend of mine couldn't get a spot for your lecture.

The reply came even faster this time

A little responsibility would do her good.

You could practically hear Agatha saying those words.

Please! She's a fan. The kind who knows everything about you but would probably be speechless if she got too close.

There was a pause before the next message, as if Agatha were weighing each word. You felt anxious and decided to nudge her for a response.

It's okay if it's not possible, but I thought I'd ask…

This time, the reply was swift.

I can make an exception. Just one. Send her name to my assistant.

You smiled, relieved yet nervous at the same time. When you looked up, Darcy was still staring at you, full of expectation.

"Well?!" she practically shouted. "You have a guaranteed spot," you replied, trying not to let the chaos inside you show.

Darcy let out a squeal of excitement, pulling you into a tight hug. "You're an angel! An angel, I swear!"

"Don't push your luck twice," Peter murmured, though there was a smirk at the corner of his lips.

As Darcy continued celebrating, you glanced back at your phone screen.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You're incredible.

The response came like a whisper at the back of your mind.

I'm very pleased to know you think so, darling.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you put your phone away, hiding the smile threatening to surface. She was happy, and she had let you know it. She was a mystery, but you felt like you were beginning to decipher a few pieces—even if they only led to more questions.

[…]

Professor Calderu entered the classroom with her usual presence, heavy with authority. She set her bag on the desk and scanned the room with that piercing gaze that made everyone instinctively sit up straighter.

"Good morning, class. I hope you're ready for something different today. We'll be working in pairs on a mythology writing project," she announced as students started glancing at each other, already searching for partners. "I want you to create an original mystical creature—something that feels real within a narrative, something that could fit into a legend or a folktale. The pairs have already been assigned."

You listened carefully, but your stomach twisted as she began calling names.

"You," she said, pointing at you, then turned to a girl sitting in the corner, half-hidden behind her notebook. "And Alice."

Alice Wu lifted her eyes slowly, her face flushing red with surprise. You offered her an encouraging smile, but she quickly looked away, burying herself back in her notebook.

After class, you made your way to her desk while Peter and Darcy waved exaggeratedly from a distance, whispering things you deliberately ignored.

"Hey, Alice," you said gently, trying not to startle her. "Looks like we’re partners now."

She gave a small nod, still looking at her notebook. "Yeah… looks like it."

An awkward silence settled before you tried again. "I was thinking… since we don’t know each other well, maybe we could meet up to talk? I think it’d help if we got a feel for each other’s ideas before we start creating."

Alice blinked in surprise and finally looked up. Her eyes were large and clear, filled with a certain vulnerability that made you want to get closer. "You… want to go out with me?"

"Yes!" you blurted out quickly. "I mean—not like a date or anything, of course, but—like, for the project. Unless you'd rather do everything online?"

She shook her head quickly. "No, no! In person is always better. I just… didn’t expect this. No one usually invites me to anything."

"Well, then it’s about time that changed," you said with a sincere smile.

Alice finally smiled back, shy but genuine. "Okay. When do you want to meet?"

"How about after Agatha’s lecture? I really need to see it, but we can plan something after," you suggested, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice when mentioning Agatha.

Alice nodded again. "Sure. I’ll be free."

The bell rang, and as you said goodbye to Alice, Peter and Darcy approached with amused expressions.

"You’re really a magnet for lonely souls," Darcy commented.

"Or maybe you’re just too nice," Peter added.

"Or maybe you two are insufferable," you retorted, rolling your eyes—but deep down, you were happy. The day had started out strange, but maybe it was getting better—or at least, more interesting.

[…]

The room filled up within minutes. Students, professors, and even a few industry professionals murmured excitedly, the air thick with admiration and anticipation. You slipped in quietly, gripping the strap of your backpack, scanning for a more secluded seat. You didn’t want to draw attention—not here, not now.

Spotting an empty row in the back, you let out a relieved breath, but before you could reach it, a firm hand grasped your wrist.

"Hey, slow down," a familiar voice murmured, low and full of intent.

You turned quickly, only to meet Rio’s charming face.

"Rio?" Your voice came out as a hushed, confused whisper, laced with disbelief.

What was she doing here?

"It’s me, darling," she replied, that disarming smile playing on her lips. The sharp glint in her eyes made it clear she was here for a reason.

You glanced around, checking if anyone had noticed. "What are you doing here?" you asked, keeping your voice low.

Rio leaned in slightly, her tone conspiratorial. "How could I miss this? Agatha hardly ever gives lectures like this. Besides…" She paused dramatically, her gaze flickering to the back row where you had been heading. "You were really going to sit all the way back there?"

"It’s safer. No one will notice me." You tried to justify your choice.

Rio raised an amused eyebrow. "Safe for who? Certainly not for you. Agatha wanted you here, you know?"

Your face heated up. "I know, but… sitting back there is just easier. I don’t need to be… right in front of her."

Rio let out a soft chuckle, unmistakable amusement in her voice. "Oh, darling. Do you really think she won’t notice you? Or worse… that she doesn’t want to?"

Your heart skipped uncomfortably, and you opened your mouth to argue, but Rio didn’t give you the chance.

"Listen, if you stay back here, you’ll miss the important details. Agatha doesn’t like distracted audiences," she murmured, a touch of mischief in her voice. "And trust me, sitting up front won’t be so bad."

"I don’t know, Rio…" You hesitated, still eyeing the more discreet row like it was your lifeline.

Rio tilted her head, an expression of feigned patience crossing her face. "You trust me, don’t you?"

You nodded slowly, still unsure.

"Then come with me," she insisted, tugging at your wrist gently. "Trust me. No one will pay attention to you… except for the one person who actually matters."

She guided you through the rows to a spot near the front—hidden enough to avoid wandering eyes but perfectly positioned for a clear view of the stage.

As you finally sat down, you tried to steady yourself, though it was impossible to ignore the fact that Agatha could definitely see you from here.

Rio sat beside you, crossing her legs with the kind of effortless grace that seemed to come naturally to her.

You whispered, trying to mask your nervousness. "Did she ask you to bring me here?"

Rio turned to you with a cryptic smile, leaning in just enough to whisper back. "Let’s just say I have my ways… but she’ll definitely be pleased to see you here."

Before you could process it, the room’s lights dimmed, and a single spotlight illuminated the stage. Agatha stepped in, her imposing and elegant figure commanding everyone’s attention. She stopped at the center, scanning the audience with a controlled, knowing smile.

For a moment that felt longer than it should have, her eyes found yours. And when they did, the heat in your face spread all the way to your fingertips. You tried to look away, but it was impossible—something about the way she looked at you held you in place.

Beside you, Rio murmured with a satisfied smile, “I told you that you needed to be here.”

The auditorium was packed. There was an electric energy in the air, a mix of excitement and reverence that seemed to follow Agatha Harkness wherever she went. As she took the stage, the sound of applause filled the room, and her smile was devastating—confident, charming, and tinged with that sarcastic humor that made everyone feel like they were part of a private show.

“I hope you’re here to talk about the magic of cinema… and not to ask me for spoilers,” she began, drawing immediate laughter from the audience. “If that were the case, I’d be charging double.”

The warm lights accentuated her flawless skin, her blue eyes gleaming under the glow of the spotlights. “The truth is, directing films is almost like being a witch—you manipulate what people see and feel, deceive the eye, and capture their soul. Hopefully, without using an actual spell.”

The audience was completely spellbound. She explained scene composition techniques, the psychological use of shadows and light, and the power of silence. Every word was laced with irresistible confidence, intertwined with cynical remarks that kept everyone captivated.

“The secret to a great film?” Agatha leaned slightly forward, as if about to reveal something forbidden. “Trick the audience, but make them grateful for it afterward.”

“All jokes aside,” she continued, “making films is like casting magic. Every scene, every cut, every choice of light and sound—it’s all a spell meant to deceive, seduce, and sometimes, transform the audience. But the real art is in the details. And those details… take time, patience, and, of course, a little bit of madness.”

The laughter was softer this time, but the admiring glances were unmistakable. She began detailing her unique approach to filmmaking, highlighting her inspirations for the critically acclaimed Black Flame, a psychological horror film that had become an instant classic.

As Agatha spoke, you felt something—a casual touch on your arm. Beside you, Rio seemed completely absorbed in the presentation, but her hand had drifted to the armrest, brushing against your skin with an unsettling familiarity. You tried to ignore it, telling yourself it was an innocent gesture, but the touch was insistent, deliberate.

“… the trick is to make the audience feel like they’re witnessing something they shouldn’t be,” Agatha said, her voice like poisoned honey, seducing every single person in the room.

But as Rio’s touch lingered, something inside you tightened. The warmth of that simple contact began spreading across your skin, slow and devastating. Her fingers slipped over the thin fabric of your clothes, trailing down to the curve of your hip with ease. Your breath hitched, and you bit your lip, trying to make no sound.

Her hand moved dangerously close to your thighs, the motion so casual yet so ruinous. She didn’t even look at you, her eyes fixed on the stage as if she were doing nothing at all. But you knew. Your body knew.

Heat climbed up your neck, and you shifted slightly in your seat, struggling to keep your composure. A part of you wanted to push her away, break free from this trance. After all, they were married. This was wrong. Right?

“Rio…” you whispered, trying to sound firm, but your voice came out shakier than you wanted.

“Shh,” she replied, her gaze still locked on Agatha, as if nothing was happening. “Agatha is speaking.”

You tried to focus, but Rio’s hand was now so close to your center that you could barely breathe. Every touch sent a spark of electricity through you, the rising heat almost unbearable. Her long, skilled fingers inched closer, and you had to bite your lip to stifle a sound.

“You’re trembling, bunny…” Rio whispered, her voice rough with amusement. “Pay attention. Aggie won’t like it if you miss this.”

The nickname sent a full-body shiver through you, a strangled breath caught in your throat. You tried to focus on Agatha’s words, but the firm grip of Rio’s hand pressing into your aching core was too much, sending waves of heat straight to your senses.

With your heart racing, you gathered all the strength you had to lift your gaze toward the stage. And that’s when you saw her.

Agatha’s blue eyes were locked onto the two of you, gleaming with something wild and indecipherable. She hadn’t stopped talking, but there was a different lilt to her voice now, an almost taunting cadence.

She knew.

And she wasn’t angry.

On the contrary, there was raw hunger in her gaze—she looked like a ravenous spectator, a voyeur absorbing every detail of the scene unfolding before her. Her attention on you was so intense it nearly stole the air from your lungs.

Rio smirked, as if she could feel the invisible current Agatha was directing toward you both. And then she squeezed your thigh harder, anchoring you even deeper into this impossible moment. Her fingers were now so close to your clit that you could feel the pressure even through your clothes. Each movement was calculated, each touch a promise of something more.

A shiver ran down your spine, blending with the heat already consuming you. Your hips shifted again, craving more of that contact, even knowing it was wrong. It was as if Agatha’s gaze and Rio’s touch were pulling you into a sweet, dangerous abyss, and you had no strength to resist.

“You like this?” Rio murmured, her fingers now pressing with more intent, making you swallow a moan. “Being watched. Being observed.”

You tried to deny it, but your body betrayed you. Your hips moved again, and the damp heat between your thighs was impossible to ignore. Agatha’s gaze felt like it was scorching your skin, and you knew she was seeing everything—every tremor, every movement, every breath you tried to suppress.

“Rio…” you whispered again, but this time, your voice was filled with a need you could no longer disguise.

She hummed, her fingers now circling ever so slowly, so close to your clit that your entire body tensed. “Let her see. Let her know what you’re capable of just to keep her eyes on you.”

“You’re doing so well, little bunny,” Rio purred, pressing firmer, making you bite your lip harder to hold back a sound. “Let her see how good you can be.”

And you surrendered.

Your hips rocked forward once more, and a tremor rippled through you, a wave of pleasure on the verge of breaking. Agatha’s gaze and Rio’s touch were too much, and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

Agatha’s eyes devoured the scene like a film, her analytical, predatory gaze absorbing the way Rio’s hand moved over you like a painter on a blank canvas. Marking you. Owning you. Each calculated touch carried a wildness, as if she were proving something—to you, to Agatha, or maybe to herself.

Rio saw the hunger in Agatha’s icy blue gaze. She saw the way the woman feigned indifference, answering the audience’s questions with ease. But Rio knew how much this was affecting her.

She knew Agatha wanted more.

You felt the heat rise to your face, but you couldn’t look away from Agatha. Her blue eyes were like an abyss, pulling you in, making you feel exposed, vulnerable, yet incredibly alive. It was as if she could see every part of you, every secret, every fear, and still didn’t care. Or maybe she cared too much.

Rio chuckled softly, her warm breath against your ear. “She likes you, bunny. She knows you're special.” Her hand slid lower, fingers finding the exact spot that made you gasp. “But you need to show her. You need to prove you’re strong enough.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the burn of unshed tears behind your eyelids. It was too much—Rio’s touch, Agatha’s gaze, the pressure building inside you, ready to explode. But you didn’t want it to stop. You couldn’t.

“Please,” you murmured, your voice broken, barely audible.

“Please what?” Rio asked, lips curling into a wicked smile. “You have to ask, darling. Tell me what you want.”

You looked at Agatha, searching for some form of salvation, but she only raised an eyebrow, waiting. It was as if she was testing you, seeing how far you were willing to go.

“Please,” you repeated, your voice a little steadier this time. “I want… I want to show her.”

Rio let out a satisfied hum. “That’s my girl.” Her hand moved faster, fingers pressing with a precision that made you moan loudly. “Then show her. Show her how good you can be.”

And you did. Your body arched, muscles tensing as the wave of pleasure finally crashed over you, sweeping you away like a tide. You wanted to scream, but the sound was muffled by the palm of your hand.

When you finally opened your eyes, Agatha was still there, watching with that calculating stare, but now there was something else in her eyes. Something that looked almost… proud.

“Good girl,” Rio murmured, her voice soft but heavy with meaning. “You did well.”

You felt a different kind of heat rise to your face, but this time it wasn’t shame. It was something deeper, more intense. Something you couldn’t name.

What the fuck just happened?

—

The event had been a resounding success. The room was still filled with people talking, laughing, discussing the most striking moments of the interview. You, however, stood in the corner, watching as Agatha and Rio were surrounded by journalists, photographers, and assistants. They were as dazzling as ever, the perfect combination of authority and charisma.

You gathered your courage and decided to approach. It was nothing major—you just wanted to congratulate Agatha on the show and let her know you were heading out with Alice. But as you tried to weave through the crowd, an invisible wall seemed to rise around you.

One of Agatha’s assistants intercepted your path.

“Sorry, miss, but she’s busy at the moment,” he said with a polite yet firm smile.

You tried to argue, but another journalist slipped past you, invading the space you had been trying to reach. Agatha didn’t even glance to the side. Rio stood beside her, laughing softly at something a reporter had said. You waited, remained still, hoping at least one of them would notice you.

Nothing.

A tightness formed in your chest, a bitter and unexpected sensation. You knew they were busy, that this was their world, but that didn’t make it easier to swallow. It hurt more than it should. At that moment, it was as if you were invisible to both of them.

You took a deep breath, trying to push down the sting of rejection. “Ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, feeling the lump in your throat threaten to form. They had no obligation to notice you, but… that wasn’t what you wanted. Not after everything.

Lowering your shoulders, you sighed and turned away, leaving the room before anyone could catch the glint of disappointment in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, as you walked toward the exit, you pulled out your phone and typed a message to Agatha.

Tonight was incredible. You are incredible! I’m heading out with a friend. Be back soon :)

You hesitated before sending it, your thumb hovering over the screen. Part of you wanted to delete the message. It wasn’t urgent, and maybe she wouldn’t even have time to read it, but another part insisted. It was your way of not disappearing completely, of reminding her that you were there.

After hitting “send,” you slipped your phone back into your pocket and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the discomfort in your chest as you walked off to meet Alice. You tried to convince yourself you had no reason to feel this way, but the truth was, in that moment, you felt far too small for the vast, glittering world those two women seemed to reign over.

—

You met Alice at the café near the university. It was a small, cozy place, with string lights hanging from the ceiling and the constant scent of freshly ground coffee in the air. Alice was already seated at a corner table, a thick book open in front of her, her hands fidgeting slightly. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders, and her round glasses seemed a bit too big for her delicate face. She smiled shyly when she saw you.

“Hey, Alice,” you said, pulling out the chair across from her. “Hope you didn’t wait too long.”

“No, I got here early,” she replied, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “It’s hard to concentrate in the library, so… I thought this might be easier.”

You chuckled, trying to put her at ease. “Seems like a good place to conjure mystical beings, huh? Nothing like coffee and a little chaos for inspiration.”

Alice smiled for real this time, a small but genuine expression. “I agree. So… do you have any ideas yet? You seem more creative than I am.”

“Creative? Me? I think you’re being generous,” you replied, leaning in slightly. “But maybe we can start with something we both like. Witches, maybe?”

Alice’s eyes lit up. “I love witch stories! But it has to be something different… something we haven’t seen before.”

The conversation with Alice continued for another hour until, with a thoughtful expression, she rested her chin on her hands, elbows propped on the table.

“What if we start with an ancient legend?” she suggested, her eyes shining with a quiet enthusiasm. “Something that feels like it’s been around for thousands of years but has an air of mystery, you know? Like the kind of story people whisper just to scare others…”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Like what, for example?”

Alice tilted her head slightly, as if fishing for words in the air. Then she began, her voice lower, more enthralling, almost conspiratorial.

“They say that millions of years ago, there was a witch so powerful she didn’t even have to lift a finger to destroy someone. She didn’t cast grand spells or throw curses… She did something far more cruel. She drained people’s life energy, but not in an obvious way, you know?”

A shiver ran down your spine, though you tried to convince yourself it was just the atmosphere of the moment. “Drained life energy? How so?”

You tried not to react, but her words hit you like a stone. What Alice was describing sounded dangerously familiar.

“Did she do it for pleasure?” Your voice came out weaker than you intended.

Alice shook her head slowly, her gaze distant. “No. Not exactly. I think, deep down, she did it because she felt like it was the only way to survive. As if there was an emptiness inside her that could never be filled. Every bit of energy she took from another person was like a desperate attempt to fill that void.”

You felt a pang in your heart. "How did she do that?" The words left your mouth as if they were forbidden.

Alice looked at you—thinking, thinking, and thinking. "I’m not sure," she shrugged. "But they say she always seemed so charming, so irresistible. People fell into her web without even realizing it."

You crossed your arms, averting your gaze to the table. "And no one ever managed to stop her?"

"They say there was one person," Alice replied, lowering her voice even more, as if afraid someone nearby might overhear. "A woman who confronted her. Not with hatred or violence, and that made the woman equally consumed."

For a moment, the café around you disappeared. You could only think about Alice's words and the weight they carried.

Alice noticed your silence and let out an awkward laugh, adjusting her glasses. "Sorry, I think I went too far, right? Maybe this is too dark for a college assignment."

You forced a smile, trying to hide the internal confusion. "No, it's great. I actually think it’s amazing. I think… it could work."

Alice smiled, somewhat relieved. "Cool. I think we can work on this more, right? Develop the witch, add more details about her story."

"Yes," you replied, your voice soft but still distant. "Definitely."

You arrived home with a lightness you hadn’t felt in a long time. The fatigue of the day clung to your muscles, but a quiet satisfaction coursed through your chest. Things finally seemed to be falling into place—small fragments of hope composing a life you hadn't imagined possible.

Kicking off your shoes at the entrance, you took a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of home embrace you. You climbed the stairs slowly, each step bringing a sense of comfort and belonging. Until then, everything felt normal.

But as you approached the hallway leading to the bedrooms, something different sharpened your senses. Low, muffled sounds escaped down the quiet corridor. Moans. Heavy breathing.

Their bedroom door was slightly ajar.

Your heart pounded, hesitating for a moment, but your feet disobeyed logic—you moved closer, as if pulled by an invisible magnet. When your eyes finally met the narrow gap of the door, the air caught in your lungs.

Rio was on top of Agatha, her hips moving in a frantic, calculated rhythm, their bodies glistening under the room’s soft light. The sight was almost brutal in its beauty—wild, intense, unfiltered. The expression of pure pleasure on Rio’s face made something inside you tighten and pulse violently.

Rio arched her body, every muscle taut as her hips thrust rhythmically against Agatha, who writhed beneath her, head thrown back, exposing her sweaty, vulnerable neck. The room was saturated with obscene sounds—ragged moans, the muffled creak of the bed, and the wet, merciless slap of their bodies colliding.

The strap-on Rio wore moved with an almost brutal precision. Even knowing she couldn’t physically feel it, the dark, feverish look in her eyes suggested otherwise—as if every deep thrust was a direct reflection of the pleasure consuming her body. Her lips were slightly parted, breathing erratic, and her hands gripped Agatha’s waist firmly, keeping her in place as her movements became faster and more reckless.

"Fuck," Rio panted, chest rising and falling frantically. "You’re so fucking tight… I can feel everything."

Agatha cried out, a rough, desperate sound, her nails raking down Rio’s back. Her hips lifted instinctively, seeking more, demanding more. Her expression was a mix of ecstasy and agony, blue eyes nearly shut, shining under the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

"Deeper," Agatha begged, voice hoarse and shameless. "Don’t stop… I want you to tear me apart from the inside."

The provocation made Rio growl like an animal, her thrusts becoming even more intense. She leaned in, pressing the weight of her breasts against Agatha’s, their faces so close their breaths intertwined.

"Like this?" Rio snarled in her ear, her voice vibrating with a possessive power that left Agatha teetering on the edge of insanity. "Tell me, my love… do you like being fucked by me like this?"

Agatha couldn’t respond with words—only a strangled moan escaped her lips, her desperate fingers now digging into Rio’s shoulders, as if holding onto her was the only thing keeping her anchored to reality.

The bed rocked beneath the intensity of their movements, the scent of sweat and desire hanging heavy in the air. Rio remained steady, muscles flexing as the relentless rhythm of the strap-on dragged louder, more desperate moans from Agatha.

'Cause you, you touch

My skin peels off like paint

But beneath all of our panting

There’s this noise I cannot shake

The scene before you was unbearable in so many ways that you no longer knew where shock ended and desire began. Rio moved like a merciless goddess, her hips working in a brutal rhythm, while Agatha arched beneath her, screaming for her with raw, unfiltered vulnerability. The soft glow of the lamp cast delicious shadows over their sweaty skin, their entwined bodies forming a spectacle that sent your heart racing and heat pooling between your legs.

You should leave. It was wrong, absurdly wrong, but your legs felt glued to the floor, as if the half-open door was a magnet keeping you there, entranced. Your eyes couldn’t tear away from Rio—the predatory gaze, the intensity with which she claimed Agatha, as if she were possessed.

And then it happened.

"Did you see her?" Her voice cut through the silence like a hot knife, laced with something indecent and possessive.

What?

Can’t you hear that scratching?

There’s something at the door

"I would’ve gone insane if I hadn’t touched her in that moment." Her movements intensified, drawing a sharp gasp from Agatha. "Did you like it? Did you like watching us from up there?"

Agatha opened her eyes, and there was something feral in them—a deep blue gleam overflowing with jealousy and lust in equal measure. She pushed her body against Rio, gasping with unrestrained need.

But the wind has picked us up now

We’re hanging in the air

And as you grip me like an animal

That you’re about to spear

"I almost ended it," Agatha admitted with a rough chuckle, but it was laced with possession. "Watching you touch her… like she was already yours…" Her lips curled into a wicked smile. "I wanted to rip your hand off and show you she’s mine too."

The impact of the words hit you like a punch to the chest. They were talking about you.

Rio's casual touch earlier, that slow slide of fingers to your inner thigh while Agatha spoke to the audience with all the confidence in the world… It hadn’t been casual, it hadn’t been an innocent accident. It was premeditated. And Agatha had seen it all, enjoyed it all.

Be good to me, I whisper

And you say: What?

And I said: Nothing, dear

The shock dissolved quickly, swallowed by something far more visceral. Your breath grew heavy, lungs seeming unable to draw in enough air. Your thoughts spun, frantic and lascivious, as one memory after another exploded in your mind: the heat of Rio’s lingering touches, Agatha’s intense, possessive gaze when you thought you were off their radar.

Desire. It had always been desire.

Can’t you hear it?

It can hear you

It wants me to

Your heart pounded violently in your chest; a dizzying mix of fear and exhilaration consumed you.

And can’t you hear that scratching?

I ask your eyes

"Oh, my love," Rio murmured against Agatha’s lips, teasing. "You loved watching. You wanted to see her completely lose herself, didn’t you?"

Agatha let out a primal sound, her fingers burying into Rio’s hair, forcing her to look directly at her. "I wanted more than that," she purred. "I wanted to destroy her with you... make her understand there’s no way out for us."

And we fall into each other

The scratching grows so loud

Because that unwanted animal

Wants nothing more than to get out

And I scream: Oh, what’s the time, little Wolf?

But you, you’re blind, you bleat, you bear your claws

You took a deep breath, trying to step away from the scene, but your feet wouldn’t obey. The ache between your legs became unbearable, and you hated admitting how much every indecent word from them made your body vibrate.

"She will be ours," Agatha stated, shamelessly, her eyes half-lidded with uncontrolled pleasure.

Rio moaned deeply, her hips moving even more frantically against Agatha’s body. Sweat glistened on her skin, and each thrust seemed to pull new, pleasure-laden sounds from them both.

Rio’s voice emerged, rough, hungry: "What do you want to do to her?" Her teeth grazed Agatha’s pale neck before sinking in just enough to leave a mark. "I need you to tell me…"

And you rip my rib cage open

And devour what’s truly yours

And our screaming joins in unison

I cry out to the lord

Agatha gasped at the question’s impact, her fingers digging into Rio’s shoulders as the sexual tension exploded around them. Her blue eyes, now wild and gleaming, stared at the ceiling as if she were envisioning a scene too forbidden, too intense to be contained in simple words.

'Cause if we join our hands in prayer enough

To God, I imagine it all starts to sound like applause

"Oh, I want to make her cry. Watch those beautiful eyes looking at me, begging for anything… anything, fuck," Agatha whispered, her voice thick with lust and something dangerously possessive. "I want to see her trembling under my hands… begging for it. To be mine."

Rio let out a deep, guttural moan, her movements growing even more urgent. "You want to break her, don’t you?"

Can’t you hear it?

It can hear you

It wants me to

"And rebuild her the right way. My way," Agatha murmured, her lips curling into a wicked smile. "She deserves to feel everything. The pain. The pleasure. The need to serve."

The tension between them built, almost unbearable, and you couldn’t hold back the trembling sigh that escaped your lips at hearing those words. The sound made Agatha pause for a brief second before she smirked slowly, a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she turned her head to Rio.

A soft moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it. Your hand trembled as it slid inside your pajama pants, fingers finding warm, damp skin.

But that second wind is coming, love, it’s coming for all we own

And on the creature scratches, it doesn’t know how to get out (let me out)

And you, you follow philosophies

But me, I laugh, I choke

You tried to be discreet, silent, but your body was on fire, pulsing with a desperate urgency that could no longer be ignored. The moans of the two women in the bedroom only worsened things, each thrust of Rio pulling cries from Agatha that echoed through the house like forbidden music.

Well hello, my hollow Holofernes

I wink but you don’t get the joke

Hold the hand of the God-child, they said

As she falls from the sky

Your fingers moved in slow, needy circles, the soft fabric of your pajama pants brushing against your sensitive skin as you touched yourself. Pleasure radiated through your body, growing more intense by the second, the muscles in your legs already trembling as you lost yourself in the sensation.

You bit your lip hard to muffle a moan, your knees threatening to give out. But none of that mattered. You wanted this. Needed it.

Be good to me, I beg of her

Be good be good be good be good be good be good be good

Agatha’s intense gaze still seemed to burn in your mind, even as she moaned Rio’s name, her nails digging into her wife’s back.

And Rio… oh, Rio seemed to feel everything. Each movement of the strap-on seemed to reflect directly in her body, as if she were completely connected to the pleasure she was giving.

Agatha arched violently, a sharp cry tearing through the air as her orgasm consumed her in almost brutal waves, her muscles clenching around the nothing she so desperately wished to be filled.

Rio kept moving, prolonging every spasm of pleasure, her own body trembling with the sheer intensity of the scene—as if the simple sight of Agatha lost in that state was enough to bring her to the edge.

When she finally slowed, both women lay still for a moment, breathing heavily. The silence that settled over the room was thick, charged with the memory of the wild pleasure that still lingered between them.

The air around you felt too heavy, impossible to breathe, but you kept going. Your fingers moved with more precision, searching for that spot that would send you over the edge. And when you found it, it was as if the ground disappeared beneath your feet.

Your eyes squeezed shut as a hot, overwhelming orgasm tore through your body in waves, leaving you trembling and almost too weak to stand.

When your eyes finally opened, the scene was still before you—Agatha and Rio still trapped in that frantic cycle of pleasure, completely unaware of your presence. And you, leaning against the wall beside the door, your chest rising and falling rapidly, knew that something inside you had changed forever.

And she replies

No, no, not I.

~*~

After this there is no way to turning back.

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01

@aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06

@absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella

198 notes · View notes

ofstarsandvibranium · 9 months ago

Text

Passion

Fandom: Star Wars - The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x GN!Reader

Summary: Your attraction to Qimir grows as well as your strength in the Force.

Qimir Masterlist

Not only has Qimir been helping you strengthen your connection to the Force. He's also been helping you how to fight and attack those who threaten to knock you down if they so choose.

He swings at you with a staff and you bend back as it nearly hits your head. He swings overhead and you block the hit with your own staff.

"Good," he pulls back, twirling his weapon in his hand, "Your defense is strong. Now it's your turn. Attack me," he goes into a stance, holding his staff out.

You yell out as you come at him with full force. You swing left and right. Your blows are blocked in swift, fluid motions. You thrust your staff at him and he dodges it.

You glare at him, which makes him chuckle. That sounds eggs you on further as you continue to attack Qimir with as much strength as you can.

"You're frustrated. Good. Use that feeling and call upon the Force."

He swings at you and you block it. Both of your staffs forming an X. You know Qimir is holding back his strength and it makes you a little bit angry. You feel yourself vibrate as you summon the Force.

Qimir, feeling you go stronger, hardens his gaze. He leans in, occupying the open space between the two staffs, his lips close to yours, "Do it," he whispers.

You punch your fist forward and, with the Force, Qimir is thrust into the air and falls onto his back with a hard thud.

He groans out a laugh, "That's it. That's what I've been waiting for." He sits up and rolls back his shoulders, "That," he points at you, "I need more of that from you."

You let out a deep breath and walk over to him. You stick your hand out and he takes it. You help him to his feet and when he stands, his face is right up close to yours.

"You're doing well," he says softly, his breath upon your lips.

He's been getting a lot closer these days. His touch and eyes lingering on you. You shouldn't like it, but you can't help it.

You always found Qimir as attractive, but now with the closeness and his bold actions, your resolve is weakening.

You gulp, taking a step back, "But I can be better."

"You're already doing well for the short time you've been here, don't invalidate your efforts." He uses the Force to bring his staff to him, and he holds out his hand for yours. You hand it to him and look away, "I need to be better."

"And you will in time," he starts trekking down the hill and you follow him, "How long did it take Mae?"

"Stop comparing yourself to her. Her journey is much different from yours."

You follow him in silence until you enter the cave that you now call your home, "Does it bother you that I compare myself to Mae?"

Setting the staffs aside, Qimir sighs, "I understand why you do. A part of me is okay with it because it motivates you. It drives you to work harder and improve."

"But?"

"But Mae is different. She began her training when she was young. So, yes, she is more skilled and her connection to the Force is much stronger. But that doesn't mean yours won't be. I'll make sure of that," he says the last sentence with finality, leaving you somewhat satisfied with his response.

You let out a deep exhale, "I'm going to wash up and clear my head," you point a finger at him, "I better not find you watching me." He chuckles and turns his back to you.

You go to the shore and proceed to strip to nothing. The weather has been warmer so the cool temperature of the water is a welcoming sensation.

You walk further out to the point you're wading in the water. You let out a relaxed sigh. You cup your hands, scooping up water and dunking it onto your head. You smile to yourself at the cool feeling.

"Y/N," you hear a whisper and you look around.

"Hello?"

"Y/N," you hear the whisper again.

"Qimir?" you call out to the man and he doesn't appear.

You feel a tug at your leg and the whisper of your name again. You don't see anything in the water, yet you still feel a light tug.

You continue to wade there, contemplating about going under or not.

"Y/N, come, Y/N," the distant voice whispers.

Your curiosity gets the best of you. You take a deep breath and plunge yourself underwater.

____________________

Qimir was working on lunch while you cleaned up. Various stews, soups, and occasional roasted meats were what made up a majority of your meals. Today was another stew.

It didn't take long to make, so once it was ready, Qimir was stepping outside the cave, to let you know lunch was ready. No response.

He walks down the path to the shore where he sees your discarded clothes, but he doesn't see you.

"Y/N?!" he calls as he looks around, hoping you'd reveal yourself. Then he sees a splash in the water and your arms flailing about.

"Y/N!" he cries out as he runs into the water without hesitation. He swims as fast as he could to your struggling form. His arms wrapping around you and he begins to pull you towards the shore.

When you break through the surface, you let out a sputtering gasp, water following from your mouth. You're coughing when Qimir finally reaches shore.

He looks at you with concern, "Are you okay? What happened?"

You blink at him in confusion, "Wha-Where-" you take in your surroundings and then realize the state you're in, "Kriff, where are my clothes?"

Qimir quickly hands them to you and you do your best to cover up. He looks away, allowing you to quickly re-dress.

"What happened?" he asks, his back still to you.

"I heard a voice," you respond and he turns back to you with furrowed brows, "A woman's voice. She was calling my name and I felt a tug. It felt like something wanted me to go under the water. So I did and...I'm not sure what happened," you look down, recalling what you saw, "I saw my aunt and then...I think I saw my mother. Then I heard screaming and-and I started choking." You look up, "Has that happened to you before?"

He gives a curt nod, "Voices, a calling. Visions."

"Is it the Force or something else?"

"It might be the Force trying to connect you to something or someone. You said you were raised by your aunt. You never knew your parents?"

You shake your head, "My aunt said they were troubled people, that they got involved into dangerous things. They left me with my aunt and never came back." You clear your throat, "Thank you...for saving me."

"Of course," Qimir mumbles and nods to the cave, "C'mon. Lunch is ready."

___________________________

After lunch, you and Qimir are at the top of the hill again. This time, no weapons.

"The Jedi can fight with and without a saber. You need to be skilled at both if you want to defeat them," Qimir explains as he circles you, "You're proficient, but you need to be better." He then holds up a piece of fabric, "Let's see how you do without one of your senses."

"How am I supposed to fight then?"

"I'll let you figure that out," he says teasingly as he stands behind you, tying the cloth over your eyes.

You do your best to listen to his movements. You hear him step and you immediately turn your head to the right. Hearing another step, this time closer, you immediately punch your right fist out. Qimir immediately catches it in his fist.

"Close."

With his hand still on your wrist, you pull him in and kick him back, making him release you. You're smirking, "Point for me."

He gives a low laugh, "I'll admit, my defenses were down. But they won't be this time."

You inhale and relax your body. You feel the power of the Force within you as Qimir attempts to strike at you but you dodge. You weave through a combination of punches. Block a kick here and there before you're attacking him back.

You can't see it, but he's smiling as he blocks your attempts. His eyes shine with pride and amusement, especially when he blocks one hit, only to be punched in the chest. His chest feels heavy but not because of the hit.

You take a few steps back, slightly breathless, "Another point for me."

You don't hear him and your brows furrow, "Qimir?" he doesn't respond and when you take off your blindfold, he's standing right in front of you. You look at him with concern, "Everything okay?"

He observes you face. Taking in the color of your eyes, the slope of your nose, curve of your lips. His eyes lingering on your lips a little too long.

His hand slowly comes up to cup the back of your neck.

"Qimir," you whisper his name but nothing else. You're not sure what you want to say.

His face draws in closer, his lips a breath away from yours. He's hesitating and you don't want him to any longer.

You close the the gap, pressing your lips against his. You grip onto his shirt as if afraid that he'd disappear if you do.

He kisses you with fervency and desperation. You don't think you've ever been kissed in such a way, with so much want. So much...passion.

When he pulls away for air, he looks at you with a slight haze in his eyes.

Realization sets in. Insecurity creeps.

You move to back away, but stops you, "Don't." his demand is low and desperate, "Don't run from it. I know you've been feeling it too."

"I don't know what I'm feeling," you reply hastily.

He nods, "Yes, you do, because I've been feeling it since we first met." He lifts his hand up and you lift yours, mirroring his. You feel the pulsing vibrations between the two of you. You feel the pull of him, the want to be close to him.

"What does it mean?"

Qimir takes your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours, "That we are meant to be."

#qimir x reader #qimir imagine #the acolyte #the acolyte imagine #star wars

635 notes · View notes

drgnmnts · 9 months ago

Text

knuckles bruised (like violets) │ jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!OC

Title: knuckles bruised (like violets)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen!OC (Daenys Targaryen, daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Alicent Hightower)

Summary: There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, especially for those caught in between, longing only for peace as they're met with fire and blood.

_______________________________________________

Chapter 4 - Belonging

📢A/N: JACE HAS CURLY HAIR. LET'S FORGET THAT WIG EVER EXISTED, OKAY? IMAGINE THIS JACE WITH CURLY HAIR. I WOULD GO TO WAR FOR THOSE CURLS. 📢

Word count: 3.4k

SIX YEARS LATER

“Limbās, Silverwing.”

Slower.

The powerful beat of the she-dragon’s wings came to a stop as she let her enormous body glide steadily through the clouds, her iridescent scales glistening like precious jewels in the sun’s embrace.

As she circled around Bronzegate, right above Storm’s End, Daenys could descry King’s Landing on the other side of the Kingswood.

Despite Rhaenyra giving her full agency to visit the capital whenever she so desired, the truth was that Daenys had only flown back to see her family three times in the time she had spent living at Dragonstone.

The first time had been a couple of months after her departure, upon receiving a letter from her mother in which the queen told her she missed her. When she arrived, Alicent had stared at her in confusion, as if she hadn’t expected her daughter to interpret her words as an invitation.

The second time had been for Aegon and Helaena’s wedding, but she was back at Dragonstone before the bedding ceremony.

The third time was a year later, when Helaena had given birth to Jahaerys and Jahaera, and it had pained Daenys terribly to say goodbye to her dear niece and nephew.

After that, she had never returned.

Across the expanse of trees, Vhagar’s silhouette stood out, too big to be kept in the Dragonpit with the others. Daenys had encountered Aemond several times throughout the years, both siblings finding the coast of Tarth their preferred place to rest after a long ride. They had never spoken to each other, perhaps out of fear of not knowing what to say, or perhaps (and this Daenys would never admit out loud) because Aemond had grown up to become quite an intimidating young man, and Daenys wasn’t sure whether he would be up for a conversation or a shared meal. She didn’t really know him anymore, and a big part of that was her fault.

As she ordered Silverwing to head back to Dragonstone, the dragon’s sinuous movements beneath Daenys so familiar and a testament to its formidable strength, Daenys wondered if her brothers ever thought of her. She knew Helaena did, as the sisters often sent letters to each other to keep in touch and share whatever news they may have, but she hadn’t heard from the boys in years, not even from Daeron.

“Lantā mēre,” she commanded after a few hours in complete silence as Silverwing approached the Dragonmont and, as her rider requested, the dragon descended gently.

Daenys was sore after such a long ride, though this kind of pain she was happy to endure.

“We imagined you in Essos already,” welcomed her Daemon, covered in ash and dirt as a result of one of his expeditions to the volcanic tunnels searching for eggs.

“I am ten-and-seven, Uncle. How come you still worry about me as if I were a child?” she asked, smiling at him as she let the dragonkeepers tend to Silverwing.

“When did I say I was worried?” he wondered, feigning confusion, as he properly greeted his niece with a side hug. His other arm was occupied with a satchel, where she assumed he had placed Syrax’s eggs.

“How many?” she asked, pointing at the leather bag.

“Three,” he said, clearly overjoyed by the new addition to the Dragonmont collection. “We would have more if you let Silverwing rest for a bit, being able to coil with Vermax would have her producing eggs in no time.��

Daenys let out a small laugh. “You ask too much of me, Uncle,” she replied. “Speaking of Vermax, where is Jace?”

______________________________

After a quick bath and a change of clothes, Daenys followed Daemon's indications about Jace's whereabouts. His High Valyrian lessons always took place in the Great Hall, where he practiced with old texts and the invaluable help of Maester Gerardys.

"Vezhof, Maestur. Iā iāhor naejot ābrot ñuha lentys' tresys isse hāedrys," she said as she walked down the stairs. You may leave, Maester. I wish to instruct my sister's son this morning.

“Certainly, Princess.”

As Maester Gerardys left the room, Jace stood in his place, hands joined at his back, waiting for his aunt to take the maester’s place next to him. Daenys could feel his warm gaze on her, but she didn’t meet his eye; instead, she scanned the page they had been practicing with and continued the lesson where the maester had left it.

“Aegon mazverdagon lēkia rȳ ondoso lentor bē skoros,” she read.

Jace repeated the sentence a few times, and tried his luck at the translation:

“Aegon… built a small wooden fort… atop the hill”.

“Sȳrī jorrāelagon, ñuha dārilaros,” Daenys said. Well done, my prince. “Dāria voktys belmonda zūgusy issa nāpār lēkia.”

This one took a bit longer. It was a difficult text but she knew Jacaerys was eager to become fluent, which made this kind of practice necessary.

“The city expanded… fast?” he tried. He used to be ashamed of speaking High Valyrian in front of her, too embarrassed of his struggles when it clearly rolled so easily off her tongue, but he enjoyed her lessons way too much to miss them due to his own self-consciousness.

“Rapidly,” she corrected. “Zūgusy issa nāpār lēkia, under his descendants. It’s a tricky one.”

“Not for you, it seems,” he said, not an ounce of bitterness in his tone.

Daenys beamed at him and shrugged. “I guess growing up with Aemond being as competitive as I am had its perks. It motivated me to become better than him at everything.”

Jace nodded, chuckling at the memory of Daenys as a girl, all those times she would demand a rematch with tears in her eyes everytime she lost at something, tireless.

“Come on, one more,” she urged. “Ñuha jorrāelagon gevie issa bē sȳndesse.” A small smile tugged at her lips, and Jace grinned to himself as he approached her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“My betrothed looks… lovely this morning,” he replied, earning himself a pleased hum from Daenys, thus letting him know that he was, in fact, correct.

“Perfect,” Daenys said, placing the palms of her hands on his chest.

Neither of them could remember when their friendship had turned into something more, as the idea of marriage slowly shifted from a burden to something they both awaited with indescribable excitement.

Perhaps it had been a consequence of the hours they spent flying together on Vermax and Silverwing, or their walks along the coast of Dragonstone, sharing memories and secrets. Perhaps it had been Jace’s efforts to make her feel included and welcomed from the moment she set foot on Dragonstone all those years ago, despite her initial reluctance to get close to him and his family. Or maybe it had been the tenderness she exuded every time she spoke to Joffrey, or how easily she made Luke laugh, or the way Jace’s heartbeat quickened every time she met his gaze.

Jace brushed his nose against hers. “We can go for a walk later,” he offered.

“Or a ride,” she said, and the two of them smiled at her eagerness to be on dragonback again after having spent so long flying over the bay.

“A ride, then,” he agreed.

Daenys’ hands slid up his chest and shoulders until they reached his face, where she gently stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. Too absorbed in gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, neither of them noticed that someone else had entered the room.

“Is this how you expect to become fluent at High Valyrian?” Princess Rhaenyra asked as she made her way down the stairs. Her tone was of amusement and there was no intention of admonishment in her face, but her presence made the young couple separate immediately.

“Mother,” Jace greeted her bowing his head, partly to salute her, and partly to hide the bright red that now tinted his cheeks.

“My princess,” said Daenys, curtsying accordingly, equally embarrassed.

Rhaenyra walked up to them, her hands softly caressing her pregnant belly, which was now starting to round as she was almost halfway through her pregnancy.

“Maester Gerardys said I would find you here. I should've known you would be much more invested in your lessons with such a beautiful teacher.”

Jace smiled timidly, still unable to look at his mother. Amused, she continued.

“Perhaps you’d like to show me how the instruction is going?” she requested as she took a seat at the table, tired from the pregnancy.

Daenys quickly returned to the text, ignoring the pink in her cheeks. It took her a moment to find the right page.

“Dāria Āeksio daor lēkia Aegonforto,” she read.

Jace sighed. “Daria…”

“Dāria,” Rhaenyra corrected, watching her son intently.

“Dāria Āeksio daor… The Red Keep changed the Aegonfort.”

“Replaced,” the two women said at the same time, the occurrence making them chuckle.

Not wanting to make her son suffer any longer, Rhaenyra gestured for Daenys to close the book; there was no need for the lesson to continue.

“It pleases me that you two have found it in you to enjoy each other’s company so much,” she began, “but you have to be careful. We do not need rumors starting to spread around about the princess’ virtue.”

At the mere mention of his betrothed’s reputation being affected in any way by his lack of care, Jace’s expression changed into a serious one.

“Of course, Mother. I would never allow such a thing.”

“It won’t happen again, Princess. I promise,” added Daenys, fully aware of how terrible it would be if such slander was thrown her way.

Rhaenyra nodded, pleased with their attitude, while she caressed her belly. As she stood, both Jace and Daenys straightened their backs again, showcasing the respect they felt for the princess. Rhaenyra approached them, and placed her motherly hands on each of their cheeks.

“A raven arrived today from Driftmark,” she began, and both Jace and Daenys’ brows furrowed with worry almost simultaneously. “Baela wrote to Daemon to let us know that Vaemond Velaryon is attempting to challenge Luke’s claim to the Driftwood Throne.”

“But Lord Corlys already named Luke his heir, and Father agreed,” Daenys protested.

“Lord Corlys might not survive his injuries. We cannot count on him,” Rhaenyra said simply.

“What about Princess Rhaenys?” wondered Jace.

Rhaenyra sighed. “Let us hope she chooses to support us.”

“So we’re going to King’s Landing?” the young princess further asked.

“On the morrow,” Rhaenyra confirmed, and Daenys’ expression changed despite how much she was trying to hide her emotions. “Luke is upset, as you can imagine,” she added, speaking to Jace. “He needs his brother.”

Jace nodded, understanding, and gave Daenys a look of apology: their ride would need to wait.

After her son had left the room, Rhaenyra sat down again.

"I know that face," she said to Daenys.

Ever since welcoming her into her family, Rhaenyra had earned herself the role of mentor and confidante in Daenys’ life. She had taken the time to explain the politics of the realm to her, the importance of legacy, and the strength that Daenys would need to cultivate if she were to become queen consort one day. With time, the pair had found it in them to slowly build a bridge over the chasm that had once separated them.

Daenys sat across from her, and that perspective made them look like two different versions of the same person.

“How bad is it?” she asked.

Rhaenyra took a moment to answer as she stroked her belly.

“By putting into question Luke’s legitimacy, he’s also questioning Jace’s and my own claim to the Throne.”

Daenys lowered her gaze, worried. “Why now?” she asked.

“What did your mother say the last time she wrote to you? That Father was getting weaker and weaker by the day, could barely move or speak without overexerting himself,” she said, raising her brows slightly.

“So you think this is their doing? The queen and the Hand’s?” Daenys asked. My mother and my grandsire.

“Not entirely, but they are definitely supporting Vaemond’s claims.”

Daenys buried her face in her hands. She was tired. Exhausted. The fact that after so many years the matter was still being questioned despite King Viserys’ blessing for Luke to inherit the Driftwood Throne was senseless.

“There is something I wanted to talk to you about. Or ask of you, to be precise,” said Rhaenyra after a moment of silence.

When Daenys nodded, encouraging her to speak, Rhaenyra reached over the table and grabbed her hand.

“I need you to promise me that you will stay strong while we’re at King’s Landing. That you won’t falter when they spill their honey in your ear,” she said. Daenys’ brow furrowed, feeling confused and slightly insulted.

“Have I not proven my loyalty to you time and time again?” she asked.

“Of course,” Rhaenyra replied immediately. “Yes, always. But right now, the Red Keep is a venomous place. I wouldn’t want you to be put in a situation where you have to choose sides.”

“But I have chosen a side,” Daenys said, defensive. “Every single day, by not escaping, I am choosing a side. It is your cause that I believe in, your son the one I want to see sitting on the Driftwood Throne when the time comes.”

Rhaenyra let out a breath. When she spoke again, her eyes were honest.

“You are very important to me, Daenys. Not only as a sister but as an ally. Your support means a lot to this family and I fear that, by exposing you to them, I might be pushing you away from us.”

As she always did when she was stressed or worried, a habit she had unknowingly picked up from her mother, Daenys began nervously picking at her fingers. Rhaenyra noticed and held her hand again, making her stop.

“You took me in six years ago,” she began, “a girl you barely knew, who had been mean to your children, who had... taken part in the narrative that was told about them at court. I didn't make it easy for you at first, and yet you treated me as if you were my— as if I was your daughter. You offered me a seat at your table, a chair next to you by the hearth, a place in your council. Do you really think me so ungrateful?”

Rhaenyra lowered her gaze, ashamed for having even considered the possibility of betrayal, but also pleased with Daenys' contained outrage: it meant she truly cared.

“No. No, of course not.”

The tension between them eased as they shared a moment of silent solidarity, but the weight of the impending trip to King’s Landing still loomed over them.

Finally, Rhaenyra spoke again, her voice steady. “You should get some rest. There’s much to be done before we leave.”

_____________________

That night, as she sat at her desk with only the hearth and a single candle illuminating her chamber, Daenys decided to write to Helaena.

My dearest Helaena,

It has saddened me deeply to learn that Vaemond Velaryon means to call into question Lucerys’ legitimacy. I might err on the side of innocence, but I had hoped this matter was already settled. Perhaps this instance will finally put an end to such nonsense.

Despite this, I look forward to seeing you again, and your children. They must be so grown now… I will make sure to bring presents for them so they can remember their aunt.

We will arrive at King’s Landing within the week, as we must sail since Rhaenyra and Daemon want Father to meet little Aegon and little Viserys.

I do hope we can have a peaceful time together.

Your sister, who loves you,

Daenys

As she rolled the piece of parchment, the wax for the three-headed dragon seal already melted and ready to use, Ser Lorent knocked on her door.

“Forgive me, Princess. Prince Jacaerys requests a word,” he announced.

“Of course. Send him in.” It wasn’t uncommon for Jace to visit Daenys in her quarters, and Rhaenyra allowed it, so long as the door remained open.

Unlike Daenys, who was already clad in her sleeping clothes, a beautiful crimson robe covering her nightgown, Jace was still wearing his normal clothes, save for the cape. Once he was inside, she stood.

“How’s Luke?” she asked.

Jace made a face, shrugging. “Terrified, honestly. You know how he feels about this matter,” he explained.

Daenys hummed, cutting the distance between them. As soon as she was in front of him, Jace wrapped her in his arms.

After a few seconds of comfortable silence, drowning in each other’s familiar scents, with Jace’s face buried in her neck and her hands in his curls, Daenys spoke. “I don’t want to go,” she confessed, and she sounded just like she had all those years before, except this time it was the opposite situation. She had been holding her feelings in all day but now, in Jace’s arms, she felt safe enough to let them out.

“I know,” he murmured back. “I’m not too excited about it either.”

When Daenys spoke again, she was crying.

“Am I horrible?”

As soon as he heard her broken voice Jace broke the embrace, only to gently grab her face as his brow furrowed in worry.

“No! Of course not, why do you think that?”

He caught a tear with his thumb as it slid down her cheek.

“I don’t know, I— I haven’t seen them in years, and when the opportunity arises I would rather just not go. And I’m worried about Luke, and I don’t want your mother to get upset, and—.”

“Shh…” Jace soothed her gently, noticing the way her anxiety was starting to escalate. He put his forehead against hers, and Daenys closed her eyes. Outside, Ser Lorent peeked discreetly, just to check in on them. “Listen to me. Whatever Vaemond Velaryon has to say, it will be to no avail. My mother will defend Luke and put an end to all of this once and for all. And… I know it is difficult for you to see everybody again, but you will not be alone this time, hm? I will be with you. We will all be with you.”

Daenys had spent her entire life trying to feel like she belonged. Somewhere. Anywhere. Neither from here, nor from there. Always adjusting, fitting in, packing up, looking for a spot.

For many years, the only moment she was able to achieve that feeling was when riding Silverwing, hence her passion for spending her days on dragonback. Whenever she rode her dragon, she felt like a part of her that was never good enough for anyone was restored: bad daughter, bad sister, bad princess, good dragonrider. And so, she had decided that her place in the world was on her dragon’s back.

Jace had changed her mind.

He wasn’t just kind, or gentle, or good. He knew her; really knew her. And every new part of her she showed him, no matter how ugly, or embarrassing, or despicable, he embraced it. Loved it.

Daenys belonged on her dragon’s back, but she also belonged in Jace’s arms.

I love you, she thought.

“You are too good,” she said instead, still sniffling but much calmer.

Jace smiled before softly kissing her forehead. “And you worry too much. It isn’t so bad, actually. I think I’ll find enjoyment in showing off my betrothed around the court.”

This made Daenys smile, a beautiful shade of pink bringing her cheeks to life. “I’m sure all the girls will bat their eyelashes at you as soon as they see you,” she said. “And the women.”

Jace chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Let them. They can bat their eyelashes all they want. Besides, they’ll be too busy being envious of how beautiful you are.”

Daenys shook her head, but her beaming smile and the way she couldn’t hold Jace’s gaze for a second showed how much she loved his flattery.

She kissed his cheek, and Ser Lorent cleared his throat outside.

Jace sighed.

“I must go. I’ll come for you in the morning.”

“Sleep well,” she said as he softly kissed her hand.

Jace smiled at her once more before finally walking out the door, leaving her alone again in her chamber.

As she settled into bed, trying to find sleep quickly, she didn’t think of Vaemond Velaryon, her mother’s frown, or the politics of the realm. Instead, the only thing on her mind was kind brown eyes and the smell of leather and salt water.

_______________________________________________

If you liked this, let me know in any way! 💕

Also, thank you so much for all your kind comments! If I'm missing someone who wants to be added to the tag list, let me know!

Series Taglist: @void21, @burningwitchobject, @hellish-idiot, @inf4ntdeath, @klutzylaena, @swimmjacket , @helo1281917 , @cat-winter

#game of thrones #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon x oc #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon x reader #hotd #knuckles bruised (like violets)

416 notes · View notes