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desireangel · 2 months ago

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Dark Cherry [4] | Aemond Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: MDNI 18+!! canon divergence!!! I fucked the timeline and nigly bits bc this was an impulse fic ok soooo it was mostly unplanned, almost smut, angst, let the grovelling happen babyyy, unedited, mention of alys x aemond but not in a good way :((, infidelity, talk of sex, guilt, mentions of Aegon x reader, hmmm I ramble, little vulnerable Aemond, bad language, let me know if I've missed anything!

Author's note: y'all I was never done with that man like there's no easy out for him :llll. Anyways I wrote most of this instead of studying which I needed to do. Perhaps I'll have my hand at another idea I'm cooking before part 5 but I'm alsoooo unsure about how keen we are to keep this one going - like is it getting too much??? either way, I enjoy writing this. and idk how to shut up, clearly, because I love that internal mind talk shit. Drop your thoughts in my inbox or PM me because I love to yap!!! xoxo, kisses!!! <3

Masterlist

He was a fool. A spoiled, arrogant and entitled fool. You often thought about whether Aemond actually recognised the effect of his actions on anyone else. It was always ‘I did it for us’ or ‘I did it because I had to do it’.

So after your confrontation the day before, it had surprised you that Aemond had truly believed he was forgiven. Maybe it shouldn’t have. You had, after all, sat beside him and laughed with him. Shared a moment as if things were better. But it was nothing more than a lighthearted acknowledgement that whatever game was being played was entirely ridiculous yet you could feel how something had changed. There was a newfound intensity between the two of you and Aemond had clearly understood that he had made a mistake

But that wouldn't be enough for forgiveness. Things would never really be the same. You will never forget. The nameless woman had made a home in your unconscious mind and everything would remind you of the woman your husband had chosen to take to bed over you. She was beautiful, she was experienced and free of burden. Based on that alone a part of you could see why she could have been a better choice–a part of you that ached and pained ceaselessly.

And you weren’t sure you could carry on as if Aemond hadn’t thrown your entire world into the pits of ruin. Because that is exactly what he may as well have done. All you had was your marriage to him–a fact that was as painful as it was true. If it all fell apart because of him only you would suffer from it.

Your name, your family’s name. A Lady born to a house of remarkably lowly nobility with little more than your marriage to the prince. A charity case marriage to tell the realm’s people that the Crown was not so prejudiced as to be above uniting with the likes of your house. That the Lannisters and Baratheons were important but they were not everything. A fabrication only made necessary to cover up the fact that it was a lie–the Targaryens (and even the Hightowers as you had come to realise) really did believe they were of better blood.

A failure to fulfil your duty to the Targaryen crown as Prince Aemond’s wife would destroy your family name. And you would have no prospect of happiness after it. What else did you have aside from this?

Aemond would never understand that. Because not only was he a man but he was a prince. A privilege, a safety and a security he had inherited through birth.

Aside from the pressures of society, he had hurt you. Badly.

Despite your own confliction about it, you did have love for Aemond–how could you not? Love came from many things and while yours may have come from your dependance on his word, on the duty he performed to be your protector as he was to the Crown and its subjects, on his polite affections as limited as they were, it still found its way into your heart. Perhaps it was foolish to allow it entry into your existence when you had already known that there was no love to come from Aemond.

It didn’t change anything. Betrayed your trust, taken you for granted and destroyed the sanctity of a husband’s loyalty as if he were as dishonourable as any other Lord.

You would never say it out loud but it had broken your heart. And heartache is a consuming, suffocating and painful thing to feel. A constant lump in your throat, something always weighing your chest down, a disastrous, aching discomfort in your belly. Tears had stained your pillow at night and dried by the morning, the fabric of the linen acquiring the same unphased facade that you would wear as you plastered on a mask of ignorance so that you could continue to live through your day.

All because you had wanted him. Aemond, who was doomed to disappoint and destroy merely because that is all that princes do.

For him to have mistaken your truce–the end to the back and forth game that had been wreaking havoc in its wake-as forgiveness was infuriating. He had no idea.

Well, maybe he did. Now that he had seen you with another just as you had seen him. And you recognised your own experience in the moment he had realised what was happening.

Aemond’s call to breakfast made you want to laugh. But you had turned him down for afternoon tea just the day before only to be found swallowing his brother’s seed. You winced at the shamefulness of your thought, muttering a quick prayer for the sake of your piety whether it was genuine or not.

He was seated lazily in the chair he favoured, an array of food spread across the table. There was a book in his hand. The same one he had taken from you the last time you had shared your morning meal together. Aemond had a smirk playing on his lips.

You cleared your throat, curtsying before sitting down at the other end of the table to him and with as much distance between you as you could muster. “Good morrow, my Prince,”

“Formalities, I see,” He looked at you through his lashes. It was odd seeing him so relaxed, the tension that was always in his shoulders had been lost and there was a playful glint to his eye. You wanted to smack it out. “I believed we were past titles and distance for the sake of propriety, my sweet. As well as rigid greetings.”

All you responded with was a stare.

Dropping the book to his side, Aemond sighed and leaned forward, pouring tea into a cup. He stood, taking a couple steps forward to hand it to you. “We have fixed-”

“We have fixed nothing.”

“I am trying to turn a new leaf,” he commanded. You took the cup and saucer from his hand, the warm waft of vanilla and rose giving you a slight reprieve from the threat that rolled off his tongue. “If you do not recall, dear wife, I as well have every reason to resent you. The image of you sucking on my useless brother’s cock is not one I can easily bare. Yet I have chosen to let it be. I could have easily decided otherwise.”

“That would make you a hypocrite.” You glanced at him over the rim of your teacup.

“It does not matter much if I am a hypocrite, does it?” Aemond sat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He wasn’t bothered with the food in front of him, focused solely on you. “I hardly see how that would change anything.”

You squirmed under the intensity of his stare, picking up a cherry from the bowl of fruits and rolling the stem between your fingers. “It matters to me. Certainly, it matters for your reputation among the smallfolk. Nobody cares for a selfish prince, my dear.”

Aemond hummed, smirking at the venom you spat at him. You noticed the coin that he rolled between his fingers, nimble and thoughtless as if it were like breathing. Not so much a nervous habit but a thoughtful one.

He couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t enjoy your confidence. It was refreshing. But there was a dip in his gut at the thought that there was no hope for the two of you. Aemond, ever logical, knew he had no one else to blame but himself with his lack of foresight and failure to see beyond the now and here.

Because Aemond had not even considered how things would go on should you not forgive him. He had assumed that you would if not merely on the basis that there was little lost from a relationship that hardly existed in the first place. You had love for him and he was so convinced that such a thing would be impossible that he didn’t consider that it would cause you heartache beyond slighted offence and jealousy.

A violet eye lingered on the cherry that remained between your fingers. Aemond was good at putting on an act. He thought for a moment that he would rather take lashes to his back than have you know that he had no idea how to love someone properly. A part of him was persuaded that he was incapable of being a good lover. The lashes seemed like a blissful gift compared to the self-loathing that simmered in his belly at the probability that he had ruined any chance your marriage had of recovery.

It crossed his mind that it was his ignorance towards you right from the beginning that had damned your relationship.

Either way, it did not help that you had turned to his brother for intimacy. Aemond felt his blood scorch whenever that invaded his mind. He wanted to crumble the walls of this fortress when he wondered if Aegon had enjoyed your womanhood. Jealousy did motivate him well, he realised, and Aemond had the murderous urge to feed Aegon to Vhagar.

Nonetheless, he feigned amusement. “It seems as if you care for one.”

You ate the cherry. It was sweet and rich. All you replied with was an upturn of your chin as you gracefully held a small embroidered towel to your lips.

“So I am not forgiven?” Aemond had to break the silence before it cut him open. “Are we not even?”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you held back a surprised laugh. “You never apologised. Not that it would make any difference.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“Of course you are not forgiven,” you sighed. The tea cup hit the table with a clang. Your disdain for his actions and his ignorance gave you an unfettered confidence around him which you weren’t accustomed to. It made it very difficult to control yourself. “And no, we are not even, my Prince. And since you have brought it to my attention, I am of half a mind to find Aegon and offer him a meal between my thighs. You see, I have often wondered how it would feel and I expect that our King would be happy to indulge my… curiosities.”

Aemond sneered, a silent one that was more visible in his intake of a breath, the curl of his lips and the hardening of his eye. Bullseye.

It took him less than a couple seconds to be on his knees in front of where you sat, a strong hand tightly gripping each side of your thighs over the thick fabrics of your dress. He had shoved the table aside, unphased as tea spilled and fruits and cheeses toppled to the floor. Something in the look of bewilderment on your face had Aemond ready to both grin at your clueless innocence and frown at your shock.

Aemond didn’t let himself dwell on the fact that you had given up on expecting such pleasures from him. He was your husband; nothing about what he was clearly intending on doing to you should surprise you. Cursing himself to perdition would not be enough for how he has failed you.

“I feel obliged to remind you that we had agreed,” he grazed his nose across your knees, looking up at you through his eyelashes, jaw clenched tight as he all but growled his words. “That there will be no more of this foolishness. Not from you and not from me.”

It was an onslaught of different things that had rendered you still and silent. The way Aemond looked at you like you were the only satiating force for his eternal hunger, the wordless mixture of desire and anger in how his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, the desperation in his voice, strained by the fear that you would. Or was it the overwhelming feeling that Aemond was finally taking some accountability and that maybe he recognised not what his actions were but the meaning that they carried?

For a moment Aemond just looked at you, conflicted and fragmented and unguarded. The sight of him like this reminded you of a vulnerable child. But it didn’t last long before the menacing, cautionary glint was back in his eye, his posture becoming rigid as shuffled the fabrics of your skirts.

A new kind of anxiety overcame you. Not like the insignificant nervousness you had felt that night when you had wandered into his chambers or used his leg to make yourself peak and not like the clueless apprehension with Aegon. It formed a ball in your chest and made it hard to breathe.

There was no chance he would ever admit it but you could see Aemond’s vulnerability and desperation within the hardened facade he had perfected. He wanted nothing more than to seem strong and powerful at all times, worthy of acclaim and reverence. But here he was, willing to stay on his knees and worship you forever, all under the pretence of rageful infatuation.

It was too hot. Even with the cool of the shadows cast by the dark net curtains that only let in enough daylight to see clearly and not enough to cause Aemond irritation from sensitivity in his eye, it was so warm you worried you would have to rip the sleeves off of your dress.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Aemond let out a soft, dark groan, running his fingers across the expanse of your legs over your stockings, your skirts already bunched at your hips. Skin burning at his touch, you couldn’t help the way you whined and squeezed your thighs together, squirming under the intensity of his gaze.

His voice was heavy with the burden of lust and regret. “I will be better. In all the ways that I have failed you and more. Your forgiveness, I realise, is not as easily granted as I presumed but I will show you that I am worthy of it.”

There was a moment of weakness in your mind before you caught yourself. You didn’t quite believe him. It had clearly been too easy for him to give you empty promises and there was no reason why things would be different now.

It was odd. Seeing Aemond weak like this.

What would it mean if you let him continue? It was clearly different this time. You couldn’t put it into words exactly but there was a rawness, a blitz of different emotions that set things ablaze and made you want to both weep and mewl for him.

You couldn’t spare a thought about why it was different. Aemond was right there, a weaponised Prince on his knees for you, a lowly Lady with nothing more to offer him than yourself. Since when did you hold all this power over him?

That night in his bedchambers and last night when you had shared a laugh despite everything that had unfolded felt detached in a way. When you had allowed yourself release over his leg it was simply that. A way to ease the tension he had put in your body and a way to leave him wanting.

Aemond’s eye swam with a tenderness you had not seen from him. He continued to look up at you waiting to gauge your response. It was a slight nod of your head which had his hands tearing at the soft fabric of your stockings, his lips instantly meeting the skin of your knees before you had the chance to even gasp. All the while, he kept his eye on you as if his heart would cease to beat if he could not watch the way you reacted to him.

It became increasingly harder to breathe. There were so many thoughts, so many sensations that you struggled to put it all together. Your flushed with anticipation, your cunt throbbed at the wet plushness of his lips on your hot skin and your hips squirmed at what was to come.

Your mind, however, flashed with the image of Aemond, exactly as he was now, between another woman’s thighs. A woman who didn’t flinch at the unfamiliar touch, who didn’t jerk away at the foreign feeling of being pleasured. You wondered if he would be so angered at the prospect of another man’s mouth on her womanhood, if her skin felt softer or more rough on his lips and if he looked at her with the same heated need.

It made you feel sick.

Aemond let himself enjoy the way your thighs tensed, pulling your smallclothes off of you as much as carefully as he could under the restriction of your skirts. There was an urge to rip the entire dress off but he knew it would be a step too far. He couldn’t help the low sounds that left him, sounds he couldn’t recognise. The expanse of your thighs and the sight of your flushed, hot cunt in front of him made his mouth water with a hunger that would have shocked him had he not been so distracted by your scent.

Without complete vision, Aemond had learned to train his sense of touch, taste, smell and hearing to make up for the disadvantage he was stuck with. They were always slightly heightened compared to those who never needed the compensation of senses but in the cloud of desire and lust, he was sensitive.

You whined at the way his tongue glided over your skin, biting down hard but not hard enough to be painful on the flesh of your upper thigh so close to where you needed to feel him. But Aemond was always remarkably patient and he merely made way to your other leg, repeating his ministrations and licking you from your knee to where he bit you at your thigh.

The haze that had possessed you made you lose track of your thoughts so easily. Still, they fought their way to the forefront of your mind at every chance they could and you were reminded of her.

Aemond’s mind was overwhelmed by you. There was no power in the realm that could make him think of anything else, not with the way you were trembling under his feathered touch and making such beautiful sounds for him, and not when he desired for anyone else apart from you.

A heavy breath of shame and excitement tumbled out of you at how lewdly he dragged the tip of his nose across your thigh, pressing it into the flesh that sat above your slick, aching cunt and inhaling. You clenched around nothing, your clit twitching at the sound of Aemond’s unabashed groan.

He grasped at your hips and your legs, his fingers burying into your flesh and tugging as if there would never be enough of you in his hands. It would have driven you into a similarly desperate state had things been different.

The prince between your thighs was a sight to behold. Aemond’s skin was flushed pink, his eyepatch slightly out of place and his hair tousled from the way your legs clenched and unclenched against his head. He was almost drooling, mumbling about how good you smelled and how perfect and pretty your cunt was for him. His cock had never been so hard, constricted by the stiff leather of his training attires.

Aemond enjoyed being a tease but there was only so much he could handle himself. While he wanted you to crave for him the way he was craving you so unbearably, Aemond needed to taste you. He needed to make you feel the blinding pleasure he should have been giving you at every chance he had since the night you were married. He needed to show you the ways of unbridled human desire and to show you all the ways your body could come undone and fall apart only to feel completely whole and fulfilled.

There was no changing the past but Aemond would make up for how completely inattentive he had been. He would show you all the more fervently. When Aemond placed an open mouthed kiss just above your slit, letting a string of his spit glide off of his tongue onto your sensitive pussy, you shuddered.

All at once your mind was once again taken over by unsavoury thoughts. It had your eyes welling with tears, a familiar lump lodging in your throat, threatening to come out in a devastated sob. There was a ringing in your ears and you were back at Aemond’s door, peeking in only to see him giving that woman the same touch he was giving you right now. He had seemed so enthralled by her and the way she must have tasted. It was as if he’d been there before, indulging in her with so much passion it rivalled how eagerly touched you in this moment.

Did her smell fill his veins with fire as yours was? Did her scent alone make his cock as painfully hard as yours did? Did her cunt drip for him the way yours did? Was the hunger in his eye shining for her too?

It was terrifying to consider.

Aemond would spend hours here, he had decided. His duties for the day could be damned to the hells for all he cared. There was a rumbling in his chest for what he saw in front of him, inviting him to indulge and filling his mind with senseless ardour. Aemond let himself enjoy just the scent of you, his eye fluttering shut and his nose gently resting above your folds as he breathed you in, caressing your thighs softly with his hands. As if he were starved for years, Aemond salivated and with no patience left within him, he brought his lips downwards to meet the precious cunt he had been dreaming of.

With a whimper that you couldn’t hold back, you jerked away from him. Aemond pulled away in surprise, his gaze full of confusion and lust and insecurity. “Wait, my love—“

You had slipped free of his grasp, a strangled cry escaping no matter how hard you tried to keep it in. There was one tear that slipped free, followed by countless more and you couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t bear to see that he was hurt before scrambling away from him.

She was stuck in your mind. The memory of Aemond’s little trysts with her replaying behind your eyes no matter how hard you tried to shut it out. It was clear that there was nothing you could do to get ahold of yourself because everytime you looked at him, so enthralled in you and your sex, she was there.

Laughing at you in the back of your mind, as if she had taken residence in a permanent place in your head, enjoying the state of despair and madness she and Aemond had led you to.

But she couldn’t be in your head. Not really. Not in the way it felt she was.

You barely glanced back at Aemond through your tears, struggling to even your breathing and calm the rapid beating of your heart. He hadn’t moved much; just simply stayed there frowning at the space that you had once occupied on the chair.

There was nothing he could do to change things. Aemond knew that as well as you did. But there was a pain in your heart at the way he looked so defeated, so guilty that it almost seemed like he would melt into a puddle of remorse. A far stretch from the usual stoic warrior that you had known him as.

“My prince, I–” you swallowed, your voice catching when he looked up at you with a wide eye and furrowed eyebrows. For a moment you remembered that he had no right - but he was trying, was he not? “I cannot continue with this knowing that you had touched her like this. It angers me and it upsets me and it pains me to think of it but ‘tis beyond my control.”

He stayed silent, observing the way you hid yourself from him and struggled to meet his gaze. There was a sullen look to you, one you had not entered with and it stuck needles in his flesh to think that he had been the cause of it. Aemond’s entire body felt hot and he was itching to tear off his leathers. He wished the gods would strike him down as he was for hurting you so.

You had turned away, disappearing from his quarters swiftly. You would never forget the image of how you had left him there–it was both satisfying and devastating.

Aemond, still on his knees for the ghost of you, his expression tortured and his shoulders tensed. It was a pathetic sight, should anyone stumble upon it, but you considered it beautiful. Beautiful in a lethal, catastrophic manner. Not unlike himself; a weaponised source of destruction who had a tendency to bring torment upon those he loved.

The rest of your day had been spent alone in your chambers. You hadn’t cried so much over any of it until now. The tears and sobs that you had held inside of yourself for weeks had forced themselves out, along with the emotions you had pushed down until you could no longer.

Aemond had a certain control while you were sitting in that seat, skirts bunched to your stomach and quivering for him to have his way. Regardless, the power was still yours and you knew that it was Aemond who was wrapped tightly around your finger at that moment. He would have listened to anything you had said–done anything you had told him to do.

Perhaps you had become too stubborn in your anger to have let yourself feel anything else. A retributive anger; one that sprouted from the lack of love that existed in your marriage and reached a climax at Aemond’s brazen adultery. And it only grew stronger in whatever back and forth Aemond had encouraged by dangling his whore in front of your face.

Whatever it was, you were feeling so much more now than you had before.

Or perhaps it was because you could see that Aemond was remorseful. He would never yet admit it but you knew from the way he had behaved since you had visited him in his bed. It was no act of redemption and definitely no apology but it was impossible to ignore the change in him. You had never seen Aemond the way you had seen him this morning.

Vulnerable, gentle, tormented.

A knock on your door had you sniffling and wiping away any tear stains that may have lingered on your cheeks. You had stopped crying for some time but the need to wallow and lament had stayed. When you called out to ask, the guard at your door notified you of the Dowager Queen’s presence.

Oh, seven hells.

There was really no chance you could refuse her so you merely let her in and called a servant to bring some refreshments. Queen Alicent sat herself down but remained tense, carefully watching you as you took a place beside her.

“Have you been crying?” Her concern was comforting. “I believe I know why.”

You straightened, not meeting the eye of the woman who reached a tender hand to your knee. Hiding behind a forced smile, you let out a breathy laugh. “I am certain the entirety of the Red Keep knows, Your Grace.”

“It has been known for some time,” Alicent was gentle, her cautionary gaze telling you that she was apprehensive about bringing her son’s misadventures up. You held your breath. “Since the first time he had summoned that Alys woman-”

“Alys? Is that her name?”

“You do not know?” There was a tense silence. Alicent couldn’t meet your gaze, pity swimming across her features. Aemond was her son and there were many things that she had let her sons get away with but her heart pained at the broken quiver in your voice.

Alicent had noticed the change in Aemond since the night that you had found him with Alys. The second time. He had never paid much attention to you aside from what appearances required yet Alicent knew her son far more than he would be willing to accept. She had known that there was something in his heart for you, no matter how small and no matter how it dwindled until set alight.

Aemond had done the wrong thing. She had no doubts about that. Alicent would have words with him once she figured out what to say to him. But he was her son and there were certain misdoings that she knew she had to defend them through. To protect his marriage, his image and his happiness. The Queen Dowager cleared her throat and reached for your hand, eyebrows furrowing at the way you stared down at your lap, the anguish you felt in your heart written clearly across your face.

“I understand that you are hurting, my dear. Although my husband remained faithful to me until his death and I cannot quite imagine the pain in your heart–I see how you have love for my son, even if you nor him have known it, I do understand,” Alicent took a breath, closing her eyes. “This is the way of men. And princes–”

“Please, Your Grace, I mean this with utmost respect for you but I do not wish to hear your excuses,” you whispered. There was a prickly, breathless worry that had settled in your gut. What did you not know? Was this Alys someone who mattered? “But I would like to know what you are withholding from me about this woman. I believe I deserve that at the very least.”

Alicent stared at you for a moment, examining you. She could drive her son further into the ground with what she was about to say. “Aemond had a paramour–at least it was rumoured, he never spoke of such things with me. Alys Rivers, a wetnurse and servant woman from Harrenhal.”

“A paramour?”

“It was before you were married,” Alicent was quick to clarify. “I had assumed that Aemond wanted nothing more to do with her when she left–at his order, I believe. Some say she was a witch. Perhaps she enchanted him.”

You couldn’t look at her. She was more than just a whore? Had he lied to you right from the beginning? Bile rose up in your throat. There was a thrum in your ears, the sound of your own heartbeat and you feared that you would be sick from the drop in your gut.

“Did he love her? Could he still?”

Alicent sucked in a breath. “I do not know, my child.”

All you could do was nod pathetically. Alicent was a woman of great strength and dedication; you had once wished to be much like her one day. But as you sat beside her now, you wished she had been a liar and a cheat and a meddling gossip. That you could find a way to fault her words but you could tell it caused her great difficulty to speak of Aemond’s actions honestly.

Ever poised and elegant, Alicent only leaned forward to you, her posture straight as a needle and her touch soft as linen. “I did not mean to upset you further. I only meant to speak with you about returning to Courtly activities, with the other Ladies and Helaena has been asking for you. And the Ladies speak–”

“They speak terribly of me,” you scoffed, allowing a humourless laugh. “I understand, Your Grace. I will return to spending my days in company other than my own.”

Alicent hated to pry but she felt that she must, now that she had dealt her cards against Aemond’s fate. “Perhaps you should speak with Aemond. He cares for you deeply. It would be a shame for your union to fall apart over such misunderstandings.”

If not for formality, you would have rolled your eyes. Again, you simply nodded, your mind reeling back to the woman that Alicent had given a name to. You would ask Aemond about her. It would be the less damning option rather than turning to Aegon once more but the idea of speaking to Aemond about a woman he may once have loved still made you want to crawl underneath the sheets of your bed and disappear.

You thought of the woman who you had seen through the crack in the door and wished you had taken extra care in looking at her. There was little you could recall other than the darkness and length of her hair, the paleness of her skin and the perfection in her curves as she pleasured Aemond and as he did the same for her.

As if she was familiar with all the things that made him weak. All the things that made Aemond weak. How she had touched him like she was an expert in his body. And you thought of Aemond, bare and comfortable with her. Aemond with his sapphire glimmering under the lamplight instead of an eye, a rawness and trust that you had never seen of him until that night.

He trusted her.

Alys Rivers.

.....................................................

Tagging: @padfooteyes @thedyingwriter @mamawiggers1980 @queenofshinigamis @ewanmitchellfanatic @nurtargaryen

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acstation206 · 3 months ago

Text

I messed up. /j

Introducing...

THE AMAZING DIGITAL ARCADE PARTY!

Yeah, that's right, I caved in.

Basically the exact same show except its established lore and setting is more largely inspired by archive compilations of popular vintage arcade games of the 80s and 90s such as Pac-Man’s Arcade Party, as well as the different takes within the sci-fi / fantasy genre by the likes of Wreck-It Ralph, Tron: Legacy, and Infinity Train.

= BACKGROUND (in a nutshell) 💿 =

In an attempt to save their dying business, C&A developed and manufactured the first hybrid arcade game of its own kind that combined other popular arcade games and home console games with virtual reality. However, just as the company’s luck was turning around, numerous lawsuits from game companies by the likes of Nintendo and families were filed against the company for their product, from apparently “ripping-off” Super Mario Bros. in its entirety to causing many children to either inexplicably fall unconscious or suffer from amnesia after the cabinet’s headset was put on. Just then, as C&A announced they’ll be temporarily recalling the product to fix its issues, a shocking discovery was already made by investigators that would soon bring the company to its demise: the game’s AI had gone rogue, and once a human mind dies from losing one of the games in any way, they are either permanently reincarnated as a personified cartoon character of themselves or just straight up die in real-life depending on the outcome.

= ART N’ STUFF 🎨 =

(might wanna make a separate masterpost for that in the future but oh well)

NES Ragatha

Pomni and Caine redesigns

= Q&As and BOUNDARIES (sort of) 🎙️ =

"Are there any plans to make a full webcomic out of this?" - Uhhhh, mayyybe? I'm not entirely sure, honestly. While there may be a few side comics and artwork from my head I want to get out sometime, I don't really have much plans for this AU that'll be worth telling a full story right now since I feel there is plenty of things that I've yet to figure out and develop in a matter of time, particularly the setting and characters (especially considering the OG show itself has only 2 episodes out as of writing and I only have mobile apps like ibisPaint X to make this all possible at the moment).

"Can I make fanfics and OCs for this AU?" - Of course! I've seen a lot of incredible things from the community, especially in regards to alternate universes, so you're absolutely more than welcome to share whatever's on your mind as long as your heart's in the right place. I can't really guarantee I'll see every bit of it since I do have some personal biz of mine to take care of at any moment, but I'll be happy to reblog them whenever I get the chance. Just tag me and we all good. :)

"Are there any canon ships in this AU?" - Yes. Yes, there are. Well, only BunnyDoll (Jax x Ragatha) to be specific. HOWEVER, you are free to ship whoever you want here! Showtime (Caine x Pomni), ButtonBlossom (Pomni x Ragatha), it's all okay. The choice is yours, a romantic buffet! (Plus, depending on the quality of my writing, I'm not even planning to dwell too much into it for now, aside from the side comics that will.)

That's all for right now. Enjoy! :)

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themeraldee · 3 months ago

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Hii can you do one where the reader rejects homelander because she’s married? He gets mad and obsessive??

Thank you for the ask! So originally I wasn't gonna do requests because I'm very particular about what strikes my fancy. But I'm nothing if not a people pleaser so your request got my head popping up with ideas as I've not really explored the 'loving someone to a fault' part of Homelander where things take a wild turn. So this is my humble attempt - hope you enjoy!

(Also I spat this out fairly quickly so it's not very well reviewed)

The Price of Love

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 1.7k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 2. Voyeurism. Dark themes but nothing very specific. Homelander being his own warning. Mention of canon-level violence.

“What the fuck do you mean you’re married?!” Homelander sputters, caught totally off guard by your admission. His body language frazzled, his arms expressing confusion just as much as his words as his presence towers over you.

You’ve been Ashley’s secretary for a few months now. At first he took no interest in the presence of yet another busybody without a name that was surely going to crack under the pressure and either leave or fuck up beyond repair resulting in your resignation. But no, you’ve proven yourself to be reliable, responsible and most importantly you’ve got a fucking spine in you. You don’t cower in fear, shake when you talk to him or let yourself get talked into a corner. He likes that. He really likes that.

His preference for you has become so obvious that Ashley made you his go-to. Any news, good or bad, just went straight through you. And somehow, Homelander didn’t mind hearing that he dropped a point or two when it came from your lips.

That’s why he felt so blindsided by your outright rejection when he asked you out. What the fuck do you mean married?!

“I mean I’m unavailable.” Homelander tightens his hand into a fist now that his arms fell back to rest next to his thighs. He hides the lapse of control behind his cape as he clasps both hands behind his back. At this point the pose has become a bit of a defense mechanism, nobody can touch or hurt him when he’s playing a hero. It’s a whole lot different when he pours his heart out to some fucking assistant just to get it stomped into the ground.

“You’re not wearing a ring.” His tone is quiet, sharp. He nods his head towards the hand that’s currently clutching a stack of papers, the last thing you were meant to bring over before you clocked out. In Homelander’s eyes, it was the perfect time to ask you out. He’d take you out the same night. Michelin star restaurant, booked out just for the two of you. But no, you had to ruin his whole plan.

“I know, I’m sorry. I oftentimes leave it at home. I worry about it getting damaged or lost.” You clutch your papers closer to you, Homelander’s eyes lock onto your empty ring finger. It’s like you’re trying to hide it from him. The skin where your ring would be sat isn’t even smoothed out or marked in any way. So either it’s a recent marriage or you barely wear your ring as is. Homelander scoffs to himself, what kind of marriage is it if you’re not willing to shout about it from the rooftops.

“I just—what? You’ve been fucking coming onto me for ages!” He wheezes out in part anger, part embarrassment. His eyes widen at first before squinting, his eyebrows furrowing with the action. In his head he replays all your interactions and he’s not fucking stupid. He’s the Homelander. There’s no one who can read people better than him.

“Sorry? I haven’t, or I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t trying to lead you on.” You take a step back. As much as this whole time Homelander’s been more than tolerating your presence, enjoying and looking forward to it even, now he’s acting like a whole kind of different animal. He takes one step in. Part of him relishes in the way your heart speeds up at the loud thud of his boot taking the one step closer to you. The other part of him doesn’t want you to be scared of him, just like you haven’t been this whole time, you’re meant to be his!

He raises an eyebrow.

“Lead me on?”

“You know, make you think I’m interested when I’m not.” He nearly laughs. Not interested? Not fucking interested?! Give him a break. He might not have many experiences with the most genuine of relationships but he knows attraction when he sees one. He’s not stupid enough to mistake your professional kindness for attraction, it’s more than that. He’s sure of it. Your pulse still races anytime you’re in his vicinity, your pupils dilate, you smile all flustered and sweet when he pays you a compliment and there’s definitely times he’s managed to make you wet just by saying or doing the right thing. Someone who’s not interested wouldn’t be reacting like that.

He pinches the bridge of his nose shaking his head. “Get out.” His voice rings loud and clear in the empty room.

“Yes, sir. I’m really so sorry.” His teeth grind at the way you call him ‘sir’. A habit he’s weaned you off a long time ago. Yet there you go again, reverting back to factory settings as if you two didn’t have a whole load of history behind you. He watches you scamper off, the intrusive, violent part of him has an intense urge to laser you in half for making him feel this way.

But no, he knows there’s another way. First, he needs to get this energy out one way or another. And the last thing he wants to do is hurt you.

Homelander waits till nightfall before flying around just to get his frustration out. First Madelyn, now you. What is it with women being dishonest with him! But no no no, you’re nothing like her. You do love him. You have to. He knows it. He can feel it. He just needs to nudge you in the right direction.

His thoughts get disrupted by a shrill scream coming from the alleyway below him. He pauses in the air, watching the situation with little initial interest. He lands on the building ledge where a man has a screaming woman pinned against the wall. He notices the light reflecting against the switchblade the criminal presses to her neck.

Well look at that, he can get his frustrations out and he’s gonna look like a hero. This night might just be turning around for him.

He leaves the bloody carnage behind, shaking some of the blood and viscera off his suit, bloody droplets hitting his boots instead. He’s so used to the copper tang of blood, at this point breathing it in is as natural to him as air. He’s just not particularly fond of the mess it creates.

But finally, after some physical relief, he grins to himself and with a clear head he can devise a plan on how to win you over. He’s the Homelander, who the fuck else could be more worthy of your love?

Well… He’s about to find out.

Homelander takes off into the air, shooting up up up, until he finds a happy altitude where the air is just about getting thin, but more importantly where he’s unlikely to be recorded or photographed at this time of night.

He lands on the rooftop of the building opposite where you and your spouse reside. Bleugh. Your fucking spouse. Just the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He was being patient with you. Wanted to take it the traditional way. Just like normal humans you’d meet at work, get chatting, get comfortable and start dating. So he gave you the benefit of your privacy. Wanted to see you naked for the first time when you’d undress for him. All pretty and sensual, giving him a good show. Now it’s biting him in the ass. If he wasn’t so chivalrous with you he would have long known that he’d need to get rid of the obstacle before he’d even ask you out.

He watches through the building walls. He needs to see who, or what, has you so whipped that you wouldn’t immediately offer to get divorced just to go on a date with him. At the very least it better be some good sex.

He scans your meager one bedroom apartment. Your spouse is sound asleep in your shared bed but you’re nowhere to be seen. It’s not even that late in the night. Wouldn’t happily married couples be fucking through the night like rabbits at this hour?

He lights up when he lands on the sight of you in your bathroom. Finally, some fucking reward. It’s the least he deserves after all that he’s been through. You’re submerged in your bathtub, the water level hitting halfway up your chest. You have the most pleased expression on your face, pure delight as you rest your head against the rim of the tub, eyes closed all dreamy.

Homelander palms the front of his pants, feeling his cock immediately fill out at finally getting glimpses of your naked self. It’s only then he notices that you’re not just relaxing. No. Your hand is holding the shower head right in between your legs, letting the water pressure light up all your sensitive nerves.

Then it clicks. He grins like he hasn’t in a long while. The pure satisfaction of being right. You’re not satisfied. You can’t be. It’s obvious you desperately need to escape this situation. You need him.

He carelessly unfastens his pants, surprising even himself that he doesn’t manage to rip them in half as he eagerly grips his hard cock. He strokes it harder than he ever has before, the blood on his glove just easing the glide of the harsh pace he sets himself. Homelander almost chokes on air as he watches you arch your back and whimper quietly, clearly hiding your little indulgent fantasy from your spouse.

He wishes he could tell you it’s alright, your spouse is dead asleep. They won’t notice. They clearly don’t care. He does. And that’s all that matters, you have his attention. You have an audience of one.

He doesn’t care what the reason is. There’s no reason in his book that would justify your spouse leaving you this dissatisfied that you have to get yourself off behind closed doors and not with their help.

He’s so worked up, riding the roller coaster of wildly contrasting emotions, from heart-break to euphoria, that it doesn’t take long for him to feel breathless, panting as he strokes himself to the image of you all wet, pleasured and relaxed. What really does him in, unexpectedly is the whispering plea leaving your lips. ‘Homelander.’

And just like that he cums hard, not caring where his load ends up, his grin never leaving his face as he watches you reach your sweet, sweet release.

He has to have you.

[Part 2]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story)

#if people are interested I might continue this after I start & finish part 3 of the lucky winner #ahhh too many things to write #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #homelander fanfiction #my writing #the boys fanfiction #asks!#fic request

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sidekick-hero · 3 months ago

Text

when all you are is a weapon

written for @steddieangstyaugust day 6, prompt: "Who did this?"

Tags: canon divergence, Post-S3, drug dealer Eddie sells weed to Steve and Steve falls in love, protective Steve and his nail-bat

words: 1.5k | AO3 | rated teen

After Starcourt, after Billy, after too many concussions and more trauma than anyone should endure, Steve found himself relying on weed to calm his nerves and help him sleep. It had become a routine, something that felt almost normal. He didn't see the need to tell anyone, especially not Robin.

Robin's strong stance against smoking made it clear she wouldn't approve of his weed habit either. Steve told himself he kept it from her to avoid adding to her worries. But deep down, he knew the real reason: he wasn't sure he could stop if she asked him to.

Weed dulled the relentless pain, both in his body and mind, like nothing else could. But there was another reason he didn't want to quit: without it, he'd have no reason to see Eddie again.

Steve never imagined he'd have more than a few words to say to Eddie "The Freak" Munson. Liking him was never part of the plan. Yet, out of nowhere, he found himself effortlessly joking and bantering with the guy. What started as quick transactions of money and weed gradually stretched into five minutes, then ten, then thirty. Soon enough, it wasn't just about the weed anymore—it was about spending time together.

Sure, the weed was always part of it, but it quickly became clear that it was no longer the main reason Steve kept coming back. Not by a long shot.

When Steve knocked on the trailer door, he was already smiling, but that smile vanished the moment he saw Eddie.

“Oh my God,” Steve gasped, unable to contain his shock.

Eddie's lip was split, and his right eye was already swelling and turning purple.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie greeted him with a forced cheerfulness that sounded more hollow than the mocking tone of their first encounters.

Ignoring the greeting, Steve stepped forward, gently reaching out to touch the bruised flesh.

“Who did this?” he demanded, surprised by the anger in his own voice. There was a violence there, a violence he usually reserved for monsters from another dimension.

Eddie flinched slightly at Steve's touch but didn't pull away. "It's nothing, just a misunderstanding," he said, attempting a casual shrug, though it was clear he was in pain.

Steve’s jaw tightened. “A misunderstanding doesn’t leave you looking like this. Who did it?”

Eddie shook his head. “Drop it, Harrington. I’m your dealer, not your charity case. It’s not worth getting worked up over.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. He could see the stubborn set of Eddie’s jaw, the way his eyes flicked away, avoiding any chance of connection. Pushing now wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“Fine,” Steve said, though the word tasted bitter. He let his hand fall away and took a step back. “But this isn’t over. I’m going to find out who did this.”

Eddie sighed, looking both relieved and exasperated. “You’re like a dog with a bone, you know that?”

Steve didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the cash, handing it to Eddie without another word. The exchange felt different this time—heavier, more loaded. Eddie took the money, their fingers brushing momentarily, a silent acknowledgment of something unspoken between them.

“Take care of yourself, Eddie,” Steve said quietly, turning to leave. As he walked away, he silently vowed to uncover the truth and make whoever did this pay.

Because for reasons he couldn’t fully understand, seeing Eddie hurt felt like a personal attack. And Steve Harrington wasn’t about to let that slide.

Steve's determination didn't waver as he dug for information. It didn't take long before he heard whispers that Jason Carver and his goonies were behind Eddie’s beating. Rage bubbled beneath his calm exterior, and he knew what he had to do.

Armed with his trusty nail-studded bat, Steve tracked them down to the parking lot behind the high school. Jason and his gang were lounging by their cars, laughing about something that immediately died down when they saw Steve approaching.

Jason sneered, stepping forward. "Well, if it isn't the King himself. What do you want, Harrington?"

Steve didn't waste any time. He swung the bat onto his shoulder, making it clear he wasn't here for a friendly chat. "I know what you did to Eddie."

Jason's smirk faltered, but he quickly recovered. "So what if we did? That freak had it coming."

Steve's grip tightened on the bat, his eyes blazing with anger. "You listen to me, and you listen good," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "If any of you lay a single finger on Eddie again, you'll have to deal with me. And trust me, you don't want to pay that price."

One of Jason’s goons stepped forward, trying to look tough. "You think you can take all of us, Harrington?"

Steve swung the bat in a wide arc, the nails catching the light menacingly. "Try me," he said coldly. "I’ve fought things a hell of a lot scarier than you."

Jason held up a hand, signaling his friends to back down. He eyed Steve warily, recognizing the dangerous resolve in his eyes. "Fine. We'll leave Munson alone. But this isn't over."

Steve stepped closer, his voice a deadly whisper. "Oh, it is over. You stay away from him, or next time, it won’t just be a warning."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Jason and his gang in stunned silence. As he left, Steve felt a sense of grim satisfaction. He had protected Eddie, and for now, that was enough. Steve may be a disappointment as a son, he may have failed as a boyfriend, but he can be a weapon. He can protect the people he cares about - and he begins to realize that he cares about Eddie.

The next time Steve visits the trailer for their bi-weekly exchange, Eddie's bruises have already started to fade. But as Eddie swings open the door, it’s not the fading bruises that catch Steve’s attention—it's the anger blazing in Eddie's eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing, Harrington?” Eddie spits out, his voice trembling with rage. “I told you I’m not your fucking charity case. Did you get hit in the head so many times your hearing is gone or what? I told you to stay the fuck out of this, not threaten Carver and the other meatheads with a baseball bat. I mean, what were you thinking?”

Steve remains calm, letting Eddie’s words wash over him. “Actually, it started to, yeah.”

Eddie stops mid-rant, confusion replacing his anger. “What?”

“My hearing. The concussions caused this annoying high whining tone in my left ear, so sometimes I don’t hear as well. But I heard you, Munson. You’re not a charity case.”

Eddie blinks, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly. “Then why’d you do it?”

Steve takes a deep breath, stepping closer. “Because you don’t deserve to be treated like that. No one does. And because… I care about you, Eddie. More than I thought I would.”

Eddie's anger deflates entirely, leaving him staring at Steve with a mixture of frustration and something else—something softer. “You’re a real piece of work, Harrington.”

“Yeah, well, someone’s got to look out for you. Might as well be me.” Steve’s voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument.

Eddie shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” Steve says, his own smile breaking through. “But you’re stuck with me now. Whether you want it or not. You can send me away, but I’ll still look out for you. So, better get used to having me around.”

Eddie steps forward and pulls Steve inside the trailer, closing the door behind them.

“And what if I want you to stick around? What do I have to do?”

Tugging Eddie closer by the hem of his threadbare t-shirt, Steve locks eyes with him. “A kiss would be a good start. Breakfast in bed. Attention whenever I want it. I’m high-maintenance, Munson. Gotta treat me right.”

Eddie nudges Steve’s nose with his own. “I think that can all be arranged.” His voice turns serious. “I’m not sure this isn’t all some really weird, weed-induced dream, man. Can you… I know this sounds insane, but can you pinch me, please?”

Steve leans forward and slots their lips together, kissing Eddie for the first time. It’s slow and sweet, and just when they’re about to break apart, Steve bites his lower lip.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Seemed like more fun than pinching you. Convinced it’s not a dream?”

Eddie grins, the last of his uncertainty melting away. “Not sure yet. You should kiss me again.”

Steve laughs softly and happily obliges, pulling Eddie even closer as their lips meet once more.

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie angst #steddieangstyaugust #steve harrington x eddie munson #my writing

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blackknight-kai · 2 months ago

Note

Let me start saying I love your blog, reblogs and headcanons, truly, all of the above🩷🩷

If you’re comfortable with the question, do you have any for the Destined One with a female virgin reader?

So I wanna say thank you 🫶🫶🫶🫶 I haven’t quite shared my own head canons much but I don’t have any issue sharing them 🫶 others do a much better job of it so I’ve left it to them. But! Your ask comes at a wonderful time as I needed a break from writing a fic 💀 (kill me im up to 20k)

Let’s get after it! Destined One & a female virgin head canons? I’ll give it a shot! There will be a nsfw section below sorry if that’s not your thing. I wasn’t super explicit on body parts etc but let me know if you guys want a Sun Wukong one? I’d try.

If you’re NOT in a relationship yet and he finds out? (Be it you told him outright or it comes out in passing conversation)

He’d would remain expressionless and quiet as usual. Not wanting to make a big deal out of it and remain respectful

But if you look closely you can see him swallowing thickly at the new information

Will NOT treat you differently

He has a LOT of feelings for you and knowing you haven’t shared yourself with someone else, while not a huge deal he’s never really cared one way or another, it’s something he finds himself thinking about often.

It makes him a little hot under the collar sometimes when he looks at you and remembers what you’d said.

NSFW - on the very rare occasions that he takes some time to himself or you’re not around, in the quiet he puts his goal to the side for just a moment and allows himself to think about his wishes and whims. Specially how he’d touch you and make it good for you because you deserve to be treated like you’re special and HE wants to be the one to do it.

If you’re in a relationship and it either came up naturally or during a more…heated moment.

Would absolutely freeze. Like body full on screenshot kinda freeze - only his tail would flick and twitch as he processes

Because honestly it hadn’t occurred to him before but it is NOW. He’s thought of you and making love with you but first or not first hadn’t been a topic of thought

He’d probably internally get flustered and his heart would race ridiculously but on the outside his expression would appear stoic or mildly surprised

Wouldn’t try to pressure you or make a big deal out of it, as though it doesn’t matter one way or another besides making extra sure you’re comfortable

His tail would eventually give him away though as it would be swishing behind him happy and interested as the information settles in his brain

Dude would be first and foremost HONORED If you shared that news with him and were giving him your first

Probably a first for him too ngl. I see him as someone who was so focused on his path that warming another’s bed wasn’t something he was willing to spare time on.

If it’s not a first for him too then it’s not something he’s done often and isn’t an expert

Would definitely thank you for trusting him with sweet reassuring kisses (if they are a little heated don’t blame him too much)

He is respectful! As I said no pressure. No rush. But would the information please him? Yes.

Definitely adds fire to his belly because HE will be your first

Sends a note of possession through him not because he’d “own” you but because regardless of being a first or not you’d be his and he yours.

NSFW:

Regardless of if you’re shy or ready to get the show on the road he’d be so gentle and would be careful, really careful.

Probably a bit unsure and might move a little too fast accidentally in his own lust but would immediately sooth you as soon as he realizes

Looks to your expressions and sounds to make sure you’re feeling good and safe

He wants to treat you WELL views it as HIS duty to make sure you’re happy

It’s a lot of pressure but he’d do his best and set his mind to it being nothing but perfect for you

I imagine at first his hands would be so feather light letting you get used to him and his touch as he undresses you piece by piece- he’d watch his claws unless he finds out you enjoy them grazing across your skin

He’d brush his lips across every piece of new skin revealed to his eyes unable to help himself

Finds out he really loves your chest, both feeling you & tasting you. as well as napping on you later

But over time as the act went on he’d be more confident, still tender but less unsure

He’d be enamored every time he got you to sigh or make a pleased sound

It’s his goal to hears those often

When he discovers how turned on he’s made you it would send waves of pride crashing over him, he had done THAT

Overall though he’d take his time

He probably won’t speak much if at all, but he’d make sure you’re ready every step of the way. If he does speak it’s not more than a few words here or there, low and only for you to hear as he nips your ear

Multiple check ins

He’s a giver, and while he isn’t practiced whatsoever he’d use his mouth and fingers to bring you pleasure, finding out exactly how you like it by listening to the way you moan or the way your body shivers and trembles with specific movements

He 100% will become VERY VERY good with his hands and mouth

His tail is sneaky, he’d use it as a way to hold on to your leg (holding you open while one of his hands is occupied) or would brush the the furry appendage across your skin just to see goosebumps rise in its wake

When you’re finally connected, after time spent letting you get used to him (and him you because let’s be real he’d be overwhelmed by the feel of tightly wrapped around him too) he’d roll his hips gently

He would make sounds, sighs and groans in your ear.

He’d love it if you cling on to him and tell him he’s doing something good

Full on shudders if you scratch his back or dig your nails into him - he loves it and he might accidentally thrust too hard when you do it

Wants to hear you 👏👏

Would keep control for as long as he could but would listen to your requests almost instantly if you asked him to move faster

Would love it if you moved his hand exactly where you wanted him to touch you

Would suck marks on your skin - thighs and neck, wherever he absentmindedly ran his lips. Would be shy about it later but would touch them possessively or when you’re dressed his eyes would stray to where his marks are on your skin.

Afterwards he’d silently but tenderly wipe you down and then pull you into his arms

Would nuzzle his face against you and breathe your scent as you both relax and come down from your high

Would massage any soreness you have that he could and feel pride at wearing you out, although his face wouldn’t show it

His tail would be like a vice around your thigh all night and trying to get out of his hold in the morning is a chore

He’d 100% take care of you especially for a first time is basically what I’m saying. After, he may be a bit rougher with his movements or may be impatient at times especially after a tough fight and adrenaline is still kicking but will always treat you tenderly as you guys build confidence together.

#black myth wukong #black myth wukong x reader #destined one x reader #sun wukong x reader #I tried 💀🤣#back to the ol fic grind now #thank you anon 🫶#BK Kai Writes

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seoulmatez · 6 months ago

Text

— 𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 2k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ injuries ﾉ pet names ( darlin', sweetheart, doll :3 ) ﾉ mentions of food

so i wrote about horse riding but. . . know very little about horse riding! i did my best to research but there may be some details i got wrong so apologies in advance!

previous part ౨ৎ masterlist ౨ৎ next part

“that’s it, pretty girl, nice and easy.”

the horse beneath you sighs and you do the same, relaxation and contentment in the breath you let go of. it’s been a while since you’ve gone riding, a few years at least, but being sat on a saddle with reins in your hands feels as natural as it used to when you’d ride nearly every day of the summer. you’re lucky that your favorite mare—clover—is still healthy enough to take out.

you gently squeeze your legs into clover’s sides in a silent signal for her to move from a trot to a canter. the sequence of her hoof beats effortlessly switches from the two-beat gait to one of three beats and her pace quickens. the wind against your face is stronger now but you welcome the sensation, a small smile making its way to your face.

as a kid, riding was fun and exciting more than anything else but as you’ve grown into an adult, the activity has become something more cathartic—a release of sorts. your stress slips away when you’re on the saddle, lost in the summery breeze. you don’t allow a second for the thoughts that constantly nag at you to linger. all of your focus is granted to clover and the field ahead, to how you feel here and now and how you wish you could feel like this all the time.

unfortunately for you, nothing lasts forever.

you hear the dog before you see her, barking discernible in the distance. clover must, too, her ears pointing back to listen more closely to the sound approaching from behind. as the barking grows louder, the horse’s neck tenses, and it only takes a second more for her to decide that the noise is worth investigating. you’re in alert mode now, too—no, it’s probably closer to panic mode. it’s been a while since you’ve had to worry about the horse getting spooked and even then you had your grandpa or parents to rely on to make sure nothing got out of hand.

you don’t have time to even think about what the right thing to do in this situation is before clover spots the dog bounding towards the both of you.

“clove—!” you try to calm her down, to let her know that the dog isn’t a threat that she should be scared of, but it’s far too late. before you can comprehend what’s happening, clover is rearing. the motion combined with your loose hold on the reins is enough to send you flying off the horse’s saddle. a scream is ripped from your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut at being in the air, destined to fall.

you hit the ground with an audible thud.

pain courses through your body—your back, your shoulders, your head. everything hurts and hot tears spring to the corners of your eyes but they pool there, refusing to stream down your cheeks. despite all the pain, the growing soreness, you find your mind wandering. where did clover run off to? what was the dog doing out here alone? she rarely leaves the house by herself. someone is yelling, they’re calling your name. is it boothill?

“shit, little lady,” he shakily breathes, “you okay?”

relief washes over you and for a short second, you think that you’ve never been happier to hear the farmhand’s voice. it’s tinged with concern, a characteristic you have yet to see him display—especially for you. it doesn’t stop in his voice either, you can feel it in how he takes a hold of your shoulders, his grip firm but not tight enough to cause you any unnecessary pain.

you take the risk of finally opening your eyes and instead of being met with the sun’s blinding rays, boothill’s face crowds your vision. his eyebrows are pulled together and for once, there’s no smirk or grin playing at his lips. upon seeing that you’re conscious, the tension in boothill’s forehead lessens. “there she is.”

his voice is soft, like if he speaks too loud he’ll break you. though it’s unlike him to be so mindful, you appreciate what you imagine is the temporary change. he opens his mouth to continue but before he can get another word out, the border collie, missy, nudges between the two of you as if she senses something is wrong. boothill shoos her away before turning his attention back to you. “you okay? what happened?”

you think back on the moments that led to this—you laid out on your back in the grass. “missy… i think she scared clover. she threw me off.”

that’s right, you have no idea where she went after being so startled or if she’s okay, at that.

“where is clover?” you dart up into a sitting position, palms against the grass. it’s a bad idea and you face the consequences of it immediately, head throbbing and the dull pain throughout your limbs becoming all the more noticeable. you suck in a sharp breath in response to the discomfort but realize that the pain you’re in doesn’t top your concern for the horse. “is she still around here? i need to go find her.”

“woah, woah, woah, hold your horses.” boothill frowns. he stands up and holds both of his hands out to help you do the same. for once, you don’t think about the underlying meaning of having your hands touch his, you just grab a hold and let him pull you up. you turn your head in every direction you can in search of clover, readying to pick any of them to start walking in. though, you can’t, not with the way boothill is holding your hands hostage. his gray eyes bore into yours. “you aren’t going anywhere but to the hospital.”

“what? no.” you shake your head and try to pull away but boothill doesn’t budge. the longer he holds onto you, the more aware you become of his touch—how warm his hands are and how, even though they’re rough and calloused, his palms are more comforting than you care to admit. “i don’t need a hospital. i’m fine.”

“listen darlin’, people who have just been thrown off horses ain’t known for their good judgment.” he squeezes your hands but then seems to think better of it, loosening his grip but continuing to hold them. he gets his message across though, with the hand squeeze and the almost desperate look in his eyes. you’ve never seen him so uneasy, heard him speak so seriously. his new demeanor has your feet glued to their spot on the ground and your gaze glued to his. “you’re going to the hospital.”

you’re rarely one to jump at the opportunity to agree with boothill but maybe he’s right. you’re running on adrenaline right now and your mind isn’t in the best place—you’re worried about the wrong things. and if the topic is important enough to have boothill practically pleading with you, you should take it just as seriously as he is.

“fine, i’ll go, but you need to find clover before we do.” that came off a little more demanding than you meant it to. you add, “please.”

he clicks his tongue and groans before telling you, “alright, i’ll find your damn horse.”

● ● ●

boothill is a man of his word and tracks down clover, putting her back in the stable before whisking you away to the hospital. the ride there feels like a visit to the doctor itself with the way the farmhand practically interrogates you about your symptoms. he’s concerned but can’t help but laugh when you tell him that he’s exacerbating any head trauma you may have sustained by making you think so hard.

despite your initial resistance to boothill’s insistence on going to the hospital, you’re thankful for his urging. turns out he was right to be worried—you got a concussion.

your helmet helped soften the blow but the physician who explained your diagnosis still recommended a few days off work to rest and recover. it’s not the best news to receive but considering things could have been much worse, you’re grateful to walk away with a relatively minor injury.

and if your doctor had any anxiety about you ignoring his advice, it was misplaced. because boothill has personally made it his responsibility to be sure you get better.

as soon as the two of you arrived back at the house, he steered you into the living room, sat you on the couch, and disappeared into the kitchen with a demand for you to stay put. you’re tempted to argue but your head hurts too much so you cross your arms instead, closing your eyes and resting your head on the couch cushion.

it doesn’t take long for him to return and his hands are full when he does—a glass of water in one, an orange precariously rolling on a plate in the other, and a bottle of pain medication tucked under one of his arms. he sets the drink and pills on the coffee table before plopping down on the couch beside you, the dip in the cushion enough to make you open your eyes.

upon grabbing your attention, boothill jerks his head in that direction. “take a couple of those.”

you sit up and unscrew the bottle, shaking out two of the pills and popping them in your mouth before taking a few sips of the water he grabbed for you. a beat of silence passes before you speak up. “you know, i could have done all this myself.”

“i’m sure you could have,” he tells you with a grin, hands busy peeling the skin from the orange. it’s still all in one piece. impressive, you think, but you aren’t surprised. it seems like boothill is good at everything he does. “just thought you might enjoy having me at your beck and call.”

you frown. what does he think you are? some princess who needs a servant? “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothin’, darlin’.” he slides the plate of peeled orange slices across the coffee table so you can eat them when you’re ready. he wipes his hands on his jeans before standing up and stuffing them in his pockets.

the farmhand is on his way to the door when he says, “i’m off, but holler for me if you need anything, sweetheart.”

you never thought you’d see the day you would stop boothill from leaving.

“wait, before you go…” he stops and turns around, eyebrows slightly raised in silent question, urging you to go on. you had more courage to say what was on your mind when he wasn’t looking at you. though, you know it’s only right to let him know that you appreciate all he’s done for you today. so, you turn your gaze to the floor and let it spill out. “thank you for finding clover. and for taking me to the hospital. and for this.” you gesture to the fruit.

there’s a flash of sincerity that passes over his features before that annoying smile makes its way back to his lips. “so you can say thank you.”

you don’t know what kind of response you were expecting, but you should have seen this coming. it’s like he’s hardwired to tease you, even when you’re being genuine. “you can leave now, boothill.”

“yeah, yeah, i’ll get out of your hair.” in contradiction to his words, he stays put. and you can’t find it in you to be upset that he does because the humor has left his face, replaced by earnestness. “but you’re welcome, doll. it was really no trouble.”

he finally takes his leave and when you hear the door close, you let out a frustrated groan and lay your head back on the cushion. that nasty fall must have done more damage than you thought. why else would your heart be working overtime over a simple change of expression?

you shake your head to get rid of the unwelcome thoughts—thoughts of how generous and caring he actually might be—before you think better of the motion. it hurts your head and makes you wonder how long it’ll take before the pain pills kick in. they’ll probably work better if you have something on your stomach.

your eyes fall to the plate boothill left for you.

orange slices should do.

thank u for giving this a read! reblogs and comments are appreciated -`♡´-

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: honkai star rail #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill drabble #hsr drabbles #boothill fluff #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff

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crescent-blades · 2 months ago

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Kokushibō w/ Pregnant!S.O

Pairings⌇Kokushibō × Pregnant!Reader insert, ⌞Kokushibō and Reader are in a pre-established relationship, ie married⌝

Warnings⌇ Pregnancy, Labour & Birth

A/n⌇It's unclear what the canon implications would be if a demon were to successfully impregnate a human, but for the sake of this scenario, let's just imagine that the result is a healthy child who is half demon and half human.

𖤐ˎˊ˗Masterlist

̗̀ It had been a while since you and Kokushibo had been married. Honestly, he had never thought things would turn out this way—to marry someone was the last thing on his mind. Yet, here he was, making choices he never thought he would make.

̗̀ The humans he met showed little potential. They lacked the skills needed to become strong, upper ranked demons. So, the idea of having a successor—a child of his own—began to take shape in his mind. He knew his child would definitely have immense potential and could likely be a successor to moon breathing.. so it wasn't a bad idea.

̗̀The news of your pregnancy—well.. actually, it wasn't you who shared the news with him. It was Kokushibō who brought the news to you.

̗̀It wasn't surprising though, having Kokushibō as your husband would be like having a walking, talking pregnancy detector around.

̗̀I mean, he'd literally even know exactly when the sperm attached to your ova, all thanks to his see through world.

̗̀You didn't even know that you were pregnant yet. It was just one day in, as you prepared for bed and arranged the sheets. Your husband approached you with his typical stoic expression. He gazed at you for a brief moment—

"Hmm.. I see.."

̗̀You’d brighten up at his presence, feeling happy yet a bit puzzled by his sudden, unusual behaviour.

"I can see.. 'life' developing inside you. How delightful.."

̗̀Being your husband, Kokushibo would feel that it is his duty to be taking care of you, especially when you'd be carrying his child. So throughout your pregnancy, he'd make sure to take extra care of you, paying more attention to your needs.

̗̀ Though it was definitely going to be difficult. Being a demon, he could only come out at night, which meant he couldn't be there for you through the day. This thought definitely made him feel uncomfortable. Hence, he would encourage you to stay with him in the infinity castle [separate from the rest of the demons] so he can take proper care of you.

̗̀However, he'd know that being deprived of the sun could also be detrimental to your and your baby's health, so he'd make sure to always drop you off somewhere safe from time to time, likely in your parent's/relatives house. Making sure you are in safe hands.

~Though knowing Muzan- now he'd definitely question your husband:

"--A human woman?"

His voice carried a touch of curiosity, laced with a hint of amusement. "I entrusted you with one simple task, Kokushibo. Locate the blue spider lily and uncover the Ubuyashiki mansion. More than a century has passed, and yet you and the demons have not unearthed a single clue about either." Muzan exhaled slowly, pacing around as he looked down at the upper one, who was kneeling in front of him, his head downcast as in a bow. "And now you’ve chosen to play these petty games, and with a human at that? I expected much better from you, Kokushibo.."

"I have no excuses to make, my lord.. Indeed, I fell in love with a woman, a human.. and now I have sworn to protect her and my offspring." "However.. I assure you.. my lord.. that my decisions shall not interfere with my responsibilities.."

̗̀➛Typically, Muzan would never permit his demons to make such significant decisions; however, he made an exception for your husband.

Throughout your pregnancy, your husband would keep a close eye on you. Make sure you are in good health, at all times.

̗̀Have any questions about the baby? There's no need to go to the doctor, just ask Kokushibo, and he'll tell you everything. The baby's weight, health. Everything.

̗̀He would advise you to not strain yourself too much, urging you to rest, understanding that you are in a vulnerable state. If you found yourself trying to carry something, he'd silently snatch it from you. Try to walk too much, and he'd silently just pick you up and place you on the bed.

"--You.. ought to rest.. my dear.."

̗̀As for your strange cravings, he'd definitely consider them strange and, rather, amusing. Sure, he has dealt with a pregnancy before, and he is aware that his-ex wife may have had cravings too. But his knowledge was very limited due to the presence of many servants, as well as his memories failing him over the years. However, witnessing your cravings firsthand is definitely.. something.

"Dear, could you bring me some mochi with chilli sauce?" "Some ice cubes with ketchup?"

̗̀Each day your craving got weirder and weirder, which both entertained and concerned him, even though he could tell that nothing was wrong with you.

̗Still, as much as it had worried him, Kokushibo had always managed to somehow fulfil your requests, always bringing the strange foods you sought.

̗̀At first, when he presented you with these unusual cravings, his expression remained stoic, devoid of any visible emotion. However, it wouldn't be long before you noticed him, softly chuckling to himself at your bizarre requests. Observing you curiously if you truly enjoyed them.

̗̀There were times, however, when he'd stop you from binge eating too much food, which he considered unhealthy. Surpisingly, he was gentle while urging you to try something healthier.

"We have some fruits.. I can make a salad for you.. if you wish.."

̗̀ Of course, you are pregnant, so your body is going through many changes. You'd find yourself battling those horrible cramps along with persistent back pain, nausea, and those frustrating headaches.. It was difficult to even work effectively because of your fatigue.

̗̀➛ In that case, Kokushibo would notice your discomfort immediately.

"...your.. 'pregnancy'.. has made your body go through many changes.. the child grows.. as well your body.."

̗̀ He would address you in a gentle manner, speaking to you in an "as a matter of fact" tone. His six eyes locked on you with a tender gaze, inspecting you thoroughly, making sure you were okay..

"As of now.. your muscles are stiff, and tight.. Here.. let me ease the pain for you-"

̗̀He would speak softly, his voice deep as he carefully positioned you on your side, beginning to work on your back. His big, sturdy hands were surprisingly tender, applying just the right amount of pressure to alleviate your discomfort. He already knew the exact areas where you were experiencing pain, moving his hand and gently kneading those areas with the base of his hands and thumbs, working up and down your back.

̗̀When it comes to choosing a name for the child, Kokushibo can be extremely thoughtful. He'd find/make a name with a deep meaning, one that would embody the meaning of "strength" or "excellence" [kind of like his own father].

̗̀During labour, he'd mostly leave it up to the midwife and you female relatives, as he did not wish to intrude or make you feel uneasy, believing that childbirth was women's business.

̗̀ Though he would occasionally offer words of encouragement, urging you to remain strong and reassuring you that all would be well. While you were in labour, he would remain outside, pace around as you brought new life into the world.

#ʟᴇᴛ ᴜꜱ ᴡᴀɴᴅᴇʀ ʙᴇɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴʟɪɢʜᴛ..#ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ɪɴ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴇʏᴇꜱ #「ᴋᴏᴋᴜꜱʜɪʙō x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ」#kokushibo x you #kokushibo demon slayer #kokushibo x y/n #Kokushibo Imagines #Kokushibo scenarios #Kokushibo headcanons #fluff #Kny fluff #Kokushibo fluff #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kokushibo x reader #kokushibo

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anyarose011 · 1 month ago

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"Nursing on the Poison that Never Stung" {Aemond x Reader}

Summary: It was the one night you were supposed to have off from work. Naturally, that was when Aemond Targaryen came in to bother you (for good reason). He came in for weeks after that to "bother" you some more. Yet, one night changed all of that.

Part 3 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): SMUT, PIV sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), loss of virginity, porn with plot, fingering, riding, titty sucking, dirty talk (High Valyrian style), eye trauma, cussing, mention of past child SA, attempted SA (not done by Aemond), canon typical violence, and someone's throat gets ripped out.

I'm so sorry it took me SOO long. Not only is my life kind of falling at the seams, but this chapter is also hella long so I hope it was worth it! There's a bunch of High Valyrian in this chapter. I myself am not fluent, but I tried to search up phrases and familiarize myself with some of the grammar, so I hope it's accurate. This chapter has a bit more sensitive themes (but mainly at the end, most of it is just porn with a little plot).

Word Count: 9.8k

It had been a week since Aemond Targaryen helped walk you home; and touched you so intimately in your childhood bedroom of all places.

You would see him come and go once in a while from Sylvi’s brothel and talk with him every so often, but not for long. Not even long enough to do anything but greet him, ask him how he was, and then have him be whisked away by Sylvi. It was always a flip of a coin for her to either glare at you or smile every time she did.

Tonight was the rare night you would be at the brothel not to prepare for your ‘Woman at the Well’ act, but to mend the clothes of the women. It was something you did only once every moon, but it was a nice break in between your more so risky job.

Because you mended the clothes so rarely, it would take hours upon hours to do. That was why you begun it at dinner with the girls who usually helped pretty you up.

And, just like the week prior, their minds were filled with-.

“-I heard that war will come to King’s Landing in a fortnight.” One of the younger workers theorized.

Chansey scoffed, eating her dinner. “I heard that you run your mouth with gossip when it should be running down a man’s chest.”

The girls laughed, and you joined along with them momentarily. Then, Valda broke it up.

“I heard that it’s a curse the Kingsguard put upon the land by parading the skull of a dragon through the streets.”

Silence filled the air as if Death himself walked in. Once again, it was Valda who spoke first. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them burned the city to the ground simply to take revenge.”

She stormed out of the room with the slam of the door. Murmurs followed, questioning and complaining of her concern.

“Don’t mind her, girls.” Chansey shook her head. “She’s only upset because she got the clap.”

It was unfortunate for her, but fortunate for you; you had someone to talk to and not worry about a smelly man bursting in to ask for sex.

So, there you were in one of the private suites wearing only your corset and a skirt. You were sitting comfortably on the bed mending a thin dress as Valda laid her head on your lap. It was only the third day of the week; there was no way that many rich suitors would want to reserve a private room.

“How’s your side?” She asked.

“Tender,” you answered. “but I feel much better. How’s your clap?”

“It hurts to piss.” She groaned. “And do you remember when you got shitfaced and saw that fella kissing my cunt?”

Giggling, you nodded. “I do. Against popular belief, I remember many things about that night.”

“Like Prince Aemond?”

“What’s this about your cunt kissing fella?”

“He said he was going to come back tonight.” She whined

“And you’re sure he’s not the one who gave you the disease?”

Sighing, Valda sat up, playfully glaring at you. “Even if he did, he’d have the decency to come up and apologize.”

You chuckled, finishing up your final stitch on the dress before moving onto a sock. “If he does, he’s not kicking me out of this room.”

“You can join us if you’d like.” She joked. “Or just watch, whatever you want.”

“And get the clap from you?!” You laughed.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

You sighed. “At this rate, might as well get it out of the way.”

Valda hummed. “You don’t mind just ‘throwing’ your purity away now?”

“I’m the only woman in this building who hasn’t.”

“Yes but…”

You eyed her. “But?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I like that you’re a little romantic; that you want it to be with someone you love and trust.”

You ceased your stitching, dropping your eyes. “Of course I’ll do it with someone I trust but…I’d rather do it now so it would feel good later.”

Valda gave you a look, saying your name warningly.

“No more talk of this.” You smiled. “I’m glad your tantrum ended.”

She rolled her eyes. “Who said it ended?”

“Why are you so upset?”

“I love my life.” She sighed. “Regardless of where I work, or how much I make, I am happy. If the Targaryen children or Rhaneyra’s bastards want to make a war because they do not know how to-.”

“-Hold your tongue!” You whispered. “What you say is treason, what if anyone were to hear you?”

She laughed. “We’re in a private room.”

“Someone could be outside and be listening in.”

“They’d make out anything over the moans of men and the women that are faking them?”

“Valda-.”

“-They say Rook’s Rest was a victory, but my brother says otherwise.”

Yes, her brother, Mikhail. No, not a knight of the City Watch or the Kings Guard, but a sailor. Still, he was a sailor who had a silver tongue and could make anyone speak simply with his charm. If it wasn’t secrets he specialized in, it was exporting goods. Sometimes, it was an ordinary transportation of ordinary goods. Other times, either the goods were illegal, and anyone found with them would be hung, or the transportation of them would be off the books (therefore illegal) and a man would be publicly scourged.

Luckily, Mikhail avoided it all.

“What does your brother say?” You questioned, interest piquing.

Despite her early protests of anyone being unable to hear you, she leaned in. “That the king and his dragon fell from the sky while bathing in fire.”

A chill ran down your spine, but she wasn’t finished.

“He also said your little prince had been there on his dragon.”

Taking a deep breath, the first thing you said was “He’s not my little prince.”

“That’s what upsets you?” Valda chuckled bitterly, saying your name gently. “You understand what this means?”

“Say it.” You dared.

She sucked in a breath. “Mikhail’s told me that-.”

“-Mikhail told you that some random man told him what?”

“That it was Aemond Targaryen who lit his own brother aflame.” Valda hissed lowly.

Swallowing the growing dread within you, you said. “Were you there?”

Valda said your name, almost as if she was begging you. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Like our Madame has told me.”

“Sylvi is jealous, I am genuinely fearful.”

“Jealous? She’s jealous of me?” You scoffed. “As-as if I stole something that was hers, when in fact, he isn’t hers because he is a person and she-!”

The sound of rushing footsteps and a body clashing into the wall stopped your thoughts. Valda opened her mouth but was met with the door slamming open. There, only wearing a pair of trousers, was Aemond; his hand clutched over his left eye, writhing in pain.

You called his name, standing. “What’s wrong?”

“Take it out.” He huffed.

“What?”

“This damned thing.” He grunted. “It’s burning.”

Only being able to nod, you gently took his arm and led him to the bed. “Sit, sit, sit.” You turned to Valda. “Do-do you know how to do this?”

She shook her head, just as much terror was on her face. As she opened her mouth to respond, you watched as Sylvi burst through the half-opened door. “My prince, what is the matter?!”

He groaned in response, digging his nails into your arm.

Sylvi turned to you and Valda. “Both of you, head down to the healers and-.”

“-Leave us.” He heaved in pain.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Yet, once you rose from the bed, he didn’t let go of your arm. “Stay.”

“What?” Your voice broke.

Sylvi shook her head. “Aemond-.”

“-Leave us!”

Valda leapt off the bed, giving one last look of regret to you before she left. Sylvi continued to stare at you as if you had been the one to scream at her, before turning and hastily leaving, slamming the door.

You were truly on your own.

Taking control as best as you could, your eyes darted to the opened sewing kit on the vanity. Tweezers. Last time you checked, they should’ve been in there!

You dumped the box upside down, several needles creating almost a trap around you until a pair of tweezers landed on your foot. Picking them up in a snap, you stood in front of the prince.

“Aemond, Aemond,” you clutched his shoulder. “you need to remove your hand.”

When he did so, you winced at the sight before you: the creases of his eye were as red as the morning sun, and the sapphire in his eye was as blue as ever. You set down the tweezers and reached over to the nightstand beside the bed, grabbing the small tub of cream Valda had for her own condition.

“It’s a cure all.” You could only say, opening it. “It should help.”

He gritted his teeth in reply.

Dipping your fingers into the tub and hesitantly rubbing in over the redness. He hissed at the coldness of it, and you mumbled an apology. Once his skin was covered, you set the tub down, and your gaze hovered over the tweezers on the bed.

“Just take it out.” Aemond begged.

“It’ll hurt.” You warned, more so for yourself.

“Please.”

Your throat tightened at his voice; a voice you had never heard him use before. Taking a deep breath, you ripped a piece of your skirt, bunching it into a small cloth and placing it onto your lap. You hovered the tweezers over the sapphire eye in one hand and cupped his cheek with the other.

“Close your eye.”

He listened with trembling breath.

“Cou-count to three, and I’ll do it.”

Aemond nodded. “One-,”

You dug the tweezers into his left eye. A scream tore through his throat and into your ears. You forced yourself to keep steady, pulling on the sapphire. It was barely budging, but it still was moving.

“I’m sorry!” You yelled over his cries.

Aemond forced his screams into raged groans, clutching the sheets of the bed beneath him. “Keep going.”

“If you need me to stop-.”

“-No.”

You went back in, twisting the tweezers instead of just pulling. The sapphire was moving more than it had been, and with one final tug, it was out. Instantly dropping the tweezers onto the floor, you took the cloth off your dress and covered his left eye as he brought up his own hand to hold it.

“I know, I know,” You whimpered, still holding his face and kissing his left brow, mumbling against his skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

With a final kiss to his forehead, you pulled away and looked at him as his body shuddered from the pain. He opened his eye, fresh tears escaping. It was only then, in his vulnerability as he stared back at you, did you realize:

You had just placed your lips upon him.

“Aemond I-.”

He silenced you, his right hand clutching your neck. Your breath stilled, as if you were to breathe, you wouldn’t be able to anymore. His one eye burned into yours, silently begging him to have mercy on whatever would happen next.

Then…he kissed you.

It was as if he was trying to devour your face when your lips weren’t enough. His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer as he tried to kiss every inch of skin. His teeth got into the mix of it, leaving temporary marks.

Setting your hand on his bare chest, you pushed him away once you began to see stars. Your chest rising and falling as if you had run for your life, you looked at him. No more tears had fallen from his right eye, and from his left…there was skin still reddened and irritated from your prodding and pulling. The long scar had been most apparent to you that night.

You must have been the first person to have truly seen him like this. Not as a fearsome prince with one eye, not as a killer…

But a man; a man who ran to you and only wanted you in a time of great distress.

With one, brave breath, you placed the lightest of kisses across his scar; barely touching his skin. You hand traveled into his hair, pressing your lips down the bridge of his nose until you finally made it to his mouth with the same gentleness.

He followed your pace, wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you impossibly closer. You were on your knees, practically hovering over his lap when his kisses became more feverous little by little. It was when he bit your bottom lip you finally pulled away.

“You should go to the healers downstairs.” You said, just remembering why he came up to you in the first place. “The best one is named Alezander. Or-or you have those fancier ones at the Red Keep, right? Perhaps they’ll know more how to-.”

Aemond only hummed loud enough to get your attention, but other than that, spent more of his time unlacing your corset.

“Out of all the days to wear undergarments…” He shook his head, teasing.

“I apologize that I didn’t dress appropriately for your liking tonight but-Aemond, I’m serious!” You grabbed his hands from around your waist, stopping him. “I don’t want you to get an infection.”

His smile did not waver. He took one of his hands out from your grip and stroked your cheek. “Please.” He mimicked.

Oh, you were fuming now.

“I’m not going to ask you again-.”

He laid you down on the bed, then traveling down to your legs, and his head disappearing under your skirt. A squeak escaped your mouth when you felt his lips upon your right ankle, then your knee.

“What-what are you-?”

Your leg was soon resting over his shoulder, and you felt his nose brush your pearl before his lips followed.

Another groan left you as he continued to kiss you somewhere you never knew you needed to be kissed before. Valda had told you how wonderful it is…but gods, you never believed her until then.

It was embarrassing how high your cries sounded as he continuously licked strips up and down your sweltering cunt. His fingers soon parted the folds, and just somehow, you became more sensitive, clutching the sheets beneath you.

There was a fire burning in your stomach, but it tightened and tightened like a knot in your hair. You arched your back with each growing pleasure, and you spotted Aemond’s hand reaching for you.

Taking it, you pressed a kiss to each knuckle before placing it on the top of your breast peeking out of the corset. He squeezed it every time his nose bumped against your clitoris, and the fire within you turned into an inferno until you were rocking against his face, moaning with each thrust.

Then, it stopped.

A haze of tiredness you’d never experienced swept over you. You hadn’t realized Aemond came out of your skirt until he was looming over you, kissing your cheeks and down your throat.

“What was that?” Your words slurred.

“My admiration for you.” He nibbled on your pulse point. “You’ve felt that before, haven’t you?”

“Your admiration or that?”

His hand traveled back under your skirt, teasing your clit and inserting part of his finger into you. You gasped at the sensitivity of it. “That.”

You shook your head.

He retracted his hand. “You’ve never touched yourself?”

“Is that why he called it a ‘little death’?”

“Who?”

“The man pawing after me when I saw you with your cock out.” You admitted as if you were drunk. “He said he’d give me a ‘little death’ when I was stabbed.”

Aemond nodded, helping you sit up and begin to unlace your corset. “Do you remember his name?”

“He didn’t tell me. I felt like I died a little just now, that’s why I said it.” You stopped his hands again. “You didn’t ask me if I want this.”

“Do you?”

You nod at first, then shrink into yourself. “I…I don’t think you’ll enjoy it that much.”

“I just want you.”

“Valda said it hurt the first time she did it.”

“She laid with a man who had no idea what he was doing.” He brushed your lip with his thumb. “Just relax.”

You determined that Aemond Targaryen had a way about him; how you somehow could trust him after everything. So that’s why you turned your back to him, making it easier for him to remove your corset. After it was fully unlaced, you slipped it off, revealing your naked back to him.

“I’m not turning until you’re bare first.”

He didn’t give a retort or an insult. You felt the weight of him behind you leave, and heard his trousers fall to the floor.

“Look at me.”

You wanted to then and there, but you didn’t. Instead, you rose up onto your knees and tugged your skirt down. It was all over when you tried to step out of it; falling onto your side with your other leg still in the skirt.

All you could do was laugh at that point. Aemond’s hand rubbed up and down your arm, laying behind you, lightly chuckling in your ear. He helped you slip out of your skirt, and then ran a finger over your side where a scar was beginning to form.

“Does it still hurt?”

“A little, but not horribly.” You rested on the pillow.

Aemond turned you gently onto your back, his eye running down your naked form. You mirrored him, taking in just how lean he truly was. You were just a girl as well; of course, your gaze paused on his cock dangling between his legs. He never looked away as he crawled on top of you.

“This might feel strange.” He warned, lowering himself and pressing his cock just against your center.

“Okay,” you said.

He was right; it felt strange when he inserted himself. In fact, it felt wrong. You whimpered at the feeling, the tightness and the discomfort. Aemond shushed you, kissing your tightly shut eyes.

“Gimin, gimin.” he whispered. “Lykirī. Lykirī.”

Despite not knowing what he was saying to you, you felt at peace. Your breathing slowed as the pain fell away, and you opened your eyes. You took his face into your hands, bringing his lips down to yours, and wrapping your legs around his waist, your heels pressing into his backside.

“Please,” you begged. “just go slow.”

He placed a kiss to your brow before rolling his hips. You had decided that, if and when you were going to lay with a man for the first time, you would never fake your pleasure for his comfort. Whether it was a stranger, a friend, or even a prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

You would let Aemond Targaryen know if he was doing a bad job.

Yet, as he rocked into you at a gentle pace, and the trail of his pubic hair caressed your bundle of nerves, you couldn’t help the small, staccato grunts that escaped. One of his hands took yours, holding and pressing it into the mattress to hold himself up, while the other held your face. Your free hand traveled into his hair, pulling him chest-to-chest with you, and placing your lips on his.

He quickened once you copied his thrusts, wrapping one of his arms around your waist to move you at an angle that felt…oh.

Your cries grew embarrassingly louder, tugging on his hair and causing him to moan right into your mouth. You were barely kissing now, just your lips hovering over one another as he fucked you.

His hand guided yours down to where his cock and your cunt met. At the feeling of something moving against your hand, your eyes flew open.

“Aōla renigon?” He asked. “Do you feel me?”

“Yes, yes!” You gasped as you felt his bulge move within you.

You were lowered back down onto the bed, but he did not slow for a second. His mouth went to your chest, taking one of your breasts in between his lips. His tongue circled your areola, and it was then your hips began to grow sore while his found a new vigor pounding into you.

He was more vocal too, and as his groans reverberated through your skin and the room, the growing pleasure within you was climbing and climbing until-.

Until-.

A cry none like the others tore through you. No, it wasn’t loud. Unrestrained, yes, but it wasn’t so comically deafening. Aemond pulled himself away from you, and took his throbbing dick into his hands, palming himself and tossing his head back in a groan.

Spurts of his cum tainted your stomach and quivering legs as you laid flat on your back.

Both of your chests rose and fell like waves on the sea in a storm, and you couldn’t look away from each other. Never in your life had you felt so…okay with being completely bare in front of a man.

To be fair, it was the first time you were.

Aemond grabbed a spare blanket that was on the bed and wiped off his spent. You hadn’t even asked him to, but he did so regardless. As he worked over you, you moved a piece of hair out of his face.

“You’re beautiful.”

He smiled, sitting up and tossing the blanket off the bed. “I’m the first man that bedded you, of course you say that.”

“No.” You shook your head, sitting up. “I mean it. At least, when you’re being nice you are.”

Looking down at your legs, you saw a strain of blood upon the blanket. “Oh shit.”

“It’s natural.” He immediately reassured. “This was the first time you-.”

“-No, I know. It’s just still unusual.”

Aemond kissed your cheek before crawling between your legs, resting his head on your chest. You combed your fingers through his hair, feeling your heart finally slow. The only sound in the room were both of your steady breaths.

“What happened before you came here?” You asked in the silence.

“I was with Sylvi.” He surprised you by answering. “My eye had felt strange the whole time, until it was too much. I asked where you were, and she told me.”

“You know that’s not all of it.”

As if it would draw your attention away, he placed a kiss to your breast. Rolling your eyes, you pulled him off so he could properly look at you. “When you took me home, you doubled over in pain because of your eye. That was a week ago.”

You saw right through him as he had done to you. Sighing, he laid down beside you, shutting his eye. “I have to take the jewel out every so often to clean both it and the socket. It hurts to do so, and I’ve been busy considering my sister is trying to usurp my brother.”

Rhaenyra, you had to remind yourself for a second, not Queen Halena.

“You’ve kept it in for a while.” You finished for him.

“I have.” He looked back at you. “And before you ask, I’ll get to the maesters tomorrow and have them put it back in.”

“Sylvi didn’t tell you I was here, did she?”

“I asked one of the girls serving me wine.”

You hummed, turning on your side. “Not before putting on your undergarments.”

“I didn’t want to frighten you.”

Laughing, your mind was taken back to that night you wandered upon him and Sylvi as you were bleeding out.

“Gods above, you were naked as a newborn babe when I was being stitched up!”

A grin etched his lips; he smiled more when you were with him those days. “I didn’t have time to cover myself.”

“It was odd though, how you walked out into the open with your cock on display.”

“It was the second time I had done that.”

“I suppose princes are allowed to do that.” You sighed. “I suppose men are allowed to do that.”

Aemond drew his eye back up to the ceiling. “Women are more beautiful in their natural state than men. It’s truly a shame they cannot walk outside completely bare.”

You rose your brow at the statement, turning onto your stomach and poking his cheek teasingly. “Oh? And if you were king, would you let them?”

He looked back at you, his eye briefly running down your body.

“Only a few.”

“You nasty, rotten dog!” You shoved him, laughing.

His face changed into a moment of panic, and you thought you said something wrong until he slid off the bed and crouched on the floor. Sitting up you watched as he frantically crawled on his hands and knees, mumbling in High Valyrian.

You called his name, feet hanging off the bed. “What is it?”

“The sapphire!” He hissed. “I can’t find it.”

Grasping the seriousness, you got onto the floor with him, searching the entire floor for the jewel. You both must’ve searched for just a few minutes until you heard Aemond sniffling. He wasn’t crying, but his face started to turn red from frustration.

“Hey,” you said softly. “if we don’t find it now, we’ll-.”

“-You wouldn’t understand!” He spat. “If I don’t find it this instant than she’ll-!”

He stopped himself, his anger crumbling just as it began. His body was tensed and puffed out like a bird trying to show aggression; but underneath all that, you saw terror.

“What will she do?” You asked, sitting up taller.

His gaze dropped, and his breathing quickened as he rapidly blinked back his tears.

“May I touch you?” You questioned, and he looked at you as if you had told him you loved him. He nodded. You cupped his face in your hands. “Whatever she wants to do to you, I won’t let her. Do you hear me? I’ll kick and scream like a wailing child before I let her harm you.”

For whatever reason at all (perhaps it was because he was afraid, perhaps it was because you were both naked on the floor, or perhaps it was because he had told you a shocking piece of history he had with her), but you assumed ‘she’ was Sylvi.

A woman you had come to trust ever since you were a child. A woman who had in turn, took advantage of a boy the same age you were when she proclaimed she’d never let a man touch you, even if he was Viserys himself.

You still thought that, of course, when Aemond wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, kissing you before then resting his head in your lap. You returned to softly brushing his hair.

“She made the maesters put it in.” He confessed. “She could only look at her son for what he was for only a few moons until she became disgusted.”

…He was speaking of his mother….the Dowager Queen.

It was still heartbreaking; so, you decided to ask. “And what is her son?”

“A monster.”

He didn’t even have to think. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the softest of kisses to his scar. “Would a monster walk me home in the rain and show kindness to the only other person I can call family? Would a monster feel sorrow in believing that he is a monster?”

Aemond hid himself further into your lap. You traced your hand up and down his spine. “It’s late. Perhaps you should-?”

“-Just a little longer…”

Sighing lightly, you teased. “Could we at least be on the bed?”

He didn’t leave your arms for another hour after that; and no one had knocked on the door either.

Two weeks later, three things were apparent. The first was that all of King’s Landing had been put on lockdown, not allowing any person to leave, or any person to enter. The next, was that Aemond had been appointed as Prince Regent, which added to Valda’s statement of him being the one to purposefully set his brother ablaze with his dragon.

And the third: You were completely, and most ardently addicted to him.

Almost every night, whether it was after you put your grandmother to bed, or even after luring and robbing a man in nothing but a thin dress, you would meet him at Sylvi’s brothel in one of the private rooms.

Each time you fucked was better than the last. In the short time you had been with him, you’d gone from being an unsure, inexperienced girl, to having touched every inch of the prince’s body. Some nights were more intense than others; physically and emotionally.

One night, you would be rocking into him until both your skins turned red, and the other, you would be holding him in your arms, talking about nothing and everything.

He taught you how to touch yourself, you taught him how to fully bare his soul to you (or at least…you thought he did).

“I haven’t done this for a while.” Aemond told you one night as you kneeled in between his legs.

You giggled, still high off of how he used his fingers on you prior. “Which part?”

“A lot of it. I hadn’t with Sylvi since…I can’t even recall.”

Swallowing at his words, you asked. “You mean, you didn’t fuck her?”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t even let her kiss me, it felt…confusing.”

“I saw her mouth on you…”

Placing his hand on your cheek, he rubbed his thumb over your lips. “Perhaps I was imagining it to be someone else’s.”

He didn’t have to imagine it that night.

Whenever you arrived at the brothel, the worst reaction from the other girls (mainly Valda) was a disapproving shake of the head, or light teasing. Then, there was Sylvi.

She had her back turned to you one night as she counted coin. You returned from a job (he had pulled your hair, so you would have to tell Aemond to be gentle), and it was the first time you were alone with her. Other nights, she would stare at your from across the room as a man pawed and groped her, all the while, you were on your way to find the Prince Regent.

You tried to tiptoe past her, but she turned as if she knew you were already there.

She spoke your name with a smile. “How was the night?”

You approached her, reaching into the pocket of your dress, then throwing her the small sack. Sylvi opened it, her face lighting up.

“Seven Hells…” She gasped.

“I know.” You shrugged. “I didn’t expect him to be so wealthy either.”

“Did you rob a Lannister?” She jested.

“I wish.”

You thought it was over once you gave her the coin, and so you tried to brush past her to go up the staircase. Only for her to catch your hand.

“Stay,” she said. “I feel like I haven’t properly spoken to you in ages.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can.” She laughed, pulling you around so she could see your eyes. “I’ll call in your little friend to make us cake.”

You sighed. “Sylvi-.”

“-She makes Northern Snow, right?”

“Sylvi-.”

“-You’ve done so well, I say you-.”

“-Can’t you just leave me alone?!”

You hated yelling; you felt like you would throw up every time you did. But she wouldn’t stop, you had to. Her smile dropped. Not in anger, not in sadness, but annoyance.

“Leave you alone to do what?” She challenged.

“I…” You glanced off to the side; there wasn’t anything there, you just didn’t want to look at her. Then, you finally did. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to talk. I know that the arrangement between Prince Aemond and I upsets you-.”

“-You assume I’m jealous of you?”

“What else am I supposed to assume?”

“That I worry for you.” She cupped your cheek.

You pull away, laughing joylessly. “Why is everyone telling me that? You were with him for nights on end and never had anyone afraid for you.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Why? Why isn’t it the same.”

“You’re…you.”

You could only gawk at her; jaw loosely hanging. Deciding not to even grace her with a retort, you turned on your heel and rushed up the stairs.

“What would your mother think of you pleasuring the prince for free?” She asked.

Freezing where you stood, you didn’t even have the strength to turn and look at her. So, you forced yourself to stand taller. “What would my mother think of you stealing a child’s innocence?”

You were no longer in the mood to be kind.

She didn’t say anything for a bit. “His brother was the one to-.”

“‘-I don’t care if Viserys himself came into my brothel. I would be put to the sword before I let a man lay a hand on a child.’” You recited perfectly.

Sylvi breathed deeply, folding her hands. “King Aegon did not come in asking for a child, he came in with one; one I was not responsible for maintaining his honor-.”

“-But taking it.”

“What do you think will come from this?” She taunted. “Hm? Do you seek only carnal pleasure? Pleasure in knowing a Targaryen desires you? Or are you truly a foolish little girl? You think he’ll ask for your hand in marriage, only for him to place it around his cock!”

You still hadn’t turned to look at her. Tears pricked your eyes as you trembled with rage. Gripping the railing, you spoke coolly.

“It doesn’t matter what I seek from the Prince Regent. What matters is you keep your childish envy far from the both of us. Goodnight, Sylvi.”

When you got to the room, you didn’t give Aemond the time to ask what was wrong before you sealed your lips with his. He didn’t stop you.

There were more nights than not he would speak in High Valyrian as you shared your body with him. You giggled while he pressed kisses to your chest.

“You could be insulting me, and I wouldn’t even know it.”

He looked up at you, his mouth traveling lower. “Perhaps I should teach you then.”

Of course, you thought it was just him flirting; saying something tender and personal to make you feel good.

But then he brought you books the next night; books for children on how to learn the language properly, fictional stories in High Valyrian, and a dictionary from Common to High Valyrian. He had meant it.

“Gods above.” You breathed, laying on your stomach, flipping through the pages of a book. “I don’t think I’ve read so much.”

“Is it too much for you?” Aemond pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“No, I actually enjoy it.”

You felt the bed dip on each side of your thighs as he hovered above you. “I’ll take you to the Red Keep one day.” He teased his cock over the globes of your ass. “You cannot comprehend the library until you see it.”

Humming, you shut the book. “I would adore that.”

He hadn’t taken you to the Red Keep at all, and he never would.

It was one night (one damned, fucking night) that determined it.

“Skorkydoso glaesā?” You questioned, lying under the covers with him.

“Sȳz iksan, kirimvose. Se ao?”

“Glaeson.”

He furrowed his brow. “Skoro syt?”

You mirrored him, hesitating on your words. “Syrī tosh ao?”

Aemond stared at you before a grin spread wide across his cheeks.

“What?” You asked.

“You cannot hate my company that much.”

“What?!” You sat up in shock. “I told you I’m doing well because I’m with you!”

“Glaeson, you said. It means ‘Not well’. Glaesan means you’re well.”

Sighing, you laid down flat on the mattress. “I’m never going to get it.”

He traced his fingers over your stomach. “You won’t if you stop now. Again.”

“Can’t you read me one of those children’s books again? The one about the bird and the fish, or something.” You begged. “I’ll translate it.”

“If it gives you any peace of mind,” he kissed the tip of her ear. “you speak better than my brother.”

Huffing, you looked up at him. “May I make a request?”

“I’m not reading another story.”

“It’s not that, I swear.”

“Then what is it?”

“Let us never talk about family when either of us are naked.”

He turned you onto your side, hugging you from behind. “I’ll allow it.”

You relaxed against his bare chest, deciding to fill the air with your first thought. “I had three nightmares last night.”

“Three?” He sounded offput, but still brushed your shoulder with his lips.

“One right after the other. I thought I woke up, but I was still asleep.”

“What happened in them?”

“I can’t really remember.” you curled your hand around his. “There were stacks of dirty laundry and chairs everywhere at some point. You were mean to me in one of them.”

“How was I mean?”

“You called me a cunt.”

“Well, you are.”

You shoved him off of you; not so roughly to hurt him, but not playfully.

He still chuckled. “But you have the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.”

You scoffed. “Now you’re lying.”

Aemond placed his hand on your shoulder as he sat up, turning you to look at him. He said your name genuinely. “I mean it.”

A smile finally appeared on your lips, and you snickered, pushing him away jokingly this time. “How in the world have you not married yet when you say such loving things?”

He sat against the headboard. “I was meant to.”

“Oh…” Well…you weren’t exactly expecting that. “And why didn’t you?”

“I was betrothed to a Baratheon girl to secure alliance. After what happened, Lord Borros wasn’t so keen on letting me be near her.”

No one should blame you for not knowing how to properly respond right away. So, after some thought, you said. “Did you want to get married when you were younger?”

“Not much of something I imagined; I suppose you did though?”

You smiled shyly. “Gigi would read me her fictional novels; many were romance.”

“And you wanted a knight in shining armor to come and whisk you away from your dull life.”

“No, that was Gigi.” You sat up, grabbing a comb on the nightstand and began to run in through your hair. “I much preferred the quiet, knowledgeable boy who was outshined by the loud and brutish men.”

He hummed. There were rare moments like these where you could not see his gaze, but you knew how it burned into your skin. How, despite being given permission to, he held himself back from touching you.

“And which did your mother prefer?”

At the mention of her…you didn’t feel sad. Was this how you thought he was the one for you? How you didn’t feel like he was invading you whenever he asked about her? How you wanted to tell him about her?

“I’m actually not sure.” You looked at him, grinning. “I think she had to see all sides of men and stopped caring for them.”

“They can be ugly, I’m sure.”

You nodded, setting the comb down sitting up and resting your head on his shoulder, “They can, but a few of them aren’t so bad.”

“What do you remember most about her?” He asked.

A memory resurfaced sooner than you thought. “On the rare days she’d wash our clothes and bedding, she’d let me help. I’d get to stomp out the dirt, hit the clothes, but my favorite part was after she’d dry everything. Especially on a hot day when I was little, she’d come in and toss all of the blankets and towels on me; I’ve never felt anything warmer in my life.”

Aemond’s gaze drifted from you to the front of the room. “It must have been nice.”

You tilted your head. “Something’s bothering you. I won’t ask but-.”

“-He got away with it.”

“What?” You took your head off his shoulder to look at him properly.

He sighed. “When we were children, and I had claimed Vhagar, one of them wasn’t happy for me. She said that she was hers to claim because she had been her mother’s dragon. She attacked me, and the other three followed. I fought them off and tried to run, but they caught me. I had struck Jacaerys with a rock, and Luke had struck my eye with his blade.”

“Aemond…”

“I forgave him for it long ago.” He leaned farther back, sighing. “I understand why he felt the need to defend himself; I don’t forgive him for getting away with it…and my mother didn’t for so long.”

She hated him, you knew that already. It hadn’t been any of your business before, but now…

“My mama would’ve liked you.”

The words leave your mouth before you could stop them. That was when he finally looked at you, a smile threatening to show. “Why?”

“Well, you’re funny, and intelligent-.”

“-Oh, stop; but do go on.” He teased.

“And you know that I am more so those things than you are.”

He hummed. “I do?”

“Of course you do.”

“I rebuke this slander.”

“Well, what is it you want me to say?” You laughed, dramatically tossing yourself back down onto the bed. “Oh Aemond, you’re foul and arrogant, but kiss me anyway because you have the most fearsome, biggest dragon in the-!”

He followed your order, leaning over and kissing your lips fully before caging you between in arms. “You should meet her one of these days.”

“Vhagar?” You chuckled. “She’d kill me.”

“Perhaps, but not until I take you up on her.”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not stepping foot on that dragon.”

“I command you to.”

“Oh!” You gasped in an attempt to taunt him. “Oh, you command me to?! What else will my Prince Regent command of me?”

He smirked, kissing the tip of your nose. “As we are in the sky, I will do unspeakable things to you.”

The words did not reach meaning as you heard them. Then, once they did, you began to laugh. No matter what Aemond said to you, you could not stop laughing.

“What is it?” He questioned.

You refuted. “I can’t say it.”

“Your Prince Regent commands you.”

Taking the deepest of breaths to relax yourself, you finally said. “The first time I ride a dragon, it will not be while I’m riding y-.”

His lips on yours silence you once again. Though this time, he wasn’t letting up; diving his tongue into your mouth as he began to place more of his weight on top of you. Before he could completely trap you, you tossed yourself over him, straddling and holding him down, panting.

“I wouldn’t mind it now; if you’re fine with that.”

He grinned like the devil, his hands squeezing your hips. “You can practice.”

Giggling, you took his cock in your hands and rose yourself up before sinking down onto him. You were still wet from earlier that night, so it didn’t take too long to readjust. Once you were fully seated, you rested your palms on his chest, beginning to move.

You switched between rolling your hips and bouncing on his cock. When you’d get tired, you’d lean back and let him chase his own pleasure, all the while, mumbling in his mother tongue.

“No, no.” You babbled, leaning forward and halting your motions. He cursed, but you remained still. “Let me hear you.”

Aemond called your name like he was praying; like he was begging for one of the Seven to hear him. He tried to move your hips himself, but you tore his hands off you, pinning them on each side of his head.

“When I move, you move.” You hissed, then said the next words slowly. “Let me hear you.”

He sucked in each breath, collecting himself before uttering. “Dīnilūks.”

Of course, it was something you didn’t know.

So, you merely kissed along his jaw. “Ñuho glaeso hūrus.”

He grunted when you jolted your hips forward at an uneven pace. Sitting up, Aemond held you against him with no space between you. He thrusted like a madman, sucking on the pulse point in your neck.

“Did-ah!-did I say it right?” You murmured, feeling a coil tighten in your stomach.

“Yes.” He breathed, grasping one of your tits. “Yes!”

A loud knock on the door bounced off the walls of the room, causing a sharp gasp to escape you.

Sylvi said your name. “Open the door, I need you for something.”

You immediately halted your movements, swallowing thickly. Sighing, you went to get off of Aemond, only for him to latch his arm around your hips.

“Keep going.”

You shook your head. “You know she’ll throw a fit.”

“I don’t care.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “Let her hear what I do to you, and I’ll let her hear what she couldn’t do to me.”

With quivering breath, you resumed the movement in your hips, pushing him back down onto the bed. Aemond fucked into you like a wild animal, almost throwing you off balance if not for digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Gods,” he moaned. “ñuha dijītsos, if you could see yourself…”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll make you-fuck-I’ll make you watch yourself one day.” He took your pearl between his fingers. “Watch how I penetrate you, how I desecrate you.”

Whining, you sped up your thrusts, the slapping of skin and the calling of his name from your lips drowning out anything that was not in the room.

You moved with him as best you could, leaning over him to press your lips to his as one of his hands moved to your backside, pulling you even closer. The sweat of your skin glued you to his chest, your thighs starting to cramp from kneeling.

“Ae-Ae-!” You grunted, feeling the burn both from your growing pleasuring and the pain in your legs.

“Give it to me.” He made a weak attempt to suppress his grunts.

Your orgasm hit you with both the suddenness and intensity of a screaming arrow. Vision blurring, your cries grew sharper as you rode it out, and all the while, Aemond was still thrusting up into your cunt. As you were beginning to come down, he let out a moan from his chest, releasing himself into you.

You collapsed fully onto him, it being your heavy breathing now harmonizing instead of your groans.

“What-what did you call me?” You kissed his heart. “I’m your dijistos?”

“Dijītsos.” He corrected, running his hand up your back. “You’re my little desire; although, the word is much cruder than that.”

“Little arousal then?”

“Exactly.”

You both stayed like that for less than you wanted to; again, the knocking on the door disturbing your peace. Sitting up, you pulled yourself off of him, hissing from the pain in your legs.

Aemond sat up. “I’ll get it.”

“No.” You grabbed his arm. “Just put my dress on. I have to look somewhat presentable.”

He reached down, grabbing the thin dress you always wore for your jobs. You placed your arms above your head as he slipped your dress over you.

“You know,” you began. “if I had it my way, I would say we should hide under the covers like children and pretend the rest of the world does not exist.”

Humming, he kissed your clavicle. “Perhaps one day we shall.”

You gritted your teeth once you got up, only then feeling Aemond’s spent travel down your leg. Still, you were high from the overall activity. Which is why you slammed the door open to greet Sylvi as if she still favored you.

“Ah, what a pleasant surprise!” You cheered. “What can I do for you, Madame?”

Her nostrils flared for a moment until she forced herself to relax. “Well, at least you look the part.” She shoved an empty jug into your arms. “Chansey found a man for you to seduce.”

You stared at her before chuckling. “I already did one an hour ago.”

“Two hours ago. This one is actually wealthy. Stupid too, so it shouldn’t be hard for you.”

Sighing, you knew there wasn’t any other way to get out of it. Yes, there was the Prince Regent behind you, but he didn’t seem to want to intrude for some reason. You foolishly shrugged it off.

“Okay, just let me pretty myself-.”

“-Please,” she interrupted, “he’s not looking for an innocent maiden. He’s looking for another warm place to put his cock.”

And she left you standing in the doorway. You glanced into the jug and saw your sheathed knife visible, along with a red ribbon, Sighing, you sat down against the wall and reached in to grab them. You soon felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Do you need help?” Aemond asked, crouching in front of you.

“Sure.” you sighed, hiking up your dress and laying your knife against your thigh. You held the ribbon up to him. “Tie it, please.”

He double knotted the ribbon, placing a kiss to your knee when he was finished. “I shall be here when you come back.”

You scoffed. “It’s getting late. Won’t the council be worried about where the Prince Regent is?”

“Precisely because I am, I choose to stay here. Do not keep me waiting.”

Kissing his cheek, you wished him farewell before rushing down the stairs and past all the couples and groups, pleasuring themselves with a newfound vigor.

The night felt a little darker that night. You didn’t know the exact time, but it wasn’t exactly the darkest hour of night you had gone out; at least, it wasn’t supposed to be. It was more likely you were growing tired and weary from exhausting prior activity as you trudged through the slim paths of King’s Landing.

You still managed to find the man you were meant to be looking for; stumbling around as if it was the first time he was ever drunk. With a sigh, you began to sing the same song, walking in the direction of the well you have come to know for years.

It wasn’t just your body that was weak; it was your voice. That night wasn’t the nicest you sounded, but it had got the job done. Sylvi had been right: It was easy.

Just with from the sight of your blade gleaming in the moonlight, the man cowered like a child, tossing a hefty sack at you.

You didn’t even touch him.

So, with a skip in your step, you rushed back to the pleasure house. You dropped off the money in Sylvi’s room and attempted to make yourself more presentable for Aemond. That being dropping one of the straps off your shoulder; there wasn’t much more you could do. With a smile on your face as you reached the door, you grabbed the handle and pushed it open.

There was a man in the room; a man that wasn’t Aemond.

“Ah, there you are.”

His grin was hideous, in fact, his entire self was. The look in his eyes as they ran over your body caused you to shrivel like a leaf. If it were any other night that you had found a stranger in a bedroom, you would’ve known exactly what to do.

Yet, tonight you were expecting your lover to be there; and he was nowhere to be seen.

“You have the wrong room, ser.” You deepened your voice.

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t.”

He said your name.

How did he know your name?

“You’re not meant to be here.” You attempted to sound forceful, but instead, your voice wavered when he approached you. “I suggest you leave before the man I am expecting-.”

“-Comes back?” He interrupted. “The Prince Regent? Is that whom you speak of?”

Swallowing thickly, he was standing so close you could finally see him better. It was the same man that followed you as you were bleeding out; the man that left only when you stumbled upon Sylvi and Aemond.

You reached between your legs and whipped the knife out from under your dress. Unsheathing it once it was out, you dove the blade to his torso. He caught it as the tip reached his clothing.

“Who do you think told me to be here?” He taunted, squeezing your wrist.

Your foot met his shin, and he stumbled backwards, loosening his grip. With a yell, you rose your hand again and slashed his arm. He hissed, and you made the mistake of looking into his eyes. A fury you had never seen before washed over them.

He grabbed your wrist again, twisting it this time. A horrible crack was heard, and a cry ripped through your throat as you collapsed to your knees, dropping the knife. Gripping your hair, he forced you back to your feet before tossing you into the wall.

Falling onto your side after colliding with the wall, all of the wind had been knocked out of you. Just as you took a breath in, the man landed a kick to your ribs. He picked his foot up as you cried and kicked again.

As he tried to do so a third time, you released a growl, crawling to the knife on the floor. He picked it up just as it was in reach.

“How does a silly little cunt like you know how to use this? Woman at the Well?” He questioned, setting the blade on the bed.

You got to your knees despite how your body stung, and only was able to place one foot on the ground before his knuckles met your nose.

He snickered as you laid on your back, breathing unstable. “It’s not your style to give up, isn’t it?”

The man got onto his knees, essentially straddling you. He brushed his hand over your face, and little whines left your bloodied lips as you tried to push him away.

“Gods,” he sighed, moving one of the thin straps down your shoulder, exposing your breast to him.

“Stop.” You sniffled. “Please, stop!”

Wrapping his arms around your aching body, he brought your lips up to his and kissed you like you had never been kissed before. It was violent; hands tearing and grasping your dress, teeth dug into your flesh.

And you reciprocated.

You placed your hands upon his cheeks, attempting to respond with the same vigor. You pulled your lips away, pressing them to his cheek, then traveling downwards.

His chin.

His jaw.

His neck.

You lingered there, forcing out little noises of pleasure when his hand traveled up your thigh, dancing closer and closer to your center.

That was when you sunk your teeth into his throat. For just a moment of euphoria, he thought it was a love bite.

Then, an involuntary scream left his mouth.

Blood colored your teeth red as you bit into his skin until each little strand of flesh was torn off from his neck. He’d let go of you long ago, and you landed on your back from the force of pulling yourself away.

You watched as he crawled backwards, hand on his neck as he groaned out in agony. The adrenaline made it to your legs, letting you stand effortlessly. As if you were a spectator of your own body, you watched yourself spitting his own throat onto him, before picking the knife off of the bed.

Kneeling over his body, you jammed the blade into his neck.

Again

And

Again.

Red painted your body and dress like it was a canvas. It was almost impossible to find the color of your own skin when you were finished.

It was exhaustion that forced you to stop. You didn’t know what silence truly was until you did. You didn’t know when he stopped screaming, or when he had stopped breathing. When you were forced to sit down and catch your breath, did you only then realize you were alone.

You tasted blood and tears on your tongue as you whaled, your hands shaking so horribly the knife dropped without you knowing. The rest of your body slid to the floor, crying into the creaking wood.

As a puddle formed underneath you, you brought your head up, and something shimmered in your sight. Rubbing your eyes, you looked again, and saw something shine under the bed.

Crawling with what little strength you had, you reached for it, clutching something smooth with somewhat of a rough texture. Your breath stilled when you brought it out into the light.

Aemond's sapphire. The one that was in his eye and lost for weeks...under the bed the whole time.

“Seven Hells...”

You clutched the sapphire in your hand, snapping your head up at the voice. Once you saw Sylvi, wide-eyed and mouth hung open, you wept.

She dropped to her knees, taking off her shawl and wrapping it around you. She shushed you, caging you in her arms and pressing kisses on your face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” She soothed as you tried to fight out of her hold. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

You finally gave into her embrace, tears and blood coating her neck as you buried yourself into it. She kissed your messy hair, squeezing you tighter and tighter until you squealed.

Sylvi loosened her hold. “I’m sorry. Sweetie, what happened?”

You blubbered your response. In your mind, you were forming words, but your mouth was doing otherwise. You had said something of ‘Aemond’ at some point, and that was when she spoke up.

“Aemond?” She repeated, and you nodded. Her eyes had grown impossibly larger than when she had first seen you and the man’s body. She said your name gently. “Gods above…I saw him leave and speak with another man but I-I hadn’t thought he…I’m so sorry.”

“He-he said he would,” you stammered out. “he said…”

He would wait for you to come back.

That was what he told you.

“I’m sorry.” Sylvi lamented, hugging you again.

You pulled away from her. “I-I want to go home.”

“Let me just get the healers to check you-.”

“-Mama,” you shivered. “she-she’s home by now.”

Sylvi took a quaking breath, saying your name again.

“I-I’ve never been out this late,” you forced yourself to stand. “I don’t want to worry her or-or Gigi.”

“You shouldn’t be walking right now.” She followed after you.

Everything was abnormal after she said that. You could hear her saying words, but your mind wasn’t letting you process what any of them meant. You stumbled your way down the stairs and out of the pleasure house; no one had stopped you.

It was as if you were a babe again: learning to walk, and all the words around you were nothing more than babbles and strange sounds.

And no one had bothered you that night. You realize now that you were either extraordinarily lucky, or the Seven do exist.

When you made it back to your house, you hobbled in through the door and the living room; trying your best not to make a sound.

You thought about going into your mother’s bedroom, not minding the fact you would have to sleep in between her and Gigi…but your hand stained the door with blood once you touched it.

No, you weren’t going to dirty the bed; you and your mother had just cleaned the sheets. She’d be mad at you.

You tiptoed into your room, shut the door, and collapsed into your childhood bed.

The sapphire you had forgotten about dropped from your hand and onto the floor, but you didn't even hear it fall.

If you woke up tomorrow, than this was all just a bad dream.

GOTCHA BITCH!

No, this ISN'T the last part, I just overestimated how much I'd write and wanted to scare the shit out of you guys.

Also, you may be wondering: WTF is the timeline?

Well...I'm wondering too

High Valyrian

Gimin, gimin. Lykirī. Lykirī: “I know, I know. Be calm, be calm.”

Aōla renigon?: "Do you feel me?"

Skorkydoso glaesā?: “How are you?”

Sȳz iksan, kirimvose. Se ao?: “I am fine, thank you. And you?”

Glaeson: “Not well.”

Skoro syt?: “Why?”

Syrī tosh ao?: “I'm with you?”

Glaesan: “Well.”

Dīnilūks: “Marry me.”

Ñuho glaeso hūrus: “Moon of my life.”

Ñuha dijītsos: “My little desire.”

#aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond #game of thrones #hotd season 2 #hotd imagine #house of the dragon

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i-arch-my-backula · 26 days ago

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Sharing a coffin with Louis and Lestat headcanons

I got this idea from a headcanon from @loppsided Lestat relationship post. I'm doing this for both the movie and TV show. I still haven't seen season two of the show yet so please please don't be mad at me if these are OOC for them.

Content includes: GN! reader, slightly suggestive thing in TV Lestat's part

Movie Louis

Louis feels bad in general that you got turned into a vampire, no matter if he did it or not. When you were turned you didn't have your own coffin at first so you shared one with Louis.

He didn't mind sharing one with you, he thinks it's the least that he can do since you got dragged into this whole vampire mess. So until you got your own coffin you'd spend your days sleeping in his with him.

I think his preferred method of sharing a coffin is trying to lay side by side, kind of like spooning or just facing each other while laying on your side. He wouldn't be opposed to having one of you sleep on top of the other, but he'd avoid doing it unless he had to.

I think that early on in his vampire life he gets nightmares about his wife and how he turned. So having you there to soothe him a bit makes him feel better.

TV Louis

Louis and Lestat did share a coffin a couple of times canonically in the show so he wouldn't mind sharing one with you. He thinks of it a bit practically too. Considering you two are vampires and you're chronically cold being so close together keeps you two a bit warm.

Louis probably has nightmares too, early on in his vampire life so you might have to deal with him opening up the coffin and sitting up, trying to catch his breath after dreaming about his brother dying again. But having you to calm him down after he wakes up from a nightmare is a plus.

He doesn't have a very preferred method of sharing a coffin with you, but he does enjoy spooning, going either way depending on how you two are feeling. But if you two are feeling more intimate, he wants you to lay on top of him.

If you suffer from nightmares and you're struggling with one in your sleep Louis will open up the coffin and wake you up, trying to make sure that you're alright before going back to bed, holding you a bit closer.

Movie Lestat

You two are going to have to share a coffin together when you first get turned because he didn't really plan to get you one before he turns you. But I have a feeling that he's going to drag this out as long as he can.

Lestat is going to make you two share his coffin for as long as he can drag this out between the two of you. Sure you're constantly asking him to get you your own coffin but he's a busy vampire, surely you can share his for another day. "You still have a lot to learn chéri. Surely you can wait another night."

Lestat is a freak so he enjoys having you laying on top of him when you share a coffin. He's ok with spooning too. But having you lay on top of him while playing with his hair is something he can't deny makes him feel better. He might even claim it makes him sleep better.

I feel like once you get your own coffin he'll still offer to share one with you. You two make a little routine out of it, at least once a week the two of you will share a coffin together when you sleep.

TV Lestat

Yet again, you share a coffin with him until you're able to get your own. That first night together is very intimate for the two of you. Lestat making sure that you're comfortable the entire time and just trying to make sure you get some kind of sleep.

It's clear that he has some anger issues that he hasn't worked through that well, so he'll have outbursts and a way he likes to make up after them is sharing a coffin together again. "I'm sorry mon chéri. You know my temper. I do love you."

He's a freak so any position is fine with him, although he has a preference for facing each other so he keep his hands on your ass in a loving way.

I feel like when you two share a coffin together he gets more vulnerable and puts his guard down, at least as much as he can. He'll be more open to questions and if you ask something he isn't ready to talk about he won't go to anger. "That's for another night amour."

#iwtv x reader #louis pointe du lac #Louis pointe du lac x reader #lestat de lioncourt #lestat de lioncourt x reader

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nikkeora · 2 years ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 - p.j

summary; using your percy as a pillow.

pairing; percy jackson x demigod!reader

word count; 2.1k

warning(s); none, just fluff

a/n; sorry this took so long!! english isn’t my first language, so there might be a couple errors. it’s short, but hope you don’t mind, anon :) // takes place nowhere within canon in particular, but claiming happens really quickly

request(s); Hii! This is my first time requesting something EVER for anybody so that’s fun. Could you write prompt 6/ "You took all the pillows so i’m using you as one." Where Percy has all the pillows and reader decides to lay on his chest. Or the other way around, which ever is easier to write! Ty ty

Percy Jackson was the only demigod son of Poseidon. Therefore, he was the only occupant of Cabin Three at Camp Half-Blood.

However, if someone were to ask any of the campers, they would say that there were actually two people who lived in Cabin Three. One of those two people being, of course, Percy, and the other being you.

You and Percy were that couple in camp. You know that one couple that’s always hugging, holding hands, or touching each other in any way, shape, or form? Yeah, the two of you were that. He always had an arm around you, or held your hand in his. Sometimes, he snuck up and hugged you from behind while you were having a conversation or doing some other thing that required you to stand still in the same spot, often causing him to get an earful for surprising you or making the person you were talking with uncomfortable enough to leave.

Percy’s touchy demeanor only got worse when he was sleepy. While most decent boyfriends would offer to walk their girlfriends back to her place, Percy always dragged you away from the campfire singalong and straight into his cabin.

You were sure Chiron knew about this – after all, your boyfriend never really tried to sneak you off, and your half-siblings definitely knew you weren’t in your own bunk at night – but if he did, he tried his best to pretend that he didn’t. Whenever Percy got up from his seat at the campfire with you in tow, the centaur seemed to take a sudden interest in his hooves, or the grass, or his marshmallow that was already toasted to perfection in the fire.

And if Mr. D knew, he didn’t let on. He never really stuck around for the singalong after dinner, so you weren’t really sure if he ever saw the two of you. But he’s the camp director—he had to know something was up. You supposed the punishment for sleeping in another cabin involved too much paperwork to carry out. Either that, or the Mr. D simply knew that Percy would drag you to his cabin no matter the amount of times he had to wash the Camp’s dinner plates.

Percy was a big fan of cuddling. It helped him sleep—like actually sleep, without any dreams to bother him throughout the night. He joked that you were like his personal dose of melatonin, though he’d never taken any before, going so far as to gift you an ‘assorted berries’ flavored lip balm.

“Like the gummies,” he had explained, attacking your lips once you’d applied the makeup. You haven’t yet found the heart to tell him that taking melatonin could actually cause very vivid, extremely wild dreams.

You’d let him live his fantasy, for now.

Luckily for Percy, you were also a big cuddler, especially with him. While you weren't as open with PDA – Percy did more than enough of that for you both to get yourselves through the day – you rarely let go of your boyfriend when the two of you were alone, which he was extremely happy about.

The two of you always faced each other, laying on your sides. You would run your fingers through his hair, and he would hug you close while the two of you got so tangled up that you didn’t know which limbs were whose, bringing a much needed sense of domesticity to your hectic lives. In those moments, time seemed to stop, and the two of you were the only people in the world.

The only problem with these cuddle sessions was, Percy was a huge blanket hog.

Like, really huge.

When Percy started to drift off, it was like he'd been possessed by a pillows-and-blankets goblin or something. He rolled around on the bed, and when you're conscious enough to move over in order to avoid being completely flattened underneath him, he took the opportunity to take up all of your previous space, along with your pillow and around ninety-eight percent of the sheets.

You'd tried and failed numerous times to keep this from happening: tucking yourselves in extra tight, tiring him out as much as you could, all the things people on the internet claimed would keep someone from tossing and turning. Nothing had worked, hence, the oh-so-familiar predicament you constantly found yourself in. Again. And again. And again.

///

Today was another typical day. The only difference? It felt like about a week’s worth of work had been crammed into it.

At the crack of dawn, one of the protector satyrs brought three new campers to the hill. And, as luck would have it, it was your turn to show any new arrivals around. The three new half-bloods – all of them around ten or eleven years old – came to Percy’s cabin, led by one of your half-siblings. Four kids bursting through the door when the sun hadn’t even come up yet was not the best way to wake up.

After a quick change and a hasty kiss goodbye, you gave the newbies the full tour, from the lava climbing wall to the arts and crafts center to the canoeing lake. You were sure they were sweet kids most of the time, but in your sleepy and quite frankly grumpy state, all their chattering gave you a migraine. And that’s not even including all their Mythomagic questions.

“Does Athena really have two thousand attack points?”

“Can Eros really Charm his enemies with Love Shots?”

“Does Apollo really use volleyballs for his Ultimate?”

You wished you could’ve learned a couple basic things from Nico before he quit the game.

Once you got the three of them settled comfortably in their cabins, it was already too late for breakfast. Percy would have grabbed you something, but, being counselors, the both of you had classes to teach and errands to run that kept you apart. After a few hastily scribbled cabin inspections, you dropped them off at the Big House before heading off to teach Ancient Greek.

Your Ancient Greek lessons hadn’t gone that bad. A few kids’ dyslexia was acting up today, but you really couldn’t expect any less every other day. After the usual alphabet refresher for newer kids, you had the campers read a few Greek legends out loud, and the class was dismissed without a hitch.

Unfortunately, that was one of the very few times things went smoothly today.

Your second class was riding lessons. Two relatively new campers managed to offend one of the pegasi and ended up in the infirmary with a few nasty bruises—great, add that report to your stack of paperwork. And cleaning up afterwards was always the worst part. The pegasi liked you, really, but they couldn’t help that they couldn’t groom themselves, especially their wings. As for the pegasus that charged those two kids, you had to put him in the time-out cubicle to calm him down.

The thing about pegasi is, they prefer to roam around, and definitely do not appreciate being put in the time-out cubicle. You were glad you didn’t speak horse like Percy, because – judging by the amount of angry horse noises – you were pretty sure the pegasus thoroughly cussed you out.

Next task: canoeing with the naiads.

A few of the naiads claimed a canoe for themselves, and the kids each broke off into separate teams to take turns racing with the nymphs. A couple Hephaestus kids, determined to win for once, had designed a detachable motor to rig to their canoe—the naiads didn’t seem to mind, so you let them be. It exploded about halfway across the lake. No one got hurt, thankfully, but the canoe was no longer usable. You put the kids who’d built the motor on kitchen duty with the harpies for the rest of the week.

Lunchtime came around, but you were too busy to eat properly, grabbing a single piece of pizza before running off to prep a small section of the woods for a wilderness survival class one of the satyrs were supposed to teach. Apparently, he had fallen asleep and forgotten to prepare everything himself the night before, and you agreed to help him just to stop him from running around you in circles. Getting your feet stomped on by panicked goat hooves? Not so fun.

A couple more mildly disastrous activities and a small pile of reports later, it was time for your favorite routine—dinner, campfire, Cabin Three, and lots of cuddles à la Percy.

At the Dining Pavilion, you practically inhaled your food, as it was the first time you’d had a chance to get a full meal all day. After the void in your stomach had been taken care of, you dragged Percy to the campfire, where you claimed the best seat for roasting marshmallows. As usual, your boyfriend refused to sing a single note.

“Come on, just this one time?” You pleaded. The whole camp was singing The Campfire Song – the unofficial anthem of Camp Half-Blood – a song that the gods surprisingly didn’t take offense to. Singing complaints about your godly parentage was apparently received as a lighthearted joke. Judging by the unusually bright golden color of the flames, you were fairly certain Apollo even enjoyed it.

“You’re the only one here with Poseidon as a dad. We’re dying for you to rhyme something—you should see Cabin Seven, there’s this one part of the wall covered with post-it notes with bets on what you’ll sing. I saw a lyric comparing your dad to Marlin from Finding Nemo, once.” You said. Katie Gardner sang about how she’d gotten a fern in a mason jar for her sixteenth birthday. “I think there’s one for Nico, too, but that’s mostly just Will.”

“If I tried to sing, I’d probably cause an avalanche.” Percy laughed, and kissed you when you tried to say something else. He did that to shut you up sometimes. It was infuriating for sure, but you had to admit it was pretty damn effective.

“One day, Sharkboy,” you promised, giving him a determined grin before leaning in to kiss him again. A few of your siblings whooped in the background, for Katie or to tease you, you didn't know.

“Mm, we’ll see,” your boyfriend muttered, pulling you closer as Travis and Connor Stoll took up the mic.

A few more verses and a couple other songs later, you were back in Percy’s warm bed in Cabin Three. The air had that salty taste like the beach on a cool summer’s night, and the underwater plants and corals that Tyson had brought back from Poseidon’s palace took on a luminescent glow under the moonlight. Percy’s Minotaur horn glinted silver on the wall.

You were completely worn out from the day. Sure, it wasn’t as bad as going on a killer quest, but you were allowed to complain about and tire out from mundane things, too. Percy had to practically carry you from the campfire because you were already half asleep.

But as soon as Percy started to drift off – and therefore started to move towards you, and assemble his blanket burrito – your eyes flew open and you propped yourself up on the bed, effectively disentangling yourself from him. You heard him stir as he felt your warmth disappear.

“Y/N..” Percy whined, his voice gravelly with sleep, as he tried to grab you by the waist to pull you back to him. You swatted his hand away, and he begrudgingly opened his eyes. “What’re you doing?”

“Improvising.” You huffed. There was no way you were going to deal with ‘Percy the Pillow Pillager’ problems tonight. As much as you loved him, you were tired of practically hanging off the edge of the bed.

Putting your hands on one side of Percy’s premature blanket burrito, you rolled him back to his previous spot, making him lie on his back. You then disassembled the sheets to make some room for yourself underneath them. Percy happily let you cuddle into him again. But this time, you quite literally lay on top of him, draping your arm, leg and most of your torso over him and putting your head on his chest.

“You took all the pillows, so I’m using you as one,” you stated. “Stay. Put.” You poked him to emphasize each word and felt his chest rumble as he laughed.

“I will,” he promised.

“Mhm.”

You were skeptical, but you felt too warm and comfortable to care much. If you got tossed off the bed in the middle of the night, that was a future-you problem.

You felt Percy kiss the top of your head as you drifted into sleep.

#percy jackson #percy jackson headcanon #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson books #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson x y/n #percy x reader #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson fic #pjo x reader #pjo stuff #pjo fanfic

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ovaryacted · 2 months ago

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COMPLICATED

─ Javier Peña x fem! reader || WC: 3.2k

SYNOPSIS: You begin to realize Javier's position at the DEA is putting a wedge in your marriage. It was only a matter of time before everything you've built crumbled once you reached your breaking point.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. ANGST. Established relationship. Javier & Reader are Married. Marriage problems. Arguments & Confrontation. Thoughts of slapping Javi. Mentions to prior sex & intimacy. Javier is falling apart. Self-sabotage. Mentions of religion/faith. Mentions of the DEA & Javi's job. Both Javi & Reader are in Colombia. Reader's occupation is unknown. Spanish dialogue between Javi & Reader. Please proceed with caution if relationship issues/arguments/possible DV are a sensitive topic for you.

Disclaimer: I have not watched Narcos yet. This is all just my interpretation of another aspect of Javier Peña’s character. Therefore, it is not strict to the canon or details of the show.

A/N: I wrote this for @almostfoxglove's Angst Challenge for August and got Javier Peña, so this is what I came up with! I will admit, I rewrote this fic twice because my initial outline changed halfway, so I started from scratch and got this. It is angsty, and I do want to mention that this is a different take on Javier P., because I personally do not characterize him this way but I ventured out of the norm and put him through situations (I love him a lot though). Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You waited for him, the same way you always did.

Sitting on the couch and staring idly at the TV screen, you tried your hardest to find something to occupy your mind again. The cigarette comfortably sat between the index and middle fingers of your left hand, the weight of the two golden bands on your ring finger enticed you to take another drag.

You always hated how much Javier smoked. The stress from working at the DEA compelled him to go through two packs weekly, an ashtray present in every room of your quaint apartment, probably another on his desk at work. You didn’t predict there would come a time when you’d consider yourself a smoker, much less of cigarettes, despite recalling the multiple times you reminded your husband of how bad they were for his health.

“Those things will kill you before your job does, Javi.”

The irony in your words, a hypocrite of your own making.

You don’t blame him for not listening, either. Now you think you get the appeal of going through the cancer sticks one by one. You crave the high of the nicotine rushing through your veins with every inhale and relieving your jumpy nerves. The peace you’d feel for a few minutes was the only tranquility you could get in the hectic mess of your crumbling life.

You wish you knew how things got to this point.

The years blended throughout your relationship with the charismatic Javier Peña, a fine man you bumped into on your way home and accidentally sent all your groceries falling to the ground. Apologies poured out of your mouth repeatedly, and he bent down to help you clean up your mess, offering to cover the expenses of the ruined food you just bought with a faint smile.

The curl of his lips and the sparkle in his brown eyes bewitched you from the start, and you took the money he offered in your palm before he walked off, your sight trailing down on the cocky sway of his hips and the broadness of his back.

He dwelled in your mind like a phantom, haunting you in your dreams and inhabiting your senses. You didn’t anticipate to bump into him two weeks later while running errands, the smug look on his face at the sight of reencountering you so quickly didn’t go unnoticed. It was a simple conversation, a brief introduction followed by an offer for drinks when you both had time with reassurance that you would meet him under better circumstances.

The rest was history.

Sure, you knew Javier was a busy man, always on the run due to his highly demanding job you didn’t initially know of. From how he carried himself, you gathered he was associated with law enforcement, not from Colombia naturally, but perhaps the United States. You didn’t suppose he’d be affiliated with the federal government of all things, and the thought of what he was doing in the country worried you the first few months of being with him.

But all of your apprehensions about his professional occupation went out the window when you got into bed with him, limbs tangling into the sheets, and hushed promises whispered sweetly in your ear. All you cared about were the words he’d say as he took you every which way, claimed you his all over his apartment when you’d meet him late at night after a stressful work day.

That was the most intimate you knew him, in the throes of passion in which he seemed to be an expert. His hands strung your body with ease, pulling on the invisible red string that connected the two of you whenever his fingers wandered between your thighs. He drank every moan and cry of his name, hips moving against you so reverently others would mistake you for a place of worship.

It was a matter of time before dates turned to sleepovers, and your stay in his life became more permanent when you moved in with him. You didn’t object when he got down on one knee and popped the question you’d been waiting to hear after a year, jumping in your heels with a broad smile and tears streaming down your cheeks once he slipped the ring over your finger.

You never got the wedding you dreamed of since you were little, and you didn’t go on the honeymoon he promised you due to his prior commitments. Instead, you settled on going to a courthouse when you briefly visited Javi’s home in Texas and stayed in his government-covered apartment while in Colombia.

The signs of stress were there from the beginning of the relationship, but the rose-tinted shades you wore were a perfect fit. To you, ignorance was bliss, and you refused to pop whatever abstract bubble you found yourself trapped in with the man you’ve come to know as your partner.

You stuck by him when he needed you most, never opposing him when he sought after you for solace following the close calls he had while chasing down Escobar’s men. You kept your mouth shut when you saw him cleaning up the wounds he hid from you, locking the bathroom door behind him to avoid worrying you to such an extent. You didn’t utter a word when he started coming home later and wouldn’t give you notice, blaming the job and the intricacies of the caseload he was assigned to manage.

“I’m sorry. It’ll get better.”

You wanted to believe him, to think that somehow the craziness that was happening with the business of narcotics in Colombia would be slowing down, and your life would go back to normal, the way it should be. That way of life was gone. Sometimes, you think you’ve never had it to begin with.

You didn’t ask for this. Neither one of you did.

The disconnect between you grew after another close call on a raid, causing your first full-blown argument. The aftermath resulted in harsh kisses and bruises on your thighs from when Javi fucked you hard against the wall, holding you tightly as you scratched down his back. The subsequent times were like that; you could only communicate with him when your bodies engaged in the best way they knew how. All the pent-up frustration was released when he was inside you, groaning apologies and curse words as he filled you to the brim over and over, and you took it with a smile of forgiveness.

At some point along the way, there was no more fun to this game of tension you’ve created to ignore the elephant in the room. Not after the bickering turned into disagreements, your pillowcase growing wet with suppressed tears after a yelling match. The touches turned fleeting, the nights were lonely, and the animosity that wedged itself in your marriage thrived in the dismissive regard you both held for one another.

Your touch burned him more often than not; the last time he caressed you with care was lost to the ravages of his anxiety. All that remained was the past, the memories that you shared before shit hit the fan, and frankly, you don’t think you could take any more of this torture.

The other side of your bed stayed messy and cold, barely catching him when he left in the mornings for work. The caseloads kept piling on, the raids got more personal and farther from home, and the cycle continued to repeat itself. There wasn’t an end in sight, not soon anyway.

Stuck in your thoughts, you missed the instant the front door opened and closed, stubbing out your cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table. You glanced over to see Javier stepping through the entryway, peeling his leather jacket off and tossing it to the side while holding your gaze momentarily.

“You’re still awake?” Javier asked you, hinting an edge to his voice as he spoke to you.

“Hello to you too,” you responded calmly, asserting your tone. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d wait for you.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Somehow, the faux concern made you chuckle dryly, watching him walk past you to head right for the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and leaving his back turned to you.

“And what else do you need me to stop doing?”

Your question forced Javier to pivot and face you, his glass sat on the counter as you observed him. Keeping your distance, you stood on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the archway and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Tell me. What else do you need me to stop doing, Javier?”

He remembers when you only called him by signature terms of endearment. Baby. Honey. Amorcito; he particularly loved that one. Now, you addressed him by his first name as if it were its own curse word.

“What the fuck do you mean?” he raised an eyebrow as you continued to speak, malice brewing inside as you itched to say the things you’ve kept bottled up.

“It seems you want me to stop everything. You don’t even come home anymore. I forget you live here sometimes,” you said, trying to be sarcastic, but your words were as sincere as they were hurtful.

“I do come home when I can. It’s been busy at w-”

“Work. It’s always about work and your fucking job. Work this, work that. Do you ever get tired of making excuses for yourself?” His eyes narrowed, staring you down as his body became rigid.

“Do you think me going out there every day chasing down these fucking pendejos is a godamn excuse? No estás pensando con claridad.”

“Oh, I’m the one that lacks sense. That’s rich coming from you.” You started to laugh, standing straighter and looking at your spouse vexingly. “You don’t think going down this goose chase with your head cut off to catch Escobar is crazy? Te has vuelto loco, Javi.”

“I do this for you. For us.” You know he’s trying to convince himself of this lie more than you.

“There is no us if you’re not here! You haven’t been here for months! I don’t know shit about you anymore, and this job has turned you into a different person.”

It was wrong to raise your voice at him; the previous quarrels usually passed through intense conversations, and he’d walk out the door to leave you for the rest of the night, but it was never this intense. You think this time would be the dreaded catalyst you’ve prolonged to avoid, and there was no turning back.

“You knew what you were getting into when we started dating. I told you what I do for work, I told you how this was going to be. It’s not fucking easy. You know this.” He took another sip of his whiskey, gulping it down all at once, hoping the buzz would give him the strength to handle the onslaught of words he knew was coming.

“So now it’s my fault that our relationship is falling apart? What? I should’ve known better than to fall in love with you? Should’ve known better than to marry you?” You were inching closer, your hands flailing around as you spoke exasperatedly.

“Yes. Maybe you should’ve known better.”

The only thing that could be heard in the kitchen was the clink of the ice melting in Javi’s glass, reaching a stalemate as you stared at him in bewilderment and heartbreak. You stepped forward to meet him chest to chest, imagining yourself slapping the words clean out of his mouth. You opted for putting your pointer finger under his chin, the tip of your nail grazing the underside of his jaw as rage washed over you.

“You don’t get to say that to me. Not after everything we’ve been through, everything I gave up to stay here with you in Colombia.”

Tears graced your lash line when he looked at you again, your brows creasing as the mask you’ve worn for so long unraveled. You tried to stay the good wife; you did, but you were getting edged closer and closer to the breaking point. Javier wants to be surprised that you found the audacity to confront him like this, but he knows it was what he deserved. Perhaps he deserved worse for what he’s put you through.

“Why can’t you give this up? Why? You know how this is going to end. I’ll hear from Steve that you didn’t make it back from another assignment or worse. All of this and for what? Help me understand, please.” You begged him to see your pain, hoped to see things as he saw them, to understand why he was going to such great lengths to kill a man at the expense of everything else rotting around him.

“It’s complicated. Everything about this is complicated. The last thing I need is for you to get involved in this mess, too.”

“It’s always complicated with you.” You shrugged with a shake of your head, admitting your defeat.

“I sit here and wait for you to come home, and you don’t. You’d rather be out there, doing god knows what, while I stay and twiddle my fucking thumbs waiting for something to happen,” you looked down to the floor, staring at your feet as the emotions swirled inside you, losing control over the storm of their intensity.

“I don’t complain or say anything when you don’t come home. I get it, this is the job, this is what you have to do. But I don’t see you, Javier. You don’t talk to me, you don’t touch me, or even look at me…I don’t want this for us anymore.”

You didn’t think your words were getting through to Javi anyway as he remained quiet, the stinging bitterness festering before was forgotten and replaced by the dull ache of his heart. Hearing you say this to him hurt in ways grazed bullet wounds and rough tumbles to the ground couldn’t amount to. The self-loathing and anger that’s been building inside him after discovering all the corruption of his job settled in the pit of his stomach, bile rising to the back of his throat at the thought of it. He hated this.

“I don’t want this either. I don’t want to keep hurting you…”

I don’t want to lose you.

“Then why do you still do it?” You presented your left hand to hit his line of sight, gesturing to the two rings you wore, the ones he gave you when he swore to love you for the rest of your life. “Does this mean anything to you?”

It means everything to me. You mean everything to me.

The words were too heavy for him to say, refraining from confessing his true thoughts the way he wanted. His lips were sealed, but his eyes confirmed what you already knew. He was just too cowardly to do or say the right thing himself.

“I love you Javier, I do. So much that it pains me, but this is not a life we should be living. Don’t you want more than this?”

Of course, he wanted more. When he slipped that ring on your finger, he had already envisioned the life he had dreamed of with you. A quiet life somewhere in the countryside, away from all of the noise of the government and countries that were running rampant with issues he shouldn’t be responsible for fixing. He saw the distant future, a kid or two running in the yard while you sat on the porch to watch them, a look of peace on your pretty face as you peeked over at him from across the ranch.

A happy home, a happy life. That was what he wanted, what he prayed for.

Javier despises himself for being unable to amount to his dream for both of you. He’s so wrapped up in this nonsense with the DEA that he’s had tunnel vision so profound he can’t see the light anymore.

“I know you’re not going to stop until all of this is finished, I know that. But I can’t do this anymore. So I’m giving you a choice, the DEA or me.” His eyebrows shot up at the sudden ultimatum you’ve proposed to him, eyes growing wide as he comprehended the hand you’ve forced upon him.

“You can’t make me choose this, that’s not how this works. I can’t just drop everything for you, not now when we’re this close. Don’t do this to me, please…” his hands landed on your shoulders, squeezing them to make you rethink what you said before doing something you may regret.

“I don’t want to do this, but I have to,” your eyes met the brown irises you used to spend hours looking at and admiring, the spark in them long gone. “I can’t stay here and watch you destroy yourself, Javi. I love you too much to witness that. Please don’t put me through that.”

Walking away from him and heading to the bedroom, you knew nothing else was left to say. You couldn’t save him, your love couldn’t save him either, and you thought maybe backing him into a corner would knock some sense that he’s been missing.

As you entered your bathroom to look at your reflection, you heard the front door open and close again, exhaling a shuddering breath. He’ll be outside for the night, maybe stop by a bar and drown his sorrows before going to work again as if nothing happened. Your eyes turned bloodshot as you cried, your hands covering your face to muffle your sobs as you sank to the tiled bathroom floor with your back to the wall. You brought your knees to your chest, comforting yourself and hoping something would come in the form of a miracle.

Maybe you’ll wait for him a little longer. Maybe you’ll leave your ring on the dresser with a letter, find your way back to the United States, and rebuild your life, forgetting all about Javier Peña. Maybe there was nothing left to give, nothing left to save. Maybe you just didn’t know what you were doing, and you went over your head.

You prayed for whatever God existed to give you the strength to persevere through this troubling time. In that silent prayer, you wished for the man you still loved to come back home to you, for him to want a better life for himself and to end this torment he continued to put himself through.

Slipping into the empty bed like you’ve done so many times before, you tucked yourself in the sheets that still smelled like him, glimpsing at the window to count the rays of moonlight that peeked through the curtains to help you doze off.

You dreamed that in the morning, you’d wake up to strong arms wrapped around your waist, apologies and promises muttered alongside kisses to your temple as he reclaimed you as his, the way he used to do before all of this. You desired to give him what he wanted, be the person he needed to show him better and save him from himself. But that was wishful thinking.

The man you knew, the man you loved, wasn’t here anymore, and there was no way you could bring him back.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Spanish Translation: pendejos - idiots, No estás pensando con claridad - you're not thinking clearly, Te has vuelto loco, Javi - You've gone insane/you’re crazy Javi.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña angst #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #almostfoxgloveangstchallenge #ovaryacted fics #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

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mothiir · 2 months ago

Text

penance

the black templars discover human women. Nothing nsfw, only vaguely lewd, with canon typical violence and religious themes. Possibly will follow up with a smut if the spirit moves me

alternative summary: where is this strumpet so I might detest her with my own eyes

—

Isaiah takes his helm off to inhale the sweet scent of battlefield smoke. The sky is ruddy with dawn, and the last of the heretic cities is nothing more than smouldering rubble, the would-be rebels against the Emperor’s Will either dead or soon to be. Those too young, or too elderly, to have served a meaningful part in the uprising may yet find redemption as Chapter serfs or servitors — after all, there is little point to justice if there is no mercy to go alongside it.

Sweat gilds his high cheekbones, and drips down his nape. Taking a moment away from his brothers to say his private prayer of thanks to the Emperor is one of the small ways Isaiah keeps his sanity during these long campaigns. He would fight and die beside his brethren with pride — and yet if he has to hear one more of Reuben’s jokes, he may consider —

No. No, none of that, not even in the privacy of his own head: he must be grateful, always. Mindful and grateful of the Emperor’s blessings. Reuben is a blessing. A hardship, yes, but so often blessings take the form of hardships; of lessons to learn. Reuben is an excellent soldier, and an exercise in patience.

Perhaps it is the thought of Reuben’s damned puns that drives him further than usual, or the desire to admire the sight of a battle hard-fought. Either way, Isaiah ends up a good five hundred feet from camp before he quite realises it, crunching over charred bones and burned, unrecognisable standards.

Then: a sound. Thin, high, and vaguely organic. At once, he replaces his helmet, Captain Ezra’s words echoing in his memory: boy, there is no point prancing around like the main character in a holo — the enemy does not need to see your pretty face, and nor do I.

Anyway. The noise. His scanners alert him to a life form, hidden behind a pile of corpses. Humanoid. Rabbit-hearted, and trying very hard to remain unseen.

He upholsters his bolter, and stalks forwards: a faceless, merciless instrument of the Emperor’s wrath.

—

The clouds hang thick and red, like they have absorbed all the blood spilt today, and the heat is oppressive. A thunderstorm is coming; you taste it in the air. Soon, the rain will extinguish the last of the flaming rubble on this planet you once called home. It will fill the empty eye sockets of those who died for the delusions of your rulers. It will wash the land clean.

And you doubt you will see it.

As the Templar yanked you from the rubble, your shoulder had popped from its socket with a sick, wet crack; you had only kept yourself from crying out by biting into your tongue. Now your right arm hangs useless by your side, radiating bright veins of sheer agony. You daren’t make a move to cradle it, to ease your discomfort.

“Your world is guilty of the crime of sedition,” intones the Templar, his voice as final as a tombstone falling into place. “Your leaders rebelled against the Divinity of the Emperor, and —“

”And I should die for it,” you manage, through lips gummed together with dried saliva and ash. “Because we let it happen.”

He pauses. The subtle tilt of his helm could be curiousity; could be an invitation to continue; could be nothing at all. But you are not dead. Not yet. Something in your chest is kindled, and you remember when you were little, at a school now nothing but ash, how your teacher would complain: that girl, she always has something to say.

“We let it happen,” you continue, not sure if you are arguing for your life or begging for martyrdom. “We saw the upper echelons turn to Ch — the accursed powers.” Thou shalt not speak the name of the beast, you remember reading somewhere, lest thou invite it in to feast. “And we did not stop them. We worked away, heads bent and faces averted, and we obeyed orders, and the rot spread and ruined our world. I — I thank you, for your cleansing fire, for your — for His mercy. For bringing the Light of the Emperor to this place.”

You cannot curtesy, not in this shape, and so you drop straight to the ground, knees smacking into hard stone. You bare your nape, awaiting judgement, awaiting the blade, your heart singing against your ribs, that desperate song, that too-late plea: oh I want to live. Emperor above, let me live.

—

“That is a woman,” says Reuben, like he has never seen one before.

”Yes, Reuben, that is a woman.”

“In our dormitory.”

”Yes,” Isaiah says. ”She is in our dormitory.”

As this world lacks any proper infrastructure — due to the intensive bombing campaign needed to bring it back to the Emperor’s Grace — the Astartes have retired to their battle barge, as Marshal Ezra Rothenberg plans their next movements.

Isaiah is honoured to consider himself part of the Edessan Crusade. There are more than two thousand of his brothers dedicated to the continued extirpation of Chaos from the Edessan system: a task that was predicted to take ten solar years, and yet is proceeding far ahead of schedule — due, in no small part, to the enthusiastic participation of the new recruits Guilliman so kindly provided them. If Guilliman hoped that the Primaris Marines would take the edge off the Black Templar’s well-known zealotry, he was swiftly disappointed. Within a few days of arriving, the only way to differentiate between the new recruits and their more seasoned brothers was size.

Isaiah shares a barren dorm with Reuben, and three other brothers. They sleep on plain metal bunks, with a rough woollen blanket and a thin pillow. Other Chapters, Isiaiah has heard, are so decadent and spoiled as to have duvets — which are sacks of feathers — and sometimes even something called a mattress? Absurd. He pities his fellow Primaris Marines, shipped out to such degeneracy. He hopes that they can cultivate an appropriate sense of duty and decorum in the older generation. How can anyone value such petty things as comfort when the Emperor’s enemies still draw breath?

You are sitting on Isaiah’s bed, the blanket around your shoulders, your eyes wide. You have not spoken since he brought you here — barely whimpered when he popped your shoulder back into place.

“…what is her purpose here?” Reuben says. He sits on his own bunk, opposite Isaiah, his afternoon reading (a hagiography of one of the more exciting saints) sprawled forgotten on his lap.

“Chapter serf,” says Isaiah.

“Do we need more serfs?”

”Yes. We do. The ones we have are — uh —very devout — “

The pair grimace. The fact that the serfs spend so long in prayer is to be admired, but it doesn’t often leave them much time to perform their duties. Isaiah is sick of doing his own mending because Serf Osric and Serf Jean are once more faint from fasting and all-night vigils to the glory of the Emperor.

“Did the Marshal allocate her to you?”

Isaiah pulls an interesting series of expressions. ”Not…exactly,” he allows, unwilling to lie, and yet not wanting to admit the truth. “But he has been…busy, of late.”

”Yes. Busy. With crusading against the Emperor’s enemies.”

”Too busy to be concerned with this sort of thing,” Isaiah says, hesitantly, dangling the bait before Reuben, waiting for him to take it. Reuben leans forwards to better observe you. Isaiah feels a strange twist of pride when you don’t cringe from his regard, but meet his dark eyes with your own, your chin tipped up, your fingers curling into the blanket. Then you suddenly seem to remember who you are, and where you are, and drop your head in supplication.

“Yes,” Reuben says, slowly. “Far too busy to be concerned with this. Don’t want to bother him.”

Isaiah utters a fervent prayer of thanks to the Emperor, feeling only a little guilty at thanking Him for his brother’s aid in deceiving their Marshal. But it wasn’t really deception, was it? They weren’t lying to him at all — they just weren’t telling him! Completely different.

“Exactly! It’s beneath his concern.”

”She’s beneath his concern!”

In total accord, both Templars grin at each other, before hurriedly smoothing their faces into expressions of solemn piety.

“Yes, brother. I am glad that the Emperor has seen fit to deliver unto us a — hang on, can you sew?” Reuben says, addressing you directly. You glance up at Isaiah, then stammer:

“Y-yes my lord —“

“Excellent.”

Reuben kicks up and off his bunk, rummages in the steel box that contains all his worldly possessions, then throws a wad of fabric at you. It unfurls into a dozen pairs of socks that look very much worse for wear.

“Start with those. Then my tunic needs restitching — the Emperor’s Most Holy Iconography is starting to get a bit tattered. Then —“

”Brother Reuben, you cannot hog the new serf —“

”I am offering her the chance to redeem the sins of her forefathers and mothers with holy labour.“

“Well, yes,” Isaiah protests. “But the holy labour cannot just be confined to your menial tasks—“

”Why — do you have menial tasks that need attending to?”

”Yes!” Isaiah says, thinking of his own increasing pile of ragged undergarments. “You can mend Brother Reuben’s socks, and then you must attend to my laundry —“

”And then she can mend my tunic —“

”No, then she must pray,” Isaiah says, belatedly remembering the importance of even the most lowly baselines in adding their voices to the Emperor’s endless praises. “And attend chapel —“

”Where Marshal Ezra may behold her?” Brother Reuben says. “The serf that we do not strictly speaking have, as she has not been allocated to us?”

Ah. Yes. He had forgotten about that.

”She must pray while she works,” Isiaih amends. “And abase herself before the Emperor’s mercy.”

”Yes. But pray quietly.”

”Do you know the appropriate psalms to recite while conducting your redemptive labour?” Isaiah says. You chew your lip.

“The correct litanies while uh…mending the socks of the Emperor’s chosen may have not been included in my education,” you say. Isaiah sighs. Truly, you came from a blighted world.

“You will learn them,” he says. “The Emperor will guide your tongue. If you fail to learn them then it is a sign that you have not received His Grace, and in that case fear not — we will deliver unto you the Emperor’s Mercy.”

“She will learn them,” Brother Reuben says, with a fervent and touching belief in humanity’s dedication to the Emperor.

Or, perhaps, a fervent desire to have socks without holes in them.

—

And so it goes. The Emperor sees fit to decree that the brothers that share Reuben and Isaiah’s quarters remain on the planet to build a chapter monastery there, taking advantage of the natural resources that are now free for use. No new brothers are installed in the dormitory — a great shame, of course, but it does have the benefit of ensuring that Brother Reuben and Isiaiah do not have to face awkward questions about your presence.

Isiaiah has never been in close contact with baseline humans before, save the serfs aboard the fleet, and he knows that it is his duty to ensure that you are free of Chaos’s taint, and suitably devoted to the God Emperor. As such, he ensures that you have the appropriate reading material, and tests you to ensure that you can recite the benedictions. The first time you stumbled over an incorrect word, he had sighed deeply and sorrowfully, reaching for his bolter. Brother Reuben had dragged him to the side and explained — in hurried whispers — that humans do not have the same eidetic memory as Astartes, and the misstep was not indicative of a lapse in faith but simply a sign of your humanity.

Fascinating.

There are other baseline issues that surprise both brothers. They sleep perfectly well on their hard metal bed frames, and their serfs often deliberately braid thistles into their blankets in order to better scourge their flesh for the sin of being mortal. You, however, suffer greatly for the first few days. You end up with deep purple shadows beneath your eyes, and you wince when performing even the simplest of tasks.

“I am sorry my lords,” you stammer, when Isaiah confronts you on your constant yawning. “It is just — I am cursed to be a woman, and thus I do not have the fortitude that you have, and my body is frail and weak and cannot find rest in the blessed conditions that you enjoy.”

Reuben magnanimously permits you the use of a blanket and two of the pillows left by his brothers. Isaiah thinks that pandering to your body’s frailty could well be slowing your path to redemption, but he bows to his brother’s greater knowledge.

He is perturbed by how much you rest — as much as six hours a night, if you are permitted to sleep continuously. Once again, Reuben explains that this is normal for the baselines. Besides, if Isaiah wants devout serfs, he is more than welcome to once more entrust his care to Osric and Jean.

Isaiah stops questioning your rest hours swiftly. He does not want to go back to the days of having to convince a flagellant to polish his pauldrons. Without the brothers seeking them out, the old serfs seem happy to spend most of their time in the chapel, or wandering the halls while caning themselves and loudly declaring the Emperor’s benevolence to all.

Yes, Isaiah wants to say, we know He is very benevolent and very merciful. He also wants you to do your damn jobs.

The first real challenge occurs ten days into your time aboard the barge. You drop to your knees before Isaiah, assuming the penitential crouch you always take on when you address either of them. The sight of you prostrate at his feet — spine a neat curve, head bowed, hands clasped — always makes Isaiah’s stomach warm and twist. He enjoys seeing you so keen to atone, so eager to please the Emperor, and to receive His mercy.

“My lords, I humbly beg your permission to take a moment to clean myself — I have not managed to do so since leaving my accursed planet, and I fear that I dishonour your presence by performing my duties while unwashed.”

”You have washed yourself,” Isaiah says, frowning. He’s seen you wipe your face and underarms with a wet rag, and you wash your hands every time you go to the bathroom (a sensitive experience for all concerned, given that one of them has to escort you to the nearest convenience, and the other has to stand watch to ensure no one sees you).

”Yes, but — a shower, my lords, that is what I am asking for.”

Isaiah sniffs the air thoughtfully. True, you do smell a little sourer than you did previously, but he has lived with far more odiferous people; Brother Reuben during his ‘bathing too frequently is decadent and an offence to the Emperor’ phase for one.

(That particular penitence had been ended when Marshal Ezra had thrown Reuben bodily into the icy plunge pool and announced to all that the Emperor suffered enough on His golden throne — the Templars did not need to add their stench to the tribulations He endured.)

”Humans require more maintenance than Astartes,” Reuben allows. “It cannot hurt to permit her to bathe.”

Still, they do not want to risk taking you to one of the communal showers, nor do they want to send you off to the serf quarters. Several of their brothers are already suspicious of their suddenly-improved attire, and the last thing either of them want is to face questions about your presence — or, worse still, a request to share. So Isaiah fetches a large copper tub used by the medicae for those too unwell to stand upright to bathe, and fills it with water, and Brother Reuben donates one of his scraps of yellow soap.

“Th-thank you my lords,” you say, from your usual prostrate position; then you stand, a little unsure, eyeing them almost expectantly. The tub is set in the middle of the dormitory; Reuben is reading one of his favourite scriptures, while Isiaiah tends to his bolter. ”Uh — is it okay if I —“

You gesture at your smock. Isiaiah blinks at you.

“Are you asking permission to bathe? I have said that you may — do not waste my time with needless questions.”

He turns back to his bolter, wiping the sacred oils onto the stock, murmuring the appropriate incantations to appease the machine spirit within. A flurry of fabric; a splash; a pained squeal.

“This water is ice,” you yell, and Isaiah, startled, looks up.

His hand remains looped around the bolter, polishing up and down, up and down — but he finds he cannot tear his gaze from you. The water comes up to your waist, but the rest of you is bare, your flesh goosepimpled from the cold, your arms clutching your torso. Your elbows press under your breasts, pushing them up, where they glisten under the harsh dorm lighting. As you shiver, one nipple flashes.

Brother Reuben stares as well.

“Emperor preserve me,” he mutters, and Isaiah comes to his senses, turning his eyes aside.

“Woman!” he says, sounding only a little strangled. “Cover yourself!”

Another splash. When Isaiah peeks up — just to check that you have ceased to offend the Emperor with your naked bosom — he is gratified to see that you are neck deep in water.

”S-sorry my lords,” you say, teeth chattering.

”You are a Chapter Serf of the Black Templars,” Isiaha says hotly, his grasp tightening on the bolter, his strokes growing surer and stronger, seeking solace in the familiar rhythm. “You must act in a way that is fitting for your station! Do not flaunt yourself so! You must conduct yourself with - with decorum, and modesty. Be demure! Mindful!”

Isaiah, a little breathless after his holy vitriol, looks to Brother Reuben for moral support. Reuben is looking fixedly at his book.

“I saw nothing,” says the other Templar. “I am blind to that which does not beatify the Emperor Himself. The nudity of a serf has no bearing on my day’s prayer. It is as insignificant as the passage of a beetle along the floor.”

”Is that why you are reading your scripture upside down?”

Reuben does not look up, even as he turns the book the right way around.

“Brother Isaiah, if you polish that gun any harder it is liable to blast a hole in the wall.”

”It is not loaded, Brother Reuben,” Isaiah snaps. “I am conducting my daily worship to the Machine Spirit.”

”Is that what you call it?” Reuben mutters, and Isaiah elects to ignore him.

—

“Where did you obtain the uniform for her?” Isaiah says, the next day, his voice hushed. It is just after morning prayer-drills, and the pair are walking back to their dormitory to change, before their lunchtime prayer-drills.

”I — just from the other serf’s laundry,” says Reuben, casting a quick look around. The halls of the battle barge are more akin to that of a cathedral than a space-ship, with huge domed ceilings, and statues placed at regular intervals in well-lit alcoves. Isaiah normally takes great comfort in the stern regard of his immortalised forebears, but for some reason today he feels their gaze like a brand, like he is a neophyte and they are watching him commit some secret and terrible sin.

“They do not fit her,” Isaiah says. Reuben frowns.

“What do you mean?”

”I mean — “ Isaiah pauses for a moment, struggling to find the words. Emperor grant him Reuben’s lack of observational skills — truly, his brother is a sterling example of blind faith. “I mean…this morning. When she bent over to pick up the scripture. Her skirt. It — moved in a way that displayed her rump in a way that is most unbecoming to a serf.”

Reuben exhales, his jaw ticking minutely. “Oh? I did not notice. I do not make a habit of looking at the serf’s rear end.”

”I was not looking at her rear end!” Isaiah whisper-shouts. “It was…just there. Wiggling.”

”Wiggling?”

”Yes, wiggling.”

”Is our serf distracting you from your duties, Brother Isaiah?” Reuben says, in a tone of concern so genuine it feels like mockery.

“No! I just — it would bring shame upon our crusade if our serfs are not modestly attired.”

”I quite agree. However, I would argue that our serf is very well attired. Covered up almost to the throat.”

”Almost,” Isaiah says. “When she bends over to wash her face in the morning, if you stand at the incorrect place in the dormitory, and you have the misfortune to be looking for a book on the other side of the room, and then you find yourself looking downwards at the incorrect moment so you may observe the flagstones, you will be cursed with a view straight down her sleeping smock — and you will see both her breasts, exposed quite fully! It is revolting. A blight upon the Emperor.”

”How hideous! We must of course remedy this at once.”

”At once.”

”However,” says Reuben, as they round a corner, approaching their dormitory. “In order for me to avoid benighting mine eyes with such a distasteful view, I would much appreciate it if next time the serf washes her face you were to demonstrate the precise angle that I should avoid standing at. For I only wish to see what is pure and just in the eyes of the Emperor, and in order to do so we must have a full understanding of where to avoid looking.”

Isaiah pauses for a moment. After all, is it not his duty to guide his brothers when they seek to avoid sin? “Yes,” he says. “I will ensure that I show you most where you must not stand, and where to avoid casting your eyes. And — if I may make a suggestion?”

”Of course, brother Isaiah.”

”Perhaps it is not the uniform. Perhaps it is the way the serf has learned to stand and bend. Coming as she does from such a depraved world, riddled with heresy, it is natural that she does not know the right and proper way for a servant of the Emperor to move. Perhaps we should ask her to bend over a few times for us, and thus we can best advise her on how to avoid unnecessary…wiggling.”

Reuben grins at the thought of guiding a sinner onto the path of the righteous. “Yes, brother Isaiah. I do believe we should.”

#Black templars/reader #moth writes #my writing

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