#forcing the tug-of-war for All Of It in Echoes

[aurorasleeps-27]

I've just been thinking about Azris a lot lately so I wrote another drabble, that I see as a companion to the first one I wrote

azris drabble #2, 973 words

The pain is lightning down his spine. 

Eris’ breath stutters, breaks. He bends, folded over his desk as the pain arches, pulls taut, and then snaps – a crack down his back, jagged lines of hurt vicious and sharp dancing parallel to his vertebrae. 

He tries to move, to push himself to standing. His legs tremble – shocks not his own clenching the muscle until it hurts. The desk does his best to bear his weight as understanding trickles in, viscous and slow; terrifying. 

Eris winnows.

The clash of swords greets him, cruel wind stealing his haggard breaths, red in his vision, strands of hair pulled free by the wind’s greedy fingers. 

It takes seconds for him to understand – seconds too long, seconds wasted – the peaks of the mountains, the soft and bloody snow beneath his feet, the mass of huge, black wings billowing wide like the sails of Tarquin’s ships against the celestial azure of the sky. 

Illyria. 

Eris shouldn’t be here. 

A sword glints silver in his vision and Eris ducks – retreats – attacks; a dance that has been forged in his bones, that rises in him without request. His instincts narrow – he must survive – and fire melts the guilty snow as the pain in his back becomes needy, demanding his attention, making him falter. 

A shout pierces the air, almost lost between the sounds of war – except Eris feels it echo deep inside him, a clamorous, despairing echo that fills his lungs with that same painful sound as he falls to his knees, the pain debilitating, the snow cold beneath him.

The pain is acute, visceral, like nothing Eris has ever felt before – nothing he could’ve even imagined. It leaves him dizzy, disconnected from himself as they round on him, great black wings blocking the sky, his fire crafting windows through the webbing for the sun to shine through.

He’s hurt; blood slickens his fingers - his, theirs, he tries not to get lost in it. Eris is looking for something, needs to get to it, but he can’t find it, he can’t, panic creeping dangerously up his throat even as he does his best to shove it down, down, down. 

Eris sees red flashing in front of him, recognizes Cassian as the male turns to him – but that was a stupid move, a stupid, stupid move. Eris watches as Cassian’s surprise turns into pain, as his eyes widen and drop to the sword that someone has pushed through his gut. 

Eris tries to save him – it feels important, somehow, to save Cassian – but his fire is not enough, and another sword joins the first, and then Eris can’t see Cassian anymore -or maybe he looks away, he doesn’t know, he can’t think. 

But looking away is a stupid move too – Eris is stupid, he’s so fucking stupid – because he sees it then, discarded and tattered, left behind to taint the snow. 

Azriel’s wing, scarred and broken, the snow drinking the blood that flows from the stump. 

Eris feels bile rise with the panic – forces it down as he kills anyone who tries to stop him. There’s a sword in his hand that’s unfamiliar but Eris wields it like it’s his own golden dagger, like his hand was meant to hold cold steel, like this is what he was meant to do – fight, try to save, burn to embers all that stands between him and Azriel. 

Blades cut into his body but Eris doesn’t feel the pain, doesn’t feel his pain, only feels the one that throbs hot down his back. A second wailing breaks over the sounds of Eris’ rage, and a twin pain blooms next to the first, and surely, this will kill Eris, the pain is too much, how can he survive it? – but he must, he can’t die, neither of them can die, not like this, not like this.

The pain tugs like a rope stretching from his ribs, and he sees it, then - and wishes he’d never winnowed, never lived, never existed. 

They’ve made a spectacle out of Azriel. 

Rusted swords cut sharp through bone as Eris watches, paralysed. Blood flows free and happy down Azriel’s battered back as two Illyrians keep him upright, his body sagging forward. The cut isn’t clean – the bone is thick, strong – and Azriel’s left wing hangs limply, twitching, almost separated from him but foolishly hanging on, as if unwilling to let go. 

The sword comes down again – the wing falls to the snowy ground – and something breaks inside of Eris, something new and precious twisting into something horrible deep inside of him, fear and panic and anger rising to protect a tenderness he had not known he could feel. 

They try to stop him from getting to Azriel. They do their best, really they do, and they’re more than Eris can take on his own – he knows distantly that he will not make it in time – but he does his best, because spilling his blood in an effort to get to Azriel is all he has left to offer. 

Eris sees it happen in snippets: Azriel’s wing, dragged like trash over the ground. Streaks of rosy blood painted on the snow. The cliff’s edge welcoming it with impassive grace. 

The panic really hits Eris then, when he understands. When he sees three bloody monsters dragging Azriel towards that same cliff. When he watches amidst twitching, groaning corpses as they drop him right at the edge – as they kick Azriel’s prone form off the cliff, letting it follow behind his wing. 

Eris think Azriel sees him, in that brief moment. As his body disappears amidst the greys and the blues, Eris thinks he sees Azriel reach for him. 

In the crackling silence that follows, Eris’ flames having devoured all that was left behind, Eris weeps. 

Fingers dancing in the wind, Eris too, reaches for Azriel. 

[coldgoldlazarus]

Pride: Rundas, Raven Beak

Envy: Gandrayda, Mother Brain

Gluttony: Dark Samus, Ridley

Lust: Gorea, SA-X

Greed: Emperor Ing, Biologic Space Labs

Wrath: Ghor, Kraid, Sylux(?)

Sloth: Queen Metroid, Other M Adam

[gor3-hound]

CRY FOR ABSOLUTION - LEON S. KENNEDY

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

a/n: heyyy :3 had to make the priest collar edit on picsart so don't look at it too close... um... title from 'absolution' by ghost. thank you @ottermarbles for beta reading !! been working on this slowly while writing commissions... finally here !! rbs and feedback appreciated as always <3

cw: 18+ content, priest!leon, non-religious!reader, dead dove, non-con to dub-con to non-con, victim turned perpetrator, forced breeding, mentions of forcing marriage, religious themes, p in v, creampie, degradation, name calling, breath play

word count: 1.6k words

Leon can sense your presence in the church before he sees you. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, his whole body going rigid. He starts murmuring under his breath, eyes shut as he recites the prayer. He’d tried countless times to pray to the Virgin Mary, to strengthen his faith in God so he may resist your advances. To Saint Mary Magdalene, to guide you away from your life of sin. To God Himself to plead that you would leave him alone.

He was sure you were the Devil. Almost certain that you were some cruel test that God had bestowed on him.

He grips the rosary dangling around his neck as your footsteps get closer, whispering one final prayer to God, a desperate plea to give him strength before he faces you, hands trembling as his eyes open to meet yours. Leon couldn’t quite understand how you always managed to avoid the crowds, to worm your way into the Church between services, narrowly avoiding the other priests. You did not care for them, for your faith. You had your eyes set on Leon, a succubus in the flesh that had targeted him so callously.

”While I appreciate your dedication to the Church, I’m afraid the service has already drawn to a close, and there is a lot of work for me to get through before tonight’s service. Perhaps if you return later with the other parishioners, we can s-“

”Father, I hoped to speak to you before the service.” You say as you stalk closer, your heated gaze trailing him. He almost doesn’t hear you speak, the ringing in his ears dampening the sound around him, making your voice nothing more than a faint echo. He’s looking at you, but he’s not seeing you. His gaze is far away as he tries to think of something, anything else. A lump forms in his throat that he cannot dislodge no matter how hard he tries, swallowing to attempt to clear the passage enough so that he felt he could breathe, but with no success. His vision blurs, and he vaguely registers the tears forming in his eyes as you coo, cupping his cheek to wipe the few that fall.

”Please,” he whispers, voice cracking as he gazes at you fully, your face slowly coming into focus. What did he do to deserve this? He was a good man, wasn’t he? He’d tried his best to help the less fortunate, to be kind to everyone he spoke with. Had he committed some sin without realising it? Some blight against God that meant he deserved this? "Please, I don’t want this. You’re misguided, that's all. I can help you. You don’t have to do this.”

As always, his protests fall on deaf ears. He feels the steady stream of tears running down his face, brows pinching together as you back him up into the confessional. His chest continues to grow tighter and tighter until his lungs constrict painfully with each breath. The air gets caught in his throat and makes him choke, his brain shutting down as he just lets you free him from his vestments and tug down his trousers. He's glad to be rid of the collar, at the very least. It feels less like God was bearing down on his throat to drag him to Hell for letting this happen.

The first sob forces its way from his chest as your lips wrap around his cock. He wishes that he could hate the way it felt. It makes him nauseous - makes his head spin, but it feels good. He's at war with himself as to what this means, if enjoying the wet warmth wrapped around him means he's no better than you. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists as he tries to distance himself from your touch.

You pull yourself off of his cock with a pop, rustling around for something in your pocket. The crinkle of a packet has his eyes snapping open again, his eyes honing in on the foil you're holding up between two fingers. Panic seeps into his very core, his breath coming out in harsh puffs. “Thought we could try something new.” You say with a giggle, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

No. No, this couldn't happen to him. He's a priest - he's meant to stay far, far away from the pleasures of the flesh. He had to do something, anything to stop you. He swallows hard, eyes flickering around the confessional, trying to figure a way out of this before you lead him down a path of sin.

Leon isn't sure what happened. One minute, you were tearing open the condom with your teeth, and the next minute, he pounced. His hand gripped your throat to pin you down in the confessional, squeezing tight. His eyes are wide, almost feral as they meet yours, his free hand yanking your underwear down. His movements are clumsy as he prods as your cunt, trying to push his way in. After a few attempts, he manages to hook the tip on your entrance, and he slides home in one thrust.

“Oh.” He breathes out, eyes squeezing shut again. Maybe God wasn't testing him. Maybe this was his reward for being a good follower - all he had to do was breed this pussy full and wed you, and he'd be able to do this as many times as he pleased.

No. This was a test. He must have passed. He succeeded, and this was his reward. A pretty housewife for him to keep bred and safe in his grasp. A woman to cure his cold, lonely nights. He could finally have the family he always wanted. He was angry at you now, yes, but he would forgive you when you accepted his proposal and his seed.

“Temptress.” He hisses between gritted teeth, the hand on your throat tightening. The pressure against your windpipe is bruising, leaving you desperately trying to gasp in breaths through too tight of a passage. “Indecent whore. This is what you wanted, wasn't it? You didn't care when I told you ‘no’, did you? No? Then take it.”

He scoffs as you plead for him to stop again, his brows narrowing in frustration. He didn't want to do this. Leon was a good man. He was a holy man. He couldn't let you ruin him. What if the word of this got out?

“You wanted to ruin me, didn't you? You thought you couldn't take what you wanted from me without consequences? That… fuck… that God wouldn't punish your sins? I'm going to make you take my seed. You're going to be my pretty little wife, and no one will hear about this.”

He thrusts forward particularly violently after his words, his grip on your throat tightening enough that you start thrashing, cunt clenching around his cock enough that he has to halt his movements to stop himself from cumming too soon.

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will drag you down into the deepest depths of Hell with me. I swear it on the Lord Himself.” He grits out, finally releasing his hold on your throat.

He ignores your protests, a muddy mix of guilt and anger swirling in his chest with each plea that falls from your lips. You had shown him no mercy, and yet you expect him to spare you? You were nothing more than a Godless nymph. He would show you the light.

“Do you know your prayers, hmm?” He coos, gripping your chin. The pads of his fingers dig into your cheeks harshly, drawing a pained moan from you. He starts fucking into you again now that his orgasm has fully subsided, letting out a shaky breath at the drag of his length against your gummy walls. “No, of course. You have no respect for the house of the Lord - you just wish to defile it.”

He lets go of your face to hitch your legs over his waist, breaths coming out in heavy pants as he pistons his hips into you, sweat beading against his skin from exertion, bangs stuck flat against his forehead. “Repeat after me.”

‘Lord God, in your goodness have mercy on me:’

The words fall past your lips in a daze as you repeat them, his hand reaching up to your throat again, but not squeezing. A warning to continue as he speaks the next line.

‘Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt.’

He's close now, barely able to hold back as he ruts into you helplessly, reduced to nothing more than a dog in heat as you clench around his cock.

‘Create in me a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit.’

His hips stutter as you repeat the last words of Contrition back to him, his head dropping to the crook of your shoulder as he gasps out sharp breaths. His cock jumps as he orgasms, stuffing you full of his cum with a noise more akin to a whimper than a moan.

He leans back, eyes taking in your appearance. There was some kind of sick satisfaction seeing you broken like this, knowing God had allowed him to take back the part of him you had aimed to destroy.

You would be his. He would keep you as his wife, his prize. He was given a chance to relinquish the sins you had bestowed upon him.

He would not let the opportunity pass.

[etherealperrie]

Anywhere With You

Chapter 1: "it's time to go"

Coriolanus (Coryo) Snow x Reader Word count: 2.4k Contains: pre-hunger games Coryo | longtime friends to lovers | Coriolanus being soft for the one he loves | mentions of minor tbosas characters | immense amounts of fluff and comfort | slight tbosas spoilers (but not really)

Want More? Chapter 2

--

“The Plinth Prize is no longer.” Dean Highbottom’s voice echoes through the stadium of students, the weight of his words settling amongst the first three rows of Academy standouts. Gasps and whispers fill the crowd, the hair on the back of your neck standing at attention, the buzz of others’ words sending chills down your spine. You don’t dare look at Coriolanus, instead letting your eyes fall shut.

“You’ll face one more test to prove your worth,” the Dean continues, making his way up to the podium at the front of the hall. “After all, you are our most promising students. This is in your DNA.”

Swallowing hard, you force your eyes open, a sick feeling reeling in your stomach. This was supposed to be the end. This was supposed to be the start of your summer with Coriolanus – the time before University. The day that was supposed to change both of your lives for the better.

Murmurs fill the quiet space in between Dean Highbottom’s dramatic pause, stopping not only to drag out this horrific explanation but to soothe himself with a bottle of morphling. You’d never once wished to try the drug, but today, with your vision of the future thinning before your eyes, you’d gladly share the vile with him.

The feeling of skin brushing against yours turns your attention from the front of the room to the chair next to you. Coriolanus. You can’t hold back anymore. You didn’t care who saw, or what they thought. You watch his jaw twitch, his eyes still facing forward as his hand grasps yours, his thumb pressing slow, gentle circles into your skin. He’s holding it in. Another hurdle yet for him to surpass. When you squeeze his hand in return, an involuntary response, he lets out a shaky breath, his eyes flickering to you for only a moment.

Coryo.

Not Coriolanus Snow. Just your Coryo for that moment.

The eyes of your fellow classmates burn at the back of your neck. They all knew Coriolanus was meant for that prize. Top student with stellar marks, after all. Only you knew, though, how badly he needed it. How badly Tigris needed it. The Grandma’am. You, too. This day was supposed to change everything.

Indeed it had.

“On this day of the 10th annual Reaping for the Hunger Games, you all are no longer students, but mentors.” Dean Highbottom continues speaking, pulling you from your own head. Coriolanus shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his free hand tugging at the collar of his shirt. A shirt he’d nearly outgrown, even with Tigris’ adjustments. His other hand never releases yours, his thumb continuing to trace up and down your skin, working to calm you. In any other circumstance it might have worked.

“Each of you will be paired with a tribute from the districts and act their mentor leading up to and throughout the Games.”

“For what purpose?” you ask. The question leaves your lips before you have a chance to even think. Before you have a chance to consider the consequences. What harm could an innocent question have? It was innocent, of course. A student simply inquiring about the new assignment. Certainly nothing more. Most definitely not an imposition of the justness of withholding the Plinth Prize and meddling in “game” that was nearing its natural end. No one in the Capitol had watched the games in years, they were savage. Inhumane. Disconnected from the current state of affairs; the war had been over for years.

Deep, dark laughter fills the room, an unfamiliar voice echoing off the walls. Chills crawl up your spine, a shive running through your body. Everyone's heads whip around, a tall figure entering the auditorium. She slithers down the aisle towards the podium, stopping just in front of your chair. You slip your hand out of Coriolanus’, but he refuses to let go now more than ever. His grasp tightens on you and you notice him shift forward in his seat. It’s now your turn to soothe him, running your thumb over his.

“For what purpose?” the woman before you mimics. You swallow, noting her duochromatic eyes. Her makeup is severe, her hair frazzled, her hands draped in bright red latex gloves. The faint sound of hissing grows louder as she takes another step forward. A snake is wrapped delicately around her wrist, flicking its tongue, slithering over the shiny material. “My dear, remind me. What are the Hunger Games for?” She speaks softly, but in the silent room, her words are clear to all.

“I– well, they’re to –”

The woman shakes her head, clicking her tongue. “You see? We’ve already forgotten.” She turns to Coriolanus, a smile spreading over her lips. “Mr. Snow,” she says. “Why don’t you remind your –” her gaze drops to your intertwined hands, “classmate what the Hunger Games are for.”

Coriolanus shakes his head, looking at you then back to the woman. You weren’t sure who she was, but she knew Coryo. But then again, that came with the territory of being a Snow. He could never escape the history and prowess of his father, no matter how hard he tried. And believe you, he’d tried.

“You tell us they’re to punish the districts for the war.”

“Precisely, Mr. Snow. We all seem to have forgotten what this all is for. And that is where each of you come in.”

“Ah, Dr. Gaul, thank you for providing that insight,” Dean Highbottom interrupts, turning the attention back to the center of the room where the woman – Dr. Gaul – sulks away to join him. Coriolanus leans back in his seat, his breathing heavy. He releases your hand and leans in to place his hand on your thigh. The feeling of his warm palm through the fabric of your uniform lets you take your first deep breath since arriving.

He’s with you.

The remainder of the day goes by in a blur. When you emerge from the Academy, the afternoon sun is beginning to set. You, Coriolanus, and your classmates had each been assigned a tribute. A tribute to make a spectacle of. A tribute to use then sacrifice into the slaughter in order to obtain some prize. It made your stomach turn, the idea of being forced to take the small boy you’d been ‘given’ and parade him around only to send him to his death. A small boy no more than thirteen. A boy you were meant to despise simply because he’s district. But this boy, nor any of the tributes – especially the small girl assigned to Coriolanus – had seen the war, they hadn’t caused it. They were collateral in the Capitol’s game of control. Control they garnered with false promises of the prize. A prize that neither you nor Coryo thought actually existed.

“Who’s to say they don’t dangle it in front of us again?” you ask later that night, standing beside Coryo at the sink while he washed out the pot of potatoes and cabbage Tigris cooked. “That they don’t give us another assignment – another hurdle – to obtain the prize. Just to use us for their bidding?”

You slide behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He sighs, setting down the pot and turning to be face to face with you. His hands wander around your waist, pulling you tighter to him.

“Those poor kids are going to die for nothing, Coryo. And we’re to blame,” you cry, resting your head on his chest. He takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to the top of your head. You fit into him so perfectly. The steady, rhythmic beat of his heart in your ears grounds you, tethering you to the moment.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers. “Dr. Gaul is clearly mad. The way she taunted you?” He pauses, sucking in a breath. There’s a few beats of silence before he speaks again. “I don’t know what she’s capable of, but if she’d have laid a hand on you, I-”

You lift your head to look up at him and lift your hands to place one on each side of his face. His eyes, a blue so clear you can see right into his soul, meet yours.

“I know, Coryo, I know.”

“We have to get out of here,” Coriolanus says. His gaze still holds yours, his demeanor serious.

Your brow furrows. “Get out of where? The Capitol? Coryo, where would we go?”

“Sejanus talks of a place up North, somewhere off the grid where nomads persist.”

“You can’t be serious,” you say, letting your hands fall from his face.

You wanted out. You’d heard rumors of this place up North too, but assumed it was fictitious – maybe a story the districts orchestrated to provide some hope after the war. You’d been taught to be grateful for a life in the Capitol, after all, your name would never be reaped. But the longer you spent here and the older you grew, the more the story of the Capitol and its protection seemed to fall apart. Today had been further proof. Putting the lives of district children in the hands of Capitol children for the sick purpose of entertainment and control.

Coryo turns his head to look out the floor to ceiling windows of the Snow penthouse. Coriolanus had many thoughts about his home, not all of them poignant and kind. He hated the way his home had crumbled throughout the war. Sure, it wasn’t as luxurious as it had once been, but you had an unspoken appreciation for it, knowing that everything within these walls shaped him into the Coryo you loved.

“If we go back to the Academy tomorrow, we’ll never escape. I have a sinking feeling about this game, love. I don’t want Gaul and her creatures hurting you and who’s Dean Highbottom to miss either of us? The miserable bastard will be three morphlings gone by the time the games begin.”

“What about Tigris? The Grandma’am? What about my family?”

Coriolanus sighs. “I’ll make arrangements with Pluribus tonight, he’s always done well to take care of us before.” Coryo reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, taking a pause to caress the side of your face. “And I’ll go wherever you go. If you want to stay, I’ll remain here with you. Whatever you decide, I’ll be there to protect you. This,” he whispers, running his thumb over your bottom lip, “is the most important thing to me.”

When your eyes meet his, the defense falls away. He sometimes wished you didn’t have such an effect on him. He never struggles keeping things in, or keeping the world out of his head. But with you – those eyes – he couldn’t hide. He’s grateful for it, really, before you he’d never had a soft place to land. But now, with your hands caressing him, he knows he’s found it.

You could imagine it. The thing you’ve always wanted, a life with Coryo. A life without the influence and ever-looming threat of the Capitol. Of their control, of the stress of finding a way to the top. Coryo wanted the same thing, a life with you. A life where you two were free to be whomever you wanted; a simple life where you could eat what you wanted, when you wanted, and spend your days lying with one another and living amongst others peacefully the way you imagined you would when the war first ended.

“I can’t go back there, Coryo.”

“Then tomorrow morning, we’ll go.” He says it so matter of factly. As if it’s all going to be okay. You choose to believe him and sink into the strength of his chest, wrapping yourself around him tightly. He chuckles, bringing some levity to the decision the two of you just made. “Why don’t we bask in one last hot shower, hm?”

You follow him down the hallway to the bathroom, his foot kicking the door shut in one swift movement. He reaches into the deep green tiled shower and turns on the water, running his hand under to test the temperature. You’re out of your clothes within seconds, eager to shed the identity of the Academy. Coryo does the same, eyeing you with a grin as you step past him and into the shower. He’s so himself here, stripped before you, not carrying the weight of the day, letting it all wash away from him as he ducks beneath the water, dampening his curls.

Without thought, your hand is in his hair, pushing the light blonde strands away from his face, those piercing blue eyes wandering every inch of you. He breathes into your touch, his hands following his gaze, mapping every inch of your body as if committing it further to memory. They say it’s the things we love most that destroy us and – god – he was certain you destroyed the parts of himself that he sometimes feared. With you, he was just Coryo. Your Coryo. And starting tomorrow you could be each others forever.

The warmth of the water combined with the feeling of his skin pressed against yours is heavenly. The steam rises, fogging up the glass as you tip your head back to dampen your hair. Your eyes fall shut, letting the water run down your body. Your body awakens when Coryo’s lips meet your neck, peppering kisses up your jawline until eventually, his hands are tangled in the ends of your hair, lifting your head back to meet him. Sighing, your body alight with warmth and desire, Coryo presses his lips to yours. There’s a quiet moan that you can’t make out as distinctly his or yours, but a shared expression of your feelings.

Something about this being the last night with life as you’d known it changes the kiss. There’s no hesitation, but no urgency either, your bodies intertwining in a way they haven’t before. As if there was nothing and nowhere else that mattered. You’re typically both so consumed with academy assignments, or house work, or recovering from whatever the day brought you. But tonight, with tomorrow on the horizon, it was simply you and Coryo.

[oneforthemunny]

Can you do more mafia!eddie and if it’s not asking to much pregnant!reader??

ofc! here's a little blurb <3 slight smut at the end. pregnant!reader x mafia!eddie so some mafia type themes but nothing graphic. mainly fulff!

Eddie huffed, a ringed hand grabbing at his curls, buzzing with adrenaline filled nerves. His voice was beginning to shake from the tightness in his throat with every shout of your name, echoing off the walls without a response.

Panicked thoughts flashed through his mind at rapid speed, sickening what-ifs and other horrific scenarios conspired by his own mind. The damning thoughts overpowered the rational, jumping to every possible worst case scenario about what could have happened to you, to the baby, the dogs that were no where to be found as well.

Eddie was ready to give up, ready to call Gareth, command a search, a war if he had to. Frantic steps towards the phone, his hands shook when he picked up the phone, Eddie was halfway through jamming Gareth's number in when he heard a bark.

Muffled, but loud and defilingly crisp enough to know it was Diablo's. Letting the phone fall, Eddie jogged towards the back door, pulling it open with such a force the hinges groaned. His free hand on his hip, pulling his gun out, flicking the safety off in a fluid motion that was muscle memory at this point.

His eyes scanned the garden, over the pool, towards the spacious back yard, lowering his gun at the sight. The boys running around, yanking and tugging their toy, running beside you to give you their toy for you to run while you walked- marched, was more like it. Arms pumping, heavy, purposeful steps up and down the length of the backyard, not slowing to toss the toy for them to fetch.

Eddie pressed his lips together, shoving the gun back in his holster. "Baby," Eddie called, trying to keep his voice light, a coo. You were sensitive these days, the slightest quip in his tone had you in tears.

You turned, continuing your walk up the grass, knees high with every step, nearly touching your swollen stomach. You were ready to pop, baby Bea due any day now- past due, really. There were talks of a C-Section, of inducing labor if she didn't come on her own.

"Baby," He tried again, walking to meet you. The sun was starting to set, but the heat hadn't eased up.

"What're you doing, sweetheart?" Eddie's voice was still tight, a forced coo to try and mask his heart that was still climbing back to a normal beat.

Vecna jumped up, letting you grab the rope toy, tossing it and sending them all running after it. "Walking." You huffed, a little out of breath from the pace. It was harder now, with a giant baby bump in your way.

Eddie swallowed a groan, taking a deep breath before jogging besides you. "Did you not hear me yelling? I was looking for you. I didn't know you went outside-"

"-I can't stay inside all day, every day, Eddie." You snapped defensively, continuing your stride, trying to ignore the burning in your back and calves. "I needed some fresh air."

Eddie bit back a huffy comment that your doctor told you to take it easy, knowing it would not be received well. Instead, he grabbed the toy from Lucifer when he brought it, flinging it far this time, trying to keep up with you in his Armani shoes.

"I know, I just couldn't find you." Eddie said, a hand reaching out to your lower back out of near instinct. "I just got worried when I couldn't find you."

You seemed to like that answer, eyes flashing and gleaming sweetly at him. A mood swing, there had never been a truer word, Eddie decided.

"I was just out here, baby." You cooed, slowing your pace, chest heaving a little, winded.

"I see that." Eddie looked at you carefully. "What are you doing? It's a little hot. Do you have a water?" He turned scanning for a cup, a water bottle, anything.

"I read that walking can get your water to break." You were nearly shuffling, eyes closed, letting your heart beat settle. You paused, looking down between your feet for anything, any sign that it had broken. "I don't think it worked." You frowned.

"She'll come when she's ready, honey." Eddie cooed, rubbing a hand on your back gently, guiding you towards the patio, desperate to get you to sit down. "You don't need to overwork yourself. It'll happen when it does."

"I'm not overworking myself." You snap, huffing with an eye roll that had Eddie flinching. Still, you let him guide you to the small patio table, settling into the cushioned chair.

"I just want her to come already." You muttered, running a hand over your swollen bump. "It feels like it's taking forever. Like she's never going to get out."

"She'll come when she's ready." Eddie snatched the water bottle of the stairs, putting it in front of you.

"She'll be here soon, sweetheart. Just don't-don't stress about it." Eddie hesitated, watching you carefully.

Your lips twitch in a snarl before bringing the bottle to your lips. Him telling you not to stress when that was quite literally all he had done felt hypocritical, but you decided against telling him that, right now, anyways.

"Maybe I should try the workout tape again." You hummed, spinning the water bottle around on the table lightly. "Or maybe you should just fuck me like the doctor said." You said bluntly.

Eddie blushed, lips twitching in a grin at your boldness. "That is not what he said."

"He said penetration." You glared at Eddie.

"He also said it could hurt you." Eddie countered. "That you're-you're softening down there or whatever-"

You rolled your eyes, scoffing loudly. "I mean, you can't fuck me mean, but you could be gentle and it would be fine." You glared at him for a moment. "But you won't because you think I'm disgusting right now."

"I do not-"

"-Clearly you do." You huffed, lip wobbling, a burning forming in your chest and throat with tears. "You won't even fuck me when the doctor is telling you to."

Eddie fought an eye roll, standing to pull you into him. Your head buried into his midsection, sniffly and furious, but allowing his affectionate touch. Another swing.

"I do not think you're hideous. I have never, not once in my life thought you were hideous, so I don't want to hear you say that anymore." Eddie's tone clipped with authority, your thighs pressing together at the sound. You'd missed it, missed him talking like this.

"I don't want to hurt you-"

"-You won't-"

"-I don't want to." Eddie lifted his voice over yours, pulling back, a hand cupping your chin to bring your gaze to him. "So you have to let me know if it's hurting you. Anything."

Damn those pregnancy books. Of course he'd read them cover to cover, front to back, taking in every bit of information he could. It was endearing, really, until times like this when he handled you like you were glass.

"I will." You nodded, holding his gaze with yours. "I promise."

Eddie relented. Of course he did. Truthfully, he'd been in agony for the past few weeks, willing himself not to fuck you in fear of hurting you and the baby. The oral was good, great even, but just not as good as the real thing.

So Eddie willed himself still, hands gripping your hips, trying to support you while fighting the blinding urge to slam you on his length, when you sunk down on his cock at a painfully slow pace.

[chaosandmarigolds]

Dreamscape

(canon? whats that? we go with vibes in this house. Fem!reader, based off an amazing!! ask....um this is just sadness, I'm sorry.....if you want to add more sadness listen to Chasing Cars (yeah I cry to that song 99% of the time sorry))

One day..

With a grumble, he adjusted to the sudden shift of your body weight, to where you were essentially laying over him, and out of pure habit he wrapped his arm over the small of your back- only for you to whisper a soft ‘sorry’ before standing up all the way. Which caused him to think, it was a Saturday and there weren’t any Ops he had been assigned, so there was no purpose in waking up before the sun. So with a tilt of the head, he moves to sit up, watching as you tug out the duffle bag from the couch.

Maybe when the war is over…

“Love?”

You almost jump as your fiance calls the nickname and you turn around, giving him a little smile, “Good morning.”

Simon gives you a look as he turns on the lamp and watches your mannerisms, the timidness behind every movement, “Wha’s goin on?” A valid question, what had happened was that you and Johnny were assigned to what Price lightly put as a ‘suicide mission,’ and what you didn’t want to happen was for Simon to force then add himself to it- as it would then decrease your chances of survival by that much. So you falter for a moment, trying to avert your gaze. With a panicked breath you motion to the kitchenette, “I’ll make tea! Oh! And let’s use the special type, the one we got from Inida? Yeah! Yeah-”

Of course, the echoed whisper of your name made you stop your walk and you slowly turned to face him, your face downturned, you were an awful lair, you were never sent to integrations because you hated to see people hurt. And it killed you to see him searching for an answer, to see him scared for your sake- and for the great and terrifying Simon Riley…that was saying something.

Once the smoke settles…

“You’re not going.”

“It doesn’t-” You groan and throw your head into your hands, “It doesn’t work like that, you know that.”

“No, you’re not going, ‘ll take the spot,” He was grasping at broken shards of sense because he knew the choice was set in stone that not even a sword made of the purest of intentions couldn’t crack it. “Let me talk to-”

“SIMON.”

You take a sharp breath and look at him from across the room, by that time you were fully dressed, hair tied back, boots laced up. Engangment ring which was supposed to be switched out in less than a week hanging onto your dog tags. It took a moment to find the words but they were able to come after a moment, “There is no talking to Laswell or the Captain, there is no loophole, there is no replacing, there is nothing you can do. I have it covered. I do not need you to come and save me when I can save myself.”

Maybe once we got ourselves picked up…

The silence was stiff, and he then finally relented, slowly walking over to you, tucking the tags into your shirt, voice hushed, “Johnny ‘ll take care of ya.”

“I did…I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” He pressed his lip to the crown of your head, “Jus lemme think I can save you from everythin.”

You stay silent, then with a short step you move to allow him to hold you, “You can.”

We can move somewhere far away, within the groves of tranquility …

You give Johnny a dull laugh as you walk down the rusted corridor, his laugh echoing through your earpiece. It was nice, laughing for what felt like the first time in forty or so hours, the mission was not even close to being finished and you were already running on steam. So obviously it was time for some lame jokes, “As much as fireworks sound fun, I don’t think I want that in my wedding.”

“Gah,” He chuckled from his spot, waiting for you to clear the hallway so he could follow, “Ghosty woulda lemme.”

“Oh yeah, Ghost would have loved it,” You return with a bitten-back laugh, and then turn the corner, leading with your gun, eyes looking over the blood splatters on the ground and you then whisper, “Clear.”

Before you could even blink the hiss of a gunshot hissed into your earpiece burning with such a pain you had to rip it out, hand going to your ear.

With a staggering step to catch your balance and blink the tears out of your eyes you were then met with a gun being shoved to the back of your head.

You never thought blinding light could hold such peace.

I would prefer our home to not be the shadows cast by the towering and rickety oaks, rather it be in the sun, lightened by new lives we could live

The carrier came back with supplies, no saved hostage, just two bodies left mangled by the enemy no captain even- the craft had been on autopilot.

A message, a warning left within that metal body.

The silence as the door swung itself open. They had all seen death, they had seen things no human should have seen.

There was something about the sight of their teammates laying tossed on the floor of an aircraft that made Kyle turn away

That made Price need a day before he filed the paperwork.

Something about it ruined Simon.

A large house ideally, so that way we can have as many kids and dogs as we want, something to usher in a new meaning behind our names

Silence is what he use to hold peace in, yet all he could hear when there was silence was the what-ifs, did you scream? Was it quick? Did it hurt? Why didn’t he go? Why did he let it happen?

That day he lost the only people he had loved and it was cursing him, bottles couldn’t cure it, opioids didn’t numb more than he had already been, nothing was saving him. He summed that up by saying maybe he didn’t deserve saving.

A garden, lively with bees and colorful with every flower I can manage to grow,

He couldn’t bring himself to go through your things, he was the next of kin, as for Johnny- all of his things had been shipped back to his family, yours? They sat where you had left them that morning you left, your notebook collecting desk on the coffee table, mug still half-filled with water. Lipstick stain still on his balaclava from the last time he took you out on a proper date.

In a drunken stupor, he grabbed the notebook, for the intention of tossing it away, forcing himself to forget every tiny detail of what was. But something told him to open up the pages, so for a millionth of a second he did, yet the sight of your handwriting which you would jokingly name ‘chicken scratch’ forever ingrained on the pages caused something in him to break all over again.

A porch where we can dance in the moonlight

“Riley.” John seemed shocked by the sight of the former lieutenant on his doorstep, sure he had offered ‘anything’ after the deaths, yet he never expected for Simon to take him up on it. For the first time in two years, for the first time since he had to discharge him, he saw what he thought was a completely sober man before him.

It was taking every ounce of Simon to not just turn away, to say it was a bad idea and run, run away from the emotions, but he was going to this…he had to. “You wanna build a house?”

A library so I can put all of those books you bought me, somewhere we can escape the haunting reality of the past

A year, he and John spent a year of work on the house once Simon found the perfect lot of land not too far out of London. Weekends spent from morning to dusk, John’s kids helping when they were in town and Eliza, John’s wife, coming by with food and to do the painting. The foundation has your name forever printed within it.

All of it sounds so poetic when I scribble them down, but the reality is as long as I have your love I am home

A garden he tended every morning and dusk to make sure they were perfectly planted, large enough to where the neighbors would come by to pick bouquets. He would watch the child run through the stone pathways, wondering what could have been.

The library was filled with novels he swore to collect, writing your name as the owner as he placed them in the rows of the shelving he took careful time carving.

I will love you forever and always, Ghost-boy

“You built a good home,” Kyle had told him, close to ten years after all of it had happened, sitting beside him on the porch. He knew it was probably the only thing that kept him alive this long, so he was thankful for it.

Simon nodded slowly, “Thank you.”

(annnyway, that’s all! Any and all comments, feedback and all that mean so much! Thanks for the ask!! <3)

[phant0mth1ef]

when i’m around, slow dancing in the dark.

-

ua wasn’t known for their reputation of doing normal school activities, and not once in your three years of being there had you ever thought that you’d get the normal highschool experiences.

like dances, attending school sports games, or even regular normal school festivals where everyone is welcome & allowed to interact with the students.

so when ua announced that they’d be throwing a winter formal for the third years due to the war they were forced to fight in back in first year, oh you could be all your money that you & the girls were going to go all out.

in the weeks leading up to the dance, the hall was filled with decorations, people asking other people to the dance, and even just a cheery feel in the atmosphere.

you’d nearly shrieked when kaminari snuck up on you asking how he should ask jirou to the dance, of course you’d helped him.

once kaminari let it be known that you were the one to give him such flawless advice, many men from your class came to you looking for help in their endeavors.

tokoyami wanted to ask asui. midoriya wanted to ask uraraka. iida wanted to ask hatsume. ojiro wanted to ask hagakure. kirishima wanted to ask ashido. even awase from class b wanted your help when he asked yaoyorozu.

even through all this, you still hadn’t managed to find a date for yourself.

“pst.”

you’d turned your head, unable to find the source of the noise.

“pssst! over here!” the whisper grew louder as you walked in the direction of the noise.

monoma neito met your eyes as he tugged you into a hidden portion of the hallway, nearly tripping you in the process.

“listen. i don’t have a date. you don’t have a date. i don’t want to look like a loser. connect the dots, if you will.” he spoke hurriedly as your face contorted into a look of confusion.

“i thought you would go with kendo?”

“she’s bringing some guy from shiketsu. it infuriates me, yes, but not more than the possibility of me not having a date. it can be strictly platonic, i just can’t show up alone.” he grabbed your shoulders, trying to make sure you understood completely.

“oh. yeah sure i’ll go with you.” you nodded, and with those words he disappeared. likely a quirk he stole in action as you were left there by yourself.

you’d been bombarded once you arrived back at 3a’s dorm, the girls huddling around you and whisking you away while giggling about how monoma was going around bragging that he had a date.

in the corner of your eye you swore you could see s tuft of blonde hair staring at you, his mouth slightly agape as you were shoved into hagakure’s room.

he’d wanted to ask you. of course he’d wanted to ask you. you’d been his best friend since second year, the one person to really understand him and his motives.

-

the night of the dance came rather quickly, and in the days leading up to it monoma had shown up at your dormitory a few times, coming to pick you up so that you could go find a dress and so he could color coordinate his suit to yours.

because “he’d be damned if you showed up looking a mess to his big night.”

each time he’d picked you up, bakugou would scoff. making his dislike for the boy very unknown.

the dance itself wasn’t much fun. monoma was great and all, but he wasn’t him.

kendo had come up to you both about an hour into the dance, saying she had to urgently talk to monoma. and a few minutes later, he was grinning at you with a thumbs up as they both danced together in unison, the slow song blasting through your ears.

the sound of a chair scraping against the floor echoed through your head as you looked at the noise, your best friend taking a seat with an angry scowl on his face.

“did copy machine just ditch you? that’s fucked.” he scoffed, a glass of punch in one hand as he looked at monoma and kendo.

“nah, we just came with each other so none of us would look stupid alone.”

“are you sayin’ i look stupid because i’m here alone?!” his face turned into a look of realization as you snickered at him.

“a bit, yeah. i dunno. thought you’d ask someone.” you spoke, a look of disappointment on your face.

“eh. don’t like anyone in that way”. you’d looked down at your dress, the fabric bunched in your hands.

“y’know next time you should go with someone who wouldn’t ditch ya. like todoroki or something.” that took the cake as you rose from your seat.

“if you wanted me to go with someone who wouldn’t have left me so bad, then maybe you should’ve asked me yourself!” with that, you turned on your heels retreating back to your dorm room quickly.

he sat there, shocked before he snapped back to reality and followed you.

your heels were discarded once he’d reached the dorm, and you were lying on the couch in the common room as you watched 500 days of summer.

you’d gotten up when you saw him, racing back to your room but he was just too fast.

he grabbed your wrist, prompting you to turn around as he saw slight traces of your mascara had been running across your face.

were you crying?

“look. okay wait stop, just look.” you’d tried to wriggle out of his grasp before deciding to listen.

“fuck. okay. i’m not good with.. this. i dunno. i’ve never done this before. how the hell was i supposed to know you wanted to go with me?” he rambled, tripping over his words. god this was so unlike him.

“i dunno, katsuki. maybe the fact that you’re the only guy i spend time with is part of it!” you were still mad, and tears were pooling in your eyes.

“i know that! okay! i know that! but in my defense, i was going to ask you but then i found out you were going with fuckin’ monoma of all people. who the hell wants to go out with monoma besides kendo? and he wasn’t exactly making it known that you were going in a platonic way.” he’d grumbled the last part.

“i’m sorry, okay? i’m sorry i ruined your night.” you’d pulled him into a hug, he stood there in shock before he hugged back.

“s’not ruined.” you mumbled into the crook of his neck, his eyebrows raised.

“c’mon.” he broke away from the hug, his hands still on your wrist as he led you outside onto the patch of grass that was in front of ua’s dorm.

“gonna look stupid. but i don’t care anymore.”

the music from the dance could still be heard from where you both stood, a slow song beginning to play as he grabbed your waist. instinctively your arms reached for his neck, wrapping around him.

he began to spin you around to the music, the light shining from the moon engulfed the both of you.

you were slow dancing, with bakugou katsuki, in the dark. away from everyone’s eyes.

and when the the song finished, your lips captured his as he returned the action.

[slaybestieslay946]

Stay

pairing: paul atreides x reader

word count: 2000

warnings: light angst with a happy ending

summary: you are the empress of the known universe alongside paul atreides, however, you dont agree with what hes doing, so you give him an ultimatum.

You had always loved the rain. Especially on Caladan. Yes, on your home planet it had rained fairly frequently, but it wasn’t the same. The rain on Caladan came down by the bucket full, not measly little drops. Each minute sheets of water fell from the sky like rolls of silver fabric. 

The only thing that lulled you to sleep more effectively than rain on a window, was the slow, contented breathing of your husband beside you, and the slow movement of his fingers brushing against your waist. Every now and again he’d re-adjust his position to get even closer to you. 

Usually he fell asleep before he was practically clinging to you, but tonight was not one of those occasions. 

“Paul,” You laughed breathily, pushing away from him a bit in order to spin in his arms and face him. 

He groaned in complaint as you moved away from him and opened his eyes blearily. 

“Why’re you moving away…” He complained, trying to pull you back to him. 

“Because you’re practically on top of me, I’m not a hot water bottle.” You chided, although the teasing smile on your face gave away your true feelings. 

“No, you’re better.” He said, a sly smile on his face, “Now c’mere, I’m cold.” 

You sighed, but did as he said, tugging his arm around you and lacing your fingers together. 

You could feel Paul’s smile on the back of your neck as he found a way to hold you even closer. 

“I love you.” He whispered, and you replied in kind, the smile that formed on your face certain to match the one he was currently wearing. 

“Promise you’ll stay with me?” 

“Mhm. I promise.” 

Now, as you paced nervously around the hangar, you couldn’t help but think back to that promise you had made. At the time, you thought that nothing could tear you away from Paul Atreides, not the sun nor the stars. 

Of course, you could never have planned for him becoming Emperor of the known universe. And you could have never known that it would be him tearing the both of you apart. 

At first, when you had been planning your escape, you had hoped that the aircraft would arrive before your husband. That was before you remembered who your husband was now. He would notice you were gone almost immediately, so you had to plan for confrontation, not avoid it. 

“What is this?” A voice came from the entrance to the hangar, echoing through the cavernous room and into your ears. He didn’t sound angry, merely confused.

You turned to face him and his expression was just what you thought it would be, torn between angry and distressed. In his hand, he held the note which you had written, telling him to meet you down here.

“I am leaving, Paul. For Caladan.” You said firmly, turning to face him. 

He smiled weakly, shaking his head, “Why all the smoke and mirrors? If you wanted to return home you should have said so. I would have prepared a ship for us both-”

“Because I am not going with you.” You interrupted, your voice harsh.

“What do you mean? It is not exactly typical for the Empress to leave her husband days after the coronation.” He laughed, but it was not the melodic sound you had once loved, instead it was forced, choked even. 

“Well, you are not the typical Emperor. I am leaving, and you will not follow me.” You stated, remaining firm, even as your heart threatened to betray your mind and run back to him. 

Paul just stared at you, his face painted white in shock. 

“Why?” He asked, his voice cracking.

“Because I can no longer stay by your side and watch you become this. You are becoming someone I do not recognise.” 

“My love, what are you talking about-?”

“I'm talking about this, Paul! Your holy war! You do remember that, don’t you? The war you swore to me you’d do anything to stop? And now, here you are, at its forefront.”

“I had no choice.” He said, his eyes hardening slightly.

“You always have a choice. You are their so-called ‘messiah’. Their emperor. They would fly into the sun if you asked them to. So ask them, stop this war before it consumes everything.”

“You know it is not that simple!” He shouted, and you couldn’t help but flinch slightly before rallying yourself.

“The man I married on Caladan would not have cared about simplicity. He would have cared about what was right, what was moral! He would never have entered this conflict, he would have laid down his life to prevent it! And I would have been right beside him.” 

“This conflict was inevitable! I am doing my very best to minimise the damage, can’t you understand that?”

“I understand that you are still not doing enough.”

Paul looked at you, incredulously, anger filling his gaze, “Really? How can I do more when my own wife does not believe in me! You claim to support me, and yet now you are leaving me. My position is still weak, and you leave the only man you have ever claimed to love.”

“Your position! You are faced with the massacre of your people and all you can speak of is your position!?. Have you no soul left Paul? Did it melt away on Arrakis, scorched by the sun?” 

Suddenly all the anger and venom drained from Paul’s face, and he found himself dropping to his knees, and begging you to stay. 

“You are my soul. You have been all these years. You keep me balanced, you are my morality, my goodness. Everything I do is for you, my love, for your safety. I only care about my position for it is your position also, all the power I have acquired is only in the name of keeping you from harm.”

You looked at him, staring deeply into his eyes, that piercing blue that you had thought so beautiful when they finally changed. Now they were just a reminder of how much he had changed since coming to this awful place. 

“I want to believe you. But you have always had such a way with words. I watched the way you deceived those people into following you, is that what you’re doing now?” 

He rose to his feet again, taking your hands in his. His face was frantic with fear. 

“I would never deceive you. I mean every word, I’ve felt this way my whole life. You are the most important thing to me. You know I would never lie to you.”

For the first time since the conversation began, you hesitated slightly. Could you believe him? Eventually, you landed on an answer. 

“...I do. You would never lie to me on purpose. You are lying to yourself too Paul. You know that I have never wanted position, nor power, heavens, I have never even wanted safety! All I have ever wanted is you, wholly, truly, with no barriers-”

“And you have me!” 

You reached up to splay your hand across his cheek, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill from his blue-blue eyes. 

“No, I don’t have you. I have splinters of you, and I fear the rest is lost. You may bear the resemblance of the man I love, but you are not him.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. 

Suddenly there was the immense whirring of gears, and you knew your ship was here to take you to Caladan.

“I’m afraid we do not have much time, so listen to what I say,” He didn’t react, his face remaining desperate and heartbroken, but you continued anyway.

“If you finally realise what you have done, and you fix it, come to me on Caladan. But I don’t want to see the Muad’dib, or the ‘Messiah’, or the Kwisatz Haderach. The only man I wish to see is my husband, Paul Atreides. Remember that Paul.” 

You gave him one last longing look before turning away from him, and making towards the ship that was emerging from the floor of the hangar.

“I’ll see you again?” He called, his voice cracking slightly as he stared after your retreating form in defeat. 

“Hopefully so, my love, hopefully so.” 

And with that, you stepped onto the outstretched platform of the ship, and shut the door behind you. Paul stayed in the hangar until the craft was gone, biting his tongue so as not to call out to you again and beg you to stay.  

*

The message that the Emperor would be coming to visit you had come far sooner than you expected.  

And you were disappointed in him. He was breaking your agreement, and so soon. It had only been a year, and to your knowledge there had been no change in the situation.

 Perhaps he was coming to ask for a divorce, maybe he’d found someone else since you left. That would certainly be ironic, considering the way he had begged for you to stay on Arrakis. 

However, you were incorrect, because only a few days later a messenger came to tell you that the jihad had ended.         

Immediately you leapt out of your seat, clasping your hand over your mouth in shock. He had done it. 

For the next few days, Castle Caladan was abuzz with preparations for the Emperor returning home. You oversaw said preparations with a watchful eye, and though you wouldn’t admit it, you were happier than you had been in years. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you had missed Paul terribly. 

Yet, when his ship landed, you were nowhere to be found. 

“Where is my wife?” Paul asked one of your ladies in waiting as he strode through the halls of his childhood home. 

“My lord, she left on a walk to the cliffs this morning, and has not returned since. Would you like me to send someone to fetch her?”

The Emperor’s harsh expression softened slightly. “No, I’ll go.” 

It didn’t take Paul long to work out where you had gone, and as he climbed one of the paths up to the cliffs, he was glad to see you sitting on one of the benches, clad in the green silks of house Atreides. 

He called your name, and his voice cut through the gusting winds into your ear, and you turned to face him with a searching look on your face. 

You stood, and couldn’t help but jog towards your husband, gathering your skirts so you didn’t trip and make a fool of yourself. However, you stopped short of running into his arms, opting to stand just in front of him so you could inspect his face properly. 

“Is it you, Paul? Have you finally come back to me?” You asked, your voice cracking slightly. 

“It’s me,” He whispered, reaching a hand out to touch you, “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, what I was doing was wrong, and I know that now, and-!”

You cut off his rambling apology by surging forwards into his arms and kissing him fiercely. He immediately responded in kind, wrapping an arm around your waist and cradling your head in his hand, whilst you held onto the lapels of his coat as tightly as you could. 

Despite the fact you wanted to stay like that forever, eventually the need for oxygen prevailed, and you broke away to take a deep breath in, laughing lightly at the sight of his flushed face. 

He grinned at you, moving the hand that was on the back of our head back to your cheek, brushing his thumb along your face. 

“You missed me?” He asked, teasing, but his voice had a slight edge of concern to it. 

“Yes. I missed you so much.” You said immediately, emphatically. Because you had missed Paul, it felt as if you hadn’t seen the real him for years, and the feeling of being reunited was almost too much for you to contain. 

He let out a short sigh of relief, “I missed you too. But it’s ok, because I’ve fixed it all. They still think I’m their messiah, but I’m going to stop acting like it. And you were right, I was power hungry, and selfish, and I exploited so many people, and I betrayed you, and-”

“Enough, Paul.” You said, looking at him with so much care that he couldn’t help but smile softly, “Yes, you have made mistakes, but it wasn’t all your fault. And you’ve made a change now, you’re doing the right thing. And I’ll always be there for you. I had to leave to help you, but I knew we’d see each other again. And here we are, back home, just like old times.” 

“You’re right.” 

“I often am, my love.” 

He wrapped his arms around you once again, “Will you stay with me, here?” 

You nodded, “Mhm. I’ll stay for good this time.”

[orangeave]

all the places light does not touch

wednesday addams x gn!reader

summary: there are places in wednesday that the light doesn’t touch and she can’t help but to put you in all of them.

words: 4.2k

orange speaks: final part to the great war (part one | part two). damn, it's been a hot minute, huh? apologies for the wait, but i hope y'all will enjoy this last installment.

Gravesoil clings to Wednesday’s nail beds, a desperate plea scratching against her vocal cords that she will never admit to beyond this moment. You are mumbling to yourself, a language she’s never heard of slicing through the quiet; the mother tongue of the beast that lingers in places she cannot reach nor see. Wild, bloodshot eyes survey the empty space in front of you and veins crowd underneath your lashes. There’s a pause before you hunch over, hands reaching up to grasp tightly at your head and – 

Wings ripple out of tearing flesh, blood soaking the floor underneath her former lover’s feet. An ominous, onyx liquid takes over the whites of your eyes, dripping slowly down the apple of your cheeks and leaving dark tear tracks in their wake that trail pass a shuddering throat. 

How foolish she was to forget what lays dormant beneath your skin, waiting to unleash itself upon the world. Control was hard fought and just barely won after each battle, a traumatic fear for the possibility of a blood-curdling outcome hardening the usual soft color of your gaze. 

Wednesday had always been there to placate the darker side of you but times were different now. The consequences of her wrongdoings were forming; in the shape of elongating teeth, in downy feathers expanding to three-times the length of your arm span, and in horns spiralling to reach the sky above them.  

You were horrifyingly marvellous. 

Gone is the fear from before, an innately evil force hunkering down to take its place. Tendrils of hellfire coat your skin in a blaze of heat that Wednesday can starkly feel, wraiths rising from the puddles of crimson ichor that is still shedding and staining ghoulish flesh. A sinister grin warps your features into a gruesome mosaic and she is wary of the scheming tug to your lips.

“Do you feel it?” You rasp, multiple layers of cadence making your voice echo and overlap into something otherworldly. Wednesday’s brows pinch, a frown of incomprehension downturning the corner of her lips. “The inevitable culling of this night, can you feel it?”

“Enough. You’re talking nonsense.” She sneers.

A shiver caresses the curve of her spine when you sigh solemnly in return, the ground trembling beneath your feet as you glide closer to her. Your left hand lifts and fingertips that resemble claws leave behind rivers of blood as you skim her jawline, thumb tucking into her jugular before the entirety of the extremity encloses around her throat. 

The touch is light, there’s no weight in the action but Wednesday chokes all the same. A primal instinct of survival urges her to fight the hold because while running has never been in Wednesday’s repertoire, the need for bodily autonomy will always remain. Personal space is sacred when the world longs to claim and taint everything she’s ever come to own.

Nero; a first companion forcibly taken by the will of another. 

Tyler; a first kiss lost to the lips of a monster. 

You; a first something she’s afraid to name with an end she’s yet to come to terms with.

Each one is a death with its own cause and reaction but they all drive her further away into solitude, into a body built too big for her bones.

There’s a light within her that flickers and spiders which crawl from crevices dug into ivory calcium, seeking the warmth that it offers – it never lasts, they scurry with every faltering glow and Wednesday is left with the echo of an ancestor, of a destiny meant to be spent alone.

Be it by her hand or someone else’s, the truth of her fate lingers. 

Still, the scraps from the before she seldom acknowledges; when words meant to burn were just measly thoughts to create distance and a twin heart still laid next to hers, where a sense of forever was yet to fade and hope, however gross the negligence of it was, was able to reach even the unlit corners of her, craves to forget – just for a moment – that this is who she has to be. 

For everyone’s sake but most especially yours, Wednesday scatters those scraps until they exist in locations that are inaccessible, even to herself, and no one suffers more for it than she does. So, as she swallows back the bile of her desires, her tongue is sour with bitterness and syllables formulate an acrid speech that tries to chase away the taste of all that she wants but cannot have. 

“All I detect is your feeble minded attempt to frighten me. You’re a bleeding heart, Tesoro, we both know you’re too soft to follow through with your meagre threats. You never were tenacious enough to do what was needed to keep me, this is no different.”  

Regret is immediate; acid does not eliminate bitterness, it only serves to make the taste resonate deeper until she’s choking on the foul filth of an inescapable death. The true difference between you, she realizes, is that she’s not capable of being selfless without leaving scars on the ones she’s trying to shelter and that your way of being selfless only leaves you with more. 

A thick smog of shadows gather in the atmosphere, sharpening your features and maniacal laughter washes over the cusps of Wednesday’s eardrums. Her pulse jumps and she just knows that you felt it because your grip on her throat tightens at last, unapologetic nails becoming a barbed wire necklace that itches to splay her tendons for the world to witness. 

“Oh, Mulsa, that’s where you’re wrong.” You tsk with condescension. “Everything is different. I’m finally who I was always meant to be, existing outside of the fear that plagued me, and it’s all thanks to you. I have embraced my destiny, can you say the same?”

Mockery drips from your words and her reality suddenly shifts as she finds herself in a castle that assembles itself with a swish of your wrist. It reigns beautifully decrepit in nature; rotten beams of wood rib the frame, moss rests in divots of cracking stone, and moonlight glints through openings in the ceiling. You casually lean against a gothic throne of skulls that no one sits upon and Wednesday transforms into a court jester, in the presence of a lowly regent who pretends that they do not pull all of the strings behind the scenes.

“How long do you think you’ll last in this kingdom of solitude, Wednesday? Who else will you hurt in your quest for knowledge? And do the answers you find at the end of it all outweigh the expense others have to pay to get you there?” Your voice rumbles, ricocheting off stone walls before striking her exactly where you know it will hurt most.

Color touches her skin for the first time, anger and humiliation mingling to create a red sheen on pale flesh. It’s a sort of wickedness she never thought you to be capable of but perhaps she should have seen it coming. 

“None of that is relevant.” She whispers harshly.

“Isn’t it? Am I not the cataclysm of your choices? Is this not me paying your dues?” Massive charcoal wings beat; once, twice, three times – they propel you upward, high into the air and tree bark horns tilt your jaw back with their weight. Specks of blood rain down from the force, painting the surrounding layout maroon, dousing Wednesday in turn. You bare your arms outward, showcasing your new form to an audience of one.

Crisp, off-white linen hugs the muscles of your torso while the sleeves furl at each elbow. Three buttons are undone, revealing a prominent collarbone and a smooth expanse of skin. Dark beige slacks loosely clutch to long legs – one slightly bent at the knee, toeing the edge of the other as you hover in place. You are all neutral tones with monochromatic undercurrents, eyes drowning in a void of black reeking of judgement, and vibrancy is lost to a death by her own hands.

Wednesday licks her lips, catching droplets of metallic liquid on her tongue. Stagnancy overrules the scent of trees in the foreground and there is no reprieve as she suffocates on nothing but the truth. Her resolve is crumbling; you may not be a ruler of this kingdom but you do have an undeniable deathgrip on her heartstrings. If you were anyone else, that fact would be revolting. 

“Unless,” a pause. “Maybe this is what you wanted. You always did love everything dark and twisted.”

Slowly, you descend in front of her and there’s a soft click as the heels of your dress shoes settle down. Dust kicks up into the air, your wings breezing along the floor, and you wordlessly take four shallow strides around her. You come to stand behind her, breath fanning over the sensitive stretch of her neck. She can see you no longer but just your presence in itself is taunting.

There’s a brush of fingertips against her back, nudging her forward and before long she arrives at a set of steps. You shove her up them; the action makes her stumble and her balance is lost to the last stair. She falls into the vacant throne, which she now realizes belongs to her. Twin knees scrape the edge, making her body twist to relieve the pain and sit properly. 

Indignation rises to the surface at the mistreatment and Wednesday tries to swallow it, to keep away words that will only perpetuate this discourse, but it’s fruitless. “My proclivities aren’t your concern. Up to this point, every decision you have made has been solely yours. I am not to blame for your indiscretions.”

“Perhaps.” You nod, standing resolutely at the incline up to the throne she sits upon. “Truly, I’m not here for placations or reasonings. You are partially correct in assuming that this,” your hand waves around your form, “is not the inner workings of your… machinations.”

“Then why? What is this macabre display for?” Wednesday interrupts.

None of it makes sense; how easily you forfeit your earlier claims. 

“Because, in the end, this was never for you.” You start, something dark creeping along your legs. It rises to dwarf your already tall stature and features are slow to form but when they do, they are wholly monstrous and deeply unsettling. There is absolutely nothing in this world that compares and warning bells screech a dizzying spell of the danger to come should Wednesday choose to misstep in its presence.

Exaggerating steps loosen the hold it has on you, materializing into translucent flesh, and your body is distorted to her as the being stands in front of you. An arm raises, travelling up to your chest, and stuttering in wicked glee before plunging in. You gasp loudly, figure hunching over, and the being forces you straight with its free hand at your shoulder. With a dramatic flair, it rips its fingers out and they do not come back empty. 

Without care or regard, the beast walks away from you, and the sight that greets Wednesday grips her with terror. The facade of power fades to nothing and you are left human but skeletal. Wings, horns, the black void; they’re all gone, and exhaustion coats your dull eyes, your knees buckling to the floor. Falling forward, your shoulders rise, head ducking low as nailbeds of blood trace the cracking stone of the floor. Convulsions attack your spine, driving a body of bones further into the ground. 

“A distraction,” The beast rumbles in glee, an olden accent curling over its words. “To pull you away from the truth.” A bleeding, bruising heart rests in its palm; dark blotches covering the organ and Wednesday finds it disconcerting the way they pulsate, widening with each heavy breath you shudder. “We finally understand now; love is a weakness. For children who still play with toy soldiers, dreaming of the day they will change the world. It’s quite humorous, don’t you think?”

And there, right then, despite your best efforts to play it off as something else, Wednesday finally sees the evil for what it truly is: self-preservation. It is protection, disguising itself as rage. It is guardianship, shouldering all that you cannot and turning it into power. It is the heart in a beast’s hand, with a cage that moulds along its edges that wills itself not to break any further.

Red teeth gleam up at her, a grotesque smile staring straight through her, and dissuading her attention from the creature next to you. “I never wanted to change the world, Wednesday, not really anyway. But I did want you – not just the good parts but also the pieces of you that raged in contempt. I wanted the entirety of you: your doubt, your fear, your selfishness; the thousand-yard stare, the tempered soul, the frostbitten heart. I wanted the girl who despised even the thought of love.”

“No.” Wednesday utters except it’s too quiet, caught in her throat.  

“God, Wednesday, I wanted it all – everything you were willing to part with and nothing more. Yet, you turned your back on us and you didn't even have the decency to give me a valid reason why. I deserved better than a half-assed excuse as to why it had to end. But it’s okay. Blame is a two-way street and I was wrong too. I pushed and ignored every warning sign, dancing along boundaries and fed into your suspicions without a need to prove myself to be on your side.”

“No.” She tries again. 

(Still not enough, still on the cusp of- of-.)

“And I guess, this is all to say that we both had a choice and perhaps we chose wrong, though maybe the cards were always stacked against us. Now here we are, forcing each other to relieve it all over again, and it’s time to put an end to this. We finally get to have what we tried to cheat each other out of. You finally get to be free and I finally get to say goodb-.” 

“No!” The single word rips and tears and mutilates her throat in the effort to leave the confines of her voice box. All her life Wednesday has been toeing the line between devastation and freedom, a weak grip on her inhibitions, always viscerally trying to prove something or another. Until a sick sense of clarity washes over what this all means; one more loss, one more all alone, one final nail in the coffin. 

A death to rewrite all the others. 

Falling in love with you was like falling asleep, gradually then all at once, because it crept along the edges of her vision until it was too late and despite her aversion to it, it was warm. And the days that followed were everything she thought herself to be incapable of; the quiet nights, the sound of rustling sheets as she wrote pages upon pages on her typewriter, the dulcet tones of you humming along to vibrating strings, the laughter without reservation, the eyes full of a home made just for her, the hands that held her softly in the dark. 

And then, of course, the self-sabotage set in. Her wants and desires took a backseat to make room for fear, and somewhere in the midst, the ease of your love made way for her doubt and she swears you both lost something that day. The person she became to combat her loss of control isn’t something she’s proud of but maybe… maybe this is the part where she pleads with you to understand. Where she lays everything on the line; all her misgivings and the lies she tries to tell herself to circumvent all that she does not understand.  

When your eyes cut across her own, you look at her like you know, and the uncaged beast only laughs as your features close themselves off from her once more. The vulnerability seeps out, draining from trembling, bloodsoaked fingers, and replacing itself with indifference before Wednesday even has the chance to rearrange her thoughts into coherency. The pleas building in her throat die, falling into the void of every other thing she’s left unsaid.

How repulsive.  

Wednesday’s jaw clenches at her own inadequacy, teeth clicking in time with her shallow breaths. Hands of ice grasp tightly at each other while she tries to reform the truth she’s been meaning to say. It’s time, she attempts to coax herself. No longer will she bow to her lesser qualms. 

Enough is enough. 

“You were wrong.”

A feigned grace pulls her from the throne, rising up and carrying her down the steps that will lead her to you. Firm resolve weights each footfall to the stone beneath Wednesday, laying the groundwork for an outcome that doesn’t end with ties severed indefinitely. A disgusting amount of trepidation still lingers menacingly, but not for prior reasons. It washes over her because she knows that if she doesn't get this right and you walk away from her once again, it will be for the last time. 

As she reaches you, the beast rears up into the space between you, your heart ducking out of sight with a single movement. Up close, Wednesday can see the second the previous glee renders itself obsolete, paving the way for rage to form in its stead. Translucence melds into mortal flesh in an instant, further providing a barrier to you and it’s features constantly flicker; sweeping into each other, refusing to commit to a lone one. 

All of it is a warning: for you may have never been able to truly hurt her, but this beast holds no such inhibitions. And yet, Wednesday ignores it, skirting around the form with a brief flicker of eye contact. Rolling coals follow the movement, a sneer deepening the gouges at the corners of it’s mouth. Heat steadily rises at her back when she kneels before you, gaining in temperature, and a hearth set ablaze licks the skin of Wednesday’s nape, until sweat lines her hairline.  

“Before,” Wednesdays continues despite the duality of the cold shell holding your gaze captive and the heat at her back, her fingertips fluttering around your body but never settling. “You said you’d never be good enough for me.” A scowl crawls into her features, disdain vaguely clinging to her words. “You were wrong.” 

Confusion briefly overcomes the frost but it’s not enough. You flinch with every syllable, as if her words still burn; like your flesh is a step away from igniting and she’s dousing you in lighter fluid. A battlefield sprawls before her, all of her own making, and each word is a precarious mark upon the earth, hidden with landmines Wednesday tries to sidestep. 

Wednesday thinks this might be part of her destiny that Goody forgot to mention – truth be told, self-loathing is akin to starvation; the hunger pains force you to eat yourself from the inside out until nothing remains. Perhaps that’s the most tragic intricacy of her fate, to commit atrocities for the sake of others' preservation, and to suffer all the more for it. Now, trying to find the medium between the two banks entirely on her willingness to push aside everything she’s ever thought to know about herself. 

As Wednesday gazes upon you; you with the sunrise in your eyes and the red candle wax burning lips, she clings to the notion that it isn’t the dying that scares her, but the insurmountable loneliness that follows in the wake of your departure. It is hollow and damning because you are attempting to leave, in more ways than one, and she is running out of options that will force you to stay. 

Longing breaches through the whisper of her words, “You were too much, in all the soft ways I desire to detest. Too good, too simple; too easy to love. And so, I wanted-” Wednesday’s breath falters, fingers folding to tear at the lines of each palm. “I wanted to make you pay, for forcing these ugly emotions upon me. I never wished to feel the juvenile propensity to need you, in all the foul ways weaker beings fall victim to. Yet, it is those feelings that beg of me to forfeit this charade, because, for however seldom I say it, I do love you.”

Finally, Wednesday reaches for your hand, knuckles scraping along the stone to slot her fingers between your own. “I’m in love with you, and it is all-consuming, vile, and entirely effortless. I may not know how it will end, but I believe there exists a place out there built just for the two of us; one that is otherworldly, and beautiful, and so, so alive. Destiny be damned.”

Wednesday watches as your eyes crawl the length of her face, an unreadable expression marring the expanse of your features. A shudder partly pulls your body away from her, a heavy exhale escaping your lips. She can’t tell whether her words were well received as you hunch your knees under your chin, cradling your elbows around the edges of your calves. Just as she goes to continue, desperation clinging to the fraying ends of her sanity, your free palm craters the ground beneath you. 

Long forgotten wraiths spiral into view and confusion tears her form upwards onto her feet, unwittingly losing the grip she has on you. They begin to chase her and the ground beneath her feet zooms out of focus as she tries to get away. They’re faster, upon Wednesday in mere seconds, and then she’s falling, falling, falling, and for a long moment nothing comes up to catch her.

Yet again, the scenery of the throne room changes and she stumbles to her knees in a foreign land. 

Grass bunches up between her fingers, wet and coarse, and a graveyard looms before her. Each tombstone lining the distance is marked with a name, cementing every loss she’s ever faced; not just of people, but places and emotions too. A beat passes before you appear at her side, steps away from an open casket set six feet in the ground. When she shuffles up to unsteady feet, the body within it looks suspiciously like you. 

Your voice carries on the wind, circling her as you murmur, “What if you’re wrong?”

There’s a slew of answers on the tip of Wednesday’s tongue, but most fall short, never quite encompassing what she truly wants to say. One, though, rises above the rest, so simple it makes her want to scoff. Instead, she pushes the sound down, and in the midst of the words that follow, a part of her realizes that she’s finally learning; understanding. There are things in the world that you need not fight, nor feelings that are too childish to accept. Some things are just simple; easy.

“But what if I’m right?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Wednesday sees you sway slightly in place, her words – honest at last – completely sinking in. With a noticeable limp stuttering your footsteps, you gradually move in front of her. The tips of your dress shoes scratch along the edges of her own boots as you eliminate every ounce of Wednesday’s personal space, your arm rising up in her peripheral vision. Hesitation faults the movement, and she recognizes the doubt for what it is: a fear she never meant to place within you; of her reaction, of her motives, of her.  

With time, she promises to herself to put all of her wrongs right, but for now, she gently latches onto your wrist, bringing your hand down to rest on the underside of her jaw. Your eyes flash with recognition before your forehead descends upon hers, a shaky breath exhaling against her lips that sounds like an okay. Suddenly boneless, your body sags, shoulders loosening as your other arm reaches around the small of her back, tugging her into you. 

You hold onto Wednesday tighter than she ever had the audacity to covet her desires and she cannot deny the sense of home that follows. 

Without fear, her feet lift up, gaining a slight height advantage to place a lingering kiss atop your head, but a figure drifts into focus before her eyes can close. The beast faintly shimmers behind the tombstone with your name on it that fades, a neutral expression on it’s face. It watches Wednesday closely, eyes of coal simmering into ash as it takes in your figure so entwined with her own. Your heart still resides in it’s palm, but even from here, Wednesday can gauge how loosely it’s grip is. A nod of a head and a quirk of lips beckons her, once last time, to take in another truth. 

Love has many faces, and seldom are they seen clearly.

Your heart finds its way back to its home as the beast settles, slowly descending in height, and it’s features melt into a vaguely familiar countenance. It is you, but aged, with laugh lines marking the corners of your eyes, and a nostalgic smile at the cusp of your lips. And it is an echo, of both your and her future, teetering on the edge of a forever that will soon be fully earned. 

( – there are places in wednesday that the light doesn’t touch and she can’t help but to put you in all of them.

but then you learn to become the light, and all the dark places shine.)

[rushtoprove]

the deepest melancholy

pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader rating: mature (18+) word count: 5.9k+ summary: you wished you were strong enough to fight against the life that had been planned for you, but instead you cower at the thought of marrying the dreaded kinslayer, and you were sure he wished to be marrying someone else too. but neither of you could escape this marriage. duty always prevails. chapter summary: the realm was left a mess after the war between the targaryen kin. aegon may have won but the city despises those who almost destroyed the realm. the greens have become the most feared family in the realm, and prince aemond the most frightening figure of them all. that is why the townsfolk weep as your carriage passes them. they pity the sweet girl who is to be sacrificed to the kinslayer and his family. warnings: smut. arranged marriage. uncomfortably smut. forced marriage. angst. it will get better. beauty and the beast au (?) authors note: I have a bad habit of disappearing to remain mysterious. I see my flaws. But truthfully... I never left.

masterlist

It had been six days since your arrival on this foreign shore, but you were still consumed with the sickness that comes with travelling upon the sea. Your stomach seemed to tighten with every bump or shift of the carriage, and every jolt had your dress being pulled tighter into your fists. The echoing voices and cries made it known that your arrival to the red keep had gained an audience, so you slowly pulled back the curtain of the carriage and peered out to see the villagers who you would soon preside over.

“They have experienced hell little one.” Your brother sighed pitifully as he leaned over your shoulder to view the commotion. The folk looked solemnly on the moving carriage, shaking their heads and bowing towards your hidden figure. Some wept pitifully for you leaving the bile in your stomach no choice but to race upwards, and when you made eye contact with an old nun crossing herself in a silent blessing, you hastily tugged the curtains back into place and push yourself into your seat.

“You would leave me here.” You chocked out in anguish. He simply laughed. All he ever did was laugh at you.

Your brother would not support you in your sorrows. He would not weep, nor would he pity you, because it was he who was forcing you into this torment. He was the one marrying you off to the second prince of the realm. He was the one orchestrating your misery. Your brother will simply dump you at the feet of the most hated family of the realm and walk away with more land and title.

“You can thank father for your predicament sister. It was that reckless old man who fought for the traitor Rhaenyra. It was he who lost our good will with the crown. It is I who is simply trying to win back our favour and our riches.”

“They will think me a traitor like they think our father was. He fought for her because he made an oath to support her claim. They will not differentiate who was under our banner on the battlefield. They will take out their anger on me. He will take out his anger on me.” The chills that tingled your spine when you thought of your future husband should be familiar by now, but it still frightens you.

“Father was blinded. Being obligated to risk all our fortune over a pathetic oath forced upon him by the late King Viserys. He worked beside Otto Hightower that whole time. He should know better than anyone the power that man held. He should have known the battle was won before Viserys was even dead.”

“Our father was a loyal subject to Queen Rhaenyra and he fought for her because he knew she would be an admirable ruler. She would have ruled as peacefully as her father. Now we are left with a drunken fool who has started a war with the stepstones once more and his brother who is using his new position as Commander of the City Watch to use cruelty and violence on the folk of Westeros for his on pleasure.” Your father’s death was still raw and the slight against his name lit a dangerous passion in you. It was horrifying listening to your brother talk about your poor dear father so carelessly, but he simply clicked his tongue in mock shame.

“Careful now or you may lose your tongue. Aegon is King, and your dear Lord Commander shall soon control you for the rest of your life. You shall have to worship the ground he walks upon if you wish to be a dutiful wife and not anger the King’s Mother. Although I do not think you are in too much danger of him touching you as I hear you are not his type dear. There are whispers he prefers to fuck witches and hags.” You shook with rage at his condescending tone.

“He burnt countless amounts off innocent farmers and villagers and left nothing but ashes wherever he went. You would give your sister to a man who murdered his own family… twice. He is Aemond the Kinslayer and you would…”

“You should be proud sister. I’ve matched you with a prince! A disfigured, cruel man who reduced half the realm to ashes, but a prince no less. Just ignore the bloodlust and violence and I’m sure it will not be so bad. All you need do is bare his heir and look pretty.” His childish snickers as he cut you off had you seeing red, but you understood you could do nothing but seethe silently. How could he be so proud to sell off his sister to the notorious brute that had burnt cities to the ground and slayed anyone who got in the way of his family as they usurped Rhaenyra’s throne. His bloodlust had even led to the murder of his own kin. How could such an animal be expected to make a suitable husband?

The sound of the city guards yelling for the gates to be opened, and the grinding and rattling that followed meant that you had finally arrived at the red keep, and that your life was over at the meek age of one and twenty. Your brother wasted no time jumping from the carriage the moment the door was swung open, but you stayed for just a second longer. Hovering the tips of your fingers over the stitching of your family's sigil that was engraved in the cushions around you, you let out an unsteady sigh. You thought of your father, of his kindness and his love. His bravery and his wit. He would have let you marry someone you were comfortable with; he would have wanted you to have a peaceful life. Your brother was to throw you into the dragon den.

“May I present my sister to your graces?! She’s a shy little thing forgive her!’ You brother boasted with a joyous laugh. His hand reached into the carriage and grabbed blindly for you, leaving you no choice but to straighten yourself, and swallow the melancholy that came with remembering your past. You did not take his hand, but instead stepped slowly from the carriage with a bowed head, allowing almost no vision of what was in front of you. You let yourself fall into a graceful curtsey and remained low. There was large audience lined around the courtyard of the Red Keep, leaving you nervously tremble.

“Your graces.” You whispered, slowly letting your eyes raise. There were many figures that had lined up to welcome you, but it was the four at the very front who demanded your attention. King Aegon sat in his wheelchair; half his face taken up by the burnt scarring the late Princess Rhaenys had left him upon her death, looking bored by the entire meeting. His wife, Princess Heleana stood beside him, but her gaze was towards the empty spot to the left of us, and her incoherent mumbling seemed to be ignored by everyone around her. Her mother, Alicent Hightower, had a hand on her daughter's elbow but you could not decide if it was to support her daughter or herself. She seemed overcome by exhaustion and the lines on her face seemed to age her more than she was. Her hair had begun greying and the unkept strands made you think she had run her hand through it vigorously.

“Welcome to our court. We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” The smile that the dowager queen forced gave you no source of comfort, but you took the welcome as permission to stand at your full posture, and you finally allowed yourself to gaze upon your future husband. You would be lying if you did not admit to letting your gaze be drawn straight to the ugly scarring that peaked out from beneath his leather eye patch. It seemed to match the tight leather attire that fitted his lean body. He was a true Targaryen prince, with his perfect white hair and bright purple eye, so you were not shocked by his beauty. After all, Targaryen's were closer to the Gods than men. His looming figure was so still you could mistake it for a statue but proving not to be only by the slightest bow of his head as he gazed at you. His blank expression gave you no hint of whether he was satisfied by you and the silence that followed his mother's greeting left much to be uncertain of.

“I am much appreciative to be welcomed so kindly.” You wish you had the prowess to stand tall, or the courage to say something spiteful about this dreaded situation you had found yourself in; but you were scared.

“Pretty little thing you are my dear future sister. So innocent and quiet. I don’t know if my dear brother shall know what to do with you.” The King mocked Aemond boldly leaving a few courtiers to snicker, and Aegon turned his gaze knowingly towards his younger brother, eager for a reaction, but Aemond Targaryen simply stared at you. Trying politely to avert your gaze, your eyes moved to stare at his feet, but something drew your attention back to him not one minute later. His gaze was still on you.

“My sister shall allow whatever Prince Aemond desires. She is the most dutiful thing. I’m sure she will make a devoted wife.” You tensed at your brother’s demeaning comments and felt a swell of rage as the young king whistled in delight.

“Perhaps I shall wed her than! Take two wives just as my namesake did. Or perhaps I shall get rid of… that.” All eyes but one was drawn to Queen Heleana, but she did not notice and instead continued whispering with a sad smile. You could not help your brows from furrowing in empathy for the broken princess. It was no secret to the realm what horrors the woman had been through. The anguish that would come with watching your oldest son slain before your very eyes. The disrespect her husband spewed made your skin crawl. Feeling choked up by the pity, you averted your gaze towards Aemond Targaryen.

His eye had not left you.

You both stood in silence for a beat before Aemond slowly took a step forward. The quiet chatter of the courtiers stopped instantly and suddenly the atmosphere was heightened with anticipation of what the prince was about to do. Your breath was caught and with each step he took forward, you heart hammered harder. The lurching your stomach felt in the carriage was nothing compared to this very moment. It was as if time stretched longer than you ever thought possible, leaving you to feel as if you had been stuck in that one spot for eternity, waiting for the strides of your future husband to reach you. His lean figure was straight, and his gaze remained intense, inspecting your reaction as he moved towards you. When he finally reached your frozen figure, he towered over you, looking down with an almost cruel amusement in his eye. He finally moved his gaze from your face to give you a once over, slowly letting it fall down your entire body, before crawling back up.

“Shall I show you around the keep my lady?” His hand slowly extended, and you felt yourself hypnotised, reaching for it without a thought.

“I would be thankful for the tour of your home my prince, but I would not want to keep you from your duties.” You breathed out. If you were of the right mind, you would curse yourself at how kindly you greeted him, but alas you were overwhelmed by how close he stood, and how godly he looked up closely. Without breaking eye contact, Prince Aemond raised your knuckles to his lips and lightly let them brush against your skin, leaving the feeling of fire to consume your body.

“It would be my pleasure,” His voice was low as he finished the sentence with your name, and you were hypnotized by the way it rolled of his lips. If he had any idea of the sudden intoxication that had overpowered you, he did not show any hint of it, and you were thankful he did not boast of it. You were already to humiliated to bare. You were never the type of foolish girl to be besotted with a man, let alone a monster like this, but Aemond Targaryen seemed to conquer your very being with his mere presence. You were smart enough to recognise this was going to cause nothing but trouble for you.

“I would not wish to burden you.” You whispered softly for only his ears but threaded your arm over his awaiting arm all the same. You fell in step with his powerful strides and did not spare your brother a second glance as you passed him by. The prince breezed through the crowd who had come to gawk at the poor young girl who was getting sacrificed to this vicious man, and you found yourself revelling in the way they quickly scurried to the side to let you pass. Your amusement was short lived due to a hand reaching out and clutching at your elbow, leaving you staggering away from your future husband and into the body of a nameless courtier.

“Bless you sweetheart. Bless your poor soul. Let the Gods protect you from him.” The crowd around you began feverously whispering to one another, shocked by the man’s audacity, but the room was quickly silenced as two knights hoisted the man back with a shout and dragged him so fast, he had no chance to gain any footing. His body was dragged away as he cried and kicked his feet like a little boy leaving you once again unable to breathe. It was as if you had iced water thrown over you. The spell was broken, and you suddenly remembered who you held onto so eagerly. You were overcome by the smell of smoke and rot, as if you had been transported to the fields that Aemond Targaryen had so happily burnt to ashes. You swear you could smell the burnt flesh of his ghosts in that very moment.

“Come now my lady. Let’s get you away from this noise.” Aemond stared at the man being heaved away, expressionless. It was as if he was used to the scene that unfolded and was almost bored by the antics of the courtiers. You tried not to let him see your trembling fingers as you laced your hand upon his elbow and looked down in shame.

“What shall happen to him?” You don’t know why you asked, because you know what happens to those who speak out against this Targaryen family. Aemond began his pace once more but this time you could tell he was surveying every movement around them, waiting for another attack.

“He will be executed. We do not allow disobedience in our court.” He said your name as he finished his sentence and gazed down at you.

You understood the warning.

+++

Your wedding was a solemn affair. You had imagined when the time came around, there would be laughter and dancing, flowers and wine thrown around. Colourful and delightful with a husband who would steal kisses at the wedding feast and spend the night spinning you in his arms. Your family surrounding you. Your father hiding his tears as he watched you give your hand to the man you loved.

It was nothing like that. The crowd was silent as you walked. Not one person in the room smiled. The crowd bowed their heads in respect or pity, you cared not to know, and you had no energy to try and feign delight at the altar. Your husband was no different. He stared ahead with a grimace, but continued preforming the duty that was marrying you. You tried not to look at him during the ceremony but failed only once. He looked disconcerted by the whole experience making your heart ache. You wondered if he wished he was marrying the witch your brother had so carelessly mentioned. Your cursed heart ached at the thought. Not from jealousy, but from the desire of wanting to marry someone who wanted you. You were being chained to this man forever, and he wished for you to be someone else. But you could not fault him in that. Gods knows you too wished to be marrying someone else.

The wedding feast felt more like the wake at a funeral. There was a band playing some music in the balcony above, but no one moved. You sat stiffly by your new husband as you both stared ahead, trying to ignore the soft murmurs of the crowded hall. His finger were clenched around his chair and he did not speak as numerous courtiers steeped forward to present you both with your wedding gifts. It was left up to you to utter your appreciation at the useless artifacts while they scurried away, fearful of angering the prince with their presence.

“Please smile Aemond. Or do something that is not sitting there and scowling.” You pretended to ignore it when your new mother-in-law hissed into her sons' ear, then tried not to cower when he moved his hand to rest on yours above the table. The whole crowd would have seen the way you both flinched at the contact.

“Smile sister. This is a joyous occasion.” Your brother muttered lowly beside your ear, sometime after Alicent had ordered the same thing. You felt Aemond’s hand clench around yours just slightly, and you knew that he had heard your brother. Slowly you inched closer to your husband and gave him a slight smile, but you were sure it came out as a grimace instead.

“How will the Kingsguard handle tonight without their leader?” Whether it was out of politeness or awkwardness, you do not know, but the conversation you tried to start was quickly shut down by the monotone voice of your husband. He did not react to your words and let his gaze remain on the crowd below.

“I will be joining the patrols once we are finished our duty tonight.” You slipped your hand from his and clenched your wedding dress tightly in discomfort. You felt his gaze turn to you leaving your skin burning under his gaze.

“I see.”

You turned away from him and did not look at him until an hour later when he stood from his seat. The music halted at once and the room was silenced. The guards around the room quickly stood tall as Aemond surveyed the audience.

“My wife and I have grown quite tired from the festivities. It is time we retire to our bedchamber. Please, continue enjoying the feast my mother has so careful crafted.” Your new ladies-in-waiting quickly moved to your side from all corners of the room while the wedding party moved to walk you both to your doom. You were allowed to step into the room without your husband so that your ladies could help you ready yourself. On the other side of the door, Aemond was doing the same. It seemed he was joining you in your quarters tonight, in your new bed. There would be no safe place for you to escape the man.

“Are you alright my lady?” One of your ladies whispered as she undid your tight corset. The silk ribbon was unravelled and with each breath you released the closer you were to crumbling to the floor. You had spent the last two weeks in a constant state of fear and melancholy, and it all seemed to be coming to ahead at the worst time possible.

“I am alright Alyssa. Just tired.” You ignored the look the three women around you gave one another and instead moved your gaze elsewhere and landed on the worst possible spot. You had left your bed a crumpled mess this morning, after a night of restlessly tossing and turning, but you could not tell that anymore. The sheets were perfectly straight and tightened in the corners, folded down with such precision it made you feel sick. Your mother had died in childbirth, and you had no sisters so your knowledge of what was about to happen was limited, but you knew to expect the pain and blood at the hands of your husband.

“I hope you are not truly tired Brother. Your night has only just begun.” King Aegon slurred voice was muffled by the door but still audible. If you were not already filled with dread then, you sure as hell were now.

“Aegon, please just leave your comments for one night.” Alicent’s tired voice sighed back. You could not help the tears that began falling as your ladies began the final touches, fluffing your hair and untying the sleep gown so that it would be easier to remove. Without so much a glance at those in the room, you clamoured into the bed and wept.

“My lady, you cannot let them see this. They will think you ungrateful. It would do Prince Aemond great dishonour.” The three girls rushed to their lady in crisis and were quick to brush your hair from your face and hold you in comfort. You hardly talked to these girls, as they were a gift from your new family, and you assumed them to be spies for your husband and his scheming mother. But in this moment, you could only think of the comfort of being held.

“I’m scared.” You whimpered as they tried to sooth you with their murmurs.

“It is a scary thing my lady, but do not fret. It is over quicker than you can imagine.” Caitlyn, a relative of the Tully’s assured you as she stroked your hair.

“Oh yes. Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” Margaret, a distant relative of the Stark’s agreed with the assurance. It did not help but you appreciated the before. You wished to be held longer, but a stiff knock to the door echoed around your room.

“Is the Lady prepared?” The girls were quick to pat away your tears, and with a quick curtsey they moved to open the door. You instead turned your face to the side and stared at the new moon that was almost in the centre of the window frame. You did not need to look to know who had knocked.

“Yes, my prince. She is awaiting you.” With a curtsey they rushed out the room, leaving a silence that was only disrupted by the slight crackle of the candles that lit your room. You had tried hard to replicate the warmth of your room back home, but it had never felt colder. Time seemed to once again slow, and it felt a lifetime before you heard the click of the door closing. It remained quiet, and you thought for a second that your husband had perhaps decided he could not bear this just as much as you. Perhaps he had stormed off to the city to lead his guards in slaughtering the criminals within the walls of this wretched place. Perhaps you could sleep peacefully tonight, safe from the beast for one more night. The candles going out one by one let you know that your dreams were crushed, and that you were not alone in the room. He was silent as he crossed the floor, putting out all sources of light until you were left in the darkness of the night. The darkened moon did nothing to help you see.

“Do you know what to expect?” His voice sliced through the silence, choking you. You squeezed your eyes closed and did a small nod.

“I know enough.” You whispered as the bed beside you dipped. He sat beside you for a moment, and even in the darkness you could feel his eye on you.

“I shall try not to hurt you, but it will be uncomfortable.” Your eyes remained tightly closed and your fingers began to tremble. You did not expect any truth in his words. This man was vicious, known for the way he revelled in pain and torture. Why would he treat the daughter of a traitor any different?

“I would be most grateful.” You choked out and quickly turned away as you felt more tears build up. Aemond’s breath caught and for a moment it felt as he if was grieved by your whimper, but with a soft grunt he still turned to you and mounted his body atop of yours. The close contact of his chest on your chest sucked the breath from your lungs and you reached for his arms to stop him from crushing you, but he never did. He seemingly balanced his weight perfectly atop of you and slowly allowed his hand to rest on your hip.

“Please breathe. I do not wish to watch you suffocate wife.” He whispered as his fingers moved delicately across your clothed stomach. The reminder had you sucking deep in through your nose and exhaling staggered though your lips. His hand continued to dance lightly over your clothed torso, and you could not help but squeak as his hand moved towards your breast. You had never even kissed a man, let alone have one like this. He could not choke back his soft chuckle at your innocence, as he firmly pushed his palm down.

“Oh.” You whimpered in confusion. He pushed his hips down against yours and let out an almost relieved sigh at the contact. He began a slow movement of his hips as one hand groped you and the other clung to your hip. Your body felt alight with fire, and you could do nothing more but clutch at your husbands' arms in confusion. His teeth moved to your ear and your body arched against his at the feeling of them grazing your neck. Your brain seemed to stop and the overwhelming feelings that were all happening at once was almost too much to bare.

“Breathe.” He ordered in a soft murmur as his lips pressed on the skin between your jaw and ear. You wanted to tell him the truth in that very moment. You were trying to breathe, but you are worried you have forgotten how.

“Sorry.” Was all you could muster. His hand moved from your breast to trailing back down your body and began bunching the bottom of your nightdress up. You could feel the lace of it brushing up your legs leaving bumps to litter your skin at the soft caress. Your body froze in fear at what was about to happen. Once the dress was secured above your waist, you gasped at Aemond’s hand moving to clutch at your thigh. You were shocked at the feeling of someone else’s skin gripping yours.

“Have you prepared yourself?” He breathed out as he pushed his hips forward. It seemed to brush something that left you once again arching into him, only this time you were much more desperate to keep that contact.

“My ladies prepared me.” You stuttered out in confusion. Had he not already asked that to your ladies? His amused sigh made you think you had misunderstood his question.

“I sure hope they haven’t prepared you the way I ask about.” He grunted. Getting up on to his knees, you found yourself shivering at the loss of his body heat. Your arms dropped from his arms leaving you lying breath him, trying hard to steady your panting breaths.

“I have been bathed and pampered to.” His soft hum filled the room as you explained your answer, then he began moving his hand towards the inside of your thighs.

“My Prince!” You cried out, pushing away his fingers as they moved towards his destination. Your cheeks reddened with a deep crimson that only you could be aware of in this dark room.

“Do you want this to hurt? I promised I would help, and this is the only way.” He peeled your hands away and continued as if he had not been interrupted. Your irregular breaths began heavily, and you wondered if the whole castle could hear the noise.

“Prince…” You gasped as you felt his finger run up your most sacred area. He let out an almost disappointed sigh, and you were overtaken by the shame. Was there something wrong? Your fears were cut short as you felt him begin dancing the tips of his fingers down, then once again back up.

“You are not ready yet. But I shall prepare you.” His voiced was that of duty, with no shift of tone or colour. You had no choice but to lie in utter confusion at what was happening. No one had warned you about this part of consummating a marriage. The feeling of his fingers felt foreign, but you found your muscles almost relaxing under the touch.

“Aemond…” You sighed out his name without a though of his titles or nobility and this small gesture seemed to be enough for your husband to begin applying more pressure.

“Relax under my touch. This will help.” His voice whispered into the darkness. When he moved his finger up to begin circling your bud you almost flew from the bed. He seemed to expect such a reaction from you as he had already pushed his free hand into your stomach to keep you unmoving. You whimpered out his name again as he began to pick up speed and you found yourself trying to push away from his touch, even though you weren’t sure you wanted it to end. It felt as if a soft tremor was building inside your stomach, and you soon found your body clenching out of its relaxed state.

“Please don’t.” You don’t know what you were saying this but the fear at the feeling building inside you had you beginning to panic beneath his touch.

“Shhh, trust me.” He whispered your name above you before slowly moving his fingers to push inside you. The foreign feeling was too much, and you quickly gripped onto the second prince and screwed your eyes shut. His thumb remained circling your bud as his finger began stroking your inner walls leaving you crying out in shock. Your body tensed with each stroke of his fingers, and you soon began whimpering incoherently. You felt that pressure suddenly overcome you and it was no longer a soft tremor, but an overwhelming sensation that only kept building. It began the panic in your mind, and you clung tighter onto Aemond.

“Please…” You chocked out in desperation, pushing your hips forward into his palm. He began quickening his pace and you could not help but throw your head back and moan.

“You’re doing so well, good girl.” You don’t know what happened at his words, but your body arched, and you cried out as the waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you crying out and clutching Aemond’s shoulders. The pressure suddenly broke and you felt your voice disappear and instead seemed to scream out silently. Your body trembled and clenched throughout this feeling and Aemond did not halt his movements once. It was only when your body seemed to jolt from his touch that he slowed his movements pulled his fingers from you, leaving a slick trail to follow his touch.

“I’m… my prince, forgive me.” You were horrified by the way your body reacted at his touch.

“You did everything I had hoped you would.” He murmured before moving to unlace his pants. Your mind was too busy spinning to register the gesture, so you just stared dumbly as his hand slid underneath them. You watched in silent curiosity as his hand seemingly began moving and Aemond’s eyes furrowed in frustration.

“Could you… touch my arms or something?” He grunted as his hand seemed to quicken its movements. Your mouth was gaping like a fish as you cautiously nodded. With the gentlest touch you began tracing his arm upwards, blushing like madwoman. His movements did not halt once as you nervously ran your fingers up to his shoulders. You thought of his hand gripping your thigh, and how pleasing the firm grip he used was, so you nervously tightened your grip. It seemed to work because Aemond began adjusting himself out of his trousers. He allowed himself to fall forward to his original position of lying atop your body making your body still in anticipation of what was to come.

“Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” Margaret’s words were a reminder for you, so you turned your gaze to the window and tried to count how many stars you could see. You managed to get to twelve before he pushed himself into you and stole your gaze back greedily.

“Agh Aemond.” You were choked by the feeling as Aemond’s irregular breaths consumed your hearing.

‘I know, just…” He did not finish as he sunk deeper, and you cried out at the sharp pain inside you. It was not unbearable, but there was a great discomfort. You found yourself burying your head into his shoulder as he slowly began a slow movement with his hips leaving you gulping out a groan of pain.

“Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” One star. Two stars. Three stars. Your bottom lip trembled as the pleasure of your night seemed to finish and instead you were left trying not to squirm away in pain. Aemond’s silver strands kept moving to block your vision, so you finally turned back. Your nosed grazed his and you saw his eye widen in the darkness before his entire body stilled. He groaned deeply as he pressed his hips further into you and you could feel him twitching against you.

“It is done.” He breathed out. His movement was quick as he pulled out and moved to sit on the side of the bed. You were shocked by his quick movements and watched in a frazzled state as he quickly began relacing his pants. Following his lead, you pulled your dress back down and moved to rest against the headboard of your grand bed.

“I must attend the city watch now. I shall visit your chambers again tomorrow night until we…” You could tell a distant though had cut him off, but you knew what he meant. Until a child was conceived you would have to suffer him in your bed most nights.

“Did I…. Did I do something wrong?” You pulled the sheets to your chin in confusion at how desperate the man was to leave your company. He stood up and began pulling on his jacket that he must have taken off when he entered your rooms.

“You did everything perfectly. It is done now.” He moved towards the door, leaving you alone and disorientated by him. He turned back to look at you and you wondered what you must have looked like to him. Blushing and breathless, your hair a mess and your chest heaving, you assumed you looked a fool to the prince.

“Good night ābrazȳrys.” He mumbled. Your breath caught at his Valyrian, and you felt your brows furrow as the door quickly opened then closed swiftly. He was gone but you could hear a small commotion on the other side of the door.

“Aemond…”

“It is done mother; I have done my duty. Now leave me in peace.”

[vinomino]

Left OR Right : Right

You chose…Umemiya’s Route!

Featuring: Umemiya.H x f!reader

Contents: NSFW MDNI, explicit smut, slight angst, college au, soft!umemiya, confession, car sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fluff

WC: 1.8K

Back to the main screen? Click → here!

Who had been by your side all this time? 

In the corner of the library, the printer goes off, scratching ink onto a pristine white paper. It rips through the still air, furthering the destruction of your concentration, if there was any. You weren’t able to read a single line on the notes your friend lent to you. Not with the problem that keeps you up at night is next to you. Not with Umemiya next to you. 

“Do you feel alright?” His voice rattles your brain. 

“Oh– yeah, I’m just tired because it’s late.” You lie. 

“Let’s call it a day then.” He smiles at you, the same way he always does. As if nothing ever happened between the two of you, like that night never happened. 

Packing your materials back into your bag, you force yourself to not look at him. You got nothing done in the three hours you’ve been at this library. Umemiya walks by your side as you leave the building. You pass by the children’s section. The strings of your heart tugged at the sight of picturebooks lined on the shelves. Back then, you and him would frequent this section, reading through piles of books until you had to go home. You can feel his gaze on you. 

Stepping outside onto the sidewalk, the breeze hits your face. “I can go home alone.” You don’t look at him. “Ah, okay,” he cringes internally at the awkwardness. Umemiya hesitates. “We– they are throwing a beach meet-up, do you want to come? Tsubaki told me to ask you.” He half-expected you to make up an excuse. You lock eyes with his blues. “Sure, I’ll go. Text me the time and location.” Umemiya nods, “Then, get home safe.” He cuts himself off, he wanted to tell you to text him when you arrived back at your place, but he doesn’t want to intrude when you’re at war with yourself. “You too.” He watches you turn your back and walk away. Standing there until you’re so far away he can’t see you. 

Throwing yourself onto the bed, it shakes under your weight. Pulling the covers over yourself, you curl up into a fetal position. Closing your eyes, trying to escape from reality until your phone rings. Echoing around the silent apartment. Togame Jo is plastered in the middle of your screen. You know you can’t avoid him forever. 

“◻? Sorry, I know it’s late…” Togame starts. “I need to talk to you.” 

“I know, Togame…” You know what he wants to talk about, but you don’t have the words he wants to hear. “...I’m sorry.” 

“So it’s him huh? Wh–” he wants to ask why, why not him? “Alright, I get it. I get it.” The line falls eerily silent for a while. Neither of you dare to breathe. “I..” he falters. “I like you.” 

“I…I’m sorry.” 

“Guess that’s it huh?” He dryly chuckles.

“Goodnight, Togame.” You hang up, cutting the line you had with him. Leaving Togame behind. 

Shuffling against the sheets, you sit up. Pulling your knees to your chest you glance at the device discarded on the ground. The relationship you have with Togame is beyond repair now, but you didn’t want to lie and twist him. A ding. 

Tsubaki[8:01] Ume told me you also wanted to come! We’re meeting up at XX beach around 1 pm. Tomorrow! See you there!!! GN <33

You[8:01] See you there! Goodnight Tsubaki <3

Throwing your head back down onto the pillow, you clutch the blanket closer to you. Is this what you wanted? 

“◻…◻!” 

You snap your head up, “Y-yeah?” 

“Are you okay? You’re spacing out a lot.” Kotoha has worry etched all over her face. 

“Oh– I was just thinking about something. It’s nothing.” You smile at her. 

She nods, “Did something happen between you and Umemiya?” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“You’ve been staring at him.” 

“Ah,” you realize that you’ve been staring at him playing around in the water with the other guys. The brunette tilts her head. “It’s nothing.” She doesn’t believe you. “I’m okay now.” He’s the one you’ve been watching, the one you have always been watching. The shimmering gold rays of the sun thread through his hair. He looks so pretty you could cry. At this time, you know exactly what you want. The paralyzing feeling deep inside your guts sizzles away. You want to be with Umemiya. 

“Oh, you’re not heading home yet?” He notices you standing at the shore. “Everyone’s heading out, do you need a ride?” 

That thing people spend their lives yearning for, that thing people claim to not exist because they haven’t yet been graced by it. The path you’re going to take is one you’ll never regret. If you didn’t you’d spend your whole life mourning it. 

“Umemiya…” Your voice cracks. 

The corners of his lips curls upwards, “So, you made your choice?” Why does his face scream resignation? The cold waves slap against his ankles as he steps towards you. “I simply want you to be happy. Don’t worry about me.” 

Your heart is close to bursting inside your ribcage. “No, you idiot…” tugging on the hem of his drenched shirt, “I like you.” The inside of your skin is spinning around in a blender. Umemiya doesn’t say anything. Craning your neck up to see him, he has a hand hovered over his mouth. You can make out the tips of his ears turning a crude red. “You like me…?” 

“I want to be your girlfriend,” you pause. “What about you?” 

“I want to be your boyfriend.” He breaks out in a wide smile. Cupping your cheeks and squishing them, “I want to be yours.” He laughs. You place your hands over his as he peppers your face with kisses. His soft lips graze your cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead. You giggle, “U-Ume!” It is ticklish. You feel ticklish all over; from the top of your head to the soles of your feet. “Ume!” He loops his arms behind your thighs and lifts you, spinning you around. You cling onto him to not fall off. Laughing wildly with no care in the world. 

Leaning against his truck, he traps your body against it with his. His larger arms engulf you in his chest, you weakly grip the back of his shirt. The wet fabric seeps into yours– into your soul. You rest your chin against his middle, peering up at him. Umemiya places a hand on the back of your head. “I’m so glad you were born,” he strokes your hair. “So that I could get to know you. To love you. I love you.” His pearly blues crinkle away. 

“I love you too.” You confess. 

He kisses you, pressing his mouth against yours. Throwing your arms around him to pull him closer, you flutter your eyes shut. Soaking everything in, you want to be one with him. The kiss swiftly blossoms into dark need and deep desire. You climb into the backseat after him and straddle his lap. His cock hardens against your clothed pussy. Umemiya peels his damp shirt off and tosses it onto the passenger’s seat. You can feel his wet skin against yours, the water boils away from the heat of your bodies. Panting against each other’s faces, “I want you.” A second or two passes. “Me too.” 

Placing your hands on his broad shoulders to lift your hips, his tip slides against your slicked folds. Your panties are pushed to the side. “You love me?” He asks. You nod your head, “I love you.” A shaky breath, you don’t know if it was you or him. “Then put it in yourself.” Umemiya rasps out. Gulping, you slip a hand between your bodies, his grip on your hips twitches when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock. Lining him up to your crying hole, you begin to sink down. He stretches out your spongey walls, you bite down and he hisses.

You don’t even register his bruising grip on you because his dick was inside you. You are still, heaving, trying to adjust to his girth. Umemiya pushes your hips down, slamming the rest of him up into you. You squeal and throw your head back. “There– it’s all the way in. You did so well, baby.” You kneel over at his praise. “I– I want–” Squeezing your eyes shut as the fat tip of his cock rubs against your cervix. “What do you want?” His eyes bore into your face. “I want to call you ‘Hajime’.” 

Tears trickle down your cheeks at how vulnerable you feel in this moment. “You’re my girlfriend now. Call me whatever you want, sweetheart.” He chuckles, vibrating against you. Your tits shake as he snaps his hips up, thrusting into your cunt, “Haji–me!” Crying out from pleasure. You swear you can feel him in your throat. “Baby, she’s crying– dripping all over me.” A feral gleam behind his gentle facade. “She loves getting wrecked. Poor tight thing getting stretched out. Right, baby?” He chuckles. You drop down onto him, burying your face in his neck, you moan directly into his ear. The car was violently shaking, windows fogged up, and if anyone walked into the parking lot, they’d be able to tell what was happening. 

The position allowed you to hear him groan, right by the shell of your ear. Umemiya felt you tremble around him, “Sweetheart– you close?” He pants out. Sweat drips off his hair. “Y-Yes! Hah.” Umemiya feels himself near the edge as well, fighting to keep himself at shore. “Let’s cum together.” You stifle a whine into the crook of his neck. Gushing around his throbbing cock, you dig crescents into his shoulders. Using his hands, he rocks you back and forth, helping you ride out your orgasm. Feeling you tighten down on him, he curses. I love you, I love you, I love you. Umemiya chants out your name as he cums, shooting his spunk all up inside your pussy which happily drinks it all and milks him dry.

Basking in each other’s warmth, he runs his hand all over your back, soothing you. “I love you, Hajime.” You sniffle out, pushing yourself back to see his face. “I love you too,” he looks just as fucked- blissed out as you. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you press yourself up and rest your sweaty forehead against his. 

Hands intertwined, both of your friends stare at Umemiya and you. “Finally, you guys got together.” Hiragi sighs out, rubbing his stomach. “I agree,” Mizuki adds, pushing his glasses up. Momose nods his head and gives a thumbs-up. Tsubaki gushes about how cute you two looked. Kotoha smiles as she continues to brew coffee. With Umemiya by your side, you’ll be alright. You had each other and that’s all that matters. He lightly squeezes your hand, you glance up to your right, his teeth on display as he grins at you. 

[lovelybucky1]

Join Me (Darth Vader x Reader)

warnings: dark themes, gender neutral! reader, unburnt vader (still wears the suit), violence, weapons, mentions of death, corruption, manipulation, sexual tension, 18+ minors dni

masterlist

This is humiliating. A Jedi, a warrior of your status, should not be sprawled across the floor in front of your sworn enemy. The two stormtroopers that brought you to Darth Vader’s chamber stand above you, looking down at where you landed when they threw you. You’re not sure how Vader’s forces managed to capture you so quickly. You have a feeling your fate will be similar to those of the remaining Jedi that have attempted to face Lord Vader: a cruel and brutal death.

Nevertheless, you lay on your stomach, hands cuffed with force-blocking bonds behind your back, and your legs rest uselessly behind you. You strain your neck to keep your head up, not wanting to give your captors to see you in such a state of defeat.

The Dark Lord looms over you from this high-backed throne. The room is dark with a fully black interior, but somehow his suit stands out from the void that seemingly engulfs you.

“Leave us,” Vader commands the storm troopers, his modulated voice bone chilling in the otherwise silent room. The stormtroopers turn and walk out of the chamber, their boots clicking loudly on the smooth tile floor.

As soon as you heard the heavy doors shut, the reality of your situation set in. You’re alone without a weapon or the use of the force with the most brutal Sith lord in the galaxy. You were helpless, and the only thing you can do is pray Vader will be merciful and kill you quickly.

“Your thoughts are loud, Jedi,” he says, sitting motionless on his throne.

You stare back into the black voids of his helmet’s eyes. You know the mask must be to hide some hideous deformity, but even the slightest bit of expression in the dark lord’s face would bring you some comfort.

You refuse to speak to him, but it clearly doesn’t matter since he can hear your thoughts, despite you trying to keep your walls up.

“I can feel your fear.”

Your brows furrow as you continue to look up at him from your position on the ground. You don’t mean to make your fear so obvious, but you can’t help it. You’re at the mercy of a monster who has killed many of your fellow Jedi, wiped out planets, and has disrupted peace in the entire galaxy.

“But it is not just fear, is it, Jedi?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you spit without thinking, immediately regretting your choice of words.

“Hatred,” he says plainly.

This time you stay silent. You don’t feel hatred. Are you angry with Darth Vader for ruining the lives of you and your friends? Yes. Are you angry at the empire for oppressing beings across the galaxy? Of course. Do you resent this war and wish you could live a regular life? Sure, everyone does. Do you wish the Jedi order wasn’t so restrictive? Occasionally. But none of what you feel is hate.

“You’re wrong,” you hiss.

“You don’t hate me?” Vader has the audacity to ask.

“Hate is not the Jedi way,” you respond.

Silently, Vader rises from his throne and descends the stairs. His black boots echo throughout the chamber as Vader approaches you. The feeling of dread grows even colder in your stomach, and you begin to shake as he nears.

Vader stops an arm’s length in front of you, and from your position, all you can see is the top of his heavy boots and the thick material of his pants. Outside of your vision, Vader reaches for you. He bends to bury his gloved hand in your hair and tugs, pulling you up from the ground. You yelp at the grip on your hair, and you scramble to get your knees underneath you to take some of the tension off of your scalp.

Now you kneel before Darth Vader, and he has just proved that it requires little effort to move you. You look up at him with newfound anger that stems from the humiliation of being manhandled. Your eyes are glassy with tears, not from emotion, but as an involuntary response from the pulling of your hair.

“Cowardice is not the Jedi way, either,” Vader says.

His hand is still tight in your hair, though there is much less pain. You shake your head, trying to get him to let go, but his hold is unwavering.

“I’m not a coward,” you hiss. You wish you could access the force; you would throw this sick bastard across the room and- no, that’s not the Jedi way.

“Yet you tremble before me.”

You narrow your eyes as you look at him, feeling intimidated by the lack of emotion but you keep your gaze steady.

“I don’t hate, Vader.”

The dark helmet tilts to the side, just barely. That is the only sign of emotion, of life, that he has given this whole time.

“No?” he asks. “Even after everyone you hold dear perished at the hands of my army? Can your heart remain pure after suffering so much loss? Pain leads to anger, and anger leads to hate. I feel more pain in you than any of your fellow soldiers combined.”

You wish desperately that you were able to grasp the force to block Vader from your mind, but without it, every aspect of your mind is exposed to him.

“There’s no part of you that wants revenge? To kill me after you heard the symphony of your fellow younglings screaming? To destroy the empire for all of the pain it’s brought you?”

Fresh tears now stream down your face, this time from the painful memories Vader is forcing you to relive. You want to break free from these cuffs, you want to fight back, but you’re trapped. You do the only thing you can think to do to show your defiance, even as you weep on your knees. You tilt your chin up as much as you can and spit, landing it on the cheek of Vader’s helmet.

It feels as if time froze as soon as the wad of spit made contact. Vader stood completely still, not even breathing for unnaturally long, as you were forced to stay just as still as he was.

Slowly, Vader reaches up with his free hand and grasps the underside of his helmet. Your spit has run down the front of the mask and his gloves glisten as he pushes up the helmet. Vader slowly reveals the face underneath, and to your surprise, he is not hideous. In fact, he’s handsome.

Behind the emotionless helmet, Vader is a young man with chestnut hair, smooth skin save for a scar over his eye, and piercing bronze eyes. Your breath catches in your throat as you look at the Sith lord, suddenly feeling conflicting emotions as the face of evil was just humanized.

Vader drops his helmet on the tile floor next to you, and the loud bang echoes through the chamber, making you flinch.

“You’re surprised,” Vader says, now in a non-altered voice. His voice is smooth, completely unlike his deep, robotic voice you knew.

“This is not what I was expecting,” you say, voice sounding weak to your own ears.

“My appearance?” he asks.

“Your mercy.”

Vader raises his eyebrows. “You will not get mercy from me.”

“You haven’t killed me yet,” you respond.

You’re not sure why you’re speaking to him this way. He is the same man who killed millions, some of those your brothers in arms, and many more innocent lives. He is the same ruthless, evil monster as he was with the mask on, yet he seems much less intimidating like this.

“I have no use for a Jedi corpse. I want you alive.”

Your brows furrow as you look up at him, tears slowly stopping.

“Alive for what?”

“You have great power, little one,” he says, gaze intense.

Vader releases his grip on your hair, but remains close. The features of his suit feel out of place without the helmet. The control panel lead you to believe he was more machine than man, but from what you can see, Vader is just as human as you are.

“I was like you once,” Vader says, speaking again after your lack of response.

“We are nothing alike,” you bite.

“Ambitious, emotional, powerful… All things the Jedi order attempts to train out of their young, but a certain few, like you and I, knew better. You didn’t let them crush your spirit and turn you into a docile, supposed peacekeeper like the rest of them.”

Vader started off calm, but as he continued denouncing the Jedi teachings, his tone became more bitter and resentful.

“I have no complaints about my teachings,” you say, lifting your chin in defiance.

“You never had thoughts that your master told you were inappropriate? Things that felt perfectly natural, but somehow were wrong?” This time, Vader’s question is not rhetorical.

“I mean… I guess.”

“And weren’t you just a little bit angry that your feelings were dismissed so quickly without even an ounce of explanation as to why?”

“Because emotions and attachments aren’t the Jedi way.”

“But you were a child. No child can put aside their emotions for some ‘greater good’ that they have never seen nor could begin to understand.”

Vader pauses his sermon to crouch down, now meeting you at your eye level. His gaze is heavy, and you don’t want to show weakness by looking away, but you find it difficult to hold his eyes.

“I lived a life of pain, just as you have. I was born a slave, and only freed to be taken in by the Jedi, where my bonds were even tighter. I led thousands of men to their death in an unwinnable war, my mother was murdered by savage creatures, and my only love died as a result of the Jedi’s foolish restrictions.”

You swallow the thick lump in your throat so you can attempt to speak. Vader being vulnerable with you like this makes you feel uncomfortable, like you need to jump up and run as far as possible. He is a monster, not a grieving man. He’s not like you.

“You’re tired of hurting, aren’t you?” he asks.

You don’t want to respond, you don’t want to give him what he desires, but you can’t help yourself. The pain is suffocating and you desperately wish to escape it.

“Yes,” you confess breathily.

Vader looks at you for a moment. He doesn’t smile thankfully, because you would find that even more unnerving. No, he looks at you with pity like you’re a hurt animal.

“I can make your pain go away.” You perk up at that. You know he must be lying, the Sith are known for their silver tongues that tell you exactly what you want to hear, but the idea of a life free from suffering intrigues you. “I can help you access great power that will rid you of anguish.”

Vader shifts so he is kneeling in front of you, mirroring your position save for the cuffs holding your hands. He places his gloved hands on your shoulders and holds them tightly. You lean into the strong, warm touch, feeling conflicted as you regard his offer.

“I was like you once, little one. Broken, scared, forced into weakness by the Jedi. But then I was shown a new path; one of great power and purpose. Now I hurt no more.”

This all feels too good to be true. You want to believe what Vader says is true, that he can take away your pain and make you as powerful as you have always wanted to be, but your master’s voice rings in the back of your mind. Don’t give into temptation. The Sith lie, manipulate, and go to great lengths to corrupt the light. Evil is stronger than good, but great power leads you down a path of destruction.

“I will not hear these lies any longer, Vader,” you say, finally regaining your compassion.

Vader blinks for a moment, seemingly surprised at your change of tone.

“I tell nothing but the truth. I can save you.”

“I am loyal to the Jedi order.”

Vader sighs, jaw tensing, and he rises to his feet, again looming over you.

“I was being merciful as you requested, and gave you some semblance of a choice, but you will join me.”

“I would rather die than join you!” you yell.

Vader’s chin tilts just slightly. He uses the force to bring the remote that controls your cuffs to him, then unlocks them. You look up at him, confused and hesitant when your bonds fall away.

“You would die for your precious order?” he asks.

“Without question,” you say firmly as you rise to your feet, kicking the cuffs aside.

Vader reaches down to his hip and pushes his cape back, revealing two lightsabers. One is yours, and the other must be his. He tosses your lightsaber to you and you catch it with ease, immediately activating the blade and holding it between you and the Sith lord.

He activates his own lightsaber, the red blade illuminating his face and mixing with the blue of yours, casting a mix of purple light through the dark room.

“What are you waiting for, Jedi?” he asks.

Without further hesitations, you run towards Vader and swing your lightsaber at his torso, but he blocks it with ease. You take a few more swings, each from different angles, but they all are deflected. Surprisingly, Vader does not take any offensive maneuvers and only blocks each of your attacks. You move forward and slowly back Vader against the wall, almost cornering him, and you find yourself growing increasingly frustrated with his lack of engagement in the battle.

“Fight back, you coward!” you yell as you being your saber slashing down.

“Is that truly what you want?” Vader asks, pushing against your lightsaber with his.

“Unlike you,” you grunt, “I don’t take pleasure in an opponent who does not attempt to fight.”

There is a ghost of a smirk on Vader’s lips as he pushes you off of him with his saber. You stumble back, but quickly regain your footing and advance on him again. This time, however, Vader attacks. A whirlwind of red light swings around your head, and you instinctively block his attempted jab.

Vader’s fighting style is fast, acrobatic, and unlike anything you’ve faced in training or battle. His slices come quick, and combined with the distractions of his jumps and spins, it makes it difficult to battle him.

You swing your saber at his neck, but he ducks his head just in time to dodge getting his head cut off. While Vader is low to the ground, he sweeps his saber at your ankles, but you managed to jump, kicking him in the shoulder in the process.

He stumbles back and fails to catch himself. He sits on the ground, legs sprawled in front of him as you run towards him. He is surprisingly skilled at fight from the ground, but he doesn’t expect a kick to the hand instead of a stab with your saber. His lightsaber falls from his hand and clatters across the floor. Before he could get to it, you pick it up.

Now with two sabers and a defenseless Vader, you have the upper hand. He moves to stand, but you trap his head between crossed blades while he’s on his knees. You pause, staring down at the Sith lord as your chest heaves with exertion. Vader does not look afraid, nor angry. He looks pleased.

“You want to kill me,” Vader speaks, showing no signs of the battle that just occurred.

“I sure would like to,” you say between panting breaths.

“Then do it.” You’re shocked. You have the most feared man in the galaxy on his knees in a compromising position, and he’s telling you to kill him. “Kill me, Jedi. I feel your anger, your pain, your hatred. Succumb to your desires; kill me and free the galaxy.”

Your hand twitch. You want to kill Vader, but you cannot bring yourself to do it. You’re frozen in place, paralyzed by the morality that was ingrained into you as a child.

“Kill me!” Vader shouts.

You don’t notice that you’re crying until hot tears drip down amd absorb into the front of your robe. You hate that you’re showing such weakness in front of Vader, but you can’t help yourself.

“You’re weak,” Vader says as he rises to his feet, unfazed by the weapons at his neck. “You’re a coward. A pathetic excuse for a soldier.”

Vader wrenches both sabers out of your hands and throws yours across the room. He stalks towards you, lightsaber at his side while he insults you. You walk backwards as he comes closer, not wanting to let him near to kill you.

“You didn’t even have the strength to do what you knew needed to be done. You could have saved the galaxy, but you were too scared to take a life,” Vader seeths.

You take another step back, but instead of your foot landing on the tile, you trip on Vader’s discarded helmet, rolling your ankle and falling to the floor. You cry out in pain and attempt to get up, but you cannot find the strength as Vader steps closer.

His boot kicks his helmet out of the way with a loud bang what makes you whimper in fear. Your palms scrabble against the floor to slide back, making you look even more pathetic than you surely already do. To your horror, directly behind you is the chamber wall. You have no where to go, no weapon, barely any strength, and Vader has the high ground.

“Look at you, helpless little Jedi,” Vader muses. “Why don’t you call on the force to help you? Or is it not strong enough to beat me?”

Your blood feels ice cold in your veins as Vader stares down at you. You know you should attempt to fight, to die honorary, but you don’t want to suffer.

“Just kill me,” you choke out.

“I told you, I have no use for your corpse. You will join me.”

“I won’t,” you say, voice weak.

With an aggravated grunt, Vader throws his lightsaber across the room, then grips the collar of your robe with both hands to haul you to your feet. He presses your back against the wall and you flinch, preparing for him to hit you. Instead, he places both palms on either side of your head. For a moment, nothing happens. You are just about to aks him what he’s doing to you when you’re hit with a flood of euphoria.

A hot, almost burning sensation fills your body and warms the ice in your veins. Your limbs go limp and you would have collapsed to the floor if Vader wasn’t holding you. A small moan leaves your lips as you feel a sense of newfound strength in your body, something that you have never felt in all of your years training with the force.

“What-” you trail off, finding it difficult to construct a sentence in this state.

“Do you feel the power, little one?” Vader says, voice low since he is so close.

“Yes,” you gasp.

“All of this could be yours. You could feel this all the time. You will never hurt again.”

You want it. This pleasure, this fullness, this contentment you haven’t felt since you were young. In this moment, all reason escapes you as you bask in the warms that Vader is providing.

Then, in a flash, everything is cold once again. Vader lets go of you and you side down the wall in a crumple. You whimper as you try to move, but you’re weak and tired once again.

“Please,” you croak, looking up at Vader.

“That’s the power of the dark side. Too bad you’re too devoted to your code to reach your full potential,” Vader says before turning on his toe, cape swishing through the air as he walks away from you.

You can’t let him leave. You had a taste of what you’ve always wanted and you can’t deny it any longer. You want to be powerful, free, and maybe for the first time in a long time, happy.

“Wait!” Vader pauses mid-step but does not turn to face you. “I… I want it.”

Anxiety builds inside you as Vader remains motionless. Just as you’re about to plead with him, he turns around.

“What do you want?”

“Power,” you whisper like it’s a shameful secret.

Vader begins to walk towards you, the same stalking action, yet you feel less scared this time.

“Will you abandon your affilation with the Jedi?” he asks.

You hesitate to answer. You know it’s wrong, you took a vow, but you had spent your life doing selfless acts. Maybe it’s time to be selfish for once.

“Yes.”

Vader grins. It’s not a kind smile, far from it. It’s sharp, predatory, and makes your skin crawl.

“You shall be my apprentice,” Vader says, extending a hand to help you from the ground. When you reach your feet, Vader holds you close by your waist. It’s almost intimate, the distance between your faces, but you feel as if it’s more of a display of dominance than anything. “I will train you to use the dark side, and I’ll help you break all of those habits the Jedi ingrained in you.”

“I want to feel it again,” you confess.

“And you will, little one, in due time. I can only give you so much; it is your duty to harness it yourself.”

You sigh and nod your head. “I understand… master.”

It feels foreign in your mouth, to call someone else, a Sith lord, master, but the word makes Vader grin again.

“The dark side will give you great strength. It may be frightening at first, to unlock your full potential, but I guarantee you will become just as powerful as I. Together, we will rule the galaxy.”

Your heart skips at that. Thinking that the entire galaxy would be yours to do what you please with, the power that would come with that. It was every shameful dream come true.

“I vow to follow you, Master Vader. I want to learn to be as powerful as you.”

Vader’s grip on your waist tightens and he tugs you just a bit closer. Your chest is pressed against the hard, cold metal of the panel on his chest, and you feel so small in his embrace.

“Why don’t we start with our first lesson,” Vader suggests.

“What is it?” you ask curiously, eager to get even a taste of that heat once again.

“I want you to learn to indulge in all of those desires you have spent your life denying,” he says, voice low and gravely. You furrow your brows, confused. “I sense your lust, little one. I do not think it shameful; Sith must access their passion.”

You nod in understanding, but remain still, uncertain what to do.

“Allow me to show you,” Vader says.

His hands press your body against his and he leans his head down. His eyes are closed and his lips move to cover yours. You whimper in surprise, but you allow yourself to stay pliant. He kisses you, gently at first, but it quickly turns heated. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips and you part them to allow him access. He devours you, kissing you like he’s claiming you as his own and in a way, he is.

You two finally part after what feels like an eternity. You’re breathless, but Vader seams unfazed, except for his eyes, which are more black than amber now. His lips shine with spit, and you’re certain yours look the same.

“I sense great potential in you, my apprentice,” Vader says with a sharp grin.

In the back of your mind, you’re ashamed that you succumbed to the dark, allowed yourself to be corrupted. But at the same time, Lord Vader can show you things you weren’t even permitted to dream of with the Jedi.

“Thank you, Master. I will not disappoint you.”

And with that, your fate was sealed. A former Jedi turned apprentice to the face of evil in the galaxy.

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[lola-writes]

One-Eye & the Dreamer

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x O.C Aylana Velaryon

Word Count: 2,9k

Themes & Warnings: slow burn, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, violence, blood, targcest, sexual themes, tension, drama, angst, fix-it of sorts, eventual smut, sexual inexperience, forbidden love, high valyrian, dance of dragons, POV first person

Summary: Aylana Velaryon foresees Aemond Targaryen's fate and assigns herself to alter it.

Written from Aemond and Aylana's POV.

Chapter 1 (Prologue)

Chapter 2 (Aemond)

Chapter 3 (Aylana)

Chapter 4 (Aylana)

- AYLANA –

I want a trouble-maker for a lover; blood spiller, blood drinker, a heart of flame, who quarrels with the sky and fights with fate, who burns like fire on the rushing sea.

The celebration was a suffocating spectacle. Meaningless chatter swirled around me like dust motes in a sunbeam, while servants drifted through the masses with food and drink, but the tension never abated. It sat there, uninterrupted. Like an echo before the words were even spoken. 

Parched, I plucked a goblet from a passerby tray and secluded myself in the shade, twisting uncomfortably in my gown.

In that same moment, I watched the Queen return to the godswood. The masses parted from her course like waves before a storm. She strolled right up to her first-born who was nigh-on asleep in his chair at this point. A curt exchange, a forceful tug on his arm, and the heir to the throne stumbled out of the gardens, escorted by two King’s Guard. 

“She looks unhappy, do you not think?” Jace had materialized beside me, plopping a grape into his mouth. 

“Who?” I stifled, feeling as if though the heat had thickened my mind to mush, because I swore there was two of him. 

“Helaena,” he said blatantly. 

My eyes found the poor girl at the edge of the garden, a flurry of nervous energy. Her hands danced in a silent, rapid rhythm, a desperate attempt to soothe the storm within.

“Well, I would be too if I were engaged to my brother. Or even worse, to Aegon,” I laughed, nudging his shoulder, to which Jace rolled his eyes. 

“It’s not funny,” he parried, “She looks positively miserable. We should do something.” 

I raised a brow and turned to my brother, smiling slyly in equal disbelief and mockery, “What are we to do, dear brother? Kidnap her? Take her with us to Dragonstone? Do be serious.” 

Jace shot me a look and shook his head in realization. 

“Besides,” I proceeded, “I don’t believe happiness would touch any of the Greens with a five-foot stick.”

Jace scoffed and fixed me with a disapproving glare. He really did have a heart of gold and I chastised myself for being so insensitive. There was no disputing that the Greens were not as we had left them. A deep sadness settled around them like a poisonous mist, though Helaena appeared to bear the brunt of its affliction.

Alicent grabbed hold of Aemond next, her fingers digging into his leather sleeves, her air vibrating with repressed worry. Aemond listened intently, a flicker of defiance warring with a deeper concern in his face, though he spoke to her softly, listening attentively to her wishes, but by the look of it, he was being castigated. He caught my gaze then, a spark of surprise before a steely resolve settled in his stare. My own breath hitched in my throat as our eyes locked for a heartbeat, a silent exchange that crackled with something unspoken. 

I looked away.

“Is everything well, sister?” Jace peered at me with eyes the color of a huntsman’s hound, rimmed with the most genteel glint. 

“Naturally,” I forced a smile, pulling on my skirts. There was no denying the heat. The thick, moist air covered the city like a woolen blanket. 

No breeze. No respite. Just the broiling sun.

“They’ve been gone a long time,” Luke appeared at his brother’s side with an ominous plea, wiping his upper lip. 

I looked at him quizzically.

“Mother and Daemon,” he clarified.

Though, they had been absent all but ten minutes, my youngest brother had grown timorous beneath the scrutiny of the Greens.

“I’m sure they’ll be along,” I reassured him, though my voice must have lacked conviction.

“We shall go find them,” said Jace with great solicitude.

With the jolted realization that I’d be left all alone, I grabbed Jacaerys by the arm. “Do not,” I blurted out, a bit too loudly than I had intended.

“We won’t be long, sister,” Jace consoled. 

“Our presence is of greater service than our absence.” My heart hammered strangely against my ribs as they turned to leave.

“Which is why you will remain here.” 

Before I could protest further, Jace and Luke melted into the throng, leaving me nonplussed and perturbed, a chill whispering across my skin in the heat.

A longing gnawed at me as I gazed across the glittering waters below the city, out of which our volcanic island sprung a mere thirty-minute flight away. I shamed myself for faltering so easily. A one-eyed eunuch with a grudge and a court full of Greens shouldn’t be enough to dismay me. 

Faint laughter followed by sounds of plunges and splashes could be heard down below. Women swam naked in the river, right beneath the castle. I grew acutely aware of the sweat leaking out of me in hot pulses, the heat clinging to me like a second skin, and the new dress that Mother had made me wear was not exactly helping my affliction. 

What I would give to be low born for a day.

A low voice, rich with an accent that hinted at sun-baked sands, startled me out of my musings, “With beauty like that you’ll leave cities in ruin.” His accent exposed what his complexion would otherwise suggest. But my train of thought was cut short when I met his heavy gaze.

Dark eyes, rimmed by thick black lashes, his skin olive and his hair gleamed like onyx in the summer sun. He donned a golden robe of samite, fitted tight around his waist by a jeweled belt, adorned by the sigil of Sunspear. A sharp rush of reservation ran down my spine. 

“A Dornishman in the capital is a rare sight,” I remarked, disregarding the honeyed words that coated his flattery. 

“Indeed.” Something amused and dangerous played in his eyes as he wafted a hand by his face. “We don’t like the smell,” he grinned, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

A wry smile tugged at my lips. I could hardly disagree with him about that. 

The stifling heat might have been unbearable, though the city’s stench was masked somewhat by the prince’s cologne – a curious mix of citrus and spice, like a desert oasis after a long journey.

“Prince Marius Martell,” he rumbled, his voice as rich and warm as Dornish sand. He pressed soft lips to my knuckles, dark eyes never leaving mine, “At your service.”

The son of Qoren Martell of Dorne - a traitor to the Crown, some say.

Their people were said to be descendants of the Rhoynar. 

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. 

And rightfully so, because they had never been conquered, and bent the knee to no king. Not even Aegon the Conqueror who united all of Westeros could bring Dorne to heel. Their independence had always sparked a thrill in me, though their reputation at court was as one might expect.

“I’ve been told that to trust a Martell is to be disappointed.”

He laughed. It was such a big, hearty, exuberant laugh, it came as a surprise. He tilted his head to the side. “Princess Aylana,” he chuckled, his timber disarming. “You Targaryens take yourselves far too seriously.”

My name on his lips caught me off guard.

“Your father joined forces with the Triarchy against Prince Daemon for control of the Stepstones some years ago, did he not?”

Prince Marius gazed out over the open water with a devilish smirk still plastered on his lips. “Dorne and the Crown has rarely seen eye to eye, it’s true”, he said. “But surely we have the right to our own waters. Do you not agree?” His mouth expressed its words in a stretching and sort of rolling manner, providing them with surprising weight, entrancing me like a siren’s call. “Besides,” he continued, and clicked his teeth together. “That was some years ago, was it not?” he smirked, echoing my words for a playful comeback. 

It was impossible not to be charmed by him, with his Dornish drawl and inquiring eyes. It felt like I knew everything about him, yet not a single thing at the same time. 

He spoke of his homeland with a passion that ignited a fire in my chest, reciting the histories, legends, and customs of his people, and I came to realize he was from another world entirely. A world painted in vibrant hues, vastly different from the courtly intrigues that choked King’s Landing. A world where bastards were not despised and daughters had as much of a claim as sons. 

It was riveting. 

A prickle of unease danced on my skin. My gaze flickered to Aemond as if I’d felt him watching me. His eye was burning me. His fingers trailing the hilt of his dagger like strings on a fiddle, playing the tune of its blade across my neck. My hand travelled instinctively to the blooming crimson. 

“You’ve been hurt.” Prince Marius’ words snapped me back to attention. I whirled away, the movement a touch too swift, a touch too desperate. 

“Dragons can be unpredictable creatures,” I offered tersely, an attempt of a smile on my lips. My mother’s words echoed in my head, a cruel reminder,

Know that you’re a terrible liar.

But it wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.

“That may be,” he drawled. “Though, unlikely to wield a blade.” He watched me with an inquisitive gaze, his perceptiveness sending a tremor through me.

“My sword is yours to command if you reveal the culprit.” Prince Marius drawl dipped a notch lower, duress coating his voice, as if he had not heard my explanation, or simply ignored it as a response of a silly girl.

For the briefest second, I genuinely believed he was a mind reader and I fought so hard not to let my eyes travel back to the source of my injury. Prince Marius’ sudden resolve tickled opposite emotions out of me, and I laughed. 

But the prince of Dorne did not jest. He stood there, unmoving, waiting on his command like a sellsword.

My laugh fell short. “That will not be necessary,” I assured him. Though, I had to admit that his sudden determination to root out my enemies without the slightest hesitation brought me satisfaction and comfort. 

Perhaps a Martell could be trusted, after all. 

I watched his mien soften to my reassurance. 

“How long do you plan to remain in King’s Landing?” I asked, attempting to sway the conversation in a different direction.

“Until the tourney, princess,” he replied. He was to join the tournament list? “Though everything after depends.” 

“On what?”

His gaze locked with mine for a beat too long as a secretive smile spread across his lips. “On you.” The words dripped from his lips like honeyed wine. 

My cheeks flushed and nerves played beneath my skin.

On me?

He bowed deeply and kissed my knuckles valedictory, before disappearing through the press of bodies.

The boldness of Prince Marius, it seemed, had thrown open the gates for every lord of a noble house to present themselves to me. Lannisters, with their gilded smiles and promises of influence. Tyrells, draped in silks, whispering of wealth. Baratheons, booming with hearty laughter and boasts of strength. Tullys, with an air of cautious calculation, and even a Greyjoy, his presence a salty reminder of the unforgiving sea. Taking their turn one after the other. It was overwhelming. Each echoing their house words in the stale air like hollow promises. Each offered a variation on the same theme: a plea for favor at the upcoming tourney, and requests to spare a dance at the wedding feast in two days’ time. The sheer volume of it all threatened to drown me.

“Cregan Stark of Winterfell.” A young lord, no older than myself, bowed deeply before me in black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather, making him appear curiously feral amongst courtiers in delicate fabrics.

His forehead glistened with beads of sweat, and though his face remained stoic, a flicker of discomfort danced in his blue eyes.

“You’re far away from home, Lord Stark,” I said, offering him a gentle smile. “How are you faring in King’s Landing?”

A slow smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Implausibly hot, princess,” he rumbled, his northern accent wafting me like a welcomed breeze.

“On that we agree.”

He was beautiful in a stark kind of way. In the way snow glaze mountains, and the way ice reflect the first rays of dawn.

“Please accept this gift as an apology for the namedays I’ve missed, and as a token of my fealty to you, and to your family.” Ser Cregan’s hulking bannerman lumbered forward, the leather leash creaking in his grip as he unveiled a magnificent white wolfhound. “I’ve heard how much you adore the creatures.”

A gasp escaped my lips before I could contain it, as I observed the majestic beast at my feet.

“May she offer you comfort and protection,” he continued, adding weight to the word, and if it wasn’t for the bliss I was currently basking in, I would’ve grown coy. 

I could only imagine the state of myself from his view – a scarred face and a slashed neck. 

Must’ve been a sight.

“This is a most generous gift, my Lord,” I managed, my voice thick with a sudden rush of emotion. I dropped to my haunches and allowed the hound to sniff me. Her fur, the color of a winter blizzard, was matted and dusty from travel, a stark contrast to the pristine white of her glacier eyes. Her chest heaved with exertion, a giant pink tongue lolling out of her mouth. She was clearly parched. How long had she been out here?

“See to it she has water and a bath,” I commanded a nearby maidservant, and watched as the girl scurried into the castle with the panting hound. 

“I shall be watching your prowess at the tourney on the morrow, my Lord,” I declared with a smile. 

Lord Cregan dipped his head. “Thank you, princess, but I am not on the list. I will join merely as a spectator.”

“Very well,” I said. “I shall save you a dance at the feast.”

“I don’t dance, princess,” he rumbled, a hint of apology battling with his natural stoicism. “But if you find yourself in need of… meaningful conversation,” he offered, “I am at your service.” A ghost of a smile lingered on his lips for a moment before he bowed once more, and took his leave with his bannermen in heel, leaving me feeling oddly dissatisfied.

As the throng thinned and the servants descended upon the revelry’s remnants, I found myself beneath the white oak tree. Its bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved into its trunk, and its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines wrestled beneath the soil. Birds sang their melodies from hidden nests and brought a sereness to my overwhelmed mind, but the thumps of a cane against stone made my skin crawl.

“We have missed you, princess. I dare say, none has sparked the court alight quite like you these past years. Not even your mother when she was your age,” Lord Larys Strong drawled.

A tight smile played on my lips, a flimsy shield against the disdain bubbling within me. “You flatter me, my Lord.” The image of feet flashed before my eyes, and I had to do everything in my power not to gag.

“I must offer my condolences on the passing of Ser Harwin,” he said, his voice laced with venom, “You were so very close growing up. Even as a babe you were special to him. The gods are cruel.”

My jaw tightened. “He was your brother, Lord Larys. I believe it is I who should offer my condolences,” I said, avoiding his eyes.

Larys lifted a shoulder and stacked his hands atop the head of his cane, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm. “Grief, princess, is a tapestry woven with many threads. One person’s sorrow does not diminish the anguish of another.”

I met his gaze, a challenge flickering in my eyes. “Is it such grief, after all?” my voice was barely above a whisper, “You took his place as the new Lord of Harrenhal.” 

My statement hung heavy in the air. 

Larys looked at me as if I’d hit him over the head with my goblet. But I knew he was full of shit. 

“Sharp as a winter wind, as always, princess,” he said, almost in a state of admiration, as a grin tugged at his lips. 

The nausea I felt rising in my throat had nothing to do with the wine. Rolling my eyes, I gazed up into the crown of the heart tree, its face looking like it wailed in agony.

“They say the children of the forest carved the faces in the weirwoods during the dawn, centuries before the coming of the First Men across the Narrow Sea.”

Trying to dissociate from Lord Larys’ strenuous tale, I caught Aemond’s lingering gaze over my shoulder, and I couldn’t help but notice that he had not touched a scrap of food, nor drunk a drop of wine since our earlier encounter. 

A spark of triumph ignited in my chest – I had rattled him. 

But whether this unexpected advantage would prove to be a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.

More chapters

[rendomski]

The Domino Effect

Summary: Shaak Ti was often tempted to save some clone kids. AU, where she finally goes for it. And the ties of siblinghood run strong among the clones.

An impromptu ficlet, ~1000 words. Enjoy 🙂.

Force acts in mysterious ways, thinks Shaak Ti when she walks by the cadet barracks late in their night cycle and overhears the argument. Apparently, someone who doesn’t want to be called Hevy decided to go AWOL, and 99 is trying to persuade him otherwise.

Supervising kids that are raised with a sole purpose—to fight and die for the Republic—is a morally challenging task. Shaak has been tempted multiple times just to take on board as many kids as she can and whisk them far from this madness. Something tips the scales, finally, as she steps into the vast barracks and speaks, “So, you want to get away, cadet?”

They both freeze in shock.

“No, General, sir. Hevy wasn’t going to—” 99 begins, but not-Hevy interrupts him, staring with a desperate defiance.

“Yes, sir. I was planning to go AWOL.”

Shaak stares him back, but the kid, almost a grown-up—or what goes as grown-up nowadays, the cadets are shipped away even at a younger age than at the beginning of the war—does not budge.

“Alright,” says Shaak. “Is this your stuff? Take it and let’s go to my ship.”

“Sir?”

“You want to go AWOL? I can take you off-world on my ship. No one would dare search for you there.”

Not-Hevy grabs the bag with whatever he can claim as his own, but then hesitates.

“Sir, with your permission. My brother, CT-4040. Trainer Bric has it against him. He would do anything so that CT-4040 doesn’t pass his final test.” His eyes go wider as it dawns upon him how implausible the chance Shaak is offering him and how close he might be to failure by asking even more of her. He finishes nonetheless. “May I… may you take him away, too?”

Shaak’s confidence that she is doing the right thing blooms.

“Yes. You may take your brother with you.”

***

“Sir?”

“Yes, CT-4040?”

“Cutup, sir. My name is Cutup,” he glances at CT-782, who is stubbornly not Hevy. “Since tonight. So… Droidbait. CT-782, we’re not leaving him behind, like we did during the simulation, do we?”

Leaving behind during the simulation, this sounds very familiar. “Cadets, what squad are you from?” Shaak asks and nods upon the name, knowing already what comes. “I understand. Go for your brother, and bring Fives and CT-1409 along, too.”

***

“99, I am not leaving without you. We all owe you.”

The aged clone shakes his head, “No, Hevy. You go with the General. As for me, there are a few other troubled brothers that need my support here.”

Of course, five pairs of near-identical eyes stare at Shaak hopefully at the words. “General? You have some more space on your ship, don’t you, sir?”

She sighs. “Just be quiet. It is getting serious, so from now on, let's make it a stealth mission.”

“You've heard the General. It is a stealth mission.”

Exasperated groans, “We're standing right here, Echo,” follow.

***

“Sir?” Fives tugs at her sleeve with suspicious shyness. “It may sound crazy, but… Well, there is a girl here.”

“Oh, not again!”

“Don’t listen to him, General. He is making it all up. He has never met a girl in his life.”

“Well, I did! I keep telling you, and you idiots, refuse to believe me!” Fives snaps. “Sir, there is a girl here, working in the hospital. I met her. I talked to her.”

***

There is a girl, indeed. Experimental Medical Researcher 003, EMR-003 for short, whom Shaak has never met and never seen in any official documents. Moreso, she has never even heard of the Jango female clone program. And this gets extremely suspicious now. Her hunting instincts and the Force both sing to her that she is on the trail of something bigger.

“I am not the only one here, sir. There is one more girl, at least. She is different, but she is also one of us. I can get her out of the lab, I know the way.”

***

Another girl is different, for sure. Shaak can't grasp what is different about this kid—a five-year-old cadet at the most. Not the blond hair, there is a number of blond cadets around. There is something else, something elusive.

“Oh, you want to take us all off-world?” Omega, not EMR-something, notes Shaak, looks at the gang of clones with contagious joy and amazement. Cutup winks at her, and she waves back at him enthusiastically. “We must take my brothers with us!”

“We are all your brothers,” says no-longer-CT-1409-but-still-rather-reluctant Echo serenely.

“I know! But those are… They are my little brothers! And,” she saddens, her childish voice dropping almost to a whisper. “There are only four of them left.”

Shaak sighs. Alright, four more little kids, not a big difference.

***

…they happen to be not quite little kids, and it is finally clear what is different about Omega. The list of questions and problems grows ever longer. Shaak has hunted down and bitten more than she can chew.

She needs to take someone into the partnership in crime—Plo, most likely. And Obi Wan, who found Kamino in the first place, may have some valuable insights…

But first things first. Her navicomputer is still calculating the hyperspace route when a fight erupts in the back of the ship. And Fives is proudly showing EMR-003 around the ship, despite being here for the first time himself. Half of his explanations are totally wrong. Lanky, bespectacled cadet who has confidently strapped himself in the copilot seat and already asked Shaak three questions in a row, turns around and begins to correct him. Someone is asking loudly over the clamour whether her Jedi ship is equipped with guns.

Only 99 gazes silently into the starry void, mesmerised. Looking in his wizened face, Shaak Ti realises that this is his first time in space, despite his long and respectable age of thirteen.

[bonefanatic]

a/n: once again up in my feels and coping with a deity turtle: peepaw edition. warnings for violent themes and other such yandere things. flirty god x war experienced reader. song doesn't fit for this one either but whtv anymore.

Gaze of The Deceitful Divine

(Don't Fear) The Reaper

⇆ㅤ ||◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷||ㅤ ↻

Your body aches. Blood coats your armor and the floor beneath you.

Not yours.

Your head is bowed, hands folded and eyes shut tight. The only sound is your own breathing and the cracking of the altar's candles.

Then there is cacophony of stomping and shouts and the beating of hooves on the ground. You bring your head down further, pressing it into the cool marble floor beneath you.

The sanctuary doors fly open and you can hear the clinking of metal armor and the echoes of orders being barked.

You remain in your position.

Your ungloved hands meet the familiar hilt of your blade. The grooves of where your fingers used to grasp it so desperately. You don't grab the blade, leaving it to rest before your god's likeness.

You blink your eyes open as the footsteps grow closer, looking up to the statue of your grace.

A massive marble structure of an impossibly beautiful mutant. His head is tilted downwards, looking down his snout with a smirk. His eyes are striking even after all these years the statue has endured.

The red is a familiar shade.

You squeeze your eye shut and bow your head again. The doors to the room slam open and your head the approaching footsteps.

A rope is lowered and then tightened around your neck. The man behinds you presses his knee against your spine and hisses in your ear.

"I didn't think it'd be this easy, you know."

You keep your eyes shut and don't respond to him. He growls, tugging the rope tighter. Your head begins to swim and then everything is black.

-

The surface beneath you shifts in a steady motion, you hear the sound of hood falls and huffing. Your fingers curl into the creatures mane as you begin to come to. You slowly begin to regain use your limbs and senses.

Then something touches your waist. Your very much unarmored waist.

You blink your eyes open quickly, eyeing the three fingered hands. The thumb is curled into the loops of the sash on your waist.

You furrow your brows.

It has been years since you'd worn robes, especially nice, silken ones like these.

You try to turn, but something stops you. That something then breathes a breath of hot air onto your neck and nuzzles close to your ears.

"Eyes forward, beauty."

The voice is gruff but with an almost playful edge to it.

You're then made suddenly aware of the force digging into your back and how it isn't your own plates of armor. Your body stiffens on instinct.

The hand on your waist then shifts between your shoulder blades.

"Uh uh. None of that. Relax, sweetheart."

You look down, opting to observe your surroundings. You're sat stop a large horse, the same color of char. It trudges dutifully through the shallow waters that surround you. Colorful fish dance around the legs of the steed.

The being behind you switches their hand to your shoulder.

"You're still rather tense, darling. Just relax."

The voice is almost hypnotic and part of you wants to comply. The other part of you is smarter than that. You jerk your body away from him. The movement doesn't seem to bother the horse.

"Stop that."

The hand wraps around your throat but doesn't squeeze. It still hurts though, there must be a bruise there.

"Perhaps you need a long nap, dearest, you still haven't slept off all that...resistance."

There's a slight pressure against your head that almost feels vaguely like a kiss, then the world fades to black once more.

[qvnthesia]

Another You (1)

an anakin skywalker/jedi consular!reader fic set during the clone wars

the pitch: best friends with anakin since he had joined the jedi order, you hadn’t expected to catch feelings for him, not that hard, at least. his intentions were clear — his heart already enraptured by the nubian senator, leaving you to ruminate about the prospect of letting go of not just him, but maybe everything. until another anakin shows up, and your — your universe’s anakin starts behaving strangely.

A/N: this is a gift for my padawan, @kaizsche! happy birthday, kai! i hope you enjoy this fic! i return from an unexpectedly long hiatus with a three-part fic and i hope that all my other readers enjoy this short-fic too! a note to all readers — there’s no y/n here, the reader’s nickname for the fic is sky. that’s all from my end! happy reading!

part one — and you are?

word count: 3, 380

part one (here) | two | ....

As a Consular, you were trained to study the deepest abyss of the Living and the shrouded myths of the Cosmic. Albeit well-trained with a lightsaber, being a Jedi meant forsaking weapons for words. Diplomacy over bloodshed. Knowledge, insights, and lessons instead of learning the different ways of besting war-mongering droids and bureaucrats.

You look back at the looming hallways of the Temple, letting out a sigh as you turn around to watch the warships meander above the setting skies through the windows. The sun used to shine brighter, you think, but perhaps it’s the shadows that don’t let the light reach the galaxy anymore.

A Nubian ship soars between where the indigo darkens the pale orange in the sky and another wave of longing and sorrow digs deeper into your heart.

It had been almost a standard week since the Five Hundred and First Legion had arrived for their monthly rotation to protect Coruscant.

“Let’s hope we make it a week and not get called back to bust some Seppies since the 501st seems to be the only competent one to get some wins.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that had tugged at your lips.

“Don’t let Obi-Wan hear you say that.”

A deep rumble of laughter had echoed through Anakin’s chest and he’d pulled you into his embrace. It hadn’t taken a Force-sensitive to sense the happiness spread through your body, or that the same happiness had made him glow in the sea of shadows drowning the Force. He smelled just like he always did — fuel, probably the one from Malastare, since the scent always tingled your skin, and kyber, his bond with the second crystal coursing through his year-old arm. The spark of the Force, you called it, the crystal accepting the machine as a part of him.

But there was something more. You stiffened, the soft, sweet scent making you sneeze, making you draw back and—

“Since when in the name of Maker did you start wearing nlorna fruit-scented perfume?”

His cheekbones immediately stained red, shock dripping from every inch of his face until the charm and delight took over for the damage control.

“Some reporter tried to get up too close while I was on my way to the Temple.”

You laughed it off, knowing very well the Chancellor had banned journalists to enter the Temple after an incident involving three women, two men, and a food fight in the barracks had ended with Commander Cody coming off with a sprained neck and handing nearly half of the 212th two days’ worth of time of cleaning the trooper barracks on Coruscant. There were admirers of General Kenobi and on the other hand, well, admirers even Kenobi couldn’t negotiate with.

Obviously, it wouldn’t take an idiot to know. Anakin had always confided everything to you. He’d considered you as the best of his friends — the point which had exactly been the problem for the past two years. But you knew he was keeping something. You knew it, and the realization of it had cracked through whatever strength you always mustered whenever he smiled at you with those blue eyes — always so tired. Ones that had come to no one else to you for caf, for stories about your mind-blowing inventions, always teasing you about the time you had created such a fluffy pillow for Master Yoda’s backaches that it had taken him the collective efforts of the Council to wake him up from his slumber. You had never known what had happened in Master Yoda’s chambers, but the Council had learned not to disturb the centuries-old master from his sleep ever since then.

Anakin would continue on and on, narrating the tales of his adventures across the galaxy, while you kept on wondering when he’d slip like he usually did and confirm your worst fears.

But you never got the chance. The war grew on, spreading its tentacles to the corners of the Outer Rim to the point where the once full hallways of the Temple had never been so desolate, so hollow and abandoned. Every attempt of studying the Force your meditation had ended up just easing the mighty power as it writhed under the screams of terror, of the losses of life and the constant blasts and booms of missiles and bombs.

Just when you wished for some peace in the Temple, word had spread of spies in the Senate. You had joined Anakin and Obi-Wan to watch another one of the Senate’s heated sessions. The Chancellor’s bony fingers extended across the air, his steel voice commanding Senator Orn Free-Taa to shut down his baseless arguing against Senator Organa. But the senator from Ryloth simply refused to back down, until another pod smoothly drifted to join the three, the air ringing with the determination and tranquility brought forth by none other than Padmé Amidala.

The bond between you and Anakin flared up, something so bright and looming, such beauty and danger filling your soul till it vanished with a spark. You looked at Anakin, who had been clapping with the surrounding senators, his radiant smile only and only for no one but the occupant of the Nubian pod.

For so long, you had wondered who it was he’d found, had been so desperate for an opportunity to see, maybe echo some made-up protest or remark that’d dull his interest and make him come back to you no matter how selfish it sounded. But it was hard for you to ignore the goodness in Padmé’s heart, her resilience easing the Force in a way you never could, no matter how much time you spent studying it, meditating to repair its cracks and tear apart the veins of darkness shrouding its light.

Anakin Skywalker had fallen in love, and it wasn’t you. It was someone else and you… you were simply too late.

You let out a sigh, watching the Nubian ship disappear between the tall skyscrapers of the ecumenopolis. The scrolls on your table rustle for your attention, and you heavy-heartedly oblige, going back to once again analyze another countermeasure against the Separatists, who were now rumored to have created some sort of machine that could decimate entire civilizations — a planet-killer, the informant had said, before being poisoned to death.

You set down the scrolls with a heavy thump. Ever since Padmé, Anakin hardly ever came to visit. Ever since this stupid rumor of the Separatists’ planet-killer, the governing body of the entire galaxy looked up to you for solutions, for answers. They had offered you a chunk of kyber crystal retrieved from Ilum stolen by the Separatists and then recovered by Master Yoda himself. They demanded a weapon, sharply silencing your idea of diplomacy.

You wished for Anakin to maybe visit you, to just… just forget the karking war for five freaking minutes and let his childhood lullabies lull you to a restful slumber. Instead, you were drilling your gaze on the kyber crystal covering under a massive rug, the strength of the Force humming within a wonder for your meditation, the crystal’s deathly blue glow the bane of your sleep.

But that was the point. Maybe just forget the war. It did seem never-ending; one day the Republic won, the Separatists in the other. There was simply no end in sight. The number of lives to save was steeply increasing, missing civilians and dead soldiers bruising the Republic’s morale. Your master had been one of the unfortunate Jedi to pass into the Cosmic Force on Geonosis. Some of the padawans you had formed friendships with were now soldiers scattered across the galaxy. The Council was too busy arguing about matters behind closed doors, matters in half of which you were indirectly involved in. Anakin was away most of the time, the Hero With No Fear too busy to worry about his best friend who had so foolishly violated her morals and had fallen in love with him.

Isn’t that what you had exactly trained yourself to avoid?

“It’ll pass.”

You scoff at your Master’s words ringing in your head. The anger simmering in your bones builds up to a crescendo, and makes its presence known with the shatter of your sensor arrays on the opposite wall. Glass shards litter your laboratory, blood trickling down the lines of your palms, your exhausted tears joining the red dripping on the floor.

A soft twang bends the air in the room and echoes through the Force. The hair on the back of the neck rises sharply, and you watch the kyber in bewilderment. The deathly blue behind the rug hums stronger. Your equipment breathes to life, and your teary eyes squint in confusion, rushing toward the kyber as an invisible force possesses your machinery to run diagnostics on its own.

The deathly blue turns as bright as the Coruscanti sun shining at the Core, lighting up the edges of the galaxy with a power rivaling the one you and so many others before you control. You shield your eyes, stumbling over boxes and books detailing advancements of the past. Your equipment spits electric sparks, and you cower behind your arms.

“Stop it—STOP!”

The glow dies, the light in your laboratory returning to just as it was before. You launch into a fit of coughs, waving your hands to disperse the smoke filling the lab. You tune your senses and reach out into the Force.

The wave of a horrifying scream slams into you, knocking you off your feet. You summon the Force again, hoping the mystical power can help you steady yourself. But you freefall toward the table of sharp-edged screws and bolts until you’re pulled forward headlong towards a figure.

You regain your balance, fingernails digging into a smooth fabric covering a rock-hard chest. A tendril of warmth and concern wraps around your Force signature, and you look up at your savior.

“Anakin!”

You wrap your arms around his neck, breathing him in, all of him— wait, was that cabbage and banthaweed? Oh, who in the maker gave a shit — was he alright? Was he—

Your train of thought crashed to a halt as you draw back, gazing at Anakin before you. Your heart rate accelerates to a speed you can’t bring yourself to control, and you pray to the Maker he doesn’t hear it.

He’d done something to his hair. It was longer now, falling just below his shoulder and partly tied back, streaks of light brown and grey near his temples. Loose shirts and trousers and softer tones of beige and brown had replaced his dark, billowing robes. Most of all, you’re aware of his stormy blue eyes roving over you, wide-eyed in absolute shock.

“Hi.”

There’s a strange breath in the greeting that escapes him, one that makes you gulp; his throat visibly bobs as he clenches his jaw. The movement makes you realize there are two feet between you and him. Two feet away from the thunderous storm that is always Anakin Skywalker.

To your surprise, there’s no storm raging before you, nothing but a serene sun shining bright, its warm tranquillity reminding you of the one time you and Anakin had snuck off-world to Naboo as padawans. He’d promised the summers there at the time were delightful, and true to his words, they really were.

You reach out, intertwining your fingers with his, and meet flesh instead of cold metal.

You yelp, harshly flinching backwards. Anakin’s eyebrows shoot up in concern and he raises both his hands in an attempt to placate you. You’re horrified as you see his right arm, no longer a prosthetic but actual flesh.

“Sky!”

A sharp voice rings through the dimly-lit hallways, footsteps running their way towards you, and Anakin Skywalker skids to a stop at the threshold of your laboratory.

“Sky, are you—”

He halts his question mid-way, acknowledging the presence of the man standing right beside you.

There’s a moment of silence that passes between the two stunned men, before the Jedi-clad Anakin ignites his lightsaber, pointing the laser tip toward his long-haired double.

“Sky, get behind me.”

“Wha—” You whirl toward him with an indignant expression and your hands on your hips. “Do you think I’m incapable of defending myself?”

“No, I don’t—”

“On the contrary,” the long-haired Anakin speaks, his voice mellifluous and silvery, “I think not.”

You and Anakin pause in beginning another one of your bickering sessions, Anakin’s lightsaber still leveled against his double.

“Who in the hell are you?”

“Anakin Skywalker?” the long-haired Anakin answers again in the same tone, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “And you must be…”

“Anakin Skywalker,” says your Anakin, the height of his lightsaber inching slowly to the ground, utterly confused.

Shit.

“Well, this is interesting.”

The three of you swerve toward Obi-Wan standing in the doorway, arms crossed as he strokes his beard while Cody’s eyes are going to pop right off of his skull, witnessing one Anakin standing on each of your sides. Captain Rex, on the other hand, just aged a standard decade more with the lines appearing on his forehead.

“Stand down, Anakin. There’s no need for… that,” Obi-Wan ends rather admonishingly, though stunningly failing, still roiling from his possible lack of sleep — or the shock of seeing a copy of his former padawan.

Anakin’s lightsaber retracts into its hilt, and Obi-Wan turns to you.

“Consular Sky.”

Double shit.

“Are you alright?”

Oh, thank Maker—“Yes, Master Kenobi,” you nod fervently, not knowing whether you’re doing a good job of convincing Obi-Wan or yourself. “I’m completely fine, all thanks to Anakin.”

“It’s no problem, Sky.”

“You’re welcome.”

Anakin shoots a glare at, well, the long-haired Anakin, who shrugs with a relaxed raise of his eyebrows.

Obi-Wan looks like he’s about to faint right then and there, but the negotiator that he’s always been, he schools his expression just in time before anyone else can comment on it.

“Could you tell us what happened here, Sky?”

You look around your laboratory, trying to find an answer to the same question evidently ringing loud in everyone else’s minds.

Something along the lines of your nighttime reading pops up in your mind, and you cringe inwardly.

Double shit.

Obi-Wan’s expression settles into the one he’s always worn whenever he’s attending another one of the Council’s meetings.

Triple shit.

“Well, I don’t think I need to tell you where we’re going next, are we?”

“Which is the point here—”

The room’s attention turns back to the long-haired Anakin, eyes twinkling bright with the same softness as the time of his appearance.

“Where exactly are we going?”

Maker, he had to ask.

“From another universe, this version of Skywalker is?”

You grit your teeth and find the courage to nod.

Master Yoda grips his cane even tighter. Honestly, you really want to pity the old master, but Master Windu sits right next to him, clearly grouchy at being disturbed from the sleep he probably got after weeks and weeks of leading attack and rescue campaigns.

“How is this even possible?” Master Koon’s voice rumbles through his mask, sharp and alert despite the drowsiness emanating from a majority of the Jedi Council.

“Well, Master Koon, there’s the multiverse theory,” you speak, voice slightly quivering. “It’s clear our universe isn’t the only one that exists. There are thousands of worlds out there with billions and trillions of lifeforms. But they’re distantly separated from ours, just like all others. For all we know, they might have their own laws of physics, their own collections of stars and galaxies — that is, if stars and galaxies can exist in those universes,” you stop a nervous hiccup and continue. “—and maybe even their own intelligent civilizations.”

“Is this true, then?” Master Windu leans forward with his signature soul-scanning glare. “Are you truly from another universe? Or just another shapeshifter?”

All other Council members swerve their heads toward the long-haired Anakin standing on your right.

“I assure you, Master Windu,” the other Anakin shrugs lightly. “I am not from here. I—”

He takes a second to look around, his gaze turning distant.

“I will admit I have been here before, in the Temple, though this one does look incredibly different from the one I was raised and trained in.”

Several pairs of eyebrows shoot up in surprise, even Anakin’s, who stands just in the corner behind where Obi-Wan has himself perched on another one of the Council chairs.

Master Windu recovers from his internal heart attack and focuses his line of sight on you.

“How did this happen?”

“Honestly, even I’m not sure, Master Windu,” you admit. “I did nothing of any sort to the crystal, it just started to glow, and the next thing I know—”

“I’m here,” the other Anakin finishes, eyes twinkling in some sort of amused annoyance.

Master Yoda taps his cane, and the Council’s incoming deliberations surrender to silence.

“Will of the Force, it seems, that this Skywalker has been sent here. Aid us, harm us, know that, I do not.”

He flutters his eyes close for a brief second, tendrils of his power hesitantly coiling around you and the other — long-haired — Anakin before refocusing them on you.

“Consular—” you stiffen as Master Yoda blurts out your name. “—find a way to send this Skywalker to his home, your task it is. Help you, our Skywalker will. Lead Captain Rex and the Five-Oh-First, Master Kenobi will—”

Behind Obi-Wan, Anakin steps forward to protest.

“—Temporarily, till resolved, the situation is.”

Anakin stops to stand on your left, the slight touch from his elbow a sign of comfort and reassurance.

“Important I feel, it is, to send this Skywalker home. Stay longer, he must not. At war, we already are. Already upon us, the shadows of the Sith are.”

The long-haired Anakin’s eyebrows raise.

You sigh inwardly. I’ll explain it to you later.

He relaxes, and you turn toward your Anakin, who gazes at his counterpart with a strange mixture of suspicion and something along the lines of annoyance.

“Send him home quickly, you must, Consular,” Master Yoda speaks with an inspired urgency. “Terrible it will be, I sense if the Sith find him. Not just for Jedi, but for the Galaxy, also.”

Your Anakin moves closer, his fingertips brushing yours, a tingling sensation itching yours to touch his.

You focus your gaze on the masters before you and bow down with both Anakins, nodding towards Yoda and Windu.

“Master Kenobi will show our guest to his new quarters.”

Obi-Wan seems relieved at finally being allowed to stretch his legs as he strides over to the long-haired Anakin.

“Come along,” the master pauses before smiling in his wise and incredibly tired ways. “Anakin.”

The other Anakin offers a cordial nod and turns to you.

“I suppose I’ll be seeing you later.”

He poses it as a question of sorts. You don’t take time to dissect his intentions, having no energy to do so with the day’s certainly turbulent events and give him a nod.

“Thank you.”

Your eyes slightly twitch in alertness as he offers you a bright, albeit tired smile. Before you can respond or react, he’s already followed Obi-Wan to his quarters, having long disappeared around the nearby corner.

“Sky?”

Your Anakin puts his hand — the metal hand — on your shoulder.

You can practically feel the gears of his joints creaking to ensure his touch stays gentle, despite knowing very well he could easily crush your lung right now with the frustration nagging at his veins.

“It’s nothing, Anakin,” you answer before he can voice his worries out loud. “I’ll be fine—we better get some sleep, lots of work to do.”

Anakin nods, letting go of you with a soft smile. With a sweep of his robes, he walks out of the Council chambers.

You finally let out the breath you’d been holding; the image of both of their smiles filling your vision much clearer than they were supposed to.

Quadruple shit.

to be continued...

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gif credits to @nowadayz

cross-posted on AO3 <33

part one (here) | two | ....