#hello dream house commands

[dajiandengineers]

[slut4nicholas]

𝙊𝙃 𝙁𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍, 𝙄 𝙃𝘼𝙑𝙀 𝙎𝙄𝙉𝙉𝙀𝘿 𝙄𝙄 | 𝙉𝙄𝘾𝙃𝙊𝙇𝘼𝙎 𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙓𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙑𝙀𝙕

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙄

a/n: i'm not entirely satisfied with this, but I felt the need to share the second part. writing smut isn't my favorite thing, but it can be fun to imagine! this piece is a bit lengthy, but i hope you all enjoy it! <3

warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), penetration p in v, unprotected sex!

summary: after an electrifying night filled with undeniable chemistry, she returns home, heart racing from the secrets shared. but when she awakens to an unexpected surprise, desire ignites—especially when it involves her irresistible priest.

†

𝙋𝙊𝙍 𝙌𝙐𝙀 𝙇𝙊 𝙈𝘼𝙎 𝙍𝙄𝘾𝙊 𝙎𝙄𝙀𝙈𝙋𝙍𝙀 𝙀𝙎 𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙃𝙄𝘽𝙄𝘿𝙊 | as i made my way home, my thoughts spiraled into a tantalizing whirlwind of forbidden desire, all centered around charlie. every detail of him haunted my mind—his hair, that sultry voice, the way his smile ignited something deep inside me, his sculpted body that was simply irresistible. it’s a thrilling, dangerous dance of attraction i never expected to find within the hallowed walls of the church i’ve attended since my teen years.

each memory of our encounter sent electric tingles down my spine, filling me with delicious guilt, as the stark reality lingered: he’s my priest. yet, with every recollection, i find myself craving him more passionately than ever.

the sun pierced through my curtains like a spotlight, dragging me from my dreams into the sharp reality of the morning. my mother’s voice cut through the lingering haze, urgent and commanding.

“get up! father charlie is coming for dinner, and i expect this house to be spotless—no excuses. i want you on your absolute best behavior, understood?”

confusion tingled at the edges of my mind. why was he coming? it’s been almost a week since i’ve saw him, had the lady told my parents about us? did they know our secret? a wave of panic washed over me as i considered the judgment that would surely follow. how could i face my father? the weight of guilt stifled my breath, intensifying the thrill of the unknown as i grappled with the looming dread of that evening.

as dinner time approached, i was determined to look as irresistible as possible for him, wanting his gaze to linger on me, to undress me with his eyes even in front of my parents. fuck,what is wrong with me?

i slipped into my cute little white dress adorned with red bows at the front, letting my long, dark curls cascade down my shoulders. i opted for light makeup, hoping it would keep my parents from noticing anything unusual and questioning my sudden desire to impress.

i eagerly helped my mother set the table, aiming to make our long dinner table as inviting as possible for our guests. my father had dashed out for a last-minute item, while my mother was busy putting the finishing touches on a delicious dinner in the kitchen.

just as i was arranging the silverware, the doorbell rang, causing my heart to race. "It must be your father! Go on and open it!" my mom called out.

with excitement, i swung open the door, only to be taken aback by an unexpected sight—father charlie stood there, smiling warmly.

"hello," he said, his voice stern yet laced with a sweetness that sent a flutter through my chest. my words caught in my throat, rendering me speechless, but thankfully, my mother swooped in, gently nudging me aside. "excuse my daughter; she can be a bit shy," she remarked, an edge of annoyance in her tone.

charlie chuckled lightly, handing his coat to my mother, and in that moment, i felt rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do or say. i quietly made my way to the dinner table, where he and my mother awaited my father’s arrival. soon, after setting the table with the help of charlie and my mom

the door swung open, and my father entered, exchanging warm greetings with the priest. he wrapped my mother in a hug and planted a kiss on my cheek, causing charlie to flash a soft smile, filling the room with an unexpected warmth.

charlie sat across from my father, while my mother nestled close to him, her seat a cozy distance from my own, which was beside charlie but still a tad bit removed. in a nod to traditional values, my father insisted that men should occupy the edge seats at the table, marking their territory in the process.

tonight, however, charlie broke away from his typical priest attire, donning a fitted black tee that perfectly hugged his toned muscles, paired with stylish blue jeans and dress shoes that elevated his look. he was undeniably striking, and i couldn't help but notice my mother stealing glances at him, her interest unmistakable.

the atmosphere was charged, blending formality with an unspoken tension as i wondered if charlie was aware of how captivating he really was.

“father, i apologize for our absence at church lately; we've just been on a family business trip searching for the right college for my oldest son,” my mother said with a hint of regret, breaking the silence as everyone savored the delicious, warm meal in front of us. “but i promise we'll be back this Sunday, no expectations.” the pastor smiled reassuringly, “no worries, mrs. i truly miss having you all in the pews; the church has felt a bit quieter without your joyful presence.”

our family, deeply rooted in our latin heritage, held a passionate devotion to our faith, with crosses and images of the virgin mary adorning our home like cherished family portraits. “did you end up choosing a school for him?” charlie asked, his curiosity piqued as he leaned in, eager to hear about our latest adventure.

"have you, mom?" my oldest brother snapped, clearly frustrated by our parents' attempts to dictate his career path. while he dreamed of a fulfilling future in a blue-collar job, mom and dad were set on steering him toward something more prestigious—like princeton. my dad lit up at the mention, eager to share the news, while my mom squeezed his hand, her joy palpable despite the tension. nearby, charlie, our priest, flicked his gaze between my brother and our parents, noticing the undercurrents of disagreement.

i couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment; charlie hadn't said much to me since the last church gathering, and his casual glances felt like a stark contrast to the connection i had hoped we’d built. i understood he was busy, but a part of me longed for him to remember us as more than some random girl.

"how about you?" father charlie asked, fixing his gaze on me with a playful smirk. my parents, caught up in their own conversation, turned their attention our way. "um, I'm not really sure what I want to do," i replied with a light smile, but before I could dive deeper, my mother chimed in with a grin, “she’s going to be a mother and a wife to that sweet johnson boy!”

my eyes rolled in annoyance; i barely got a word in. “oh, come on, sweetie, he’s an amazing boy,” my dad added, oblivious to my frustration. “yeah, that’s what you think,” i muttered under my breath, eliciting a quiet chuckle from charlie.

the truth was that charlie secretly despised my parents and their controlling ways; he had come to spend time with me because he missed everything about me—my laughter, my innocent chatter, even the way my curls bounced when I smiled. “what do you think of him, father?” my dad asked charlie, eager for validation.

“well, I’d rather keep my opinions to myself,”

charlie replied, feeling a knot of anger form in his stomach at the thought of losing me to someone who might claim my sweet innocence as their own.

the dinner table buzzed with animated chatter and infectious laughter, but i felt a spark of mischief ignite within me. to shake off my boredom, i slipped off my shoe, playfully resting my foot on his leg, teasingly dancing my toes along the fabric of his pants. the moment his eyes shot a strong, stern glance my way, i couldn’t resist the urge to tease him further, my heart racing at the thrill of it all. i noted how his jaw clenched tightly, fists growing pale from the pressure as he fought to suppress a smile. deep down, i knew he missed even the lightest touch—the electric connection sparking between us made the dinner all the more delicious.

as dinner wound down, my parents and brother exchanged warm goodbyes with charlie, who, despite his insistence to help with cleanup, was gently shooed away by my mother. she was just grateful for his visit and wanted him to relax. then, in a surprising twist, charlie turned to me with a glint in his eye, asking if i could join him at the church to lend a hand for an upcoming fundraiser. my heart raced with excitement and curiosity—what an unexpected adventure! my parents enthusiastically approved, and as i stepped towards the door, my father wrapped me in a protective hug, reminding me to stay safe. "don't worry," charlie assured him with a charming smile, "I'll have her back before midnight." with that, i was swept away into the evening, f

charlie flung open the passenger door, a strained smile masking the simmering frustration beneath the surface while my father loomed on the porch, eyeing his every move. i waved goodbye as he slid into the driver’s seat, his jaw taut, fingers digging into the steering wheel as he pulled out of the driveway, glancing back to see my father retreat into the house. the tense silence hung in the air until he finally snapped, "so that’s the boy you’ve been sneaking out with, huh?" the edge in his voice was sharp enough to cut, and I couldn't help but scoff. "yeah, but it’s nothing. i told you i ended it before it started." “right," he said bitterly, "because your parents must be thrilled at the idea of pawning you off to some creep. what the hell?" his anger hung heavy, and i instinctively placed my hand on his arm, tracing the tense muscles with my fingers, trying to coax him back to calm. “relax, charlie! im not marrying him. why are you so worked up? It’s not like we’re anything.” he shoved my hand away, not roughly, but with a quiet intensity that sent a jolt through me. i bit my lip, a mix of shock and irritation bubbling inside me, watching him wallow in his own turmoil as the air between us crackled with unspoken words.

i couldn't shake the intensity radiating from him, his barely contained anger flickering beneath a calm facade for my parents. It was intoxicating—the way every piercing glance and biting remark sent shivers down my spine, igniting an undeniable desire within me. i craved him, yearned for him with a ferocity that made me fantasize about marrying him, bearing the children he dreamt of. i knew society would never accept it, but deep down, i was certain charlie wouldn’t give a damn. the thrill of this forbidden desire only made me want him more.

“y/n” charlie's voice dripped with urgency, igniting a fire within me, “if i could whisk you away and keep you all to myself, believe me, i would. no man—no boy—here even comes close to deserving you. for years, i’ve watched you grow, and my care for you has morphed into something fierce. i desire you more than i crave the title of 'priest.’ you’ve been burning in my thoughts, and not seeing you for a week felt like an eternity. when i stood up there to preach, all i could think of was your face, and with every passing day you weren’t there, my frustration simmered and boiled. you need to understand this—” suddenly, i ignored him, only for him to grasp my chin forcefully, compelling me to meet his gaze. “do you hear me?” he demanded, his eyes ablaze.

"yes," i whispered, locking eyes with him, a spark igniting awareness in his gaze that made him swallow hard. my mind raced with vivid imagery of me kneeling, surrendering to him just as fervently as i prayed each day. "yes what?" he pressed, his voice thick with anticipation. "yes, father," i responded, my innocent tone setting him ablaze with desire. i could feel his urgency, the way he longed to pull the car over and claim me in the backseat, where the world could witness our recklessness. let them see—if he wanted to stake his claim, then i was wholly his.

"that's my girl," he exclaimed, a devilish smirk dancing across his lips as he caught the spark of surprise flicker in my eyes. those three simple words sent a rush of heated electricity coursing through me, igniting a wild mix of excitement and longing that was hard to contain. as his fingers brushed gently against my bottom lip, I felt the world around us fade away, leaving just the two of us suspended in an intoxicating moment where everything felt possible. my heart raced, caught between exhilaration and desire, wondering what thrilling depths this connection might plunge us into next.

as we strolled past the towering façade of the old church, its stained glass windows shimmering under the fading daylight, a thrill coursed through me. i sensed that he was leading me to his sanctuary, a place that would mark the beginning of an intoxicating journey where i would be claimed wholly and unapologetically as his. The thought ignited something primal within me—a fervent desire to surrender myself entirely to him, to let him dismantle the barriers i had so carefully erected, to be utterly transformed by his touch. i welcomed the idea of being shattered, for in that destruction lay the promise of becoming his—completely and irrevocably his. it was a reckless plunge into the abyss of passion, a daring leap toward a future where i would no longer be my own, but a beautifully chaotic tapestry woven together with his deepest desires.

as we pulled up to his house, charlie swung open the passenger door, gesturing for me to step out. the moment i did, i caught sight of a group of people lounging on their porch, laughter mingling with the warm evening air. i couldn’t help but wonder what gossip would ignite amongst them at the sight of a girl arriving at her priest’s doorstep—what could they possibly think of this encounter? but that curiosity only fueled the thrill coursing through me. eagerly, we approached the door, and charlie let me in first, casting a glance at the neighbors across the street as he shut us in, a sly smirk playing on his lips. to him, it was all a game—the whispers, the speculation—he relished the thought of everyone knowing that I was HIS, wrapped in a dangerous intrigue that sent shivers down my spine.

as we stepped into his home, an electric tension crackled in the air, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back—a gesture that felt both reassuring and enticingly perilous. his gaze, intense and predatory, traced the contours of my body like a painter admiring a masterpiece, his eyes hungry and filled with desire. The moment charlie slipped off his shoes, his invitation for me to do the same felt like a seductive prelude, erasing the boundaries between us. wrapped in his warmth, i felt an exhilarating mix of security and longing, his towering height and chiseled muscles radiating strength and protection. just when i thought i could savor this moment forever, he stood close behind me, his breath teasing my neck as his fingers delicately swept my hair to one side. each soft kiss he planted along my neck ignited a flame deep within, intertwining the thrill of vulnerability with an insatiable desire to surrender to the allure unfolding between us.

charlie’s fingers slid teasingly down the delicate fabric of my dress, the soft material cascading off my shoulders like a whisper, revealing the perfectly tied red bows at the front that tantalizingly held it in place. with a sultry smirk, he pulled the dress down, letting it pool at my hips, exposing every seductive curve that made my heart race and his breath hitch. as his hands gripped my bum firmly, a playful slap ignited my skin, sending a thrill through me. i spun around, our lips crashing together with a fiery urgency that ignited the room, our kiss deepening, becoming a passionate dance of tongues seeking dominance. the air was thick with moans and the intoxicating backdrop of his lightly decorated home added an intimate ambiance that made this moment feel like a scene out of a forbidden film. god forgive me, but i craved this encounter more than i ever craved a visit to church; my back arched, pressing into his sturdy embrace as i melted against him, eager for more.

charlie broke away from the kiss to stare at my body admiring my white laced under garments that hugged every curve just right, my boobs almost spilling out the bra and cute panties with the red bow on top “you wore this just for me?”

charlie kept my leg lifted placing kisses on my inner thigh finally getting to my heat licking it slightly and eating me like i was his last supper

i pulled on his hair softly throwing my head back at the sudden pleasure

he puts a finger in me still kissing the clit pumping his finger in and out of me he pulls back standing up not letting me reach my climax which caused me to frown at the sudden urge to let go and not being able too

charlie's eyes gleamed with a mix of desire and mischief as he guided me towards the couch, his touch igniting a thrill that danced up my spine. the moment i settled into the soft cushions, i felt the weight of his gaze, like a fire tracing every curve and imperfection only he seemed to elevate to perfection.

my breath hitched, anticipation coiling tightly within me as he slowly unbuckled his pants, revealing the tantalizing outline of his bulge straining against dark, fitted underwear. heat rushed through me, and i couldn't help but gulp at the sight—he was an intoxicating blend of confidence and allure that left me utterly captivated.

charlie pushed me back lightly releasing himself from his underwear “grab your ankles and lay down” i do as told exposing myself to him grunting at the sight he spits on his hard cock jerking off slightly at the sight.

he enters into me, holding my legs and pulling me close, while i grip the soft cushions around me for support. he continues to thrust hard and fast, taking me to a climax that leaves me breathless.

this new sensation enveloped me, igniting a fire within that i could neither quench nor contain; it was a delicious addiction I never wanted to shake off.

charlie's whimpers and moans crescendoed around us, a symphony of ecstasy that threatened to veil my own gasps, which i fought to muffle—desperate to avoid drawing eyes our way

but charlie? he was under no such constraint, reveling in every intoxicating thrill, blissfully unaware of the world outside our bubble. the air crackled with unspoken desires, heightening the thrill, as I tried not to betray the wild yearning surging through every fiber of my being.

his strokes becoming sloppier and slower by the minute.

“so fucking wet and tight”.

i felt him twitching inside of me pulling out and releasing all over my stomach causing me to bit my lip at the unholy sight in front of me.

as charlie gently wiped the droplets of him from my skin with a soft towel, his smile illuminated the moment, filling the air with warmth and tenderness. his small kiss on my forehead felt like a promise of comfort and connection, a sweet reminder of the bond we shared.

as he handed me my dress with a reassuring grip on my hand, I felt an overwhelming sense of support, like he was there not just to help me get dressed, but to wrap me in his unwavering affection

once we were both ready, his arms encircled me in a secure embrace, and just before we stepped back into the world, he leaned in for one last kiss that lingered, an echo of love amidst the laughter and the chaos surrounding us.

as the door clicked shut behind us, a wave of adrenaline surged between us

thankfully, no curious eyes bore witness to our exit, or hell would’ve ensued. charlie led the way to his car, the tension palpable as he opened the passenger door for me, a silent promise hanging in the air that we were in this together

the moment his tires crunched over gravel, i glanced back to see my father emerge from the shadows of our porch, suspicion etched across his face, while charlie’s jaw tightened like a vice as he prepared for the inevitable storm. "someone said something, i know it," i spoke up, and without hesitation, charlie met his gaze with defiance. he might have been crossing a line, but that didn't matter; love was a risk he was more than willing to take—and hell hath no fury like a forbidden love.

[sim0nril3y]

i love your works!!

now that soap knows sort of about civilian reader, how would they both react to meeting one another? Perhaps after a mission, Simon has to take him to their house since it’s close by and there they meet. I can imagine Johnny jokingly flirting with reader jus to rile Simon up

Note: Thank you so much for your request! I love, love, love it! Love these boys together and all the trouble they get into and love how Johnny just seems to be able to push his buttons. Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, taunting and teasing, tiny illusion to smut, canon typical swearing.

It was probably a mixture of exhaustion and anxiousness to see you that had Simon not thinking straight when he climbed off the plane with Johnny. Circumstances had it that the barracks were completely full to the brim, the last train home for Johnny was an hour ago and a certain sense of guilt had Simon suggesting “We got a spare room…” The moment Simon said it, he regretted it.

It had been a gruelling four months away from you and all he had come to adore at the home you shared together, whilst he had wanted to spend time alone with you now he was basically bringing home a drooling labrador in the form of his Sergeant. Johnny’s eyes brightened up like it was Christmas and he mentioned. “That means I get t���meet your missus, LT.” Simon was completely stumped for any response, simply his shoulders sagged.

“You breathe a word about this or her to anyone else, I’ll make sure you don’t make it back from our next mission.” It was a threat, but an empty one and Johnny knew that for certain.

It was way past midnight by the time that Johnny and Simon arrived at his home. They quietly clambered from the car and up the path towards the house. Simon had warned you not to wait up for him, but from here he could see that the living room light was on which meant you hadn’t listened to him. Using the key to open the door before he even put his bags down on the floor, he heard your footsteps approach hastily, excited to see him, having practically no contact for almost four months was difficult.

“Si…” You rushed to wrap your arms around him, Simon wrapped his body tight around your own, burying his face into your throat and inhaling sharply, burying his nose into your scent to try and wash away all the horror that he’d witnessed whilst away. “Missed you so much.” You whimpered into his skin and then jumping. “Oh, uh…” It was clear you’d seen Johnny lingering over his shoulder then. “Hi.”

Tugging away from Simon, he took a step aside allowing you to see Johnny fully. “Hello ma’am.” He nodded his head at you then, Simon wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Johnny act so respectful before. Odd, he thought. “Jus’ got back from a mission. Y’fella ‘ere said I could borrow a room f’the night. Hope it won’t be too much trouble.”

A little of startled surprise crossed your face. “You work with Simon?” You asked then and Johnny nodded in confirmation. “You can stay as long as you want if you tell me everything about Si whilst he’s away from home.” You announced causing Simon to gift you a tested look but it only caused Johnny to chortle lowly and reply. “I tell y’everything I know ‘bout Si.” The use of his nickname that was reserved for you fell from Johnny’s lips and those narrowed daggers looked to him aggressively.

“Time for bed.” Simon commanded lowly then, hands placed on your shoulders to spin you in the direction of the stairs and ushering you up then, even as you argued that you needed to find some sheets for the spare room Simon still urged you up the stairs and as far away from Johnny as he could manage. This night couldn’t be over quick enough.

It was like some bad dream as Simon awoke that next morning to your side of the bed long cold beside him and the sound of your distant laughter floating through the house. Bloody hell. Originally, he had planned on waking up, rolling you gently onto your side and slipping into your wonting cunt, but instead you were entertaining another one downstairs, leaving him longing and lonely in the bed you shared.

Simon was dreading whatever stories that Johnny had decided to fill your pretty head with. There was reasons Simon kept you separate from you his work life, mostly for your safety but also because he was a different person there than he was in the comfort of your shared home. He felt safe and secure in these walls and around your presence, with work he built up walls which you had seemingly knocked down in mere weeks of knowing him.

Clambering from bed Simon tugged on some shorts and lumbered downstairs to join the chatter. It was much too lively for an early Saturday morning. “My, my… Lt never mentioned jus’ how talented you are, lass.” That thick Scottish accent announced making his eyes narrow, rounding the counter to see Johnny observing the artwork that adorned the kitchen walls. “Matter fact, don’t think he’s uttered a single word ‘bout you.”

“Likewise.” You responded with ease then before beaming a smile at the presence of Simon in the doorway. “Morning, Lt.” Johnny began. “Morning babe, want a cuppa?” Your voice was pleasant and sweet, even at this time. “Mm.” He moved then to take a seat at the table as you got to work making him a morning brew just the way he liked. “I hope MacTavish ain’t been giving you too much grief…” He commented, flicking a hard look in Johnny’s direction.

A delicate laugh came from you then. “Don’t be silly.” Approaching him with the tea and placing it on the kitchen table for him. “Not at all, Lt.” Johnny continued. “Y’lass and I’ve been gettin’ on like a house on fire.” Then grinning as he sat opposite him. “Bonnie was just tellin’ me ‘bout the train strikes…” Simon glared at him. “Kindly offered me the room until things clear up again.”

After taking a long sip of his tea Simon said coldly. “I’ll pay for a taxi, or a plane… whatever gets you out of my house faster.” Then earning a hard look from you across the room. “Don’t be rude.” You scolded him with a stern look, completely unphased by Simon’s attitude Johnny did grin at the way that you spoke to his Lieutenant, practically only Price could speak to Simon like that. “John, you are more than welcome to stay with us as long as you need to.” Then throwing a tested look in Simon’s direction. “Isn’t that right, babe.”

“Is it, Lt?” Johnny uttered feigning some innocence Simon knew was fake. Instead of biting back Simon simply nodded and mustered a small. “Mm.” In response, simply plotting his revenge sometime in the future. “Mighty kind of you.” The Scotsman grinned and looked towards you. “Oh and lass, call me Johnny, please.” Followed by a playful wink. This was going to be a rough few days.

Masterlist | Ask | 27-01-2024

[novaursa]

hello

Can I have a fem!twin sister Jace, Where she always knew that Hardin was her father and she really loved him, but Daemon kinda take her as her heir and daughter.

She got engaged to Aemond but after Lucerys death they cancel it and during the war she don’t know what side choose. She really love her « husband » but her loyalty goes to the black (maybe because of daemon)

She ride Cannibal and goes to the battle of rooks rest but Aemond and Vhagar can’t attack her.

Idk how you can end it but I’m sure you can do it 🫶🏼♥️

Cursed in Flames

- Summary: You face Aemond at Rook’s Rest. And Dance of the Dragons is never the same again.

- Paring: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 3 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The news reaches you like a shadow across the sea, darkening the horizon of your mind with its terrible weight. You are standing on the cliffs of Dragonstone, watching the waves crash against the rocks far below, when you hear Daemon's footsteps approach. The air is filled with the scent of salt and storm, and the sky above is a heavy gray, mirroring the turmoil in your heart.

You do not turn to look at him immediately, sensing the gravity of what he is about to say. You have always known Daemon’s stride—deliberate, commanding, yet with a subtle grace that betrays his Targaryen blood. It is the same stride he had when he came to you as a child, kneeling before you and whispering tales of dragonfire and ancient Valyria, the stories that shaped your dreams and nightmares alike. But this time, there is something else, a tension in his movements that you have rarely seen, a tension that makes your heart clench in your chest.

"Your brother," Daemon begins, his voice as cold as the wind that whips around you, "is dead."

The words slice through you, sharper than any blade, and you feel the ground beneath you sway as though it, too, has been struck. For a moment, the world stops. The roaring of the waves, the howling of the wind, all of it fades into a deafening silence that drowns you. The image of Luke—sweet, gentle Luke—flashes before your eyes. His bright smile, his laughter that could fill even the darkest of days with light, now extinguished.

You finally turn to Daemon, your eyes wide with disbelief, as if willing him to say it is a mistake, a cruel jest. But Daemon’s face is set in stone, his violet eyes hard and unreadable.

"Aemond," he continues, his voice dropping to a low growl, "killed him. Vhagar devoured Arrax. There was nothing left."

A gasp escapes your lips, and your knees threaten to buckle. The storm inside you breaks free, a torrent of emotions—grief, rage, betrayal—rushing through you all at once. You clutch your chest, as if trying to hold your heart together, but it is no use. The pieces are already shattered, scattered to the winds.

"Aemond," you whisper, the name a curse and a lament all at once. The man you were once betrothed to, the man who had once held your hand in a secret alcove of the Red Keep, who had once whispered words of love and promises of the future—he is now a stranger, a monster. How could he? The question rings in your mind, but there is no answer, only the hollow echo of your heartbreak.

Daemon watches you carefully, his expression unyielding. He has never been one for softness, not even with you, his niece whom he raised as his own daughter. But there is something in his gaze now, a flicker of something almost akin to sorrow. He steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. His grip is firm, steadying.

"This engagement is null," he states, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Aemond is no longer your betrothed. He is an enemy of our house, an enemy of yours."

You nod, though your mind is barely able to comprehend the words. The engagement had meant something once, a bridge between the two branches of your family, a hope for peace. But that hope has been dashed upon the rocks like a ship in a storm. There is nothing left but the wreckage.

"He was once... everything to me," you confess, your voice trembling. "How could he do this, Daemon? How could he kill Luke?"

Daemon's eyes narrow, a flash of fire in their depths. "Aemond is a creature of rage and pride, blinded by the lust for power and vengeance. He cares for nothing but his own glory, his own twisted sense of honor. Whatever feelings you thought he had for you, whatever feelings you had for him, they are ash now."

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the sob that threatens to escape. But it is futile. The tears spill over, hot and bitter. Daemon pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms a cage of protection and power. He has never been one to coddle you, but in this moment, he offers you the only comfort he knows how to give—his strength, his presence.

"We will make them pay, all of them," Daemon murmurs into your hair, his voice dark with promise. "For Luke, for our family. This war will not end until the debt is paid in full."

You nod against his chest, the pain in your heart hardening into something colder, sharper. Aemond’s face lingers in your mind, the way he looked at you when you were children, the way his eyes darkened with something more when you were older. But that is all it is now—a memory, a ghost of a past that no longer exists.

You pull back from Daemon, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. Your heart still aches, but there is a new resolve in you, a determination to survive this, to fight for your family, for Luke.

“I will not forget,” you say quietly, your voice steady now. “But I will not let it destroy me, either.”

Daemon nods, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “Good. We Targaryens are made of fire and blood. Remember that.”

As you stand there, the wind whipping through your hair, you let the words sink in. Fire and blood. That is what you are, what you have always been. The storm may rage on, but you will not be broken by it.

Cannibal’s distant roar echoes through the skies, and you lift your chin, feeling the fire within you begin to burn anew. Aemond may have taken Luke, but he has not taken your will, your strength. You will rise from these ashes, stronger than before. And when the time comes, you will face him—Aemond, the man who was once your betrothed, now your enemy—and you will show him what it truly means to be a Targaryen.

The wind bites at your face as Cannibal’s wings slice through the cold air. You’ve always felt most alive in these moments—when you are at one with the beast beneath you, the two of you merging into a single entity of power and purpose. You are no longer just the daughter of Princess Rhaenyra and the secret of Harwin Strong; you are a force of nature, the rider of the wildest and most feared of dragons. Cannibal roars, a sound that shakes the sky, and you cannot help but feel a grim satisfaction as you see Rook’s Rest below, knowing what is about to unfold.

Aemond Targaryen waits, hidden in the clouds atop Vhagar, the ancient dragon’s formidable presence a weight on the horizon. Aegon is beside him, perched on Sunfyre, whose golden scales glitter like a false promise in the pale daylight. They expect Melys, Rhaenys's scarlet queen, but what they get is something far more dangerous. Something personal.

Your heart beats a war drum’s rhythm in your chest as you approach, hidden by the sun behind you. They don’t see you coming, not at first. And when they do, it’s not Aegon who reacts but Aemond—his shock visible even from the distance. You can imagine his single eye widening, his lips parting in disbelief.

"It cannot be…" he breathes, low enough that only Vhagar might hear him. His thoughts spin in confusion and regret, the memories of what you once were to him clashing with the reality of the battle about to unfold. He’d thought you were lost to him, that the broken engagement was a final, irreparable severing of your fates. But now, here you are, as fierce and untamable as the dragon you ride.

Cole signals Aegon, and the elder brother does not hesitate. Aegon gives Sunfyre his head, and the golden dragon surges forward with all the arrogance and bravado his rider commands. The roar that splits the sky is not just from the dragon, but from Aegon himself, taunting, dismissive.

"Come to burn, have you?" Aegon shouts over the wind. "You’ll find this fire too hot!"

But you don’t respond with words. Cannibal lets loose a torrent of flame, a blackened blaze that reeks of burnt flesh and bones long devoured. The sky darkens with the ash of it, and Aegon’s confidence flickers like a candle in a storm. You feel the heat radiating off your dragon, the primal joy of the hunt thrumming through your bond.

Aemond watches, frozen in place. "Aegon, no!" he shouts, but his voice is swallowed by the roar of dragons and the rush of wind. He can only watch as the two dragons clash.

Cannibal is a creature of nightmares, his blackened scales absorbing the light, making him seem as though he is forged from shadow itself. He dives at Sunfyre with feral speed, his jaws snapping inches from Aegon’s arm. Sunfyre counters with a blast of flame, but Cannibal’s agility is unmatched. He twists in the air, dodging the fire as if it were a mere inconvenience.

Sunfyre is beautiful, a dragon that could have inspired a thousand songs. But beauty is no match for brutality. Cannibal rips into Sunfyre with a savagery that leaves you breathless, his claws tearing through the golden dragon’s wing, nearly severing it from his body. Aegon’s scream echoes in the heavens as he struggles to keep control, the pain of his dragon searing through their bond.

"Aegon!" Aemond roars again, urging Vhagar to move, but his dragon hesitates, sensing his rider’s turmoil. Vhagar is the mightiest of dragons, older than the rest, her wisdom far beyond Aemond’s years. She feels his conflict, the war inside him, and it makes her pause.

You see Aemond’s struggle, the way his grip tightens on Vhagar’s reins, the way his gaze locks onto you even as his brother is mauled in the sky. For a moment, you wonder if he will join the fray, if he will strike you down as he did Luke. But then his eye meets yours, and you see something unexpected—fear, not of you, but for you. The realization sends a cold shiver down your spine, but you don’t have time to dwell on it.

Cannibal snaps his jaws around Sunfyre’s neck, dragging the dragon down toward the ground. They crash through the trees, Sunfyre’s scream a thing of agony as he thrashes, desperately trying to free himself from the relentless assault. Cannibal’s fire ignites the forest below, turning the world into a hellscape of flame and shadow. Sunfyre’s golden scales are marred with blood and soot, his body a broken thing beneath the ferocity of your dragon.

Aemond watches in horror, his mind torn between duty and something far more dangerous—his heart. "Vhagar," he murmurs, "we have to stop this…"

But Vhagar, ancient and wise, does not attack. She circles above, watching, waiting. She feels the bond between her rider and the girl who should have been his wife, and she knows this is a battle not just of dragons, but of souls.

Finally, with a roar that shakes the heavens, Vhagar descends. Her massive form blots out the sun as she lands, the earth trembling beneath her weight. She crashes into Cannibal with all the force of a falling star, but she does not strike to kill. Instead, she pins Cannibal beneath her, her jaws snapping inches from his throat. The wild dragon thrashes, but Vhagar’s strength is unmatched. She holds him there, a warning, not a death sentence.

You feel Cannibal’s fury, his frustration, but also his grudging respect for the older dragon. The battle is over, for now. You sense Aemond’s hesitation, the war raging within him as he prepares to dismount.

But he doesn’t move, not yet. He looks down at you, at the girl he once loved, the girl he might still love, and his world tilts on its axis.

For the first time since the Dance began, Aemond Targaryen does not know what to do. And as Vhagar holds Cannibal pinned beneath her, you both realize that this battle was never just about dragons.

It was always about you.

And it always will be.

The ground rushes up to meet you as you leap from Cannibal’s saddle. The impact is brutal, a shockwave of pain that ripples through your body as you hit the earth with a resounding thud. The air is forced from your lungs, and for a terrifying moment, you can’t breathe. You gasp, struggling to draw in even a sliver of air, your vision darkening at the edges. But you force yourself to move, to push through the pain. You cannot afford to be weak now, not with him approaching.

Aemond’s boots crunch on the scorched ground as he strides toward you, his expression unreadable. You see him through a haze of pain, your vision slowly clearing as your breath comes in ragged gasps. Instinctively, you push yourself up, your muscles screaming in protest, but you will not be caught helpless. Not by him. 

Before you can fully regain your footing, Aemond’s arms are around you, capturing you in a firm, unyielding embrace. His chest presses against your back, his grip like iron as you struggle against him. The more you thrash, the tighter his hold becomes, but he doesn’t hurt you. His voice, when it comes, is a low, soothing murmur in High Valyrian, a language that wraps around you like a soft cloak.

"Beloved, be still in my arms," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "Calm down." 

The words are tender, almost loving, and they cut through your panic like a knife. His grip doesn’t loosen, but it no longer feels like a prison. Instead, it’s a strange comfort, his presence grounding you as your breath slowly returns to normal. The fight drains from your limbs, leaving only the exhaustion and the ache of what’s just happened.

When you finally stop resisting, Aemond’s grip eases, and he gently turns you to face him. You expect anger, fury even, for what you’ve done to his brother. But as you look into his eye, you find something else entirely—uncertainty. He stares at you as if you’re a puzzle he cannot solve, his usual confidence shaken.

"Aegon…" His voice is rougher now, tinged with something that almost sounds like regret. "You just struck down the King."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with the weight of what they mean. Aegon Targaryen, the King, your uncle—his blood is on your hands now, as much as Cannibal’s. But you feel no guilt, only a cold, burning anger that flares to life at Aemond’s accusation.

"Like you killed Luke," you snap back, your voice laced with venom. The shadow of your father, Daemon, looms large in that moment, his defiance, his unyielding spirit echoing in your words. "You think I care for your brother’s crown when you stole my brother’s life?"

Aemond’s lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile forming as he watches you, admiring the fire in your eyes. It’s as though he expected this from you, and it pleases him to see you still have that flame burning within. He takes a step closer, his expression softening into something dangerously close to affection.

"Always so fierce," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a tone that is meant for you alone. "Just as I remember. Just as you’ve always been."

You can’t decide whether to move away or to stay rooted to the spot. His presence is overwhelming, intoxicating, and despite everything, a part of you aches for the connection you once shared. Before the bloodshed, before the war tore you apart. But the uncertainty gnaws at you, and you remain still as he reaches out, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Even now, I find myself drawn to you," he admits, his tone almost wistful. "Your strength, your fire... It’s what made me want you then, and what makes me want you now."

His words lull you, and despite yourself, you feel the tension in your body begin to ease. There is something in his voice, something genuine, that pulls at the frayed edges of your heart. But before you can fully comprehend what is happening, a shout cuts through the moment.

"My Prince!" Ser Criston Cole’s voice is sharp, commanding as he approaches. His armor is still bloodied from the skirmish, his face set in a stern mask. "Seize her! She is an enemy, a traitor to the crown!"

Aemond stiffens, the tender moment evaporating like mist in the sun. He turns to face Cole, his expression darkening as he steps protectively in front of you. 

"I will do no such thing," Aemond says coldly, his voice hard as steel. "She is mine."

Cole looks shocked, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Prince Aemond, this is treason. The girl—"

"Is to be my wife," Aemond cuts him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We will wed in the tradition of Old Valyria. She will be my queen."

Cole’s face pales, his eyes darting between you and Aemond as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. "This is madness," he insists, his voice rising with urgency. "The council will never accept it. The people—"

"The people," Aemond snaps, his patience wearing thin, "will accept what I tell them to accept. And if they do not, they will burn for their defiance. As will anyone who dares stand between me and her."

The threat is clear, and Cole flinches, realizing the seriousness in Aemond’s tone. He knows better than to challenge a dragon when its fire is so close to the surface. But still, he tries once more, his voice lowering in an attempt to reason with his prince.

"Think of the consequences, my prince," Cole urges, almost pleading now. "This could tear the realm apart."

Aemond’s gaze never wavers as he replies, his voice chillingly calm. "The realm is already torn apart. If it must burn, then it will burn with us as its rulers."

You watch the exchange with a mix of awe and dread. Aemond’s declaration sends a shiver down your spine, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. He’s serious—deadly serious. And in that moment, you realize there’s no escaping the path that has been set for you.

Aemond turns back to you, his expression softening once more as he reaches out to take your hand. His grip is firm, but not forceful, as though he’s offering you a choice, even if you both know that choice was taken from you the moment you leapt from Cannibal’s saddle.

"Come," he says softly, his voice a stark contrast to the fury he directed at Cole. "Let us finish what was started so long ago."

You look up into his eye, searching for some hint of deception, some sign that this is all a cruel trick. But all you find is resolve—and something else, something that looks very much like hope.

Before you can answer, Vhagar releases Cannibal, the great dragon rising from her position with a low, rumbling growl. Cannibal stirs, but he does not attack. Instead, he rises slowly, his eyes locked on Vhagar as he acknowledges her strength, if not her dominance. There’s a truce in the air, fragile as gossamer, but for now, it holds.

Aemond squeezes your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. "Together," he murmurs, his voice filled with a dangerous promise. "As it was always meant to be."

And as you stand there, caught between what was and what will be, you realize that there is no turning back. Not for you, not for Aemond, not for the realm. The dance is far from over, and now, it will be danced to a different tune—a tune of fire and blood, of love and hate, of destiny and defiance.

And you will dance it with him, until the very end.

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Four: Before the Storm

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Hello everyone! How are we doing after the last chapter? I went on a vacay and enjoyed some time with my family and dog, but now we're back to business. I wanted to say that I'm not a literary genius. Later in this chapter Helaena says some lines from a piece of work by Hélène Cixous called Love of the Wolf. I'm not taking credit for her work by any means, but I couldn't help myself not to add it. It was just too perfect. Well, anyways, thank you for reading!

Chapter Warnings: mentions of childhood SA and trauma related to it, sexism, bullying.

Birdsong accompanied you in your daily lessons with Septa Marlow, her parchment-thin flesh wrapped over her shaking bones as she pointed to the large map of what you assumed was Westeros. It wasn’t that you couldn’t identify the outline of your own country. You didn’t care. The tiny sparrow that decided to make its nest on the branch of an oak tree outside the tutor room window was far more interesting.

You could hear the sounds of swords clashing outside over the creature’s call, an added instrument into the melody of the Red Keep. There was no doubt your brothers and uncles were practicing their swordplay, Ser Criston teaching the pairs of children. How you longed to be out there with them, with your family, with your twin, learning of things much more exciting than what region of the country produced the most red wine.

You only wanted to see them and to be entertained. It wasn’t that you wanted to learn the sword, though you wouldn’t say no should someone ask.

But this resulted from the actions from the previous day when you disobeyed the Dragonkeeper’s commands. It surprised you when your mother failed to mention how your brothers and Aegon gave Aemond a pig, but you weren’t planning to go out of your way to tell on yourself and receive any more repercussions. You were already confined to the castle walls and forbidden from seeing your dragon for the next sennight. You couldn’t imagine what your mother would have done in response if she knew.

“Princess, pay attention,” the old crone’s wavering voice commanded, causing you to jolt.

You attempted to follow her instructions, rattling off the names of Houses and their most profitable exports, but metal clanging stole you from your duties once more. Why couldn’t you be with your brothers and uncles? You understood that today’s extra lessons were a punishment, but why couldn’t you join them? You and Jace were the same age, though you were a few moments older, and Luke was younger.

You could comprehend the importance of learning such knowledge, but your brothers were able to understand this and swordsmanship. Why could you not? Seeing as your mother had not learned it, you did not believe it was a skill you needed. This was the only thing that separated you from Jace, and you hated it.

Suddenly, everything went silent. The birds, the clang of steel, your mind halted into a noiseless silence, leaving the only sound of Septa Marlow’s droning, shaky voice. Screams you knew belonged to Aegon and the shrieks of your younger brother, Jace, briefly sounded, causing your feet to twitch in the direction of the sound. You knew your brother. That was not a noise of happiness but one of determination and fear, but once again, it plummeted into silence.

Then, it erupted. Shouts and thick, repeated thumps of what could only be skin on skin replaced the dull thudding of swords, only this time, it was of grown men.

Disregarding your Septa’s scolds of disobedience, you stood, rushing from the creaky wooden desk and chair with a soft wince from the pain between your legs. You ran to the window, face pressed against the glass, to see the situation unfold.

Ser Harwin kneeled over a man in polished armor you couldn’t see as he drove punch after punch into the man’s face. It was a member of the Kingsguard, judging by his attire as onlookers gathered around the two of them, attempting to remove Harwin from his victim.

Why would Ser Harwin be attacking a Kingsguard?

You pressed your face closer to the glass, fogging it with your breath. Soon, your mother’s protector was thrown off, revealing a bloodied, smug Ser Criston Cole, a proud smirk on his tan face as he spat viscous scarlet liquid. Ser Harwin spewed words of anger you couldn’t hear as you observed with wide eyes from above.

“Princess!” Marlow shouted, stomping her slippered foot in exasperation. “Return to your seat at once.”

“Ser Harwin is attacking Ser Criston!” you countered with a whine as you disregarded her demands. Without thinking of the consequences, you ran for the exit only to be met with the face of your sworn shield, halting you from seeing the commotion.

You were stuck. These were the repercussions of your actions, and now you had to sit in dull solitude with a Septa so old that your mother had her as wild possibilities ran through your head as to why Ser Harwin Strong attacked Ser Criston Cole.

Finding where your uncle Aemond spent most of his time was effortless. He was unlike the rest of you, who loved to be outside in the dirt, running about the gardens as you and your brothers played any game you could think of. Aegon and the trio of you teased Aemond for the fact that he was different in this way, your eldest uncle impressing the idea that his brother’s likes of science, math, history, and philosophy were weird for a child. You also enjoyed subjects similar to your uncle’s, thirsting for knowledge of everything related to herbs, flowers, and other plants, but you never brought it up. Aegon would undoubtedly tease you for it if he knew.

Aemond’s interests weren’t typical, but you didn’t see it as something to look down on him for. But since Aegon did, you had no choice but to agree.

The library in the Red Keep was a lonely and shadowy place, rarely visited by anyone, not even the servants. The absence of lit candles or a crackling fire contributed to the eerie atmosphere, creating a sensation of fear that seemed to grip your very core as you stepped inside, as though you were venturing into an endless void of darkness. Despite the unsettling ambiance, you summoned your bravery, clutching your cherished collection of fairy tales for comfort, and gained the strength to push open the library doors. The sound of metal clanging echoed in the silence.

Motes of dust swirled in the beams of light pouring through the windows as you combed through the towering wooden bookcases. Your search was targeted and honed on a particular individual who, besides Lord Lyonel Strong and the rest of the council members, was known to make regular visits to this room. It was just a matter of time before you laid eyes on him.

After the sixth tall hickory bookshelf, you found Aemond resting on a window seat filled with lush fabric cushions, the sunbeams casting him in a yellow glow. You took a step forward, hesitating as you thought about how your uncle would react to your goodwill gesture. Despite anticipating his initial skepticism and harsh words, you held onto hope that persistence and authenticity would eventually make him see you for who you are.

You wished for it to be true.

“Have you come to mock me again, niece?” Aemond asked, interrupting your indecision with his nose still in the pages.

You swallowed as your mouth became dry, stepping out to reveal yourself fully. “No, Aemond. I came to read,” you replied, taking a gasp of air and summoning courage, “with you.”

Your uncle’s attempt to mask his surprise was unsuccessful as his eyes widened in astonishment. He quickly glanced at you and returned to his book, hoping to conceal his reaction.

His usual scowl deepened, pulling down at his freckled cheeks as he interrogated. “Why?”

A lopsided grin scrunched your plump cheeks upwards to crinkle your eyes as you shrugged. “Because I want to.”

Aemond flipped onto the next page with a skeptical face, yet his violet orbs never moved from the same spot. You had his attention. Hiding a victorious grin, you stepped towards him before he could protest, plopping onto the pillows beside Aemond. He quickly recoiled in exaggerated disgust, as if you were no more than an annoying fly that landed on his arm as he slammed the tome shut and briskly left.

This was an expected outcome, and you hurriedly chased after him, your shorter legs struggling to keep up with your uncle’s pace as he fled around a corner from your attempted act of bonding. You understood this was not a simple task and already built the mental stamina to outlast Aemond’s antics as he jumped down the stone steps of the Keep two at a time.

Eventually, he managed to escape you, his notable mane of blonde hair disappearing before a crowd of courtiers in the courtyard.

You huffed a sigh as you observed the sea of people, sweat stinging your privy part, but you ignored it, standing on the tips of your toes to peer over the wall of the pale redstone landing above the yard.

Suddenly, you spotted him at the far end as he caught your gaze, violet eyes widening in horror as if he saw one of the monsters from your stories. He turned away. His confident walk soon turned to a worried jog as you ran as fast as your limbs could carry you, shoving your way through the throng of people. You were used to playing chase with your brothers. Doing it with your uncle was the same, if not more manageable, with the help of his iconic hair and green garbs.

As you reached the area where you spotted your uncle, he was nowhere to be found, and you turned, looking across the vast meadow of the court that ebbed and flowed like the swaying of a wheat field, focused on their afternoon destinations. None of them paid any attention to the two dragon royals, both more than a head shorter and too self-absorbed to care.

With a sharp yelp, you fell to the ground, soiling your gown and dropping your book on the packed dirt as you caught yourself with your palms. They ached at the impact, tiny rocks embedding into your soft skin as you swiftly turned to the person who shoved you and saw no other than your uncle Aemond staring over you with rose-dusted cheeks. His arms securely bound his book to his chest as he looked down upon you with his nose, catching his breath and taking three paces back before you righted yourself.

“Why are you following me?” your uncle shouted down at you as he attempted to make his voice sound like a grown man.

You huffed as you swiped the dirt from your turquoise dress, gritting your teeth to control your frustration. This was one of your nice ones! Of course, Aemond would ruin it. Your mother would surely scold you when she found out.

“I told you I only wanted to read!” you screeched with a stomp of your foot as your arms flew into the air, flailing wildly. “And now you’ve ruined my favorite collection! The spine is loose and the pages are dirty!”

Aemond said nothing as you studied the now-tattered book before you. Every night, Ser Harwin or your father read a short story from this as you sat atop their laps, drifting off into a restful sleep filled with dreams of nymphs playing in a forest creek. Your book, too, was ruined—another consequence of wanting to be kind to your uncle.

“What’s it about?” he suddenly asked, prompting your watery eyes to move to him. The blush that covered Aemond’s face deepened, now traveling to his ears and throat as he dug his nails into the leatherback of his tome. He looked almost pained to inquire about anything that had to do with you.

Your first instinct was to bite with sharpened fangs of hurt, but you stopped, remembering your goal as you batted your watery lashes in disregard. “It was a volume of different stories,” you sighed with disappointment, afraid that if you showed any other emotions, you would revert to your old ways.

“I see.”

You stared at Aemond expectantly, waiting longer than what was proper for him to continue any sentence or explanation. Still, he did not, only observing you with a calculating expression. The low murmur of bustling court members filled the long silence, the occasional gust of wind and rattling metal low in the background. When your uncle refused to proceed with the conversation, you opened your mouth to do it for him, but much to your chagrin, he turned away before you could, not speaking a word as he kicked pebbles with his boots.

You scoffed in response, stunned and appalled by his actions. For a brief moment, one that didn’t last longer than a blink, Aemond showed kindness to you. You felt like an idiot for believing in that small part that thought last night changed your standing with Aemond, yet a ray of hope still lingered in your chest like the flame of a burnt wick on a dwindling candle.

You sighed in frustration as you looked over the worn and tattered pages of the stories. The determination you once had dwindled, and you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you deserved this. Memories of mocking Aemond’s odd behavior of the pig and making fun of him with your brothers and Aegon weighed heavily on you, intensifying the shame. A soft sigh of defeat escaped your lips as you reflected on your actions.

Ser Harwin was leaving you. After his fight with Ser Criston in the training yard, he was stripped of his title as Commander of the City Watch and was sent back to Harrenhal the next day. You were devastated, fat tears running down your hot cheeks as he said farewell to you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey before sleep.

Harwin had been with you since before you were born. He was there to help sort out quarrels between you and your brothers whenever one stole toys and refused to share. Harwin accompanied you to your lessons when your brothers were learning the art of swords or hunting. He taught you how to ride a horse when your father was out at sea with your grandfather Corlys and dried your tears whenever Aegon and Aemond were harsh. Ser Harwin was family as far as you were concerned, and returning to the Riverlands was akin to losing a member because Ser Criston claimed he cared too much about you and your brothers only to be a sworn protector.

You weren’t blind to the rumors surrounding your parentage and the resemblance to the Commander of the City Watch. It was all your uncles could do not to bring it up each moment they laid their Valyrian eyes on you. The word bastard haunted the now four of you wherever you went, a cloak of shame that threatened to devour your girlish body whole.

Jace often raised concerns about who your birth father was, but he was never brave enough to ask your mother about it. It was an open question of uncertainty that never seemed to find the correct answer, yet, no matter what, you knew that even if you were not of Laenor Velaryon’s blood, they could never deny that you were your mother’s. You were a Targaryen, just like your aunt and uncles, and that was something that could never change.

“Be good to your mother. I’ll visit when I can,” Ser Harwin said tenderly, kneeling before you, Jace, and Luke as your mother cradled Joffrey. He stood with a grunt as he observed the four of you, a misty look in his eyes that you could mistake for tears. “But that may be some time.”

Sobs stained the white cotton sleeves of your nightgown gray, sniffling as you wiped away more snot and salty water. You would miss Ser Harwin terribly, and he knew that, but that did not make this any less painful as you clung to Jace’s side and he, your mother.

“I will return. I promise,” Harwin expressed with a gravelly voice as he tenderly brushed loose strands of your hair that hid your wet eyes. You listened to the same voice as you sat on his lap, resting your head upon his chest as he read you and your brother’s fairy tales before bed.

Harwin would tell no more stories in that deep, rumbling tone that soothed your soul beyond measure, and you felt your heart crack more at the thought.

Harwin moved to say his final farewell to Joffrey and your mother, kissing the babe’s forehead as you buried your face in your brother’s neck. “You will be a stranger when we meet again,” he said to the bundle of fabric that cooed in your mother’s arms.

And that was true, not just for Joffrey, but for all of you.

Ser Harwin bid goodbye to your mother with a simple “princess” as they shared a long, meaningful glance with layers of emotion and scores of history behind them. He said no more and gathered his sword, swinging it over his shoulder as you released a cry, running to the comforting embrace of your mother’s bed. You could no longer watch Harwin as he left your life, a new wave of sobs taking over as you shoved your face into her feather pillows. It smelled of her, home, and happiness—fresh lavender and sage on expensive cotton sheets.

Despite your mother’s reassurance that you would see Ser Harwin again someday, you could not help but feel like this was a death sentence. As if you stood in front of his coffin and buried him beneath the dirt and worms yourself. He would no longer be the sworn shield he was when he left at this very moment, as you heard the sound of hurried footfalls exiting the room.

Luke followed you to the wide bed, tucking himself into your side and resting his temple on your chest as you both cried in an agonizing yet loving embrace. You could hear Jace talking to your mother outside the doorway, little Joffrey babbling as she softly bounced him in her arms. Whether it was to comfort your babe brother or her, you did not know.

“Is Harwin Strong my father? Am I a bastard?” you heard Jace ask. His fierce and unwavering inquiry only made you sadder. On instinct, you covered Luke’s ears as he hiccuped into your chest. He did not need to have doubt burrow into his mind at such a young age.

Your mother was silent. The only sounds coming were from you, the soft crackles of the fire in the hearth, and your little brother’s heaving breaths as you struggled to cope with the loss.

“You are a Targaryen. That is all that matters,” she finally answered, tone strong. Her words were rehearsed and practiced, and they did not quell the thirst for the truth in either you or Jace.

Your barely younger brother returned to the room. His thin lips downturned, and his head hung low as he sat on one of the plush settees littering the area. You could tell he was unsatisfied with your mother’s response, as were you, but he understood he would get the same reply should he push the matter. Your mother followed in soon after, observing the three of you with tired yet loving eyes.

The same question was on your lips, threatening to break free at any moment, lilac orbs landing on your brown ones as she stared at you with your newest brother still in her arms. She was not inclined to answer, and yet you knew. It was written plainly in the fine lines of her face, the slope of her nose, and how tears lined her lashes as your mother inhaled a fierce, shuddering breath. Much like her, you refused to say the words aloud, electing to bask in the grief-stricken sadness that enveloped your family.

The hour of the owl was upon you before you finally went to your chambers, unable to find rest in your kin’s arms. Your brothers choose to stay with your mother inside hers as their tiny bodies pressed against each other after the tears have long dried.

The halls and corridors of the Red Keep were noiseless as you trekked through them with keen eyes. The portraits of your ancestors you passed daily seemed to follow you with their purple gazes, their accusing stares boring shame into your soul and setting your hair alight.

Alicent’s warning rang through your head as the squeak of a rat sounded, her rich voice echoing inside until it was all you could hear. The end could not come fast enough as you shut the large wooden doors to your, Jace’s, and Luke’s shared quarters, swiftly hiding under your blue bed sheets, heart hammering in your chest.

Your bed was cold and safe, and your pulse calmed steadily. Now, more than ever, the uncertainty behind your birth was thrust before you.

It was always easier to deny the fact that you were most likely a bastard than it was to accept it. Those who accused you did not understand that they weren’t only saying your blood was not Laenor Velaryon but that you and your brothers were a sin, your very existence an insult to House Velaryon, the king, and to all those who dutifully suffered unkind marriages.

Bastards were not heirs. They were creations purely out of selfish lust and desire.

It called into question all four of your legitimacy of inheritance. None of you had claims to the thrones or titles you were set to receive upon the death of your parents, and no prospects would want to wed a bastard should you accept it.

You understood why your mother did not admit the words allowed in the confidence of the now four of you. If you spoke them into existence, it would only make them real. It left you no choice but to deny, deny, deny until your tongue withered and lips fell off. Living a life of refusal of admittance would be difficult. Still, it was the only way to ensure you and your brother’s places would be secured until the Stranger decided to take another companion.

The empty well of tears soon filled once more as you sighed deeply in surrender to the turbulent path ahead, tucking your hand underneath your pillow for the relief of rest, but unfortunately, it did not find you.

Your vanity mirror shined like a beacon in the darkness, reminding you of that night. You still needed to move it back to its original place and give your maids the excuse that you wanted to see what it would look like there. It was a lie.

The idea that Aegon knew of a passage into your rooms haunted you when you set foot into the space. You were scared, anxious, no… terrified that your eldest uncle would waltz into your bed chamber at any moment. The unknown was what frightened you—of what he would do. The notion that he could enter pushed you to rise from bed, planting the soles of your feet onto a maroon Myrish rug as you grabbed the legs of the vanity and pulled it back into place. You would have to think of another lie to tell your maids.

“Why is Uncle Aemond unkind to us?” a timid voice rang out into the once private space.

Nearly jumping out of your skin, you turned to see Luke with a wooden toy dragon curled into his tiny fist. It looked as if he had just awoken from sleep minutes ago, which you assumed was the case judging by his messy hair and crusted eyes. As you caught your breath, clutching the skirt of your pale gray nightgown, you disregarded any questions about why he was here instead of your mother’s room.

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be,” you answered as your racing heart calmed. “Why do you ask?”

“I saw him push you over in the courtyard,” he ardently explained, his dark brows rising against his pale skin. It reminded you of your father when he tried to speak earnestly with the three of you, yet Luke’s boyish voice had no similarities to his.

You sighed, recalling the now ruined book you hid in your trunk alongside your tattered dress. “He was angry.”

You did not want to tell Luke about Aemond’s rejection, as the embarrassment was still fresh. He would no doubt try to tell you how you were wrong for attempting to befriend him after the mean things he’d said to you all your life.

“He’s always angry, but we haven’t done anything,” Luke countered with a frown on his small lips, fiddling with his fingers at his sides.

You paused for a long moment, unsure of what to say. The three of you were not nearly as cruel to Aemond as Aegon was. Your mother raised you to be kind to your uncles and aunt no matter what they did to you, and while you were not perfect, any jokes or rude remarks were not made with the intent to hurt him. With a great sigh, you lead Luke in front of the gated fireplace, where a collection of your toys rests in the orange glow. He picked up a polished wooden horse, running his tiny thumbs over the varnish as you spoke.

“I think he believes we don’t belong here,” you said. The explanation was vague, and it irked you beyond measure. The truth of your words threatened to surface like an apple thrown into a barrel full of water.

“We live here. This is our family,” he replied in confusion, dark eyes so wide you could see the entire white. He wasn’t wrong, yet the truth of the matter clawed at your throat to become free.

“We don’t look like Targaryens. You must have noticed.” You could not stop the words from being said. You were such a good liar. Why was it impossible to lie about this?

“You mean our hair?” Luke questioned with a tilt of his head, scratching his scalp in confusion with one of the wooden toys.

You didn’t want to tell him and put the burden of knowledge onto your younger brother that you and Jace were cursed with, but it was something you understood would follow the now four of you for the rest of your lives.

Luke was still younger than you, yet his simple statement of your hair tested your last bit of resolve. “Our hair, eyes, and everything!” you exclaimed exasperated.

“But I have a crooked little finger like Mama,” he reasoned with the raise of his hand, showing his small digit. You deflated, sighing a drawn-out breath to calm your temper as you picked up one of your rag dolls from the pile.

“A crooked little finger isn’t enough,” you decided to say as you stroked the button eyes on your toy. Why couldn’t he comprehend that no matter how many similarities you had to your mother, the fact of who your father was remained uncertain?

“Well, if we aren’t Targaryens, where did we come from?” The sap inside the fire popped, startling you and your brother as you stared into the flames.

You were Targaryens. That much was obvious. You cannot fake exiting your mother’s womb. It was the matter of your father that sparked rumors, but you did not want to give Luke any more thoughts over the subject, coming to accept that he was not old enough to understand what your uncle was being mean about.

“We were born here. Mama is our mother, but there’s something else and Aemond knows it,” you answered obscurely, clutching your dolly into your chest as the night air howled outside the glass windows.

It felt like the Keep was listening to your conversation, the walls groaning in response to your words. The very castle you lived in understood the truth, and the pressure of it weighed heavily on your soul. Just like the paintings of your ancestors, the Red Keep knew of your shame.

“I do not wish to be different,” Luke confessed with dejection, too sad for your liking, as he stopped playing with the toys.

You didn’t want to cause anyone’s sadness, let alone your brother’s, and you frowned, taking Luke’s hand in yours and scooting across the floor to hug his side.

You loved your family more than words could describe as you held your younger brother closer. Jace, Luke, and now Joffrey did not deserve the torment they would face for the rest of their lives at the hands of your uncles and the court. As the eldest, it was your responsibility to protect them from things your parents could not, to take care of them and dry their tears, not to burden your mother or father, but this was something you understood you could not fix, yet it did not deter you from trying.

“Nor do I,” you finally spoke, holding Luke close to your heart and kissing him on his cherubic cheek. “So let us be good children and please those who love us so they may forget what we lack. Come. It’s time for bed.” Your mother would say that as you took your brother by the hand and led him to your bed.

If you couldn’t change what people said, you could at least change the contents they discussed.

You would excel in your place as the unspoken heir and accept your duties no matter what with your shoulders back and your chin held high. You would learn the history of your ancestors, the politics of your country, and whatever else you believed was dutiful to prepare yourself for the responsibility you would inherit after your mother. Not feeling the same fear you did earlier, now with your younger brother at your side, you pulled the covers over both of you as Luke snuggled into your side’s comforting embrace.

Aemond felt he lacked something compared to his siblings, niece, and nephews. Some of him believed that if a dragon hatched from his egg, or he claimed a living one, things would be different from how they were now. He would not be the subject of people’s taunts nor feel the prominent sensation of inadequacy that weighed on his soul, but it seemed as if Aemond was destined to suffer within the shadows of his family’s success no matter how hard he tried to step out of it.

His older brother possessed the skills of conversation and humor he didn’t have and constantly teased him for it, though Aegon was not without faults. His brother would tell him to stop being a “twat,” to get his nose out of books, and that he was dull, sullen, and far too severe for his age.

Because of this, Aegon preferred to spend time with Jace, Luke, and his niece, but it didn’t help that they were much easier company. His half-sister’s children seemed to have a bond closer than his siblings, each with dragons, which was the one thing he didn’t possess. Aemond would never admit he was jealous of his niece and nephews, for that would mean that he saw them as equals of comparison, which was something they weren’t. They were beings of lesser standing, though they thought themselves on par, as they had been raised with the same extravagance he was.

Aemond knew you would be looking for him the next day as he watched you skip to the library the following morning, your smile so bright on your face that it made him sick. Seeing how the joy fell from your face when you saw he was not there gave him a deep sense of satisfaction.

Did you think him stupid?

He could see the telltale signs of tears welling in your eyes as you realized your hidden plans of ridicule were foiled: the scrunch of your dark brows, rapid blinking to get the droplets at bay, and then the pursing of your lips. This time, you held firm and refused to let your emotions guide you. At least, that was what Aemond believed as he observed you exiting the library deep in thought.

He knew you would not give up so easily, and instead of taking solace in his usual places of inhabitant and risking you finding him, he chose to watch you. You could not see him if he was three steps ahead. Aemond was glad that you weren’t nearly as bright as you believed, and as long as he stayed out of sight, he could be sure you wouldn’t bother him. The irony of the situation that he would now be following you to avoid you didn’t matter, and he certainly wasn’t concerned about your well-being after what Aegon did, either.

You were as foreign to one another as Old Valyria; there was no reason for him to care. Aemond would do this every day for the rest of his life if it meant he would never have to spend a moment with you again.

“Brother, what are you doing?”

Helaena’s voice drifted through the halls like summer wind through tree leaves, startling Aemond as he watched his niece’s dark head disappear around a corner. Her fair blonde locks, a copy of her brother’s, were braided around the crown of her head, a tiny metal cage in her lithe fingers, and a curious expression on her visage directed towards him.

“You’re avoiding her,” Helaena declared with a resolute lilt to her tone, taking the insect out of its confines. “After what has been stolen.”

Aemond stared at his sister with perplexed eyes, quickly looking to ensure you had not heard the conversation and came to investigate.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Aemond said distractedly, wringing his hands at the pit of unease in his stomach.

There was no possibility that she knew what occurred during the night. Aegon would never willingly admit something like this, and you would undoubtedly keep what happened a secret, seeing as you refused to tell your mother in fear of punishment.

Helaena was silent as she observed the olive-and-brown grasshopper in her palm, petting it with her index finger before it tried to jump away. She held the open metal cage in the bug’s intended direction, and it landed inside, swiftly flicking the door shut before it could attempt to escape again.

“Tis our fate, I think, to crave what is given to another. If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away,” Helaena declared with the furrow of her blonde eyebrows, the insect thumping against the metal bars as she looked at her younger brother.

Her words were cryptic, and Aemond felt a bead of sweat run down his spine as he observed his older sister. He didn’t understand what she meant. She intensely focused on it, so he assumed it was about the grasshopper. Aemond wordlessly shrugged, disregarding his older sister’s vague observation as he peered anxiously at where he last spotted you.

“Tis not difficult for the ewe to love the lamb. But for the wolf?” Helaena began again, standing beside her brother with a soft swish of her satin skirt. “The wolf’s love for the lamb is such a renunciation, it’s the wolf’s sacrifice—it’s a love that could never be requited. This wolf that sacrifices its very definition for the lamb, this wolf that doesn’t eat the lamb, is it a wolf? Is it still a wolf?”

Aemond paid no attention to her now as Helaena spouted what he felt was nonsense and decided to push forward in search of you, ensuring with noiseless strides you would not see him once he got close.

Helaena was someone he felt was misunderstood like him, but now was not the time to go on with poetry and riddles.

“But sometimes it’s the wolf that falls into the jaws of the lamb. Out of love, the wolf falls backward into the circle of fire. It goes around fast. It so happens that the lamb catches the wolf,” Helaena continued, her voice soft like morning spring rain as she followed her vexed younger brother. She was inside her world, purposely or ignorant of her brother’s frustration.

“There is no greater love than the love the wolf feels for the lamb it doesn’t eat.”

Aemond groaned, losing his temper, which he rarely did in the presence of his sister. His niece had irked him, causing his heartbeat to quicken and his lungs pant.

“Helaena, will you please stop with this nonsense? I have important matters to tend to,” Aemond barked hushedly as a servant passed by, blocking the sun from the windows.

Any other day, he would allow his sister to speak for however long and about whatever she wanted, but this was not one of those times. You could happen upon him at any moment, and the prince did not want to risk the chance of a repeat encounter.

Helaena refused to listen to him as her musings became louder and sharper as if she was trying to convey a point without the proper words, no doubt alerting you and everyone else in the Keep to where he was. Aemond felt the blanket of defeat shroud his figure as the sound of light hurried footfalls sounded in the hall.

“The lamb loves its wolf. The wolf turns white and starts quivering out of love for the lamb. The lamb loves the wolf’s fragility, and the wolf loves the frail one’s force. The wolf is now the lamb’s lamb and the lamb has tamed the wolf,” his sister concluded, violet-eyed with an understanding she attempted to impart onto Aemond with the harsh squeeze of her digits on his arm.

He gasped, his brows arched in pain from Helaena’s sharp nails piercing through his tunic, and tried to wretch his arm free with a panicked grunt, but to no avail. Before he could blink, your pitched voice pierced Aemond’s ears, and he felt like they would burst.

“Uncle! There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The loose strands of your neatly styled hair bounced with every step as you approached Aemond with a broad grin on your lips. “I was hoping we could read today. I chose a book I think you would like. I know you don’t enjoy fairytales.”

“Love blackens the lamb, leaving fire and blood to light their way,” Helaena whispered, her violet gaze directed towards the tall window as a bird flew past. She released Aemond’s arm as if she suddenly realized she still had it. She looked back to her grasshopper, wordlessly displaying it for you to see.

“Oh, is that a new one Helaena?” you asked with a bright curiosity in your tone. Aemond didn’t believe you truly cared about his sister and her bugs, curling his lip in disgust at what he thought were false niceties. “Where did you find it? We’ll have to go there sometime to see if there are more!”

You didn’t care about Helaena and her hobbies. You were more like Aegon and made fun of her for the bugs she collected. At least, that was what he had in his mind. Aemond felt conflicted as he watched his sister nod in agreement, asking when your punishment was over so you could spend time together again.

When he noticed Helaena’s faint smile as she left, grasshopper in tow, a warmth blossomed inside his heart. His sister only showed happiness when she truly felt it, not to be polite like most, and it caused Aemond to turn to you, his face pale. You were his annoying, spoiled, bastard niece who got anything she wanted, so why were you not acting like it?

It felt like butterflies were inside your stomach as you took another step toward Aemond, a book clutched to your chest like before. Aemond watched as his sister left the two of you alone without a word, like she was in a world of her own. He wanted to reach out to her to be not alone with his dreadful niece, but Helaena was gone as quickly as she emerged, leaving her younger brother with the girl he hated most in the world.

“I have a book I think we both would like today, uncle. It’s one about the warrior Queen Nymeria and her journey to Dorne,” you announced, a slight sway in your step as you tried to quell your anxiety.

Aemond huffed as he looked for a way out of this and sighed in defeat when he found none, clenching his thumbs inside his palms to control the ire that swelled in response. Your uncle didn’t want your pity or your friendship. He knew you were only spending time with him since you didn’t wish to Aegon and could not be with your brothers because they were in their lessons. You would have never done this if his eldest brother could control his impulses. It made him feel like a second choice, another painful reminder that he was always second to his kin, yet not good enough to be a spare.

Walking away in surrender, he led you back to the library, where no one would see the pair of you, and the sun provided the only light. He knew Aegon would tease him beyond what he could take if he saw you together, and after that night, Aemond did not want to see him anyway.

You set the book of Queen Nymeria’s adventures on a dusty wooden table and giggled as you fanned the air. Aemond was not amused, sulking in the chair beside you as he opened the leather back of the book. You sat next to him, shoulders touching, ignoring his reaction. He mockingly covered his mouth as if he smelled something terrible when he inhaled the citrus scent on your skin. This made you feel a bit upset, but you tried to hide it by tugging at your dark hair and avoiding his gaze.

You read the first page together silently. It stated how the queen looked, how beautiful she was with long, flowing, swarthy hair cascading down her waist with sturdy hips, her skin a smooth, youthful complexion with brown eyes to match. Yet still, she was a fierce warrior with an indomitable spirit who led her men into battle and took no cowards. You imagined you would be like her when you grew up, a beautiful warrior queen who ruled her kingdom with an unwavering though gentle and cunning fist, who people loved and respected her rule.

“Can I turn it?” Aemond asked dispassionately, cutting through the silence. You hadn’t realized you had been so lost in your daydreams that you had not retained a single word written on the page, but to not make your uncle perceive you lower than he already did, you nodded.

You leaned closer to the pages before you decorated them in elaborate colors of blue and red, studying the new page and picture. Aemond glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, unnoticed by you as you were lost in the vast expanse of your mind, your cheek right next to his.

He was surprised at how different you were, apart from the apparent fact of age and sex. His eyelashes were almost white and translucent, while yours were black, long, surrounding dark eyes that glistened with natural wetness that threatened to suck him into their depths if he stared for too long. Aemond’s skin was pale and dusted with sun kisses, yet yours was plain, flushed, and full of life, your lips more defined and moist than his. You possessed a pug nose matching that of your brothers rather than his aquiline one, a softer, more plump face than his, as Aemond’s was more defined even for his age. His hair, the color of Targaryen’s, the white you didn’t have a hint of and mocked you for, was visible proof of who your father was.

Though Aemond immensely enjoyed pointing out the idea that you were a bastard, he reluctantly realized that you weren’t unattractive, at least by Westerosie standards.

“I will be like Nymeria when I am queen,” you announced to Aemond, breaking the silence. He gave you a sidelong glance and sighed. It wouldn’t hurt if there were some conversation between you. It didn’t seem like you would be mean to him, and he supposed you were indebted to him after all.

At your hopeful expression, your uncle didn’t have the heart to tell you that neither you nor your mother would rule the Seven Kingdoms. Women were not fit to rule and carry such a burden. They were too gentle of creatures to make the harsh decisions that ruling required.

“Are you certain you’ll be a good ruler? You can barely get your brothers to listen to you. What makes you think the Lords of the realm will?” Aemond questioned with a trace of bitterness you couldn’t understand the cause of.

Turning to him with a face painted with a serious expression, your brows scrunched together and lips tight in a severe line as you took his hand. “Just as Nymeria burned her ships to prevent any cowardly men from fleeing, I will burn all those who try to hurt my family and oppose my reign.”

You stated the words with such a decisive coldness that it caused Aemond to shiver. He was shocked and in awe at your declaration, stunned into silence filled with momentary admiration. Aemond never imagined that would come out of your mouth. He always pictured you as soft-hearted when it came to violence, having seen you cower when Aegon would hit your brothers too hard when training.

“What would you do if they didn’t allow your mother to be queen? You wouldn’t have the power to do that,” your uncle reasoned, giving you a devoted attention he never gave before. It made you pause.

“Perhaps I was a bit rash,” you reasoned with the gentle tug of your hair, letting go of Aemond’s hand in nervousness. He swiftly snatched it back before you could think, a surge of excitement rolling in the pit of your stomach with the action. “It wouldn’t only be me, though. I would have Jace, Luke, and Joffrey when he becomes a rider. We would help our mother if anyone tried to prevent her, and I would have my husband, too. He would be my Mors Martell and help me conquer all of Dorne!”

You looked at Aemond with uncertain eyes as your gaze flicked from him to the open book the two of you barely read.

“You mean Aegon. Someone with a dragon,” he countered snidely, turning his flushed cheeks away from you.

“No,” you snapped quicker than you could have imagined. “I don’t want Aegon to be my husband.”

Aemond needn’t ask why.

You hadn’t heard your eldest uncle’s name since that night, and hearing it made something within you break. You despised Aegon for his actions. Did he feel entitled to mistreat you because of the betrothal plan? It filled you with blackened fury. You took a quick breath to calm yourself and looked to Aemond, who appeared remorseful.

“You don’t need a dragon to be powerful,” you explained with a gentle tone, but Aemond only scoffed.

“That’s easy for you to say when you have one,” he bit, causing the tips of his ears to grow pink in anger.

You attempted to hide your huff of annoyance at his sulking but failed, rolling your dark eyes as you answered him honestly. “I do believe you’ll have a dragon one day. There are too many around for you not to. You just need to find the right one, but even if you don’t, there are other ways to have power. You could ride with me and Gaeli, too, if you like? If you never claimed one.”

It was an offering of peace, of goodwill, telling your uncle without the words that you were sorry for having played all the jokes you did on him for not having a mount. You wanted him to know he was welcomed into the world of dragons without one, that you would still see him as an equal, if not better than you in some aspects. He was already showing prospects of being a fine warrior.

“Really?” Aemond perked, violet eyes setting alight with happiness you had never seen him show. He felt childish, but he couldn't help it. You offered for him to ride a dragon!

You giggled, unable to hold your joy back as you bobbed eagerly. “Of course, Aemond! As soon as Gaelithox is large enough to ride you will be with me. We can learn together for when you finally mount one!”

It was the first time you saw your uncle smile with genuine, untainted mirth, displaying a set of dimples you didn’t know he had. The pair of you fell into a deep conversation long into the late evening, causing your mother to pace with nerves until you returned, discussing thoughts of the future, of what dragons Aemond could claim, and how, if he never bonded with one, you would make him feel as if he was a dragon rider like the rest of your family.

The following days, Aemond rose with the sun, a sensation he had never felt before in the pit of his stomach as his servant dressed him in traditional green garbs.

Excitement.

He was filled with eager anticipation for the days ahead now that he had something positive to look forward to. It was something only he had now. In a way, though Aemond would never admit it, for it was such a horrendous thought that brought him great shame, he was glad that Aegon raped his niece. If he hadn’t, Aemond would never have gained one of the two things Aegon had that he didn’t.

First, he took the companionship of the only person who steadfastly supported his old brother. Next, all Aemond had to do was acquire a dragon, and finally, he would be equal to Aegon, if not better.

As Aemond traveled the halls, understanding full well that he could read within the privacy of his chamber, he went to the library to read ever since he and his niece shared words of the future. He met you in the same place in the library after your lessons, whether to read, chat, or enjoy the peace of the other’s company.

Though Aemond was proud that he took something from Aegon, he was afraid that his brother would see you together one day, but Aegon never ventured into the noiselessness of the library. The eldest son had never been much of a student.

You typically sparked conversations, and Aemond would answer back in kind. It made him feel better about himself—more of a man to have someone solely seek his attention and knowledge in a way no one else had before. Aemond always ended the day with a pleasant flutter in his heart and tingling in his fingers for what tomorrow would bring.

One night, as Aemond lay fast asleep with visions of the sun blinding his eyes, green scales, and a head of dark hair that flew in the wind, he woke with a start to the sound of his chamber doors opening. He feared it was Aegon and his nephews who were once again trying to make a mockery of him.

He rose within the lush emerald bedsheets, terrified, as the torchlight shone from the hallway, outlining the figure in the door frame. The person stepped forward with a loud creak of the metal hinges.

“Aemond?”

He heard the quiet mumble, the voice softer than that of the feather pillows he lay his head on at night. Aemond could barely see your silhouette in the darkness, squinting with sleep-clouded eyes to ensure it was you. He could hear your soft sniffles and quick breaths as concern hastened his heart.

“Can I sleep with you?”

You could hear your uncle shift on his bed, mind still reeling from being woken up from a deep slumber. The silence stretched long between you and Aemond, and you feared he might refuse your plea for comfort.

“What? Why?” he hissed with venom. There was no privacy from Aegon here. At any moment, his older brother could walk into his room and see you conversing. He didn’t need another excuse to be ridiculed. You had to leave now.

Your hiccups were loud at his rejection as you wiped at your tears, unable to form coherent sentences as sobs racked your lungs. “I…I had a dream. Ae-gon came… back. He hurt me again, and I… I couldn’t…” You cried, palms scratching at your scalp as you tried to speak.

“Go sleep with Jace,” he retorted, ready to return to bed. Spending time together privately was one thing, but this was invading his space, his place of solitude without siblings or nieces.

“I can’t! He and Luke have been sleeping with Mama since Ser Harwin left,” you babbled in despair, glancing over your shoulder as if the monster called Aegon would emerge from the shadows and devour you whole.

Your desperation stung Aemond's heart, and sympathy clouded his sense that the fear you felt was something he, too, experienced. After a long pause, your uncle shifted to the side, noiselessly lifting his sheets and making room beside him.

Breathing a loud sigh of relief that reminded him of a fish gasping for air, you closed the door, running to Aemond’s bed and immediately clinging to his side. He knew you to be affectionate, but he still carried concern in his mind. Yet how you trembled like a frightened fawn, told him this was not a rouse. You were sincerely terrified that your eldest uncle would return and no one would stop him this time.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know you don’t like me,” you sobbed into your uncle’s green nightshirt, gripping the fabric so tight that Aemond worried it would rip. “Please, please, please don’t let him hurt me again, uncle. I can still feel it between my legs.”

Aemond froze at the sudden burst of intimacy, slowly wrapping his arms around your quivering body. Despite the context of the situation, having you so close sent a pleasant tingling down the base of his spine. He tried to focus on your breathing, waiting for it to calm down before he spoke again.

Though he was beginning to tolerate your presence, having you within his bed chambers was not something he wanted.

Aemond recalled the last time you experienced panic like this, a type too intense for your body to manage, ripping your hair straight from the root in response. He hated to realize he didn’t want you to suffer like that again, and unconsciously, he began to stroke the crown of your head.

It felt good to be needed, so desperately wanted by someone that they tried to crawl inside him, seeking protection, and Aemond felt an overwhelming urge to protect you how a wolf does its pup. He would shelter you from all monsters and people that sought you harm so long as you returned to him with the same wet eyes and arms full of love.

When you finally relaxed, no longer shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind, he spoke, praying that your exhausted mind would forget his confession in the morning.

“When I have a dragon he will not hurt you so long as you’re with me.”

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Oh, sweet prophetic girl. You know so much yet can do so little. Cursed with the knowledge of what will come and what has yet to be. Let's all pour one out for Helaena, besties.

I hope this chapter makes up for how sad the last one was. I love writing for angsty young Aemond. As always, thank you for reading!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp , @britt-mf , @marvelescvpe , @haikyuusboringassmanager , @discofairysworld , @lottiemsgf , @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist

[velvetm00light]

Damsel

gif: pinterest banner: @benkeibear, @mariariley, @haerinism

Chapter One of Save Me

Word count: 4.6k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: You've managed to keep your feelings for your coworker, the one and only Dr. Spencer Reid, completely in the back of your mind. But, when an unsub attacks close to home, you quickly realize you're on your way to becoming a victim. As you fight the panic coursing inside you, you are also left fighting the emotions that arise when Spencer tries to comfort and protect you.

Warnings: Mentions sexual assault, murder, serial killer, domxsub, degradation, torture, stalking. In future parts, will mention vivid torture, PinV, oral, domxsub situations, grief, bondage, physical harm, kidnapping, etc.

A/N: My first attempt at Tumblr and writing on here! This one is going to be a bit of a dark one so read at your own risk. I'm mostly writing for fun but this one will have at least a few parts to it. :)

Your knees begin to ache as you continue to kneel on the hardwood floor in your bedroom. Strong, nimble hands grip your head, lacing fingers into your hair and yank it backwards. A silk blindfold covers your eyes, heightening the rest of your senes. You feel his hot breath mere inches away from your mouth as he speaks to you in a growl.

"Look at you, on your knees, begging for me like a slut." You let out a small whimper at this, rubbing your thighs together in an attempt to get any kind of friction between your legs. All you need is to release this pent up heat at your core, but he is hell bent on taking his sweet time with you.

"Beg." You flinch at the demand in his voice but you do as you're commanded. "Please, Sir...I need it so bad," you cry out. Your wrists struggle in the cold handcuffs that keep your hands bound together behind your back. You just want to touch him so badly, want him to touch you so badly.

He hums and loosens his grip on your hair. You're roughly lifted up from your arm and thrown on the bed. "On your back."

You quickly do as your told, unable to waste another moment wanting instead of getting. "Are you ready to take me like the good girl you are?" You groan your approval, bucking your hips greedily. towards him.

His hands gently reach behind your head to let the blindfold loose. You blink rapidly, your eyes straining to adjust to the bedroom light. You can feel his cock rubbing against your folds slowly.

Once your eyes adjust, you spot unruly, brown curls and a smirking face hovering over you. "Spencer, please.." you beg right before he-

Your phone is ringing ceaselessly on your nightstand as it breaks you out of your sleep. You sit up rapidly, dazed and confused after the intensity of your dream...your dream about your coworker. You rub your eyes with the palms of your hands and let out a sigh. You'll dive into the analysis of your dream eventually, just not right now or maybe you'll just try to forget about it and never think of it again.

You grab your phone and answer it without bothering to check who was calling in the first place. Ever since you began working for the BAU 2 years ago, the only friends you had, had the same demanding job as you. No matter what day or time your phone rang, 9 times out of 10, it was going to be work.

"Hello?" you answer sleepily.

"You sound worse than I did when Hotch called me," Penelope giggles on the other end. "I didn't bother trying to text you first because I knew I wouldn't get a response for approximately 3 business days and then I'd have to probably send a whole wellness check to your house to make sure-"

"I'm assuming we have a case?" You can't help but chuckle at Penelope's ramble.

"Yes, but prepare yourself for this one." Penelope's tone wakes you up more than your coffee normally does. Despite being at the BAU longer than you have, after just about every case you've brought Penelope a bottle of wine, some kind of home-baked sweet and sat on her couch the rest of the day or night in slippers and face masks.

At first, just about everything made you jumpy and queasy but now, there's not much you haven't seen. You've done a decent job at separating your personal and professional emotions - for the most part.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Pen. I'm sure I'll be okay." I reassure her, questioning what kind of case we could possibly have that would rattle me more than abducted children, kidnapped and beaten women, and just about every other sadistic thing you can think of.

You say your goodbyes to Penelope and prepare to head to the office.

You take your seat around the round table, JJ to your left and Morgan to your right, the 3 of you the only ones there so far. You lean towards JJ and lower your voice into a whisper.

"Have you heard anything about this case yet?" You ask.

"I'm pretty sure it's just some murders here in Quantico." She replies, her brows knitting together. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm not sure, I just...Pen called me this morning and told me to prepare. Did she say the same to you?"

"No, she didn't." You take your bottom lip between your teeth and sit back in your seat. Your mind began chasing itself in circles, making up different scenarios on why you would have to be the one to prepare.

Spencer is the next to come, taking a seat across from you. He gives you a friendly smile and he immediately jumps into conversation, asking you guys what you did this weekend and if you were interrupted when you got called. The memory of the dream you were interrupted from plays back in your mind and you feel the heat rising up your neck.

You play it safe and try to kill your heat with humor, per usual. "I was actually in the middle of a very great date with sleep," you groaned.

Morgan laughs next to you in that charming way of his that drives just about every human, no matter what's between their legs, crazy. "Me and Savannah finally got time together because she had a day off from the hospital. We had some dinner, a little wine, we got into bed and boom, phone rang."

We all laugh at Morgan's bad luck and JJ tells a similar story about her and Will, "We had just gotten the kids down too."

Suddenly, Hotch and Rossi enter the room, Garcia trailing behind with her computer in hand. "Sorry to keep you waiting everyone, you can begin, Garcia."

She gives a curt nod and wastes no time jumping into her spiel, providing pictures as always.

"Unfortunately, in our little home of Quantico, 4 bodies of young women have been found bound, brutally tortured, with evidence of..sexual assault." As she continues to add more pictures to the screen, you begin to realize something. You weren't the only one to realize it though when Emily blurts, "Well he's got a type, that's for sure."

"Yup, all women have the same hair color, eye color, even height." Garcia continues.

"You know, these women look kind of familiar..." Rossi begins, and as he begins to put the pieces together as you do, wide eyes begin to fall onto you.

"How tall are you, (y/n)?" Spencer asks matter-of-factly, as if he refuses to believe it's not just some extremely odd coincidence.

"5 foot 4." You reply, wringing your hands in your lap. The gazes of all your team members burn holes into you and you fight against the urge to sink into your chair.

"And each of these women were 5 foot 4?" Morgan asks, setting his gaze on the case file instead of you. "Yes, they were." Garcia confirms.

A nervous chuckle escapes your throat, "I mean, that's a coincidence, right?" No one immediately answers you which does nothing to help you feel any better.

"Until we know for sure, we need to be careful." Hotchner stated bluntly. "We know that with these kinds of unsubs their primary target is normally their worst, and their last."

You know he is right, but it seems almost ridiculous. You barely leave the house except to go to work, go to Penelope's, or get groceries. Why in the world would you be a serial killer's target?

"JJ, Morgan, I want you to talk to the families of these woman and see what you can find out. Their lifestyles, last contacts, places they were seen a few days leading up to their disappearances." JJ and Morgan nod, rising to action and disappearing out of the room.

"Prentiss and Rossi, check out the dump sites." Once Emily and Rossi leave the room to complete their duties, the room feels even more suffocating even though there's less people in it.

There is absolutely no way you can focus on finding a serial killer that has a preference for women just like you while working with Spencer, but it leaves Spencer and Hotch left as possible partners for this case.

"(Y/n), until we get more information, I want to be safe rather than sorry. This team has suffered enough so for now you will work with Spencer on the geographical profile."

With that, he stands and leaves me and Spencer in the room, alone.

It's almost too hard to bear so you immediately begin. "I'm going to print out a map so we can see his hunting and dumping zones," you explain quickly, leaving the room like a fire was just lit up your ass.

You enter an internal conflict of not wanting to waste time and therefore, endangering another women's life, but you also aren't sure if you're going to be able to handle being alone in close proximity with the coworker you had a literal wet dream about just a few hours ago.

You decide that a woman's life is more important than your own feelings and quickly make work printing and bringing back a map.

Once it's taped to the board, you and Spencer immediately get to work putting pointer tabs on the map, red for dumpsites, blue for abduction sites.

You both step back to allow yourselves the bigger picture. You can feel the heat radiate off of Spencer and you dare a quick glance towards him. His button-down sleeves are rolled up the elbows, his arms crossed against his chest, his finger running across his jaw. You can almost see the beautifully brilliant cogs in his head at work as you stare.

You're broken out of your trance when he suddenly moves closer to the map and draws a circle. "Most of the dump sites are within a mile radius of each other just outside of FBI territory, but the abduction sites are more scattered." His fingers lightly trace the map, pointing to each abduction site.

"Grocery store parking lot, park, apartment building.."

Your eyes widen as realization begins to sink in, this one being even more damning than just looking like the victims.

"Spence.." you breathe out. You move closer to get a better look at the map, ensuring you're not just creating something out of nothing.

"I've been to all these places before.." You say this so low, for a moment think he didn't even hear you.

"Actually, all of those sites are some of the most common places people go on a day-to-day basis. For example, 8.642 million people live in the state of Virginia and if you take the area of Quantico and surrounding areas -"

"Spencer, what days did these women get abducted?" You ask, your lip begins to quiver slightly as you push the panic down that is threatening to rise up inside you. You're hoping that this is all just some sick coincidence and you're not right about the theory you're about to put to the test.

"The first victim, Abby Reynolds, got abducted from the Walmart parking lot off 610 on the second. Laney Parker from Smith Lake Park on the fifth. Delaney Litz from Aquia Fifteen Apartments -" Your entire body freezes in absolute terror and Spence pauses. "What is it?"

"Spencer, I went to all of the places on those days and that apartment building...I live there."

His eyes widen as he stars at you in shock. "You're sure you went to those places at the same time?"

"Yes..I- I went to Walmart right after we got done our case on the second to get wine for me and Penelope, then on the fifth I took my nephew to Smith Lake Park because we had the day off and I felt guilty for being a terrible sister and never talking to my sister..." Tears threaten to spill across your cheeks but you internally chastise yourself to get a grip. This could all still just simply be a coincidence. A sick fucking coincidence.

Spencer immediately grabs his phone out of his pocket and calls Hotch. Spencer puts Hotch on speaker phone as the rest of the team is conferenced in.

"JJ, what did you guys learn from the families?"

"All 4 women were extremely work orientated, barely even found the time to buy themselves groceries and lived low-risk lifestyles."

You practically throw yourself into a chair at the round table, unable to control the trembling of your hands and the threat of your knees buckling beneath you. Spencer sets his phone down on the table and takes the chair in front of you. As the team speaks to one another, Spencer gently reaches for your hands and squeezes them, running his thumbs over the back of your hands in an attempt to comfort you.

He lets go of one hand and reaches over the table to mute the phone. "Do you want me to tell them, or do you want to do it?"

You honestly aren't even sure your brain is working correctly at this point. All you know is that you are in the safest place you can be, and you know your team wouldn't let anything happen to you. Spencer wouldn't let anything happen to you.

"You, please." You whisper. He nods and unmutes the phone.

"Guys, we found out something interesting while working on the geographical profile." He begins.

"Go on," Hotch urges.

"Well, first, all the dumping sites are within a 1 mile radius of each other right outside the FBI territory. I think he wants the bodies displayed and found, particularly by us." He slides his chair close to yours and stills your shaky hands with his. "Also, each woman was abducted from places (y/n) went to on those same days."

The line goes silent and it's almost enough to push you over the edge. Not only do you have to manage your own panic and fear, you have a whole team you brought this upon who now has to worry for a friends life and you can't help but feel guilty for it. "Prentiss, head back to the office. (Y/n), are you up for a cognitive?"

You gaze up at Spencer who gives you a comforting nod. "Y-yes. I can do that."

"I'll be there in 5," Prentiss calls out and the phone conference ends.

"Will you please stay with me? During the interview?" You manage to choke out. You try to fight the onslaught of emotions this situation suddenly thrust upon you.

"Of course. You're safe with me, with us. You know none of us would ever let anything happen to you. You're not alone." Spencer pulls you into a tight hug and you allow yourself to relax into him. It does nothing to ease the coursing emotions and terror you have within yourself. Seeming to sense that, he pulls away but keeps his hands on your shoulders. "You're safe," he coos, offering a small, comforting smile.

You attempt to return a smile of your own, but you can't help the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that there is a bottom to this whole iceberg that you guys haven't seen yet.

You take a seat on an uncomfortable metal chair in one of the interviewing rooms. "Do we really have to do this in here?" You sigh. Spencer stayed true to his word and pulled up a chair next to you. He placed a hand over yours, despite Emily being just across the table.

You almost allowed yourself to relax at the contact, but it only made your life a bit more difficult. Not only were you possibly being stalked and hunted by a brutal serial killer, but you also had a school girl crush on the one coworker who would likely never feel the same, and you would probably not confess to, even with your life in danger.

Emily laces her fingers together and winces. "I'm sorry, but yeah. You're considered a possible target now. You're involved on the opposite end of this case." Her honesty sent a shiver down your spine. You weren't sure you could handle someone sugar coating the danger you were in or the seriousness of this case, but the blunt honesty didn't make it any better easier.

"I'm just going to ask you simple questions. You're safe here, always remember that, (y/n)." I nod and close my eyes. I take Spencer's hand and squeeze it lightly. He squeezes back, his confirmation that he's there.

"You just got off the jet from a long case in Florida. What does it feel like outside?"

"Hot. Like I wanted to rip my clothes off." You can feel Spencer next to you tense at your comment and you squeezed his hand in flirt-reply but you were sure he would most likely not understand it.

"What did you do next?"

"I...I talked to Penelope. I called her when we landed while I walked to my car and I offered to come over to watch Illegally Blonde and bring wine."

"Focus on the carpark. Was there anyone just standing around? Any abnormal cars you didn't recognize?"

You tried to imagine the carpark at the tarmac. There were multiple floors, all used by different departments of the FBI. You were only really sure of the kinds of cars your close coworkers drove but there were probably hundreds of cars around as you walked through. "There's a lot of cars I don't know. I parked further away because I was running late and all the spots were full."

"Keep walking towards your car. Is there anyone just standing around?"

As I walk to towards my car, I swivel my head around, going over each small detail of my surroundings.

"There's a man in a suit with a briefcase but he's on the phone, talking to someone. I don't think he even knew I was there."

"Once you get in your car, is there anything abnormal? Does your car start the same way it always does? What do you smell?"

You rack your brain for the memory. You allow yourself to picture sitting in the car. "I think it smelt normal. Like my air freshener which I always change when it runs out."

Your air freshener hung from your rearview mirror, your steering wheel was in the same position you left it, and when you turned the car on, your car purred like normal. "Wait," you whisper.

"What is it?"

You feel Spencer's hand squeeze yours. "Normally, my phone automatically connects when I start it. I always play my music through my bluetooth and no one else's phone is paired so there should've been no reason for it to not connect."

"What did you do when you noticed your phone didn't connect?"

"I umm..I went into my settings to try to connect but then I saw my settings were basically clear edout. Like it was reset to factory settings."

"What did you do then?"

You take your bottom lip into your mouth and begin to chew as you allow the memory to play on. Spencer's hand brings you to Earth slightly and you let out a deep breathe and continue.

"I'm pretty sure I just paired it again...I thought it was weird, definitely, but I don't think I really thought much of it. No one was in my car or under, I always check. There wasn't any kind of van or large vehicle parked next to me. There wasn't anything else that made me feel in danger so I guess I just played it off like my car malfunctioned or something."

"Okay, are you alright to keep going?"

As the memory continues to play in your mind you begin to feeling the rising panic again. You're normally extremely vigilant, sometimes too much. Every sound and detail is always analyzed, you always make sure there's no danger around. You can't help but feel idiotic for missing it. Of course, you would never completely factory reset your car and you haven't taken it to get serviced in months.

As your breathing quickens, you fling your eyes open and blink back the tears forming. "I-I'm not sure. I feel...stupid. I should have noticed."

"You noticed everything else, though. You're not stupid. You checked for every other danger you could possibly think of, don't berate yourself for not thinking you were in danger because of something as simple as your phone not connecting. Almost no one would read into it any further than a vehicle malfunction." Spencer's hands were on your shoulders as he speaks to you, forcing you to stare at him.

"I'm a profiler, it's my job to read into things no one else does."

"You're human, (y/n). An intelligent human at that. Don't call yourself stupid." Spencer's tone almost makes you flinch, it sounds almost just like the dream you had...you shake your head to get the thought out and avoid his flamed gaze.

"I'm proud of you for getting this far," Spencer spoke softer this time, dropping his hands from your shoulders and taking your hand again. "You're brave."

"I'm brave," I repeat, taking a deep breath. "Let's continue."

After a grueling, multiple hour long cognitive interview, you're mentally drained. Remembering every detail about every day for the past few weeks has taken a toll on you. As you exit the interview room, Prentiss pats your shoulder and gives you a comforting smile. She then heads off to discuss your interview with the team probably, but Spencer doesn't budge from your side.

You pause in the hallway and Spencer looks down at you, concern lacing his features. "You did great in there," he started. "You really helped us, a lot."

"I really hope so. I'm too scared to go home, I don't even want to leave the BAU just in case he hacked my car..." Tears well up in your eyes once again but this time, you decide to let them slip. You're too exhausted and confused and scared to care about what Spencer might think of you crying in front of him.

He gently brings a hand up to your cheek and wipes a fallen tear from it. His hand lingers on your face and he suddenly brings it down to his side as if realizing that he was prolonging his contact.

"Thank you for staying in there with me." You look at him with teary eyes and try to plaster on a smile.

He only frowns back at you. "Of course, I didn't want you to go through it alone. You know you don't need to put on a fake smile for me. I can see through it anyway."

You blink at his words and take a relieving breath. It was nice to not be expected to be okay right now. "Now that I'm considered a target, am I not allowed to know what you guys know?" It was almost too much to bear, the thought of being kept in the dark when you were the one in danger.

"As much as Hotch might say you should stay out of it, I don't think it's fair. Knowing the information we do could possibly save your life."

The tight knot in your stomach uncoils slightly. It helps to know that even if things are kept from you, there is someone who would fight for you and probably tell you anyway.

"There you guys are, Hotch needs us in the conference room." JJ states, popping her head around the corner and disappearing just as quickly as she came.

Spencer places a gentle hand on the small of my back and leads me to the round table. You're grateful for this because you don't think you'd be able to keep yourself up and moving on your own.

As soon as you sit down, Hotch doesn't give you a moment to catch your breath before he begins. "Based on everything so far, our profile suggests that you're his endgame, (y/n)."

Your eyes widen but you're unable to even open your mouth to ask why.

Garcia speaks next and you whip your gaze to her as she fidgets with the fluffy pen in her hand. "I did some internet sleuthing, as I do, and I found something...extremely creepy." She pushes a button on the remote next to her and a website appears on the screen. The tension in the room becomes taut like a wire as an entire blog about you comes up on the screen. "It's anonymous, of course. But not for long, I will not let him get away with this." Garcia states angrily, as the different blog entries are scrolled through.

"She will belong to me even if it's the last thing I do."

"Such a selfish whore, parading around for me, basically asking for my attention and then pretending like I don't exist."

"I think she gets it, guys." Spencer snarls.

"(Y/n), do you have any idea who this guy is?" Morgan asks.

"I-I don't know. I rarely even go anywhere! I don't understand why I'm the target. What is so special about me?" You cry out, exasperated.

"There must have been an interaction, even a super brief, normal one you had with him." JJ points out.

"I don't remember anyone out of the blue coming up to me..."

"He most likely wouldn't have. You might have had to talk to him for any kind of reason, a cashier, a waiter, even someone who held the door open for you." Prentiss sighs.

"I don't think he would have worked at any of the places the women were abducted from. He's obviously got a large house, land, or somewhere to hold these women. He tends to hold them for around 2 days before dumping them and if he's stalking (y/n) in his free time, he's probably got a flexible job or no job at all." Morgan explains.

"Garcia, get a list of everyone that lives with their parents or took over their parents residence after they passed, especially those with farms, or land." Hotch orders.

"Also check for men who's parents might have owned buildings he can keep women in that are now abandoned like factories, mills, schools." Rossi chimes in.

Garcia nods and races out of the room and to her office.

"We've got to find a way to get this guy to come out of his hiding spot.." JJ hums.

"(Y/n)?" Hotch asks, his gaze noticeably softer. You're almost too afraid to answer, internally begging to just stay here, away from danger. "Yes?" You answer quietly.

"I wouldn't ask this if I thought we had other leads or ways to narrow down suspects...but we might need you to draw him out."

"Absolutely not!" Spencer jumps from his seat. The entire table falls silent at his outburst.

"It might be the only way of making sure other women don't get hurt, Spencer." Hotch reasoned.

"I don't care! You're putting her in danger!" Spencer roared, shoving his chair from behind him and pacing around the room. "You can't Hotch."

"It's okay," you croak out. If it means saving another woman's life, you're willing to make the sacrifice. You don't allow yourself to think about Spencer's outburst and why he could've possibly been so upset. You're just friends. He just cares about you because you're his friend, you tell yourself.

Spencer sits back down in his seat, his gaze unable to meet mine. "I can handle it," you lift your chin and straighten your back, faking a confidence you sure as hell don't have.

"Everyone meet back here in an hour and we'll discuss the details." With this, Hotch rises out of his seat and leaves the room. The others do the same, leaving you and Spencer by yourselves, still seated at the round table.

"I'm brave, remember?" You say, giving him a sad smile. He gives you an even sadder smile back. "Yes, you are." You can see him battling an internal battle with himself, his body almost shaking. "You'll be there to protect me, right?"

"Of course."

[fastlikealambo]

holy crowns || paul atreides x black! fem reader

it was supposed to be your sister, your bene gesserit trained sister molded by the great houses, spy for the imperium. with no warning, paul chooses you instead and changes your life forever. some call him messiah, others an abomination, but you will call him husband. 18+only, minors dni note: hello! this takes place after the events of dune part two and Paul is about to become emperor. Irulan and her father are in exile and Chani is gone. i'm so sorry for the wait, I've been writing and rewriting this chapter, and even now I'm not sure if I have Paul's voice right. I hope you like it!

tw: paul has some quick naughty thoughts!

if you wish to see the story continue on beyond this chapter, please comment or reblog!

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

CHAPTER THREE

THE STEEL IS THE WATER.

Paul Atreides did not dream, he augured.

What great and terrible things existed beneath his eyelids, a pocket world of hope, atrocities, and hopeful atrocities all at the command of the young emperor. 

He was still young, wasn’t he?

There were times when he looked upon his own reflection and saw a thousand Fremen faces, no eyes nor mouth, just Paradise.

 In the corner of his lips, he stole a glimpse of Chani.

At night, in the very edges of his vision, Paul stared at himself and his father stared back.

Yet now, the emperor’s visions turned to you  in bed, still adjusting to the heat, sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning.

He could hold you still to rest if he wanted to, flatten the stress crease between your brows. The sweat between your breasts would not be wasted water for Paul, the tongue of the outer world would lap quick and perhaps venture further south-

No, it was not time.

Paul's sight moved from sleeping you to hundreds of thousands of visions in a single second, your past and futures laid out before your soon to be husband. 

He saw your daughter learning to sandwalk, he heard the laughter of his grandson echoing from Caladan and through his mind’s eye. 

So much love and destruction in between then and now.

  “You give the sister absolute power over the Bene Gesserit, why?” Jessica asked, not bothering to knock before entering Paul’s rooms, ripping him back into the present.

  “So the sisterhood falls in line under me, as you have done, as Alia will do. The sister is the key but I am the door, Mother.”

“Power over the Bene Gesserit is earned, the choice of Mother Superior takes planning yet you give it like a wedding present.”

 “Why does it bother you? You created the prophecy, I led the Fremen through it, the holy war has ended. You have everything you want, and now my bride and her sister are the future of the empire you desired. Is it because you can no longer whisper in my ear?”

Paul loved Lady Jessica.

But long gone were the days of Jessica’s son and he caught the way she looked at him now.

 Reverence, amusement, and just a whiff of fear she believed to be hidden from him but there was nothing anyone, Bene Gesserit or desert mouse, could hide from him, The Water of Life had seen to that.

Lady Jessica had birthed Shai Hulud in human form and yet still wondered why he swallowed the world. 

      “You turned away the most powerful family for an alliance and have given a nameless house two seats at our table. Your new  bride has no training, no rank and you bestow upon your almost assassin the sacred sisterhood.  I’m worried for you, Paul.” Lady Jessica said, kneeling in front of Paul, her son, her product.

   Paul took his mother’s hand gently and looked her in the eye.

THERE IS NO OUR TABLE.

 I AM THE TABLE.

 I AM THE WOOD THAT CARVED IT.

 I AM THE STEEL BENEATH YOUR FEET.

WHEN YOU CRY FOR LETO I AM YOUR WATER.

THERE IS ONLY ME.

“Do we understand each other?”

Jessica was gone before Paul could blink.

He turned his sight back to you, present you, but you were not there.

Lady Jessica had not brought worry to her son, but a distraction.

You had been taken. 

Again, I’m sorry this took so long but I hope it is worth the wait! Thank you for reading!

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[pandorxxx]

Lurkin’

Lo’ak (19) x human fem reader (18)

Warnings: SMUT THE HOUSE, BLOOD (from biting), p in v, oral, biting, choking, squirting, cursing,rough sex, size kink, praise kink, CNC.

🔞Minors do not interact🔞

With a loud gasp, you finally awoke. Sitting up quickly to scan your surroundings. You look around frantically to find yourself in the forest. You remember walking through the forest of pandora with a couple of scientists. You were new, so they had to show you around. And now, you’re here.

“Ughhhh” you winced, sitting up slowly. You scanned your body for injuries finding several, but nothing too serious. You looked down at your clothes as they were almost completely ripped off.

“What the hell happened?” You mumbled under your breath, wobbling to your feet.

“Hello!!!” You yelled, cupping your hands to your mouth. You looked around for a moment, and nothing. You sighed loudly, trying desperately to remember your way back to the lab. What you didn’t know was that there were a pair of eyes, watching your every move.

Lo’ak was lurking in the shadows, following you. He noticed that you were in distress; clothes torn, hair a mess, blood visible on parts of your body. He assumed you were a scientist, lost in the forest.

Jake took lo’ak to the forest, as his rut was approaching. Lo’ak was completely untamable in his state, but maybe coming to the forest was a bad idea this time. He was intrigued by little you; The way you stumbled on the huge rocks, your frustration from actually being lost. You were hypnotizing to him.

His rut was almost at the peek, and he couldn’t take the lurking anymore. He walked closer behind you, making sure to keep quiet. He made his was behind you, towering over your little frame.

You felt a presence behind you. Your heart beating fast, not knowing if you should turn around or run. Before you knew it, you felt a strong hand wrap around your neck gently, from behind. Then a strong hand cupping your mouth.

“Don’t scream ok?” He commands calmy. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest, but you quickly nod in hopes that he would let you go. To your surprise, he did. He turned you towards him by your shoulder. You look up at the na’vi, basking in all of his glory; he was glowing in the moan light, his skin was a calming blue, and his strip pattern was intricate. He was towering over you, panting loudly as he glared into your terrified eyes.

“Please, don’t hurt me. I’m lost, I need to get back to the lab.” You plead taking his hand in yours, almost in tears. He looked down at your hands, locked together, and then back to you.

“I will not hurt you, I just need some help.” He stated, getting down on his knees to seem less intimidating. You stopped weeping to shoot him a confused look.

“Help? From me?” You asked, tracing his glowing freckles down to his chest. He pulled your chin up, connecting his eyes with yours.

“Yes, from you.” He replied, squeezing your hand firmly, pushing a strand of hair out of you face as he wiped your tears. You noticed his breathing becoming rapid the more he touched you. His eyes were not the color you studied about, but more of a deep red. He was sweating profusely, and it was no where near hot at this time of night. These were only symptoms of a Navi in rut.

Your eyes widened from realization, as you let his hand go, stepping back slowly.

“No no no, please. I can’t help you with that.” You whimper, shaking your head desperately trying to wake up from what had to be a dream.

“You can’t help me with what?” He asked, tilting his head as he glared at your small frame. You knew he was playing games. He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he just wanted to hear you say it, hear you beg for mercy. You glance down at his loincloth, noticing the huge bulge growing by the second. A single tear falls from your eye as you realized there was no way out of this.

“I have to go back…” you whisper, but it comes out as a soft cry. He shook his head, leaning back on his knees.

“I’ll take you back, later. I need you right now.” He growled, glaring at you through his eyebrows. There was awkward silence for a moment as you planned your escape. He caught on quickly, and smirked at you.

“Come here.” He commanded coldly. He started undoing his loincloth, letting it drop to the ground. Your mouth flew opened at the size of him. You were almost sure that it was the size of your forearm. The veins that lined his cock were pulsating, needy for attention. Drops of precum dripped to the moss underneath him.

“Shit” you screeched, not being able to keep your eyes off of it. He licked his lips at your discomfort, almost as if he was turned on by it.

“Don’t make me come over there.” He sung, stroking his length as he eye fucked you. You shook your head side to side frantically before backing up more. Lo’ak was growing frustrated, low growls rumbling in his chest. He lashed out, grabbing you by your arm, and bring you nose to nose with him.

“I was trying to be nice, my love. That shits over now.” He growled, snaking his hand around to the back of your head. He stood up tall, looking down at your helpless face. The tip of his cock was inches away from your mouth. You tried to back up, but his grip on your head didn’t allow that.

“Open.” He commanded, now holding your head with both hands. You opened your mouth slowly, and before you knew it, he plunged half of his cock into your mouth. Your screams were muffled from being stuffed. You pushed on his lowered abdomen, but he wouldn’t let up.

“Don’t fight me, babygirl. I need your help.” He moaned, thrusting into your mouth. Him being at the back of your throat was an understatement, you felt like he was tickling your rib cage. You were choking constantly, trying your best to breath through your nose.

“Fuck! Babygirl don’t do that. You’re gonna make me cum in this pretty little mouth of yours.” He groaned, stuffing alittle more of himself down your throat with every thrust. Tears were running out of your now red eyes. You felt your consciousness leaving you slowly. You tapped his leg exhaustedly, and that caught his attention. He pulled out of your mouth, and you gasped for air, eyes wide as the spit ran down your chin.

“You look so fucking pretty like this.” He muttered, tapping the tip on your swollen lips. In an instant, he lifted you up, pinning you to a nearby tree. He tore your already ripped shorts off of you with one swift pull. That’s when you started fighting him, trying with all your might to get him off of you. He grabbed your cheeks, squeezing them together.

“You wanna be a good girl and give it to me? Or do you want me to take it? Either way, you’re getting this dick.” He growled, Turning your face to the side to attack your neck. Even after his statement, you tried to push him back, punching his chest, and the arms that help you up.

“STOP!” He shouted, pinning your neck to the bark behind you. You finally stopped all sudden movements, realizing that there was no way to fight him off.

“That’s a good girl.” He smiled, grabbing his cock and lining it up to your entrance. He could feel you shaking in fear underneath his touch, and a piece of humanity slipped through the cracks of his rut.

“I will try to go slow. Yeah? Does that make you feel better?” He searched your teary eyes for consent. You nodded slowly, pouting at him. With that, he slide the tip in slowly. You gasped, gripping his shoulders tightly. He bit his lip, trying to refrain from plunging deep into you. He lingered for a while, letting you get used to just the tip.

“You’re doing good, babygirl. I’m gonna go alittle deeper now, ok?” He asked, and you nodded. Even though he was in rut, he was doing well at restraining himself, but all restraint was slipping away slowly.

You nodded, bitting your bottom lip tightly with your eyes shut. He slowly slide half way into you, and the way you sucked him in was sending him over the edge. He started thrusting into you slowly, growling loudly as he hung his head onto your shoulder. You tapped his shoulder, letting him know that it was too much, but he was already slipping away.

“OKAY, slow down please. I-I need a minute.” You whimpered, trying to pull his face off of your shoulder.

“I-im so sorry!” He moaned, shaking his head before slamming the rest of his cock Into you.

“OHHH SHITTTT!” You whine, trying to climb out of his arms. He squeezed your waist tighter as he rutted into you at a steady pace, yet and still very deep.

“Mhmmm FUCK! You’re so fucking tight!” He growled, biting down on your shoulder. Your eyes widened when you felt small lines of blood trickle down your shoulder.

“P-please!” You whimper, shutting your eyes tightly as his thrusts became slower to accommodate your pain.

“I-I’m t-trying baby, just take it for me.” He moaned breathlessly, holding on to you for dear life. He licked the womb clean, massaging it with his tongue. The pain from him stretching you out slowly subsided. You tried to focus on the feeling of him hitting your spot with every thrust as he slid in and out of you slowly. How warm he was, and how his strong arms wrapped around you. The way he kissed your neck, leaving hickeys everywhere. The way he moaned in your ear at how good you felt sucking him in just right.

“Mmmmm shittt” your voice jumped from each deep thrust, as you threw your head back.

“Does it feel better?” He asked, still sucking the blood from your opened womb. Something about his gentle licks along your sore skin sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t believe that you were enjoying this, and that he got you to open up. You didn’t want him to stop.

“b-bite me!” You moaned, putting your arms up to the heavens to give him easy access. He bent down to your ripped shirt, completely tearing it off to reveal your plump breasts, bouncing up and down from each stroke. He sucked your nipple before moving up, biting your breast hard enough to draw blood.

“Is that what you wanted, babygirl?” He titled his head, bouncing you up and down on him by your waist. Your moans got stuck in your throat from the mix of pain and pleasure. All you could do was nod. He smirked, bending down again to lick the womb clean, massaging around it with his tongue. You watched as the blood dripped down your abdomen, all the way to where you two were connected. You glanced back up at him to see your blood dripping from his lips as he looked at you with heavy, lustful eyes. The image alone sent you over the edge.

“I-I- FUCK!!” Was all you could mutter out before gripping his arms, bowing your head back on the bark behind you. He licked from your breast to your neck, catching all the blood that flowed down.

“You wanna taste it, babygirl?” He growled, making you look him in the eyes. Blood still dripping from him mouth. He looked so seductive in that moment that you just couldn’t help yourself. You wrapped your arms around his head, crashing your lips into his. The kiss was slow and sloppy, and the copper taste consumed you. You bit down on his lip hard, drawing blood as you sucked it up.

“Mhmm yes baby girl! now you’re getting it.” He smiled into the kiss, rutting into you faster. You could feel your orgasm approaching as you dug your nails into his arms, eyes locked with his.

“You gonna cum for me? Hmm?” He asked nodding his head. You nodded yours too, jaw dropped as he smashed into your sweetspot with every thrust.

“I-I’m!!!” you muttered, leaning your head on his shoulder as you clung to him tightly.

“I know, babygirl. I’m gonna give you what you want. He sent you one hard thrust, massaging your sweetspot with his swollen tip. Just like that, you squirted all over his cock as your juices flowed down his legs.

“Oh my fucking god, yesssss!!!” You screamed, convulsing in his arms as tears flowed down your face.

“It’s my turn baby, I’m almost done with you. You’re doing so fucking good for me.” He kissed your blood stained lips before pinning you back to the wall. He shift the bend of your knees to hang over his forearms as he placed his hands on the tree bark behind you. He started thrusting into you hard and fast, watching your face contort in absolute pleasure. The pleasure was beginning to be too much for you to the point where you had double vision , feeling completely lightheaded.

“Im almost there baby, wake up for me!” He shouted, smacking your face lightly to keep you conscious. You were moaning, and mumbling, trying your best to keep your eyes opened.

“I -I can’t…” you mutter breathlessly, head falling to the bark behind you. He bit down on your chest, waking you up alittle bit.

“Yes you can, baby. Just alittle longer. You’re doing so good.” He moaned, licking the blood from the new wound. Your body twitched under his touch, as a single tear ran down your face. Lo’ak felt his stomach twist in pleasure, and he just couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Ohhh fuck, you ready for me to cum in this tight little pussy, babygirl? Huh?” He growled slapping your face once more. You nodded wearily, desperately waiting for him to be done with you. Lo’ak threw his head back in pure bliss, shooting his load deep inside of you.

“Fuck yesss!!!” He whined, thrusting into you slowly to ride out his high. You finally fell limp in his arms, snuggling into his chest. The fog of his rut slowly went away, clearing his mind. He looked down at your bruised and bloody body, gasping loudly. He gently laid you on the moss, before hovering over your limp body, slipping in and out of consciousness. He was hesitant to touch you, as he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already did.

“Umm…hello?” He said in shaky breaths, poking at you. Your eyes opened half way, staring at the figure hovering over you.

“Hmm?” You hummed deliriously, trying to get up, but the spikes of pain shot threw your entire body, causing you to wince loudly.

“Woah, woah, lay back.” Lo’ak commanded, pushing you back by your chest lightly. He scanned your body thoroughly, looking at all of the bites and bruises, before looking at your face.

“Hey, I’m gonna get you cleaned up before I take you to the lab. Is it ok if I pick you up?” He asked caressing your hair with a lighthearted smile. You nodded, holding your arms out for him to help you up. He chuckled softly before picking you up by your hips, wrapping them around his waist. You looked into his now, bright yellow eyes, caressing his cheek.

“W-what’s your name?” You asked, playing with his braids, almost fascinated by how beautiful his hair was. He smiled at your wonder-like demeanor.

“Lo’ak. My name is lo’ak. What’s is yours?” He asked, walking in the directing of the River.

“Y/n…” you said,wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug. He hugged you back tightly, rubbing your back.

“Will I see you again?” You asked, almost devastated that this could be your last encounter with him. He smiled at you, and leaned down to your ear.

“Don’t worry, I’ll always be watching you.”

Not my girl falling in love with that Na’vi 🍆. She is in a full trance now🤦🏾‍♀️, and i low key love that for her🫶🏽. Anywaysss, as always, love y’all to death and I’ll see you soon❤️!!!

Outtie❤️🖖🏾,

Pandorxx

[hardly-an-escape]

hello. in honor of Armistice Day, have a snippet of The Trenches Have Vanished Under the Plough, which I swear I am still plugging away at. in this human AU, Hob and Dream are both British soldiers serving in France during the Great War. Hob is a corporal (the lowest-ranked non-commissioned officer) and Morpheus is his captain and commanding officer.

September, 1918. Second Battle of the Somme.

Hob’s recollection of the bomb was blessedly fractured.

He remembered crouching next to Morpheus against the dirt wall of a trench. He remembered rocks and clumps of sod raining down around them like a storm. He remembered a whistling sound, almost gentle, approaching from the sky like some strange bird. And then there was a silent flash, and he remembered nothing at all.

He awoke, some time later, in a white place that first appeared to be a cloud and then resolved into the relatively clean canvas walls and sheets of a field hospital. Hob was still for some moments, slowly coming to the realization that every inch of his body was in pain, except where he could not feel it at all.

“Fuck,” he said quietly. And then, desperately, “Morpheus.”

He tried to sit up. Struggled mightily with the bedclothes and his own limbs and then with the sturdy nurse who came hurrying over to push him back down to the cot.

“My friend,” he gasped, subsiding. “I mean. The captain. In the trench with me. Did he – is he –”

“He’s here,” the nurse said soothingly. “Both of you were brought in by the same ambulance.”

“How is he? Is he alright?”

“Such devotion!” she clucked. “He’s alive, if that’s what you mean, which is about all that can be said for either of you. Doctor says you’re both to be moved to an evacuation hospital this afternoon for surgery. And after that – you’re most likely for home, Corporal.”

Home, Hob thought as the nurse bustled away. Whatever that means.

The horse-drawn ambulance ride to the evacuation hospital was a haze of morphine and pain. Morpheus was on the stretcher next to him, at least; but he was pale, paler than Hob had ever seen him, and he neither opened his eyes nor responded to Hob’s voice.

Hob didn’t see him again for three days.

The evacuation hospital was on the grounds of a mostly-destroyed manor house, and some of the recovery tents opened out onto the ruined remains of the formal gardens. They must have been a thing of beauty before the war, but now were nearly as ravaged as the Front itself; the lawns and flower beds were dry and hard, and the formerly ornamental hedges looked scorched and stunted. There was an autumnal chill in the air, though the afternoon sunshine was warm. An orderly wheeled Hob out to take some air, and there was Morpheus: lined up with the other wheelchairs, one heavily bandaged leg stuck straight out in front of him at an awkward angle.

The orderly parked Hob at the end of the line of invalids, next to Morpheus, and wandered away.

“Captain,” Hob said softly.

“Corporal,” Morpheus responded.

He looked awful; pallid and horridly thin. There were dark marks under his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks, such that Hob couldn’t tell what was bruising and what was the tightly-drawn result of pain and lack of sleep. The bones in his hands stood out starkly where they laid on the arms of his wheelchair. Even the timbre of his voice sounded somehow tighter, thinner.

Nobody was looking at them. Hob reached across the gap between them and ran one finger along the back of Morpheus’s hand. Morpheus flicked his eyes over to meet Hob’s. One corner of his mouth lifted slightly and Hob felt something tense inside him relax suddenly. Maybe it would be alright. Maybe they could come through this, as they’d come through everything else in the past year: together.

[sadistic-kiss]

Anime: Jujutsu Kaisen

Disclaimer: Angsty but I’m still not GeGe. Jujutsu Kaisen and all its characters belong to to that guy.

Universe: In the same universe but the men are in jujutsu university and closer in age. Sukuna is also Yuuji’s older brother.

Characters/Relationship: Gojo, Getou, Nanami, Yu, Toji, Sukuna, Choso x Succubus Reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Smut (it’s the only genre I know)

Kinks: masochist, degrading, dacryphilia, pet play(mainly just a leash and collar), dom/sub, BDSM, whatever else I feel like tossing in.

Summary: A frat boys' house is the perfect feeding ground for a succubus.

~

Chef Note: Hello this is my October smut fic that I wanted to post for this kinky month~! I wanted to post it the first week of October but I was behind on my writing for HOA and my other story so I had to catch up a bit. I was also dealing with stupid stuff but you know better late than never! This is just a nice little hot smut soup for you to enjoy during this chilly season.

P.S. Another dream I had. I’m getting tired of my brain calling me out for being a simp for these men. It’s not cool honestly and I woke up feeling offended. 💅

~

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.Chapter One.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

A shadowy figure flew past the bright moon. Black and purple wings flapping in the wind rhythmically. The night was seemingly quiet as you soared across the ocean of stars. It was peaceful... but you will not know peace until you have been fulfilled. Your jaw tensed from the painful ache of your body. The feeling caused your wings to fall off beat, you dipped for a second but gain composure.

You were unbelievably hungry.

Warm glowing eyes kept focus, beckoning for your destination to come into view. Once it did you chirped excitedly. It was a large mansion, tucked away in some trees. You surged forward with haste. Muffled music played as you circled around the house before descending to the porch.

Your wings disappeared while you stepped up to the door. Leather gloves creak when you ball your hand into a fist and knock on the white wood with restrained urgency.

You smiled softly, folding your hand upon the other in a polite manner. No one came to the door so you rang the bell. As you waited for someone you heard noises behind you.

“Ooooh damn.” A man chuckled.

Looking over your shoulder you saw two men and a woman walking up the steps

“You ain’t cold in that get up sweet cheeks?”

“Yeah, sexy outfit but damn girl.”

It was late October and the winds were rather harsh, the group snuggled in jackets, scarves, and beanies. All you had on was a bikini-like top and skirt, straps crisscrossing along your stomach and back, thigh-high boots, and long leather gloves.

You didn’t say anything as you assessed their curse energy. They had little to none. If they touched you they would die.

Leave.

The command was spoken within your mind and sent to theirs.

Their eyes lost their shine and their bodies moved in sync. They began to walk away without a word and climbed back into their car. Just as they did the door opened.

“Took you guys long…”

“Hi, Choso.” You smiled at the man as his smile dropped.

“Oh…” his dead eyes looked even more deader, realizing who his guest was. “…it’s you.”

“It’s me.” You giggle lightly.

Choso looked behind you, eyes following the car moving down the street. After the headlight passed his face he looked down at you past his nose. “Did you send them away?”

“Yes!,” you nodded as if he were supposed to praise you. “I didn’t want to accidentally kill them and have a repeat of last time.” You speak matter-of-factly, “Then you guys would have been even more pissed at me.” You released a light chuckle but Choso wasn’t laughing.

Tough crowd…

You stood in awkward silence, fiddling with your fingers as you swayed a bit, hoping that the house had finally forgiven you for all the friends you killed. By accident of course! “Can I…come in…?”

Choso sighed, reaching to the side. You could see him a bit through the thin mosaic window. He was grabbing something that was hanging up by the door along with umbrellas, coats, and other things.

You heard the jingle as he pulled out the black and red collar with leash, a bell upon it. You sucked in a breath and held it, watching as he undid the collar and then looked at you.

“Get on your knees.”

Guess they were still mad at you.

You nodded, dropping right before the door. You could not enter until they invited you in.

Choso slid the leather around your neck and fixed it so it was snug. You fluttered your eyes at him, stomach churning hungrily-hoping he’d grace you with a sweet kiss when he was done, but he ignored you. When he finished he stood and tugged at the leash a few times.

“Come in slut.”

Inwardly you pouted while crawling inside. You just knew they were going to make your life difficult before they fed you.

You could most certainly find somewhere else to feast…

But their curse energy was just so addicting.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.Chapter Two.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

[justanoasisimagines]

Reuinted

Summary; Jon dreams of being reunited with you, but what happens when he does. Pairing; Jon Snow x Female Reader WordCount; 548 Warnings; Strong Language A/N; Requests are open! Credit to @cafekitsune for the divider and the banner

Since the day Jon left Winterfell and took the black, a lot had happened. He'd been tried and tested beyond his wildest dreams or night terrors. Yet by the grace of the Gods, he'd survived.

Jon was forced to adapt and change. To fight for his life, he barely had time to himself. To think of anything but the challenge in front of him. Yet when he could his mind drifted to the wellbeing of his family, to you and his son.

A night of passion after moons of tottering around each other. Subtle glances and touches, softly spoken words of admiration before it all boiled over.

It had been the final straw for Catelyn. her husband's bastard having a bastard child of his own. His father promised to take you in, to give the child and yourself a comfortable life.

Many moons had passed, and the boy would be five name days old. He'd heard no word if either of you were alive or dead. It troubled his thoughts knowing he'd never held his son. He'd never confessed to you, your son was more than a night of lust, but rather love. If he was being honest, he'd loved you the moment his eyes laid on you. It didn't matter the length of time passed, he'd always love you.

"Lord commander there is someone here to see you." Ser Davos instructed. Jon quietly shoved the thoughts aside as he strode around the familiar passages. As he reached the steps leading down to the courtyard. He froze.

A tall blonde woman who appeared with a dark-haired man, perhaps a squire stood in the center. Yet it wasn't them who'd stumped him. Sansa was standing in front of them holding the hand of a dark-haired little boy, the spitting image of himself.

Gods, please don't let this be a dream.

Jon took his time making his way down each step. His eyes were firmly placed on his family, terrified of them disappearing.

Sansa threw herself into his arms. He held onto her tightly, he'd been apart from his family for too long. Over her shoulder, he caught you lifting your son into your arms saying something to him.

Once he and Sansa parted. She stepped to the side, a look of knowing. Jon suddenly felt unease settle in his stomach as he slowly approached you.

Jon took a long pause. Jon couldn't believe the years apart had enhanced your beauty. His son appeared to be strong, dressed in warm furs in his house colors. A proper little Northern Lord.

Jon couldn't speak. He'd imagined this scenario a couple hundred times, yet he couldn't speak. He didn't have words. What should he say? What could he say?

"You are finally in front of the woman who blesses your dreams and you don't speak. Can your son speak?" Tormund interupted his thoughts. Jon smiled as his son giggled at Tormund's odd question while he buried his head into your neck.

"He's a little shy at first but he'll warm up soon enough. Hello Jon." Hearing your voice broke Jon out of his indecisive state, he crossed the distance between you bringing you both into his arms, holding on for dear life. He refused to let you out of his sight again.

[littlest-w01f]

Sunlight

Helion x Alora

HELION MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Helion is low on staff for his libraries, Rhysand casually mentions to him he knows of someone who wishes to try to go out of the House of Winds' library

Cw:None

part one - part two - part three

The bright rays of the sun entered Alora's chambers in the Day Court where she lay dreaming, sprawled across her bed, she'd set up her things the night before, there were already clothes and sandals worn in Day Court in her closet and she'd added her Priestess gowns and heels to the collection, and a black glittery dress she'd worn a few times for sentimental purposes.

She'd checked almost everything in her room till she felt tired enough to sleep, how the light in the room worked by magic, she had spend the first few hours just turning the lights off and on, marvelling at how they varied in brightness, the brightest setting had her shielding her eyes.

She wondered if Helion had discussed her room in the House of Winds with Rhysand because her current place looked just like her last one, it was set up the same, which got her great comfort to be in

There was a loud knock thrice on her door that made her wake up, sitting upright, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"Alora, open the door." A firm but gentle voice came from the outside, Alora undid her locks from her bed, the invoking stone on her night stand glowing with her power.

A tall female walked in, her posture sharp and commanding, dressed in white and gold, contrasting against her dark brown skin beautifully, "Ah, you're still in bed." She noted as Alora felt she should get out of her covers.

"Hello miss..." Alora looked at her confused, sitting up on her bed, letting her question hang.

"Anahita." The female responded with her name, "You may call me miss Anahita. I am the head staff, I've heard from the High Lord you are a new and will be joining us from today."

When Alora nodded, Anahita continued, her sharp face softing slightly, "He also filled me in about your situation, where you come from, nothing too intimate do not fret, he's asked us to handle you with extra care, would you like that?"

"No." Alora was quick to reply, a blush forming on her cheeks at Anahita's amused expression, "I don't want to be handled with child hands, I want to be treated like everyone else."

"Very well," Her expression was sharp once again, "The High Lord has invited you to have breakfast with him in half an hour in his private study."

Alora opened her mouth to speak but Anahita continued, "He's also said if you do not feel comfortable to join him, you do not have to. The staff has breakfast in the common rooms at the same time, that you have to join if you aren't going to him."

"Please tell Helion that I'll think about it." Alora gave the female a smile, getting up to drink her water, letting it cool her throat.

"One last thing before I leave you to get ready for the day." Anahita pulled Alora's attention from her closet, Alora turned to face the female, "No matter what personal relations you have with the High Lord, you are to mention him by title while talking about him to someone else, especially the staff at the Day palace. It is a show of respect."

"I apologise, I didn't know." Alora corrected herself, "Please tell the HIgh Lord that I'll think about it."

"I shall," With that, Anahita left her room.

Alora walked down the halls of the Day palace, admiring everything that was brighter as the sun was rising, she had chosen to wear one of her brighter Priestesses gowns and robe, her invoking stone set above her brows, hair done up, hands folded proper in front of her.

She looked between the halls, she had ten minutes to explore, her curiosity getting the better of her as she walked out into the gardens, eyes wide at the bright sun that was shining over her. She giggled softly, seeing butterflies in the flowers, bushes trimmed to perfection, and golden statues of feathered beast-like creatures. Alora walked to one of the gold statues, a gold-plated panel in front of it.

"Are you enjoying the gardens?" Helion's voice called from behind her, making her turn on her heel.

Alora spun and looked up at Helion, masking her surprise at seeing him, dressed as she would imagine when anyone heard "High Lord of Day", eyes curious at the golden crown of spikes he wore, "Yeah... Everything is so bright, the sun at Night wasn't as strong."

Helion walked to her, his eyes going over her clothing, smiling at her choice of clothing, his colours in her gown, a simple white gown and robe with gold accents over it.

"Well, Rhysand's power keeps the day time weak, mine does that to night." Helion looked up back into her eyes, eyes that he hadn't stopped thinking about since the last time he saw her, looking even brighter in the sun.

Alora looked into his eyes, the gorgeous russet shade of it making her blush, her pale cheeks tinting with colour, she didn't miss how Helion kept a distance from her for if she wanted to escape him, the proximity of a powerful Fae she did not know, even if a part of her wanted to slip away, she stayed still. "I do know how a High Lord's connection to land works." She smiled back at him, "I spend a pretty large part of my life in a library, you know."

Helion chuckled, "Yes, I know, sunshine." His eyes were soft, "Anahita told me you would think about joining me, have you?"

Alora almost melted at his laugh, scolding herself on the inside, "I would like that." She nodded.

"Come then, before your work starts," Helion again held his hand out to her, like he had the night before, "May I walk you?"

Alora nodded, looking at his hand, placing hers in his, "Yes, please." She barely held back the yelp of surprise at how warm his hand was, much warmer than the last time she had held it, she reasoned that it was the sun giving him power, like how she had seen Rhysand be at the height of his power during night.

Alora and Helion walked in the halls, after a few moments, she had slipped her hand out of his, she'd been hesitant too but Helion hadn't minded, or commented on it, which made her relax a little more in his presence.

"How are you finding Day on your first morning, sunshine?" Helion asked, folding his hands behind his back, giving her space to walk at whatever distance she wanted.

"It's wonderful," Alora smiled, admiring the expensive paintings hanging on the wall, they looked different from the night before, brighter, better. "I'm still going to have to get used to to working with the sun up, it's only 5 bells and I didn't even know the sun would be up so early, the House of winds was pretty closed, this palace seemed the opposite," Alora looked at the giant glass windows, there to let sunlight in. "I think I'll really like this place."

"I hope so," Helion reached for the door to his study when they got there, Alora entered his study, eyes wide at the fresh food set up on one of the side tables, two chairs pulled out for them to sit on, the table was filled with different kinds of treats and items, most of them Alora didn't know the same of.

"This all smells so good." Alora walked to the table, Helion pulled a chair out and offered her a seat, she sat smiling with a short "thank you".

"Well, a healthy and big breakfast is important to start the day" Helion began, "I want you to try everything, sunshine, everything new."

Alora smiled with a nod, letting him fill up her plate with all the different items, a part of her wondered if his statement wasn't just about food, but also about the new beginning she was in now, she at least hoped it was.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Sunlight Taglist- @anuttellaa @a-frog-with-a-laptop @lalaluch}

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Hello again! I've returned with another fic roulette request!

I would love to see what you can do with 2 and 31 Tech and f!reader. Please and thank you~ (Apologies for another Tech request, I'm a wee bit of a Tech girlie. ^^' )

Hello gorgeous,

I'm a Tech girlie too, so don't worry. I love our lovable nerd clone. He's so adorable.

I hope you enjoy this fic, since you didn't specify a platonic relationship, I didn't write one. I hope that's okay.

Also all the star talk is copied from Study.com, 'What Causes a Star to Shine Brightly?' article. Thank you to the writer for providing a great synopsis I could use.

Also it got a bit long at 1400+ words.

Love oo,

Just a Dream

Warning: Fluff, anxiety, force sensitive reader, possible character death, fear, nightmare, information dumping, I think that's it, if I miss any please let me know.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

The house was quiet, the island was quiet, not surprising when it was nearly two in the morning. You did your best to try and sleep, but you couldn’t. You kept having the same dream, a secret meeting with Imperial commanders. An explosion that dislodges a cable car. Tech hanging from a rappelling cable. No matter how hard you tried to push those images away, you couldn’t. Something about Tech dangling over nothing from a rappelling cable put knots in your stomach. You grabbed the shawl one of the villagers made you, they said you looked like the kind that indulged in warmth. She was a kind older woman, and you couldn’t say no. 

You tightened the shawl around as you sat on the patio chairs that had been donated to you and the Bad Batch. It was their way of welcoming all of you and honestly, you were beyond overwhelmed by Pabu’s hospitality and openness. You never wanted to leave here. 

As quietly as possible you moved the chair away from the patio table, took a seat and looked up watching the stars, trying to calm down your mind. 

It was a few minutes before you heard the door to the house close and footsteps coming to join your side. 

Tech sat down and looked up to the stars with you, he knew if you were out here it usually had to do with a nightmare that wouldn’t leave your mind or it had to do with some anxiety you were going through at the moment. 

“Do you know a star is a glowing body of gas and plasma? The reason a star glows is that it uses nuclear fusion to fuse hydrogen atoms into helium nuclei producing both heat and light. Scientists can determine what elements make up a star by looking at the emission spectra of the light they produce.”

You turned your head looking at him smiling, enjoying listening to his voice.

“There’s a star that is known as a red dwarf star, it’s smaller and cooler than main-sequence stars. However, due to their dimensions and cooler temperature they are too dim to be seen by the naked eye. You need a telescope in order to see them.  And some have been estimated to have a life span of 10 trillion years.”

As you listened to his soothing voice you couldn’t help but smile and keep looking at him as you turned fully to face him, keeping the shawl close, shutting out the cold air.

“What other star is there?”

“Well I’ve also read about red supergiant stars. Now these stars have fused all their hydrogen, so now they are fusing helium into carbon. Causing the star to expand in size until all the helium runs out in about one to two million years. The stars with the coolest temperatures appear red, and when a red supergiant star dies, it explodes into a supernova.”

You smirked as you listened to him, “When did you learn all this stuff about stars?” You asked him as you watched him turn his head to look at you.

“When I learned you enjoyed looking at the stars.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did. You are important to me, and what you find enjoyable is important to me too.”

“You’re always there for me, aren’t you?”

"I will always be there for you. Whether you need me to simply info dump so your brain turns off, or you need someone to sit beside you in silence and hold your hand. I’ll always be there for you.”

As he said those words the image of him dangling from the rappelling cable came back into your mind, your smile fading as the sense of dread from before filled you again. 

He didn’t have to ask to see what something was wrong, he moved his chair closer, and gently caressed your head, holding your hand, “Hey, hey, shhhh. Shhhh. You’re okay. Hey, look at me.” He tilted your head, using his forefinger to lift your chin, until your eyes met his. 

“What’s wrong?” He gently wiped the tears that had been silently falling down your cheeks, “What is it? Was it a nightmare?”

You simply nodded afraid that speaking what you feared may come true. 

“Was it a bad dream?”

Well that’s the thing, it wasn’t necessarily a bad dream, but the feeling that came with the dream is what made it worse. It was almost as though your heart was preparing you for a loss that you hadn’t even experienced yet, “I … I don’t know.” You finally answered, giving the only answer you really could. 

Tech tilted his head as he looked at you, slowly guiding you out of your chair, to sit on his lap as his arms wrapped around you, gently rubbing your back as you tucked your head into his neck, wanting to hide from everything.

“Well… can you tell me what’s got you so upset. Was it something in the dream? Or was it something you realized because of the dream?”

“It …. It didn’t really …” you took a breath and closed your eyes as you wrapped your free arm around Tech holding him close, “It was about you.”

“Me. Okay. What about me? Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

“Was I mean to you?”

“No.”

“Did this have to do with a mission?” You were silent. “Okay, a mission. Did something go wrong in the mission?” 

“I don’t know… I think so. I saw an explosion.”

“Okay. Explosion, was someone injured because of the explosion?”

“No.”

“Was I in danger because of the explosion?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, well what can you tell me?”

“You were dangling.”

“Dangling. Was I holding on to something for dear life, dangling? Or was I gripping onto Wrecker’s arm, and waiting for him to pull me back to safety dangling?”

“You were hanging over nothing from a rappelling cable. I know it doesn’t sound bad, but … I have this feeling.”

“Feeling?”

“Yes. I feel as though … I … I’ll lose you.”

Tech didn’t speak for a second, processing what you were saying, trying to understand the fear that had somehow embedded itself into your heart. 

“So … you think I’ll die on this mission that we haven’t planned or even expected.”

“I don’t know how to explain it, but … I feel something big is going to happen, and because of that … we’ll be forced to make a decision. And because of that decision … I’ll …” your voice died down, barely above a whisper as you were about to answer him, “I’ll lose you. Forever.”

He let out a sigh, as he turned his head to kiss your forehead and wrapped his arms tighter around you, “Death is part of life, cyar’ika. You know that, I know that. These dreams … I know your force sensitive, not a Jedi, but at least somewhat knowledgeable of the force, and … it could mean a lot of things. It could mean that I’m simply dangling out in the open for a short amount of time. Could mean that I need to pack a second rappelling gun, in case the first one gets jammed it doesn’t mean I’m going to die.”

He took a minute to breathe in your scent leaving another kiss on your forehead, “And even if I die, it won’t change how I feel about you. How I’ve always felt about you. Ner cyare, please know that the time I’ve spent with you, being loved by you, having the privilege to love you in return has been some of the happiest and most loveliest days of my life. I look forward to every morning and night, because you’re there to make it better. I’m not saddened by the fact I may have to face my death, because I have no regrets.”

“I don’t want you to go” you stated, trying to fight back the tears despite the pricks you felt, “I’d rather have you alive and beside me. I …” you voice trembled as your bottom lip quivered, “I’m not ready to let you go.”

“Cyare, it was just a dream. I’m not going anywhere. Like I said there are no missions we plan on taking or are planning. I’m going to be right here.”

Tech held you for the rest of the night, even when you went back to your quarters, he didn’t stop holding you, keeping you pressed against him hoping to calm your fears and worries. He didn’t want to tell you, but the fact you may have dreamt his death, unnerved him a little. He shook the idea out of his mind, there was no need to worry. There were no missions coming up. 

At least that’s what he thought, until he received the distress call from Crosshair. 

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

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[bel1ewrites]

The Alcohol Helped (Tara Carpenter x Reader)

a/n: sorry about the drought.

Description: It's too hard to stay away.

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: sorority setting, mentions of drugs and alcohol (underage drinking), drunk Sam and Tara, idiot reader with top energy, I changed the ages of Sam (22) and Tara (19) to fit the narrative better

COLLEGE parties are never as fun as you think they’ll be. Maybe it’s the lack of alcohol in your system, possibly the absence of mind bending drugs that makes them seem kind of, well, lame. Being the designated driver always reminds you of the pure stupidity that flows through sweaty, half clothed twenty-somethings with a knack for getting themselves into trouble. 

“Oh president!” slurs your new assistant. Sam had secured her position after being one of the least insufferable people you’d ever known. Her first night in the house was spent drinking and watching all of the Pitch Perfect movies with you well into the early morning, and her second night was spent signing all of the new members up for random websites after acquiring their emails. 

“Hello, Samantha.” 

She giggles at the formality, drunkenly mocking the way you said her name and gripping your shoulders, looking into your eyes with serious intensity. “My sister loooves you.”

Tara. A new addition to the sorority. She didn’t even really have to rush due to her sister being your second in command. She was all doe-eyes and sickeningly sweet smiles, raven black hair and the kind of face that had recently begun to creep into your dreams. Truly the picture perfect active. 

“Does she?” you’re smirking a little, arms crossed and back pressed against the cool, probably germ infested wall. Vibrations run through you with each pump of the bass in some mind-numbing song. 

“Mhm,” she hums, a dopey look on her flushed face. She lifts her hand from your shoulder and boops you on the nose. “We were dancing with Chad, and Chad was all,” her voice deepens in an attempt to recreate his, “‘You’re soo beautiful Tara blah, blah, blah, we should blah, blah, blah’ but then Tara was all,” this time her pitch rises, “‘No, Chad. I’m totally… no you’re like my brother blah, blah, I’d never do that with you blah, blah, blah I wish Y/N would blah, blah, until I blah, blah, blah.”

“First of all, stop saying ‘blah, blah, blah’ before I punch you, and second of all, what did Tara-”

Speak of the devil, she’s stumbling towards you, drink sloshing around and spilling over the sides of her cup. Her cheeks are red, her eyes wide and sparkling. 

“Sam, come do another shot with me,” she’s begging, tugging on her sister’s arm. It’s a weak tug, fueled by her foggy mind. She hasn’t noticed you standing there, too preoccupied with her mission to get more alcohol in her system. 

“I don’t think you need another shot,” you cut in. Typically, you didn’t really care what the members of your sorority did in their spare time, so long as it didn’t interfere with their performance. Tara was nineteen. She was old enough to do as she pleased for the most part, and even if she technically wasn’t old enough to drink, she was still an adult who could make her own decisions. That being said, you couldn’t help but feel protective over her, brushing it off with some half-assed excuse about how she’s Sam’s sister. 

Round, brown eyes blink up at you as she processes your presence. 

“I mean,” she stutters, “let’s go uh… form meaningful connections?” 

“Nice one,” you’re running a hand through your hair, slightly damp with the perspiration that comes with a night full of standing and watching. 

“Well,” Sam starts with a little laugh, “I’m gonna go somewhere else.” Her figure retreats, blocked soon by the current of shifting bodies. 

Tara sways lightly on her feet. Midnight black strands of hair fall from her ponytail, framing her face with a flaw free air of carelessness. She’s wearing a cropped tank top and baggy jeans that make her look shorter than normal and sit perfectly on her hips, smudged eyeliner resulting in a strenuous difficulty for you to keep your hands in your pockets. 

“You know what we should do?” she’s grinning, eyes droopy. “We should dance.” Her hands reach for yours as you attempt to maneuver out of her range, aware of what a bad idea this is. 

You tell yourself you tried, but ultimately you fail to keep her off of you when she grabs your forearms and places them on her shoulders, backing up and effectively pulling you away from the comfort of your wall. With your arms resting casually over her shoulders, hands limp and unmoving, she sighs happily and clings to your torso. 

“You’re the perfect hug shape,” she mumbles, words muffled with her face against your ribbed tank. She’s breathing you in and humming.

“What does that mean?” Your voice is low and what the two of you are doing couldn’t possibly be defined as dancing. She’s hugging you tight, hands around your waist, and you’re holding her to you, one arm curved around the back of her neck and the other still hanging off her shoulder. There’s a comforting sway, the both of you rocking side to side soothingly. 

“I mean,” her hands are moving on your back, “You have such a sturdy body,” fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, “muscular and soft. Tall-” (“Everyone’s tall to you,” you interject.) “-and you smell so good all the time. It’s like some sort of sorcery. You’re like a hot, good smelling witch or something.” She’s fumbling over her words but you’re barely listening, focused intensely on the way her nails run over your bare back from under your shirt. 

Tara Carpenter has her hands under your shirt and it’s so hot where you stand but you’re shivering and pulling her closer. Tara Carpenter is scratching your back and you're stone cold sober but you can’t think through the fog in your mind.  

“I love this shirt on you,” she groans. She’s groaning and her hands are on your naked back and you’re holding her to you and all you can think about is her.  

“Yeah?” your voice shakes a little.

“Mm,” she nods against you. “It’s sexy.” 

It’s your turn to groan. It’s too much and you’re dangerously close to cracking under the sexual tension. 

“I’m gonna go get Sam.” you gently nudge her off of you. “I think you’re both in need of a glass of water and a bed. “

She’s frowning when you walk off. 

—-----

By the time you manage to drag Sam away from her game of beer pong and into the car, Tara still hasn’t spoken more than two words to you. She sits silently in the backseat and picks at her hands with intent whilst her sister insists on taking aux to listen to the Tangled soundtrack the whole way home. Every once in a while you glance in the rear view mirror and catch her eyes before she looks somewhere else again. 

As soon as the three of you clamber out of the vehicle and through the door, Sam heads for the leather couch in the common area and falls face first into it. You hang up your keys and watch Tara stumble slightly as she makes her way to her room. 

It’s silent, the sound of the heater kicking on fills the space around you along with your racing mind. Had you taken it too far with Tara? Did you make her uncomfortable? Maybe you should bring her some water and leave her an Advil for the morning. 

“Tara?” you call from outside her room, water and medicine in hand. She’s still awake, light on and soft music playing, muffled by the shut door. Beneath the light thrum of the melodies you can hear soft sniffles and little whimpers that make your heart drop in your chest. 

Tucking the pill bottle beneath your arm, you turn the knob and slowly crack open the barrier between you and her, still not peeking inside. “Tara?”

A pause. “What?” her voice is watery and you finally gain the courage to step inside. 

Her room is so impossibly her that it’s shocking. Soft white walls covered in bulletin boards, a few shirts scattered around the floor in a mess that seems intentional. It’s contrasting with the current state of her. Her eyes are puffy, cheeks still flushed from earlier, deeper now with the addition of tears. With the comforter pulled up over her neck all you can see is her face.

“Tara,” her lip quivers, face crumpling. “What’s wrong, baby?” Placing the things on her dresser, you rush to sit on her bed and rest a comforting hand on her forehead, moving the hair stuck there out of her face. She only cries harder.

“I’m sorry,” the bed shifts as she turns to lay on her side and face away from you.

“For what?” Confusion filters through you. If anything, it’s you who should apologize. 

“Making you uncomfortable with everything I said earlier,” she replies, body curled into a ball beneath her blankets. “It was really inappropriate of me.” 

Uncomfortable? The only thing that was uncomfortable was the metaphorical boner you got every time you were in her general vicinity, and that had nothing to do with anything she’d said. 

“Wait,” it clicks in your mind, “when we were dancing?”

She nods. 

“Tara, I wasn’t uncomfortable,” you rub circles on her upper back through the layers, “Hell, I was too comfortable.”

The gears in her mind turn weakly and she turns to look at you with wet eyes; asking, “What’s that mean?” with a sniffle.

“It means we were swaying and you were rubbing my back and calling me hot and I had to step away before I did anything irrational.” She’s on her back now, staring up at the ceiling fan silently. “Not because I don’t want to do… irrational things with you- it’s just that you’re Sam’s sister and I don’t want to complicate anyth-”

“-Sam’s the one who told me to go for it,” Tara informs you. Her tears are gone, their pathways dry on her face. “Said she’d had enough of our eye-fucking back before she’d even had her first shot.”

Agape. Your jaw is agape and you close it before opening it again like a fish out of water, struggling to find a response. Sam was the reason you’d tried to keep your distance; stuck to admiring from afar and aspiring to be close. Was the attraction that obvious?

“I only got the courage tonight because I’d caught you staring at me all week,” she finally smiles, “But the alcohol helped I guess.”

A noise of pure embarrassment emerges from your throat and you fall back against her mattress, crossing your forearms over your blushing face. Clearly you needed to work on your stealth abilities. 

The surface you lay on dips with movement. Tara’s warm hands wrap around your forearms as she struggles to pull them away. It’s truly laughable how little she moves them. She manages to uncover your eyes, her own sparkling with unknown emotions, a warm smile on her lips. You peer up at her with a hidden grin on your face. 

“So,” you start, “a hot, good smelling witch, huh?”

[thewritetofreespeech]

Astarion x Reader

words: 1.02K

rating: T

pairing: Ascended!Astarion x Spawn!Tav

summary: after seeing their friends for the first time in a long while, Tav has a request for Astarion for them to come live at the palace.

---------------------------------

The party is in full swing. Or…as full of a swing as this lot could get.

Astarion had to admit, for a dried-up old skeleton, Withers could certainly put on a show. He wondered how the old pile of bones managed out here in the middle of nowhere, looking like….that. Perhaps he’d summoned those hirelings to go fetch the party favors for him.

His attention turned from his wine to Tav as they came close. Calm, smiling, happy. He hated it. Not that he has any doubts that they are happy in their life together, and they are wonderfully content in being his consort. He just doesn’t like that other people are making them happy. “Hello, my treasure. Miss me already?”

‘Of course. When we’re apart I miss you terribly.’

Astarion barked out a laugh. Not sure if they were being sarcastic or not, but chooses to believe that they would be desperate without him. “Of course you do. And? How have our dear friends been without us to guide and protect them?”

‘They’re great-everyone seems so happy.’

“Really?” He was taken aback by that. “Are you sure? I was half certain they’d be half-dead and begging us to take them back.”

‘Well….there is one….’

“Really? Well…I’m not surprised.” Astarion’s interest was piqued now. Certainly it was no surprise to him. Who wouldn’t miss all of this? How helpless they all would have been without the faithful stewardship of his love and his clever resourcefulness to see them through. It wasn’t a surprise that one of them would crave that guidance again.

‘I have a request.’

A request? How odd, Astarion thought. Though they were bound to one another, and he was their master, he was true in his words that he wanted Tav to be his consort, not his spawn. The others he would command as his leisure, for their own good or his amusement, but Tav was free to do as they liked. As long as they were with him. It had been a while since they had made a formal request of him. So this must be serious. Though he can guess what it was.

“Name it darling and it is yours. As always, you can ask me for anything.”

‘I want them to come live with us.’

Bang on the money.

He guessed correctly that that was their request. Nothing else would require his permission in a formal way like that. It filled him with glee that they would ask though. Come crawling in to ask for his permission. And, more than that, do it on behalf of another who would soon be crawling in for his permission as well. “Of course you do my love. You always did have a soft spot for the weak and unfortunate. It is one of your more disgustingly cute qualities.” He told them. “So, who is it? Halsin? Shadowheart?”

Astarion had to assume it was Halsin. He’d already propositioned them once during their travels. Why not try it again? Although, he couldn’t see the big lug willingly spending time in the city. Or giving up on those brats he was so fond of. He hoped it was Shadowheart. Though he had chosen Tav, and correctly, there were times when he’d look at the little lost convert when more than just hunger for her blood. A look he knew reciprocated by her to his future consort when she thought no one was looking.

‘It’s Scratch.’

His fantasies on which of their companions were begging him to take them back and what he would do with them came to a screeching halt when they revealed their intended. “The dog!” Were they really asking him to take in that mangy mutt into his grand palace?? Where it would probably….shed and dig up every potted plant in the house.

‘The Owlbear too.’

“Oh good Gods, now you’re just being ridiculous.” Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose. This had to be some horrible waking dream he was having. Since he didn’t sleep anymore.

‘You said I could ask for anything.’

“Ask! Not make these insane requests!” Tav gave him one of those stern looks. One that would have made his old self buckle instantly. But he was an all powerful vampire lord now. Their powers wouldn’t work on him anymore. “Don’t look at me like that. You know it’s insane to have animals running around the palace. Where would we even put that behemoth of an Owlbear in the first place?”

‘I seem to remember that there was a very large room under the palace he could stay in. With a little sprucing up.’

Astarion growled in his throat. “No.” They crossed their arms and stared at him, and once again Astarion told them, “No. And that’s final. I won’t have wild animals running around my palace. Ask me for anything else my love, but this is too far.”

Tav uncrossed their arms and their shoulders fell. A sad look on their face that was not quite a pout because they were too grown up for that. They turn to leave and go back to the party before Astarion told them, “Fine.” They perked up and looked over their shoulder at him. Hopefully. “I will…think on it. But I will need some concessions for even considering putting up with this. You may get what you want. But, I get what I want.”

They beam at him, and don’t even consider what he might ask in return as they dash over and kiss him on the cheek as a thank you.

Astarion sighed. “I’m going to stay here and think on this. But you should go – mingle, chat, laugh. Have fun my love. And if our friends drop any interesting secrets, bring them right back to me. Until then, I’ll be here. But don’t fret, I will be watching. I am always watching.”

And he did watch them go. Return to conversations with Shadowheart and Laz’el projection, giddy and happy again. Although he knew it was his doing this time. So he was less annoyed than before.

He then turned to look at the dog and owlbear playing by the bank. The ground literally trembling under the overgrown cub’s feet. Astarion pinched his nose again. He decided it would need to be something very, very, very good if he was going to allow this to happen.

[vodika-vibes]

Hello Vodika. I know you have a lot of requests, but maybe a Mayday x Reader? (soulmate au?) >//<

One More Kiss

Summary: Her name has been part of him since his decant day, written on his collarbone in looping cursive in teal ink. On days when training was awful, he would trace her name and imagine what it would be like to meet her. When the war ends, Mayday finally meets her. And it’s love at first sight.

Pairing: Commander Mayday x F!Reader

Word Count: 1379

Prompt: Soulmate AU - Soulmates names are written on their body

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, reader is described as wearing glasses and having hair

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Hihi! I hope you like this one! I wanted soft and sweet and adorable, to get away from the sadder Soulmates AUs that I've written recently.

Mayday lays in bed, his arm tucked under his head as he hovers somewhere between awake and asleep. Really, he should get up. There are a lot of things that need to be done around the house, and working would be better than lounging in bed.

He turns his head as he hears a low sigh from the bed next to him, and a small smile crosses his lips when he sees that she’s still asleep.

His cyare.

His soulmate.

Carefully, to not wake her, he rolls onto his side to watch her sleep. 

His cyare is a musician.

Well, that’s something of an understatement.

She’s a pop star. One of the more popular musical artists in the Core. Popular with kids, teenagers, and young adults mostly.

She works so hard. She has diets, and personal trainers, and voice coaches. Not to mention her manager, agent, and a team of lawyers that circle her like a pack of particularly protective sharks.

She had a concert last night and they didn’t return home until late. It took almost an hour for Mayday to pull all of the pins out of her hair and pull it out of the intricate style it had been pulled into the night before.

She stirs and rolls to bury her face into her pillow.

Mayday smothers a laugh, she still has glitter on her face. Odds are, they’ll be finding glitter all over their home for the next week.

His gaze lingers on her face for a moment, his fond smile widening as he admires her. Mayday reaches out and brushes a strand of hair off the side of her neck, revealing his name, written in neat print, just under her ear.

His fingers graze his name, and she shivers and tries her best to curl into his chest as if hiding from the morning sun.

Slowly, she stirs from her deep slumber and blinks up at him, blearily. “Mmm…May?”

“Good morning, cyare.” He murmurs, “Did I wake you?”

She hums and buries herself against him, her arms draping clumsily around him, “I don’t think so.” She finally murmurs, “I think I had a bad dream.”

“Oh?” His arms wrap securely around her, and with a careful tug, he rolls back onto his back and pulls her onto his chest, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shifts so that her head is resting just under his chin, her hair smells like the chemicals that are used to style her hair, and Mayday makes a mental note to remind her to shower before breakfast.

“Dreamt that you got tired of my career,” She murmurs, pulling him from his thoughts, “That you left to find someone better.”

“Well, that’s silly,” He lightly taps her cheek with one finger, “How could I find someone better than the person who was made for me?”

Her lips curl up into a fond smile, “I know. But it was still a sad dream.”

“I bet it was,” Mayday slides his hand to the back of her neck, “Did you sleep well, other than that?”

“Mm. Was exhausted.”

“I know you were, you fell asleep when I was taking your hair down.” She ducks her head bashfully, “I don’t mind, cyare. I know how hard you’ve been working these last few months.”

“Last night was the last concert,” She murmurs, “Maybe we can take that vacation?”

Mayday’s fingers wander to his name one more time, and he traces the familiar handwriting, “A vacation?”

“Mm, I know you wanted to go to Pabu. Check on Crosshair.” She murmurs.

“You hate tropical places, cyare.” Mayday reminds her with an adoring smile.

“I might hate it less if I go with you.” She replies, shifting so that she’s sitting up and straddling him. “Besides, I like the beach. I just don’t like the humidity that comes with tropical places.”

Mayday hums thoughtfully, “I would love to see you lounging in a bathing suit.”

She makes a face, “How’s it any different from my normal concert outfits?”

“Well, because I don’t have to share you with thousands of people,” Mayday replies as he settles his hands on her hips. “And, my beautiful, perfect cyare. No one knows what you look like when you’re not wearing your wig and contacts, which means no one will harass you.”

“So, the perfect vacation.” She murmurs.

Mayday reaches over to the bedside table to grab his datapad, and he opens a browser, “Well, I’ll arrange a stay at one of the hotels. And order you some swimsuits.”

She laughs softly, “I can help, May.”

He drops the datapad onto the bed so he’s able to reach up and cup her face with his hands, “You, cyare, need to take a shower. You have glitter on your face. You do more than enough, let me do this.”

She smiles down at him as she rubs her cheek against his hand, “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” Mayday encourages her to lay back on his chest so he’s able to catch her lips with his own, “You do plenty.” He kisses her one more time, and then releases her, “Now, off you go. Shower time. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

She pouts dramatically, “You don’t want to join me in the shower?”

Mayday laughs, “I know you, cyar’ika. You basically cook yourself in the shower, and I like my skin uncooked.” His joke is rewarded with a bubbled laugh, “I’m going to make you breakfast, since you didn’t eat last night.”

“Mm, I am hungry.” She murmurs. Then she ducks her head and catches his lips in one more kiss before she slips out of bed and meanders over to the fresher.

Mayday watches her vanish into the bathroom but doesn’t get out of bed until he hears the sound of water running and notices steam escaping from the door that hadn’t been shut all the way.

He doesn’t bother pulling on a shirt as he heads into the kitchen. He flips the power button for the caf machine and adds water to his cyare’s electric kettle for her morning tea.

That done, he pulls eggs and precut veggies out of the fridge to start on the morning omelets.

By this point in their relationship, Mayday and his Cyare have a set post-concert schedule. The day after his cyare has a show, she’s allowed to sleep in as late as she wants. She gets to take as long of a shower as she wants while she uses the hot water to soothe her aching muscles from all of the dancing, and Mayday makes her normal post-concert breakfast, an omelet with onion and pepper, and one piece of toast.

It’s the only time she wants omelets, though Mayday would happily make her omelets every morning if she wanted.

He turns to the kitchen door as he hears light footsteps behind him, and an adoring smile crosses his face as he sees her enter the kitchen. Her soaking wet hair is pulled into a braid to dry, she’s wearing her normal glasses and has pulled on a tank top and some shorts to relax. She’s not wearing makeup and has even removed her nail polish.

His cyare looks nothing like she normally looks when she’s performing.

Of course, Mayday loves her regardless of what she looks like, but he isn’t ashamed of admitting that he prefers it when his cyare looks like this. It means that he gets all of her attention.

She smiles at him, “You’re staring.”

“You’re beautiful.” Mayday replies, “I can’t help it.”

She laughs softly, “Thank you.”

Mayday sets his spatula on the counter, and holds his hands out for her, “Come here, beautiful.” She walks over to him and he folds his arms around her while her arms drape around his neck. “I love you.”

A bright smile crosses her face, “I love you too.”

He leans in and bumps his forehead against hers, “One more kiss, cyar’ika. And then I’ll get back to cooking.”

And she giggles before she leans in and kisses him, slow and deep.

Mayday leans into her, deepening the kiss. He never expected that he would be allowed to find happiness.

He’s never been so happy to be wrong in his life.