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annievrse · 1 month ago

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It Only Hurts This Much Right Now / Act I

Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader Summary: When your captain, Luffy, tells you to run from Bartholomew Kuma on the Sabaody Archipelago instead of fighting, you end up on a submarine. Takes place pre-time skip. W/C: 15k C/W: Fic structure: Sabaody Archipelago → Dressrosa spoilers, canon timeline but majority canon-divergent events, is organised into scenes, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n. Content: panic attacks, anxiety, descriptions of injuries, blood, passing out, trauma (Luffy), and Law has his death tattoos pre-time skip because I said so.

Labyrinth Series Masterlist

— Scene 1 —

“Run! Now!”

Your legs move of their own accord, your mind screaming against your captain’s request. Bartholomew Kuma’s Paw-Paw Fruit had your crew disappearing off the Sabaody Archipelago one by one.

With ragged breathing and a burning chest, the further you get from the grassy patch, the more your heart clenches in agony. Your family is gone, and you don’t know if they’re dead or hurt, and the thought of them being in that state has you clutching your chest.

“Luffy!” You scream as he vanishes from sight, your voice broken, but there is nothing you can do. The Devil Fruit you’d eaten as a child feels useless against someone of this calibre, so you run, just as your captain told you to.

The island is in an uproar of violence and fear; the only place you know to go is to the Sunny. The Straw Hats’ dear ship, who’s been waiting for its crew’s arrival, only to be left abandoned when you run directly into the back of someone.

You stumble backwards, the sudden stop causing your legs to give out from underneath you. You land on the ground, a sharp pain in your tailbone sending shockwaves through your spine. Breathing rapidly, you scramble to stand, but not before a hand clasps around your throat.

“Who are you?”

The voice is deep and commanding, and you spit your name out quickly. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out the vague outline of a large man, his fiery hair sticking out in all directions. With exhausted muscles and the little strength you have left, you claw at the man’s hand, his grip tight around your neck. The man scoffs and lets you fall to the ground, the second impact on your spine hurting more than the last.

“Kid, leave the poor girl alone.”

You rub your temples with tender fingers where a deep pain in your skull threatens to explode.

Kid? Where had you heard that name before?

Your voice comes out as a whimper, your body on the cusp of failing you. A warm liquid drips from your hairline, and you pull your hand back, your fingertips crimson. Panic rises in your veins, and you’re reminded of the terrible fate your crew faces. A dull ache on your side stops you from standing, but you try to do so anyway with no success.

“Hey, you’re with the Straw Hats, right?”

Tears collect on your waterline at the sound of it, and your brain focuses on one key component – Straw Hat.

“Come with me.”

Spluttering nonsense, you try to think through the rapid rise and fall of your chest, your inhales raspy, and your exhales short. Your body doesn’t feel like your own, and as tears roll down your cheeks, you wish Kuma had given you the same fate.

“Calm down,” The voice mumbles, hands finding purchase under your armpits to lift you off the ground. “Panicking will only make it worse.”

“M-my crew, they’re gone.”

“Gone?”

You choke on a raggedy cough, your thoughts disordered. With a tightening chest, you nod. “Can’t breathe.”

The man calls something you can’t hear, setting you back on the grass. The sudden threat of Kuma out there and possibly coming for you next has you crawling away from the man, who has his back to you, talking to someone in an orange jumpsuit. Blood drips from your head onto the grass below you, and your arms struggle to hold you. Coughing out sobs, you keep dragging yourself further from where you know Kuma is.

“Hey.”

“Leave me alone,” You rasp. “He’s coming.”

“Who?”

“Kuma,” Your heart tightens as your lips form his name. “He’s going to kill me next.”

“Fuck.”

And before you reach the trunk of a Yarukiman Mangrove, you’re lifted off the ground and thrown over someone’s shoulder. And despite your feeble attempts at hitting their back, you aren’t getting down.

“Don’t take me to Kuma, please,” The plea burns your tongue as you sob, your limbs thrashing. A sharp pain shoots from your side, and you wail out. “Please, get me away from here.”

“You’re safe, you’re free now.” Usually, you’d need proof if a strange person told you something with so much certainty; instead, you nod, and your eyes close of their own volition, exhaustion overpowering your common sense.

— Scene 2 —

You wake with a start, gasping as you sit up. Fear claws at your consciousness and leaves goosebumps in its wake. You don’t dare speak a word. Squinting into the bright overhead lights, you realise you’re in a bed, a thin blanket pooled around your waist. An IV protrudes from your arm, and you shiver at the feeling of it inside you.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Your head snaps to the other side of the room, where a tall, lean man stands over a desk. You tilt your head at his appearance, familiarity picking at your mind. It isn’t until he turns around that you gasp. It isn’t his fur hat or patterned jeans that make you recognise him, but the deep steel of his eyes.

Trafalgar Law.

You’d seen him inside the human auctioning house where Luffy punched a Celestial Dragon, thinking nothing of him. Sure, he was a rookie pirate with a higher bounty than your captain, 440 million berries, but he’d done nothing to prove his worth to you.

You stare at him as he walks over, his steps lazy. Trafalgar Law’s blood runs cold, and he’s nothing short of sadistic; at least, that’s what Shakky told you. The man before you now seems to stalk you like you’re his prey, but his voice is surprisingly full of something close to friendliness when he speaks.

“You had a panic attack, and you were severely dehydrated, hence the IV,” You blink at him, your brain processing why Trafalgar Law is standing at the end of the bed and not a doctor. “You have a deep gash on your scalp and one on the left side of your torso, too.”

Your hand lifts to your head unconsciously, your fingertips meeting gauze. It’s obvious there’s some form of pain suppressant coursing through your veins since your body is light and your mind isn’t nearly as sharp as it should be. You curse yourself for being so weak.

“Best try not to touch it.”

Frowning, you lower your hand, feeling the same white fabric around your stomach. This time, you can see the dark splotches seeping through the gauze. Your lips smack softly at the dryness in your mouth, and Trafalgar gestures to the glass beside you.

“Wanna tell me your name?”

You mumble your reply, watching him warily as you sip the drink–-water. The room is quiet, save for the muffled sound of metal clanging.

“Where am I?” You mutter, holding the glass between your hands.

“My ship, the Polar Tang.”

Your stomach clenches with panic. “Why am I here?”

“Your crew was attacked by Bartholomew Kuma. Do you remember?”

Nodding, your eyes sting at the memory.

“You found me and begged me to take you away.”

Your gaze hardens as you set your eyes on him. “I didn’t beg.”

“Believe me, you did.”

Setting the glass onto the bedside table, you rip the blanket off and stand from the bed, noting the discomfort of your side.

“I know you,” You say. “You’re the guy who did nothing as my crew freed the slaves from that auction house.”

Tilting his head, Trafalgar says nothing, though his expression is standoffish. You stand there, your body shivering involuntarily. Maybe you should’ve stayed in bed.

“Drop me off at the next port.”

Trafalgar clicks his tongue. “No, can do; we’re not leaving Sabaody for a few weeks.”

Your eyes dart around the room, noticing the lack of windows.

“I know you don’t trust me,” Trafalgar says, irritation dripping from his tone. “But there was nowhere else for you to go.”

You shrink from his piercing gaze and wrap your arms around your body, being careful to avoid your injury. “How long have I been here?”

“You’re full of questions today, aren’t you?”

You don’t dignify him with an answer and wait for him to reply.

“Two days.”

Two days? “I have to leave. My crew needs me.”

“You’re no good to anyone like this,” Trafalgar shakes his head and raises his palm before you. “Besides, you don’t even know where they are.”

You feel like screaming and crying and throwing up all at the same time. It’s not fair.

“I mean,” He smirks. “You could always ask Kuma where he sent them.”

You narrow your gaze at him. “That’s not funny.”

Trafalgar throws his hands up in false defence. “Never said it was, sweetheart. However, you can’t do anything but stay here and recover.”

You think it over. What he says is true, but that doesn’t mean you must be useless. His nickname washes over you after you go through your options, and you roll your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Sweetheart?” He laughs, turning away from you. “I think it’s perfect.”

You want to retort, to yell at him for patronising you at a time like this, but are interrupted when a large something rushes through the door.

“Captain,” The polar bear says, wiping sweat from its forehead. “Kid needs to talk to you.”

Your first thought is Chopper and how excited he’d be to meet another talking animal. Your second thought is far more depressing, and you swallow the emotion lodged in your throat.

Trafalgar sighs and waves his hand at you. “Change her bandages.”

The bear salutes and walks toward you as Trafalgar leaves. “Hello.”

“Hi.” You tilt your head, knowing better than to ask questions.

“Oh,” It looks down at itself and laughs nervously. “I’m Bepo.”

“Bepo…”

“I’m a navigator.”

A familiar feeling rises in your chest. “A navigator, huh?”

“Yup, I navigate the sub,” He scratches behind his ear. “Who are you?”

You smile and tell him your name, slotting that you’re on a submarine in the back of your mind. “I’m a seamstress for the Straw Hats.”

Bepo’s eyes widen. “Captain said we had a guest, but I didn’t know you were a Straw Hat… Anyway, do you mind if I change your bandages?”

Your walls go up, and you glance at the white fabric around your torso. “Uh–”

“Captain had to sew you up,” Bepo says solemnly. “It was a deep cut.”

You nod and reluctantly drop your hands by your sides.

“Let me just— over here,” The bear stammers before rushing to the opposite wall. Usually, you can stitch yourself up. Before Chopper had joined the Straw Hats, you were the one to aid the crew. Zoro’s laceration across his abdomen, thanks to Dracule Mihawk, was your most significant job.

So, when Bepo returns with a fresh roll of gauze and scissors, you quickly take it from his hands. “I can do this.”

“You sure?” He asks carefully, his teeth showing as he cringes.

You swiftly remove the old bandage, unroll the new one, and apply it just as briskly. When the gauze is tightly wrapped around you, you notice Bepo watching in astonishment.

“Are you hungry?” He splutters, eyes still trained on your torso. You guess he’s not the best with blood.

Your stomach rumbles at the sound of food, and Bepo laughs softly. You cover your stomach as you feel your cheeks warm.

“Penguin made rice balls, Captain’s favourite. You’re welcome to have some,” Bepo says, walking to the door. He seems to have forgotten about your injury.

You nod, but before following, you stick your hand out. “Can I take this out?”

The bear turns around at record speed, his eyes honing in on the needle sticking out of your wrist. “Uh, Captain might kill you.”

You pull your hand to your chest. “Why?”

“Captain does all the medical stuff; he’s a doctor. He wouldn’t want to take it out, b—but if it’s uncomfortable, I can take it out for you.”

“He’s a doctor?”

Bepo nods. “And a surgeon.”

His large paws hold your hand delicately. “Okay, this is fine.”

You give him a wary look, letting him take it out despite the fact you can do it yourself. “You’ve never done this before.”

“I-I have, just not on people,” He splutters. “Captain makes me practice with fruit.”

Smirking, you watch the needle slide out from under your skin.

“Done. Let’s go.”

You shake your arm before inspecting the area. Bepo is already in the hallway when you decide to follow him.

“This is the infirmary, obviously,” He says, then points to the other end of the hall. “That’s the Captain’s quarters.”

You nod, though you doubt you’ll need to remember the layout since you’re leaving soon.

You follow Bepo up the stairs as he talks about the submarine, how it works, how he navigates underwater, and how it doesn’t implode. It’s all very fascinating, and you can tell Bepo is passionate about his job on the Polar Tang, but you can’t help but think about your own navigator—

“—and this is the kitchen.”

— how she knows the weather patterns like it's a part of her, how she draws her maps with such detail that it shocks you every time you get your hands on one, how you gossip with her until your cook pesters you to try his new dish.

And then you’re being introduced to the Polar Tang’s cook, and it feels like an iron grip on your esophagus.

“This is Penguin,” Bepo says, pointing at a guy wearing a hat. You give him a wave, though it's half-assed, and you regret it immediately.

“Hi,” You smile, trying your best to push the memories out of your head and make up for the lazy greeting.

“Rice ball?” He asks, handing you said food on a plate.

You take it graciously, thanking him for the snack.

“How’re you feeling?” A new voice calls. You turn to see another man with a hat, but his sunglasses make him different from Penguin.

It takes you a second to swallow the rice. “Been better.”

“Oh, that’s Shachi,” Bepo says before turning to the man. “Would be nice if you introduced yourself.”

Shachi shrugs and returns to his own rice ball.

“I’m here too,” A large man mumbles.

“Jean-Bart,” Bepo gasps. “He’s new. Just joined.”

You nod, finishing your rice ball.

“I see you’ve met some of the crew.” Trafalgar’s voice makes you freeze. You wipe your lips and turn to face him. There’s a katana propped on his shoulder, and you take a moment to study it.

Zoro’s face and stupid laugh pop into your head, and then you’re chewing the inside of your cheek.

“I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping,” Trafalgar says, leaving the kitchen. You tug your eyebrows together and follow him.

“I’m leaving soon.”

He ignores you and continues down the stairs and past the infirmary. From Bepo’s description of this floor, the only two rooms are the clinic and the Captain’s quarters, and considering Trafalgar is the captain, you deduce that you’ll be close to him.

The thought makes you cringe.

He stops before the final door and opens it.

“Ikkaku stays in the other room.” He says it like you know who that is and ushers you inside. “She’s away at the moment.”

Stepping inside, you realise there are more doors. Three are on the right, and two are on the left in the smaller hallway. He stands close behind you.

“Your room is through the second door on the right. Make yourself comfortable. We’re going into Sabaody tonight.”

And when you turn to ask Trafalgar Law if this is some kind of joke, he’s gone.

You should put a bell on him.

The women’s room is more extensive than you expected, considering there’s only one woman onboard. You peer around corners and keep your footfalls light as you explore, not wanting to snoop in Ikkaku’s stuff accidentally.

There’s an empty room next to the bathroom. Stepping inside, you realise that the warm light of the bedside lamp and the half-full bookcase in the corner make it seem almost homey. The bed is lush when you sit and run your fingertips over the quilt. What is going on?

Despite being alert, the comfort of the room allows you to let your guard down, and the feeling alone makes you want to close your eyes. Only for a moment do you let yourself pretend everything is fine. Luffy runs laps around Sanji as he prepares the fish he’s caught. Nami and Robin are lounging on the deck, and Zoro’s asleep against the mast. Franky’s tinkering with something under the deck with Usopp, and Brook keeps them company with his violin. You’re sitting on the railing of the Thousand Sunny with your legs swinging back and forth as you chat with Chopper, fixing a patch to the underside of his hat where one of Usopp’s inventions blew it off his head.

It was meant to be a sleepless dream, yet you fall victim to the clutches of darkness and dreamless sleep.

— Scene 3 —

You feel sick. Your mouth is dry, and your head is full of cotton. The last thing you remember is laughing at Chopper’s attempt at imitating Sanji.

The isolated room is a punch in the gut, a harsh reality that beats the dream in your head to a bloody pulp. You swallow thickly and sit up from the bed. You don’t know the time since a submarine has no windows, and the actuality of where you are is a cruel reminder of your situation.

You rub your eyes with your sore knuckles hard, ignoring the countless stars that cloud your vision when you drop your hands to your lap. There’s no sound from outside the door, and when you really concentrate, there’s no muffled noise from the level above either.

You groan at the dull throbbing of your side but forget about it when your eye catches on a white jumpsuit hanging from the door handle. You endure the disgust that coats your tongue.

Before you know it, you’re up and snatching the suit from the handle. You swing the door open, not bothering to care that it slams against the wall, and make a beeline to the infirmary. You only know he’s in there because the overhead light is on.

Trafalgar has his hat off and a lab coat on. He’s pulling a latex glove onto his hand when you enter.

“What is this?” You spit, holding the jumpsuit up. Trafalgar’s head turns toward you, his face barren of any emotion. “I’m not one of your pirates.”

“When you’re on my sub, you wear it.”

Scoffing, you throw it onto a cot. “I’m a Straw Hat.”

“You’re on my ship.”

“Against my will.” You know it’s unfair, but the words spill from you anyway.

Trafalgar shakes his head, a small laugh falling from his lips. He returns to his work before him on the metal table. “I’m not arguing with you right now. How’s your wound?”

You ignore his question. “Well, when can you fit me into your busy schedule to argue, Traffy?”

His unamused glance sends shivers down your spine, but he doesn’t bite.

“It’s a safety precaution.” He says, lifting a jar to his face to inspect it.

You look down at your clothes and the gauze around you and sigh. Your head is still fuzzy from your nap, and fighting him will get you nowhere, you can tell that much. It’s safe to say that Trafalgar Law gets under your skin, and not just because he’s a surgeon.

“Not happening,” You shake your head and step back. “I’m not a part of your crew.”

“As you’ve said,” Trafalgar utters, his voice tinged with irritation. “Fine.”

Your face softens at the finality of his tone.

“But when you’re wandering around Sabaody, don’t come running to me when someone attempts to cash in the bounty on your head. You stand out.”

You smile, your pride overpowering any other emotion for a second. “You’ve done your research.”

“370 million berries,” He states, turning around. “But I have yet to see why.”

Your expression sours, and you spin toward the door to leave. “Goodnight, Trafalgar.”

He says nothing as you swipe a new gauze roll from the shelf next to the entrance and shut the door behind you.

“Asshole,” You mumble, flexing your hands to stretch out the fists you didn’t realise you’d been sporting—perhaps it’s best that you didn’t lose control of your powers in front of him. The walk back to your room is short, choosing to go to the bathroom before heading back to bed.

After poking around in the bathroom for an hour, you exit with a towel around you, again noticing the lack of noise on the ship. It is eerily silent as you redress in your old clothes, but once you’re done, you see a new set of clothes on the bed.

When did they get there?

You hold the new top, noticing the size is slightly off. Sighing, you move your fingers in a certain way to change the width and length of the garment. “Sew.”

Seams pop, and new ones are made until the ill-fitting clothes resize to fit you perfectly. You hum in contentment and place them on the chair in the corner of the room.

You wrap your wound with new gauze, thanks to the roll you stole earlier, but the pain suppressants are wearing off, and the pain is beginning to seep through. Your gaze catches on the new clothes, and despite the bloodstains and dirt patches on the clothes you wear now, you decide you feel more comfortable in them than the foreign ones in the corner.

Laying on the bed, your eyes close almost instantly. The emotion you feel from earlier and the spat with Trafalgar has tired you. You thought it’d be difficult to fall asleep in such ghostly silence, but when the blanket covers you, you’re dreaming about your crew again.

—

It’s only slight, but the knock that comes from outside of your door startles you. You’ve been awake for hours, picking through the books on the shelf and thinking about how you were leaving Sabaody when it happened.

Your name is low on his lips when he speaks it, and your heart jumps at the sound of it.

“Come in.”

The door opens slowly, like Trafalgar’s nervous about what he’ll find.

“How’re you feeling?”

You glance at your stomach and shrug. “Achy.”

Trafalgar nods, standing awkwardly in the doorway, one of his hands digging in the pocket of his jeans. “I brought you some pills for the pain.”

The bottle is small, but it's full of medication. You thank him, screwing the cap and emptying two into your palm. The air is thick with tension, but not the good kind. What he said earlier in the evening still rings in your mind.

“I’ll show you why my bounty is so high when I’m ready, okay?”

Trafalgar eyes you warily. “Okay…”

“Thanks for bringing these,” You gesture to the tablets in your palm, trying to diffuse the tension. “Maybe I’ll be able to sleep properly.”

“You’re having trouble?” Trafalgar scratches his chin halfway out the door.

“Not bad,” You lie, waving your hand in dismissal. “Just nightmares and stuff. About Kuma and my crew and drowning in a submarine.”

You don’t know why you’re talking to him like this, exposing your fears, like he’s a Straw Hat, but something about his mellow demeanour is comforting. His shy eyes and shadow of a smile starkly contrast to the man you spoke to earlier in the night.

“Well, I know that this submarine isn’t going to sink, spring a leak, or implode, so you can scratch that off your list of fears.”

His good-natured humour surprises you despite his cold look. “Take two every four hours, and the pain should be almost absent.”

You nod, realising he’s talking about the medication. Taking the glass from the bedside table, you wash the pills down.

“Goodnight, Trafalgar.”

“Night,” He murmurs, whispering your name afterwards.

You open your mouth to say something else, anything else, when he beats you to it.

“By the way,” Trafalgar says, his voice oddly soft. “The situation with your crew will only hurt this much now. As the days pass, it’ll get better.”

He shuts the door behind him, and you stare at it like he still lingers there.

You can’t help but believe him.

— Scene 4 —

Bepo looks at you oddly from across the table.

It’s the next morning, and he’d informed you the day before in his tour that breakfast was at eight am sharp. It wasn’t until you heard the first sound above you that you’d studied the clothes given to you with such caution that you thought yourself ridiculous before sighing and putting them on. You’d shoved your feet into your shoes and trudged upstairs to the dining room, where Penguin shovelled various foods onto your plate without asking your preference and sent you to the table where you sit now.

“What?” You ask Bepo, moving pieces of your breakfast around your plate.

Bepo jumps at your voice, suddenly finding the fish before him extremely interesting. “Nothing.”

Twisting your lips, you feel bad for catching him off guard. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” The navigator shakes his head. “It’s just that you’re not wearing a boiler suit.”

“Oh,” You mumble, looking down at yourself. Maybe you should’ve worn your own clothes.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Bepo interjects quickly, noticing the look on your face.

“Yeah, never a bad thing,” Shachi comments from the other end of the table.

Bepo gasps. “Ignore him.”

You give him a small smile.

“It's just that the only person who doesn’t wear one is Captain Law. It’s just odd seeing someone else aboard not wearing one, is all.”

“Alright,” A familiar voice says from the doorway. “We’re going onto Sabaody. Get your shit together and meet out the front.”

You watch the Heart Pirates scramble to finish their meals, stacking their plates beside the sink as they exit the room. Soon enough, you’re sitting at the table on your own.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Trafalgar says. “Just stay close.”

“I’m good here,” You don’t turn to look at him. “Not looking to cause any problems.”

He sighs. “Do you need anything?”

You think it over, deciding to take his question literally. What you need is to get off this island and find your crew, to get to the Sunny and go to Fishman Island, like the original plan. Instead, you’re on a submarine, docked on the island where your crew went missing without knowing how to get them back. Your words are bitter as they leave you, but you don’t regret them.

“What I need is impossible for you to get.”

“Are you always this melodramatic?”

His quip surprises you. Your chair scrapes against the metal floor as you stand. You narrow your eyes at him as you walk to the sink and put your plate on the top of the stack. “Are you always this big of a dick?”

“Only when someone is being difficult. It’s not hard to accept help, you know. Or is that against the rules of the Straw Hats?”

You blink at him in shock, your voice low as you approach him. You can feel the power of your Devil Fruit tingling under your skin. “You know nothing about me or my crew.”

“Yet, I can read you like a book,” Trafalgar laughs, looking down at you. “I see you fit in the clothes fine.”

“Are you done?” You scowl, your fingers moving into their usual position when your powers are in use. It’s difficult to control yourself around him. At least you got your answer as to where the clothes came from. You don’t have it in you to thank him right now.

Adjusting the katana on his shoulder, Trafalgar sighs, lifting a finger to move the needle that materialised before his nose. “Let’s get out of here, hm?”

You gasp at the sight of one of your needles, regret swimming in your eyes. The needle vanishes like it was never there as you grab hold of your ability. “I’m so sorry.”

He turns around, ignoring your apology. “I see.”

“See what?” You ask, breathless at your lack of control. Your feet carry you after him, seemingly having a mind of their own.

“You ate a Devil Fruit.”

You don’t care that he’s leading you outside. “What if I did?”

When the breeze hits his face, Trafalgar stops, and you almost run into his back. “I want to see what it does.”

You swallow thickly. “No.”

Being outside, on Sabaody, makes your chest hurt. You try to push down the emotions clouding your vision and circle Trafalgar to stand before him.

“No?”

You nod once. “I’m not a circus animal.”

“You say you’re not a lot of things, sweetheart,” He says. “When can I hear about something you are?”

His words are honeyed, and you refrain from shivering. “I am pissed off at you.”

His eyebrow quirks up at you. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Ignoring him, you turn. “I’m going to get some supplies, don’t follow me.”

“I thought you were good here… but, unfortunately, sweetheart, I wasn’t planning on it,” Trafalgar mutters. “Just stay low, okay? There are pirates and marines everywhere. No matter where you are, they’ll be there too.”

You acknowledge his warning and turn to leave, but the call of your name from his lips has you glancing over your shoulder.

“Try not to open your wound, okay? Don’t need you dying on me.”

— Scene 5 —

When Trafalgar told you there were marines everywhere, you thought he exaggerated. Surely they wouldn’t be around every corner, store, on every rooftop…

Now, you know better than to doubt his judgment. The screaming of civilians and the sound and vibration of explosions have your heart leaping every few minutes in fear.

“Shit,” You curse as you jump into another alleyway. A group of Marines run past, and your heart beats in sync with their footsteps.

A trip to the town is more complicated than you thought. Shoving your hand in your pocket, you fish out fifty berries and whine silently when you realise how little you have to spend.

You don’t want to, but Nami’s tips on stealing and bargaining cross your mind. Thieving on Sabaody Archipelago seems like a foolish thing to do—there’s no way you’d get away with it with all the Marines on duty. Rolling your eyes, you step from the street and onto the main strip.

When nobody jumps you, you make your way to the closest store. It's dark inside the building, but you use that to your advantage and slide various small items into your pockets. The aisles are empty; the only person in sight is the cashier, an elderly man with horns.

Trafalgar’s words swim in your mind as you wander down the aisles.

Don’t need you dying on me… I can read you like a book…

His mood swings give you a headache; you’ve only known him a day. You couldn’t imagine having him as your captain. Despite Luffy’s carefree attitude, he’d never get smart like that, and he would never call you melodramatic. Hell, he wouldn't even know what melodramatic means.

The thought of your own captain has your stomach sinking, but then your skin is burning at the sheer audacity of Trafalgar Law. Bepo seems to have a high tolerance for his captain, and you guess that skill only develops with time. You scowl at the thought of spending more time with Trafalgar than you have to. You sure hope your crew makes it back here soon.

But, your mind is so focused on the captain of the Heart Pirates that it isn’t until you’re at the counter, paying for three rolls of gauze and a box of rice cakes, that the newspaper beside the counter catches your attention.

PORTGAS D. ACE TO BE PUBLICLY EXECUTED

You stare at the headline. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Ace. Executed.

“Miss?”

Blinking once, you drop the berries onto the counter, snatch the newspaper from the stand, and run out of the store with it pressed to your chest.

No, no, no.

At a time when your captain needs you most, you’re not there. No tears well at your waterline; only panic has you in its steel clutches.

You sprint back to the Polar Tang, your legs burning and your mind racing. You don’t dare look at the paper again until you're safe in the room you’re staying in. Throwing it on the bed, you finally look over the details.

The World Government has captured Fire Fist Ace…. The renowned pirate Blackbeard has been invited to become a Warlord…the execution has been set to be at Marineford in one week…

Shaking your head in disbelief, you refuse to believe the printed words. You scrunch the paper in your hand and fly from the room into the infirmary.

Trafalgar is nowhere to be found.

“Please,” You plea as you run up the stairs and into the kitchen. “Hello?”

The Polar Tang is empty.

Your voice echoes off the cold metal, and you sink to your knees. A sharp pain rolls through you, and you look down at your stomach to see the bandages soaked in blood. The sight makes your head feel light. Your heart rate rapidly inclines, and the kitchen spins before your eyes, the adrenaline coursing through your veins tapering off. With shaky hands, you unfurl the newspaper.

Where’s Trafalgar now? Where are the words he spoke to you last night? It only hurts this much right now? It’s not getting better, only worse. Why would he lie?

Despite your racing thoughts, the only name on your mind and tongue is Luffy before you pass out, and your head hits the metal floor of the common area with a dull thud.

— Scene 6 —

“I’m starting to get Deja vu, sweetheart.”

You groan when you hear his voice.

“I thought I told you not to die yet,” Trafalgar mumbles, urgency in his tone. “Never mind, the war’s started.”

War?

“What war?” You slur, squeezing your eyes shut against the overhead lights. You feel exposed, and when you peer down at your body, you see a blue gown covering you.

“Your body has undergone immense trauma, both physically and mentally,” He ignores your question. “It's been a few days since Bepo found you bleeding out in the kitchen.”

You blink, covering your eyes with your hands. “What’s going on?”

“You were comatose, close to death. You’re stable now, but I thought I told you not to reopen your wound and—”

“Not with me,” You sit up, your eyes still hurting. “With the war.”

Sighing harshly, Trafalgar sits on a chair beside the bed, resting his forearms on his knees. You turn to look at him, noticing his sleeves have been pushed up to his elbows. On his arms lay stark tattoos, the ink trailing down to his hands and then his knuckles.

EATH

You open your mouth to ask about its meaning but aren’t quick enough.

“Whitebeard’s at Marineford. We’re on our way there now.”

You furrow your eyebrows, finally comprehending the grinding and clanging of metal around you. “Why?”

“Portgas D. Ace’s execution is today.”

The name makes you lurch, and you scold yourself for thinking about asking Trafalgar about his tattoos. How foolish.

“What’s wrong? Is it your wound?”

“He’s Luffy’s brother,” You whisper, dread flooding you. “Why are we going?”

Trafalgar gives up on your health when he realises you won’t tell him anything about it, but the information that Luffy is Ace’s brother catches his attention. “It would be a shame for a rival to die this early.”

“Rival? Ace is a rival?”

Trafalgar lets out a humourless laugh. “Monkey D. Luffy is a rival.”

You’re speechless. Wholly and utterly silent at his declaration. Your mouth opens and closes as you try to form the words your brain wants you to say but to no avail.

He shrugs when he sees you attempt to say something. “We’re pirates, or did you forget that?”

The idea that you could be here for shifty reasons hits you all at once. Sure, you’d thought about it when you woke up the first time, grateful that a pirate was willing to save you, to put their life on the line to help another pirate. But you were a fool for thinking it was out of the goodness of his heart.

That’s why it all spills out when you open your mouth this time. “Why keep me alive, then? I’m a pirate from an opposing crew with a bounty of over three hundred million berries. Why not kill me and cash it in?”

“You could be useful.”

“Useful.” The word is bitter on your tongue. Useful, not as an addition to a pirate crew, but as a weapon to wield against the people you love. Who was that man from your first night here? Does he exist under the facade of Trafalgar Law? Or was it all a lie?

“You know…” He ponders, running his tongue over his teeth. “Leverage.”

“Huh,” You smile fakely, disdain morphing your expression. “So, that’s all I’m good for?”

“Right now? Yes.”

Your hand flicks up before you know what you’re doing. The act of sewing his lips shut fills you with such jubilation that you can’t help but smile a genuine smile. The black thread of your power has Trafalgar rising instantly, the chair he was on flying out behind him.

“You may be Trafalgar Law,” You say lowly. “But I’m not a pawn.”

Trafalgar claws at his lips before sticking one hand out. A blue dome covers the room, and you feel an odd sensation in your chest. It feels as though your heart is being ripped out of your chest. You scream in agony, most likely ripping the stitches in your side as you clutch at your breast. The IV needle in your hand tears through your skin, and your blood spills onto the gown you wear, soaking through it.

Trafalgar gestures wildly at you, screaming through his closed lips as the threads tighten. You’re unknowingly making them taut, suffocating him. He staggers, the trolley that houses the surgical equipment rolling away as he falls to the ground. Scalpels and scissors clatter to the ground, the infirmary turning into a place of chaos.

His face is red, close to purple when you see it, a blue cube with a fist-sized organ inside it. Your heart.

“What the…” Your brain seems to forget the pain when you see your lifeline in the hand of Trafalgar Law.

You’re in such a state of shock that you loosen and remove the thread from his lips, your body falling limply onto the pillows behind you.

“What the fuck?” His voice is hoarse. “Are you insane?”

“Are you?” You ask pathetically, still trying to process what you just witnessed.

He doesn’t answer, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his lungs trying to take in as much oxygen as possible. He leans his back against the cupboards, his legs bent in front of him. The blue cube hangs from his fingertips behind his knees.

You yelp in surprise and paw at the empty slot in your chest.

“Give me my heart back,” You don’t know what you’re saying. How could he have your heart?

Trafalgar pushes himself back to his full height, his breathing still ragged but quiet. “What Devil Fruit did you eat? They’re not strings, that’s impossible.”

“What?” You ask absentmindedly, still occupied with the phenomenon of your open chest.

“What are your powers?” He presses, staring at you.

“The Sew-Sew Fruit.”

“Sew-Sew Fruit…”

“I have thread and needles and shit, okay,” Your breathing starts to go rigid. “Where’s my heart?”

“You suffocated me, that’s—”

“Trafalgar!” Tears roll down your cheeks. “Where is my heart?”

His body goes still, and the terror in your eyes is enough for him to lift it and slot it back into your body. The sound of blood rushing through you is loud, and you can feel the blood in your veins. The first beat of your heart back in your chest is painful but quickly dissipates as your body recognises it as its own. It’s an experience you never want to endure again.

You scramble away from him, climbing onto the floor and pressing your back against the furthest cabinet.

“Careful of your wound,” Trafalgar mutters, his gaze glazed with concern. His face has returned to its standard shade, and he rubs his chest.

“I don’t care.”

“I’m sorry.”

The apology should shock you, but you shake your head in disbelief. “What was that?”

He swallows thickly. “I ate the Op-Op Fruit. I can control all matter within the range of my room.”

“This room?” Your hand lands on your side, the pain returning.

“This room,” He says, lifting his hand. “Room.”

And as before, a blue dome covers you, and you stare at the ceiling in wonder, though you’re confused about how you could be so fascinated at something that almost killed you.

“Op-Op…”

“So, what does yours do?”

“I have sew,” You gesture with one hand. “Which you saw, that controls threads, and needles, which controls, well, needles. Sew can be used to stitch up wounds, trap people, and, you know, tie them up, strangulation. Whereas with needles, I can produce giant ones for stabbing and stuff.”

Law hums. “That’s a simple way of putting it…”

A smile you can only believe came from the deepest depths of your soul spreads across your cheeks. “No wonder your bounty’s so high.”

“And I now see why yours is so high.”

You feel your body relax when Trafalgar retracts his room. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “I deserved that. I was being a dick.”

“You were being a dick,” Your lips quirk. “But I was way out of line. I know we’re pirates, but—”

“What happened? I heard screaming,” Bepo barges into the infirmary, the door slamming against the wall.

You shake your head in dismissal. “Nothing, I just fell.”

Trafalgar’s eyebrows twitch when he looks at you. You could’ve easily told Bepo his captain almost killed you, but you couldn’t tell him you almost killed his captain, too.

“Oh,” The bear sighs. “Are you okay?”

You nod, pushing yourself off the ground to stand. “Thanks for checking in.”

Bepo smiles before speaking to Trafalgar. “Captain.”

“What is it?” He asks, turning so his back is to you both.

“We’ll be docking soon. The waters are rough around Marineford.”

“Understandable,” Trafalgar mutters. “Get the crew ready to retrieve Straw Hat.”

Bepo nods and quickly leaves.

“We’re retrieving him?”

Trafalgar sighs. “I told you, a rival can’t die this early. We’re rookies, we have to protect each other until the new age surpasses the old.”

His words have a strange intonation of leadership as if he feels responsible for Luffy. And maybe it's the underlying knowledge that he feels like your captain could be useful to him, but for now, you’re grateful he’s willing to help him.

“That’s sweet.”

Trafalgar narrows his eyes at you. “Get ready to resurface. We won’t have much time.”

You look down at your bloody gown and hurry to your bedroom, your stomach churning with both excitement and dread. Excitement for seeing Luffy, dread for everything else.

— Scene 7 —

“Hurry up!” Trafalgar yells to his crew. “We get Straw Hat out of there and leave.”

“Yes, Captain.” The response is a collective voice, and you stand in the corner, nursing your wound. You would’ve rather done it in the privacy of the infirmary or your bedroom, but with Luffy so close, you don’t care if the men see you.

“Only Bepo, Penguin, Shachi, Jean-Bart, and I will be on deck, the rest of you are on standby, given things go to shit.”

Another collective, yes, Captain, rolls through the common area. You’re on the verge of yelling that you’re going with them when Trafalgar finds your gaze and nods once, confirming that you’ll be there too.

Swallowing, you inhale sharply. Your wound is secure, and you can feel your power surge through you, just in case.

The submarine lurches, and then the crew rushes to their stations—some to the boiler room (you learnt was below your bedroom), others to the control room, and more to prepare the infirmary. It’s a practised procedure, and the tension around you reminds you of your own crew.

Trafalgar clears his throat, and you turn to see him before you. “Be careful up there, okay? We don’t need you more injured.”

You laugh. “Care about me, huh?”

He clears his throat. “Just need my leverage to be in good shape if i’m to negotiate with Straw Hat.”

You want to roll your eyes but don’t. You swear it hurt him to say that from the set of his jaw.

Before you can ponder it, you notice Bepo taking the stairs up to the main door.

There’s no time to be thinking about him. Luffy is your top priority.

“Are we there?”

Trafalgar glances over his shoulder to follow your gaze. “Yeah. Come on.”

You can hear the chaos before you see it. It's a cacophony of cannonballs, gruff wails of anguish, and the distorted sound of bones shattering.

Bepo pushes the door open, and the wind hits you in the face. The air is thick with rot, burning flesh, and salt, and you cover your nose before you gag.

“Welcome to the battlefield,” Bepo says. He means it as a joke, but it's utterly morbid.

Far away, chatter erupts when you step onto the deck. Marineford is seemingly silent at the arrival of the submarine. Blood sprays in the distance, accompanied by strangled cries and all you want to do is crouch down and cover your ears like a child. You can’t imagine Luffy here.

“Hey!” Trafalgar yells, and your attention is turned to the floating bodies in the sky. You recognise who it is immediately and run to the front of the deck.

“Luffy!” You scream, your eyes catching on his unconscious body. You feel yourself gag at the mangled state of his chest, but when you look at who is holding him, you’re stumbling over your own feet. “Buggy?”

“Hey!” The clown yells, his eyes wide. “Hey, I remember you! You’re that girl who sewed my arms to my legs back in Loguetown! Why are you here?”

Trafalgar snorts beside you, brushing off the rest of Buggy’s questions.“Quick, hand over Straw Hat.”

“I don’t take orders from you! Besides, what do you want with him?” Buggy asks. “Who even are you? What are you doing with the girl from Straw Hat’s crew?”

Trafalgar ignores him, lips pursed. “Just hand him over, he’ll die without my help. I’m a doctor.”

You notice the Fishman Buggy holds under his other arm. “Who is that…?”

“Doctor, my ass! No doctor carries around a sword that big,” Buggy cries.

“I don’t have time for your shit, clown. Hand over Straw Hat.”

“But, what’s in it for me? You’re just a —”

The familiar high-pitched sound of a cannonball makes your heart leap. “Trafalgar…”

“Uh, Captain,” Shachi calls, his voice wobbly. “Navy battleships are approaching the stern.”

“Fuck,” Trafalgar curses. “Hurry up! Give him to me!”

Four more cannon fires can be heard before the sub rocks violently from the impact.

“Captain, we’re almost in their firing range!”

The wind from a cannonball landing so close to the sub has you panicking. “Quick, Buggy!”

“Don’t you start bossing me around, little lady,” The clown screams, his voice cut short when you feel the submarine lean dangerously to the left.

“What’s going on?” Bepo yells, holding onto the railing.

“Oh, fuck,” Trafalgar says, looking to where Buggy floats. You follow his gaze, your body freezing at the sight of Kizaru. “Drop him now!”

“Fine!” Buggy exclaims, throwing Luffy and the Fishman down to the deck. The clown yells more nonsense, but you don’t care to listen. Your heart is in your throat as you watch them fall.

“Jean-Bart, quick, they’re coming.”

The large man raises his arms and catches them as Trafalgar yells, “Submerge.”

You run inside, going down to the infirmary. The submarine lurches, and you grab ahold of the handrail to stop yourself from stumbling down the stairs. You enter the infirmary, dodging crew members as they prepare for the worst.

Trafalgar and Bepo are nowhere to be seen, but you can hear shouting down the hall.

“Prepare for surgery!”

You slip into the corner of the room as the Heart Pirates file inside. The only evidence you get of Luffy is the glimpses of his bloody body. You cover your mouth with your hand at the state of him.

“Set up for a transfusion! He’s lost a lot of blood.”

The main door to the submarine slams shut, and the metal walls vibrate from the jolt. You wait with bated breath as the crew rushes around the room, sticking needles in Luffy’s arms and opening sterile equipment.

It’s captivating how fast Traflagar’s crew prepares Luffy and the Fishman for surgery. If it weren’t Luffy, you’d find it exhilarating.

Footfalls down the hall grab your attention, and soon, Bepo and the Heart Pirates Captain are entering the infirmary. Trafalgar holds something in his grasp, but you’re too engrossed in Luffy to realise what he shoves in your hands.

“Keep this safe for him, okay, sweetheart?”

You draw your attention away and look up at Trafalgar before noticing the familiar straw of Luffy’s hat between your fingers. Nodding, you curl your lips between your teeth to stop your emotions from teetering over.

He walks away, taking white latex gloves from Penguin and putting them on. Trafalgar looks over the Fishman.

“He’s been shot through the stomach… amazing he’s still breathing.”

Finally, the last tube is inserted down Luffy’s throat, and you hold your breath while you wait for Trafalgar’s assessment.

“Straw Hat’s injuries are fairly severe, too,” He says. “But I think his emotional trauma is the real issue.”

Your heart skips a beat. Ace.

“Do they need anaesthesia?” Penguin asks from the corner. Your jaw clenches at the mere thought that they wouldn’t.

“No, Straw Hat is close to comatose, and the Fishman is unconscious. They won’t feel a thing.”

Your mouth falls open. “But, Trafalgar—”

“It’s gonna be a fun operation, yeah?”

His words make you feel sick. “Hey—”

“Get her outta here,” Trafalgar says, waving his hand in dismissal.

“Yes, Captain,” Bepo mumbles, walking over to you.

“Bepo—”

“Captain’s orders,” He says tightly. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, your hands clutching Luffy’s hat to your chest. “I can’t leave him—”

“You have to; he’ll be just fine.”

“But—”

The door to the infirmary closes behind you and Bepo, and you're at a loss for words. There’s no use screaming about it, Trafalgar needs to concentrate.

“Stay here until I come and get you, okay?”

Bepo smiles sadly at you before he leaves you in your room. Now that you’re alone and the adrenaline of helping Luffy has worn off your wound throbs. Groaning in pain, you limp to the bedside table and swallow four pills.

The sub is silent, except for the relentless beeping down the hall.

Suddenly, the sub rocks uncontrollably. Screaming ensues from the infirmary, and panic clutches at your chest. You stagger and fall to the bed, instantly rolling off when the sub jumps.

“Bepo!”

Crying echoes down the hall as he races to your room. Your door swings open, and Bepo falls inside, rolling on the floor beside you. “Aokiji’s turning the ocean to ice!”

The submarine surges forward, going faster and deeper. The rocking calms down, and Bepo knocks his forehead on the floor. “No more stress, please.”

You sigh out a nervous laugh at where you lay on the floor. The sub jolts again; this time, it isn’t until the ship starts swerving that Bepo cries out. “We got lucky once. Now we’re really gonna die!”

“We’re not going to die,” You say, trying to keep your voice even. “Just hold on.”

Bepo whimpers, and before he can do as you say, he rolls into the other wall. Your name falls from his mouth in a whine, his eyes closing with dizziness. You cringe with pain, your body slamming into the leg of the bedframe.

Finally, the sub evens out, but you can tell you’re going extremely fast. The door squeaks on its hinges when it opens.

“You guys okay?”

You lift your head to see Penguin panting with his hand on the doorframe.

“Never better,” Bepo murmurs, his paws scratching the metal floor.

You nod and attempt to stand, your hand over your wound. “How’s Luffy?”

Penguin stands taller. “Surgery’s going fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a bit dizzy,” You say, knowing your skin will be marred with bruises. You don’t tell him of the sharp pain in your temple. “Are we safe?”

He visibly swallows. “Should be. Jean-Bart says nothing is attacking us now.”

“Thank you, Gods,” Bepo whines in happiness, pushing himself back to his full height. “I’m going back to the infirmary. I need an ice pack.”

You and Penguin watch Bepo leave, his legs wobbly.

“Do you need anything?” Penguin asks, his eyes trained on where your hand presses against your side.

“Should be fine, thanks.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile before exiting. You sit on the bed, lifting your shirt to inspect your wound.

It’s bloody, and it's clear your stitches have come undone again. When will you catch a break?

Taking a deep breath, you unravel the bandage. Once the soiled gauze is off, you look away, feeling queasy. You move your fingers against your skin, not needing to look when your power starts. “Sew.”

There’s no sensation when your needle pierces your skin and begins sewing you up. It's a painless procedure, one you’ve done one too many times, but a minuscule part of you wishes it were Traflagar’s nimble fingers threading a needle and cotton through you. It isn’t a welcomed thought, though you don’t curse yourself for thinking such things. You blame the minor blood loss and continue staring at the floor as you sew yourself back together.

— Scene 8 —

You don’t know how you keep finding yourself in these positions, causing yourself unnecessary pain for the sake of others. Though, you can’t help it this time.

Luffy is recovering in the infirmary after his surgery. It’s been four days since Trafalgar finished his procedures on your captain and the Fishman, who you have now learnt is Jinbe, a former Warlord.

You’re outside the door, in the hallway, your backside hurting from sitting in the same position on the metal floor for a few hours. Your neck aches, and your back needs a stretch, but you feel guilty about getting up. You refuse to leave with your captain unconscious and without a specific timeframe of when he will wake. He went through hell in an attempt to save his brother, who you’d met once in Alabasta, and it wasn’t fair that he had to endure that while you were sealed inside a submarine with another crew.

Trafalgar said it was unfair that you felt like this, and it took time for you to believe him. The past four days have been full of anxiety and tears, but you finally pulled yourself together to see Luffy without having a breakdown. You can feel sweat dripping down the side of your face, but leave it to do so, and you draw your knees to your chest and lean your forehead on your knees.

“It’s too hot down here,” Bepo complains from down the hall. He’s on the floor, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as Penguin and Shachi watch him with apprehension. “I’m going to fade away. Goodbye, cruel world.”

“Shut up, Bepo,” Penguin snaps, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Now I’m hot, and I wasn’t hot until you said something.”

“All that fur really sucks, huh?” Shachi laughs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bepo pointedly ignores him, slumping his body flat on the floor.

“I hate going so far underwater. It gets so stuffy,” He cries before narrowing his eyes at his crewmates. “And the company is oppressive, too.”

You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips.

“Not you,” Bepo comments, looking down the hall at you. “You’re not mean to me.”

“Yeah, well, we hate being here with you too, jerk,” Penguin says.

“Such vitriol. What is a poor bear to do…?” Bepo whines, lugging himself to his feet. “To win the love of his crew members?”

The collective disgusted sounds of Penguin and Shachi echo down the hall, and you lift your head to see why. Bepo hugs them both into him, rubbing his sweat on their faces. You smile at the sight, a pang of homesickness making your stomach turn. You remember Zoro doing the same thing to you and Sanji when you complained about his lack of bathing.

“Fine! We’ll ask the captain if we can surface,” Penguin yells, trying to pry himself away from Bepo.

“Captain!” They yell, stumbling over each other to get up the stairs. You sigh and return to staring at the wall opposite you.

Heavy footfalls shake the sub above, but you ignore it, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. Your stomach drops as you feel the sub incline rapidly, and you barely smile when you hear the cheers from the common area.

You stand when the sub is stationary, and there’s no movement above you. You place your hand on the door handle, the cool metal soothing the warmth of your body. You twist the handle and step inside the infirmary. The sight of the Fishman sitting up on his bed surprises you, but your focus is solely on your captain, who lays there motionless, with a large tube coming from his throat.

“Who are you?” The man asks, and you jump at the gravel of his voice.

You tell him your name. “I’m a Straw Hat.”

Jinbe looks taken aback as you run your eyes over Luffy’s body. He’s covered in bandages from head to toe, and you can’t imagine what his injuries look like. You notice Trafalgar’s katana leaning against the bed.

“How are you here? Luffy said his crew was gone.”

You stand over your captain, your face warm with emotion. You move the katana down to the end of the bed.

“He told me to run, so I did,” You whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. “I think he thought Kuma got me too.”

Jinbe blinks at you before he gets up. “There sounds like trouble above deck. I’ll go.”

You nod without lifting your head, though you can sense him studying you.

“He spoke a lot about his crew. I’m glad you’re here.”

Smiling wetly, you sniffle. “I’m glad too.”

When the door clicks, you fall to your knees beside the bed. Trafalgar said not to disturb Luffy and told you not to touch his recovering body, but you can’t follow his orders, no matter how hard you try.

“I’m so sorry,” You sob as you rub his wrist, the gauze rough against your fingertips. “I should’ve stayed back and helped you. Why would you tell me to run?”

You know you won’t get a response, but having him this close after believing him dead is something your poor heart can’t fathom.

You don’t know how long you sit there, your head leaning on the side of the bed, but when you come back to your senses, it's obvious the sub is moving. To where? You can’t begin to guess.

But, you hope Bepo got his fresh air.

—

Chaos has ensued above deck, you can tell that much. The sound of cheers and then screams of fear, with the dull thuds of arrows lodging into the walls, make you nervous.

“I’ll be back,” You say, flying from the room. The submarine is empty when you get to the top floor, and you aim straight for the exit.

The main entrance is ajar, and you push it open. “Trafalgar, what’s—”

“A woman!”

You freeze after you stumble onto the deck. In awe, you’re suddenly the focus of several people, no, women, lining the walls of a bay. They all wave at you, clearly excited to see you.

Smiling awkwardly, you wave back, glancing at Trafalgar.

“Where are we?” You mutter, noticing the large ship in front of you veering off to the left.

“Amazon Lily.”

“Okay…” You drop your arm. “Why?”

“They’re going to take care of Straw Hat.”

Drawing your brows together, you shake your head. “What happened to being the best doctor on the Grand Line?”

“I never called myself that,” He scoffs. “Boa Hancock has a fixation on your captain, so she’s going to house him here.”

Boa Hancock. “The Warlord?”

“Mmhm,” He hums. “I’m in the dark about how they know each other, but she’s eager to help him.”

“He’s not something to be passed around.”

“I know that, but Hancock is adamant about it,” Trafalgar says, voice hard. “Though I said otherwise, I do want him to be okay. Is that alright, sweetheart?”

“Yes, it’s perfectly fine, Trafalgar.”

He gives you an inquisitive look, one that you brush off. “What’s your problem?”

“Hancock.”

Trafalgar snorts and cocks his head. “Yeah, well, don’t make that known here, okay?”

“Why are we circling the island?”

“Men are forbidden on the island.”

“What?”

“Luffy is the exception.”

You put your hand on his arm, holding back a giggle. “So, you’re going to get shot down? I can’t wait to see this.”

Trafalgar clicks his tongue, unamused. “Unfortunately, you won’t. We made a deal with Hancock.”

“Disappointing…” You trail off, your fingers slipping from his forearm. But when you look back at him, his eyes are trained on the spot your touch was.

“Docking!” Penguin yells.

It happens quickly and with skilled practice. A wood plank is placed between the Polar Tang and the patch of land, and the crew piles onto the island.

Multiple women are on the shore, most setting up tables, tents, and a giant curtain printed with Jolly Rogers. The sun shines down on the grass, and you realise it's the first time since Sabaody that you’ve seen such greenery.

“The Kuja Pirates,” Trafalgar says in your ear, pulling you from your mind. “Heard of them?”

You shake your head, not daring to turn to face him. “But this is where Luffy’s staying?”

“Yep, I’m to treat him until he’s better, and then he stays here. It’s a perfect location to hide him from the Navy. You’d know how annoying they are, considering you’re just as if not more.”

You gape at him, a slight grin pulling the corner of your lip upwards. “You’re kidding—”

A delicate hand on your shoulder pulls you away from him suddenly. You watch as Trafalgar keeps walking, never sparing a glance back.

“Come with me,” You’re met with a woman with blonde hair. “I’m Marguerite.”

You tell her your name and follow her, though you are unsure where.

“We have so many clothes for you to choose from,” She giggles. “It isn’t often we get women visitors. Most of the time, it’s men trying to infiltrate.”

A pang of grief hits you in the chest. It’s unfair these women are still under the threat of unknown men despite having their own island. Though Marguerite doesn’t look too upset about it, you know they are more than capable of handling those men on their own. It’s inspiring.

“Here,” She continues, shoving you lightly into a tent.

Immediately, another woman hands you a red bikini. “Try this on.”

And then you’re swept up by the group of women. Silks and linens are thrown at you, tried on and discarded when you decline the colour or fit of a piece. The women are in awe of your power. They ask you to mend or adjust certain places on their outfits, and you're more than happy to help.

You hear the Heart Pirates murmuring from their spot on the grass behind the tent walls, food piled high on their plates. Despite your initial hesitation, you laugh along with the women, trading secrets and tips that you could only do with Nami and Robin.

You feel comfortable here.

It isn’t until you emerge from the tent that the men go quiet. After knowing you for a fortnight, seeing you in such little clothing has them hollering. You grit your teeth.

“Enough,” Trafalgar snaps at his crew. You won’t admit it, but the commanding tone of his voice warms your cheeks. “Get back to your food, morons.”

Marguerite laughs at him, and then she turns to you. “Remember, strength equals beauty.”

You nod, smiling, adjusting the straps of the bikini you wear with your power. It’s something you hold dear to you for a long while.

“Line up if you want seconds!” A tall woman says, laughing when the Heart Pirates stumble over each other to form a queue.

“You better get in there if you’re hungry,” Marguerite smiles. “Looks like they’ll take it all.”

You spot Bepo near the front of the line and thank Marguerite for all she’s done.

“It’s my pleasure,” She waves as you snake through the crowd.

“Hey,” You greet Bepo. “What’s on the menu?”

“Uh…” His eyes look directly into yours, his body stiff. “Stew.”

You squint at him. “You wouldn’t mind if I skip the line, then?”

“Never.”

You roll your eyes at his clipped tone. Scanning the crowd, Trafalgar is nowhere to be seen. Someone in front of you hands you a bowl, and you thank them, stepping to the front of the line.

“Hello,” The pirate smiles. “I’m Aphelandra.”

You tell her your name and stick out your bowl when she gestures for it.

“Must be weird being in a submarine full of men,” She rambles. “Are they all stretchy?”

You’re taken aback by her question but laugh. “No, the only stretchy guy I know is Luffy.”

She gasps. “So, you know Luffy?”

“He’s my captain.”

“Really? We must tell the Snake Princess,” With a full bowl, you’re pulled beside her. “Eat, you must regain your strength.”

With your eyes on the trees, you do as she says. You swear you saw a glimpse of Traflagar’s patterned hat when you emerged from the tent. “Have you seen the guy with the funny hat?”

Aphelandra smiles down at you. “The spotty one? He went into the forest.”

“Thanks,” You grin, placing your empty bowl on the small table beside her and making a beeline for the trees.

It smells of pine and the rotting wood, and if it weren't for the crashing waves, you’d think you were on an island far away, deep in the trees.

Your hair snags on a twig before you decide to call for him. “Trafalgar?”

His response is almost immediate. “Here, sweetheart.”

You follow the sound of his voice. Trafalgar sits against a tree, a burgundy bottle between his fingers.

“Whatcha doing out here?”

He shrugs, sporting his usual bored look. “Not a very social person.”

You sit in silence as he sips his drink. The birds sing tunes you’ve never heard, and the waves crash against the cliff faces harmoniously. There’s an inkling of anxiety stirring your insides, but you know you’ll get through it. What did Trafalgar say? It only hurts this much right now... You repeat it like a mantra. It will get better.

“Don’t think too hard. You might hurt yourself again.”

Scoffing, you shove his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Trafalgar gives you a sidelong glance, a smirk on his lips. “How’s your side? Getting better?”

You nod, your fingertips running over the bandages unconsciously. “The medication you gave me helps a lot, I barely have any pain.”

“Good.”

You study his side profile: the slope of his nose, the harsh cut of his cheekbone, the two gold hoops in his lobe, the dark hair that makes up his goatee... Swallowing, you exhale shakily.

“I—”

“Excuse me.”

You jump, looking up to see Marguerite and smiling when she greets you. You rub your palms against your thighs. What were you going to say to him just then?

“Has Luffy regained consciousness?”

Trafalgar shakes his head and keeps his voice even. “At this point, it’s up to his spirit and whether he wants to live or die. Nothing I can do anymore.”

You’re surprised. He hasn’t told you that.

“Marguerite! Hurry up!”

The blonde girl turns, nodding. “Take good care of him until he gets better.”

Trafalgar keeps the lip of the bottle up to his mouth but makes no move to drink.

“His spirit, huh?”

He sets the bottle into the dirt and twists it to stay upright. His demeanour shifts so seamlessly that you barely see it happen.

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

You look down at yourself. Usually, you’d feel embarrassed, but Trafalgar seems uncaring of such things. His eyes don’t criticise you, and you swear there’s a shimmer of something close to appreciation in his gaze.

“I love it here,” You say, tilting your face to the sun. The distant chatter of the Heart and Kuja Pirates only elevates the warm feeling in your chest.

“Then stay.”

“What?” You ask, startled.

Trafalgar closes his eyes and leans his head on the bark. You haven’t encountered his expression yet and can only interpret it as something close to pain.

“I’m going wherever Luffy goes.”

He sighs shakily. “Then it’s settled.”

The air is thick, and you don’t dare move. You frown, mind racing. Have you done something wrong? Said something?

“Why would you—”

“Luffy! Calm down!”

The alarmed scream has you running toward the submarine, Trafalgar not far behind you.

You see Jinbe standing on the edge of the cliff and reach him in time to see the roof of the Polar Tang explode, and something fly out the top. You're in too much shock to comprehend what’s happening. And before you know it, Luffy’s bandaged body falls to the grass with a sickening thump.

“Luffy…”

“Something’s wrong,” Jinbe mumbles beside you.

Your captain slowly pushes himself to his knees, his fingers digging into the dirt. “Ace.”

Your heart stops, and you grab Trafalgar’s wrist. The doctor is frozen.

“Ace.”

Cries fall from Luffy’s lips, and he rises before you can approach him. “Where’s my brother?”

You stumble backward, Trafalgar’s chest is hard against your head. Clutching your stomach, you feel sick. He wraps his arm around you, his forearm leaning on your collarbones, barring you from running over there.

Luffy moves before you see him, and then he’s gone.

“That way!” Penguin yells, pointing to the area you were not 30 seconds ago. The Heart Pirates go after him, but Trafalgar holds you close to him.

“You’re okay,” He whispers, steadying you. His breath is hot on your ear, and your body almost betrays you.

Jinbe watches Luffy run around with worry etched on his face. “What happens if he stays in this state?”

“If he keeps flailing around,” Trafalgar says, narrowing his eyes. “He’s more likely to open his wound, and if that happens, then he’s dead.”

You cover your face with your palms, unable to form words.

“Quick! He’s down!”

Tears blur your vision as you look up, but as soon as they jump on Luffy, the Heart Pirates get flung into the sky. “I have to get to my brother! Get off me!”

“Oh, Luffy,” You cry, watching as he runs through the curtain separating Amazon Lily and the bay. The pirates stop before they cross the threshold. You want to yell at them for stopping, but remember what Marguerite said.

“Repair the ship,” Trafalgar commands behind you, removing his arm to throw it toward the submarine.

“Yes, captain,” A few of them obey, boarding the ship and immediately getting to work.

You snatch Luffy’s hat from the rock when Trafalgar’s back is turned before standing on wobbly legs and running toward the curtain.

“Hey, hey!” Bepo yells after you, but you don’t look back.

Trafalgar yells your name, worry etched in his tone, but you refuse to stop.

You must get to your captain.

— Scene 9 —

You trudge through the trees, insects zipping past your ears every few seconds. It's humid in the forest, and you wipe the sweat from your forehead.

A stick snaps behind you, and you spin around, your hands out. “Jinbe.”

The Fishman grunts and walks past you. “We must find him. I fear he’ll get himself hurt if we don’t soon.”

You silently agree, following him over logs and through thick brush. Luffy’s hat sits at your back, the string around your neck. You’d never put it on, but you don’t want it ruined before you give it to him.

The ground rumbles under your feet, and you stagger. “What was that?”

Jinbe quickens his pace. “This way.”

You jump over a particularly large branch and try to keep up with him. A scream echoes through the trees, and your body freezes in its spot.

Jinbe glances over his shoulder. “The only danger here is Luffy.”

“Luffy…” You whisper. You can't imagine the agony he feels right now.

Another scream is heard before there's a crash, one that causes the trees to sway uncontrollably. You see rocks flying in all directions and duck to avoid them, using Sew to weave threads above you to catch stray debris. Birds fly overhead at alarming speeds, and you can only guess what was thrown into the mountain to create such an explosion.

“We’re close, quickly.”

Before you know it, you see your captain hunched over on the ground, his forehead on the dirt. You gasp at the blood on his hands and back.

Luffy lifts his head, and you have to look away from the sheer torment on his face.

“Luffy, listen to me,” Jinbe calls. “Your brother is—”

“Don’t say it!” Your captain screams. “You think I don’t know? You think I think this is a dream?”

You wipe the silent tears that run down your cheeks. It's jarring to see someone you’ve seen be carefree for as long as you’ve known him like this. You feel sick watching him as tendrils of your thread lift the debris from around your captain.

“If this were a dream, I’d already be awake, don’t you think?”

“Luffy…” You mutter.

“This isn’t a dream… Is it?” Luffy sobs. “He’s really dead, isn’t he?”

Jinbe sighs. “I’m afraid so.”

Your captain starts hyperventilating, his breaths short and his face wet with blood and tears.

“Luffy…” You call, noticing how his body freezes. His eyes find yours, and his jaw falls open.

He murmurs your name. “Is this a dream, too?”

You stumble over to him, your hands out before you. “No, this isn’t a dream. I’m here.”

“Wha— How? Did you see Ace, too?”

You crouch in front of him and shake your head. “I didn’t, but I was at Marineford when we picked you up.”

‘We?” Luffy asks, his voice holding a tinge of hope. “Are the others here?”

“No,” You say, wiping his face. “It's only me.”

Luffy’s cries don’t lessen. “Are they dead, too?”

You feel your bottom lip tremble at the question. You shrug pathetically. “I don’t know.”

Luffy falls back down to the dirt. “I’m so tired.”

You throw Jinbe a desperate look, feeling Luffy slip through your fingers.

“I’m so weak!” Luffy suddenly yells. “I’m useless!”

“Luffy—”

“How can you call me your captain? I’m pathetic.” He stands and runs at the large boulder just outside of the trees. He slams his fists into the rock, breaking it into pieces. “I couldn’t save my brother or my crew!”

Jinbe walks up beside you as threads halt the stones from flying into you, and you struggle under their weight.

“Fuck!” Luffy screams, punching another rock. “Useless!”

Jinbe says your name. “I think you should leave.”

Your hand covers your mouth, and your expression morphs into shock. Did you hear him right? You feel the needles of your power wanting to escape, to tighten around him. Your Devil Fruit purrs in your ear as it drops the rocks a few feet away and aims for the Fishman instead.

“Please don’t make me force you.”

“No! I’m not leaving my captain here!” You scream, threads weaving from your fingers. “What kind of pirate—what kind of person would that make me?”

“There’s no time for questions,” Jinbe exclaims. “Go!”

“I can’t—”

“I’ll bring him back safely. You don’t need to see this.”

Your power cracks and fizzles out under your skin as you grapple for it. But it's useless unless you want to lose control, and you know better than to let that happen.

“Jinbe,” You cry, body too weak to fight him. Luffy hunches over with his hands on his knees, yelling. “Help him.”

“I will,” He waves you away. “Now go!”

You sprint back to the bay, forcing your legs to run. You’ve betrayed your loyalty.

Your cheeks are stained with tears and dirt, and your hands are covered in blood. With weak knees, you try jumping over the fallen logs as you did before, but now you’re exhausted, and it feels like they are rocks tied to your feet.

You sob frantically, stopping to press your palm against a tree every few minutes. Shaking your head, you sniffle. The bay isn’t too far away, and you can hear the seagulls chirping. Your fingers wipe under your eyes, though you know it won’t do anything. You can imagine the state of you.

You hear Bepo calling your name as you stumble through the curtain. “What happened?”

There’s blood all over you, which you failed to notice before; the staining on your hands was just the start of it. You stare at your hands as panic rises inside you. Who’s blood is this?

“Where did you go?” Trafalgar’s harsh voice hits your ears before his hand grips your bicep. “Who did this?”

“Nobody,” You cry, holding onto Trafalgar’s fingers. “Luffy, he—”

You don't hear what the doctor says before he catches you. “Okay, let’s get you to the ship.”

You shake your head, forgetting the blood on your hands when you fist his shirt. “No! I can’t go there. Not with Luffy out here.”

“Okay, well, where do you want to go?”

If Jinbe were to be trusted, which seems like a silly thought to question, you know Luffy would be okay. It takes your mind a while to accept that your body needs rest. The adrenaline from seeing Luffy and then running is wearing off, and the fatigue you’ve ignored hits you all at once.

You sniff, pulling him weakly to a rock. “I just need to lie down, and then I can fight for him.”

Trafalgar makes no sound when you push him to the ground. Your breathing is calming down, though hiccups still pass your lips.

“Who were you fighting against? Did they do this to you?”

“Just sit still for an hour, okay?” You whimper, putting your head on his lap, his jeans rough against your cheek. You can feel his thigh tense underneath you, clearly not used to having someone so close. Sniffling once more, your muscles relax against the ground. “No more questions.”

When you close your eyes, Trafalgar says nothing, and the waves crashing against the rocks are just as soothing as the hand on your shoulder.

— Scene 10 —

There’s a hand patting your head when you wake. It’s not gentle, and there's no rhythm, and when you lift your head, you notice the bandages wrapped around his legs. When did Trafalgar get injured?

The sky is dark, and the stars sparkle above you. It’s a sight you’ve missed.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

“Luffy,” You're in shock at the familiar voice, scrabbling to your knees so you’re not leaning on him anymore. “Are you okay? Why are you here?”

Your captain shrugs, a dopey grin on his face. “I don’t think so. I’m here to say goodbye.”

“What?” You shake your head.

“Straw Hat. Pack it up.”

Luffy sighs, his wide eyes glassy. “You gotta go.”

You pause, a crease forming between your eyebrows. “What? Where?”

“Traffy’s going to take you with him.”

Shaking your head, you don’t dare take your eyes off Luffy when you hear someone walk up behind you. “I’m staying here with you.”

“You can’t. We have to get stronger.”

“I don’t understand.”

Luffy puts his hands on your shoulders. “You’re going to go with Traffy, and I’ll see you in two years.”

Two years. “Wait, what? What do you mean two years?”

Strong hands slip under your armpits from behind and lug you to your feet. You feel your body lift off the ground but do nothing. You’re too shocked to form complaints against whoever’s taking you away.

“Meet me back at Sabaody in two years.”

“No, Luffy. I’m here now. Why would I do that?” You struggle against them, your power still sleeping under your skin.

“We won’t stand a chance in the New World,” Luffy stands. “Get stronger.”

The person leading you to the Polar Tang whispers an apology as they spin you around and throw you over their shoulder.

“Bepo?” Your voice comes out in a cracked whimper when you realise it's the bear carrying you.

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, holding you tightly.

“Luffy!”

“Please,” Your captain says your name. “It's the only way. I’ll be fine here!”

“What about the others?” You cry. “How will they know?”

“I have a plan.”

You scoff, bordering on laughter. “Of course you do.”

“Get stronger!” Luffy yells. “And I’ll see you in the New World!”

Shaking your head, a crazed laugh falls from your lips in disbelief. You should’ve known he’d do something like this. He never does anything half-assed.

Get stronger.

“Are you out of your mind?”

Luffy cackles, tears bordering his waterline. “Yeah!”

Get stronger.

If he can smile at a time like this, especially after what he’s been through, then so can you.

And if Luffy trusts Trafalgar Law to train you in the two years he promised, then so do you. You trust Luffy with your life.

Swallowing your emotion, you smile back at him. “Fine! I’ll see you in two years, captain!”

Get stronger.

You hear Luffy whoop with joy, and before you know it, the door of the Polar Tang slams behind you. Bepo lets you down, steadying you as the submarine goes under.

It hits you just before you take the first step. “Luffy’s hat!”

“It’s okay, I gave it to him,” You turn to see Trafalgar leaning against the wall with his katana back on his shoulder. “You feeling okay, sweetheart?”

“Physically, kinda,” You say, holding onto the railing as you descend the stairs. “Emotionally, no.”

Trafalgar clicks his tongue. “Expected.”

“Captain, maybe she should eat…”

You’re so terribly worn out that your eyes are dry. There’s no use crying when it doesn’t serve a purpose. You’re here now, and you will be for the next two years. You hold onto the hope that you’ll see your crew on Sabaody after that time, and that’s enough for a small smile to grace your face.

You peer up at Bepo, who smiles sheepishly. “Hungry?”

If polar bears could blush, they’d now look like Bepo. “Uh, no. Just a suggestion, you know… Food helps everything.”

He sounds like Luffy.

“Can you make rice balls?” You ask Trafalgar.

“Me?” He acts like it offends him.

“Bepo let it slip that they’re your favourite, so I know you’d make them best.”

“Tsk,” He glares at the mink. “I’m busy.”

“Surely not enough to decline making your guest food, Traffy.”

“Traffy, huh?” Bepo snorts.

Trafalgar runs his tongue over his teeth.

“Please?” You smile.

“No. You’re a pest. Go bother someone else.”

With that, he disappears down the stairs. You stand there with Bepo, the sound of pots clanging making your stomach rumble.

“I can’t remember the last time he made rice balls,” Bepo says. “He makes other foods, but that one is special to him.”

You go to ask why, but think against it. Trafalgar wouldn’t want his crew members airing out his business. Instead, you shrug.

“Maybe one day I’ll persuade him.”

Bepo laughs, scratching behind his ear. “Good luck with that.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him.

“Anyway, let’s go ask Penguin what’s for dinner,” The bear says. “I wanted rice balls, too.”

As you turn the corner to the kitchen, the area is quiet.

“That’s weird,” Bepo says. “Penguin doesn’t shut up when he cooks…”

A familiar katana leans against the counter when you enter, and before you can decipher why, Bepo gasps behind you, confirming your outlandish suspicion—which, as it turns out, wasn’t so in the first place.

“What filling do you want? I’m not asking again,” Trafalgar’s voice holds irritation. He stands at the stove without his hat, his hair dishevelled. You refrain from giggling.

Bepo makes a surprised sound. “No way…”

You laugh, stunned, and slide onto the bar stool beneath the counter. Trafalgar’s hat sits beside you, and you eye it as you think about what type of filling you want.

He nods at your request and begins preparing it immediately. Bepo hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway.

“Snap out of it, idiot.”

“Sorry.” Bepo lowers his head and ambles to you to sulk in the chair beside you.

Trafalgar works silently, seeming comfortable as he rolls the premade rice into triangles. He’s meticulous, using a practised amount of rice to protect the filling, and a knife to slice the nori into even strips.

Watching him be so careful with the onigiri makes you wonder if there’s more to his delicate touch. One that can bring warmth and comfort to someone. If that translates to his intentions, and if he really wants you here, or if he felt pressured by Luffy to take you on board.

The question bubbles out of you before you can help it. Despite the setting, it's not one about food.

“Why did you tell me to stay on Amazon Lily?” Your voice surprises him.

Bepo looks at you incredulously. The question hangs in the air, and you see Trafalgar’s shoulders tense.

“I’m gonna go…” Bepo murmurs, slipping from the chair and running from the kitchen.

Trafalgar sighs, rolling his eyes at his crew member. His back is to you, but you can tell he’s thinking of a reply.

“I figured you’d had enough of a submarine full of men. You seem happy on the island.”

There’s something unsaid in his words, something deeper, but you’re too unsure what it could be to delve into it. Instead, you smile.

“And here I was, thinking I was just a pawn,” You laugh, running your fingers along the brim of his soft hat. The memory of a few days ago burns deep inside you. It makes you think about his hands again. “Besides, you’re not allowed there, so why would I stay?”

“Mm?” Although the hum sounds non-committal, you can feel him side-eyeing you.

You wouldn’t admit it, but you’ve grown fond of him. But your cheeks warm when you realise the connotation of your rhetorical question, and your focus remains on his hat. “Who will I annoy if not you?”

Trafalgar sighs and laughs a breathy laugh. “You’re going to be a pain in my ass, aren't you sweetheart?”

You raise your eyebrows and shrug, feigning innocence. His easy laughter gives you all the evidence that he wants you on his submarine. “Two years isn’t that long, Traffy. You’ll survive.”

He mumbles something under his breath and turns around, two plates in his hands.

You take one from him. On the plate sits two onigiris, each a perfect triangle with a strip of nori on the bottom. “Thank you.”

Trafalgar grunts and picks up one of his onigiris. You copy him, eyeing how he bites the top off precisely.

“What’s in yours?” You ask, chewing. The flavour explodes in your mouth, and you refrain from moaning in delight. You can feel Trafalgar’s eyes on you, but don’t look up as you play with a stray piece of rice on the plate.

“Grilled salmon,” He speaks when he finishes swallowing. “Do you like it?”

The question seems loaded, as if he’s not just asking about rice balls. It catches you off guard, the discernable keenness. Maybe you didn’t notice it before, with all your exhaustion and constant unconsciousness, but he’s hanging on your every word. His eyes are full of hope before he blinks, and it vanishes. You swear you saw it, and it fills you with shy satisfaction.

He definitely wants you on his submarine.

Remembering his original question, you nod. “It’s good.”

It's an understatement, but Trafalgar seems content with your answer and continues eating his food.

“You can call me Law, you know. No need to be so formal now that you’ll be here for a while.”

Your eyes widen, and a soft ‘oh’ leaves your lips.

Trafalgar is quick to speak. “Only if you’re comfortable. I know I’m considered a rival and all that.”

You mull over his request, eyeing his hunched posture and countless tattoos beneath his elbows. His hair flops over his forehead, and his lips are twisted into an awkward pout, and you realise this is the same man you saw on your first night.

“Law,” You whisper, and when you look at him, your mind plays a trick on you because his cheeks are tinted pink, and there’s a vulnerable look in his eye.

A fortnight isn’t a long time, and despite your quarrels, you think you’ll get to know Trafalgar Law much more than you anticipated.

#trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #one piece #labyrinth series #— ann writes!

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aemondsbabe · 2 months ago

Text

Care & Keeping

summary: after aegon suffers injuries at rook's rest, you and aemond nurse him back to health

pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader x aegon targaryen

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, canon typical incest, mentioned canon injuries, no gore, threeway relationship, threesome, teasing, orgasm delay, unprotected sex, titty sucking, oral sex (m!receiving), fingering, dirty talk, aegond fr like they kiss and stuff, playful sibling bickering but they fuck about it, aemond is a tit, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.3k

a/n: I DID IT! i posted a fic again! happy to be back!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @tragicsiblings

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“Such a spoiled thing…,” Aemond mutters while his fingers work through Aegon’s silky hair, the strands freshly washed during his bath earlier in the day – something you and Aemond had assisted with as well, much to the displeasure of Maester Orwyle and the servants. A part of you understood the maester’s concerns, after all a slip or fall would be devastating for your brother this far along in his healing, yet…

Well, he listened to you and Aemond. He would sit in the bath without complaint for the two of you, would let you wash over his delicate skin and comb through his hair with little more than a scoff or eye roll. Not so for the others, to whom he grumbled and carried on, insisting he need not be babied.

“Hush, he deserves to be taken care of,” you chide your little brother playfully, chuckling as you lie against Aegon’s chest, savoring the sound of his heart beating steadily in your ear, “He’s lived through dragon fire, after all… That deserves a reward, no?”

“Listen to our sister, Aem,” your older brother chuckles, petting his hands over you in much the same way yours move over his waist and stomach – careful of the still-healing scars there, “What is it our grandsire says? Wisdom is from the children, some drivel like that?”

“Wisdom oft comes from the mouths of babes, my love,” you correct him with a snigger, smirking when you peer up at him.

“That’s the one!”

“I’m younger than her, you dolt,” Aemond sighs, a bite to his words even as he teases, though Aegon pays it no mind – too busy spread between you and your brother like a lazy, happy house cat.

“Mm, then you should be smarter, no?”

“I…,” Aemond sighs before simply shaking his head with a soft sigh and teasing grumble, combing his fingers through his long hair in mock frustration.

This is how the three of you have spent as much time as you could since that fateful day at Rook’s Rest, when Aegon and Aemond both nearly lost their lives plummeting to the battlefield in a fiery tangle. Aemond had, by the grace of the Gods, escaped without too many injuries. However, your eldest brother had not been so lucky and had been caught in the fires of Meleys, leaving him with life threatening burns and broken limbs that had thankfully healed almost miraculously well over the last few weeks.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you snuggle against Aegon, saying yet another quick prayer to the Seven as thanks for keeping him safe and, relatively, in one piece. Unfortunately, Aemond had been made to step in and act as regent, which meant that the three of you couldn’t spend all your time together, much to your displeasure.

That is what had kept you all apart for most of the day – official duties that had carried on much too long, especially for your younger brother. By the time he had finished with Small Council business, it was well past supper and you and Aegon had already been tucked in bed together, enjoying the cool breeze blowing in from Blackwater Bay. As nonchalant as Aemond acts about the whole affair, his true feelings are betrayed time and time again when he stumbles when he all but rips his tunic and boots off, nearly in a frenzy, eager to join the two of you in bed.

“How does the Council fare, little brother? Have they fallen to pieces in my absence?”

“Mm,” Aemond hums, the corners of his lips just barely lifting into a smirk while he rubs over Aegon’s sore shoulders, making the elder sigh in contentment, “They’re being much too soft on that traitorous bitch queen for my liking… forcing us sit up here like a herd of lambs for slaughter.”

Aegon lets out a soft giggle, the sound of it reverberating in your ear while he tilts his head back to look up at his brother, “And what would you do, hm? Take Vhagar and sack Dragonstone singlehandedly?”

“She could do it,” the prince regent muses, leaning down and pressing soft kisses against your older brother’s head, his lilac eye sparkling at the thought of turning that blasted place into no more than a fiery heap of rubble. His lips linger against Aegon’s pale hair, muffling the sound of his soft chuckle, “Why not turn all of those spoiled bastards into smoldering piles of ash and be done with it?”

“You, dearest brother, are beginning to sound very much like our uncle,” you tease, peering up at Aemond with a smirk, “All violence and warfare.”

A soft laugh is pulled from your lips as your brother’s angular face twists into a disgusted scowl, “You think so lowly of me as to compare me to him, sweet sister?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,” you murmur knowingly, sharing a playful glance with Aegon, much to Aemond’s disapproval.

“You both know very well I hate that creepy old –”

“Then why is your cock hard against my back, brother?” Aegon quickly interjects, descending into raucous giggles. The sound of his laughter quickly gets to you and your lips crack into a wide smile before you can hide it, a snort of laughter following soon after.

Above you, Aemond sputters for a few seconds before finally letting out a pained groan, though his lips are turned up into a subtle smile.

“You want to fuck our uncle,” Aegon giggles, the near giddy sound of his laughter reverberating in your ear.

Your eldest brother’s laughter is cut short as Aemond behind him begins peppering kisses over his neck, sweeping his hair out of the way as the elder lets out a quiet gasp, the planes of his stomach tensing beneath your cheek.

“And what if it’s you I wish to fuck, Your Grace?” The name makes Aegon shudder while goosebumps bloom over his pale skin as he lets out a thick sigh, the sheets at his waist beginning to tent.

Aemond’s words cause heat to bloom between your own thighs and you smile up at him as he shifts behind your older brother, no doubt pressing his clothed length against his back, letting him feel it.

“Awful tease,” Aegon whines, the petulance in his voice making you chuckle. It’s then that he directs his darkening violet gaze to you, quirking a brow, “Don’t you act all innocent, as if you haven’t been torturing me for weeks, little minx.”

A smirk blooms on your lips as his largely uninjured arm raises to encircle your waist, holding you more tightly against him while you press a soft trail of kisses over his pale skin.

“I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” the words leave your mouth in a soft hum, warm against the patch of blond hair on his chest. A lie, of course. Maester Orwyle had taken great pains over the past few weeks to make it absolutely crystal clear that Aegon was in no state to be played with, that all of his body needed rest and healing.

The old man had said it in the hopes of you and Aemond keeping Aegon away from the Street of Silk, of course. There was no doubt in your mind that your older brother could talk any of the guards or servants into smuggling him into the city. Yet, little did they know he hadn’t been whoring in months, not since the three of you had finally given into your desires.

It had been well into the night when Aemond had stumbled into your chambers, dripping with rainwater and heaving soft sobs. You’d held him closely and listened as he had explained the awful mess that had happened with Rhaenyra’s youngest bastard, his voice trembling so hard you’d had to strain to understand at parts.

You’d ushered him into older brother’s chambers quickly afterwards, not knowing what else to do and naively praying he might be able to help – to do something, anything, as king. Being Aegon, of course, the event had devolved into drinking – just to soothe Aemond’s nerves, he had said.

The three of you woke together in the morning, naked and tangled up in His Grace’s soft sheets.

With the promise of war looming heavily on the horizon, you had scarcely separated from them since then. There was a possibility of losing them both and you wanted to savor them for as long as you could, for whatever time was left.

“Ah, you don’t, do you?” Aegon’s voice cuts through the visions swirling in your head, pulling you back to the present. His hand skims down over your back and hip until he can cup the curve of your ass, drawing a breathy laugh from you, “So you’ve just been wearing these gauzy, insufferable excuses for nightgowns for no good reason, then?”

“Perhaps I wear them to catch the eye of the guards as I make my way here?” Your eyes gleam with mischief when you peer up at him, knowing exactly how territorial he can be.

His hips rut up against the sheets, cock straining beneath the white linen of them and already leaving wet patches on the fabric while a deep groan rumbles from his chest. Behind him, Aemond chuckles while he continues to press kisses over Aegon’s pale skin, marking up each side of his neck.

“Teasing cunts, the both of you.”

“Tsk, there’s no need for that, you ungrateful cretin,” your little brother snaps, although there’s no real meanness in his tone – merely a strange, brotherly teasing that you fear you’ll never truly understand, “To think, we’ve been kind enough to take care of you all this time and this is how you behave.”

“Aemond’s right, my love,” your voice comes out as a soft coo, even as you peer at your eldest brother with a playful smirk, “We’ve been so kind to you… How many times do you think we swallowed your seed before you were well enough to fuck again?”

“W-Well, I–” Aegon stammers, flushing so hotly that even the pale column of his neck turns a slight pink shade.

“Mm, all so mummy wouldn’t see how you’d stain the sheets otherwise, isn’t that right, dearest sister?”

Your lips curl into an almost vicious smile at Aemond’s jab, relishing the way Aegon’s dark eyes widen at the mere mention of your mother. Poor thing, you remember how embarrassed he’d been the first time he’d been desperate enough to rut against the bed sheets until they were dirtied with his spend, left to his own devices late at night after you and Aemond had retired to your own chambers.

He’d sobbed against your chest that evening while he recounted the Maester mentioning it in the morning, pleased that all the king’s precious parts were still in working order, yet that did little to numb the sting of your mother’s stare – evidently disappointed that he’d debase himself in such a manner.

“Quite right, little brother,” you all but purr, rising to your knees before carefully maneuvering yourself over one of Aegon’s thick thighs, mindful still of any tender spots, “Isn’t there anything you’d like to say to us, Aeg?”

“I… T-Thank you,” he finally manages to huff out, violet eyes staring hungrily at where your warm heat presses against him – achingly hot through the thin fabric of the sheets.

“Good boy, Your Grace,” Aemond whispers against the shell of your brother’s ear, his gaze just as hungry as Aegon’s as they both look over you – the lacy, satin material of your nightgown doing precious little to disguise anything below it.

“He can be sweet when he wants to be,” you murmur, smiling at the way your eldest brother’s head tips back against Aemond’s pale chest when you lightly scratch your nails over his tummy, tracing a path down beneath the sheets. An amused little giggle spills from your lips when his hips rut against your hand the second you gently grab at his length, giving it a light squeeze, “Can’t you, lovely boy?”

Grunting, Aegon merely nods while soft whimpers spill from his lips at the feel of your hand on him, of Aemond’s lips against his neck.

“Please, fuck,” he groans, swallowing thickly and licking at his lips while he tries to buck up into your hand – his movements jerky and uncoordinated from being off of his feet for so long, “Seven Hells…”

Giggling at his grumbling, you tilt your head to the side as you look over him. Even injured and half-healed, he’s beautiful. In all the places where Aemond is lean and toned, Aegon is thicker, more stocky and soft; the juxtaposition between the two of them has always made your heart flutter.

“Tell us what you want.”

Aegon whines at Aemond’s firm command, but obeys nonetheless. The way his dark gaze immediately finds your own makes your lips curl into a proud smirk.

“Want you, please…,” he finally breathes and disentangles his hands from where they’d been clawing at the sheets to instead run them over your thighs, one moving more easily than the other – his injured arm still trembles.

“Mm, you’ll need to be more specific,” You can resist teasing, he just begs so prettily.

“Gods, your cunt,” the way he impatiently growls the words makes you snigger, “Insolent little wit– Agh!”

“You’ll be nice to our sister,” Aemond hisses, smirking as he gives a harsh pinch to Aegon’s nipples, “Or you can lie here and watch me enjoy her instead.”

A scowl blooms on your eldest brother’s face at the threat and he gives an almighty huff before thankfully settling; your little brother may have no qualms about denying him, but you prefer to indulge him, truly. Smiling wickedly, you fix Aegon with an almost innocent expression – brows drawn up just slightly, eyes widened… before sliding your gaze from his violet eyes and up to Aemond’s single lilac one.

“You know, baby brother,” you start, arching your back just enough to press your breasts out enticingly, putting on a show for them both, “If I’m to take His Majesty’s cock, I’ll need some help readying myself…”

Aemond’s snicker is such a sharp contrast to Aegon’s broken groan.

“Wouldn’t you like that?” Your younger brother rasps into your eldest’s ear, petting through his hair with a gentleness that one wouldn’t expect from such calloused hands, “Hm? To watch while I prepare our lovely girl for your lovely cock, dear brother?”

Aegon nearly wheezes at that, as if the mere thought of it has knocked all the wind from his lungs.

“Fuck, please,” he whines, nuzzling against Aemond’s touch like a cat, “Want it, please.”

“Anything to get my cock in her faster,” is the unspoken truth there, one he’d made the mistake of voicing before. Aemond had made sure that was a long night.

“Shh, sh, sh,” he soothes him now, gently petting over his chest while he kisses over the side of his face, “You’ll get to watch.”

Aegon lets out slightly pained grunts as Aemond works his way out from behind him to stand at the edge of the bed, taking the time to make sure he’s propped comfortably against the pillows before his touch finally leaves him. With a dark chuckle, your little brother swiftly climbs back up on the bed, nude save for the soft linen trousers hanging low on his hips.

“Now, I believe I have some business to attend to, don’t I, love?” He whispers against the shell of your ear while he takes his place behind you – kneeling and holding you against his chest. As always, a barely there sigh leaves his lips at the way the soft satin of your nightgown feels against his skin; it’s a sensation he’s grown to crave ever since you began ordering those special silks – the ones imported from Lys, the same ones Alicent insists on using for her sleepwear as well.

He’s never told a soul, but the feeling brings him comfort – brings back memories of being held and comforted, of before his mother became hardened to the world.

You can’t help the gasp that tumbles from your lips when he bites at your neck and roughly tilts your head to the side, long fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of your neck, “Please, little brother.”

“You know I’d never deny you, sweetling,” his breath is warm against the crook of your neck while his hands caress over your body, drawing soft whimpers and groans from the man lying on the bed below you. Aemond takes his time, never one to rush, and lets his touch linger over every part of you.

Starting at your shoulders, he runs his hands over your arms before skirting them back up and over your sides, making your nightgown ride further and further up your hips as he does. Just as he cups your breasts, you lean down against Aegon’s chest to let him feel the way Aemond’s long fingers work against you, mindful not to rest against him too firmly.

The heat from being trapped between their two bodies is nearly stifling but you’d never dare pull away.

“Gods, Aem,” you whine when he plucks at your nipples, rolling them between his long fingers while you pant against Aegon’s pale throat. Your older brother’s good arm comes up to circle possessively around your waist, keeping you pressed against him, long past caring if it sparks soreness within him.

“You feel so good,” Aegon whimpers against your hair, his voice little more than a needy growl while he ruts his hips up against your stomach. Chuckling, you nip over his collarbones just enough to leave small marks behind, painting him as yours.

“If I feel good now, just think of how good I’ll feel around you,” you murmur against his chest, relishing the way he keens – the way his cock twitches against you, doubtlessly leaking steadily against the thin bed sheet separating the two of you.

“Fucking dripping,” Aemond mutters behind you, letting out a satisfied chuckle against your spine while his deft fingers begin circling over your sensitive pearl, “Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

“Always for the two of you,” your voice shakes as you reply, words getting caught in your throat with each movement of your brother’s long fingers against your center.

“Did you hear that, brother?” Aemond says smugly, his low voice dripping with satisfaction, “Seems our dear sister is quite the little whore for us.”

“Mhm, mhm,” your eldest brother strenuously agrees, jerkily nodding his head while you let him hump against you, savoring the way the hard line of his cock presses against your belly, “O-Our whore, yes.”

“You’d better not let him spend,” Aemond growls, his good eye narrowing when he sees what you’re allowing to happen. He tugs at your hair hard enough to have you hissing and smirks at the sound.

“I won’t, I won’t,” you huff, rolling your eyes only to yelp when his large hand suddenly comes down on your ass. You can’t help the way you press back into it, the harsh sting settling over your skin like a warm blanket, “Gods…”

“Play nice,” he rasps, grinning at the way you cry out when he abruptly pushes two fingers inside your already-fluttering walls, “Or Aegon won’t be the only one left wanting.”

“Mhm, yes, little brother,” you rush to say, readily agreeing – knowing all too well from experience that if Aemond meant to deny you, that there would be no talking him out of it. Lucky for him, the prospect of that was enough to placate you. Not that you even have the lung capacity to sass him, not with the way his long fingers move within you.

Aegon whimpers in time with you each time the pads of your brother’s fingers brush against that sensitive spot within you, as if he can feel the pressure within you too. He lets you hold onto him and hardly even protests when Aemond angles your hips in such a way that the planes of your stomach don’t even rub over his neglected cock, the absolute prick.

“F-Fuck, oh, fuck,” the curses are all but knocked from you with ear harsh thrust of Aemond’s fingers, the chambers silent save for the steady crackle of the fire in the hearth and the wet squelching noises sounding from between your legs – which only serve to spur your little brother on further.

“So tight, Seven Hells,” he mutters, leaning over you and trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up the curve of your spine. You can feel his lips curve up into a cocky grin when he presses his thumb against your bud, drawing a loud, gasping cry from your lips.

“Aem, Aemond, I–”

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, smiling at the way Aegon’s hands, both of them, even the shaky, still-healing one, thread into your hair and comb through it – a gesture that’s calmed you since the three of you were children, “Be good and take it.”

That’s a lot easier said than done, especially when the world seems to tilt on its axis when he manages to slip a third finger into your aching sex. The stretch of it only makes the fire threatening to consume you burn all the brighter and twin groans fill the room when your walls pulse greedily around him.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Aegon all but breathes, his voice raw and shaky and dripping with a soft kind of praise he only ever gives to you, “So good for us.”

“Mm, our big brother’s right, sweetling,” Aemond hums, rubbing his thumb in tighter and tighter circles over your pearl and focusing the attention of his fingers within you on that spot that he knows makes you see stars. The effect is instantaneous and after no more than a couple seconds, you’re all but sobbing as you go limp on top of Aegon, unable to so much as hold yourself up as pleasure courses through you.

Your younger brother smirks, you can’t see it but you can feel it, and groans low in his throat when your walls clench so tightly around his fingers that he can hardly move them at all. The only sounds coming from you are near pitiful squeaks in time with the movements of his hand.

“Gods, so close, aren’t you?” Aemond all but growls against the shell of your ear, just as Aegon pulls you forward into a searing kiss, “Show it to me.”

Powerless to do anything else, you let out a choked whimper against Aegon’s lips – practically sobbing into his mouth while his tongue licks against your own. Your high crests and crashes into you like the waves at Storm’s End, almost violent and bloodthirsty in the way it sends your pulse racing, in the way it nearly engulfs you.

All the while, your brothers hold you steady. Aegon keeps an arm slung around your back, anchoring you to him, while Aemond uses his free hand to hold you upright as he wrings every drop of pleasure he can conjure up from you – not daring to stop until your pleasured moans turn to tortured gasps.

Finally, Aemond pulls his fingers from you with a satisfied grunt, leaving you panting as you slip from atop Aegon, shifting to lie beside him instead, curled against his largely uninjured side. Your eyes have hardly fluttered open before Aemond’s moving, leaning over Aegon like a shadowcat, finally victorious in hunting down its prey.

“Taste,” he whispers, bringing his fingers, still glistening with the evidence of your orgasm, to your eldest brother’s lips. As usual, Aegon wastes no time and eagerly parts his hips and lets Aemond press them to his tongue. Your breath catches in your throat when his violet eyes roll back at the taste of you on your brother’s skin, a hungry, needy whine sounds from this throat while he takes the time to suck them clean.

Your younger brother’s eye sparkles as he watches, his cock tenting the dark fabric of his trousers and pressing against Aegon’s thigh.

“Aeg, don’t be greedy,” you finally pipe up, the air back in your lungs and a playful smirk on your lips, “Share with our little brother; he deserves it, no?”

Two sets of eyes land upon you, guided by the suggestive tone of your voice. Poor Aegon looks wide eyed and dazed, already half out of his mind and you haven’t even started on him. Aemond, on the other hand, looks downright predatory – dangerous in the low light.

With a breathy chuckle, he sets upon your eldest brother, capturing his lips in a heated, almost savage kiss. Aegon sobs into it, his hips lifting on their own accord beneath the sheets as Aemond nips at his lip and sucks at his tongue with a barely contained lust. The elder reaches up with his good hand and threads his fingers through the younger’s long, pearlescent hair just as a rough, sword-worn hand gets wrapped around his throat, holding him in place.

The sight of their frenzied affection makes your thighs clench, your core throbbing once more, uncaring that you’d found release only moments ago. Unable to resist, you lean in until your lips brush over the soft, pale skin of Aegon’s chest. You pepper it with kisses, making him whine and whimper into Aemond’s mouth. Shifting the bed sheets out of the way, you can’t help but bite at your lower lip at the sight of his cock – angry and flushed and leaking copiously, leaving a pool of it on his tummy.

“Mm, it’s cruel to let him suffer this way,” you say lowly, meeting Aemond’s eye when he finally pulls away from Aegon, lips curling into a smirk that matches your own, “I promised the poor thing my cunt, I think he’s earned it.”

“Please, please, f-fucking, please,” your eldest brother whimpers pitifully, hips bucking while you run your hand over his thigh as he looks between you and Aemond imploringly, violet eyes glassy.

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you,” you promise, pressing one last kiss against his chest before turning to Aemond, “Help me onto him.”

You’re moving before your brother can protest, can think of some other reason to tease. Ever since Aegon was injured, you’ve needed Aemond’s help to stay balanced the scant few times you’ve taken him. So much of his upper half was injured that you’re hardly able to put weight on one side of his chest, even now, which makes staying upright without assistance hardly worth the possible risk.

“Fine, fine, I suppose the little whelp’s earned a treat,” your brother sighs and slips off the bed, taking care to help you straddle Aegon’s hips once more while he stands at the bedside. You take a second to pull off your lacy nightgown, smirking at the groans of appreciation you get in return.

“Gah–fuck!” Aegon grunts the second your slick center presses against his aching length and presses his lips tightly together as his eyes squeeze shut, his fingers white-knuckled while he claws at the sheets, “S-Sweetling, please, please, I n-need you.”

“And you’ll have me,” your voice is sweet when you reply, soft and breathy. Your touches are the same, knowing that’s what he needs now. Balancing with one hand securely on Aemond’s shoulder, you watch as he leans down just enough to grab at your brother’s length and notch it at your entrance.

“O-Oh… fuck, f-fuck, Seven Hells,” the words sound as if they’re being punched from Aegon’s chest, like he can hardly get enough of a lungfull to speak while you slowly sink down onto him.

While he pants below you, nearly thrashing, you aren’t doing much better. Throwing your head back, you let your eyes flutter shut as a series of breathy moans spill past your lips. Silently, you’re thankful Aemond took the time to prepare you – sometimes they both get so wound up, preparation goes out the window and while you have come to love the nearly-painful ache of taking them without it, it’s always so much better like this.

“Gods!” You nearly screech when Aemond suddenly rubs at your pearl, making you jump slightly atop Aegon, who lets out an equally embarrassing noise at the way your walls suddenly contract around him.

Aemond, on the other hand, looks entirely too pleased with himself as he straightens again. He takes the time to brush a lock of hair from your face and cups your cheek in such a gentle way that you nearly ignore the mischievous glimmer in his eye, “Just getting you started, sweet sister. I expect a show.”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip at the cadence of his low voice and you nearly draw blood when he tugs at the drawstring on his trousers and lowers them just enough to free his length, the sight of it pulling twin groans from you and your eldest brother.

Spurred on by the sight of it, of Aemond pleasuring himself to the vision of you atop Aegon, you begin rocking your hips. A satisfied sigh is tugged pulled from your lips at the feel of his cock moving within you – perfectly contoured to nestle against every sensitive spot within you as the head kisses your most inner depths.

“Fuck, Aegon,” you breathe, letting out little gasps every time your bud brushes against the patch of blond hairs at the base of his cock. Each movement of him inside you stokes at the fire within you that’s steadily roaring back to life, greedy even after your previous release.

“Don’t stop, don’t… Please, s-sister, I need–”

“I know, my love, I know,” you soothe him in a gentle tone, your free hand brushing gently over his chest and shoulder, trailing lightly enough over the column of his neck that he shivers, “I won’t stop.”

A shiver runs through you when he nods and stares up at you – gazes at you with those big, dark eyes like you’re some goddess, like you’re the Mother in flesh form, taking his cock again and again. As usual, his eyes are quickly drawn to your chest and you can’t help but chuckle at the hungry look painted so clearly on his pale features – pink lips parted as he pants and whimpers.

“Here, precious brother,” you whisper, carefully leaning forward, just enough to allow your breasts to sway in front of his face, peaked nipples just barely brushing over his lips, “Suck, go on.”

You need not encourage him further as he quickly leans up just the slightest bit, just enough to wrap his full lips around one of your sensitive buds and suckle as if his life depended on it. A low, carnal groan sounds from his throat and vibrates against your skin, the sound of it making the walls of your center squeeze at him greedily. The knot in your belly grows tighter and tighter and judging from the desperate, harsh cants of Aegon's hips, you know neither of you will be lasting much longer.

For a long moment, the only sounds that can be heard in the quiet of your eldest brother’s chambers are harsh pants, the noise of skin on skin, and Aemond’s barely concealed growls.

“Gods, I– Fuck,” he pants, one hand stroking slowly over his generous length, pausing every so often to collect the slick steadily leaking from its flushed head, all the while his eye dances over you and Aegon, never settling in one place very long, “Love watching the two of you, s-so pretty…”

The little hitch in his voice makes your heart clench and sends a pleasured shiver up your spine – unlike Aegon, it’s hard to reduce Aemond to a stuttering mess so each time his words get caught in his throat is like a small badge of honor for you.

The slick noises of your brother’s hand moving over his cock soon draw Aegon’s attention and he pulls away from your breast with a shuddered gasp, his good hand white knuckled on your thigh. He looks up at you almost apologetically, a new hunger evident in his darkened gaze, before his eyes trail over to Aemond’s length.

“C’mon, then,” your little brother grunts, his lips pulled into a dirty smirk as he edges closer to the bedside, angling himself better for Aegon, “Good boy, go on.”

Licking his lips, Aegon leans forward just enough to get at Aemond’s cock; you and Aemond each let out soft moans when his mouth sucks at the flushed head. Aegon’s hips buck up into yours at your brother’s taste on his tongue and you know he’s close, teetering on the edge judging by how he shivers beneath you.

“Mm– fuck, yes,” Aemond grunts, rocking his hips little by little into your eldest brother’s waiting mouth, the sound makes your core clench once more and you can’t take it any longer. His low, breathy chuckle hardly meets your ears when you hastily trail a hand down your own stomach and start rubbing between your thighs – your fingers moving in tight, practiced circles over your pearl.

The feeling of your walls pulsating around his length again and again has Aegon crying out, the sound muffled around Aemond’s cock. You can feel his muscles tense beneath you while you spear yourself onto his length over and over, each movement causing the fire within you to burn brighter, to rage hotter.

You brace yourself for his release, clinging to Aemond’s shoulder with one hand while the other works furiously at your bud, and yet…

“You don’t finish until she does,” Aemond breathes, shoving his cock deep enough down Aegon’s throat that the only reply he can give is a garbled groan. His violet eyes are wide and glassy, silently pleading with Aemond even though he knows it’s useless.

“I-I’m close, I– Gods,” you pant, thighs burning while you all but thrash on top of your older brother, angling yourself in just the right way – causing the tip of his cock to rub against the most sensitive spot within you. Your eyes roll back in your head and stars dance in your vision and the feel of a gentle hand at your breast nearly makes you jump.

Even lost in his own pleasure, Aegon would never forget you. He moans helplessly around Aemond as he thumbs at your nipple, providing just enough sensation to send you tipping over the edge.

“Ah! Gods– Gods, f-fuck!” You cry out, your thighs trembling on either side of your brother's hips as pleasure overtakes you once more. Your lips part in a silent moan while your core all but milks Aegon’s high from him as well, the feel of his hot spend within you only adding to your pleasure.

“Mmph, mmph!” He whines around Aemond as you slowly come to a stop on top of him, overstimulation quickly getting to you both.

Aemond gasps at the sight before him, seeing the two of you in the throes of pleasure only adding to his own.

“Gonna… o-oh, fuck–” He grunts and before you can register what’s happening, he’s got an arm wrapped around your neck and is hauling you toward him. Your lips connect with his at a nearly bruising intensity and you can hear Aegon moaning with satisfaction when your brother finishes on his tongue, coating it with his spend.

Your lips move against his for a long moment while he trembles, hardly able to stay upright while he licks into your mouth – the kiss more teeth and tongues than anything else. Finally, he pulls away, nipping at your bottom lip as he does before he fixes you with a nearly arrogant smirk.

“Let our girl have a taste, big brother,” he drawls, pushing you back toward Aegon with a mischievous smirk.

“Mm, how generous of you,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes, shaking your head at Aemond before meeting Aegon in a heated kiss. Aemond’s familiar taste settles on your tongue while the man in question takes his place back behind Aegon, propping him on his chest and sighing at the familiar warm weight of his brother.

When Aegon is pulled away from you a moment later, you use the opportunity to shift back to his side, knowing he must be sore from having you atop him, even if he dared not show it. You trail kisses over his neck while Aemond occupies his mouth, greedily licking his own spend from his brother’s tongue.

“You were so good for us,” Aemond praises him, his voice soft and gentle in a way he only ever uses here – in the calm, candlelit privacy with each of you like this, “Did everything I said, just perfect.”

“Mhm, our perfect brother,” you purr into Aegon’s ear, relishing the way he shudders. He’s quiet after he spends, the only time you won’t hear a sarcastic remark or a dirty joke. Instead, he’s… subdued, pliable in your arms – breathing easy while his eyes flutter closed, relishing the attention you give him.

You chuckle softly at the easy, satiated smile on his lips before your eyes meet Aemond’s over your older brother’s mess of tangled silver hair – something that’ll need to be sorted in the morning.

“I love you,” you whisper against the side of Aegon’s head, pressing a soft kiss there, “Both of you.”

“Sap,” Aegon quips, making you giggle.

“I hate you,” you murmur playfully, giving his good shoulder a soft shove.

“Not nearly as much as I detest you.”

“Both of you are absolute ballaches,” Aemond finally sighs.

825 notes · View notes

jasmines-library · 10 months ago

Note

hi love! idk if you are interested or not but i had an idea of reader being friends with lilly and severus but also with the marauders untill the oh so fateful day were sev ruined his friendship with lilly and reader. i love the idea of lilly ending up in james's arms and reader in sirius's (they are my boys sorry sev🤭)

thank you and again, only if you want! have a wonderful day lovely!

Only Human

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Warnings: Slurs (mudblood), swearing bullying kinda, negativity but fluffy ending

Word Count: 1.7k

⛧ MARAUDERS MASTERLIST⛧

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Severus Snape was resting against a tree when it happened. The castle sat opposite him, just a short way across the clear water. The small ripples created by the creatures in the lake and the summer breeze often distracted him from the book that he rested between his knees and his chest as he tucked them up closely. It was this exact reason that he hadn't noticed the band of robe-clad gryffindors trudging up the slope toward him. James Potter led the group, he wore his signature charismatic grin; a smirk that twinged the corner of his lip upwards and made his nose scrunch beneath his glasses, and he had his wand held loosely in his hand. He twisted the delicate tool between his fingers as you would a drumstick. Sauntering over to Severus, he chuckled at his friends, nudging them playfully with his shoulder.

“Snape!” He jested, calling out to him.

His head snapped up, but he kept his back planted firmly against the tree as the group of marauders ran up to him. He squeezed his eyes shut, just hoping that they would turn and leave. But they were bored and Severus, who had been particularly troublesome toward them, had caught their eyes. Severus inched himself up against the tree so that he rose to his feet and began to turn back in the direction of the castle.

James frowned, a look of mock pity set on his face. “Leaving already, Snivellus?”

Snape reached for his wand, but kept his back to them. “Fuck off, Potter. I don’t want trouble.”

“Don’t you know it’s rude to turn your back to someone when they’re talking to you, Snape.” Sirius asked him.

Severus whipped around quickly, his wand poised to cast a spell at them but James beat him to it; with one flick of his hand Snape's wand went flying across the river bank. He paled, the four Marauders stepping closer to him.

“Nice one, James.” Sirius cheered.

The dark haired boy backed up slowly, setting his gaze. The four of them were edging closer, threatening him with their wands when you spotted them. You had just finished class and were heading over to the lake with Lily, arm in arm. The two of you were over there in seconds when you saw your friends threatening each other. Much to your boyfriend's dismay, you and Severus had been friends from the beginning of the first year. You met him on the train; a shy boy with long hair who didn’t quite seem certain of the world. Lily bonded with him quickly, and you followed soon after. It wasn’t long after that that you met Sirius Black. Charming, brave, daring; he was the complete opposite to Snape, but you supposed that was what drew you to him so much. It was their clash in personalities that made the two clash. It seemed as though they were always doing something to wind up the other.

This time it had gone too far. You were unsure of what Sev had done to wind up the Marauders so much, but you and Lily were skidding to a stop beside them in a heartbeat.

James caught a glimpse of Lily’s fiery hair out of the corner of his eye. “Lilyflower-”

“Leave him alone, James.” It wasn’t quite a demand, Lily never had that sort of aggressiveness in her, but her voice was firm. She didn’t want her friend to get hurt.

“Ah, Evans, Don’t make me hex you.” James sighed, a playful twinge on his tongue.

“I’m serious.” Lily repeated when James refused to lower his wand, letting it loll around between his fingers.

“No,” Sirius smirked. “I am.”

You gave him a hard stare through narrow eyes, and his smirk dropped. “Siri. Please.”

The boy nodded, nudging his friend who promptly pocketed his wand. Severus seemed taken back, his steps faltering. He glanced gratefully in your direction, though his anger and embarrassment were unmistakable in his eyes.

“You’re lucky that they were here to help you, Snape.”

“I don’t need help from filthy mudbloods.”

You had expected many things from Severus, but those words were not one of them. He spat them with venom; malice intending to bite deep. And bite deep it did.

You froze, eyes glassing over with tears. Serverus Snape had made an incredibly low blow; as a muggleborn, it was safe to say that it took some time to come to terms with your letter to Hogwarts. You were excited, of course but your parents were far from keen. Lily experienced the same thing with her sister too. Things didn’t get much better when you arrived at Hogwarts either. Some saw you as ‘impure’. Unworthy. Sev knew this and he had chosen to use it against you. Perhaps it was in a moment of spite, perhaps he hadn’t meant to say it at all. But all that mattered in that moment was that Severus Snape was just like the rest of them.

You could see Sirius glance your way out of the corner of your eye, but when he took a step toward you you backed away.

“Fuck you, Snape.” You spat back at him, trying to hide the waver in your voice.

“You should watch your mouth, Snivellus.” Lily glared at him before turning on her heel and making her way promptly back to the castle before anyone else could say a word.

You were left standing between the two groups, both slightly shell shocked, in silence.

Sirius, now full of guilt, opened his mouth to talk, but you pursued Lily before he could even form the first syllable.

The tears came flooding in quickly after that.

Sirius hadn’t seen you for the rest of the day. and that was partly because you refused to come out of the girls bathroom. He had even tried to get Moaning Myrtle to coax you out to talk to him, but still you refused to show your face as you curled up on the bathroom tile. It made his stomach churn.

His pit of guilt dug itself deeper as he sat in class. Sirius’ leg bounced restlessly during potions and there was just as much ink on the page at the start of the lesson as there was at the end. The detention he was also given didn’t help ease his thoughts. His mind wandered to the worse case scenarios. It was his fault for provoking Snape… What if you never wanted to talk to him again? He was up in an instant when the fateful day came to an end and he could return to the common room. He dragged his feet up to the portrait and muttered the words to open it. Every part of him itched to see your face mingling amongst the crowd.

At first, he didn’t see you. But he managed to make out the crown of your head resting against an armchair tucked away in the corner by the fire. His face softened when he saw the tear tracks staining your face where you had failed to wipe them away properly.

You had spent practically the last two hours crying. Everytime the flood stopped, it seemed to start up again. Severus was supposed to be your friend and he had discarded you just like that. The back of your eyes stung, glassy beads threatening to spill again. When you finally braved it enough to make it back to the common room, you couldn’t bear to go up to your room. You hardly spent any time there anyway because you spent much of it lounging around in Sirius’ bed with the other marauders…and you were angry and Sirius.

No… perhaps angry was too strong a word. Hurt. Hurt by his actions and his and James’ thoughtlessness. Being up in your room would have just reminded you of that. So instead you settled down with a book by the fire trying to distract yourself and let the world move around you.

It didn’t take Sirius very long to reach you. He crossed the common room in a few wide strides.

“Love?” Siri asked hesitantly.

You peeked up at him meekly. Your eyes were red raw and puffy, it made the boy frown. Sniffing, you wiped your eyes with the hem of your sleeve. “Oh.. hi Siri.” you mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Oh Lovey. I’m so sorry.” He melted, sliding onto the arm of the chair beside you.

“ ‘ts okay. It’s not your fault…”

Sirius scowled. You were far too kind for your own good. He knew exactly what you had been through and made him sick just thinking that you weren’t allowing anyone to take the blame for it. “But it is, Dove. I shouldn’t have provoked him. If I had stopped James and just kept my mouth shut then you wouldn’t have had to come over in the first place.”

A tear spilled from your eyes and all of a sudden you broke all over again. “He was supposed to be my friend, Pads.” You blubbered, voice wavering. “He’s just like the rest of them…”

Sirius took your hands in his, pressing a kiss to them. “You didn’t deserve any of this, my love. I am so, so sorry.”

“Maybe they’re right….” You trailed off. “Maybe I am worthless. If Sev thinks so too then-”

“Shh.” Sirius pressed another kiss to your temple as he scooped you up into his arms. Burying your face into his chest you continued to cry. He trailed his fingers over your back. “You’ve never been more wrong in your life, Lovey. You are worth so much more than that. You’re kind, brave and not to mention the most beautiful girl in the world. You’re worth everything to me. Who gives a crap what they think?”

You sniffled, unsure.

“I mean it.”

You looked up at him, wiping away your tears; a ghost of a smile on your lips.

“I love you.” Siri whispered, kissing you softly.

“I love you too.” You settled your head against his chest, shifting to curl against him.

It was there that James and Lily found you later, entwined with each other and sleeping peacefully. Safe within each other's arms.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

MARAUDERS TAGS:

@hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx

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daydreaming-nerd · 8 months ago

Text

The Prophecy (Lucien Vanserra x Rhys! Sister)/(Azriel x Rhys! Sister) Part 3 (Lucien's Version)

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3 ( Azriel's Version)

AN: I'm not really sure if I like how this turned out, so if you're new here I promise my writing it typically so much better. ALSO there are so many new faces on here! I wanted to say hello and thank you for the love once again! If you liked this fic and you love drama, forbidden love, protective acotar boys, a bit of a slow burn, and political intrigue you would LOVE and I mean LOVE my fic Young Love and Old Money. I’m still writing it but it’s almost completed! Go check it out you won’t be disappointed!

and of course check out my masterlist

Summary: The only thing worse than having Azriel not know about the bond is watching him and Elain carry on like she doesn’t have a mate as well. Lucien and you have been long time friends but things change after one fateful starfall celebration. It’s not wrong if both of your mates don’t want you right?

Warnings: smut, so much lucien fluff, happy ending for lucien (for once) :)

Word count: 5057

We arrived in the house in silence, the only thing to fill the void was the crackling of the enchanted fire that always sprang to life whenever I walked through the door. My eyes were fixed on the floorboards, studying every grain of wood as I put together what had just happened.

I had told Azriel about the bond, and I did it in anger. I had imagined telling him a million different ways over the past 400 years but never did imagine doing it out of spite. I was just so angry with Elain and her insufferable entitlement that had me seeing red. If anyone should act in such a manner, it should be me, I was a princess after all.

I was furious with Elain there was no doubt about that, but the voice that kept echoing in my mind was Azriel’s. How he yelled at me. I had known him my whole life and I had never once been afraid of him, until today.

As if he was tired of the silence, Lucien brushed his hand under my chin bringing my gaze to his, it wasn’t until then that I realized I was crying. I didn’t even give him a chance to ask if I was alright before I started blubbering.

“Lu I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to. She just got under my skin and I-”

“Shhh” he cooed, pulling me into his chest. “It’s okay, I understand. I didn’t react much better when Azriel started talking.” he chuckled, no doubt remembering how he preemptively called me his wife, the words had rolled off his tongue so effortlessly it was admirable.

“He’s never raised his voice to me like that. Not ever,” I hiccup into his chest, his scent like apples, spiced berries and woodsmoke.

“I should’ve burned him to a crisp for doing so he has no right to treat you that way,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“It’s alright, now that he knows he’ll be entitled to act possessive of me,” I sigh, starting to feel my pulse slow in his arms.

“And I’m not granted that same right? To protect you?” Lucien said, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.

“Well, you aren’t my mate,” I laugh looking into his eyes.

“And what if that doesn’t matter to me? That we aren’t mates? What if I think that the Cauldron made a terrible, horrible mistake by not binding me to you in every way imaginable?” he confesses.

I search his face for a hint of that playful gleam I saw earlier. The trickster, the silver tongued fox who might be playing me for a fool. But I didn’t find it, for all those fiery eyes bore was sincerity.

“What do you mean Lu?” I ask earnestly.

“Exactly what I said, you aren’t my mate, but��” he stops as if to consider his words. “But I still feel like you are in a way, I feel protective of you. In a way I always have, remember when you scraped your knee climbing that cherry blossom tree in the spring court all those years ago?”

I smile remembering the event, I had wanted some cherry blossoms to braid into my hair. “Yes I do, I still have the scar.” I laughed.

“I know you do, I see it every time I make love to you,” he smiled back. “I remember carrying you to the healers at the spring court from half a mile out. Even then I couldn’t stand the thought of you bearing any sort of scar. What I’m trying to say is that you may not be my mate, but I love you like you’re mine. Because you are, you are mine.”

My breath gets caught in my throat and my eyes go wide at those three little words. The ones I thought I might’ve felt too these past few months.

I love you.

For a year now things between Lucien and I had been strictly situational, just a means to an end. Then I started noticing the little things, his toothbrush next to mine, his laundry in my hamper, him having his own side of the bed. Things changed, but it wasn’t a bad change, which was a new idea for me, as I had always resented change. But not this, this was good.

I thought I had felt that emotion with Lucien before. The night that I came home and he had made us both dinner. The time he bought me the second book in a series just because he noticed I was almost done with the first. The week I was sick he nursed my back to health. I thought I felt love each and every one of those times, but I wasn’t sure. I always teetered on saying it but never caved. But as I stood here in his arms, watching his eyes light up as he said those words to me, I knew I felt the same.

“I-I love you too Lucien,” I said quietly so only he could hear, even though we were the only two people in the house.

He wastes no time bringing his mouth to mine, for so long our kisses had been fervent, needy. Both of us desiring pleasure and the codling that came after it. This kiss was different than all the rest, in it I felt real love. The kind I had only read about in my numerous romance novels. I dreamed of being kissed this way my entire life.

I felt strong hands grip my waist hoisting me up. My legs instantly wrapped around his waist as he started bounding up the stairs, his enthusiasm making me giggle.

“Believe me my love, there is nothing funny about the way I’m going to ravish you tonight,” he smirked before kicking open the bedroom door.

The next day I woke up slowly, not wanting to move from where Lucien had placed me on his chest last night. Both of us took our time to have a steady morning knowing that later in the day there would be chaos. Lucien got up first, always the more responsible of the two of us. When I murmured a sleepy protest he simply chuckled and placed me back in bed, where I snuggled into the warm sheets that smell faintly of him.

When I woke for the second time I smelled that delectable scent of pancakes wafting through the small townhouse. The aroma pulled me from the sheets in a sleepy haze as if my body was controlled by some other worldly force. Slipping on my blue nightgown and padding downstairs into the kitchen I found Lucien half clothed and cooking breakfast for the two of us.

“Blueberry pancakes, not chocolate chip,” he assured me, sprinkling fresh blueberries onto a pancake.

“You remembered,” I sighed leaning against the counter watching him intently. When Lucien had first made breakfast for me I was taken aback by his cooking skills, there was no way that this man was the complete package.

“How could I forget?” he laughed, flipping a pancake. “Last time I made chocolate you were on your cycle and you were so befuddled that you yanked the spatula out of my hand and spanked me with it.”

I slid between him and the stove, “Don’t act like you didn’t like it,” I say my voice low and sultry as my hand slowly reaches for the spatula he’s hidden behind his back.

“You little minx,” he teases when he feels my fingers searching for the torture weapon. The mischievous gleam flashes in his eyes and before I can run he swipes a blob of whipped cream from a nearby bowl onto my cheek.

“Lu!” I scoff going to wipe the cream off my cheek but he grasps my wrist to stop me.

“Fair is fair my dear,” he smirks before licking the sweetness off my cheek. I immediately feel my toes curl at the fiery sensation.

“You are insatiable,” I laughed, moving away from him to properly wipe my face.

I feel a quick slap to my arse with the spatula and I turn to see my fiancé standing with a self satisfied smirk. “Says you little miss ‘more Lucien more!’” he teases recalling how I begged him to touch me last night.

“I knew you would tease me about that!” I shouted, pushing his study form as hard as I could, he didn’t even teeter. “I’ll never beg for you again!”

He smiles, grabbing my left hand and pulling it to his mouth, placing a kiss on the ring adorning it. “There will never be a need,” he smirked. “Now go and set the table, babysitting Nyx duties can’t be put off for forever.”

I had told Rhys and Feyre that I would happily watch Nyx this afternoon. Of course that was before they knew about Lucien, who might’ve gotten away with a pleasant afternoon in my townhouse with a new book but now? He was shackled to me to watch the young one.

While the little High Lord in training was typically quite docile, he had just learned to crawl and had begun flapping his little wings, which meant trouble was becoming the new normal. Which is exactly what had happened today…

“Nyx no!” I shouted as he reached for a heavy book on one of the bookshelves, his tiny wings helping him to gain the extra inch or two of ground he needed.

I grabbed him from underneath his shoulders and brought him into my arms, bouncing him on my hip as his eyes caught the shiny necklace I was wearing. His little hands grabbed at it and I figured it was better than a vase or another heavy book.

“Just imagine till he can actually fly,” Lucien chuckled, coming up behind me.

“That won’t be for quite a while thankfully,” I laugh, bouncing the babe up and down.

“Are you so sure about that? Cassian seems to already be giving him lessons.” he points out.

“I don’t even want to think about a flying toddler,” I scoff and Lucien chuckles behind me.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and I could feel his lips curling into a smile.“Is it bad that I’m enjoying watching this?” he admitted.

“Watching what?” I laugh as Nyx puts the necklace in his mouth.

“You, with a baby in your arms,” he said.

“I’ve always wanted children,” I said and a beat of silence passed until I decided to be bold. “Lu, do you think we could ever have children?” I ask, afraid to turn around and possibly see a wary look on his face.

I felt Lucien’s chuckle reverberate behind me, “As many as you would like my darling.” he laughed.

I whipped around with Nyx to search his eyes for a hint of uncertainty, but he seemed happy about the idea, “Really?” I asked in disbelief.

“Of course,” he assured me.

“I want a million just like little Nyx here,” I smile looking at the babe in my arms.

“Minus the wings of course,” Lucien laughs behind me and I pause.

My entire life I had always pictured my children with wings. Small, delicate little things that I would ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ over. I remembered seeing the Illyrian children in Windhaven growing up, I was always so happy when mothers would let me hold their babies, their wings so adorably small. I looked forward to having winged children of my own, but now things had changed.

“What is it my dear?” Lucien asked, breaking me out of my trance.

“Oh it’s nothing, it’s just that when I pictured my children I always figured they would have wings,” I say, pressing a kiss to Nyx’s temple.

As if summoned, Azriel walked in, Rhys and Feyre in tow, signaling that their meeting was over. His eyes flitted to me, no doubt having heard what I had said. Lucien’s hand tightened on my hip.

“How was he? Was he good?” Feyre smiled crossing the room to take her son in her arms once more.

“He was, but those wings are going to give me grief one day,” I smile watching Nyx snuggle into his mothers arms.

“Don’t worry I’m terrified too,” Rhys laughed, approaching his mate and child.

A comfortable silence ensued as I watched the little family reunite, smiles and warmth surrounding them. Lucien’s hand came to my shoulder, as if promising that we too would have that same picture perfect family one day.

“Can we talk?” Azriel asked timidly, taking a step away from the doorway he leaned against. Feyre and Rhys take out of the room, no doubt feeling the change in the atmosphere.

I searched his eyes for a hint of aggression but all I found was remorse, “Yes we may,” I say quietly.

“If you lay one hand on her spymaster I will burn you to ash,” Lucien growled, his hand on my shoulder tightening possessively.

“You have my word that I will not touch her in anger,” Azriel said earnestly, not a hint of teasing or mockery. Instead, a new found respect for Lucien showed in his eyes.

I go to follow Azriel into the other room when I feel Lucien grab my hand pulling me into his broad chest.

“Wait,” he said before slamming his lips to mine. The gesture was so passionate I couldn’t help but let out the slightest of moans as I felt him cradle the back of my head. This wasn’t just a kiss goodbye, it was a display of power to Azriel, letting him know how serious the two of us were. I couldn’t help but feel my lips turn up at Lucien’s sudden daring.

I felt him back away to survey my face, as if looking for any hesitancy to enter into a conversation with Azriel. When he was certain I was comfortable he placed a kiss on my brow, “I’ll be right here if you need me.” he said as I dropped his hand and followed Azriel into Rhys’ study.

The doors to the office closed with a resolute click as Azriel turned to face me, his eyes somber.

“First and foremost I wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I behaved the other night. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that or said the things I did” he said leaning against the desk a food meter away from me, as if Lucien had scared him from coming any closer.

“It’s alright I forgive you. I shouldn’t have blurted out such an important thing anyways. We were both at fault.” I say earnestly.

Azriel pulls his gaze from his boots to me, “I heard what you said in there, about your children having wings. Did you ever picture that those children would be?” he starts leaving me room to finish the sentence for him.

“Yours? Yes.” I say timidly.

Azriel sighs as if weighing what all this means, “How long have you known?” he prompts.

I think to lie, but it wouldn’t bear well on my soul. It was best to get it all out in the open.

“400 years.” I confess and he curses under his breath. “I knew it the night you danced with me at the solstice ball in the Hewn City.”

“Fuck y/n,” he curses again, turning to brace his hands on the desk behind him and I take a tentative step towards him.

“I’m sorry I never told you, that wasn’t fair to you.” I sigh, but he doesn’t reply so I continue on. “It’s just that every time I thought about it you were pining for Mor and then Elain. I never felt I stood a chance. But you would talk to me about them, and even though it broke my heart to hear how you loved them so, it was better than losing you. I told myself that if I couldn’t have your love I would cherish your friendship, and maybe that was selfish of me but I did it.”

Azriel finally turned from the desk to meet my gaze and I tried to offer him the most sympathetic glance I could.

“I understand why you never told me, but I still wish I had known. Thing’s might’ve been different.” he said, running a hand through his hair.

I pause to consider his words, “Would they be?” I ask.

He looked at me in confusion, like I was dispelling the idea that the sky was blue. I understood his disarray. For thousands of years things had always been the same, mates were mates and that was that. But maybe what Lucien said last night did have merit.

“Are you not happy with Elain?” I prompt him with a light heart, as I finally started to feel some solace in my own words.

“y/n I don’t want to-”

“You do not burden me Az.” I interrupt him, knowing what he was going to say. “Tell me truthfully.”

A blush tints his cheeks as he averts his gaze to his boots once more, “I am happy. I am very happy.” he smiles as if he can’t help it.

“I think it was meant to be this way,” I say honestly watching the shadowsinger reeling in front of me.

“What about you? Are you?”

“Happy?” I ask, glancing to the door where I know Lucien waits for me on the other side. “I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.” I smile answering him.

“How long have you and him been… you know?” he asks, seemling losing all tension in his body as he sees me at ease.

“Since starfall,” I answered, remembering the first time Lu kissed me.

“A year?!” Az balked, raising his voice in disbelief.

I laugh watching his face drop, “it’s interesting the things you don’t notice when you’re in love,” I wink at him, knowing he was too caught up with Elain to pay any mind to Lu and I.

Azriel shakes his head as if processing this new information before he turns to me again, “And do you love him?” he asks.

I smile remembering last night, “I do, I love him very much.” I answer.

“And does he love you?” Az presses further, as if he needs to tie up all loose ends before he can be at ease with the entire situation.

“I think he made that pretty clear a couple minutes ago,” I laughed, referring to the kiss he gave me.

“Yeah I suppose I got that message loud and clear,” Azriel chuckled as a pause of silence fell over us. “I think… I think in another lifetime we would’ve made each other really happy.”

“Maybe even this lifetime.” I say sadly thinking of what could’ve been. “But I love Lucien, he chose me when I thought no one else would, and maybe I’m making a mistake by marrying him. But somehow it feels like the first right thing I’ve done in the past 400 years.”

“He’s a very lucky man,” Azriel remarked with a certain sadness. “I hope that you will be happy with him,” he finished seemingly giving me his blessing.

“I think it was meant to be this way, don't you?” I ask, finally feeling my heart and my conscious lighten.

“I do,” he smiles before holding his hand out to me. “Friends?” he asks.

I nod clasping my hand in his, “Friends.”

“Let’s get you back to your fiancé before I find myself in a pile of ash on the floor,” Azriel chuckles, putting his hand on the door.

I laugh with him and when the door to the living room opens I find Lucien and Elain hugging.

My heart is caught in my throat as I realize that perhaps Lucien might’ve changed his mind. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. She was his true mate after all and, she was astonishingly beautiful. Maybe I was misled when Azriel and I settled our differences.

Both their heads whipped our way, and Lucien’s smile shined brightly. I was unsure of who that smile was for until he ran over to me, grabbing me by the hips and spinning me around.

“It is done,” Lucien cheered and out of the corner of my eye I saw Azriel throw an arm around Elain’s shoulders.

“What is?” I laughed once my feet were back on the ground.

“I don’t want to wait any longer. I want to call you my wife by sundown.” Lucien said affectionately.

“And why shouldn’t you wait? She’s a princess after all, you should snatch her up while you can,” Elain called out affectionately from Azriel’s side. I couldn’t help but look at the two of them standing there.

A hand snaked its way under my chin taking my attention to him before he planted his lips on mine. “Be mine, forever.” he proposed.

I couldn’t stop the smile that graced my face, “Okay,” I said quietly.

A cheer from Elain erupted behind me and suddenly it felt like all the pieces were falling into place, like everything I had ever wanted for myself had now come true.

The ceremony was short, just like Lucien and I had wanted. However, instead of an elopement it was a small gathering, Cass and Ness, Amren, Mor, Az and Elain and of course Rhys and Feyre were present. I wore my mothers dress and at some point Lu had slipped out to buy me a proper ring, not that I minded the old one.

The rest of the night was filled with drinking and frivolity. The whole family laughing and telling stories, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I belonged with all of them, as I sat on my husband's lap. It wasn’t until many glasses of wine later that I found Lucien carrying me bridal style over the threshold of our home.

“This really isn’t necessary,” I laughed, holding a spare bottle of wine in my hand as he stepped through the doorway, the fireplace roaring to life.

“It’s traditional for a husband to carry his wife over the threshold of their home after the wedding.” he retorted, stepping inside the house and closing the door with his foot.

“For humans not for fae,” I corrected him as he finally set me down on slightly unsteady legs.

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to carry you,” he laughed, taking the wine from my hand and setting it on a side table by the door.

“You never need an excuse for that,” I laughed, throwing my arms around his neck.

“Well in that case,” he smirks before picking me up again and bounding up our stairs.

My feet don’t hit the floor until we’re in our room, his lips finding mine in an instant. With a wave of my hand I remove my dress, magically placing it back to wherever my dear brother found it. Lucien tossed his shirt over his head so that my hands might wander the plains of his toned chest. His hands find my hips pushing me away ever so slightly so that he can see me.

His eyes graze the expanse of my bare body and I’m suddenly frustrated by the fact that I’m the only one laid bare in the room.

“My wife,” he says, kissing my lips, pulling me closer. “My, beautiful, beautiful wife.” he kisses me again, smiling like he can’t help it.

I try to speak but he deepens the kiss once more, robbing me of words as he uses his body to overpower me with sheer force. His hands find my arse, giving it a squeeze before lifting my feet off the ground and tossing me onto our bed.

In a turn of events, my eyes wander the expanse of his body. Toned from years and years of training. His eyes sparkle with amusement and suddenly I feel like a sitting duck awaiting his mouth on me once more.

He falls onto the bed, hovering over me as he places yet another kiss on my lips. I use his imbalance to knee his hips towards the bed, my body weight pinning him beneath me as his eyes look up to me with pure lust. Large hands dance up my sides as if to encourage any next move I might make.

“My handsome, cunning, silver tongued husband,” I smirk, placing a kiss on his bare chest. My mouth trails over his chest, to his shoulders, and his collar bones. Needing every part of him on my lips. It isn’t until I get to his neck that he lets loose a groan and flips us back over.

“While I enjoy the sight of you pleasuring yourself on my cock wife, I shall be the one to take you tonight,” he smirks, biting my neck hard, no doubt trying to leave his mark there.

“Oh Lu,” I breathe, feeling my body come alive over his lips and wandering hands.

My eyes shoot open as I feel his breath hovering over my sex, the warmth causing my blood to burn.

“What a lucky male a I am to be able to taste this sweet cunt whenever I please,” he smiled mischievously before licking a stripe up my center.

I let out a breathy moan as he continues to lick and suck every inch of me. His hands parting my thighs warm and hard as he circles my clit with his tongue. My fingers thread through his hair pulling him impossibly close, earning a groan from him that reverberates through me.

“Like fucking honeysuckle,” he moans before trailing more kisses up my body.

I slink down moving towards where his cock peeks out of his untied breeches. Needing to feel the weight of him in my mouth, needing to hear the whimpers of pleasure on his tongue but he stops me.

“No not tonight,” he fusses pushing me back down into the mattress.

“But Lu-”

“No buts” he interrupts. “I want to pleasure my new wife tonight. Let me have that,” he moans silencing any protest I might have with a kiss as he slides home.

The all consuming feeling of being taken by him as me gasping for breath as my back arches off the bed. My tits rising towards his mouth and he easily grasps a hardened nipple between his lips, sucking eagerly.

“Lucien,” I breathe feeling him all around me.

“I love you,” he rasped, thrusting deeper. “My wife I love you.” he grunted watching where he slammed into me with intensity.

My hand came to cup his face bringing his eyes to mine. My fingers trace the scar over his golden eye as I see the emotion flood his russet colored eye. “I love you too, husband,” I whisper to him.

A gleam finds his eyes and he drives into me harder, the sound of skin slapping reverberating throughout the room. It was as if me uttering his new title spurred him on.

We’re a tangled mess of sweat slick limbs and ragged breaths as I feel him deeper and deeper inside of me. My nails scraping his back, trying to find purchase or something to anchor me as pleasure rips through my body. His pants become whimpers as I feel myself tightening around him.

“Always so perfectly tight,” he curses, driving through my tight heat.

His words are enough to have me falling apart under him, my legs shaking from pleasure as I cry his name.

“Lucien oh gods!” I cry, my hands no doubt leaving marks in his skin.

“That’s right my love, cum for me,” he groans before sputtering himself. “Fuck,” he mutters before I feel him burry his seed deep inside me.

His whimpers fill the space between my neck and shoulder as he finishes inside me. Once he’s spent he rolls over taking me with him so I’m cuddled into his side.

“I’m so unbelievably happy,” he whispers into the world, still coming down from his high.

“I’m told that’s often a side effect of an orgasm,” I laugh running a hand up and down his chest, soothing him.

“No,” he says breathlessly, turning so that he is hovering over me once more. “I’m unbelievably happy because of you. You have not only given me your love, but you’ve given me a house, and a family. I never thought I would have those things. You are… you are everything and I promise to be the most amazing husband I can be.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to my brow.

“You already are,” I smile, pulling him into another heated kiss.

It would undoubtedly be like this for many years to come. However long the Cauldron allowed me to live, I knew I would always have a place here, with Lucien. And maybe things didn’t go as I had always planned, but gods was I happy, and more importantly I was loved.

Lucien Vanserra chose me, not because I was his mate, or because the world told him to. No, he chose me because he loved me, even when it wasn’t convenient for him, and I chose him too. I would choose him until the end of my days.

Epilogue: Five Years Later

“Careful my darling,” Lucien fussed, helping to lower me down onto a sofa.

“Lu I’m pregnant not fatally injured,” I laugh waving him away as I rest my hands on my ever growing bump.

“Of course, pregnancy is a walk in the park, I’ll remember that next time you beat me for serving you chocolate pancakes instead of blueberry,” he chides, pulling a blanket over my lap. “I spend a year telling myself you like blueberries and this little one comes along and all of the sudden you want chocolate.”

“Pregnancy cravings are no joke my friend,” Rhysand laughs from the adjacent couch. “I find it best to satisfy your wife’s cravings as soon as possible before she asks for another ridiculous request.”

“Especially when one’s wife is a princess,” Lucien teases, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“You married me!” I protest.

“And I thank the Cauldron every day that I did,” Lucien smiles, pressing a kiss to my lips finally.

Part 3 ( Azriel's Version)

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nayziiz · 9 months ago

Text

Winner | CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x reader (she/her)

Warnings: Smut, fluff, praise kink, size kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

Carlos's heart pounded with adrenaline as he surged ahead, the roar of the engine drowning out the crowd's cheers. He had waited for this moment, trained for it relentlessly, and now, as he soared past the faltering leader, the taste of victory was tantalizingly close.

But even in the midst of his triumph, a small voice of caution whispered in his mind. He knew all too well the unpredictable nature of motorsport, the countless variables that could turn a seemingly certain win into bitter disappointment. It was this awareness, this ability to remain rational in the face of intense emotion, that had often set him apart on the track.

As he navigated the twists and turns of the circuit, his mind raced along with his car. He analyzed every corner, every potential pitfall, constantly adjusting his strategy to stay ahead of the competition. Despite his hot-headed nature, there was a methodical precision to his driving, a calculated aggression that made him a force to be reckoned with.

But then, just as victory seemed within his grasp, disaster struck. A sudden jolt, a grinding noise from the engine, and Carlos's heart sank. The mechanical gremlins that had plagued the previous leader had now found their way into his own car, threatening to derail his dreams.

In that moment, the fiery temper that lay dormant beneath Carlos's cool exterior flared to life. Frustration and anger bubbled up within him, threatening to consume his rationality. He pounded his fists against the steering wheel, cursing the cruel twist of fate that had robbed him of his chance at glory.

But even as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him, a calm resolve settled over Carlos. He knew that losing his temper now would only compound his misfortune. With steely determination, he forced himself to focus, to push aside the frustration and channel his energy into finding a solution.

With a series of quick adjustments and some expertly timed maneuvers, Carlos managed to nurse his ailing car across the finish line, clinching victory by the narrowest of margins. As he stepped out of the cockpit to the deafening roar of the crowd, there was no trace of the anger that had threatened to consume him moments before. Instead, there was only the triumphant smile of a racer who had faced adversity head-on and emerged victorious.

As she stood in the garage, eyes fixed on the screen displaying the unfolding drama on the track, a sense of déjà vu washed over her. It was as if time had folded back upon itself, transporting her to another moment, another race, another victory.

Singapore. The memory flooded her mind with vivid clarity. The thrill of watching Carlos tear through the night, the elation as he crossed the finish line first, the overwhelming rush of emotion that had followed. She could still feel the electricity in the air, the palpable excitement that had enveloped them all as they celebrated his triumph.

And now, as she watched him once again poised on the brink of victory, that same sense of anticipation crackled in the air. If this race unfolded as she hoped, if Carlos once again emerged triumphant, she would gladly join him in releasing that pent-up adrenaline, in reveling in the euphoria of success.

She could already imagine the scene: the champagne spraying, the cheers ringing out, the infectious joy radiating from Carlos as he basked in the glow of his accomplishment. And she would be right there beside him, sharing in his moment of glory, savoring every second of the celebration.

As the final moments of the race ticked away, her heart raced in time with the cars on the screen. Victory was tantalizingly close now, just within reach. And if history repeated itself, if Carlos crossed that finish line first once again, she would be ready to join him in letting loose the floodgates of exhilaration, to savor the sweet taste of success together.

As Carlos basked in the glow of his first win of the season, the atmosphere in the paddock crackled with excitement and jubilation. Cheers echoed through the air, champagne flowed freely, and the buzz of media activity filled every corner.

But amidst the celebrations and post-race obligations, Carlos couldn't shake the longing to find her, to share this moment of triumph with the one person who mattered most to him. After his fleeting moment on the podium, he sought her out, eager to revel in their victory together.

With the door securely locked behind them, Carlos felt the weight of anticipation settle in the air like a charged current. He stood for a moment, savoring the thrill of the moment, the hunger building within him like a predator poised to strike.

In the dim light of the driver's room, he could see her silhouette, a tantalizing figure bathed in the soft glow of victory. He could almost taste the adrenaline that lingered on her skin, mingling with the heady scent of his own cologne, sweat, and the remnants of champagne from their celebration.

She remained still, a silent beacon drawing him closer with each passing moment. There was a knowing in her stance, a silent invitation for him to take the lead, to guide their movements with a primal urgency that mirrored the intensity of their shared desire.

With a predatory grace, Carlos closed the distance between them, his movements deliberate and purposeful. There was no need for words in this moment, no need for hesitation. They both understood the silent language of desire, the unspoken connection that bound them together in this private sanctuary of intimacy.

As he reached her side, he allowed himself to drink in the sight of her, to revel in the magnetic pull that drew them together. And then, with a hunger that bordered on desperation, he claimed her neck in a searing kiss, igniting a firestorm of passion that consumed them both in its fierce embrace.

“Hands behind your back, baby,” Carlos directed her, his words laced with a raw intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

Without hesitation, she complied, clasping her hands behind her back as he had instructed. As she surrendered to his command, he couldn't help but feel a surge of power coursing through him. There was something undeniably intoxicating about the way she willingly relinquished control, placing her trust entirely in his hands.

He watched her closely, his gaze lingering on the sight of her bound wrists, a potent symbol of her submission to his desires. It was a rare and beautiful sight, seeing her yield so completely to him, allowing him to take the reins and guide their shared passion to new heights.

“You did so well, baby,” she murmured, her voice finally finding its way through the haze of desire that enveloped them.

“I know,” he replied with a cocky smirk, his confidence radiating like a palpable force. “Turn around, cariño.”

Without a moment's hesitation, she acquiesced, turning to face him with a mixture of anticipation and excitement. As she shifted, she felt the heat of his body pressing against hers, his hands finding purchase at her waist before trailing down to her hips, pulling her irresistibly closer to him.

With each breath, the air between them crackled with electricity, a potent mixture of desire and anticipation that seemed to hang in the air like a tangible force. She could feel the heat of his gaze boring into her, igniting a fierce firestorm of longing deep within her core.

As their bodies melded together, every touch, every caress sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her veins, setting her aflame with a need that bordered on desperation. In that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of them, locked in a passionate embrace that transcended time and space.

With a soft gasp, she leaned into him, her body arching against his in silent invitation. And as their lips met in a searing kiss, she knew with a certainty that bordered on certainty that this moment, this connection, was something truly special

“Keep your hands back there, okay?” Carlos reminded her, his voice low and commanding.

“Yes, baby,” she responded obediently, her breath hitching with anticipation.

With deliberate care, Carlos knelt before her, his movements slow and deliberate as he reached for the zipper of her black satin skirt. His touch was gentle, reverent almost, as he teased the fabric apart, inch by tantalizing inch.

Normally, in the heat of the moment, Carlos's passion could sometimes lead to clothing casualties—ripped zippers, broken buttons—but tonight was different. Tonight, he took his time, savoring the thrill of anticipation as he slowly undid the fastenings, each movement a delicious torment that left her trembling with desire.

As the fabric pooled at her feet, he looked up at her with a hunger that mirrored her own, his eyes dark with desire.

“You're going to be quiet, right, cariño?” Carlos's voice held a hint of playful warning, his gaze locking with hers.

“I'll try but I make no promises,” she replied, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. A smirk tugged at the corners of Carlos's lips as he heard her response.

“That's right, you love making noise for me, don't you?” He teased, his tone laced with a mixture of amusement and desire. Her breath caught in her throat at his words, a flush creeping up her cheeks as she nodded in agreement.

“Yes, baby,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breathless murmur.

“Then let's see just how quiet you can be, shall we?” Carlos leaned in closer, his lips grazing her ear as he whispered.

As her underwear slipped down her legs and pooled at her ankles, Carlos wasted no time in discarding them entirely, his focus solely on the woman before him. With a hunger that burned bright in his eyes, he trailed soft, featherlight kisses along the tender flesh of her thighs, each caress igniting a firestorm of sensation that raced through her veins.

The gentle touch of his lips against her skin was enough to elicit a shiver of pleasure, her breath hitching in her throat as she surrendered to the exquisite torture of his ministrations. Without conscious thought, she spread her legs ever so slightly, a silent invitation for him to explore further.

His hands, warm and possessive, roamed freely over the smooth expanse of her thighs, tracing delicate patterns that sent ripples of pleasure coursing through her body. A soft moan escaped her lips as she threw her head back, lost in the intoxicating sensation of his touch.

“You remember the safe word?” Carlos's voice was firm, tinged with concern as he sought reassurance.

“Yes, baby,” she replied, her tone steady and unwavering.

“And, you'll stop me if it gets too much,” he pressed, his gaze searching hers for any hint of hesitation.

“Yes, baby,” she affirmed, her voice carrying a note of confidence.

“Are you certain?” His question hung in the air, a final plea for confirmation.

“You know what I like and I know my limits,” she assured him, her conviction unwavering.

“What's the safe word, baby?” Carlos's voice softened slightly, a gentle reminder of the trust that bound them together.

“Chili,” she replied without hesitation, her voice steady and sure.

“Good girl,” Carlos murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he leaned in to press a tender kiss against her thigh.

The subtle defiance in her backchat ignited a primal fire within Carlos, fueling his desire to possess her completely. With each playful exchange, his arousal surged, his cock growing harder with each passing moment.

With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Carlos teased her with the lightest touch of his index finger, tracing delicate patterns along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He reveled in the way her breath hitched in response, her body responding eagerly to his every touch.

Despite the lingering soreness from their passionate encounter the night before, she was still wet and ready for him, her arousal evident in the way her slickness coated his fingers. He savored the sensation, his cock throbbing with anticipation as he explored the depths of her desire.

“You'll stop me, cariño?” Carlos's voice held a note of urgency, his gaze locked with hers as he sought confirmation of her consent.

Though she struggled to find her voice amidst the onslaught of pleasure coursing through her, she made sure to meet his gaze with a firm nod, her eyes speaking volumes where words failed her.

Encouraged by her silent affirmation, Carlos continued his ministrations, teasing her entrance with his finger before pressing into her with deliberate intent. A soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips at the exquisite sensation of him filling her, her body responding eagerly to his touch.

Despite their previous escapades, she remained wonderfully tight, her arousal evident in the way she welcomed him with a fierce hunger that matched his own. With practiced skill, he found her clit with his thumb, the throbbing bundle of nerves already swollen and sensitive under his touch.

As he began to rub circles over her clit, her breath caught in her throat, her body arching instinctively towards him in silent plea for more. With each tantalizing stroke, he felt her arousal building, her desire spiraling higher and higher until she teetered on the edge of ecstasy, on the brink of surrendering herself entirely to the pleasure he offered.

Feeling her hands instinctively reaching out to him, Carlos paused his motions, a subtle reminder of the boundaries they had agreed upon. With a firm but gentle tone, he issued his command once more.

“Hands behind your back,” he instructed, his voice laced with authority as he sought to regain control of the situation.

Despite the surge of desire coursing through him, Carlos remained steadfast in his resolve, determined to honor the trust she had placed in him. He watched closely as she complied, her movements slow and deliberate as she obeyed his command.

As her hands found their place behind her back once more, he felt a surge of pride swell within him, a testament to the strength of their connection and the unwavering trust they shared. And with a renewed sense of purpose, Carlos resumed his motions, his touch igniting a fierce firestorm of pleasure that consumed them both in its fiery embrace.

As she gulped, a sense of frustration mingled with anticipation washed over her, the memory of her orders echoing in her mind. The desire to reach out and touch him, to feel his warmth beneath her fingertips, burned fiercely within her, but she knew that patience was key.

With each passing moment, the longing to feel his touch, to intertwine their bodies in a symphony of passion, intensified. But she held firm, reminding herself of the promise that lay just beyond her restraint.

She knew that eventually, he would grant her permission to touch him, to explore every inch of his skin with the same fervor that he showed her. And when that moment came, when she felt his hands upon her once more, she knew that it would all be worth it—the frustration, the restraint, the anticipation—everything would pale in comparison to the ecstasy of their shared embrace.

As Carlos continued his relentless assault on her clit, his movements alternating between teasing and pumping, she felt her arousal building to dizzying heights. With each stroke, each thrust of his fingers inside her, she surrendered herself completely to the pleasure, her body responding with a fervor that bordered on desperation.

Her thighs quivered with the intensity of her arousal, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she teetered on the edge of ecstasy. It wasn't long before she felt herself stretching to accommodate a second finger, the sensation pushing her even closer to the brink of release.

But even as pleasure threatened to overwhelm her, she couldn't shake the feeling of being overstimulated, of being pushed to her limits by the intensity of their encounter. It was as if something in the air, something in the very essence of Australia itself, had ignited a primal fire within them both, driving them to new heights of passion and desire.

As Carlos continued his relentless assault on her senses, her moans grew shallower, each breathy gasp a testament to the ecstasy that threatened to consume her entirely. She chased her high with single-minded determination, her body trembling with the intensity of her arousal.

“That's good, baby,” Carlos murmured, his voice a soothing presence amidst the whirlwind of sensation. “Keep your voice low.”

His words were a gentle reminder of the need for discretion, a silent agreement between them to keep their passion contained within the confines of their private sanctuary. And as she struggled to comply, to stifle the cries of pleasure threatening to spill from her lips, she felt a surge of arousal coursing through her veins, driving her ever closer to the brink of release.

Sensing her arousal reaching a fever pitch, Carlos knew that she was on the brink of release. With a mix of restraint and desire, he withdrew his fingers, a sudden absence of his touch leaving her gasping for more.

The abrupt lack of sensation sent a jolt of longing coursing through her body, her hips instinctively arching towards him in search of the pleasure she so desperately craved. She whimpered softly, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she struggled to cope with the sudden emptiness inside her.

“Baby,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a potent mix of desire and need.

With a reassuring smile, Carlos met her gaze, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

“Don't worry, cariño,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the ache of longing that pulsed through her veins. “I'm not done with you yet.”

As Carlos stood before her, shedding his race suit and fireproofs with deliberate precision, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight of him. With each movement, his toned muscles flexed and rippled beneath his skin, his body a testament to the physical demands of their sport.

Her breath caught in her throat as his cock sprang free, solid and throbbing with arousal, the sight of him sending a jolt of desire coursing through her veins. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry with anticipation, knowing all too well the intensity of his desire to claim her.

This was what she had been expecting when he took the lead of the race—the raw, primal need that burned bright in his eyes, the insatiable hunger that drove him to seek out her touch with a desperation that bordered on madness.

With deliberate care, Carlos pulled her up onto the massage table, positioning himself between her legs with a primal hunger burning in his eyes. He kissed her with a tender urgency, savoring the taste of her lips against his own, before slowly entering her, inch by agonizing inch.

As he filled her, stretching her to accommodate his size, he could feel her walls clenching around him, her body instinctively adjusting to the intimate intrusion. Sensing her need for a moment to acclimate, he paused, his gaze locked with hers as he watched the myriad of emotions flicker across her face.

Her eyes were closed in blissful surrender, her lips parted in a silent plea for more. And in that moment, Carlos felt a surge of pride and desire swell within him, completely infatuated by the woman who had offered herself so completely to him.

With a smirk of satisfaction, he resumed his slow, steady thrusts, each movement driving them both closer to the edge of ecstasy. In this intimate dance of passion, there was no need for words—their bodies spoke a language of their own, a symphony of pleasure and desire that echoed through the dimly lit room.

“Carlos, baby, you need to move, please,” she pleaded, her voice laced with urgency as she yearned for the friction and rhythm only he could provide.

“So desperate for me, huh?” Carlos teased, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he reveled in the intensity of her need.

“I need it, baby. Please,” she implored, her words a desperate plea for release as her body thrummed with anticipation.

Carlos's breathy chuckle mingled with the symphony of their shared passion as he began to move, his movements slow and deliberate at first, building momentum with each thrust. He could feel her body responding eagerly to his touch, her moans growing louder with each passing moment.

As she fought to contain her urges, to resist the overwhelming need to grasp him and hold him close, Carlos felt a surge of arousal stir in his groin. The sound of her moans, the sight of her writhing beneath him in pleasure, ignited a primal fire within him, driving him to new heights of desire.

With each increase in speed, he felt himself completely filling her up, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony as they surrendered themselves to the ecstasy of the moment.

Feeling her hands being guided beneath her belly button, she opened her eyes, curiosity flickering in their depths as she glanced down to see what Carlos was doing. As he pressed her hands into her lower abdomen, she felt a slight movement beneath her fingertips, a sensation that sent a shiver of pleasure coursing through her body.

Her mouth opened in a silent gasp as she adjusted to the feeling, her senses overwhelmed by the intimate connection between them.

“You feel that?” His words hung in the air between them, heavy with raw desire and a primal intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Yeah,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, her body quivering with pleasure at the sensation of him deep inside her.

“That's me fucking deep inside you,” Carlos murmured, his voice thick with arousal as he reveled in the intimate connection they shared.

As Carlos positioned her hands on his shoulders, a surge of anticipation raced through her veins, her body trembling with the intensity of their shared desire. With a primal urgency, he began to thrust, each movement hard and rapid, driving her to the brink of ecstasy with each powerful motion.

Some of his thrusts caused her to flinch, the sensation of him filling her completely both thrilling and overwhelming. She could feel herself bruising all over again, the reminder of their previous night's passion adding to the intensity of the moment. Yet despite the ache, despite the slight sting of pain, it all felt too good to resist.

And then, as pleasure surged through her body like a tidal wave, she came undone, her senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of her release. Her body shook with the force of her climax, every nerve ending alight with ecstasy as she surrendered herself completely to the pleasure coursing through her veins.

Her hands searched for some grip on his skin, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as she held on for dear life, leaving scratches in her wake. And as she reached the peak of her pleasure, she felt Carlos tensing beneath her, his own release imminent.

With one final, primal cry, he came inside her, his body shuddering with the force of his release as they rode out the waves of pleasure together.

As Carlos continued to thrust through her orgasm, a primal need drove him to push their pleasure to new heights. With a surge of determination, he pulled out and spun her around, his movements swift and purposeful as he positioned her upper body onto the massage table and spread her legs wide.

She clung to the table for support, her body trembling with a heady mix of pleasure and anticipation as Carlos resumed his thrusts. With each powerful motion, she fought to keep her legs steady, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their shared desire.

But as pleasure built once more, she began to feel a twinge of pain, a nagging ache that tugged at the edges of her consciousness. Unsure whether it was the position or if her body had reached its limits, she pushed through, determined to chase her pleasure to its ultimate climax.

And then, just as she felt a second orgasm approaching, Carlos hit a particular spot that sent a jolt of pain shooting through her body, causing her legs to wobble beneath her. In that moment, she realized that her body had reached its breaking point, her pleasure giving way to the sharp sting of discomfort.

As she whispered the safe word, “Chili,” her voice barely above a breathless murmur, Carlos's movements faltered, a flicker of concern crossing his features. But with the intensity of their passion clouding his senses, her words went unheard as he continued thrusting, lost in the heat of the moment.

“Chili, chili,” she repeated, her voice growing slightly louder in a desperate plea for him to stop.

Sensing her distress, Carlos's instincts kicked in, and almost immediately, he ceased his movements and pulled out, his expression shifting from desire to concern. With the cum oozing out of her, a silent testament to their shared pleasure, Carlos turned her around and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to steady her trembling form.

“Are you okay, cariño?” Carlos's voice was filled with concern as he held her close, his arms a comforting presence around her trembling form.

She didn't answer immediately, her mind still reeling from the shock of having to use the safe word for the first time. She had never asked him to stop before, but the pain had become too much to bear.

“I'm fine, it just hurt a bit,” she finally replied, her voice soft and slightly strained as she tried to downplay the discomfort she was feeling.

Carlos's expression softened with understanding as he held her tighter, his heart aching at the thought of causing her any pain. With gentle hands, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch a silent apology for pushing her beyond her limits.

“I'm sorry, cariño,” he murmured, his voice filled with regret. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Carlos fetched a towel and gently cleaned her up, his heart weighed heavy with guilt for pushing her past her limits. With each tender touch, he was careful not to overstimulate her further, his movements slow and deliberate as he wiped away the remnants of their passion.

Once she was cleaned up, he helped her back onto the massage table, his touch gentle and reassuring as he helped her put her panties and skirt back on. She was exhausted from the episode, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of their encounter, and he could see the fatigue etched into her features.

With a pang of remorse, Carlos watched as she lay down, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she tried to regain her composure. He knew that she needed time to rest and recuperate, to recover from the intensity of their shared experience.

He cleaned himself up and changed into his casual clothes and kept stealing glances at her, his heart heavy with worry. But with each reassuring word she spoke, each gentle touch she offered, he felt a small measure of relief wash over him.

She was fine. She reassured him of that fact time and time again. And as he settled down beside her, wrapping her in his arms and holding her close, he knew that he was the one person she trusted more than anyone else in the world.

Carlos kissed her gently, his touch a soothing balm against the ache of her body and soul, she felt a sense of safety and comfort wash over her. In his arms, she found solace from the storm of emotions that had threatened to overwhelm her, her fears and doubts melting away beneath the warmth of his love.

With each caress of her cheek, each tender gesture, Carlos reaffirmed his devotion to her, his love a beacon of light in the darkness of their shared struggles. She knew that despite the momentary pain, she was safe with him, cherished and adored beyond measure.

Wrapped in his embrace, she felt a sense of peace settle over her, a quiet calm that whispered of better days to come. For in his arms, she found not only love, but strength—the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that together, they could overcome anything.

She was and always would be addicted to him, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. But she also knew her limits, understood the importance of self-care and self-preservation. And as she nestled closer to him, surrendering herself to the warmth of his embrace, she knew that no matter what trials they faced, they would face them together, bound by a love that knew no bounds.

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katiascraft · 2 months ago

Text

˚⋆𐙚｡“Pueden más que el amor y son más fuertes que el Olimpo” | FC43𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚

Parings: franco colapinto x argentine!female!reader.

Sipnosis: Dating Franco Colapinto as an Argentine university student is like riding a rollercoaster with your best friend: exhilarating, unpredictable, and occasionally terrifying. And was also never part of her life plan, but somehow it feels like it was written in the stars—or perhaps on a chaotic karting track. From laughing at his chaotic personality to sharing mates in the pitlane, their relationship is a blend of silliness, deep connection, and shared Argentine pride.Their bond is a mix of unfiltered laughter, deep admiration, and that unmistakable Argentine fire. From awkward family dinners to heartfelt moments away from the spotlight, their chemistry shines in every interaction. Here’s how their love story unfolds, the chaos they bring to the F1 paddock, and why she’s become the favorite WAG for her wild energy that matches Franco’s unhinged antics.

Your bond is bigger than love and stronger than the Olympus. ᯓᡣ𐭩

Now playing: “11 y 6” by Fito Paez.

Word count: +3k.

Warnings: dialogues in Spanish but translated. Language. Argentinian slang. Just fluffy fluff I’m not good at writing smut but I guess I’ll have to try someday. Not a native English speaker so there could be (so many) errors. Not proofread.

Face claim: Tuli Acosta.

Author’s note: okay i'm stuck with this trope. I AM SORRY NOT SORRY ACTUALLY. but i hope you like it and enjoy it <3. MAYBE it doesnt make any sence but IM TRYING. There will be mentions of artists/people from Argentina if you wanna look them up. Don’t forget to like, reblog or comment! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

A Bond Beyond Words

From the beginning, you instantly had this electric connection. At 16 years old everything is intense but not at this level you thought. It's an indescribable feeling. almost as if you were two magnets pulled together by fate. Franco, with his unshakable optimism and cheeky smile, is the perfect foil to your grounded but equally fiery personality. Growing up together since you were kids, realizing when he was gone in Italy how much you loved him, how traveling during the summer breaks was heartbreaking knowing you couldn't see him until the next recess of the year - 4 months in the future. And when you get to university it gets a little bit more tricky but you try to make it work. No one in the world was more than worthy of your sacrifice studying anywhere at any time just to spend even a few hours with him on the other side of the world.

One night, after a long day of university classes and Franco’s sim racing practice, you decide to call each other. Where he was, it was winter, where you were, it was still summer. He was freezing and you were too hot. When he answered you could see him getting cozy on his bed with the heat on and the hoodie you bought him at a Tan Bionica concert you attended last year. You loved that band. You wanted to cry in that moment of how much you missed him. When he saw you on the other side of the world, in your home, surrounded by books and the sunset illuminating your gorgeous face, he wanted to cry. He missed you like crazy. You looked so beautiful, he only thought about kissing your whole face. You were drinking mate and eating facturas while studying on your balcony in Buenos Aires city. He missed his country so much, especially you and his family. While talking about your days you see his sister in the background that has arrived from paddle practice. His little sister Martina joined the conversation. He felt so full at that moment. How natural it was for you to blend with his family. How deeply and vulnerable and intimate that was to him. He trusted you blindly.

“Sabes que?, [you know what?]” Franco says, getting comfy on his bed, a little sleepy, his voice deep, “yo sería un desastre en la facultad. Como haces para memorizar todo eso?” [i would be a disaster at university. How do you do to remember all that stuff?]

“Probablemente no soportarías ni cursar 2 horas en esta materia o en ninguna en realidad,” [probably you wouldnt last a day] you reply without looking up in a smirk. “Pero lo bueno es que no lo necesitas. Y además, estás demasiado ocupado manejando a más de 250 km por ahora así que” [but good thing is that you dont need to. You are too busy driving cars at 250km per hour so] you finally meet his gaze through the screen. You hear him giggle between his sheets and pillows. He looked so cute. You heart felt so happy and full in that moment. You couldn't be more in love with him.

“igual,” his voice softer, “Sos incredible amor. Like... verdaderamente increible. Que puedas balancear tu vida con el estudio y mi locura de agenda, mi terrible talento en la cocina—” you giggled at his comment flustered". [You are amazing love. The fact you can balance your life between my agends and your university schedule, and my terible talent for cooking-]

You interrupt, smirking. “Y terrible asador. Muy decepcionante la verdad. Esperemos que no se filtre a la prensa porque te van a cancelar por decepción a la patria.” [you are the worst at cooking barbecue. Very disappointing for this country]

He laughs, resting his head on the pillow wanting to rest it on your chest and give you a tight hug. Distance was absolute shit. He couldn't wait to see you again in 2 weeks in Las vegas. “Bueno bueno ya se entendió. Pero posta, no se como haces y/n. Tengo mucha suerte de que me ames y me elijas y me soportes.” [alright alright. But for real, I don’t know how you do it. I’m really lucky that you love me and choose me and that you keep up with me] His eyes were hearts and his smile was bright. You blushed by looking at him. You adjusted the laptop. “Te amo fran” you knew, and he knew what those words ment. “Y la verdad que es fácil soportar esto, Franco. Porque sos el amor de mi vida. No importa los malabares que tenga que hacer para que esto funcione. Se que vos harías lo mismo en mi lugar. Ya quiero verte. Que sigas persiguiendo tus sueños. Cómo podría no amarte amor? Te admiro muchísimo, loquito. Estoy muy pero muy muy orgullosa de vos. Me encanta verte brillar y ser feliz. No importa lo que tenga que hacer, lo haria mil veces más si puedo verte ser lo que siempre soñaste y ver como te brillan los ojitos de felicidad” [and ti be honest, it’s so easy to keep up with you. Because you’re the love of my life. It doesn’t matter how much juggling I have to do just to make this work. I know you would do the same for me. How could one not love you? I admire you so much. And im really proud of you. I love to see you shine and be happy. It doesn’t matter what I have to do. I would do it a thousand times if I can see you be the thing you dreamed about and see you shining]

“Te amo boluda, me haces llorar” [I love you, you make me cry] he said teary and even dropping a few tears making you giggled completely down for that man. But how could you not? He is the most amazing person you know.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

yourusername made a post

liked by francolapinto, landonorris, yourbff, marcolapinto, and others.

yourusername: me reporto desde el mundo universitario triste y lleno de estrés para decirles que estoy bien pero quisiera estar como franquito la verdad (te extraño mucho @/francolapinto 😭)

[here I report myself from the university world very sad and stressful to tell you I’m okay but I would really like to be like franco to be honest (I miss you so much franco)]

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francolapinto: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

francolapinto: no podes hacerme esto no ves que recién me levanto y ya estoy llorando otra vez 😭😭😭😭 lo que te extraño lpm [you can’t do this to me. Don’t you see I just woke up and I’m crying again? I miss you so much god]

↳ yourusername: fran 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

francolapinto: Veni dale no seas mala no hace falta que estudies yo te mantengo!! [come with me. Cmon don’t be mean. You don’t need to satisfy I can spoil you!!]

↳ yourusername: ya tuvimos esta conversación 🙄 [we already had this conversation]

↳ yourusername: déjame ser independiente así después soy yo la que sea millonaria en nuestra relación let me spoil you babygirl 🫦 [let me be independent. So I can be the millionaire one and spoil you baby girl]

↳ francolapinto: hace falta que me expongas públicamente????? Te recuerdo que tu Instagram es público!!?!?! [is it necessary that you expose me? Do I have to remind you your Instagram is public?]

↳ yourusername: upsi

marcolapinto: Venite a casa reinita que te cebo unos mates mientras escuchamos María. Dale que aprobas!!! 🕯️[come home queen that we will drink mate while listening to Maria becerra. You’re gonna do good!]

↳ yourusername: 🏃🏻‍♀️

user366: I must say you are GOALS wtf ur so pretty wtf wtf

user890: FRANCO CAN U FIGHT??????

anibalcolapinto: ❤️

landonorris: hola mujer bonita, cuando vuelves al paddock? Che boludo quiero un mate

↳ franstan: omg not again

↳ y/nstan: the no rizz guy is back

↳ francolapinto: DELETE THIS

↳ georgerussel: I’m sorry bro he just a kid

↳ francolapinto: kid las pelotas [he is not a kid]

lewishamilton: my fav couple

↳ yourusername: KABSKXOHWJSODNS WTF LEWIS TE AMO WTF WHAAATTTTTTTT

↳ francolapinto: conmigo nunca te emocionas así ????? [you never get this excited about me]

↳ yourusername: ACASO SOS 8 VECES CAMPEÓN DEL MUNDO??????? Y TE LLAMAS LEWIS HAMILTON?????? [are you an 8 time world champion called Lewis Hamilton?]

↳ maxveratappen: he is a 7 world champion

↳ yourusername: OMG MAX I DRINK RED BULL EVERYDAY 🧎🏻‍♀️

↳ francolapinto: I can’t take you out anywhere 🤦🏻‍♀️

landonorris: WHY I AM BEING IGNORED GHOSTED BURRIED ALIVE ??????

↳ oscarpiastri: bro

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Chemistry and Admiration

Their chemistry between you two is palpable, and it’s the kind that makes people stop and take notice. You don’t just laugh together— you challenge each other, push each other to be their best. And to be fair, that's what makes you both so obsessed with one another. The love you felt for each other was like a drug.

At the Williams hospitality building, during practice days your older brother playfully teases Franco about a mistake he made during his last race.

“Boludo, que paso en la curva esa? Te dormiste para frenar. Cuando quieras te reemplazo, en los kartings siempre ganaba yo” [bro, what happened in that corner? You slept on breakers. Whenever you want I can replace you. I always used to win in go karts in our time, anyway] you rolled your eyes at his tease. He was the reason you met franco in the first place back in summer 2019.

Before Franco can reply, you jump in. “dejate de joder. No te das cuenta que la skills de pro se las reserva para ganarte al truco?” [fuck off. Don’t you realized that his pro skills are reserved to win you at truco?]

your brother laughs, but Franco takes your hand under the table, squeezing it. He was laughing as well. Your brother can be a pain in the ass sometimes.

Later, when you were finally alone, he says, “gracias por cuidarme y defenderme incluso cuando la cago y merezco que tu hermano se cague de risa de mi en mi cara” [thanks for protecting me and defending me even when I fuck up and I deserve your brother making a joke out of me] he says funny and exaggerated. You laugh, shaking your head.

“Para eso estoy fran, la única que se puede meter con mi hombre soy yo misma” [that’s what I’m here for. Me and only me can joke around about my boyfriend] you reply teasing, making him giggle but bring you closer by your waist planting a kiss on your lips. “ a veces te odio” [sometimes I hate you] he joked in your lips making you giggle once more like all the time you are together. “creo que asi funciona, no?” [that’s how it works, right?] you told him to stroke his hair with your fingers wrapped in his arms. You looked at him innocently making him laugh and kissed your cheeks with a million little soft and full of love kisses.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

francolapinto made a post

liked by yourusername, anibalcolapinto, espn, alexalbon and others.

francolapinto: pese a algunos errores obtuvimos un gran resultado. Gracias a todos por bancar como lo hacen,están sorprendiendo al mundo! Orgulloso de ser de donde vengo 🇦🇷 momento de festejar y enfocarse en la siguiente carrera! Vamoooosss

[even tho we committed a few mistakes we got a solid result. Thank you everyone for the support, you are surprising the world with your passion! I’m so proud to come from where I come from. Time to celebrate and then focus on the next race. Let’s go!]

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yourusername: mi país mi país mi país 🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷

yourusername: podes parar de ser tan perfecto???? Dios lo que te amo 😍 [can you stop being so perfect? God I love you so much]

↳ francolapinto: vos sos perfecta mi amor te amo gracias por apoyarme y acompañarme siempre [you are perfect my love. Thank you for your support always]

↳ yourusername: siempre juntos [always together]

↳ francolapinto: siempre [always]

williamsracing: vamos franco!!! was a pleasure to have you @/yourusername !!

↳ yourusername: my pleasure!! You guys are so cool!! Next time we need to play some duki songs! You’ll love them!!! Great to work out!! Like a bad bitch!!! 🤪🥵

↳ williamsracing: 😳

↳ wandanara: you soy una bad bitch!!! Te adoro nena!!! [I am a bad bitch! I adore you girl!]

↳ yourusername: OMG WANDA TE AMO

↳ francolapinto: el crossover del año [the crossover of the year]

↳ yourbff: y vos porque no la estás escuchando gritar me voy a quedar sorda [you wouldn’t believe how loud she is screaming because of this. I will be deaf qny sec]

↳ francolapinto: she’s just a girl

↳ yourusername: girls just wanna have fun!!!!

dukissj: flow carbon el tuyo amigo [serving looks bro]

↳ francolapinto: gracias jefe aprendí de vos [thank you boos. I learned from you]

↳ dukissj: a ser el mejor de todos los tiempos? [to be the best one of all time?]

↳ francolapinto: a ser un novio gansta [to be his gangsta lover (Emilia mernes: novio gangsta)]

↳ yourusername: te amo mi novio gangsta 😍

↳ emiliamernes: 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

↳ dukissj: 💀

landonorris: if I comment will I still be ignored?

↳ oscarpiastri: bro

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

University Chaos and Long-Distance Struggles

Franco is your biggest cheerleader just like you are of his. He always remembers your exam dates - you didnt know how but he did - always making sure to send you a good luck message and asking how it was whenever he can take his phone back after a really busy day at the simulator. Long distance is not easy at all but somehow you make it work. You know that when you two see each other again it will be all worth it.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

yourusername uploaded a story

[transcription: fisically here]

view story replies

francolapinto: mentalmente pensando en mi y en cómo te podría hacer sentir si no estuvieras del otro lado del mundo [mentally thinking about me and how I could make you feel if you wouldn’t be on the other side of the world]

yourusername: POR QUE TENES QUE HACERME ACORDAR DE ESO CON LO QUE TE EXTRAÑO FRANCO COLAPINTO [why do you have to do this to me knowing how much I miss you?]

francolapinto: definitivamente necesitas de mi magia para relajar, estás muy estrasada bb [definitely you need my magic to help you relax, you’re so stressed babe]

yourusername: te odio [I hate you]

francolapinto: 😇

francolapinto: cuando vengas tráeme 10 paquetes de don satur dulces y otras 10 saladas. Y pan dulce!!! Sin fruta y con chips de chocolate [when you fly here could you bring 10 packs of sweet don satur cookies and 10 salty ones? And brin pan dulce!! Without fruit I like it with chocolate chips]

francolapinto: NO ME DEJES EN VISTO FLACA [don’t leave on read girl]

yourusername: ESTOY ESTUDIANDO FLACO [im studying bro]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Chaos in the Paddock

When Franco made his way to F1, you became an instant hit among the other drivers and teams. Unlike the polished, camera-ready WAGs typically seen in the paddock, you're refreshingly candid, often seen wearing jeans and an oversized Boca Juniors or the Argentinian national team of football jersey. Your style was just relax and at some point not giving a fuck about royalty and money and status. You felt so much more beautiful with your vans on and baggy clothes.

But you didn't only stand out because of your “so different” style. Reality was you were as unhinged as your boyfriend. You became the favorite WAG on the internet and the paddock as well. You were sweet to all of the fans and received all of the gifts for Franco you could take in your hands. Always sharing mates with everybody who wanted to join. Taking pics to social media and being hilarious roasting your boyfriend in front of the world. But that was just the way you showed love to each other. It was your code secret language. After the jokes vanish, only love remains between you two. Everyone was obsessed with your interviews just as any fan of the sport. People loved you because you read everything on social media regarding not only your boyfriends but the rest of the drivers. You became an f1 wag voggler on your instagram stories.

All people at the paddock loved you. You were always there for everyone and anyone who needed a hand at anything. You liked to listen to people when they needed to. Franco knew he had the best comforting person in the world next to him and that made him feel really proud of himself.

Also, you became a sensation when you started taking to races your pomeranian son called “polito”. You joined Alex and Kika at wags and mothers of dogs. You loved being part of the gang to be honest.

All of the drivers' girlfriends were so welcoming and fun to be around. You always felt scared to not fit in his world or this world. You were a really private person but you pushed that aside the moment franco got into f1. You wanted nothing but supporting him and if that came along with being not so private anymore you’d take the risk anyway. And so far it worked out perfectly. You feel really comfortable with the life you have now. What scared you it didn't anymore. You were happy.

One infamous moment happened during a race weekend. You were caught on camera yelling at Franco over team radio after he missed a breaking point in practice. Of course, it went viral.

“¡Qué hacés, boludo! Are you driving or playing Mario Kart?!” You were so competitive as well. You grew up watching and being involved in karting. You desperately wanted Franco to do more than good and that pressure and anxiety also made you iconic for people watching at home.

The radio went silent before Franco’s sheepish voice replied, “Sorry, babe.”

The fans dubbed you the “Queen of Roasts.” Even Lando Norris couldn’t resist chiming in on media after the race:

“Franco, mate, you’re getting roasted harder than my starts.”

To which Franco replied teasing him, “At least I have someone to roast me, Lando.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

yourusername made a post

liked by bizarrap, francolapinto, yourbff, dukissj and others.

yourusername: Era mi crush y ahora está conmigo, amor platónico. 'Toy robando, qué afortunada soy. Nunca tuve un novio tan hegemónico. Nadie me hace sentir esta satisfacción. Espero que mi padre nunca escuche esta canción 🎶

[he was my crush and now he’s with me. Platonic love. I’m really lucky I got him. I’ve never had such an hegemonic boyfriend. No one makes me feel this good and satisfied. Hope my dad doesn’t listen to this song]

tagged: dukissj, francolapinto

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emiliamernes: se juntaron nuestros novios gansta ‼️ [our gangsta boyfriends reunited!!]

francolapinto: yo te quiero presumir. nunca nadie me ha querido así 😍 desde que la conocí le cure la cicatriz por que ella es mi novia gansta 😍 [I want to show you off to all the world. No one ever loved me his way. Since I met her I healed her wounds because she is my gangsta girlfriend]

↳ yourusername: TE AMO

user752: omg OMG they are so cute 😭

User1: I must confess I don’t like her at all

user67: clout chaserrrrr zzzzzz

yourbff: que fácil me cambias por ese chiruzo 😔 [you replaced me so easily with that muppet]

↳ yourusername: nunca te cambiaría MI REAL [I would never you’re my real one]

↳ yourbff: nunca nadie te va a amar como yo [no one ever is gonna love you like I do]

↳ francolapinto: ??????? Queres que compitamos? [are you proposing a competition?]

↳ yourbff: como te gusta arruinar momentos felices 🙄 [how you love to ruin good moments]

↳ francolapinto: ya perdiste xd [okay, you already lost]

mariabeccera: con lo que te quiero diría que VOS sos la verdadera NENA DE ARGENTINA bonita [in my opinion you are the real it girl of argentina, babygirl. I love you]

↳ yourusername: dm asap

↳ francolapinto: inviten [invite me]

↳ rei: 🤨

bizarrap: el príncipe y la princesa de argentina 🇦🇷 [the prince and princess of argentina]

↳ yourusername: te amamos gonza ❤️‍🩹

y/nstan: where’s the no rizz at all guy?

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Other Drivers Weigh In

The F1 grid is both entertained and baffled by your relationship. Max Verstappen once remarked, “They’re like a Netflix comedy special. You can’t take your eyes off them.” in one interview. You became the sensation of formula one. It was odd but you followed along just having fun with it.

Charles Leclerc added in his interview after qualifying, “She’s the only person who can keep up with Franco’s energy. Honestly, she’s scarier than his driving.” making the reporter laugh.

Meanwhile, George Russel took every opportunity to tease them. After one race where Franco crashed out, G joked, “Bet she’s gonna give him a lecture in the paddock. Poor kid’s already sweating.”

Yeah we can say you were really passionate and Franco absolutely adored it.

In another race Oscar Piastri was asked about you as well “well, she is a really good teacher to be honest it's really nice to have her around”

“What did she teach you, oscar?”

“Che boludo, me das un mate? I don't remember what it actually means but something around mate” his accent made the interviewer laugh. Franco, who was being interviewed next to him, laughed so hard.

“It sounded amazing mate. I will tell y/n to congratulate you” he teased making oscar roll his eyes.

“And they are both a pain in the ass,” Lando said, coming out of nowhere on Oscar's mic, making everyone laugh.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Family Dynamics

Your families are an integral part of your relationship, and it’s clear that love and respect flow both ways.

Your parents were skeptical at first. A racing driver? That lives on the other side of the world? Really? But Franco won them over the first time he showed up at their house with flowers for your mom and a bottle of wine for your dad. He even attempted to join in on their family’s Sunday asado tradition—though his lack of grilling skills became a running joke.

“A esto le llamas asado?!” [this is what you call barbecue?] your father had laughed, shaking his head as Franco sheepishly handed over the tongs.

“Okay, okay, me dedicare solamente a correr, ya entendi!” [alright, I’ll stick to racing I got it] Franco replied, earning laughter from the whole family.

On the flip side, you’ve become a favorite among Franco’s family. His mom adores you, often calling to check in on your studies or sending care packages from home. His younger sister thinks you’re the coolest person alive and is always pestering you for fashion advice.

“creo que tu mama me ama mas que a vos”, [ I think your mom loves me more than she does love you] you tease one evening.

Franco grins, wrapping an arm around you. “No la culpo. Es impossible no amarte la verdad. Mira esa carita” [I don’t blame her. It’s impossible not to love you. Look at that pretty face] he said grabbing your face and squiz your cheeks playfully.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

francolapinto made a post

liked by yourusername, sangrejaponesa, bocajuniors, and others.

francolapinto: argentina, boca y mi mujer pero en el orden inverso 😇

[argentina, boca and my woman but the other way round]

tagged: yourusername, bocajuniors

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bocajuniors: gracias por venir franco! Te esperamos de vuelta! Vamos piloto! 🫡 [thank you for coming franco! We wait for you to come back! Let’s go!]

yourusername: 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦

yourusername: BOCAAAAA BOCAAAAAAA

user34: que hace la china acá???? 🚩🚩🚩🚩 [what is la china Suarez doing here??]

user54: que suerte que tiene esta mina [how lucky she is]

landostan: BEST WAG TO EVER EXIST

cavani: franquito te esperamos!!! Dale campeón!! [franco come back!! Let’s go champion!]

↳ francolapinto: LPM TE AMO

↳ yourusername: gracias por cumplirle el sueño al nene 🥹 [thank you for making the kid’s dream come true]

la12: chifla que te pasamos a buscar!

↳ yourusername: 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

↳ francolapinto: 🙃

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

yourusername uploaded a story

[transcription: he doesn’t like his smile but for me it’s the most beautiful smile in the world]

view story replies

francolapinto: boluda me haces llorar 😭 no me quiero ir mañana lpm te voy a extrañar muchísimo [baby you make me cry. I don’t wanna go tomorrow I will miss you so freaking much]

francolapinto: vos para mi sos la más hermosa del mundo [to me you’re the most beautiful girl in the world]

francolapinto: te acordas cuando me traías flores para cuando ganara las carreras? 🥹 sos la más linda del mundo. Siempre fuiste la más linda del mundo para mi [do you remember how you always brought flowers for me at the race kart just in case I won? You’re the prettiest]

francolapinto: podes salir de la clase y venir a darme un abrazo? Estoy sensible [ can you get out of that zoom meeting and come and give me a hug?? I’m sensitive]

francolapinto: te amo mucho [I love you so much]

francolapinto: TE NECESITO MI MUJER 😭 [I need you my girl]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Moments of Quiet Connection

Behind the loud laughs and teasing, there’s a deep, quiet love that anchors your relationship.

After a particularly tough race weekend where Franco didn’t finish, he’s unusually quiet. Back in your hotel room, you find him sitting on the bed, staring at the floor.

“Hey,” you say softly, sitting beside him. “Queres hablar, Fran?” [do you wanna talk?]

He sighs. “Siento que decepcioné a todos. Al equipo, a los fans… a vos” [I feel I let everyone down. The team, the fans… you] his voice shaky and his eyes teary.

you take his hand, squeezing it. “Franco, no decepcionaste a nadie. Y Menos que menos a mi Fran. Está bien equivocarse y tener días de mierda. No siempre se puede ganar y hacer todo bien. Es mejor darse contra la pared mil veces que ganar siempre. Lo que paso hoy solo te va a hacer más fuerte. No te presiones, ser perfecto es aburrido. Ya vendran dias mejores. El talento está en vos y eso es todo lo que importa, si?” [franco you didn’t let anyone down. It’s okay to commit mistakes and have shitty days. It’s not about winning all the time and be perfect. Better is to lose so you can learn from it and keep growing. I know the better days will come. You have talent and that’s all that matters okay? You’re good my love]

He looks at you, his eyes glassy more than before. “Solo quiero que se sientan orgullosos de mí. Que te sientas orgullosa de mi, no quiero decepcionarte” [I just really want them to feel proud of me. I want you to be proud of me, I don’t wanna let you down]

“Amor, estoy mas que orgullosa de vos, no digas eso” you say, voice steady. “Desde el momento uno. Todos los días de mi vida. Me explota el corazón de orgullo por vos franco. ¿Viste dónde estás? Este es tu sueño y lo lograste. No hay sentimiento mas grande que sienta que el que siento cuando te veo en ese auto. Cada vez que te pones ese traje y tu nombre sale en la pantalla. No tenes idea de lo orgullosa que estoy de vos y de lo que te admiro y te amo” [babe, I’m more than proud of you. Since day one. Have you seen where you at now? This was you’re dream and now it’s your reality. There’s not a bigger feeling in me than the one I feel every time I see you get in that car and drive, every time you fit yourself in your suit. You don’t really know how proud I am of you and how much I admire you and love you fran] his face now with tears. His arms wrap around you in a tight hug hiding his face in your neck looking for comfort that you gave for sure.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

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francolapinto: feliz cumpleaños a la persona más hermosa que la vida me presento. Gracias por existir y encargarte de hacerme el hombre más feliz del mundo, cuidarme y asegurarte de que estoy bien. Gracias por apoyarme en esta locura de carrera que elegí. Gracias por entender y no juzgarme, por escucharme y limpiarme los mocos cuando lo necesite. Por ser tan empatica y amorosa. Nunca dejes de ser quien sos y de brillar más que el sol. El mundo tiene mucha suerte de conocerte, de que hayas nacido, de que ames como amas. Gracias por ser la mejor mamá que nuestro hijo polito podría tener jamás. Para mi sos la mejor del mundo. Tu calidad humana supera cualquier estándar. Te amo con todo mi corazón y/n. Espero que tengas un día lleno de amor y risas. Y que te den los mil abrazos que yo muero por darte pero no puedo. Gracias por aceptar las bases y condiciones de mi vida y aun así hacer que lo difícil parezca tan fácil. Gracias por subirte a cada avión y estudiar en los hospitalities. Gracias por las flores que me llevas desde que nos conocemos. Quiero que seas la más feliz del mundo porque es lo minimo que te mereces. Gracias por ser lo amorosa que sos con toda mi familia, con mis amigos, con cualquier persona que se te acerque. Sos increíble. Te amo te amo te amo te amo. Ya quiero abrazarte. Prontito nos veremos mi amor. Feliz cumple

[happy birthday to the most beautiful person life brought me. Thank you for existing and taking care to make me feel the luckiest man alive, looking after me and make sure I’m okay. Thank you for supporting me in my crazy career. Thank you for understanding and not judging, for listening and be the shoulder to cry on. Thank you for your compassion, sympathy and warmness. Don’t ever stop being so you and shining more than the sun. The world is really lucky to have you in it. We are all so lucky you were created, born, and by the way you love. Thank you for being the best mum our son polito could ask for. To me you are the best in the world. You human quality as a person breaks any standar. I love you with my whole heart y/n. Hope you have a great day filled with love and laughter and the million hugs I’m dying to give you but I can’t. Thank you for accepting me and making the longs distance shit be so easy. Thank you for the flowers you always bring for me. I want you to be the happiest in the world because that’s the minimum you deserve. Thank you for being so lovely with my family and friends and any person that meets you. You are magical. I love you. I want to hug you so bad. We will meet soon again my love. Happy bday]

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yourusername: FLACO 😭 lo que te amo no lo puedo ni expresar. Gracias por amarme como lo haces. Con vos soy la mas feliz del mundo ❤️‍🩹 [I can’t not even express how much I love you. Thank you for loving me the way you do. With you I’m the happiest in the world]

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‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

How Franco Talks About Her

Franco is unabashedly in love, and it shows in how he talks about you —whether it’s to his family, teammates, or the press.

During a team dinner, his engineer jokes, “How does she even deal with you, Franco?”

Franco grins, not missing a beat. “She’s the only person who can out-chaos me. And trust me, that’s saying something.”

In interviews, his admiration for her is evident.

“She’s my anchor,” he says, his voice tinged with pride. “I can have the worst day on the track, and she’ll find a way to make me laugh or remind me why I love racing. And the way she balances her own goals? It’s inspiring. I don’t know how she does it, but she makes me want to be better—on and off the track.”

Everyone was in love with him. But fortunately, he was only yours.

And you were the best team of the paddok.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The Future

Though your lives are hectic, you’re already dreaming of the future. Over mate on a quiet Sunday morning back in argentina, Franco muses, “un dia, cuando todo esté sentado, me encantaría quetengamos una casita acá cerca de mis papás y tus papás. Para estar tranquilos. Podriamos darle un hermanito a polito tambien. qué te parece?” [one day, when everything it’s already settled, I would love to have a house here close to our parents. You know, a place where we can relax and be ourself, what do you think?]

You look at him, your heart swelling and smiling widley. “Obvio que sí. Pero yo decoro, tu depto si no fuera por mi podria ser una sala de enfermeria” you tease. [of course I would love to. But I will take care of designing and decorating because if it wasn’t for me your apartment could be a nurse room]

“dale,” he says, grinning. [deal]

Your love is a testament to the beauty of finding someone who matches your energy, celebrates your victories, and holds your hand through the challenges. For Franco and you, life isn’t about the finish line—it’s about enjoying every chaotic, beautiful lap together.

Your love is bigger than love itself and stronger than the olympus and everyone could see it.

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hope you liked it guys! if you have any ideas just send them straight into my inbox! thanks for reading. Feedback is always very welcome!

mwak mwak mwak 💌 -cate

#my work!🧉#works by cate :)#franco colapinto x femreader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto #fc43 fic #fc43 x reader #fc43 x you #fc43 imagine #fc43 #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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yiiyiiwrites · 4 months ago

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🍁 | Autumn Equinox | Azriel

Summary: you’ve been mated to Azriel for over a year now, but it’s your first time celebrating the autumn equinox outside your home court. Azriel tries his best to make it a good one 2075words

Azriel x Autumn court reader

Also Have one for [Cassian] & [Eris] & Lucien coming soon

[Acotar masterlist]

The autumn equinox used to be your favourite celebration, now it just reminded you of everything you’d lost. A bitter sweet holiday you wasn't sure if you could do each year.

You may have gained your fated lover, your other half but you’d given up your home and family.

There wasn’t any other way, you knew that. The moment you’d stumbled upon the shadow singer in the golden forests of autumn was the final fraying thread snapping.

If you didn’t hurt Azriel by your own hands, Beron would make an example of you and use you in what ever way to break the bond. To snuff out any flickering ember that remained for your mate.

So you were as sly as a fox, crawling under the overgrown hedges of molten brown thorns keeping you in the court.

Your mother understood, she packed your things as sobs shook her whole body. Even now as you closed your eyes, you could smell the tendrils of her smokey caramelised scent and the undertones of cinnamon washing over you as if she were embracing you for the last time again.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. You opened your eyes, dark wisp falling away from caressing your cheek. For a moment you imagined the touch of your mother's hand warming your cheek.

Azriel sighed as you sunk into his embrace, his presence more frequent the days leading to the equinox. You’d refused to hold him the first few days after you caught the mark on the calendar, afraid your touch would burn him.

Velaris offered a similar bout of weather that reminded you of home. The nights growing longer, colder and you were thankful there was still a little scrap of heritage you could clutch onto.

Your magic however seemed to be like a fizzling firework in the night court. Touch running hot and cold, that you didn’t stand close to your mate for months as you got used to the warmer seasons.

The restraint you’d built since your arrival dulled your flames. You no longer needed to apologise for scorching holes in Azriel’s sleeve or slapping the fiery embers from the fabric a bit too harshly as you tried to it stop marring his skin.

In the beginning he’d gifted you a pair of leather gloves, but that increased the distance between you both. You wondered why the gods had strung you two together in the beginning, everything you were, summoned painful memories for Azriel. The simple action of holding his hand reminded you why, why you needed to cage the flame to offer him a semblance of the same affection he gave to you.

"I have something for you," he said, nose tracing your jaw and pulling you out of your thoughts.

The cold crept in as he slipped away, the winter breeze pushing the stray strands of hair out out of your face. You breathed in, another wave of smokey scents and sweet aromas tipped with oak prickling the warmth beneath your fingertips. Turning around to meet your mate, you took a step back.

In his gloved hands laid a whicker hamper, tartan blanket sticking out of the box. You gasped, adding another step back. No wonder you could smell their scents. "You saw my mother?" Your voice trembled, hands diving into your coat pocket, fists clenching as you tried to expel the overpowering scents that even mingled with his shadows.

He nodded, ever the cool and controlled mate, never raising his voice or moving too fast as if he'd spook a fox in Autumn. "Yes, it's customary to exchange gifts," Azriel said, pulling the blanket out of the hamper and rolling it out on the ground, he stilled. "Isn't it?" His hazel eyes snapped up to yours, shadows freezing under the curve of his wings.

You couldn't fight the smile, nodding down at him kneeling beside the hamper. He patted the space opposite him and that damned tether tugged you closer. "Yes Az, exchanging gifts are customary but I did not get my family any." You didn't see the point, there was no way you'd be able to step in Autumn without dire consequences.

"That's fine, I did." He shrugged, laying a pumpkin pie in front of you, steam curling off the brown pastry.

A tradition in your family to gift handmade presents to each other during the autumn equinox. Your mothers famous, pumpkin pie, honey tea and spiced apples.

"You got gifts for my family?" You asked, scooting closer to Azriel who didn't offer you a glance, his attention on the contents in the hamper. "What did you get my father?" You leant forwards dipping your head and tried catching his gaze. "My father hates you and you gave him gift?"

"I got him a hunting knife." He said it like it was the most logical thing, as if your father would not be thinking of gutting him with it. His shadows seemed to follow your line of thought, a dark wisp pushing you back to sit.

"Is that why you met with my mother instead?" You laughed, even though you wanted to cry at the thought of your mate stepping into autumn for a spec of your happiness and his own demise.

Azriel finally let his gaze fall on you, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. Always searching you before he decided what words to choose. "You're mother actually requested for me." His ears tinged a darker shade, hand scratching the back of his neck.

It was odd to think of your mother with him, you knew she'd be gentle and careful in her approach. Something you thought Azriel didn't receive much of in way of interaction. You also wondered what she thought of your mate, hoping she didn't worry and didn't judge alone from his stony features.

The grey cable knit sweater (the one you'd knit him last year) hugged his muscular arms, bicep flexing at his movement that you forget for a second what he said. A wave of your mother's scent hit you like a whip and brought you back.

"How the Gods does my mother manage to request your presence?"

"Well, she knows a lady in winter, that knows a lady in day and knows..." he trailed off the sentence, stumbling over his words trying to grasp the order of whatever your mother had told him. Trust your mother to use her network of gossips to send word to Velaris in order to find your mate.

"And how many ladies do you know?"

"Many," he smirked leaning in to you, "the only lady that matters is you though." His lips pressed against yours, warmth spreading through your chest as his hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer.

You smirked, storing away the memory so that you could show Feyre later and make your mate sweat about his duties to a high lady that didn't matter.

"Smooth, I bet my mother saw right through you." You said, tracing your swollen lips. You leant across Azriel's lap and plucked a ruby red apple from the hamper, teeth sinking into the shiny skin.

"Your mother probably thinks we're an equal match. How many guards did you court till you made it to me?" His lip twitched, fingers pinching your thigh for another swift attack. You swatted him way, squealing as his shadows skimmed the small slip of skin where your top had rode up over your hip.

It were true, you'd worked your way through nearly every division of the autumn army in the hopes of finding someone who wasn't just focused on following the high lords every word. What else were you supposed to do for five hundred years?

"I'd be quiet if I were you, recon I could get a rank higher than you back in autumn.” You swatted the curling wisps out of your face, sending them hissing back to their master.

"I doubt your mother would approve."

You didn’t argue with him on that, knowing that your mother was never fond of any suitor you’d brought home before.

“I take it these are from them?” You asked, lifting a small wooden box out of the hamper. A yellowing envelope stuck to the lid and sealed with red wax. You ripped the letter and scanned over your mother’s cursive writing.

The usual sentimental words she’d say to you around the table whilst you thanked the gods of harvest for giving you all good things and planting new seeds of regrowth and learning. At the very bottom below her signature however was a blurred splotchy mess, as if she’d written it last minute and folded the paper.

I hope this equinox brings you many blessings and offers you new fields to plant your own seeds. May you nurture the connection between you and your fated. My daughter you’ve been blessed, as have I now that I know you will be loved and safe.

Azriel peered over your shoulder, “I think she likes me,” he said, cutting a second piece of pumpkin pie and shoving it in his mouth.

“Just thank the stars you didn’t meet my father.” Now that you were banished from autumn, you doubted that you’d see him again. Too proud of his home to step out of tradition.

He hummed in agreement, pouring a cup of honey tea and setting it down in front of you. The view from the house of wind's balcony was your favourite, always bringing a smile to your face and reminding you that you could find beauty in any court. You did miss Autumn, but Velaris had grown on you, the constant stars blinking in the inky sky each night.

A small fire flickered in a homemade pit, copper bowl keeping it contained. Peeling the overlapping cloth, you traced the knitted mittens. Charcoal grey yarn that looked like liquid mercury woven together with softer orange, the two colours a symbol of your union with Azriel. Picking them up from the box, you slipped them into your pocket, freezing as something dropped out of one the mittens. A dark wisp dove out from its owner and caught the small object.

The shadows held it up and twisted it in front you, a fox figurine carved from wood and painted orange and beige. Tiny brushstrokes imitating fur, looking oddly like the fox you had as a child. A gift from your younger sister, you'd left your other figurines back in Autumn and hated yourself for it ever since. Least you had one now.

Azriel was silent as ever, watching you intently.

"My mother didn't give you anything? I mean I know I am gift enough Az," you said, laughing as he bumped his shoulder to yours.

His head dipped, Shadows concealing his face. "She did, wouldn't let me leave till I finished a pumpkin pie she made. Your sister made me a little fox of my own." Thats when you noticed the tiny wood carved fox pendent on a thin string around his neck, dark ink peeking out underneath it.

"Oh god's Az, don't let your enemies hear you say that. If that's all it takes." And by the looks of it, he'd enjoyed it so much, he was half way through the pumpkin pie from the hamper.

Cool metal met your fingertips as you lifted the cloth again, your reflection staring back at you in the silver blade. "I take it this gift is for both of us," you joked, Azriel picked it up and turned the hilt in his hand. A red stone embedded in the pommel, a scripture you couldn't quite make out on the hilt.

"Hunting knife, a few centuries old," he said glancing at your furrowed brows. "Look the hilts worn, the leather binding it, is coming away. Blade needs sharpening too, must have been in your family for a long time." He passed the knife back, blade pinched between his thumb and pointer finger.

You wrapped it back in the cloth, sandwiching it between the thick layers. "No idea why he'd give me that old thing," you mumbled, slamming the box shut. You were never one to use a knife, more inclined to using your magic and merging it with autumn's fighting techniques.

"No idea, just don't gut me with it in my sleep."

"Never," you gasped. "Just remember good behaviour or its a blunt blade my dear."

Since its nearly autumn equinox I wanted to do some prompts for it :) there's other characters to come - Yiiyii

#acotar azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel #azriel fic #azriel fluff #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #autumncourt!reader

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it-was-summer · 5 months ago

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Video Killed the Radio Star- Tape #2 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: THIS CHAPTER FOCUSES MAINLY ON THE FIRST ENCOUNTERS WITH YOUR KIDNAPPER. I didn't put any warning before the scene starts, but the entire chapter is essentially that. So please keep that in mind. I changed a lot of this from the original version. I have grown okay? I saw inconsistency in my writing and I am trying to fix it. Thank you so much for everyone's kudos, notes, comments, reblogs, bookmarks, EVERYTHING! Please let me know what you think and enjoy.

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Previous Chapter: Tape #1 > Next Chapter: Tape #3

WARNING: Kidnapping, morphine use, abuse, talks of death, and more. Remember you are not alone if you struggle with this content.

Tape Contents: The team starts to comb through your apartment. Meanwhile, you spend your time in a less fiery version of hell.

Word Count: 3,721

March 2, 20XX

After recording the video, you were damn near catatonic. Your eyes were having a hard time pulling away from the corner of your living room, staring at the fading white paint as it met the trim. You tried to turn on the television for some sort of distraction, but every time you heard a sound a little too close for comfort, you would pause the screen and comb through your apartment like a mad woman. You had locked the windows, the door, hell, you even considered shoving a chair under the knob of the front door.

You didn’t, though. Sitting in a silently lit room with your legs to your chest. You were trying to remember to breathe in the correct order: in, then out, out, then in. Every so often, your breathing would hitch, and you would start over again. You tried to find something to keep you grounded in the moment, a texture to rub your hands over, but the dread kept building.

It kept building until it was two in the morning, and you couldn’t handle it anymore.

You were turning off lights slowly, fingers lingering on the switches before you turned them off, dashing into your apartment’s bedroom and shutting the door behind you. Your body was moving as if it thought the darkness was going to kidnap you. Maybe it would, maybe that fate would be better than what the depths of your mind were producing as you found a light to plug into the wall. The old wall plug-in emitted just enough light in the room that you let yourself relax in the dark of your bedroom.

When you called your mother earlier, she reassured you that the police were there for you, patrolling the neighborhood every weekend. You tried to tell her that their cars were dwindling, and now it seemed like only one was bothering to make the rounds, but she didn’t listen. One was enough for her, so why couldn’t it be enough for you?

It was wrong to be angry with her, wrong to be angry with the police, wrong to be angry with yourself. The worst part was being angry with Adeline, the way she was trying so hard to be supportive despite her daughter dying of cancer. The guilt felt like a prod: scorching, agonizing, pushing its way into your chest, where it made its home near your heart. You didn’t want to be angry, not with her, not with anyone, but the feeling of isolation had you crying tears of frustration in your bed.

Maybe they were all right, maybe you were just being crazy. You would go into work tomorrow exhausted and weary, but alive. Everything would be fine. You told yourself this mantra over and over again as your tears slowed, your eyelids became heavy, and your breathing got deeper. Everything would be fine.

Dawn crept into your bedroom window. The sun had yet to rise, its glow just dim on the horizon. You couldn’t have been asleep for longer than two hours or so when you heard soft breathing. Your eyes were heavy and slow to open as you listened to the sound.

Liquid bubbling with a soft ‘ glug’ sound had you stirring a little, eyes fighting you as you tried to open them and focus on the sound. As your body stirred, a hard hand grabbed your mouth, pressing down on your lips as your eyes snapped awake. The last thing you remembered was a gloved hand shoving a handkerchief to your face and the smell of ether before your world went dark.

March 5, 20XX

Garcia was smiling. It didn’t take long for the field techs to bring back your computer adorned with pink and green sticky notes with passwords, notes, and to-do lists. She always liked a woman who had a plan and stuck to it. “This girl just made my job easier,” she chuckled softly as she logged into your computer with ease. “Not that it was ever hard, but it was sweet of her to help me out.”

The whole thing seemed clear of any suspicious emails, apps, or spying devices. She frowned as she moved to your phone logs that she received earlier that day; the most recent call was from an unknown number. The voicemail that followed sent chills down her spine, the sound of sobs before the line went dead. She shared with the team her favorite member, actually, Derek, who was listening to her intensely over the phone while the rest of the team combed through your apartment.

To say they felt a little shocked was an understatement. You were more prepared than you had let on. Each ‘gift’ was labeled and in baggies in the drawers of your desk. Emily was the first to see a folder in a nook of the desk; as she opened it, she was greeted with a picture of… herself. She let out a huff of a laugh as she started to pull out photos. Spencer, David, Derek, JJ, and Aaron. “She’s got everyone but Penelope.” She said, waving Spencer and Aaron over with a slight flick of her wrist.

Spencer tilted his head at the blurry photo of himself on the desk, an amused look in his eyes as he read out loud, “‘Give this man a pair of glasses, now!’” He looked over at Hotch and spoke in a curious tone, “Do I really have the kind of face that tells everyone I need glasses?”

Aaron looked up from his photo and gave Spencer a slight grin. "Do you want me to lie?” he asked, much to Spencer’s dismay.

Emily spoke up, “At least yours says that she’s asking for my number on mine.” She turned the photo of herself over to them and pointed at the writing. She pointed to Hotch’s photo and grinned, “‘Give us a smile, baby’ is kind of funny, come on.”

Hotch's frown deepened as he looked at the writing, “She was trying to have a sense of humor,”

“A sense of humor in stressful situations could indicate that she approaches them in a light-hearted way, she’s optimistic. The type to never give up.” Reid spoke softly beside her.

“It could also mean that she’s the kind of person who draws people in with her personality,” Prentiss suggested softly against Reid’s anecdote, “She’s easy to love.”

She let her words sink into the air around them like a cloud, watching the gears turn in the minds of the two men near her. Her gears also started up as she set the picture back on the desk, leaning against the wood gently when her eye caught a glimpse of color on the floor.

She maneuvered away from the desk and towards your nightstand, crouching down to the floor as she picked up a small beaded keychain off the floor. She smiled softly as she turned a beaded keychain over in her gloved hands, reading the words aloud, “‘or die.’”

“What, like ride or die?” Hotch called over the question from the desk in the corner of your room.

“The term ride or die was originally used as slang among bikers, but in recent years, it has been used in hip-hop culture and music,” Spencer said as he stared at the colorful beaded keychain in Emily’s hand.

“Since when did you start listening to hip-hop music?” She asked with a laugh.

Spencer smiled a little and shook his head, “I don’t,”

“Then where did you hear the phrase ‘ride or die’?”

“Derek has a ride or die,”

“Who?” Hotch’s voice joined in curiously as his eyes flicked over towards the bedroom doorway, where Derek was standing, still on the phone with Garcia.

Nonetheless, he was still listening in on their conversation as he pulled his head away from the phone a little and looked over his shoulder. “Garcia, obviously.” He said simply before bringing the phone back up to his ear. “Nothing, baby girl. We were just talking about you.”

March 3, 2024

You assumed it was the next day, or at least the day you wanted it to be. Not that you wished for this day, but it being the next day meant you were still alive. Your eyes were slow to open as your fingers twitched, grazing against something suspiciously softer than your duvet. The question was alive where?

Your eyes were catching glimpses of light, pink light. As you let your eyes focus a little more, you realize the whole room was pink, or the lighting made it seem that way.

Your body felt… hot, like heat was spreading through your veins, making your head dizzy. You felt good. Then, it plateaued.

Your body, sluggish as it was, moved slowly. You were trying to sit up but found your upper body strength failing to cooperate. Your elbows failed to provide much support, and you fell back on the soft duvet with a soft ‘oof.’

Eventually, you managed to scoot your body back till your head hit a headboard… that, from this angle, you could see it was in the shape of a vibrant pink heart. Soon, your back was resting against the headboard. You went to move your leg to help achieve a more comfortable position when a sudden sharp pain cut through the heat in your veins.

Your eyes traveled down your leg, grateful to see pajama pants covering your skin until you reached your bare foot. Your ankle was a horrible black and blue color. The bones looked swollen and deformed against the skin. You felt sick.

Your body was moving fast to lean off the side of the bed as you felt your chest squeeze, your mouth opening to vomit off the side of the bed. As your broken ankle lay with you on the bed, your head hung slightly off the edge. You turned your head to see an IV stand next to the bed. When you followed the drip tube, you felt sick once more, seeing how it was professionally attached to the back of your hand.

A whimper could be heard in the empty pink room as you wiped your lips clean with your non-IV hand and again sat up against the headboard. And you waited. Time seemed to be still in this place, moving at a sluggish pace that made your body twitch and buzz with anxiety.

There was no sunlight, just a hue of pink. A pink dresser, heart decor on the walls, plush heart-shaped pillows by your sides, and chains around your good ankle linked you to the heart-shaped bed, along with some other decor you didn’t care to look at for too long. It looked like a room straight out of a fever dream. You were still trying to determine if it was just that, a fever dream.

You swallowed thick spit roughly as your eyes stayed glued to the heavily locked door. You kept counting the locks, four. Your head tilted to the side as you tried to imagine your kidnapper coming in, how many clicks you would hear, the turning of locks, or the jingle of how many keys. How many keys would it take for you to get out of here?

Unfortunately, you would know the answer soon as the sound of keys jingling hit your ears. One. You didn’t know if you should start screaming. Would they be angry with you if you started to scream?

Two. Your breathing was getting faster, coming in short, shaky bursts. Your eyes looked down at your chained ankle and then toward your broken one. Would you even be able to move? The morphine was making it hard anyway. What would it be like to walk or run with the full pain of a broken ankle coursing through you? How would you even get unchained from the bed?

Three. You were trying to remember everything you had read about true crime, but none of it seemed helpful now. Did you beg for your life? Should you tell them about your family? Would they care about any of it? Were they going to kill you or scar you in ways you could never imagine? You knew that there were fates worse than death. At least dying carried some dignity.

Four. You tried to steady your breathing and convince yourself that you still stood a chance of getting out of here alive. You scooted your body against the headboard as much as possible, trying to get the greatest amount of distance from the door you could, given the circumstances.

The door was creaking open with a gentle turn of the knob. A flash of white light filled the room before it was ripped away from your line of sight, and the door was shut again. The person –a woman– was holding a small tray in her hands. You were blinking rapidly as you stared at the tray, a pain in your stomach making you realize how hungry you were.

Slowly, your eyes tore away from the tray and up to her face—a very familiar face, but one you could quite place. Pretty blonde hair, curls framing her face, her full lips drawn into a pleased smile. When your eyes met her pale blue ones, you could see nothing but… empathy. No, it wasn’t that. It seemed to be adoration. She was wearing a pair of scrubs, fun scrubs, little rainbows, and animals sprawling across the material as she walked over to you.

Maybe she was an accomplice, a wife, a girlfriend, or a sister who got caught up in this. The thought made the muscles straining in your back relax a little as she set the tray down on a nearby side table. Your eyes never left her as she moved gracefully through the room.

“Oh, sweetie,” Her voice was saccharine, “Did the morphine make you sick?” She asked with a light tilt of her head, turning on her heel toward the dresser to pull out a small towel. “That’s okay, it's a common side effect.”

You gave a numb nod as you watched her get down to the floor and clean up the vomit without complaint. “I didn’t mean to,” Your voice was hoarse and weak, sounding slightly childish as you spoke out the weak excuse.

She stood up, walked the towel to the hamper, and tossed the pink rag in with a little laugh: “No one ever means to, baby.” She sounded familiar, too. Your eyes traced over her fit frame, which you could barely make out from under her scrubs. “Let’s get you eating,” She said as she let out a soft hum of relaxation, sitting in a nearby plush chair.

As she buttered some bread, you eyed the rest of the food on the tray: soup in a plastic bowl, water in a plastic bottle, and a plastic cup for the butter. The silverware was the only thing on the tray that didn’t seem to be plastic.

You glanced away from the food and back to the familiar woman. “If someone is making you do this, a boyfriend or husband or something, you don’t have to do this. Yo-You and I, we could plan a way to fight back,” you offered, your voice soft and quick. Hope was creeping into you as she listened to you speak, the butterknife scraping gently against the bread in her hands.

“Well, for starters,” she set down the butterknife and bread, crossing her legs over each other. “My husband doesn’t know a thing about you. As for brothers or boyfriends, I’m afraid you're out of luck there, too. There’s only me, Catherine.”

You felt the hope draining out of you, and she must’ve seen it in how your shoulders tensed and breathing quickened, “Oh, I knew you were going to have a hard time remembering me, but I didn’t think it would be that hard.” Then it all clicked.

She grew up well, Heather did. Back in college, she was shy and slightly intense, a shell compared to the woman sitting beside you. She started as a botany major and then suddenly changed universities, her major, and you never saw her again. You could dimly remember seeing her in the dining hall that first month of college, and you were overzealous. Sometimes, to make friends, if you saw someone lost and looking for a table, you’d offer them an empty seat at your table. Heather was one of those cases. Your act of optimistic kindness seemed to haunt you as you stared at her.

“Heather Alexander,”

She beamed and clapped her hands together excitedly, “You remembered! I knew you would. I’d expect nothing less from you, my Catherine.” She sighed happily, reaching over for the spoon and bowl of soup.

“My name isn’t Catherine, you know that.” Your voice had a certain sternness now, hardening as you remembered inviting this monster into your life all those years ago.

Heather scoffed a little and rolled her eyes, “Duh,” she said as she spooned some of the tomato soup and held it up to your lips, “Open.”

As you stared at the spoon, you didn’t feel hungry anymore, but your lips moved against your will. You needed your strength. Your lips closed around the spoon gently as she fed you the soup. The steps repeated themselves slowly, your eyes staring her down.

“I didn’t mean to get so physical with our little game, but I just,” She laughed a sweet sound, the dull pain thumping against your ankle as you heard the sound. “I couldn’t help myself, I guess. I hate playing cat and mouse. I was a little impatient.” She set down the empty bowl and spoon with a smile. “Come on, don’t be angry with me.”

“You can still let me go. It’s only my ankle. You can take care of me at the hospital. That’s where you work, right? We can tell everyone that you found me in an alleyway or something. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Catherine, do you think I’m stupid?” she asked with a frown, venom in her voice, as she reached for the bottled water. “I know that the second the police get you in a room alone, without me, you’ll tell them everything.”

“My name isn’t Catherine,”

“I mean, come on! I work in pediatrics, for Christ's sake! Do you think trauma will let me stay to take care of you? Use your head, Catherine! No, they won’t.”

“My name is not Catherine,”

Her eyes quickly met yours, the softness they once had now gone as she swallowed hard, “That must be it, then. You think that I’m that fucking stupid, hm? You think I went to fucking, nursing school just for some librarian to call me stupid?”

“I didn’t say that, Heather. I’m just saying there’s a way out of this before it gets worse. The worst that can happen is-”

“The worst that can happen, Catherine, is I lose my license. I get arrested. I never see you again. My shit husband could,” She cut herself off and let out a frustrated sound, throwing the bottle of water at you, the bottle hitting your side harshly.

“Name’s not Catherine,” You replied once more as your hands grabbed at the water, tucking it behind your back, trying to hide it from Heather as her face buried in her hands.

“Shut the fuck up about the name thing! You don’t fucking get it do you?” She screamed into her hands before she pulled her head away from them and stood up from her chair. She grabbed the plastic bowl and threw the dirty dish at your head.

You almost felt like deliriously laughing as the plastic hit your head with a soft ‘thud,’ but you didn’t. Your face managed to stay straight as you looked up at her. “You’re who I say you are. You got my gifts, the novels. You’re my Catherine, my Emma, my Jane. Get that through your,” she picked up the butterknife and threw it toward your chest. “Stupid,” Then the tray was lifted in her hands, and your body braced for the impact, but it never came.

You squeezed your eyes together as you waited for the tray to hit you. Slowly, you opened one eye to look up at her, staring down at you with the tray still above her head. Her hands slowly dropped down as she held onto the tray. A slow smile came back to her face now: “Catherine, you know I love you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it, Heather.”

Her smile twitched a little at that, and she scoffed softly before walking closer to you. Her hands were quick to grab the butterknife in your lap. She jammed the silverware into your sternum, a gasp leaving you as she did so.

“You’ve got a big mouth on you, Emma.” Her face was inches from yours as she jammed the handle of the butterknife deeper into your chest, your own hands reaching up to try and pull her off.

She was breathing heavily, your breath hitching as fear flooded your senses as she leaned in closer toward your face. The look in her eyes told you everything you needed to know. If it's up to her, which it currently was, you weren’t getting out. Her lips were close to your quivering ones as her force lightened softly, “Think about this next time you decide to talk back, Emma.” Her lips brushed yours slightly as she spoke, you nodded quickly.

Then she pulled away and gathered her utensils before she gave you another sweet smile, “See you tomorrow, my love.” She said in an airy tone as she reached over to the morphine drip and upped the intake with a quick flick of her wrist. The sound of keys jingling against each other filled your ears as she did so. The door opened quickly, and she walked out of the room, locks clicking swiftly.

And just like that, you were alone again. You felt your bottom lip shake softly before tears started to fall from your eyes, your hands reaching behind your back as you cried. When your hands found the water bottle, you drank it slowly, tears falling down your face, and a dull and sharp pain in your chest slowly fading.

TAG LIST: @babyspiderling @cocobean16 @kodzukenie333

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white-wolf-buckaroo · 1 month ago

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I’ll still fight every day. For them.

A dad!Vander fic (with my og character, Luna, Vander's fifth adopted child)

Set around Act 1.1.

Masterlist: there you go

Disclaimer: english ain't my first language folks

Vander's dreams were a fragmented chaos of faces, laughter, and screams.

He saw Vi’s fiery determination while he taught her to fight, Powder’s infectious giggle as she sat on a barstool in front of him sipping on a cup of juice, Mylo’s smirk as he showed him his most recent prize from a trip to Piltover, Claggor’s steady gaze on him as he taught him how to repair an engine, and Luna’s sleepy smile as she told him goodnight after tucking her in.

But then the visions darkened. Their faces twisted with fear, shadows consumed them, and he could do nothing but watch as the world he built for them crumbled.

He woke drenched in sweat, his chest heaving. The room around him was dim, lit only by the eerie, flickering glow of violet vials lined on shelves. The faint hum of machinery buzzed in the background, making his head throb. His body felt heavy, his limbs unfamiliar, as if something unnatural coursed through them.

Panic set in when the memories started piecing themselves together. The bridge. Silco. The fight. The fire. His body hitting the ground.

I should be dead.

He tried to sit up but groaned in pain, the movement sending shocks through his nerves. Restraints dug into his wrists. He looked down and saw faint, glowing veins snaking up his forearms.

“What is this?” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

Wait.

Where were his girls? Were they safe? Vi, Powder, Luna. After what had happened to Mylo and Claggor… His heart ached with familiar yet still fierce pain.

He had to get out of there and get to his girls.

The door creaked open. A man entered, his silhouette framed against the harsh light of the corridor behind him. The doctor approached, clipboard in hand, his one visible eye gleaming with calculated curiosity.

“You’re awake,” Vander recognized him. It was Singed, his tone clinical, devoid of empathy.

“What…” Vander’s voice cracked. “What have you done to me?”

Singed tilted his head, observing him like a specimen under a microscope. “You were dying. No—dead. But I salvaged you. You’re… a unique case.”

Vander yanked against the restraints, fury and desperation surging through him. “Salvaged? What for? Where are my kids? What happened to them?” His voice rose with each word, the weight of his body no longer the only thing crushing him.

Singed didn’t flinch. “You were exposed to a significant dose of Shimmer during your final moments. Your body responded… unusually well. I’ve continued the process. For science, of course.”

“For science?” Vander growled. His voice was raw, a mix of anger and fear. “I’m not some experiment, and I sure as hell didn’t ask for this. Tell me where my kids are!”

Singed’s expression didn’t change, but there was a pause, a hesitation, as if weighing how much to reveal. “Your children… I do not know their current whereabouts. The boy with the goggles and the thin one—they didn’t survive.”

Mylo. Claggor. He’d seen it in his dreams, but hearing it confirmed sent a bolt of grief and guilt through him. He had failed them. He had failed all of them.

“I cannot say about the others,” added Singed. “I am not privy to their fates. My concerns lie here, with you.”

Vander snarled, yanking at the restraints again, adrenaline overriding the pain. “I don’t care about your damn concerns! You stole me away, turned me into… into this! And for what? Some twisted experiment?”

Singed stepped closer, unbothered by Vander’s outburst. “You are valuable. An anomaly. I am seeking answers—ones that could change the very fabric of life and death. If successful, the knowledge gained here could bring back those you’ve lost… perhaps even your children.”

Vander glared at him, the weight of those words sinking in, fuelling his anger.

“And if you fail?” he asked bitterly.

Singed’s gaze was steady, almost cold. “Then you are merely another step closer to understanding.”

The weight of despair was unbearable. Vander slumped back against the bed, his body trembling from exhaustion and the war raging in his mind. He didn’t know what hurt more: the knowledge that he was alive while his boys were gone or the uncertainty of whether the girls he’d sworn to protect were safe.

“I’ll find them,” he murmured, more to himself than to Singed. “I’ll get out of here… And I’ll find my girls.”

Singed raised a brow, his expression unreadable. “You will not. I saved you from death to serve a greater purpose. Your path and theirs have diverted, and will not cross anymore.”

The words were a dagger in Vander’s chest, but he refused to let the despair consume him. He gritted his teeth, glaring at the doctor with every ounce of defiance he could muster.

“What purpose can be greater than the one of a man trying to get back to his daughters?” he growled.

“The one of a father trying to safe his daughter from death.” Singed answered, coldly.

He moved then quick, injecting something in Vander’s arm that put him to sleep after a few seconds of blurry visions and distant echoes of the sounds around him.

The fevered haze of Shimmer and whatever Singed had put in his veins brought dreams that felt too vivid to be mere imagination. Vander saw Vi first, standing tall and proud in the Last Drop, her fists clenched and a determined fire in her eyes. “You’re supposed to protect us!” she yelled, her voice cracking. Behind her, the shadows of Mylo and Claggor faded into smoke, their faces etched with betrayal.

Then came Powder, her blue hair streaked with soot, tears running down her cheeks as she clutched a shattered monkey toy. “You left us,” she whimpered. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

The dreams shifted to Luna. She was sitting alone in the basement, looking tiny than ever, hugging her knees as the rain poured outside. Her small voice broke through the sound of the storm: “I waited for you,” she said, in a small voice, tears streaming from her eyes, scared from the thunder outside he couldn’t protect her from anymore. “Why didn’t you come back?”

Each dream ended the same way: Vander reaching for them, only for their faces to dissolve into the blackness, leaving him screaming into the void.

He woke up screaming, alone in the same room.

It went on like that forever. At least it felt as if. Vander didn’t regain full consciousness until after a few more rounds of nightmares and memories combined that ended with him in tears wanting, no, needing to reach out to his children but being unable to do so.

Singed was working on a table close by when Vander spoke up:

“You said you’re doing this for your daughter,” he began, his voice rough, weak.

Singed didn’t turn around, but he answered. “And if I am?”

Vander’s eyes were fixed on him as he kept on talking, breathing heavily. “Why me? What makes me worth the trouble?”

Singed paused his movements, as if debating how much to reveal. “Your body showed resilience to Shimmer that I’ve never seen before. You are… an anomaly. If I can replicate what you are, I might be able to achieve something far greater. To bring her back.”

Vander narrowed his eyes. “Your daughter… she’s gone?”

“Yes,” Singed said bluntly. “But not forever. I will find a way.”

“And you think turning me into some monster is the answer?” Vander snapped. “She wouldn’t want this—none of them would!”

Singed tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “You assume to know what a daughter would want, what lengths she would forgive. But tell me this: what wouldn’t you do to see your daughters again?”

Vander froze. The question hit too close to home, stirring the buried storm of guilt and desperation in his chest. He closed his eyes, seeing Vi, Powder, and Luna’s faces in his mind, their smiles, hearing their laughs resonating inside his head. The only thing keeping his sanity intact, for now.

“I’d do anything,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But not like this.”

Singed regarded him with something almost akin to pity. “Then you lack the resolve necessary to truly save them.”

Vander’s eyes snapped open, blazing with fury. “No. I have the resolve to fight for them. To protect them. That’s what a father does. And you? You’re just a coward hiding behind your experiments.”

For the first time, Singed’s mask slipped, the words striking a nerve. But he said nothing, merely turning to leave the room.

When Singed began experimenting more on Vander, the dreams became more vivid, but also more horrid.

He was back in the Last Drop, the bar lively but not chaotic, warm light spilling across the wooden floors. Vi sat on the counter, swinging her legs as she polished one of the mugs with a towel too large for her hands.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Vander teased, leaning against the counter.

Vi stuck her tongue out at him. “Maybe you’re just too picky.”

Powder was on the floor nearby, constructing something out of scraps and gears she’d scavenged from the streets. “It’s gonna be a bird,” she said proudly, holding up a half-finished contraption. “It’ll flap its wings when it’s done!”

“Looks great, kiddo,” Vander said with a chuckle, ruffling her hair as he passed.

Luna was at the far end of the bar, perched on a stool much too big for her, her feet dangling as she coloured on a piece of parchment. She looked up at him with a bright smile. “I made this for you, Daddy!” she exclaimed, holding up a crude but heartfelt drawing of their family—him, Vi, Powder, Claggor, Mylo, and herself.

Vander’s chest swelled with pride and love as he knelt beside her to take the drawing. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He kissed her cheek and she giggled when his beard scratched her soft skin. “Best thing I’ve ever seen.”

But the scene shifted then. He was still in the same place, but he found himself in a broken version of the Last Drop, its walls crumbling and its windows shattered. The bar was filled with shadows that whispered accusations, their words cutting deeper than any blade.

“You failed them,” one shadow hissed.

“Why did you get to live?” another demanded, its voice sharp and venomous.

The shadows formed into figures—Mylo and Claggor, standing together with their backs turned to him. “We trusted you,” Mylo said, his voice cracking. “And you failed.”

Claggor didn’t speak. He simply turned to face Vander, his expression empty but his eyes filled with betrayal.

Then, as if the dream couldn’t get worse, the scene shifted again. The girls were standing in a row: Vi with bloodied knuckles, Powder clutching a ticking bomb, and Luna holding a stuffed animal that dripped with crimson. Their faces were pale, their eyes hollow.

“Why couldn’t you save us?” they said in unison, their voices echoing like a dreadful chorus.

When Vander woke from these dreams, the reality of his imprisonment felt almost like a relief. Almost.

One day, after a particularly grueling session, Vander slumped in the corner of his cell, his breath ragged. Singed entered, carrying a tray of vials and syringes.

“Your resistance is remarkable,” Singed said, almost admiringly.

“I don’t care about your experiments,” Vander growled, his voice hoarse.

Singed ignored him, setting down the tray and examining Vander with calculating eyes. “The dreams—tell me about them.”

Vander’s eyes snapped to the doctor. “What do you know about my dreams?”

“The Shimmer has… side effects,” Singed admitted, his tone clinical. “It digs into the mind, pulls out memories, fears, desires. I’ve observed similar reactions in others. But your dreams—they’re different, aren’t they? More… vivid?”

Vander didn’t answer. He didn’t trust Singed enough to share the torment in his mind, the faces of his children haunting him every time he closed his eyes.

“You see them, don’t you?” Singed pressed. “Your children?”

Vander’s fists clenched. “Don’t you dare talk about them.”

Singed tilted his head, studying him like one of his experiments. “The mind is a powerful thing. It can motivate or destroy. You’d do well to remember that.”

Vander glared at him, his jaw tight. “You think this will break me?”

“I don’t need to break you,” Singed replied, his voice unnervingly calm. “I need to understand you. And in doing so, I will save her.”

The mention of Singed’s daughter brought a flicker of pity to Vander’s rage, but it didn’t soften his resolve.

“You’re wrong,” Vander said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “You can’t save anyone like this. And you won’t stop me from saving mine. You do all of this to save your daughter, but know that I will not stop fighting to get away from you to get back to my daughters as well.”

Singed paused, the faintest shadow of something—recognition, perhaps?—flickering across his face. He nodded slowly. “Very well. I know what a man is capable of doing for his child. There is… Nothing, so undoing, as a daughter.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as cold as the room itself. “But know this: it will not bring you anything.”

Vander’s jaw tightened. He sat up as much as the restraints allowed, his voice steady and resolute. “I’ll still fight every day. For them.”

“When I’m done with you,” said Singed, his voice cold as ever, clinical, void of any human emotion. “You won’t even remember them.”

Taglist: @keira7664 @starryhiraeth

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kykyonthemoon · 6 months ago

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Oasis Tale

After the events in Sea of Golden Sands, Rafayel rewrites his story on a secluded oasis.

ಇ. Rafayel x MC (Female Reader) - written in his pov.

ಇ. Tags: oneshot, fluff with light angst, secret wedding, inspired by Arabian/Middle East wedding cultures, Rafayel's pov, mentioned of his myths (Sea of Golden Sand), Talia.

ಇ. Word count: ~1k2

ಇ. Requested by Na Sa

ಇ. Masterlist ♡ Request a fic

The entrance of the great tent opened, allowing a gentle breeze from the lake in the distance within. I sat on the edge of the bed strewn with red flower petals, gazing at Talia, who had just arrived.

“What is it that you want to tell me?” I inquired after considering that Talia's eyes seemed to convey countless unspoken thoughts.

“What else can I say? You have already made your decision.”

Talia responded with a sigh. I beckoned her over and said, “Then come and give me your blessing.”

Talia was my sole remaining family in the world. If it were not for her, I certainly would not be here, at this moment. I bowed my head, receiving Talia's blessing as the representative of my ancestors. She departed soon after, with a reminder:

"One night. You two only have one night.”

I nodded slightly. One night was enough.

Once Talia's footprints were covered by the wind and sand, I stepped out of the tent. The sunset covered the cool water in the middle of the oasis, a magnificent crimson as I stepped down. I waited. I waited for the moment when the bell-like sound of the jewelry adorning that one young maiden rang out. Then I turned around.

She stood in all of the colors that I appreciated of this world. A fiery dress with gold and pearl jewelry - those had belonged to her for a long time, then given to her once more on this special day. Her bare feet glided across the verdancy of the oasis. Her face was obscured by a thin layer of cloth the same color as her dress, which fluttered in the breeze with every step she took.

She stopped at the edge of the lake, seemingly wondering about something. I reached out a hand and she took it. The water hugged her legs, rising gradually to her exposed waist. Her body was painted with traditional Lemurian insignia, precisely like mine. They were an indication that she was my bride.

I had been waiting for this moment for a long time. Since the ocean had not yet dried.

My trembling hands, with all clumsiness, grasped her veil and removed it. Her rosy cheeks emerged. These eyes penetrated my soul. Akin to when we had first exchanged our vows.

She did not recall. How wrenching it was! Only I, doomed to live without a heart, must remember all. She once kissed me; she once pierced through my heart. I wanted her to remember, yet hoped she would forever not. Love was a misfortune to any Lemurian foolish enough. And I was such Lemurian, the one who gave his heart to her.

Countless lives had passed, I had lived without a true heart. I had waited until the day I saw her again. I had waited until the day she called my name once more.

“Rafayel.”

From the moment her lips uttered my name, I deliberately bound myself to her for eternity.

I smiled at her, addressing her in Lemurian. “My bride.”

The wheel of fate spun again, and the threads of our destiny were intertwined once more. I saw her again. She found me. I could not stop the torrent in my heart when I stood in front of her; was it hatred or was it love? I only knew one thing, that my heart was throbbing in her chest. She was my heart, my life.

Yet, I was no longer the God of the Sea, and she was no longer a Princess. Even when she reincarnated, even when I erased her memories of us in this life, she still found me.

Then, we were in the midst of an oasis, bathing in pristine water and reciting our vows. This sacred ceremony involved only the two of us. Sparkling drops fell through her fingers, down on my hair. Then it was my turn to catch the water and soak her hair. She trembled slightly.

“Rafayel,” every time she called my name, my hollow chest seemed to retrieve its rhythm. “Why are you crying?”

Only then did I realize the pearls were falling from the corners of my eyes. Her delicate hands reached out to catch them. She let them float in the water and then caressed my cheek.

"Have I forgotten something, about you, about us?"

I grabbed her wrist, buried my face in her palm, and pulled her a little closer. Her body carried a distinct flowery aroma that I always recalled.

"Nothing. You did not forget anything significant." I responded. I did not wish her to remember the tragedies of the life we had gone through. Yet, in the end, those memories were gradually finding their way back to her.

She spoke again:

“Perhaps I have not recalled all the things we went through together yet. But what I know is that you are in front of me at this moment.”

I gazed at her for a while. Her scent, her breath, her every touch were so real. She was real. Her hand on my face shifted gently. She grasped my hand and placed it on her chest.

“If I ever forget you again, even just seeing you, I shall give my heart to you once more. I know I will always do the same thing.”

Her heart was beating consistently, full of vitality and unending fire. It once belonged to me, now it was hers, forever. I knew the Lemurians out there were awaiting me to seize that heart out of her body. I knew I must sacrifice the person I loved the most in exchange for the restoration of a golden Lemuria. Yet I knew that I would not accept such a fate. Being here with her was proof that we were already writing a different story, forging a different path.

I was not certain how long she and I could go on this path. But I must try. I lifted her hand and placed a kiss on it. I whispered to her:

"Do not say that. Do not claim you will surrender your heart to me anymore. I merely wish it to stay with you.”

The sound of her laughter reverberated in my ears. She responded:

“You once said, Lemurians must rewrite their own stories, with their own hands. I believe in you.”

She lifted my hands and clasped them together.

“This time, let me rewrite it with you.”

Her hands entwined with mine. She moved forward and sealed her eyes. Her lips parted. The sun had completely set and the lanterns floating on the lake lit up by my power. The two of us were basking in a pond of stars.

The tip of my nose met hers. In my mind, a storm was brewing; the burden of lost Lemuria on my shoulders, the happiness of a lifetime that she was willing to offer me. Yet I feared no longer. For as my lips found her kiss, I knew our tale had been rewritten, beginning with that night.

-The end-

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aemondsbabe · 7 months ago

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From Ashes, Fire | Claimant Pt 3

summary: dragons take what they want, you and your brother are no different. but what will be left to burn in the name of happiness?

pairing: dark!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, angst, angst but happy ending, very cersei/jaime coded moment that's all i'll say, major character death, noncanonical death, very brief descriptions of injury, blood, i promise it's nothing graphic, reader turns to the dark side lol, piv sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), minor breeding kink, possessive aemond, possessive reader, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 8.3k oops

a/n: this is it, the grand finale! i had so much fun with this series and i hope y'all enjoy the last bit!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 and part 2 here!

❤️my masterlist

🦋find me on ao3!

🌟add yourself to my taglist!

"Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."

“Jaehaera, please,” Helaena’s voice is gentle and melodic even as she scolds her daughter, pointing at one of the straw-stuffed dolls in her tiny hands, “You must share with your brother; how about you let him play with the knight, hm?”

One of Maelor’s little fists wraps tightly around your pointer finger as you chuckle at the displeased frown on the toddler’s face when she shoves the doll in Jaehaerys’s direction, though her lips quickly lift into a smile at her mother’s praise.

“Good, that’s very sweet of you,” your sister smiles, watching her eldest two children play, sitting cross-legged beside them on the plush blanket she’d had spread out on the grass.

A cool breeze blows through the grassy field while you idly look around at the many red tents and campfires, observing the groups of people gathered around – knights sat at one of the many wooden tables, a few servants peel vegetables brought from the Keep, and various nobles, lady’s maids, and other court patrons shuffle about.

Taking a deep breath, you turn your face toward the sun, cooler now as day turns to evening, and savor the first moment of peace you’ve had in nearly a week. The days since your marriage to Jace have been… eventful, to say the least, with each new duty feeling like another stab to your already fragile heart. Respite hadn’t even found you in the night, each one spent fending off your new husband’s advances with excuses of your menstrual flux having come early, headaches, and various other ailments. He was getting anxious, you could tell – each night he pushed back a little more, arguing the importance of consummating the marriage, reminding you of the vows you had both uttered in the Sept.

But how can a vow mean much if the Gods know it was only ever a lie?

You had felt your mother’s eyes on you at every turn, watching you and your brother like a hawk. Though as the days progressed her fiery stare cooled to one of guilt – a penance for subjecting you to the same fate that had befallen her. You suspected that was why she and Rhaenyra had organized this little trip; a celebratory hunt they’d called it, to commemorate the rift between your two families finally being healed.

“Dear, dear wife,” your oldest brother slurs, goblet clutched in one hand as he staggers toward you and Helaena, groaning when he flops down on the bench next to you. “Oh, you look… ravishing,” your lips quirk up into a smirk as he drapes an arm around your shoulders, giggling and making faces at Maelor.

“What did I tell you,” your sister says through a huff of laughter, violet eyes finding yours, “They ignore you until they’re drunk.”

If only that were the case, you think as you force yourself to laugh in time with her.

“That is quite rude,” Aegon chastises, brows furrowed in offense while he takes a messy swig of wine, a few red drops run down his chin. “Do you see how she treats me?” He pouts, leaning closer to you with a wry grin, “The deed is done though, yes? Bastard knew where to put it?”

“Aegon!” Helaena hisses, swatting at his knee.

The two fall into a playful round of bickering, thankfully leaving you out of it. With a sigh, you let your gaze wander again, tumbling thoughts muffling your siblings voices.

“It’s not as hard as it looks, here,” Daemon’s voice catches your attention and you watch as he points a knife at the belly of a deer he and Lucerys had hunted earlier in the day, showing the boy where to cut, “Get your knife in there – good, like that, and now just cut downwards, one clean movement…” You glance away as blood spills from the beast’s abdomen, staining the grass below it.

Looking over the treeline, you try to ignore the sick feeling building in the pit of your stomach, though you know it won’t be settled until Aemond’s back at camp. Biting at your lip, you let out an irritated huff when you can’t make out any movement in the distance, no sign of your brother or Ser Criston, even your husband.

You’d only spoken to Aemond once since your marriage – a hushed conversation hidden away in an alcove when the two of you had a spare moment alone after supper. He’d held you while you’d cried against the crook of his neck, shushing you and running a soothing hand up and down your back. You remember the way his jaw felt, teeth clenched as he rested it atop your head, letting you tuck yourself into him while he vibrated with barely contained rage.

“I can’t do this, I can’t,” you lamented, peering up at him with a mournful sob as your fingers clung to the dark jacket he wore, “They’re planning on going back to Dragonstone! Dragonstone, Aem!”

“Shh, little one,” his hands had cupped your cheeks, wiped away your tears with calloused thumbs, “I’m not letting them take you.”

His words had held such conviction, you’d wanted nothing more than to believe him, yet you’d shaken your head anyway. “I don’t think there’s any stopping them, this time,” your breath had hitched with each word, “You heard Rhaenyra, they’re leaving as soon as we’re back from the hunt and she would never agree to leave Jacaerys here, never.”

You had known you were spiraling, head spinning as you’d looked up at him, and yet the words tumbled out anyway. “I hate him, I wish he’d just… just disappear!” It was a childish little jab and yet, your heart had leapt into your throat the moment you’d said it. You were expecting to feel the clawing ache of guilt gnaw at your stomach, however, a weightlessness followed. You’d never felt lighter than in that moment – tucked away in the shadows, a secret you’d harbored since childhood finally set free.

Aemond had stayed quiet, but you saw the way his violet eye sparkled, the gears turning in his head.

Your words had echoed in his head, calling out to him like a siren’s song – the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

Finally convinced that the three men are truly not just going to materialize at the edge of camp, your gaze shifts to where your mother and Rhaenyra sit, huddled together beside one of the many firepits. Bouncing little Maelor on your lap, you’re vaguely aware of Aegon and Helaena idly chatting beside you, something to do with how your brother believes some such thing about the Small Council is a waste of time – a frequent complaint of his since taking the throne.

You’re hardly listening though, head cocked to the side while you watch the two women laughing and animatedly conversing; they remind you of the young girls at court – youthful and carefree, too wrapped up in one another to notice much around them.

That’s why she let them go together, that shadowy voice in the back of your head hisses, Too distracted to know better. You clench your jaw, only halfway aware of the stinging pain at your cuticle as you dig a nail into it.

“What say you to accompanying me on a hunt, nephew?” Aemond had asked earlier in the afternoon, voice low as he slunk over to where you, Jace, and your mothers had been sitting at one of the wooden tables, picking through a light lunch the cooks at the Keep had prepared.

“Aemond,” Alicent had sighed wearily, leaning heavily on her elbows while Rhaenyra regarded your brother with a cool indifference – evidently unaware of your family’s tensions.

“What? I merely wish to bond with my dearest sister’s new husband.”

“Uncle,” Jace had finally spoken up, pointedly grasping one of your hands that had sat on the table, “As much as I would love to accompany you, don’t you think it a bit unwise for only the two of us to go? If I remember correctly from my youth, your father used to take a whole host of men into the woods with him…”

“Do you not think yourself man enough to take on a measly buck, nephew?”

“Aemond!”

“Don’t fret, mother. ‘Twas only a joke, a tasteless one, I admit,” your hackles had raised at that, at how quickly he had stood down, so wholly unlike your brother, “Besides, I’ve taken the liberty of asking Ser Criston to accompany us as well.”

It was then, at the mention of the knight, that Rhaenyra had leaned closer to Alicent, the two of them laughing softly and sharing knowing glances while your half-sister whispered into her ear.

“Surely the three of us are more than capable of subduing a deer or two, don’t you think?”

Jace had balked at that, sighing heavily as his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

“I think it sounds like a wonderful idea,” you had coached your lips into a tight smile when you interjected, “Doesn’t that sound like a lovely idea, mother?”

“Hm?” She had blinked, finally parting from Rhaenyra, the ghost of a smile still on her lips.

“For Ser Criston to accompany Jace and Aemond, to go hunting with them.”

“Well, I –”

“Surely that would be safest, yes?” You pushed, glancing at Jace before locking eyes with Aemond, “A knight with them, a Kingsguard no less.”

“I think it sounds like a fine idea,” Rhaenyra had smiled, squeezing one of your mother’s hands, “They should take the time to bond, no? Savor it while we’re together these last few days.”

“Yes… yes, a fine idea,” she had immediately agreed, always swaying to your half-sister.

“Wonderful,” your brother murmured, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he clasped his arms behind his back, “I’ll have Ser Criston ready the horses.” With that, he had stalked away, giving you one final glance.

“You truly think this a good idea?” Your husband had questioned, turning to you while your mothers got lost in yet another hushed conversation.

“Of course!” You had nodded, clasping one of his hands in both of yours, “Aemond is… odd with his affections. This is just his way of attempting to rectify things, I’m sure of it.”

“I suppose…,” he had sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“It’ll be fine,” you had urged, going so far as to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek, one of the scant few times you had initiated any affections.

Those words had echoed in your head while you watched the three men sheath their swords and load various bows and arrows onto their horses, the midday sun suddenly feeling much too warm against your skin.

It’ll be fine, you had reminded yourself for the millionth time when they set off, horses galloping along a narrow path that led into the Kingswood, He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine.

“Oh, shit,” Aegon whispers beside you, nearly dropping his goblet.

You quickly follow his eyeline, looking to where he stares at one of the small paths that lead into the camp – the sight wrenching a hitched gasp from your throat.

A hush seems to fall over the entirety of the camp, only for the quickest of seconds, before chaos erupts. Aemond stands before one of the horses, a grey one you recognize as Jace’s, steadying it while Criston pulls your husband from the saddle, smearing the side of the animal with thick streaks of red.

Daemon quickly runs over to assist while you hastily hand Maelor back to Helaena, hardly looking in her direction as you do.

“Jace? Jacaerys?!” Rhaenyra calls, picking up her skirts as she sprints over, violet eyes wide with terror, “What is it? What’s happened?”

Every noise sounds muffled when you make your way over to the huddle of commotion, Alicent following closely behind. A strange detached sensation fills you while you watch Criston and Daemon lay Jace down on a nearby bench, blood immediately soaking into the silk fabric of the pillows.

It feels as if everything is happening both too quickly and too slowly all at once – a few of the other knights rush forward, hastily pulling his tunic out of the way before pressing stark white medical linens to the gaping cut on his side. They bark orders over his body, yelling for the servants to bring water and more linens.

You feel your mother and Helaena grabbing at your arms and it’s only then you realize you’re shaking, swaying in place like a leaf on a branch; you know they’re talking to you but their words are dulled by the rushing of blood in your ears.

Somewhere in your periphery, you register the sound of Daemon’s voice, thick with desperation as he shouts question after question at Criston, “What happened? When? How? How long ago? How could you, you were supposed to protect him?!” They blend together, echoing through the haze in a roaring hum.

Distantly, you register the feel of another warm body pressing into the small pack you find yourself a part of. Helaena shushes someone next to you and your gaze tears itself away from the pools of crimson gathering on the grass just long enough to realize that it’s Luke. Your heart breaks at that, a sharp pang in your chest at the fact that the poor boy is distressed enough to seek comfort from your family, of all places.

“No! No, no, no!” Rhaenyra’s wails slice through the fog clouding your mind in such an exacting manner that your knees buckle, “Jace, Jace, look at me, please? Sweetling, please look at me!” She sobs, leaning over her son, one hand cradling his cheek.

Unseeing brown eyes stare, unblinking, up at the hazy orange sky while yours focus solely on a single, paralyzing flash of violet.

He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine.

The Sept is eerily quiet, normal for this time of night but unsettling all the same; the occasional fizzling noises of the dozens of flickering candles is the only way you’re able to discern that time hasn’t simply halted. Pale moonlight shines in through the windows, bathing the floor in a star-shaped pool of light and making the whites of the painted eyes resting atop Jace’s face glow like beacons.

You had picked out the stones and painted the eyes on them yourself, taking them from a spot in the gardens you knew he had favored when you were children and spent hours sourcing the pigments to make just the right shade of brown – one that reminded you of the rich chocolates that had been imported from Essos for your betrothal feast.

“A wife’s duty,” your mother had said.

Rhaenyra had glared at you the whole time; silently, you wondered if she somehow knew it wasn’t duty that drove you – only atonement.

Atonement, your mind echoes as you sit upon the cool stone steps beneath the Seven-Pointed Star, leaning your head against the bannister as you force yourself to look at his body, still atop black silks.

Must one feel guilt to atone? Must I atone for not feeling it? When will it end?

Those questions had plagued you in the days since Jace died, bled out like a hunter’s boon in the field by the Kingswood. They’d settled over you like a fever, an ever-present haunting ache, made only worse by the soft, sinful voice in the back of your head that whispered the truth – that you didn’t care, that you don’t even now.

You hadn’t cared, even as blood seeped from the gash at his side, even as you forced yourself to kneel by his still warm body and press gentle kisses to his forehead – the performance of a good wife.

You hadn’t cared in the carriage ride back to the Keep, letting your mother and your sister hold you while you cried – I’m sad, I’m sad, I’m crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because I should be sad.

And you hadn’t cared when Aemond had come to you in the dead of night, had slipped into your chambers – your chambers – through one of the many hidden passageways in the old castle.

“How?” You had asked, tracing patterns onto the pale skin of his bare chest while the two of you laid tangled in your silk sheets.

“A boar,” he answered plainly, speaking through a sigh while running his fingers over the thigh you had draped across his hips, “Just as I’ve told you the last four times you’ve asked.”

“Aemond,” you sighed in that same tired tone your mother so often used; your eyes had narrowed when you saw the corner of his lips just barely twitch up into a smile; were it any other time, he would’ve made a cheeky comment about the similarity.

“I’ve told you,” his grip tightened ever so slightly on your thigh and his other hand had grasped at your chin, guiding your eyes to his, “We had been tracking a buck, had gotten close and dismounted our horses, and had, I assume, stumbled into the beast’s territory and it charged at us.”

“Brother,” you had whispered, shaking your head and cupping his cheek, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie?”

He had stayed silent for a long while at that, jaw clenched while he stared at some point off in the distance, lips drawn into a tight line. Eventually, you had laid your head down, resting your cheek on his shoulder while you tried to accept that you wouldn’t be getting the truth that night, if ever.

It was only then that he had spoken.

“Please, let me protect you.”

“Protect me?” You had looked up, brows furrowed as you studied his face, “From what?”

“From the law –”

“Our brother is king, if he says it was not murder, if he says it was an accident, which he already has done, then no one will question his –”

“Fine, then,” he had snapped, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “From the damn Gods! I…” He trailed off, sighing heavily while he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“... the Gods?”

He’d finally looked at you again and your heart had pinched meanly in your chest when you saw tears gathering in his violet eye, “They will judge me harshly for what I’ve done, whenever the time comes, but… I will not subject you to the same fate.”

You had scoffed at that, had rolled your eyes when he looked away shamefully and had climbed atop him then, straddled his hips and turned his face toward yours, “I don’t give a shit about the Gods.”

“What?”

“I don’t,” you repeated, leaning down until your forehead touched his, “If they were good Gods, if they cared, they would not have subjected me to that sham of a marriage in the first place. They would’ve guided our mother rightly, but they didn’t.”

“Sister, I –”

“And I hate that our nephew paid for that, Aemond, I truly do, but I am the one who told you to do it.”

He had shaken his head while a mournful peal of laughter clawed its way out of his throat, “You didn’t tell me to do any–”

“Perhaps not directly,” you interjected, smiling sadly while you cupped both of his cheeks in your hands, running a thumb over the scar beneath his eye, “But I did. I could’ve told you not to, could’ve said I didn’t mean it, could’ve cautioned our mother against letting him go with you, but… I didn’t.”

“No… no, I suppose you didn’t,” he sighed, swallowing thickly as he tried in vain to blink away tears.

“I didn’t,” you echoed, your words hushed and cooed, like a mother soothing an infant, “I know what you’re capable of, I knew it then, and I didn’t.”

He nodded, his breath stuttered in his throat as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“Because I knew you’d protect me… and you did.”

“I did,” he mumbled, nodding up at you as his face twisted and a small sob bubbled from his lips, “I did, I did it. I did it, I did. For you, for us.”

“I know,” you murmured sweetly, stroking a hand over his long hair while you pressed sweet kisses against his forehead. You held him as he cried, huddled together in the dark of your chambers

And you hadn’t cared when you realized you were smiling.

“The hour is quite late, little one,” the suddenness of his voice makes you jump, though you settle quickly.

“So it is,” you smile and look over your shoulder, tilting your head up while he walks down the steps to join you, “The hour of ghosts, yes? Fitting.”

He huffs as he sits beside you before regarding you with a slight smirk, “I suppose it is,” he murmurs, only sparing the red and black draped body on the altar a passing glance.

“Why are you here?”

“I was looking for you… Hel said you would probably be here.”

“Mm,” you nod, idly running a finger over the pattern on your skirts, finding a morbid sort of beauty in the way the rich black silks glimmered in the candlelight.

“Why are you here?” Aemond asks, eye following the line of your profile.

“Praying.”

Without looking, you can practically feel him rolling his eye beside you, huffing a little breathy laugh again, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie, sweet sister?”

Hearing your own words from the night before parroted back to you pulls a laugh from you as well, though you wince as your giggle echoes throughout the Sept. “It’s funny,” you sigh, glancing about the cavernous space before finally looking at him, “This is the only place where no one wants to be.”

He hums next to you and nods his head, lets the two of you sit in silence for a moment before you continue.

“I don’t have to pretend when I’m here.”

“Pretend?”

Biting at your bottom lip, you nod and lean into his touch when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “That I’m sad… that I feel anything, really,” you sigh, breathing the words more so than saying them, “All Rhaenyra does is cry, Daemon is ready to strangle anything that moves, Lucerys is despondent to the point of being mute. Even our own mother cries for him and I cannot muster a single tear that isn’t a farce.”

Your eyes trail back over to Jace and you regard him with a mournful stare, staying silent for a long moment as you try to will yourself to feel sad, to feel angry, to feel guilty… yet nothing comes.

“Everyone grieves differently,” Aemond mumbles beside you, though his words only serve to make you more bitter, “Perhaps, in time –”

“In time nothing will happen,” you snap, grimacing at the harshness in your voice, “I’m not sad and I am… I’m tired of pretending I am.” You murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Aemond is quiet for a long while, though you can feel the energy radiating off of him in waves – you’ve always been able to tell when he has a lot on his mind. You’re content to simply let him think, taking his silence as a cue that it’s your turn to let him sort through things.

“You… are happy, though? Yes?” He finally asks after several long minutes, going strangely rigid next to you as if he’s afraid of your answer, “I know you say you aren’t sad but…”

“Aemond,” you sigh, sitting up and staring at him as a slow, creeping smile spreads across your face, “I have never been happier.”

“Truly?”

“Yes!” You quickly shift yourself on the stairs, turning yourself more toward him and placing a gentle hand on top of his thigh, “Big brother, you saved me.”

He opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him get a word in edgewise before the emotions you’ve been bottling up over the last few days finally spill over and you practically throw yourself into his lap, straddling his hips.

“Brother, I've been tethered to him since I was eight and you have freed me from that,” you say softly, voice hardly carrying in the air. Slowly, carefully you pull his eyepatch off, the only one ever allowed to do so; there is a sadness in your smile when you gently trail your fingers over the crease of his scar, “We both lost something that night and have suffered for it ever since.”

Without another word, you press your lips to his and savor the groan your kiss pulls from him. His hands grab at your hips in the same instance yours card through his hair while your lips move together in a practiced rhythm.

Impatient, one of your hands travels down his chest and stomach, though you hardly have time to pull at the hem of his dark tunic before he grabs your wrist, stopping you.

“Aemond,” you huff, fighting against his grip.

“Surely you don’t mean to defile this place in such a way,” he murmurs, violet eye sparkling as if he were challenging you, even as he glances over your shoulder, “What would your dear husband think?

You grin at the lecherous smirk on his lips, heart pounding in your chest as a familiar ache settles at the apex of your thighs. You give one final glance over your shoulder before turning back to him with a dismissive shrug. “Husband in name only,” you remind him, yanking your hand out of his grasp and trailing your fingers over the growing bulge beneath his trousers, “I have only ever been devoted to you.”

A rough growl leaves his lips and he clenches his jaw, narrowing his eye. “We will burn for this, sweet sister,” he huffs, pale cheeks flushing while he stares up at you, one hand still settled on your hip as the other comes up to cup your jaw.

“The Seven can have their say,” your cunt clenches at the way he looks at you – surprise, lust, even reverence giving such an intensity to his gaze that it nearly knocks the wind from your lungs, “The Old Valyrian Gods can as well, I don’t care. Aemond, I don’t.”

Your hand finally, blessedly, pulls free the ties at the top of his trousers and you quickly find his length. The sharp grunt that’s wrenched from his throat when your hand wraps around it echoes through the Sept, each iteration of it making the fire in your belly burn brighter and brighter.

He doesn’t attempt to stop you when you plunge a hand beneath the fabric of your black skirts and hastily tug your smallclothes out of the way, he merely studies you in awe, as if watching a newly hatched dragon spread its wings for the first time. His gaze makes you shiver, though you dare not look away.

“What do you care about, little one?” He murmurs suddenly, unable to help himself from glancing between your bodies, licking his lips while he watches you use your fingers to prepare yourself as you rub your own slick through your folds.

“You,” you whisper, shuddering at the way you both gasp at the same time when you rut against his already throbbing length, “You are the only god I’ve ever worshiped, big brother.”

A loud groan bursts free of his lips at that and the hunger in his eye nearly catches you alight, and yet he still grabs at your hips tightly, preventing you from sinking onto his length – so out of his element, wholly unused to being taken in such a way. “Come, let us go to my chambers,” he tries, breathing your name against your neck as he leans up, “Where I can take you properly, hm? No risk of anyone interrupting…”

Undeterred, you simply shake your head and lean forward, pressing your lips against his in an eager, near feral kiss. It’s mostly teeth and tongues and thankfully, it’s enough to shock him into loosening his grip, just enough for you to take what you want. You bite at his bottom lip when you sink down onto his length, hard enough to taste iron, making him growl into the kiss, the sound of it deepening to a low groan at the feel of your tight cunt around him.

The feel of his cock stretching you open somehow only gets better each time and leaves you gasping in his lap, your hands grabbing at his shoulders for leverage while you begin grinding yourself against him, impatient and ravenous. “Ohh, f-fuck,” you curse, squeezing your eyes shut while your walls flutter around him.

Aemond’s chest heaves under your hands while he stares up at you, lips parted ever so slightly as breathy groans spill, unbidden, from them. Opening your eyes, your gaze is immediately drawn to a little smear of red beside his mouth and you lean forward – licking his pale skin clean without a second thought.

“Little minx,” he smirks, meanly grabbing at your hips again and bucking up into you. He huffs a soft laugh at the sharp moan that bursts from you, sounding louder still in the large open space of the Sept; there’s a dangerous, challenging gleam in his eye that makes you shiver. “Go on, then,” he rasps, trailing a hand up from your hip to cup the underside of your breast, his touch warm even through the bodice of your gown, “Worship your god.”

A soft, stuttered moan wrenches itself from your lips at that and you quickly obey, staking your claim over him. As you find your rhythm, rutting wildly in his lap, the only sounds echoing off the walls are that of panted breaths and the slick, wet noises from where the two of you connect. “You’re mine,” you breathe, leaning forward to bite at his throat, determined to mark him in as many ways as possible, “Y-You’ve always been mine, Aemond.”

He nods his head, hands scrambling at the ties on your bodice, determined to free your breasts. “I’m yours?” He taunts, sighing victoriously when he finally manages to practically rip the top of your gown open; his tongue darts out, wetting his lips at the sight of them and he allows himself a few seconds to appreciate the way they bounce so enticingly with each of your determined movements, “Show me, then… show me who I belong to, sweet sister.”

Something snaps inside you then, breaking and clicking perfectly into place all in the same breath; the feeble thing that was holding the dam inside of you shut disappears. Whatever greedy darkness Aemond has always harbored within himself has been slowly seeping into you since the night of your betrothal feast and now, it seems, it has finally settled into your bones as well. It’s as if he can sense it in the same instance you do and gives a subtle nod of his head, commanding you to give in.

With renewed vigor, you grind against him harshly, pressing your hips as far down onto him as you can manage until you can feel his cock pressing against the entrance to your womb. The thought of him there, of the possibility of his seed catching, of the possibility that it may already have, spurs you on further.

“I would kill for you, too,” you say lowly through clenched teeth, licking up the side of his neck until you can whisper into his ear, “I’ll do anything to have you, my love, I don’t care what it is.”

A low groan reverberates from within his chest, both of you all but snarling as you move together; his hips rut up against yours, unable to hold still any longer, and he bites a path down your neck until he reaches the softness of your breasts. You gasp as he teases at one nipple, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue while his fingers toy with the other one, only to cut yourself off with a loud moan when his lips seal around it.

“I would burn this city to the fucking ground if that’s what… what it took, brother,” the words tumble from your lips when you card your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head and holding him against your chest. Your head tilts down, heart pounding in your chest while you watch him savor the feel of your warm flesh in his mouth; his violet eye snaps up and his gaze bores into yours, making your cunt clutch greedily at his length.

Feeling the knot building quickly in your belly, aided by the way your sensitive pearl brushes against the small patch of hair at the base of Aemond’s cock, you only grow more needy – craving confirmation that he is yours, that no one will be able to take him from you again. Your breath catches in your throat when you recall a conversation the two of you had had a few nights ago, the night of Jace’s death.

The two of you had been cuddled in your bed together, panting in sweat-damp sheets, when he had cupped your cheek and turned your face to his.

“What is it?” You asked, familiar with the faraway look in his eye – God’s knew where he could’ve been in that moment.

“Marry me.”

His whispered demand had knocked the air from your lungs then, the whole world may as well have come to a grinding halt on its axis. “Aemond, we must wait, you know this. I hate it as much as you do but –”

“We need to wait for a Westerosi wedding, yes,” he murmured, leaning over you and shushing you with a soft kiss, “Too soon and it looks suspicious.”

“But –”

“But… a wedding in the tradition of our house need not wait, little one,” the determination in his eye had shocked you then, had warmed you from the inside out, “Our sister and her cunt of a husband hardly waited until Laena and Laenor were cold before they married… we could do the same.”

You had stayed quiet after that, too much death and change and uncertainty clouding your mind to give him an answer, and yet you knew he was right. Rhaenyra and Daemon had married in secret, so soon after Laenor’s sudden passing that it had always seemed a bit odd to you. Yet, no one ever questioned it; your own father had accepted it without so much as a blink, writing the marriage into law with no fuss. Aegon would do the same for you, you felt certain.

Nothing was stopping you, nothing that mattered, anyway.

That thought fuels you now as you rock on Aemond’s lap, both of you barreling toward your eventual ends. Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him away from your breast despite his growl of displeasure. Just as he had with you, you cup his cheeks, focusing his attention on you.

“Marry me.”

The rhythm of his hips hitches at your words and he fucks up into you harshly, moving you more desperately against him as another loud, guttural moan echoes through the chamber.

“Tonight,” you continue, brows furrowing as you stare at him, greedily drinking him in, “I cannot wait any longer, brother, tonight, please…”

A vicious, conquering smirk grows on his lips, white teeth gleaming in the low candlelight like a snarling dog. “You wish to be mine, is that it?” He teases, reaching between your two writhing bodies to rub hungrily at your pearl, savoring the pretty breathy moans he earns.

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish speaking as an unrelenting, all consuming possessive ache starts spreading out from your heart, flowing through your blood vessels like fire. “I don’t wish it,” you pant, forehead resting against his while the wildfire burning in your belly threatens to burn you whole, “I told you, I would kill for you and… and, fuck, I swear it. A-Aemond, no one will have you ever again, never, none except me…”

Your words descend into a barely intelligible murmur as you finally let go, pushed suddenly over the edge at the thought of being so tightly bound together that no one would be able to tear the two of you apart again. Your brother growls again at the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the movements spurring him toward his own end.

He grabs at you when he follows you into oblivion, holding you against him as if you’d disappear otherwise. The feel of his spend spilling into you, filling you, nearly sends you over the edge again and you cling to him just as harshly, holding him while he trembles beneath you.

“You are a vicious little thing,” he says softly after some minutes, holding you against his chest while the two of you catch your breaths.

“I learned from the best.”

He only sighs at that but you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. “I would do it again for you,” he mumbles, eye fixed on Jace, “I would do it a thousand times over.”

He speaks in a reverent whisper, promises of death and destruction as sweet as a prayer on his lips.

Aemond’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you through the winding corridors below the Red Keep, the flickering light from the torches lining the walls making the various statues and reliefs dance in your periphery.

“I’ve always hated that he’s down here, stowed away,” he murmurs, yet his voice still carries some among the stone hallways.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, glancing into each shadowy alcove you come across while you try to ignore the wild beating in your chest – the way your heart clenches at the thought of finally being so close to what you’ve always wanted. “Yes, he should be out in the sun, somewhere he can be celebrated.”

The old cellars under the Keep have always seemed so haunting to you, so cold and empty. The thought of the walls down here being lined with the ashen remains of generations upon generations of your ancestors had never failed to send a shiver down your spine. Yet, they unfold before you now like paradise; even the still, musty air begins to smell as sweet as honeyed wine.

For the briefest of seconds, guilt joins you – walks alongside you, invisible like the Stranger. A stuttered heartbeat, that’s all and then it’s gone, at the thought that Jace would join them tomorrow, still warm from Vermax’s fire.

How ironic, you think, glancing up at your brother and admiring the way the light gleams on his sapphire eye, That a place that holds so much death would be where our lives finally begin.

“I don’t want to wait any longer,” you’d said again, retying your bodice while Aemond tucked himself back into his trousers and searched for his eyepatch.

“Nor do I,” he agreed, stuffing the small scrap of fabric into a pocket – the streets of King’s Landing would be deserted enough at this time of night that he could get away without wearing it. “Tensions are bound to rise after tomorrow, after everything is said and done; I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

You had nodded and followed him out of the Sept, through one of the many old, forgotten tunnels that only a scant few knew existed, the list of which definitely didn’t include the guards stationed at the front of the building who had escorted your carriage earlier that evening.

While he had helped you onto the back of his horse, the two of you shared a knowing look, each of you already thinking the same thing.

Turning down one final corridor, your heart thuds in your chest as you’re finally met with Balerion’s petrifying gaze and, just like every other time you’d been in his presence, a little huff of reverence leaves you. Your eyes dance over the rows of his razor sharp teeth, gleaming in the glow of dozens of candles, and you can’t help but imagine the horrors those jaws have inflicted, the pain they wrought while subduing the continent – all in your family’s name.

“Targaryens have always taken what we’ve wanted,” Aemond murmurs beside you, staring up at the gargantuan skull with just as much respect as you are, “Tamed our desires in fields of fire.”

“And rivers of blood,” you turn your heads at the same time, soft smiles on your lips when your eyes meet, like you’re sharing sweet words of love rather than painting pictures of horrors.

Perhaps that is what wrath is for us, you wonder, your eyes flicking between violet and sapphire when you turn toward your brother, What is death if not the sweetest of devotions?

He takes your hands in his, glancing down when your fingers intertwine before looking back up at you; you can feel yourself blushing under his intense gaze, heart squeezing in your chest as he looks at you like that in and of itself is an honor. There’s such softness in his eye, you would think him incapable of violence if you didn’t know better.

“You truly wish for this?” He questions one last time, needing to be sure.

“I’ve told you, I do not wish,” your hands squeeze his, “I need this, Aemond… I would kill for you, for this – for us. Anything, just as you did.”

Your voice trembles when you speak, the intensity of your hushed promises making your head spin because you would. The want you feel, that you have always felt, is not some soft yearning thing. It’s not so simple as some mere whisper uttered in the dead of night at a holy altar while your skin is awash with the glow of candlelight, no.

No, your want is something far more insidious – something deep-seated. An oppressive, clinging thing that has always coaxed you further and further down into that shadowy part of yourself; the part that has always reminded you too much of him.

The demon, lurking in your periphery, that has always begged you to look, has tempted you since childhood with the sweetest of promises, finally rejoices.

Aemond nods, a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and you watch as he lets go of one of your hands to unsheath his dagger. The sight of the worn leather handle makes you smile bashfully, though your core clenches all the same, and you gasp when you feel another drop of his seed soak into your smallclothes.

“You know the words?”

Again, he nods and your head cocks to the side curiously when a wash of pink grows on his pale cheeks; he smiles again and fixes you with that same intense stare. “I used to spend hours reading them, over and over, when we were children,” he whispers, leaning closer to you like he’s revealing some deep, dark secret, “I always wanted to get them perfect for you.”

A little peal of laughter echoes through the cellars before you swallow thickly, trying to tamper the tightness at the back of your throat as the backs of your eyes sting, tears pooling in your waterline. He cups your cheek and you smile when he brushes one away, a pleased hum leaves his lips when you nod.

Aemond raises the dagger, glancing between its shining blade and your lips while you ready yourself, one hand clenching at the black silk of your skirts. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises.

You hold stock-still, gasping when he presses the cool edge of it against your lower lip, yet your eyes don’t leave his when he finally cuts – nicking your delicate flesh just enough to draw blood before offering you the dagger. Grasping it, you mirror his steps exactly, just as careful with him.

Setting the dagger to the side, you both reach up at the same time, swiping a thumb over your own lip before reaching out. Your arms intertwine when you brush each other’s foreheads, leaving behind two crimson lines.

His gaze never breaks from yours as he takes the blade again and carefully cuts his palm, holding it out to you again and waiting while you do the same, gasping at the sharp sting. Finally, the two of you join hands, blood mingling together as a few drops of it splatter on the stone floor as Balerion bears witness to your union.

“Hen lantoti ānogar, va syndroti vāedroma, mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr,” he recites, murmuring the words with care, making sure to enunciate each syllable, to make the vows unmistakeable to whichever ghosts may be listening, “Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi, hen jeny māzīlarion,” (Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires, a future promised in glass.)

Aemond pauses, taking a breath as he squeezes your hand with his, echoing your smile.

“Qēlossa ozūndesi, syndroro ōñō jēdo, ry kīvia mazvestraksi,” he finishes, all but breathing the last few words as his eye grows misty. (The stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.)

The two of you stand still for a moment like you’re waiting for the world to crash down around you and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours as your palms press together, both of you seemingly in shock at finally, finally having everything you’ve ever wanted.

You can’t tell who moves first but suddenly you’re crashing against him, dagger clanging as it hits the floor, while the two of you clutch at one another desperately, uncaring of the blood smearing on your clothes.

Your lips press against his like they’re a lifeline and you moan at the touch, swiping your tongue over his while you grab at the lapels of his jacket. His hands cup your cheeks, staining one with red, before carding through your hair.

“Gods,” he groans, resting his forehead against yours while the two of you pant, breathing out soft laughs. “My little wife…” He says the word slowly, lets it drag over his tongue.

“Husband,” you reply between soft kisses to his cheek, head spinning at how a word that once had to be dragged from you, that had scraped against your skin like thorns, now felt like silk slipping cooly over you.

Your brother growls deep in his chest and his eye flutters shut for a second before his hands are at your waist again and he’s walking you backwards, only a few paces, until you’re pressed against one of the stone columns surrounding the great dragon’s skull. Though your landing is soft, it wrenches a gasp from you all the same but you don’t have time to question his intent before his lips are on yours again.

You moan into the kiss, matching each of his deep groans with one of your own as your tongues tangle together. “Aemond,” you pant when he begins trailing kisses down across your jaw and neck, “What –”

He nips at your cleavage then and you can feel him smirking at the loud whine he pulls from you, soothing the skin after with a sweet kiss before sinking to his knees before you. The sight is enough to make you weak – the man that loves you more than eternity itself, who loves you enough to do terrible, monstrous things, kneeling at your feet and staring up at you like you are his salvation.

Your hands tangle in his soft hair while he pulls at your skirts, pushing them up and out of the way, kissing your thighs as he goes. “You had the chance to worship at your altar, sweetest little wife,” he pants, groaning when he pushes your smallclothes to the side and licking his lips at the sight of your cunt, still wet with your combined spend, “Now let me worship at mine.”

That’s the only warning you get before he dives in, lapping at your center with a loud, satiated growl. Your head thuds back against the column while your eyes are fixed, half-lidded, on Balerion, on the fire that surrounds him.

You understand, then – the curtains of fire that blanketed the continent were necessary to conquer it, just as blood was necessary to bind the two of you. Perhaps one day you’ll be called to answer for that, but even then you would do it a thousand times over; even if the dark, shadowy parts of yourself, of him, lead to the deepest pits of the Seven Hells. You would do it, again and again, for him.

You were always meant to burn together.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!

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bravo4iscool · 1 year ago

Note

Levi Baby🖤

The way I adore you for pairing Simon with a Chubby girl. I bring a thot to you if you're interested:

Bodyguard!Simon Ghost Riley x chubby f!reader

- He's newly retired , gets asked for a favor from Price for a friend's kid

- Said kid is a mid 20's thicc woman who is all business since she's a lawyer in Human Rights and involved with the UN.

- He thinks she's going to be a snob based off looks bc girl loves to dress and she does it well, she observes Simon as he is. Brooding, Haunted and Self Assureed with a drizzle of dark humor but loyal.

- They get off on the wrong foot [Simon was being an irrational ass forgetting his manners and respect], reader isn't scared of him and doesn't take lightly to being disrespect3d for no apparent reason.

- They're holed up living together under the radar since the thr3at to reader was pretty big seeing it was world leaders

- They're going to have to learn to live with each other, where Simon barks orders - reader is anamused and calmly condescends. He can't even get annoyed bc she's antisocial and a houseplant but he's trying

- doesn't help that he's so.so attracted to her.

*make this as suggestive as you want (give ghost heart attacks with her choice of home clothes please. We know he's touch straved, emotionally constipated and needed a therap session.

Make her stress him out by confronting all of that in her short fiery demon way please.

I hope your new year is sweet Love💋

oh lord. oH LORD. how can you write this and not think about me fainting😭 THIS IS- URGH- AMAZING AHHHQGACQGQVQZQZAVQ!!!!

i hope i can do this justice😭 normally i try to imitate simon’s accent but bro… i was just too tired to do it now, so i hope you can forgive me for that🥲

KEEP HITING ME WITH STUFF LIKE THIS OH MY GOD😩

not really happy but i tried my best :) also not proof-read!

(masterlist)

REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!

“There’s no but’s!” Simon argues while almost dragging you—his protégée—along the hallway inside the safe house. “You’re in danger and it’s my job to protect you!”

“I’ve been perfectly fine on my own before,” you argue, trying your best to wriggle away from his grip. You hated it when he manhandled like that.

He turns around, his eyes fiercely staring down at you and you feel like they’re piercing through your soul. “Have you ever had the Taliban threaten you, huh? Or fucking ISIS? I don’t think so; so stop whining and follow me!”

You want to argue with him, tell him he’s not allowed to talk to you that way but damn, you knew he was right. Ever since you started working for the UN you’ve been threatened—you were getting used to it—but only by small groups not someone like the Taliban.

“We’re gonna stay here until the threat is eliminated for not serious anymore.” His statement leaves little room to argue but you’re itching to say something anyway. It’s wasn’t your nature to just shut up. You were a lawyer, you were used to arguing.

You grimace as you force yourself to accept your fate. You didn’t want to but in the end you knew Simon was right. So, you follow him, an annoyed look on your face. You hated it when he was right.

“It’s only temporary,” he grumbles as he kicks a door open and pushes you inside. “It’s not like I want it, okay?”

You only roll your eyes, throwing a halfhearted ‘whatever’ at him and inspecting the room he hauled you into. “This is where I’m gonna stay?” you ask him, a slight hint of defeat in your voice.

“Pretty much, yes. I’ll be on the other side of the hallway,” he explains, leaning against the door frame. “In case anything happened, of course,” he immediately adds; just so you don’t get a…wrong picture of this whole thing here.

“We got wifi here?” is you next questions when you turn to look at him, your arms crossed in front of your chest.

“No wifi. No contact to the outer world,” is his answer and you feel your blood start to boil.

“You have to be kidding me! How am I supposed to work then?” You throw your hands in the air, letting out an angry huff. “You can’t just cut me off civilisation!”

He only shrugs. “I can and I will. Work can wait, alright? Your life is more important now.” Again his voice leaves no room to argue but this time you won’t take it. You put your hands on your hips, looking up at him.

“You think that’s how it works? Then, please Lieutenant Riley,” you spit out his rank “fly over to the dozens of war criminals and tell them to stop too! Oh wait-“ you act shocked. “That’s not how it fucking works! You can’t expect me to sit still and look pretty while the world drowns in injustice!”

“Would make things a lot easier tho,” he mumbles under his breath while pushing himself off the door frame. “Just…do something that doesn’t require wifi or anything like that, alright?” Before you can even think of an answer he leaves, shutting the door behind him. Why the hell was he treating like some little child?

“How old is she?” Simon wants to know as he hands his old Captain the picture of you back. He’s sat on a chair, his legs spread, one arm resting on the back rest.

“Mid 20s,” Price answers, placing his folded hands onto the table. “She needs security and her father’s not really…trusting the usual companies; and since you’re nearly retired I thought you could use the job.” Simon holds Price’s gaze and nods along. “He trusts me, therefore he trusts you. She’s a lawyer, heavily associated and involved with the UN and human rights.”

“What are the details?” Simon slightly tilts his head, curiously raising his eyebrows.”

“24/7 protection. The full package. You’ve done it before,” Price explains and Simon once again nods along. “Before you take the job tho-“ he pauses. “She’s, well… she’s a lawyer Simon. You need to know what you get into.” The Captains gaze hardens, his back straightening. “She won’t like that she’s on protection detail, therefore she’ll be treating you like that.”

Simon only smirks, flipping his well kept coin between his fingers. “There’s nothing I can’t handle John. I’ve met people like that before and I was perfectly fine.”

Now Price was the one smirking while shaking his head. “I know and I don’t question your abilities but she’s a civilian—the one you’re protecting. You can’t handle this the way you’ve handled other subjects before.”

“I know what I’m getting into,” Simon assures in a calm tone definitely not knowing what he was getting himself into.

“Fucking hell,” Simon mutters when he first sees you. You’re walking straight to you office—the one he was sitting in—involved in a heated talk with that seemed like your secretary.

He’s able to make out single words but well, his hearing wasn’t the best anymore after nearly 20 years of military service. And now he thinks he probably should’ve stayed in the field.

The way you’re waking and talking and dressing just screams ‘snob’ at him. He slightly lowers his head to gaze at you, once again playing with his coin. Maybe he should’ve declined the offer and taken on the underground wrestling instead. Would’ve been more fun for sure.

As soon as you spot your guest you send your secretary away, bracing yourself for the following conversation. You weren’t a fan of getting security and you definitely weren’t a fan of the fact that it was a friend of your father’s friend and he—apparently—was everything but easy.

“Lieutenant Riley,” you greet him, extending your hand to him. When he stands up to his full height you slightly crane your neck; the professional smile still on your face.

“Ma’am,” he greets in a gruff voice, the skin of his hand raw and calloused as he return the handshake. “Pleased to meet you.” He isn’t. He just wants to leave but he brought this on himself so he needs to finish it now. ‘One year’, he told himself. ‘Then I can quit.’

“I can only return the pleasure,” you smile, clearing your throat. “Would you mind sitting down at my desk?” You ask, pointing towards said desk. “I think it’s easier to discuss business over there.”

Simon agrees, towering over you as he makes his way over to one of the chairs in front of the desk. You take place behind it, carefully straightening your blouse. He needs to warn himself not to stare. Fuck, why were you so pretty? A pretty little snob…

“This has to be taken seriously!” Simon raises his voice at you, successfully blocking the door of your office.

“This is nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” you argue with him, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “So please, Simon, let me get out of my office and back to work.”

He huffs, “Not a change. You’ll be staying here until the threat is cleared.” He glances over his shoulder, loving and hating the fact that you had a glass office. “Are these bullet prove?” he asks, looking at you again.

You sigh, “No.”

“We’ll have that changed,” he immediately answers and you start to shake your head.

“We’ll have nothing changed! You weren’t hired to renovate my office!” You walk towards him. “Now, Mr. Riley, please step aside so I can continue working.”

“Not happening.” He straightens up to his full height, expecting you to back off but you do the exact opposite. You swat your finger at him, looking up.

“I don’t care what you think, you will stay here; if you want it or not.” His voice is stern and stoic and you need to do your best to not full on scream at him.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” you hiss, your index finger jabbing his chest. “I can make my own decisions, I’m a responsible adult. So don’t you dare talk down to me that way!”

When Simon doesn’t make a move you let out an angry huff and shake your head. Then you turn away and stalk towards your desk. “Fucking military man,” you curse under your breath, ignoring the way he stared you down.

You stare at your open suitcase, debating what to wear. On the one hand, you kinda were on your own, on the other hand, Simon was with you.

You were comfortable in your body—no question—you actually kinda liked the extra cushions but sometimes you felt like Simon was staring at you. Like he wasn’t able to take his eyes off of you and that made you…feel something. Something you were afraid of.

“Ah fuck it,” you say under your breath, fishing out some shorts and a shirt. You could care less about what Simon thinks. You both are only work related. Nothing else.

You tap down the stairs, walking straight into the kitchen. “You want something to eat?” You ask Simon, glancing at him when you hear him enter.

“You willing to make some?” he jokes, expecting you to say ‘no’ but when you say ‘yes’ his eyes widen and he pauses for a second. When you notice it you let out a small chuckle, opening the fridge and multiple cabinets to see what you could make.

“Any friends that’ll miss you?” he asks once you place a plate in front of him, looking up at you with curious eyes.

You shake your head, “Nope. Not really.” You sit down opposite of him, grabbing your fork. “Too busy to have friends.”

He tilts his head, blindly picking up the food either his fork. “No boyfriend?” He knows you don’t have one. You have no dates, no flings, nothing; but he wants to hear it from you. Maybe then his fantasies wouldn’t be so forbidden…

“Please,” you laugh. “We’d be divorced before we even married.” You take a sip of water and look at him. “I don’t have time for relationships and that kind of stuff. I have a target to pursue. Ain’t no time for distraction.”

He only nods in an understanding manner, playing with his beer bottle. “And you?” you ask. “You got someone?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I’ve got you to deal with. That’s enough.” He smirks when he sees your facial expression, letting out a low chuckle. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for,” he continues joking. “But no. I don’t have anyone. Never really had.”

“Oh…” you say in an almost pitiful tone and he hates it. It not that he couldn’t get someone. He just didn’t want to. That’s a big difference. “Well not really different for me,” you then snort, slightly grimacing. You had this one guy ask you out for prom but that turned out to be a bet rather fast and after than you decided to not to date in school or university anymore.

Yeah sure, you were more chubby than other girls but that doesn’t mean that you’re not lovable, right? By now you were comfortable in your body—you were in your mid 20’s—but sometimes you felt yourself slipping back into the insecure girl you once were. The one who thought that no man would ever lay his eyes on her in a lustful or loving manner.

Simon’s itching to say something; to ask why you don’t have anyone… You’re perfect. You’re nice—even if he hated to admit it. You’re pretty, you’re so fucking soft… Did the men around you not see that?

“Simon?” You wave your hand around in front of his face, chuckling when he slightly flinches, his pupils blow. “Are you alright?” you carefully ask, eying him as if something was wrong.

But he only clears his throat, “Yes. Everything’s fine.” Then he hastily stands up and nods at you. “Thank you for the food.”

You watch after him as he leaves, a frown on your face. Was he really okay or was he just lying to you?

Simon on the other hand was probably turning red as a tomato. How could he allow himself to slip like that? Fuck, he needed to keep himself better under control.

As soon as he reaches his room he shuts the door and leans against it while opening his pants with shaking hands.

He had a—growing—problem and he needed take care of it. Now.

Approximately one week into the lockdown Simon finds you in the living room, crouched over a bunch of files and documents.

“What’s that?” he wants to know, looking over your shoulder.

“Work,” you simply reply, taking notes and pushing the papers around. You were so close, this close to finally finish this case but something was missing and it stressed you out.

He slowly nods, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And how did you manage to get these files?”

“I’m a lawyer Simon. I have my ways and connections,” is your plain answer and you can basically feel him tensing behind you.

“What if they give away your location,”

“They won’t.”

“How can you be sure?” He tries his best to be calm but god, you were testing his nerves. He gave you strict orders and you were supposed to follow them.

You turn around with an annoyed sigh, looking up at him. “Because my father brought me those. You think he would sell me out to the enemy? I doubt so.”

You raise your eyebrow, waiting for any other complaint by him but be only looks at the files behind you, then at you again. “Maybe check the mission reports of the special forces.” With that he leaves you alone, more than confused.

You know why Simon told you what he told you when you find what you need exactly there. The mission reports were sitting somewhere beneath everything else because you didn’t pay much attention to them; in the end they were the solution.

Now you could finally link the crimes to someone and with that to the government or the military at least.

The next time you see Simon you almost jump into his arms, thanking him over and over again. “Now the case is finally closed,” you tell him with a big grin on your face, completely forgetting that you’re usually not so happy when around him.

Simon just awkwardly pats your back, pushing you off him and ignoring the burning desire deep within him. He knew it was risky to give you a tip but you were struggling and he didn‘t like that. He just hoped that you wouldn’t ask him why he knew that you should look at the mission reports. Once you knew that he was a war criminal this job would be over. And while you certainly were a pain in the ass sometimes he felt a very present attraction towards you.

Simon realises he’s a goner when he wakes up one morning and sees you walking around in a shirt. Just a shirt, as far as he can see and it does something to you. His hands are itching to touch you and he finds himself excusing himself more and more to the bathroom.

And you? You started to notice the kind of power you have over him and it makes you boast with pride. You, a chubby little lawyer in your mid 20s, has him, an almost 40 year old retired military Lieutenant, wrapped around your little finger.

After that you decide to play a little game. Wouldn’t hurt, no? Just subtle touches. Brushing his arm when you walk past him, patting his chest when he helps you with something, your legs touching his whenever you sit beside him.

He tries to shrug it off but you can practically feel how worked up he gets and how hard it is for him to keep him shit together; and that fuels you only more. How long would it take for him to break? To crumble beneath your touch, huh? You wanted, no, you needed to find that out.

Simon knows what you were doing. He isn’t stupid but he hates it. How was he so weak that you were able to play with him like that?

After a week, maybe two of you dancing around him he has you caged in against the kitchen counter, towering over you.

“What makes you think you can just play with me like that, huh?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes scanning your face for any reaction. “You think it’s funny? Working me up like that every day?”

You try not to be intimidated—or turned on—by him but god, he’s just- you don’t have any words for it. He’s tall, broad and fucking strong. You once got a look at the muscles under all his clothes and you weren’t the same after that. Nu-uh.

“I thought you like it,” you reply with a cocky grin, trying to overshadow your uncertainty. “Do you want me to stop?” You blink at him, acting all innocent and pure. In the corner of your eye you see his grip on the counter tightening. Oh, you had him where you wanted him.

A ‘bloody hell’ is all you get before his lips crash down onto yours and he heaves you on top of the counter. His hands find their way to your hips, scarred fingers tracing them and squeezing, wanting to pull you even closer.

The moment his lips touch yours you forget everything else. This is want you wanted—needed—for weeks. And lord, that man knew what he was doing.

You weren’t a fan of him dragging and pushing you around but right now? Right now you couldn’t wish for anything else. You bury your hands in the dirty kind strands of hair on the back of his head, gently pulling at them which results in him groaning in your mouth.

“Take me to the bedroom and maybe I’ll stop teasing you,” you breathlessly tell him once he breaks the kiss only to kiss you again immediately making you all hot and tingly.

You can feel him smirk against his lips before they trail down your neck towards your collar bone. “Ain’t gonna take you anywhere love,” he whispers and you’re able to once again feel him smirk against your skin. “Gonna fuck you right here on that kitchen counter. You want that?” he looks up at you through hooded eyes, which makes you swallow.

“Words love, words.” His tone is playful even tho you can see the desperation in the way his hands move all over your body, letting you see stars already.

“Yes…please,” you almost choke out, feeling like everything you want to say is being swallowed my your throat again. You’re unable to talk.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Simon teases, straightening up to kiss your lips again, cupping your cheek. “Gonna take good care of you,” he promises. “I’m gonna show you how a real man treats you,” he swears and you can feel a familiar but also unfamiliar heat building in the pit of your stomach.

(i got scared to write the rest👍🏼. i’m sorry, i’m still new to writing smut😭)

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blueberrypancakesworld · 11 months ago

Text

Never wake a sleeping Dragon - Yan!Viserys x fem!reader

warning : yandere, obsession, implied overprotective, mentioning of death/war, hurt/comfort , fluff, kissing

Summary : Visery the king in him is the burning blood of the dragon. A thing that most of the people around him tend to forget he is "the peaceful" however when a new Queen is needed a heir for the kingdom the dragon awakes when a storm is starting to geather and obsession is forged. He will not let her get away from his dragon dream.

Info : Never imagined that I would be writting for Viserys but I like the idea of a quiete yandere type that goes full obsession when his love tries to flee. Afterall he is a Targaryen and everytime a Targaryen is born the coin decides the fate ;) And Paddy looks good so yeah....have fun;)

masterlist

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The King of the Seven Kingdoms Viserys, peacefully the first of his name, was the ruler of King's Landing and all the lands. A man who had ridden one Balerion to the Black Death, the mighty beast that had been dead for decades. A man who was always eyed, especially by his brother.

Daemon, the only prince of the realm and his younger brother, on the other hand, was the picture of a Targaryen. Quick-tempered, insanely brutal and lusting after blood and fire. But his brother Viserys was peaceful, enjoying the simple pleasures of music, jousting and building stone decorations.

The sleeping dragon was what his enemies, the common people and the king's court called him. A dragon on a throne who slept and sent his brother and troops instead of unleashing his wrath.

A man who mourned all his lost children with his first wife Aemma Arryn until his only child Rhaenyra was born. The princess of the realm of the rich and handsome.

The beautiful image of her mother and the fieriness of her uncle Daemon who was devoted to his niece. The dragon was happy for some time, his dream, his dragon dreams had shown him a son, another prince, and when his wife became pregnant again, the queen gave birth to the son Baelon through the blood of the falcon and the dragon.

The king was filled with joy, but this was to be taken from him. His own wife condemned to death, his son dead and his daughter turning away from him in her own grief, he had lost everything.

He had lost his flames, his dragons and seemed completely alone. Alone in his chambers, just himself and the dim fire in the fireplace, the unfinished Valyria and the wine at the table. The dragon seemed to have lost his own.

The gaze of the violet eyes of the tired, haggard man had turned away from the fireplace and was looking at the picture of his wife, the painting he had had painted.

Until a knock at the door made him look up. ,,Away!" he had said loud enough for the person to disappear but when his door opened he placed the portrait on his bed and rose to confront the intruder.

The glow inside him seemed to spark and he wanted to be alone. ,,I said I want to be alone!" he hissed and was about to reach for his sword when he saw a woman a little older than his daughter, a lady in waiting, a then still young chick from his wife, the rest of her.

He vaguely remembered her from his grief, how she chose her ladies in waiting, how the ladies enjoyed themselves and spent time together. But after her death they were all gone, he had given them money and sent them back to their families, except for her.

She stayed, her relatives died in the battles in the kingdoms. She was the lady of the house without a seat without a stay and now the only lady-in-waiting who held on to Aemma.

,,My lady… what can I do?" He asked, his voice no longer angry but tired and exhausted. He sat back in the armchair and covered his face with his hands. ,,My king? Lord Hand has instructed me to bring you some food," he heard her voice, still caring for him despite his suffering.

Her king. She should be mourning her kings friend. What sacrifice from such a woman he thought and raised his eyes to her dark black dress. Grief. Saw her coming towards him a moment before he waited for her to sit next to him on the chair.

They had not seen each other since the funeral of his Aema and Baelon, days in which he had not seen her. His Aemma-no, her smile. ,,That's very kind of you…do you mind staying?" he asked her and it seemed to him that as the king, the man with the most power, he was asking her permission.

He saw how she didn't hesitate, how there was only a brief flash of uncertainty about his well-being. ,,Of course, here's some tea from the Maestar," she said and Viserys shifted in his seat even though he was only wearing his loose shirt and trousers, the jewelry on his body made him look better.

Putting on his expensive clothes, however, meant going back out there, following the sad eyes to a throne without her. Glancing at her, his violet eyes watched as she handed him the plate of bread and eggs, the bacon still warm, and he felt his stomach actually craving food.

Only wine and drugged flowers were not food, at least not what he was supposed to have. Until suddenly he heard a cry of pain and wheeled around to face her. Almost throwing the plate aside, he saw that the boiling water had splashed on her hand by coming up in the goblet. ,,Wait," he said hastily and took the cup from her hand and the pot.

The vapor, the heat showing effect on her hand red hot and hurting her. Like the flame of a dragon. ,,It's… all right Viserys," she pressed out, tears in her eyes saying something else and at that moment he didn't feel helpless, not intimidated. He was alive. The fascination, his dream.

The fire, his son. ,,Burned by fire-I mean, did you burn yourself very badly? Wait, I'll get something," he said, feeling his thoughts racing as he rose from her, she would end up making the dream real, replacing his imagination. This woman in smoke and flames?

He fetched a pain-relieving ointment from his bedside cabinet and came back to her, seeing how she had pulled out her handkerchief to dry her tears, but the trembling of her hands made it rather sluggish. ,,Thank you Vis-forgive me my King but you don't have to" she insisted as she watched in panic as the King knelt before her, his hands gently and lovingly taking the cloth and wiping away her tears.

His violet eyes did not leave hers and he saw this dream more and more clearly as she looked at him with respect, gratitude and something he could not interpret. Something he was only told later by his brother. Fear.

,,Please, I insist that your tears should not be shed any more. A gentle healing as opposed to the flames," he murmured, pleased when he saw that she had stopped crying and gave him a grateful look. Applying the slab to the wound the burning disappeared after a few minutes the warmth remained but the fast beating heart in her chest from the shock was slow to recover.

,,Thank you my king… I should go, my presence disturbs the mourners" she replied to him and rose from her seat, the handkerchief falling into his hands before she hurried to the door. The flower in the face of the sleeping dragon, the pretty coin unused and still open to a hand.

As if possessed by something else, he reached for her hand and held it, not wanting her to leave. ,,My lady, please… I expect you to stay with me," the words of the tone that was a command left his lips at the same time. She had no chance of escaping from this room and the flower had no choice but to give up her pretty goodness to him of her own free will. She came back to him, sat down next to him and stayed with him.

She kept her king company as he commanded and for the first time something like joy, devotion and perhaps love seemed to return to the king's heart.

It was a feeling that had consequences, for in the days and weeks that followed, this feeling was transformed into something found in the Targaryen madness. As the blood of the dragons flowed, the king felt a sense of ownership.

She was his possession and for the first time the dragon in him seemed to stir and finally get rid of the name of the peaceful one.

Something his lovely counterpart had no idea what it meant to face a Targaryen.

The next few days and weeks changed to a different rhythm. Instead of Alicent, the daughter of the hand, the king always had the lady called to him, seeking her company at any given time.

In the morning at his breakfast, he had her called to him, his violet eyes showing joy when he saw her figure, the tip of her nightgown sticking out from under her dark robe.

,,My king, you wanted to see me again," she said and joined him at the table where she sat down opposite him. She knew that he was lonely, her beloved Aeamm was dead and she felt guilty for giving comfort to the king as well as the princess and heiress.

The princess Rhaenyra without a mother, who had often come to her, had taken her lovingly in her arms and cried together while they had been more closely connected. But Viserys felt almost uncomfortable in the face of the dragon.

Rhaenyra the young dragoness her warmth was healing but his fire was burning. She had always liked to be there for her king and somehow also a friend, but now it seemed like the stories in the Masters' books. Every Targaryen is a dragon and a dragon obsessively searches for its treasure to guard.

But something told her that Viserys would gradually fall for this side of the infamous coin. Something she was right about and yet she had no idea how far this would go.

The pair's breakfast was quiet as she saw the king's smile, something that made her happy inside, but as the days and weeks wore on, the dragon's fire seemed to tighten around her. When she was not with Rhaenyra, Alicent or her own advisors for her house, she was always seen with Viserys.

The dragon took the first step when he got up one evening after dinner and fetched a box big enough to store several things in. ,,My dear, I want to thank you for everything you have given me in the last few weeks…I could finally smile again and feel something special," he began and opened the gift of a dress and a necklace for her.

,,Viserys this is a sign of unbelievable craftsmanship I can't accept this" she said and turned away the fear that he would command her again was there but the fear of losing her king and husband of her beloved friend and queen into this darkness again no she couldn't do that. Wasn't it everyone's duty to keep the king happy no matter what the cost?

But the blond Targaryen would not be beaten, he had not just let her body mass give way to images.

He had taken her as far as he could from the outside. With the dress, the fabric he had chosen, the necklace of the best metal of Valyrian steel and the ruby, he would touch her for all to see and make her his. ,,But I insist, my love, on a dress as a token of my gratitude for what you have done," he continued, handing her the fabric, a look of shame on her face as she realized he wanted her to try it on.

Looking around, however, she saw that he must have taken precautions because a partition carved out of fine wood with dragon motifs and legends stood in the room that had not been there before. ,,Please, I insist," he said, not necessarily emphatically, but she knew what he meant.

She could not ignore an order from the king. The fabric of the dark dress was surprisingly warm, like the scales of a dragon, and even if he no longer had Balerion, she knew he could have taken any dragon that was still alive or about to hatch.

His violet eyes lay on the wood seeming to peer through it to see her soft body and the dragon's violet eyes showed lust and devotion as she stepped forward a few minutes later.

,,I-I look like a Targaryen," she murmured, the dark black dress with the red embroidery of a dragon and the finest gold escaping her thoughts. It was not the colors of her house, it was not the color of her Aemma, its colors were the colors of King Viserys Targaryen.

He came up to her and circled her, running his hand carefully over the fabric, ,,Handsome and beautiful," he murmured the words of praise before he stopped behind her and she heard the faint tinkling of metal as she listened to the chain.

She held her breath as she felt the cold Valyrian steel around her neck and ran her fingers over it. ,,A Targaryen you will be too for I have decided my love I want you as my new wife as the new Targaryen Queen" he said taking her hands and for the first time she saw his own madness of the dragon flicker in his eyes.

A will of the King a will that made her cry because even though she liked him and had certain feelings for him, a marriage, becoming Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the responsibility that came with it to bear him children was true.

She couldn't say yes but that's how he knew he could force her…and he did. The first traces of his obsession with his madness were laid the day he married her in the tradition of his house.

The tradition she could not escape. And even if only years later he married his second wife Alicent, the story of the Dance of the Dragons would play out as it was foretold, until then his madness with his second wife his flower was the only thing that mattered.

Her colors of the house long forgotten only reflected in the ring her mother had left her, the lands of her house given to a distant relative whose right to finally see his second niece was punished with wrath by the king.

Viserys for the first time any lords who even dared to question the second queen found themselves impaled on the castle walls, their tongues severed or burned by Syrax, Meyleys or Caraxes when the king ordered his kinsmen to do so.

,,All this because of a woman who doesn't even come from a significant house," she had heard Lord Corlys say, who was on his way back to Driftmark with his wife and the two of them had met with Rhaenyra and Daemon.

The king himself knew from the trouble she was causing that lords and ladies were already looking around whispering about what was going on with the king.

,,Help me my lords my princess," she had dared to join the group, the dark colors on her now like an endless dragon pit where fire awaited her every night.

Viserys didn't let her out of his sight, she slept in his bed every night and even though she tried to love him, she was always trying to return the physical contact with kindness.

With each night, with each time, she saw more and more marks on her body that he left behind, not painfully, but she knew that the fabric of her clothes could hardly cover them any more. She had waited as the king released his anger on her kinsman and banished him from the city.

He had robbed her of her right to the title of Lady of the House. ,,Targaryen should marry houses from Valyria the simple flower perishes in fire" she had begged the group Rhaenyra who had asked her for help so many times had tried to help her.

But with every attempt they made to dragon, to bot or to escape with the carriage everything was blamed on a mysterious attenat by the four of them.

But every attempt failed, and the kingdoms watched as the news of Alicent Hightower's second pregnancy spread through the realms with joy in this delight to the fear of Corly, Rhaenys, Rhaenyra and Daemon Visery's second wife.

First Aemma Arryn died the second wife full of mysteries and strange events the jewel of the king which suddenly disappeared and the third wife who brought peace and war for the future.

But what they all didn't know was that in the depths of the castle, when the king went down with the torch in his hand, he went further in than even his brother probably knew.

The old forgotten Valyrian part and influence revealed itself. ,,My dear, I'm back…did you like the metal?" he asked as he walked through the common room past the cells where he had spiked her after her four "attacks". He wasn't stupid he knew that his own daughter and brother had tried to "save" her with his cousin and her husband.

He knew that they did not approve of this marriage, neither politically nor personally, she had only wanted to return to her home to the last people she had left.

Her friendship with Rhaenyra and Alicent was over. Now she would never escape from the castle again, nor from him

Pulling the key from his robe, he unlocked the large door to the cell. The metal gave way and the bolt was pushed back, which was once for the most serious criminals or the people most in need of protection.

It was the place where the king could finally turn to his true treasure. Not his daughter, his wife, his son or his brother. He was with her, with his true dream, with the woman who would bring him his son and promised prince.

Walking into the great room he saw his beloved his Targaryen the clothes he had brought her the clothes he had given her all in the black and red of the house the jewelry, books and paintings were to entertain her when he was not there. When the dragon didn't come to her in his madness, she prayed almost every night and even though time passed, her belly didn't swell.

No child wanted to grow inside her, but no, it wasn't her fault, it was something else he was sure of. Because when he took her, the shadows of her dragon reflected on the wall and the sounds of her love echoed through the room, he knew that the prince had to spring from her womb.

,,My pretty wife... tell me, how are you feeling?" he asked, walking over to her armchair, where she sat, as always, in front of the fireplace with a book on her lap and an absent look in her eyes.

Fear had been reflected in it at first, but after an indefinite time every house broke under the dragon sooner or later. He knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his, cold and not warm like him, the smile that played around his lips threatening to tip over. The madness only ever lasted until a dragon was no longer entertained.

The grip on her hands tightened for a moment, becoming painful until she finally looked at him. ,,Viserys...you're back...how did it go?" she asked as usual, obviously pretending to him that she was still living on the Hoffe with the others. As if she was always waiting for an opportunity to leave.

But they both knew that she would never leave this room again. ,,The lords are satisfied for a while, don't worry my queen, tell me how your prince is doing" and he put his hand on her flabby belly where even after the countless nights of trying. In trying, she had tried to see all this as a story, a book of the lost maiden who would finally be free when she gave birth to the king's son.

But it seemed that with each passing month everything would become less warm, the fire in the fireplace not warm, the clothes on her no color and his love was the madness of the dragon she had never seen so strong. ,,I try my king every tincture, every meal...even the old books but I don't carry your seed" she murmured and looked at him the violet of his eyes just like Rhaenyras and Daemon's she missed the court, her friends and the sun.

Now she would never be able to escape from the castle or from him. Pulling the key from his robe, he unlocked the large door to the cell. The metal gave way and the bolt was pushed back, which was once for the most serious criminals or the people most in need of protection.

When the dragon didn't come to her in his madness, she prayed almost every night and even though time passed, her belly didn't swell. No child wanted to grow inside her, but no, it wasn't her fault, it was something else he was sure of.

Because when he took her, the shadows of her dragon reflected on the wall and the sounds of her love echoed through the room, he knew that the prince had to spring from her womb.

,,My pretty wife... tell me, how are you feeling?" he asked, walking over to her armchair, where she sat, as always, in front of the fireplace with a book on her lap and an absent look in her eyes. Fear had been reflected in it at first, but after an indefinite time every house broke under the dragon sooner or later.

He knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his, cold and not warm like him, the smile that played around his lips threatening to tip over. The madness only ever lasted until a dragon was no longer entertained.

The grip on her hands tightened for a moment, becoming painful until she finally looked at him. ,,Viserys...you're back...how did it went?" she asked as usual, obviously pretending to him that she was still living on the Hoffe with the others. As if she was always waiting for an opportunity to leave.

But they both knew that she would never leave this room again. ,,The lords are satisfied for a while, don't worry my queen, tell me how your prince is doing" and he put his hand on her flat belly where even after the countless nights of trying. In trying, she had tried to see all this as a story, a book of the lost maiden who would finally be free when she gave birth to the king's son.

,,I try my king every tincture, every meal...even the old books but I don't carry your seed" she murmured and looked at him the violet of his eyes just like Rhaenyras and Daemon's she missed the court, her friends and the sun.

Viserys let out a disappointed sigh he knew it wasn't because of her she never did she was young and of Targaryen blood there had to be a child someday. His hand went from her leg to her hands and took the book from her, his specially chosen book on Valyria.

She knew that ever since he had given her the keldi that he had made her into something. A Targayren tried to transform her in one way and another. His hand slid gently over hers, its softness stimulating, it was something like another time.

But when his other hand slid down from her flat, bare belly and stroked the fabric of her legs, she knew exactly what he wanted. What he was here for almost every time. His initial gentleness soothing the kisses, hugs, gifts and caresses.

But his other way the coin that was thrown this madness was burning. ,,I know you're trying my love and I'll be there for you...for our child" he said softly as he lifted her out of the chair and gave her a kiss.

His warmth burned on her like a fire but it was the only thing she felt that was still real as she returned the kiss. her arms slowly wrapped around him, clinging to the dragon's scales, her knees to his wings, feeling the warmth of his fire as he gently stroked the kelid from her body.

The dragon laid her on the tower of coins, the bed of old wood carved with signs of Valyria. His gestures, words and pain the lust mingled with the pain. But she seemed to react to him again after a long time, to finally feel that burning sensation inside her.

But she looked at him saw the dragon the madness and perhaps it was because of the flames of the fireplace that she saw Balerion the black dread in the shadows, Viserys rising as the dragon Valyrias.

She herself was seized by the fire when she felt him again, as she did every night. But this time it was different it seemed the uncertainty was burned out of her the house she once belonged to the name was irrelevant.

She mattered as his queen...as the woman who would bear the promised prince to the king. Perhaps she herself had fallen into the madness of the Targayren before all this, and now rose as a dragon from the flames.

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#hotd #house of the dragon #king viserys #viserys targaryen #viserys the peaceful #viserys x reader #viserys targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #reader is female #yandere

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

Text

The Man with the Lost Soul

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: virgnity loss, smut, angst, violence, mention of the suicide, murder attempt, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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She remembered little of her father's speech, focusing only on the fact that she had a fever and on her little brother's body, cuddled into her, shaking with sobs. She wore a matte, black suede gown with open shoulders, its sleeves reaching all the way to the ground.

She wore no adornments, her hair loose, falling freely down her back. She felt his presence a few paces behind her, separating her from the rest of those gathered, the lords and ladies of the court immersed in disbelief, weepeing loudly in despair as if her mother's fate would ever concern them.

They all knew that her father had kept her locked up for years.

She looked at her King and though she could see his lips moving, tears on his cheeks, but she could not hear or feel anything − all she could think about was what Vhagar had told her that night.

Your father the King wanted me to make it look like she took her own life.

"It was with great regret that I accepted the high priest's decision regarding the fact that a person who takes his own life cannot be buried with honours in the royal tomb. For this reason, therefore, my beloved, poor, suffering-stricken wife will be buried outside the town walls, respecting her remains and her memory, needless to say." He said in a trembling, deep, hoarse voice, as if he really suffered at the thought.

She felt something surge through her heart, a tightness and pain from which she parted her lips in trembling breaths, a single, lonely tear running down her cheek.

When it was all over, her servants braided her hair and put a black, translucent veil over her face. She felt suddenly that she was partially covered from the world, that she was surrounded by the darkness she felt in her heart.

She wondered if this was what Vhagar felt while hiding behind his mask.

She followed her father and brother in a small procession behind a closed coffin covered by a shroud, a monk in front of them singing a slow, mournful chant that echoed in her mind.

She stared at the back of her king-father and thought only of the fact that he had killed her mother and deprived her of an honourable burial, without even waiting for the mighty of the Kingdom or her own family to arrive to bid her a proper farewell.

She watched as the coffin containing her body was lowered into a deep grave dug outside the city walls, heard the sobs of the mourners, but she herself shed no more tears. She looked to the side − behind her father stood his guards, his ghosts, but her ghost, her Vhagar stood by her side, a few steps behind her.

She felt his presence, the presence of death with her whole being.

When it was all over her father pulled her out of her musings by approaching her, pale, wiping his face with his palm, as if he himself could not believe that all this was really happening.

"I know you blame me for this and you have every right to. By separating you, I drove her to the brink of despair, she obviously felt she no longer had a reason to live." He muttered in a trembling voice, not looking at her but somewhere to the side, far away.

She looked at him through the thin material of the veil, feeling only her breathing and the beating of her heart, besides having the impression that she was surrounded by nothing but emptiness.

"I do not blame you, my King. You have done everything in your power. She was mad with despair. You could not help her." She said softly, calmly, her words like pleasant music to his ears. He grunted and cheered up, walking up to her, grasping her face in his hands, placing a long, drawn-out kiss on her forehead.

"My beloved child." He said warmly − she felt a squeeze in her heart and forced herself to smile.

As soon as he passed her the corners of her mouth sank down, her gaze focused on the spot where she saw fresh earth and a small stone monument, all surrounded by flowers.

"My Princess."

She heard his voice and shuddered, only now noticing that there was no one around them anymore, they were completely alone.

"It's time to go back."

She shook her head as she walked closer, placing a hand on the cold tombstone − she had the feeling that everything around her was blurry and foggy, her heart and throat squeezed.

"No. I won't leave her alone this time." She whispered, feeling like just laying down next to her, growing into the ground, being covered in flowers and grass, falling asleep next to her.

"She's free now."

She pressed her lips together, feeling a squeeze in her throat at his words, her nostrils quivering in an anxious breath. She glanced over her shoulder at him, looking at his tear-streaked mask, and thought that they were the same now.

She approached him with the quiet rustling of her gown, the hum of the grass and the singing of birds all around them, their robes blowing in the wind.

She stood in front of him and looked at him, at the man who had betrayed her, at the man who had killed her mother, at the man who had taken away her chance to decide her own life and death.

Every time she thought about it she had to remind herself that it was her father who made him follow her, it was her father who made him report on everything she did, it was her father who ordered him to kill her mother and it was her father who made her want to end her life.

He was just a tool, a blade held by someone else.

She placed her hand on his chest, rose on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his mask where a tear had been outlined − despite the material that separated her lips from it, she felt the cold, unpleasant, tart taste of steel.

She heard him swallow loudly, his bright iris looking straight at her in surprise, his pupil dilated wide, his eye almost completely black.

"This is my expression of gratitude for your dedication to the affairs of our family." She whispered with feigned fondness, running her hand over the spot where his cheek would have been, the steel beneath her skin uncomfortably cold and slightly wet due to the moisture it had gathered from the air around them.

She passed him without a word, heading towards the gate. As she walked along the roads of the city, the people living in the townhouses threw field flowers under her feet, called out her mother's name, expressed their love for their Queen.

She trampled their wishes, their gifts, their words with each step, looking ahead, lifting her gaze to the great fortress standing on the hill before her in the distance − it seemed to her now completely black, its towers partially veiled by grey clouds.

A great black coffin, she thought.

She was as dead as her mother.

As she stepped into her chamber she ordered loudly that she wished to take a bath. Vhagar stood at her door watching as her servants filled the tub they had brought moments earlier with warm water, one of them helping her undo the ties of her gown.

"Your Grace…is he…" The girl asked uncertainly, looking at the hooded figure standing on the other side of her chamber.

"Let him look." She said dispassionately, feeling no shame or embarrassment as she was left in just a thin white chemise − her maid swallowed loudly and nodded, curl by curl loosening her hair.

She stepped into the tub and sighed quietly, resting her head against its edge, closing her eyes, saying softly that they could leave.

She heard quiet footsteps, the sound of a door opening and closing, and then there was complete silence.

She lifted her eyelids and saw that he was standing in the same place as before, right at her door, straight, with his arms folded in front of him, looking at her unashamedly, her naked body peeking through from under her wet undershirt.

"Do you draw satisfaction from this sight?" She asked teasingly, twisting in place with a quiet splash of water, its pleasant warmth relaxing her tense muscles, finally no longer shivering from the cold.

He stared at her in silence, his pupil fixed on her face.

"Do not do anything thoughtless under the influence of emotion." He said dryly, his eye wide open, his chest rising slightly with each breath he took. She furrowed her brow at his words, feeling a tightness in her throat.

"I don't understand what you mean, Vhagar." She said coolly and he chuckled under his breath, however it was a laugh from which a cold chill went through her despite the warmth of the water.

"Your father wants to believe your words, which is why he does not yet see what lurks in your gaze. But when he finally notices it, it is not me he will send to you. I will not protect you from what will happen, and your greatest nightmare will come true." He said with a cold tone filled with some kind of superiority and opened the door from her chamber, disappearing behind it with a quiet clatter.

She pressed her lips together at his words, drew in a breath and slid backwards, sinking her entire head under the water − the voices in her head silenced, only an all-consuming hum around her.

She lasted like this for a moment before she felt a tightening in her mouth, her body craving another breath against her will, demanding to live. She rose to the surface, drawing in air loudly, wiping her face of the water droplets with her hands, sighing heavily.

She closed her eyes, thinking of what her mother had said, what she had spoken about since they had lived in this fortress.

The passage in her chamber and the cry of the child.

She opened her eyelids, feeling the sudden, rapid pounding of her heart.

Has Prince Aemond's body been found at last?

She stepped quickly out of the bath with a loud splash of water, quickly putting on a black, matte robe, tying it around her waist, opening the door of her chamber and stepping out into the corridor.

Although her body was shivering from the cold, she had the feeling that her heart was on fire.

She felt his surprise, his quick steps behind her, trying to catch up with her. She ran into her mother's old royal chamber, and as he entered behind her she looked at him with furrowed brows.

"No, Vhagar. Wait outside. It is time for me and my mother." She said coolly. She felt him hesitate, stand still for a moment − he turn his head, impatient, and walked out, closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

She looked around the room, running quickly to the walls, touching them with her hands, trying to discover some roughness or unevenness, something that would tell her there was a hidden door behind them.

She pressed her lips together and ran her hand over her face in impatience, unable to find anything, wondering where the child could be hiding.

She circled the room with her fingers pressed to her lips, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

His face was cut open, he couldn't survive it.

At the time of the attack he was not in his room but in his mother's chamber − her father's soldiers said they attacked him first − his mother threw herself at them to protect him, and then the Prince suddenly disappeared and was not found.

The entire chamber was searched, at first believing her mother that he could indeed have been hiding there, however nothing was found and it was decided that it was a figment of her imagination, the result of her remorse, and that the boy had taken advantage of the inattention of the men when they were wrestling with his mother and had fled.

She looked to the side and froze, licking her lower lip, feeling the cold sweat on her back as she looked at her mother's large bed.

Where did children hide when they were most frightened?

She walked over there slowly and crouched down, peering in from underneath, seeing only the dusty wooden floor. She swallowed loudly and pulled herself in deeper, feeling her body quiver at the thought that maybe she was now in his place, imagining all that must have been going on around him, that he had very little time.

She began to press the various pieces of wood one by one, hoping something would happen, however nothing did. She sighed heavily as she pressed her forehead to the floor, resigned, thinking it was pointless and suddenly she felt something under her hands.

It seemed to her at first that it was simply a piece of wood that had chipped away over the years, but it had a semi-circular shape, and was so small that only her little finger could fit in there.

She tried to lever it up and lift it, but nothing happened. It wasn't until she slipped her finger in deeper that she felt she had pressed on something cold and made of steel, and when she pushed it hard and let go she heard a quiet click − the piece of floor lifted slightly, as if the hinges holding it in place had loosened.

She lifted the flap higher, breathing loudly, feeling the chill emanating from the black stone hole, with a small staircase that a very petite woman or child could fit into.

She clenched her eyes shut, feeling tears of regret and horror running down her cheeks, panicked at the realisation that her mother was not mad, that she had died for nothing.

Was his body there or had he managed to escape?

Where did this passage lead?

She began to crawl down inside with difficulty, seeing only complete darkness in front of her, and then she heard a slam and loud footsteps, someone's large hand grabbed her ankle and aggressively pulled her backwards.

She screamed, terrified, clenching her hands on the wood, her willowy legs trying to kick him but to no avail − after a moment he forcibly dragged her out from under the bed and turned her onto her back, his eye wide open, staring at her in disbelief, she could hear his loud breathing.

He seemed to hesitate.

"What have you done?" He asked in a trembling voice, his hands held her shoulders pressed to the floor so that she could not move, her breathing laboured, looking at him in horror.

"I have discovered a secret passage." She muttered, feeling that she was trembling all over. "My mother said she heard a child crying inside her chamber. I think she heard Prince Aemond."

He was silent for a long time, breathing loudly − she heard him swallow with difficulty and clench his eyes shut, and when he opened them his gaze was different, frantic, dangerous.

"I told you not to do anything thoughtless." He said tiredly and resignedly, coldly, in a way that made her feel a shiver run down her spine.

His hands moved from her wrists to her neck, clamping down on it, instantly cutting off the oxygen supply to her lungs. In an involuntary reflex, she grabbed his wrists, her eyebrows arching in horror and pain, her body beginning to wince in despair.

"You're making me do this." He muttered under his breath apparently trying to drown out the sound of her choking, her mouth desperately trying to catch her breath.

He leaned in suddenly, the cold steel mask pressed against her forehead, a desperate growl of grief and rage escaped his lips, his hands let go of her, her lungs drew in a quick, deep breath.

She tightened her hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him away, but he lay on top of her, pressing her to the floor − she shuddered, a quiet gasp escaping her lips when she felt something hard throbbing between her thighs.

"You are my curse. My ruin." He breathed out; she felt his hips move back and forth, rubbing against her, her body went breathless all over − she felt something pulsate deep inside her, some kind of tickle in her lower abdomen from which she sighed quietly, her heart pounding like mad. "My doom."

He exhaled heavily − she could feel his hot breath gushing into her face through the holes in his mask, his hands from her neck slid down to her thighs, slipping under her thin robe. She shuddered as she felt his leather-gloved fingers tighten on the bare skin of her plump buttocks.

They both let out a loud, ripped breath, her hands slid lower from his chest, pressing his hips closer to her body, the spot between her thighs throbbed hard − she felt some kind of need inside her, for some reason despite her terror she didn't want him to stop.

She wanted him to take everything from her, she wanted him to strip her of her dignity, to punish her for allowing all this to happen.

"− destroy me − leave me with nothing −" She whispered softly; she heard him groan low at her words clenching his eyes, his hands slid down her thighs to the material of his coat − she saw him unbuckle his belt, her fingers helped him untie the bindings of his breeches.

"− fuck − fuck −" He mumbled, both of them breathing loudly in what felt like excitement and desperation, she tightened her hands on his back and whimpered when she felt something begin to push against her flesh between her thighs, trying to force itself inside her.

"− let me inside − don't fight me −" He breathed out, trying to forcibly slide deeper into her − she clenched her eyes shut and cried out, spreading her thighs wide in an attempt to ease the immense discomfort and excruciating pain she felt, one of his hands placed next to her head, the other firmly holding her hip.

He rooted into her with one brutal thrust of his hips and she whined loudly − despite his mask she could see that he was looking at her with a misty gaze, his body in what felt like a natural reflex began to move inside her, his manhood rubbing her again and again at a spot that sent shivers through her.

She panted and sobbed beneath him, feeling with every movement he made that one more thrust from him and he would tear her apart − he was too big, her muscles clenching against him in terror.

She heard his growl of pleasure each time he sank deep into her body again, instead of slowing down he accelerated, his movements beginning to be followed by the quiet click of her moisture.

"− g-gods, forgive me −" She mumbled out panting along with him, feeling with horror that the faster he slammed into her the more pleasurable it became, the tickling between her thighs became unbearable.

They both sighed with pleasure as her hips began to respond to his movements, his length rooting into her with increasing ease, sticky with her moisture − she felt as if her body had adapted to his size.

"− good gods, you are fucking enjoying this −" He scoffed teasingly, the thrusts of his hips sinking him deep inside her again and again. She felt with embarrassment her own wetness running down her buttocks − she tensed so that with each push he rubbed that wonderful spot from which shivers of pleasure ran through her.

It was so wonderful to be so full when she felt so empty, it was so wonderful to shudder with emotion when she thought she would never feel anything again in her life.

"− Vhagar −" She mewled beneath him, her heavy breathing making the moisture condense as vapour on his mask − he groaned low, both of them panting loudly, apparently taking surprising pleasure in this primitive, animal slapping of flesh against flesh.

"− no − not like that − you know my name −" He hissed out, she felt him twitching hard inside her as if the thought of her knowing his identity aroused him even more − she felt her heart pounding like mad, her lips parted wide, her hands slipped under his breeches and tightened on his buttocks.

She knew him.

Gods, she knew him.

"− I − I don't know −" She mumbled between his aggressive, sure thrusts, from which she felt stupefied, felt unbearable tension and heat in her lower abdomen − she had a feeling that a few more of his stabs and something would happen.

"− come on, you can do it − say my name − say my fucking name −" He growled, slamming into her with loud, low groans of pleasure, she could feel him throbbing hard inside her, her walls clenching down on him greedily, sucking him inside.

She shook her head, unable to give him an answer, her mind completely frazzled with pleasure, only whimpers and sobs coming from her mouth, her hips responding involuntarily to his every push, feeling the wonderful tickling between her thighs, in her fingertips, in her lips.

"− I − p-please, oooh, gods, yes, yes, yes −" She cried out loudly tilting her head back, feeling the unfamiliar, overpowering hot pleasure shake her body, her insides began to throb like crazy.

She heard him growl low feeling it, rooting into her with a few more desperate, sloppy thrusts before she felt something warm spill inside her, a loud sigh of relief escaping his lips.

His seed.

She looked sideways at the closed door to the chamber, hearing only their loud, raspy breaths, her body convulsing, her mouth parted wide in disbelief.

What had she done?

They both pulled away from each other − she hissed in discomfort as he slid out of her and rose slowly, quickly tying his breeches. They were both breathing loudly, terrified of what they had done, of what had happened.

She moved away from him, looking at him in disbelief, wondering if he was going to try to strangle her again.

Why did her discovery frighten him so much?

Who was this man?

It seemed to her that he could read the doubt written on her face − he stood up and sighed heavily, buckling the belt of his coat.

"If your father finds out we missed this, he'll kill us all." He said lowly, and she felt some kind of relief that he had done it purely out of fear.

She swallowed loudly, looking at him distrustfully, catching herself with shame that she could still feel him deep inside her, her walls sore from his aggressive, greedy thrusts.

"If you wish, I will inform him of what you have discovered in your presence." He said finally and she turned her face away, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart.

Did she want her father to find out?

If Prince Aemond was still alive, he could return and take the throne for himself.

He could have done what she had secretly dreamed of since she saw her mother's coffin disappear into the black depths.

He could kill the King.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

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aesteries · 1 month ago

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⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞ ─ aemond targaryen and original female character. ❝alicent hightower's youngest daughter, haera targaryen, has returned to king's landing after eight long years in old town and aemond finds himself inexplicably drawn to the girl kissed by the moon and with the eyes that seem to only look at him.❞

how could i not love eyes that see me in all my forms as beautiful?

〔incest, innocence and fantasies, fluff and romance, smut, virginity, events of blood and cheese, family rivalry, disabled main character, hints of book!aemond, modified show!timeline and events.〕

words: 4.8k. series' masterlist.

CHAPTER 4.

Aemond Targaryen once cherished the calm serenity of the night, but it had been brutally snatched from his hands, and he alone bore the blame. The silence that usually enveloped him as he took midnight walks around his home had now been replaced by the sound of boots with guards patrolling the corridors that lead to his sisters’ and mother’s chambers, side to side. He could not shake off the uneasy feeling, flashes of his memory weighing him down with each step he took.

Haunting figures were formed by the dancing flames of torches installed on every corner, illuminating the once dimly lit corridors, danger lurking in every corner and waiting to strike. His fingers had found a permanent place around the hilt of his sword, to the point his knuckles would turn white, ready to draw his weapon. The prince found himself surrounded by guards that he once considered allies and now were deemed potential threats, traitors sent by his deranged half-sister.

Helaena’s hands, once so skilled in the art of embroidery, now trembled as she grasped the needle and thread, her tearful eyes fixed on the intricate stitches as if they could bring back the fragments of her shattered life. The worried gazes of their family and servants, with their own mother’s attempts at comfort, were met with silent rejection. Aemond could not help but feel crushed under the responsibility of the wreckage that Helaena had become. The memories of what she had endured still pulsated in the back of his mind—the brutal assault, the helplessness, the numbing fear. It was a miracle that she still took breath and faced her remaining children.

The assassins had come to claim his life; however, they did not find him, so their ruthless fury was then directed towards the helpless—the women and children of the royal family. The weight of guilt crushed him, eating at him like scavenging vultures, leaving nothing but desiccated remains. A thousand daggers stabbed at his conscience with every step he took toward his older sister’s room. He could not help but think that it should have been him and not his nephew. The image of his sisters frozen in horror played endlessly in his mind, a constant reminder of the tragedy that had unfolded.

He had promised to keep Haera away from danger; instead, he had put a target on her head.

Aemond was a monster forged from the fiery depths of the earth, infused with the intense heat of dragon fire, molded in the likeness of The Stranger, the face of death. His brother, Aegon, shared the same cursed fate, the potent blood of the Targaryens pulsing through their veins like rivers of fire. They were destined to wear the crown and sit upon the piercing throne of dragon flame but not their sisters; they were worlds apart, with hearts as soft as silk and souls as gentle as a summer’s kiss, the perfect images of The Maiden.

Yet, on that fateful night, they were in that room—no one to protect them or keep them safe.

Helaena's rise to the throne was overshadowed by her sharp descent into madness. Within days of taking the crown and the life-changing event, she was stolen by debilitating episodes of screaming and harm to herself, forcing the maesters to sedate her for extended periods to calm her down. Meanwhile, Haera's health, which had been the very reason for her return from Oldtown mere months prior, began to deteriorate at an alarming rate, and her condition became so dangerous that they feared her heart might fail at any moment once again, just that this time, Aemond’s love was not enough to save her. The weight of her daughters' hardship was crushing Alicent, who lingered on the brink of a complete breakdown but held herself together for their sake.

And it was all his fault. his fault. his fault. his fault.

He could have cost his family three lives for his mistake of taking one. Losing sleep was nothing; he would not lose another family member for his actions.

Aemond stood in front of Helaena's chambers, two members of the Kingsguard on each side of the door. The sudden stillness of the halls was oppressive, allowing the muffled voices from inside to echo through the air like secrets shared by children. His sister's bedtime routine was a delicate task, one she often insisted on doing alone, but everyone knew that the darkness of night brought her a unique kind of terror, often changing her entire self. Without the support of others, she was lost and helpless, unable to care for the remaining children on her own, and they had become a priority in the family. Aemond's hand reached for the door handle, but a blood-curdling wail from inside paralyzed him, sending shivers down his spine.

The Kingsguard, ever vigilant, avoided eye contact, their gazes drifting away and pretending he was just not standing right in front of them. Aemond knew their thoughts all too well, for they mirrored the accusing voices in his mind.

It was all his fault. his fault. his fault. his fault. his fault. his fault.

These haunting whispers had become his constant companions, echoing through the chambers of his mind like a chorus of self-doubt. His legs, as if driven by their own will, carried him swiftly away from the door, away from his innocent victim on the other side. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the corridor, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence that had preceded them, as he sought to escape the crushing weight of his guilt.

Instead, he approached the next chamber at the end of the hallway, that of his younger sister, who would often refuse sleep in anticipation of his visit. He had been absent from their cherished routine for what seemed to be more than a week due to things he had to take care of, so the longing to reconnect with her had grown within him. As he turned around the pillars that led to her room, he had expected to see the usual pair of guards stationed at the entrance, but to his surprise, the place was empty with no one to watch over his sister.

The panic spread in his chest like wildfire as he pushed open the heavy doors and burst into the room, his heart racing as every worst-case scenario rushed to his mind. The darkness enveloped him, only a few flickers of candles casting ominous shadows on the walls, reminding him of the many nights he’d lain awake thinking about his sister’s safety, and now he could have possibly failed her. A subtle hint of lavender wafted through the air, so faint that it was a sign that she had not been preparing for bed at this hour as he had assumed. He rushed towards the other side of the room where her bed was, amethyst eye searching every inch of the bed, unmade and untouched.

So many different voices echoed in his head, each seeking to be the loudest and disturb him the most as he combed through every nook and cranny of the room, desperate for a glimpse or hint of his beloved. When his search brought nothing, he stormed out of the bedroom, his sword at the ready, primed to demand an answer from the first guard he would encounter.

The labyrinthine halls of the Red Keep seemed to stretch on forever, now even more as he grew desperate, its amount of unused rooms and secret passages a constant threat to the safety of those within its walls. As he sprinted from one corner to the next, his chest felt tight and heavy as his feet pounded out. He could not bring himself to disturb his mother just yet, not until he was certain of the disappearance—he needed to know more. Then, a sudden tug pulled in his chest, like an invisible thread, the strange sensation taking control of his entire being and dragging his feet towards a destination only his heart seemed to know.

He found himself back in the deserted wing, the severe rain pounding against the walls as he found refuge in the hallway. His gaze dropped to the dusty floor, his attention drawn to the faint outline of footsteps on the dirty stone, the inexplicable pull growing stronger. He was convinced she was there; his heart wouldn't lead him to this place if it wasn't certain. The door to the old library, slightly ajar, called for him, the warm glow of the fire spilling out into the dim hallway.

He cautiously entered, his voice ringing in the silent chamber. “Haera?” He was grasping the hilt of his sword, prepared to defend himself and his family in case it wasn’t her who was inside. The licking flames illuminated the rows of abandoned tomes, and the musty smell of the old books wafted up, transporting him back to the many hours they had spent together with the ancient texts.

There was no response; however, something told him to keep searching.

He did not have to wander far to locate her, a familiar, curled-up figure on one of the worn, old couches, shrouded in a white blanket that only partially covered her small frame, with her feet dangling off the edge. The room was a labyrinth, with towering book piles that seemed to be strategically built up to alert her of any uncaring individuals if they approached her too clumsily. She had intentionally set traps, delicate and silent that would trigger panic, to safeguard her slumber. Her face was obscured by the sheet, just as she liked it, but even in the faint, golden glow of the hearth, her singularly pale hair stood out like a beacon, impossible to miss.

As he gazed at her sleeping form, he felt that protectiveness swelling up in his chest—the need to shield her from the dangers that lingered and could disrupt the quietness of her peace. He took calculated steps, carefully stepping around the obstacle course of books that made way towards her. When he reached her side, he lowered himself on his knees with his hand reaching out for the blanket that veiled her face, but he hesitated. Instead, he decided for the gentle sound of his voice, whispering a soft "Sister" to rouse her from her slumber.

The melody of his voice was enough to stir her from her light sleep, and she responded with a low, rasping groan, her palms pressing against her eyes as she worked to shake off the chains of sleep. As she sat up, her eyes snapped open, blazing with a feral intensity that rapidly gave way to a look of confusion. She blinked multiple times, her gaze struggling to focus on the familiar contours of his face, particularly the distinctive eyepatch that usually served as her beacon of recognition. Her heart had sped up to an unbearable pace, suddenly believing to be surrounded in danger as she was pulled from her pleasant dreams. However, her panicked gaze set on the black mark on his face, that distinct shape of his face, and the sweet sound of his deep voice, and all was settled in her heart.

Haera's lips curled into a gentle, sleepy smile as she propped herself up on her forearms, her eyelids still heavy with the memory of sleep. Her fingers dragged through her tangled hair, sweeping it back from her face and shoulders as the white sheet rolled down to pool around her hips. The silk fabric of the nightgown was clinging to her skin, shining under the light of fire from a thin veil of sweat, the gown’s delicate straps slipping precariously down her shoulder, almost a threat to reveal more of her skin. Aemond’s eye avoided her skin, his throat tight as he recalled the beautiful image of her naked body and the curves of her body. Yet, Haera remained oblivious to his discomfort, sitting serenely in front of him, as if her state of undress were a familiar, everyday occurrence between them.

He cleared his throat, hoping his voice would come out without any trouble, even if he felt his mouth drying like the desert. “What are you doing here, my sweet girl?” He tilted his head to the side, studying her reaction, his healthy eye a soft caress. Her features twisted, a secret flashing through her eyes, a slight panic and the preparation of a lie. “I thought I would find you in your chambers, just like we did before.” His tone was laced with curiosity.

This time, she averted her gaze, her teeth pinching the bottom lip as she suddenly found interest in one of the many piles of dusty books surrounding her. The soft sigh that escaped her lips was barely audible, but Aemond's sharp ears picked it up, so attuned to her sounds. "I do not like my bedroom anymore," she whispered, consumed by guilt and fear, thoughts of blood and torture.

Aemond's stomach lurched, the heavy feeling of tides turning within him, his mind racing about why she would suddenly avoid remaining in her bedroom at night. His thoughts flashed back to the countless nights he had spent by her, protecting her from the darkness just hiding outside. The only reason that came to mind was that she was scared—scared of being alone, scared of the shadows that danced on her walls, scared of the whispers in the wind, and scared of the men that had once held a sharp blade against her neck. That cold feeling of guilt washed over him once again, his usual stoic expression softening just for her. His hand twitched, aching to reach out and touch her face's soft skin, reassuring her that he would always be there to protect her, but he held back—he did not think he deserved her anymore.

She sank into the worn cushions, flushed with shame at her confession, as she looked up at him with eyes that shone just like the jewels she used for her work, clouded with guilt as if she had just shared a dark truth, as if her fear was her fault. Her fingers nervously toyed with the edge of the sheet that covered her. "They have not blocked the passage yet.” She was referring to the hidden door concealed behind the furniture, the secret entrance that led to one of the Red Keep's many tunnels. Aemond's expression darkened as he drew closer, his knee thudding against the cold stone floor. His joints ached from the pressure, but the weight of her anguish rested squarely on his shoulders, and he knew it was his own doing.

He whispered, “Forgive me, Haera; I have been kept away from you for far too long; I should be here to make you feel safe.” She leaned closer to him in a gesture that comforted him, knowing that she searched for his warmth just as he did hers, the proximity charging with intensity as his heart began to race like a wild stallion, beating like the wings of a dragon taking flight. Her voice was laced with caution, almost as if she feared someone else might be listening in to their conversation. “"Do not apologize; you had duties to attend to.” Her cheeks bloomed with a soft pink, a subtle telling sign of her emotions. “At least you are with me now.” She whispered, dripping with longing.

Unlike him, Haera refused to hold back, and with gentle yet determined movements, she reached out to hold his face in her delicate hands, her fingers tracing the lines of his skin. The touch ignited his fire, washing over him like molten heat that coursed through his veins, as if he had been bathed by Vhagar’s fire. The realization hit him hard: he had been starving for her touch, gentle words, and simply being near her. He struggled to keep his emotions in check, fearing that if he acted on them, he might drive her away. But as their eyes met, he couldn't help but notice the adoration shining back at him, wearing his heart down. His gaze fluttered, entranced by the fondness in her eyes, which seemed to tug at his heartstrings like an old, familiar melody. He began to wonder if she felt the same intoxicating emotions that were suffocating him, rendering him helpless.

That fortress inside of him, one that he had built over the years, had been breached, attacked even, by her gentle touch. She had slipped through the gaps and made her place in his heart, unlocking a flow of feelings that he never thought capable of possessing, flowing out of him like the angry stream of a river. There was a stark contrast between his former self and who he had become, now on his knees and baring his vulnerable heart in the hands of another. Her thumb grazed the scar that snaked beneath his eyepatch, sending a wave of love through him. In that suspended moment, he felt a promise pass between them—a promise of undying love, loyalty, and protection.The words stumbled out of his mouth, his truth slipping past his lips in a lovesick confession. “You are so beautiful.”

Haera's eyes sparkled, her body responding to the sincerity in his voice as a shiver danced down her spine. “So are you, brother,” she replied. The air seemed to vibrate with unspoken emotions, the tension between them palpable as they stood suspended in time, their hearts beating.

Her understanding of love was limited to what she could read from her books and the excited whispers of servant ladies who shared their experiences with her, behind the back of the septas, who would have rather kept her in the dark for the rest of her life. They would constantly remind her that such conversations were improper, yet all it did was help her curiosity grow. Haera was convinced that what she felt was far more profound than a fleeting infatuation. Since reuniting with him, her heart had swelled with emotions, and she couldn't imagine spending the rest of her life without him by her side. She had always fantasized about an epic love, the kind that would rival the sweeping romances she read about in her beloved novels. Now, as she gazed into the eyes of the man before her, she knew that her dream of true love was finally within reach.

Aemond's face, warm from her hold, felt empty as he rose from his position on the hard floor before the couch, his heart skipping a beat at the loss of her gentle touch. He carefully moved to her side, his one eye watching her reaction as he settled beside her on the couch, their thighs touching beneath the crumpled white sheet. Haera's breath caught sharply, but she remained still, her hand trapped beneath his large, gentle one.

Haera had started the forbidden dance of their relationship, crossing over that dangerous line that separated proper from not. Now, she knew exactly what the both of them desired, and with a fluid motion, she allowed him to guide her to her proper place, her body shifting to straddle his lap, her legs around his hips. The air was alive with anticipation, heavy with the promise of secrets shared and boundaries pushed. His gaze was intense, his eyelid half-lowered as he drank in the sight of her flushed cheeks, the gentle curve of her nose, and the tender lips that whispered her love for him.

His eye remained fixed on hers, refusing to break that connection they were forming in the intimate moment. He would memorize every inch of her face so he would be able to recall her beauty whenever he needed it. He would not forget the spark in her eyes, the faint blush that painted her skin, or the soft color of her lips.

“What is it, my sweetling?” His voice cut through the silence, his eyes looking for the truth in her clouded eyes, overtaken by her thoughts. As he spoke, her eyes fluttered to his lips as she drank in the shape of his voice; however, as if remembering herself, her focus shifted, and she looked away. Across from them, the fire crackled and spat insults, a rhythmic fight to the tension building between them. She was bothered by something, and he could not handle knowing that she was feeling wronged in some way.

Her voice danced over the crackling of the fireplace, “Floris Baratheon.” The mere mention of that name sent sharp pain in her chest, her eyes drowning with a mix of sadness and longing, overflowing with emotions that she could not name yet. “The one who is to be your wife..." Haera seemed to search for her words, eyes darting around the room and avoiding his gaze. “Is she pretty?” The question was a weight she could not bear, something she knows she should not have asked for the sake of her own feelings, yet she could not help but feel curious. Why had he chosen her? Would he rather bed her instead? Would she take him away forever?

"My Haera," As he spoke, his breath danced across her skin, sending more shivers down her spine. Their faces hovered inches apart, his lips grazing the softness of her cheek as she turned to gaze at the crackling flames, momentarily evading his piercing stare, “She is nothing but a pawn in our game.” Slowly, she returned her attention to him, her mesmerizing eyes locking onto his—those same eyes that had captivated him from the start, burning with an intensity that left him breathless. The air was alive with tension as their lips almost touched, the gentle whisper of their mingling breaths a sensual tease.

“I do not intend on marrying her.” His voice was sharp, almost angered by the question. He swallowed, recognizing the way he had spoken, and forced himself to calm down as he came to wrap his arms around her like a promise. Aemond’s lips hovered over hers, a brush of their mouths. “You are the only one in my heart," he continued, the sincerity of his words evident in the tremble of his voice. His large, rough hands cradled her hips, fingers splayed wide as he kept her in place, as if he feared she might vanish into thin air. And then, a radiant smile spread across her heart-shaped lips, a sight that had the power to unhinge him. He was helpless against the desire that crashed over him, and with a groan, he surrendered to his passion, claiming her lips once more in a hungry, desperate kiss.

As the heat ignited a spark within her, primal energy coursed through her veins, warning of potential chaos as she surrendered to his touch. She felt a rush of heat dancing over her spine when her hips rolled against him unconsciously, the friction delicious against her clothed sex like a slow-burning fire. His grasp on her body tightened, desperate and delirious, exploring the curves at her sides and her back while she entwined her arms around his neck. Aemond’s palm rested over the line of her behind, slowly feeling over the plumpness of her rear and encouraging the move of her hips.

The moment her body had subtly shifted with timid movements, his thoughts had started to sway wildly, the knowledge that she seemed to want him as much as he wanted her, beginning to eat him alive and threatening to break him completely. She would never understand, not quite, just how deep his longing for her went, his devotion, his all-consuming passion. He had committed the ultimate crime for her—to free her from the shackles of another man, all to experience just a moment of her affection. It was at that moment that he knew that he would never stop when it came to her, until he could claim the love she could offer him.

The sounds of their passion, the wet squelching of their mouths, and the sweet moans and groans that rumbled low in their throats were the only things heard in the abandoned library, over the crackling of the fire and the hooting of the owls outside of the windows. Haera’s movements had become intense, now learning what she wanted and how she could obtain it as long as she kept her hips rolling over an unfamiliar hardness in his pants, the burning growing more intense. Aemond felt himself losing control, almost coming undone right there and then.

But then a sudden crack of the creaking door shattered their reality, rudely yanking them from their heated moment. Aemond did not even bother to mask the annoyed growl that escaped his lips, his hand instinctively reaching for the sword that had long been abandoned at his side, eager to cut whoever had dared to interrupt them. The distinctive sound of heavy footsteps echoed throughout the library, announcing the arrival of no other than Ser Criston Cole, concern taking over his features, his gaze sweeping the room before falling on the two Targaryens.

Haera attempted to scramble off her brother’s lap, her eyes wide at the sudden intrusion, but his grip was unyielding and only tightened around her to pull her firmly against his chest, almost as if trying to hide her away from the older man’s sight. Aemond's one eye gleamed with a deadly intensity as he took in Ser Criston's presence, his glare burning with a warning. Ser Criston, on the other hand, seemed unbothered by the scene before him. His eyes accidentally fell on the princess’ partially exposed form; the hem of her nightgown had ridden up in the heated dance of her body, and he immediately swallowed the knot in his throat. If looks could kill, Aemond’s sole eye would have destroyed the man in a second.

"Prince, Princess," he acknowledged with a courteous nod, his voice tinged with relief. "I was informed that you both were out of bed, and I must remind you that, for your own safety, you are expected to remain in your chambers at this hour of night."

Aemond's response was laced with a subtle yet unmistakable hostility. "Princess Haera is perfectly safe in my company, Ser Criston," he said, his tone dripping with a quiet confidence that fanned the flames. "I will be escorting her to her room, ensuring her safety personally.”

Aemond rose first, gently holding her up as he let her feet touch the ground in a wobbly step, his movements fluid as he then extended an arm to Haera. She took it, her slender hand wrapping around his bicep like a whispered promise. As their bodies touched once again, a shiver raced down both their spines, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. Haera's stomach churned with wild, untamed energy, a sensation far more potent than the nervous butterflies that often beset her. There was an uncomfortable wet spot between her legs, a feeling unfulfilled.

She dipped into an awkward curtsy with a tight, polite smile on her lips as Aemond guided her past him and out of the library, not before another threatening look at the older man. He was quick to walk her back to her chambers, successfully avoiding the eyes of the many guards who were now taking over the hallways of the Keep for the safety of the family. They noticed the silence behind Helaena’s door as they passed by and were relieved to find that she had finally surrendered to sleep, while the soft glow under their mother’s door indicated that she remained awake. Haera's exhaustion was starting to creep in, but she savored every moment with Aemond, and what had just happened behind the closed doors had kept her body buzzing for more.

“Are you staying with me until I fall asleep, brother?” She whispered her question, her voice barely audible over the soft hum of the night, but he was attuned to her, and his ears picked up every word.

“If you wish so.” His voice was soft, like a caress, as he voiced the promise that he would stay by her side. Haera’s face lit up, her grip on his arm bordering on desperation as they crossed the threshold into her bedroom, now enveloped in the calming scent of lavender. He allowed himself to rest on the corner of her bed as she climbed in, the heavy covers and many pillows almost swallowing her whole. Underneath the sheets, her hand reached for him, “Why won’t you join me?”

“It is not proper,” he smiled. “Not yet.”

She hummed as a response, burying her face in her pillows. As Haera’s eyes closed shut and her breathing began to calm as she drifted to sleep, he allowed his mind to be taken by thoughts of revenge against Criston, who had dared to disrupt their moment. He wondered just how far they could have gone if they had not been forced to separate. The young prince’s sigh was barely audible, but it held a world of longing.

Their time would come.

Aemond was sure of it.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ author's note ;

finally! it's been cooking for too long. this chapter is actually the original start of the story when it was meant to be a oneshot! i'm not sure if i've mentioned this before, but sweetling was originally helaemond but i don't think freshly traumatised helaena would have been up for a little grinding in the library lol.

the next chapter will be the last one, and it will be written in a way that it can be read as a oneshot, so it will kinda re-iterate some stuff here and there. i wonder if they will finally get to where we want them to go, hmm, since it seems aemond is kinda avoiding it huh. meanwhile, haera wants to eat him whole lol.

i'm thinking about a bonus final chapter where you guys can find out what happens to haera throughout the war and where she ends up after everything, ifykyk, but that is hanging in the air for now. ╰⪼ thank you for reading!

#ᡣ𐭩 #⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞#aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen #original character #hotd #house of the dragon #asoiaf #aemond x oc!reader #aemond one eye

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