#i am traversing the corridors | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

swordgrace · 5 months ago

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𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

༺ aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

synopsis: in aemond targaryen’s eyes, you have far exceeded anything that he could’ve imagined. during a moment of solace, you indulge in the prince’s growing affections.

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༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 7.1K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, biting, scratching, switch!aemond, fingering (f!receiving), groping, lots of kissing, hair pulling, vulnerable aemond, melancholy aftercare, slight power imbalance, possessive aemond, talk of insecurities, begging, etc.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: finally ,,, an aemond fic! I am currently looking for requests for this account, and hopefully this is a good showcase in terms of getting people interested! This was so fun to write and helped me get into the Aemond headspace, I so look forward to sharing more of my work with all of you!

𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝 the skies over King’s Landing, bringing with it a sense of wariness and discomfort. Rumors and whispers grew of an approaching war between Rhaenyra Targaryen and King Aegon Targaryen — a war between kin that would surely plunge the realm into a great darkness.

Bloodshed and the mere thought of violence caused you to shiver, goosebumps prickling along the length of your spine. The evening was a touch colder, the air bitter and misty with the first inklings of a nighttime deluge. Raindrops smashed into the courtyard, against the castle walls in a steady sheet.

Sworn to serve Lady Alicent Hightower, the dowager Queen, she had dismissed you quite suddenly, citing that she preferred to be left alone this evening. You found it intriguing that Ser Criston Cole so vigilantly guarded the former Queen’s chambers with wandering eyes, but it was none of your business.

The halls of the Red Keep were warm with the glow of torchlight amongst the illumination of the moon, clouds bringing down rain and the low rumble of thunder. You were prepared to make the venture down to the Servant’s Quarters, until you were stopped by a guard somewhere down the corridor.

“My Lady,” One of the Kingsguard, Ser Cargyll, addressed you nobly, even if you were just a handmaiden. “The Prince Aemond is searching for you. He is requesting your presence.”

Prince Aemond — a name not unfamiliar to you.

You felt the subtle hitch within the depths of your throat at the mention of Aemond Targaryen. The Prince was rather acquainted with you, in ways that many would consider uncouth and sinful, but it was a budding relationship. If anything, you found him to be a being of mystique and repression, in your experience.

Under the guise of mere duty, you nodded, curtsying before Ser Cargyll. “Thank you, Ser. I will make my way to his chambers.” You kept your voice hushed, ensuring an air of respect for those who slumbered within the Keep’s walls.

Carrying bundles of fresh linens within your arms, you made your way to the Prince’s quarters, a path that you were somewhat familiar with. Your encounters with Aemond weren’t often, but whenever they did occur, it filled you with a certain thrill and exhilaration. You never imagined yourself to be desirable, the object of a Prince’s infatuations, yet here you were.

A sharp clap of thunder caused you to gasp, nearly losing your footing as you traversed through the darkened corridors, passing by the occasional fellow servant or patrolling knight. Something about this night felt unusual — as if there was an ominous presence lingering around the corner.

Thunderstorms had a horrible habit of making you incredibly paranoid — tonight was no different, it seemed. With a deliberate pace, you ascended the grand flight of steps toward Aemond’s chambers, noticing the lack of protection outside. The Prince wasn’t fond of being hovered over, a notion that you could understand.

The set of ornate, mahogany doors were equipped with iron knobs fashioned into the heads of dragons — quite fitting, considering his heritage. You knocked thrice, stepping back as you waited for the Prince himself, or his summons.

With bated breath, you wrung your digits into the silk and linens clutched within your arms, awaiting the Prince to allow you inside. The suspense was nearly unbearable — sometimes he called you inside, and other times, he greeted you himself with a sly curl of his mouth and that glittering, violet eye of his.

To your delight, the door creaked open, groaning in protest as Aemond stood within the gap, regal and svelte in his leather tunic and fine regalia. His hand perched along the edge of the door, lips tilting into that familiar countenance of his — cunning yet tinged with faint hints of amusement.

“My Lady,” Aemond’s voice was a lull, like the purr of a great cat as he beckoned you inside. He cared little for prying eyes, allowing you to step into the warmth of his open chambers before he latched the door behind him. “You came rather swiftly.” He stated — a mere observation, but it was most accurate.

“Is this not an urgent matter?” To keep appearances, you sometimes asked redundant questions — but Aemond enjoyed them nonetheless. He let out a brief hum, violet hue raking over you as it had several times before. There was something reverent there, a silent appreciation that happened to scream if someone looked close enough.

With a brief hum of amusement, Aemond ogled you, head canting slightly to one side. Blackfyre sat soundly atop his hip, bound in the finest sheath and belt that hung atop his narrow waist. “I suppose not,” He reached out, gently swiping his fingers across your jaw. “I merely wanted to see you.”

Warmth fluttered within your breast, spreading like ivy across the rest of your body. The bulk of the heat settled within your features as you struggled to maintain your composure. “And I you, my Prince.” It was enough to make Aemond’s stare sparkle. “Any word on what will come of the growing conflict?”

Aemond stepped toward the large table, scattered in maps and scrolls, the largest of it being a cartographic description of Westeros. Coins were scattered atop it, meant to resemble garrisons of their forces. “Not yet.” He replied, circling the table before he looked at you. “It is hard to plan for a war that you’ve no counsel in.”

From what Aemond had told you during previous trysts, he was not on the small council — and his brother, the King, seemed more content on drinking and letting others run his kingdom for him. A piece of Aemond spited Aegon for this, for his lack of propriety and sense of duty.

The Prince’s woes weren’t unfamiliar to you. In fact, he had placed his head within your lap and recounted the multitude of misfortunes that had befallen him on many occasions before he had any desire to touch you. Perhaps it was this gesture that had given your budding relationship such a firm foundation.

War was on the horizon, and Aegon hadn’t the slightest clue of what to do — which left Aemond to stew and plot away, to strategize where there wasn’t any inkling of it. It would always fall upon him, the more responsible sibling.

You trailed after him, curious to see such a large map of the continent. If anything, you were more perplexed by the different kingdoms and sigils on coins than the war. “You mean to strategize without the King?” You inquired, noticing the scoff that emerged from Aemond.

“It is nothing new. I only wish to serve the King and my house.” He replied, expression becoming pensive before he sank down into the cushioned armchair, the one placed before his sea of maps and books. Candles danced atop the table, listless and bright.

Aemond was a learned individual, with a thirst for books and tomes, alongside the blade. You admired his desire for more, his desire for knowledge. There was a stark duality to Aemond that you had caught glimpses of during the course of your endeavors — from sharp and cold, like steel, to a hint of warmth.

The Prince’s chambers were spacious, surrounded by an ocean of quiet, with a high terrace and an open wall. You watched as the rain fell, providing a gentle ambiance to your surroundings. A flash of lightning split the sky, and the thunderous gloom of the night raged on.

With a soft exhale, you approached the terrace, lined in a thick bannister and a row of columns. If you extended your hand out far enough, you could catch the rain, feeling the chill of the droplets glide across your palm. It was soothing, enough to ease the heat that had made permanent residence within your skin.

In silent rapture, Aemond watched you carefully, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The glow of moonlight framed your features in silver, accompanied by the twinge of orange — it made you look like a goddess, a beauty incarnate standing before him. His fingers tensed into the arm of his chair, desire beginning to fester inside of him.

Initially, he thought little of you — the lowborn girl that dutifully served his mother, yet the night you’d found him strewn about in his quarters, wounded and wistful, he’d changed his mind. Aemond fell swiftly, and he fell hard — many nights were spent with you in his bed, his head within your lap. It inevitably transformed into desire and the first blossoming of affection.

“Thunderstorms used to terrify me as a child,” You broke the silence, recoiling until your palm was pressed close to your chest. “Now, they seem to make everything ominous, as if there is a lingering dread.” You let out a chuckle, seemingly embarrassed. “It isn’t much different than being afraid.”

Aemond tucked a hand beneath his chin, leaning some of his weight against it as he listened to you. “What do you fear, my Lady?” He questioned, as if attempting to pick you apart, crawl beneath your flesh. You enticed him, evoked a sense of intrigue that he seldom felt in the presence of noble women.

A rather heavy question, but you decided to answer honestly, depositing the stack of linens onto the lounge in front of you. “Being locked away in a cage, perhaps the darkness.” You trailed off. “War.” You grimaced, gaze flickering toward the map on his table yet again.

You always feared war more than anything — it always brought worse things with it. Bloodshed, famine, death, the feeling of no sanctuary or peace.

With a soft huff, Aemond’s violet eye flickered away from you and to his map, surveying his growing plan for any imperfections. He remained quiet for a moment, and decided that he had little desire to talk to you on the topic of war — not when there were plenty of other things he could do.

“War is inevitable, like so many other things in life,” Aemond’s voice carried an indiscernible edge to it. After a brief pause, he continued. “I would keep you safe.” Sometimes, you had difficulty detecting sincerity with the Prince, but you could see it now, even if it was subtle.

If it was meant to be a flattering or sentimental statement, it happened to work, prompting you to dip your head. Sheepishness settled into your features, causing you to tether your hands together. “You honor me, my Prince. I did not know that the life of a handmaiden meant something to you.”

At last, his head angled toward you, lilac hue dancing with light as he leaned back within his chair, the wood groaning in protest. “Come here.” He waved you forward with a flick of his fingers, desiring to feel your warmth, be close to you. Aemond’s lust for you was subtle, but when it sparked to life, it burned like a dragon’s fire.

Your heartbeat fluttered like the wings of a bird, stirring beneath your breast as you obeyed the Prince’s command. Stepping closer, you felt Aemond’s hand trace the swell of your hip, coaxing you into his lap. Without a word, he rested his cheek against your sternum, feeling your fingers rake through his silken tresses.

“Your life is worth a great deal.” Aemond stated, breath fanning out across your collarbone. The Prince savored the sensation of your soft flesh beneath him, heart loud enough to ring within his ears as he pressed close to your chest. Wordlessly, he planted a kiss against the column of your throat.

A shiver rolled down your spine, a sensation that left you aching for more. You never imagined yourself becoming the object of the Prince’s affections, enough for him to state that your life had meaning beyond the station of a servant. “Then it is a mutual feeling.” You uttered, nails lightly scraping against the nape of his neck.

Aemond had often been deprived of affection — even in his dealings with whores, it was originally Aegon’s design, his will enforced. There was no shared connection with a woman seeking coin and a boy, barely thirteen. He preferred you above all else, warm and tender within his grasp, with no desire to use him to further your station.

He used to believe that the only solace he could find was in himself — until he began seeking you out.

What originally began as an arrangement of convenience, purely lust and instinct, had now spiraled into something more. He shared his past with you, treated you to the inner machinations of his splintered family, and in rare instances, became quite vulnerable. Sentiments be damned, Aemond was beginning to feel affectionate towards you.

The growing connection he shared with you, albeit unorthodox and unexpected, outweighed any previous experience he had. You were his — a precious creature that he intended on savoring forever, if he could. Not many would approve of his hunger for a lowborn girl, but Aemond cared little for it.

Above all, known or unknown, he wanted your love.

Aemond’s lilac eye drifted to your visage, drinking you in as he had many times before. The way you cradled his skull within your hand, your other palm planted firmly against his chest — it was intoxicating. He sank closer, finding comfort in your warmth.

He listened to your heart — the way it excitedly galloped for him, pounded within his ear like the deep lull of a drum. The Prince kissed your collarbone, shifting some of your robes away to reveal the soft expanse of your skin. Perhaps, he hadn’t made it known, but you belonged to him — it would stay that way.

A slight chill caused you to press closer, seeking the warmth of the Dragon Prince. Rain continued to pour outside, with thunder rattling the black, cloudy skies, as powerful as a dragon’s cry. Your hand found his shoulder, digits gently massaging into the broad, sinewy muscle of his clothed shoulder.

The sharp ridge of his nose brushed along your neck, lips following suit as he planted several deliberate kisses against your jugular; underneath your jaw. “Cold?” Aemond inquired, able to feel the icy bite of your flesh as it brushed against his. He felt you shudder — but he wondered if that was from something else.

“Slightly, my Prince.” You confessed, though your body’s physical responses were from his lips, in-tandem with the misty chill from the thunderstorm. The flicker of candlelight danced across his features — narrow and defined, beautiful beyond comparison.

“Hm,” Aemond hummed, dragging his lips around the curve of your jawline, pressing another kiss beneath your ear. His scent filled your nose — spiced herbs, smoke and leather, intermingled with that of a dragon. “Shall I remedy this misfortune?” He uttered, his voice crackling with desire.

He nearly smirked at the sound of your breath hitching within your throat — a delicious response to his shameless flirtation. Aemond’s hand crawled along the length of your leg, grabbing at the end of your robes before slipping underneath. His narrow digits danced along your calf, before finding the pliant meat of your thigh.

“Aemond,” You whispered, shifting within his lap as the Prince continued to kiss your neck. The garment you wore was shoddy and somewhat ill-fitting, and you longed to have it removed. You pressed a kiss against his brow, the one that had the beginnings of a scar. “Please.”

The sensation of your lips against his scar nearly drove him into a frenzy — it did the last time you coupled. Aemond let out a brief huff, detaching his mouth from your throat as he hungrily sought your lips. The kiss was overflowing with desire, his hand slithering against your inner thigh.

His slender digits found the apex between your thighs, swiping over the slick heat of your cunt. It was feather-light and tantalizing, meant to make you squirm, a promise of more to come throughout your night together. You whimpered, feeling his thumb ghost around your clit, splitting past your folds.

You reciprocated the kiss with a flurry of passion, tilting your hips forward toward Aemond’s hand. The playful curve of his mouth was tangible as you kissed him again, reaching to cup his face. The pad of your thumb traced along his cheekbone, feeling his teeth graze along your lower lip.

Aemond shivered beneath your palm, finding the sensation of it to be foreign, yet comforting all the same. He hadn’t removed his eyepatch before, during your previous trysts — the thought of you seeing it somewhat unnerved him. It was often used for intimidation, to terrify others into subservience, but it wasn’t like that with you.

As you pulled your head back just slightly, you pressed a tender kiss against Aemond’s jaw, and then against his cheek — another secured itself atop his eyepatch. You felt the Prince’s breath hitch, a subtle noise that left you wanting more.

His hand stilled between your legs, the other holding just underneath your breast. “It would be unwise to remove it.” Aemond uttered, voice as smooth as silk, and just as tantalizing. There was something forlorn about him, as if he were afraid of you glimpsing upon his face.

“I would never insist upon it, Aemond. Just know that I would never pass judgment,” You replied, tucking several strands of pale, silky hair aside. “You are still just as handsome, just as perfect.” Your soft-spoken reassurance made him flustered, yet he was unwilling to reveal that side of himself.

Admittedly, he considered taking it off then, but he decided against it, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. Your hand drifted to the front of his tunic, lined in an impressive array of metallic buttons, bearing the Targaryen sigil. Aemond found your sentiments to be sweet — just like the rest of you.

Wordlessly, the one-eyed Prince coaxed you to your feet, bringing you toward the roaring hearth, beside the light of a crackling fire. The ground beneath you was covered in the layered pelts of various game, from stags to the thick hide of a bear, cushioned enough to provide a safe landing for the both of you.

Aemond towered over you, svelte and broad-shouldered, hand coming to cup your chin as he kissed you. It was slow and unusually sweet, but much to your disappointment, it was short-lived. His hands moved to the front of your robes, tugging at the rugged laces to loosen the bodice.

He watched you hawkishly, enraptured as the both of you maneuvered the shoddy fabric aside. You pulled it over your head, tossing the garment somewhere behind you. It landed on the stone floor with an unceremonious thud, leaving you bare before the Prince.

It was an exchange, one that Aemond silently complied with as he peeled aside his own tunic, lips twitching into a smirk as you pushed away the leather and fine linen of his undershirt. He was all sinewy muscle and narrow limbs, with a pale musculature that seemed to glow whenever the light touched it.

The both of you gazed at one another, your breathing significantly more labored than his own. Your excitement was palpable, the anticipation stirring within your stomach as arousal pooled between your legs. Aemond hungrily consumed your mouth in a blistering kiss, hands grabbing at your hips and chest.

You reached for his shoulders, arms tossing themselves around the back of his neck, digits raking through his hair. Aemond’s tongue greedily slipped past your parted lips, allowing you to taste him. A low hum of approval rumbled within his throat as you submitted to him, chest blossoming with warmth.

It was all tongue and teeth and want — a dance that finally gave way to carnal desire and primitive instincts. You felt Aemond’s hand grope at your haunch, feeling your pliant flesh as he nipped at your lower lip. The flame of desire glistened within his lilac hue.

“Lie down,” Aemond uttered, his voice becoming a touch gravelly, saturated with lust. He watched as you obeyed, sinking down onto the furs with a flustered expression. He stood over you, reveling in the sight of your body, kissed by fire, legs pulled up at the knee. “You are perfect.”

Perfect — you shuddered, stomach churning with liquid heat as you propped yourself back upon your elbows, palms idly running across the soft furs. Aemond sank down, pressing a hot, needy kiss to your lips before he knelt between your thighs, mouth hungrily returning to your throat.

“Aemond,” You moaned, the noise soft and simpering as he assaulted your neck in passionate kisses. Teeth and tongue worked together, leaving behind a handful of marks, some glaringly obvious. He continued his descent, kissing your collarbone, and then your breast. “Please keep going.” A breathy whine left you, then.

His lips twitched into a smirk as he planted a series of hot kisses around your breast, the other palm preoccupied with groping and kneading into the soft flesh there. Aemond felt your body arch into him, knees squeezing at his narrow hips.

With a stroke of his tongue, the Prince began to suck at the peak of your breast, nose brushing along your sternum. The heat from the flame crawled across your body, leaving you feverishly hot. Aemond’s actions did little to soothe it, igniting the fire within your belly.

Your hands flew toward his crown of pale tresses, digits digging in toward the nape of his neck. The furs brushed against your back as you reclined, stealing glimpses at Aemond, who methodically and reverently worked his way along your body.

“Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke,” Aemond purred, sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh below your breast, as if to ensure his point was made. That singular lilac hue caught your heady gaze, prompting him to continue his descent. He abandoned your breast with a lasting kiss, mouth traveling along your stomach and hips. “Ñuhon.”

Listening to Aemond’s enchanting High Valyrian made you shudder, allowing it to encompass you. His voice was nothing more than a lascivious purr, meant to entice and tempt you — you were beyond elated to oblige. You watched with doe-like eyes as Aemond kissed your waist, and then your thighs.

His incendiary stare never faltered, and as he pushed his shoulders between your legs, he held it throughout. Aemond listened to the delicious hitch within your throat, the way you preemptively curled your nails into his shoulders — it was intoxicating.

In an unexpected maneuver, Aemond gingerly abandoned the fine leather of his eyepatch, revealing the glistening, sapphire eye, marred-over with an age-old scar. You were dazzled, perplexed by his beauty and the vibrant gleam of the jewel that was permanently socketed into his eye.

As a display of reassurance, your fingers crept from his shoulder to his face, gingerly tracing around his countenance, from eyebrow to cheekbone. Aemond’s subtle exhale of delight signaled his approval, and without warning, he raked his tongue across your cunt.

Your lips fell apart, unable to smother the pleasured whine that escaped you. His tongue raked hot embers across your aching core, delivering a series of deliberate strokes that were sure to make you squirm. Aemond preferred to savor you, consuming every drop of your nectar as if it were the finest of wines.

Those dextrous, spindly hands of his found the pliant flesh of your thighs, hooking underneath to provide a place of rest for your legs. He squeezed slightly, signaling his presence there as he pressed forward. His mouth greedily lapped at your cunt, gliding from the hood of your clit to your entrance.

“Aemond!” A wanton moan tore past your lips, back beginning to arch into his ministrations. The Prince slowed, sharp nose brushing against your mouth as he dipped forward, tongue briefly pushing inside of you. The subtle sensation made you whine, nails dragging themselves across his shoulder.

You were perfect — flesh velveteen beneath his palms, physique begging for more, your pleasure coming to fruition. You were at his mercy, but fortunately, Aemond was feeling most gracious this evening. The echo of the thunderstorm shook the walls a time or two, but it all became atmospheric, simply background noise.

With one hand fisted within his platinum tresses, the other scratched haplessly at his shoulder, nails leaving behind reddish crescents as he flicked his tongue across your clit. The sensation was fleeting, but he sought to drag it out, lips greedily pursing around the pearl of your cunt.

Another breathy moan left you, stomach pooling with a rush of molten heat. It oozed between your legs as your arousal fell upon the Prince’s tongue, much to his delight. He did not waste a drop, mouth traveling wherever he pleased, lapping at every inch of your cunt.

His throat echoed with a low growl, hands grabbing at your thighs. He traced his tongue around your clit, teasing you with feather-light jolts of bliss. You let out a whine, occasionally writhing atop the furs, head lolled back in a display of pure ecstasy.

Aemond’s subtle groan of delight reverberated throughout him whenever you tugged on his tresses, forcing him further into the warm embrace between your thighs. He pressed a string of kisses along your clit, as if he were worshiping you. He enjoyed your greed — if anything, he wanted to indulge you.

The warm lick of the hearth danced across your flesh, seeping into your very bones. Perspiration dotted your brow, jaw tight as Aemond ogled you from between your legs, like a svelte predator, poised for the kill. “You’re perfect, Aemond.” You exhaled, noticing the subtle twinkle in his lilac eye.

That familiar cheshire smirk of his returned; your sweetly-spoken compliments and shower of praise clearly satiated Aemond. He kissed your thigh, breath hot as it fanned across your aching core. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” His voice was cajoling, playful as he nipped at your hip.

You squirmed, becoming desperate for a release, one that your Prince seemed to dangle before your eyes like a carrot on a stick. “Please,” You moaned, digits tightening within his tresses, a subtle signal to continue. “Please, Aemond!” With such an urgent plea from a sweet mouth, Aemond couldn’t resist you.

It seemed that begging would get you places — Aemond thoroughly savored every second of it. Your lust mirrored his own, perhaps subdued, but it was a raging desire nonetheless. He placed another string of kisses against your inner thighs, gazing at you with an incendiary fondness.

Sluggishly, he descended to your cunt once more, dragging the flat of his tongue along your slit in one broad stroke. With a shiver, your hips rolled forward, eased into submission by Aemond’s hands, which happened to lock you into place as he swarmed forward.

He drank you in, tongue greedily flicking between your weeping core and clit, until he began to apply that same pressure as before. His thin lips pursed around the pearl of your cunt, suckling on the clutch of sensitive nerves until it drove you mad, back arching from the furs.

By the Seven, the things Aemond did to you.

There was a fervor in his ministrations, a ravenous hunger that threatened to tear you asunder. His tongue lapped at your core, interchanging with those brief moments of his lips latched around your clit. You whimpered, thighs pressing on either side of his head.

“Aemond,” You sighed with passion, fisting his silky tresses until you tugged him closer, burying his face within the warmth of your cunt. Aemond didn’t seem to mind, treating you with another barrage of suckling and kisses until you were spent. “Fuck.”

Your unholy mouth made Aemond shudder, groping at your thighs as he brought you to climax. Your release was bittersweet upon his tongue, the most sinful taste imaginable — yet he never claimed to be a pious man. He worked tirelessly to clean you up, cock aching within the confines of his leather trousers.

As you rode the pleasurable high of your release, your body unfurled, the tension within your stomach coming to a halt. A molten bliss wept between your legs, soothed by the cool lick of Aemond’s tongue. Your tryst was far from finished — you had more left to give.

In a coiled, poised fashion, Aemond moved from between your legs, prepared to untie the strings of his trousers and sink himself into you, but you stopped him, placing your palms against the plane of his chest. His musculature was lean and narrow, almost spider-like.

Aemond did not make a sound, watching as you rocked up onto your knees, thighs quivering as you eased him down onto his back — the same position you had been trapped in moments prior. He was enraptured, lilac eye glued to you as if you were heaven sent, a goddess coming to claim him for yourself.

You tossed one leg over him, thighs straddling those spindly hips of his, palms dragging across his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen — wherever you could reach. Aemond shivered beneath the intensity of your embrace, lips quirked into the ghost of a smirk, a look of perplexity to mask his desire to submit to you.

“Tell me you want this,” You whispered, nails lightly raking themselves toward his breeches, not daring to go any further until Aemond offered you his consent on the matter. He was often on top of you, domineering and incredibly energetic, but this was different — for him, and for you. “Say the word and you can have me elsewhere.”

The subtle bob of his throat wasn’t easy to spot, masked by shadow, one half of his countenance basked in the glow of the firelight. His sparkling sapphire gazed at you for an eternity, the other drifting across your supple physique, seated atop him as if you’d mounted a stallion.

His hands came to rest atop your thighs, splayed out, possessively groping your pliant flesh. “I want you,” Aemond uttered, his voice a delicious purr, an octave full of an unrestrained lust. “In whatever way that is.” He quite enjoyed this position — he liked seeing you in all of your beauty, bared before him.

With a gentle smile, your digits began to unravel the ties of his trousers, gracing across his hip bones. It was enough to make him shudder, even if the action was barely noticeable. Together, you and Aemond removed the rest of his clothing — and there he was.

He was a beautiful creature, all lanky musculature and pale flesh, stringy and angular. Everything about him was sharp, like the edge of a blade. Aemond was charming, enchanting to you whether he realized it or not. It was enough to prompt you to lean forward, pressing a string of kisses along his collarbone.

“My Prince,” You murmured into his skin, your nose nuzzling underneath the sharp slope of his jaw. You kissed him there, listening to the hitch in his throat. Aemond hummed, lips curling into something of a perplexed line as his hands wandered about your frame, ensuring to touch and caress every curve, every part of you. “My Prince.”

Aemond turned his head, the movement precise and not at all coincidental. His lips captured yours in a feverish kiss, his cock eagerly pressing against your slick cunt. You gasped, feeling the length of it tempt you as he had several times before, but this time, he grabbed your chin, ogling you with his lilac hue.

He wanted to watch your face as you sank yourself onto him, briefly grabbing his cock in order to guide it to your aching slit. The pleasure that blossomed across your countenance was a sight to behold, and you were met with the familiar tilt of his mouth, a fire smoldering within his gaze as he bucked upwards.

His cock speared you with a suddenness, causing you to moan as you adjusted yourself, rocking up onto your knees. Aemond’s palms held your thighs, and he was more than willing to do some of the work, unwilling to let you tire yourself.

It was mesmerizing to see you on top of him like this, breasts full and lovely, softly jostling with each movement. Your flesh was velveteen, pure perfection cast in the sienna glow of the hearth. The fire was dying, but the lust between you and Aemond was far from extinguished.

Your palms fell flat atop his abdomen, finding your purchase there as you began to ride him. It was sluggish and erratic, at first — you let out a soft moan whenever Aemond moved too, using his strength to meet you halfway. His hips lurched forward, cock thrusting into your cunt several times over.

A string of wanton whines and moans escaped you in droves, feeling his grasp on your thighs tighten. He was quite enamored with you, especially like this — there was no sweeter feeling. He continued to buck up into you whenever he could, sheathing himself inside of you, possessing you from below.

Aemond’s visage contorted into one of shared satisfaction, shifting from indiscernible to pleasurable. He sat up just enough to be within reach of you, hips pushing up to meet the downward fall of your body, his cock buried deep inside of you.

“Aemond,” You exhaled, tossing your arms around his shoulders, feeling one of his hands wander from your thigh to your waist, colliding into you with a passionate fervor. The pace you set was sporadic and needy, wanton with desire as you rode him, your movements attempting to temper themselves. “Kiss me.”

That breathy plea of yours was enough to make Aemond submit, lips claiming yours again in an achingly slow, heated kiss. The feeling of your tight cunt around him, slick and warm, made him groan. He was desperate to keep a rhythmic pace, if that were even possible.

Flesh collided against flesh, and you felt Aemond’s mouth pry itself away from yours, creeping toward the column of your throat. He kissed your jugular, face buried within the hollow between your neck and shoulder. You continued your conquest, rocking up and down along his length, nails digging into his shoulder.

Aemond coaxed you backward, wanting you on your back for the final moments of your coupling. You were swift, slumped back down within the furs as the Prince seized your haunch, spreading your legs by bullying himself between them as he had before.

His thrusts became a touch rougher, chasing after a release as he began to rut into you, cock reaching the threshold as he filled your cunt. Strands of pale hair fell around his face, brow glistening with a thin layer of perspiration.

You gasped, back arching as you hitched one leg around his hips, grabbing at his biceps. Aemond’s pace intensified, turning into something carnal and primal, need outweighing sensibility. Lewd noises filled his chamber — the clash of flesh, the sound of your entangled panting and groans of ecstasy.

Wordlessly, he sought your mouth, kissing you with a blistering force that made your head spin with delirium. You reciprocated with passion, feeling his tongue split past your lips, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. Your teeth snagged across his lower lip, enough to make Aemond’s throat echo with a faint growl.

Between the tangle of teeth and tongue, bodies becoming one, you rolled your hips in-tandem with Aemond’s sharp, brutal thrusts. “Don’t stop.” You whispered, wanting him to chase after his release, feeling the pleasurable pulsations between your thighs.

Aemond let out a soft grunt, cock burying itself within you over and over again, precum slathering your insides. The sensation of your cunt around him was perfection — he wanted more of you, all of you. You felt his hand snake around your throat, cupping beneath your jaw as he squeezed just enough to make you whine.

He was relentless, pounding into you with an obvious desperation that only furthered your desire for him. You gripped his shoulders, bringing yourself as close as you could, any sliver of distance beginning to dissipate, eclipsed by conjoined bodies and shared bliss.

At last, his countenance contorted into one of complete and utter pleasure, pale brows furrowed in concentration, violet-colored eye closing for just a moment. His cock throbbed inside of you, brazenly spilling himself wherever he saw fit. He pulled out halfway through, painting your thighs in a sticky sheen of glistening seed.

With a huff of finality, Aemond kissed your jaw, removing himself from you long enough to retrieve one of the many blankets draped across the foot of his bed. You watched him in rapturous silence, the way his physique moved, sinewy muscle highlighted by the flicker of a fading fire.

You cleaned yourself up, feeling Aemond return as he draped the blanket within your lap. As the hearth began to die, the chill of his chambers became evident, thunder rattling overhead, accompanied by the onslaught of a cold deluge. He rekindled the flame, wordlessly slinking down to curl next to you.

Strewn beside the fire, Aemond’s head came to rest atop your sternum, arm draped across your midsection. You held him, kept him close — it provided a sense of vulnerability that made you truly believe that he was yours. You stroked his hair, surprised that he hadn’t asked for you to leave.

“Whenever you wish for me to depart, say the word, my Prince.” You uttered, feeling him tighten his hold upon you. Aemond gazed listlessly into the flames, lilac hue half-lidded as you continued to caress the crown of his head. He didn’t want to go anywhere.

“No,” Aemond’s command was sharp and punctuated, despite the softness of his tone, something that demanded you yield to him. “I want you here.” He uttered, shivering when your other hand traced along what expanse of his spine you could reach.

Prepared to make your vigil beside Aemond, you settled, leaning into him just as he careened into you. The silence was eerily comforting, lulled by the atmospheric backdrop of the thunderstorm. You always enjoyed the aftermath — you enjoyed holding Aemond, most of all. It made you feel cherished in a different way, one that others might not have understood.

You shifted forward, burying your lips atop the pale crown of Aemond’s skull, letting it linger beyond the boundaries of chastity. He exhaled, body fully curled against yours, half of him reclining against you, the other half left to soak in the crackling warmth of the fire.

As your digits tenderly traced the muscle of his forearm, Aemond finally broke the silence once more, happy to let you stroke his hair. “I have always been different, teased and ridiculed,” He lamented, a twinge of melancholy within his voice. “Underestimated, most of all.”

It was a rare glimpse into the window of Aemond’s being — the man that craved love and affection, longed to be thought of as important. After Storm’s End, his mother had cast her frustrations and scorn down upon him, condescending and detached.

A gentle exhale escaped him as you stroked along the angular slope of his jaw, turning his head away from the fire and toward you. You looked down upon him, this man capable of ruthlessness and cunning, and saw the threads of a shattered youth — of someone who longed to feel a tender touch.

“Those who’ve attempted to slight me have always fallen so short of the mark,” Aemond uttered, a vague reference to the Velaryon boy that he had wrongfully slaughtered. He had some regrets about that one, but he hoped that it would cement his strength — he was the rider of Vhagar, and even then, it never felt like enough. “Hm.”

He seemed incredibly comfortable like this, pressed into your warmth, his cheek nestling against your collarbone. You continued to trace along the smooth plane of his musculature, allowing your digits to finally brush underneath his scarred, sapphire eye.

“You feel cold,” You hummed, noticing the way in which he absentmindedly leaned into your palm, allowing you to fully cup his face. “You are strong, Aemond — resilient and cunning. It is not my place to speak of your family, but I’ve come to know you, and I know that you are stronger than all of them.”

Bristling underneath the sweetly-spoken purr of your praises, Aemond kept his arm draped around you, the other coming to rest underneath your breast. The pad of his thumb graced your silky flesh, and he wanted to stay like this forever, if he could.

Aemond regarded you with a forlorn intensity, one that still danced with a subtle frustration, intermingled with his growing sense of possessiveness towards you. He kissed your palm, and then placed a kiss against your chest, ear pressed to the beating swell of your heart.

“I do not feel different with you,” Aemond uttered, able to listen to the little flutter within your chest, the steady gallop of your heart. “I do not want that to change.” His tone became solemn, and you simply coaxed him closer, allowing him to use the crook of your elbow as a place to rest, fingers raking through his hair.

“It won’t change, my Prince.” Your reassurance was gentle, as saccharine as the finest honey. Aemond’s hum was one of contentment as he crawled forward, head resting against your shoulder instead, allowing him to better hold onto you just as you held him.

Silence passed between you, accompanied by the brief crackle of dried tinder atop the logs, the light of burning embers dancing before you both. He kissed your jaw again, the slope of his nose brushing around your neck as he peered towards the flames.

Again, you felt your breath hitch when Aemond held tightly to you, lifting his head just enough to gaze down upon you. Your countenance was captivating — beautiful beyond compare, awestruck of his appearance. His lilac hue flickered across your face, drinking in the doe-like look you had before he hummed.

The ghost of an indiscernible expression fluttered across his features — incredibly subtle, yet present nonetheless. “I certainly hope not.” He murmured, lips molding themselves to yours, and then to the corner of your mouth before he resumed his former position.

You kissed the top of his head once more, cradling him as you would something fragile. You knew that Aemond’s insecurities resurfaced often, but now, they seemed far more prevalent. Regardless, your affection for him wouldn’t waver — you worried that he wouldn’t feel the same for you, however.

Unbeknownst to you, Aemond already possessed you, body and soul — and that was more dangerous than any blade or any dragon.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd x reader #hotd x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader

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lizzyiii · 3 months ago

Text

His Lady Love (4)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC ✨

word count | 4k words

summary | reader becomes lost in her thoughts. viserys dies, discussions with helaena, alicent, and aemond

tags | blood, violence, death, angst/no comfort (cuz no one knows she's a vampire), vampire powers, tensionnnnn, reader lowkey supports rhaenyra's claim, but she loves team green as if they're her family sooooo.

note | REMINDER: reader is just a teenage girl who wants her mommy, but is forced to be a blood-sucking vampire. also I haven't thought about the mikaelsons in a while and I just remembered how finn mikaelson was my favourite. #justiceforfinnmikaelson. he's so overhated for what?!!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

You were engulfed in confusion—terribly so. Confusion swirled within you like the smoky shadows of the Keep's halls. The unexpected kiss from Prince Aemond echoed in your mind, a fiery spark that ignited a torrent of thoughts as you navigated the labyrinthine passages of Maegor's hidden passageways heading towards Flee Bottom. Cloaked in shadow, you traversed the dimly lit tunnel—one you discovered long ago during the cold, shadowy days of your arrival in King's Landing. But as you slipped through the ancient stone corridors, your thoughts remained anchored to that fleeting moment when Aemond’s lips brushed against yours—intense yet tantalizingly soft.

The kiss was a sudden tempest, and the weight of it left you breathless. His strong, musky scent lingered in the air, a potent reminder of his presence, while his calloused fingers cradled your face with an unusual gentleness. You couldn’t help the unbidden smile that crept across your lips. drawing you further from the gravity of your circumstances. In those fleeting seconds, you felt like a simple girl, unburdened by the Mikaelson curse. You imagined yourself as the heroine of a fable, where a gallant prince would pursue his beloved, proclaiming his devotion before stealing a kiss—precisely as Aemond had done.

As you pressed on, a tavern's raucous laughter and the unmistakable aroma of ale and smoke guided your steps. It loomed ahead, a warm beacon against the chaotic backdrop of Flea Bottom. You pulled back your hood, exposure blossoming as you emerged into the dim light. Almost at once, a rather rotund man stumbled out, his unsteady gait hinting at the heaps of wine he’d consumed inside. Fat and flush, with a beard flecked with remnants of his last meal, he teetered on the brink of inebriation, blissfully unaware of the trap that awaited him. With a bleary gaze, he locked eyes with you, his drunken smirk betraying the more unsavory intentions that lurked beneath his merry facade.

Your heart raced—not with fear, but with mischief. Blood would be spilled tonight, but not yours. You softened your expression into a sweet smile, a mask of angelic innocence that belied your true intentions, as you approached.

His dull gaze sharpened upon your arrival, eyes widening as if you were a vision from the Seven’s very own realms. “You’re a pretty girl,” he slurred, the words tumbling from his lips like the last drops from an overturned flagon.

A soft laugh escaped you, a sound like wind chimes in a summer haze. “Am I?” you replied, your voice playful and melodious,.

The man nodded with fervor, his expression blissfully captivated. Beneath the dim lantern light, you could see the way his thoughts scrambled like rats, floundering beneath the weight of both drink and desire. With a teasing tilt of your head, you gestured toward a shadowy alleyway not far from the tavern's entrance. “Why don't you show me how pretty I am?” you beckoned, your tone flirtatious.

His swollen features broke into a foolish, drunken grin as he stumbled forward, entranced, unaware of the peril that followed too closely in your wake. Such was the way of men like him—lost beyond recovery in the coils of their own indulgences, ripe for the taking beneath the watchful eyes of gods indifferent to their fate.

As you entered the narrow alleyway, the shadows seemed to swell around you, encasing you in an ominous embrace. Before you could even turn around, the man's grimy hands, reeking of sour wine and desperation, were upon you, grasping and pawing at your garments.

A wave of revulsion threatened to rise within you, yet you steeled your resolve. Summoning your vampiric strength, with a swift motion, you shoved him hard against the damp stone wall, his body slumping in surprise.

He let out a raucous laugh, the sound echoing off the walls like a jester’s overplayed jest. You grimaced at the foulness of his breath, the acrid scent assailing your senses. “Oh, you’re a strong girl, are you?” he slurred, a foolish grin plastered across his round face.

“Indeed,” you replied, your voice laced with disinterest. Your gaze sharpened, intensity pooling in your crimson irises as you began to weave the threads of your compulsion. “Be silent and remain still.”

With each word, you could feel his will wavering, his body succumbing to your command as his laughter turned into a slack-jawed stupor. The stench of his unwashed skin assailed your nostrils, but it barely registered now as your fangs elongated, sharp and glistening in the hopeless half-light of the alley.

Leaning in close, you felt the rush of your animalistic urges surge through you as your fangs pierced the delicate flesh of his neck, finding the pulsing artery with ease. The man whimpered, his feeble sounds mingling with the night air, yet he made no effort to resist; he was a mere vessel now, a source of sustenance for your insatiable thirst. The bitter warmth of his blood coursed down your throat, igniting a mix of satisfaction and despair.

As you fed, your mind wandered unbidden to Aemond—the fleeting memory of the kiss you had shared igniting a spark of longing that warred with your harsh reality. In that moment, the illusion of being a normal maiden, one capable of love and tenderness, faded into the dark abyss of your existence. The truth clawed at you like a ravenous beast; you were a creature of the night, bound by a thirst that rendered your dreams of affection but a distant whisper.

A wave of sorrow crashed over you, its weight pressing heavy upon your heart. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring your vision as despair settled deep within your soul. In a fit of anguish, you tore your fangs from his flesh, the act frenzied and primal, as you ripped through his throat. A sob escaped your lips, raw and aching, as you stepped back and allowed the lifeless form to crumple to the ground. Blood smeared across your jaw, a grotesque mark of your nature, but your thoughts strayed not to the corpse before you.

How cruelly fate had woven your path; Aemond, with his fierce spirit and brooding whispers, was a world beyond your grasp. Yet every stolen glance, every shared moment between you only served to deepen the agonizing contrast of your reality. You cast the dead man one last glance, his stillness a haunting reminder of your actions, before turning your back on the grim tableau. As you made your way back towards the Keep, you felt a solitary tear trace a path down your cheek—one more sign of your unfulfilled yearning, echoing in the vast silence of the night.

As you crossed the threshold into your chambers, the heavy atmosphere of despair clung tightly to your spirit. You searched for a damp cloth to cleanse yourself—tinged with the vivid crimson remnants of the blood you had once savored, now leaving a bitter taste in the pit of your stomach. Though the vampiric curse bestowed upon you allowed for days without rest, weariness prevailed, drawing you like a shadow toward your bed.

You felt the weight of your heart, heavy with sorrow and longing for the comfort of sleep—a refuge where you could escape the chains of your reality. Tomorrow, the court would buzz with intrigue and whispers, but you doubted you would leave your chambers. In those fleeting moments between wakefulness and dreams, perhaps you could imagine yourself as someone else—a maiden free of bloodlust, pure and deserving of Aemond's fierce devotion. In those dreams, you could be free. In those dreams, you would be whole.

As the lingering echoes of the previous night's woes finally faded, you stirred, your senses slowly awakening from a slumber that felt both unearthly and heavy with dreams. With a deep sigh, you pushed your head from the pillow, blinking against the fading light that spilled through the window. The sun had dipped lower on the horizon, casting shadows that danced across the stone walls of your chamber—a stark reminder that you had now squandered the day sleeping away.

With a reluctant grace, you rose from the silken sheets that embraced you, and wrung your hands through your tresses, managing to tame the wild locks that had battled against the weight of sleep. Yet, as you got dressed, a sense of urgency gnawed at you. You drew closer to the heavy oak door, intent on rejoining the world beyond its threshold. However, your fingers merely grazed the handle to reveal that it was stubbornly sealed.

Furrowing your brow in irritation, you exerted a bit more force, pulling at the handle, only to find it locked. A huff escaped your lips, and with a determined glare directed at the obstinate barrier, you pressed your hands against the frame, using your strength and pushed. The wood shuddered against your might, yielding at last, the door swinging open with a reluctant creak that echoed through the silence of the guest wing.

When you stepped into the hallway, an unsettling quiet enveloped you, the stillness stretching like an unseen net. You advanced cautiously, each footfall a reminder that something was amiss. Yet, you dismissed the haunting unease that prickled at your skin, shaking off the chill while you made your way forward, resolute in your purpose, as you sought Helaena’s chambers.

The atmosphere in Helaena’s solar was suffused with the same unsettling. The last rays of sunlight filtered weakly through the stained glass, casting muted colors that danced across the flagstones, but they did little to dispel the heaviness of the atmosphere. Helaena, draped in a gown of pale blue, sat by the window, her gaze lost in the distance, and her delicate embroidery forgotten on the chaise, threads of gold and silver glimmering like fleeting memories.

“Princess,” you ventured softly, stepping closer, your voice barely a whisper against the weight of the silence.

She turned slowly, her features—usually serene—now marred by a deep frown that spoke of profound grief. “Where were you?” Helaena’s voice, though devoid of accusation, dripped with a melancholy that made your heart ache.

“Confined in my chambers,” you replied, concern creasing your brow.

Her eyes drifted downcast, fingers twisting nervously together like the tangled threads of her abandoned work. “I am queen now,” she murmured.

Confusion washed over you, a furrow forming between your brows. “I don’t understand.”

“Father died last night,” she revealed, her voice hollow, as if she were reciting a grim tale rather than sharing a wound that plunged deep into the heart of House Targaryen. “Aegon’s coronation took place at midday.”

“Oh,” was all you managed, the weight of her words pressing down upon you like a winter frost.

You had never anticipated this so soon; the insatiable hunger for the Iron Throne had prompted a brutal and ruthless usurpation. The whispers of civil war—so distant and abstract until now—had materialized into a bitter reality. You settled beside her, the familiar warmth of your presence a fragile comfort amidst the tempest of her sorrow. Gently, you took one of Helaena’s hands in yours, your fingers intertwining. She squeezed your hand tightly, her grip a silent plea for strength, and you could feel the tremors of her despair ripple through the fragile connection that bound you together.

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting shadows across the Red Keep when you at last emerged from Helaena’s chambers. The weight of her weariness had pulled her into a restless slumber, leaving you with a restless heart. You meandered through the stone corridors, each echoing step leading you toward the chambers of the one whose counsel you desperately sought. Upon reaching the heavy oak door, you knocked gently, and a faint voice called from within, "Enter."

Pushing the door open, you stepped into the dimly lit chamber. The flickering flames of the hearth danced, casting a warm glow that played across the fine tapestries adorning the walls. Your eyes settled on the figure seated by the fire—The Queen, though perhaps now, the dowager Queen.

"Your Grace," you greeted, your voice laced with reverence.

Alicent turned, the light catching her features, her once bright eyes now shadowed with the weight of loss and duty. The depths of her large brown irises seemed to brighten with a flicker of comfort at your arrival, but the sorrow was unmistakable as she murmured your name. "I apologize for the constraints placed upon you. My father thought it best that all liege lords and ladies be confined to their chambers in light of recent events."

You nodded, empathy swelling in your chest as you took a seat beside her. "Helaena shared with me the tale of what transpired," you began cautiously, your gaze intent upon the queen's weary expression.

Alicent sighed, the sound heavy with grief. "The King," she spoke, pain sweeping over her like an ominous fog, “he spoke of Aegon, he named him as heir in his final moments.”

Your heart tightened at her words; skepticism gnawed at the edges of your mind. Could it truly be? "Yet, Your Grace," you ventured, a hint of disbelief coloring your tone, "the King had twenty-two years to declare Aegon as his rightful heir."

Alicent turned her gaze back to the fire, the flickering flames casting an ephemeral glow upon her face. The warmth that once radiated from her presence seemed dimmed, replaced with an aura of fragility. She drew a shaky breath. "Perhaps it is not a matter of time, but of choice," she murmured, her words weaving through the shadows of the room, "In that moment of despair, he grasped for certainty amidst the chaos.”

Certainty which embodied the drunken Aegon? A skeptical expression crossed your features, yet the desperation in the Queen’s gaze expressed to you that it was indeed the truth to her. Despite her conviction, you found yourself unable to fully surrender to her narrative. "Then why did Aegon’s coronation happen so quickly?" you challenged, the words falling from your lips like shards of ice.

For this, the Queen faltered. Her eyes slipped away, a slow shake of her head revealing the anguish that resided within. "If Rhaenyra were to ascend the throne, the lives of Aegon, Helaena, Aemond and Daeron would be forever in danger," she murmured, the words laced with the indoctrination of Otto Hightower.

You held a quiet disbelief in your heart. Rhaenyra, with her fierce spirit and benevolence, would not turn her blades against her half-siblings without provocation. Still, you understood the origins of Alicent’s dread. After all, Rhaenyra was married to Daemon, who was likely to see the children of Alicent as forever living threats to his wife's claim. Still, all thoughts of treachery were now ghosts in the face of Aegon's coronation.

“Will you accompany me to the Sept on the morrow?” Alicent's voice broke the silence, a quiet plea wrapped in a veil of vulnerability.

In that moment, you were swept away by a tidal wave of longing for your own mother. Before you embraced the demonic creature you had become, your mother had nurtured you with a love akin to that of a fallen star gracing the Earth. Now, you found solace in the fragile figure of Alicent Hightower, clinging to her presence as though she might fill the void left by your lost mother. With a gentle nod, you covered her slender hand with your own, "Of course, your grace."

The dawn’s light seeped hesitantly through the thick drapery of your chamber, casting a muted hue across the stone walls of the Red Keep. You stirred from restless dreams, where shadows danced ominously on the precipice of war. A chill licked the air, as if the very stones of Westeros mourned the blood that would soon be spilled. With a sense of foreboding, you rose before the sun had fully chased away the darkness.

Slowly, you donned a gown of soft lilac, the fabric whispering against your skin like the breeze that crept through the narrow window. You painstakingly braided your hair, arranging it delicately. Each movement was imbued with both purpose and trepidation, a ritual that anchored you amidst the chaos that brewed beyond the castle walls.

Before the winds of fate had cast you adrift in Westeros, you had known nothing of faith; the Norse gods of your childhood were mere tales spun by your parents, who were as skeptical of the divine as they were of the world outside their doors. In your past life, the gods felt distant, ethereal, and removed from the fervor of humanity. Yet here, in the heart of Westeros, how the world spun differently.

But within the regal presence of Queen Alicent, whose strength and grace reminded you of a lioness guarding her young, your skepticism began to erode. She embodied the devotion of the faith you had once dismissed; her prayers were filled with fervor as she sought to protect her kin and forge alliances among the houses of Westeros. In her company, you found solace in the faith of the Seven. To kneel before the Mother’s statue, adorned with offerings, was to partake in a ritual that tethered you to something greater, something almost palpable

You found solace in the quiet prayer sessions held in the Grand Sept, the flickering candles casting gentle silhouettes that danced like restless spirits against the stone. In the embrace of the faith, you discovered understanding of why mortals have always turned to religion: it was a way to combat the loneliness that often shrouded their hearts, a mechanism to find purpose and justification in their actions. Your fervent prayers often echoed the same request: a plea for safety—not only for the Targaryens, whose fates now intertwined with yours, but for the family you had left behind.

You prayed fervently for the Gods to soften Niklaus’ heart and lessen his wrath. You implored them to instill in Elijah the profound love he often failed to bestow upon himself. For Rebekah, you sought kindness; you yearned for her to see you not as competition, but her cherished sister. You called upon the heavens to grant Kol wisdom, challenging his rampant bloodlust that often clouded his judgment. And for your gentle Finn, trapped in the dark confines of a coffin wrought by Niklaus’s cruelty, you begged for respite—an end to his suffering and a chance to embrace his freedom at last. Your prayers extended toward your youngest brother, Hendrik, and for your beloved mother as well, who now resided among the stars in Heaven.

And even sometimes with a heavy heart, you whispered prayers for your father as well, pleading for mercy in the depths of his obsession, hoping that perhaps one day, he might find forgiveness before it consumed all the Mikaelsons.

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock at your chamber door. Puzzled, you rose from your vanity, the delicate scent of jasmine lingering in the air around you. As you approached the door and opened it, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of Aemond standing there, his presence a commanding force. In that fleeting moment, your mind drifted back to the night years ago when a thirteen-year-old, tousled Aemond had appeared before you—so innocent, so unrefined. But now, the boy had transformed into a striking man, confidence radiating from him.

Time seemed to stretch as the two of you locked eyes, an unspoken weight hovering between you, memories of the kiss you shared two nights prior flooding your thoughts.

“May I come in?” he asked, shattering the spell that had enveloped you both. You nodded, albeit with a hint of hesitation, stepping aside to let him enter. His musky scent enveloped you, a wild and intoxicating aroma that stirred something deep within.

With a small pout lingering on your lips, you inquired, “What brings you here?”

“I came to see how you were faring,” he replied, standing awkwardly in the center of your dimly lit chamber, like the sun caught in the shadows.

You huffed softly, wrapping your arms around yourself, a protective gesture that belied your ancient nature. It was strange—centuries of existence coursing through your veins, a vampire of untold ages; yet here, in the presence of Aemond, you felt like a naïve girl enchanted by the shadows that danced between you.

You spoke with a raw honesty that felt both freeing and heavy, “I’ll confess,” you replied, your voice tinged with frustration, “I’m both surprised and vexed to find myself confined to this chamber all day, only to emerge and learn that the King is dead and Aegon has claimed the throne.” A sigh escaped your lips as you cast your gaze to the side, memories of your family washing over you like a forgotten tide. “I was always the last to know in my family as well."

Aemond stepped closer, a teasing smirk finding his lips, clearly amused by your candidness laced with sass. “I must take my leave shortly to secure Borros Baratheon’s allegiance,” he stated, his voice filled with formality, yet laced with something unspoken.

Your eyes locked onto his striking violet one, and you arched an eyebrow, “So?”

“In exchange for his support, the council has arranged my marriage to one of his daughters,” he murmured, letting the words hang between you like a dark omen, scrutinizing your reaction with utmost care.

"Oh," in that moment, it felt as if your heart had splintered into countless shards. You forced a nod, turning away to shield the tempest of emotions brewing within you, striving for a façade of indifference, “Such is your duty, then.”

“It is,” he admitted, positioning himself directly in front of you, a palpable intensity radiating from his presence. Yet, you continued to avoid his gaze, perhaps in a desperate bid to escape this reality. And as you remained steadfast in your gaze away from him, he added softly, “But when I arrive there, it is Daeron’s hand I intend to offer instead.”

Your heart raced at his declaration, the pulse quickening against the cage of your ribs, yet you still refused to meet look at him, “Why?” you whispered, the question barely escaping your lips.

Aemond softened his stance, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he guided your face to meet his gaze. “Look at me, sweet girl,” he implored, his voice now a low, fervent whisper, compelling you to meet the intensity of his unwavering stare. “Because the only woman in this realm that I wish to call my own is you.”

Pain flashed in your heart, a flood of emotions crashing over you as you furrowed your brows, your voice trembling with uncertainty. “Aemond…”

He leaned closer, placing a gentle kiss upon your forehead, a benediction of sorts. “We will discuss this further upon my return,” he murmured, his breath warming your skin.

With that, he turned away, departing into the shadows that awaited him beyond the door. Alone, you pressed your palms to your mouth, constricting a gut-wrenching sob that echoed in the hollow silence of your chamber, a lament for the hope that quickly flickered out like a dying candle.

next up, Aemond coming back from Storms End

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nothingbutsweetwords · 4 months ago

Text

ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ꜰɪx ʜɪᴍ (ɴᴏ, ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ)

ᴅᴀʀᴋ!ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ

"ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ ᴍᴇ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴍᴀɴ, ɴᴏ, ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ."

Word count: 9,700. (sorry)

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Sister.

Warnings: Angst, smut, incest, mention of non-con, violence, blood.

The sunrise on the garden balcony was a spectacle of light and color. The sky bathed in shades of pink and lavender, reflecting its warm glow over the colorful petals of the flowers and the cool fountains surrounding them. They were in that corner of tranquility, enjoying one of those rare moments when time seemed to stand still.

Away from the exhausting bustle of the palace and the endless boring lessons that usually occupied them, they were seated on a marble bench. Lucerys gazed at the horizon, where the sun was slowly rising, while she looked at the small piece in her hands, a little sky-blue horse that belonged to him, her best friend, who always carried it. Her mind was at peace, enjoying a restorative calm, complemented by the sound of the leaves rustling and the gentle waves caressing the sand.

Suddenly, he broke the silence, rising above the murmur of the garden. He cleared his throat, a sign that announced the importance of his forthcoming words. His eyes sparkled with a light that was more than just the sun’s.

“Have you heard the news?” he inquired, his tone soft and gentle as he regarded her. Though his tone was casual, the faintest hint of a smile revealed his restrained excitement.

Intrigued, she turned her head toward the sound of his sweet voice, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her eyes met his. “What is it about?” she asked, filled with genuine interest.

Lucerys leaned forward slightly, an air of mystery about him. There was a palpable warmth in his anticipation, akin to the whisper of a breeze through the clouds. “It appears that a proposal has been made,” he began, pausing dramatically for effect before adding, “between the two of us.”

A wave of emotions washed over her, a mixture of surprise, relief, and an uncontainable glee. Her brows arched in astonishment as her mouth fell slightly open.

In an instant, her lips broke into a smile, accompanied by a small laugh. “I am pleased it is you” she said. “We will be together for all time.”

Seeing her reaction, he returned the smile with one that illuminated his entire face. His cheeks took on a rosy hue, and his eyes reflected a happiness that seemed to mirror her own.

The promise of a shared life, now formally announced, felt as natural as the descending sun. Their friendship had been a constant source of joy and stability, from their childhood games to their conversations filled with dreams and confidences, and in that moment, the bond was evident.

As the day melded into morning, they dreamt aloud of all they would do when the time came. They would live in Driftmark, sail the open sea every day they could, and the others would fly on Arrax's back, exploring every realm and enjoying adventures far, far from King’s Landing.

She moved hastily toward her brother. Each stride, each heavy step seemed to echo in her mind, a reverberation of the anguish she felt as she traversed the silent corridors of the palace. Her face, impassive and devoid of expression, could not reflect the emotional storm that tormented her.

Upon reaching the door, her hands trembled slightly as she turned the knob. The maester, who was in the midst of his work, offered a respectful bow before withdrawing, leaving them alone in the deep gloom, barely interrupted by the faint rays of light filtering through the window.

The room was enveloped in a dense atmosphere, and the air was thick with a penetrating smell of blood and medicinal ointments, a constant reminder of the suffering manifesting within.

The tense friction between the children of Rhaenyra and their own siblings had always been present, but what occurred that night surpassed any expectations of enmity, turning the journey to Driftmark into an explosion of chaos, destruction, and despair, marking a turning point for all. And now, Aemond lay mutilated, wounded inside and out beyond repair, his body marked by the traces of brutality.

The bond between them had never been one of great closeness; she respected and valued him, of course, but always felt they aimed at very different things. He had a powerful, dominant presence, determined to protect her from what she perceived as invisible enemies and to educate her on intricate politics from which she only longed to escape.

Despite all this, he was her brother, and the sight struck her with unrelenting force, tearing at her from within, and the blood tie was felt immediately, throwing her toward him with urgency. His face was bruised, with traces of dried blood scattered across his skin, and his left side was completely bandaged.

She approached the bed cautiously, as if afraid to disrupt the fragile balance of the situation. She sat beside him, taking his hand in hers. The coldness of his skin and the sharp pain reflected in his features made her feel as though the world was crumbling around her. Tears began to flow down her cheeks uncontrollably.

The silence of the room was broken by a fractured whisper. “Let me take care of you now” she said, almost like a plea, the weight of regret and sincerity in her promise resonating in her voice, clinging to the hope that she could offer some comfort.

She felt lost, trapped between the piercing pain of seeing Aemond suffer and the cruel disbelief that Lucerys was the cause.

He nodded slightly, squeezing her hand and showing a small smile with the remaining strength he had.

Over the following moons, she stayed by his side, reading aloud fragments of books he used to enjoy, trying to distract him from the pain and make him feel he was not alone.

One time, while they were in his chambers, the weight of her questions prevented her from thinking about anything else. Her family had preferred to keep the details from her ears, but she needed the full, raw, and unadorned truth to face her own pain and sense of betrayal.

“May I ask you something?” she murmured with cautious hesitation. Aemond looked at her, his uncovered face showing his wound, which, although it had not diminished his beauty, bore testament to the deep suffering he had endured. He nodded, granting her permission to continue. “What precisely happened that night?”

His expression darkened with anguish as he began to recount the events in detail, sparing no harsh truth. He described how he had been ambushed, how ruthless insults and merciless blows had rained down on him just because, and how the violence he had suffered had left an indelible mark not only on his face but also on his spirit. His narration was laced with a sharp sense of injustice and humiliation.

Lucerys had brought a dagger and his siblings and cousins, under the assurance that Aemond would be isolated, and it seemed that the conflict had left a bitter sense of dissatisfaction.

Each word and revelation felt like direct strikes to her gut, leaving her paralyzed, her hands quivering as she struggled to grasp the gravity of what she had heard.

Her dearest and closest friend, the one with whom she had shared laughter and secrets, the one with whom she had dreamed of building a life, turned out to be the perpetrator of such indescribably atrocious violence that she could hardly believe it. The actions of that boy, in whom she had placed all her trust, felt like a treachery that cut to the very essence of her being, shattering her deepest convictions.

She recalled all those times Aemond had told her about the callous jokes he faced and the dangers of associating with cold, ambitious people, and how she had thought he was exaggerating. Now, she understood the truth with terrifying clarity: he had always sought to shield her from the darkness of their world, and his warnings had materialized in him.

“They will not be satisfied with this” he intoned gravely. “They will not rest until they have eradicated all who pose a threat to their rise — Aegon, Daeron… me.” Fear enveloped her strongly, realizing that unity was more crucial than ever, and recognizing that she had lost the one she loved most in the world.

“And to think we were to be married” she whispered later, more to herself than to Aemond. The acceptance that the future she had once envisioned was no longer hers shattered the heavy silence, leaving behind a sound of broken dreams.

He regarded her with an intensity that was both earnest and fierce, his gaze reflecting deep sincerity.

“I would never have allowed it” he declared firmly, charged with a fervor that made clear how much his love and desire to protect her meant. Tears welled in her eyes as she faced him. “He is a bastard, and every bastard is a monster by nature” he added with disdain.

She had always abhorred such notions; she knew Lucerys for who he truly was and had never believed he fit such descriptions. Yet now, she found herself doubting.

She nodded, relieved to have avoided what seemed like it could have been a curse, and grateful to have Aemond by her side, who seemed to be her only refuge amidst the storm that her world had become.

As the years went by, her feelings began to transform in ways she had not anticipated. At first, her heart was flooded with excruciating pain. Seeing her brother suffer was a torment, every lament, every sign of ache, cut deep into her, creating a sense of helplessness that seemed inexhaustible. It also hurt her to adopt a new image of Lucerys, with a completely different light.

That pain gradually dissipated, replaced by something more intense, a relentless fury towards Lucerys and blind devotion towards Aemond. His resilience and bravery which he showed without complaining, were worthy of worship, and fascinated and inspired her in ways she had never imagined.

Her life began to revolve around him, at a pace that seemed synchronized with his needs. While he dedicated most of his time to training, challenging his physical limits, she became a constant and discreet presence, a faithful shadow moving through his surroundings. She took it upon herself to nurse him back to health, and she manifested in every small gesture, from carefully bringing his meals to delicately cleaning his wounds and changing the bandages with loving precision.

Each night, when sleep eluded him, he would call for her, and she would come, ready to provide a refuge of comfort and support, trying to make the hours of wakefulness a bit more bearable.

Amidst all this, something withered while something else bloomed, an emotion that overflowed and transformed into something much more mature. The first sign of change was the blush that would take over her cheeks every time he whispered his sweet thoughts to her.

He told her that her care was the greatest comfort he had received, that her love was the greatest blessing in his life, that she was everything he had always wanted, and that he hoped to have her by his side forever, forever. These, filled with genuine affection and a fragility he did not share with anyone else, began to penetrate her vulnerable heart.

Aemond, who had grown into a man of imposing beauty, now occupied a special place in her heart. Every feature of his, every gesture, every look seemed to be wrapped in a strength that captivated her completely. The way he moved, the way his eye shone with an intensity that only she seemed to grasp, made her pulse quicken, as if every beat of her heart was an ode to his existence.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, painting the sky with golden and orange hues, she sat on the edge of the window, her gaze lost in the vast expanse of the sea, which reminded her of what once was, while listening to the restless waves crashing on the shore.

Her mother entered with a resolute step. “I wished to speak with you, my dear” she said with a voice trying to remain calm and her face marked with tense lines. She turned to her, a faint smile on her lips at recognizing her presence, and nodded softly.

Alicent gently took her hand and guided her to the nearby settee. They both sat down, and the silence that followed was laden with a heavy anticipation, palpable as the pressure before lightning splits the darkness.

Feeling the weight of unspoken words, she looked at her with concern. “What troubles you, mother?” she asked, intertwining her hands in an attempt to share the emotional burden as the sadness in her mother’s eyes did not go unnoticed, even though the reasons behind it were not clear.

Alicent sighed deeply before murmuring, her voice breaking. “I am worried about you.”

She looked at her, her curiosity growing with each passing second. “Worried about me? Why?”

Her mother paused, looking at her with apprehension. Finally, she gathered her resolve to speak. “Your relationship with Aemond…” She cleared her throat and licked her lower lip before continuing, carefully choosing her words. “Your brother… he is not the same since the events that befell him. And I wonder whether it is wise for you to remain so close to someone like him” she said cautiously.

Her eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. “Someone like him?” she asked, her tone reflecting her unease.

“You know what he is” her mother replied in a whisper, as if fearing the consequences of voicing her thoughts.

“He is just hurt, rightfully so,” she defended, “and I can help him” she added urgently, trying to make her mother see the determination on her face.

“No, you cannot.” That was an unexpected blow. “Besides, do you not think that what you are feeling may not be entirely genuine? You lost Lucerys, and you needed someone to fill that void.”

Her mother’s words struck a sensitive chord. She looked at her with seriousness, her expression shifting from confusion to profound sadness. “That is not true” she whispered firmly, her voice trembling. “And do not say that again.”

“You may view matters from a different perspective than I, from where you stand” Alicent continued, still gentle, attempting not to alarm her further. “And you have seen how your sister has been since she got married” she said, tears beginning to pool and her lips pressing together to stifle them. “I wish not to condemn you to the same fate”

Exasperation took hold as she defended their relationship, knowing that not all could comprehend. “Their love is not the same as ours” she said, her voice rising with a mix of frustration and desperation. “Aemond is not as you believe.”

“Perhaps it would be wise for you to distance yourself from him” Alicent finally suggested. “A change of scenery, some distance, might offer you clarity.”

Suddenly, she stood up, pulling her hand away sharply. “What are you trying to do?” she demanded, her eyes blazing.

“I am going to send you to Old Town. There, you may meet new people and choose the husband you desire.”

“I want Aemond!” she retorted, shouting as she neared a breaking point. “Do not do this to me” she pleaded, her face reddened by the tears that finally began to fall as she clutched her chest, which seemed to be closing up.

“I merely wish to care for you” her mother said through tears, rising to follow her as she began to pace around the room. “I seek what is best for you” she added, her hands reaching out in an attempt to touch her.

“He is what is best for me,” she countered, “and I am what is best for him.”

“No, he is not” Alicent said, her voice rising into a cry filled with anguish. “He will ultimately tear you apart.”

With a heavy heart, she faced her mother. “Attempt to keep me from him if you must” she threatened, her voice full of defiance. “Send me to the ends of the earth if you want, he shall always find me upon Vhagar.”

Alicent reached her side, cradling her face in her hands with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of the moment, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a love that contradicted her words. They stayed like that for a few minutes, their foreheads touching, both trying to steady their breathing and meet halfway.

“If you will not do it for yourself, at least do it for me” she pleaded, a call to empathy that made her waver. She finally pulled away, stepping back. “It is decided, then” she said with a trembling voice before retreating, shaking her head, her face soaked with resignation.

The rest of the day dragged slowly as she remained locked in her chambers. She had leaned against the wall, seeking solace in the cold of the stone and the salty air that seemed to try to dry every tear that rolled down her cheeks. Shadows lengthened as the light began to fade.

She couldn’t get out of her mind the vision of another future that had collapsed before her eyes. The image of a destiny that once seemed promising and full of hope had now turned desolate, again.

She would be bound to an unknown lord, forced to accept a marriage she did not want, raising children fathered by a man she did not desire, facing a life that offered no freedom or happiness. The weight of an existence with no option to choose her own path pressed on her little by little, like sinking into water.

The door creaked open almost imperceptibly, and Aemond appeared in the doorway, his figure marked by exhaustion. He walked towards her with silent steps, calling her softly, but she was so immersed in her thoughts that she barely heard him. Only the warmth of his proximity pulled her out of her reverie.

When she slowly turned to look at him, the sadness in her face, with swollen eyes and tears still filling them, made his expression shift to one of alarm. “What is it?” he asked, his voice thick with worry as his brows furrowed.

She endeavored to speak with resolve, but her voice betrayed her struggle to remain composed. “Mother is going to send me away,” she said, her voice cracking, “to find a husband.” Aemond’s reaction was immediate. His eye widened, and his jaw tightened, indignation clear in his demeanor.

“She dares to take you away from me?” he exclaimed, his tone rising. One hand encircled her waist with a strength that was both tender and firm, while the other rested on her neck, ensuring she felt his sincerity. “I will not allow it” he declared with fervor. “I will not allow you to be wed to some mere lord.”

She bit her lower lip, the effort to contain her sobs making her tremble. “It is decided, she said” she whispered, the sorrow in her words intensifying his grip.

“She has no word in this” he asserted with a voice seething with fury. For a moment, he allowed her tears to flow freely as he held her, her forehead resting against his chest.

After a few moments of finding comfort in his embrace, he gently pulled her away, taking her by the roots of her hair and compelling her to look up. “To whom do you belong?” he asked with a firmness that left no room for doubt.

She met his face, her devotion undeniable in her eyes. “To you” she whispered, her voice soft.

He nodded slowly, a small, approving smile curling the corner of his lips, casting a soft light over his stern features. Despite the roughness of the skin of his hands, calloused from the sword, his thumbs softly traced hearts on her blushing face as their gazes interlocked in a silent dance.

“Then prove it” he whispered, his voice low and laden with deep meaning, a glint in his eye. “Let no tongue dare question it.”

Her pulse began to race with a nearly painful speed, each beat pounding in her chest, marking the rhythm of an uncontrollable desire, and her breath grew labored. She looked at him with a mixture of expectation, her eyes shining. Then, her lips parted, a gesture that sealed a tacit pact.

She had imagined this moment countless times, each scenario more vivid than the last, but she had never felt brave enough to act on those desires. Excitement enveloped her like a surging tide, threatening to sweep her away into uncharted waters.

Without warning, he leaned in, and their lips met in a tentative kiss, igniting like the first flicker of a flame. She responded with a relieved sigh, the initial caution melting away into a deeper surrender. Their breaths intertwined, ragged and heated, as the kiss grew fiercely.

Although their mouths had joined before, never with such haste. The tip of his tongue gently slid over her lips, seeking to pave the way for a more intimate exploration, while her hands gripped him tightly, feeling the powerful beat of his heart.

Her fingers glided over his chest, ascended his neck, and finally tangled in his soft hair, pulling him toward her with an uncontrollable need.

In that moment, she was aware that she was transgressing established rules, breaking from the expected, and that her mother would undoubtedly feel a profound disappointment, but for once, she allowed herself to be swept away by the force of impulse, yielding to him without reservations.

Her lips, red and moist from the kiss, were slightly parted, gasping for air as their eager hands hurried to undress one another. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the bed with a sense of urgency.

With her back pressed against the cool sheets and him dominating above her, she couldn't help the jolt of nerves that coursed through her stomach. She delicately removed his eyepatch, placing it on the nightstand as if shedding the last remnants of restraint.

As he kissed her fervently, she felt his hardness pressing against her entrance, intensifying her longing. She moved her hips toward him, seeking the union.

When the need for another breath became imminent, without uttering a single word, he began to trace a path of kisses that glided softly down her neck, where each touch made her skin prickle, awakening sensations she had never experienced.

As his lips descended, warmth grew within her, and the air became hotter. He reached her breasts, where he placed his hand over one, provoking a shiver that coursed through her body. Gently, he caressed it with his long fingers, while with the other, he dedicated himself to leaving wet kisses that marked her skin with desire. When his mouth settled on her nipple and began to suck, the slight contact of his teeth left her breathless.

To her dismay, he stopped, looking at her with an eye full of promises, the intensity of his sapphire shining under the moonlight as he continued his descent, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

He buried his face between her thighs, and she gasped as she felt his tongue on her puffy folds, exploring her sensitive flesh. Her cries grew louder as he licked the length of her wetness, drinking deep from her core.

Then, as his tongue flicked against her bud, he inserted one of his long fingers inside her. One of her hands went to his hair, desperate to hold onto something as she felt him savoring every drop of her, in perfect synchronization with his fingers sliding in and out of her.

She threw her head back while pulling his closer, and uncontrollable moans began to escape her lips, each deeper and more filled with surprise than the last. She felt her body begin to tremble under his power, a pressure building inside her, her back arched and her hips pressed against the mattress.

"I feel like... I feel like" she cried, her brows slightly furrowed and her mouth open.

"Yes, my love" he whispered, his thumb expertly attending to her most sensitive spot while his fingers kept working wonders inside of her. “Let go for me” he said, and she felt herself slipping over the edge, her body convulsing and her legs quivering as the ecstasy washed over.

As the waves receded, she lay there, breathing heavily, her body still pulsing. He rose from between her legs, his eyes fixed on hers, and as he kissed her, she could taste herself.

He loomed over her, his arm planted firmly on one side of her body while the other went around her neck, taking her hair and pulling her back again. "Open your eyes," he commanded, his voice a whisper thick with desire, “see who is taking you."

She obeyed, still breathless as he aligned himself with her center, and her legs locked tightly around his waist as he sank agonizingly slowly into her welcoming warmth. A delicious burning sensation settled within her as he stretched and filled her so, so right.

A loud moan escaped her kiss-swollen lips, a symphony of pain and pleasure flooding her every sense. When she brought one of her trembling hands to her mouth to stifle the sounds, he firmly pulled it away.

"Let everyone hear that you are mine" he declared, increasing the speed of his movements, drawing forth more whimpers, resonating in the room while her body writhed, responding to every harder thrust of his hips. “And mine alone.”

After the simple wedding ceremony, held before the eyes of the seven to avoid "upset them any further" her life seemed to have been ripped away from a dream.

Days passed in a constant sway on Vhagar's back, as he showered her with gifts and spent nearly every moment of the day making love to her at every hour and place, sealing their affection in a nearly oppressive manner.

But time, like an unrelenting moon, began to shift the waters. The maester confirmed her suspicions, that a life was growing inside her, and everything changed abruptly. When she revealed this to Aemond, she had anticipated several reactions: surprise, joy, gratitude, but she never imagined the stoic expression on his face, marked by a veil of displeasure, as if the baby, instead of being a pure blessing, had become an imminent threat to their exclusive bond.

"How can this be?" he erupted, his expression laden with disbelief. "I never allowed any of my seed to remain in you, and" he stammered, shaking his head, “and you, you have drinked the tea, have you not?”

She remained composed, her voice steady as she explained. "The maesters said that, even with our precautions, it is possible. It is not that surprising, given the frequency with which..." She smiled wryly, trying to ease the tension in the air and lighten the mood, but it faded when she saw he was not convinced.

One evening, as she looked at herself in the mirror, the curve of her pregnancy prominent, she saw Aemond enter with his usual gravity. The baby, already making its presence felt, began to move—a small reminder of the life they shared. She smiled and called him, eager for his reaction.

"My love, come here" she beckoned, hoping to draw him near. He approached with an impassive face, deliberately avoiding her gaze. She placed his hand on her rounded belly, but he brushed it away with a slight brusqueness. "Why do you pull away?" she inquired, her voice trembling with hurt.

Then, though wounded, she lifted her hand to caress his face. "I like to think I shall have a little version of you" she commented tenderly, trying to infuse hope into a situation that seemed to be crumbling. However, rather than sharing in her enthusiasm, he appeared troubled.

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "What is it that troubles you, my love?" she asked, concern lacing her tone.

"I cannot help it" he replied. "The baby... it changes everything. It used to be so simple, just you and me."

"But it is a natural part of our life together" she attempted to explain, filled with a desperate calm. "It is merely a new phase."

"One I did not ask for" he retorted sarcastically. "Every time I look at you, I feel as if I am losing you. How can you expect me not to feel threatened by this?"

She frowned, her frustration growing. "And what would you have me do?" she asked, with annoyance. When he looked at her, his gaze indicated something deeper. "Aemond" she reproached, her hurt more apparent.

"Do you not understand what this means? It will draw your attention from what truly matters."

She looked at him, still struggling to grasp his anguish. “You are being unreasonable.”

"Do you believe that?" he asked, his voice filled with desperation. "Because I am not so sure. The baby will require all your attention, and I... how can I compete with that?"

She took a step back, shaking her head slowly. “Compete?” she murmured, a note of sorrow in her voice.

"Yes" he admitted, and seeing her reaction, he sought her gaze almost pleadingly. "I never imagined I would have to share you so soon. It is just that..." He hesitated, struggling with his emotions, his eyes drifting to her belly. "The baby... it will separate us once it is born; I will be lost in the change."

Her voice quivered as she responded, desperate to bridge the distance. “No, he will not.”

"The idea that another might possess a part of you... is unbearable" he said, breaking down, frustrated, unable to accept her words.

"But, my love, what we share will not fade. This love we hold for one another does not divide; it only grows" she countered, striving to offer comfort.

"It is hard to trust when everything I know seems to be changing" he confessed, his voice revealing his vulnerability.

She sighed, with a growing ache in her chest, and embraced him softly. "You are not losing me, you never will" she assured him with a conviction that tried to counterbalance his growing unease.

"No matter what?" he insisted, his tone carrying an intensity that felt more like a demand than a mere question. His embrace was a blend of desperation and control, as if he needed her promise to calm his inner turmoil. “Promise me.”

"I promise" she sweetened her words even further. "Just be good and let me help you, do not shut me out, yes?" she said, planting a small kiss on his furrowed brows.

However, promises and caresses were not enough to fill the void that had opened between them. In the weeks that followed, his attempts to reconnect with her through gestures, though well-intentioned, did not align with what she was willing to receive or give at that time. It often resulted in awkward and mismatched moments, as his efforts did not meet her current needs. Frustrated, he began to spend more time away under various pretexts and excuses.

"What if it turns out to be twins, as I had?" asked her sister with a playful smile. The scene was serene, with both of them in the room while Helaena meticulously embroidered blankets for the cradle, each stitch an act of anticipatory love. She remained silent while her heart raced. Aemond's concern for their child was already overwhelming; the idea of facing that anxiety doubled terrified her.

Unable to respond, Aemond entered the room bearing a bouquet of flowers. "I thought these might brighten your day" he said, offering them.

She regarded the carnations, her eyes reflecting surprise and a hint of sadness. "They are quite beautiful" she murmured, accepting them with a grateful smile. "Thank you."

Seeing that he was about to leave, she stepped towards him, her eyes conveying a silent plea for more. "Perhaps you might stay with us for a while. I was thinking we could choose the babe’s name together" she suggested, her tone gentle but laden with hope.

He casted a fleeting glance at the door with an inscrutable expression, and replied, "I shall leave you both to it.”

She felt a pang of disappointment, and with a resigned sigh, returned to her place. Helaena, witnessing the exchange, gave a gentle caress to her belly, trying to offer comfort. "What troubles you?" she asked after a few moments.

"I am worried" she confessed, trying to contain her sadness. "I fear Aemond is not entirely happy about this." Noticing her sister's concerned face, she quickly added, trying to downplay the severity of her feelings. "He simply has not yet come to terms with it."

"It is only natural to feel overwhelmed, but it is not fair for you to bear all the burden" Helaena gently said.

She sought to soothe her, her voice a whisper full of justifications. "It is just that everything has unfolded so quickly for him. At times, I believe he fears losing me more than confronting what lies ahead."

Helaena, clearly preoccupied, took her hands. "Once the babe arrives, you will need to devote a lot of time to him. He must adjust to that reality now" she advised.

"Perhaps when he sees the babe, he will come to understand" she said, though her tone betrayed a lack of conviction. "Did you experience something similar with Aegon?"

Helaena shrugged, her expression showing sadness and frustration. "Aegon was always a devoted father, always happy" she whispered. "I only fear that I was not the mother he had wished for his children."

Although the distance hurt, she faced the pregnancy with the support of her siblings and her mother, hoping that he would overcome his insecurities and find his way back to her. But when the babe was born, the situation did not improve, it only worsened.

As she dined with her sister and mother, the conversation revolved around the latest court topics and the children. It was at that moment that Alicent, with a touch of nervousness, announced:

“On the morrow Rhaenyra’s family shall visit us.”

The words hung in the air, and both Helaena and she looked up from their plates. Her pulse quickened immediately. Although she had maintained a steady anger towards Lucerys, the mere fact that he would be nearby again stirred a whirlwind of emotions. The thought of seeing him, of confronting the past, filled her with a crushing anxiety.

During the court session, Aemond instructed her to remain in her quarters, claiming that she should not concern herself with trivialities. She had suspected a more hidden motivation behind his decision but accepted his command without questioning too much, she would learn the details through Helaena after.

Hours later, she found herself on the balcony of the gardens, her gaze lost in the sea, a place where she used to seek comfort and clarity. Enjoying the breeze on her skin, she felt a presence behind her and knew, without even looking, who was there. Despite everything, she couldn’t resist the urge to see him, to ask the questions that had remained unanswered.

“It is a lovely day” he said, approaching her side. His voice was more deep and mature, but just as sweet as she remembered.

“Indeed” she replied softly, almost as if Aemond could hear her from a distance.

“It has been a long time” he continued, his words heavy with regret, gazing at her instead of the landscape.

“Yes, it has.”

“Things got out of control.”

She almost laughed at his understatement. “You took my brother’s eye” she exclaimed, her voice laced with indignation.

“And I regret it every day” he confessed, his tone genuinely sorrowful

“Of course you do” she retorted, the sarcasm unmistakable. “It is not easy to forget such a heinous act.”

“I am aware” he said, heavy.

After a few minutes of charged silence, she broke it, her voice reflecting years of resentment and longing. “You ruined everything.”

“I had to act” Lucerys said, defensively.

“Act about what?” She demanded. “Because he claimed a dragon?” She looked at him, incredulous and disturbed. “You brought a dagger to an ambush, you meant to kill him, just because of that?”

“No,” he interrupted quickly, “because he was going to kill Joffrey” he said, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Did he ever tell you that?” he inquired, his voice mingling with frustration and anger. “About how he was about to kill Joffrey, calling him a bastard, when I intervened.” She shook her head, recalling what Aemond had said.

“Do not deceive me” she said, her disbelief evident. “He would never do something like that.”

“I would never have done something so grave without a serious reason” he insisted.

“Speak not ill of him” she warned, her voice rising in a defensive shout. “You were always unkind to him, always.”

“Unkind, yes” he said, his expression torn. “Do you truly consider me a monster?” he asked, his eyes filling with tears.

“I did not until that day” she replied firmly.

Lucerys gazed at her with an intensity that seemed to pierce her very soul. “You knew me better than any other” he whispered, making her tremble. “Do you truly believe I could be capable of that?”

She was left speechless, feeling her carefully constructed world beginning to crumble. She turned away, desiring to process what she had just heard. When she noticed that Lucerys was trying to follow her, she raised a hand in a gesture of plea, asking for space.

Upon reaching her room, she collapsed onto the bed, her legs feeling like water. Her breathing became erratic, and doubts seemed endless, pulling her deeper into a sea of anguish.

Minutes later, Aemond burst in, and upon seeing her in such a state, he approached quickly, his face overflowing with concern.

“What happened?” he asked urgently, searching her gaze.

“What happened that night?”

He frowned in confusion. “What night?”

“The night you lost your eye” she said, her voice breaking as she sought answers.

“Do you wish me to recount the events of that night?” he inquired. “Besided, I have already told you.”

She gazed at him intently, silently pleading for the truth. Seeing her resolve, he began to recount. “When I entered the castle, after claiming Vhagar, they were waiting for me. The five of them began to attack me without cause, and Lucerys took my dagger and...”

“Lucerys took your dagger?” she interrupted. “I thought he had brought the dagger.”

He stared at her, his mouth slightly agape. “I must have made a mistake. It was many years ago” he simply said. Then, his face began to harden, his expression shifting from confusion to irritation. He stood up, visibly agitated. “Have you spoken to him?” he asked, his tone edged with irritation.

“Then answer me” she demanded, her voice steely. “Which version is it?”

He remained silent, his gaze revealing anger and disappointment. Finally, he shook his head with an attitude that seemed more mocking than sincere.

“I am at a loss” she said, her voice quavering with confusion and anguish, her insecurity filling every word as she rose from the bed, pacing nervously around the room. She placed a hand on her abdomen, grasping at the air as if it were slipping through her fingers.

“Do you now side with him?” he asked, low. “With the one who took my eye?”

The pain pierced her. Despite witnessing Aemond’s vulnerability, the doubts she had tried to suppress began to resurface.

“I have always listened to you alone, I have placed my faith in you,” she said, her voice breaking. “But now…” The version of events he had told her seemed increasingly fragile.

“I wish to be left alone” she asked, feeling hopeless.

But he, with determined steps, his expression tense and eyes fixed on her, stood in front of her. He took her by the jaw with one hand, forcing her to look at him. His eye, reddened by distress, could no longer conceal what was hidden behind it.

“Please, let go of me” she begged, frightened. She felt that the man before her was no longer the one she knew and trusted.

“No” he said, with a terrifying firmness. “Everything I have done has always been to protect what is mine.” His hands gripped her skin with a force that promised to leave marks. “But if you wish for me to be the villain” he whispered with icy intensity, “perhaps I should be.”

She frowned, struggling beneath his grip, but he held her immovably with an unyielding strength. Every attempt to free herself seemed futile against his determination.

“You have casted me aside, and now you doubt my word?” he asked rhetorically, his voice taut and sharp. “It is time for me to impose order” he said, jaw clenched, taking her by the hair and dragging her towards the bed.

“Let go of me” she pleaded again through tears. Desperation and pain were reflected in every movement as she tried to escape the embrace that was no longer comforting and warm.

He held her, and her scalp ached from his grip. "You have forgotten who you belong to" he told her, his voice threatening and his hot breath against her ear, while with the other hand he lowered his pants and then began to lift her dress.

In the bathtub, the cold water had already chilled her wrinkled skin, and her vacant stare remained fixed on nothingness. With the tea Aemond had sent and half a jug of wine in her system, she tried to numb the pain.

Helaena found her there and, without a word, helped her up, then chose a blue dress for her—one she had embroidered long ago and had never had the chance to wear.

As her sister worked on her hair, her voice cracked with a whisper full of desolation. “Do you ever imagine what it would have been like?” she asked.

Helaena hesitated for a moment before asking, as if she didn’t already know. “What do you mean?”

“How it would all be if mother had married us to them” she replied, her eyes dry, devoid of any remaining tears.

Helaena paused, feeling the weight of the words. “Every day” with a long sigh, she admitted.

“I wish I knew what it would have been like” she murmured. They remained silent for a few minutes, embraced by the pain, until their mother called them to supper

When their king arrived, carried in a chair by guards, it marked the beginning of the other part of the evening. Aemond, sitting beside her, did not utter a word. Her gaze remained fixed on her cup, as if the drink was merely a distraction in an environment that no longer made sense.

“How good it is to see you all tonight, together” he said, his gaze sweeping over the table with sadness. “This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” he continued, “my grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses.”

The news broke her heart, and the pain was evident in the exchanged glances between her and Luke. The rest exchanged smiles, but for her, the moment was one of deep mourning. “A toast to the young princes and their betrothed.”

The glasses were raised in a general toast, and she drank from her glass in one gulp, seeking the comfort she couldn’t find. Then she hurriedly refilled her glass.

“Let us toast as well to Prince Lucerys, the future Lord of the Tides” he added, and everyone raised their glasses again. “Hear, hear” they said in unison, while Rhaena congratulated Lucerys with a cheerful whisper. She emptied her glass again, feeling the warm liquid course down her throat.

When he stood up to make a toast, the room fell into anticipation. Every movement he made seemed painful, and this only intensified her sense of sadness. Although her relationship with him had never been particularly close, the proximity of his departure put everything into perspective, and her heart ached at the impending reality.

With a raspy tone reflecting his weariness, the king said “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.”

He attempted to smile, but his effort only highlighted the frailty the years had left in him. “My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was, but tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just as a king, but your father, your brother, your husband, and your grandsire,” he continued, “who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you.”

“Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts” he pleaded, his voice choked with emotion. “The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly” he begged, his sorrow evident as he sat down and Alicent helped him adjust his mask once more.

Jace suddenly stood up after a few toasts, drawing everyone’s attention. She was absorbed in her thoughts, her eyes fixed on the empty glass, and the abrupt change at the table jolted her. Aegon returned to his seat, casting curious glances at Jace, while Aemond stood up, his presence imposing silence and attention. She huffed in annoyance as she poured more wine.

When Jacacerys raised his glass, his gaze fixed on Aemond, Helaena listened intently. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond” her nephew said with a smile that seemed more a formality than a genuine celebration.

“We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles” with a final sip, he ended his toast, and she watched as the tension mounted.

“To you as well” said Aegon, his tone an indifference that did nothing to ease the atmosphere. Helaena fidgeted nervously, a small tremor on her lips, and she refilled her glass, much to Aemond’s displeasure, who was burning her with his gaze and asking her to stop.

With an unexpected impulse, she abruptly stood up, surprising him and immediately catching Lucerys’s concerned glance. Her glass trembled slightly in her hands, and her gaze settled on Rhaena and Baela, who were radiant with a hope she envied deeply.

“I would like to toast to Rhaena and Baela” she said firmly, raising her glass with a smile that failed to hide the sadness in her eyes. “They will be married soon.”

The young woman's smiles were a glimmer of happiness amidst the gloom that enveloped her. The sight intensified her pain. She felt overwhelmed; the life they will have is a fantasy she had let go, full of promise and hope, and her reality seemed even darker in contrast.

“It is not so bad, mostly he just ignores you” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. “Except sometimes when he is mad” she added, her voice breaking slightly at the end of the sentence, and with one last long sip from her glass and a poor attempt at a smile, she sat back down. Tears pooled in her eyes, heavy and treacherous, but she managed to hold them back, though her heart ached seeing the concern, sadness, and anger on Lucerys’s face.

“Or when he is drunk” Helaena added with an equally harsh truth. Aegon was clearly irritated, and Aemond, beside her, visibly tensed. Otto looked at them, his lips slightly turned down as he sighed.

“Let us have some music” Viserys suggested, as a momentary truce, an invitation to disconnect. When the melodies began to fill the space and more wine flowed freely, the atmosphere gradually relaxed.

She was holding Helaena’s hand when they looked up and saw Jace and Lucerys extending their hands with a silent but clear invitation. Her heart skipped a beat seeing Lucerys, and in her broken gaze, there was a trace of hope.

They accepted the invitation with a trembling smile, avoiding the gaze of the men beside them. Nervous laughter escaped her lips as the four of them moved toward the cleared area.

Though they were not experts in the art of dancing, the joy of the moment became evident. Their movements were awkward but filled with a fleeting happiness. The contrast between the joy of the dance and the internal sadness was hurtful, yet also sweet, like a taste of what could have been.

As they twirled and changed partners, time seemed to stand still, the melody offering them a respite. Helaena and she found themselves holding hands, and her sister whispered with gentle melancholy: “This is how it would have been.” She smiled. For a brief moment, the pain faded.

Applause and laughter filled the room, and Otto and Alicent watched them with smiles, perhaps pleased to see the two enjoying their brief escape, while Aemond and Aegon’s scorching stares were fixed on their backs.

After a few more minutes of laughter, everyone stood up. Realizing what was happening, they also stopped, catching their breath while watching their father, understanding that this might be the last time. They held each other's hands tightly, and when he disappeared through the door, they decided to continue dancing, honoring his final wish.

When Luke extended his hand again, with a nostalgic smile that reminded her of the one he used to give her as a child, a loud thud resonated from the table, startling them. Turning to face the table, they saw Aemond with his glass raised toward them.

“Final tribute” he said, looking at her. She sensed what was coming as she glanced at her mother, who in turn looked at Aemond with alarm. Suddenly, he shifted his gaze to Luke. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey” he said, the tone subtly changing with the second name. “Each of them handsome, wise…” he paused, a small smile curving his lips, “strong” he concluded.

“Come” he said, raising his glass higher, just like Aegon. “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again” Jace challenged, chin lifted.

“Why? It was only a compliment” Aemond said as he approached. “Do you not think yourself strong?” he taunted.

Luke landed a solid blow on Aemond, making his face turn sideways, though not a drop was spilled from his glass. Aegon, in turn, went after Jace.

“Enough” Alicent shouted, standing up from the table.

Aemond looked at Luke with a sneering smile as he pushed him to the ground. Seeing Luke on the floor made him smile even more, and then he turned his gaze to her for a brief moment. Alicent tried to reach Aemond, attempting to grab him, but he brushed her off with indifference.

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, mother” he said, turning back to them. Both Luke and Jace were being held by the guards, struggling to break free. “Though it seems my nephews are not quite as proud of theirs.”

She watched him from a distance, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Daemon's intervention, standing firm and stepping in, made Aemond uninterested in continuing the confrontation. He walked with measured steps toward her, grabbing her by the wrist, and dragged her out of the hall, ignoring her protests. She turned her head one last time to look at Lucerys, a trace of desperation in his eyes as the guards kept him apart.

Nights passed since the coronation of her brother, and the silence of her mother's missives had become a deafening echo, a void. No letters, no attempts at negotiation had received a response.

Just before leaving for Storm's End to seek Lord Baratheon's support and his army, Aemond found her staring out at the sea, the sky darkening into shades of gray and deep blue, with clouds threatening to obscure every star.

“I know I have erred” he confessed, his voice carrying a depth of vulnerability. “I should not have treated you in such a manner. You have been my heart’s desire since our youth, always” he whispered, the weight of his confession reflected in the melancholy of his words. “You stood by me in my darkest hours. When everything seemed to be falling apart around me, you were there. Yet, seeing you turn to him… it tore me apart” his voice cracked, and his words flowed like a torrent of anguish, each syllable imbued with deep sorrow.

“I have never known such pain, such abandonment” he continued, as if the wounded child he once was had returned, now with a heart full of desperation, pleading for forgiveness and filled with remorse.

She felt a tug in her soul, as if the child who once yearned to soothe his pain was listening. Yet she resisted the urge to look at him; she knew that if she did, she would succumb.

“You are aware of their nature, of what they are capable of. You have witnessed it, even if you allow them to sweeten your ears against the truth” he added, his voice heavy with helplessness. “Perhaps you still hold love for our enemy, a love that clouds your ability to see my perspective.”

“But I can remedy that” he said, like a solemn oath, pointing to his chest with a painful resolve. “You have always been meant for me, and me alone. No matter what, you said” he declared, with an oppressive anticipation, palpable like the fury of a storm about to break.

She, still agitated, kept her gaze fixed on the sea, where the water continued its chaotic dance.

The rest of the day slipped by in restless thoughts. Although anger consumed her and sadness bound her, there was something unbreakable that kept her alert: Aemond remained her brother, the father of her child, her husband. This complexity kept her on edge, and her concern grew when he did not return at the expected time.

Night fell like a dark cloak, and the thunder of Vhagar’s wings echoed through the sky as the waves crashed against the rocks with a rage that seemed to shake the very earth. The night chill seeped into her bones, and her breath condensed into clouds of vapor that floated in the icy air, a cruel irony compared to the warm calm of previous nights.

The sound of the door opening startled her. She turned slowly, but the darkness made it hard to discern his figure looming in the doorway.

“You are awake” his voice resonated between the stone walls.

“I needed to make sure you were well” she replied, straining to see through the gloom.

“Did you?” he questioned, skeptical.

“Yes” she answered. “Come here” she requested softly. He began to move slowly toward her, the dim light of the moon revealing him bit by bit. He was drenched, the rain had plastered his clothes to his body, and he had his arms crossed over his back, as if trying to hide himself from something other than the cold.

“Shall I prepare you a hot bath?” she offered, noticing his disheveled state. He continued to regard her with an unyielding expression.

“No” he replied firmly, approaching.

As he drew nearer, and she could finally see him clearly, her heart raced even faster. She frowned upon noticing traces of blood on his face and moved closer, her concern taking over. “Aemond, speak to me” she urged, her voice trembling with desperation. “Are you hurt?”

“Are you worried about me?” he asked, with a glimmer of hope.

“Of course I am, Aemond” she said, gently cupping his face in her hands. He allowed her to examine him in silence. “Are you hurt?” she repeated, fear tightening her chest. “Please, tell me, what happened?” she implored, looking at him intently, her heart pounding wildly.

He gave her a faint smile, resting his right hand on the hilt of his dagger, the blood still fresh, staining the steel like a bad omen, while his left remained clenched at his side. Confusion twisted in her gut as she looked at him, desperately searching for visible wounds, but finding only the sinister glint of his blade.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, he opened his left hand, and an eye fell from his palm, rolling to the floor with a sickening thud. The reality crashed over her like a cascade of icy water, freezing her in place. She stepped back, retreating slowly, her heart pounding in her chest as he watched her with a predatory intensity. “What have you done?” she asked, horror and accusation in her shaky voice.

“Only what was necessary” he whispered, deceptively soft. “I have always asked for you, only you, all for myself” he said, taking a deliberate step toward her. “I thought I had succeeded” he continued, moving closer, the shadows in the room deepening and twisting around him like hungry serpents. “But then he came back, and I realized… I remained a second.” His voice turned bitter, poison seeping into every word.

“Always the second. The second son, then the second love, then your second priority” he said, frowning, tilting his head to one side, his gaze burning with resentment that felt like a knife against her sanity.

A twisted smile curled his lips. “Clearly, I am powerless with the child; that opportunity has passed” he remarked, as if savoring his own despair. “But now, now I am your only love” he declared with satisfaction dripping from his words like blood from his hands. She found herself cornered against the cold, the very walls seeming to close in around her, suffocating her with their oppressive weight. “And I shall not rest until I have the crown on my head” he whispered in a low growl, absorbing the dim light and plunging the room into an abyss of dread. Outside, the storm finally raged.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #ewan mitchell #dark aemond targaryen #dark aemond x reader

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soulofapatrick · 1 year ago

Text

Whispers in the Storm - Sanji x Female Reader

Summary: You wake from getting injured, wanting no-one but Sanji

Words: 2k

Warnings: none

Y/N’s POV

I wake with a jolt, a sharp pang slicing through my side. Groggy. From sleep, I wince and shift, trying to find a comfortable position. But there’s no escaping the persistent ache that throbs across my entire left side. I tentatively touch the source of the pain and recoil at the tenderness. A massive bruise spans the expanse of my left side when I lift the shirt I’m in, seeping discomfort with every moment. I’m a galaxy of deep blues, purples, reds, greens and oranges.

Confusion clouds my thoughts; I can’t remember how I got this injury. The events leading up to this moment remain shrouded in a foggy haze. I’m guessing we fought Arlong, it was probably during that. I wouldn’t be surprised as I remember Nami crying, Luffy placing his trusty hat on her head and then nothing. My mind races, attempting to piece together fragmented memories that elude me.

Pushing through the discomfort, I stagger to my feet, crying out in pain that leaves me temporarily breathless. The sound has Nami and Robin stirring from their bunks, glancing at each other before shifting their gazes towards me. Nami’s concerned gaze meets mine, her eyes widening at the sight of my injuries, as if only seeing them for the first time now. Without a word, she rushes over to me, slipping an arm around me to steady my very unsteady form. Her touch is gentle, though every movement sends a fresh wave of pain rippling through me.

“Where do you need to go?” She doesn’t try to tell me to rest, knowing I’m not going to, her voice soothing, a contrast to the turmoil of pain coursing through me.

“Sanji.” I manage to whisper, the name escaping my lips almost instinctively, just wanting my best friend right now. Despite the agony of moment, there’s an inexplicable comfort in knowing he might be able to help, his care a balm for the turmoil within me.

With a single nod, Nami supports most of my weight as we navigate the ship’s corridors. Each step feels like traversing a minefield, my breath hitching with every jarring movement and tears prickle my eyes. The bruises paint an intricate canvas of agony, the hues of pain etches into my skin, a mosaic of suffering that extends from my left armpit to my left knee.

The journey feels endless, every inch an ordeal as we finally reach Sanji’s quarters. Nami gently knocks on the door before there’s shuffling on the other side and then it swings open, revealing a very sleepy Sanji.

He looks so good and even through the pain I can’t deny it that I am head over heels for him. He’s standing in the doorway in only a pair of loose fitting trousers that are desperately clinging to his sharp hips, hanging dangerously low and flashing some of his v-line. He’s shirtless, pale skin for all to see and abs all I can stare at until Nami and Sanji snap me out of it.

Sanji's sleep-ridden expression fades instantly, replaced by a deep concern that's mirrored in his stormy grey eyes. They widen with distress at the sight of my battered state, and without a second thought, he steps forward, taking me gently from Nami's support.

“Thank you, Nami.” He murmurs gratefully, his attention solely focused on me. With careful guidance, he helps me settle on the edge of his bed, his movements gentle as he ensures I’m comfortable. The room is bathed in a soft glow as he switches on the light, illuminating the galaxy of bruises that paint my skin.

Kneeling in fronton me, Sanji’s brows furrow in worry, his hands hovering hesitantly over the colourful expanse of injuries on my thighs that he can see. His touch is feather-light, as if afraid to cause any more discomfort, “Oh Mouse,” his voice is soft, filled with genuine concern, the nickname he has for me a warmth in my cheeks, “How far does it..?” He trails off, as if scared to know.

Sanji's eyes widen as I remove my shirt, wincing the whole way, revealing the full extent of the bruise. But instead of any hint of intrusion or averted gaze, his reaction catches me off guard. There's a mix of emotions swirling in his eyes—concern, a tinge of anguish, and a depth of care that goes beyond what I expected. His gaze doesn't linger on my body, instead, it's fixated on the mosaic of colours that mar my skin.

“Oh Mouse,” He utters again, “I’m so sorry.” He whispers, voice thick with emotion, his fingers trembling slightly as he reaches out to touch the tender expanse of bruises. His touch is feather-light, cool against my burning skin. A gasp escaping me at the unexpected tenderness of his gesture. In that moment, his usual suave demeanour fades, replaced by a raw vulnerability that tugs at my heartstrings. Without a word, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the bruised skin of my stomach. It’s a gentle and intimate touch, filled with a depth of care that sends shivers down my spine.

My hand instinctively moves, carding through his fluffy blond hair, a silent reassurance that his presence alone is a soothing balm amidst the pain. His lips linger for a moment longer, a gesture that speaks volumes, conveying a sense of comfort and empathy that words fail to capture.

As he pulls away, his gaze meets mine, a silent understanding passing between us, that unspoken bond enough for him to know what I need. Climbing to his feet, he moves with purpose, rummaging through a chest of belongings until he finds an old tee-shirt form his days at the Barite restaurant ship. The shirt carries a faint scent of the sea and memories of his past, a comforting familiarity in the midst of chaos.

With a gentle care, he helps me slide into the soft fabric, its oversized fit providing a sense of comfort and warmth. Tenderly, he assists me in laying down on my right side, ensuring I’m as comfortable as possible. His actions speaking volumes, a silent promise of being there through the night, offering solace and support in this moment of vulnerability.

As I settle on the bed, he joins me without hesitation, mirroring my position so we’re facing each other. His presence beside me feels like a sanctuary, a haven of comfort amidst the storm of pain. His gaze lingers, a silent reassurance that I’m not alone in this and he reaches out, caressing my cheek gently, a gesture so intimate I feel my cheeks heat up.

“What happened with Arlong?” The words escape my lips, tinged with curiosity and an undertone of confusion about the events still.

Sanji’s expression shifts, a flicker of surprise knitting his brows together again, “You don’t remember?” His voice carries a hint of concern, registering my confusion with a palpable worry.

I shake my head, frustration and unease bubbling within as the foggy tendrils of memory refuse to weave into a coherent narrative, “It’s all a blur.” I confess, the frustration now seeping into my tone.

His eyes widen slightly, a mix of disbelief and concern etched across his features, “You… you saved Zoro.” The gravity of his revelation hung heavy in the air, momentarily stunning me with its weight.

“I did?" My voice was barely a whisper, laced with disbelief that danced on the edges of the fragmented memories I desperately tried to grasp.

“Yeah, you shoved Zoro out of the way and took the blow yourself,” There’s a rare mixture of admiration and worry in his voice as he recounts the events, “You were thrown into one of the funfair stalls. You were unconscious until now.” Snji fills in the gaps with a gentleness that belies the gravity of his words, his concern palpable in every syllable.

The realisation washed over me in a tumultuous wave, a blend of awe and disbelief that swirled within. Despite the haze that clouded my memory, a sense of pride swelled—a pride that stemmed from the knowledge that I had instinctively acted to protect a fellow crewmate. Yet, the hollow spaces in my recollection left an unsettling feeling, a disorientation in not being able to piece together the entirety of the sequence.

“I was so worried.” He admits, voice barely above a whisper, a tremor of concern evident in his whisper, and I grip the wrist of the hand that has be continuously caressing my cheek, stilling it to press a gentle kiss to his palm.

Our eyes meet again, his stormy grey gaze locking with mine in a moment that feels suspended in time. The hand that had rested on my cheek moves to gently grip my chin, a tender yet hesitant gesture. He leans in, his lips hovering close to mine, a vulnerability creeping into his nervous actions which is very un-Sanji-like.

“Stop me if I’ve misread this.” His words linger in the charged air between us, a plea for consent, for assurance that his actions and feelings aren’t one sided.

Without hesitation, I close the remaining gap, letting his uncertainty with a softness that brides the unspoken gap. Our lips brush in a tentative yet tender kiss, a silent affirmation that speaks volumes, quieting his nervous ramblings.

The moment our lips meet, its as if a surge of warmth envelopes us, an electric current coursing through the connection. His lips are soft against mine, a gentle touch that holds a world of tenderness. There’s a subtle sweetness to the taste, a mixture of salt from the sea air and a faint hint of the tea he brewed tirelessly in the kitchen.

As our kiss deepens, a sense of familiarity washes over me, as if this moment has been waiting months to unfold. His breath mingles with mine, a rhythm that feels strangely synchronised, each exhale carrying the weight of worries and uncertainties that had haunted the edges of my consciousness.

In Sanji’s tender embrace, there’s an unspoken language—his touch conveying a yearning for reassurance, a desire to meet halfway, while mine echoes an affirmation of understanding and reciprocation. The intimacy of the kiss speaks of shared emotions, a quiet proclamation of trust and affection that transcends the chaos of our surroundings.

The closeness, the warmth of his presence, the way his fingers trace gentle paths along my side—it all stirs a whirlwind of emotions within me. It isn’t just the softness of his lips or the taste of salt and familiarity; it’s the way he makes me feel—safe; understood, and cared for in a way that goes beyond words.

As our lips part, Sanji’s grey eyes meet mine, filled with an intensity that speaks volumes, carrying an ocean of emotions within their depths. There’s a softness in his gaze, a tenderness that seems to overflow with an unspoken declaring of affection.

“Fuck, I have to say it, I was so scared I was going to lose you,” he chokes out, “I love you," the words escape him in a gentle whisper, sincere and heartfelt, before he leans in to brush another soft kiss against my lips. It's a fleeting yet tender affirmation of his feelings, a gesture that speaks louder than words.

The kiss lingers for a moment, a silent reassurance of mutual emotions before Sanji breaks away, his expression soft yet determined. "We should try to get some sleep," he suggests, his voice carrying a tone of care and consideration.

His suggestion hangs in the air, a gentle invitation to rest, to seek solace in the quietude of slumber amidst the chaos that had engulfed us. With a soft nod, I acknowledge his words, feeling a sense of warmth and contentment settle within me—the residual echoes of his declaration of love resonating within the quiet moments that followed.

“I love you too Sanji.”

One Piece Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

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queenshelby · 7 months ago

Text

AMERICAN GIRL (PART FIVE)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Grace's Stepdaughter!Reader

Warning: Grace is a bully, infidelity, taboo

When you made your way to your bedroom, you were surprised to see Emma, pretending to sleep in your bed. It was a clear statement – she wanted you to stay with her that night and you wondered whether she had a nightmare again.

"Sshh, it's alright," you whispered to her as you sat down on the edge of the bed, gently stroking her hair. She didn't respond at first but gradually shifted closer to you, nuzzling her head on your shoulder.

"Why did he kiss you?" she asked softly, curiosity tinting her voice.

"He shouldn't have," you admitted. "And honestly, I shouldn't be talking about this with you. You should be fast asleep, sweetheart."

Her grip tightened on your hand. "I am sorry I spied on you. I just heard the car pull up and hoped that it was you coming home," Emma confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's alright, Em," you replied while still comforting her.

"Do you like him?" She asked the question hesitantly, as if she were unsure she wanted to know the answer.

Leaning down, I placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "I actually think I might, but you can't tell Grace about it, okay?" you told Emma and she nodded obediently, hugging you tightly.

You continued to run your fingers through Emma's hair, her breathing becoming deep and regular as sleep overtook her. Lulled by her slumbering figure, you let your thoughts drift, lingering on the curve of Thomas's smile and the way your heartbeat quickened with merely his presence.

You indeed wondered why had kissed you and whether it meant anything to him. There were many questions now that were clogging your mind, and you knew that there was no possible way that you could go to sleep like this. You had to know – you had to find out the real reason behind Thomas's kiss. Had it been mere curiosity? Or perhaps, it was his impulsive side, leading him to act on his emotions?

You carefully disentangled yourself from Emma, who nestled deeper into her blankets, her soft snores reassuring you she wouldn't wake up anytime soon. You took one last look at her cherub face before stepping out of the room, gently closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Stepping into the dimly lit hallway, the oak floorboards creaked beneath your weight, guiding your path as you traversed the long winding corridors of the Shelby Residence.

Arriving at the top of the grand staircase, you paused, basking in the stillness that enveloped the mansion. Every step you took echoed the turmoil brewing within you. The unknown left you both excited and anxious but unable to resist the temptation of discovery.

As expected, you saw some light coming from Tommy's office, and you found yourself drawn to it almost magnetically. Knocking softly on the door, you entered only to find Thomas, all on his own, deep in thought, and absorbed by some official documents.

"You're still up," you murmured, your voice barely registering in the grand space.

Thomas looked up, his features softening at the sight of you. He closed the folder, his eyes not leaving yours, as he leaned back in his leather chair. "I am, but not for much longer." He smiled, his gaze sweeping over your figure in a quick, almost imperceptible manner.

It was a subtle gesture; however, it triggered goosebumps to spread across your skin.

"Come in," he offered, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the mahogany desk. Thomas's eyes were vivid pools of curiosity; there was a certain intrigue brimming within him, and you were both the question and the answer to his restless night.

You hesitated for only a fleeting moment before moving further into the office. Its atmosphere was ripe with the scent of aged oak and the musky aroma of leather-bound books.

"Why did you kiss me?" you asked the question that had been weighing on your mind, the words falling lightly between you.

Thomas studied you for a moment, his eyes deep with unspoken reflections. "Impulse," he murmured at last, the single syllable carrying an emotional weight that seemed to defy explanation. He didn’t offer anything more, leaving you somewhat puzzled, and yet somehow, satisfied.

"I see," you replied quietly, your voice steady and measured as the silence lengthened between you. "So it was a mistake then?" you asked, your voice barely wavering despite the disquiet building deep inside of you. Thomas stared at you for a moment, carefully weighing his next words. His eyes held a magnetic pull, his commanding presence making your heart race uncontrollably.

"Yes," he admitted quietly, drowning you both in an extended and deafening silence. The word hung in the air, a shocking revelation - an unwelcome truth.

"Alright then," you murmured softly, masking your inner turmoil. You mustered a smile that failed to reach the depth of your eyes. "Have a good night, Tommy," you managed to say, swallowing down the bitterness.

Your voice sounded detached, as if it belonged to someone else entirely. You tried to pry your gaze away from his, but the pull towards Thomas was simply too strong to break free from him so easily.

Eventually though, you succeeded and you knew that, tomorrow was going to be another day.

You gently pushed the office door open, making no attempt to obscure the soft sigh that escaped your lips as you reentered the vast but comforting presence of the hallway. The dimmed glow of sconces adorning the walls guided your steps back to the sanctuary of your bedroom.

Returning to your bedchamber, you observed that this time around Emma lay undisturbed, wrapped in the soothing embrace of her dreams. As you undressed and slipped beneath the sheets, a myriad of unanswered questions whirled through your mind like an impenetrable fog.

With every attempt to make sense of the mysterious tension between you and Thomas, your thoughts became increasingly frayed and jumbled but, as the early morning light began to dance through the drapes, you finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.

You awoke late, almost forgetting about your shift at the store. Quickly dressing, you hurried downstairs to save yourself from being late, skipping breakfast in the process.

Rushing out the door, you took a deep breath, prepared for another day of drudgery away from the Shelby residence but just as you looked around, you realised that there was no one to drive you.

Thus, you decided to take the car on the far left before driving off yourself to the town. The driveway seemed endless and unendingly twisted, but it served to prepare your mind for the day ahead. Fortunately, you managed to reach the parking lot of the Birmingham store where you worked with five minutes to spare.

As you entered the shop, you were somewhat surprised to see three bunches of flowers and a box of chocolates neatly arranged beside your station, catching your eye and not long after that, Ada came stumbling past.

"It looks like you made quite an impression last night at the Garrison," she teased, needling you with a pinch of friendly envy.

You blushed profusely as you took in the gifts before you with newfound surprise.

"I suppose I did," you managed in response, trying to put on a nonchalant facade as you read through the notes and requests for dates from four different suitors. You'd never had such attention from the opposite gender, and the sudden popularity made your heart race in excitement while also triggering an underlying shiver of anxiety.

"Of course, you did," Ada said wryly. "You're a Shelby now, remember? The perfect blend of grace and grit. No wonder they couldn't get enough."

Lost in the sea of compliments and secret longing, you barely noticed the day fly by and, just as the clock struck three, Tommy came walking into the store with his brothers Finn and Arthur.

"What is the go with all these fucking flowers?" Arthur grumbled, eyeing the sea of red roses and delicate lilies surrounding you. You couldn't suppress your blush, shifting nervously as his gaze slid from the bouquets to you, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Tommy, however, remained silent as he took in the scene before him, his icy blue eyes scrutinizing every minute detail with a shrewd precision that made your skin prickle with awareness.

"These flowers were delivered here for Y/N, by several potential suitors I believe. So Finn, you really need to pick up your game if you want to catch her eye," Ada teased, causing Finn to blush.

"Uhm, right," he stammered before actually attempting to ask you out on a date while Tommy studied you the entire time, an almost inscrutable look on his face. "Would you, perhaps, consider going out with me? I could take you somewhere nice," Finn suggested, his voice wavering slightly as he offered you an awkward smile.

You eyed him kindly, understanding his discomfort. "Sure, I would love to," you replied softly. "Perhaps next week we could see a movie together," you offered, causing Tommy to gaze at you with a mixture of curiosity and perhaps a hint of irritation. Your attention was split between the unexpected date you just agreed to and the man who held your heart hostage, causing you to feel dizzy and at his mercy.

"Finn is no fucking match for you Y/N. He is just a child playing games," Thomas finally interjected after both his brothers had left the store, waiting for him outside, smoking.

His tone was sharp; the edge of his words sliced through the air, ripe with unspoken accusations and concealed turmoil.

"Nonetheless, it is her decision, Tommy," Ada countered on your behalf, not understanding that, perhaps, her older brother was jealous . His mind spun with unsettling thoughts, feelings he couldn't quite understand. The jealousy he harbored towards Finn and every other potential suitor who did as little as just glance at you, left him infuriated.

"It is, but we don't want her to break Finn's fucking heart, eh" Thomas retorted, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"And I have no attention of breaking anyone's heart," you replied defensively, the tone of your voice hinting at the frustration growing within you.

"Well then enjoy your date at the pictures, Y/N," Tommy said sarcastically, taking another drag of his cigarette to mask the awkwardness that hung in the air.

Unwilling to prolong the conversation, you began tidying the flowers and organizing them in a vase. Your actions, however, couldn't quell the burning curiosity that consumed you. The questions plaguing your mind swirled like a whirlpool, threatening to drown you in its enigmatic depths.

Why did Thomas care about what you did with your personal life? Furthermore, had his kiss meant something to him after all? Was it merely an impulse, as he had claimed? Or was there something deeper and unspoken that even he wasn't ready to confront just yet?

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yawarakaizai · 1 year ago

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pm dazai and pm chuuya who constantly fight each other for readers attention... but then someone hurts reader and all of a sudden they work together so seamlessly to kill the mf who dared to touch you (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

ⵌ YOU'RE QUITE THE SAME IF LOVE'S THE GAIN

SENDER Reader (Fem) RECIPITENT PM!Dazai Osamu + PM!Chuuya Nakahara (BSD) CONTENTS jealousy, reader+chuuya+dazai are 16/17, reader is an heiress, hostage situation, fluff n cute!! (implied) torture, worried chuuya NOTE This wasn't the department you specialised in. You wanted to manage finances, and while Mori was more than happy to grant you the role - Dazai would nag for you to join him and Chuuya on missions that didn't concern you in the slightest. There's only so much patience one can have. COMPANY Tangled Up

A/N THI S WA S RLL Y C UT E !! sorr y this one was l ate ;//; i hav e a scho o l trip tmrw ^^// maybe i'l l t ry sm ut nex t ... i have a l ot of good re qs i ho pe i ca n ge t throu gh the m a ll ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

Missions with Dazai and Chuuya always resulted in a thrilling adventure. There was never a time you'd look back on a mission you'd had with both and say to yourself, 'that was a bummer.'

You weren't supposed to work alongside them. Within the Port Mafia, Dazai and Chuuya were always to be assigned missions that were too dangerous for someone ordinary.

And, you? Well.

You possessed no ability. Your purpose in the Port Mafia was your background - your status.

Heiress to your father's wealth in your homeland of France, your parents were part of a certain elite group that made you a walking target should you venture without protection.

That is why you were always thrown as the bait.

With all respects to Dazai, that is, who introduced to Mori the idea of having you be the helpless, dumb damsel skipping merrily into danger.

You weren't happy about this arrangement and that was made clear by your sulking.

" Oh, look at me, I am an unattended woman. "

You sluggishly wandered around the dark halls of the abandoned facility, your voice just barely loud enough for the walls to echo your sarcastic jokes.

" This is serioouuuss! " The earpiece cleverly hidden in your ear crackled into life, you knew the voice belonged to Dazai. " Been chasing this guy for ages now, I think he's got some sort of phasing ability. He might appear outta no where, but Chuuya's trailing behind you, so don't worry. "

As if it could ease your nerves, it only made you regret agreeing to this further. " Great. I'm comforted. " You replied in a snarky manner.

You were dressed in lavish clothing that not even your pompous, arrogant mother would ever think of wearing. You seemed to have a distaste for reminders of the generational wealth you possess and opt to distance yourself from a 'royal' life. It proved impossible when it was the only thing that allowed you to maintain a job in the Port Mafia.

The gloomy and cold atmosphere left you hugging yourself for warmth as you traversed through complicated corridors. Although your earpiece was not connected to Chuuya's, you worried that you were walking off-course and/or Chuuya knew where you are meant to go, but could not blow his cover to correct your stupid mistakes.

Chuuya did a pretty good job at staying hidden. You could not hear a thing other than the clacking of your heels against metal flooring. " Ohh.. I'm so scared. " You pitched your voice higher, this being your best shot at luring out whoever it is the PM were after. You weren't taking this seriously, that was clear to both Dazai and Chuuya.

This wasn't the first mission you three were together, there were a few others that you'd two go through but this was the first time you were thrown a seal to a shark.

Dazai was elsewhere in the building, you weren't sure where and he gave no information when asked. With the affirmation Chuuya had your back, you knew that there was nothing to fear.

You would have appreciated some communication on his end though. You figured it must be his unnatural shyness towards you that made it hard for him to be too forward.

You easily noticed how his behaviour would change around you. And with Dazai around? Oh, boy.

Even if you could be a little air-headed sometimes, you weren't dumb to the hints in front of you.

From the day you were rescued from captivity - a story for another day - Chuuya stood out. You find it funny how he'd be unable to face you for more than a minute before looking away hurriedly. It sprung your new-found hobby of teasing Chuuya whenever you could. Of course Dazai picked up on it pretty soon after too and Chuuya has not known peace since. You couldn't help it! You weren't to blame! You giggled to yourself reminding yourself of Chuuya's little crush, fingers intertwined behind your back loosely, your back straightening from its previous hunched-over stance.

Feeling sudden confidence surge through your veins with the recollection of memories with Chuuya, you were just about to turn on your heel to address the gravity manipulator until a hand grabbed you from behind - before you had the chance to see who it was, you felt cold metal press against your temple that made you freeze up.

In front of you, Chuuya had finally revealed himself, but he too was stood as still as stone.

" Kill me 'n the girl goes too. "

They have never let it get THIS bad. Not ever have you ever even been in the hold or this close to an enemy, and here you were at gunpoint, something that was not planned.

You didn't dare break eye contact from Chuuya. This might just be your final moment. With great trust in Chuuya and Dazai's ability, you weren't sure how they'd proceed with this.

Chuuya might end up being the last thing you see. The look of fear on his face too didn't ease your nerves. They were not in the position to bargain. And funnily enough, you blamed yourself for this.

" Fine, yeah. Let her go. " Chuuya stood up from his mid-offensive position and dropped whatever weapon he had. A gun and a small knife for close-combat, he raised his arms above his head to firmly show his surrender. The hand that was previously on your lower hip raised to roughly cover your mouth, a gloved palm shoving itself in your face and that broke you down immediately. Fear took over and your knees went weak with pure fright, yet the man behind you had his fingers digging into the flesh of your cheek with such a harsh grab that it kept you standing up-right, the barrel of the gun pressing in deeper to your skull, sure to leave indents - that is if you weren't just shot dead. Then an indent would be the less of your worries.

With your back pressed against the chest of the stranger, you could feel the vibration of his confident voice as he spoke loudly, " Don't take me for a fool, Nakahara. You could easily use that ability of yours. " And that was true. You actually forgot about Chuuya's ability. Your mind was too foggy at the moment.

It was the first time you saw Chuuya Nakahara look uncertain in whether this mission would end well or not. He smiled insecurely as he let out a gruff exhale, " Wouldn't do that if I wanted her to live, yeah? Now let her go. "

Even if he kept grinning, you could see how the sweat dripped from his face even through your own teary eyes. With the palm pressing over your mouth and nose, it was difficult to breathe and steady your heart that was already beating fast enough as it is.

" Hmm.. " The gun was lowered slowly, caressing down your cheek and to your chest before being positioned at the pit of your stomach, " But do I really wanna? "

You began to squeal in protest, unable to accept your helplessness but it seemed someone else did your job of retaliation for you.

In the blink of an eye, the man holding you captive fell backwards and consequentially dragged you down with him but ended up tripping you up a bit further. You fell with your head banging on the hard floor, your captors hand slipping from your mouth and allowing you to briefly ‎gasp for air. The clattering of a gun was heard somewhere yet you were too dazed to properly do anything at this point.

The last thing you remember was the feeling of being raised from your underarms and distant shouting.

" -as if she'd be able to do-"

" No, you shut up! You could've done something easily. "

" It was your idea to use her as a fuckin' pawn, don't twist this. "

" Uhh! I'm sowwy~! I thought Chuuya Naka-fucking-hara had some balls to intercept~! "

" Zip it! She's waking up! "

Groggily, you stared at the two of them, sitting opposite each-other on the end of your bed. Judging by the bright white, you were most likely in the infirmary.

Chuuya was the first to lean in, he must have not noticed his hand coming to rest over yours which were folded nearly over your stomach. He had hope in his eyes, contrasting with the emotion you last remember them in. " Y/N? " He called out to you, taking a glimpse at the steady heart monitor.

Testing your voice, you let out a low hum before croaking out a meek, " Heya. "

Dazai was the first to break a laugh at your first words. His and Chuuya's eyes were soft.

" Don't look cute, I'm pissed at you both. " You huffed, turning your head to the side, avoiding them both.

Chuuya held your hand a little tighter, he understood if you decided to be unhappy with him. " Sorry, Y/N. I really fucked that up. Shit, I just didn't know what to do. " He explained himself with such compassion you were urged to look at him again. " I guess I discovered seein' you like that. Uh. In trouble and stuff, makes me seize up badly. "

From the corner of your eye you saw Dazai huff before standing up, but Chuuya held onto your attention as he continued speaking tenderly to you, " I thought that this loser would have planned a set-up and knew that was gonna happen but. It took too long. I realised last second he didn't plan shit. "

" Hey! Don't be so rude, Chuuya~ Besides, if it weren't for me, precious princess would've been shot. " You saw Dazai reach into his back pocket for something you couldn't quite recognise yet.

" Oh, that was you, Dazai? " You asked, alluding to the sudden drop during the action. " Yuup~ And y'know what the best part is? "

You quirked a brow and stole a shared glance from Chuuya. Dazai was unexpectable.

" Since me and Chuuya are so nice.. "

So Chuuya was in on this too?

Dazai paused his sentence and hummed in a baby-ish voice. " Kill me and the girl goes too! " He mocked, earning him an earnest giggle from you. " That wasn't funny, Dazai! I was scared! " You retorted, but still couldn't wipe that smile off of your face.

" Sorry, sorry. But, like he wanted, he's not dead. "

Dazai held the object he had pulled out in front of him. Bloodied priars.

" Technically death caused by unattended injuries is not 'killing him' on MY end, isn't that right, Chuuya? "

Chuuya nod his head before you.

They have that man locked in a fucking basement.

©yawarakaizai 2023 ﹒﹒ reblogs appreciated! requests open :3

#chuuya x reader #dazai x reader #pm dazai x reader #pm chuuya x reader #dazai x reader x chuuya #bsd x reader

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bonkled · 1 year ago

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Verdant eyes gleamed with a fierce intensity behind his angular Kanohi mask. His gaze darted continually, following every rustle and twitter in the undergrowth.

"We've been expecting you, brother." A wide smile painted the visible bottom half of the green figures face.

The red giant dropped his balled fists and let them fall open. "Brother?" He said slowly, deliberately. His thoughts traversed the corridors of his own essence, fragments of forgotten identity and purpose were rekindled by the verdant sentinel's words.

"Yes! You're my brother!" He spread his arms in a dramatic gesture. "We are the protectors of this land, and all its people. We are Toa!" Elation sparkled in his eyes, his enthusiasm contagious.

He put his hand on the red giants shoulder and lowered his voice. "A protector ought not be leaving such burn-scars on the forest." He was solemn for a moment, offering this with stoic humility. The familiar pang of guilt clawed at the red giant with renewed strength. He resolved internally to limit his destructive capability, for in that moment, it seemed that the well being of every plant and creature was his responsibility.

The green strangers smile quickly returned and he began hopping from foot to foot. With a wave of his arm, the earlier discarded sword flew back into view, landing at the red giants feet. "Take up your sword brother, and see that you aren't so easliy parted with it!"

The red giant stooped and took the blade in his hand. It roared to life once again, flame roiling and swimming across the blade. He quickly dropped it back into the scabbard at his hip, taking care not to touch any of the plant life.

"I am Lewa." the green figure declared.

#bionicle #bionicle art #bionicle fanart #bionicle au #lewa

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zooliminology · 5 months ago

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i know a lot of people have talked about the far planes entities, but will there ever be an explanation (or run down) encompassing all the different places of the far planes? or, because this is dedicated to zooliminology, will this only encompass the entities? i am simply intrigued by the places in which all these creatures reside, and would love to learn more

A list of all known areas at the time has been posted here before, but a post of that manner can be reapeated due to new discoveries.

Here is an updated list of all known areas:

The Far Plains The first area discovered by the Zooliminology Project, and usually the initial area you can clip into. Primarily is comprised of vast, open, green planes and rolling knolls that sometimes sport fences. The sky projects the impression of being around midday and usually have large clouds. The grass found here is not confirmed to be related to real-world poaceae. Large black monoliths known as "gateways" can be found scarcely scattered throughout the area. Home to striders, kytes and maax.

Brutalia A large, geometric area of concrete that sprouts in random directions and does not truly superficially resemble any real-world architecture. The concrete gives way to many interiors and corridors that make it easy to get lost or separated from groups. The sky seems to be in a perpetual state of sunset. The only entities recorded here are longlegs.

Winter An exterior part of the Far Plane that is characterized by a constant state of snow and darkness. This area seems to closely resemble a real-world landscape, but the pseudofloran life here does not seem to grow or decay. The sky routinely shifts between being in either sunset or sunrise to being fully night. The area is covered in a constant mist that obscures faraway landmarks. This area houses fogwalkers and light mimics.

The Rain Lot An exterior area of the Far Plane is categorized by perpetual darkness and constant rain. The area, unlike Winter or the Far Plains, is almost completely flat, leading to light flooding in many areas. Natural light sources include clusters of floodlights. The only entities recorded here are ghosts.

Gamezone A dark interior area characterized by its resemblance to soft play areas and arcades. It is filled with ball pits, tubes, slides, non-functional arcade machines and nets. Rooms in this area tend to be very large with high ceilings. Tubes and other climbable areas in soft play areas can sprawl out by a large magnitude and become difficult to traverse. Sockwyrms are native to this area.

Greenhouses A purely interior part of the Far Plane that houses an abundance of pseudoflora. This area typically has an abundance of natural light sources compared to other interior areas. The pseudoflora inside of this area can vary, along with the style and size of rooms. Entities found here are golbos, princes and queens.

Mariana A dimly lit area characterized by its resemblance to an aquarium. Mariana is perpetually in dark, blue lighting and reflective surfaces caused by large, empty tanks of pseudofluid that hold nothing but pseudoflora. These large containers of water can be open to its surroundings or along walls and thus inaccessible. This area is home to miish, night skies, and spumes.

Miscellaneous Other areas of the Far Plane exist, mostly including interiors, but have either not been explored enough to find their true scope or have not been confirmed to be their own area rather than a subarea of a larger expanse. These places are home to various other entities that have been recorded in prior photographs. Please note that these areas are categorized by researchers and are not a full list nor is it a hard-fast rule. Many areas blur into each other due to the nature of the Far Plane and categorizing areas is done for the purpose of ease of cataloging explored areas and found entities.

#ask #lore #zooliminology

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lovelyiida · 11 months ago

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OFF ➤ EJIRO KIRISHIMA X FEM! READER 🜚

“why are you wearing that fugly hat?“

➜ masterlist

➜ tag form

➜ words: 1.3K

➜ WARNINGS: mention of boobs, insecurities, unhealthy awareness of self-image, fluff

You were frustrated.

"Have you guys seen Ejiro?" you asked, your breath staggered as you tried to catch it. You had been searching the school for him for the past 30 minutes with no luck.

"How are we supposed to know where your man is?" said Monoma. It was true; you were standing inside class 1-B's room during lunch break.

"Just asking, if you see him, please tell him I've been looking for him!" you yelled out as you rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind you.

Corridor? No.

Lunchroom? Nope.

Boys locker room? Not worth it.

Practice area? Nada.

Huffing out a breath, you staggered into class 1-A and collapsed in your seat. Placing your head down, you let out a frustrated groan.

"What's the matter with you?" Sero chuckled in curiosity. Snapping your head up, you sent him a death glare before he raised his hands in defense with a smirk.

"Are you gonna tell me or what?" he questioned.

"I'm looking for Ejiro! It's like he's not even in this school. Did he go missing, and you guys are all in on it?" you accused Sero with a frown. Sero scratched the back of his head in confusion at your outlandish accusation.

"Nah, but I might have a clue where he went—"

"Where?" you yelled.

Sero flinched at your words before delving his hands deep into his pockets. "Well, y'know, we were in class and chatting it up. Next thing he knows, he's looking up into space and starts freaking out. Like he saw a ghost or something."

You furrowed your brows at his words. That doesn't sound like something Ejiro would ever do.

"Well, where is he?" Your voice softened as you became concerned. Anxiety started to fill your chest as you began to think of the worst.

Was he hit with some quirk?

Did he see a threat no one else could?

Did he go crazy due to consuming today's mystery meat special at lunch?

"He said he needed to go back to the dorms and didn't tell us why… he just ran off," he said nonchalantly.

"Dorms… why didn't I think of that?"

Packing up your things, you asked Sero to tell Aizawa you were excusing yourself from class. As you took your leave, you traversed back to the 1-A dorms.

Entering the dorms, you plopped your things down on the floor and walked toward Ejiro's dorm. As you enter Ejiro's dorm, you find the door slightly ajar. Your worry heightened, and you pushed the door open gently. The room was dimly lit, and Ejiro was sitting on his bed, staring blankly into space.

"Ejiro, what happened?" you asked, concern lacing your voice. He didn't respond immediately, but after a moment, he turned to look at you with a distant expression.

"I... I don't know. Something's not right," he mumbled, his usual upbeat demeanor replaced by a sense of unease.

Sitting beside him, you tried to make sense of the situation. "Did something trigger this? Did you see or experience something unusual?"

But all your questions dissipated when you looked up…

"Why are you wearing that fugly hat?" Your face contorted into a grimace as you gazed at the fleeced children's All Might hat.

Ejiro hesitated before speaking, pulling the hat down even lower than before. "If I show you, you have to promise me that you won't laugh." As he spoke, it became clear that whatever he had witnessed had deeply unsettled him. His gaze was haunted, and you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story.

"Ejiro…" you trailed, growing increasingly worried. You shuffled closer to him, placing a warm hand on his knee as you looked into his eyes.

"I promise."

Ejiro looked at you with a quivering lip. "Okay." His hands trembled as he reached for the childish hat. You watched as tears began to streak down his face as he ripped off the hat. Blinking at the sight before you, you furrowed your brows. "Ejiro… baby, what am I supposed to be looking at?" you asked.

"You can't see?" Ejiro soon rises from his bed, flicking on the lights in his room. Walking back over, he plops back down in his seat and draws closer to you. Pulling at his locks, he earnestly implores you to inspect his hair. Leaning in closer, your eyes shift around, still confused.

"I—I don't see anything, babe," you stammer. As you shift back upward, a perplexed expression clouds your features. You begin to wonder if your boyfriend is truly going crazy. The redhead scoffs, frustration etched across his face, as he grabs his phone and clicks on his flashlight. "See? Right there!" he exclaims. Intrigued, you lean back forward to scrutinize the concentrated area.

Bingo. A single strand of hair.

"Are you talking about this strand of hair, Eji?" you lean forward and raise your hand to pluck it out. "M'yeah," Ejiro mumbles, eyes welling up with tears once more. "J-just pluck it out!" he panics, and you flinch at his words, swiftly removing the errant strand. Holding the hair in your hand, you closely examine it.

It's black?

"Ejiro… it's just black," you attempt to reassure your boyfriend, but he shakes his head. "But I just dyed my hair last week! It can't be coming in this early," he frets. Turning your head to the side, you speak.

"I didn't know you dyed your hair," you admit.

Ejiro frowns, studying your reaction. "I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't," he sighs, defeated. "When my hair is red, I feel the most manly, like I'm someone bigger than myself. I'm able to embody this character that I'm genuinely proud of."

Your disbelief deepens as you sit in the deepness of his newfound vulnerability.

"But when I'm that," he points at your hand in disgust.

"I'm just me… some loser that no one will ever like—"

"Ejiro," you say firmly.

Standing up, you reach for him. As he leans into your embrace, you caress his frame. Softly tracing circles on his back, leading up to his shoulders, you then tangle your fingers through his locks. Ejiro flinches, his shoulders tense up as you lightly tug at his hair.

"Listen to me when I say this," pulling away, you slide your fingers from his scalp and trace your hands along his jaw, cupping his cheeks. "I don't care who you are now or what you used to be; what I know is that I love you for you. No matter what you show me or what you think will drive me away from you; it won't."

Looking deeply into his eyes, you watch as he lets out an exasperated sigh.

Ejiro leans his head into your tender touch, "But—I lied to you," he mumbles. "Okay? Ejiro, you're just like any other person on this planet; you're allowed to keep things from me that you think I shouldn't." You give him a reassuring smile, "you deserve to have a sense of humanity like everyone else" you chuckled.

The redhead lets out a dry chuckle, "But this is like you telling me that one of your boobs is purple or something," he tries to tell a joke, but you give him a confused look. "Not exactly…" you trail off.

"Okay."

Both of you chuckle at his words. Leaning into his touch, you embrace him in a tight hug. "Y'know… I'd bet you'd look super hot with your hair all black," you muffle into the crook of his neck. Ejiro soon unravels from your grasp, an unreadable look etched over his face.

"Ya think?" he says with a small smirk. You hum in response. Ejiro looks up for a moment, pondering your response. Tightening his grip on your waist, he pulls you in, closing the gap between both of you with a quick peck.

"I'll think about it."

TAG LIST:

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viledaylights · 7 months ago

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Can we all agree that Gale’s wedding vows would be absolutely, horrendously EXTRA?This is merely an abridged version, cause my guy would talk for hours on end if anybody let him. But I can imagine them sounding like this:

"My dearest Tav, in this sacred embrace of timelessness, where our souls intertwine like the dance of eternal flames, I stand before you to weave words into vows that echo the boundless depths of my everlasting love. From the fateful encounter that knitted our souls together to the shared dreams that painted the canvas of our joined destinies, every step taken with you has been a melody in the grand symphony of our eternal love. Our journey, a masterpiece of laughter, tears, and whispered promises, resonates with the immortal echoes of a love that transcends the confines of time.

With a love that defies the ephemeral tides of life and the fleeting shadows of doubt, I pledge not just my heart but the entirety of my existence to you. Our love, like two stars dancing in the cosmic ballet, casts an eternal glow that traverses the infinite expanse of our intertwined souls. In your eyes, I find solace amidst the imperfections that adorn our shared existences. Like the moon embracing the scars of countless craters, our journey cherishes every trial as a testament to our enduring strength, growth, and the alchemy of our eternal union. As we merge our destinies, I vow to journey alongside you with unwavering loyalty and unyielding devotion. Like the rivers that carve canyons through steadfast mountains, our love shall sculpt and shape the landscapes of our shared tomorrows.

Gratitude fills my soul like the gentle rain that nourishes the earth, for every moment woven into the tapestry of our shared existence. Your touch, a melody that soothes the echoes of past pains, and your presence, a guiding star that illuminates even the darkest nights, inspire boundless gratitude and endless joy in my heart.

Know that my love for you transcends mortal confines, cascading like an eternal river, nourishing the gardens of our shared dreams. Today, tomorrow, and through the endless tomorrows our souls embrace, I am yours, bound by the eternity of love's grace and the infinite expanse of our intertwined souls. In this eternal dance of our souls, I offer not mere vows but a symphony of promises that echo through the timeless corridors of our love.

With each heartbeat, I reaffirm my unwavering presence by your side, a steadfast companion in the jubilant highs and comforting solace of shared sorrows. Through every dawn and twilight, in whispered secrets and shared dreams, in every breath and heartbeat, know this above all else: I love you, wholeheartedly. With a devotion that knows no bounds, and a love that eclipses galaxies and eternities. Forever and always.”

#Baldurs Gate 3 #BG3 #Gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #All the attendees better get comfortable cause they’re gonna be here A WHILE #Let me know if you got the reference

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moonbread123-wattpad · 6 months ago

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3 AM Things

TW: none, beginning of the story is a texting conversation

Type: fluff

Pairing: Harry Potter x Ravenclaw!fem!reader

Summary: Reader has been having trouble catching sleep, so Harry decides to help her out.

Feel free to leave comments, I love reading them

'Arry Pottah!<3

You

If god sends me to hell

I will simply not go

what will he do?

send me to hell?

I'm already not going

'Arry Pottah<3

It's 3 am for god's sake

Actually you do have a point-

You

Im coming over

'Arry Pottah<3

please dont

not seen

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

Y/n stepped carefully off of her bed. The room was dark. The only light was coming from outside the window. It was a clear night and a gentle breeze blew in. Y/n walked out of the dorm gingerly, jumping at the softest of noises. She flew down the stairs and across the common room.

She held the door of the common room, but didn't open it just yet. Instead, she grabbed a few cookies from the cookie jar (refilled daily by the house elves) and rushed out of the common room.

The corridor was cold. The night air stung her face and neck, but she reminded herself that she'll have Harry for warmth in a moment. She went straight, rounded a corner, checked for Filch's cat, and rushed down the steps. She hopped over the last two and went straight along the corridor. A few more steps, and she reached the Fat Lady's portrait. She was snoozing in the frame, and the canvas was slightly ajar.

Y/n looked in and, sure enough, Harry was sitting in the longer sofa by the fire. It was him who had opened the portrait to let her through. He turned around and smiled at her. She smiled back as she stepped in and closed the portrait behind her. She tiptoed across the carpeted floor and sat next to Harry.

'Cookies?' She offered.

'Thanks', Harry mumbled as he took a cookie. 'I know why you're here', he said with a teasing smile.

'Shut', Y/n reprimanded. 'It's not my fault I'm scared of the dark'.

'You traversed a quarter of the castle alone, in the dark, to get here. Surely your roommates are enough to keep you company at night?'

'Well, they don't have fucked up sleep schedules. And I can't cuddle with them, can I?'

Harry just smiled and opened up an arm. Y/n took the invitation and leaned into it, nuzzling her head around his shoulder.

'I should be studying for my O.W.L.s, but here I am, consoling a child who's scared of the dark' Harry teased.

'I'm not a child', Y/n said.

Silence.

'Do you think we'll have to got to war against You-Know-Who?'

The question caught Harry off guard. He didn't mean to talk about this, especially not when he's supposed to be acting sweet and sappy. 'Don't think about it now, love', he said as he kissed the top of her head. 'Whatever happens will happen'.

'That's a surprisingly casual way of thinking about a war'.

Harry said nothing. Y/n shifted her head onto his chest. Harry put his hand in her hair, gently stroking it, and Y/n drifted off into a delicious slumber listening to the beating of his heart.

#harry potter x wolfstar!daughter #harry james potter x y/n #harry james potter #hjp x reader #hjp #harry potter

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thefirstknife · 4 months ago

Note

How are Osiris' echoes still around in the Vex network? Aren't they manifestations of his Light that would have ceased to exist when Sagira died?

That's Reflections! Echoes are.... something else.

[u.2:12] Reflections, Saint. I have no need for Echoes anymore. [u.1:13] What do you mean? What’s the difference? [u.2:13] One is a manifestation of Light. The other… reserved for Taken Kings. Better suited for traversing the Sundial because of what lies at its core.

Osiris left some of the Echoes in the Sundial to keep exploring until they find Saint. At the time of the Sundial, he could still feel them searching:

Two Echoes wander into the corridors of time with orders not to stop. Brute force has worked for Osiris before. To this day, he can still feel them. Their search continues.

It's unclear if he could still be feeling them (or if they're even still there), but I've always thought he could because of him thinking of being in the Sundial during his coma:

A familiar voice calls out, sonorous against the abyss, incomprehensible but sweet. I think I hear the fluttering of wings, but the hum of the Sundial gives no direction.

Wild. There could be some sort of an imprint or remnant of his deals with the Vex, being kept preserved in the Network. Like a snapshot of his time there. And if it's one of his Echoes, then that brings another question about it all due to the nature of his Echoes. It's also specifically noted that most of his Echoes just:

The rest eventually succumb to Vex security measures where the network intersects with the corridors of time. Even Osiris’s Light has limits.

Really interesting wording, that the corridors of time intersect with the network, which is what may have allowed the two Echoes still searching to essentially cross over and embed themselves into the network. Purely speculating here since we don't really know more. But it's something to think about! I am always thinking about the Echoes anyway.

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 spoilers #echoes #echoes spoilers #osiris #ask #that one seasonal lore tab really will just keep on giving

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hyperfix-wip · 2 months ago

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Octobie Anarchy: Skirts Are For Everyone

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! OC/ Spider-Punk x fem! OC (can be seen as platonic or romantic, up to you guys 😂)

Summary: Earth-318's Mei Prak never expected her first day back to school to end with helping a skirt-wearing Brit argue with a shitty teacher.

Word count: 4.7k

Author's Note: HOLY SHIT, I WASN'T EXPECTING THIS ONE TO BE THIS LONG 😭🤣 Also, I am pleased to introduce my OC Mei for the Spiderverse fandom! I am thinking of building up her lore in the long run, so we'll see how this goes lol. Event by @the-kr8tor and banners by @mushroom-graphics-allotment

Tags: Discussions of school uniforms, TW mentions of sexual harassment, TW brief violence to an object with an object, Possibly OOC!Hobie(?)

The shrill ringing of the school bell shrieks through the crowded corridors, signaling students to disperse from their friend groups and trudge over to their classes. Chatters echo against the walls and metal lockers while waves of teenagers wade through to their destinations. Amongst the crowd on the wayside is a young girl with disheveled dark curls languidly grabbing her textbook, stifling a yawn while shutting her locker before trudging along with the rest of the student body.

Bodies of monotonous black, white and beige surround the girl in her matching uniform, her beige cardigan blanketing over her hands and past her hips, her matching black tie and white button up peeking underneath, and her pleated black skirt fluttering against her knees. Her drooping eyes scan past her lashes and wispy curls, scanning through the throng of bodies in the hallway, while her skin prickles from being in close proximity with everyone around her. Despite being surrounded by students and faculty minding their own business, either facing forward or looking down on their phones, her skin vibrates into a low buzz, as if all eyes are on her. With a drowsy grimace, the girl weaves through the masses with ease, avoiding bumping into anybody while she navigates herself to her Calculus class.

The girl’s head grows a little fuzzy the more she traverses through the cramped hallway, her sensitive ears picking up different chatters and gossips among the sea of people around her–

(“ –need to pass this exam–”

“ –going to Flash’s Halloween party–”

“ –hot British foreign-exhange student–”

“ –saw Spider-Girl kick Hobgoblin’s ass last week–”)

Her lips curl up into a slight smirk at the last comment she overheard, a tingle of vindication creeping up her chest.

The girl’s wrist throbs into a dull ache as the metal web shooter rubs against the skin, further irritating the slightly swollen joint while she covers her hands with her sleeves. She briefly makes a mental note to check her sprained wrist during lunch before her eyes drift off to the familiar sight of her classroom, her face briefly pinching up while her Calculus teacher stands by the door lecturing a group of girls in front of him, holding a ruler in his hand. Even with hordes of students walking between her and that classroom, she can see his leering eyes lingering on their legs while he holds the ruler by one of the girls’ legs. Her skin prickles more intensely at the sight while the girl having her skirt measured shifts uncomfortably in front of him. The teacher then gives a gruff nod and a dismissive flick of the wrist to the group of girls, who quickly scurry away from him and into the classroom with unease.

Fucking creep.

The girl’s sleep-ridden eyes quickly harden while her skin continues to crawl the closer she gets to the classroom, her fingers fidgeting inside her sleeves from the impending dread of having to interact with the old and stout man. The teacher doesn’t look physically imposing to her– hell, she’s fought with bigger and stronger criminals before– but he still makes her skin crawl like them, like he is a lurking danger to be wary of.

Fortunately for her, she easily weaves into the stream of students entering the class without detection, avoiding his beady eyes while he catches another unfortunate student with a dress code “violation” that no other faculty member seems to notice.

The moment the girl steps into the dull gray classroom, she instantly spots her childhood friend Miles settling down in one of the desks in the back. As he takes his headphones off and looks up from his phone, his eyes light up at the sight of her while a teasing smirk creeps up on his face.

“Welcome back, Mei,” Miles calls out to the girl with a cheeky grin as she crosses the classroom to him. “How’s your first day back after getting suspended for a week?”

Mei rolls her eyes with an amused huff before pulling the chair in front of Miles’ desk out before leisurely straddling on it. “Shut up, man. Kinda wish I could stay home a little longer, to be honest.”

A snort slips through Miles’ nose as he leans forward, his dark twists swaying against his forehead while his grin softens into a lazy smile. “And leave me here to fend for myself? That’s fucked up, dude.”

“Whatever, dumbass,” Mei snickers as she leans against the backrest of the plastic chair, propping her cheek onto her knuckles. “So, what did I miss? Anything big happen while I was gone, or was everything the same as usual?”

Miles’s lips grow into a cat-like grin before leaning closer, and Mei follows suit with slight intrigue in her eyes.

“Well, you missed out on the new foreign exchange student starting beef with Mr. O’Neil.”

Mei raises her eyebrow before she looks over her shoulder, her freckled nose crinkling at the sight of the Calculus teacher lecturing another group of students, before she turns back to her amused friend. “So? Half the student body has beef with him. The damn narc pretty much got half the school in detention or suspended for–” she holds her hands up and air quotes– “ ‘not following the rules.’”

“Yeah, but this guy’s on a whole new level,” Miles snickers. “Like, the dude will find any loophole in the rules and argue his way out of trouble, pissing O’Neil off to no end.”

Mei stares at Miles with a confused look, but he only rolls his eyes as he continues. “Okay, first off: makeup. Y’know the deal– have minimal makeup and not wear bright and bold colors?”

Mei nods in response, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle a smile as she watches her old friend make his case.

Miles narrows his eyes at her, causing her to hold in a laugh trying to sneak out of her, before he goes on. “Dude practically came in all pretty and shit– gloss, eyeliner, blush, lashes. Like you can tell he was wearing makeup, but you’d low-key forget he is, and O’Neil got really pissed that he couldn’t outright call him out without being sure of it. Y’know what I mean?”

Mei shakes her head while stifling another giggle, mirth gleaming in her eyes. “You might have to give me another example or something, man,” she teases lightly.

Miles’ face drops to a deadpan before he scoffs and continues. “Okay, fine. Nail polish. O’Neil tried to send him to detention for having his nails painted, but the guy ended up getting out of it when he pointed out how his nails met the requirements in the handbook—“

Miles stops mid-sentence with another deadpan as Mei struggles to keep her giggles in.

“You’re just fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“A little, yeah. You really need to work on explaining things better.”

Miles groans before he drops his head down on his desk while Mei lets a small snicker slip through her lips.

“But nah, I think I get it though,” Mei murmurs with a pensive furrow in her brows. “Basically he’s fucking with O’Neil by taking advantage of the dress code not being gender-specific.” A small smile curls up on her lips at the thought of the narc turning red at the mysterious boy skirting around the rules. “Not gonna lie, I’m a little impressed that somebody’s that down to piss him off.”

Miles snorts and shakes his head at her, his own eyes lighting up with amusement while his lips curl up with a smirk. “Like you wouldn’t do the same shit if you had the idea.”

Mei only shrugs in response before crossing her arms against her chest. “Could’ve, but didn’t. Not that good with talking when angry, remember? Kinda why I got suspended in the first place, all because O’Neil stopped me to do a uniform check during lunch–”

“ –before you slapped the ruler out of his hand and cussed him out for being a creepy pervert?”

“Okay, is he not though?”

Miles holds his hands out in surrender, his demeanor still calm and casual. “Never said he wasn’t. I’m just saying you got in trouble on your own terms. Everybody else though…”

Both teenagers sigh at the same time before Miles drops his teasing demeanor and looks at Mei with a flicker of concern in his eyes. “O’Neil didn’t actually try anything with you though, right?”

Mei instantly shakes her head, her face pinching up into a grimace. “Nah, just tried to do his usual ruler thing, holding that stupid thing against my leg. Made my skin crawl and shit when his hand touched my knee.”

Miles’ eyes harden in anger and disgust, but Mei quietly waves it off. “I already spooked him when I called him out. It was bad timing on my part when the headmaster walked in on me cussing him out. The nerve of the bastard turning that shit against me and convincing the principal to suspend me for being ‘disrespectful’ and ‘aggressive.’” She then shrugs it off, “And honestly, it could’ve been worse than me getting suspended for a week.”

Miles sighs again as he pinches the bridge of his nose before looking back at Mei with a deadpan, which Mei instantly shrinks from with a groan.

“Miles, c’mon. Nothing actually happened to me–”

“Something could’ve–”

"Well, it didn’t–”

“It could’ve–”

“But it didn’t–”

“Mei, it could have.”

The bell suddenly rings in the classroom, and the rest of the students groan and wander to their seats while the two friends stare at each other in frustration. Miles’ eyes then soften from a harsh glare into a gaze filled with worry. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you…”

Mei’s glare instantly falters, her stomach lurching at the sight of her oldest friend worried about her, before she lets out a resigned sigh and looks away from him. “I know, Miles…”

A small lump sinks into the pit of Mei’s stomach from Miles’ words. She knows he means well, only worrying for her safety and well-being, which makes the guilt gradually fester inside. The metal web-shooters bound to her wrists also grow heavy, reminding her of her secret double life, of her responsibility as a hero, of keeping her as Spider-Girl a secret from her loved ones. Her face pinches up into a pensive frown as she stares down at her arms, a soft barrier hiding bruises and scars littered all over her skin, some from as recent as last week, and others from when she first became Spider-Girl years ago.

After a moment of silence, a small smile slowly creeps up on Miles’ lips before he gently nudges her arm. “We’ll talk more after, okay? Don’t want you getting in trouble on your first day back.”

Mei rolls her eyes with a snort before giving him a lazy smile of her own. “Can’t promise I won’t…”

Mei then turns herself to the front of the class just as the narc in question finally enters the classroom and steps to the front of the class. The old, balding man glares at the rows of students with a slight scowl, his face wrinkled up like an old bulldog, before snatching his clipboard for attendance. His beady eyes roam across the room, scanning through the sea of bored faces in front of him. When Mr. O’Neil’s eyes meet Mei’s, his eyes narrow in disdain while Mei returns the glare before sinking down on her seat. With a disgruntled sigh, Mr. O’Neil drops his clipboard back onto his desk before stepping closer to the front row of students.

“Before we start our lesson today,” his gruff voice echoes in the room, “I would like to share some concerns I have with you all.”

“Oh god,” Mei instantly mutters under her breath and rolls her eyes before her attention drifts to the empty seat in front of her, mentally preparing to tune out the incoming lecture.

“You all represent Horizon Academy, one of the most prestigious schools in all of New York City,” Mr. O’Neil continues, to the growing displeasure of the rest of the class. “This means you all have to behave like model students, to uphold the pride of this school and what it stands for.”

Mr. O’Neil’s eyes then narrow into a harsh glare as he crosses his arms against his chest. “This includes how you present yourselves in public.”

More groans echo in the classroom, but the narc continues to admonish everyone in the room. “Now, as of late, I have noticed that a lot of you students have grown complacent with yourselves. With all of you loosening your ties, leaving your top shirt buttons unbuttoned, shortening the length of your skirts, and wearing makeup and other varnishes on yourselves! Have some decorum! You all must uphold yourselves in a higher standard and not let yourselves look like slovenly hellions–”

SLAM!

Mr. O’Neil’s spiel suddenly gets interrupted by the heavy door slamming open, and everybody turns their eyes to the surprise guest. A tall, lanky boy pants as he leans against the doorframe, his dark coils puffed out and in disarray before he pushes his hair out of his face and carefully ties it up with a red scrunchie. The fluorescent lights shine down on the silver piercings scattered along his face and the slight perspiration on his dark skin as he stumbles into the stunned classroom.

“This is 318, right?” his deep British accent smoothly rumbles against the walls, but everyone stays dumbfounded at his appearance. His beige blazer is decorated with numerous pins, his white button-up is unbuttoned and his tie is loosely hanging around his neck, and his undereyes are stained with black smudges. However, the one thing everybody’s eyes are focused on before breaking out into a tizzy is the pleated black skirt fluttering against his thighs.

“Is that the foreign exchange kid?”

“The hell happened to him?”

“Dude, he’s wearing a skirt–”

“Why does his legs look good, though?”

Miles tilts his head to the side with a disbelieving chuckle as his eyes follow the stumbling student. “Well damn, today’s your lucky day, huh Mei?”

Miles’ face falters soon after as he looks at his friend in front of him, her body suddenly frozen and tense at the sight of the new kid. “Mei? You good?”

No matter how much Miles taps on Mei’s shoulder for her attention, she still stays frozen in her seat. Her skin prickles with an intense burning sensation as the metal web shooters under her sleeves grow heavy, and her hands slowly ball up into fists despite the throbbing ebbing from her wrist. Adrenaline pounds into her ears as her fists ball up tighter, her blunt nails biting into her palms and her wrist screaming from the sudden tension in her body.

Mei shouldn’t be feeling like this, shouldn’t be panicking from the sudden appearance of this guy. She’s only felt like that during her patrols when she faces her deadliest foes in New York. The Prowler, Mister Negative, Green Goblin– those guys are way more intimidating to her, not this lanky Brit stumbling into her Calculus class with a damn skirt on. Despite this, she still feels that familiar tingle on her skin, like small spiders frantically crawling all over her body, itching for her to get the fuck out of this classroom.

Sirens blare in Mei’s mind the longer her eyes stay on the approaching figure of the student, murmurs of the new kid’s skirt fall on deaf ears for her. All she can think of this guy is one word.

Danger.

The boy suddenly stops in front of the classroom as soon as his eyes land on Mei, and the tingles on her skin instantly crawl up to the nape of her neck and her scalp while she stares at his steely-dark eyes, as if they were the only two in the room. His eyes linger on her, as if gradually unraveling her layer by layer, intensifying the crawling sensation on her skin. After a moment of silence, the boy breaks out into a boyish grin before quickly approaching the empty seat in front of her and straddling on the chair.

“Well hello, darling,” the boy greets her with an unwavering smile like an old friend would. “I’ve waited a long time to finally meet you.”

Mei stares at the boy in confusion and disbelief at his sudden interest in her, her freckled cheeks warming up as she ignores all the chatter and stares surrounding them. “Uh, who are you?”

The boy’s smile grows as he leans against the backrest of his chair and closer to her, his towering figure hunching over her desk to stay eye level with her. “Hobie, Hobie Brown. And may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

The intense tingle on Mei’s skin and the sirens in her head gradually subsides the longer she stares at him, her heart rate calming down and her fingers slowly unfurling out of her fists, until only a faint buzz lingers under her skin. His stormy eyes soften as his gaze stays on her, his arm now propped on her desk with his cheek resting against his knuckles. The muffled noises in Mei’s head grow quiet, and the uncomfortable prickling along her scalp warms up into a fuzzy sensation, soothing the brief pang of anxiety inside her.

Before she could respond, a loud clack! reverberates in the air, and both Mei and Hobie look up at a fuming Mr. O’Neil standing in front of them with the end of his ruler on Mei’s desk.

“Mr. Brown, Miss Prak, it seems you two have more important matters than what I have to say for the class?” Mr. O’Neil sneers down at them. “I do hope the conversation warrants enough of a reason to avoid detention...”

The teacher briefly narrows his eyes at the annoyed Mei as she gives him a sidelong glance. “Or in Miss Prak’s case, another few days of suspension.”

Hobie’s face drops from a friendly smile to a blasé stare once he turns his attention to Mr. O’Neil. “I find introducing yourself to someone is actually very important. However, it is quite rude to insert yourself into a conversation you have no involvement in.”

Mr. O’Neil’s eye twitches while a small vein starts to pop out of his neck. “But Mr. Brown, is it not also rude to walk into class tardy, let alone interrupting an important lesson that concerns you and your fellow peers–”

“Sorry, Teach, but I doubt Calculus would be useful for most of us here,” Hobie interjects with a dismissive flick of the wrist before turning back to Mei. “Now, where were we, darlin–”

“Mr. Brown, it seems you have misunderstood something,” Mr. O’Neil interjects with a slight snarl. “I was just discussing with the class about the importance of maintaining your appearance here on campus–”

“So in other words, you’re not teaching what you’re supposed to be teaching–”

“It is quite the opposite!”

Tension buzzes inside the classroom as sparks fly between the feuding teacher and student, one close to popping a blood vessel and the other staring up in boredom. Mr. O’Neil huffs out in frustration before his eyes narrow at the fluttering fabric covering Hobie’s lap.

“Speaking of appearances, Mr. Brown, you have seem to have disregarded the dress code yet again—“

“Again?” Hobie raised a pierced eyebrow with a cheeky smirk, languidly pushing himself up from his seat until he towers over the stout older man. “I don’t recall ever being out of dress code.”

Mr. O’Neil grits his teeth while the vein on his neck slowly pops out more. “Don’t you start. You may have an excuse to continue wearing that paint on your face—“

“Gotta make myself look decent—“

“And continue to stain your nails with that varnish—“

“Never thought a neutral or baby pink would look good on my nails, but they’re growing on me—“

“Would you stop interrupting?!”

Hobie feigns an innocent grin as he cheekily holds his hands up in surrender, irritating the reddening teacher. “I don’t see why you have any issues with my makeup and nails. I’m just abiding by the rules like any other student.”

“Those rules were mainly for the female students—“

“Rules never actually said that though, did they?”

The vein on Mr. O’Neil’s neck grows bigger as his face turns redder with each comment. Meanwhile Hobie continues to look down at the teacher with a Cheshire Cat-like grin on his pierced lips.

“I can let the makeup and the nail polish pass, despite my best judgment,” Mr. O’Neil growls through gritted teeth, his hands curling up to fists before he sharply points his ruler at Hobie’s skirt, “but I cannot allow this!”

Hobie glances down at his legs, swaying his hips side to side to watch the fabric follow the motion, before looking back at the stout man with a confused pout. “What’s wrong with it? I got it from the school, so this is the official uniform.”

Hobie then looks over at Mei, who up until now has been watching the back-and-forth with growing intrigue and amusement. “Although, seventy-one US dollars for this skirt alone? Is this school really having a laugh?”

Mei only shrugs in response, hiding the growing smile on her face with her hand. “Still gotta buy the spring skirt if you haven't yet. Costs another sixty–”

“Oh, fuck off–” Hobie mutters in disbelief as Mr. O’Neil glowers at Mei, who stares back at him with an unimpressed deadpan.

“Miss Prak, you are not involved in this conversation–” Mr. O’Neil rebukes before turning his attention back to Hobie, “ –and you need to change back into the right uniform, or I will have you sent to detention for weeks–”

“A little excessive, innit?” Hobie mutters as a nearby student quietly offers him some makeup wipes, and he sends a quick wink at her before grabbing a couple of wipes to clean the smeared black makeup off his undereyes. “I mean, I’m just wearing a uniform like everybody else.”

“You are wearing a female student’s bottoms!” Mr. O’Neil barks back, his face practically steaming like an angry tea kettle. “You are to wear the male’s khakis just like the rest of the male students–”

“But they’re so restrictive,” Hobie pouts mockingly as he starts to bend his knees and straighten up, “and these skirts are so freeing. You can practically run in these without worrying about your trousers ripping.”

Hobie then glances behind him as his fingers reach to the back of the skirt with a furrow to his brows, “Although I suppose most people would not want to expose their bums if they run…”

“MR. BROWN–”

As Mr. O’Neil’s face starts to turn purple while he continues to argue with Hobie, Mei glances over her shoulder and notices Miles blatantly holding his phone out with a stifled smirk on his face.

“Are you…?” Mei whispers with a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

Miles’ smirk grows a little more as he nods, and Mei’s lips curl up into an impish grin. She slides her hand into her backpack and pulls out a small booklet before she turns back to the trainwreck of a show in front of her and pushes herself up from her seat.

“Okay, as riveting and important as this conversation is,” Mei interrupts the two with a cheeky smile on her face, slowly walking between them with her hands up in mock surrender, “I think we stayed on the topic of dress code for a little too long.” She turns to Mr. O’Neil, as if shielding Hobie from any more of the teacher’s tirade. “I mean, I don’t know about you guys, but I came here to learn some Calculus and try to make up some work after being gone for a week.”

Mei’s eyes then narrow at Mr. O’Neil as her grin becomes more taunting. “And isn’t education the most important priority for students to focus on?”

For a moment, Hobie looks down at Mei with confusion before his eyes briefly catch Miles recording them. Miles glances over to the Brit and puts a finger against his smug lips. Hobie’s eyes light up with respect and intrigue as they drift to Mei further provoking the seething teacher.

“Do not patronize me, Miss Prak!” Mr. O’Neil angrily yells at her as he points his ruler at Hobie. “As a teacher, I refuse to ignore this blatant disrespect against the morals and prestige of this school!”

“Morals?” Hobie scoffs dramatically as he sits on his desk, crossing his ankles and rocking his heels against the vinyl flooring. “These are just clothes, fabric that covers our bodies. Is this school’s reputation so fragile that a student wearing a skirt would ruin everything here?”

Hobie then looks around the classroom full of watchful students before looking back at the teacher with a bored deadpan. “If that were the case, then the school should get rid of the skirts entirely.”

“That is not the point!” Mr. O’Neil barks back. “The point is that skirts are for female students only!”

“Dress code didn’t say skirts should be only worn by female students though,” Mei jumps in as she flips through the mini booklet in her hands, stopping at a page before holding the booklet out to the teacher’s scowling face. “See? No mention of gender anywhere in the dress code–”

Mei’s skin on her hand tingles intensely for a brief moment, and she instantly lets go of the booklet and pulls her hands back in the air before the booklet gets slapped across the classroom with a loud SMACK! by a ruler. All eyes watch the booklet land on the window and slide down against the glass before everyone turns to the irate Calculus teacher.

“BOTH OF YOU! GET OUT OF MY CLASSROOM TO THE HEADMASTER’S OFFICE! NOW!”

Both Mei and Hobie stare at the teacher in disbelief as he stomps over to the school phone to make a phone call to the office. Mei glances over to Miles, who puts his phone down with a proud smirk, and she gives him a cheeky grin before looking over her shoulder to Hobie.

“We should probably go,” Mei whispers to Hobie with a snicker before grabbing their bags and gently pushing him towards the door, leaving behind a stunned classroom and a screaming teacher as they walk out to the empty corridor.

As the heavy door closes behind them, Hobie instantly lets out a snort before barking out a laugh, and Mei soon joins him as she walks up to his side. Their cackles echo through the halls as they wander down, with Hobie draping his arm around Mei’s shoulders and pulling her close to his side.

“Bloody hell, that was brilliant!” Hobie gasps out, his lips stretched out into a broad grin. “I didn’t think that wanker was gonna explode like ‘at. Honestly thought he was gonna drop to the floor with how purple he got.”

Mei struggles to wipe away her tears as she hiccups her laughter. “Dude, I’ve never seen him that pissed before! The fuck have you been doing for him to instantly hate you like that?”

Hobie scoffs playfully as he rests his hand on his chest. “I have done nothing, darling! I merely followed the rules like everyone else! S’not my fault that knob is too anal about the rules!”

Mei chokes out more laughter as she leans against him, barely able to breathe, before she grins up at him. “Oh, I think we’re gonna be great friends, Hobie Brown.”

An impish smile curls up on Hobie’s lips as he gazes down at her, his eyes lighting up with mirth. “Oh, I know we will…Miss Prak?”

Mei rolls her eyes with a chortle at Hobie’s teasing smile, her freckled cheeks growing more flushed from the laughter. “Mei’s fine, man.”

Hobie’s expression softens as his hand gently squeezes her shoulder, “Alright then, Mei…”

The two new friends trudge along to the office, unaware of the domino effect of their chance encounter as a certain live video of a teacher yelling at two students circulates throughout the school and social media.

#hobie brown #atsv hobie #hobie october event #spider punk #octobie anarchy #octobie'24 #octobie #hobie brown x oc

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