#i have no right to feel sorrowful but i feel helpless in the face of my government that doesnt give a shit

[eyestrain-addict]

the line from God Help The Outcasts that goes "God help the outcasts, or nobody will" hits extra hard rn

[stxrvel]

the cliff (1)

hi guys! this is the first azriel fic i post here. i mainly do marvel but i just couln't stop thinking about this so i decided to take it forward. i hope you guys like this! see u next time <;33

summary: you never thought that the road to your mate could bring so much suffering… pairing: azriel x f!reader words: +4k warnings: briefly descriptions of torture, bad words, descriptions of sorrow¿?, angst but a happy ending, i think. also, English is not my first language and i actually read acotar in another language, so sorry for any mistakes! and also!! i haven't read a court of silver flames, so probably the facts around cassian and nesta's bond and feyre's pregnancy aren't accurate, sorry for that!

part 2: the house

part 3: the court

part 4: the routine

You were sure that the decisions you had made shouldn't have led you to that place. With your limp legs dragging against the grass, the wet feel of the mud drying coldly on your skin with each gale, increasing the chills that ran through your body, not only because of the dread and fear you had for your life, but because of the scorching frost on the top of that cliff.

There was something magical about wishing upon a shooting star. You knew it, your parents were living proof that it worked. They had met just after your mother had wished upon a dying star. Mates. And they promised you it would be the same for you. You hoped it would be the same for you when, encouraged by your same parents, you wandered Prythian in search of meeting the other end of the bond that you knew connected you to someone beyond, in search of a connection greater than you could ever understand.

You firmly believed in that magic one night, in the midst of the lonely and almost desolate journey from end to end, when lying watching the night sky you saw it pass by. A helpless shooting star.

You made your wish with your heart in your hand, closing your eyes and whispering as if it were a prayer. Maybe it was. You didn't know if that was what had gone wrong.

All you knew was that, the next day, your journey was over.

You hadn't finished waking up when you found yourself being dragged across the ground of the Day Court, right at the border it shared with the Night Court, from the hands of Ilyrian soldiers who wouldn't listen to your shouted words. Or simply preferred to ignore them.

You weren't sure how much you had screamed at them, even as they took you in the most savage way possible and furrowed you through the wind, the cold gusts of the Nightmare Court piercing your skin. But it had to have been a good while, because the next time you were above ground your throat was so dry you could barely breathe.

You didn't know what was going on, not even when days later, after feeding yourself with only mush and water, you met the first person willing to tell you something and not turn his face away from you. It was a man, Ilyrian too, with gigantic black wings that covered almost all the light in the small room where you were held captive. His constant presence invoked darkness.

He never introduced himself. He would only ask “who sent you?”, waiting for a sane answer from you, one that you couldn't give because every time you tried to say something that was not remotely like what he wanted to hear, he would move two fingers of his left hand and two more soldiers would enter the room and grab you roughly by the arms, pulling you closer to a barrel with water that was in the corner of the room. That was the water you usually drank, and it was never as cold as when they entered the room.

Needless to say, after a couple of days, you couldn't even go near the water anymore.

It could've been a couple of days, weeks or months… you weren't sure anymore. Time had become an insignificant concept compared to your desire for freedom. You had explained countless times to the Ilyrian the reasons why they had found you wandering near the Court, but that wasn't enough. Not even when you told him that they could confirm it with your family in the Summer Court. No excuse was good enough, the Ilyrian seemed to simply want to find a culprit, whatever he had to do, whoever he had to point the finger at.

And then, one day, you thought you saw a glimmer of hope. Another lone shooting star, which you barely caught through the bars the room had for windows. The memory of your parents flooded your memory, a dark cloud settling over you and drowning out any sense of calm you were able to collect after the ilyrians left. Through tears and sobs you begged the star for a way out, hoping its magic was powerful enough to fight the savage soldiers.

The next day more ilyrians than usual appeared, but they did not enter the room. Not after the High Lord of the Night Court did so first.

And you thought the star had heard you.

“She didn't say anything?”

His dismissive, indifferent tone almost made you shudder on the icy floor, but you didn't let that take away your hope, kneeling in front of him with dried tears and dirt on your face. With your hands clasped in front of you, as if he were a deity personified, you begged him to listen to you, but you had to watch him send you a disinterested glance before he turned in the direction of the entrance.

“Take her away.”

You didn't know why you had expected the high lord to intercede on your behalf, knowing the stories that brimmed through the Courts in Prythian. Your parents had warned you. They encouraged you to pursue the bond on your chest, but begged you to go no further than Court Day if the bond demanded it. They made you promise to return, and that they would then seek a way to find your mate if he or she was beyond the Night Court. You should've heeded, of course you did. When you saw the cold, emotionless eyes of the high lord's face, you regretted every decision you had made.

Even though you knew it shouldn't have been that way, because you had never done anything wrong. You had never tried to harm someone. Maybe that made it harder. Wondering every night why. Why did you deserve to go through that? What evil was it that you were paying for?

There was something magical about wishing on a shooting star, but that magic wasn't guarded for you.

-

Azriel had been spending sleepless nights for weeks now, without explanation. Things were quiet in Velaris, even in the Court of Nightmares. But when he entered the darkness of his room at night, when he tried to close his eyes with his wings spread across the bed, a knot stirred in his chest. Tears would well up behind his eyes and a sadness would engulf him from head to toe. It was so overwhelming that there were few nights when Azriel could contain the feelings and despair of his shadows.

He tried not to let that deficiency interrupt his work, but it was difficult when his eyes would close at the table during breakfast, or in the middle of the room when Rhys talked about the weekly goals. Several times his friends would start asking questions, but it was easy for Azriel to say he had trouble sleeping because that was never an uncommon occurrence over the course of his long life.

It was once Rhys told him that he had told Madja about his problem and she had sent him some herbs that it all started to get weirder.

Yes, Azriel was able to fall asleep. But every night he had strange dreams. Dreams of a life that was not his own. Memories of someone else he didn't even know. Another woman's life, somewhere Azriel could barely remember when he woke up, with more people who must have been close to her, but not to him, who shared her day to day life, who celebrated together with her, who were happy. Azriel didn't wake up much better in the mornings than when he spent the whole night without sleep.

Now he not only had to deal with the heaviness of lack of sleep, but with the questions. He could never think they were random dreams because he heard the same laughter every time, the same voice, the same place. He felt the same tranquility before waking up.

Azriel believed Madja would be his source of answers then.

“Your mate is looking for you,” the old woman answered him, one sunny day in Velaris when he chased her through her tent hoping she would answer his one question. That stopped him abruptly on his feet, his body from the abdomen upward leaning forward a bit from the suddenness of the movement.

“Mate?”

Madja barely hissed in response, a sound of affirmation that would haunt Azriel for several days afterward.

“How is that possible?”

“What?”

Madja was turning her back to him, her small body hunched over as she inspected the medicinal plants she kept for sale. Azriel watched them along with her, his mind moving through the threads of thoughts, between every memory of his dreams and every memory…of her.

“How can she do that?”

Azriel heard Madja sigh and the sound of metal followed as she dropped the gray watering can she had kept for years into place. Azriel could still remember the first time it had been seen, shiny and pompous in the Velaris sunlight. Madja's brown eyes roamed over his face and Azriel hadn't felt this way since the time when Rhys's mom had looked at him with loving motherly eyes.

“Don't ask me how the bond works, Shadowsinger. The Cauldron knows how it does things.”

Azriel could sleep less after that. Madja had left him with more questions than answers. And, on that note, Azriel began to fly over Velaris more often. For some reason, he felt she was close. The bond hadn't snapped into place yet, but he knew that the time was near when that would happen. He didn't even know if it had snapped for her yet, all he knew was that he had a mate over there, too far away from him, and too scared for him to stand idly by.

Eventually, Azriel had to talk to Rhysand. Rhys, his high lord, his best friend, his brother. Probably the only person in the Inner Circle who could fully understand how he felt at those moments. Because Azriel felt he was going to lose his mind if he didn't find his mate and end whatever suffering she was going through. The uncertainty was eating him alive and the hours of hopelessness and fear that were going on inside him, around that emptiness in his chest, did not ease things at all. If he felt this way from the comfort of his home, he didn't want to imagine what she was going through.

Rhysand agreed to allow him more outings to enlarge the perimeter of his search, but the passing days proved his effort fruitless.

“Everything okay, brother?”

Cassian had met his mate. Nesta, Feyre's sister. Azriel was very happy for him, very happy that his brothers had found their life mates and that he could realize the good they brought into their lives. But there was a huge shadow that haunted him, beyond the darkness he carried with him, and it had much to do with the guilt of not being able to find and deliver his mate from suffering. He no longer knew how much time had passed. His shadows stirred restlessly every day, with every memory, with every gale.

Azriel sighed when he felt Cassian's hand on his left shoulder, as they both stood watching Velaris from the top of a mountain.

“I don't know what to do anymore, Cassian,” Azriel let out, his shoulders slumping under the pressure and stress.

He usually didn't talk about the subject of his mate with his brothers, not as often as someone would think to be so close. It was something Azriel held close to his heart and wanted to resolve on his own, but so many failures were beginning to weigh him down.

Cassian patted his shoulder and then gave it a squeeze, trying to silently comfort him, though he knew that would do little to soothe the clamor in his soul. Because, though the bond hadn't snapped for Azriel, he could well believe that he had had it tugging at his chest in an unfamiliar direction for months now. Even if he didn't feel the bond, the mere acknowledgement of its existence was agony, especially when it didn't help him find his mate.

Cassian sighed beside him, letting a few seconds pass in silence before speaking again, his gaze fixed on Velaris' expanse and his heart shrinking at the visible suffering on his brother's face.

“Rhysand is traveling to the camp, will you accompany us?”

Azriel lately had little desire for anything other than touring Velaris and the surrounding area of the Court of Nightmares looking for his mate, but this time he decided to accept. For some reason, Azriel decided to accompany them.

The Night had been feuding with the Summer for a couple of years. Tarquin and Rhysand… were not on the best of terms. The last time Feyre had traveled to the Summer, pregnant with Nyx, Tarquin and his army had held her captive because of a misunderstanding in the information they had obtained from the Spring Court and the Mortal Lands. Rhysand almost destroyed the entire Summer Court with his bare hands if not for Cassian and Azriel, who were able to broker a deal between the two as mediators. It was a very tense time at the beginning.

Mind you, Rhysand did not leave without letting Tarquin know that it would be years before they would return to the same trade, diplomatic and friendly relations as before, if they could ever speak of forgiveness. Azriel remembered how the only person from the Night Court who could cross Tarquin's lands, for a time, was Mor. They were all warned and the meetings of the high lords were suspended, at least with respect to attendance.

For that reason, Rhysand became extremely wary of anyone connected with the Summer Court and for him, being the high lord, it was not too much work to know who wandered near his lands. They had already captured a handful of Summer Court spies in recent years and held them captive in camp with the Ilyrian soldiers.

Of course, the Night Court was much more careful with their spying, having Shadowsinger himself on their side. Azriel had visited the Summer Court a couple of times by stealth, handing Rhysand reports and any strategic breakthroughs he could decipher.

There was one, however, that they could not foresee. Someone Azriel never knew was coming out of the Summer Court. It had been a couple of years since then and it seemed the Ilyrians had been unable to break the spy's stone will.

“Are you going all the way to the mountain?” Rhysand had stopped in front of Azriel as soon as his feet touched the grassy ground, a few feet from the entrance to the camp. His eyes flicked briefly to the bustle behind his high lord, his shoulders tensing unconsciously as he took slow steps towards Rhysand with his hands in the pockets of his tunic and his wings tucked neatly behind his back. Cassian landed behind him, kicking up a layer of wet grass and mud that soiled his boots.

“Argh.”

“I think I'll be at a distance this time.”

Rhysand nodded, with no intention of convincing Azriel to accompany him to give the imprisoned spies of the Summer a death scare.

“I hope the screams are worth this mudslinging,” Cassian spoke up, moving closer to his two friends, forming a small circle. Rhysand barely gave him a glance before turning on his heels and beginning to make his way to the entrance of the camp, where some of the soldiers were clustered to see the high lord. “You're going to be in the bay?”

“Yes,” Azriel walked alongside Cassian, scowling at the entrance through which Rhysand had just crossed, the Ilyrian soldiers freezing in front of their high lord. “I'll watch from afar. Right now I don't have the stomach for anything.”

“I understand, brother,” Cassian squeezed his shoulder again amicably, sending him a tight-lipped look. Cassian was quite good with words, despite many labeling him as insensitive for being Ilyrian, but he knew Azriel well enough to know when he wanted to talk about something and when he preferred not to. “See you then.”

Cassian followed in Rhysand's footsteps, approaching in long strides, while Azriel paused watching his companions disappear into the distance.

Sighing, the knot in his chest tightened. It was so strange to have a void that could feel so many things. Azriel often wondered how it was possible that he still didn't feel the bond, when his emotions had expanded out of his head and there was no longer a feeling he didn't sense inside his bones.

Flapping his wings to take flight, Azriel set off towards the bay, close to the cliff where Rhysand planned to take the Summer Court spies. He was a few yards away, close enough to make out figures, but not too far away that he couldn't hear the screams.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, damp despite the early rising sun, his shadows began to stir around him, restless. They must've sensed his nervousness, the anxiety that ran through his chest like electric currents to his fingertips, causing him to spasm and break out in a cold sweat. Azriel could barely see them moving around him, separating from his body and stirring on the ground just a few centimeters before turning back.

At the top of the cliff he could already make out the figures of Rhysand and Cassian, walking menacingly towards the inmates, leaving them no choice but to keep walking backwards until they fell into the void, where Cassian would then land them, one by one. Azriel could hear them if he wanted to, but his mind and his shadows kept him a bit distracted.

He barely made out the first screams and the sound of Cassian's wings when his shadows began to whisper, much more restless.

Close.

Close.

Help.

Fear.

Help.

Azriel raised his head and his eyes stopped just short of Rhysand's figure in front of about three spies. At that moment, Azriel's shadows took off, moving at great speed across the grass and stones, with the Shadowsinger unable to do anything to stop them, though he tried. His confused gaze swept over the small figures on the cliff, with such speed that his head was beginning to ache, but he couldn't recognize anything.

He was about to fly in the direction his shadows had gone, when a strange, overwhelming sensation, somewhere between irrational fear and deep sadness, sent his back to the ground moving across his chest, as one of the figures slipped and fell into the void. Azriel felt all the air stolen from his lungs, opening his mouth to try to catch his breath, as those sensations coursed through his entire body and settled in his chest, taking strong root as if they belonged there. They were so overwhelming that they caused him physical pain. The ache he must've been feeling for months.

The bond.

The few remaining shadows beside him whispered endlessly.

Help.

Help.

Help.

Azriel raised his head, breathing hard. He felt his chest split open, as if with great force they were breaking his sternum to pull out his heart. It was such an overwhelming and painful sensation that, but for his strong will, he would surely have lost consciousness.

Help.

Help.

Mate.

Mate.

Azriel thought afterwards that he had never moved so fast or with such force as that moment, when he realized what was happening. The adrenaline that coursed through his body, even feeling electric currents run through him from head to toe from the precise moment he felt the bond, didn't allow him to think too much about how the air hurt his eyes because he already knew exactly where he had to go. He had spent so much time flying without direction, walking the wrong paths and searching in empty places. At that moment, when he had a reason and a direction, Azriel couldn't think of anything else. He didn't want to.

He could only look at the figure falling off the cliff from the moment he raised his head. He could only head blindly towards it. The overwhelming fear that threw him backwards was the fear she felt as under her feet she felt the void, her hands moving forward trying to hold on to something that would allow her to live.

Azriel felt like he was about to die with her.

He met Cassian halfway from afar, who seemed to be about to fly in her direction to catch her when he ran into his friend, but Azriel moved too quickly and with anticipation without losing sight of his mate. The chill that ran through his body could've paralyzed him with fear, but how could he stand by and do nothing when his mate was falling to her undisputed death.

He thought he heard Rhysand's scream. Surely it was so, but in his mind there hovered only the thought that he must reach her, he must get there in time. Her hands were outstretched and Azriel stretched out his hands, hoping that would help him move faster.

Mind blank, Azriel felt like he had just pulled his head out of the water, his chest opening in an unfamiliar thrill as his body felt the warmth of his mate's body crashing against him and his arms wrapped around her in a promise to never let go again. His wings wrapped around her immediately after his arms, impacting a few seconds later against the muddy ground.

He was too close to not catch her. The thought left him breathless.

For a moment, he only heard his and her labored breathing, with the whistling of the wind through the trees and the movement of the water of a stream a few feet away. For a moment, Azriel went completely blank. Whether he was there or dreaming, he didn't know.

His hands clamped tightly around her arms, encircling her entire back, feeling the reality of what had happened sink in on him bit by bit. Fear gripped him once more then, considering that there was a chance he hadn't been there to stop that. To prevent it.

He didn't want to move. Still adrenaline coursed through his body and he was so alert that he could clearly hear the voices of his friends in the distance. Seconds later, when he heard their wings, he finally moved.

Azriel met your eyes and with that look alone he knew you had felt the bond as well.

“I'm sorry,” was all Azriel could think of, his eyes crystallizing, voice breaking. “I'm so sorry.”

You were transfixed. Azriel felt you looking at him with fear and that motivated him to move away from your body, but you gripped his arms tightly to hold him in place.

Azriel felt a great heaviness in his chest as he examined your face and what he saw did not please him at all. Guilt swelled on his shoulders, a great weight that ascended with each passing second and he could hardly imagine all that you had had to go through in that camp. You were right under his nose and he couldn't find you. What kind of a partner was he to let all that happen?

When he heard the footsteps of his friends, his shoulders tensed. But it didn't go unnoticed the way you also became aware of their presence and let go of his arms, rushing to hug yourself as you moved to sit behind Azriel. scared. Still breathing rapidly, Azriel sent a warning look. Cassian and Rhysand stopped a short distance away, noticing the obvious hostility emanating from their friend's body, but Rhysand just stopped for a second.

“Azriel, what the fuck?”

Rhysand was so angry that he seemed to have a little red tinge over his face. Good, he was angry, maybe then Azriel wouldn't feel so bad about breaking his face.

“Rhys,” Cassian frowned, quickly picking up on the tense and hostile atmosphere around him. He grabbed the arm of his high lord, who jerked angrily and turned his gaze back to the Shadowsinger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you aware of what you just fucking did?”

“Rhysand,” Cassian stopped his high lord, raising his voice and holding his arm tightly this time.

Rhysand turned to look at him with a frown and it seemed that, through his mind, Cassian spoke to him. The next time Rhysand looked back at him, his expression was unclenching, but Azriel stood stone-faced in front of you, his hands clasped at his sides and ready to face anything.

“No way,” was all Rhysand muttered, moving to run his hands through his hair.

Azriel felt one of your hands on his back, his senses splitting in half to try and attend to you as he kept an eye on his brothers on the other side. He moved his head to look at you, your frightened expression trying to hide you from Cassian's curious eyes.

“Is this real?”

Azriel felt his heart crumple. Tears welled behind his eyes and burning hurted the back of his throat. He wanted to say so many things, apologize for a million other things, but in that moment he only responded, moving to squeeze your hand:

“It's real.”

[itsonlydana]

Find a cure for my heart | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x human fem!reader 👑

On the eve of the battle, you and Thranduil spent a night that spurred a flurry of letters while Dale grew as a city and you both grew too, first apart, then closer again. However, you couldn't bring yourself to burden him with the truth that your health was deteriorating with each passing day.

warnings/tags: sickness, angst, mentions of death (reader is actively dying but only realizes after Thranduil helps) hurt/comfort, happy end

words: 5,6k

an: finally finished this fic after working on it since January. If you are interested in being tagged when I post new fics– comment that under this post or send it to me in my inbox!

+ masterlist + rules

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Contrary to general belief, the elves did not return to their forests immediately after the battle.

In the stories told, there would be remarks, on how the Elvenking offered his help to the yet-to-be-crowned King Bard once more, bringing aid with however warriors he had left for disposal to search the endless chaos and ruins of Dale for survivors until many sunsets later.

They would speak about the sorrow of losing friends and family and neighbors to a war that had been won at costs no one could comprehend yet, and they would mention how the great Elvenking guided them through the darkest of nights for he had experienced this all before; the grief, the helplessness and the colossal question of What now, who's to say we haven't lost ourselves as well as those we have to bury?

Many had their own experience with the Elvenking, whether it was a hand pulling them off the ground, a loaf of bread delivered to them after days of fighting, or a warm blanket to huddle under to finally lay their body to rest under the watchful eye of Elves that had sworn to protect them.

You had your own story. A different one.

But it wasn't one with the Elvenking, no; the night before the battle, where the air was filled with the sound of blades being sharpened and children crying for their parents, you had met Thranduil, King of the Woodland Elves but most importantly: a set of strong arms that caught you as you stumbled out of Bard's tent.

You needed to run away from the discussions over how to draw the dwarfs out of the mountain.

You'd been a friend to Bard for many long years but standing in that luscious tent, being offered wine as the Wizard, Bard, and the Hobbit pondered over what was about to happen while you weren't sure your mind caught up on what had happened already, there was no room for friendship inside your panic-riddled chest.

Just as you flung open the tent flaps and tried to dash away to get some air, your foot caught on a root, and had it not been for Thranduil's fast reflexes, you surely would've planted your face into the dirt and mud.

Up until now, you had no idea what had transcended between the two of you at the moment where his arms held you up, his softening face looking down at your widened eyes filled with tears and your tongue too tied up and heavy to say anything other than: "Air– please"

Whatever it had been, likely an unspoken wish – by Thranduil or you, or maybe you both; it didn't matter – for someone who would not pass judgment over the urge to disappear from your skin and role and crown for one night, a fallen star flung across the darkened skies at the right time.

It felt as though Thranduil had pulled a sheet over your heads; your world narrowed down to this other soul and how beautiful and divine his body felt on yours as you found a way to survive the night before life as you knew it turned once more and the solid ground beneath your feet shifted and broke.

A few nights, while unforgettable and brooding with feelings neither of you admitted to, did not change that you had to move on somehow.

Although the Elves did not depart for Mirkwood immediately and Thranduil and you were given time in the aftermath to find the other in the cover of the night and under the pretense this was nothing more than mere distraction, a wishing star could only do so much shining before dimming out.

The day you awoke to a sunrise bathing the debris of Dale in a pinkish and warm light, pillars being rebuilt dipped into molten gold, and the cracks glued together, Thranduil's strong arms were wrapped around your middle as if he wanted to hinder you from sneaking away, you knew it was him who would leave you before the day was over.

And so he did.

Sunrise came and went and soon enough all the tents were packed up on horseback and wagons, leaving flattened grass as the only reminder they had been there at all if and there were goodbyes, political between Bard and the Elvenking who parted from the weary man and his children with the promise of support, and between you and Thranduil in the form of a slow nod.

Thranduil sat high on a dark stallion, dressed in silver and long robes that hid fingerprints that spoke of an attempt to cling to transience. His chin lowered, though his eyes were fixed on you.

You knew that nod carried the conversation you had whispered into the morning mist.

And it was all that wasn't said that motivated you to step away first and turn your back on the caravan that took away a King and a Lover.

There was much to do, the looming task of building up Dale needed everyone's full attention, and that included you.

Especially you.

There were houses to plan, accommodations to be made so that no one needed to sleep under the stars.

No one could ever pry the reason why you were keen on getting a roof under everyone out of your hands; a lonely part of you wanted the stars to remember you and Thranduil lying in the grass. And no one else.

The first letter arrived a few weeks after you hadn't had the heart to watch him go and threw yourself into one task after the other, dismissing even the smallest hint of sickness, like the heaviness inside your chest every time you lifted something heavy, or tiredness crashing down onto you in moments to catch your breath, to continue working, that you wouldn't find a moment to admit how much you missed him.

That utterly ridiculous mindset stopped as soon as the messenger Elf rode into the city and hand-delivered you the first of many envelopes with the nearly indecipherable handwriting of Thranduil.

Or the Elvenking.

Because the first letter, despite being addressed to you as well as Bard, who wouldn't have been able to read it in the first place, was a list of things the King would send and a question of what else was needed that he could provide.

"It's fine," you said to Bard through a smile that didn't reach your eyes as you read aloud the letter twice, from the greeting to the last paragraph that was signed 'the Elvenking Thranduil Oropherion, Lord of Mirkwood and friend of Dale'.

In the flickering light of the candle dripping wax onto the table between you, the dark circles under Bard's eyes were all the more prominent than when he was running around the city and there was a bottomless pit in your stomach that wouldn't want to add to the many things he was already worrying about.

"It's totally fine," you said to Bard when he asked if you had skipped over a private note from Thranduil or if there truly wasn't one (there wasn't, you had turned the letter over and over in your hands until the edges became soft and wrinkled) and you both knew that to be a lie.

You answered the letter in the same professional manner because even though you wanted to, you couldn't send a letter to a King helping however he could and expecting nothing in return with a smeared "I wish for your heart and our nights and for your voice to tell me we are alright" written under tears in another sleepless night.

The next few letters follow the same pattern, Elvenking Thranduil Oropherion would inquire if there was anything Dale needed and answer Bard's question on leadership and share his knowledge of what was fundamental for a new King, and you would write for Bard on the other side.

The weeks passed and so did the hope of rekindling that fire you had thought to burn in the both of you.

That Thranduil didn't see the need to reach out was a punch to the gut that left little room for anything else but disappointment of putting your effort into pulling on a rope that wasn't attached to something on the other end.

Why waste the dwindling energy of your exhausted body on someone who would live longer than the memory of you?

Every time a new letter arrived by messenger you would find Bard until one late evening you opened the letter by yourself and saw your name written in that beautiful sharp handwriting, not Bard's added in front or behind; only your given name and not your title.

Your hands shook as you stood in the frame of what was to be your house and the ink glued together the cracks of your heart.

'Forgive me for not writing to you sooner and for how sentimental I must sound. It has been weeks since I last saw you and every time I wander through my familiar halls, I find there is no soul around that could understand me how you did, whom I could tell what plagues my mind. The time we spent together has not left my thoughts. Neither has the promise to not grow apart too much and I apologize for not contributing to that. Now, if you would still have me, I would like nothing more than to hear how you are faring. As for me…'

Nothing had the power to stop you from running off that giddy feeling that spread through your chest as Thranduil, finally Thranduil, wrote about the happenings in Mirkwood; not even the cough that sat deep where suppressed laughter spilled into the grass you fell into– the letter clutched into your hands.

Thranduil and you fell into a routine then, one that was no obstruction for the many tasks at hand but made room for each other to hold on to the promise.

You would send out two letters, one on behalf of Bard whom you taught his signature as well as a few more words every fortnight you sat down together, and one addressed to Thranduil, filled with all the thoughts that ran through your mind that you wanted to tell him.

It was by no means as precious as the talks you had now many weeks ago, not when there were days you had to wait for a response instead of seconds.

You appreciated them all the same, every bit of himself that Thranduil wrote into his messages was countered with a confession of your own.

When he said he wished to know where his son had disappeared to or rather if he followed the direction Thranduil had given to him, you admitted to the nightmares that still plagued your mind, the dreams of fire and a monster that still rested in the lake.

You offered piece after piece, chipped bits of your heart into every letter that you sent away, and after a few weeks had passed, and Dale was taking shape with its houses raking their roofs to the sky and its people planting seeds and flowers, rooting themselves into what now was theirs, there was not much left of your heart that was completely yours and not Thranduil's and the letters of his proved that the same could be said about him.

What you did not mention, not with one drop of ink, was that the nightmares were no longer confined to the few hours of sleep you fell into.

There was a dragon, not just in the cold lake where your old home lay in ashes and was drowned in the ruthless darkness, but by the heavy weight on your chest, it felt like there was one inside you as well.

You were coughing as if there was smoke blocking your lungs, blackening out what little air you heaved for when a coughing fit took over your whole body.

It started small, a cough then, a sleepless night there; both accumulated to an uncountable amount and it got only worse as the season changed and the autumn winds lost their last warm touches and the trees bared their wooden arms.

You waved it off as a common cold, nothing that would hinder you from your tasks to becoming a liability the city didn't need in its time of growth.

Then, the coughing got worse, rougher, sometimes taking your voice for a moment until you found some water although that only helped for a small moment, like trying to extinct a burning building with just the water your bare hands could carry.

The worst part was the blood that stained the cloths, the sweats that not only held you awake at night but weakened you at day as well.

"I'm better!" you promised Bard on a night when he had to sit next to your bed, wringing out the cold cloths that lay on your fevered forehead.

His voice was a low whisper when he dabbed away the sweat, pushing your wet hair back with hands that were far too gentle for what you deserved for rotting in bed and not pulling your weight, "You're not, an' that's clear for everyone but you. Did you tell him?"

"Yes," you lied through your teeth, eyelids dropping close from exhaustion but you knew sleep wouldn't come, "he said it would pass, nothing to worry 'bout."

Three days later you were on your legs again, if not a bit shaky and needing more breaks than ever.

You sat in Bard's kitchen, a warm bowl of soup in front of you that tasted like ash and firewood, and ignored the silent pleading in his eyes to tell him what was going on and why you could barely lift the spoon of a soup that you clearly did not enjoy.

Winter wore your body down like rough sandpaper on soft oak, the cold winds and dark hours an enemy far worse than what you had to encounter on the battlefield. This had no logical explanation, nor was there an enemy you could see.

Your own body betrayed you and you had no idea what you had done to deserve it.

You knew that somewhere was a solution to it all, that was the string of hope leading you through the snow outside and the fire in your blood and bones, singing down what little fight was left on the days when the sun pushed away gray clouds and you felt normal and healthy.

The sole reason why you lied in letters filled with otherwise honesty as pure as heaven's snowflakes was that you did not want to be a bother.

Thranduil wrote how much of his time the dwarfs and their trading demands swallowed; he did not need another burden and you would be damned if he came because you had a small cold you couldn't get rid of.

You had promised Thranduil to visit him in spring when the soil was rich enough for the seed to take and the livestock could roam the meadows. If you weren't better by then you would ask him.

Until then work demanded all of you. Even if that was through a white knuckle grip on the last bits of health in aching bones.

⸺

Spring brought forth daffodils pushing through the cobblestone streets. Tilda, the youngest Bardling and a wonderful distraction on the days when getting out of bed was the hardest bounced excitedly beside you and pointed at the flowers.

"Like stubborn trumpets proclaiming winter is finally over!" she said as you followed her outside. "Spring is finally here!"

You disregarded the pain echoing through your body, the weight of guilt forcing you to spend the day with the girl.

She had been knocking on your door every morning, angelic eyes asking if you wanted to come and play with the lambs that she had taken too and this morning, you couldn't disappoint her.

"Aren't they just so pretty?" Tilda crouched down, gently cupping one of the blossoms in her small hands.

Lowering your gaze from the burning brightness of the sun you got a short glimpse at the yellow dots decorating your doorstep.

Then, suddenly, black spots appeared on the edge of your vision, taking you by surprise though they have been your companion for the better part of the last few days.

"Tilda–"

You tried to hold on to your doorframe, bruised hands frantically searching for a grip on the warm wood but they slipped and caught only the edge.

The last thought that crossed your mind was that you should bring Thranduil some of those flowers before you blinked and crumbled to the ground.

⸺

You woke up to the confusing taste of grass on your heavy tongue and the dizzying realization that you were not spread out on the street but tugged inside your bed.

Above you, moonlight fell through the opened window in the slanted roof above your head and you immediately closed your eyes again.

This had to be a dream.

Though your dreams had not been like this in a long time.

Peaceful. Comfortably warm. Silent except for the croaking of toads, the buzzing of insects outside, and the laughter and clattering of your neighbors probably enjoying the night more than you.

A groan passed your lips as you tried to sit up; a seemingly impossible task with the heaviness of your bones as well as the mountain of blankets that covered you.

"What do you think you are doing?" a voice you knew all too well sneered.

For a second you thought it to be a hallucination, a projection or your dazed mind still lulled in the fog of unconsciousness.

The bones in your neck cracked as your head snapped to the other side. There was no way you did not imagine the tall figure that should be across the woods in his palace; not in your bedroom.

"What are you doing here?"

"Merely strolling through the neighborhood," Thranduil's voice dripped with sarcasm, yet a subtle tension marked his stance beside the bed. "Now, enlighten me. Did you conveniently forget to mention this sickness in your letters?"

Ah, straight to the point.

"It's trivial," you waved it off, attempting to assert yourself by sitting up.

Naturally, consciousness promptly slipped away once more.

This time you were not that surprised by the sharp taste of grass on your lips when you came to your senses once more, pushed back into the pillows that had never felt this stuffed. You were still unable to move your leg more than from one side to the other under the blankets and Thranduil was still there, glaring at you through dark furrowed brows and hardened eyes.

You wanted to say something to break the heavy silence but all that passed your lips was a giggle that was more desperate and closer to insane than amusement.

One brow lifted. "Oh, how glad I am you are entertained by this," said Thranduil. He was as rigid in a frightening calm way but all of that was overshadowed by the cloud of confusion that muddled your thoughts.

"Noo," you drew out the word and continued giggling. This had to be insanity. "You jus' look very out of place here – wait. Turn around? I need to make sure you're really here."

He didn't fit into the cramped space of your house, his fine clothing stood out against the poor backdrop of crooked furniture, used towels hanging over stools, and the small layer of dust that covered the areas you hadn't been able to clean in a while; which was most of the bedroom and you didn't dare think about the state of the kitchen.

Where he deserved a throne out of gold you could only offer the chair next to your bed, the one that was crooked and leaned heavily to one side.

That being said, nothing took away the sheer amount of power he radiated.

It easily filled every nook and cranny or tight corner of your humble house, his voice as well as the image of Thranduil, King of the Elves, towering over your bed in long robes and bathed in the light of the night sky, glittering silver like the moon knew the importance of the Elf in front of you.

Thranduil remained stoically still. "I will definitely not do that," he said. "I am here. Where I should have been a while ago."

The accusation would have hit harder if you weren't drugged up on whatever medicine he had apparently fed you while you were out cold.

You shrugged your shoulders as well as you could with your arms bundled under the blankets. "I saw no reason, it was just a cold. Nothing I couldn't manage."

Well, you hadn't managed to handle it, that was the worst realization of the whole lie.

"Clearly," Thranduil said sarcastically and ground his teeth against each other. His arms were behind his stiff back and the way he tilted his head down to you made you feel like a child being admonished for bad behavior. "Do you know how much despair I felt when Bard's letter arrived this morning?" His voice was even but there was a resonance in it – a deep rumble akin to the ominous approach of distant thunderstorms over the sea. "Nearly indecipherable scrambles where he begged me to come; telling me that you have been asleep for two whole days?"

A crack in the form of a small tremor broke through the mask of the all-mighty Elvenking.

"This morning?" you asked, caught up by the first part and ignorant of everything that followed after, and you huffed while running the calculations through your head. "Thranduil, this can not be, the journey is not manageable in one day."

"Is this truly the point you consider most important?" He closed his eyes as a pained expression passed over his face. "You deem it impossible, yet I assure you, nothing could have hindered my arrival here; the boundaries of possibility, for once, were not a barrier but an aid. It reveals your scant regard for your circumstance if your worry fixates on my journey through the land. Not on the sickness that nearly stole you from this world. Two days –" Thranduil took a deep breath, "two whole days where those around you had no idea if you would ever awake again."

"But –"

"No, you can speak when I am finished," he commanded sharply. "You were reckless. Ignorant of your health as if your life was not precious." Thranduil spat the words out cold yet they burned. He was blind to the way you flinched and lowered your burning eyes to the blankets.

You shrunk deeper into the pillows, a hollow ache inside your chest that had felt empty from the pain ever since you awoke the first time.

"But –" you repeated helplessly. This time, he allowed you to continue and you did so in a whisper: "I didn't want to be an inconvenience."

"An inconvenience?" he sneered back at you, the flickering lights of a few burned-down candles casting shadows over the creases of anger edged into alabaster skin.

He took a step toward the bed and you saw a twitch in his lips that had you blanching.

The fury brooding inside him was not new, you had seen it on the battlefield before. In ice-cold cuts of his sword as he flawlessly executed the most brutal movements while his face resembled a mask of the most dangerous kind of rage – stillness.

Now, there remained little of that stillness.

"You were a greater inconvenience by nearly throwing away your precious mortal life, all because of your unfathomable stubbornness!"

"There was lots to do!" you snapped back. Shortly but surely, you were fed up with his anger and the insults he was throwing at you. "This town was suffering far more than me and don't you dare tell me I'm wrong," you had to bury your teeth into your lower lip to stop it from shaking. "Dale needed me!"

The pale skin was flushed red around his heaving chest and delicate ears. "And I do not?" Thranduil road and his voice boomed through your little bedroom loud enough for the cicadas outside to fall silent.

Immediately, your eyes watered. You felt trapped under his gaze, engulfed in pure heat hotter than any dragon fire.

You searched for a response inside you but found none.

All there was was chaos – the loud beating of your heart against your chest like iron being beaten and shaped though all that was formed was pain sharp like a sword edge; cutting through the layers of protection you had wrapped around your heart.

Thranduil slightly lifted his nose, staring down at you through thick eyebrows and a clenched jawline. "You were dying," he said and his nostrils quivered. "I can not fathom how you through that would not have been a greater inconvenience.

His expressions made up in sound for the lowered voice he'd used to speak about what you previously refused to acknowledge.

Never before had you seen him this out of control of his emotions, not even on the nights he had bedded you where he still had a hold on himself.

The way he stood before you, dressed in fine robes not fit for riding, the hem of them stained by dirt, his boots muddy, and his face full of anguish, it was as if he could have been kneeling at your feet.

You ignored the tears slipping silently down your cheeks. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"It was indeed, and far beyond that."

The tears made it impossible for you to continue looking at him and your head dropped down as a sob broke through you. "I didn't know," you panicked, "It didn't happen fast so… so I thought it'd pass but – and then it got worse and worse and I was so afraid to speak to anyone about it." The words tumbled into your lap, where, under the blankets, your hands were balled to fists now that the strength to do so had returned to your body, "I – I couldn't," the night air stung as your breaths turned into gasps, "They – Bard was exhausted and –"

Thranduil's face softened ever so slightly, pushing away the furious frown. "You are too pure for this world," he said quietly and – dealing a fatal blow to your ever-fragile heart – slowly went down on one knee next to the bed until you were eye to eye and his cold long fingers could gently caress your wet cheek.

He stopped, most of his fingers covered in the glistening tears he'd freed you from and his thumb rested on the plushness of your lower lip. "The world would have lost its sunshine had you perished," his robes rustled as he drew closer, silver hair falling onto the blankets like stars flying across the skies, "You must promise me to be more careful or darkness shall be my companion from that day on."

How could you do anything else but break into tears once more?

They flooded your face too fast for Thranduil to catch them with his hand and he did what seemed more reasonable yet utterly out of character: he rose to push away some of the blankets and sat down on the mattress.

While his face showed some revelation of his thoughts at the meek bed of hay that surprised him, he said nothing except for a lowered: "Hush now, shh." while his arms found your shaking body and pulled you into his side.

He cradled you until there were no more tears to cry, until your cheeks hurt and your lashes clung together awfully damp, and then some more, his hands on your back, cooling down the firing heat that spread through you and the other in your hair. With tenderness, he massaged his fingertips into the areas where your head throbbed uncomfortably.

You cried for all the nights where you had suffered, drawing closer to a death you hadn't seen coming.

You cried out of relief that this was finally over, that you could breathe and inhale only the rich scents of Thranduil instead of smoke.

You sobbed uncontrollably long into the night, not caring one bit that by the time the wailing grew quiet and exhaustion rendered you weak enough to fall into his chest even more, Thranduils robes needed to be padded dry.

"Thranduil?" you asked and burrowed your nose into a spot of fabric that wasn't salty. "Can you tell me what was happening to me?"

He didn't start directly. Thranduil waited, his heart stuttering for a second that made you marvel that the muscle was affected by you at all despite the many proofs he had laid to your feet.

Were it not for the pounding headache you fostered and tried to push away by shutting away all the lights and leaving your eyes closed, you would have looked at his face to check for those minuscule expressions he only showed to you.

"At first I could not figure it out," Thranduil admitted at last and his previously stilled hand continuing the circular movements against your scalp, gathering hair between his fingers, "and that frightened me more than anything else. There was not a scratch or a wound, nothing that explained why you were hardly–" he flinched and his other hand held your waist tighter, "hardly breathing. Bard was the one who explained how much you fought against this illness all winter, ever since autumn to be precise. He spoke of the meals you denied, the coughing and shaking, the blood-soaked cloths, and how.. how you rarely slept and if you did, he told me he heard your whimpers and sobs whenever he passed your door."

"He noticed it all?"

"He loves you," Thranduil said, "He loves you just as much as his offspring."

You shut your eyes even closer, turning your head more into his chest as another layer of protection against the feeling of pain that flinched over your face like a stone skipping on water, leaving ripples of agony at the memory of the many times Bard had pleaded you to talk to him. "I never wanted him to hurt at my expense."

"He is aware you thought it to be better this way," Thranduil lovingly stroked your hair – and it was love, soft and beautiful like the elf who abandoned his kingdom to race to save you – "To go against his word to you declares him a strong man and leader, Dale will flourish under his guide and your gentle hand will provide your people all they will ever need."

"So what was it?" you asked the question eating away at you, "This sickness?"

Thranduil's fingers twirled a lock of hair as he hummed lowly, "The beast in the lake is at fault," he said, "and its body infesting the in any case dirty water that you used to still your thirst."

You lifted your head at that, staring up at Thranduil whose gaze was already on you. "The dragon?" you repeated perplexed, "I got sick because of that damned dragon?"

Thranduil nodded, "I sent out the order to have its carcass removed this instant, so no one else has to suffer this fate."

You drew your eyebrows together, the hard crease between them immediately found by Thranduil for him to smooth the frown away with his thumb and a soft click of his tongue.

"So I was the only one?" The conclusion was confirmed by another nod that sent you down another spiral of confusing thoughts and loose threats of a riddle that made no sense to you.

"A mystery," Thranduil said as if he could read your thoughts, "There is no explanation as to why you solely were affected and quite intense at that. I was glad to have brought Asëa aranion with me – although you required more than a handful until your heart finally calmed."

In a moment of contemplating silence, you barely managed to stifle a yawn.

Now that your body seemed to be fine again, all your muscles yearned for the sleep that had evaded you for the longest time.

Thranduil's pleasantly warm body around you lulled you into a state of calmness, his body heat and the memories of his touch you replaced with the feeling of his strong chest in your back, and his hands threading hair through his fingers.

He was curled up in your bed, in your home, not some tent under the stars though you could see them if you looked up and through the window.

As you did so, your eyes didn't travel further than Thranduil and the watchful look on his face.

"You're as beautiful as the day you left," you remarked in a whisper like a slip of your tongue but you meant every word.

While your body ached and wore new scars his hands and mouth hadn't explored yet, he could've been away for a day or less.

You lifted a hand to stroke over his left cheek, over the faint scarred muscles that you knew by whispers hid what he deemed hideous.

Thranduil caught your hand before it reached his cheekbones and his lips pressed a light kiss against the calluses, the signs of hours of work.

"Rest, meleth nîn, you need it."

There was no denying that the elvish words had meant something important, that was clear by the way his tongue had wrapped around the words and breathed them out like a kiss but his lowered lashes and downturned lips hindered you from asking what he had said.

This was not the time to question what was probably just for him.

Later, when you were not falling into the depths of sleep cuddled against Thranduil's chest, when you would step outside your house with his looming presence in your back ready to help you with every foot you set on the grounds, there would be stories awaiting you.

Stories of the Elvenking storming into the city on horseback and all alone, the wind seemingly carrying him faster than possible and the fury and worry on his face lowered all citizens to the grounds as he yelled for their King.

They would speak about the way he nearly broke down Bard's door and how he carried your unconscious body in his arms to your house, demanding for the crowd to make themselves rare before he had them all seized and locked into his halls for obstructing his path; and even though he had no authority, Bard was close on his heels and no one dared to object.

You would hear about the day he sat by your side, caring for you and barking out orders for more water, not the one from the lake but from the springs, and how Bard and his children were the only ones allowed to visit – explaining the yellow flowers that took up every single glass your house had to offer.

Thranduil would tell you the meaning of the words he had said that first night he had spent in your bed, fully awake and watching your sleeping form in his lap until the birds woke you up in the morning; and he would say these words on all the nights that followed.

With him in Dale, or you in Mirkwood – never apart from then on.

[lila-lou]

✨ His second exception - Pt. 1/? ✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! NO Smut but BIG TRIGGER WARNING, Language, Ben being hurt, Reader being hurt, soft Ben, sad Ben - it´s STILL a fucking mess

Word Count: 5620

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 1 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Ben’s chest began to glow, the swirling energy a manifestation of the intense emotions he could barely contain. The rage, the sorrow, and the helplessness threatened to consume him. He clenched his fists, struggling to keep his powers in check.

“Ben, you have to calm down”, Annie said softly, stepping closer. “You’re going to hurt yourself—and her—if you don’t”.

But Ben couldn’t hear her over the roar of his own anguish. He slammed his fist into the wall beside your bed, the impact reverberating through the room. “I failed them!”, he shouted, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t fucking protect them!”.

“You did everything you could”, Butcher said, his tone steady. “Right now, she needs you here, not losing control”.

Annie nodded in agreement, her eyes pleading. “Ben, please. For her sake, you have to stay calm”.

But Ben was too deeply lost in his emotions, his chest still glowing with a dangerous intensity. He was trembling with the effort of holding himself together, and it was clear he was on the verge of losing control.

Annie’s voice grew more urgent, her worry evident. “Butcher, get him out of here! Now!”.

Butcher tightened his grip on Ben’s shoulder, his own expression a mix of concern and determination. “Come on, mate. Let’s step outside”, he urged, trying to guide Ben towards the door.

But Ben was in his own world, unable to resist or calm down completely. His chest glowed brighter with each passing second, the raw power within him threatening to erupt. Butcher, sensing the urgency, made a split-second decision.

With a grunt of effort, Butcher sped Ben outside to the roof terrace. The night air did little to cool the fiery glow emanating from Ben’s chest. Desperation etched on his face, Butcher tried to reason with him one last time. “Ben, you’ve got to get a grip”.

But Ben’s eyes were wild, unfocused, lost in the torrent of his own emotions. Butcher clenched his jaw, knowing he had to do something drastic. With all his strength, he swung a punch, connecting squarely with Ben’s jaw. The force of the blow sent Ben staggering back.

For a moment, everything was still. Ben blinked, the shock of the hit bringing a momentary clarity. His chest still glowed, but the intensity had lessened. He looked at Butcher, confusion and pain evident in his eyes.

“Snap out of it, Soldier Boy!”, Butcher barked, his voice echoing in the night air. “She needs you to be strong, not falling apart!”.

Ben shook his head, trying to shake off the lingering haze. The punch had grounded him, bringing him back to reality.

Three single Tears rolled down Ben’s cheeks, streaking through the grime and blood. It was the first time Butcher had ever seen Ben cry. The sight was both jarring and heartbreaking. For a moment, Butcher struggled to find the right words, his own feelings of helplessness threatening to overwhelm him.

“She… I… Homelander killed my child! We lost our baby”, Ben whispered, his voice raw with anguish.

Butcher took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He placed a firm hand on Ben’s shoulder, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I know, mate. And I know it hurts like hell”, Butcher said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “But she’s still alive. She needs you now more than ever”.

Even though Butcher and Ben didn’t get along very well, in this moment, Butcher told Ben exactly what he needed to hear. The raw honesty in Butcher’s words cut through Ben’s grief, anchoring him to the reality of the situation. Ben needed to get himself together for you, even though the pain he felt was beyond anything he’d ever experienced.

“I know it feels like you’re drowning”, Butcher continued, his voice steady. “But you’re stronger than this. She needs you to be strong, to be there for her”.

Ben nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to push down the overwhelming grief and anger. He wiped at his face, smearing the tears and blood even more. “I can’t lose her”, he whispered, his voice cracking.

“You won’t”, Butcher said firmly. “Not if you stay focused. One step at a time, Soldier Boy. You’ve faced worse and come out the other side. You can do this”.

Ben rubbed his face hard, the pressure intense enough that it would have broken bones if he had been merely human. With a deep breath, he gave Butcher a simple, determined nod before turning and heading back inside.

Inside the room, the harsh lights illuminated your pale, unconscious form. The beeping of the machines monitoring your vitals created a steady rhythm, a reminder of the fragile thread that held you to life. Ben’s heart ached at the sight, but he steeled himself. He needed to be strong for you, for both of you.

Annie looked up as Ben re-entered, her eyes filled with concern. She didn’t say anything, sensing that Ben needed a moment alone with you. She quietly stepped out, leaving the two of you together.

Ben approached your bedside, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of movement. He gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m here, Baby”, he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere”.

The room was silent except for the steady beeping of the machines and the faint hum of the hospital. Ben sat down beside you, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to center himself, drawing strength from the depth of his love for you.

After a few moments, he opened his eyes and looked at you, his expression filled with determination. “We’re going to get through this”, he said softly. “I promise you. No matter what it takes, we’re going to be okay”.

The weight of his promise settled over him, but he embraced it. He would be there for you, no matter the cost. As he sat by your side, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. You needed him, and he would not let you down.

Hours passed, and the night gave way to the first light of dawn. Ben remained by your side, his eyes never leaving your face. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, but he refused to let himself rest. He had to be there when you woke up.

Butcher and Annie checked in periodically, offering support and reassurance. But for the most part, they gave Ben the space he needed.

Ben's hand softly rested over your still swollen belly, but there was no heartbeat anymore. His jaw clenched, a wave of anguish washing over him, but he fought to keep his emotions in check. With a trembling breath, he whispered towards your belly, his voice choked with sorrow.

"I'm so sorry", he murmured. "I failed you. I failed to protect you, to keep you safe". Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he blinked them back.

"I promised to keep you both safe", he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I couldn't. I'm so sorry".

The weight of his guilt hung heavy in the air, but he couldn't bring himself to move away from you. He stayed by your side, his hand resting over your belly, a silent vow to never forget the life that had been lost.

Ben's heart shattered at the thought of the loss of his baby. The pain was unbearable, gnawing at him with relentless intensity. He couldn't even begin to imagine how you would react when you woke up and learned the devastating news. The mere thought of your grief tore at his soul, threatening to consume him with its ferocity.

As he sat by your side, his hand still resting over your belly, his heart ached with a profound sense of loss. The weight of his failure weighed heavily on him, the guilt and sorrow threatening to drown him in their depths.

48 hours passed in a haze of grief and exhaustion for Ben. He hadn’t slept, barely eaten, consumed by the weight of his sorrow and the desperate hope that you would wake up. Butcher had to practically drag him out of your room to shower and change, reminding him that you wouldn’t appreciate the smell of blood and dirt when you finally regained consciousness.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ben felt a faint movement beneath his hand. His heart leaped with hope as he looked down at you, his eyes wide with anticipation. Your fingers twitched ever so slightly, a sign of life returning to your body.

For a moment, Ben couldn’t breathe, the rush of emotion overwhelming him. He leaned closer, his eyes fixed on your face as he waited with bated breath for any further sign of awakening. Time seemed to stand still as he held his breath, willing you to open your eyes and return to him.

As your eyelids fluttered open, revealing the depths of your gaze, Ben's heart swelled with relief.

"Hey, sweetheart", he whispered. "Welcome back".

Your voice, barely above a whisper, trembled as you asked him what had happened. Ben's heart clenched at the sound of your voice, filled with pain and confusion. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before responding.

"Hey, it's okay", he said softly, his voice soothing. "You were… you were hurt pretty bad. But you're here now, and that's all that matters".

As you tried to sit up, pain shot through your body, causing you to wince and sink back against the pillows. Ben's heart clenched at the sight of your discomfort, and he reached out to gently support you.

"Easy, easy", he murmured, his voice filled with concern. "You've been through a lot. Just take it slow".

He adjusted the pillows behind you, trying to make you more comfortable. His hands were gentle as he hovered nearby, his eyes never leaving your face, silently urging you to take care of yourself.

Your breathing was still uneven as Ben handed you something to drink, his movements careful and attentive.

"I'll go get the doctor", he murmured, already moving to stand up, but you stopped him with a trembling question.

"What about the baby?". Your voice wavered with emotion, your memories of the harrowing encounter with Homelander flooding back.

Ben's jaw clenched, his hands starting to shake slightly as he struggled to find the words. The pain in his eyes was evident as he met your already tear-filled gaze, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.

"Ben… please… don't", you choked on your own voice, the fear and anguish palpable in the air. Tears welled in your eyes, mirroring the ones that filled Ben's.

The tears in Ben's eyes spoke volumes, confirming your worst fears before he even said a word. Your heart shattered into a million pieces as you realized what had happened.

"No", you whispered, the word barely audible as a wave of anguish washed over you. Everything felt numb, the pain so raw it was almost unbearable.

Ben stood there, feeling utterly helpless as he watched you break down before him. Seeing you crying like that, consumed by grief and pain, tore at his heart in a way he couldn't even put into words. He knew he had to pull himself together, be there for you in your time of need.

With deliberate slowness, he sank down beside you, his movements cautious as he pulled you into his arms. You collapsed against him, your tears soaking through his shirt as you cried like you never had before.

He held you close, his arms a shelter against the storm of emotions raging within you. His own tears mingled with yours as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

As you cried against his chest, your sobs echoing in the sterile hospital room, Ben felt a pain unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was a raw, visceral ache that seemed to consume him from the inside out. Every tear that fell from your eyes felt like a dagger in his own heart, each sob tearing at his soul.

The sound of your crying was like a symphony of anguish, a haunting melody that echoed through the empty room. Each choked breath, each muffled sob, was a reminder of the loss you had both endured. It was a sound that Ben would never forget, etched into his memory like a scar.

But even as the pain threatened to overwhelm him, Ben held you tighter, refusing to let go. He knew that he couldn't take away your pain, couldn't undo what had been done. But he could be there for you, hold you close and offer whatever comfort he could in the face of such devastating loss.

As the doctor stepped into the room, followed closely by Butcher and Annie, they quickly assessed the situation and recognized the need for privacy. Sensing the raw emotion between you and Ben, they exchanged somber glances before silently retreating, leaving the two of you alone to grieve in peace.

The doctor's departure went unnoticed by both of you, lost in your own world of pain and sorrow.

In the stillness that followed, there were no words, no gestures—only the quiet rhythm of your breathing and the steady beat of Ben's heart against your own.

Ben gently stroked your back as you continued to sob against his chest. He tried to be strong for you, but when you saw his tears, it was a stark reminder of the depth of his pain. You knew he was hurting just as much as you were, and the thought only made your own grief feel heavier.

You clung to him desperately, seeking solace in his embrace, but the words eluded you. What could you say in the face of such profound loss? Instead, you buried your face against his chest, letting his presence anchor you in the midst of the turmoil.

An hour passed in heavy silence, the weight of grief hanging thick in the air. You and Ben remained locked in each other's embrace, still unable to find the words to express the depth of your pain. Numbness settled over you like a heavy blanket, leaving you feeling hollow and empty.

Finally, the doctor emerged into the room again, accompanied by a nurse. Their presence shattered the stillness, pulling you both back to the present moment. The doctor approached with gentle caution, his expression sympathetic as he spoke.

"I'm sorry to interrupt", he began softly, his voice carrying a note of compassion, "but I really need to check on your vitals now".

You and Ben exchanged a weary glance, both understanding the necessity of the doctor's request yet feeling reluctant to let go of each other, even for a moment. With a heavy sigh, Ben slowly released his hold on you, his touch lingering for a moment longer before reluctantly pulling away.

As the doctor began his examination, you felt a wave of exhaustion wash over you. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, the only sound that seemed to cut through the fog of your grief.

Ben hovered nearby, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the turmoil. You could sense his silent support, his unwavering strength a source of solace in the midst of your pain.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor finished his examination, his expression grave as he studied the results.

The doctor's voice broke through the haze of your thoughts, his words registering dimly in your mind. "Your vitals are stable", he said, his tone gentle yet serious. "But we still need to perform a scraping procedure, as the pregnancy tissue didn't fully pass".

But you were too lost in your own grief to fully comprehend his words. Your mind felt foggy, disconnected from reality as you struggled to process the magnitude of your loss.

Beside you, Ben's stomach churned with a mix of anger and frustration. He clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides as he listened to the doctor's explanation. The injustice of it all weighed heavily on him, fueling the fire of his emotions.

But as he looked at you, lost in your own pain, he knew that his anger could wait. Right now, you needed him more than ever, and he would do whatever it took to support you through this ordeal.

"I'll give you both a moment to process everything", the doctor said softly, before quietly leaving the room.

Tears welled up in your eyes once again. Choking back a sob, you struggled to find your voice amidst the overwhelming flood of emotions.

"I can't do this", you whispered hoarsely, your hand trembling as it found its way to your belly, the physical reminder of the life that had been taken from you far too soon.

Ben bit back his own tears, forcing himself to stay strong for you. He knew he had to be the one you could lean on. Gently, he took your trembling hand in his, his grip firm but tender.

"Hey", he began softly, his voice steady despite the pain in his eyes. "You are the strongest person I know. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with you. I know this hurts like hell, and it feels impossible, but you can do this. You have to. And I’ll be by your side every minute, I promise".

He squeezed your hand, his gaze never leaving your face. "We'll get through this together. I won't let you go through it alone".

You kept crying and sobbing, each breath a painful reminder of the immense loss you felt. Everything had happened so fast, and it still felt like you were trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up. The reality of the situation was almost too much to bear.

Ben held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you. He whispered soothing words, his voice a steady presence in the midst of your turmoil. "It's okay to cry", he said softly. "It's okay to feel everything you're feeling. I'm here with you, and I'm not going anywhere".

Your sobs eventually began to quiet, the exhaustion of your grief taking its toll. You leaned into Ben, your head resting against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

The doctor and nurse waited patiently outside, giving you the time you needed.

Ben wouldn't leave your side, standing by you with unwavering support. He held your hand tightly, his grip a lifeline in the midst of the pain. As the doctor began the procedure, Ben's super hearing allowed him to hear every tiny movement, every scrape and shift inside your body. The sounds were almost too much to bear, each one feeling like a fresh wound being inflicted on his heart.

His eyes pressed shut, his jaw clenched, trying to keep his own emotions in check. He felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest, the sheer agony of your shared loss almost unbearable.

You felt the same anguish, tears rolling down your cheeks: The physical pain of the procedure was nothing compared to the emotional torment you were enduring. Every scrape felt like a reminder of the life you had lost, of the future that had been cruelly snatched away from you.

The procedure felt like it lasted an eternity, but eventually, the doctor finished, his movements careful and precise. He glanced up, his expression one of deep sympathy. "It's over", he said gently. "You did very well".

Ben squeezed your hand, his eyes filled with both relief and sorrow. "You did it", he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "It's over now".

After everything was done, Ben sat on your hospital bed, holding you close. Your upper body was curled on his lap, and you kept crying, the overwhelming grief consuming you. Losing your baby was the worst thing that had ever happened to you, but knowing it was Ben’s baby made it hurt even more.

You remembered the moment you told him you were going to keep the baby. You had never seen him so happy. The light in his eyes, the pure joy on his face—it was a dream he had never dared to dream, a wish he had never thought possible.

As Ben continued to stroke your back, his gaze fixed on the emptiness before him, a heavy silence settled over the room. The weight of your shared grief hung between you.

There was nothing Ben could say that would ease your pain, nothing he could do to erase the ache in his own heart. All he could do was hold you close.

For you, the grief was overwhelming, swallowing you whole until you felt like you were drowning in a sea of tears and sorrow.

In the following 24 hours, you were monitored closely by the medical staff to ensure you were fully healed from the procedure. Throughout it all, Ben never left your side. But despite the hours spent together, the two of you didn't exchange a single word.

The silence between you felt heavy, weighted down by the weight of your shared sorrow. Every glance, every touch carried with it the weight of unspoken words, the ache of loss palpable in the air.

Butcher and Annie sat in the meeting room, discussing plans with the construction team to rebuild the lobby and repair the damage of the tower.

The meeting was tense, the air heavy with the weight of recent events. Butcher and Annie conferred with the construction team, discussing timelines, budgets, and logistics for the rebuilding efforts. It was a daunting task, but one they were determined to see through to completion.

As the meeting drew to a close, Butcher and Annie exchanged a weary glance. With a nod of agreement, they rose from the table.

Annie leaned against the wall of Butcher's office, her arms crossed tightly. She glanced at Butcher, a furrow forming between her brows. "What do you think will happen now?", she asked, her voice low with concern. "Do you think Soldier Boy will be able to handle his emotions? Will he come back to lead?".

Butcher sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "Bloody hell, Annie, I don't know", he admitted gruffly. "The lad's been through a lot. Losing a kid… it's enough to drive anyone mad".

Annie nodded in agreement, her expression somber. "Yeah, I know. And as much as we may not be his biggest fans, we have to admit he's changed a bit for the better", she conceded. "And no one deserves to go through what he's going through right now".

Butcher grunted in reluctant agreement, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. "Aye, you're right", he muttered. "We'll just have to wait and see what happens. In the meantime, we've got our own mess to clean up".

Butcher rubbed his beard thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concern. "Poor lass", he mumbled, his voice low with empathy. "She's probably a wreck right now".

Annie nodded, her expression mirroring Butcher's concern. "Yeah", she agreed softly. "I can't even imagine what she's going through".

Annie furrowed her brows, a hint of worry crossing her features. "Butcher, no one can know about the pregnancy", she reminded him firmly.

Butcher rolled his eyes, a grumble escaping him as he leaned back in his chair. "I'm not about to go broadcasting it to the bloody world". He paused for a moment. "Besides, I've known since the first time (Y/N) went pale in that meeting", he admitted. "Heard that little second heartbeat. Still didn't tell anyone".

Annie raised an eyebrow, surprised by Butcher's revelation. "You did?", she asked, a mixture of curiosity and disbelief in her voice.

Butcher nodded, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Aye", he confirmed. "Couldn't bring myself to ruin their moment".

"Butcher, why didn't you say something?", Annie asked, her tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

Butcher shrugged. "Thought maybe having a kid, starting a family, would finally get Soldier Boy to step back and settle down", he explained, his voice tinged with resignation. "Thought maybe then, I could take the lead".

Annie nodded, understanding dawning on her face. "And now?", she asked softly, her gaze searching Butcher's face for answers.

"Now", Butcher replied with a sigh, "we wait and see what Soldier Boy decides to do next".

Back home, Ben walked slowly behind you, his every step mirroring your hesitation. He watched you closely, waiting for any signal of where you wanted to go or what you needed. The house felt emptier than ever, the silence almost unbearable.

You looked around a little lost, your eyes darting from room to room. The weight of recent events hung heavily in the air, making even the simplest decisions seem monumental. Eventually, you gravitated toward the kitchen.

Ben followed, his heart aching as he watched your movements. He didn't say anything, unsure of what words could possibly provide comfort. Instead, he stayed close, ready to support you in any way you needed.

Once in the kitchen, you hesitated by the counter, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for a glass. Ben stepped forward, gently taking it from you and filling it with water. He handed it to you with a look of quiet concern.

"Take your time", he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm here".

Ben’s words buzzed through you, each syllable a reminder of the pain you were trying to process. You didn’t even know why, but you didn’t want to hear his voice, didn’t want to hear anything. With a heavy sigh, you set the glass of water aside and reached for one of his whiskeys from the cabinet.

Ben watched silently as you grabbed the bottle, his heart aching at the sight. He knew you were struggling, but seeing you turn to alcohol for solace made the situation feel even more desperate. You took a big sip straight from the bottle, the burn of the whiskey a stark contrast to the numbness you felt inside.

For a moment, Ben considered saying something, but he held back. He knew you needed time to process everything, to find your own way through the grief. Instead, he stepped back, giving you space while still staying close enough to support you if you needed him.

You took another sip, the warmth of the whiskey spreading through your chest, momentarily dulling the ache. The silence in the kitchen was heavy, filled with unspoken words and shared sorrow. Ben leaned against the counter, his eyes never leaving you, silently offering his presence as a lifeline in your sea of pain.

Ben crossed his arms over his chest, watching as you took one sip after another. His heart broke with each gulp, but he remained silent, knowing that pushing you might only drive you further away.

He wanted to reach out, to pull you into his arms and reassure you that you weren’t alone in this, but he didn’t know how. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, the words caught in his throat. Instead, he watched, hoping that his presence was enough for now.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ben took a tentative step forward. “You don’t have to go through this alone”, he said softly. “I’m here. Always”.

You paused, the bottle halfway to your lips, and glanced at him. For a moment, you saw the depth of his pain mirrored in his eyes, and it resonated with your own. The whiskey had dulled the edge of your grief, but it couldn’t erase it.

“Ben, I…”, you started, your voice cracking.

He uncrossed his arms and took another step closer. “C’mere”, he mumbled.

You set the bottle down, your hands trembling slightly. The moment you let go of the bottle, Ben stepped closer and pulled you into a tight hug. As soon as his arms wrapped around you, the floodgates opened, and you began to cry again, the sobs wracking your body.

Ben held you tightly, his own eyes welling up as he felt your pain wash over him. He stroked your back gently, trying to offer some semblance of comfort amidst the storm of emotions. "I'm here", he whispered, his voice thick with his own grief. "I'm right here".

You buried your face in his chest, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. Each tear felt like a release, but also a reminder of the immense loss you both were enduring.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours—time seemed to blur in the intensity of your sorrow. Finally, your sobs began to quiet, and your breathing evened out, though the ache in your heart remained.

Feeling weak and exhausted from all the crying, you allowed Ben to carry you upstairs. He gently set you down on the edge of the bed, your limbs feeling as heavy as your heart, and you couldn't muster the energy to move. Ben knelt down in front of you, carefully pulling off your shoes.

His touch was gentle, and despite the exhaustion, you found comfort in the small act of care. Ben's hands lingered on your feet for a moment before he looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination.

"Let's get you more comfortable", he said softly, his voice soothing despite the gravity of the situation.

You nodded weakly, too drained to argue or protest. Ben stood up and helped you out of your clothes, replacing them with a soft, oversized shirt. Every movement felt like it took immense effort, and you leaned heavily on him for support.

Once you were changed, Ben guided you under the covers, tucking you in with a tenderness that belied his usual rough exterior. He then climbed into bed beside you, pulling you close once again.

"You don't have to do anything right now", Ben whispered, his lips close to your ear. "Just rest".

You nestled closer to him, your body pressed against his as you sought the comfort only he could provide. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the familiar scent of him, all worked to slowly lull you into a state of half-awareness.

Ben's hand continued to stroke your back, his touch a constant reminder of his presence.

Eventually, you fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, your body finally succumbing to the overwhelming fatigue. Ben, however, couldn’t find the same respite. His eyes remained open, staring at the ceiling as his mind churned with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Once he was certain you were deeply asleep, he carefully slipped out of the bed, doing his best not to disturb you. He changed into a comfortable hoodie and sweatpants. Quietly, he made his way downstairs.

In the kitchen, he reached for the whiskey bottle you had left on the counter earlier. The amber liquid sloshed inside as he poured himself a generous amount, his hands shaking slightly. He stared at the glass for a moment, the reflections of the dim kitchen light dancing on the surface.

With a deep sigh, Ben took a long, slow sip, the burn of the alcohol offering a momentary distraction from the pain gnawing at his insides. He leaned against the counter, the glass cradled in his hands as he tried to process everything that had happened.

The silence of the house felt oppressive, amplifying the loneliness and despair that clung to him. He took another sip, the whiskey doing little to numb the ache in his heart. Memories of the past few days flashed through his mind: the joy of expecting his child, the devastation of the loss, and the unbearable sight of you in such deep sorrow.

Ben set the glass down, his grip tightening around it as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. He was supposed to be the strong one, the protector, yet here he was, feeling completely helpless. The weight of his own grief, coupled with the need to be there for you, threatened to crush him.

He finished the whiskey in a few more gulps, the warmth spreading through his chest, though it did little to ease the cold emptiness inside. Ben poured himself another glass, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to move forward. How could you both heal from such a loss? How could he be the support you needed when he felt so broken himself?

Taking one last sip, Ben set the glass aside and took a deep breath. He turned off the kitchen light and made his way back upstairs, the promise he had made to himself echoing in his mind. He slipped back into bed beside you, his arm wrapping around you protectively as he closed his eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace in the quiet of the night.

———————————

A/N: There it fucking is ._. Heartbreak included. I´m sooo sorry...but, please let me know what you think.🥰

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Part 2

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings

[ryescapades]

❝ [ say (no?) yes! ] ╰┈➤ of the same thread (kaiju no. 8)

— v. to love is to fight.

genre/warning: narumi gen x lil sis!reader, bf!hoshina, slight angst, hurt/comfort, mention of injuries and blood, fluff, a bit of goofiness in the end, some canon-divergence plot, lots of time skips/scene changes(?)

a/n: pls accept this as my apology for that previous part kwkjdsfds also i listened to jk's stay alive while writing the first half of this. really loike the vibes :>

2.9k wc | mini series masterlist

in all his life, narumi gen has always believed in luck.

it was luck that he was still alive after everything he used to call home was razed to the ground. it was luck that he even got transferred to an orphanage. it was luck that they noticed his achievements despite not acknowledging his hard work. it was luck that he was born with such tremendous power to kill a kaiju without any training whatsoever. it was luck that shinomiya isao had decided to take him— and you— in to become soldiers.

"captain narumi, sir! apologies, but... i'm here to report about your sister,"

and it was the absence of luck that separated you and him. narumi was angry— furious, even. why did it have to be you? out of all the possible outcomes, why did it have to be his sister's life being taken away from him?

he's angry at that godforsaken kaiju for killing you, at hoshina for not protecting you when narumi himself couldn't, at you for being too selfless and wanting to save those reckless children, at the world for taking away one of the extremely few good things in his life, at himself for being so helpless.

the hollow, aching misery bemoaned in his chest as he quietly carried your limp body into the mobile medical unit. he didn’t even bother to stay in the vehicle. narumi knew a certain vice-captain would do so in his stead anyway. too consumed by his grief, he went to take out his anger on the last few monsters.

they did not stand a chance against him. not when he was feeling so much, grieving so much. at the end of it, only dust, corpses, blood, the smell of rotten flesh and gunpowder and his own sorrow remained.

"y/n-san, she—"

but this... this was no luck. it was a miracle.

"she survived, captain! your sister is alive!"

narumi didn't care whatever gods existed up there but he has never prayed his gratitude this much ever.

he pauses in his steps, knees almost buckling as his heart pounds wildly behind his ribcage. placing a finger on his earpiece, he finally speaks for the first time in the last few agonizing hours, "where's she now?"

∘₊✧─────────────✧₊∘

through the clear glass, narumi studies your lifeless figure laying in the hospital bed, an oxygen mask worn with various needles, wires and tubes connected to your once battered body.

"vice-captain hoshina detected a minimal chest movement a few hours after her heart stopped beating. we believe it was the work of her remaining unleashed force that had pushed her suit to carry out the resuscitation. she was immediately rushed to the nearest med-bay after that and was transferred here as soon as her condition was stabilized there." the military doctor beside him explains.

"she's in a comatose right now, but i have full confidence she will wake up soon, captain. and when she does, i assure you that you'll be the first to know. she's your sister, it's only natural that she's also a real strong fighter. just like you, sir."

and now, it's been weeks since that.

narumi, amidst his busy schedule of attending meetings, finishing his reports, training and carrying out missions, has been visiting you as much as he possibly could.

he'd just sit there beside your bed, listening to the stable beep of the heart monitor and switching between playing games on his switch, or resting with his back hunched, his arms acting as his pillow or staring at you with an undecipherable look on his face before grumbling at you to better wake your ass up right now, you brat.

he sort of never said anything other than that, really. because he knows hoshina has been coming to the hospital to see you as well from the amount of your favourite flowers he keeps seeing on the nightstand in your hospital ward, and your boyfriend's the one who has been doing all the talking.

guess narumi can cut you some slack by not annoying you while you sleep (he doesn't know you’ve only ever found your brother to be annoying, albeit in a fond way, but never hoshina).

∘₊✧─────────────✧₊∘

...

it's dark.

it’s deadly silent.

you feel like you were drowning in murky waters. deep, deep, deep down at the bottom of it. you hear voices too. they all sound familiar, but you could never place a finger on which one is whose.

it's been like this for god knows how long. weeks? months? it felt like years, even. but all you know is that you've been trying to escape from this darkness since then. were you really dead?

you remembered the kaiju, the excruciating pain from that fatal blow on your vital area, the expression on your boyfriend's face and the trembling of your brother's hands, the warmth of his tears on your skin.

how long has it been since you last saw gen cry, you wonder. or was that the first time? but one thing for sure, you never wanted to see him like that again. you never wanted him to be sad, ever. as the strongest, gen has shouldered enough burdens of the people to be in such a state. he deserves everything that is good in this world. if it were up to you, you'd have given him the whole universe itself.

and soshiro— oh, your beloved soshiro. in a room full of all kinds of living souls, you'd always choose him every single time. no one has ever made you feel so loved, so appreciated, so seen. every second you've spent merely thinking about him is a testament to how intensely you hold him dear to your heart. you would've devoted your whole life just cherishing him, if only he'd asked for it.

so why are you here, trapped and stuck in this endless gloom when you should be there with the most important people in your life?

stay alive, stay alive, stay alive, your mind chants repeatedly, like a desperate, haunting piece of a broken record.

and you did. you stayed alive.

∘₊✧─────────────✧₊∘

hoshina's body jerks up.

he doesn't know if he's hallucinating or not— he can't even recall when was the last time he's had a proper sleep— because he swears your finger had twitched just a second ago.

straightening up from his position on the chair beside your bed, hoshina gently grabs your hand, holding it in both of his own. he calls out your name hesitantly, wanting to confirm whether you really did move just now or was it all in his head.

his heartrate quickens when he finally feels it, another twitch of your finger. "y/n, dear, i'm here. can ya hear me?" his grip on your hand tightens slightly, hoping that he could urge you to make any form of a reply.

a dull silence greets him.

"y/n?" he tries again, but no response. you're still there, all stillness and tranquility in your sleep.

his shoulder drops, head hanging low as he clenches his jaw with a heavy heart, disappointment settling deep in his gut. he's in the middle of slowly letting go of your hand to put it back where it rested on your blanket-covered body when a faint, breathy voice enters his ears.

"s-soshiro...?"

hoshina has never snaps his head up so fast in his life but when the sight of your eyelashes fluttering, eyelids heavy but they're opening to reveal that pair of eyes he's always been drawn to, and they're meeting his own brightening irises, he doesn't care how many whiplashes he gets.

because you're finally waking up.

the violet-haired man rushes to the intercom system nearby, "call for captain narumi. now! officer y/n is awake," he orders, not bothering to wait for a reply from the other side before he turns back to you.

panic surges through him when he sees you already trying to sit up. "hey, hey, slow down, sweetheart. why dont'cha take it easy, hm?" he says, helping you maneuver yourself into a sitting position, back against the pillows. once seated, he stares at your steady form on the bed, mouth opening and closing as if in disbelief.

“i...“

"you're crying," your first whispered statement snaps him out of his daze, startling him with the realization that he is, in fact, crying. bringing his hand up to wipe away the tears, he can't even bring himself to stop the small sniffle that comes out of him.

your lidded eyes soften. "come here," you croak, a hand weakly reaching up to motion him into a hug. your boyfriend complies without a word, his arms carefully wrapping around you to hold you close.

"you're here... gods, you're here. i'm so glad you're back, baby, you—" his throat constricts from the emotions he tries to hold in. hoshina buries his nose into the crook of your neck, indulging himself in your scent and brushing a few kisses on your skin. you freely bask in his affection, noting the tinges of happiness, relief, concern and regret, all in one from the hug alone.

suddenly, the door opens and you can't help the frown on your face when he eventually pulls away. you both turn your heads, seeing your appointed doctor walking in with a clipboard in his hand.

after a few minutes of checking up and getting you up to date with everything that has happened, the doctor deems you safe to be discharged in a few days, though you're not allowed to do any heavy work yet lest you put a strain on your body. the injuries you've suffered were way too detrimental to be taken lightly, even when you've recovered.

your boyfriend is back at your side the second you two are alone again. he sits quietly, holding your hand in his with his thumb tracing back and forth on your knuckles.

"i'm sorry," he mutters, voice low with a hint of remorse. you tilt your head to the side. "what for?" you ask, confused. you almost, almost pull your blankets away and lunging at him for another hug when hoshina looks up at you with such anguish in his eyes.

"if i had been there earlier, you wouldn't have been in this situation," he says, causing your breathing to pause for a second. has he been feeling like this the whole time you were asleep? who the heck put that absurd idea in his head?

"no, it's not your fault, soshiro. it never will be. it was my action, and it's a consequence i bear on my own. don't ever put yourself to blame for what i did," you press, gripping tight on his hand.

"but you almost died, y/n. i could've lost ya, i swear to god i'd never forgive myself if that ever happens. narumi was right, my sector was so much closer to yours. it was my fault, i could've reached there faster, could've saved ya from that kaiju and—"

you don't let him finish, grabbing his face to crash your lips against his in a desperate attempt to stop his rambling. his hand goes to your neck to keep you in place, your lips melding perfectly with his like they were meant to be. his body shudders with both regret and passion.

a ragged sigh then leaves him when you pull away. "i love you, soshiro but shut up, please. it hurts me when you keep blaming yourself for something that was out of your control... also, remind me to smack the hell out of my brother when i see him later," you murmur, planting a few tender pecks on his lips as reassurance.

he rests his head against yours as a comfortable silence envelops you both. hoshina's head is muddled with too many thoughts, but one thing is clear. so clear he straight away voices it out loud.

"marry me," he rasps, so lowly you almost didn't hear it.

your eyes widen, pulling back a little to look at him properly with shock evident on your face. "...come again?" you gape. the love of your life stands his ground, crimson eyes sharp and gaze transparent as he repeats, this time louder and clearer for you to hear.

"i know this isn't exactly a good place, nor it is a good time for it. but i can't bear to see ya like this again, love. i can't bear the thought of losing ya while knowing i could've done so much more to make you happier, safer. i've long sworn to myself that if i was to die one day, i would go down with my soul completely bound to yours, y/n," he vows.

your eyes glisten, the words stuck in your throat as you try to get them out. you've wanted this for so long, wanted him for much longer. only god knows how many nights you've spent hesitating to bring up such heartfelt topics with your soshiro, afraid that it would never work out, that it could only stay as a pipe dream, nothing more. and so, you utter out the one and only answer you would ever give.

"yes!" "no!"

hoshina falters. "wait, what?"

you also falter. "...what?"

instinct tugs at the both of you, causing you to swivel your heads towards the entrance of the ward.

and there your brother stands hunches, breathing heavily with his hands braced on his knees as if he had ran a marathon just to get here (he certainly did). your eyes widen at the sight of him just as narumi wheezes before lifting his head to glare at the other man in the room.

"i said no, you dumbass!" he snaps at hoshina, causing the vice-captain to frown. "captain narumi, glad to see you're finally here," he trails off, glancing at you.

this time, you don't pay your boyfriend any mind as you call for gen, voice small and timid like you were back to your child self crying out for her big brother.

"nii-chan..."

that is all narumi needed to hear before he dashes for you, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug.

"i'm here, kiddo. you're okay, you're fine," he mumbles into the side of your head, stroking your hair as you bury your face in his chest, clinging onto him like he’s your very own lifeline. just as you were his.

hoshina smiles at the side, looking away to give you two some semblance of privacy.

you don't know how long you stay in your brother's arms but when you move to pull away, you can't help the next words that come out. "i still wanna marry soshiro, though," you mutter and just like that, the bittersweet and wistful atmosphere comes crashing down.

narumi freezes, and hoshina suppresses his growing simper, which doesn't go unnoticed by the former. "the hell you're smiling at, you bastard?! did you threaten her or something?" he sneers before turning to you. "y/n!! listen here, did he do anything to you? drugged you to say yes??? this place has a lot of that shit, after all. i swear to god if he so much as touches you, i will—"

you sigh exasperatedly. "he didn't. none of those things whatsoever. you're being overdramatic, gen. besides, did you say to soshiro that whatever happened to me was his fault?" you narrow your eyes at him.

narumi immediately scowls, throwing a dirty look at your boyfriend while avoiding your eyes at the same time. "fucking snitch," he hisses. hoshina only rolls his eyes before approaching you, not caring that he's deliberately pushing narumi to the side.

your brother's offended squawk is lost to the wind as hoshina dives in, giving you a chaste kiss on your lips. "thank you for making me the happiest man alive. love ya, baby," he quietly whispers. you hum lovingly, reciprocating your own words of affection against his lips.

the both of you completely ignore the obnoxious vomiting noises from somewhere in the room, too lost in each other’s touch.

narumi exaggeratedly trembles in disgust, "someone needs to pay me for all the times i've had to watch some lowlife with a stupid bowl-cut freaking demolish my sister's face.”

"and someone needs to pay me more for having to deal with your ass every single day. you almost made me crash the car so many times on the way here, narumi." the first division's vice-captain makes his appearance, his figure towering at the doorway.

your brother startles before he turns his head, "hasegawa?! you're supposed to wait at the reception! i told you not to come up!"

your brows furrow in aggravate. "i'm confiscating your console for that, gen." you state, knowing he definitely has the device right now in his uniform somewhere. narumi snaps his head back towards you with a glare.

"what was that? who gives you the right, huh? i could steal all your meals later and the doctor wouldn't even notice," he challenges, harshly whispering the last part as to not let the other two men in the room to hear.

with crossed arms, you throw him a smirk. "considering i'm still a patient here, shouldn't you be treating me properly? like how a big brother should?" you drawl out patronizingly.

"oh yeah? how about you watch this big brother sock you in the face—"

hoshina sighs. "hasegawa-san, i think we should get outta here,"

"you're right. i guess i can send officer y/n a proper regard at another time as i have other matters to attend to. narumi can find his way back on his own."

don't we all love a silly happy ending

--

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (14)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: 13

- Next part: 15

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The sea air is heavy with salt and sorrow as the royal family steps off the ship onto the black stone of Driftmark. Waves crash against the shore, a mournful symphony that echoes the grief in every heart gathered here. The Velaryon banners flap in the wind, their vibrant colors a sharp contrast to the somber mood that hangs over the assembled nobles.

You stand with Rhaenyra and your sons, Jace and Luke stiff by your side. Joffrey is in Rhaenyra's arms, his small face confused by the sarrow he doesn’t yet understand. Viserys and Alicent’s children stand apart, an invisible line drawn between your family and theirs. It’s an unspoken separation that feels almost tangible, like a chasm you cannot cross.

Viserys, frail and bent with age, is supported by Alicent. She’s wrapped in mourning black, her face a mask of solemnity, but there’s a tightness around her mouth, a stiffness in the way she holds herself that you recognize all too well. Aegon, Aemond and Helaena stand close by, watching your family with guarded expressions. Even now, on this day of loss, the divide is painfully clear.

The funeral rites are performed with all the gravity and tradition expected of House Velaryon. Laena’s casket, intricately carved and draped in blue and silver, is lowered into the sea. You watch Daemon, his face a mask of stoic grief, his eyes dark as he stares at the waves. There’s a loneliness in his stance, a pain that no words could touch. You know what it is to lose, to feel helpless against the tides of fate, and your heart aches for your uncle.

As the ceremony concludes and the crowd begins to disperse, you make your way toward him. Daemon stands apart from the others, his gaze still fixed on the spot where Laena’s casket vanished beneath the water’s surface. He does not turn as you approach, but you know he’s aware of your presence.

“Uncle,” you say quietly, your voice carrying just enough to reach him over the sound of the surf. “I am sorry for your loss. Laena was a remarkable woman.”

He glances at you then, his violet eyes shadowed. “Thank you,” he replies, his voice low and rough, as if the words cost him more than he can bear to give. “She deserved better than this.”

You nod, standing beside him, the two of you looking out over the endless expanse of the sea. “If there is anything you need, anything I can do…”

Daemon huffs a mirthless laugh, shaking his head. “What can anyone do, except let the dead rest and the living grieve?” He falls silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to the Velaryon children, huddled together in their own pain. “They will need strength now, and guidance. We cannot let them be consumed by bitterness.”

“I will help where I can,” you promise. “But I know they will look to you.”

Daemon’s lips twitch in something like a smile, though there is no warmth in it. “The wandering rogue of House Targaryen, a role model. Gods save us all.” He sighs, the sound heavy with more than just grief. “And you, how is life in the Red Keep these days? I hear the Hightowers have made themselves quite comfortable.”

You stiffen at the question, glancing over to where Viserys stands, isolated despite the presence of his children and wife. Alicent’s gaze keeps straying to you and Rhaenyra, a watchful, calculating look that makes your skin prickle. “Comfortable would be one way to put it,” you reply, keeping your voice low. “They hold much sway over the King now. More than they should.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow, a sharpness returning to his gaze. “I warned him, years ago. Warned him what would happen if he let that snake Otto slither too close. And now his daughter’s there, her children in line before yours.”

You glance back at your own sons, standing awkwardly with Rhaenyra, their young faces solemn and unsure. Jace and Luke keep glancing over at their half-uncles, the silent anomasity between the two sets of siblings visible even from a distance. “Viserys still loves us, still claims me as his heir,” you say softly. “But every decision, every move is shadowed by Alicent’s influence. They’ve all but taken over the Small Council.”

“And yet you remain,” Daemon murmurs, his tone unreadable. “I’d expected you to take your family and fly far from that viper’s nest.”

You shrug, watching as Rhaenyra kneels to speak softly to Jace, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “For now, it’s best we stay. The closer we are, the more we can watch and counter them. And besides,” you add, your gaze flicking to your father, looking frailer than ever, “Viserys is not long for this world. When he’s gone, the realm will look to us. We need to be ready.”

Daemon’s jaw tightens, his eyes dark. “He’s grown weak, blinded by his need for peace and love. He doesn’t see the knives being sharpened behind his back.”

“No, he doesn’t,” you agree quietly. “But we do. And we’ll be prepared.”

You fall silent then, your eyes once more drawn to your sons. Jace and Luke stand straight and tall, though you can see the stiffness in their shoulders, the uncertainty in their eyes. You watch as they exchange a few words with each other, the bond between them strong despite everything. You take comfort in that, at least.

Daemon follows your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “They’re good boys,” he says, a note of pride in his voice. “Stubborn and fierce, like their mother. And their father.”

“They’ll need to be,” you reply, a grim smile touching your lips. “The road ahead will not be easy.”

“No,” Daemon agrees, his gaze shifting back to the sea. “But they have you and Rhaenyra to guide them. And they have the blood of the dragon. That counts for something.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the future pressing down on you. But for now, there is nothing to do but stand here, beside your uncle, and honor the memory of a woman who was lost too soon. 

The sea continues its mournful song, a lullaby for the dead and a reminder to the living. And you, like the tide, will endure.

Rhaenyra stands quietly among the mourners, her eyes fixed on the sea where Laena’s casket has just disappeared beneath the waves. The ceremony is over, but the heavy weight of grief still hangs in the air, a palpable presence that settles in the hearts of all gathered. She glances at her three sons—Jace, Luke, and Joffrey—standing close by, their small forms huddled together, their faces solemn and uncertain.

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. This is not just a time for mourning but a moment to show unity and strength, especially in the face of the silent but glaring division between her family and the Hightowers. Her gaze flits to you, standing a little distance away with Daemon, your head bowed as you speak quietly with him. The sight of you brings her a fleeting sense of calm amidst the turmoil.

Turning her attention back to her children, she kneels down to their level, her voice soft but steady. “Jace, Luke, Joffrey, I need you to go and speak with your cousins, Baela and Rhaena. They need to know that they’re not alone in their grief.”

Jace shifts uncomfortably, glancing over at the twins, who are standing with their grandmother, Rhaenys. The Queen Who Never Was has her arms wrapped around her granddaughters, her regal bearing barely concealing the depth of her sorrow. “But, Mother,” Jace murmurs, “what if they don’t want to talk to us?”

Rhaenyra reaches out, brushing a lock of hair from Jace’s forehead. “It’s not about what you say, my love. It’s about showing them that you care. Just being there for them is enough.”

Luke looks up at her, his young face twisted with uncertainty. “Are you sure we won’t make it worse?”

Rhaenyra’s smile is gentle, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You won’t. They need to see that their family is with them, that we’re all here to support each other.”

Joffrey, the youngest but no longer a baby, steps forward, his little face serious. “What if they cry?” he asks, his voice small and hesitant.

Rhaenyra’s heart aches at the question, but she forces herself to remain strong. “Then you comfort them, Joffrey. Sometimes, it’s okay to cry. It shows that you care.”

Joffrey nods slowly, still unsure but willing to follow his mother’s lead. With one last glance at you, Rhaenyra gently ushers the boys forward, watching as they make their way over to where the twins stand. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, your presence a solid anchor in the swirling chaos of grief and uncertainty. She draws strength from knowing you are here, that you are with her.

Baela and Rhaena are huddled close to Rhaenys, their faces pale and streaked with tears. They look so small and lost, so unlike the vibrant, lively girls they usually are. Jace hesitates, glancing back at Rhaenyra for reassurance. She gives him a nod, her eyes encouraging.

Taking a deep breath, Jace steps forward. “Baela, Rhaena,” he begins softly, his voice trembling slightly. “We’re really sorry about your mother. If you need anything, we’re here for you.”

Rhaena looks up first, her big, sorrowful eyes meeting Jace’s. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “But nothing will bring her back.”

Luke moves closer, his heart aching for his cousins. “We know. But we want to help, even if it’s just being here with you.”

Baela’s gaze is fixed on the ground, her jaw clenched. She doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge their words, but her hand tightens around her grandmother’s. Joffrey, standing beside Luke, reaches out and gently touches Baela’s arm.

“It’s okay to be sad,” he says quietly, his young voice earnest. “We’re all sad.”

For a long moment, there’s silence. Then Baela finally looks up, her eyes fierce despite the tears brimming in them. “I don’t want to be sad. I want her back.”

Jace takes a step closer, his face serious. “I know. We all do. But she’d want us to be strong, to be together.”

Rhaenys watches the exchange, her gaze softening slightly as she looks at Rhaenyra’s sons. “You’re good boys,” she says, her voice steady despite the pain etched in every word. “Your parents have raised you well.”

Rhaenyra, watching from a distance, feels a swell of pride and relief. She glances at you again, your eyes meeting hers across the space. There’s a wordless exchange between you, a shared understanding of the challenges your children are facing and the pride in how they are handling it.

You give her a small nod, and she takes a deep breath, drawing strength from your support. She knows this is only the beginning of the trials they will face as a family, the divisions and rivalries that will continue to test them. But for now, here on this rocky shore, they are doing what they can—standing together, offering what comfort they can in the face of loss.

The boys remain with their cousins, their presence a small but solid comfort. Rhaenyra stays where she is, watching them, her heart heavy but filled with a fierce determination. Whatever lies ahead, whatever storms may come, they will face it as family. As Targaryens.

The night on Driftmark is dark and still, the only sounds the distant roar of the waves crashing against the cliffs and the occasional mournful cry of a seabird. The funeral had left an oppressive silence in its wake, grief heavy in the air like a storm about to break. Inside the guest chambers, Jace and Luke lie sleeping, their small forms huddled under the thick blankets. Joffrey sleeps soundly beside them, his tiny hand clutching the fabric of his pillow.

A soft whisper breaks the silence.

“Luke… Jace…”

Luke stirs, blinking groggily as he turns over to see Baela and Rhaena standing by the door, their faces pale in the faint moonlight streaming through the window. “Baela?” he mumbles, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What is it?”

“Someone took Vhagar,” Baela whispers urgently, her voice trembling with anger and fear. “Come on, you have to see.”

Jace sits up immediately, his heart racing as he throws off the covers. “What do you mean, someone took Vhagar?” he asks, his voice low but insistent.

“We don’t know,” Rhaena whispers, glancing anxiously at the door. “We just know she’s gone.”

Luke glances over at Joffrey, who’s still fast asleep. He carefully slips out of bed, trying not to make a sound. “We can’t wake him,” he murmurs. “He’s too young.”

Jace nods, his expression set with determination. “Let’s go.”

The boys follow their cousins out of the room, moving quietly through the darkened corridors of High Tide. The stone walls are cold and damp, the silence around them oppressive. As they reach the outer courtyard, the reality of what Baela and Rhaena have said begins to sink in. Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragon in the world, gone? How could anyone have taken her?

They slip outside, the chill night air biting at their skin. Ahead, in the dim light of the moon, they see movement—two figures approaching. As they draw closer, the faces of Aemond and Aegon become clear, the older boys walking with a swagger that sends a surge of anger through Jace and Luke.

Jace and Luke exchange a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. This was the confrontation they’d promised themselves before leaving King’s Landing, after Aemond had insulted their father. They wouldn’t back down now.

“What’s going on?” Jace demands, stepping forward. “Where’s Vhagar?”

Aemond’s smirk is sharp, his eyes gleaming with a strange triumph. “I’ve claimed her,” he says, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction. “She’s mine now.”

Baela’s face contorts with rage, her fists clenched at her sides. “She was my mother’s dragon!” she shouts, her voice breaking with a mixture of grief and fury. “You had no right!”

Aemond’s smile doesn’t falter. “She was your mother’s dragon,” he agrees, his tone condescending. “But now she’s mine. And she’s the most powerful dragon in the world. She could eat all of yours in one bite.”

Luke steps forward, his young face twisted with anger. “Vhagar was ours to claim, not yours. You can’t just steal her!”

Aemond’s expression darkens, his smirk fading. “She chose me. And now you’ll have to live with it.” He turns his gaze on Jace, his eyes cold. “Or would you rather challenge me, Jacaerys? Let Vhagar settle it. Your little dragons wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Jace’s jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer, his fists clenched. “Maybe they wouldn’t,” he says, his voice low and steady, “but my father’s dragon, Silverwing, would burn your old beast to ashes. You think you can insult my father and get away with it?”

Aemond’s face twists in disdain. “Your father is nothing but a reckless fool, who only cares for himself. He’s not half the dragonlord he thinks he is.”

Before Jace can respond, Baela steps forward, her eyes blazing with fury. “Vhagar was my mother’s!” she yells, her voice shaking. “You had no right! None!”

Aemond’s smirk returns, but before he can speak, Jace lunges at him, the fury he’s been holding back all evening exploding to the surface. The two boys collide, falling to the ground in a tangle of limbs, fists flying.

Aegon moves to step in, but Luke is already there, shoving him back. “Stay out of this!” he shouts, his voice high and furious. “This is between us!”

The courtyard erupts into chaos as the children clash. Rhaena tries to pull Baela back, but Baela breaks free, launching herself at Aemond with a scream of rage. Jace and Aemond roll across the ground, each trying to land blows on the other. Aegon grabs Jace, pulling him off Aemond, only to be shoved aside by Luke.

It’s a wild, desperate fight, all the anger and grief of the past few days spilling out in a furious storm of fists and shouts. Aemond manages to break free, staggering to his feet, his eyes wild with fury.

“You’re all just a bunch of inbreds!” he snarls, wiping blood from his split lip. “I have the true blood of the dragon, and now I have Vhagar! I’m more Targaryen than any of you!”

Jace roars and charges at him again, but Aemond is ready. He swings, landing a punch that sends Jace sprawling. Before Aemond can follow up, Luke steps between them, his small form trembling with rage.

“You don’t deserve Vhagar,” he spits, his voice shaking. “You don’t deserve any of it.”

Aemond sneers, stepping closer. “And what are you going to do about it, little one?”

Luke’s hand moves instinctively to his belt, where the small Valyrian steel dagger you gifted him for his nameday is sheathed. He pulls it out, his hand steady, the blade catching the moonlight as he holds it up.

Aemond’s eyes widen in shock and then fury. “You think you can scare me with that?”

He lunges at Luke, his hand reaching out to grab the dagger, but Luke moves faster, his arm swinging in a desperate, instinctive arc. The blade catches Aemond across the face, a line of red blooming across his cheek and eye.

Aemond screams, a raw, terrible sound, as he stumbles back, clutching his face. Blood pours between his fingers, the wound hideous in the moonlight. The other children freeze, the shock of what’s just happened crashing over them like a wave.

And then, there are footsteps—heavy, urgent. Ser Harrold Westerling appears at the edge of the courtyard, his face going pale as he takes in the scene before him.

“What in the name of the gods—?” he begins, rushing forward. But it’s already too late. Aemond’s eye is gone, his screams echoing into the night, the others standing around him, horrified and frozen in place.

Ser Harrold shouts for help, his voice urgent, commanding, and within moments, the courtyard is filled with guards and attendants, their faces mirroring the shock and horror of what’s just occurred.

Luke drops the dagger, his hand shaking, his face ashen. Jace steps forward, his heart pounding in his ears, his eyes locked on Aemond’s bloodied face.

“It was an accident,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “It was an accident…”

But even as he says the words, he knows it won’t matter. The damage is done. The divide that had been brewing for so long has now erupted, and there will be no going back.

As the adults converge, shouting orders and lifting Aemond’s screaming form from the ground, Jace and Luke are pulled away, their hearts pounding with fear and guilt.

And in the cold, unforgiving night of Driftmark, the bonds of family are stretched to their breaking point.

The flickering candlelight casts a soft, intimate glow over the chamber as you and Rhaenyra move together, bodies entwined in the heat of your shared passion. The soft sounds of your lovemaking fill the room, mingling with the gentle rustle of sheets and the quiet murmur of the sea beyond the windows. This moment, stolen in the midst of sorrow and tension, is a brief escape from the heavy burdens that weigh on both of you.

Rhaenyra’s hands grip your shoulders, her breath hitching as you press deeper, your lips finding the curve of her neck. You’re both lost in the sensation, in each other, when a sharp, insistent knock at the door shatters the quiet.

You freeze, your heart pounding, and Rhaenyra’s eyes snap open, her expression shifting from pleasure to sudden worry. The knock comes again, louder this time, accompanied by a voice.

“Prince, Princess, forgive me, but you’re needed immediately!”

You close your eyes briefly, frustration and concern warring within you. “What is it?” you call out, your voice rough, still thick with the remnants of your passion.

“It’s one of the guards, my lord,” the voice replies, strained. “The King has called for an emergency meeting in the great hall. There’s been an incident with the children.”

Rhaenyra sits up abruptly, the color draining from her face. “The children?” she whispers, her eyes wide with fear. You can see the thoughts racing through her mind, each more terrible than the last.

You pull away, your body already cooling as the urgency of the situation seeps in. “We’re coming,” you call back, your voice steadier now. You turn to Rhaenyra, your hand brushing against her cheek. “We need to go.”

She nods, though her eyes are still distant, her hands trembling as she reaches for her robe. You both dress quickly, the easy intimacy of moments ago replaced by a cold, gnawing dread. Every movement feels heavy, your mind spinning with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.

You can hear Rhaenyra’s breathing, quick and shallow, as she ties the sash of her robe, her fingers fumbling in her haste. “What do you think happened?” she asks, her voice strained. “Do you think—”

“I don’t know,” you interrupt gently, reaching for her hand. “But we’ll find out soon.”

With a final glance at each other, you move to the door and pull it open. The guard outside looks tense, his face pale in the dim light of the corridor. “Your Graces, the King is waiting in the great hall. He seemed… very distressed.”

“Thank you,” you say curtly, your hand still clasping Rhaenyra’s. “Lead the way.”

As you walk through the dimly lit halls of Driftmark, the air feels charged, every shadowed corner holding a sense of foreboding. Rhaenyra’s grip on your hand tightens, her eyes darting around as if expecting answers to spring from the very walls.

The night is unnaturally quiet, the only sound the echo of your hurried footsteps on the stone floor. The guard moves ahead of you, his back stiff, and you can’t help but feel the tension radiating from him as well.

“Do you know what happened?” you ask the guard, keeping your voice low.

He hesitates, glancing back at you. “Only that there was a… confrontation between the children, my lord. I’m not privy to the details, but from what I heard, it was… serious.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen, and she stops short, her breath catching. “The children—are they hurt?”

“I—I don’t know, my lady,” the guard stammers. “I’m sorry. I was just told to fetch you.”

You exchange a glance with Rhaenyra, your heart hammering. You can feel the fear in her eyes, mirroring your own. The thought of your sons, hurt or worse, makes your stomach twist with a sickening dread.

“Let’s keep moving,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm, though your mind is racing. “We’ll know more soon.”

As you continue down the winding corridors, you can see servants and guards moving about, their faces tight with unease. Whispers follow in your wake, but you pay them no mind. Your focus is on reaching the great hall, on finding out what has happened, on making sure your children are safe.

You and Rhaenyra burst into the great hall, the heavy doors slamming against the stone walls as you rush inside. The scene before you is pure chaos—voices raised in anger and fear, bodies milling about in frantic confusion. Your heart plummets at the sight.

On one side of the room, Jace and Luke stand with Baela and Rhaena, Daemon already at their side, his face a mask of simmering rage. The children look disheveled and frightened, Luke’s hands stained with blood, his face pale and tight with anxiety. Jace’s jaw is set, his eyes blazing with fury, while Baela stands rigid, her small frame vibrating with barely contained anger.

Across the hall, King Viserys sits hunched on the dais, his face pale and drawn, Alicent hovering anxiously beside him. Aegon stands nearby, his usual swagger gone, replaced by a tense, watchful look. Aemond is seated in a chair, Grand Maester Mellos just finishing the last stitch on a savage wound that runs across his cheek and where his eye used to be, a patch hastily tied around it. Blood stains his skin, his tunic, and the floor beneath him.

You take a step forward, your voice cutting through the tumult. “What happened?”

The question hangs in the air for a heartbeat before the room erupts into a cacophony of shouting voices, each one clamoring to be heard over the others. Rhaenyra moves to Jace and Luke, her hands on their shoulders, as if her very touch could shield them from the storm of words and accusations flying through the air.

The doors swing open again, and Corlys and Rhaenys stride in, their expressions thunderous as they take in the scene. Corlys’s eyes flash as they fall on Aemond, the fresh wound stark and terrible. “What madness is this?” he demands, his voice booming across the hall, instantly silencing the clamor.

“Madness indeed,” Alicent snaps, her voice quivering with fury as she glares at you and Rhaenyra. “It is your children’s violence that has caused this! They are the ones who should be telling the tale!”

“Violence?” Daemon’s voice is a silken drawl, dripping with contempt. “From what I’ve heard, it was your precious son who instigated this.”

Viserys, his face flushed with a mixture of confusion and frustration, raises a shaking hand. “Enough! All of you, silence!” His voice cracks through the room, forcing everyone to fall quiet, if only for a moment. He turns his weary gaze to the children, his eyes lingering on Jace, Luke, and then on Aemond, the wound on his son’s face making him flinch visibly. “I want to know what happened. Now.”

Jace, his voice trembling but clear, steps forward. “Aemond insulted us. He insulted my father,” he says, his voice growing louder, firmer. “He called us—he called us inbreds.”

A ripple of shock sweeps through the hall, followed by a tense, stunned silence. Viserys’s face drains of color, and he takes a faltering step toward Aemond, his hand trembling as he reaches out. “Aemond, why would you say such a thing?”

Before the boy can answer, you step forward, your voice cutting through the tense quiet like a blade. “Because it’s something his Hightower Faith-loving mother would say.” Your words are cold and precise, each one landing like a blow. The room seems to freeze, all eyes turning to you.

Alicent’s face goes ashen, her breath catching audibly. She stares at you, a mixture of shock and wounded disbelief twisting her features. It’s as if the air has been sucked from the room, the silence now heavy with accusation and unspoken truths. She takes a step back, her hand clutching the fabric of her gown, the strength of your words shattering something fragile and deeply buried within her.

Viserys’s head snaps toward Alicent, confusion and betrayal warring in his eyes. “Alicent…?” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Her face is a mask of conflicting emotions—anger, pain, and something like heartbreak, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She looks at you as though seeing a stranger, the weight of your accusation pressing down on her like a crushing weight.

Daemon, standing at your side, lets out a low, amused chuckle, his lips curling into a smirk. “Bold words, nephew,” he murmurs, his eyes glittering with dark satisfaction. “Very bold indeed.”

You hold Alicent’s gaze, your own eyes hard and unyielding. “If you won’t own your words, Lady Alicent, at least have the decency to control your child,” you say, your voice icy with disdain.

The silence in the hall is thick, suffocating, as everyone waits for what will happen next, the air charged with unspoken tensions and shattered façades.

And then, with a deep, ragged breath, Viserys straightens, his frail form trembling but his voice firm. “Enough,” he says, his eyes sweeping over the room, taking in the shocked, tense faces of his family. “This has gone too far. I will have order.”

But even as he speaks, the sense of impending disaster lingers in the air, the threads of control slipping through his grasp, the rift between the families widening, the fractures deepening with every breath.

“This infighting must cease!” he declares, his voice strained with desperation. “We are one family, and we will not tear ourselves apart!”

Alicent’s face twists with rage and disbelief. “That is not enough!” she cries out, her voice sharp and filled with venom. “Aemond has been permanently disfigured. And Prince Lucerys brought a dagger into a fight with clear intent. This cannot be dismissed, Viserys!”

Viserys lifts a trembling hand, his patience wearing thin. “Alicent—”

But she cuts him off, her words like a whip cracking through the hall. “You must stop shielding them! You cannot let your grandchildren escape punishment for this. There must be consequences.”

His frail body stiffens, anger and exhaustion warring in his eyes. “What would you have me do, Alicent?” he demands, his voice rising in rare fury. “They are children!”

Alicent’s gaze, cold and unyielding, locks on Lucerys, who stands pale and wide-eyed beside his brothers. “I want justice, Viserys,” she says, her voice dropping to a deadly calm. “I want one of his sons to lose an eye, as my son has lost his.”

A gasp ripples through the room, shock and horror painting every face. Rhaenyra pulls your boys close, her eyes blazing with fury and fear as she shields them with her body. You step forward, placing yourself between your family and the Queen, your own anger simmering beneath a cold veneer of control.

“This is madness,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “You’re speaking of mutilating my child.”

Alicent’s eyes, burning with a desperate, almost manic intensity, shift to Ser Criston Cole. “Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Targaryen.”

Cole hesitates, his face tightening with conflicted emotion. “Your Grace, I swore to protect you,” he says, his voice strained, “but not for this.”

“Cese this insanity!” Viserys roars, his voice cracking through the room. He points a trembling finger at Alicent, his eyes filled with a mixture of grief and disbelief. “This ends now! I will not have this—”

But before he can finish, Alicent lunges forward, grabbing the King’s dagger from its sheath at his side. The Valyrian steel blade gleams menacingly in the torchlight as she whirls toward your children, her expression wild, her intent unmistakable.

“Rhaenyra!” you shout, stepping toward Alicent, but you’re not fast enough.

Rhaenyra moves like lightning, pushing past you and intercepting Alicent before she can reach the boys. The two women collide, Rhaenyra’s hands gripping Alicent’s arm, struggling to hold back the dagger.

“Stop this, Alicent!” Rhaenyra snarls, her voice shaking with rage and desperation. The room is frozen, every person watching in horrified fascination, too stunned or too fearful to intervene.

“Let go!” Alicent hisses, her face twisted with fury and despair. “You did this! All of it! You poisoned him against me! You took him from me! You’re responsible for everything!”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flash with anger. “You’re mad, Alicent!” she shouts back, her voice filled with contempt. “You can’t stand that he chose me, that he saw through your manipulations!”

They struggle, Alicent’s face contorted with rage as she tries to wrestle free. Rhaenyra holds firm, but the blade shifts dangerously between them. And then, with a sickening inevitability, the dagger slips from Alicent’s grip, the sharp edge slicing across Rhaenyra’s forearm.

A collective gasp echoes through the hall as blood wells up, a dark crimson line marring Rhaenyra’s pale skin. Alicent freezes, her eyes widening in shock as the dagger clatters to the floor, the sound like a death knell in the tense silence.

For a moment, everything is still.

You move before you even realize it, rushing to Rhaenyra’s side. “Rhaenyra!” you breathe, tearing a strip of fabric from your robe and pressing it against the wound. “Hold still. I need to stop the bleeding.”

Rhaenyra looks down at the blood seeping through your fingers, her expression stunned, as if she can’t quite believe what’s happened. Alicent, her face drained of color, stands rooted to the spot, her hand shaking as she stares at the blood on it.

From across the room, Otto Hightower’s voice rings out, harsh and commanding. “Alicent, stop this madness! Stand back!”

Alicent blinks, her father’s voice breaking through the haze of rage and pain clouding her mind. She stumbles backward, her eyes locked on Rhaenyra, confusion and anguish warring in her gaze.

Rhaenyra, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts, looks up at you. “I’m fine,” she says, her voice firm despite the pain. “It’s not deep.”

You nod, though your hands shake as you press the cloth harder against the cut, willing the bleeding to slow. “I’ve got you,” you murmur, your voice fierce and steady. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The room remains tense, everyone watching the two of you, the weight of what has just occurred hanging heavy in the air. You can feel the eyes of the entire court upon you, but your focus remains solely on Rhaenyra, on the woman you love, the mother of your children, and the blood that stains your hands.

A week has passed since the night of blood and betrayal, but the echoes of that fateful confrontation still linger over Driftmark like a storm that refuses to fully dissipate. You and Rhaenyra stand on the cliffs overlooking the bay, watching as the ships of King’s Landing sail away, their white sails billowing against the backdrop of a leaden sky. In the distance, the dragons of Alicent’s children take to the air, their wings beating a steady rhythm as they follow the ships below.

Rhaenyra’s eyes are fixed on the departing figures, her face tight with a mix of emotions. “I can’t do this anymore,” she murmurs, her voice raw with a vulnerability she rarely shows. “I don’t want to go back to King’s Landing. I don’t want to put our children through any more of… whatever this was.”

You nod, understanding the unspoken weight behind her words. “Viserys hoped this would heal the rifts between us,” you say, your voice steady but tinged with bitterness. “But all it did was deepen them.”

She turns to you, her gaze fierce despite the sadness that lingers in her eyes. “I won’t let them be in that viper’s nest again. Not after this. They’re children—they deserve to grow up somewhere safe, somewhere we can protect them.”

“Then we’ll go back to Dragonstone,” you agree, your hand slipping into hers, squeezing gently. “Away from the court, away from the Hightowers’ poison.”

Rhaenyra’s shoulders relax slightly at your words, some of the tension easing from her frame. “But we can’t just run and hide, can we?” she asks, her tone thoughtful. “We’ll need allies, support… and a plan for what comes after we don't appear in the capital.”

You nod again, turning your gaze back to the bay, where the distant figures of the dragons are now just dark specks against the sky. “I’ve already spoken with Corlys,” you tell her. “He’s agreed to our proposal—Jace to Rhaena and Luke to Baela. The Sea Snake seemed more than pleased. His blood will sit the Iron Throne one day, through our sons.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen slightly, and a smile, though small and hesitant, tugs at her lips. “That’s… that’s good news. They seem to get along well enough with the girls.”

“They do,” you say, a faint smile of your own touching your lips. “It’s not just about alliances, Rhaenyra. They need each other. They’re stronger together, and they’ll need that strength for what’s to come.”

She nods, her gaze drifting back to the horizon. “They’ve been through so much already. I want them to know love and loyalty, not just duty and fear.”

“They’ll have that,” you promise, your voice firm. “We’ll make sure of it.”

She leans into you, her head resting against your shoulder, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift, just a little. You watch the ships disappearing into the distance, the dragons following, and feel a surge of resolve settle in your chest.

“We’ll build our future on Dragonstone,” you say quietly. “Where we can watch over them, guide them. And prepare for whatever challenges come our way.”

Together, you watch as the last of the ships vanish beyond the horizon, and then you turn away, walking back toward High Tide. Your initial plans to stay close to Viserys disappearing like waves that clash against the cliffs of Driftmark.

[kckt88]

Perzys se ānogar II

Summary:

In the aftemath of Rooks Rest, Aemond arrives on Dragonstone to bend the knee but tensions soon erupt when Vaeda stands against her family to defend her husbands life.

Warnings - Angst, Drama, Langauage, Disagreements, Vulnerability, Confessions, Death Threats, Imprisonment, Physical Violence, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, Oral Sex (M & F Recieving), P in V, Breeding Kink, Referenced Character Death,

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C NIECE

Perzys se ānogar - Fire and Blood.

Word Count: 7800

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

"Aemond Targaryen, you stand before me charged with high treason and murder. How do you plead?" said Rhaenyra, her voice firm and commanding.

Aemond lifted his head, meeting Rhaenyra's gaze. "Guilty, Your Grace-" he replied, his voice steady but laced with sorrow.

Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned forward. "Do you have anything to say in your defence?"

Aemond took a deep breath, his eyes flickering to Vaeda for a moment before returning to Rhaenyra. "There is nothing I can say to excuse my treason. I helped to steal our father’s throne-as for what happened to Luke-” His voice broke slightly, but he continued, "-It was an accident. I never meant to kill him, I lost control and I-I’m sorry."

“Lost control?” asked Rhaenyra.

“All I wanted was his eye-in payment for the one that he took from me, but he refused. After he left, I chased after him. I just wanted to scare him, to make him feel as helpless as he made me feel that night on Driftmark. I lost sight of him and was about to turn back when Arrax attacked Vhagar, I could hear Luke shouting, but Arrax wouldn’t listen. Vhagar was angry and she lashed out-I tried to stop her but she wouldn’t listen”

The room fell silent, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air. Vaeda's eyes were filled with a mixture of sorrow and hope, her hands clenched at her sides. Jace's face was a mask of barely controlled anger, while Baela, Rhaenys, and Corlys watched with guarded expressions.

Rhaenyra's gaze bore into Aemond, assessing him. "You claim it was an accident," she said slowly, "-Yet my son is dead, and your actions have plunged this realm into chaos and war."

Aemond nodded, his expression pained. "I know that, and I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions. But I ask, Your Grace, to consider my regret and my willingness to stand here before you, confessing my guilt."

Rhaenyra's eyes flickered to Vaeda, who stepped forward, her voice steady. "Mother, Aemond is willing to bend the knee, to swear his loyalty to you and to your cause. He came here knowing the risk, but he did so because he wanted to make things right."

Rhaenyra's gaze softened slightly as she looked at her daughter, then back at Aemond. The tension in the room was palpable as everyone awaited her decision.

Finally, she spoke. "-You have confessed to your crimes and expressed your regret and while I cannot bring back my son, I can choose to show mercy. Your fate will be decided by myself and my counsel, until then you will be held as my prisoner-take him to the cells."

As the guards moved to take Aemond away, Vaeda watched, her heart heavy. The sound of the chains echoed around the throne room, a haunting melody of loss and regret. Aemond's eye found hers one last time, and he whispered, "Avy jorrāelan ābrazȳrys" (I love you, wife).

Once Aemond had disappeared and the doors were firmly shut, Rhaenyra turned her attention to Vaeda. "What exactly happened at Rook's Rest?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing.

Vaeda took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Lord Staunton was under siege by the Greens' forces, led by Criston Cole. I had Cannibal burn as many of them as I could. But then Aegon arrived with Sunfyre, and we engaged each other in aerial combat."

The council members exchanged concerned glances, the tension in the room palpable.

Vaeda continued, "Then Aemond arrived with Vhagar, and he directed her towards Aegon and attacked him."

Gasps of shock rippled through the council. Rhaenyra's eyes widened in disbelief. "Aemond attacked his own brother?"

Vaeda nodded. "Yes, Sunfyre fell from the sky and whilst I could have fled, I knew that getting rid of Vhagar was a chance I could not pass up. So, I had Cannibal attack. The two dragons fought and were evenly matched. They crashed into the ground, and I was thrown from the saddle."

Rhaenyra, still seated on her rock-carved throne, leaned forward. "Then what happened?" she asked, her voice firm but laced with curiosity.

Vaeda took a deep breath before continuing. "I regained consciousness and discovered Aemond injured. I could have left him to die, but I didn't."

Jace scoffed loudly, "You should have left him to die."

Rhaenyra shot him a silencing glare. "Continue-"

"I saved Aemond's life," Vaeda said. "We talked—he told me what happened that night in the skies above Storm's End, and why he attacked Aegon. He also killed Cole to protect me."

Jace's eyes narrowed. "That's not all he did, given the love bite on your neck."

Vaeda blushed deeply, but she held her ground. She turned back to her mother, who shook her head in disbelief. Jace wasn't finished, though, his anger bubbling over. "So Aemond tries to kill his own brother, then sets his dragon upon his own wife, and she not only saves his life but fucks him in the forest like some animal."

"It wasn't like that," Vaeda protested, her voice rising. "Aemond thought that by coming here, he would be executed. We thought it might be the last time-”

“Vaeda-” muttered Rhaenyra, her voice soft yet firm.

“Muña kostilus, ziry emagon issa prūmia, ziry iksos issa idañnykeā perzys” (Mother please, he has my heart, he is my twin flame).

“Jāhor bona lua zirȳla pazavor?” asked Rhaenyra (Will that keep him loyal).

“Ziry jāhor, nyke kivio” exclaimed Vaeda (It will, I promise).

Jace sniggered angrily, but Baela elbowed him in the ribs, silencing him.

Rhaenyra looked at her daughter with a mix of emotions. "Vaeda, your loyalty to Aemond complicates things. His actions have caused great pain to our family, and yet you speak on his behalf."

Vaeda's eyes welled with tears. "Mother, I know what he has done is unforgivable, but he is still my husband and the father of my child. He came here to make things right. He deserves a chance to atone."

Rhaenyra sighed deeply, the weight of her crown pressing heavily on her. "Vaeda, this war has torn us apart, and every decision we make carries immense consequences. Aemond must remain in the cells until we decide his fate. But I will consider what you’ve said”

Vaeda nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Thank you, Mother."

Rhaenyra looked to her council. "We will meet in the council chambers on the morrow to discuss our next steps. Vaeda, you may return to your chambers and bathe-I will send Maester Gerardys to check on your injuries”

Freshly bathed, Vaeda sat quietly in her chambers as Maester Gerardys examined her injuries. Rhaegar sat on a blanket at her feet, playing with his toys.

Gerardys’ experienced hands moved carefully over her bruised ribs, noting the few minor scrapes.

"You've a small but deep wound on your forehead, Princess," Gerardys said gently, his fingers probing the area with care. "It will require stitches; I can prescribe milk of-"

"-No" replied Vaeda, her voice steady despite the pain.

"As you wish." Gerardys prepared his needle and thread, his movements precise and practiced. He began stitching the wound, his touch delicate yet firm. Vaeda winced but bore the pain silently, her gaze fixed on a distant point, the sounds of Rhaegar happily playing filtered through the air.

As he worked, Gerardys noticed the love bites on her neck. He paused briefly, then continued stitching. "Princess, do you require moon tea?" he asked, his tone respectful.

"No, thank you," Vaeda replied softly as she placed a hand on her stomach.

After a moment of silence, Vaeda's thoughts spilled forth. "Do you think I'm crazy for defending Aemond after everything he's done?"

Gerardys paused in his work, meeting her eyes with a kind and thoughtful expression. "Princess, I have known you since you were a small child. Not once have I ever thought you were crazy. Stubborn, yes, but never crazy."

His words brought a small, grateful smile to her lips. He finished stitching the wound and carefully tied off the thread, ensuring the stitches were secure. "There, all done," he said, stepping back to admire his work. "Do you require anything else?"

Vaeda shook her head. "No, thank you".

He nodded and gathered his supplies. "Rest well, Princess. Call on me if you need anything."

As Gerardys left the room, Vaeda leaned back in her chair watching as Rhaegar still played contentedly with his toys on the floor, his silver hair shimmering in the candlelight.

Suddenly, a distant, deep grumbling roar echoed through the air, causing Rhaegar to look up, his bright eyes wide with recognition. "Vhagar," he said, pointing towards the window.

Vaeda nodded, her smile bittersweet. "Yes, darling."

Rhaegar's face lit up with excitement. "Daddy here?" he asked eagerly.

Vaeda took a deep breath, her heart heavy. "Yes, he is."

"I want see daddy," Rhaegar said, pulling himself to his feet. He toddled towards the door; his small hands outstretched. "Daddy!"

“Rhaegar-we can’t” whispered Vaeda as she quickly scooped him up, holding him close as he buried his face in her neck.

"Pease, mummy—want see daddy," pleaded Rhaegar, his voice muffled and tearful.

Vaeda stroked his silver hair, her resolve wavering. "Alright, my sweet. I will take you to see your daddy, but you must be very quiet. Can you do that for me?"

Rhaegar sniffled but nodded, his tiny hands clutching his stuffed dragon teddy tightly. "Yes, mummy. Quiet."

With a deep breath, Vaeda adjusted Rhaegar in her arms and headed out the door. She moved silently through the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, her heart pounding with each step. The castle was eerily quiet, the shadows long and foreboding.

Vaeda held Rhaegar close as she descended the winding staircase towards the cells. The stone walls emitting a soft warmth as she passed.

Rhaegar clung to her, his small fingers gripping the fabric of her dress. His amethyst eyes looked around curiously, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with a mix of wonder and apprehension.

As they approached the cell, Vaeda saw two guards standing watch. She walked towards them, her heart pounding. The guards stepped forward, blocking her path.

"You are not allowed to be here by order of the Queen," one of them said sternly.

Vaeda took a deep breath, her eyes pleading. "Please, just for a few minutes. Rhaegar wants to see his father."

The guards exchanged uncertain glances, clearly torn between their orders and the heartfelt request. After a moment, one of them spoke. "You have five minutes. No more."

Vaeda thanked them with a relieved nod as they unlocked the heavy door and moved aside. She stepped into the dimly lit cell, her heart aching at the sight before her.

Aemond was chained to the wall, his face turned towards the small window, the faint light casting shadows across his sharp features.

"Daddy!" Rhaegar's voice broke the silence, filled with pure joy.

Aemond turned at the sound, a smile breaking across his weary face. "Byka zaldrīzes" he breathed; his voice choked with emotion (Little dragon).

Vaeda set Rhaegar down, and the little boy ran to his father, throwing his small arms around Aemond's neck as best as he could.

"Miss you, Daddy," he said, his voice muffled against Aemond's tunic.

Aemond struggled against the chains, the metal clinking as he tried to move his arms. But the chains were too short, preventing him from fully embracing his son.

"I miss you too" he said, his voice thick with emotion. He managed to lower his head and press a kiss to Rhaegar's hair, his eye shining with unshed tears.

Vaeda stood by the door, watching the scene with a heavy heart. She knew their time was limited, and every second felt precious. Rhaegar looked up at his father, his small face full of concern. "Daddy, why you here?"

Aemond sighed, his gaze shifting to Vaeda for a moment before returning to his son. "Daddy made some bad choices-”

Rhaegar nodded solemnly, not fully understanding. He nestled closer to Aemond, his little hands clutching at his father's tunic.

Vaeda stepped forward, her voice soft. "We have to go soon, Rhaegar."

Rhaegar looked up, his eyes pleading. "No, mummy. Stay with daddy."

Vaeda's heart broke a little more at his words. She knelt beside them, placing a gentle hand on Rhaegar's back. "We can't stay, but we'll see daddy again soon”.

Rhaegar nodded and then quickly pressed his stuffed dragon teddy into Aemond’s hands, the soft fabric contrasting sharply with the cold metal of the chains.

“Keep, daddy. Safe,” said Rhaegar.

Aemond’s eye widened, as he clutched the stuffed dragon close a single tear slid down his cheek, glistening in the dim light.

Rhaegar reached up and wiped the tear away with his tiny hand. “No cry, Daddy,” he said softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Aemond’s cheek.

Aemond looked at Vaeda, his eye filled with gratitude and sorrow. "Thank you," he whispered.

Vaeda nodded, her own eyes glistening with tears. She stood and lifted Rhaegar into her arms, the little boy protesting weakly. "We have to go now, my love."

As they turned to leave, Aemond's voice stopped them. "Rhaegar, be a good boy for your mother? I love you both so very much."

Rhaegar nodded; his face buried in Vaeda's shoulder. “Love you daddy”

Vaeda carried Rhaegar out of the cell, the door closing behind them with a heavy thud.

Later that night, Vaeda woke with a start. She could have sworn she heard Aemond's voice calling out to her in the darkness. As she sat up, straining to listen, her attention was captured by the sound of Vhagar roaring in the distance, followed by the unmistakable high-pitched whistle of her father's dragon, Caraxes. A cold dread settled in her chest. Something was wrong.

Pulling on a robe, Vaeda ran down the halls towards the cells. As she approached, she noticed the guards were conspicuously absent, replaced by the sounds of pained groans. Her heart pounded as she flung open the door to Aemond's cell.

Inside, she found her father, Daemon, his fist connecting brutally with Aemond's face. Blood spattered the cold stone floor.

"Stop!" Vaeda screamed, rushing between them. She placed herself protectively in front of Aemond, who was slumped against the wall, blood trickling from his nose and mouth.

Daemon's eyes blazed with fury. "Move, Vaeda. Let me deal with the kinslayer. This boy killed your brother. He deserves to pay for his crimes."

Vaeda stood her ground, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. "If that is the case, then you should pay for yours. You may not have taken the blade to young Jaehaerys' neck, but you paid the men who did."

Daemon's face contorted with rage. "That was a mistake"

"Leave Aemond alone," Vaeda insisted, her voice steadying. "It is for the Queen to decide his fate."

Daemon snarled, his eyes narrowing at his daughter. After a tense moment, he stormed out of the cell, his heavy footsteps echoing in the corridor. Vaeda exhaled shakily, turning to see the guards had returned, their expressions conflicted.

"Unlock his chains," she demanded. When they hesitated, she added, "By order of the princess, or I will have you fed to Cannibal."

The threat worked. The guards moved quickly, freeing Aemond from his bonds. He slumped forward, barely able to stand. Vaeda reached out, helping him to his feet.

"Lean on me," she whispered, her voice soft but firm. "I'm taking you to my chambers."

Aemond nodded weakly, his body trembling with pain and exhaustion. As they made their way out of the cell, Vaeda cast a final, defiant glance at the guards, who quickly averted their eyes. If they wouldn’t do their job and guard Aemond then she would do it for them.

They moved slowly through the darkened corridors, Aemond leaning heavily on Vaeda. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the unspoken gratitude and vulnerability. When they finally reached her chambers, Vaeda helped him to the bed, gently easing him down.

"Thank you," Aemond whispered, his voice rough.

Vaeda sat beside him, her hand resting on his. "You're safe now," she said softly. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

The next day, Vaeda left Aemond in her chambers, having summoned Maester Gerardys to assess his injuries. The maester had cleaned and dressed the previously cauterized wound on Aemond's stomach and reset his broken nose, whilst administering a dose of milk of the poppy to ease his pain.

Now, Aemond slept soundly, his breathing even and steady. Vaeda took a deep breath, steeling herself for the council meeting that would decide Aemond's fate.

As she entered the council chamber, the room fell silent. Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, her face stern and regal. Daemon, Jace, Baela, Rhaenys, Corlys, and the other lords were present, their expressions a mix of concern and determination.

Rhaenyra's eyes softened for a moment as she gazed upon her daughter "Vaeda, I have talked extensively with my council, and we all agree that it's too much of a risk to allow Aemond to live”

“Are you being serious?” exclaimed Vaeda.

“I’m sorry-but his past actions have proven that he can't be trusted” explained Rhaenyra.

Vaeda scoffed, her frustration boiling over. "Like you can stand there and talk about trust after all the lies you've told. The consequences of which stand before you, in the form of your children."

A shocked silence fell over the room. Rhaenyra's eyes widened in disbelief. Daemon's face darkened as he commanded, "Be mindful of how you speak to your Queen"

“Or else what?” challenged Vaeda.

“I shall have you punished” threatened Daemon.

“Wonderful-” mocked Vaeda clapping her hands together.

“Carry on and you will suffer the consequences-or your kinslayer husband will” snarled Daemon.

Vaeda's eyes flashed with defiance. "You dare after all the trouble you've caused over the years, and yet you dare to label Aemond a kinslayer when you're guilty of the exact same thing?"

Daemon slammed his fist down on the table, rising from his seat with fury. He charged toward Vaeda, his hand wrapping around her throat. "You know nothing of what I'm truly capable of” he hissed.

Vaeda smirked, her voice steady despite the pressure on her throat. "Oh, I know exactly what you're capable of."

Daemon felt a pinching sensation in his side, and he looked down to see the dagger Vaeda had pressed into his side.

“A bold move daughter-” said Daemon smiling, almost as if he was impressed.

"Stand down, both of you. NOW!" Rhaenyra's voice cut through the tension, commanding and firm.

Vaeda put the dagger back inside her sleeve as she stood before her mother, the anger still seething within her. "-This is all your fault," she began, her voice shaking with emotion. "Maybe if you had remained in King's Landing and actually spent time solidifying your position as heir instead of hiding away on Dragonstone, it wouldn't have been so easy to usurp you and maybe if you had bonded with your siblings instead of scorning them, our house wouldn't be so divided."

Rhaenyra's eyes widened in shock, but Vaeda didn't stop there. "And maybe if you had made Luke apologize for slashing out Aemond's eye, he might still be alive. You’ve helped to sow the seeds of discord, and now we’re the one’s dealing the consequences. But I will not stand by and let you sentence Aemond to death-"

"Vaeda," Rhaenyra started, her voice strained, but Vaeda cut her off.

"No! There has to be another way”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Rhaenyra's face was a mask of pain and regret. "Vaeda, I never wanted any of this," she said softly. "But we have to think of the realm. Aemond's actions have threatened our cause and the lives of our people."

Vaeda's eyes filled with tears, but she stood firm. "And what about my family? What about Rhaegar growing up without his father? What about me, losing the man I love? There has to be another way. Because if you give that order, then I swear you will never see me or Rhaegar again"

“You are heir to the Iron Throne” muttered Jace.

“FUCK THE IRON THRONE!” declared Vaeda savagely.

Rhaenyra looked at her daughter, the weight of her words sinking in. She saw the determination and pain in Vaeda's eyes, and it broke her heart. "I don't want to lose you," she whispered.

"Then don't make me choose-because it will be him. It will always be him" Vaeda replied, her voice trembling.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her expression firm yet sorrowful. "I cannot trust Aemond, this you know" she began, her voice steady. "But I will not lose my only daughter." She paused, searching Vaeda's eyes for understanding. “Aemond may keep his life, but he is to remain on Dragonstone for the rest of his days."

Vaeda's breath caught in her throat, but she said nothing, waiting for her mother to continue.

"And when the time comes for you to be crowned Queen," Rhaenyra continued, her tone resolute, "Aemond will not sit beside you as your Consort King. You will rule the Seven Kingdoms on your own, until your son ascends the throne after your natural passing"

Vaeda stood before her mother, heart pounding. She knew how much was at stake. The fate of her husband and the future of her family rested on her next words. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her decision weighing heavily on her.

"Alright," she said, her voice barely above a whisper at first, but then she found her strength. "I agree to your conditions”

Rhaenyra nodded, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and relief. "I know this isn't easy, but it's the only way."

Vaeda's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts as she made her way back to her chambers. How would Aemond react? Would he understand the necessity of this compromise? Her heart ached at the thought of telling him, but she knew it was either this or see him executed and she couldn't bear the latter.

Entering her chambers, she found Aemond still resting, his face peaceful in sleep. She approached quietly, not wanting to startle him. Sitting beside him, she gently took his hand in hers, waiting for him to wake.

Aemond stirred, his eye fluttering open. He looked up at her, confusion and concern evident in his gaze. "Vaeda?" he murmured.

"Aemond," she said softly, squeezing his hand.

He sat up slowly, wincing slightly at the pain from his injuries. "What is it?"

Vaeda took another deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation. "My mother has made her decision-”

“Am I to meet the stranger?” asked Aemond quietly.

“That was to be your fate, but I managed to convince my mother otherwise-” replied Vaeda as she reached forward and tucked a lose strand of Aemond’s long silver hair behind his ear.

“How?”

“I told her that if she ordered your execution then she would never see me or Rhaegar ever again. Plus, I may have told her a few home truths whilst I was at it, and I might have gone slightly overboard-” said Vaeda smiling sheepishly.

“Hmmm”

“A compromise was reached. You will be allowed to live, but you must stay on Dragonstone for the remainder of your days and when I become Queen, you will not be my Consort King. I will rule alone."

Aemond's eye widened slightly, processing her words. Silence stretched between them as he absorbed the news.

Finally, he nodded, his expression a mixture of relief and resignation. "I understand," he said quietly. "If it means that I can stay with you and Rhaegar, then it doesn’t matter”

 “No matter what-you will always be Issa dārys” (My King).

“Issa dāria-” muttered Aemond (My Queen).

"Sounds like someone is hungry," teased Vaeda at the sound of Aemond’s stomach growling.

“Little bit” replied Aemond.

“I'll go request some food for you” said Vaeda as she started to move from the bed.

But before she could get far, Aemond's hand shot out, gently taking hold of her wrist. "I'm not hungry for food," he said, his voice low and filled with intent.

Vaeda's cheeks flushed a delicate pink as she realized what he meant. Her heartbeat quickened, as she allowed Aemond to pull her back onto the bed.

"Aemond," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and affection.

He moved closer, his eye locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "Vaeda," he murmured, his voice soft but filled with longing. "I need you."

She nodded, feeling a wave of love and desire wash over her as Aemond's hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb gently brushing over her skin. "I love you," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

"I love you too," Vaeda replied, her voice filled with sincerity. She leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick tender kiss.

Aemond watched with a hooded gaze as Vaeda moved off the bed and began to untie the laces of her gown, letting it fall to the floor, with the material pooling at her feet.

Whilst she removed her shift, Aemond hastily pulled off his breeches and small clothes, he sighed in relief as his already hard cock was free from its confines.

Vaeda smiled slightly as she hooked her fingers around her own small clothes and slowly pulled them down, Aemond could feel himself salivating as he stared at her cunny.

“Come here-” growled Aemond, as he reached out and tugged Vaeda back on the bed.

“Let me take care of you” muttered Vaeda as she placed kisses along Aemond jaw and then down his neck, making sure to gently nip and suck his skin as she went.

She carried on moving down, pausing as she reached his chest, she grinned as she took one of his nipples into her mouth, her tongue teasing it before she bit down gently.

“FUCK” moaned Aemond.

“Does issa dārys like that?” asked Vaeda as she moved across and gave his other nipple the same attention, (My King).

“Oh. Gods” whimpered Aemond as she moved further down his body, her tongue and teeth grazing his pale skin.

When she reached the trail of hair from his belly button down to his cock, she pressed her nose against him and giggled when she felt the hair tickle her skin.

“Kostilus issa jorrāelagon” begged Aemond (Please my love).

“Ao līs umbagon issa zaldrīzes” replied Vaeda (You must wait, my dragon).

Aemond stared down at his naughty wife, his mouth hanging open as Vaeda’s warm, wet mouth quickly wrapped around the head of his cock.

Her tongue gently moving around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Vaeda!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through his wife’s silver hair.

Vaeda ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.

Aemond’s heart almost stopped when she sucked his stones into her mouth, one at a time.

Her hand moving slowly over the hard length of him.

When Vaeda moved and engulfed Aemond’s cock in her mouth again, he squeezed his eye shut. She was driving him crazy.

But Aemond forced himself to open his eye, he needed to watch as his wife sucked his cock. 

“Your taking me so well. Such a good girl” moaned Aemond.

Aemond knew it would push the limits of his control, but he did not care. He just had to watch his cock disappear into Vaeda’s mouth and see it come back out, shining with her spit.

Her head moving back and forth, her perfect pink lips stretched around him.

“I’m not going to last if you carry on” Aemond admitted, though it pained him to do so.

Vaeda smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth. 

“It feels so good-that’s it” groaned Aemond.

Vaeda responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand cupped his stones.

“Shit-Vaeda. I’m going to come. Oh, fuck, I’m coming!” shouted Aemond as he exploded.

His wife took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean.

When he recovered, Aemond saw Vaeda’s self-satisfied smile.

“Was that to your liking husband?” asked Vaeda.

“Y-Yes. Now get up here and ride my face until I’m ready again” gasped Aemond.

“But your nose” whispered Vaeda concerned.

“I don’t care-get up here and sit on my fucking face” ordered Aemond, his cock already twitching with interest.

Vaeda hovered above Aemond’s face; her knees splayed on either side of his head.

“Such a pretty cock sleeve" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Vaeda’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Vaeda her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it Issa dōna. Let me hear you” (My sweet).

“YES. It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Vaeda.

“FUCK” growled Aemond.

“Ooooh A-Aemond” shrieked Vaeda.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Vaeda, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Vaeda "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh" whimpered Vaeda; her chest heaving as she began to gently roll her hips against him.

“That’s it baby, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond, his cock was so hard that it was boarding on painful.

Vaeda was giving off a slew of loud swear words, moans, and pleas, that anyone passing her chambers would surely hear.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me baby, come for daddy” moaned Aemond.

Finally, he felt Vaeda’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Vaeda’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife’s centre as she came.

After a few minutes, Aemond gently urged his wife to move down, so she was hovering above his cock.

Her hand wrapped around him, running the head of his cock along her warm wet folds.

“Your such a tease” moaned Aemond as his hips jerked involuntarily.

But it feels so good” replied Vaeda as she slowly sunk down on his cock, so only the tip of him was inside her.

“P-Please” whimpered Aemond.

“Uh-uh” said Vaeda shaking her head from side to side.

After a few torturous minutes Aemond couldn’t take it anymore and seized his wife’s hips, before surging up and ploughing his hard cock into her soaked cunt.

"AEMOND!" screamed Vaeda.

"Gods. You feel so good" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Vaeda, her tone bordering on desperate as she rolled her hips against his.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

“P-Please. Husband” whined Vaeda as Aemond began teasing her pearl with his thumb.

“That’s it-take all of me”

“OH-MY-“ shrieked Vaeda Aemond began to move.

"Faster, please" begged Vaeda.

“Like this?” replied Aemond as he gave a quick deep thrust.

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Vaeda.

Her hands ran along his arms, over his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.

“Gods, Vaeda" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond" whispered Vaeda "Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me, filling me up. Give me what I need. Give me your seed. I want it”.

Aemond knew exactly what Vaeda was doing, and he couldn’t help himself.

Vaeda wanted faster and he was going much faster now, his feet planted on the bed to give him more leverage and his pace increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips as he pounded into her.

“Aemond-I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Vaeda; not caring if anyone could hear them.

Vaeda always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her amethyst eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

“I’m going to put another babe in you-See you full of milk-”

“Y-Yes A-Aemond-I want another. Give it to me” whined Vaeda as she clamped down around his cock so hard he could hardly move.

That, combined with how glorious Vaeda looked, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen.

“God. Vaeda” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed inside his wife’s wet heat.

Afterwards, as they lay together, tangled in each other’s arms, the door to Vaeda’s chambers suddenly opened.

Aemond instinctively moved to cover himself and Vaeda with a sheet, but the sudden movement caused a sharp pain to shoot through his stomach, and he hissed in discomfort.

"Easy," Vaeda murmured, her fingers brushing against his cheek, concern etched in her eyes.

Jace stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed on his sister and Aemond, watching as Vaeda fussed over Aemond, the tenderness in her actions surprising him.

He had always known his sister to be fierce and unyielding, and seeing her reduced to a cock struck woman made his stomach churn. He hated the hold Aemond had over her.

Aemond caught Jace staring at Vaeda, and his lips curled into a slight sneer. "It is not appropriate to covet another man's wife, especially in the presence of her husband," he said, his voice dripping with condescension.

Jace's face reddened, and he looked at the floor, muttering, "The Queen has asked that you both attend dinner." Without waiting for a response, he hastily left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Aemond scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "She expects me to break bread with—"

Vaeda placed a gentle finger over his lips, silencing him. "She has allowed you to keep your life. Let's not give her cause to change her mind," she said softly, her eyes pleading with him to understand.

Aemond sighed, his hand covering hers. "Very well," he relented, though the resentment in his voice was unmistakable. "For you, I will endure this."

Vaeda smiled, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. "Thank you,"

Vaeda and Aemond walked into the dining room, with Rhaegar nestled securely in his father’s arms. The air was thick with tension as they took their seats at the long table. The faces around it—Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jace, Baela, Rhaenys, and Corlys—were a mix of curiosity, suspicion, and barely concealed animosity.

Even though he was hungry Aemond hesitated to eat, his eye flicking to each dish with apprehension.

Daemon noticed and couldn’t resist a jab. “Fear not, nephew. It would not serve to poison you now, not after your wife fought so valiantly for your life.”

Vaeda’s eyes flashed with anger as she scowled at her father. “Enough,” she said through gritted teeth.

Aemond reached for Vaeda’s hand under the table and gave it a gentle squeeze before he reached for some bread and meat.

The entire table of guests were silent, the only noise was the sound of cutlery on the plates, and as the awkwardness progressed, Rhaenyra found herself watching Aemond as he interacted with Rhaegar. Despite the tension, he appeared to be a very attentive and loving father.

Rhaegar openly vied for his father’s attention, and even when the boy threw a tantrum and refused to eat his peas, Aemond remained patient and calm, and Rhaegar eventually gave in and ate his food, much to the quiet amazement of those watching.

Daemon, never one to let an opportunity for a snide remark pass, said, “Surprised to see that you’re actually a decent father.”

Aemond’s expression hardened. “I simply wish for my son to know he is loved, something Viserys never managed to show all of his children. That right was exclusively reserved for his favourite child”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, Daemon openly declared, “We set out for King’s Landing on the morrow. Do you wish to beg for the lives of your traitorous kin?”

Vaeda’s patience snapped. “Father, stop.”

Aemond’s voice was steady but filled with restrained anger. “Aegon will pose no threat, as he will more than likely succumb to his injuries, Daeron is but a boy in Oldtown. As for my mother and Helaena, they are innocent of any wrongdoing. Perhaps that’s something you should’ve remembered when you ordered the execution of Jaehaerys.”

Vaeda slammed her hands down on the table, her frustration boiling over. “ENOUGH!”

She took Rhaegar from Aemond’s arms and stormed out of the dining room, her movements swift and determined.

Aemond rose to follow, his eye burning with a mix of anger and sorrow as Daemon sniggered into his cup of wine, clearly enjoying the chaos he had sown.

The next evening, Aemond was pacing around Vaeda's chambers, his steps echoing in the dimly lit room. The heavy burden of uncertainty pressed down on him as he thought of Rhaenyra and Daemon taking King’s Landing.

Vaeda had been reluctant to take Cannibal, as he was still tired from the battle at Rook’s Rest, but her mother’s insistence that she needed her daughter by her side had ultimately swayed her, and Vaeda had spent many hours making sure Cannibal gorged himself on as much food as he could in preparation for the journey to Kings Landing.

Aemond had asked to accompany them, but Rhaenyra had refused.

Now, he found himself left on Dragonstone with Rhaegar under heavy guard. Throughout the day, he made sure his son was fed and entertained.

They played dragons, and he read to him, but no distraction could keep his mind from wandering back to thoughts of his mother, Helaena, and the children. He had faith in Vaeda’s advocacy for their safety, but Daemon was such an unpredictable wildcard that not even the gods would know of his plans.

He did not mourn his grandsire or the others on the council—the seeds of their treason had been sown long before he ever existed. Yet, the uncertainty of their fates gnawed at him.

As night fell, Aemond found himself unwilling to part from Rhaegar. He lay in bed with his son cuddled up to him, the child’s soft breaths a soothing rhythm in the dark room.

Watching Rhaegar sleep, Aemond couldn’t help but notice how much he resembled Vaeda. A fond smile touched his lips as he remembered how she drooled in her sleep too, a detail he would never dare to mention to her of course.

The moonlight filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow over the room. Aemond’s thoughts drifted to the precarious future ahead. He whispered a silent prayer for Vaeda’s safety, hoping that her presence would be enough to sway any harsh decisions made against his family.

Aemond stirred awake, the feeling of a soft touch on his face bringing him out of his slumber. He opened his eye and saw Vaeda sitting on the bed, her hair windswept and falling free from its braid. She looked weary but determined.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Vaeda nodded quietly, then whispered, "Follow me."

Gently detaching himself from Rhaegar, he carefully rose from the bed. Elana, the handmaid had entered the room to look after the still-sleeping boy.

Aemond followed Vaeda through the dimly lit corridors, his heart pounding with every step.

"Is everything okay? What about my mother? Helaena and the children?" he asked repeatedly, but Vaeda remained silent, her expression unreadable.

They reached the throne room, its vast space cloaked in darkness. Vaeda led him to the centre of the room and stopped.

Aemond looked around, confused and anxious, when he heard a voice that made his heart skip a beat.

"Brother."

He turned swiftly to see Helaena standing there, her face illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the windows. Overwhelmed, he walked toward her, his voice trembling.

"May I?"

Helaena nodded, and they embraced, the weight of their separation melting away in that moment. Tears welled up in his eye as he held her close.

"Uncle!" came a chorus of little voices.

Aemond looked up to see Jaehaera and Maelor running toward him, their faces lit with joy. He knelt down, opening his arms wide to gather them in a tight embrace.

He looked over their heads at Vaeda, stunned and grateful. She stood watching them, a tender smile on her lips.

"Thank you," whispered Aemond, his voice thick with emotion.

Vaeda walked over to join them, her hand gently resting on his shoulder. "They are to reside here with us-I hope this is pleasing to you husband"

Aemond, still holding his niece and nephew close, looked at Vaeda with an intense gaze. "What happened in King's Landing?"

Vaeda took a deep breath. "My mother has successfully claimed the Iron Throne. The traitors have been culled, with much enthusiasm from my father and your mother has been confined to her chambers, but she is safe."

Aemond's jaw tightened, and he nodded slowly, processing the information. "And Aegon?" he asked, his voice strained.

Vaeda hesitated, glancing at Helaena. Aemond noticed the exchange and felt a knot form in his stomach. Helaena stepped forward; her eyes filled with sorrow.

"Aegon is dead," she said quietly. "He was in much pain. It was kinder to let him slip away while he was sleeping."

Aemond's eye widened, and he looked at his sister in shock. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The feathers in the cotton took his breath” whispered Helaena.

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat as he realized what she meant. He stared at her, as the weight of her words began to sink in.

He didn't say anything. Because he had no right. Aegon's injuries had been his fault, and now his brother was dead. The realization left him hollow, a deep ache settling in his chest.

“The seed will bear many fruits-the dragon’s line is long; the unburnt mother will fight the ice and fire song”  muttered Helaena softly.

“What?” asked Aemond.

“The stories’ in the steel” uttered Helaena as she reached into her long overcoat and pulled out the Valyrian steel dagger that once belonged to Viserys and then Aegon.

“Helaena, how did you-” exclaimed Aemond his singular eye widening.

“The heir knows, passed down from one to the other” said Helaena as she handed the dagger to Vaeda.

“What do you mean?” asked Aemond.

"I'm quite tired. It’s been a long day. Might I go to bed?" asked Helaena, her voice soft and almost childlike.

Vaeda nodded. She turned to a nearby guard. "Please escort Princess Helaena and the children to the guest chambers," she instructed.

“I do not fear my dreams this night-”

As a guard appeared and gestured for Helaena to follow. She picked up Maelor, his small arms wrapping around her neck, and took Jaehaera's hand.

Aemond watched them go, a mixture of curiosity and relief washing over him. He turned back to Vaeda, his expression softening.

“What was all that about?”

“As me again sometime and I will tell you” replied Vaeda.

Aemond simply smiled as he pulled her close and kissed her, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude he felt into that kiss.

Vaeda melted into his embrace, her own emotions swirling. When they finally broke apart, “I love you," Aemond whispered, his voice full of resolve.

"I love you too," Vaeda replied softly, her fingers gently tracing his scarred cheek.

Many moons had passed since Rhaenyra had reclaimed the Iron Throne and establishing her rule as Queen was not an easy task. While she had her supporters, others still rallied behind Aegon. Rumours of his demise had sparked calls for Aemond to press his own claim, but he steadfastly refused.

Confined to Dragonstone, Aemond found solace in the ancestral seat of House Targaryen. The vast library, filled with ancient scrolls and Valyrian texts, captivated his mind, satisfying his thirst for the knowledge of his forebears.

His days were filled with training and sparring with the guards of Dragonstone, honing his skills. He also took to teaching Rhaegar High Valyrian, cherishing every moment spent with his son.

Helaena, Jaehaera, and Maelor were thriving on Dragonstone, and to Vaeda’s horror so was the spider colony that Helaena had cheerfully installed in her chambers.

Vaeda of course made sure to actively avoid that part of the castle, fearful of what she might encounter.

Another thing that was flourishing was the babe currently nestled within Vaeda. Aemond had been ecstatic when she informed him that his seed had taken root once more and he was by her side as she birthed their daughter, a tiny little dragon who lungs were well in working order as she announced her arrival into the world very loudly.

As he cradled his sweet Elaena in his arms, any doubts over the decisions he had made in the past just melted away, for he knew this was where he was supposed to be.

Especially when Vaeda gave him the news not even eight moons later, she was carrying another child, that pregnancy was quite hard on her and she spend many weeks abed with aches and sickness, but in the end, they were blessed with another son named Aerys.

Given Vaeda had suffered during her term, Aemond vowed not to get her child again, at least not for a while, but the gods obviously had other ideas as when Aerys was but a child of one name day old, she gave him the news of another expected babe.

Helaena found the whole thing hilarious and was quick to remind Aemond that ‘the seed would bear many fruits’.

And well she wasn’t wrong, as in the end Vaeda and Aemond were blessed with six sons and six daughters.

It was just as well that Dragonstone was big enough to accommodate such a large family, but in the chaos of squabbling children and the endless headaches that came with convincing them that their lessons were useful for the future, he knew he wouldn’t change it for the world.

All his children were treated equally, and as often as his sons trained with the sword so did his daughters.

He wanted things to be different, he wanted to be different.

The children, would always know of his love, his attention and they would know how wanted they were.

As would Vaeda, she was his heart, his soul and his greatest love, and everyday he made sure to tell her that he loved her.

Aemond had everything he had ever wanted, he was happy and more importantly he was loved.

And if Vaeda changed the previous Queen’s ruling and installed Aemond as her consort King the moment she was crowned in the Dragon pit well that was just fine with him.

[cybersunnie]

18+ MDNI f!servant!reader; power imbalance; objectification; face-fucking oops? (wc 614) with EMPEROR GETA

Emperor Geta was a puppeteer.

In his eyes, you were just an object used to satiate his desires—a tight cunt and mouth—and you knew you'd be a fool to believe otherwise. Strings tied around your wrists and ankles, your lips sewn shut to deter your disobedience. You had no choice but to be at his beck and call, limbs strung along, dragging your unwilling body to his side.

But what right did you have to complain? It was a blessing, the other servants told you, to serve your most divine emperor, to be his favorite. And yet, their sorrowful stares whenever he summoned you to his chambers betrayed their words as being Emperor Geta's dearest didn't reward you with any favors.

No, it was always about what he needed, what he wanted. He was an emperor, after all, and you were just a servant turned whore.

Like a puppet, you were brought to your knees before him, where you and everyone in Rome belonged, and he gripped your jaw, his gold rings cooling your heated cheeks, forcing you to look at him. There was a slight sneer on his face. Disgust and lust, something you had grown used to seeing. You were aware of what was to come when his fingers forced your lips apart, the pads of his digits pressed down onto your tongue.

Geta had stripped himself from his garments, skin milky white like the statues of him you had seen in passing, and he had little care as he stuffed your mouth with his cock. This was the closest you would ever get to praying—eyes glassy, hands clasped, helpless, desperate.

You doubted the gods heard your pleas now. They never had before.

Large palms shrouded the back of your head, preventing you from pulling away and forcing you to preserve. The fat head of his cock hit the back of your throat every time his hips snapped forward, and you gagged, tears blurring your vision, drool dripping down your chin, unable to do anything else but stare up at him. You learned that Emperor Geta liked to look into your eyes. It reminded him of his power. He was power.

"It's as if you were made for me," he groaned, fingers digging into your scalp, hips bucking until your nose hit his trimmed pubes. "A mouth sculpted by the gods."

Under different circumstances, his words would have sounded heavenly.

You struggled to breathe, and your now unclasped hands pawed at his thighs, begging for a break. Geta tutted, but after one last thrust, he pulled away. Air filled your lungs, and you coughed, hunched forward, fighting down the bile that threatened to rise out of your throat. You didn't realize you were crying until you felt his fingers brush over your cheeks, his touch almost gentle.

He then pinched your chin like a fond parent. "Do not waste your tears," he whispered through your labored breaths, "You've been good tonight. Very good."

Geta rarely praised you, but when he did, you fell deeper under his control. The strings on your limbs tightened, his name wrapped around every bone in your body, branded. You doubted he even knew your name. But once you found your voice, you thanked him, bowing your head. He hummed approvingly in return and let go of your chin, wiping the spit that got on his fingers onto your clothes as if you were just some sort of rag.

His hands cupped the back of your head again. "Keep being good, hm?"

You nodded—you could do that. So, you opened your mouth and swallowed his heirs as commanded.

What a sweet puppet you were.

author's note: ohhh it feels so good to write again!!! it's been a while >:) also, i'd like to emphasize that i do not condone this behavior. this is fiction and consent is important!

LAST EDITED — 07.18.2024

[mskenway97]

I had this in mind for some time and some ideas made me think about this story. It takes place during the course of the 'Alpha/Omega' episode of transformers prime after Optimus lost the Star Saber.

Tfp Optimus Prime x Fem!human!reader

I will stay

Words: 1,576

Summary: You haven't heard from your guardian for days, when you got the news from Jack that a new weapon had been discovered. You decided to stop by to see why he wasn't talking to you like before to discover a side of him you didn't know.

Warning: angst, sorrow, g/t content, g/t confort fluff

You knew something wasn't right, ever since he came back with his memory restored. Something was keeping you upset, you felt that he had put up a wall that you couldn't get through. That didn't happen before. You met him by chance bad timing, a detour home several Vehicons and a big robot of almost 30 ft. Since then he had taken care of you, as Ratchet refused to be the guardian, plus you were older than the children on the base to your surprise. You befriended them, but you were always intrigued by Prime, and little by little you were able to talk about various things. Seeing what caught his attention… Apart from the popular culture books of Earth and what I was dedicated to. Partly little by little you began to fall in love with this metallic giant, his kindness, his concern, his dedication to the Earth. To feel safe among his servos, or to sit on his shoulder while he worked, little details that mattered a lot to you. But at the same time they made you feel helpless, helping Miko and Raf was easy. Engaging Ratchet in conversation was a challenge. Understanding Bumblebee was a challenge. But you tried because you wanted to get to know them better. Everything started to change since Unicron showed up, the day Optimus left… Those were the worst days for you, you didn't know how much you needed him… the sound of his voice, the touch of his finger when he stroked your hair…

He came back to you but interactions started to be more limited, he would pick you up from work: Arcee or Bulkhead. Only Ratchet stayed at the base…. That made you feel partly miserable, you knew he had great work, great responsibility but at the same time you wanted to help him. That he just didn't show that stoic side to all the people. But you were only a small human, between a war of enormous titans. You could only stand by and watch, you wished you could do more, could help more. But you were just an ant in comparison…. You wished at least to see him smile, at least just once… If only you could comfort him, do something. You would do anything. This was eating you up more and more. Until the deadline came when Jack started telling you about a new weapon the autobots had found: Star Saber, it seemed they had an advantage to win, at least something that looked like they would win the war once and for all. That day you left work late at night, but you knew Optimus would be at the base, so you called Ratchet for a groundbridge. You watched with all the joy in the world. Until you saw Ratchet's long faces, the others were patrolling. You didn't understand what was going on until you saw a weapon completely destroyed.

-Ratchet, what happened? - you asked as you climbed the stairs. Ratchet sighed as he looked at the command center - Star Saber was destroyed, Megatron found a way to create his own Star Saber with Dark Energon.

-How is this possible? Solus Prime's forge can only be used by one.

-Megatron found a way… Optimus fought against him, with some injury but he will be

-Damage?! - you said as Ratchet tried to calm you down.

-He's fine. You should go home… Something in you jumped, you were sick of having to leave, of having to be pulled back - No, not this time. I'm going to talk to him. Don't even think of stopping me - you said seriously as you walked down the hallway without listening to Ratchet's words to reason with you. You moved quickly down the long hallway to get to Optimus' room, you didn't think, you acted on pure instinct and emotion. You wanted to know how he was doing, he didn't care if he tried to kick you out, he wasn't going to back down too. you weren't going to leave him behind, you weren't going to give up anymore. You tried knocking on the huge door to see that it wasn't locked, which surprised you since Optimus was always careful with his room and his secrets. He hadn't let you in either due to various reasons that the autobot leader always made an excuse for. Then you walked in to see around a room that had a huge desk, next to a bed, what appeared to be a pile of datapads on the desk table. You stood admiring the place, as you looked like a little doll or toy as you walked around. The door behind you closed, you jumped in fright. Then you saw Optimus, he seemed to be leaning on his bed. At least you had a fix on him, the problem was how to get to him.

It was not easy for you to get to the bed but with a lot of patience you climbed up one of the bed spreads, you approached carefully so that he would not crush you when he moved, you were in front of his face about to wake him up but you noticed on his face in his optics rather, there was something blue liquid. Biologically, humans and cybetronians were not so different… He was crying… You approached him carefully as you touched his faceplate, it felt cold but at the same time you heard a small engine noise, you saw that he opened the optics slowly to see your face so close to him. You thought he was going to refuse or push you away, you were about to respond but contrary to what you thought, his servo grabbed you to pull you to his chest and place you close to his spark. He was stroking your back with his other servo, feeling a great warmth but you shook your head at what you initially came for. This bot had great skill in reading your mind, he already knew why you were here.

-You were worried about me… I am sorry for my absence these days, little one. Matters have led me into situations to keep you and the rest safe. You clenched your fist, a little clenched your jaw, I was doing it again….

-Don't do it… Optimus was confused to hear you - Pardon?

-Don't you dare hide how you feel in front of me, I know you're trying to protect me…. But what matters to me is how you feel, don't you dare say it's not important, war is important. You are distancing yourself from everyone…

-Little girl, I…

-Don't you dare do this alone… When Unicron arrived you disappeared. I thought you really left - you said trying to keep your tone of voice without tears - You walked away, I don't care if it's for my protection, I don't care how many times you try to push me away, I will stay… I will not leave here - you said determinedly as you looked at the optics. There was a deafening silence between the two of you, you looked at each other with determination that your words, then you felt his arms around you squeezing you a little you felt him leaning you to his chassis. You looked at his optics to see the tears coming back to him.

The burdens of a leader are something I must keep, I stayed away for your protection. I may win some battles others I may lose them with quite a few consequences: the Star Saber, Raf's life was close too…. If it hadn't been Raf… - he said as he lifted me up to look at you better - and if it had been you, I wouldn't have forgiven myself…. The words the giant had said had hit hard in your heart, as he wrapped his servos around you as if to protect you from the world -… I can't lose you like that - he said in a low voice. That made a little more of a dent in you, but you moved closer to his face, leaned gently to his cheek as you saw that his optics were focused on you.

-I know, that's how I've been feeling these days too…. I don't want to lose you like this either.

You gave her a soft kiss on her cheek, which had the effect of sounding her engines a little as she squeezed you a little closer in her servos, you felt her nuzzle to you. You had missed these interactions so much, you had missed her too much.

-Next time, try talking to me. I know I can't share your burden, but I'll listen to you as long as it takes - you said as she put you back closer to her chassis but closer to her spark.

-I will try for you. And I will never leave you alone again - he said as you felt a big pulse of sparkle warm you up a little. That was all you needed to hear, you stayed like that for a while longer as words were not needed at that moment. Maybe when things calmed down you would tell him how you really felt about him. Just feeling his company, though, was all you needed. Maybe one day you would manage to get a smile out of him. But little by little, you felt him close your eyes to fall asleep near his chassis. Feeling at peace at last… Next to him.

[annisassintchaska]

You’re at Lewis’s place, just laying down on the bed watching a movie when he receives a call. "Who is it?" I asked. He looked at who it was, letting out a frustrated sigh. Then he smiled and tried to brush it off. “No one important.” He lied. "Answer it" I demanded as he tried to hang it up.

He couldn’t help but swallow thickly at my demands as he answered it and put it on speaker mode. “Hello?” He answered. Hearing a woman answering from the other side wasn't a shock until she told him that she was looking forward to another session with his dick.

His eyes widen as his heart drops when he heard her say that. He felt embarrassed when I heard that as he quickly put it on mute “It’s no one important I swear” he said nervously, trying to get out the situation. Narrowing my eyes at him, I then heard the woman go on about how she wanted to have his children in the future after our divorce, I jumped up and went into the bathroom, locking the door. He told her about my miscarriage and fertility issues my mind screamed.

His face expression went from nervous to complete fear seeing your reaction as it made his heart sink. He immediately tried to get up and followed me to the bathroom, knocking on the door, “Baby please open the door!” he pleaded. "No" I said very calmly as to not explode. Lewis tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. “Please just let me explain!” he tried to persuade as he continued to knock, his heart beating loudly by each thump. "Lewis I'm begging you please find another room to be in" I said as my voice raised a couple of octaves.

Lewis could hear from my voice that I was trying so hard not to explode right then and there. He took a deep breath and sat down right in front of the bathroom door. “Please just let me in and listen to me. I’ll explain everything please” he said. "Taking a deep breath, I told him to speak. He felt a wave of momentary relief as he heard my voice, indicating that I might be calmer. He leaned his back against the door and began speaking. “It was a one time thing and it only happened that one night at the party. I was very drunk that’s all-"

"That is no fucking excuse!" I yelled as I took up the container on the sink throwing it into the mirror and breaking it. Lewis heard the sound of glass shattering inside making him flinch. He felt his heart break when he heard that, feeling how upset I sounded. “I know it’s not an excuse but please just understand. I did it that one time… and I regret it so much so please just open the door” he said with sorrow in his voice. "If you only did it once then why does she have your number, why is it that she can call and be so comfortable with saying such lewd remarks!" I questioned as I pulled the bathroom apart breaking everything in my way, cutting and injuring myself in the process. His heart dropped even more as he began to hear glass shattering and things breaking. He immediately got up again and began to bang on the door harder. “Please stop! Please stop it!” he yelled desperately, fear in his voice as tears began to form in his eyes. His voice sounded panicked, “Don’t hurt yourself. Please just open the door, I’m sorry just don’t do this to yourself”.

"It's too late to beg Lewis, why would you do this to me?!" I screamed throwing the glass vase into the glass shower door, splinters flying and piercing my skin all over as I screamed. "You knew of my fertility issues and went to tell her!" I wailed in disbelief that my husband would hurt me this deeply. Lewis slammed his fists against the door in frustration and panic, feeling completely helpless. Tears streamed down his face as he yelled back, “I wasn’t thinking, okay?! I was wasted and I was stupid!” He paused for a moment, taking in a shuddering breath as he imagined the damage you were doing to yourself, “Please… I regret it. I regret it so much. Please open the door”.

"What if I just ended it all right here? That would feel so good" I spoke to myself even though my husband heard every word. Lewis’s body froze as he heard those words. A new wave of panic took over as he yelled my name out, banging on the door harder. “No, no please no! Please don’t say things like that. Please don’t do anything. I’ll do anything, please just open the door!” Walking on the broken glass that pierced my feet with each step, I went into the drawer taking out the gun that was kept there for protection and took off the safety which echoed in the through the door. Feeling his heart stop and his blood run cold, Lewis began to panic even more. He could only helplessly hear what was happening on the other side of the door as he slammed his body against it multiple times. “No please don’t do this. Please don’t do it please! Please open the door!” he was yelling and pleading as tears streamed down his face uncontrollably.

Fighting with all his might, Lewis managed to kick the door in, flicking the gun from my hand and grabbing out the bathroom as I wailed in his arms due to his hands being in my open wounds. Placing me on the bed and carefully holding me down as to not touch the wounds I wailed until my voice was almost gone and I was in a state of drowsiness yet still heartbroken as I cried softly. "Why...just why? Wasn't I good enough of a wife for you?" I asked sadly as I sobbed into his shirtless chest. Lewis’s heart broke even more as he heard you sob. His heart ached seeing you like this. He gently moved his hands from pinning down your wrists to holding them and intertwining his fingers with yours. “Of course you were. You are an amazing wife, the best wife in the world. I don’t deserve you. I don’t know why I did something so stupid. I can’t find an excuse. I’m so sorry” he said in a defeated tone, feeling ashamed for hurting you.

"Why didn't you just let me die, it would take away the shame and hurt and disappointment from both of us" I cried. Seeing you beg for such a thing shattered his heart even more. He shook his head, holding you tighter as he spoke with a shaky voice. “No. Please don’t say that. You can’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I’ll do anything to fix this so please don’t say things like that” he pleaded with me, not able to bear the thought of me dying so young. "I don't think it's fixable. Even if it is, how do we fix this. I've had the pain for so long and it got deeper with each year that I remained unsuccessful of giving you a child, you just pushed the knife right through down to the bottom" I sniffed while looking into his eyes that held so much love for me even after what he did.

His heart sank hearing all that. The guilt and shame he felt grew even more, knowing the pain I was going through. He felt complete remorse for his actions and the damage he caused. He leaned down, gently nuzzling his head beside mine, holding me tight as he spoke with a voice filled with remorse. "We can figure out a way to fix this. I don’t want to lose you. I never want to lose you. You’re the most important person in the world to me. I’ll do anything to make things right again”.

Too exhausted from the rage, I started to fall asleep as I felt Lewis exit the room. He then later returned with a first aid kit as he cleaned and bandaged each would, placing a kiss over each one he finished while I succumbed to sleep wondering how did my marriage turn out to be a shitshow.

[bubble-leaves]

Money - Reth x Reader

cw / subtle angst

The day has come to a close. The sun has set, the crickets are chirping outside, and the candles in your home have been extinguished.

You had invited your boyfriend to stay over at your place for the night; today was hard for him. Against their deal, the cartel Reth was involved with had raised the price for Tish’s flow treatment. To keep up with this new flagrant price, Reth may have to work at the inn until midnight, now. He didn’t understand. His payments were always on time, always. Why was he being punished so cruelly?

Reth sits upon your comfortable bed, his eyes without shine. He’s in casual pajamas and his bandana and jewelry are off. In his peripheral vision, he can see you lighting the wick of your small homestead lamp that sits on your nightstand. The soft light is comforting to him, yet you know he’ll need a lot more than just light to make him feel okay right now. You stand directly in front of him. Reth looks up at you, a look of pure heartache on his face. He sighs as you cup his face with your hands.

“It’s gonna be okay,” You whisper, before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He closes his eyes and softly hums in response. When you pull away, he gazes back at you sadly.

“I’m gonna help, okay? Any extra money you need, I got you,” You assure.

Reth’s brows furrow together with sorrow and he shakes his head. He pulls his face out of your hands.

“No, you aren’t,” Reth says. “This is all on me. You’re not getting in any of the cartel business, okay? Over my dead body, literally.”

Your shoulders sink as you exhale. Reth has a terrible problem with accepting help, but you understand where he’s coming from here. He never wanted you involved in any of the shady business he does, he’s always let you know that. But seeing him suffer this internal turmoil is killing you.

“They won’t know the extras are from me,” You argue. “With how much you work, especially so early in the Market, they couldn’t.”

“(Y/n). I said no,” Reth affirms.

You frown. You feel a bit helpless, as though you’re watching him struggle to keep his head above water. You both stare at each other in silence before Reth finally looks away. He rubs his wrist anxiously, then decides to abandon the conversation. He crawls up to the side of your bed he’s come to call his own, and slips underneath the covers with his back to you. It’s not that he’s angry with you. He just . . . doesn’t know what to say. You know. One thing Reth will never deny is that you understand him better than anyone else.

You release a quiet breath and get into bed with him. Reth hears you settle down, but doesn’t expect to feel your back against his. His eyes shift to the side and his brows furrow. You two never sleep back to back, never ever. He hears the crackle of your fireplace in the other room as his lips purse in thought. Did he upset you? Was he too cold toward you? Quietly, Reth looks over his shoulder to check on you. He sees you breathing peacefully. There doesn’t seem to be any distress, but he still feels bad. Finally, he lets out a sigh and turns over to you. A small smile breaks on your lips as you feel his arm curl around your body and tug it against his.

“Was I being mean?” He mumbles.

You breathe out a laugh. “No, not even close. Don’t worry about it. I understand, love.”

Reth’s lips press together as he feels his heart throbbing. Your unrelenting, unwavering kindness surprises him every time. He nestles his face in the crook of your neck and closes his eyes in bliss. He pecks a few kisses against your skin as your hand caresses the arm that anchors you to his chest. The air inside the room feels fresh and comfortable, effortlessly easing the tension from a few minutes ago. Your weighted covers, the ambience of the chirping crickets and nearby fireplace, all calm down both of your nerves.

Just then, your fingertip begins tracing over the marking tattoos on his forearm. His eyes open once more to watch. He sighs deep in his throat. The memory of him being held down by several cartel members to get these inked is somehow less painful when you’re here, idly tracing the patterns. Reth wants the memory to be replaced with this very moment. Because you don’t bring him pain or fear, anger or disappointment. You just bring love. It feels so strange, but he just can’t get enough of you.

“You’re making me shiver,” Reth chuckles.

You smile, “I know, isn’t it amazing?”

He rolls his eyes before closing them, a big smile on his face too. “It is. But you’d know all about amazing, huh?”

“Mhm,” You smile, turning over on your other side to face him. “Like giving you 10,000 gold a week. How’s that?”

Reth’s smile drops. His mouth hangs open in pure shock for a beat, then he snaps out of it.

“Babe, that’s, like, nearly 3 weeks of me working at both the inn and the Market,” He says.

You shrug. “Would that cover the costs?”

His wide eyes blink a couple of times. “Well . . . I mean, yeah, but . . . ”

His words trail off as the arm around your waist retracts a bit. Your lips part with regret; maybe you should have laid off the pestering. Instinctually, your fingertips brush along his arm as it subtly moves. Reth looks down. It’s hard to decipher what he’s feeling. You wait patiently for him to continue. Just then, Reth looks up to you with eyes glossed over with tears. You softly gasp. His brows are furrowed upward in something resembling sorrow and confusion.

“ . . . I don’t get it. Why are you so insistent on helping, even in the face of danger, just for me?” He asks in a low, quivering tone.

Your head tilts to the side. You’re taken aback by his words.

“What do you mean, ‘just for you?’ Reth, I love you,” You emphasize.

Reth’s eyes close tight after those last 3 words. One single tear streams down his cheek. Then another. And another. You deeply frown and use your thumbs to rub them away, listening as he tries to keep his breathing steady. He’s never wept in front of you before. But, like usual, you seem to know exactly what to do. Reth softly grasps one of your wrists, then looks up at you.

“I have no idea how you do this to me,” He says with a bittersweet laugh. “Ah . . . not so tough when I’m with you, huh?”

You smile and caress his cheek back and forth with your thumb. “It’s fine to cry, crying is good.”

Reth stares at you for a second, then groans and hangs his head. “Dragon, why are you so . . . ugh. I am so lucky to have you.”

You giggle, just before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. It’s clear that he just needs to stop talking for a minute. He quietly moans due to the delightful chill you send down his back. He kisses you back immediately, with the same softness, until you let go to speak.

Eyes half-open as you pull back, you say, “Money is the least thing I could give you, okay? This isn’t no loan, this isn’t no mooching, this is me just helping you out until the price is lowered again.”

Reth sighs, clearly still bothered by this notion. He opens his mouth to refute, but he recognizes that he’s not going to make you sway on this matter, despite how dangerous it could be for you.

You continue after a spell of silence. “And what am I gonna do with all the extra money I get, anyway? Buy a farm?”

Reth’s concerned expression is abandoned for a smirk. “I mean, you could.”

You brush a stray hair from his eyes and nod. “I could. But I’d rather spend it on you.”

“Damn it,” Reth says under his breath, his face feeling hot.

You giggle as you watch him blush and shift his shoulders, flattered. Normally, he’s the one that would say something like that to you. Reth didn’t know that it felt this good to hear.

“Okay. Okay, fine, just . . . don’t bring it into the inn or the Market. Just give it to me when I ask, here,” He finally compromises.

A soft gasp leaves his lips as you kiss his forehead again. He didn’t really expect another one.

“I got you, don’t worry,” You murmur. “Just get some rest, okay? I’ll be here.”

Those words make him feel so safe. Reth closes his eyes with a sigh and melts into the crook of your neck. His arm wraps around your waist again. You sweetly caress his arm up and down as he hugs you tight. His face is a rich maroon and his spine feels pleasant tingles floating down it. Suddenly, the world doesn’t seem like it’s crashing down on him. You would never let that happen, anyway; you are Reth’s fortress. And he feels so secure in your arms, comforted by your warmth and your kind spirit. He doesn’t know what he did to possibly deserve someone like you loving him like this, yet he’s inspired by the unconditional prospect of it. Reth wants to love you in the exact same way.

He feels your fingertips softly brush over his skin until he falls asleep, in a state of pure peace.

[alyrasturnz]

CARDIGAN

❐ summary » in a fleeting lapse of weakness, y/n succumbed to temptation and embarked on a clandestine affair with chris, their secret rendezvous hidden beneath the sultry veil of summer. as the days grew shorter, y/n's guilt became unbearable, compelling her to sever ties with chris abruptly. feeling both scorned and bewildered, chris confided his heartbreak to nate, who, out of genuine concern, divulged the affair to matt. overwhelmed by betrayal, matt chose to end his relationship with y/n, leaving a trail of shattered trust in their wake.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » mentions of cheating, angst, argument

❐ a/n && w/c » i lowkey feel like this series will flop lmao • 1.30k

august (p1) // betty (p3)

matt's face contorted with a volatile blend of disbelief and fury, his eyes widening and nostrils flaring as the truth hit him like a freight train. "you hooked up with chris all summer? my own fucking brother?" he shouted, his voice echoing through the room, veins bulging in his neck and his fists clenching at his sides.

your eyes brimmed with tears, a silent testament to the turmoil within, but words eluded you, tangled in the knot of your throat. "matt, it wasn't like that," you stammered, your voice quivering like a fragile leaf in the wind. "it just happened, and i—"

"don't give me that!" matt interrupted, his voice escalating with each syllable. "you betrayed me, y/n. how could you do this to me? to us? with him of all people?"

you took a hesitant step closer, your hand reaching out in a desperate attempt to bridge the chasm between you, but he recoiled, the raw hurt and betrayal stark in his eyes. "matt, please, let me explain," you implored, your voice fracturing under the weight of emotion.

"explain? explain what?" matt's voice dripped with bitterness, each word a dagger. "how you decided to throw away everything we had for a fleeting affair with my brother? how you deceived me every single day?"

your voice quivered as you struggled to summon the right words. "i never intended to hurt you, matt. it just... it just happened. we were spending so much time together, and one thing inexorably led to another."

matt's eyes narrowed, his posture rigid with indignation. "one thing led to another?" he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "that's your excuse? you were supposed to be my partner, my confidant. and instead, you were sneaking around with him behind my back."

"it wasn't like that," you insisted, tears cascading down your face like a sorrowful river. "i care about you, matt. i truly do."

"care about me?" matt's voice fractured, a tumultuous blend of anger and sadness. "if you cared about me, you wouldn't have done this. you'd have talked to me, told me something was wrong. instead, you chose to go behind my back with my own brother."

"matt, please," you begged, your heart aching with remorse. "i was confused, i didn't know what to do. it just happened, and i didn't know how to stop it."

"confused?" matt's voice now brimmed with rage, a tempest of emotion. "you think that's an excuse? you think that makes it okay? you had a choice, y/n. and you chose to betray me."

"i know, i know," you sobbed, feeling the crushing weight of your actions. "i made a colossal mistake, an unforgivable one. but please, don't let this destroy everything we've built. we can mend this, i promise."

"work through it?" matt laughed bitterly, his voice laced with pain. "how? how do we work through this? you shattered my trust, y/n. you broke my heart. how do we ever come back from that?"

you stood there, feeling utterly helpless, the full weight of your betrayal sinking in. "i don't know, matt. but i want to try. i love you, and i want to make things right."

matt shook his head, his eyes brimming with pain. "i don't know if we can. i don't know if i can ever look at you the same way again. every time i see you, i'll see him. i'll see the lies, the betrayal."

you tried to reach for him again, your hand trembling as it extended towards him, but he stepped back abruptly, his face hardening into a mask of cold resolve. "don't," he warned, his voice low and dangerous, a stark contrast to the tenderness it once held. "don't touch me. i can't even look at you right now."

"matt, please," you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling with desperation. "give me a chance to make things right. i know i don't deserve it, but please. i'm begging you."

"make things right?" matt laughed bitterly, a harsh sound that seemed to echo in the silence. "how? by pretending this never happened? by sweeping it under the rug? no, y/n. some things can't be fixed. some wounds are too deep, too raw to ever truly heal."

the room fell silent for a moment, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air like an oppressive fog. finally, matt took a deep breath, his decision crystallizing in the stillness. "i want you to leave," he said, his voice steady but laden with finality. "i can't do this anymore. just go."

you watched as he walked away, the weight of your actions pressing down on you like an unbearable burden. you knew it would take more than mere words to mend the wounds you had inflicted. it would require time, patience, and an immense amount of effort to rebuild what had been shattered. but you were resolute, determined to try, no matter how long the journey to redemption might take.

»--•--«

chris paced the room, his hands running through his hair in an agitated frenzy. "matt, it's not what you think," he said, his voice quivering with a mix of desperation and fear.

matt stood by the door, fists clenched tightly at his sides. "not what i think? you hooked up with my girlfriend all summer long, chris. what else is there to think?" his voice was low, barely restrained, simmering with a controlled fury.

chris halted his restless pacing and looked at matt, his eyes brimming with regret. "i didn't mean for it to happen. it just... it just did."

matt took a step forward, his jaw clenched tightly. "you didn't mean for it to happen? you expect me to believe that? you betrayed me, chris. you were supposed to be my brother."

chris's shoulders slumped, the weight of his actions bearing down on him like an anchor. "i know, and i'm sorry. i never wanted to hurt you."

matt's eyes flashed with a tempest of anger. "sorry doesn't cut it. you knew how much she meant to me, and you still went behind my back."

chris took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "i know i messed up. but we can fix this. we can work through it."

matt shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "work through it? there's nothing to work through, chris. you destroyed everything."

chris's voice broke as he pleaded, "please, matt. don't throw away our bond over this. we're brothers."

matt turned away, his voice cold. "our bond? you threw that away the moment you touched her. we're done, chris."

chris stepped forward, desperation in his eyes. "matt, listen to me. it was a mistake, a terrible mistake. i was confused, and she... she was there. it meant nothing."

matt spun around, his face red with fury. "it meant nothing? you expect me to believe that? you think you can just brush it off like it’s nothing? you betrayed me, chris. you betrayed your own brother."

chris's hands trembled as he reached out. "i know, and i hate myself for it. but we can get past this. we have to."

matt's voice was a whisper, filled with pain. "get past this? how? how do you expect me to ever trust you again?"

chris's eyes were pleading. "i'll do anything, matt. anything to make this right. just give me a chance."

matt's shoulders sagged, the weight of the betrayal bearing down on him. "i don't know if i can, chris. i don't know if i can ever look at you the same way again."

chris's voice was barely audible. "please, matt. don't give up on us. we're family."

matt looked at chris, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow. "family? you should have thought about that before you did what you did."

taglist — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @bandanamatt @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @frozenpeanutbutterr @jetaimevous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike @blahbel668 @slutforsturnioloss @realuvrrr @sturnobsessedwh0re

[lila-lou]

✨ His second exception - Pt. 2/? ✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, Ben being hurt, Reader being hurt, soft Ben, sad Ben, Ben loosing his shit- it´s STILL a fucking mess

Word Count: 5981

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 2 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

It had been three days since you returned from the hospital, and the house felt eerily silent. Ben had been trying, so hard, to get you to talk to him, but you couldn’t. Every time he asked a question or tried to start a conversation, you barely managed more than a monosyllabic response.

You spent most of your time in bed, staring at the ceiling or out the window, lost in your own world of pain. You barely ate or drank, and your physical and emotional exhaustion seemed to deepen with each passing hour. The grief was all-consuming, a dark cloud that overshadowed everything else.

Ben was at his wit’s end. He wanted to help, to ease your pain, but he felt powerless. He had tried bringing you your favorite meals, but they remained untouched. He had tried sitting with you in silence, hoping his presence alone would be enough, but it seemed to have little effect.

On the morning of the fourth day, Ben decided he couldn’t let this go on any longer. He needed to reach you, to pull you out of this spiral of despair. He found you in bed, as usual, your eyes blankly staring ahead. With a heavy heart, he sat down beside you, his hand gently resting on your arm.

“Hey”, he said softly, trying to catch your gaze. “I know you’re hurting. I am too. But we can’t keep going on like this. Please, talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling”.

You didn’t respond, your eyes flickering with a mix of emotions. It was clear that you were struggling, caught in a web of grief and numbness. Ben’s hand tightened slightly on your arm, a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

“Please, just let me in”, he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t stand seeing you like this. I want to help”.

You turned your head slowly, your gaze meeting his for the first time in days. “Just leave me alone”, you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of sorrow and frustration. “I can’t do this right now, Ben. Just… please”.

Your words cut through Ben’s usual cold and unhurtable demeanor like a knife. He felt his heart clench painfully in his chest. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He had always been the strong one, the one who never let anything get to him. But now, seeing you in so much pain and being unable to do anything about it, he felt utterly helpless.

“Alright”, he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll give you space. But please, if you need anything, anything at all, just let me know".

You turned away from him, tears streaming down your face, as he slowly stood up and left the room. The silence that followed was deafening, a reminder of the emptiness you felt inside.

Ben walked downstairs, feeling more lost than he ever had. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to do anything to release the frustration and pain that was consuming him. Instead, he walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, his head in his hands.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring blankly at the floor, before he left the house.

Eventually Ben couldn’t bear the suffocating silence any longer. He stood up from the couch and left the house, feeling like a shadow of himself. On the way to his car, he pulled out his phone and texted you, his fingers trembling slightly as he typed.

“I’m heading to the tower. If you need anything, call me”.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and got into the car, the drive to the tower feeling both too short and agonizingly long. Each mile away from you felt like a betrayal, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his presence was doing more harm than good.

When he arrived at the tower, he parked and walked in, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. He needed to be Soldier Boy now, to bury his personal pain and focus on something, anything, that could keep him from falling apart.

As he entered the meeting room, he found Butcher and Annie still discussing the repairs. They looked up as he walked in, their expressions a mix of concern and surprise.

“Ben”, Annie said softly.

Ben's demeanor shifted almost instantly as he entered the meeting room. The weight of his personal anguish was momentarily pushed aside as he slipped into his Soldier Boy persona. He greeted Butcher and Annie with a nod, his expression now focused and determined.

"How's the progress on the repairs?".

Butcher and Annie exchanged a glance, recognizing the change in Ben's demeanor. Butcher leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Slow, but steady", he replied. "We're getting there".

Ben nodded, his mind already racing with thoughts of logistics and strategy. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of cocaine, setting it on the table him. Without missing a beat, he began to prepare a line, his movements practiced and efficient.

Annie and Butcher watched Ben as he prepared the line of cocaine, concern etched on their faces. Annie couldn't help but feel a pang of worry for him. She cleared her throat, her voice soft and tentative.

"Ben, are you… okay?", she asked, her tone filled with genuine concern.

Ben looked up briefly, his eyes glazed and distant. He flashed a strained smile, trying to appear unaffected. "Peachy", he muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness.

As he rubbed the white dust from his nose, Annie exchanged another worried glance with Butcher.

Annie hesitated, sensing the tension in the air, but she pressed on, her voice gentle. "How's… how's (Y/N) holding up?".

Ben's jaw clenched, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He snapped at her, his tone harsh and biting. "Everyone's fucking fine", he growled, his voice laced with anger. "Just pass me the fucking construction report".

Annie recoiled slightly at his outburst. It was clear that Ben was struggling, and they would need to tread carefully around him.

Without a word, Annie handed Ben the construction report.

After a while of talking about the rebuilding, Hughie and Frenchie stepped into the room, their eyes widening as they spotted Ben sitting at the table. They exchanged a confused glance, clearly surprised to see him there.

Frenchie couldn't hide his excitement, a grin spreading across his face. "Soldier Boy!" he exclaimed, his tone laced with genuine happiness. "You're back!".

Butcher shot Frenchie a warning look, silently cautioning him to tread carefully. He knew that Ben was in a fragile state, and they couldn't afford any missteps.

Ben's expression remained impassive, his eyes flickering briefly as he acknowledged Hughie and Frenchie's presence. "Yeah", he muttered, his voice flat. "Back".

Frenchie rambled on, trying to lighten the mood with his usual brand of humor. "Fuck, Butcher", he said with a chuckle, "you were a pain in my arse the last three days. I thought I was going to lose my mind without Soldier Boy around to keep you in check".

Butcher rolled his eyes, but a small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Meanwhile, Hughie made his way over to Annie, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "How are you holding up?", he asked softly, his concern evident in his eyes.

Annie nodded in agreement with Hughie's question, her expression grave. "I can't lie, Hughie", she murmured, her gaze flicking towards Ben. "It's good that Ben's here to take a look over everything. The tower's been a mess the last three days, and we could use his leadership. But… he's not in a good mood".

Ben's grumble cut through the air, his frustration evident as he continued to pore over the report. "I can fucking hear you", he muttered under his breath, not bothering to look up from the papers in front of him. He grabbed another file and handed it to Butcher without a word, his jaw clenched with tension.

Annie watched Butcher carefully, then turned her attention back to Ben. "Ben", she began tentatively, "maybe you should take a break. You've been at this for hours".

Butcher glanced at Annie and then back at Ben, his expression unreadable. "She's right, mate", he said gruffly. "You look like shit. You need to get some rest".

Ben's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he pushed himself away from the table and stood up, running a hand through his hair. "Fine", he muttered, his tone terse. "But get those files to A-Train and MM. They need to deal with that supe in Florida".

He handed Butcher the file and then turned to Frenchie, thrusting another folder into his hands. "And you", he said, his voice clipped, "go after the supe in that file. Take your… chinese chick with you".

Frenchie raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, nodding in understanding as he took the file. "Got it", he said simply, his gaze flicking to Annie and Butcher before he headed out of the room.

Annie exchanged a worried glance with Butcher as Ben stormed off, his frustration palpable in the air. It was clear that he was struggling, but for now, all they could do was wait and hope that he would find a way to cope with his grief.

Hughie shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Say what you want about him, but Soldier Boy sure knows how to get things done", he mumbled, his admiration evident in his tone. "Efficient as hell".

In his office, Ben went for another line, the bitter taste piercing through the haze of his thoughts. He followed it with a sip of whiskey, the burning sensation offering a momentary distraction from the weight of his emotions.

Ben descended to meet with the heads of the departments, his mind focused on the tasks ahead. He outlined the plans for the next few weeks, his voice steady and authoritative as he issued instructions and delegated responsibilities. Despite the turmoil raging within him, he remained composed, his determination unwavering as he worked to keep the organization running smoothly.

Meanwhile, back at home, you moved slowly through the house, your footsteps heavy with the weight of your grief. You found yourself standing in front of the door to the baby's room, a door you had avoided for the past three days.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was just as you had left it, filled with the soft pastels and gentle touches you had so lovingly chosen. The sight of the crib, the tiny clothes, and the toys you had carefully arranged brought a fresh wave of pain crashing over you.

You walked over to the crib, your fingers tracing the delicate patterns on the blanket. Tears blurred your vision as you sat down in the rocking chair.

It was late when Ben finally came back home. The weight of the day's responsibilities and the lingering grief pressed heavily on his shoulders. Part of him dreaded returning, unable to face the sight of your suffering and the possibility of being rejected again, but he knew he had no choice.

As he walked through the house, he searched for you, calling your name softly. There was no response. Panic began to creep in until he noticed the open door of the baby's room. His heart sank as he approached it.

He stepped inside quietly, his eyes quickly finding you curled up and sleeping on the rocking chair, the little plush eagle clutched tightly in your arms. The sight tore at his heart, the depth of your grief mirrored in your posture even as you slept.

Ben knelt down beside the chair, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. He could see the tracks of dried tears on your cheeks, your expression troubled even in sleep.

For a moment, he just watched you, his own pain surfacing again. He wanted to hold you, to comfort you, but he feared waking you and causing you more distress. Instead, he sat there, for a while, his presence a silent promise that he was there for you, no matter how difficult things became.

Finally, he reached out and gently touched your shoulder, his voice soft and filled with love. "Hey", he whispered. "Let's get you to bed, okay?".

You stirred, your eyes fluttering open to find Ben's concerned gaze. The sight of him brought a fresh wave of emotions, but you were too exhausted to cry anymore. You nodded weakly, allowing him to help you up from the chair.

Ben wrapped his arms around you, guiding you back to the bedroom. He helped you into bed, tucking the blankets around you with care. As he moved to leave, you grabbed his hand, holding on tightly.

"Stay", you murmured, your voice barely audible. "Please".

Ben's heart ached at the plea, and he nodded, slipping into bed beside you. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both lay there, enveloped in the shared silence of your grief.

The night passed slowly, Ben lying awake, his mind a storm of thoughts and emotions. He kept his arms around you, hoping that his presence might offer some comfort, even if just a little. But sleep eluded him, his eyes remaining open, staring at the ceiling as the hours ticked by.

When morning came, you stirred in his arms, your eyes fluttering open. The room was dimly lit by the early light of dawn seeping through the curtains. As you fully awoke and realized Ben was still holding you, you turned around, facing away from him, your back to his chest.

Ben felt the shift, a familiar pang of sadness settling in his chest. He understood that you needed space, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear. He released his hold, his arms falling to his sides, giving you the room you seemed to silently ask for.

“I know it’s hard", he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just want you to know I’m here. I won’t leave you”.

You didn’t respond, the silence heavy and thick between you. The pain of your loss was still raw, a wound that had barely begun to heal. Ben sighed, pressing his eyes shut for a moment, willing himself to stay strong for both of you.

After a few minutes, he slowly got out of bed, moving quietly so as not to disturb you further.

Downstairs, he went through the motions of making coffee, the mundane task a small anchor in the sea of emotional turmoil. He poured himself a cup, but the familiar taste offered little comfort.

His heart ached, but he pushed the pain down, focusing on the present moment. You needed him, even if you couldn’t express it, and he would be there.

After a while, he heard soft footsteps behind him. Turning around, he saw you standing at the foot of the stairs, looking as fragile as he felt. He wanted to reach out, to pull you into his arms and promise that things would eventually get better, but he knew words were useless right now.

“Morning”, he said gently, trying to offer a small semblance of normalcy. “I made coffee. Want one?”.

You just shook your head, the weight of your grief making it hard to form words. You wanted to leave the kitchen, to escape the suffocating memories that seemed to cling to every corner of the house. But Ben reached out, his hands gently grasping your hips in a tender attempt to connect.

The touch, though well-intentioned, felt like a spark igniting a volatile mixture of pain and frustration. You snapped his hands away, your voice rising in a sudden, uncontrollable surge of anger and sorrow.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”, you yelled, the words echoing through the quiet house. Your face contorted with a mix of rage and heartbreak, tears welling up in your eyes once more.

Ben recoiled slightly, the hurt clear in his eyes, but he didn’t back down. “I just… I just want to fucking help you (y/n)”.

“Just leave me alone, Ben”, you sobbed, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this with you. I can’t… I can’t even look at you right now”.

Ben’s heart felt like it was breaking all over again as he watched you retreat, your words like daggers stabbing into his already wounded soul. Once again, you had pushed him away, making him feel like everything was his fault.

He stood there, feeling utterly helpless, as the weight of his own grief threatened to crush him.

He clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw tight with the effort to hold back his own tears. He wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but he knew that wouldn’t change anything.

With a heavy sigh, he turned away, his footsteps heavy as he left the kitchen.

As Ben turned away from the kitchen, the weight of your words still heavy on his heart, he paused for a moment in the doorway. His shoulders slumped with defeat, he mumbled softly, almost to himself, "I'm at the tower".

Without waiting for a response, knowing that none would come, he left the house, his steps heavy with the burden of grief and guilt. Outside, he climbed into his car, the engine rumbling to life as he drove towards the tower.

When he arrived, he didn't waste any time. He quickly changed into his supe suit, the familiar fabric feeling like a second skin. It was a facade, a mask he wore to hide the pain and turmoil raging inside him, but it was the only way he knew how to keep going.

As the days passed, the chasm between you and Ben seemed to widen with each passing moment. At night, when the darkness pressed in and the weight of your grief threatened to suffocate you, you found yourself yearning for his presence, craving the comfort of his arms around you.

But as the sun rose and the day stretched out before you, the ache in your heart turned to anger, and you pushed him away with every ounce of strength you had left. You couldn't bear to look at him, to see the pain in his eyes mirrored in your own, so you shut him out, retreating into your own world of sorrow and silence.

For Ben, each day felt like a battle, a constant struggle to navigate the shifting landscape of your emotions. He wanted to help, to ease your pain and bridge the widening gap between you, but every attempt seemed to only push you further away.

He tried to give you space, to respect your need for solitude, but it tore him apart to see you suffering and know that he couldn't do anything to ease your pain. The nights were the hardest, when he lay awake beside you, listening to the sound of your uneven breathing, knowing that even in sleep, you were haunted by the ghosts of your grief.

But he refused to give up.

This evening was no exception. As Ben emerged from the shower, the towel loosely draped around his hips, he felt the weight of the evening settling around him. He glanced at you lying in bed, the distance between you palpable even in the dim light of the room. It had become a familiar routine – he was only allowed to be around you at night, while over the day you didn’t want to see him or talk to him.

With a heavy sigh, Ben walked towards the closet, his movements slow and deliberate. He could feel your gaze on him, heavy with unspoken words and unanswered questions.

As he pulled on a fresh pair of underwear, he couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that seemed to permeate every corner of the room. The silence between you was deafening, a stark reminder of all that had been lost.

Finally dressed, Ben turned towards the bed, his heart heavy with the weight of the evening ahead. He knew that tonight would be no different from any other night – the same silent longing, the same unspoken desires. But still, he couldn’t help but hope that somehow, things would be different.

As soon as Ben slipped inside the bed, you instinctively cuddled against him, seeking the warmth and comfort of his presence. He felt a pang of both relief and sadness as you nestled closer to him, the physical closeness a stark contrast to the emotional distance that had grown between you over the past two weeks.

Unable to resist any longer, Ben finally broke the heavy silence that hung in the air. His voice was soft, tentative, as if afraid of shattering the fragile peace that had settled between you.

“Is this… Is this how it’s going to be from now on?”, he asked. He couldn’t bear the thought of continuing to drift apart, of living in this limbo where neither of you truly knew where you stood.

You didn’t respond immediately, your silence stretching between you like a chasm. Ben held his breath, waiting for any sign of acknowledgment, any indication of what was going through your mind.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Ben”, you said, the weight of your uncertainty heavy in the air. “I don’t know if I can go back to how things were before”.

Ben’s heart sank at your words, the fear of losing you threatening to overwhelm him.

Ben sighed heavily, the weight of exhaustion and emotional turmoil bearing down on him like a heavy burden. He looked at you, seeing the toll that the past few weeks had taken on both of you. His heart ached with a mixture of sadness and frustration.

He felt utterly drained from the lack of sleep, from the constant back-and-forth of your emotions, from the feeling of helplessness as he watched you suffer. Each night, he lay awake, his mind spinning with thoughts of what could have been, what should have been.

He was exhausted from hearing your tears, from feeling your anger directed at him, from the overwhelming sense of rejection that seemed to seep into every corner of their relationship. But most of all, he was exhausted from the silent pain of losing a child, a pain that you seemed to have forgotten was his too.

As he lay there beside you, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of bitterness and resentment. He wanted to scream, to shake you and demand to know why you couldn’t see the pain he was in, why you couldn’t offer him the same comfort and support that he had tried so hard to give you.

But he knew that would only push you further away. So instead, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as if trying to bridge the growing divide between you.

It had been one month since the loss of your baby, and the house felt more like a ghost of the home it once was. Ben had thrown himself into work, spending long hours at the tower because you kept pushing him away. Meanwhile, you remained in your own world, a silent observer of a life that seemed to pass by without you.

You sat on the couch, curled into a blanket, staring out the window, lost in thought. The world outside moved on, but you felt stuck in a place of endless grief and numbness.

The front door opened, and Ben walked in, followed closely by Butcher. You barely registered their presence until Butcher's voice cut through the silence like a knife.

"For fuck’s sake, Soldier Boy!", Butcher snapped, his tone filled with frustration and concern. "You need to sleep. You almost got yourself killed today".

Ben's eyes were dark with exhaustion, the lines on his face deeper than usual. He rubbed his temples, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "I'm fucking fine, Butcher. I can handle it".

Butcher stepped closer, his expression hardening. "No, you bloody well can’t. Look at yourself. You’re a fucking mess, and it's gonna get you killed if you don’t get your shit together".

Ben's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I said I’m fine", he repeated, his voice edged with irritation. "Just drop it".

You watched the exchange from your spot on the couch, your heart aching for Ben but feeling too numb to intervene. The room fell silent, the tension thick in the air.

Butcher glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. "You two need to sort this out", he said more quietly. "This can’t go on".

Ben turned to look at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before he turned away, the pain in his gaze clear.

You simply stood up, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on your shoulders, and walked upstairs without another word. The sound of your footsteps on the stairs echoed through the house, amplifying the silence that followed.

Butcher turned to Ben, who was pinching the bridge of his nose, looking more defeated than Butcher had ever seen him.

“Ben, you need to face this head-on”, Butcher said, his tone a mixture of frustration and sympathy. “You can’t keep running on fumes and pretending everything’s fine”.

Ben dropped his hand from his face, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and helplessness. “What the fuck do you want me to do, Butcher?”, he snapped. “She doesn’t want to talk to me. She doesn’t want me around half the time. I don’t know what to do anymore”.

Butcher sighed, a heavy weight settling in his chest as he looked at Ben. "I know it's tough, mate. But you can't keep going like this. You need to take a long-ass nap, clear your head, and try talking to her again tomorrow".

Ben nodded, the exhaustion evident in every line of his face. "Yeah, you're probably right", he admitted, his voice heavy with defeat.

Butcher clapped him on the shoulder, offering a small, supportive smile. "Get some rest, Soldier Boy".

With that, Butcher turned and left Ben alone in the living room, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Ben sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he contemplated his next move. He knew Butcher was right—he couldn't keep going like this. He needed to find a way to break through the wall of silence between him and you, even if it felt like an impossible task.

With a weary sigh, Ben made his way upstairs to the bedroom, hoping that a few hours of sleep might bring some clarity to the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside him.

As Ben lay beside you in bed, the weight of the past month pressing down on him, he felt a pang of sadness at the growing distance between you. Unlike two weeks ago, when you had sought comfort in his embrace, the last few days had been marked by a coldness that seemed to permeate every interaction between you.

With a heavy heart, Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out the pills Butcher had given him. He swallowed them without hesitation, hoping that they would bring him the elusive sleep that had eluded him for so long.

As he lay there, waiting for the pills to take effect, Ben felt the exhaustion of the past month wash over him like a tidal wave. His eyelids grew heavy, and he welcomed the darkness that enveloped him, if only for a few hours.

With a final sigh, Ben closed his eyes.

The next day, Ben woke up to find himself alone in bed. After taking a shower and getting dressed, he searched for you, eventually finding you sitting on the floor in front of the crib. He approached you cautiously, the tension in the air palpable.

"Hey", he said softly, his voice breaking the silence. "How are you feeling today?".

You remained silent, your gaze fixed on the empty crib before you. Ben's heart sank at the lack of response, but he refused to give up.

"I know this has been hard", he continued, his voice filled with empathy. "But we need to talk about what happened. We can't keep avoiding it forever".

Still, you said nothing, your silence like a barrier between you. Ben sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

"Please, (Y/N)", he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't do this alone. I need you".

You snapped, your frustration boiling over. "Just leave me alone, Ben!", you exclaimed, your voice trembling with emotion.

But Ben, no longer overwhelmed by exhaustion, refused to back down. His patience had worn thin after a month of trying to navigate the minefield of your grief.

"I won't fucking leave you alone", he snapped, his temper finally breaking. "I'm fucking tired of this shit! We need to face this together, whether you like it or not".

His words hung in the air, the tension between you thick and heavy.

Ben’s steps were heavy as he closed the distance between you, his frustration palpable in every movement. With a firm grip, he cupped your jaw, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

“Fucking look at me when I talk to you!”. His voice cracked with raw emotion, a mix of anger and desperation lacing his words. “Baby, I can’t do this anymore", his voice breaking.

You pushed against Ben's grip, the overwhelming need to escape consuming you. With a determined strength, you stood up, ready to flee the suffocating confines of the room.

But Ben wasn't having it. In a swift motion, he grabbed both of your wrists, his touch firm yet gentle, pulling you back towards him. You stumbled against his chest, the warmth of his embrace enveloping you despite your resistance.

"Let me go", you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper, your heart heavy with sorrow.

But Ben held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, refusing to let you slip away. Your hands remained trapped between your bodies, a physical manifestation of the emotional barrier that had grown between you.

"Please", you whispered again, your voice trembling with emotion.

"I can't". Ben replied, his own voice choked with tears. "I can't lose you too".

As you wiggled free from Ben’s grasp once more, determination fueled your steps as you began to walk away from him, your heart heavy with the weight of your shared pain. But within seconds, the air crackled with tension, a palpable sense of impending doom hanging over the room.

All the weeks of Ben suppressing his emotions, of being unable to grieve openly, of shouldering the burden of strength for both of you, came crashing down in a torrent of rage and despair. With a primal scream of anguish, he grabbed the swinging chair nearby, his muscles tensing with the force of his fury.

In one swift, violent motion, he hurled the chair against the baby’s closet, the impact echoing through the room with a deafening crash. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass filled the air, mingling with your cries of shock and despair.

The closet collapsed under the force of the blow, its contents tumbling out in a chaotic jumble of memories and broken dreams. You stood frozen in horror, tears streaming down your cheeks as you watched the wreckage unfold before you.

As the chaos unfolded before your eyes, you screamed at Ben, the words tearing from your throat in a desperate plea for understanding. "What the fuck are you doing?!". Your voice echoed off the walls, a mixture of fear and anger fueling your words.

But Ben's rage consumed him, his eyes wild with desperation as he stormed towards the changing table. With a primal roar, he brought his fist down with a sickening thud, the wood splintering beneath the force of his blow.

You recoiled in horror, the sound reverberating through your bones as you watched him unleash his fury upon the furniture. But it was when he reached for the crib that your heart skipped a beat, a cold shiver coursing down your spine.

His hands hovered over the crib, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as his eyes landed on the little plush eagle nestled among the blankets. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken grief.

Tears welled in Ben's eyes, his chest heaving with emotion as he reached out to touch the soft fabric of the toy. And in that simple gesture, you saw the cracks in his armor, the raw vulnerability hidden beneath his facade of strength.

For a moment, the room fell silent, the only sound the soft whisper of your breath mingling with the quiet sobs that wracked Ben's body.

The soft glow emanating from Ben's chest pierced through the haze of grief that had consumed you for four long weeks. In that moment, the realization hit you like a bolt of lightning: Ben was hurting too. He had been shouldering the weight of your shared pain, sacrificing his own emotions to be strong for you.

With trembling steps, you approached him, the floor cold beneath your bare feet. You watched as he sank to his knees, the plush eagle clutched tightly in his hand, a symbol of the innocence lost and the love that still remained.

Your heart ached as you knelt before him, the weight of your sorrow pressing down upon you like a leaden shroud. But despite the heaviness of your grief, you reached out, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, offering what little comfort you could.

His body trembled beneath your touch, his breaths ragged and uneven as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Tears mingled with yours.

In that moment, you didn't care about the risk, about the possibility of his radiating chest exploding and engulfing you both in its fiery embrace. All that mattered was the need to hold him close, to offer him the comfort and solace he had so selflessly given you in your darkest hours.

With his face still buried against the curve of your neck, his silent sobs reverberating through your shared embrace, you pressed him closer to you, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. You could feel the warmth of his tears mingling with your own, a bittersweet symphony of grief and love.

Time seemed to stand still as you held each other amidst the wreckage of your shattered dreams, the world outside fading into insignificance. In that moment, there was only the two of you.

After what felt like an eternity, Ben finally wrapped his arms around your small frame, pulling you closer against him and onto his thighs, his grip strong and unwavering. Without lifting his head, he held you tightly, as if afraid that letting go would mean losing you forever.

———————————

A/N: Honestly, I fucking loved that chapter.. please let me know what you think.🥰

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Part 3

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings

[lanitalay]

At sea pt. 2

Rhysand x reader

a/n: I am terrible at naming fics lol

word count:1.4k warnings: none

Part 1

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You can’t control your face as your eyes widen and your mouth gapes at the news. 

“Oh…” is all you managed to say as an emptiness creeps up to your throat. He was your friend and nothing more. You had never so much as pecked the High Lord. There was no reason for such a reaction from you. It should not have shocked you, either. He would have had to marry eventually and the renegade daughter of an unstable sailor would not do anything to strengthen the court. “She accepted the proposal?” 

“Beron did”

That was another thing to consider. The High Lord of Autumn was well known for his cruelty. You could only imagine the life his only daughter had lived so far. Marrying Rhysand would be a mercy. It would grant her his protection, give her an escape from her rotten father. So being upset by the news was entirely selfish. You could not protest.  It would take every single one of your efforts to move on. But for the sake of the war, for the sake of maintaining peace amongst the courts and for helping a helpless female you would grit your teeth and accept that the attraction you felt to the male standing before you was hopeless.

“Congratulations are in order then, High Lord” you say with whatever smile you could muster. 

“I-” he begins but stops, looking away from you. His eyes remain on the drawings on the book in front of you and the air feels heavy with something bigger than your own sorrow. A few heartbeats later he returns his gaze to yours and offers you a solemn grin “thank you”. 

Weeks pass by as you catalog each new finding from your travels. Paula, your head researcher, was happy with the outcome of the expedition but that only meant more work for you as she asked you to write a meticulous article for each sample being cataloged. By the end of the day your hands were cramped and your writing was barely legible. The exhaustion was also mental, but that was more than welcome because in a few short days your High Lord would be marrying a princess. You were grateful for the fatigue as you reached your bed and collapsed into a dreamless sleep night after night. 

“All I’m saying is that you don’t have to marry her” Mor’s voice bounces off the walls of Rhysands study. 

“There is no other way, cousin. Ever since the situation with Eris the Autumn Court has refused diplomatic relations. We need their fire wielders and their footmen to stand a chance against Hybern” the blonde sighs, exasperated. They have had this discussion plenty of times before. 

“You could hold off the wedding until after the war. Once everything is settled you can break it off” 

“Beron made it clear his compliance is reliant on us getting married before the leaves begin to brown” 

“You don’t love her! She’s basically a child Rhysand and you’d be condemning the rest of your life to be spent with a female who is not right for you” he massaged his temples as he listened to the same arguments she had been making since the announcement. 

“As High Lord I need to make sacrifices for the well being of the court. This is the price I must pay” 

“Cousin, please” 

“Mor, I can’t keep having this conversation” she heaves a breath and leaves the room. The slam of the door rattling the painting and shelves on the walls

“He’s the most stubborn person I’ve ever known, and gods above, I’m Kier’s daughter” Mor rants while pacing the length of your sitting room. She had winnowed to your apartment a few moments ago and knocked so loud on the door that you thought Hybern was invading. 

“He has his reasons, Mor” you breathe, trying to keep your composure. Hiding your unhappiness about the matter was easier when you did not think or talk about it. 

“You should talk to him, he always listens to you more than he does the rest of us” you begin to shake your head in negation but she insists “you were the only one that got through to him when he wanted to get that awful face tattoo”. 

“I only said I didn’t like it” 

“Exactly! He cares about your opinion. Just… talk to him. He won’t listen to me” you give her a stern look and she replies “please, I know he’ll live to regret it”. 

How could you tell your friend, the day before his wedding, that what he is doing is a mistake? He was not doing it with thoughtless intent. More backup was needed and he found a way to get it, at his own expense. What would be a good argument to convince him otherwise? Would he tell you to mind your business? Would this wreck your friendship? 

Three knocks on a wooden door alert him to your presence.

“Come in” 

“Hi, Rhys,” you greet him. Smiling as you see his face for the first time in weeks. He looks up from the paper he is reading and his features soften as soon as he spots you. 

“Hi, y/n” you shift on your feet. He clears his throat and motions towards a chair in front of the desk “sit, please”. When you sit he adds “what can I help you with?” 

The golden buttons of your blouse feel cool against your fingers as you fiddle with them. “I have to talk to you… about tomorrow”.

His jaw clenches in a way you are not used to “what about tomorrow?” 

“Are you positive you want to go through with it?” 

“Y/n I have no interest in debating my nuptials. It will happen tomorrow and I hope to see you there. But if not, then it won’t make a difference”. Burning fills your chest. Stinging warns you there’s tears that are threatening to spill over. He had never spoken to you like that. Not once. 

“Are you sure it is the right thing to do?” You manage to ask. 

“Is there a reason you don’t want me to go through with it?”

“Mor believes you’ll regret it, in time” 

“I did not ask about what Mor thinks, she has made her opinions clear. I asked if there is a reason you don’t want me to marry the princess?” 

You can only think of one. Selfishly, you think he'd be happier with you, in the long run. But confessing you have a crush the day before his wedding is too pathetic. He is thinking of everyone but himself. You are only thinking about him and yourself. So you lower your gaze back to the golden buttons, and say “no, I’m only here because Mor asked me to talk to you but I see you are certain so I’ll tell her I tried”. You stand and leave, refusing to meet his stare as you feel it burning at your back. 

For the second night in a row you hear knocks at your door. This time they are even and heavy handed. You smell him before reaching the knob and your heart sputters as if recoiling from who stands outside

“What is it, Rhys?” You ask, voice meek against the High Lord towering over you. 

“Why don’t you want me to marry the princess?” 

“I already told you” he remains in the doorway, eyes grave, breath unsteady. 

“Answer me truthfully” you step aside and motion for him to come inside, no need for your neighbors to hear about this. He walks in and immediately turns on his heels, you slam your back on your closed door and look up at him. His heart is also uneven, you’re close enough to hear it. 

“Rhys…”

“Y/n…. please… if you think I’m making a mistake I need you to tell me why” it hurts to see him like this. He’s not resplendent as usual, his shoulders are slanted and his head hangs low. 

Low enough you can feel his breath mixing with your own. 

“I…” you think of the war, of Hybern, of the princess and of the chaos that will unfold if this wedding does not happen. But then you think of your friend, of the male you love spending the rest of his days with another female and, thinking of yourself, knowing it is illogical and self centered, finish saying “I want to be the one you marry”.

[flufffilleddonut]

Family Bonding

Summary - While Lucifer is now helping Charlie with the Hazbin Hotel, he still feels remorseful for not offering his services sooner. Luckily, with some help from Vaggie, Charlie knows just how to make him feel better.

Word Count - 1080

-

Lucifer was at the Hazbin Hotel, hovering in one of the hallways filled with doors to the residents’ rooms. He was by one of the ceiling lights, attempting to fix it, as it would not light up.

Charlie was walking down the hallway to check in on her father’s progress, with Vaggie accompanying her. As the couple rounded a corner, Charlie spotted her father up by the light. He had a look of sorrow on his face, as his hands fiddled with the light fixture.

“Dad? Is everything okay?” Charlie called out.

Lucifer turned and looked at his daughter before abandoning the light and flying down to the pair.

“Charlie, I…” He started, pausing for a moment. “I’m sorry that I’ve failed you so much.”

Charlie was slightly taken aback.

“Dad, it’s okay.” She reassured him. “It's just a light. We could always get it replaced.”

“No, it’s not the light. I just… I wish that I got involved in your project sooner. I wish that I was there for you, helping out since day one. I should’ve been, and there’s no excuse for why I wasn’t.” Lucifer said, looking down at the ground.

Charlie’s expression turned to one of empathy.

“We can’t change the past, Dad. If we could, I’m sure we all have things that we would do differently.” Charlie said, looking over at Vaggie, who smiled in response. Charlie turned back to her father, placing a hand on his shoulder. “What’s important is that you’re here now, trying your best to help out and make up for lost time.”

Lucifer looked up at Charlie, a slight smile on his face.

“Thanks, Charlie. That helps to hear. I suppose it’s just hard not to feel a bit sad remembering the bad things you’ve done in the past, y’know?” Lucifer said, his smile fading a bit.

Vaggie turned her head away. She could relate.

Charlie didn’t like seeing her father upset, and wished that there was a way she could make him feel better. She thought back to when she was a child, and how her father used to cheer her up when she was sad. Suddenly, she got an idea.

Charlie gave Lucifer a light shove, causing him to fall back onto the carpeted floor. She then planted herself on his waist, pinning him down.

“Vaggie! Come get his arms!” Charlie called out, beaming.

Vaggie was reluctant, but figured that Charlie had some sort of unorthodox plan to cheer up the King of Hell. She walked over and sat on her legs opposite Charlie, Lucifer’s hands being pinned beneath her knees.

“Uh, Ch-Charlie, dear, what are you doing?” Lucifer said, concern evident in his voice.

“Making you feel better the way you taught me!” Charlie chimed.

“And uh, how exactly might that b-'' Lucifer began, the sight of Charlie’s wiggling fingers inching towards him before being pulled back cutting him off.

Lucifer began to squirm, a nervous smile appearing on his face. He understood what Charlie meant, and knew that he could never bring himself to use his powers on his daughter or her girlfriend, leaving him helpless to their attack.

“Now, Charlie, I’m sure we can talk about this. No need to make any hasty decisions.” Lucifer pleaded, keeping his eyes trained on Charlie’s fluttering fingers.

Recognizing the situation, Vaggie spoke up.

“Tsk, tsk. You should have known better than to be upset around the hotel’s very own Tickle Monster. Now she has to tickle the sadness out of you. Trust me, I’ve experienced it before.” She said with a smirk.

Lucifer flushed, squirming more madly.

“Girls, please. We can work something else out, right?” He pleaded further.

“Hmm…” Charlie said, pretending to think. “Nope, too late! Tickles it is!”

With that, Charlie dug her wiggling fingers into Lucifer’s stomach, making him shriek before laughter started pouring out of his mouth.

“NAHAHA! CHAHAHAHARLIE!” Lucifer laughed out, his wings beginning to flap against the ground.

Vaggie giggled softly. 

“Wow Hon, I see where you get it from.” She teased.

“Vaaaagie!” Charlie whined, a slight blush appearing on her face. “You’re supposed to help tease my dad, not me!”

Vaggie chucked. 

“Sorry babe, couldn’t help myself.”

Lucifer continued laughing helplessly beneath the girls.

“NOHOHO! AHAHAHA! PLEHEHE-AHAHAHA!” He attempted to plead, Charlie’s fingers continuing to dance around his stomach.

Not wanting to break him so quickly, Charlie removed her hands and placed them behind herself, latching onto the underside of her father’s knees. She began gently scraping her nails against the area.

Lucifer flinched at the contact, becoming jumpy as Charlie attacked the sensitive spot. His legs started lightly kicking up and down, as his wings continued to flap.

“Ehehehe! Chahaharlie! Spahahare yohour old fahahather!” He giggled out.

“Not until I’m certain that you’re feeling better!” Charlie said playfully.

As Vaggie watched Lucifer’s wings flap against the ground, she got an idea.

“Hey, Charlie, check this out.” Vaggie said, reaching her hands over to Lucifer’s top set of wings.

“I aham feheheeling behetter, I prohom- eEE!” Lucifer began, a squeal arising as Vaggie wiggled her fingers into his wings.

“NAHAHA! STAHAHAP! AHAHAHA!” Lucifer laughed loudly.

“Woah! I didn’t know that wings could be ticklish!” Charlie said in amazement, as she switched to attacking Lucifer’s bottom set of wings.

“Oh, they are. Greatly so, in fact.” Vaggie said, remembering the times she and her fellow exorcists playfully fought one another.

“PLEHEHE-AHAHAHA! GIR-AHAHAHAHA! MEHEHERC-AHAHAHAHAHA!” Lucifer attempted to plead, finding that he was barely able to form words.

Worried that she might overdo things, Charlie slowed her hands to a stop and pulled them away from her father, with Vaggie following suit.

As Charlie and Vaggie got off of Lucifer, he curled in on himself, hiding away his wings and attempting to catch his breath.

“Well, I’d say that you have been sufficiently cheer- aH!” Charlie started, her statement cut off as her father yanked her to the ground, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Never change.” He said, keeping her in his hold.

“Aww! I won’t, Dad.” Charlie said, returning the embrace.

Charlie motioned for Vaggie to join them. When she walked within arm’s length, both Charlie and Lucifer pulled her down into the hug. Vaggie blushed slightly.

“We’re going to be here a while, aren’t we?” Vaggie questioned, although she felt that she already knew the answer.

“Yup.” Charlie and Lucifer said in unison.

Vaggie sighed defeatedly, despite the smile on her face.

Guess the light will have to wait.

-

[theartistisme43]

Chapter Two: The Smell of Copper and Disinfectant

HOSPITAL, BLOOD, PANIC ATTACK, AND GUN MENTION TW:

There was a dense ringing in SMG4’s ears as he floated in a void of numbness, he could hear a distant beep every now and then, and muffled, discombobulated talking…

4 didn’t know where he was, or what was happening… Every time he tried to figure it out, something pulled him into a deeper rest, but he could feel himself getting closer to a light every time he attempted to gather his thoughts.

All he remembered was creating tomato soop, and then… Nothing.

4 tried to get out of whatever state he was in, but he felt trapped and unable to move, as if he was being weighed down by something, almost like…

Sleep paralysis?…

Was he asleep?

The more he thought of it, the more he could hear, the more he could feel, the more he could think.

Just like a knife, memory cut into him.

“I’m sorry, I have to do this…”

BANG!

With a gasp, SMG4 shot up in bed, making Mario almost fall back with a gasp of his own.

4’s eyes refocused as his mind began to process where he was, as they tiredly scanned the area around him.

All of his friends were here, scattered around in his hospital room.

Just as 4 intended to speak, a sharp, horrible pain made him hiss in reaction. He looked down, seeing a gauze pad that was secured by tight bandages wrapped around his chest and back to hold it in place. 4 could feel how tender his skin was under the medical wraps.

“…wh…” He found his voice as he winced hard.

A gloved hand took his, as Mario looked at him with love in his eyes… And an air of sorrow to them too.

“Miei cari Quattro... ero così preoccupata!” The red plumber embraced him, avoiding his wound.

SMG4 enjoyed the hug for a moment, but wondered what all the fuss was about, he couldn’t remember what happened for some reason… Did he have a kitchen accident or something?

“SMG4!” Meggy exclaimed, coming to hug him too. “You’re awake!”

4 attempted to use his right arm to pat her back, but it hurt far too much for him to move it, so he used his left to do it instead.

“What happened?” 4’s question made almost everyone in the room uncomfortable, as a few of his friends avoided looking at him.

Meggy sighed, willing herself to say… Something bad from what 4 could gather from her face.

“SMG4… Do you… Not remember?” She asked softly.

“No, please tell me..” 4 said. “I can handle it, whatever it is..”

“SMG4.” Meggy began, brows furrowing. “SMG3 shot you…”

4 paled, the ringing in his ears returned as his heart began pounding.

Like a train, feelings of grief, betrayal, and heartbreak came hurtling into him.

Now he could remember.

SMG3’s eyes were cold and empty, the way his face looked was like something straight out of a horror movie.

SMG4 tried to brush it off by mentioning his newest meme, but 3 didn’t care, merely raising his gun with the intention of killing 4.

And he shot him.

Watching him bleed out as he lost consciousness…

SMG4 was hyperventilating as he clutched himself, suffering through a panic attack as the previous day’s events became clear.

The very person he had come to trust, come to love, stabbed him in the back. And why? Because he got bored of being good? Because being evil was much easier for him?

“SMG4, it’s going to be okay…” Meggy tried to vocally help him through his attack, but all of the emotions he felt were relentless.

SMG4’s brain couldn’t register anything as a monsoon of thoughts and questions rendered all of his senses useless.

His fingers were practically digging into his skin as his chest heaved, eyes staring into nothing.

All 4 could see in his mind was SMG3’s terrifying expression as he watched him lay there helpless, his own blood pooling around him.

But suddenly… He was encased in warmth, a safe feeling he had felt many times.

Mario held SMG4 close, letting him clutch at his shirt as to not damage himself anymore, like the other times he helped him through past panic attacks.

The meme guardian rode the aftermath of his attack, coming back to reality with heavy yet softer breaths.

“There we are…” Mario muttered. “I got you.”

4 had pushed his body too hard, his ribs hurt slightly from his rapid sharp breaths, and this didn’t help with his still tender injury.

Mario saw something in 4’s eyes fade.. He didn’t know if it was exhaustion, or… Hope leaving him.

As 4 returned to sleep, Mario still held his hand, his heart breaking as he watched someone who was so full of life feel so defeated…

“Gli farò pagare la pena per averti ferito, Quattro, te lo prometto. Non avrò pace finché non lo troveranno..”

Mario had tried to whisper only loud enough for 4 to hear, but his quiet promise was understood by his green brother.

Luigi looked on in concern, as he watched his twin brother begin a tread down a darker path... Grief considered, he wanted 3 to pay for this too, but this just wasn't right... This wasn't Mario.

"Come on guys." Meggy whispered. "Let's let SMG4 rest."

Their friend group had quietly, one by one, left the room, but Luigi stayed put. He joined his brother's side, placing a kind and comforting hand onto Mario's own.

Hurt, angry, tired eyes glanced down, and then up to Luigi's face.

Luigi looked back with a soft and concerned look in his, as Mario silently brought his hand down to his side, away from Luigi's hand.

It would be a fight to get Mario back, but Luigi was willing to do whatever it took to save his brother from his own rage.

"Sono qui anche per te, Mario. Non dimenticarlo mai..."