#identity v x reader angst

[fishermanshook]

ASK: Hi:) if you feel like it how do you think ganji norton and naib would react to reader saying they feel safe with them?

“TRUST IN ME!”

( batter , prospector & mercenary ) + gn!reader

occ , angst in naib & ganji’s part , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

To fall in love is a risk not all are willing to take. Putting your heart on the line could result in rejection and heartache instead of love and happiness.

To fall in love in a place like this is out of the ordinary, but not exactly uncommon. And as you find yourself sinking more into your lovers embrace, you can’t help but whisper the words;

“I trust you.”

꒰wc꒱ 1.3k

✦— THE BATTER

You say it to him after a match where one reckless move could’ve killed you.

It’s night when the Batter, Ganji Gupta, holds you tight in his arms. Maybe a little too tight for your liking, but you did put him in a frightening situation earlier today. You recall shoving him out of the way in order to save him from a blow to your head. You don't remember much after that. Just blurry memories of being in Emily's office and then, returning to your room with Ganji.

“Ganji,” you sigh, clawing at his arms in an attempt to free yourself from his grasp, even if it’s just a little bit. “You’ve gotta loosen up a little bit, please. I’m really sorry I did that earlier, but you needed to get out…”

Ganji is quick to stop your rambling by holding you (somehow) even tighter than before. “[name], you got hit on the head with an axe. None the less, a Detention hit. If I—“ Ganji sucked in a deep breath of air, letting it fall from his mouth before speaking again. "If I hadn't used my last ball I don't think you would've struggled out in time. And I don't want to think about having to leave you behind because that was your last chair."

Immediately, Ganji stiffens and sits ups. he seems to have finally processed what just happened.

"[name]. you could've died. And for what?" Ganji repeats the question while shaking you by your shoulders, tears pricking at his eyes threating to fall.

You cup his face and put your forehead to his, allowing his to fulling chompreheand the choice you made during the last match.

"I understand it was stupid of me," You start, closing your eyes. "But I don't do things without reason."

The Batter quickly wipes away at his falling tears, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "Then why did you do it? You said it yourself, it was a stupid choice."

"Yes, but I did it for you. I did it because I have put more trust into you than anyone else in this wretched manor. And I knew, that even if I didn't make it out during that last game, that you would still be okay. Surviving another match means surviving another day. And for you, I'd do that again."

"God," Ganji wipes at his nose. "I hope you don't."

✦— THE PROSPECTOR

You say it to him when you’re tired and vulnerable. when anything can happen.

It was early in the morning when the Prospector, Norton Campbell, snuck into your room to pry you awake from your slumber. With your bedroom key in hand (you gave it to him in case of an emergency), he tip toed into your room. He couldn’t help but silently laugh as he peered at your morning appearance. Hair a mess with a side of droll staining your pillow. Cute, but he can stare more later.

The Prospector is quick to shake you awake, pinning your arms to your side so you don’t land a hit on him in fear of being attacked. As he hovers above you, he explains that there’s something he wishes to show you.

“But Norton,” you whisper into his ear “the sun isn’t even up yet.” You hoped the darkness of your room could conceal the light blush on your face.

“Exactly why I want you to come with me. I promise it’ll be worth it.” Norton mumbled, pulling you out from under the covers. Sliding on a pair of shoes, you drag your achy body behind him and follow the Prospector outside the manor.

Fresh dew covered the grass outside, making it a bit wet and chillier than usual outside. Fortunately, Norton had came prepared. Set up outside was a big fluffy blanket with more than enough pillows to spare. Two mugs of coffee residing inside.

“Ever seen the sunrise?” Norton asks, already knowing the answer based off your shocked expression.

You shake your head no as the Prospector reaches to grab your hand and lead you towards the spot. It didn’t take long to get settled, and when you did, you found your head in the core of Norton’s lap.

“Oh? What’s this?” Norton teased “cold aren’t ya’?” You shiver in his arms as a response. Before grabbing his face with your hands. It’s a weird position, but Norton doesn’t mind. Instead he leans into your touch. A soft smile on his face.

“Have I ever told you how much I trust you?” You ask with genuine curiosity.

“I’m not sure, have you?” Norton questions, brushing your hair to the side of your face.

“No, I’m being serious. Stuck in a place like this leaves everyone fending for themselves. But because I have you, I have someone to watch my back. I really appreciate that Norton. I trust you more than anyone else in this manor.”

Norton looks at you with sad eyes as he bends down to place a gentle kiss upon your forehead.

“I trust you more, doll.” He says as the sun starts to rise. Showering you in its warmth and light, a feeling he now resonates when it comes to you.

✦— THE MERCENARY

You say it to him during a particularly risky match where everything seems to be on the line.

There are time where a match can go inexplicably well, where everything goes absolutely perfect and you survive the game with all your limbs intact and the egotistical pride that comes with it.

Those aren’t all the time though, and when both sides are fighting it out until their last breath, it turns into a messy and an undoubtedly long match.

This seems to be one of them, and you’ve collected more than enough scars and bumps and bruises to prove it. You’re more than sure you’ll have to make a stop by Emily’s offfice, but now’s not the time to think about that. You must stay focus on your current task: stitching up Naib.

Sangria got him good this time as a long scar has taken shape on his back. Naib bites down on his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the whimpers of pain he feels. He thought he was better at this. Better at pretending he wasn’t hurting. You know him all too well though.

“m’ sorry, ‘m sorry I know it hurts. I promise I’ll be done in just a second.” You say in attempt to comfort and reassure him. All he does is nod his head and sucks in a breath of air in order to steady himself.

The Mercenary is off the second he feels you tighten the last of his bandages. You’re quick to jump onto a cipher machine as well to catch up on the progress that was lost.

—

This match has been nothing short of a living, breathing disaster.

You still can't shake the ear piercing scream Fiona let out as she was hit down again minutes later, and you won't forget the horrible cut that now runs across Naib's stomach. You’d stich it up but you don’t have the time for it. Not when Fiona needs rescuing.

“Naib, take over the last cipher. I have to go in.” You tell the Mercenary, racing past him. He stops you, grabbing—no, shaking you by the shoulders.

“No, please, [name] don’t go in there. It’s not worth it we can, we can get—“ he continues to trip over his words out of fear and desperation. “please [name], I don’t wanna lose you.”

“Naib, I promise I’ll be out soon. I trust you, I wouldn’t go in if I didn’t.” And that’s that. You place a quick kiss on his forehead before dashing off towards Fiona’s chair. You hear him scream your name out afterwards.

note: KILLS MYSELF THIS IS ACTUALLY TERRIBLE [crys]

© fishermanshook — no stealing , translating , plagiarizing or reposting my work on other any other sites + reblogs adored !!

[thekeeperofdreams]

he tastes like apple juice and peach

Ganji does his best to rescue you against Fools Gold, in the end failing to do so despite his determination. you, on the other hand, focus on something a little sweeter.

genre: soft angst(?) with ganji, tho it ends fluffy !

(sorry if it's bad, this was written on a whim)

a howl and thunk of a ball crashing against the hip of Fools Gold brings you back to reality, especially when you're dropped and a head of fluffy black hair rounds the corner.

he's yelling words you can't understand, blood and your own heartbeat clogging the ability to hear, but you get the gist when he slams another ball into the hunter and mouths 'GO'.

a shiny portal stands a bit away, ganji trying to guide you and simultaneously protect you towards it. the opportunity arises when william, the forward, crashes into Fools Gold, communicating something towards ganji, whose hand situates itself by your hip, trying his best to tug you along.

he tries and fails to say something again before, seemingly letting out a curse; his dirty gloves are quick to grasp the sides of your face, crashing his chapped lips against your bloody ones.

before you can even utter a word, he shoves you through the portal, fiona priming the cipher on the other side before she let's go to heal you.

the exhaustion subsides while she helps you back up, whispering a command to head to the door in preparation for the pop; which you follow obediently.

in the end, it comes to a tie, you and william getting downed, trying to open the back gate, launching back to the manor with tired smiles and blood-soaked skin.

when awakened, you realize ganji sits beside your bed in your room, his now gloveless hand holding yours.

he only moves when you give his hand a squeeze and croak out a greeting. "save your strength." he grunts back, thumbing the now clean skin of your hand.

though you only respond by dragging his hand up to your lips, pressing a light kiss to the inner wrist; smiling at his cheeks growing pink.

"what was that for?" he grumbles but doesn't pull away, instead bring both his own hands to grasp yours, returning the favor by shyly peppering his own kisses along your skin.

"you started it. just wanted to get the shared feeling across." you hum, quietly giggling at his puppy faced look.

"thank you for protecting me, ganji."

[ithaqualovers]

The Heart is Torn And Blood is Spilt

Tw: Self-esteem, Dacryphilia, Blood, Gore, Slight-smut, Mother-issues, PTSD.

((GUYS I DELETED THE OTHER ONE I POSTED BECAUSE I DECIDED TO FINISH IT ON ONE. XC... Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it because this is literally a LOT of writing xd || I reached 7.8k word count skdksk... Anyway, enjoy-)

While walking through the cold woods you hear the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. You can see your breath in the air, and you can feel the chill of the winter air. The scenery is breathtaking, and you pause for a moment to take it all in. You can hear the distant chirping of birds, and the crunch of snow under your feet. This place is so cold that you even wonder why it is so cold here. The season of spring has just begun, and it is not even the beginning of winter yet. Welp, welcome to the Plateau of Leng. It's known for its cold climate and mysterious atmosphere. It's a place like no other.  

You continued your exploration of the Plateau of Leng, and you can feel the chill in the air. People here have adapted to the cold, and you can see them wearing thick clothing and furs. Even the animals of the Plateau have evolved to survive the cold temperatures. Even heard of the great old ones said to live in the depths of the Plateau of Leng, Ithaqua. They were said to be as old as the Plateau of Leng itself, and they were feared by the locals. But, meh. Ithaqua is nothing but a myth, a bedtime story parents tell their children to scare them into behaving.  

As you went deeper into the Plateau of Leng, you started to understand why they were so afraid. The strange creatures, the eerie howls, and the sheer sense of dread that seemed to hang in the air. It was enough to make you think that maybe Ithaqua might not be just a myth after all. You started humming a song about Ithaqua, trying to distract yourself from the fear. “Ithaqua is not real! Ithaqua is just a story they tell! Nothing but a figment of our imagination.” You kept repeating the words to yourself, trying to make yourself feel better. But deep down, you weren't so sure.   

Then a sudden gust of wind blew, pushing you back as if something unseen was passing by. You turned, looking for the source of the wind, but there was nothing there. You started to shiver, feeling a chill run down your spine. “.... Calm yourself, Y/n...” You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady your racing heart. You closed your eyes for a moment, and when you opened them again, all was still. You were alone, and the wind had passed. The terrifying trees around you rustled, the birds had all flown away, and the sun had disappeared behind the clouds.  

A whistle that sounds like a bird is coming from behind the tall trees. You heard the noise and quickly spun around to find the source of the sound. "... Who's there?" Peering through the dense trees, you saw a silhouette in the distance. Fear gripped your heart as you took a step back, your eyes wide with terror. A chuckle and giggle echoed through the woods, followed by a faint whisper. “Don't fret. I promise I will not hurt you.”  

The creature giggled and stepped out from behind the trees, revealing his horrifying appearance. He stares at your eyes with pale blue orbs behind the white mask. His long fingers beckoned you closer, and the faint smell of death hung in the air. “You have nothing to fear from me,” he said softly. You stepped back, fear coursing through your veins. You don't trust him, and your instincts tell you to run.   

The creature smiled behind his mask and stepped closer. He giggled, a sinister sound that sent a chill up your spine. You turned and ran, not daring to look back until you were safely away. He watched you, a bemused expression on his face. “Someone help!” You yelled, but there was no one around. You stumbled and fell, your heart pounding as you looked back and saw the creature still watching you. You scrambled to your feet and ran faster.  

"... I guess I have to chase you down." He sighed. Then the figure started chasing you. He was laughing like a maniac. His long slender hands pulled your hair tightly, making you fall to the snow-covered ground. You felt the cold snow against your skin as you tried to get away. He continued to laugh, a chilling sound that echoed around you, but he pinned your leg down using the large metallic blades that were bound to his legs. You screamed in terror as you felt the blade piercing your skin. Blood started to pour out of the wound as you tried to break free from his grip. You felt the coldness of the snow and the terror of the situation overwhelm you.  

“You shouldn't have come here. These are my woods. I guard this forest.” He growled, pushing the blade deeper. You winced in pain, screaming out. He went closer to your face and snarled, “You should have thought twice before trespassing. You should have known better than to come here.” You looked up at his angry face and managed to squeak out a few words. “My apologies for trespassing into your forest! I was only here to explore the beauty of nature... I am sorry...”  

He stopped pushing the blade. He seemed to calm down. He scratched the back of his hood and slowly raised his head, looking into the forest. But while you were pinned down and helpless beneath his blade, you remembered that this creature was the Ithaqua who had taken the lives of so many of the people. This figure was the one who the town feared most. “You are Ithaqua...?” You asked, your voice barely audible. The figure paused for a moment before nodding. “That's what they call me. Ithaqua, Wind-Walker, Death-Walker, I had been called by many names.” He looked down at you.  

You weren't sure what to do. The figure seemed powerful and intimidating, and you were filled with fear. "You know... Some of you humans even worship me." He said with a laugh. “Hehehe.... And some of them tried to hunt me down.” You were left speechless, unsure of how to respond. “Hey? You there? Why so silent? Scared to talk to me?” He tilted his head. You were frozen in fear, unable to move or reply. He smiled behind the mask, and the air around him seemed to grow colder. “Come on, I'm not that scary,” he said, in a more sinister tone.  

You were still pinned down, and you felt the blood slowly dripping down your leg and the pain increasing. He laughed and leaned in closer, his breath hot on your face. You could feel his presence looming over you, and it felt like your entire body was paralyzed. “You are interesting.” He stood up and pulled the blade from your leg. You winced in pain again as you felt the blade leave your leg.  

“Can't get up?” He chuckled and said, “Let me take care of you.” He grabbed your arm and dragged you. Blood spilled on the snowy ground as he pulled you along. You were taken to a pond where the ice was slowly melting. He placed his ice axe on the ground and released your arm, then he sat down on the cold ground. He removed the bandages that are around the metallic stilts. After removing his stilts, he pulled your leg to the pond's edge and submerged it in the cold water.  

You felt the cold sensation and immediately your leg was numb. You cried out in pain, but he ignored it and kept your leg in the water. You felt a sharp pain in your leg and then it subsided. He then removed your foot from the water and began to wrap it in bandages that were used on his stilts before. “There... All done! Hehe... You feel better now?” he asked. You nodded, still in shock from the pain. “I will be back; I'm just going to remove the blood from my blade.” He turned and walked away, leaving you to process the pain. You lay there, feeling a dull ache in your leg and trying to make sense of what had just happened.  

Meanwhile, Ithaqua removed the blood stain from the large metallic blade from the pond. He had used the pond to cleanse the blade of your blood. Suddenly, something came into his mind, and he stared at the pond. He saw the reflection of a figure in the pond. It was himself, standing with the large metallic blade in his hands. He slowly removed his mask and looked deep into the reflection. His pale face, his pale eyes, and his pale locks flowed in the wind.  

You were watching him from the other side of the pond. Looking down at the pond and appearing to be in deep thought, as if he were debating something in his head, you don't understand what he was doing. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him." You could hear him muttering. He was shaking his head as he continued to repeat the words. His jaw was clenching, and his eyes filled with tears. The grip on the blade in his hand was so tight. He raised his arm and hurled the blade into the pond with all his might. The ripples spread across the surface of the pond.  

He slumped onto the ground, breathing heavily. His face was pale, and he was trembling. He sat there motionless, watching the ripples slowly fading away. You looked at him, wondering what had just happened. He seemed to be in shock, and you could see fear in his eyes. The hood of Ithaqua came down as his hands gripped his hair tightly. His breathing began to slow, and his trembling stopped. He looked up at you, his eyes wide with terror. “What are you looking at?” he whispered. When you saw the creature's face for the first time, he wasn't even a beast after all. You could see his humanity in his eyes, and you knew he was no monster. He was just broken, a victim of circumstance.  

Even though he hurt your leg, you couldn't help but feel pity for him. “... Is there something wrong...?” You asked with your voice slightly trembling from the cold. In the middle of a pond on the other side of the lake, while you two sat there staring at each other in silence. As the cold winter forest surrounded the two of you, the tall trees swayed in the wind. You could feel the chill of the air. The only sound you could hear was the rustling of the leaves.  

He slowly opened his mouth and said, “It's nothing.” He looked away, and you could see a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Is there something bothering you?” You asked. He shook his head, refusing to meet your gaze. “Nothing is bothering me.” He glared at you. You sighed and looked away. You knew he was lying, but you didn't want to push him. You decided to give him some space and not press the issue.  

“....” He slowly put his mask back on. He stood up and began to walk towards you. He stopped in front of you and looked you in the eyes. Then he grabbed his ice axe which was beside you. You looked at him nervously, not knowing what to expect. The wound on your leg, which was wrapped in a bandage. He carefully examined it before looking back at you again. “You are really interesting...” He put his ice axe on his shoulder and then leaned in closer. “You look pitiful...” He whispered and smiled behind the mask. “Feeling so pity for me...”  

He giggled. “You do not have to feel pity for me.” He gently brushed his fingers against the bandage. “In fact,” he said, “you are the one who needs pity.” He stood up and said, “You are hurt and helpless... Cannot stand very well." He chuckled and laughed as he was mocking you. You looked away, embarrassed, but he didn't seem to notice. He continued, “Hehe... You can't do much, can you?” He smiled, amused by your discomfort. “You know what? I'll just keep you here with me, that way I won't have to fret about you running away again.” You felt a chill run down your spine as his words hit you.  

“Keep me?” You asked, feeling a wave of panic wash over you. He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine. A sinister glint lit his eyes behind the mask as he replied, “Yes, keep you as mine.” He moved closer to you, his breathing heavy as he towered over you. “You will stay with me forever.” He said, his voice a low growl. You shook your head, trying to move away from him but he was too close. You felt your heart pounding in your chest and fear taking over as you realized that you were trapped. He reached out his hand and grabbed your arm while his other arm carried the two large blades, a cruel smirk behind the white mask.  

“I am going to keep you as my company.” He started dragging you again. “No, no, no!” You started struggling, trying to break free from his grasp, but his grip was too strong. You screamed for help, but no one was there to hear you. And of course, you are in the middle of the forest. He started to laugh, a menacing laugh. You felt your heart racing as he dragged you away, not knowing what was in store for you. You were terrified. "I guess I just found myself a little friend, aren't we?” He glanced at you while dragging you deeper into the woods.  

He stopped in front of a broken-down cabin, opened the door and pushed you in. You stumbled and fell onto the ground.  

“Stay here, and I will be back.” Before he shut the door you suddenly spoke.  

“W..Where are you going...?”  

“That's none of your concern.”  

He slammed the door shut and you heard him laughing as he walked away. You lay there, shaking, as you heard him walking further away. 

As Ithaqua locked you up in a broken-down cabin, you never found a way out of this place. Instead, you crawl on top of a mattress infested with bugs. You lay there in the dark, unable to move, feeling the bugs crawling on your skin. The wind outside howls like a ghost, and you start to hear scratching and gnawing from below. You sleep fitfully, not knowing what horrors this day will bring. 

A few hours later, a sudden thud came outside. The door creaks open, and someone enters the room. You woke up and heard the voice of a male that took you, “Fret not. It's just me, Ithaqua.” He said his voice like a distant whisper. A blood stain covered his outfit and blood dripped down the chin of the mask he was wearing. A gory intestine hung from the sharp blade of his long weapon. A scream escaped your lips as you shrieked in fear. “DON'T KILL ME!” You trembled in fear, unable to move. Ithaqua chuckled. “My word, you really fear the sight of blood, do you not?” He moved forward, dragging the severed arm and intestines through the broken-down door, leaving pieces and blood behind on the floor. The sharp, metallic smell reached your nostrils. He held the arm and intestines in front of your eyes, forcing you to stare at them. “Does this bother you?” You couldn't take your eyes away, shaking with fear as tears streamed down your face.

You could feel yourself going into shock as Ithaqua continued to laugh at your terror. “W-What is this...? Who are these people you've killed...?” You asked. Ithaqua tilted his head, still smiling. But his eyes were hidden behind his featureless mask. In fact, there was something unsettling in his entire demeanor, perhaps because of the brutality of the situation. “I don't normally kill people at all,” he replied in a flat tone of voice. “These must've been foolish travelers who entered my barbaric forest without permission.” He gestured around him, his gloved hand gesturing towards the torn-up inside of the cabin.  

Blood was dripping down from the ceiling above. You looked up at the ceiling in horror. Your mind feels like it's spinning, trying to comprehend what exactly happened here. These corpses must have been his victims and were hidden in this cabin. No wonder it stinks here. You shivered at the thought and looked back at him. “So... These people... you killed-” Suddenly your words stopped when he spoke so suddenly “They must've been foolish enough to enter my forest without permission.” His expression became serious, his tone shifting to one of deadly seriousness. “I must have no witnesses to my presence. No one can be allowed to leave here alive. These people have already gotten too close.” He stepped closer, kneeling down so his eyes were level with yours.  

“But you... you were unlucky, but not foolish. What is your name?” You paused, looking into his icy-blue irises pupils. Then you spoke. “My name is... Y/n” you said hesitantly. Ithaqua kept looking into your eyes, studying your expression. Then, he reached your hand, moving your hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. His finger lightly brushed your jawline. “A unique name. But your name is not necessary for now. From now on, you are my captive, and I will be your keeper.” His voice was quiet and calm, but it made your skin crawl.

You were too scared to move, so you just stayed rooted to the spot, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You felt a chill go down your spine when he touched you, and you closed your eyes, trying to suppress the fear. Ithaqua smiled. The mask he wore, painted with two, cold, unblinking, almond-shaped eyes, almost looked friendly when he did this. You felt a sudden wave of calm wash over you. “Don't fear me. I would not hurt you.” His breath brushed your hairline. You opened your eyes, meeting Ithaqua's gaze. You weren't even so sure if you should trust him. He's creepy yet something's wrong with him.  

You spoke softly, “What are you going to do to me?” Ithaqua laughed. The sound was harsh and loud, like the wind howling outside. “How could you even ask such a thing? I will keep you. As my captive. No one will ever touch you, let alone see you. You will be mine and mine alone.” He got closer. The stench of blood was faint on his clothes. He wrapped a hand around your chin, cradling it. “You look... quite pretty, I must say.” He chuckled again. His grip tightened your chin, as the nails of his gloves digging into your skin. You muffled a cry of pain, not wanting to make a sound.

You felt your heart racing, fear coursing through your veins. Ithaqua chuckled again, his hand squeezing your chin as the nails pierced your skin. You felt pain, but no blood could be seen on his gloves. It was as if he were trying to hurt you yet doing no damage at all. “Such a frail little thing, you are. Just looking at you brings forth an urge to destroy you, in order to watch you crumble.” His tone was serious. You felt his fingers tighten further. “But... you are far too precious to be destroyed. At least, not yet.” He released your chin, and the pain subsided.  

You put your hand to your chin, feeling the pain he had caused. Breathlessly, looked up into his eyes, feeling the intensity of his gaze. The tears in your eyes were cold on your hot cheeks. Ithaqua laughed, his harsh, cold voice echoing through the small room. You were still unable to move, and he came even closer, his gloved hand caressing the side of your face. “Such a sweet little cry you made,” he whispered. “And such beautiful eyes, Y/n.” He let his fingers trace the pattern of your tear tracks. His touch sent shivers down your spine. You wanted to pull away, but you were held in place by his gaze.

Suddenly, something changed Ithaqua's mind, and he pulled away from you. The way you cried out for help had an effect on him and he stepped away. He had a moment of hesitation, as if he remembered something in his past. His mother's face flashed in his mind, and he knew he had to let go. Ithaqua seemed deep in thought. His hand slowly retreated, leaving you alone and free to move again. 

His eyes flickered with memories of his past. A sense of loss was evident in his expression. He was holding onto a memory. Of a moment when he felt love for the very first time. His mother's eyes were filled with worry and sadness. You saw him for the first time. Not the monster. But something else. Human. Your body shook with fear, but you could not look away. There was something about him that you didn't understand. Why was he silent all of a sudden? You wanted to ask him what was wrong, but you couldn't find the words. You just sat there on the mattress, looking at his pale blue pupils. Ithaqua, for the first time, felt his facade crack.  

The mask he hid his real face behind was faltering. He felt something at that moment that he hadn't felt in countless centuries. A sense of compassion. A sense of love. And it scared him. Of course, he has felt love in the past. The kind of love only a mother can feel for a child. "I-" He cleared his throat. "I believe I've made a mistake. You are not one of the fools." He walked towards the doorway, turning his back on you. But what does he mean that “You are not one of the fools”? What was he talking about? “Huh?” It is the only word you managed to say. “You are precious to me. You remind me of her...” He opened the door, letting the cold wind enter and sweep through the cabin. But instead of leaving you, he walked towards you. His expression was filled with emotions, hard to decipher. Your eyes widened in surprise. Who is her? You thought about asking but you were too afraid. You were confused and scared, yet you felt a strange warmth in your chest. Ithaqua slowly crouched, putting a finger on your face.  

You felt the rough leather of his glove. You felt his touch on your skin. The sense of warmth only increased. He looked at you, seemingly studying your every curve and detail. At that moment, you felt loved. “You remind me... of my mother.” He spoke softly. His tone was quiet and gentle. “Your innocence was just like hers.” You blinked, too surprised and overwhelmed to respond. Eyes narrowed as you looked away from him, not knowing what to say or do. You were still scared due to the gory scene and his bloody appearance, and the severed arm on the floor was still... there... Ithaqua saw your still-scared expression, and he noticed that. He reached towards the severed limb, picking it up without looking at your deadened face. With a quick motion, he threw the arm outside through the doorway, shutting the door immediately after. Then he turned back to you, his body almost touching yours and his expression serious. “I’m sorry, Y/n.” He leaned in closer, looking deep into your eyes. “My behavior was inexcusable..” You felt the sense of love overwhelming you.  

What was happening? Was he trying to be gentle? You hadn't felt this before. You never understood why, but you couldn't help but feel drawn to him at that moment. His sudden change was confusing to you. You remembered when the two of you were at the pond where he was staring at himself on the water, and a sudden act that he had taken that you didn't understand. He was like a mystery to you. Ithaqua smiled. It wasn't the same cruel smile he had worn before. His gaze lowered to your hair, then to your face. He seemed sad. He reached out a hand towards you, caressing your skin with the back of his fingers. “Come...” Ithaqua's voice was soft and gentle. “I have something to show you.” He held out a hand towards you as if asking you to follow. You hesitated, looking at him before looking down at your leg which was wrapped in bandages, yet you can't even be able to walk. 

“You see that I cannot walk...” You spoke, “Are you going to drag me again like a ragdoll?” Ithaqua raised an eyebrow. “You're quite dramatic, aren't you? No worries, I'll just lift you up, and we'll be off.” He sounded a bit annoyed with your words, but his expression was calm again. “It's not like I'll kill you or anything. At least, not now.” With that, he picked you up as if you were a sack of potatoes. He was strong. Well... Even though he has bony arms. You felt a little embarrassed and ashamed of your outburst, but it was too late. You wrapped your arms around his hood, and he started walking with you in tow. “Where are you taking me?” You asked.  

Are you always this naïve? A gust of strong wind opened the door as he went outside with you carrying you in his arms. His boots crunched against the snow as he walked with you in the cold forest. But you felt a strange warmth and comfort in his arms as he carried you. He didn't respond to your question, instead, he kept walking for miles until he stopped in front of a large log. Beside the log, you saw two snowmen. The big snowman had two red feathers on its head and pieces of green fruits hanging on its face and it seemed like it was hugging the little snowman. Ithaqua walked with you in his arms, your weight on his hands. The cold wind was brushing against your bare legs, but his body provided warmth and comfort. Ithaqua eventually stopped, setting you down next to the large log.  

You looked up at the snowmen, which you hadn't noticed before. "What are those snowmen?" You asked curiously, staring at both the large snowman with the two red feathers and the smaller snowman. They seemed to have embraced each other. Their eyes closed like they were happy together. It was almost poetic. A smile spread across Ithaqua's face as you admired the snowmen. He was thinking about his mother. A sense of guilt and sorrow was evident in his eyes. “These... these are snowmen I made a long time ago, when I still lived with my mother.” He seemed nostalgic. He knelt in front of the snowmen, slowly stroking the large one's face. You watched silently, trying to imagine what it must have been like for him. “I am sorry for your lost.” You whispered, trying to give him some comfort. Ithaqua looked up at you, smiling softly behind the featureless mask.  

You felt the sense of warmth coming from him. The grief was still evident on his face, even though years had passed since his mother's death. “I would give up everything... just to experience the same affection again.” He whispered. He looked at both snowmen, stroking their faces and wiping the snow from their eyes. “I miss my mother... I wish... things were different...” You could hear the heartbreak and sorrow in his voice.  

You really felt for him. You wanted to tell him that everything would be okay, but you didn't. You just stayed there, in silence, and let him grieve. Ithaqua stayed that way, grieving and remembering the only person he had felt love for. Your sense of compassion and empathy was surprising to you. Ithaqua, the cold and cruel killer? The creature of the night, with no emotions? It was strange to see this side of him. And you wanted to feel this kind of love from him. You didn't know why. But you wanted it. His eyes were still filled with grief as he looked at the snowmen. He seemed to remember their faces, their smiles, and most importantly, the love his mother felt for him.  

After a few moments, he stood back up. His gaze was serious again as if returning to his usual demeanor. “Shall I carry you back to the cabin?” he asked politely, looking down at you. You nodded, “... Sure.” You looked up at him. You felt a deep connection to him and his pain. Now, you understood what it was like to be without love, and you wanted to be able to give it to him. Ithaqua kneeled once again, picking you up with ease. Your legs dangled beneath his arms as he stood up. The wind brushed against both of you, but you felt the heat emanating from him. “Come.” He spoke. His tone had changed again, from soft and calm to harsh and cold again. “We must not dawdle.” He turned around, carrying you, and started heading back to the cabin.

The snow crunched in every step he took. You were too scared to say anything, so you stayed quiet and did as he said. He soon arrived at the broken cabin and entered. There was no warm and inviting fire, no comforting smell of food, only a chill in the air and the sound of the wind outside and the smell of blood.  

Your mind was filled with uneasiness. The cabin was filled with silence, apart from the howling of the outside wind and the crunching of the snow beneath Ithaqua's feet. You couldn't see as he entered with you in his arms. The cabin was cold. But the sense of warmth was everywhere. You could feel it coming from Ithaqua. You heard Ithaqua place you on a bed, and then he sat on the foot of it. His body emanated a feeling of warmth and you felt yourself relaxed a bit, your uneasiness slowly fading away.

You narrowed your eyes as you looked at his white bloody mask. “Why are you wearing your mask even when you're alone with me?” you asked. “Is there something that really bothers you? You've been acting so strangely like a while ago when we were at the pond... And I heard you muttering about... someone. Who was he?” Ithaqua turned his head to you, his mask facing you.  

Your question seemed to surprise him, the expression on his face changing. Ithaqua's body tensed, and you could feel the heat emanating from him disappear immediately. “That was... nothing,” Ithaqua whispered. “As for why I wear my mask... it is a part of me. I feel incomplete without it.” His voice was cold again. He stared you down, his tone stern and harsh. "It would be in your best interest not to ask about things that do not concern you, Y/n." You didn't heed his warning at all. “I am curious,” you said, your voice unwavering. “Who is he?” Ithaqua’s eyes widened, and his jaw clenched.

Without another word, he grabbed his long weapon, the ice axe, and pointed the blade at you. “We DO NOT speak about HIM. He's a fool, nothing but a devil WHO WORE MY FACE.” He spat out the words, his fury radiating in the air. “And this? This mask you're talking about? I keep my ugly face to be hidden. DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ME?” An unexpected surge of rage came over him. His eyes were wild, and his expression was menacing behind the mask. He was trembling with rage, and he seemed ready to strike. His past had been a hard one and this was a reminder of it.  

Ithaqua's rage was evident. His body was shaking as he tightened his grip on his axe. Ithaqua's voice was loud and aggressive, his mask hiding his expression. You felt his anger like a heavy weight on you, as he stood up, his body moving towards the foot of your bed while he pointed his axe at you. Your heart was pumping, as his rage seemed to grow with every angry word he spoke. It was like he became a different person. “WHY must you provoke me, by bringing up HE WHO SHALL NOT BE MENTIONED?!” His voice was loud, and you trembled in fear. You had no idea what was going to happen next - it felt like your life was on the line. “My apologies... I should not let my curiosity get in the way”, you replied timidly. “I am sorry.” You looked away, tears streaming down your face. Ithaqua doesn't want to talk about the man that you were curious about. His past seemed to have caught up with him, and the air was tense. 

Ithaqua remembered that day when that man led a mob to his house and took away his mother. Ithaqua could feel his heart racing, as he was reminded of the pain he faced. He saw your tears and looked at you. The anger was still prevalent on his mask, as his expression remained cold. Your uneasiness returned as you looked at him. You could see his body trembling in rage. He held the axe tightly as if he would use it any time now. He seemed to calm down. His mask made it difficult to read his expressions. “This is the last time I'm going to warn you. Don't mention him. Ever.” His voice was like a whisper.  

He seemed serious, and his rage was still evident under his breath. You nodded, not wanting to provoke him further. You moved away slowly, the insects on the mattress swarming around you. Fear crept up your spine as you removed your gaze from him. You didn't mind the insects crawling on you. Ithaqua calmed down even more. His rage settled as he stared at you, his hands gripping the axe. You could see a hint of sadness in his body. As if he was thinking about something. But what? You could see the emotions slowly creeping up on Ithaqua's mask, as he seemed calm but not completely relaxed. He was trying to regain himself. The insects on the bed seemed to be moving around your body. The insects swarmed around your feet.  

You didn't mind their presence, as they didn't harm you. The sense of uneasiness returned. Ithaqua's grip on the axe loosened and he stepped back, his gaze softening. He sighed, and his shoulders slumped in resignation. He set the axe down and removed his cloak, letting it fall into the cold ground. He only kept the white mask on his face, turning to look at you. He sat down on the mattress next to you as he reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was cold like ice and yet gentle. Ithaqua seemed much calmer now. His body was no longer trembling in anger. His gaze was still solemn, but not filled with cold rage. His touch was gentle and soft, and the warmth was coming back. It was as if he was regaining his usual demeanor. He looked you in the eyes, his mask hiding his expression. Ithaqua was gentle as he brushed your hair away. “My mother always used to do this to... comfort me.” He slowly sat on the bed, looking at you. His mask hid the sorrow in his eyes. He had a distant look on his face as if reminiscing about a distant past.  

You glanced at him; his eyes were filled with sadness. Then you suddenly placed your hand on his head, patting him gently. “... Do you want to lay your head on my lap?” You asked as you turned to look back into his pale blue eyes. Ithaqua was surprised by your question. He seemed taken aback as he felt your hand patting his head. He slowly nodded. “Yes... if that's okay.” He turned his head as you gently placed his head on your lap. He felt your hand stroking his mask. Ithaqua remembered the past and all he and his mother had to endure. His mind flashed, a memory of his mother brushing his hair and patting his head, comforting him. He could almost feel his mother again. You smiled warmly at him, but you never felt so close being with the male who held you as a captive. He just wanted someone to love him again.  

Slowly, you take off the white bloody mask from his face, revealing his pale face, his cold lips, and his icy-blue eyes as you pull it off from his face. He was quite shocked to see you taking off the mask. You then gently stroke his wavy platinum hair to comfort him. Ithaqua was surprised by your action. You were the first one to see his true face. It was the first time you saw his beauty. He was handsome, despite the cold expression on his face. Ithaqua's eyes widened as he looked at you, his pale blue eyes staring intently at you. “What... You...” The words struggled to come out of his mouth as he was breathless. “You are beautiful.” You finally admitted as you whispered softly and smiled, “even with or without the mask.” You moved your hand away from his hair and placed it on his cheek. Ithaqua's cheeks turned red.  

A sense of embarrassment came over him as he felt your hands on his face. He never felt anyone's touch other than his mother's touch. “You shouldn't... see this...” He whispered as he tried to reach for the mask you took off. The joy and embarrassment in his voice were evident. There was even a hint of shyness in his tone and words. You could see his eyes light up again. You smiled at him and reassured him that it was alright. “No, it is alright. I wanted to see the real you,” you said. “You are a beautiful man. You shouldn't fear who you are.” Ithaqua's face was filled with joy, happiness, and love. He blushed a bit, as he looked at you. His eyes filled with light. “I... I shouldn't hide behind this mask. It's not who I am...” He took your hand that was on his cheek, holding it in his hand and caressing your hand. “Thanks anyway...” You could just hear his voice filled with emotions. Joy and love. You felt his heart beating, and you felt his heat emanating from his chest. You looked into his eyes, and you both knew.  

You felt the connection between you two. You moved closer to his face. “You are welcome.” His heart was beating faster, as the feelings were mutual. He moved closer to you, putting away his mask, and placing it down on the mattress so his lips were close to yours. He was holding your hand, as he caressed your cheek gently. “I have never felt like this before..” He whispered. His warm breath brushed your skin, as he gave you a slight gaze. You felt a sense of affection emanating from him. He gently placed his other hand on your neck, his fingers caressing your skin. It was like he was trying to comfort you. He was blushing a bit and smiling with his eyes closed. His voice was soft and gentle, like a whisper in the night. You could feel your heart racing, as you started to blush too. You leaned in and suddenly kissed him. His lips were cold, but your warmth spread through them. Ithaqua closed his eyes, as you kissed him. His lips were soft and cold against your lips. You could feel the affection radiating from him and your warmth spread through his lips. As you broke the kiss, you could see both of you breathing heavily.  

A sense of affection and happiness had spread across both of you. Ithaqua placed his hand on your cheek again, as you both stared at each other. “You made me feel so alive...” He whispered, smiling a bit. His eyes twinkled as he said those words. You smiled back, as you intertwined your hands with his. He stood up and pulled you closer and kissed you again. His lips were gentle yet firm. Your touch sent a shiver through his body, as a wave of passion rushed through his blood. Ithaqua's arms wrapped around your waist, as he pulled you close in kiss again. His lips were firm, with a tender and gentle touch. His hands caressed your cheeks softly, as he kissed you with love and passion. “You're so beautiful...” He whispered. “Please, never leave me... I'm sorry..”  

The words of desperation slipped from his mouth. Your touch was heavenly. You embraced him tightly, feeling his heart beating against your chest. You whispered back, "I am here, I am not going anywhere. I will stay with you always." You smiled. He let out a sigh of relief and smiled back, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You held him close, giving him the comfort, he needed. He then started kissing and gently biting your neck. You felt his love and warmth radiating through you, and you melted into his embrace. Ithaqua's heart was racing, as you melted into his embrace. His body was shaking, and your love was so warm and passionate. He had never felt love, kindness, or affection for so long. Ithaqua's teeth lightly trailed along your neck, as he kissed and gently bit them. His slender hands caressed your hips, as he hugged you tightly. He was like a man starving for affection, and you were his first meal. He didn't want to let you go.  

You looked into his eyes and saw the longing he had. He slowly pushed you onto the mattress and leaned closer to you. You ran your hands through his wavy white locks and kissed him deeply. His lips were cold but sweet, with a touch of passion in them. He was almost like a hungry animal, as his hands caressed and held your hips. He looked at you passionately, like a man thirsting for compassion and love. A touch, a caress, and a hug that he hadn't had for so long. Ithaqua's lips touched you, as you both gave in to passion and love. His eyes closed tightly as he gave you a tight hug, as his hands went up your body, caressing your thighs. Your body quivered in pleasure as his touch sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel his heart beating quickly against your chest as you embraced each other. He continued to caress you, as your warmth was spread across his body. He gave you a gentle kiss, before pulling himself towards you. The sound of his heartbeat sounded like a drum in your ears. He ran his hands through your hair, his arms wrapped around you. He wanted you to know how loved you were, and to caress every inch of you. 

You could feel his fingers running up and down along your thighs and stomach. “Y/n...” He whispered with a hint of lust. His breath was hot against your neck as he lightly kissed it. His hands moved lower until they were resting just above your clothes. You could feel the anticipation building as he looked into your eyes. His fingers lightly traced the edge of your clothes, as his mouth was still caressing your neck slightly. His breath was hot, and his touch sent a shiver across your body. You could feel anticipation in his body, as his touch was getting more aggressive. He then broke the kiss, and his icy eyes met yours with a look of lust. His hands moved lower and started taking off your clothes. He then pushed them off your body, and you felt a wave of pleasure as his hands moved over your skin. His mouth followed, trailing kisses across your body. His hands moved around your body, exploring and caressing as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. You felt yourself getting lost in the moment, lost in the sensation of his touch. You felt like you were about to cry from his touch, yet you did. As your tears fell, he got even more excited.  

Ithaqua's touch was addictive, as his hands caressed and touched you more. He was slowly discovering your body, your curves, and your sensitive spots as he kissed and caressed your body. You were like heaven to his touch... He could feel his heart racing and his passion rising up inside him. As your tears dropped, his hand caressed your face as he looked deeply into your eyes. He was trying to be gentle with you. You felt the tears slowly drop from your eyes. He then kissed your eyes and kissed away your tears. Is this what love felt like? You felt overwhelmed with emotion, and you embraced him tightly. He felt his heart swell with emotion and held you close. You knew this moment was special and would never forget it. You both knew that this was the beginning of something beautiful. His heart was beating out of his chest. A wave of emotions was flowing through his veins as you held him close.  

As he felt your hands embrace him, it was all he needed at that moment. He wanted it to stay that way forever. His mouth slowly traced your neck and shoulders. His touch was light, as his tongue danced along your skin. Ithaqua's hands caressed your face again... your cheeks, your nose, your lips... as his love and passion were growing for you. Did you really have fallen in love with a man-killing beast? You looked into his eyes and could feel the love radiating from them. You knew you had fallen in love with him. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him that you would always be there for him. Now, you understand him. He was an abominable snowman, the beast who lurked on the Plateau of Leng, yet you felt a connection between the two of you. He was no longer a monster, but a loved one. Ithaqua was losing his inhibitions. He let go of his fears, his demons and his darkness, all to be with you. He had been loved finally, by someone. He wanted to comfort you, to hold you, to hug you and never let you go. You were like a Lenten Rose, a wildflower that grows in the snow. Every minute spent with you felt like an eternity. 

“I'm sorry for being harsh and for hurting you earlier,” he said. He held you tightly, as tears started streaming down his face. His heart was filled with love, and he knew he never wanted to let go. “Promise me, Y/n. That you will stay with me.” He gazed into your eyes, his own filled with regret and sorrow. “I do not want to lose you like I lose her.” 

[ithaquakisser]

Hello!! I have a request (also a thought) what if the reader used to be Ithaquas friend but ended up being a victim of his brother and we end up kind of like his mom(or dead lmfao)…really angsty idk man I really need some pain rn

When The Wind Cries

Synopsis; You find yourself falling victim to the hands of Nathaniel Norwell.

CW; Graphic depictions of violence, gore, religious imagery, asphyxiation, depictions of anxiety and PTSD.

WC; ≈2.6k

Note; My apologies for not getting to your request sooner! I've been working a teensy bit slow as of lately and I have recently closed my requests, but I will make yours an exception. I just could not resist this lovely idea! 🫶

Your first moments together were shared in the midst of the snow. The aromatic scent of pine and cedarwood filled your senses, shivers trailing down your spine from the occasional winter breeze that’d pass you by. The air was light, and each breath you took was visible to the naked eye. Your fingertips were as cold as ice, holding a woven basket of herbs in your calloused hands. Ingredients were scarce at this time of the year, as well livestock.

Your hair danced with the arctic wind, a pair of cerulean hues meeting yours amidst the flurry. His eyes conveyed the frigid lakes that were enclosed in a thin sheet of ice whilst his platinum waves waltzed with the zephyr before him. Fur cloak flowing alongside the gale, he held a hunting knife in his hand. Behind him stood a young woman with fair skin, her auburn locks were akin to flames ignited in a wintry landscape. A woven basket like yours in hand, she carried a benign smile on her pale face.

With the roaring wind in your ears, you could not bring yourself to remember the boy’s name. Albeit the moments you shared were incised into your mind like stone. You vaguely recall the warmth emitting from the fireplace, brushing against your ruby-tinted cheeks as you held a cup of hot herbal tea in your hands. The mellow, dulcet taste of honey lingering on your tastebuds. The young man’s delighted expression to have someone to call a friend.

You mused the feeling of benevolence and tenderness in your heart after what felt like eons of solitude spent after the passing of your parents. For a brief moment, you aspired to shed a tear. You faintly remember the voice of your mother. Your father’s face was merely a blur in your collection of memories. Muffled under bundles of woolen blankets, you hearkened to the young woman’s voice as she sang a tune ever so familiar.

From that night on, you’d often meet the boy in your solitary chalet in the midst of the woods. He often bore gifts, a basket that contained medicinal herbs, a jar of honey, and roasted fowl. “Mother insisted I delivered these to you.” He spoke, his cheeks flushed a tinge of scarlet. “She is often concerned for your well-being. Based on my knowledge, your parents have passed on, have they?” You nodded your head in response as you averted your eyes from his, accepting the gifts.

“My sincerest apologies. Mother says you may visit anytime if you wish. It must be difficult living alone, isn’t it?” You swallowed, lowering your gaze. “I’ve simply been managing.” “If I may ask, what led to their passing?” You fidgeted with the hem of your scarf, burying your face into the soft fabric. “The plague has run rampant during the seasons. It took them both in their sleep. I’ve inherited this cabin in their stead following their death.”

“Before you question any more, I… buried them myself.” You stated, setting the woven basket down at your bedside. You witnessed as his eyes widened, seemingly staggered by your revelation. He apologized multiple times, stumbling over his words as he spoke. “I didn’t mean to remind you of such occurrences, I—” You shook your head and hushed him with a smile, dismissing the conversation entirely.

For the remainder of the evening, the two of you were seated at your fireplace, conversing over a cup of tea. The fireplace crackled in your ears while you two brief moments exchanged laughter, all you felt was warmth in your heart. You didn’t wish for this moment to end, if only you could freeze time, perhaps your heart would finally be at ease. Your eyes threatened to shed tears of joy whilst the two of you spoke utter nonsense, you even found yourself tittering like a tall child under his presence. You could only ponder your reality, and if this were to last.

Several nights subsequently, you fell into a slumber. You hadn’t seen their faces again, but one akin to his own. A set of nails pierced into your skin as they clasped your wrist, raising your arm into the air as the crowd chanted falsehoods into your ears. You were blinded by the flaming torches illuminating the vicinity, salty tears streaming from the corners of your e/c eyes. You writhed under the man’s grip, collapsing to your knees.

You cried out your dear friend's name, each of your limbs restrained against your own will. You met face to face with a devilish grin that simply couldn’t be the man you had known. “You ignorant pest. You know my name very well, do you not? Speak it.” You spat at his face, the cloaked man wiping away at his cheek with a scowl. He elicited a growl, striking you to the ground as the crowd cheered. “Arrest them at once.” He demanded. You struggled underneath the crowd’s grasp as they raised you from the dirt, kicking your feet into the air as you thrashed around.

The crowd cried out profanities under your name as you were apprehended at will, hauled through the dirt whilst you shrieked. You had known well this couldn’t be your dear friend. You denied all the possibilities as you grit your teeth, meeting with a crowd that condemned you for your “sins.” Sins you had sworn you never once committed. Words that had never once escaped past your lips.

You were nothing but a toy of amusement for the magistrate’s son. A puppet bound by shackles, you hung your head low under a dim candle-lit chamber. Droplets of cerise poured from your nostrils, splattering upon impact against the pavement beneath you. He’d interrogate you, speaking words you didn’t quite understand. You couldn’t part your lips to speak, your hands trembling within chains. He’d raise his hand once more to strike upon your scarred face with a grimace.

All that filled your senses was the metallic smell and bitter taste of your blood. He grabbed your face with a complacent grin, his nails sinking into your flesh as your e/c eyes met his. “The fool doesn’t wish to speak it seems? What must I do to make you utter a sound?” You glowered as he spoke, his voice laced with poison. “Don’t look at me like that. Allow me to enlighten you with the fact I’ve been quite lenient with you.”

“This… Is leniency to you?” You coughed, traces of blood spilling from your lips. “Certainly. If I hadn’t been, you would be burning at the stake by now.” You scoffed. “I do not need your pity.” The young man leered mockingly, smearing your blood across your cheek with his thumb. “Is that so?” He murmured, you were overcome with a sense of disquietude as his lips curled into a sneer. A hand enveloped your neck, your eyes widening.

You floundered within your manacles, letting out a wince as your breathing was constricted by the cloaked man before you. His slim fingers were wrapped tightly around your throat, a devilish grin on his face whilst you gasped for air. “Now tell me, do you not need my mercy?” Salty beads of tears formed at the corners of your eyes, you could feel the man’s grip on your throat grow tighter with each passing moment.

“Stop… Please…” You uttered, tightly squeezing your eyes shut. Teardrops streamed down your bruised face, and your vision slowly began to blur. You gasped for air, choking out pathetic attempts of cries. “Stop? Why should I? After all, sinners must be punished for their sins.” His constricting grasp resulted in labored breathing, your chest heaved as you struggled to muster desperate breaths. Your vision succumbed to pitch black, a faint sound of chimes ringing in your ears.

The salty, metallic taste of life lingered on your tastebuds. You awoke to the cries of a young woman, a voice so familiar. The sound of her howls made you sick to your stomach. Utterly perturbed, your stomach twisted and turned as you heard her pleas. You kneeled on the cold pavement, hot tears seeping from your tired eyes. Your skin was battered in all shades of purple and blue, scars trailing down your flesh all the way down your waist. Your stomach churned, for you haven’t had any sustenance for the past several days.

Your lips were split in two, and your neck was covered in scratches and fingerprints. Your limbs were sore, your throat was hoarse. Dried blood was splattered along the stone tiles beneath you, a scourge dangling several feet from your direction. It mocked you from afar, grimacing as you recalled the sensation of the scourge piercing into your flesh. The sting that’d linger on your skin after a blade dances upon your skin. Or his nails that’d scrape against your fresh wounds. You were cursed to relive it countless times, repeatedly and eternally.

Until one night, you met with silence. You haven’t heard of the magistrate’s son, Nathaniel, for several days. Your heart began to patter in your ears the moment you heard footsteps coming your way. You espied the silhouette beneath the door before you, your eyes fixed on the light emitting from the cracks as it creaked open. You scrambled to the corner of the chamber, your shackles scraping alongside the stone pavement. The dim flames illuminated a young man’s face upon removing his mask, a face akin to your tormentor. Your hands trembled within your manacles as you shrieked. “Please! Leave me!”

He reached out a hand, to which you flinched in response. A sullen look on his face as he murmured. “Y/N… It’s me.” The young man removed his cloak, allowing it to fall at his feet. He bore a key, proceeding to remove your chains. They fell to the floor with a clank, a finger gently caressing the bruises on your wrists. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you sooner…”

You swallowed, perplexed you were as you stared at him doe-eyed. You couldn’t bring yourself to utter a single word, you averted your gaze from his and snatched your hands from his touch. He furrowed his brows and elicited a sigh, for you couldn’t bear to face him. Your heart silenced as he placed on his mask, offering his hand once more. With a wavering hand, you reluctantly placed yours upon his.

Enveloped in woolen blankets by a fireplace, this felt all too familiar. You gazed into the flames waltzing before you, the masked man spoke a name you didn’t quite recall. “Ithaqua.” He spoke, enunciating each syllable as he dragged a warm cloth over your torn lips. “You’re safe now… The two of you… are safe.” Ithaqua whispered, his voice faltering. He fought against tears beneath his featureless mask which shielded his face from yours at your own expense.

He recalled your shrieks of horror, how you’d physically recoil upon seeing his face. His mother couldn't even speak his given name, and she would wince at the slightest brush of his fingertips against her own. He’d encourage you to eat, yet you didn’t budge. You’d witness as he’d breakdown at the table, running his hands through his platinum locks with desperation. You could hear him sniffling underneath his mask, how his voice would waver each time he spoke. Ithaqua would reassure the two of you of your safety and well-being, albeit you couldn’t help but blench at his touch.

He’d tend to your wounds, your cuts, and your scrapes. A soft cloth brushed against your skin, a stinging sensation that caused you to yelp. Despite how mild his touch was, you’d find yourself shoving him away. You’d strike him, knocking his mask straight to the ground. You’d stare at him wide-eyed as your heart raced in distress. “Don’t touch me!” Ithaqua looked at you with a frown, his eyes glistening with tears that threatened to descend. “I’m… sorry.”

At dusk, you’d hear him muttering under his breath. His platinum hair draped over his mask, slender fingers running through his mother’s curls whilst she dozed by the fire. He sang a melody oh so familiar as you sat across him, the warmth deriving from the fireplace kissing your icy skin tenderly. “Rest, mother, I’ll watch the night.” He, himself, couldn’t bear to look at you as he sang. A feeling in his chest tugged at his heartstrings like a lyre.

When you succumbed to the land of Nod by the flames, Ithaqua enwrapped you in bundles of blankets. Ensuring that the cold wouldn’t disturb your rest. He’d leisurely remove his mask with a sigh, setting it aside. Placing a hand above yours, he reminisced the moments you two shared. The moments you’d beam from ear to ear and call out his name with bliss. Your cheeks tinted with a shade of baneberry whilst you chortled like a goober when you’d pitch a snowball toward his direction.

Yet you couldn't bring yourself to speak his name. Nor could you identify him as Ithaqua. For all you witnessed standing before you was the man who tormented you, who brought you misery and anguish. Engraved into your mind, was the man cloaked in red with a fiendish grin. Nathaniel Norwell.

When it felt like your world was collapsing before you, moments where you’d cry in hysteria out of pure dread, Ithaqua took your hands into his. Your e/c eyes darted from place to place, you took in sharp exhales as you wept. The masked man would encourage you to breathe in a voice ever so benign. “You’re here now… You’re okay…” He cooed. “Do you remember the snow, Y/N? You enjoyed making snowmen. Occasionally, you’d catch me off-guard when we’d go herb gathering and…”

His cerulean eyes met yours, yours that resembled icicles at the emergence of spring. “You… were my dearest friend. My first and foremost… Do you not remember, Y/N?” He faltered. You were utterly nonplussed, staring at the man before you with rheumy eyes. Ithaqua hung his head low, you observed the boy as he crumbled. He choked out a sob, his icy hands trembling within yours. “I’m sorry… Mother… I’m sorry… Y/N.”

Alas, the roaring wind’s cries fell to deaf ears. At twilight, the harsh winds grazed upon his tear-stained cheeks. Snowflakes licked at his loose locks, his fur cloak whirling within the gale. Hefting a distinctively large ice axe, he gazed into the raging blizzard before him. Fueled by resentment and ire, igniting straight within his core, he scorned the lunatics who dared set foot in these glacial woods. Brushing away the stray tears from his pale cheeks, a faint glimpse of light radiated upon his flushed face. Without a single word, he placed on his mask and descended into the snowy tempest.

At dawn, he’d return with his clothes stained with crimson. He kept vigil throughout the hours of darkness, underneath the clouded stars. You awoke to the clanking of his stilts against the wooden floorboards, he’d set his bloodstained axe aside and allowed the hood of his fur cloak to fall. His silver waves were ruffled, and the dim lights radiating from the flickering lanterns illuminated his weary face. You peered through half-lidded eyes, his icy hands tenderly caressing your cheek. You froze under his touch, bewildered by his actions. He spoke in a tone laced with care, a tone you weren’t quite familiar with.

“Rest, Y/N. I’ll take care of you and mother.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, his fingertips like cotton against your warm cheek. With a faint smile, he extinguished the lantern’s flame. You fell into slumber once more, hoping to someday awake from this nightmare. The young man couldn’t bear to witness his loved ones deteriorate before him. He kept the slightest lick of hope in his heart that perhaps, he’d hear his name once again. Even if that day were to never arrive, at least he has the two of you by his side.

[gaybitchfx]

-❄️ character(s): joseph (idv)

-❄️ type of reader: m!reader

-❄️ category: sfw

-❄️ warning(s): obsession

-❄️ part 1

-❄️ edited: ❌

weeks soon passed and joseph was getting ‘better’. of course, the other nurses didn’t trust your relationship with joseph because just like the previous nurse said, joseph was a heartbreaker no matter if he were sane or not.

they told you this because they didn’t want to see you hurt, but you didn’t believe them at all till you caught him kissing a patient, a smirk on his lips as he held her by the waist.

observing this finally made you understand why they told you to not catch feelings for a man like joseph. it would only lead you to a painful and heart-wrenching end.

“see what did i tell you about catching feelings for that no-good scumbag?” your co-worker sighed as she comforted you after you came to her in tears.

she looked at you sympathetically as she rubbed circles in your back but knew you had to find out about him the hard way for you to understand. a day passed and you avoided joseph as if he were the plague. even to the point you focused on giving other patients therapy and not him.

he’s noticed the cold shoulder you’ve been giving him and it just irritates him but he knows he can’t do anything to you even if he wanted to. so knowing you weren’t seeing him anymore or talking to him only made him feel like he was going insane, which he was. never letting anyone touch him unless it was you and he made his point clear when he strangled a doctor who tried to give him a shot to calm him down.

even going as far as screaming your name and begging for you to come back to him, you could even hear him from his cell. it was pathetic and just sad. eventually, he threatened to kill everyone here, even you if you didn’t come back to him. this scared you greatly so you just gave in. “joseph..” you said softly as you looked at him from his cell door. he looked more tired due to all the days he’s spent not seeing you, not even once.

“hello my love..!” joseph said with a bright smile as he looked at you with soft and loving eyes as he stood on the other side of his cell door. you too looked drained and exhausted but not for the same reasons joseph was. “i’ve missed you so much, i felt as though i were going insane!” he said with a laugh as he kissed your cheek through the cell window, there being bars that contained a couple of openings allowing him to do so.

“did you miss me?” you had to think about it. did you truly miss this deranged psychopath? “no.” you said and stared at him directly in the eyes. “i see you’re doing just fine and don’t need any therapy this morning. i’ll schedule another appointment this afternoon.” you said and wrote it down on your clipboard.

“i’ll see you soon darling, je t’aime..!” he called out to you as you left, leaving the man humming as he rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet, looking forward to you and his next meeting.

-❄️ tags: @jkloserdazai @reallyromealone @secretivemessenger @lostsomewhereinthegarden

[sandwichfordinner]

heyyy! can i ask for uhhhh a gn!nurse!reader x naib scenarios with a side of fluff (and maybe angst if you want)

* Hey people 😼 my bad for disappearing again I was in my writing block era plus I had a lot of work in school, so yeah.. 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Naib x gn!nurse! reader (fluff but angst too, but idk if I put a lot of angst and also warnings: blood but a little)

: ̗̀➛ Oh wow, another doctor entering the manor, oh wait it’s a nurse not a doctor. Hope you do great in matches or else you may be judged..That goes directly towards Naib.

: ̗̀➛ At first doesn’t care about your existence, no eye contact, no greeting, nothing. Why, you’re asking? He is really cold towards everyone, even to his few friends but not too cold.

: ̗̀➛ Why don’t the both of you have a nice talk and spend the day together, maybe teach him about medical conditions? No, two rules from him: first - doesn’t trust you AND second he doesn’t care about you, or maybe he just needs to gain your trust. But it’s quite difficult, maybe start cooking for him and leave him alone to eat, he is a big fan of food and he will slightly start to like you.. BUT that doesn’t mean that he still needs to trust you. Or maybe body block him a lot and give him items in duos a lot , helping him escape. As I said he still doesn’t trust you.

: ̗̀➛ But you, being the kind person you are you continue to do those things not giving up. Greet him with a warm smile and cook him some breakfast, you have been helping a lot of patients, like cooking for them something and giving the food to them every morning, afternoon and evening. (at least using any kind of products the hospital had..)

: ̗̀➛ As time goes by he starts to really appreciate you kindness towards him, but he doesn’t like to admit it and keeps his cold personality.

: ̗̀➛ But oh boy did he get a lesson for not being grateful and showing it.

: ̗̀➛ You were bleeding so badly.. 2 cipher machines were only left and Naib was trying to kite, while you couldn’t self heal from the floor because you did last time. It was a mistake. You were shaking , bleeding and crying. Your body felt numb. The snow was falling on your cold and shaky body, which was making you freeze.

: ̗̀➛,,I want home…’’ you quietly cried out. Your hands tried to support your body so you could try to find dungeon . As you tried to support your body with them they gave up the moment you tried. You fell on your chin, hitting it really hard that your mouth started bleeding. Oh great you broke a tooth too.. You buried your face into the cold snow sobbing. You were bleeding out, you even had blood in your mouth, you just broke a tooth, and you feel so cold that you don’t feel your body. What kind of nurse were you..

You bled out.

: ̗̀➛ You really weren’t the same after that, you were traumatised, and the worst part is that it will happen again in the future. Pretty soon I may say.

: ̗̀➛ But as for Naib he felt a lot of guilt. Now he realised he was too harsh with you and didnt pay much attention to you existing. But you’re safe for now. He will try his best to protect you.

[mikolovesazul]

WHAT I WRITE!!

--

I currently write Identity V, Genshin impact, Honkai star rail, Ensemble stars and Twisted wonderland!

children will automatically be a platonic scenario/hc.

I'll do fluff, angst and slight smut

(again, I only allow x male reader but gn readers are allowed too! )

Send your requests here !! Or send it in my inbox!

Thank you!

[limerencedisorder]

Identity V Masterlist!

Series:

More to come soon!

Hcs:

More to come soon!

Drabbles:

More to come soon!

[pinkmelodie]

The Red Means I Love You ❤︎

Summary: Jason Todd x fem!Reader. You and Jason used to date before you left to stay with the Titans. You both miss each other more than you’d like to admit, but stay out of contact. Fast forward to after he died, you encounter Redhood. Old feeling stir, and before you know it you’re bent over the motorcycle of someone you swore you’d leave in the past.

Warnings: Angst -> smut, 18+, p in v, unprotected s$x, mentions of death & terrorism.

A/N: This takes place right after s3ep2, right after they find out Redhood’s identity :3

You didn’t fully know what was happening; just that there were too many hostages in the building—all who would be killed if not evacuated immediately. You were about to run and help the rest of the titans get everyone as far away as possible before Kory pulled you aside.

You went to protest before she quickly interrupted you, “Go search for Jason.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Uhm, what?”

“Look, I have a feeling he’ll listen to you better than anyone.” she said. “Jasons not someone who can be brought down by force. Shit, he came back from the fucking dead, you think he’s gonna let us beat this new…phase out of him?” 

You wanted to argue, but Kory wasn’t someone who was wrong often. She had a good point, and you knew you had to follow it.

“We’ve got this under control,” she assured, resting a reassuring but firm hand on your shoulder. “Go.”

You were skeptical, especially when you could see Gar in the distance shaking in his boots trying to convince an old lady to let him help her down the steps, and citizens clearly getting whiplash from Connor moving them to safety too fast. Your team was…definitely something, but with some hesitance you finally turned and ran in the direction of the one member you wanted to see.

…

“Jason!” You called out, your voice echoing through the barren alley. Gotham was creepy enough already without walking in some sketchy, busted up route in the pitch dark.

You kept calling but the only response you got was your own voice echoing back to you. You tried to scratch your mind for something to say that could persuade him, but you came up blank. Guilt ate at your conscience when you remembered that you hadn’t spoken to him for months before he died. 

To be honest, Jason never had anyone in his life to begin with. He told you that along with all his other secrets, and you still broke his heart. 

You stayed with the titans, thinking he was being naive for not wanting to. You didn’t think about the fact they never once tried to help him, or ever see him as more than an immature kid. They didn’t have the energy to help Jason through his issues so they just abandoned ship, sending him right back to Bruce and his horrible coping mechanisms.

As much as you wanted to be angry at Dick, or Kory or really anyone else for letting that happen, you had to face that you played your part.

Jason Todd died alone. He died feeling like no one would miss him, like he was a failure of a Robin and a failure of a titan. Because even after everything, all he wanted to do was prove himself.

So, yeah. Admittedly the first words you chose to say were not a good idea. Probably should’ve seen that one coming, but you never were too good at comforting him. was anyone?

“It didn’t have to be like this, you can still come back to the titans!” You tried to coax him, almost immediately regretting it. You quickly shut your mouth, tho the damage was already done. You just prayed he wasn’t here—he didn’t need to be provoked into blowing your brains out. 

Only when your muscles stopped tensing and you thought you got lucky, a voice you couldn’t even recognize rumbled above you. It shot ice up your veins and you would’ve frozen in place if you weren’t so adiment on seeing him again.

“Still taking about the titans? Why am I surprised.” He taunted, tilting his head in a gesture so familiar it made your heart ache. When you spun around you were met with someone you couldn’t believe was really Jason. He was standing on some rusted fire escape, a steel red mask boring right through you. 

You tensed, but not out of fear. No, you could never be scared of Jason, not the same nerd who woke up early to make you breakfast or who secretly wore reading glasses. 

You debated messaging him for months after your breakup, paragraphs on paragraphs you never sent. You had so much to say to him before, so why now did your mind go blank?

It was hard to see what he was feeling with the mask, but you could tell he was expecting a snarky remark back. When you just stood there dumbfounded, he sighed. “Look, I’m done trying to prove myself to them. To Bruce, to everyone! I don’t have to be some fucking nobody y/n, and neither do you.”

Now that made you snap out of whatever trance you were in. “‘and neither do you’? What are you trying to do, advertise me the life of crime?”

He groaned, “I don’t know why I ever tried with you. The titans are just a bunch of fucked up people acting like one big happy family, is that what you wanted? Are you happy you made that choice?” He sneered.

There was malice in his tone, but it wasn’t real. he didn’t feel angry anymore, just betrayed.

He would’ve splayed his heart out for you on a silver platter if you asked, just for you to turn your back on him. You followed him in his dreams, haunted him every time he smelt a familiar perfume, even appeared behind his shut eyelids while the life drained out of him. You were a part of him, and from what he knew you’d never looked back when you stormed out that day.

That’s why it shocked him when tears started to well in your eyes. God, your eyes—the ones he would subconsciously buy clothes of in the same colour. “You could’ve came with me,” you whispered. 

Your meek tone broke something in him. His shoulders relaxed and in a blink he leaped down, knees bending upon landing on the hard ground in front of you. Seeing him like this; the mask concealing his identity, various weapons strapped to his thighs and seemingly more toned than the last time you saw him—you could understand why everyone was on edge.

He stood there motionless, a silent and intimidating presence before you. You both stood there in unbearable silence until finally, he lifted his mask off.

His features were lit beautifully by the dim street light, eyes glinting ever so slightly. He looked exhausted—more troubled now, but you knew, despite everything, this was Jason. Your Jason, not who he was manipulated into.

“No, I couldn’t have.” he muttered begrudgingly, “they made that very clear.”

“So what, you just become a terrorist? Is that your idea of solving your problems?”

His fists clenched in barely concealed anger. “Bruce couldn’t save Gotham, so he abandoned it. I’ll be the one to fix it.” 

“By running around in a new suit and planting bombs everywhere? Real great strategy.” You rolled your eyes, but started to blush when you stared at him too long in the plated suit that fit him perfectly. You quickly caught yourself ogling and looked away, assuming he wouldn’t catch the red tinge on your face. 

You don’t know how you ever thought he wouldn’t notice. Of course he noticed, it’s Jason Todd.

For fucks sake, the guy noticed every detail about you. The way you’d avoid eye contact when nervous, the pace of your blinking quickening when you were lost in thought, the slight heighten of your voice when you were excited about something. All these tiny things and you thought he just wouldn’t notice the way you eyed him down all red in the face?

Come on, you were basically writing your true feelings out to him in big, bold… ..red letters…

and it’s not like Kory ever specified exactly what to do once you found him… .. .

So that’s how you ended up bent against his motorcycle in some busted up alleyway, pussy spread open on his dick.

You gasped and clawed pointlessly at his covered back; nails clinking uselessly against the metal armour of his suit. 

Your own suit was pulled off just enough to get access to your cunt, panties pulled to the side so he could plunge his thick cock into you.

He was groaning more than he used to, and you could swear you even heard him whine. His pace was ruthless, thrusts messy but coordinated. He kept trying to push further inside you, pressing his body as close to you as possible like you would vanish at any moment. 

“Fuckfuckfuck-“ he rambled. Death heightened all of his senses—made things have so much more of an impact on him. Maybe he just missed you too much, or maybe he let himself forget how good you feel.

To be fair, you were far worse off than him. You would’ve alerted everyone in Gotham if he wasn’t covering your mouth with a gloved hand, though it’s not like anyone here would bat an eye to screaming.

“My poor baby just been lonely, s’that it?”He teased, manhandling you by your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. 

“Nobody to fill up this pretty hole like I do, such a shame,” he pouted in faux sympathy, as if he wasn’t balls deep at the moment.

“I’m back now. Fuck the titans, I’ve always treated you better, haven’t I?” He’s fucking your ability to form coherent words right out of your throat, but he knows your answer when you squeeze around him.

“Jay!” you moaned into his palm. Your cunt was squelching embarrassingly loud with each thrust, thighs shaking so hard you for sure would’ve fallen over if he wasn’t holding you up. Every drag of his cock in you hit the perfect spots, just like he remembered you love.

“You don’t even care that I’m red hood, do you?” he asked, his tone full of confidence. “Nah, you don’t. So fucking wet, does my suit get you off princess?” 

He moved his hand to play with your clit, getting it soaked with your fluids. You were too cock-drunk to lie bite back, just nodding desperately and mewling out something akin to a yes.

He smirked. “Pussys sucking me in the same too, fuck- I missed this. I missed you.”

He acted cocky when he was fucking you like this because it’s the only way he was sure you even wanted to be around him. Not much to complain about when his big dick is ravaging you, no?

Deep down he always felt right at home with you. He wouldn’t admit it, but he would give up red hood for you. He’d give up anything for you, actually. Nothing mattered as long as you were with him. And he wasn’t letting you go this time.

With the ministrations on your clit and him pounding into you, it wasn’t a surprise when that knot in your stomach came undone quickly. Especially not with how many failed orgasms you had with your fingers, pretending it was him.

Ever attentive, he noticed immediately. “You gonna come, baby? Try not to get any on the new suit.” He winked, as if you were gonna squirt for him. (You have, many times.)

The cherry on top was when he unexpectedly flipped his mask back down and leaned in to whisper right into your ear with that deep voice, “come for me”

And you were gone. You came with a cry of his name, eyes rolling back and toes curling. Your pussy gushed all over his dick, forming a white ring around it that you could see every time he slammed his hips.

Seeing your pretty face so euphoric was what sent him over the edge, and grudgingly he pulled out, pearly white cum shooting all over your stomach.

You spent a minute regaining your breath while he pressed gentle kisses all over your throat. He only let up when you whined at the slight pain of the pressure on your newly forming hickeys. He tucked himself back into his pants and re-adjusted his belt. You were wondering if he planned on just leaving until he took his coat off and wrapped it around you.

He moved you so you were set down properly on the back of his motorcycle and then stepped on. You instinctively laid against his back, resting your head on his shoulder and he admired you with pure adoration.

“Wrap your arms around me babe,” he hummed, affectionately rubbing your thigh that was pressed to his.

When your brain finally caught up to what was happening you gave him a confused look.“Wha- wait! Where are we going?” 

He looked at you like you were crazy for even questioning it. “Home,” he laughed, “what? Did you think death was gonna do us part, baby?”

[fishermanshook]

ASK: Hi! I'm relatively new on here and wanted to ask for a gn reader x Naib and Ganji (separately) comforting the reader after seeing them with eye bags from excessive crying and absolutely dead inside look. My apologies if it's too much, saw that the requests are open and decided to shoot my shot🙏🏻 Thank you very much either way!

WIPE YOUR TEARS, DOLL.

( mercenary & batter ) + gn!reader

˚୨🌌୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ reader has a “dead” look + feels undeserving of love , implied that reader may be a bit depressed , l/n = last name , probably a tad bit ooc , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

You can’t remember the last time you’ve cried so much that it could fill this entire manor and there still wouldn’t be enough room.

You’d blame it on the recent… position you’ve found yourself in, but can’t recall if it’s because of where you’re stuck or if you’ve just been like this ever since.

꒰wc꒱ 1.1k

✦— THE MERCENARY ; NAIB SUBEDAR

Naib is initially suspicious, taking note of the (more or so) deceased-looking appearance you’ve been wearing recently, alongside the ever-growing eye bags that only continue to darken as the nights go on. It’s a strange sight indeed, but one he quickly dismisses as a “lack of sleep” type thing.

↳ it doesn’t help that you fall right into the trope as well. Naib watches as you stumble and trip over your feet during games, zone out during pre-match, and just so happens to find your sleeping form anywhere he looks. He lets out a sigh, (gently) picks up your limp body, and brings you back to his humble abode. The Mercenary is so preoccupied with getting you back to his room that he fails to notice your light sniffling and the dried tears near the corners of your eyes.

Okay, this has been going on for far too long now and isn’t something that he can let slide by anymore. So that’s how it started, hand in hand, cause he knew that something was amidst. Truthfully, maybe being blunt wasn’t the exact way to go, but he needed to coax you out somehow. What he didn’t expect (which you can’t exactly blame him for) was for you to break out into tears the moment you tried to speak about it.

↳ he has to admit, you completely caught him off guard the moment you threw yourself into his arms, tears staining his green jacket. He takes a second to adjust, but the moment he does, he’s raking his fingers through your hair and rocking the two of you back and forth. [just the way his mother used to when he would wake up from nightmares.]

When you eventually calm down, his hands find solace on your shoulders, pleading for you to enlighten him on just how the hell you’ve been feeling lately. He takes a thumb to your face to wipe away the stray tears while you clean the snot from your nose. He won’t tell you, but he’s slightly hurt that you never came to talk to him about this, especially as he sees that it’s affecting you badly.

You cave in his hands as you explain to him that your nights are only filled with staining your pillows with your tears. The little sleep you get comes from your tiredness knocking you out. It’s devastating to hear your pain and suffering, and all Naib can do is listen and hold your hand.

The Mercenary can only sigh before bringing you in for a hug once more, placing soft, gentle kisses on the top of your head. He doesn’t want to cry in front of you, but you feel a few cold droplets of water hit your shoulder. His first words are an incoherent mess before you can finally make out something.

“[name] [l/n], I am your lover. You are my everything. Please, the next time you feel this way know that you are more than capable of coming to me for help.”

↳ He loves you so much that seeing you in this mental state puts him in pain as well. You’re the first to break down his walls in ages, the last one being his friends from the war. The Mercenary can’t risk losing you too.

From that moment forward, you find yourself coming to Naib’s dorm room more often than not, accompanied by your teary eyes and sleep-deprived body. He holds you close as he gently massages the top of your head, making sure you fall asleep first.

Slowly but surely, he watches as your old self emerges all over again. The dark bags under your eyes dissipate while your energy returns to your once-withered body. The Mercenary keeps a close eye on you from there on out, making sure that you never fall down that rabbit hole again. But, if you were to spiral out once more, know that Naib will do everything in his power to break you free.

✦— THE BATTER ; GANJI GUPTA

Ganji holds a slight bit of overprotectiveness towards you, especially when the two of you make it official. That’s why he beats himself over the fact that he didn’t put more thought into just why you might have those dark circles hidden underneath your eyes.

               ↳ Your eyes are constantly watery. Your nose, almost nonstop running. You look as if you're about to sob out a tsunami at this rate. You say it’s just your allergies. The pollen outside plus Victor's dog make for a deadly concoction against your senses. At first, his brain reasons with himself, stating that it's a valid reason. But he’s been with you for so long that his heart argues against itself and before you know it, he catches you red-handed.

Your dorm room door is unlocked, a bad habit of yours that Ganji may or may not have scolded you over before. Something about safety and privacy and blah blah blah. The door will be your downfall, but one that will reveal a much-needed truth.

↳ He finds your face stuffed into your pillow, tear stains decorating your cheeks with a light pink hue. You’ve tired yourself and fell asleep ages ago, sleep you so desperately needed. The Batter decides to make room for himself on the bed as well, resting your head on his lap. That way, the two of you can talk this out when you wake up.

You wake up in his lap, unaware of the truth he’s just uncovered. As the Batter rubs his thumb over your stained cheeks, you instantly realize that, oh, he knows now. You can’t stop the small tears that start to flow once again, but Ganji is quick to help wipe them away, planting a small kiss on your cheek.

“Love, you need to reach out for help when this kind of stuff happens, especially if it only continues. Please, don’t feel as if you’d only be a burden. Anyone who feels or thinks that can go kick it.”

There are nights when the loneliness of your bed becomes too much too bare, and you make the trek to seek out comfort from your already asleep boyfriend. Little do you know, he’s already awake and ready for you with a cup of sleepy tea. [Thank you, Emily.] The two of you fall asleep together, hand in hand.

Your next matches are wins as he watches the spark return to your eyes once more. Still, he keeps a few packets of that tea near his nightstand. That way, if you ever needed to fall back asleep, all it would take is one tea bag.

note: BYE this got rushed a bit in Ganji’s part I’m so sorry, I wanted to do him justice but my ass needed to pass tr out RN…anyways enjoy fishies 🫵😚

© fishermanshook — no stealing , translating , plagiarizing or reposting my work on other any other sites + reblogs adored !!

[thekeeperofdreams]

I Love You Too Much

genre; light angst, confessions,

summary; in which naib gets himself hurt protecting you during a match, feelings boil over the edge in the infirmary room as two hearts ache for their other half

Quietly, you whisper to him “why? why did you do that?” his heart all but shatters at the sound of your quiet hiccups, shaky hands dotting his face and arms in medicine before wrapping them in bandages.

The silence is loud, your tears dripping down in small globs, stinging your eyes. the man before you says nothing, blue eyes focused on the wall behind your head, the guilt slowly eating away at him.

Calmly, his hand grasps one of your wrists, eyes suddenly serious “why let you get hurt? why let that animal get his hands on you?” The silence returns, memories flooding both minds at the remembrance of a rather angry night watch; the hunter ruthlessly slamming his weapon onto anybody foolish enough to get close.

The hunter had been quite angry at being kited for the last two ciphers, swinging like a madman when you both had rounded the corner of the graveyard, the door slowly opening in the distance, luca and naib standing near it.

Naib had been reckless, using his last elbow pad to lunge closer, wedging himself between you and the hunter when he'd begun to swing his weapon once more; ripping open his jacket and spilling blood everywhere.

While you both had managed to make it to the door with assistance from lucas' electric shock, the man had promptly collapsed the second you three had gotten out, whilst you frantically cried out for assistance from any of the other survivors; doing your best to slow the bleeding with your hands.

Even now, after it's all over, his face is bruised, and his torso is wrapped in tight gauze, the white slowly staining with tints of red. “Please, don't do that again, I can't lose you.” You croak out, roughly rubbing the tears away with your palms, being stopped by naibs own hands.

He's silent, calloused fingers rubbing at your softer palms, taking the time to compose himself before responding. “and I love you. I refuse to allow someone so close to my heart to get hurt.” he says, voice calm and somewhat soft, pressing one of your shaking hands against his chest; heart beating rapidly under your touch.

“You do this to me.” he says, eyes making contact with your own. “you've become a part of my heart. something I'll treasure til the day I'm ripped away from you." he sighs, lifting the hand on his chest to press kisses against your wrist. “Even when death takes me, I'll think of you in my last moments. I'll look death in the eyes and tell him about how wonderful you were.”

[ithaqualovers]

Hanging Out With Ithaqua

Angst... Maybe??? plus comfort? UhHh (Sorry for not posting a while y'all tsk tsk) SHORT!! //Please tell me if theres a few grammar and error mistakes '^'`// I MADE THIS AT 2 AM

Tonight, there was a lot of snow falling. Then suddenly, a snowball hit your window that got your attention. You got up to see what was happening. When you opened the window and the wind blew inside, a gust of air filled your room, and then you saw Ithaqua. "Oh, that silly bastard. What does he want?" You thought. 

“Psssst, hey!” Ithaqua called “I want to go out and have fun with you.” His cloak swayed against the cold breeze of the wind. 

“You want to see a secret beneath these woods? Come on! I know you're going to say yes to me...” “How did you know that I will agree with you?” You chuckled at your words and looked at the male. 

“No need to sound surprised. Come on, we are wasting a night for you to stay in your room!” He insisted. “It'll be more fun for me too!” At your hesitation, Ithaqua's voice grew more irritated. “... Ithaqua's getting impatient here!” He grunted. You knew you couldn't just stay in this situation. “Fine! Fine!” You grabbed your cloak and put it on. “Just.. help me get out of this... window—” Ithaqua put his hand to you. “You should have just... used your door... But anyway, grab my hand first.” He gave you a small helping gesture and pulled you out of the window. “Now follow me!” He whispered silently. There was a small trail near that spot and Ithaqua began walking fast as his stilts were making clacking sounds against the snow-covered ground. “Wait up! where are we actually going?” You raised a brow as you asked him a question as you two walked through the forest. Ithaqua glanced back to make sure you were still following him. As you two were walking, Ithaqua got a small stick in the snow. “We are near a big spot that I want to show you.” Ithaqua took your hand secretly and continued walking on a small trail. 

“You know I never told you why me and my mother live in these woods? Do you wonder why we live here?” 

“Why?” You raised a brow and you never really wondered for a long time why Ithaqua and his mother lived together in these woods. “This is a long story, but do not worry...” He stopped at a certain place, turned to you, and put his free hand on the back of your neck. “My mother found me near this place. It was the darkest night, and she was running from the law. As she was running, she saw a lifeless body like mine—I was like a pale corpse without any signs of life. And she made me live again.” The area was filled with trees and silence. You listened to him, and you were a bit shocked. 

“... How do you still remember your past...?” 

“If you only knew the things Mother taught me. I'll never forget it.” Ithaqua chuckled and continued walking. “Anyway, that's why Mother took care of me and why we live in these woods.” The woods were getting darker. You slowly nodded and looked up at the night sky. A single star twinkled in the darkness, and in that moment, you felt a sense of peace. You turned to Ithaqua. “Far away from civilization, am I correct?” Ithaqua nodded. “Yes. I was taught by Mother that civilization is... dangerous.” He was still walking with you towards one destination. 

“Mother isn't very fond of people...” Ithaqua said. You narrowed your eyes at Ithaqua. “Yes, because the people will suspect her of being a witch.” You spoke. Then suddenly Ithaqua glared at you. “... What did you just say?” Ithaqua's eyes furrowed, as he put his free hand on the back of your neck and tilted your chin toward him. His face was now near yours. “Where did you hear that from, Y/N?” You hesitated, unsure of what to say. You knew you couldn't lie to Ithaqua, he could always tell. Taking a deep breath, you finally replied, “I heard people talking about it in town...” 

“So... People think Mother is a witch. And you believed in those things they said...? Witches are not real, Y/N.” Ithaqua said sarcastically. His free hand now gently squeezed your chin softly. "Those are just made from their stupidity." The corners of his lips were curled down, and he was frowning at your hesitation. “Mother has been nice to me. She's kind and gentle.” Your e/c eyes stared into his blue eyes beneath the almond-shaped eyeholes mask. “Ithaqua... Of course, I do not believe them.” You tried to calm him down. “I do not believe what the town said, Ithaqua... I am very sorry, and I did not mean to say that... I am sorry.” You said in a nervous tone. Ithaqua let go of your chin and looked down. His face suddenly cleared from any expression. No smile, no frown, no anger. He was just staring at you. “Oh,” He muttered and turned away. After a while, Ithaqua held your hand and continued walking to a place. “You know, despite Mother's worries, I never felt a chill near her. I am always feeling the warm presence of a mother next to me.” Ithaqua said in a serious tone. You looked at Ithaqua in disbelief, not sure what to make of his words. You were about to say something but forget about it. After a while, the two arrived at the right spot. It was a small clearing in the woods with a single, giant tree in the middle. Ithaqua took your hand and made you stand close to him, in the spot. 

“Look up.” 

“Huh?” You looked up at the large tree that Ithaqua was talking about a while ago. Then you noticed something in the snow under the tree. It was a bunch of snowmen with two leaves on their heads that looked like ears and most of them looked oddly the same. “I made them for you, Y/N.” He said softly. You smiled at him, understanding his gesture. He had made all these snowmen for you, to show how much he cared. “... Thank you, Ithaqua.” You smiled warmly. “They are... adorable. They are very nice.” He smiled back at you, feeling content that you liked his gift. “Ah, you are welcome.” He gave you his cute smile again behind the mask. “The night isn't over yet.” He held your hand again. 

“I wanted to show you something else, too...” 

“Hm? What is it?” 

“Just follow me.” He walked again with you holding his hand. Soon, the two of you climbed to the top of the large tree branch. "Take a look over there." He whispered and pointed in a specific direction. “Huh, where?” You were a bit confused as you looked around. Ithaqua chuckled softly then his voice grew intense, and he looked at you, making sure you followed his instructions by looking in the same direction. “Just... take a look. You'll see something interesting. That spot where I pointed, right there.” The spot was very close to where you two were. You suddenly saw a light and it was the town. It was beautiful from afar, the colours of the light of the place blending together in the night sky. “Oh... The town...?” Ithaqua's face seemed serious while staring at it. He let go of your hand. His cold breath was now fogging up. His eyes were filled with some sort of disappointment. He seemed to be lost in thought for what seemed like a long time. What happened to him? After Ithaqua let out a deep sigh, he snapped back to the reality. “Do you think they'll ever welcome Mother in that civilization, Y/N?” He finally asked you. You looked at Ithaqua with a shock expression, you already felt how much he was struggling. Due to the few years ago when the incident happened... You didn't know what to say. You felt like you wanted to say the right thing, but you couldn't find the words. Suddenly he looked away, his gaze now fixed on the horizon. His voice was hollow when he whispered, “Never mind... Forget about it, it was just.. a silly thought.” Ithaqua chuckled nervously and breath heavily. You could see the disappointment in his eyes. He sighed again and leaned against the trunk. “So much snow fell tonight. The cold wind seems to remind me of something...” He sounded deep. “It feels... peaceful here.” He mumbled. He looked back at your face. You looked at him, unsure of what to say. 

“Y/N...” Ithaqua hesitated. 

“Huh?” You raised a brow. 

“You know... I really trust you because you are my only best friend, right?” 

“Yeah?” 

“And I... do not mean to be... intrusive, but...” His face turned serious and his eyes seemed deep. 

“Could you help me with one thing?” 

“Sure, what is it?” 

Ithaqua hesitated for a moment. “Can you... hug me? And stay with me for a while?” He finally spoke up. But he sounded a tiny bit desperate... You let out a sigh and smiled warmly, then you opened your arms and immediately hugged him tightly. You held him close and you could feel him shaking in your arms. Ithaqua felt a sudden calmness when you hugged him. He put his free hand behind your collar to pull you closer. His cold hands, but they still felt welcoming. “Thank you.” he said softly as he put his head down on top of your head, breathing slowly. “You are welcome, Ithaqua.” You saw him close his eyes. A peaceful, silent night, full of falling snow, and a feeling of peace. You felt so comfortable while hugging Ithaqua. You never felt this welcome somewhere else, even in your home. But it was different with Ithaqua. 

“You are the only person I have... Y/N. Do not ever leave me...” 

[ithaquakisser]

Mother

Synopsis; Ithaqua dreams of his mother.

CW; Depictions of anxiety

WC; ≈ 1.2K

Note; I envisioned him to appear as he did prior to the manor in his dream. I also headcanon that his mother called him by a different name growing up for better context of the story. I tried my best to portray what I envisioned in my mind, I hope you guys enjoy. 😭 I recommend listening to Remember You by Mars Bars or Through The Eyes Of A Child by AURORA while reading for the full experience.

The snow takes no prisoners. The wind blew mercilessly against the young man's pale skin, wavy locks of hair dancing in the roaring winds. Alone he was, amidst the snowy gale. Azure eyes glistened under the faint rays of moonlight, peering through the thick clouds of the dark night skies. He stood in solitude, nothing but the cries of the wind in his ears filling the silence.

In the midst of the harsh blizzard, stood an older woman. Ruby curls draped over her shoulders, a nurturing smile on her face as she held her arms out towards the young man. Powerful wind currents blew past her long locks of hair as she called out a familiar name, one that only she spoke. A name only she knew. “Mother?”

Ithaqua’s cerulean eyes widened as he beheld the woman before him. “Mother!” Called out the hunter in desperation as he darted towards her, nearly stumbling on the snow beneath him. He was taken into a warm embrace by the red-headed woman, burying his face into the crook of her neck as she enfolded him in her arms. Ithaqua wrapped his arms around her, salty tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

The older woman had a benign smile on her face as she ran her hands through the boy’s soft hair. Her touch was warm and mild. Not a single word was spoken of her, he choked out a sob as he was held tenderly. Hot tears streamed down his rosy cheeks, the snowy tempest encircling them both. Her ivory dress flowed in the wind as she held him close. A hand soothingly caressed his tear-stained face, the howling wind ringing in their ears.

Mother, she who had always been kind. Her touch was ever so benign. She who sings you a melody so divine. She who holds you close on cold winter nights. She who protects you with all her might. Mother, she who has once brought light to your life. Mother, whose words cut like a knife.

She who could not bear to see his face, so akin to his own. Reaching out a hand is futile. The woman before him who caressed his skin oh so gently, hummed a familiar tune. His heart met peace upon her mild touch. The cool breeze brushed against his damp face as he closed his eyes. The gales were merciless, the snowy tempest enclosing the two of them. The air, light as a feather, he held onto the woman tightly.

Ithaqua slowly opened his eyes as the woman slowly began to dissipate before him into the roaring wind. “Wait! Mum!” He cried out as he reached out a hand towards the woman, wide-eyed. A vacant expression on her face as she became one with the gale. “Mum! Please!” Ithaqua repeatedly cried as he collapsed to his knees.

“Please… Don’t leave me here…” He sobbed, salty tears streaming down his flushed face. He sniveled as the howling wind stroked his skin. He cried like a tall child underneath the faded moonlight, his arms wrapped around himself as the blizzard embraced him as its own. Tears froze under the freezing temperatures, he could not bring himself to weep anymore. A heavy feeling in his chest weighed him down like anchors, for he felt breathless.

Ithaqua awoke with a sharp gasp to a voice which spoke his name. You stood before him, a hand on his dampened cheek. You wiped away the tears which threatened to fall from the corners of his onyx hues with the pad of your thumb. His hand clutched his chest as he stared at you, wide-eyed. He couldn’t bring himself to utter a single word for he was left breathless.

His lips quivered as he attempted to speak, instead choking out a sob as he burst into tears. He laid his head upon your chest as he wept, enclasping him into your arms. “It’s all my fault… Isn’t it?” Ithaqua mumbled. “None of this would’ve happened if she would’ve just… left me to rot.” All of his words were spoken in a state of hysteria.

His heart hammered against his chest as he spoke, brutally beating at his ribcage whilst his hands trembled. This wasn’t the first time you’ve observed him in such a state, albeit you couldn’t help but feel pained upon seeing him weep. You were the only one who could witness him in his state of vulnerability. The moments in which he’d melt under your touch and beg for more; where he’d allow you to remove his mask and behold his beautiful face, tracing a finger alongside his jawline and kiss the beauty marks on his face.

“Ithaqua.” You chimed, raising his chin to face you. His glassy eyes met yours as you fondly caressed his cheek with your thumb. “...How could I not be to blame?” He uttered, his voice quavering. “Your mother took you in and raised you as her own out of the pure kindness of her heart. You mustn't blame yourself for the circumstances at hand. After all, it wasn’t in your control.”

“You are doing all you can for the sake of avenging your mother. That’s enough already, dear. If you find yourself dwelling on the past any longer, you too would wind up losing yourself.” You frowned, running a hand through his disheveled waves. Teardrops dribbled like raindrops down his pale face, soft rays of moonlight illuminating the dimmed-lit room as he laid in your arms.

“That wouldn’t mean anything now, would it?” Ithaqua murmured. “Ithaqua…” You spoke, his eyes meeting yours as you took his hand. They resembled the midnight sea, glinting under the moonlight. “It means everything.” You emphasized. “I just don’t understand… Why are you so kind to me?”

You’ve brought his cold hand to your warm cheek, leaning against his touch. “The answer is obvious, is it not, love?” With your free hand, you wiped away the scattered tears remaining. “Tell me… Tell me why you are so kind.” “I’m not being kind to you, dear. I am telling the truth.” You stated with a benevolent smile. “Which is?”

“Deep down, your mother still loves you very much.” Ithaqua raised his head, averting his gaze from yours. There was a moment of silence between the two of you as you held his hands in yours. “I do not wish to see you wither away, Ithaqua.” You murmured. “If you wish to weep, then weep, permit me to wipe your tears. However, do not blame yourself for your misfortunes.”

“Y/N…” He whispered. “Ithaqua.” The young man lowered his head, his eyes fixed on your hands intertwined. You gently raised his chin, feelings of disquietude washing over him as his ebony eyes locked with yours. His heart quivered in his chest as his face flushed a shade of rogue. “I… love you,” Ithaqua uttered as he leaned closer to you. Your lips brushed against each other lightly as you slowly closed your e/c eyes.

You enfolded Ithaqua in your arms, his hands on your waist whilst you two exchanged a tender kiss. “Rest, won’t you?” You purred, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. ”I’ll be here, with you.”

[gaybitchfx]

-❄️ Character(s): Joseph Desaulniers

-❄️ Type of reader: M!Reader

-❄️ Category: SFW + a lil angst

-❄️ Warning(s): Forbidden love (one of my fav tropes) & intentional lowercase

-❄️ Note: not makin banners anymoreee (unless i feel like it)

-❄️ part 2

-❄️ Edited: ❌

“i advise you to watch what you say or do around him.” your coworker said as she led you to your new patient's room in the asylum.

“if he gets a little antsy just allow him to read something. oh and one last thing…” she began as she stopped you once the two of you were now in front of his room. “don’t fall for his tricks and sly words. it’ll only lead to you being miserable and heartbroken.” she said making you turn your head to the side a little.

“what do you mean—” “have funnn!” and so she quickly left after placing the keys to his cell in your hand making you sigh. looking inside his cell you didn’t see anyone besides a bed making you visibly panicked.

“where did he- AAAA!!—” you let out a scream when your patient quickly appeared from below the door. “well hello there!” he said, a smile on his gentle features.

you placed a hand to where your heart was exhaling. “what is wrong with you?” you grumbled, glaring daggers at him. “many things my dear, many things.” he said with a smirk as you began to look through his files.

his name was joseph.

Joseph Desaulniers.

clearing your throat you looked back at joseph who too looked back at you, blinking a couple of times.

“starting today i’m going to be your new doctor and counselor. from what i’ve heard you scared the others away.” you said, clearing your throat as his grin grew slightly. “i did? how sad.” he sighed, not a hint of actual sympathy in his voice.

“also if i may say, you’re quite beautiful! i’d love to take a photo of you if only i had my camera..” he said as he move a little closer to the barred window that was connected to the white padded door. “thank you? anyways, you can call me y/n for the time being.” you said to him and he nodded his head.

surprisingly, he was much more melo than you had anticipated. you took in his appearance, he had beautiful blue eyes that had dark eye bags underneath them.

his hair was a vibrant white that was out but very messy. his whole appearance made you feel sympathetic towards him, but there wasn’t much you could do besides try and make him well enough to leave this place. “i’ll check up on you in an hour and twelve minutes.” you told him and he nodded his head a smile present on his lips as his eyes closed.

“see you soon, y/n!” he chirped as you began to leave. from that day forward, you’d check up on joseph every day, take him for walks around the asylum, talk about his thoughts, and let him have his little fun here and there. joseph began to find comfort in being with you during those times, as well as being comfortable around you. so comfortable he began to grow an obsession over you.

your smile was all he could truly see each time he’d think about you, the way our eyes had so much life in them, and how your voice would change when talking about topics you liked. he liked you, way more than the past doctors he had. and of course, he tried dropping hints to you about his love for you. “i wonder how you’d look with the right angle of light in your features.

i think you’d look enticing my dear.” joseph said as he swayed his body side to side a little. “you think so?” you asked him, surprised by him saying such a thing. “oh i know so darling. your smile says it all. as well as your beautiful eyes..” he sighed, almost like he was having the best dream of his life.

“thank you joseph.” you said with a small smile present on your lips making his heart jump around in his chest. he just could never get over your smile. it was the most beautiful and alluring thing he’s seen in all his life. “say, what would you do if i asked for a kiss hm?” joseph asked making your eyes quickly widen and brows raise. “pardon?” you squeaked out making joseph light-heartedly laugh.

“or maybe, i could give you a kiss instead?” you quickly shook your head as you could feel your cheeks heat up. “i’m sorry joseph, but, you’re my patient. it would be wrong of me to take advantage of your situation..” you mumbled, your brows furrowing as your eyes no longer looked at him but instead at the dirty gray ground.

“what if i were taking advantage of you instead? such as your kindness and your words..” joseph hummed but you didn’t bother answering him making the man frown deeply before it turned back into that same smirk he always had. “you’re a good man y/n, a great one even. i don’t know why someone with such a gentle and sweet heart could work in a miserable place..” joseph said as he rested his head on the table, looking at you with such soft eyes your heart felt like it would melt.

“and you are a very kind and generous man yourself joseph. i want to make you better to the best of my abilities. i can’t bare to see you in such a place as well..” you sighed and looked back at him, your eyes filled with sympathy and sorrow towards the man in front of you. joseph perked up quickly as he looked at you with wide eyes.

“what if…what if i did get better to where i was able to leave this place? will i be able to be with you then?” joseph asked, he seemed so desperate. “i don’t know joseph…i care for you, i do, but i don’t think we’ll be able to work things out even when you are better.” you sighed and watched as his happy demanded changes by your words. they were like a knife to the heart, it hurt hearing such a thing but he knew you were right.

you both weren’t compatible in any way, but even so, he wanted to be with you and at least be by your side. “but i’ll do everything i can to make you leave this place joseph. i promise you that.” you told him and placed a hand on his cheek, him leaning into it made your heart swell with so much emotion you wanted to cry, but of course, you kept yourself together and professional.

this was going to be a long process, but you were committed to seeing him being the happiest man he can be.

-❄️tags: @jkloserdazai @reallyromealone @secretivemessenger @lostsomewhereinthegarden

[barbieaemond]

The King of Qarth I

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Qartheen f!reader (use of third perspective)

Warnings: angst, dubcon (but not really), handjob, fingering, p in v, hints at sexual trauma, self indulgent use of sorcery

Word count: 11k (i know...i'm sorry...)

Author’s note: The foreign words you’ll find are stolen from Greek. Second and final part coming in two weeks. English is not my first language.

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee @succnfuccubus @zaldritzosrose @kckt88 @venmondiese @miraclealignertlsp369 @ilikechocolatemilkh @credulouskhaleesi @bunbunbl0gs

He had taken each one of them. Dragons, power, the Crown. Snatched them from whatever divine plan the Gods had concocted, for others, never for him, and perhaps this was their punishment.

Death would’ve been a far too kind blessing, he would come to realise in one of those endless days spent wandering, roaming to find some meal, a softer clod to lie on, an identity.

Prince, Protector of the Realm, Rider of Vhagar, Blood of Old Valyria.

They were nothing more than shrouds. Once stripped of them, what was left was merely a man.

And a son. That’s what his mother saw when they threw him on the ground of the Throne Room.

Crawling on her knees like some commoner, she begged and sobbed until her voice became raw and her throat hoarse, chanting obsessively the same plea over and over like a mad woman.

"Please...have mercy in the name of the Mother… my only son...” she had bent so much as to graze the toe of Corlys Velaryon's boots with her face. “you took them all...you took them all...”

Whether she was talking to the Sea Snake, Rhaenyra, the Gods or fate, Aemond didn’t know. He didn’t know the woman kneeling before him, if he ever truly knew her. You cannot know ghosts, only walk through them.

He could not look at her. He turned his head and watched over that crowd of traitors looking down on him, as if they themselves had not looted, slaughtered, and burned more innocent than guilty.

Trained puppets they were, obeying like green little soldiers to Cregan Stark, a northern savage who had taken upon himself the right and duty to do justice. Corlys Velaryon knew it well, having spent days and nights in the dungeons as an accomplice in the poisoning of Aegon the Elder. And there they were, taking over the reins of a kingdom shattered and embittered by war.

But with the promise of Alysanne Blackwood’s hand in marriage, the Wolf had been tamed. He had stopped howling about trials and executions. Now, caution moved and bogged down their decisions. But one thing was clear as a law written in stone: there had to be peace, no matter the cost. Hence, a marriage had been arranged, between two children who, for no reason, had been taught to see the other as the enemy, whose eyes had seen too much death; orphaned and thrown like marbles into a game that brought neither smiles nor laughter to their sepulchral mouths.

She was looking at him, Jaehaera, and in her empty eyes Aemond could see Helaena climbing up the windowsill and letting herself fall.   

“What happened to Vhagar?” The Sea Snake asked “Kinslayer! What about your dragon?”

"Dead.” He lied, although he didn’t know for how long that lie would remain so. That rope in his heart had loosened, weakened, but it still held. She must have crawled off to some remote place, perhaps beyond the Neck, to recover from the injuries to her neck and right wing.

Then the Sea Snake had turned his back, consulting with his council of leeches. Exile. He heard them say. Essos. And then that word he hadn’t heard for a long time. Dragonless. A kinder word for useless. Powerless.

“Let him go, Corlys. He’s always been a spoiled brat. He won’t survive for long in those savage lands.” Someone said outside the cell they threw him in, shackled with chains on wrists and ankles like some rabid dog.

He won’t survive for long.

How he wished they were right. How he wished to look into the beady eyes of the Stranger.

Alicent would curse him, perhaps she would slap him as she used to slap Aegon for being so blasphemous, not to the Gods, but to her. Aemond was no father, and no matter how much he could try, he’d never understood the fierce, unforgiving grip motherhood had on a woman.

When he saw her for the last time before being thrown on a ship to Braavos, he realized it was the only tether that kept her alive. Him and Jaehaera.

“Just a little longer, please…just a little…” she pleaded to his jailers. With the arranged marriage, cruelties had softened, and concessions became more frequent. The Dowager Queen was granted to see her son for the last time.

“Mother!” he screamed as they dragged him away “Keep your fucking hands off me!”

He needed to speak to her. He needed her to tell him she was lying.  

“Mother, there’s a woman…”

“The Strong witch? Aemond, she’s…They captured our last allies from the Reach and…they said they found a woman in the woods but…she was in pain…and bleeding….”

The Gods’ punishment flowed through the long-cowled robe of the Stranger. And he took them all.

Aegon, Helaena, Daeron. Alys and the baby.

Alicent could not bear to see the last piece of her flesh and bones being cloaked by the cold shroud of the Stranger. And so, she crawled and begged to preserve his existence.

But that, that was no existence.

It was a limbo, a hanging life for the damned. And he was one, wasn't he? He killed kin, he killed innocent men, women and children, coming from above like a heaven banished God unleashing his wrath on the world. And even gods pay for their sins.

Only he would gladly have stuck his head in a noose or waited for the hangman's blade, a death worthy of a soldier, rather than wandering like a derelict, rootless and restless, with that rope pulling and fraying day after day. Or Weeks? Moons? He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d set foot in that limbo.

He seemed to be living in a slumber, a Milk of the Poppy hallucination. And yet, the ground was real beneath his exhausted feet, as was the heat, and at some point, the hunger.

The leeches had tried to appear civil and compassionate, lying to his mother’s face about the gold they would give him, to sustain himself once reached the East. But naturally, they didn’t keep their word. If he died of starvation, he was sure they would have lit a candle to each God in the Grand Sept. They probably prayed for that to happen.

Or maybe not. Maybe there was no greater gratification and source of amusement to know that the haughty Prince Aemond was tasting the everyday humiliation of having to steal in order not to starve, of not having clean clothes, feather pillows to lie on, the disgrace of not being able to give orders to anyone, but rather having to suffer them.

He stayed in Bravoos for a short time. It was too dangerous, too close to Westeros and too wary if anyone ever caught the color of his hair under the cloak’s hood. He remembered his history books quite well. It was the only one among the Free Cities that did not yield to the Valyrian empire; indeed, it was founded by a group of rebellious slaves fled from the tyranny of the Dragon Lords.

Volantis, on the contrary, worshipped the Old Empire. But in equal measure, they worshipped slavery. The city swarmed with mercenaries and slavers, peddling men and women like meat for slaughter, ready at every corner to steal children from the streets. And in Volantis Aemond understood that if he did not want to end up in some butcher’s hands, he had to be what he had always been: a soldier. For he realized that everywhere in the world, the most valuable currency was not gold, nor castles and titles, but blood.

This man for new fresh clothes, that woman for few gold coins and a mattress to rest his back, not to sleep. Sleep eluded him, as well as remorse. Unless his body shut his mind out of exhaustion, he lied there for hours on end, with blood drying on his hands, listening to all the ghosts floating around him, and trying to find a grip—something to hold on to. Duty had been the blacksmith who forged him and the altar to which he devoted himself. Duty to his family, his brother, the crown, the throne, even Alys, yes. For all her riddles and stumps of prophecy, he wanted her. He wanted that son.

But here, he had no high purpose to serve but himself. Stripped of all honors and many more curses, he fell into a daylong stupor, made of blood, humiliations and silent cries for revenge.

Until one day, the rope went taut.

Vhagar burned away the stupor. She had found him. For the second time, she had been his salvation. And on her back, he found a fragment of who he was, but who he was supposed to be remained a distant thing, clouded in smoke.

He flew south, over the ruins of Old Valyria, and then east, crossing all of Vaes Dothrak to the Red Waste, and by the time he realized he should've veered north or south, it was too late.

He was in the middle of the widest and driest desert on the eastern continent.

The Garden of Bones, as they called it, and with good reason. For in those few times that Aemond decided to land to allow Vhagar to rest, all his eye could see were sand, devilgrass and bones. But he didn’t care about the thirst, the dry and cracked lips, the white tow his hair had become.

Vhagar was his only concern. She was starving. She could not fly too high in the skies. And so, along with all the misery and humiliation, came the dread. For if Vhagar died, the last rope, the last tether, which had perhaps kept him alive up to that point, and perhaps kept her alive, would break.

But then, just as it happens in some book of adventures, or simply in dreams, a mirage, a true oasis in the middle of the desert, surrounded by the highest walls ever built in the history of men, guarding the greatest city that ever was and will be: Qarth.

“Hmm” she ponders, pursing her lips. “I’m not sure about this one. What do you think, Nyla?”

The young maid stops her morning chore and blushes. “I think it would match your skin wonderfully, your Highness.”

She hears giggling behind her shoulders, where two of her most trusted maids are braiding her hair after oiling them with mirrh and cinnamon. “You hear that, Nyla? They’re questioning your candor.”

“I am not, your Highness.” says Dora, one of the giggling girls. “But if you were looking for a less partial opinion, let’s say a more objective one...you should have asked me or Mysha.”

“Well, as it happens, I was looking precisely for a partial opinion. Look at her. She’s changing my chamber pot and still, she thinks that shade of purple would suit me wonderfully. Oh Nyla, I think you will soon become my favorite.”

“Is that a yes then, your Highness?” the merchant wastes no time to ask, standing in the center of the room with silk drapes of several colors resting along his arm.

“Yes, Jorio. Two yards of that purple silk.”

The merchant nods swiftly, too swiftly she notices. The man is acting awkwardly since the moment he stepped into her private rooms. Usually, he’s a big talker, a true born seller. He could make believe one could heal from Greyscale if they just wrap themselves in the soft embrace of his silks. But not today. He seems in a hurry. The exhibition of his goods too quick and excited. And then the sweat, lumped in a wet sheen around his bald head.

“Anything else, your Highness?”

Her forehead creases, acknowledging a thought, new but not quite, as if it has always been there. “Perhaps something green?” she ventures.

“Green?” inquires Misha “That’s a first.”

She shakes her head in a dismissing way. “Must be my father’s sorcery.”

The shadows, kóri, they speak to you.

“What do you have in green, Jorio?”

The merchant fumbles with his silks, a turmoil moves his hands clumsily until a few drapes of fabric flutter on the ground. He stoops to pick them up, only to drop the others still clinging onto his shoulder in a chaotic rainbow of colors on the white marble floor.

“Jorio, what is the matter with you today?”

“I—Nothing, your Highness, my apologies...”

“You know if you have problems with your trades, the Salt King and I would be more than happy to help you.”

“It’s not that—no. Must be all the fuss in town.”

“Pirates again?”

“Uhm—no, it’s the…beast outside the walls.”

“The beast? What beast?”

The man swallows, visibly. “A dragon, your Highness. A huge dragon, higher than the city walls.”

“But…that is not possible...” Misha tries.

“I’m telling what I saw with my own eyes. The Thirteen gathered outside the walls. I saw the Spice King along my way here. He said they were about to parley with the Milk man, see through his reasons.”

"Milk Men don’t ride dragons.” she corrects, standing from the soft cushions piled and spread on the ground. “This man’s hair…what color are they?”

“White as midday sun.”

"Your Highness! Come..."

The Salt Queen joins Dora on one of the brightly sunlit balconies overlooking the Route of Trade. There is indeed a great bustle in the town, a motionless bustle however, gazing with open mouths and bewildered eyes at the small procession moving up the street. The City Guard is leading, with their shields and spears to protect The Thirteen, rulers of the most important trading city in the world. They are all dressed in bright colours and precious jewels embroidered in their silk tunics, hanging from their necks, wrists and fingers.

If she narrows her eyes, The Salt Queen can swear she can see the gold ring her husband wears on his nose. What catches her eye though, is not gold or any other bright color, but black, and then white.

There is a man walking down the street with the thirteen, a tall man with plain dark clothes and a mantle of silver hair, white as midday sun.

“Wife, may I introduce you to our noble guest?”

A woman comes forward to greet him when Aemond enters a lavish hall with several windows adorned with colorful drapes of silk. He is sure he has never seen so much marble in his life, feeling even more inappropriate given the state of his clothes and his whole demeanor, shamefully far from the clean, soldierly appearance that left mouth agape.

“Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, from Westeros.” The Salt King declares as the woman stops just before him. He stands tall and imposing, no matter the misery of his shabby clothes, the state of his disheveled hair falling in silver tangles down his back. He is still a Targaryen, his chin is high and proud.

“More like from the Old Valyria.” She says raising an eyebrow, and sizing him up and down. “He seems to have just emerged from the Doom, miraculously unscathed.”

The Prince does nothing but seethe his teeth behind his dry lips, a distant shame in his eye that quickly turns into a focused and unblinking rage.

“Welcome to Qarth, my Prince. I’d trust your journey was uneventful but…I can see the Red Waste takes its toll, even on Valyrian beauty.”

Aemond takes a good, long look at her, inevitably lingering on her chest, dressed as the common Qartheen fashion dictates: one breast exposed. But a lot more of her is exposed. Her shoulders, her arms and legs, a glimpse of her hips, all crossed by swirling bundles of lilac silk.

If any married woman in Westeros dressed like that in the open, he’s sure any husband would lock her up. At least he would.

“You must excuse my wife, Prince Aemond, or rather, get used to her habit of speaking her mind.”

“Come now, Xavos. Surely Westerosi women can voice their thoughts?” she moves, walking past Aemond and her husband to reach a small table inlaid with gold to pour some greenish beverage into a cup. “I had a maid once, she was from…Rich Garden?”

“High Garden.” He sternly corrects her.

“Ah, yes. A delightful creature, always smelled so good.” She says distractedly “Anyway, she fled from your lands because she liked girls and not boys and she didn’t want to devote her life to being a brood mare sucking a flaccid cock until her hair had gone white.”

Her maids snicker somewhere past Aemond shoulders, stiffening his posture at the liberties those commoners are granted. “I should hope you Westerners listen to your women more than you do your horses.”

Aemond watches as she takes a sip and laces his hands behind, slightly tilting his head for a moment. “Where I come from, women do not possess such a sharp tongue. Furthermore, and fortunately, most of them have manners. They know how to address a Prince of the Realm.”

She turns to leave the cup on the same table and glances at Nyla. “Oh, he bites.”

“This is not Westeros, dragon prince.” She says turning to face him with a righteous smile “I don’t need to ask your permission to speak. The Salt King is my husband, that is why you will hear my maids and everyone else address me as Your Highness. So, you may lower that chin and stop waiting for me to bow down to you because technically my rank is higher than yours. You might say the only one meant to bow in this room were you.”

The silence that follows is so stark that the air the Prince quickly exhales through his nose sounds like thunder, alerting the Salt King. "Come now, wife. Don't wake the beast.” he says lightly, stiffening a smile “And I mean it quite literally. You should see the size of Prince Aemond’s dragon.”

“I heard.” she acknowledges “Jorio said he’s higher than the city walls.”

“She. And twice, than your city walls.” The Prince corrects her again, just as sternly. “She’s the largest dragon alive in the known world.”  His chin remains high and haughty, simply because he can. Because she knows he could raze the entire city to the ground just by snapping his fingers. So, she looks down and says “Since you will be our guest, it is my duty as matron of this house to make you feel welcomed. If you would be so kind to follow me, your Grace.” She forces her tone to be as much as corteous, but then she smiles “Is my tongue acceptably sharp to your liking now?”

“Where are you taking me?” he asks as he follows the Salt Queen along one of the corridors, made of the finest marble with high arches of white stone and gold glittering under the midday sun.

“Down and down, to throw you in the dungeons.”

Aemond stalls for a moment and she does the same. “I was joking.”

He gives her that stern, distrustful look she starts to think he has etched on his features since his first wail and huffs. “God, have you lost your humor in the Red Waste?”

She resumes her walking, and Aemond follows, glancing around as they pass through many people, some of them are dressed like maids and servants, some others with long tunics of silk and jewels embroidered in the fabric. They speak to one another, he notices, as equals. But they stop altogether upon seeing a living Valyrian walk among them.

“God?” he asks “Which one?”

“Whichever you want. R'hollor, the Many Faced…I’m not picky. It helps me sleep better at night to know I didn’t dump all my sins on one God only.”

He is sure from his education and his mother’s faith that religion doesn’t work that way, but he has more pressing matters at heart. “Will you meet my requests?”

“About your dragon?” she asks stopping before a large wooden door closed. “Can’t she hunt on her own?”

“In the Red Waste? In these barren lands? Perhaps you should put your pretty head outside the city walls and see with your own eyes how big she is.”

The woman smirks, seizing him up and down and furrows her brows. “You seem very keen on emphasizing how big your dragon is. I should hope it’s not a compensating factor for the lack of something else.”

She pushes the door open, not bothering to wait for Aemond who just stands there for a moment, a little dumbfounded by the salt of which the Queen's tongue seems to be made. His bewilderment is only destined to worsen as he crosses the threshold and looks around.

Right in the middle of the palace, amidst all that marble and white stone, stands a wild courtyard, wild and beautiful in its unspoiled nature. Climbing plants and fruit trees grow undisturbed around a large square pool, decorated with mosaics of a thousand colors, harboring the most crystal-clear water he has ever seen; small clouds of steam rise from the surface, pinching his nostrils with the unmistakable smell of sulfur.

There are people bathing together and, obviously, much to his dismay, naked.

“Do you not take baths in Westeros?” the Salt Queen asks, faking true curiosity at the puzzlement she can read on his face, slowly turning into repugnance as he looks at her with a cutting answer.

“We have decency, in Westeros.”

She does not bother to disguise the long sigh blowing through her lips and then she turns to clap her hands vigorously, three times.

“My friends, apologies for the interruption!” she announces as everyone in the pool and outside turns to look at her “I must ask you to leave the pool for the time being. Our…prude guest demands a little bit of privacy.” 

She can feel the Prince glaring but ignores him altogether to stop one of the servants.

“Priya, fetch some oils. And some silks, fitting for a prince.” She turns her head to look at him from head to toe, as if valuing a new drape of silk or a new sculpture to put in the Hall of Trade, but then she creases her forehead, as she often does when knowing. “Blue perhaps? To match the sapphire.”

The constant scowl seems to leave his features and she hears his question before he utters a single word.

“My father is a warlock. Magic runs thick in his blood, he says, as well as in the blood of his blood. Sometimes I sense things, bits of knowledge, and sometimes they happen to be right. But you don’t need to be afra—”

“I’m not afraid of sorcery.” He cuts her, his tone flat, his features stoic as ever and she looks at him, curiously, perhaps wondering what lies behind all that stone.

“Very well. Sapphire blue for Prince Aemond.” his name slips into his ears in a strange, liquorous way; vowels are more open in this part of the world.

When they’re left alone, she signals towards the pool. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

He hesitates for a moment, but it is not as if he has never undressed in front of one of his old servants. And frankly, he is too eager to get those filthy clothes off to be bothered by a foreign woman watching.

He throws everything on the ground without too much care, and she watches without too much shame, because that's not how things go there. Bodies, both male and female, they are not something to hide, but something to be displayed and worshipped.

Her eyes linger on scars, old and new, on a lithe body that once belonged to a prince and a soldier, now marked by misery, dirt and hunger.

“Everything.” she says at one point, when he’s left with only his battered cotton pants on.

Aemond thinks he heard wrong. But she only blinks, keeping her face blank.

“Is this the common way to welcome guests here?” he scorns.

“Actually, it is. At least after the incident with the scorpion.” she doesn’t bother to wait for a question or an eyebrow rising. “My husband’s great grandfather hosted a merchant from Yunkai once. He came here with gifts of all sorts among which was a poisonous scorpion, hidden in his clothes. The old Salt King died but so did the merchant. Fell face down in his chamber pot while taking a piss. Quite ironic, don’t you think? You have to be careful when handling such vicious creatures.”

He only looks at her, and she's the one to raise an eyebrow. “I could turn away if you like.”

Aemond sighs loudly, moving his cutting jaw at the umpteenth humiliation and then lowers his pants. She stares into his eye and surely, surely he thinks, she wouldn’t dare to wander down.

But a moment later her eyes sink past his snatched waist, and she smirks.

“I believe I owe you an apology.”

“What for?”

“Questioning your…natural gifts.”

Aemond blinks, running on the verge between scowling, raising his eyebrows and huffing a laugh.  Certainly, it never happened to him to talk so bluntly about his cock with any highborn lady barely met, let alone a supposed queen.

“I’ll leave you to your bath, dragon prince. The Salt King and I have much to discuss.”

“Such as?” he deadpans, not really interested while he dives into the clean water.

“Well, a Targaryen Prince is not an everyday occurrence.” She says following his every move, the way water glides on his skin, silver hair floating on the surface like moonblooms. “We’ll make sure to have a feast worthy of your noble taste this evening.”

“And then talk behind my back about what to do with me?”

“Undoubtedly. And I will tell him the truth.”

“Hmm.” He hums, settling on one of the underwater steps of the pool, resting his shoulders against the rim. His mood instantly improves, so he pins her with his eye and looks her up and down. “Do you believe to know my reasons? You’re quite sure of yourself…your Highness. Unless your father’s sorcery allows you to read minds, I dare say even rather pretentious.”

“I don’t need sorcery to know that you, in the first place, do not know what you’re doing here.”

“And what makes you so sure?”

She sees that chin tilting, lifting with a hint of challenge. And she takes it. She has the truth, and indeed, she doesn’t need sorcery.

“Because Qarth is still standing.”

She gets no answer, just that diffident stern look to which she darts the faintest of smirks and then leaves the pool, under his watchful eye that stays on the door for a moment longer, before he lets his head sink underwater.

The Salt Queen gives instructions for the most sumptuous room to be given to Prince Aemond. She sees to it that he is provided with several silk suits and that food is served to him immediately when he has finished bathing. She has observed his body with pleased eyes, so scrupulously she knows the Prince has not had a decent meal in weeks.

“Did he settle?” Xavos asks when she enters his private room.  

“In time, I’m sure he will. Valyrians have an impressive disposition to make their own what does not belong to them, do they not?”

She hears him murmur something in return from where he stands, on the balcony threshold that overlooks the city and its massive port. The Queen sits on a soft armchair and starts to twirl her hair around one finger, curling her mouth into a thoughtful pout. “I was thinking goose for dinner. Or salt beef? We should save goats and pigs for the beast. Apparently, poor thing is starving.”

In the silence that follows, she turns to her husband. “Xavos?”

The Salt King turns with one shoulder and a half-bitter smile. “We have a living threat who could burn us all to the crisp walking within our palace and our city, and you speak to me of geese and pigs?”

“It’s useless to cry over spilled milk. You let him in. You let greed lure you all like a piper with a flute. I’m wondering, on which tune did he make you dance?”

He walks to her with slow feet and looks at her after a long sigh. “Dragon eggs.”

“I should’ve known.”

“Cyril began talking of an opportunity of a lifetime. Of the Greatest City that ever was and will be becoming even greater. Think about it. With dragons…Qarth might become the center of the whole world. A newborn Valyria. If we play our hand right—”

“Quit the fancy words. What exactly are you asking of me, Xavos?”

She knows he is asking for something. She has known him for more than ten years, and he has asked, has demanded, a lot of her. She knows that when his voice drops a note, he wants something, as if whispered, it becomes less degrading.

He trails his index finger on her chin and lifts it. “To make him dance to your tune.”

“You overestimate me, husband. I cannot reason with a tiger when my head is in its mouth. Besides, he might be easy on the eye, but he’s as agreeable as a plant of spikes.”

She speaks smoothly—not a flinch or a blink at her husband's hand sinking between her lilac’s folds, and then between her inner ones. “Since when you are so reluctant about who’s allowed in your bed?”

“Don’t confuse me with yourself.” she says lifting her chin to look at him, unbothered by the circling his finger draws on her dry bundle. “I fuck who I want for pleasure, rarely out of boredom, but never to prove a point.”

Abruptly, he slips his finger deep inside, hurting her. “I should have taken your tongue as well.” 

 “And still…” she forces a smile over the painful grimace twisting her mouth “it would not have given you what you so desperately seek in every hole.”

His unwanted touch leaves her and he straightens, pacing lazily behind her seat. “He’s young. He’s had a rough time. Surely, he must’ve missed the intimate company of a woman.”

“For that kind of company, there are pleasure houses.”

“Don’t play dumb, now. You saw how proud he is. How do you think he will take it if we send a whore to his rooms?” Xavos grips the back of the chair and leans down slowly, speaking to her ear. “Listen to me. Cyril is right. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We must make him feel…important…coddled, even.”

“Even if you shackle his feet with gold, you cannot turn a dragon into a lamb, Xavos.”

The Salt King sighs impatiently, and his tone drops just as earlier. “Do as I say.”

Young Nyla interrupts her masters as she enters the room, and the Queen turns her head. “Nyla, what is it?”

“We have escorted Prince Aemond to his rooms, your Highness.”

“Good.” Xavos says, and then looks at his wife with a pointed stare. “Make sure he has everything he needs.”

The Salt Queen barges in and halts on the door, bewildered upon seeing her trusted friend Mysha on the verge of tears, staring at the ground as if she’s waiting for an execution.

“My deepest apologies, my Prince, I meant no disrespect.”

“What happened?”

“Uh—Prince Aemond asked for some herbs, your Highness. An ointment, for his eye.”

“Aye. I did ask for that, not for you to fucking touch me.”

The Prince is snarling, his eye wide and menacing like a hound on the brink of defense yet hunting for flesh. His face is clean now, the Queen notices, shaven; his hair is damp and pulled back, leaving his chiseled features, that infuriating chin, and high, prominent cheekbones in plain sight. Stupid as it may sound, she can't help but think of one of those marble sculptures she likes to buy from art dealers.

“You may go, Mysha. I will assist the Prince.”

“I don’t need assistance.” He hisses with threatening calm. “Leave.”

He caved in the pool, but he will not suffer another humiliation in front of these foreigners. At least not with something so delicate and private as his eye. But of course, he realizes with annoyance, this woman will not falter at any of his empty orders.

“Are you dismissing me in my own Palace?”

He looks down, sighing and fuming, and she beckons Misha to leave the room.

“You must understand, servants here are treated differently. They’re granted more liberties.”

“I see. As the ones you so generously grant to slaves.” he mutters, and starts to fidget with a tray offering ginger roots, turmeric powder, and eucalyptus leaves.

“Oh, spare me. Of all people, you Valyrians are the least entitled to give a lecture on morals.” she counters, watching his long, tapered fingers hover without touching anything. Clearly, he was used to servants doing it for him.

“May I?” she offers, but doesn’t wait for his permission to make room next to him. “There are no slaves in this palace.” she tells him "How can you expect loyalty from someone you bought with something as cheap as gold?”

“Cheap as the golden ring your husband has stuck in his nose? He looks like a fucking boar.” he says as his eye trails on her profile.

“My husband is an imbecile. This city did not become the greatest that ever was and will be with gold. Trade is our currency. We call it antallagí. Exchange.”

“A true-born merchant’s wife.”

“Or a boar’s one?”

He huffs, and she turns, feigning shock at the faintest of smirks curling his lips. “So you’re not made of stone after all.”

She studies him for a few moments—more than is deemed proper for a married woman, in Westeros at least—but she can't help it. She wonders how it is possible that exile and moons of misery have not bent this man; what drives that rigid posture, whether it is too strict an education or it is all a lie, masking an effort to keep control, to impose it on others but perhaps more on himself.

“Ointment is ready, your Grace. It may burn a little, ginger is a godsend, but it’s tricky. I could help—”

“I need no help. Leave.”

The stone is in place once more. But she won’t have it. 

She raises her eyebrows, biding all the time in the world.

Aemond chews thorns as he looks at her, swallows them, and tastes them again, piercing his tongue. “Please.”

“That must’ve cost you a lot. But it isn’t so hard, is it?”

His lips flatten in a thin line, and she smiles. “You are a second son, are you not? That’s the reason for that stubborn chin. You must stomp your feet to make anything yours.”

“Careful, woman. I’ve taken tongues for far less.”

“Why? Did you not see eye to eye with them?”

He moves like lightning, invading her space until he is a breath away from her face, and his mouth breathes fire. “Listen to me. I care not who the fuck you are or which title you make your slaves call you. I am not here to allow you to make a fool of me, Queen or no Queen. Mock me once more, and I’ll carve the word please on your vicious mouth.”

He waits for the fire to catch on, even though flames do not seem to touch her; she's unwavering and solid as marble.

“Get out.”

“I don’t—” she chokes on her words, on his hand seizing her jaw; cold fingers, leaving embers on her skin.

“I said, get out.”

That evening, the already lavish palace of the Salt King was polished and decked out duly to honor the foreign guest. The walls, lit by braziers of fire, stood like a beacon amidst a sea of marble and white stone roofs. The Hall of Trade was a treasury, crammed so full of gold that it looked like a pirate's dream. Pillows were piled on the floor, long tables held food of all kinds. A huge bowl of wine welcomed the guests, who were given a goblet they had to dip into the large bowl and drink, otherwise they would not be allowed inside. It was tradition, a sort of good omen.

It pinched Aemond's nostrils when he brought the cup to his mouth and, thankfully, drank it in small sips. Despite his prudence, by the second he felt his tongue on fire from how spiced it was. By comparison, Arbor Gold was wastewater.

He wears the sapphire blue silk tunic, with a silk belt cinching his narrow waist, but his hair is different. Mysha learned the lesson she asked, and when he gave his consent, she got to work and braided his silver hair. Most of them are loose, falling down his back in a curtain of white. Others are laced in one, two, three braids, softly meeting at the back of his head.

If he thought the Salt Queen’s hospitality was somewhat a little too forward and a lot more intrusive, he had to reconsider when he found himself cornered as soon as his silver head caught the eye of every guest. Men and women, old and young, flocked to him with eyes full of wonder, as if the Salt King had captured some wild and rare creature and called all his friends to make them look.

But they didn’t just look. They talked openly and freely, voicing thoughts that, in Westeros, would have stayed inside one’s head.

“Look at his hair! They seem like moon rays!”

“And the skin! Whiter than milk!”

“What happened to his eye?”

“If only my wife were here…she always wanted to see a Valyrian!”

He had just gotten there, and his teeth were baring.

“My friends, please! Let our noble guest breathe!” the Salt King chuckles as he comes forward among the bewildered audience, looking like the loot of some theft, for all the gold and diamonds and emeralds sewn on his orange silk tunic. “Come, my Prince. The first taste is yours.”

Aemond catches a movement on his right and there she is, the Salt Queen, in a crimson red sparkling like a bloodied dew given the little, tiny red stones woven in her silks. Her hair coils into an intricate bun crisscrossed by a paper-thin gold chain that crowns her forehead with small, rough rubies, like grains of salt.

For a moment, he’s so enthralled by her figure, and her eyes, even more piercing because of kohl, that he fails to notice the clay plate she’s holding, filled with fruits. Some he has never seen, except in books, but he has no time to take a guess.

“Your first taste, my Prince.” she chimes. “Sweet or tart?”

His gaze falls back to the plate, but not before stopping, again, for a blink, on that absurd fashion of one bare breast. “Tart.” He says tightly.

She smiles, as if she knew, and puts the plate down. Aemond watches her bejeweled fingers pluck off a grape and turn, her hand in midair but not quite outstretched toward him. He nothing but give her a pointed look, one that translates only into a stern and irrevocable I can eat by myself.

“My Prince. My wife means no offense.” the Salt King explains “In Qarth, it is deemed a great honor, given and taken, and an excellent omen for the guest's stay, if said guest is fed by the matron of the house.”

His throat bobs and the Salt Queen can’t quite decipher if the dragon prince is more humiliated or angered by the prospect of being fed by a woman like a baby who just teethed. At last, he sighs and leans in, but her hand withdraws a little, leaving him with his mouth slightly open, stretched forth like a beggar waiting for charity. It is not Aemond who bites the grape, but her who finally, after another straight stare into his eye, lets it drop into his mouth.

The crowd erupts in a cheerful clapping, as does The Salt King who goes to stand just between his wife and the Dragon Prince, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder “You see, Prince Aemond, this is one of the extraordinary gifts of Qartheen women. They know exactly how to hold...and when to let go.”

Aemond does not bother to look at him, he is too absorbed, annoyed and deep down, without him knowing it yet, enticed by the tranquil smile that curls her mouth and at the same time curls his pride, mocks it, strips it bare and outright laughs at it, goading everyone else to do so.

Behold, the pink dread!

 “Without further ado, let the feast begin!” The Salt King announces joyfully and in the same moment, a delicate and sweet melody fills the room, while Aemond chews what’s left of that grape, tasting his own bile.

An hour later, Aemond is fuming. Fuming because ruling the most important and influential city in Essos, he should’ve known the Thirteen were aware of everything that went on and was currently going on in the West. Perhaps even more than he knew. Did they know something about his mother?

He banished that thought from his mind just as he trained himself to do in all this damned existence.

They knew about the Dance, they knew about Aegon the Usurper, they knew of Rhaenyra the Cruel, the Storming of the Dragon Pit. They knew the kingdom was dreadfully impoverished and in the hands of a young boy.

But they spoke about it as if they were discussing the weather. Qartheens cared nothing about what was going on outside their impenetrable walls; whether it was a new king on a throne far away or a war that had killed thousands and thousands, it was all tittle-tattle to kill time between one cup of wine and the next. He was asked about this battle or the previous one without thinking that he had lived through that war; he made it, he carried it and perhaps he still carried it within him.

He was fuming for this, he was fuming for how women, and even men, gawk at him, for their bizarre custom of hosting a feast without a decent place to sit and eat like normal people do. He was fuming because no matter how much he tried to ignore it, a spool of crimson would always catch his eye.

Grabbing one more cup of wine, he decides to take a breath outside, standing on one of the marbled balconies of the Palace. Air does good to extinguish his fires, but it does not clear up his mind. Perhaps he should blame the wine, perhaps his head is still smoky.

Because you, in the first place, do not know what you're doing here.

As much as he loathed to admit it, the Salt Queen was right. He tricked himself into thinking the main reason for his coming here was Vhagar. She was weak, due to the wing's injuries as well as the old ones, and most of all, she was hungry. But with the promise of goats and pigs, came the clarity and the knowledge that he had no reason, no plan. He only knew he had leverage—a dreadful leverage made of talons and fire on these merchants and their city. But what to do with it?

He hears voices somewhere near, and once more, crimson pollutes his sight. The Salt Queen and her husband are talking behind a tall white pillar. He can’t quite hear what they’re saying, but she catches his stare almost immediately. The talking ceases, and Aemond knows they were talking about him, of course they were.

Xavos comes out of his hiding place with a placid and benevolent expression, walking right past him without a word. But she stays, and she looks, and then she walks to him.

“That will go to your head.” She warns as he empties the cup “I didn’t see you touch any food.”

The spiced wine burns his throat, makes his tongue sour and impatient. “Is your husband aware of your excessive concern about your guests? Or is it a thoughtfulness he has ordered you to reserve only for me?”

“I’m just being considerate since you’re a foreigner and not well acquainted with Qartheen tastes.”

“How exactly am I supposed to eat? Standing?”

She huffs a laugh and shakes her head trimmed with gold and red as she gives him a bemused, though genuine, look. “Good God, how spoiled you are? I thought misery made men humble, but clearly not men of House Targaryen.”

His jaw moves annoyingly, and he leaves the empty cup on the marble, but he doesn’t let go, holding it by the edges in a white-knuckle grip. She notices it as she leans against the marble, with her back to the city, and gives him a long, inquisitive look. “After all the misery you suffered, I thought you would’ve liked the attention…perhaps you do…perhaps…you want more.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” he asks boringly, and just as sourly, staring at the city.

“I must say, I’ve hosted so many people, from so many different parts of the world, and yet…I’ve never found myself before a face so full of contradictions.”

His eye pins her. “Need I remind you how you left my room earlier?”

“With your hand around my neck, because you couldn’t take a joke.”

“I don’t like being mocked. And I don’t like being played like a pawn. So, unless this is another one of your absurd customs, tell your husband to stop parading you around me like a whore. It looks bad when you insist on others calling you queen.”

“We all play parts, dragon prince. Sometimes, they blend. But in the end…it takes little to know the real you.”

Aemond chokes on his breath as her hand slips between them like water, cupping his crotch with a grip of steel, and fire, burning from her fingertips through the fabric. She holds it like a weapon, and his defense is low. She sees his throat bobbing down once, and twice, rejection curls his mouth, but not strongly enough to shove her hand away, to not start to harden against the flames of her fingers, brushing all his length until she cups it once more.

“Whore or queen?” she whispers, brushing his parted lips “Someone in there doesn’t seem to care.”

His grip on the cup loosens, a tremor runs down his spine, and he dawdles in the sensation, one felt before, elicited by other hands, and yet new. It’s been so long. The surge to touch, to clutch, to taste, drains his head of blood. But she eludes him, tilting her head to the right and then to the left to avoid the vise of his lips; her grip loosens, running the back of her fingers against his cock in a feathery brush, touching without touching.

He grinds his teeth to choke a whimper, but then she’s cupping again; she feels him go completely hard for her, and the knowledge washes over her like tongues of fire prickling down her back and between her thighs. The soft, slippery silk allows her to unleash her lunges more fiercely, to easily close her hand around his cock, and that same silk helps her to glide her hand deliciously up and down.

He's breathing hard, almost panting, brushing the tip of his nose against hers; her eyes are open, basking in the sight, the little twitches of his mouth as bends to pleasure, the breathing turning heavier and heavier, his hand that starts to flex. She imagines how those slender fingers would feel between her folds, how easily they would slip inside, and why, why is he not touching her?

“Do it…” she breathes. “Do you want me to say please? I would…there’s no shame in begging, dragon prince….it only makes you free…”  

“Your Highness, my apologies.” Nyla calls her Queen suddenly, and she stops her wicked ministrations, abruptly bringing Aemond back to his senses.

“The Salt King sent me after you.” The young maid says, apparently unfazed by what she clearly witnessed. “We’re playing kottabos.”

"Ah, yes, of course.” she tries to regain some control, although she was panting on the sole anticipation, and goes back inside.

Aemond stalls, taking a long sigh in the fresh air to try to stop the blood from boiling. And he follows.

Kottabos, he discovers, is quite a tricky game. The rules are simple: one has to throw the last drops of wine inside their cup to hit a white plate balanced atop a bronze pole. It requires a bit of dexterity, because the player must put the index finger through the handle of the drinking cup and throw the drops while sprawled on pillows, laying on their elbows.

The Salt Queen, it seems, is quite adept at this game. It takes her only two tries to hit the plate and she’s rising from the pillows, bowing her head to thank the cheerful audience. Aemond's eye bends as the crimson veils bend with her every movement; he slips between them and lets them wrap around him, even though he should not, even though he reproaches himself for letting the blood, the wine, the flesh, that has been starved of other flesh for too long, win.

“My closest friends know I’m very fond of sweets and cakes but…on such a special occasion, I choose a special reward.” She announces when the crowd has quieted down, and before she even turns around, he feels her gaze on him as if she had two more eyes on the back of her head. “A sweeter reward…or perhaps tarter.”

She moves towards him, and every step she takes barefoot on the marble is an unmasking. With every step she takes, it seems to him that she is touching him, as she did just before, and more; he feels like her fingers are slipping under the silk, setting fire to his skin.

She stops in front of him and yet, he still sees her moving, feels her moving like a sea creature and her thousand tentacles of crimson silk.

Maybe he should put the wine down.

Wine is not for you, brother mine, your mind’s too heavy. It’ll soak like a sponge and you'll fall into your own vomit.

What she does not put down is her aim, moving her hands diligently as she grabs his face and draws him close to kiss him on the lips, and tilt her head back to look at him, so close she’s breathing his breath. “This…is your first taste.”

“Good! The Queen has chosen her reward. Let us play another round, shall we?”

Again, Aemond does not bother to look at the Salt King, he looks at her and the faint twitch between her lips at her husband's words.

“Come.” She says taking his hand, and he doesn’t know what drives him to follow her, whether his mind is too soaked, or his flesh is crying out to be fed.

What is certain is that now her bare feet tread the marble of his rooms and he is closing the door.

“I hope you don’t mind if we do it here. I don’t take men into my rooms.”

“Why?”

“I’m jealous of my things.”

“Liar.”

“What?”

“So used to play parts and yet, you look down before lying. Disappointing.”

“I’m surprised you were able to look at anything above my cleavage.”

This time, he lowers his gaze, but not to lie. He knows he has looked, many times, and the excuse of not being used to such a custom starts to creak. She walks up to him and looks at him with that knowing smile that makes him want to clamp his hand on her mouth and wipe it off her face, and maybe stick his fingers inside.

“Are you a virgin, my Prince? Did you have a wife in the West? Children?”

He swallows, and her eyes fall on his throat.

“Is that guilt you just swallowed? Or sorrow?”

“Why don’t you listen to your father’s sorcery while keeping your hole shut?”

“I told you, I am no witch. Qarth is the center of the world. Do you think we don’t know what happens in the East, West, North and South?” she angles her head and whispers in his ear “We know everything… Kinslayer, Terror of the Trident.”

She speaks his war titles in that liquorose way, opening the vowels as if she is casting a spell, but he hears the mockery. It is the same that loosened the tongue at the Strong bastards, the same one perpetuated by Alys. But Alys' mockery was different. She spoke in riddles, visions and flames. This woman speaks in truths.

“Do you regret it?” she whispers, and her tentacles thread their way through the silk “All those innocents you have burned…all the ones you have lost.” lazily, she pulls at the laces of the blue tunic and he stiffens, flaring his nostrils. “See? I don’t need sorcery. The more you stiffen, the more cracks reveal.” She straightens her head to look at him with eyes darker than tar, wandering over his face and he feels branded. “I can see them around you…ghosts…why don’t you set them free?”

“What is your fucking game?” he wants to seethe, but she’s so close to him it comes out as nothing but a hiss.

She smiles again and this time the victory is full. "The game is over, your grace. I won, and you're my reward. I will admit I never had such a pretty one...care to show me that sapphire or are you still keen on playing the prude bashful prince?”

Aemond has no qualms about touching her, grabbing her face with nails digging into her cheeks as he pulls her close, turning her chin to spit anger and all his tumbled restraints into her ear “Perhaps I should shove my cock into your mouth to make you shut it, hmm? Is that what you want? What your husband wants? That I fuck you like a whore?”

She stiffens, thrashing in his hold that she may not have expected, and manages to turn her head just enough to look at him, scoffing. “Is this the only way you know to use your hands?”

A taunt, another one. It turns his eye pitch black and he leans closer to her lips, almost baring his teeth, almost as if he wants to bite the words—the mockery, the victory—off her mouth. But once more, she eludes him, tilting back and so, any reason burns and dies into his head.  

“D’you want to play games, don’t you? Let’s play, then.”

Still gripping her cheeks, he roughly pushes her into the room, letting her go for only one fleeting instant of freedom, just long enough to grab her shoulders and force her to turn around. A gasp escapes her lips, but the next moment she’s bending on the table, he’s forcing her to. A thrill spills into her blood, making her insides clench with anticipation, and dread.

He traps her, planting his feet between hers to stop her from closing her legs. She tries to pull herself up with her back, but he scowls, pushing her head down to keep it firmly glued to the table. She whines as his long fingers pull at her hair, tearing the gold and red chain off, and she can hear him fumbling with the silks, the other hand hiking her crimson gowns up.

“My Prince, please—”

“Begging already?” snarling, he spits into his palm and gives a few quick tugs to his cock, hard and aching “I wonder who’s coming from. The whore or the Queen. Either way, you’ll get your reward, your Highness.”

“Wait—” she whimpers as she feels the head of his cock teasing against her folds, something coils in her belly, and something else, something cold, grips her heart. “Not like th—”

She chokes on her tongue as he slips inside her, easily but painfully, all the way in. Hissing, his hold on her hair tightens, a coarse exhale coming out of his parted lips as he adjusts to her walls, hot and wet, but tense. She’s tensing all over.

“Why are you fighting me?” he pulls her up by the hair, leaning his face close to hers “You wanted this, did you not? You have been teasing and mocking me since I set foot in here.”

“I—”

“No. I’ve had enough of your talks and taunts. Here’s what’s going to happen, whore queen. You will keep quiet and take it. And if I want to fuck you again later, I will. You are not in charge here—not you, not your husband, not all the fucking Thirteen. So don’t fucking push me, unless you want to die with fire skinning you alive.”

Without too much grace, he forces her back on the table and starts a relentless pace, fisting the crimson fabric and pulling to keep her low back flushed to his crotch. His pants mix with flesh slapping harder and faster as he tries to pour on her, and into her, the grief and rage, the misery and fire he’s made of. She writhes beneath him, arching and crumpling against the wooden with violent gasps; she feels like burning but inside, she’s torn in two.

She clamps her hand on the wood to grab onto something, just like that evening. She feels her, and his, arousal coating her thighs, just as blood did that evening.

The little girl wants to run, but the Salt Queen doesn’t want him to stop.

She’s sinking in her mind, but burning in every corner of her body and soul.

She can only moan, her mouth agape and dry, leaking saliva on the surface as her head bounces at each wild rut, hitting that inner spot over and over.

“Look at you, hmm?” he taunts her with purpose, perhaps vengeance “Fucked so good she lost her wits.”

Look at you, little whore. Bet you like it, eh?

Squeezing her eyes shut, she finds a raw voice hidden somewhere. “Harder—”

“What?” he slurs with a heavy-lidded eye, the braids are almost loose, dangling on his face at each thrust.

“Harder—” she pleads with her eyes still shut.  

“Greedy wanton thing—” hips start to snap brutally, in a hurtful way, just as she wants, even if it’s hard to even breathe. Pleasure overwhelms her, drives her up towards the peak. But she finds she cannot climb; her mind is holding her down.

He grunts with each snap and curses in some foreign language she’s not aware of, and she doesn’t care; she’s too focused on letting herself burn. But it’s like sitting in front of a fire and barely feeling the flames.

And then his hips jolt faster, once, twice, and he halts, gripping her hips firmly, coming inside her with a long, satiated groan.

Completely spent, he slumps on top of her, resting his head on her shoulder blades to catch his breath. However, she is quick to slip from the scorching alcove, to slide out the door with her mind drowned but her heart pounding out of her chest.

"Your Highness!" Dora wakes from her slumber, and reaches for her Queen.

"Nothing, Dora." she says in a voice still hoarse, almost scratching. "Draw me a bath, please. And fetch mint and wormwood." Moon tea.

She starts to undo her silks and feels a distant smell of smoke sticking to her skin. Like one who has bathed in fire.

The morning after brings no clarity, because truthfully, Aemond does not need clarity. Everything is drastically simple. He is no coward. However his mind was less clear than usual, he could never blame wine for how he behaved a few hours earlier. And why would he?

Whether she was acting on her husband’s orders or not, she wanted him. And he wanted her. He could concede that he'd acted in a harsher way than usual, that he’d let rage and grief guide his purpose. It was not the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. But it all worked in his favor. A demonstration, a shift in whatever power game the Salt King and the other merchant Kings thought to play out. He only made it clear that he was not some precious pet to be coddled and ridiculed.

She had teased and mocked him at any occurrence. He’d only showed her the price of playing with fire.

His blue silks are fresh and clean when he sits down to have breakfast with Xavos; his long silver hair is tied up in a single low braid that starts from the center of his head and gathers lazily down his shoulder.

He has yet to get used to this strange Qartheen custom of sitting on pillows to eat; at least, however, he regains his appetite when he is served dishes once familiar to him, and less exotic.

"I took the liberty of having you prepare a breakfast akin to your old habits.” Xavos says chewing bread with olives “Ham, cheese, venison. And we have fresh fish every day. Blessed be the trades."

The Prince is sincerely grateful, though he would be a lot more grateful if the Salt King were able to shut his mouth when the sun is not even high in the sky. He goes on and on about the supposed trades, and then about the salt he so proudly sells to every corner of the world. He is just about to go on another monologue about the Thirteen and their hopeful wish to receive the Dragon Prince in their Palaces when he stops, frowning at the young maid clearing the place set next to the king. “What are you doing?”

“Apologies, Your Highness, but the Queen will not attend breakfast. She feels indisposed this morning.”

Immediately, Aemond glances up at her and she’s brave enough to hold it for a bunch of seconds before looking down and making her way to the door.

“Maid?”

She halts upon hearing the Prince and turns around.

“Tell your Queen I was promised something. She said she would see to it personally. And I expect her to keep her word.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“Wait.” he stops her again, his tone almost bored, and slips a hand into the folds of his blue silks, pulling out a gold and red chain. “Take this. She left it in my room last night.”

He throws the jewel on the table and resumes his knife and fork, not bothering to look at anyone, certainly not at the Salt King who is indeed looking at him, looking as pleased as ever, like the cat that caught the mouse.

The Salt Queen did not in fact forget her word. She promised him she would see to Vhagar’s condition, ordering to save goats and pigs to feed the beast, put them on carts and send someone with the Prince to reach the desert, where the dragon was resting.

However, she should've probably assumed that such an apparently simple task would've turned out to be a lot harder to carry out.

She’s just about to finish her late breakfast with Mysha and Dora, when Nyla breaks into the parlor with quick feet.

“Your Highness—uhm—Prince Aemond is at the door, he asks to be received.”

“What is it now? He doesn’t like how the sun rises here?”

Mysha and Dora giggle, but the Queen stays serious and turns to Nyla. “Tell the Prince he will have to wait. I am sure that even in Westeros, barging in during meals stands for bad manners.”

Nyla leaves, but it’s with even quicker feet that she returns to her Queen in barely a minute.

“My Queen, Prince Aemond is quite adamant on being received immediately. He…also says that…keeping guests at the door is a synonym of bad manners in Westeros, as he is sure, anywhere else in the world.”

Tapping her fingers on the table, it takes her a minute to sigh loudly and stand up, throwing the kerchief on the table.

“My Prince.” She greets him as she stops at the door.

In his usual soldierly stance, he looks past her for a moment before locking her blank gaze. “Still adamant on not letting me in?”

“You were not that drunk last night. I believe you heard me just fine when I told you I don’t take men into my rooms.”

“Hmm. But you did take me, and quite eagerly, if memory serves me right. Are we not past such formalities?”

“Gloating like some common man is not very royal of you, your Grace—"

“Tis’ not gloating. And I might say, not very royal of you either to beg me to fuck you harder, your Highness.”

“You’re right. Fucked me so good I didn’t come.”

The proud mischievous smile that kept stretching his mouth vanishes in a blink, and she has to sigh to stifle her own. “What is it, my Prince?”

“You gave me your word.”

“Indeed. And I kept it. What is your complaint now?”

“Your slaves refuse to escort me in the desert.”

“Well, I can’t blame them. Can’t you feed your dragon on your own? Or are you too humiliated by the prospect of carrying a cart of dead pigs?”

From the way he is staring at her, and having already tickled his pride when the sun is not yet high in the sky, she knows he will not yield on this matter.

“Fine. I’ll go with you.”

“My Queen, it is not safe.”

“Do not worry, Dora. I’ll take the Sorrowful Men.”

Aemond almost laughs to himself as he stands on the left edge of an enclosed inner courtyard of the palace, resembling the training yards of Westeros. There are men intent on training with spears and swords, dressed in strange uniforms made of blue drapes and a strange golden mask on their faces. The carving makes the mask weeping, with a single tear embossed on the gold.

Aemond has no idea how they can see, as there seem to be no holes in those eyes of gold. But his gaze returns at once to the Salt Queen, talking to one of those men, with a large turban on his head. Some kind of commander, he assumes.

He bows to her and then six of these mysterious men march forward and surround the woman.

The Prince glances at each one of them, standing tall and proud as ever with his hands laced behind, seeming unperturbed by these safety measures. In fact, he says “Truly there’s no need to trouble these men, your Highness. What do you expect me to do? Feed you to Vhagar as soon as we are in the desert?”

“These men are not a safety measure for me, but for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. To prevent you from having certain…Targaryen ideas.”

“Six armed men against the largest living dragon seems like a somewhat unequal battle.”

Narrowing her eyes, she watches as the same placid arrogance bathes his features, but she thinks now it’s the right time to wipe it off, and she knows exactly how to do it. “Sorrows bring sorrows.”

All at once, the Sorrowful men move, drawing their spears with impressive speed and aiming the sharp points at the prince. His whole demeanor changes, becomes menacing, she notices, but he does not flinch. She walks among the weeping men avoiding the spears until she stands in front of the prince and snatches the mask off his face, to wear it herself.

“Listen to me. These men live to serve me. They were slaves once, bought with something far more valuable than gold: freedom. And they chose to stay by my side. If I told them to take the only eye you have left, right now, they would do it. If I told them to cut your cock and bring it to me right now, they would do it. A shame, I will grant you that. So, you’re right, you may be in charge here…but if you push me…you will be dead before you have the chance to say Dracarys.”

Whatever cutting remark the prince has in mind, he does not have time to say it, as he is suddenly distracted by a strange sound, a whistle, like the cry of a bird.

Aemond turns his head and the Queen does the same, recognizing that sound at once. The Sorrowful Men lower their spears and a man steps forward, dressed in a strange purple robe. Aemond stares at him warily, wondering why, in the name of the Seven, this man’s lips are blue, like a corpse.

“Father…” the Salt Queen greets him, taking Aemond by surprise, but sounding a little surprised herself to see the blue-lipped man.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t answer to his daughter, because he can’t. He starts to move his hands in strange signs, circles and lines. And Aemond is grateful for his strict education, for he knows what that man is doing. Sign language. He is either mute, or tongueless.

Unfortunately, he cannot understand what he’s saying, but his daughter can.

“Kóri. Will you not introduce me to your noble guest?”

The Salt Queen sighs, casting a brief look at the Prince, and then she introduces him. “Father, this is Prince Aemond, of House Targaryen.”

The blue-lipped man looks at him with wide eyes, charmed to the point of looking unsettling. And then he bends into a long bow. Not even when Aemond sat on the Iron Throne, someone had bowed so low before him.

He tilts his chin down to greet him, and sees the warlock’s hands moving. “On behalf of the Warlocks of Qarth” the Salt Queen translates “I welcome you, your Grace. It is a great privilege to see a descendant of Old Valyria in the flesh. Your blood is as ancient as our beloved great city.”

Aemond cannot stop his eyebrow from raising, nor his tongue. “It seems at least one member of your family knows good manners.”

“You must excuse us, father, we have to go.” she hastens to say, but as soon as she takes one step, her father grabs her arm.

“Don’t run from me, kori. You have been knowing, yes? More than usual.” and then his hands rise and fall once more. “Trees wail. Leaves are bleeding. The doom, kori. The doom is near.”

PART 2

thank you so so much for reading!! 💕 💕

[bahablastplz]

Undeniably His: Vampire Jeongin x Reader

Inspired by this post from @cbini, I started thinking about what sex would be like with your boyfriend I.N. the first time after he turns into a vampire with his new overly heightened senses. Content: Smut, Angst Warnings: Mentions of death, established relationship, kissing, blood-drinking, marking, hair-pulling, oral f! receiving, oral m! receiving, unprotected sex (but it doesn’t matter bc vampires can’t get humans pregnant), p in v sex, overstimulation   WC: 2600 

You had been dating Jeongin for a little over two years when the accident happened. A freak incident had sent your boyfriend over a bridge in a car accident that killed five people; he was the only survivor, pulled from the water in some freak miracle. Not a scratch on him. Physically, he was fine, but that was when he started experiencing other symptoms. Violent impulses. Weird cravings.  Heightened senses.  When he started getting sick you were beside yourself with worry. You had almost lost him once, you could not do it again. You had stuck by his side throughout the entire accident, through his grief, and of course, through the sickness. Your questions were answered when he was approached by the creature that turned him, telling him the truth of that night. That Jeongin needs to feed or he will die. That he was a vampire. 

Jeongin was overstruck with guilt and grief. He wouldn’t feed, he decided, he couldn’t kill another human being. This was much to your dismay, as this would mean that you would both lose your boyfriend and bestfriend. His mother would lose a son. The community would have to suffer through yet another loss after the accident. 

Jeongin fed against his own will. His behavior and attitude had changed over the course of his illness, and he had gotten into a petty fight. He didn’t even know the guy's name, but when Jeongin was pushed, weak and frail, something snapped. His fangs embedded into the man’s skin and he bled him dry. He didn’t even tell you after; you had read in the local news of a man that was exsanguinated, mysteriously in the night and you knew what your boyfriend had done. Immediately the mystery sickness went away but he could no longer bring himself to face you or his family, despite your protests and pleas to let you help him.

It was a long and grueling journey, convincing Jeongin to get back together with you. He wouldn’t even let you be ‘just friends,’ or even in your presence until he could learn to control his bloodlust. After several months he started going back to school again, despite the university putting him on academic probation; they gave him time to process his supposed PTSD from the accident. It was soon after he finally started answering your texts. 

Slowly, your boyfriend let you back into his life. He was the same man as he was before the accident, but he was different, in some ways. He had alarming self-control, for one. He was more sure of himself. The way he carried himself was strong and powerful, not to be messed with. He had built up a wall, one you had intended to help him tear down piece by piece. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you on your break, he had told you. It was the fact that he had loved you, and with his heightened senses he was scared that he wouldn’t be able to control himself around you. Just your smell, it drove him insane, he confessed. He explained to you that you were like a drug, and every way he wanted and needed you before he transformed, grew tenfold and consumed him. With his time away he grew satiated and more confident that he could control himself, never going as far to kill another human when he fed. 

Tonight was the night you finally convinced him to stay over in your dorm. 

It was refreshing. It was familiar. It was a little strange that your boyfriend’s familiar warmth was gone, but you were happy to be in his presence again. Because in those few months that he took to try to navigate his new identity, you never stopped loving him. It took him some convincing, but you let him know that you would love both the old Jeongin and the new Jeongin. Tonight, as you watch a comfort movie in his arms you’re encapsulated in the embrace of his non-beating heart. One that, according to him, loves you deeper and more intensely than the old one had capacity for. 

You kiss him. It’s hesitant, it’s soft, it contains so many emotions. He’s wiping away a tear that you didn’t know had slipped as he kisses you deeper. Your hands tug through his hair just the way he likes, and he’s out of breath so suddenly, He’s breathing hard, his chest evident of the laborious task that kissing you is. When your tongue dips into his mouth he moans into you. You feel a soft prick against your lips and then Jeongin is across the room, apart from you as if your skin had set him ablaze. His eyes are wide and he looks frantic, a hand on his chest as if to stop his heart from beating so fast though you both know that’s not the case. When your hand reaches your mouth to investigate, you see exactly what your boyfriend was so afraid of. Your blood. In the midst of your makeout session, he had accidentally pricked your lip with his fang, drawing blood. Not a lot, but enough to freak him out, evidently. 

“I–I’m so sorry,” he whispers. His voice trembles. 

You cross the room and meet your boyfriend. You reach your hand out to touch his face but he draws away. 

“I can’t… I’m going to hurt you,” he says. 

“You’re not going to hurt me, Innie. I know you. This is the same body you’ve touched a million times before, you know my body better than I do. I trust you… to be intimate with me, again. So, please,” you say, reaching your blood-soaked finger up to his lips. 

“Y/N… I’m afraid that I won’t be able to control myself,” he says, closing his eyes as if practicing restraint. 

“Then don’t.” You’re pushed against the bed at superhuman speed, his hips pressing into you hard. The offered finger is in his mouth and he’s unabashedly sucking the blood from it, letting out a filthy, guttural moan. Before you can question the man his lips are against yours again, sucking them into his mouth, drinking up the blood from the small wound he had given you. His tongue is all over yours and you can taste your copper substance on his mouth though it's not unpleasant. He breathes into you as if you are his lifeforce, his oxygen. Meanwhile, he ruts his hips against you over and over again, a bruising yet welcomed grip on your waist. 

“Feels good?” You ask, pulling away to look in his eyes. He’s panting, letting out little whimpers and looking absolutely wrecked. 

“S’good. You don’t even know. I can smell you, how wet you are for me from here. I can hear how fast your heart is beating just for me… And every time you touch me my skin feels like it’s on fire. I’m so sensitive… so hard,” he emphasizes with a harsh thrust against your clothed skin, “You’re literally heavenly. Intoxicating. The best thing I’ve ever felt. I need you. I’ve never needed anything more.” He looks scared that you might deny him, though you couldn’t in a million years imagine denying him, especially not now.

You spread your legs for him, allowing him the opportunity to slot between them. He pulls himself into you and moans as you spread wet open-mouthed kisses against his neck. You lick a stripe upwards from his collarbone to his jaw and he clutches you tight, hips stuttering. 

His hands are in your hair, embedded into your scalp and he pulls tight, baring your neck for him. Your moan is breathy and light as he presses his lips to your skin, not sinking his teeth into you like you had thought. He sucks harsh bruises into your neck and the offending area then softens each spot with his tongue. When he moves back to admire his handiwork, he smiles. You’re covered with large purple splotches all over. You’re his, undeniably so. 

He pulls off your shorts and underwear in one swift motion, maneuvering your hips and holding you upwards so that he has full access to your glistening core. He really was right about you being wet for him, and you don’t have time to be embarrassed by the statement he made of being able to smell it before he’s diving in, his face directly at your entrance. He wastes no time before licking, sucking, and swirling his tongue around you. 

“Too much, Innie, too fast!” You whine out, trying to push his head away. He doesn’t budge nor indicate that he felt your actions; you couldn’t move away from him. He was in control, and you, forced to take every ounce of pleasure he delegates. 

“Mm, baby… I’ve been away from this pussy for too long… God you taste so, so good.” A loud slurping sound comes from his mouth and you’re in the right mind to be embarrassed from such a filthy sound. You cover your face but your hand is by your side just as fast, his bruising grip around your wrist holding you in place. “Don’t,” he warns. “Want to see your face as I ruin you. Want to hear every moan, wanna hear your heart beat this fast just for me, baby.” He was adamant about getting you to fall apart for him on his tongue, and so you do; you cum on with a loud moan and he laps up your release and holds your trembling thighs in place with ease. 

As you look at him he wipes away the wetness on his face, eyes gazing into you. He freezes in place as you drop onto your knees in front of him and grab onto his waistband. 

“Are you sure?” He stammers, already affected by your small lingering touch. 

“We’ve been away for too long,” you say, repeating his words from earlier. “Need to taste your cock again.” You pull down his pants and reveal his length, hard and throbbing and begging to be touched. It’s already releasing precum from when he was grinding into you earlier, and you lap it up eagerly. His hand places a bruising grip in your hair, close to its roots, which encourages you to continue with your ministrations.  

“Shit,” he curses as you wrap your lips around him, flicking your tongue against his tip. “Baby your mouth feels so fucking good, so wet. God I could bust right now,” he says. He uses his hands to hold the sides of your head, guiding your mouth up and down his length, essentially letting him use your face like a toy for his pleasure. Your lips wrap around him and you let spit run down your face, coating your chin. You blink up at him through teary eyes and you know that you look probably just as wrecked as he does, the epitome of a perfect disaster created just for him. 

He bucks his hips into your face for a few seconds and then pulls away quickly. You drop to the floor, breathing heavily, looking up at the man. He pants and holds himself up against the bed with one arm, trying to ground himself. 

“Shit baby, I’ve never felt anything that good in my life…” He breathes. “Only you… But it feels better now, you feel so good… Let me fuck your pretty pussy, baby. Please.” He begs even though he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to ask you twice before you’re laying on the bed, legs spread open wide for him. Still sensitive from your previous orgasm, you whine as he pushes into you slowly. He’s long, just like you remember him, but he’s so hard and you can already feel him pulsing inside of you. As he bottoms out and his hips grind against your clit, you feel yourself contracting against his length. You two remain unmoving but the room already sounds so dirty just from your pathetic moans and heavy breathing. Your heart beats wildly in your chest and it makes you smile knowing he can hear it, that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. 

He starts moving, slow but deep. Within four hard strokes he’s already releasing deep inside you, and you both gasp. In all the time you had been with him, he had never cum inside before–but now that he’s turned it doesn’t matter. As he fills you up you’re overflowing and he’s crying when you look at him. He moans vehemently but his hips aren’t slowing down; if anything, they speed up as he continues to fuck his release into you, sloppy and hard. He whines at the overstimulation he’s caused himself and looks like his pleasure is mixed with pain. His hips snap into you harder than anything you’ve ever felt before, the head of his cock pushing right against your g-spot every time. 

He reaches his fingers down and swipes up the release from where the two of you connect, gathering it on his fingers and bringing it to your mouth. It’s reminiscent of the scene just minutes ago, you think as you suck his release off of his fingers. His eyes are boring into yours and drinking up every reaction, every scrunch of your face and twitch of pleasure, and it drives you insane with both pleasure and desire to be so seen by someone you’re so in love with. 

You notice his hands gripping the edge of the bed, his knuckles ghost-white. 

“Bite me,” you say, suddenly. His hips stutter at your words, all confidence immediately gone. 

“What? I can’t–” 

“Jeongin, love, I trust you more than any other living soul on this planet,” you say through uneven breaths. “God, this body was yours before and it’s yours now. Stop holding back and make me yours again. Please,” You say. 

His teeth sink into your neck and you let out a sharp cry; you feel shock moreso than pain, and as he drinks languidly from your neck, taking just what he needs, you cum around his cock. His fingernails dig into your skin and his hips snap into yours brutally, ripping your orgasm out of you in the most intense spasm of pain and pleasure you’ve ever felt in your life. Adrenaline courses through your veins and your ears are ringing, blinded by the intensity of it all, because Jeongin isn’t holding back, because you’ve broken down his walls, you think as he cums into you for the second time that night. 

He laps up the remaining blood that has dribbled down your neck as his hips still into you and you still pulse around him from the aftershocks. When you look at him you're wiping his tears away, and he wipes away yours. 

“Thank you,” he says, holding you as close to his body as can possibly be. “You make me feel like I’m still human.” 

“That’s because you are,” you whisper into his hair. “Your humanity is something you never lost.” 

He hums in approval and you fall asleep in his arms that night, closer in mind and body than ever before.  ***  “I see you and I.N. got back together!” Your best friend laughs as the two of you walk to class together the next day. You haven’t told her anything, how would she know? She sees your shocked expression. “Look at your neck, geez, what is he, a vampire? God damn,” she emphasizes her words by pointing at the large bruises you did a poor job of covering up. You laugh at her words a little too hard, knowing that she will never know that she wasn’t that far off from the truth. That was a secret for you and Jeongin to share. *** Masterlist Recs