#infertility strength | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

targaryenrealnessdarling · 11 days ago

Text

Flower Faced

Aemond x wife female character

Summary: a series of diary entries written by Aemond Targaryen following his tumultuous marriage and the realm's descent into war | word count: 13k~ | warnings: angst, smut, infertility, chronic illness, war, character death, wife features is described briefly, spoilers for f&b

15th day of the 4th moon, 128

They have made me a husband. A prince wed to a flower plucked too soon.

She stood before me by the Septon, trembling in her silken gown, her face pale as the moon. I was told her beauty would make up for her lack of standing. That her delicate disposition was proof of her good breeding, a prize unfit for a mere second son. How fitting, then, that it was to me she was given. A scrap for a scrap.

I find myself wondering how she might have appeared in better health, had her frame not been so thin, her skin not so colourless. She is the image of a flower wilting in the frost. I cannot fathom what my father intended when he arranged this match. Did he think her weakness would breed strength in me? That I would look upon her frailty and find myself tempered by pity?

Perhaps it is too kind to assume that my father put any thought into the matter. The one of little importance.

I feel nothing but irritation. A prince needs heirs, and she is as likely to bear a child as a winter rose is to bloom.

She retired early tonight, her maids fretting over her as though she were a babe in swaddling clothes. Preparing her for the bedding no doubt. Several lords approached me thereafter asking for a ‘bedding ceremony’. I fear her gentle heart would have given out if such a thing were to actually happen.

They tell me her name means ‘grace’ in the ancient tongues of the Reach. Grace, indeed. She moves as though her bones might shatter beneath her weight, her steps feather light. I suppose if I were to be truthful and perhaps kind, which I do not know why I should, I would admit there is a beauty in her fragility. Such is the beauty of a fine layer of ice on water in the early winter, easily broken with a mere breath to its surface.

I have no need for beauty, and no patience for weakness. Yet weakness is what I was served, wrapped in lace and trembling upon the bedsheets.

When consummation was inevitable, I thought I might snap the poor thing in two when I fucked her. She is so slight, so frail, as though the gods built her of spun glass and good intentions alone. She did not cry, though I expected it. She lay beneath me as one might endure the bite of a leech, silent, resigned, and still.

I despised her for it.

Not for her fragility, but for her acceptance. For the way she stared at the canopy, her lips pressed into a pale line, her hands gripping the sheets as if she feared being swept away by my storm. I do not know what I wanted. A protest, perhaps. A tear. Something to remind me that she was alive, that I was not bedding a corpse.

When it was over, she whispered, “Thank you, my prince,” so softly that I nearly thought I imagined it.

Thank you. For what? For duty? For what she believed was kindness? She did not look at me as she said it, and yet those two words have haunted me since.

It has been three nights now, and I have not returned to her chamber. Mother, ever dutiful, had broken fast with me the next morning to ensure ‘the act’ had indeed taken place, of which I confirmed it had. But she pressed no further on the matter, as if that was all that was important.

I tell myself it is for her benefit, that I do not wish to worsen her condition. But the truth, if I am to be honest here, is that I do not know what to do with her. She is no adversary, no equal, no dragon.

She is a flower pressed flat by the weight of its own stem.

2nd day of the 5th moon, 128

The rain has not ceased for a fortnight. King’s Landing reeks of soiled hay and wet stone. I've kept to my chambers to avoid the rancid air, but the storm intrudes all the same.

She has been ill again. The maesters tell me that her disposition is weakened, the damp worsening her condition. It grates on me relentlessly to think that something as simple as rain is enough to set my sickly wife abed for days on end. As if she is made of sugar and will dissolve if she steps outside for a single moment.

I half-expected to hear of her passing this morning when I visited her. Pale and fragile as she appeared when her maids opened the curtains. And when she rose out of bed to look out the window, it was painfully, like a stubborn plant forcing its way through frozen soil.

I asked her why she did not wish to rest.

Her smile was as weak as her body.

“Once these rains have washed away, the grass in the Reach will be as green as those in the Seven Heavens.”

She thought of her home even now. She did not consider King's Landing her home.

Since she uttered those words, I have tried to see it as she does. To see past the filth and shit of King's Landing and imagine the fertile fields and warm sun. As she hails from the Reach, she is drawn to flowers, hence why I noted that day that there were so many strewn about the room in various vases.

They wilt in the damp, just as she does.

Sometimes I find myself watching her more often than perhaps I should. I reason that as much as I loathe it, she is my wife. Whether she notices my watching her and says nothing or is ignorant to it, I do not know.

She moves slowly, as if not to shatter her fragile bones, but not out of fear I now see. She is afraid of little I have noticed, though she has every reason to be. A girl as sickly as her wed to a prince known for his temper, gods, she should tremble when I blink.

But she does not.

I regret I spoke harshly to her. Told her to rest. Save her strength. To let the flowers wilt if they must.

And before retreating back to her bedsheets at the will of her maid, she said.

“Even wilted flowers have worth, my prince.”

I had no reply for her.

11th day of the 6th moon, 128

She looks better today. Has done for several days in a row, much to the maesters relief.

The flush in her cheeks was neither from fever or strain, but life. And seeing her now as opposed to how I had often known her, she was beaming with it. Whether it was out riding or the gardens, she would routinely ignore the advice of those who cared for her health to bask in the sun, if only for a mere few hours.

Her breath was even, her voice was clear.

For the first time since our wedding, we spoke freely.

I had not meant to stay for long, truly. But we walked through the gardens on a warm early afternoon. Although I had to stop every few paces to allow her to bend to retrieve some half-wilted flowers so she might place them in her basket.

She said the maesters said she will likely never be strong enough to bear children. At least healthy ones, or ones who would draw breath once born. That feminine melancholy drifted over her face for a moment, as if she suspected I already knew that truth myself.

And truly I had. It was why I had made no attempt to bed her since our consummation.

I did not know how to respond. Usually women speak of such matters with carefully shielded delicacy, whereas she spoke plainly. But I could not bring myself to express the disappointment I should have felt, or the anger that had simmered beneath the surface for so long.

Anger, perhaps not. Weary, maybe.

My answer was not one she would have expected. That I never asked for children. But in my stupidity, I had in fact said, I never asked her for children.

It seems I have driven an already sheathed blade even deeper.

My words may have been misshapen but they were the truth and that is all I have to offer her, is it not? I hold no love for her, but I would never deny such a fragile creature as my wife what I would give any other.

She said nothing. She lowered her lashes and the silence that followed was so unbearable I considered leaving her altogether.

I never asked her for children.

True enough, I suppose. But even I can see how little truth matters in the face of what I’ve taken from her.

I know as well as anyone, what I have actually expressed is that I expect nothing from her.

And perhaps the latter is more cruel.

14th day of the 6th moon, 128

Tonight, we coupled for the second time in our long marriage.

I had avoided her bed for months, claiming duties, council matters and brief bouts of illness that she no doubt didn’t believe as reasoning for my absence. Though after a time, people were beginning to whisper, so I had no choice but to comply. And there was a time where I believed my own mistruth, that I was sparing her. But in truth, I did not wish to see her fragility laid bare again.

She never protested, and likely never would.

So I went to her.

Her chambers were lit by a single candle dotted at several points around the room. She sat at her vanity, pulling her hair free of tight braids and pins. Her hands were so small and pale, I wondered if this small action itself did not overwhelm her delicate nerves.

It was she who broke the silence.

“Have you come to pity me, my prince?”

I almost turned away then.

She let me unlace her gown, let me bare her to the dim firelight.

It was less frantic though no less awkward. She held me as though she feared I might vanish, and I let her. Perhaps it was the wine, or the quiet of the hour. When I touched her, she shivered. And when my lips accidentally brushed against her neck, she tilted her head back. The floral perfumes she had applied to her skin felt too much of a distraction.

When I finished she looked up at me. It has always unsettled me, her ability to look upon me without flinching. I am a dragon and she is a petal, and yet it is I who wilts beneath her gaze.

Even the bloodiest of injuries had no such effect on me.

- - the day of the 8th moon, 128

Aegon celebrated his nameday swiftly as he usually does. It is the third time in one month where he has had to be dragged from celebrations because he is unable to handle his wine. He had of course revelled in the attention, called for songs, dancers and yet more Dornish Red, as if he had not had enough.

The lords humoured him. The ladies pretended not to notice. Father was not even in attendance, it was mother and Helaena who sat diligently at the top table, faces sullen as if they held the weight of the Realm on their shoulders.

For my part, I watched from the shadows, as I often do. My appetite for such things is thin at best, and thinner still with the murmurs that reached my ears tonight.

They speak of her. My wife.

“Too weak to attend,” one said. “She’s been frail since the wedding,” said another.

I could feel their eyes upon me, their pity or curiosity or judgment, I could not say which was worse. It felt such a disservice for others to remark upon her the way I have.

Nobody was as shocked as I to see her when the doors to the hall opened. There she stood, walking carefully into the light, bathed in a dress that was not crimson, not dark, never. But red all the same, as if she had thought of honouring the house she wed into but not yet willing to loosen the reins on herself entirely. The colour was pale, muted, a shade more suited to her, though it did little to disguise her frailty. Truth be told, she does look sickly in red.

I knew she had wanted to wear it, though. That was why she had chosen it.

For a moment, I thought she might collapse under the weight of the eyes and silence on her.

I thought to rise as she approached me, but for some reason I did not. She inclined her head to me so faintly I doubt anyone else saw, and I saw her locks were adorned with jewellery she had not usually worn.

She inquired as to the whereabouts of my brother, no doubt asking whether the celebrated prince was on his very own nameday, but she did not seem downtrodden when I informed her he had retired to his chambers. As if it were a mere formality.

“Shall we dance, husband?”

I thought to refuse her, to spare her the strain, but the look in her eyes silenced me. And I could not very well be seen to refuse my own wife. She extended her hand, pale and trembling, and I took it without a word.

I thought it would embarrass me, this spectacle before the court. Her weakness had done so before, and I had no doubt it would do it again. But I could not bear to say the words aloud, not when she had dressed in my house colours for me.

I led her to the centre of the hall, her small frame so light beneath my guiding hand that I wondered how she had summoned the strength to stand, let alone to dance. When I placed my hand at her waist and we began to move, I noticed almost immediately that she was struggling to keep pace with the beat. Her breaths were short, shallow, her fingers tightening on my shoulder as though holding herself upright by sheer force of will. Still, she did not stop.

“I hope I have not made a spectacle of us,” she whispered.

I only said there was no need for her to apologise.

When her steps faltered again, I acted without thinking. I lifted her slightly, guiding her feet onto mine so that she would not have to move. She blinked at me, startled, but did not protest. For the first time that evening, her breaths seemed to ease, her grip on my shoulder loosening ever so slightly.

I kept my gaze forward, refusing to meet the eyes of the court. If they found it amusing, I would not give them the satisfaction of seeing it bother me.

I told her that when I was born, it was said I was half the size of Aegon, but twice as fierce. He had cried louder, but they said I fought harder. That perhaps it was the cruelty of the gods to make those of us born weaker feel as though we must prove ourselves twice over.

She studied me, with her soft eyes, but I did not meet them. I regret that now.

When I lost my eye, I told her, they pitied me. Looked at me as if I were a thing to be mended, or worse, endured. And that is I imagine how she feels when they look at her.

She said nothing for a moment, but the faint pressure of her hand against my shoulder told me she had heard.

“Yet, you have made yourself strong. Where I have not.”

For a moment I could only stare at her. But when I found my voice, it was hushed, so that others dancing around us might not hear.

“Strength is not always shown through the sword.”

She replied with nothing.

Perhaps we are not so different, she and I.

19th day of the 10th moon, 128

She is with the maesters today.

I knew this but I found myself in her chambers regardless.

Aegon, in his perpetual state of drunkenness, had the gall to make a joke of it. Saying that she was with child. The court laughed of course, unable to tell the difference between a joke and insult. I am grateful she was not present to hear it. And for the fact that I did not defend her.

Her desk was an array of papers and cuttings as if she had left in a hurry. Lately she was more tired than usual, and instead of chills and shakes, she was hot to the touch and feverish. Perhaps nobody will understand her condition truly, but I am told that she has been this way since birth.

Lately I have found that practicing with the sword does not steal my attention the way it used to, so there I found myself, looking through the smatterings of paper and flowers, and I doubt it will be the last time.

A leather bound notebook sat snugly atop everything else, the pages fanned out as though abandoned mid-turn. I thought perhaps it was a diary, not unlike the one I keep myself, somewhere to keep my thoughts and worries if they arise. But the little writing that was present was descriptive, brief, and so feminine in its curves and loops that I could barely read it.

When we were first wed, and for several months since then, I had watched closely and from afar as well as she insisted on walks through the gardens, even despite the advice of the maesters. She could not be stopped. She would fill her basket slung over her elbow with wilted, near-dead flowers, the petals curling inward, their stems drooping,

I had not thought to ask her why then. Why she collected such things if they were already so close to falling short of bloom.

The flowers are pressed between the pages of a book, their fragile shapes preserved as though she has defied time itself. Beside them, in her careful script, she has labeled each one, names I recognise, though I have never cared to remember them before. A rose, a poppy, a sprig of thyme, rosemary. Even weeds have found their place here.

She has always been given to sentiment, to seeing beauty where others would not bother to look. It is a softness I have long struggled to understand. But she has made them more than what they were, given them a purpose beyond their fleeting bloom.

It was an evening primrose, its pale petals pressed so thin they seemed almost translucent. Beneath it, in her neat script, she had written:

“Evening primrose. For quiet devotion.”

And below that, a date, the day after we were wed.

I stared at it for a long while.

And as I stand there, I realise I have never seen her hands tremble when she writes.

I cursed myself when I returned to my chambers and remembered I had not restored the book to the page I found it on. She will know I have touched it. Her sacred little book.

27th day of the 12th moon, 128

The Keep is more quiet than it has been in months, as the year comes to its close. The usual tensions of the Realm remains, as does my father, who is more akin to a walking corpse than a man most days. He can no longer walk up the steps by himself, and my mother does not have the strength to assist. Even Aegon has managed to hold his tongue of late, though I suspect it will not last.

She has been visiting Helaena more often than usual as of late. Seated together in her solar, embroidering, their voices soft and indistinct, like the murmuring of a distant brook. A casual observer might have mistaken them for sisters, though I doubt either would care for the comparison.

“Soft in the head,” Aegon says of Helaena. “Soft in the body,” he says of my wife. He does not mean it as a compliment, though he says it with a grin, as if he expects me to laugh. I do not.

Though I don’t agree, the two do share a certain gentleness. An ethereal charm that I am not able to form into words. They are both easily dismissed, glanced over in a crowd of boisterous and overzealous personalities. Dismissed by those too blind to see. Aegon, is one such fool.

When I approached, Helaena looked up first with her pale eyes that were so familiar, but said nothing. And my wife, to my surprise, greeted me warmly, and seemed surprised to see me. When I spoke to Mother later, she insisted that my wife was a good influence on Helaena. And that she has a calming presence. One she says I should feel grateful for.

I did not tell her that I am.

2nd day of the 1st moon, 129

The belly of King’s Landing celebrated the turn of the new year more so than any within the Keep. The thunder of laughter and dancing seemed to stir the very grounds beneath me. The merriment of the season seemed to warm the chill in the air, and it seems almost everyone has felt its embrace.

She surprised me tonight.

I had not expected her, not at this hour, and certainly not in such a state. Her usual pallor was touched with faint color, her step more certain than it had been in weeks. There was a lightness to her gaze, an energy that I had not seen in some time, and for a moment, I thought her appearance a trick of the dim firelight.

I motioned for her to sit, though she declined, choosing instead to stand near the hearth. For a while, neither of us spoke.

But then she said she had been thinking about her place here, at the Keep and by my side, as my wife. I waited, unsure of where this conversation might lead.

“I know I am not the wife you might have wished for,” she continued. “I know what the court says of me, of my frailty, my weakness. And I know what it is to be a man of your station.”

Her meaning became clear, though I did not wish to hear it.

“If you were to take a mistress.”

I did not mean to startle her by interrupting, but I could not bear to hear the rest. Had she no respect for herself? That she would assume I am so restless that I cannot stay one moment without bedding another woman, simply because I am afraid she will break beneath me? What could I say? That I did not desire anyone else? That the thought of betraying her, even in name, made my stomach turn?

And then she asked why. I offered the only truth I could manage.

“I do not know. I only know that I do not wish to. Is that not enough?”

She replied with a simple, but quiet, “it is.”

She did not stay long after that, but she lingered yet in my mind as she does now, writing this entry at the hour of the wolf. Sometimes when I look upon my delicate wife, it feels as if she is other-worldly, plucked from some distant place and planted right here to wither in the sun. She seems less a creature of flesh and blood and more a whisper of something eternal, a soul untethered by time.

There is a stillness about her, a quietness that feels unnatural, as though she is not bound by the same rhythms of life that govern the rest of us. She exists in the space between moments, the breath held just before the candle flickers out.

She is not a woman to me, not entirely. She is something deeper, something I lack the words to name. Perhaps that is why I cannot bring myself to stray, why the thought of betraying her feels like a sin greater than I could bear.

Indeed why not? I could not answer her then, and I doubt I could answer her now.

5th day of the 2nd moon, 129

Am I not a man, but a beast.

She accompanied me this morning to break my fast. Something we now often do to please Mother.

She sat across from me, the light through the windows pebbled across her face, showing how the flush that had decorated her cheeks was starting to fade. A fleeting bloom I did not wish to see vanish.

She picked at the honeyed bread with delicate, little bites, savouring its sweetness. I hardly touched my breakfast. I find it difficult to eat in the morning. But here I sat, too focussed on the golden sheen of the syrup upon her lips.

When she licked the honey from her lips and fingers, I felt a sharp, sudden pain to my chest.

I do not know what possessed me then.

One moment, I was watching her across the table. The next, I was upon her. My hand tangled in her hair, my tongue licking along the seam of her lips to taste the sweetness that lingered there. She gasped against me, I remember her warm breath, startled but pliant.

It was not quick, though it was desperate, as if I could mold her body to mine, as if I could press all I was, all my essence into her fragile frame. My hands gripped her waist, her hips, her thighs, heedless of her delicacy.

I was a creature of need, of raw, unchecked hunger. And her sweet cunt tightening around me was the only thing that could sate it.

Her breath hitched as I fucked her, but said nothing. Her hands held my shoulders, as if to keep herself steady. I did not stop to think, to question.

When it was over, she lay beneath me, her breathing shallow, her hair tousled. And for a moment I could not bring myself to move. I stayed inside her, relishing the warmth of her sweet womanhood, breathed in her scent at her neck, and felt I might weep.

She smelled of vanilla and amber.

What have I done?

I did not dare look at her, but equally she said nothing.

I fear I have hurt her. Both in body and spirit. And yet, I cannot regret it. Though now I must wonder if she looks upon me with fear, with pity.

6th day of the 2nd moon, 129

I sought her out today.

The guilt has gnawed at me. Sharp and aching. I thought she might be angry. Or worse, afraid.

She was in her chambers, a shawl around her shoulders to stay the chill that seemed to find her easily, a book rested in her lap. When I entered, she looked up, her expression unreadable.

I said I owe her an apology. Which was a difficult enough thing to admit to myself than to her.

She closed her book slowly, and moved to stand. The shawl made her look frail.

“For what?”

For that morning, I replied to her. For taking liberties. For being selfish and only thinking of myself.

She interrupted softly. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

She must have seen the confusion on my face.

“You did not hurt me,” she added. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “I was…surprised, perhaps. That is all.”

Surprised?

She answered that sometimes she felt undesirable. Repulsive. And the words from such a delicate, little thing were like a blade to my heart.

How do I tell her that I desire her more than I can bear?

She told me that she said nothing during the act because she felt it was improper for young ladies to desire such things. To enjoy them. And she had.

I only said that she is not simply a lady.

She is my wife.

She uttered so quietly I thought I might miss it.

“I did not think I could make you feel this way.”

Gods. She can.

She is not what I expected, not what I thought I wanted. But she is what I need, in ways I am only beginning to understand.

4th day of the 3rd moon, 129

Father is dead.

I've repeated the same sentence in my head for hours now, and yet they still feel hollow. Echoing like the toll of a dull bell. Everything has changed.

Though not unexpected, the whispers of his failing health have been constant for years. Even as long as I have been alive, I'd wager. But the finality of it. The truth. The realm will stir into chaos, as Mother had always warned us it would.

They mean to crown Aegon. They mean to gift him what Father had always upheld was Rhaenyra's.

Any whisper of treason is swiftly dealt with. Otto Hightower sees to it. Nobody is safe, it feels.

My wife has been locked in her chambers, barred from leaving as if she were a criminal. I am forbidden to see her, but I am told by the maesters that her condition is too delicate to bear the strain of what is unfolding around us. The stress, they claim, has worsened her already fragile health.

I am furious. The thought of her, alone and frightened, makes my blood boil. She is not a pawn to be hidden away while the realm burns. She is my wife, and I will not be kept from her.

Mother has tried to calm me, speaking of duty and order, of the chaos that would erupt if the truth of Father’s death were known before the plans are set in motion. But I see no order in this, only madness.

She does not understand. How could she? She has never known weakness, never known what it is to live under the constant shadow of her own failing body. My wife has. And now they confine her to her chambers, as though the isolation will preserve her.

Surely they must know it is not the noise of court or the weight of the realm that will break her. It is the solitude.

If they think to keep me from her, they are fools.

I will not allow her to be dragged head first into the mess Mother has made of this.

9th day of the 3rd moon, 129

Aegon is king.

The bells rang to usher in a new era. A new king. Grandfather had organised the crowds to gather in the Dragonpit, to witness the moment the conqueror’s crown was placed upon my brother's brow, and Blackfyre thrust into his grip.

For all his faults, Aegon is no stranger to spectacle. He held our great ancestral sword aloft, and the smallfolk roared their approval, blissfully ignorant of the blood that stains this crown and the chaos that will surely follow.

I stood beside Helaena. She was dreamy as usual, and barely looked in her husband's direction. She knew as well as I, that it all stank of desperation.

My wife attended, though she was likely too unwell to. It wasn't difficult to guess she had been spoken to by Grandfather, instructed what to do to appear as if she was supportive of this farce. But still, she insisted on standing by my side.

She had applied rouge to her cheeks in an effort to mask her pallor, but it did little to fool anyone. Her face was thin, her movements careful.

The smallfolk noticed. I saw the way they whispered to one another when their eyes fell upon her. They are a superstitious lot, always quick to see omens where there are none. A sickly wife at the hasty coronation of a king.

Her hands trembled as she gripped mine, her strength waning with each passing moment. I whispered to her that she should sit, but she shook her head, her resolve unbroken despite the frailty of her body.

And then the ground shook.

Meleys burst forth, the Queen-Who-Never-Was seated at her neck. And the smallfolk that were not stuck beneath her claws scattered like leaves in the wind. My wife’s knees buckled, her strength finally giving way. I caught her before she could fall, my arm wrapping around her waist as I shielded her from the chaos. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her fingers clutching at my sleeve.

But Meleys did not strike. Nor did Rhaenys speak.

I did not release her until the crowd began to stir again, until the danger had passed. Even then, I could feel her trembling against me, her breath shallow and uneven.

My house has been fractured. Our futures uncertain.

And all I can think of is her pale face, her trembling lips, as she said. “Are you alright?”

I could have laughed if I were not so angry.

12th day of the 3rd moon, 129

The maesters still hover over her, though I have been here at her bedside since the coronation.

She is more fragile than I remember, her breath shallow, her skin too pale beneath the warmth of the fire. Her gaze follows me everywhere, as if afraid I might vanish. Perhaps she sees me as fleeting too.

Perhaps she fears that I might not return.

I did not think I would be the person she would cling to. And at times I do not know how to feel about it. She has not changed, and yet I used to look upon her with contempt and irritation.

Could it be that I have changed?

I must go to Storm’s End soon.

The Baratheons are key to ensuring an alliance, to strengthen my family's claim to the throne by rallying the great houses of Westeros to our cause. I resent Aegon's rule, yes, but I do not wish to see my whore sister on the throne even more so.

Should that happen, my wife would be in danger as well.

It is Daeron who I must barter a marriage for. It is a necessary journey, one I cannot avoid, no matter how much my heart aches at the thought of leaving her.

She knows this. She knows my duty to the family, to the crown, and yet when I spoke of it, a shadow crossed her face. Her lips parted as though she wished to speak, but she remained silent. The fear in her eyes, however, was enough.

“Will you come back to me?” she asked me.

She is afraid. She fears for my safety, just as I fear for hers. And equally, though she does not speak it, she resents that I have been dragged into this cause.

I promised her I would return.

When I kissed her before I left, I did not want to let go. Her hand gripped mine as though she might shatter with the slightest breeze. She did not speak again, but I saw the unshed tears in her eyes, and it nearly undid me.

I do not wish to leave.

I do not wish to leave her.

- - - - - -

I am living in a nightmare.

She sleeps as I write this. So deeply I keep looking over my shoulder to make sure she is not stood right there.

The journey from Storm's End to Kings Landing was a blur. And when I returned and dismounted Vhagar, I was soaked to the bone from rain. I did not stop to speak to Mother. Could not bear to.

I had not meant for it to happen. But what does intent matter now? The boy is dead.

Lucerys Velaryon is dead.

His body fell from the skies, his dragon broken and bloody. And I just watched. Fear gnaws at me, but not for myself, but what this means for my family and all those that live under my protection. Rhaenyra will want vengeance for this.

My mother, grandfather, they will want for me to claim I wanted this, just so they might shift their judgement onto me instead. Claim that I began this war and not their scheming. They will whisper, I know they will, that this was revenge for the boyish quarrel that left me half-blinded.

And such has ended in his death.

It is not so simple. I know what I have done. I know what they will call me. A kinslayer. A monster. And worse, I fear that she, my wife, will see it too.

When I returned to our chambers, she was sat in a nest made of pillows, propped up to avoid strain. Hearing my arrival, she sat up straighter, though she looked weak, and shakily got to her feet despite my initial protests.

Her eyes still looked upon me with softness, as if I were deserving. And I was unprepared for her reaction. She saw me, soaked and trembling but did not speak. Did not ask what had happened, though she could see some turmoil in me.

Her hands, small and trembling, undressed me without rush. Stripping me of not only my clothes but the weight that slumped my shoulders. She did not judge, did not speak of what was so plainly written across my weathered face.

Her silence was a gift. One I did not deserve.

And yet I leaned into her touch. It was so warm against my skin. I even allowed her to remove the leather over my stolen eye. Something I rarely do in her presence.

I was bare, laying beside her, shaking. And she shed her clothes so that we might embrace without the confines of fabric. Her hands ran through my hair, untangling the salty strands delicately with all the patience in the realm.

“I killed him.”

I whispered it into the dark, without seeing her face.

“Lucerys. I killed him.”

She did not ask why or how. She slid closer, her tender breasts against my back, and ran her hands down my arm.

I told her everything. What I said. Threatened. How I flew after him in the storm. Vhagar.

Her voice in response had no anger. Only sadness.

“You returned to me. That is all that matters.”

12th day of the 4th moon, 129

I went to her chambers tonight as if the Gods had paved the path for me. I could not summon the strength to summon her to mine. Not after what I have done.

She did not question the shadows under my eyes. She simply welcomed me as she always does, with a tenderness I do not deserve.

When our bodies came together it was a communion of two souls. Deliberate. Not a conquest in the least. She is the only thing anchoring me to this world. And each scrape of her fingernails against my back felt heavenly. Kissing me softly. Tracing the scars that mark my body with the same hands that never tremble in my presence. Even now, when I feel I am beyond forgiveness.

For a night, I did not feel like a kinslayer.

14th day of the 4th moon, 129

I was not there.

I was not there. And I should have been.

I was with her instead. And in my place, it was Helaena’s chambers they reached. Their names I forget, but they were grotesque as if from some old wives’ tale. I cannot stomach to imagine their faces in my mind.

My nephew is gone. They made my sister, my blood, point him out, as if he were meats fetching a good price at the slaughter. If I had been there, in my chambers, as I was supposed to be, would I have been able to stop this? Could I have spared my sister the sight of her son’s blood soaking the stone floors?

I cannot think of it without bile rising in my throat.

The court is ablaze with questions, panic rippling through every corner of the Keep.

Where were the guards? How could this have happened?

I, too, demand answers. For all her faults, I never believed Rhaenyra capable of such an act, sending assassins into the heart of the Keep to put Helaena, of all people, in danger. But this? This cruelty? She has proven herself to have even less humanity than I once dared to credit her.

Helaena has not spoken and not emerged since. I do not know if she ever will.

I cannot protect my family, even in my own home. Though my wife reassures me, I feel like a kinslayer twice over. Even once I returned to her bed after the commotion had died down and Aegon too, she reached for me, and I let her. Her hands were frail, but somehow steady when they touched me. Like tiny little stems curling into my blood. Growing more and more. Like a gentle annihilation of the man I think I am.

She wept for the child. For Helaena, who would never again hold her son.

And I wept with her.

25th day of the 4th moon, 129

The boy was paraded through the streets, wrapped in silks and embroidered fabrics. My mother and Helanea followed, and any level-minded person would guess that this is desperation. Something I would not forgive grandfather for if he forced such a thing onto me and my wife, if we had a child of our own.

Aegon has ordered the ratcatchers put to death, every one of them, as if blood could somehow wash away blood. I doubt it will ease his conscience, if he has one left. He claims it is vengeance, justice. It is anger. It is shame. It is fear, thinly disguised.

At the council, I learned that Aegon had dismissed my grandfather as Hand. His replacement? Ser Criston Cole. A decision as reckless as it is insulting.

Mother’s face said what the rest of us could not. She sat in silence, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her lips pressed into a thin line. I said nothing either, though the weight of her displeasure mirrored my own. Criston may wield a sword with skill, but a Hand must have wit and reason. He has neither.

I know I hold little love in the eyes of my own mother now anyway. She looks upon me like I am a monster, as if I have been my whole life. As if this is not what she has made of me.

I returned to my wife afterwards. We rarely speak now, though her presence is a balm I cannot name. The illness has caught her chest again, I can hear it in her breath. She told me to keep my distance, fearing I will catch it, as if I care for such trivial things.

I stayed regardless, seated in the chair by her bed as the fire burned low. She did not scold me for it. She simply turned her head to watch me, her eyes soft, almost apologetic. I reached for her hand, and she let me take it. I can see the fear of what is to come weighs heavy on her.

This quiet between us. Is this feeling what those countless ballads harp on about? Could this marriage, born of resentment and difficulty, become love?

2nd day of the 6th moon, 129

Aegon’s hold on this war is akin to his grip on a cup of wine at the hour of the wolf. Slippery, at best. He sits in council and speaks of Harrenhal with such conviction, as though Criston Cole marching there will be anything more than foolishness. Daemon holds that cursed ruin, and we all know what awaits Criston if he tries to pry it from him. Yet Aegon seems blind to reason, drunk on his desire to pull victory from thin air.

I suggest a different course. Rook’s Rest. But he will not see reason. And of course it was met with hesitation. Aegon’s indecision is a rot that will take him black, and Mother’s silence does nothing to stay it.

They all think me hungry for blood and battle. Aemond One-Eye.

There is a part of me that longs to prove myself. To be remembered for something other than the boy who lost his eye or the prince who killed his nephew. My wife knows an Aemond the realm does not. The one that sits beside her as they lays coughing at night. She sees a man, a good one perhaps. Whereas the court merely whisper of me as if I am a dark shadow.

The realm will never know the man my wife sees. There is a power in them seeing only what I allow, what I need them to know. Strength. Fire.

Sometimes, I wonder if she mourns the parts of me that the world will never have.

She listens to me speak of my plans, hands clasped, seeing the fractures in her husband, the places where pride and vengeance run too deep to cut out. I wonder if she pities me for it. If she doesn’t, perhaps she should.

13th day of the 6th moon, 129

Rook’s Rest still burns, I'd wager. Though it has been several days since the battle. The wind still whips at me, I feel, as I watch Meleys hurtle towards the earth. Her dragonrider still pitched to her back.

Aegon does not relish in his victory. He lays near death, every breath a struggle. Not dissimilar to how I have seen my wife oftentimes.

I returned to her chambers as soon as I was able. The Keep feels hollow these days, and there I might find peace, where none exists inside me.

She looks frailer than she did when I left, though she insists otherwise. The maesters prattle about her condition, and I find myself snapping at them more than I ought. They are failing her. Everyone is failing her. Even me.

When she tried to rise from bed to greet me, I could not stop myself, I barked at her to stay put, the words sharper than I intended.

I hate myself for it. But the thought of her straining herself, of her fragile body bending beneath the weight of this cursed war...it twists something in me, something I cannot name.

She is mine. My wife. My delicate flower. The one thing in this accursed world that is still soft, still untouched by the poison of the crown and the war.

I will not lose her.

She, of course, asked what had happened. Having heard the unfortunate nature of the king’s condition. Having heard the whispers. I said it was recklessness. Incompetence. But she has always been perceptive.

She sees the darkness in me. The flicker of doubt that darkens her beautiful eyes, one she does not dare speak aloud.

But I cannot speak to her of the shadow that is cast over my heart. So instead, I spared hers, and told insisted it was Aegon's folly that lead to his downfall. Nothing more.

She nodded. But her gaze lingered on me. Searching. I know she does not believe me.

She reached for my hand, and I held hers too tightly. She winced.

I watch her even now, as she sleeps, her breath too shallow for my liking, her form too still beneath the furs. My mind races with thoughts I cannot quiet. What if she never sees me return again? What if I leave and come back to find her gone?

I will not let it happen.

19th day of the 6th moon, 129

The council have chosen me as their Regent. Me, over Mother. It is as it should be. For all her wisdom, her place is not there. Her gentle sex does not suit the burden of governance, no matter how much she believes otherwise. She clings too tightly to something she herself has denied Rhaenyra, and I will not stand idly by and listen to her hypocrisy.

The council at least know my worth.

Already I have begun to shape the crumbling realm back to stability. The first act began with Mother, relegating her to duties befitting of a Dowager Queen, and one she did not take lightly. It is not cruelty. Necessary. There is no place for soft murmurings of mercy at my council. She will understand in time.

The work is endless. The weight immeasurable, but one I wear with pride. I have longed for this. To show I am not weak, but formidable, with no time for distraction.

The realm needs me now more than ever.

28th day of the 6th moon, 129

Regency suits me well. It is a shame I was not born first.

The first real edict was to close the city gates, to forbid people from leaving and also to avoid our enemies sneaking past our fragile lines. King’s Landing must be fortified, protected from the vipers who would see us undone. Let the smallfolk whisper and grumble, their safety is ensured only because I am willing to make the hard choices.

Trade has slowed, of course, but I care little for the merchants’ squawking. Better that they lose their coin than lose their lives when Rhaenyra’s forces march upon us.

Though the power is intoxicating it is not without its burdens. I see the faces of the council as they defer to me, the uncertainty that flickers behind their eyes. They doubt my youth, my ability to lead, but they dare not say it aloud.

There are moments, fleeting though they are, when I wonder if I have already given too much of myself to this war. But I cannot dwell on such thoughts. The realm does not wait for doubt, and neither shall I.

7th day of the 7th moon, 129

I had nearly forgotten her.

The council chamber was quiet when she appeared, the hour so late that even the most loyal attendants had taken their leave. I sat, pouring over papers and maps, looking up as she stood at the doors draped in translucent fabric, her fragile frame looking almost ghostly.

She had come all the way from her chambers, weak as she is, just to see me.

For a moment, I was struck dumb, caught between guilt and irritation. I had not sought her out in days, too consumed by the weight of my duties.

I asked her, sharper than I intended, what she was doing here and that she should be resting. And she did not flinch, but I could see her eyes flicker downwards.

“I had to see you.”

It was as if she wanted to see if I still existed. And that I was not some otherworldly vision, told only through whispers and rumours. For she had not seen me in near a fortnight. Her voice was so soft that it struck a chord I did not need for it to resonate.

I could not say anything more than the realm expects more of me now. The demands on my shoulders. I cannot spare a moment.

Her voice strained. “I had to see you because otherwise I scarcely know my husband lives and breathes.”

Her words erupted guilt and irritation alike. Buried beneath a thin, black veil I have carefully fabricated.

I could only insist I do all this for her. To keep her safe.

“How is it for me, Aemond? All I see in you is this desire for power. You speak of the realm, of me, but this is just sheer ambition, and you are too blind to see what it is doing to you. And I will not be your excuse for how tightly you cling to what you seek.”

I snapped and said how could she know. She has not ruled and never will. She does not understand the burden I bear.

“Perhaps I don't understand. But I know the man I married, the one I grew to love. And all I see is him slipping away.”

Gods, she sounded so wounded I was not sure whether to resent it or pity it.

The man she grew to love.

I was rendered so shocked I could not say anything. Even when her eyes begged for a response. And she turned to leave, her steps weak and faltering with every second. And I did not help her.

I did not help her.

I cannot shake the look on her face.

I know I should go to her, but I cannot. Her weakness, her frailty, I am afraid it will take me down with it.

And the realm cannot afford more weakness from the crown.

24th day of the 7th moon, 129

Everything is unravelling.

Rhaenyra has thrown everything she has at us, now even her bastards ride dragons. It is a cruel mockery of what we were meant to be. Blood of the dragon, sullied by lowborn filth. And Helaena, sweet and broken, refuses to aid us. Her grief holds her captive, and I cannot rouse her from it. I need her dragon, but she will not hear me.

Today was unbearable.

The council drags their feet and the walls close in. The smallfolk riot in the streets from hunger, one Rhaenyra herself has caused but that they seem to forget.

I came back to my chambers after the council adjourned, weary and enraged. And there, on my desk, I found them. Snapdragons. Flowers of bold pinks and oranges, fierce and alive, their edges tinged with red like the tips of dragonfire.

She has been here.

There was no note. No explanation. The flowers spoke what she did not.

It is a reminder of who I am, or rather the man I should be. The man she loves, not the beast I fear I am becoming.

I stood there for what felt like an age, staring at the blooms as if they might speak to me. In that moment, I made my decision. I must go to Harrenhal soon, to face Daemon, but I will not leave without seeing her first. Without making amends.

When I went to her chambers, there were no maesters, but her fever was heightened, and so she slept with sheer clothing and no bedsheets. She looked like a nymph, laid there, her breasts visible through the fabric and flowers at each bedside.

Like she didn't belong in the confines of the Keep. She belonged out there, amongst the trees and rivers, to exist in breath and wind.

She looked up, rose from her gentle slumber, and looked at me. Her eyes soft and searching.

I kissed her and she did not pull away. She let me touch her, hold her, gasped as I slid her nightgown up her hips and nipped at her thighs to taste the sweet nectar that poured from her.

She was warm and heady, an intoxicating mix of salt and sweetness, like honey warmed by the sun. I drank from her as if parched, savoring the way she trembled beneath me, the way her body seemed to bloom under my touch.

Her breath hitched as I lavished her with my tongue, her fingers desperate as her nailed pulled pleasantly at my hair. Each sound she made was a victory, each shiver a testament to the power she held over me. For all my strength, all my fury, I was undone by her, reduced to this, worshiping at the altar of her body.

Even as she cried out I could not stop. And when it became too much, I rose, her flavour still clinging to my lips. And we coupled slowly, tenderly, for hours. Devouring her as if by doing so, I could take some of her kindness, and bathe me clean of the darkness that lingers within.

She is no fool.

“My love. Do not make love to me as if I will never see you again.”

I could not answer her. She knows I must go. To Harrenhal. Now on my own, if nobody else will assist me.

I felt her fingers on my cheek.

“If you cannot promise me that. Promise me this. Write to me. Wherever you are. Whatever you do.”

I could not find it in my heart to deny her such a simple thing. I will send her my words, if I cannot send my body, soul and love.

I realised right there, her small body spent in my arms how many weeks, months even, I had spent unappreciative of the flutter she always gave me. The unending kindness she would offer. The truth, even when I didn't want it.

I had forgotten to treat her with tenderness.

1st day of the 9th moon, 129

Harrenhal is mine.

The stronghold of the Strongs fell with little resistance. The castle itself, vast and cold, looms like a beast over the land, its ruins whispering of past glories and darker tragedies. House Strong is no more. I have seen to that myself.

Save for one.

Alys Rivers remains. She claimed she had visions of my coming, of my victory, and of greater things yet to unfold. She spoke in riddles, her eyes fixed on me as though she could see into my soul.

Her words, her presence, are tempting in their way. Alys Rivers is a beautiful woman, older than I expected, with a certain allure born of her confidence and mystery. She has made no secret of her willingness to warm my bed, to offer herself to me in exchange for her life.

But I did not take her. I will not.

I told her plainly that she would live for now because her visions may serve a purpose. Nothing more. Let her think she has some measure of power over me if it keeps her pliant and useful. Yet even as I write this, I know I should send her to the sword, for the danger she represents.

My wife would see it how it is. Desperation.

I have not written to her yet. Not my wife. Not the only soul who would calm the storm within me.

I will tomorrow.

For tonight, the shadows of Harrenhal linger too heavily, and the blood on my hands feels too fresh.

17th day of the 11th moon, 129

Now I know why Daemon left this wretched place behind.

Harrenhal is not a castle, it is a carcass. Its halls are hollow, its walls crumbling, and its very air feels like a curse pressing down on my chest. The fires that claimed this ruin have never truly died. They linger in the stones, in the bones of the dead, whispering their stories to anyone who dares to listen.

And I am here now, breathing it in. I thought it would feel like a triumph, taking Harrenhal, but it is not.

I have not slept well since my arrival. And when I do, the dreams come. Muddled and confusing. Vivid and cruel things that weave consciousness into sleep.

Last night, I dreamt of her.

She was in her chambers in bed, sickly, her skin pale and translucent. The maesters swarm her like vultures for flesh, muttering useless words and hovering instead of healing. Her eyes found me, tired and hooded, and it was not a look of blame or fear, but something that still reminded me I am not the man she needed me to be.

In her eyes I saw my regrets. Every harsh word I spoke. Every moment I turned away. Every time I let ambition and anger drown out what little light we had kindled between us.

I tried to reach for her in the dream, but the distance was too great. I called her name, but she did not answer. And when I woke, my throat was raw, as if I had truly been shouting in my sleep.

In another dream, I was between her milky thighs, lapping at her sweet cunt like I had been starved of it for years. She moaned so sweetly as she always did. And when she clawed at my scalp to pull me closer to her it felt different. She was stronger. Less tender.

And when I looked up, her nectar glazing my face, I felt my heart grow cold and hollow. Her skin was pale, yes, but her hair darkened into something akin to raven feathers, her eyes sunk back slightly, cheekbones sharpened. And the soft, lightly colour there morphed into stark emeralds, lips red and quirked upwards.

Perhaps Harrenhal is cursed. Perhaps it draws out the darkest thoughts, the deepest fears, and forces them to the surface. Or perhaps it is only me. Perhaps I am cursed.

I must write to her. She is my tether, the only thing that keeps me from being swallowed whole by the darkness here. Tomorrow, I will write. Tonight, I will try to sleep and hope the dreams do not return.

Dearest Wife,

I write to you from the cold halls of Harrenhal, a place that holds no warmth, no life. Not like your chambers do. The days here stretch long, the nights longer still. It is a place of ash and shadow, where even the air feels heavy. And yet, amidst the ruin, I found something unexpected, a winter rose, growing stubbornly in the cracks of stone.

I have enclosed it with this letter. It is small, fragile, but it persists. A reminder, perhaps, that beauty can be found even in the bleakest places. I thought of you when I saw it. Handle it gently, as you always do.

How do you fare, my love? I pray the maesters have been attentive, and that the chill has not worsened your condition. I think of you often, though I fear my words fail to capture how much. I see you in every quiet moment, in every breath of wind. You linger in my thoughts as if you are a part of me, inseparable and eternal.

I do not wish to burden you with the trials of this place, nor the weight of my duties. But know that I am well, and I will return to you as soon as I am able. Until then, take care of yourself, for I cannot bear the thought of you suffering in my absence.

Yours Always,

Aemond

4th day of the 2nd moon, 130

Alys spoke of visions today.

She said she could see two dragons coming together, sharing the same fate above the great God's Eye. Then my wife, she saw our reunion, my wife's hair lit as if from the sun of the Seven Heavens. She sounded so certain, as if recounting events that had already transpired. She was so confident, I almost believed her.

Almost.

She sees so much, so she claims. Watching the flames dance along her eyes is, in itself, invigorating to watch. Her gentle mutterings are welcome sometimes in the quiet, hollow hallways of Harrenhal. They linger, pulling on the threads of my mind as if I am to her whim.

She moves through this great castle as if she has been a ghost here for generations. Her gaze does not cower before me as many others do, but she stands close. Perhaps sometimes, too close. And I think myself weak for not dismissing her.

She is a woman who knows the route to survival, and I cannot fault her for that.

They are brief, fleeting. The times where I wonder if she offers herself for something more than just survival. When she hands me a raven, her touch lingers longer than it should.

I do not know what Alys Rivers wants from me, nor do I care to ask.

I have not written to my wife of her. How could I? How do I explain this shadow in my midst, this woman who speaks of futures I do not wish to see? I tell myself it is unnecessary, that Alys is nothing more than a tool, a means to an end.

And yet, I wonder if I am lying to myself.

Daemon is coming. That much I believe. Whether Alys’s visions are truth or falsehood, the outcome remains the same. We are on a path that cannot be turned aside.

When the time comes, I will be ready.

My Dearest Husband,

Your letter reached me today, and I must confess, I wept to see the winter rose you sent. Such a small and delicate thing, so rare. I pressed it into my own book, so it may keep company with my other treasures. Thank you, my love.

I have pressed a snapdragon into these pages also. Last spring, you commented that the colour of their petals reminded you of a dragon mid-roar, and I wished to remind you of simpler times, before the world felt so uncertain.

I have soaked these papers in the oils I apply to my hair and skin. Perhaps a silly indulgence to some, but I thought perhaps it might bring you some comfort, a memory of home in the coldness of that dreadful castle.

The maesters say the chill has caught my chest, though it has for many here. You must not worry, I assure you it is nothing more than the season’s cruel bite. I have taken my draughts and kept warm as you would wish me to, though the days feel colder without you here to hold me.

I hope this letter finds you well. Write to me when you can, even if it is but a few lines. Your words are a light in these dark times, and I cling to them more than I dare admit.

I hope you campaigns in the Riverlands fare well. Remember you are my husband first, not a shadow of war or duty. Please do not forget or lose grip on the man I fell in love with.

Yours Forever,

Your Loving Wife

- - - - 130

The quill trembles in my hand as I write. Ink smears before I can make sense of my thoughts. This entry will be illegible by morning, I am certain. It makes no sense— how could it? Dreams are madness.

Alys.

Her belly was swollen, a grotesque curve rounded with child, one of my blood. Not hers. Not hers! I could not look at her without feeling bile in my throat, the heat of shame.

And then my wife.

My wife!

She was there, crumpling to the ground, her grief splitting the air like a storm. Her screams. Gods, her screams. I have never heard her voice raised in such a way, never seen her face contorted with such anguish.

I wanted to go to her, to explain, but I could not move. My feet were rooted, and the air was thick, choking me. She looked at me, her eyes wide with betrayal, and I felt myself drowning in them. No. Not in them.

In water.

My lungs burned. My limbs thrashed. The surface was a distant shimmer, unreachable. I could hear her still, even beneath the water, her screams warped and muffled, but no less devastating.

I woke gasping, clawing at the air as if I could still feel the water pulling me under.

What does it mean? What does it mean?

Harrenhal speaks as if it has a clawing, fearsome mouth.

Kinslayer. Usurper. Liar. Monster.

I am all and none. All and none.

The water, surely it does not drown me, it must cleanse me.

But it cannot. Nothing can. Nothing will.

My Dearest Aemond,

I write to you from my bed, as I have found myself unable to rise for much of late. The maesters are vigilant, though they assure me there is no cause for alarm and that I should not tire myself by writing. They say it is only the season and my own weakness conspiring against me. I do not tell them how I feel the cold seep deeper with each passing day, but I tell you, my husband, because I know you will not dismiss my words so lightly.

News of the battle at the Lakeshore has reached even here. The servants whisper of it, though I hear only fragments. There seems to be a changing of guards here at the Keep, but I do not leave my chambers, so I cannot see why. Are you well? Please tell me you are. It has been too long since I last heard from you, and I cannot help but worry. You are so far away, in such a dangerous place, and the weight of it lies heavy upon my chest.

I would not ask this of you if I thought it selfish, but please, write to me. Even a single line would be enough to still my restless heart.

Take care of yourself, my love. Remember that you are not alone in this, no matter how distant we may seem. You are mine, as I am yours, and nothing, not war, not duty, not even death, can change that.

All My Love,

Your Wife

My Loving Husband,

Why have you not written? Why do you leave me in this silence? The days are long without word from you, and the nights are even longer. I wait, and I wonder, and I worry. Is it so hard to take up your quill? Is it so hard to tell me that you are well?

Please, my love, do not let this silence stretch any longer. Tell me you are safe. Tell me you are whole. Tell me anything, for I am desperate for the sound of your voice, even if it must come to me through ink and paper.

Do you think of me, Aemond? Do you think of the nights we spent in each other’s arms? Do you think of the flowers I left for you, the words I whispered when the world felt less cruel? I hope you do. I hope you remember.

I have tried to be strong, for you, for us, but I am alas not as much as you. Please, my love, do not leave me to this silence any longer. Write to me. Ease my heart. I apologise for my heavy emotions, the ink smudges because of my shaky hands, and they are not as steady as they once were. Do not think poorly of me for it.

I fear I am beginning to lose my sense of time. Did I already tell you the maesters say I will recover? Forgive me if I repeat myself. My thoughts seem to wander, but they always find their way back to you.

I love you, Aemond. It hurts more than breathing. Please let me hear from you.

Yours, always and forever.

Your Loyal Wife

My Beloved Wife,

I read every stroke of your ink like a blade to my chest, not because they wound me so, but because I imagine your voice. Reminding me what I have left behind.

Do you know, my love, how much I miss you? How much I miss the feel of your hands on me, grounding me when the storms inside threaten to consume me?

Do not lose hope, for I cling to it still. If you cannot feel my arms around you, know that my soul reaches for you, across all the miles that separate us. Hold fast, my love, until I can come back to you.

Do not think poorly of your emotions, nor of your trembling hands. They have always been steady enough to hold me, to steady my own restless soul.

I do not deserve you, my delicate flower. But I am yours, wholly and utterly. I will write to you again soon, I swear it. I will not leave you in silence again.

Please, take heart, as I try to do. Remember that I love you, more than I have ever been able to say.

Yours, now and always,

Aemond

My Dearest, dearest Aemond,

Do you remember our first days as husband and wife? How cold you seemed, how distant? I used to think you disliked me, perhaps even resented me for my frailty. I was so small and scared then, unsure of my place in your life, in your heart.

But I see now what I could not see then. You are a man of storms, my love, and I was too weak to weather them. Yet, even storms have their moments of calm, and it was in those moments I found the man I have come to love more than life itself.

I do not know if this letter reaches you, nor if I have the strength to write another. But I need you to know, that I am wholly, and truly, yours. Now and always.

Please, remember me kindly.

Forever,

Your Loving Wife

My love,

It has been too long since I last wrote to you. For that I am sorry. I did not mean to worry you.

Truthfully I have left Harrenhal behind, trawling the Riverlands to those loyal to my sister still, even now. I head towards a confrontation I cannot avoid. Daemon wants his fight, and as much as I would like to be by your side, this challenge cannot be ignored. He is a fool if he thinks he can stand against me, but I must prove it nonetheless.

Once that is done, I swear to you, I will return to your side. This madness, this war, it has taken too much from us both. I long for the peace of your presence, the quiet of our chambers, where only you and I exist in our own world.

I do not know what awaits me when I return. I do not know what has become of you, though I hope you are well. Please know that, despite the distance and the bloodshed, you are always in my heart.

I will write again as soon as I can. Stay strong, my love. Wait for me.

I am yours,

Aemond

My love,

I await your reply like a lovesick child.

I fear the worst with each passing day, each hour that I do not hear your voice. Have I lost you? Is the cold consuming you, or have you fallen into silence for some other reason I cannot fathom? Please, I beg of you, send me word. Let me know that you are still waiting for me.

I have prepared myself to face Daemon, though I care little for the confrontation. His challenge has become a matter of necessity, but I cannot shake the thought of you, fragile and alone, while I am here, so far away. I would rather be by your side, taking care of you, than facing that traitor. But I have no choice now.

I am desperate, my love. A few lines in your gentle hand would give me the strength of a thousand men. Without you, what am I but a man trawling this desolate, darkened land, lost forever without your light to guide my way.

Please do write. My cherished flower.

Aemond

My darling wife,

I woke to a raven today. The words written within it seemed impossible, a cruelty that no man should have to face. It tells me of your passing, of your death.

But I refuse to believe it. I cannot.

You are not gone. I would have felt you, felt your soul leave this realm. I would have felt the Stranger take you from me, and yet, there is only the emptiness. The cold distance that stretches between us, yes, but not your absence. Not truly.

Were such a thing to happen, my love, I would have felt a pain so deep in my chest, I would have cried out. I would have howled until my throat bled. You are too vital to me for your death to be a mere whisper in the wind. No, this cannot be real.

Do not let the maesters fill my mind with their lies. Do not weaken the fragile hope I cling to, the only thread keeping me tethered to this world. Please, I beg of you, let me hold onto the belief that you are still waiting for me. That when I return, I will find you where you belong, by my side.

I will nourish you, body and soul, as I should have from the very beginning. For I do not believe that the distance, the war, the bloodshed, it has not been enough to sever the bond we share. When I come to you, I will fix what I have broken in myself, and I will fix what has withered between us.

This war has broken me, my love. I have witnessed too much, done too much, and it has hollowed me out in ways I cannot even express. But you, you always knew how to heal. Your touch, gentle, sure could mend what no one else could. And so, I beg you, when I return, lay your hands upon me.

Fix me.

Make me whole again. It has been so long since I have felt so. Without your touch, your voice.

I will come for you.

Forever Yours,

Aemond

21st day of the 5th moon, 130

The winds howl so loudly now.

They sing on the eve of what may be my last. Daemon is here and he waits for me. One of us must fall, though I have reassured my wife that it shall not be me.

I write this now because I do not know if I will have another chance. If the Stranger comes for me, I will not meet him with words left unsaid.

To my mother. You were the first to see me, even before I knew myself. When I was a boy without a dragon, I ran to you, tears staining my face, and you held me as though that could mend what I lacked. The day I lost my eye, the boy you nurtured was forced to become a man. A bitter man. Perhaps I lost more than my eye that day. Perhaps I lost the better parts of myself. If I am to die tomorrow, know that I never blamed you for showing your love to me the way you did, and though I may not have shown it, I am grateful.

My sister. Sweet sister, I am sorry. Sorry for your grief, sorry for your pain, sorry for all the ways I could not protect you from this cruel world. You deserved peace, and all you have been given is sorrow. I hope that, in another life, I might have been a better brother to you. I hope you will forgive me for failing you.

Aegon. Brother, I have resented you for much of my life. Perhaps it was jealousy, perhaps it was anger, perhaps it was something I will never fully understand. But you are my brother, my blood, and for all our differences, I have never wished you harm. Not truly. If I do not return, lead this realm as you see fit, but know that power is a fleeting thing. Do not let it consume you as it has consumed me.

To my wife, my delicate flower, if you ever read this: forgive me. Forgive the times I was cold, the times I let my anger and pride obscure my love for you. Forgive my silence, my absences, my failures to be the husband you deserved.

I see you even now, though miles lie between us. I see your smile, rare but radiant. I hear your voice, soft but sure. I feel your touch, delicate but anchoring. You made me feel whole, even when I thought I was nothing but a shattered thing.

Daemon may take my life tomorrow, but he cannot take what I carry with me, the memory of you, the warmth of you, the love you gave me even when I did not deserve it. That is mine, and mine alone.

If the Stranger does not take me, I will come back to you. I will hold you, care for you, and let the world crumble as long as I have you. But if I do not return, know this.

I loved you.

With all that I am, with all that I ever was, I loved you.

The winds howl louder now. Perhaps it is time I let them carry me. And if it is to be so, take me to her.

629 notes · View notes

trivia-yandere · 4 months ago

Text

divine intervention

you'll do anything to have your own baby one day - even to go against your morals and allow a wiccan to help you. same universe as metamorphosis

warning: cheating/affair, cursing, mentions of infertility and miscarriages, blood (reader is cut), rituals, smut, licking, voyeurism, breeding kink, creampie, character death, nipple sucking/play, dirty talk, oral sex, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, rough sex, fingering, begging, character deaths, slight degradation/humiliation, deepthroating, face slapping, blood drinking/cannibalism, rough sex

word count: 10.243

Halloween Masterlist

@sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @momnomnom @bangtans-momma @chimmy-licious @investedreader

You’re wet and cold, body trembling as the harsh rain fully covers your frame. You’re blinking away droplets of rain water from your eyelashes, eyes staring right at your target. You stopped dead in tracks when you noticed the familiar car park right into the parking lot and got out of said car - the passenger door had opened as well.

You had gotten out of your car prepared to confront him, but you didn’t. Your heart sank when they both entangled their fingers together, hearing a few struggling laughter even through the rain, as they ran towards the motel doors.

You watched as your husband entered the motel room with the woman - obviously who he was going to leave you for - and closed the door behind them. Through the closed blind, you witness the lights flicker on and behind them, their silhouette engulfing in a hug.

You swallow thickly, your throat hurting as you think about the fact that your marriage was going to be ending - and yet maybe you should’ve listened to him the first time when he asked for said divorce. You had only thought he was upset with you and eventually, the both of you would come together once more.

Your legs pick up and you’re stomping towards the motel room. Your heart is already shattered and now you’re angry.

You didn’t deserve this. You were a good wife to him and you remained by his side with all the bullshit he went through - all the shit he has put you through. In the end, where did it leave you both? Down the path of a divorce while you sit at home alone and he’s out with another woman.

You stop right outside the motel door, contemplating if you should be doing this now. It was a week prior when you caught sight of the motel receipt - you had been washing clothes and decided to wash his. You checked his pockets to assure nothing would be damaged and in the end, only your heart was. No man is going to a motel in the same town he lives in if it wasn’t because he was creeping with another woman.

There were signs - of course there were signs. You chose to ignore them all. The sudden “work phone calls” and “staying overtime” should have struck you as off - but you were blinded by love for your husband that you didn’t allow yourself to see what the fuck was in front of you.

Your fist connects with the door rapidly, banging against it with all your might that your knuckles begin to throb - but you didn’t give a damn at this moment. You had gone to the same motel each night that he had not come home and waited to see if his car would be here - and tonight you happened to be lucky.

There’s shuffling behind the door and when it swings open is when you attack, your fist connecting to the face of your husband. The woman screams in shock and comes between the two of you.

“What the hell-”

Maybe it was the adrenaline that gives you such strength and courage. Maybe the rain and heavy wind has caused you to get sick faster than usual and now you have super powers; who the hell knows? It only took one punch for the woman to fall onto her ass and clench her nose and by the end of it all, you know that you’d feel guilty because surely this wasn’t her fault. She didn’t owe you any loyalty.

“Y/N!”

Your husband is grabbing your shoulders, eyes wide at the act of being caught red-handed. “How did you-”

“Shut the fuck up.” You hiss, having no desire to explain yourself to him. It was you that needed to be asking the important questions. “This is the overtime you’re putting in?” you ask him. “This,” you point to the woman on the ground. “is the work calls?”

Your husband shakes his head, unable to form words. What could he truly say? It was obvious that this was an affair and you weren’t dumb enough to fall for any more lies when it was slapped in your face like this.

“Listen-”

“When did it start?” you interrupt once more. “How long-”

“I asked for a divorce!” your husband hisses and instantly sighs. He didn’t want to do this here. “Can we talk-”

“We can talk right here.” you say, yanking yourself away when he goes to reach for you. “So that’s it? You want a divorce?” you scoff. “After I stayed when all your business ventures went to shit? All your investments went downhill?”

Your husband's eyes widen at your words and he takes a step back.

“Don’t look like that now.” you scoff. “It was my money that kept us afloat.”

“My apologies, Y/N, for not being a trust fund baby!” your husband retorts. “I don’t have mommy and daddies money to fall back on like you do!”

You lick your lips, swallowing back more harsh insults you could dish out. You nod your head with a shrug of your shoulders.

“We’ve been together for years and the relationship has gone nowhere.” your husband states. “I thought a divorce would be mutual-”

“Mutual?” you snort.

“You know what I want, Y/N.” he murmurs. “We both know what we want and you cannot do it. I can’t…” his eyes blink away from your face, unable to look you in the eye as he says it. “...I don’t want to adopt. I want to have my own child. And you don’t want to do surrogacy-”

“You’re divorcing me because I cannot carry a child.” you state. “I see.”

“It’s deeper than that, Y/N and you know it.”

“What else is there?” you ask. “We were fine prior to me finding out.” One too many miscarriages to be exact. You recall the day your heart sank when you were told the low possibility of you actually having a child - and you refused to keep trying to just get let down.

“Tomorrow,” you began, eyes glancing at the woman. She doesn’t look at you and you wonder just who she is and what her intentions were with your husband - now ex. Was she planning on getting into a relationship with him or was this just them fucking in cheap motels? “you can come get you stuff from the house.”

Your husband swallows but he nods.

“I’ll have my mommy and daddy call our family lawyer.” you say, voice laced with sarcasm and venom. “We’ll sort something out. I’ll tell you this now that the most I’m willing to let you keep is your car.”

Your husband watches you leave, back out in the heavy rain. You enter your car and sit for a moment, mind racing with the events that just transpire. The rain hides your view of outside your windshield and you have yet to start your car. You sit idly in the cold car and listen to the sound of said rain hit against it.

It doesn’t get easier with time, you note, and your home only feels empty and cold without his presence. You told yourself this was for the best - this is what he wanted after all. Soon, the divorce will be finalized and he will be someone else’s problem.

Even now you sit alone in a diner, stirring your tea. It’s quiet and only low music plays through the speakers. It’s also not busy, an older couple sitting a few tables away.

You shouldn’t be here now. This is where you and your ex-husband came at any given moment as it was 24 hours and it’s pathetic that this is where you went because you didn’t wish to be home.

“You’re sad.”

You’re startled by the voice speaking suddenly and your eyes blink upwards to the woman sitting across from you. She appears to be out of place here. She seems to be wearing robes - a crimson color with a spec of gold trimming. Her head is covered by a hood of the same color and you’re unable to make out her face just yet as her head is bowed. Her hands are placed onto the table and you noticed she’s wearing gold jewelry

You sit straighter, unaware who this woman was and why she was here. You had not heard her sit down, either, and that strikes you as odd.

“Is it that obvious?” you murmur, scoffing to yourself.

“Your aura is sad.” the woman speaks. “You’re hurting. Emotionally, of course.”

You realized that this entire time you had been stirring your tea. You stopped and took out the spoon from the tea cup and placed it aside. You slowly nod your head. “I suppose you’re correct.” you say, unsure why you’re speaking to a complete stranger who appeared out of thin air.

You take a sip of your tea, the flavor of chai hitting your taste buds only makes you hum. At least there was one good memory of this diner and it was the tea. Nonetheless, you turn your eyes back to the woman. “I must look utterly miserable if you noticed how sad I looked.” you attempt to joke - to lighten the mood.

“I can’t see you.” the woman says and now you notice that she indeed could not. She lifts her head to your direction and her eyes are white. It catches you by surprise and she appears to be looking right at you.

“I-I didn’t know that.” you murmur, now feeling embarrassed that you hadn’t noticed in the beginning. “How could you tell then?”

For a moment, the woman is quiet and you could practically feel the hair on your arms rise. You’re unsure what to say yourself - you had several questions. Who was this woman and where did she come from? How could she feel your sadness as she did not know you or your situation?

“I could sense it - a great deal of pain coming from you.” the woman speaks. “You’re lonely.”

You snicker to yourself, quite bitterly. A blind woman can tell that you were a lonely mess of a woman.

“I lost my husband.” you say, taking another sip of your tea. “He isn’t dead, though. Just dead to me.” you tell her.

It’s crazy that you sense no threat to this woman who would have struck you as weird if it was any other moment. You didn’t have the desire to speak to your friends about your divorce just yet and get a “I told you so” reaction from them like you had with your parents. This woman didn’t know you and maybe that was better.

“I married him because I loved him and I thought he loved me.” you continue. “But when times went hard, I suppose “til death do us part” was just easier said than done.” you shrug your shoulders.

“I can feel you’re upset about him, however…” the woman tilts her head a bit, as if reading more into the situation. “...you aren’t just upset about him.”

You nod your head - even if she couldn’t see you do so. “Yeah.” you admit. “I have no husband and I cannot have children. So,” you laugh at your situation. Obviously you’ve done something in your past life to deserve this, surely? “I suppose I’m upset with myself and life in general.”

“Have you always wished to be a mother?”

You have.

You always pondered what motherhood would be like for you. You recall how you and your mother did things together - how loving she was. How understanding she could be. She would scold you when you were wrong, sure, but she loved you nonetheless and truly did want what was best.

You had the financial stability to raise a child in and that was one of the reasons why you wished to be a mother, as having a child without that support would never be an option for you.

“Yes.” you respond to the woman. “I suppose…the universe has other plans for me.” you say with a shake of your head. “I could always adopt but…it’ll be a little harder now that I’m going through a divorce.”

Fuck your husband, truly. You begin to think about what if you just agreed and went through with the surrogacy - maybe then you’d have a husband and a baby.

But your mind told you that it wasn’t realistic. That if he loved you, nothing would have tore him away from you.

You swallow.

“I’m positive you can get pregnant.” the woman speaks and you want to thank her for her positivity - but if the doctors didn’t see you going through with a pregnancy, then you’re sure you couldn’t. “Your spirit just rejected the man you wished to have a child with.”

You raise a brow at her words. She was a spiritual woman, obviously, as she states she could feel your aura.

“You think so?” you ask her. You wouldn’t push her away as some sort of crazy woman with too many screws loose.

The woman nods. “Our spirit...sometimes will not accept who we wish to procreate with.” she speaks. “It’s an act of protection. This man was not the man for you.”

You smile.

The woman's words are kind. She was trying to be positive, you note, and assure that you felt better. You were grateful for her words.

“I could help you.”

“Help…me?” you’re taken aback. “Are you a type of…spiritual doctor?”

The woman’s lips twitch upward. “I’m a wiccan.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you process her words.

“Wiccan…?” you swallow with a slight nod. You should be more frightened than you truly were at the moment for the unknown surrounding this woman. “...how could you help me?” you should be even more frightened by how willing you were to hear her methods.

“There’s methods we can go through to assure you conceive a child.”

This was crazy.

There was no way you could be considering this.

“I…I’ll just end up miscarrying.” you murmur with a shake of your head.

“I’m positive,” the woman begins. “that you will be able to birth a child.” she sounds certain of herself.

“What is the catch?” you question. “Do you want money?”

The woman shakes her head and she laughs at your words. “Money is not my motive. I want to lift the sadness that surrounds you and fill it with happiness. A child is one of the greatest blessings there is in life.”

You proceed to drink the rest of your tea in one sitting, mind scrambling at the woman's words.

“If I consider this…just who am I getting impregnated by?” you ask.

The woman stands suddenly and you see just how long her robs are. “I could give you a week to settle in on it.”

“I-I…how would I see you again?”

“I know where to find you.”

Her words should strike you as odd and you should be frightened that they do not.

“You want to be a single mother?” your mother inhales deeply, her manicured nails on her temples rubbing them in circular motion. “I know going through a divorce isn’t easy but…” she doesn’t finish her words.

It’s obvious in where she stands. Why in the world would you choose to be a single mother? Though she never liked the idea of you, in her words, dating a man that was “less than”, she never downright forbade you. If you were happy then it was all she truly wanted.

However, now you were going through a divorce by said man that she always knew was less than deserving of you - and the thought of cheating on the person who gave him a chance was downright insane.

“I can introduce you to some people!” your mother suggests.

You groan. Great. Your mother was trying to set you up with someone of high status that could care less about you entirely and would only be doing so because they were looking for someone with status.

“Mother,” you wave your hand in front of you dismissively. “Please. I’m going through a divorce and the last thing I want is a partner.”

“But you want a child?” your mother snickers, unable to wrap her head around single motherhood. “W-What…” she swallows. She doesn’t want to be harsh on you in such a fragile moment in your life, but you’re positive you know where she’s going.

What if you have this child and cannot find any man willing (in their eyes) to want to marry a single mother?

You weren’t old and you still had time - but you weren’t sure you wanted to be with anyone. You dipped your toes into married life and this is where it got you - single and still without a child.

“At least if I had a child, it’d be mine.” you sigh. “If I got pregnant sooner, imagine the headache of joint custody.”

Your mother isn’t keen on imagining it. You lean back into your chair, eyes glancing upwards at the high ceiling chandelier. You release a sigh. “I just want to have someone love me forever.” you whisper to yourself. “I want to be able to carry a child. Feel it move inside of me and watch as I grow week by week. Is that too much to ask for?” you question truly.

You glance back at your mother. She’s shaking her head and you’re understanding that she could never truly get where you were coming from. “I will support you in anything you decide to do.” she speaks. “If this is what is going to make you happy…”

You inhale deeply, closing your eyes. You see the woman dressed in the red robes, her white eyes seemingly watching you. It has almost been a week and your mind refuses to go elsewhere.

This is what you wanted, right? You wanted to be a mother and raise a child - even if you didn’t have a partner alongside you. You were only growing older and did you truly wish to get to know someone else and go through the same obstacles you’ve already gone through with your first husband?

“It is what I want.” you exhale, your chest tightening and heart beating rapidly at how long you’ve held your breath. “More than anything…”

It was deep in the night when you saw the woman once more. You had showered and scrubbed your skin clean. The red flags weren’t going off in your head and you never questioned just how the woman knew where you lived. Maybe you’d blame your desperation for a child on why it didn’t strike you as odd.

The woman was not alone. Behind her strolled three more women, all younger than her and instead of being dressed in crimson robes, they sported a dark emerald color. Their hoods are all covering their heads and it’s only when they enter your home do two of them remove it in sync.

One woman has long coily hair that matches her eyes - dark yet vibrant. Her skin is smooth and underneath the dim light of your home, it appears to glow a deep color similar to espresso. The second woman's hair is short and stops right at her shoulders in a blunt cut - a fierce ginger color that is so bold and it compliments the brownish-green hue of her eyes. You noticed there’s piercings on her skin, four gold ones on the bridge of her nose alone while there’s a few hoops outlining her ears. There’s two small gold hoops on either side of the woman's lips. The final woman keeps her hood on and only could you see her eyes as it appears to be a silk gold scarf wrapped firmly around her neck and mouth, loosely hanging. Her eyes are pierce and it reminds you of that of a cat.

You swallow, captivated by all of the women - each so different yet so inviting and it takes you a moment to look away. Only when your eyes begin to grow irritated by the lack of blinking moisture do you halt.

“I’m sorry.” you say, body heating with embarrassment. You’re unsure what to say and positive that you didn’t need to apologize as you didn’t do anything. You were nervous and even now, there weren’t any alarms going off in your head. “I have questions….”

It’s the blinded woman that speaks first. “Ask and we shall answer.”

You swallow. Your arms cover with goosebumps as you were wearing little - at their request. It’s a satin night gown that stops at the middle of your thigh and you were instructed on it to be a dark color - preferably black.

“H-How is this going to work?”

The woman offers a soft smile. She begins to walk into your home - deeper as if she’s been here before. You watch, eyes witnessing the way she appears to walk without any issues and you ponder if this woman was truly blind.

But then you had to consider that upon being introduced to you, she stated that she was wiccan - and maybe that had something to do with her overall demeanor. How she could sense your sadness to even now, her showing up at your doorstep and you had not told her explicitly where you lived.

“If I can ask,” you speak up, bare feet patting against the hardwood floor as you follow close behind them. “how am I supposed to be impregnated without…a man?” it’s a logical question that you feel needs an answer - you suppose maybe they had something on them; a vile maybe that could be inserted inside of you. Yet, how good could that be? The sperm could surely not survive that long outside of the body.

But then again, you tell yourself, the woman claimed to be wiccan.

You take a deep breath.

“There will be a man.” one woman speaks up - it’s the one with coily hair. She turns to you and you halt dead in your tracks. Her voice is low in tone but purely feminine. “It will work as long as you follow our instructions.”

“Indeed.” another woman said - the one with the golden scarf around her speaks. The older woman stopped inside your sitting area, the large room was perfect for the ritual.

“I...am prone to miscarriages.” you murmur. “I wouldn’t wait to wait any of your time if-”

“You let us worry about that.” the woman with the piercings speaks. Her hands place themselves onto your shoulder, her touch warm and soothing. “Come, sit.”

You’re directed to the floor - your sitting room is a large space with several lounge chairs and couches, yet you are instructed to sit on the large rub right in the middle of the room.

The other woman surrounds you and within a second, the lights in said sitting area are turned off and it’s pitch black. You yelp, clenching your hands to your chest as your heart beats outside of it.

Before you could speak, there’s a dim light flickering on and around you - candle light. It’s eerie, you’d admit. The orange light flickers off of the faces of the woman surrounding you, the older one right in front of you. Her white eyes appear to be looking down upon you.

“I-”

“Do not bring yourself to worry. You are completely safe.” the woman speaks, as if reading your mind. “Lay down.”

You take a deep breath and proceed to lay on your back. You want to ask even more questions, but you believe it’s far too late for that now.

You hear the woman speaking - more like chanting. Your ears perk to understand what they’re saying; but you cannot. Your eyes glances around the dim-lim room at what they were doing. They begin to saunter around you in a circle and you hear a slight sound - as if something is being poured. Your eyes squint to understand what it was - sand? It’s dark, however, as if pure black instead of the light tan the sand color usually would be.

Your heartbeat quickens, your palms growing sweaty.

The woman is directly behind you now. She peers down at you, white eyes boring into you. You’re quiet and unmoving, far too frightened to say anything.

Your eyes catch it as she draws closer, the silver dagger in her hand that she comes at you with. You’re paralyzed but your eyes grow wide when she drops the dagger onto your breast and slices either side of them.

The chanting only grows louder and your mind is screaming at you, the irony smell of your blood only adding to the effects of what the fuck you gotten yourself into.

Your vision begins to blur and the room looks as if it’s smoky - your heart rate skyrockets. It didn’t smell like a fire and neither of the women appeared alarmed that one of their candles was causing it.

There’s a shadow casted above you that you’re unsure about - it’s sudden and you’re pondering if you were just seeing things. But the shadow only grows larger and your eyes squint to look deeper into the smokey dark.

As the candle-light’s flickers, your heart races faster. Your eyes are wide and unmoving as the tall figure saunters over to you. It’s large and looks purely hellish; demonic. Its skin is a dark red, similar to the woman’s crimson robes. Its eyes are staring down right at you, pupil dark while its iris glows a lime green. On either side of his forehead are goat-like horns and you notice behind his back appears to be like wings similar to that of a bat.

“What is this?”

This had to be some sort of demon - it’s voice is deep as he speaks.

“You were summoned under a contract.”

The demon snarls, his head whipping towards the older woman. His eyes glances around the sigil onto the ground and a few crystals on all five points. An obvious attempt as a protection spell.

“What is it that you want, witch?”

Your eyes are unable to move from the demon before you and for the first time, you’re completely too shocked to speak or react. Your body feels as if it could faint at any moment, but that would require you to get your eyes off of this demon; and you were unable to.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the older woman points down at you. “She is presented to you just as your kind wishes those who seek a child to be.”

The demon glances back at your figure for a moment. He can smell your fear and hear your heart beating - almost as if it’s going to explode. You were human and he could snap you in half with no effort.

The demon lowers himself to face you, nose inhaling the scent of your blood.

“Is that all you want?” the demon speaks, but not to you. “What’s your motive, witch?”

“I have no personal gain.” the woman shrugs her shoulders. “I’m one woman that has a desire to help another.”

“Personal gain is what demons have.” one woman speaks, you’re unsure which of the three.

“Don’t act holier than thou, witch.” the demon seethes. “You summoned me for my help.”

The demon's teeth are sharp as he snaps at the witches - but that’s before turning back to you. You feel your stomach churn when his eyes reach yours and you find yourself gulping.

The demon’s wings begin to flock. It appears to have bat-like wings,a thin membrane of skin connecting from its wings to its back.

The demon lowers to you once more, but this time as his body descends into the shadows, when it emerges his look is different.

Human.

Your eyes scan the features of the demon. Its eyes that were once glowing were now a dull dark brown, one single lid and one double lid eye stare right back at you. He has a heart shaped face and his horns have disappeared and replaced itself with a mop of dark hair. His lips are what catch you first - they’re a rosy pink color, his top lip slightly fuller than his bottom.

Your lips release a short gasp at the sudden change from demon to man - and now you understand the countless stories you’d hear growing up that demons (either if you believed in them or not) could easily persuade anyone away from good. Your once frightened demeanor began to relax at the new sight of an attractive man; not a monster.

Dark eyes never leave yours as the demons head lowered to your chest. A pink split tongue pokes out between his lips and you feel it upon your chest, warm tongue gliding against your bleeding cuts.

“You humans are fragile.” the demon speaks - his once deep voice now sounding more human, but still deeper than you imagined any man to have. “You aren’t a witch, girl.”

You shake your head even though you’re sure it was a statement and not a question.

“How do you plan on caring for a child with a demon?” he asks, but it wasn’t as if he truly cared. He was a fertility demon, after all. He had hundreds of children and the majority of them were humans who were done exactly like this - only different was this was the first time said humans had not sought him out directly.

You open your mouth to speak but you’re unsure of the answer yourself. You didn’t know that these women - witches - were going to summon a demon to impregnate you.

“She’ll have our help.” the blind witch speaks and for a moment, you forgot that they were still there watching you and him.

The demon scoffs. “You witches are always up to something at the cost of my seed.” he murmurs. “I won’t be released until I impregnate you, human.” he inhales, smelling the scent of your arousal along with sensing just how confused, concerned yet horny you were all at once. “My name is Taehyung.”

“Tae…hyung.”

The demon - Taehyung - snickers at you saying his name.

Taehyung’s split tongue continues to swirl across your soft skin, the irony taste of your blood causes his taste buds to dance. A clawed hand grips at your thigh, gliding up your skin and pushes the night gown upwards as he does.

Sharp teeth bite down harshly on your breast and the sudden rush of pain causes you to shriek loudly. Taehyung is rough and swift, ripping off your silk nightgown in a quick movement. It’s shredded and tossed aside without a care by the demon.

You’re now naked on the floor surrounded by witches and a demon - a night like this could not be dreamed of enough.

“Humans have the best tasting blood.” Taehyung all but purrs, tongue licking his lips of your blood.

Your eyes watched as your nipples were his next interest. The split appendage licks at your hardened nipples, suckling and tugging on them without stopping. Your thighs quiver and you cannot help but moan at the dirty sight before you. Taehyung is starved, tugging your nipples so roughly as he sucks, but this wasn’t enough for him. He was a fertility demon, after all.

Taehyung twirls his tongue from your swollen nipples to down your stomach. His fingers nails are sharp as they swipe at your thighs, forcing them open. He can smell your arousal dripping for him; sweet like honey.

“Delicate humans such as yourself need to be prepped before breeding.”

Your eyes widen when he sinks down between your legs, so dangerously close to you that it causes you to yelp with embarrassment.

Your head draws back and your eyes shut when you feel Taehyung’s tongue lick a stripe at your clit before latching itself completely onto it. He suckles on it sloppily, rolling his tongue over the sensitive bud. His hands keep you firmly in place, sharp nails digging into the skin of your thigh and you’re sure they’re drawing blood.

Taehyung’s eyes flicker up to you, snickering at the way you’re biting back your moans. Your teeth are biting your soft lips and you’re jerking with each passing lick.

This is not Taehyung’s first time doing this with a human - he has so many times before. He knows exactly what to do to pleasure them. His right hand leaves their grip upon your thigh to push past your folds. “So tight,” he murmurs against your clit, his fingers going to sink inside of you.

You’re breathing hitches as his fingers dig deeper inside you, brushing against your walls. He doesn’t allow you any grace - his tongue still flickers at your clit teasingly. It wasn’t like you haven’t received oral sex before - but not like this. Taehyung was obviously not human; his fingers appeared to go deeper and deeper with each thrust, jamming into you at an alarming speed.

“I know you’re going to cum, human.” Taehyung’s voice appears in your head and for a moment you’re startled, eyes shooting open to look at him - his tongue has not left your clit, but then you hear it once more. “It’s amazing what a demon could do for you, right?”

You want to ask what the hell is going on and just how he’s in your head - but your stomach churns and once more, your thighs quiver. His fingers jam into your sweet spot with urgency and his words were ringing true - you were going to cum and so fast, too.

Taehyung doesn’t stop - instead he removes his fingers to replace it with his tongue, the muscle only adding to your climax. He buries his tongue deep against you and you’re unable to move away.

The overstimulation is causing your eyes to water. A single tear-drop falls from your eye in contrast to the slick of arousal that falls onto Taehyung’s tongue and down his chin. This was all too much to handle, the pleasure causing you to shake underneath his hold. You’re spasming against his tongue and Taehyung only watches the way you fold against him, a low squeal releasing from your throat.

Taehyung could have just fucked you and gotten it over with - but what’s the fun in that? Even if he was a demon, he still was a man that enjoyed sex and it was far more enjoyable when the other was into it.

You tug at Taehyung’s hair, unable to take anymore pleasure - and you’re already groaning at the blurry sight of his between your legs already that causes another orgasm to run through you.

Taehyung leans back, licking his lips of your arousal. His eyes watch the way your thighs shake and your breathing heaves, chest rising and falling in rhythm.

“Should I breed you right now?”

Your head shakes, unable to comprehend how he was speaking to you in your mind right now.

Nothing was private - not when there were witches watching. That was new - he was a fertility demon and never had an audience before for something this sacred. The only way for an ounce of privacy would be to speak with her through her thoughts.

Only something two bound people could do - something he had done when he had consumed her blood. Eventually it’d wear off if she did not accept the bond; and he was not expecting or bothered if she had or not.

“P-Please.” you murmur, nodding your head at Taehyung’s words in your mind. You truly just wanted him inside of you, completely forgetting that the two of you weren’t alone.

“You humans…” Taehyung doesn’t finish his words and instead, begins to undress his lower half, doing exactly what you were begging him for.

Taehyung’s cock is pretty - it’s pink and veiny and appears utterly suckable. Your mouth salivates at the thought of sucking it before he fucks you and it’s your perverted thoughts that causes him to laugh at you.

“So eager to taste me, little human?” Taehyung’s voice rings in your mind and hastily, you nod with a lick of your lips. “I’m not so sure you could take all of me.”

Taehyung does check to find out, pulling himself closer to you so that you could wrap a hand around the base of his cock - it’s thick in your grasp. You slowly feel him, astonished at something so pretty - maybe demons were meant to be this dangerous. You weren’t the least bit scared as you should be at a demon masking himself as a human to fuck a baby in you - you would go to Hell right now if he fucked you right along the way.

And that’s how demons tricked Humans, you note, in ways such as this.

Your mouth suckles on the tip of Taehyung’s cock, twirling your tongue greedily. Your hands stroke the base of it for added pleasure.

Taehyung groans, his eyes piercing as he watches you take him so good - like a touched starve whore. He can sense the excitement running through you right now, so eager to please him that you were doing an amazing job.

Taehyung grips your hair roughly. “Take more of me, little human. I know you can.” his voice speaks to you, his cock going deeper into your mouth.

There's saliva rolling down your chin as Taehyung begins to thrust inside your mouth. The sight had to be as filthy as when he was eating you out but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It was something flowing inside of you that wanted to pleasure Taehyung - that needed to feel his cock inside of your mouth before he fucks a baby into you.

“Such a pretty whore you are.” Taehyung growls audibly. “Should I take you back to Hell with me and fuck you all the time?”

You whimper against his thrusting cock and Taehyung chuckles with a shake of his head. One hand lays itself under your chin so he can look into your watery eyes as his cock flows in and out of you. He growls, so pretty - so devilish. Those eyes were anything but holy.

“I’ll make you my personal whore…mine to fuck until the end of time.”

Taehyung releases himself from your mouth. You cough, saliva pooling onto your chest and you heave. He wastes no time in tearing your legs apart, cock right at your center.

“You want me to be bred, don’t you, little human? No human could give you what I could.”

“Please…” you beg, eyes watery and hips buckling to feel him inside of you. You were needy, clenching around nothing.

Taehyung gives you what you beg him for. He enters you with one thrust, your back arching at the sudden fullness of his cock. One hand pushes you back onto the ground. He then places the same hand against your stomach, beginning to thrust deeply inside of you.

Each thrust has you hitting against the floor roughly, your eyes rolling at the sensation. Your velvety walls tighten around his cock, greedy to milk him dry if that’s what it took.

“Little whore you are. Want a child so bad that you’d have a demon.” Taehyung’s taunting you, but his words do nothing but make you wetter for him, legs widening to take him even more - and it drives him crazy.

Taehyung growls, determined to send you over the edge. He forces your legs apart, pounding into you at an alarming speed for a human but even then you don’t appear to be threatened. You’re a weird human, he notes, fully accepting her fate - and maybe that was easier. Accept that you were fucking a demon and soon will be having one; there were precautions that you would have to go through. Such as completely cutting the child’s demonic abilities off that would kill the demon half of them - such acts would cause great pain for the child when the time comes.

Taehyung had children - majority of them walking earth with no ties to the demon world or the Brotherhood he was a part of. Those who were demons were so far removed from him that neither of them cared for a relationship as their birth was just business.

Taehyung ponders what you would choose - having a half demon child wouldn’t be easier for you to handle and he’s positive these witches didn’t give you any warning about what hell the pregnancy would be, let alone half demon spawns running around your house.

Taehyung snorts. You were so cock drunk right now that nothing mattered to you. He thrusts deeper inside of you, your pussy gripping him with greed that could only be seen as a sin. Your arousal pools beneath you and onto your rug, sure to stain it with the memories of this night.

“I can smell you, human. You’re gonna cum again.”

Your breathing increases and Taehyung is correct - you were going to cum. It’s a knot deep in your stomach that longs to be released.

“Let’s cum together, human.”

With both hands, Taehyung hoists your bottom half off of the ground and begins to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping echoing off of the walls of your sitting room; all mixed with your high-pitched shrieks.

Your eyes begin to roll once more and you're so close that your eyes begin to tear up with how good it all feels, the eyes of the witches fading into nothingness.

Taehyung’s nails dig into your skin as a few sloppy thrusts hit your sweet spot and he’s cumming deep inside of you, a warm seed painting your walls heavenly - it causes you to cum along with him. Your lower body shakes, your body erupts with warmth.

“Don’t think I’m done with you, human.” Taehyung’s voice growls in your mind. “You want to be bred, I’ll make sure I do just that.”

Before you could speak, Taehyung flips you on your stomach and forces you onto your knees. He enters you once more, continuing his pounding speed inside you.

Maybe Taehyung was determined to break you - you were so fragile and didn’t know what you were getting yourself into. If you told him to slow down, he would - but you hadn’t. Your mind is screaming with just as much pleasure as your shrieks were. You were leaking all over the place and looked like a bitch in heat.

Taehyung’s unsure why it angers him to see you in such pleasure - was it because you weren’t afraid of him and the consequences of being bred by a demon? Was it because you were taking him far too well that he was beginning to enjoy it?

Taehyung yanks you back by your neck and presses himself against you, hips buckling inside your squelching pussy. His sharp nails dig into your neck as he squeezes it, free hand resting on your clit and begins to rub circles on the sensitive bud.

“You’re a filthy little human, aren’t you?”

Taehyung’s fingers roughly rub at your clit for added stimulation. You scream out, not caring how dirty you probably looked to the on-lookers.

“I just might come back for you, little human. Fuck a few more babies in you since you seem to want my seed so much.”

“P-Please…” you beg, a few tears dropping from the corner of your eyes - how pathetic you must’ve looked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The pleasure is too much and you’re now begging him to cum. “Please make me cum….!”

Taehyung snickers, fingers rubbing through your folds with alarming stamina as his hips fuck into your tight walls. Your eyes are swirling to the back of your head again, feeling so full of him that you never want him to stop - you never felt this way before with your husband or any other man. It had to be because Taehyung wasn’t human but just looking the part for your sake.

You cry out with an embarrassing heat running through you as arousal-filled juices leaked out of you and down your thighs. It hits the floor with a splash, similar to water hitting the ground. You begin to shudder, body going completely limb in Taehyung’s embrace.

Taehyung taps your clit a few times, satisfied that you’ve came so hard again - and he was sure he could fuck you all night, but he would. You were a human and humans couldn’t do such a thing.

“Gonna get you nice and full, human. No human man would be able to give you such an honorable gift.” Taehyung brings his soaked hand and slaps your cheek as if to signal your attention. “Such a cock-hungry whore you are…you’ll be begging to be full of me again.”Your body continues to tremble, fully reliant on Taehyung to hold you upright. You’ve already cum enough.

Taehyung himself is cumming, and yet he still has an unholy amount of stamina - and cum - to give you.

Your face burns when it’s shoved into your rug, cheek slamming against it as Taehyung forces your ass into the car. You’re drooling onto it, pussy clenching around his cock, milking even more of his cum. He’s pounding inside of you at a dangerous rate, cock hitting even deeper and managing to fill you up with more and more cum.

“I’ll make sure you’re pregnant by the time we’re done here, human.” Taehyung snarls, attempting to use your body to his full advantage.

A part of Taehyung upset that you still had no protest in you - to think a human could take him is preposterous. And yet - as you lay trembling beneath him, cock buried so deep inside of your pussy, his mind reads how you’re unable to speak, but yet begging him to continue.

You whimper when you’re filled once more, cum painting your walls entirely. This had to be different - this one actually stings a bit, almost as if it’s too much to handle as a human.

Taehyung is panting, his lips dangerously close to your ear. His cock twitches as he continues to cum inside of you, fully determined to do what he was summoned to do - breed you.

Taehyung doesn’t move nor does his cock soften inside of you. You remain still, as well, eyes heavy and you’re truly exhausted with the entire experience.

“You can leave now.” says the blind woman, her eyes glancing between you nearly unconscious and the demon. “I’m sure she’s with child and will show sooner than she expects.”

Taehyung remains quiet, there’s a bit of cum that falls out of you as he releases himself. He lets the grip of your hair go gently, allowing you to fall limp onto the ground.

Taehyung does leave - without another word - in a gush of black smoke.

It took you 7 months to learn the incantation to summon Taehyung.

You were large and it appeared as if your stomach never stopped moving but you’re positive that there isn’t only one child inside of you. Your eyes would catch more than two handprints and footprints at a time while they moved.

You accepted your fate rather quickly, drinking whatever medicine the witches had given you that would help ease the pain your children had caused throughout the pregnancy. Your body changed, of course, and you were always tired, hungry and thirsty.

Your thirst went beyond normal food and as the witches told you, your children wouldn’t accept just regular food. When you had tasted blood for the first time you thought it would disgust you, but it tasted so heavenly that you completely devoured several blood bags right before the witches.

It took everything in you to not attack your parents as they visited you in your home. You could smell their blood - thanks to your children - and they fought with you constantly to have a taste, but you managed to hold them off until they left and ate a large, raw and blood steak to satiate their desires.

What was new to you at the time was the demonic powers you’d possess because of the fetuses inside of you. You had since caused a fire in your home just because you were craving something you couldn’t have. In the next moment, the first was put out and seemingly out of thin air, what you were craving sat directly in front of you.

The teleportation had to be something to get used to - but you could say that you were completely fine with it. Possibly better than any other human woman would be at carrying demonic children.

You’d often ponder if they’d look like Taehyung - if they’d have baby horns and red skin; or a demon side to them at all. The witches had told you that they had a spell to cast off the demonic side to your babies, and yet you’re unsure if that’s something you’d want.

Your mind often lingers on Taehyung and had since the next day you woke up without him - and had not seen him since.

You hear Taehyung, as weird as it is. In your head, he often speaks to you at random times. It’s as if he was there, but truly wasn’t. He would answer certain questions you have about your demonic abilities and cravings.

“You’re carrying more than one spawn, they’re expecting to be fed more than acai bowls and water.”

“You caused the fire in your home, but they managed to protect you from it.”

“That sharp pain in your rib was one of them breaking it with their kick - the other healed you in a matter of seconds. You’ll have to get used to them fighting each other in the womb. It’ll only get worse when they’re actually born.”

Taehyung speaks with you - but he doesn’t show himself and a part of you wonders if he ever will.

Was it weird to want Taehyung around? You learned that he was a fertility demon and he had many children - both fully human now and fully demon. You’re unsure how you feel about being just another vessel for him to impregnate.

It took you 7 months to learn the incantation to summon Taehyung - to not summon him at all.

No, instead you summoned someone else, another demon. And now you’re frightened to have them standing tall before you.

Your breasts are bleeding, having used your blood to summon this demon.

“You,”

The demon doesn’t appear demonic like Taehyung was when he was summoned. He comes as a regular human man, but you’re wiser to know that he is anything but.

The man steps forward, dark hair bouncing on his shoulders.

Your dagger tightens in your grip and you raise it shakily in case you need to use it.

The demon chuckles. “That dagger won’t hurt me.” he says tauntingly. “Besides, if you were in any danger, your children would sense it and fight me off.”

You swallow.

“You smell like Taehyung…his being is embedded in you. Not only by pregnancy.” the demon sniffs the air, tilting his head. “You…you are the reason he has the Brotherhood in shambles. And to think they said I would be the one to go weak.”

You’re unsure of what the man is saying and you don’t question him. Your heart beats rapidly as he comes closer.

“W-Who are you?” you ask. “I-I tried to summon Tae-”

“My name’s Jungkook.” the man speaks. “You summoned me.” he says. “Obviously, you have yet to learn the correct incantation to summon a specific Brotherhood member so it chose a random one. Just my luck.”

Jungkook recalls how many years it’s been since Taehyung had found out about his child, stating that the Underworld were claiming him to be weak - how the tables have turned.

In such a short amount of time, Taehyung had resigned from his role as a fertility brotherhood member - something he has been for centuries - and it only meant that he had found a bound partner. Jungkook was no fool to why Taehyung had gone distant and it only meant that his partner had to be human like his once was.

“You haven’t seen Taehyung and that’s why you tried to summon him.”

You nod your head meekly, lowering your dagger.

“Typical of my brother to run away. Jimin.”

You go to speak but are interrupted when another man appears seemingly out of thin air. You yelp, flinching back.

“What do we have here?” the man, Jimin, speaks. He smells the air, nose flaring. “Tae…he has hid you well. Better than you had.” he says to Jungkook.

“Leave.”

Taehyung appears like the rest had, this time directly behind you. You’re shocked to see him again for the first time in months. Your heart leaps at the sight of him, and your stomach begins to move radically.

“Ah, they know you’re here.” Jimin says, a taunting tone in his voice. “The former fertility demon becomes a family man.”

“I suppose we both made a mockery of the Brotherhood.” Jungkook speaks, not forgetting how Taehyung once treated him and his pregnant partner.

“You still live in the past, brother?” Taehyung snorts with a shake of his head. “I’ve accepted your bound partner and your child. I was there at the birth was I not?”

“Speaking of births,” Jimin leans down to your sitting position, a hand placing itself onto your stomach. “You’ll be due soon and we’ll be there.”

“It’s tradition, brother.” Jungkook says mockingly. “To welcome your son and daughter to the Brotherhood.”

Your eyes widen.

You knew you were having more than one child - but you never knew the gender.

Your throat tightens at the thought of having one of each.

“Your first set of children to do so.”

“And only. Right, brother? You are no longer a fertility demon.” Jungkook tilts his head. “Such great news that I cannot wait to share with the rest of our brothers.”

Taehyung turns his eyes away and down at you. He doesn’t speak.

“Yoongi said something was going on with you. You’ve gone soft, brother? That’s a good thing.”

“Soft is something I am not, brother.” Taehyung retorts to Jimin. “Just because I once gave life to many does not mean I have not taken the same if not more.”

You listen to the three of them bicker, trying to wrap your head around what was going on.

“Leave and return to the Underworld and be sure to remind anyone just why I remain an Upper Level demon, brother.” Taehyung hisses, now stepping in front of you.

Jimin stands, eyeing Taehyung.

“We’ll be back when the babies are due to be born.” Jimin smiles devilishly. “Finding a bound partner is a blessing, brother.” he laughs at his own form of a joke.

They’re gone in a blink of an eye and now you’re left with just you and Taehyung.

You don’t speak, unsure on what to say. You haven’t seen Taehyung in so long that the sight of him makes you nervous.

“You didn’t have to summon me to see me, human.”

You sit a little straighter, dagger falling from your hands.

“All you had to do was call for me.”

“I-I don’t know how.” your body burns with heat as his eyes turn to you. “I-”

“I hear you. I always do.” Taehyung murmurs. “I can feel you. Your heart beat is linked to mine. When it risen was when I decided to come.”

You lick your lips, racking your brain around the words the three demons used.

“A bound partner is exactly what it sounds like.” Taehyung says, reading your mind exactly. “You’d be bound to me for eternity and taken to Hell. I have been bound to you, Human, since the day we conceived our children. You are not bound to me.”

You furrow your brows. “How could you be bound to me?” you ask. “I don’t remember anything?” “A blood binding. It started when I licked your blood…” Taehyung’s eyes drop to your cut breast, a sense of deja vu. “You drinking my blood would be one of many bindings.”

You swallow, the act of tasting blood causing your mouth to water.

“However, I have chosen not to do that. You have come to me to help you and that I shall.” Taehyung drops to his knees to look at you.

“And if I want you to?”

Taehyung snorts. “You are a weird human, Y/N.” he murmurs, dark eyes watching you. “You refuse to back down even now. Most demons wouldn’t spare your soul like I am.”

“You aren’t most demons. You’re an Upper-Level one.” you say boldly - unsure the hierarchy of demons were. “I want to be bound to you.”

“You don’t, human. Your emotions are all over the place.” Taehyung snickers. “Our children are causing you to feel this way because they crave their demonic part - which is me.”

“I want to be bound to you.” you repeat again, mind flashing with that night months prior to how well he had fucked you.

“And spend an eternity in Hell?”

You lick your lips. “Would we be with you?” you ask, voice low.

“Yes.”

“Then yes.” you nod your head. “I’ll spend an eternity in Hell.”

Taehyung watches your expression, truly believing you to be a weird individual.

You had a life on Earth. You had the funds to raise children and a family who supported you.

Why would you give it all up to join a demon in Hell?

“I was told you gave up your position.” you speak up to interrupt his thoughts. “I’m not sure what any of this means…”

“It means these are the only children that would be born by me that the Brotherhood would acknowledge.” his eyes flicker to your moving stomach, sensing that his children were content inside of you. “I won’t be having any more.”

You place a hand onto your stomach, a sudden kick right where it lays.

“I summoned you because I wanted to see you again.” you admit, but you’re sure he knows this if he was correct about his claims. “I want to be bound to you. This…” your eyes turn to the space you were occupying - but not just the space, the Human realm in general. “...It’s lonely. I’m surrounded by people but I’m still lonely. I get pitiful looks from my family constantly and…”

You don’t want to ramble about your human life and problems.

“...would going to Hell hurt?”

“Of course.” Taehyung doesn’t attempt to sugar coat anything.

“Will you be there when I get there? Would they?”

“Of course.” Taehyung repeats. “Hell…the Underworld as a whole is far different than the Human realm. You wouldn’t be able to return and see your family.”

You swallow, eyes on Taehyung’s.

“They would think you’d died. That, or their memory of you would be wiped entirely.”

Taehyung watches your reaction for anything. He knows humans and their emotions could be radical and they tend to keep their families close to their hearts.

“What were you planning on doing?” you asked.

Taehyung doesn’t answer because he himself wasn’t sure. He could bind their demonic side until they are of age - but that would only cause more work for the Brotherhood to teach a human raised demon how to live their lives in the Underworld.

There was the possibility of allowing them to keep their demonic powers in the Human realm, but demonic babies, toddlers and children were Hell to raise on a plain that didn’t possess the same abilities as them.

Taehyung supposed that he was leaving the decision up to you entirely to decide what you wished to do with them. One thing’s for certain, now that the Brotherhood knew of your existence, it was a matter of time before the Source did.

Your hand grabs the dagger and instantly, you slice his neck. Taehyung doesn’t react like a normal person would and it’s because you assume he doesn’t truly care - he’s had worse attacks.

Taehyung is more shocked that you slice his neck to then lick him, a way of completing the binding ritual yourself.

Taehyung’s blood is thick and rich, your tongue stroking the wound to get a better taste of him, hands throwing the knife and falling onto his chest. You grip his shirt to bring him closer, your senses heighten for a moment. It appears your children were awake, moving non-stop inside of you.

“You’re a weird human.” Taehyung’s voice sounds throughout your head. “Going to Hell because you’re lonely and hormonal.”

You snort, teeth grazing the side of his neck. Your hand falls slowly from his chest to his lap as you lean back. You lick your lips, tilting your head curiously.

Taehyung’s eyebrow lifts slightly. “My brother’s partner…wasn’t like you.” he notes, recalling the way Jungkook’s bound partner remained kind and reclusive.

However, you were carrying two demonic spawns that were feeding off of you on the daily and maybe they were slowly turning you away from whatever human-like emotions you had.

“What do you want me to do?” Taehyung asks you, your thoughts clouding his and he’s certain you want to ask him something.

“Nothing too drastic.” you shrug your shoulders. “Just kill my ex-husband.”

Taehyung blinks at you and you do the same.

“Of course.” Taehyung responds, leaning away from you to stand straight. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Your hand lays on your bump as Taehyung is gone in a blink of an eye, a satisfied feeling running through your body.

halloween masterlist

911 notes · View notes

screeching-bunny · 2 years ago

Text

Yandere! Concubine Harem

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

Many people would call you crazy or insane but you didn’t care. You absolutely hated your life and the god forsaken family you were born into. If you could choose, you would have been born into a lesser family. It wasn’t always like this, in fact when you were younger you were last in line for the throne. It was due to the sabotage of greedy and jealous mothers that got all your half siblings and full blooded siblings murdered. Unfortunately, that meant that you were forced into the position of being the next heir and eventually the new ruler.

You could remember the moment you became heir, you were immediately bombarded with people trying to curry up your favor. You honestly hated it, everyone just felt superficial and it didn’t help that as you grew, so did your power. Even your childhood friends were not immune to this. Imagine your shock when your closest friend got up on one knee and asked for the chance to court you. Then your classmate, then your former brother’s friend, and etc.

You had barely even had a concept of what love was. From a very young age your mother was murdered and your father hardly ever paid that much attention to you as well. You were mostly alone in your own little world and you absolutely loved that. People always just seemed so annoying to you that you did the bare minimum in communicating with others.

You tried to remain single as long as possible but your father did not agree with this decision of yours. He’s always seen relationships and marriage as a way to get more influence from around the world. So at the age of twenty, you were officially given a concubine, a foreign princess from the East. She was clingy and whenever you talked to other people she seemed to always want to monopolize your attention. This behavior only seemed to get worse when your father caused you to take in concubines to gain various alliances.

Within your harem there was competition daily. Sons of generals who tried to show off with their strengths, princesses who tried to get your attention with their singing abilities, princes who would try to show off their archery, scholars who showed off their intelligence, etc. The list goes on and on. There was so much jealousy in your harem that it was unbelievable. It also didn’t help that everyone was always trying to kill each other. You were so sick and tired of it. All you wanted was some peace and quiet.

There were daily assassination attempts on concubines, poised drinks to make someone infertile, constant fake crying so that you could favor someone, and etc. Every single time you take in a new concubine you could always feel them seething but you always ignored it. You didn’t know why they loved you so much, hell you even told them if they ever wanted a divorce you would give it to them. Yet, no one has ever left willingly. It was as if they looked up to you as a god or something it was just so strange.

You’re favored concubines were of course, always thrilled to have your attention on them. They were usually the ones who got to sleep with you at night. Seems as a privilege as only the most loved got to do that. You, however, had to be careful sometimes because unwanted sexual advances could happen anytime in the bedroom.

If you feel in a particularly good mood that day however, you may even let one of them bathe with you. “Your majesty, your skin is silky smooth. I wish to do this with you forever. No words can express how I feel and how much I love you. Won’t you allow me to be your first husband?” Yeah, this was basically how most of your conversations went. Everyone wanted to have the first slot at being your husband or wife. It was the ultimate showcase to prove you loved them the most and was a definite power trip for those in the harem.

Going to bed everyday was like a minefield. You just don’t know who’s going to show up in your chambers. Most of the time it’s one of your concubines, that you allowed to sleep with you for the night, in provocative attire. “Your majesty, I’ve been feeling a little lonely lately. Won’t you please pay some attention to me?” It’s honestly crazy how there is no limit of what these guys wouldn’t do for you. They just seem so overly infatuated and obsessive.

No matter what you did to them, they would always seem to look at you with love and admiration. You could basically insult all of them and they would accept it with a ‘thank you’. Nothing you did, could ever make them hate you.

Bullying was an extreme issue in your harem. No matter where you went there were always green tea bitches, white lotuses, and cunning foxes trying to bring someone down in your eyes. It’s even worse if they're new, having barely any awareness of what is happening, they definitely need to be more careful. No matter where you go at least three of them are stuck to your side. You’re alone time is basically nonexistent and extinct.

With teary eyes one of your concubines shout, “My lord, please help me! I’m being bullied by the others in the harem!” If you were being honest, you absolutely did not care about what was going on and one hundred percent knew that she was just using a manipulation tactic. However, to avoid the incoming headache you begin to console her and tell her that you’ll have a talk with everyone. You then decide to give her what she wanted and guide her towards your bedroom chambers. As you both leave she quickly looks at the faces of the others and sticks her tounge out. There was a look of absolute rage on their faces and with that they all had the same unanimous thought in their head.

“I’m totally going to get that bitch back for this!!!”

Pt.2

#yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere harem #male yandere #female yandere #gn reader

5K notes · View notes

bluegekk0 · 1 year ago

Text

// The Cycle //

(au details below)

After his banishment from The Gods' Plane, Grimm is too weak to sustain his physical form indefinitely. As a result, his physical body is stuck in an endless cycle of death and rebirth, as its lifespan is limited and its powers are limited

The Nightmare King, and his physical body, Troupe Master Grimm, are the same being separated by the barrier between the physica world and his nightmare realm. They exist simultaneously, they share thoughts, memories and personality traits, although their physical appearance differs - the physical body is smaller, its body lacks the extensive fluff, and is more organic in nature. Within the nightmare realm and with the Nightmare Heart's power, Grimm has full control over the body's physical and physiological aspects, and so its appearance may change following each ritual if he so desires. However, each body withers away over time, and thus it must be replaced periodically. Unfortunately, with the Heart's limited power, the vessel must spawn in a reduced form and grow with the help of his troupe (or any volunteer). Collecting nightmare flame speeds up the process, as does the presence of the previous body, which then gets consumed by flame and replaced by the new vessel

---

Stage I ("Grimmspawn") - the vessel that spawns from the nightmare flame. It is small in size, but capable of flight. Its legs and arms are underdeveloped, and its body is covered in fluff. Its eyes are closed, and the head is similar in shape to a teardrop, as the horns are not separated in this stage

Stage II ("Grimmchild") - having absorbed nightmare flame, the vessel grows in size and its limbs develop. The headshape resembles that of the final form, although its body is noticeably more serpentine in shape, and its fluff covering is more sparse. Consuming more flame allows it to continue growing until it reaches its final stage

Stage III ("Troupe Master") - after the previous vessel is consumed by flame, another takes its place. This form is most commonly known as the Troupe Master Grimm, or simply just Grimm. Despite its status as a vessel, it stands equal with the Nightmare King - it is with this body that Grimm is able to interact with the physical world, and so this stage lasts the longest, up to a few months

However, in this form, Grimm requires blood in order to sustain his physiological functions for a longer period of time, as his heart and circulatory system are weak. Similarly, he rarely uses the full extent of his powers, as doing so weakens him and forces him to rest in order to regain his strength. Although he lacks the long tail and the wings of his previous stages, his cloak can move around and warp into different shapes, most commonly into tendrils and spikes

Despite his weak heart, Grimm's body functions as you'd expect - he is capable of consuming and digesting food, and even reproduction (though the body is usually designed to be infertile, as a preventive measure). Interestingly, he is unable to cry, likely due to the unnatural aspect of his eyes

Stage IV - if the ritual is delayed for whatever reason, Grimm's body starts showing noticeable signs of decay. He becomes physically weak, he gradually loses his voice, and he starts shedding fur from his limbs. The flame rages from within his body, and smoke escapes through his wounds. His eyes lose their scarlet color and start leaking, making him appear as if he's weeping. The body eventually burns down, and if this occurs outside of a ritual, the next vessel is unable to consume its flame, meaning it takes a much longer time to grow. Grimm rarely allows himself to reach this stage, preferring to replace the body while it is still in a functioning state, as it makes the entire process much smoother

#hollow knight #gekko.art #feral pk au #hk grimm #troupe master grimm #nightmare king grimm #nkg #grimm #grimmchild

1K notes · View notes

lilianasgrimoire · 9 months ago

Text

Herbs & Correspondences A-F

This is going to be a looonnnnnggg post, I have gotten all the herbs I can find/remember the correspondences of herbs in alphabetical order, so I might actually break it down into sections and link them on each post at the top.

Acorn - Good luck, personal power, protection and wisdom. Dried acorns are a natural amulet for youthfulness. Associated with Litha. Element water.

Agrimony - Shielding and hex-breaking, aids sleep, brings luck towards you and is powerful in spell reversal. Element Air.

Alder - Helps you to face up to things you are avoiding, divination, teaching especially anything arty and weather magic. Element Fire.

Alfalfa - Money, prosperity and a happy home, also anti-hunger. Generosity and luck. Element Earth.

Allspice - Draws money and business success. Aids compassion, luck and healing. Element Fire.

Angelica - Also called Archangel. It is a very powerful protection herb, healing, creates harmony and courage and helps in exorcisms. Aids vision. Element Air.

Apple - Garden magic, love, healing and wisdom, also vanity, marriage and beauty. Associated Mabon & Samhain. Element water.

Ash - Spells relating to the sea, protection, and luck. Make your Yule log from ash and burn to bring prosperity. Yggdrasil was an Ash tree. Element water.

Basil - Also called witch's herb. Use in spells for Love, exorcism, wealth, sympathy, and protection. Associated with Imbolc. Aids astral projection. Element Fire.

Bay Leaf - Protection, success, purification, strength, wisdom and healing, also increases psychic powers. Element Fire.

Beech - Happiness, inspiration and divination. Represents the Green Man. Element Air.

Belladonna - Also Called: Deadly Nightshade. Toxic. Use for forgetting past loves. Protection, beauty and original flying ointments. Adds energy to rituals. Element Water.

Benzoin - Purification, prosperity, and helps to soothe tension by dispelling anger and lessening irritability, de stressing, helps depression, concentration and astral projection. Element Air.

Bergamot - Money, prosperity and sleep. Protects from both evil and illness. Good luck and wealth. Increases magical power. Element Fire.

Birch - Protection, exorcism and purification. Dispels lightning, infertility, and the evil eye. Associated with Yule. Element Water.

Black Pepper - Banishing negativity, exorcism, and offers protection and help with inner strength. Element Fire

Blackthorn - Exorcisms, warding off negative spirits and general protection. Associated with Samhain. Element Earth.

Bladderwrack - Protection, sea and wind spells, attracts money, psychic powers, and customers to your business. Element Water.

Blessed Thistle - or Holy Thistle. Purification, protection against negativity and evil, hex breaking and aids vitality. Carry on you for strength and protection. Element Earth.

Blueberry - Protection of children, keeps evil out, and strengthens the aura. Associated with the Great Spirit. Element Water.

Borage Flower - Self Courage, peace, calm, self-love and strength. Element Air.

Burdock - Also called Beggar’s buttons. Used for cleansing magic and warding off negativity. Protection, healing and persistence spells. Element Water.

Calendula - Also called Marigold. It attracts success and justice in legal matters. Increases psychic/spiritual powers and aid prophetic dreams. Dispels negativity. Element Fire.

Cardamom - Lust, love, and fidelity. Sweetens the personality Use in handfasting's. Element Water.

Carnation - Protection, strength, healing, enhancing magical powers, and achieving balance. Element Fire.

Catnip - Also called Nepeta. Use when working with animals. Draws love, luck and happiness, also used in beauty magic. Associated with Bast. Element Water.

Cedarwood - Luck, strength and power. It helps increase money and protection. Also healing. Associated with Mabon. Element Earth.

Cedar Berries - Also Called: Juniper Berries. Protective, cleansing and repels negativity very well. Used in healing rites. Element Fire.

Celandine - Cures depression, treats piles, improves circulation. Brings about Joy and happiness. Solar Magic. Element Fire.

Chamomile - Love, sleep, protection and purification, also reduce stress. Use for meditation work and to attract money. Solar Magic. Element Water.

Chervil - Helps healing, flatulence and superstition. It is considered the herb for bringing in new life. Element Water.

Chickweed - Also called Witches Grass. Use in moon spells. Also good for animal magic, relationships, love and fertility. Element Water.

Chili - Fidelity, love and passion. Also hex breaking. Element Fire.

Cinnamon - Also called Sweet Wood. Use for Solar magic. Meditation and astral projection. Increases spirituality, success, healing, protection, power, luck, strength, and prosperity. Element Fire.

Clover, Red - Also called Trefoil. used in any spells relating to marriage, love, lust and fidelity. Success is linked to money. Element Air.

Clove - Use to protect, banish negative forces, and divination. It also helps with any teeth spells. Aids money and draws love. Element Fire.

Coltsfoot - Aids wealth. Works with peace, tranquility, prosperity, and love. Associated with Brighid. Element Water.

Comfrey - Also called Slippery Root. Supports magic healing and safe travel. Use for money, endurance and stability spells. Element Water.

Coriander - Love, lust and health. Used as an aphrodisiac and to heal migraines. Brings peace & protection to the home. Element Fire.

Cornflower - Used primarily as an Ink for your Book of Shadows. It is the patron herb of herbalists. Use in rituals to give honor to the mother of all nature, also connected to Rainbow and Crystal children. Element Earth.

Cumin - Fidelity, protection, and exorcism. Also used in love spells and food which can also promote fidelity. Element Earth

Cypress - Associated with death and mourning; stimulates healing and helps overcome the pain of loss. Other properties include self-esteem, protection, love and banishing nightmares. Element Earth.

Damiana - Lust, sex magic and attracting love. It is thought to be an aphrodisiac. Use for astral projection and spirit quests. Element Fire.

Dandelion Leaf - Used to summon spirits, make wishes on, healing, purification and defeating negativity. Element Air.

Dandelion Root - Magical uses include divination, wishes and calling spirits. It also enhances dreams and works well in astral projection. Element Air.

Dock Root- (Yellow). Used to release baggage no longer needed. Also, fertility, healing and money magic. Clears blockages and cuts bindings. Solar Magic. Element Air.

Echinacea - Adds a boost to clairvoyant and psychic abilities. Adds powerful strength to spells used in money drawing magic, fertility and abundance and provides the user with protective power. Element Earth.

Elder Tree - Sleep, releasing enchantments, protection against negativity, banishing.

Elderflower & Berry - Peace, protection, and healing, plus aids in exorcisms. Element Water.

Elm - Energizes the mind and balances the heart. Aids love spells and offer protection from lightning. Element Water.

Evening Primrose - Ideal for moon magic. Also use in love charms and to attract fae. Element Water.

Eyebright - Increases mental power, psychic ability and inner vision. Element Air.

Fennel Seed - Helps with meditation. Healing, purifying and protection. Also linked with new motherhood and offers inner strength. Element Air.

Feverfew - Aids poor health. Protection against accidents when travelling and protection when working with spirit. Carry on you for inner strength. Element Water.

Flax Seed - Also called Linseed. Used for money spells and healing rituals. It helps with beautiful spells and offers protection. Element Fire.

Fleawort - Healing, Cleansing, strength and power. The Goddess' herbs. Element Earth.

Frankincense Resin - Use in solar magic. Associated with Beltane, Lammas, and Yule. Use in rituals and magic associated with self-control, spirituality and protection. Also regulates emotions and helps depression. Element Earth

Fumitory - Associated with the underworld and used at Samhain. Linked to spells for monetary gain, consecration and protection. Element Earth.

965 notes · View notes

franzkafkagf · 4 months ago

Text

Targaryens love to glorify the fire, the conquest, the dragons—constantly obsessed with being the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror. But what if Aenys didn’t come from Aegon at all? What if the entire dynasty they’ve been killing each other over was founded on the union of a queen and a simple bard who just loved to hear her sing while he played his lute?

What if Aenys wasn't the trueborn son of Aegon, but instead the product of something completely unexpected—genuine, human love? Think about it. While Maegor embodies everything about Valyrian supremacy, bloodlines, strength through fire and blood (and let's be honest, probably born from blood magic because Aegon was infertile and Visenya wasn’t about to let the dream die), Aenys was... different. Aenys was soft, “weak”. But he was so profoundly human—he loved stories, the stars, music. If Maegor was a blade forged in black fire, Aenys was a quiet song lingering in the air.

And isn’t it fitting? The Targaryens repeat the same mistakes over and over again because they are obsessed with the idea that they’re descended from Aegon the Conqueror, when they are really all descendants of a queen and a lowly bard. That’s the irony—this family that prides itself on Valyrian superiority and divine right is actually the product of something far more humble and human. Their “destiny” wasn’t fire. It was songs. Stories and songs are the lifeblood of Westeros. People remember through stories. The histories, the legends—these aren’t forged in blood, they’re passed down through mummer’s plays, puppet shows, songs sung at taverns. What are we told over and over in ASOIAF? That songs are how history survives.

Aenys was born of love and song. And that matters because look at how their dynasty ends. Egg grew up loving stories of knights and heroes. He wanted to be one of those heroes from the tales. He wasn’t drawn to power or conquest, he was drawn to the stories of honor, of justice, of doing what’s right. He thought that the return of dragons would be the salvation of the realm, that it would fix everything, and what did it lead to? Summerhall. A tragedy.

Look at Rhaegar. He wasn’t some warmongering conqueror—Rhaegar loved his harp, not his sword. He could make people weep just by playing a few notes, by singing a song. His magic was in music, in creating something beautiful in a world constantly obsessed with destruction. But what did Rhaegar do? He gave it all up to chase a prophecy. He abandoned his harp and took up the sword, convinced that the answers lay in some ancient, cryptic vision of three-headed dragons. He died in the mud of the Trident, not as a poet or singer, but as a fool chasing a doomed prophecy.

They thought their destiny was fire, but it’s always been about the songs—the things that outlive the fire. That’s what Aenys represented, what Rhaegar embodied, what Egg loved as a child.

But the Targaryens were too busy chasing dragons to hear the music.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #infertile aegon + bastard aenys my beloveds.#aenys i targaryen #aegon the conqueror #rhaenys targaryen #a song of ice and fire #rhaegar targaryen #aegon v targaryen #visenya targaryen #ales.txt #my words #teeheeee

211 notes · View notes

kittenofdoomage · 3 months ago

Text

Wolf Maiden

THIS WORK IS ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR COPY MY STORIES. 18+ CONTENT AHEAD.

Summary: Betrayed by those closest to you, you are left as a sacrifice for crimes of witchcraft, expected to be killed by the otherworldly creatures that dwell in the forest. You wait for death, only for destiny to find you instead.

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Word Count: 6995

Warnings: werewolves, mates, false accusations of witchcraft, mentions of assumed infertility, reader has a birthmark on her thigh (only the shape of it is described), attempted sexual assault, attempted murder, actual murder (violence and gore), this is a non A/B/O werewolf fic (just regular monsterfucking with knotting, oral sex, and sizekink here) and a very smutty ending

“Y/N Y/L/N, you have been found guilty of witchcraft.”

The wind bit into your bare skin where your ragged dress didn’t cover you. Your arms had long lost any sensation from hanging in the restraints, a mercy considering the wounds from the bindings. Every movement made the wooden frame creak; maybe if you’d had the strength, you could have broken free, but three days of starvation and a meager amount of water had left you exhausted and weak.

“The sentence is death, and shall be carried out by the full moon tomorrow, where you shall be offered as sacrifice to the beasts of the forest.”

Your anger was still burning a righteous pit in your gut. Nathaniel, your cowardly, monstrous husband, had come to see you before the sentence was carried out, and you wished you had clawed his eyes out of his skull. It was all his fault.

“On the chance that you survive until morning, the sentence shall be carried out by hanging.”

He’d never gotten past your inability to bear him a child, never considered it might have been him that was the problem. When his slimy brother had tried to proposition you with hopes of being a stand-in, you had spurned him, only for him and their mother to accuse you of the seduction, and Nathaniel had seen an opportunity to rid himself of his “barren” wife. A birthmark on your thigh that vaguely resembled a crescent moon was credited as the Devil’s Mark, and the whole village had been in uproar. You had never been particularly religious, a notion that worked against you once Nathaniel and his family had begun their lies. According to them, you had bedded half the village, and men were all too eager to blame their weaknesses on a woman.

Especially one who could read.

The moon was high in the sky now, full and bright, bathing the small clearing in white. None of the villagers had hung around to see your sentence carried out - they would either find you dead in the morning, or you would be alive only for them to hang you. There had never been a hanging after a sentence like this; you didn’t believe the stories they told children about the monstrous things in the woods, but you fully believed in bears, wolves, and other hungry predators. If that was your end, you would prefer it to facing the gibbering idiots you’d once called your community.

What little wind there had been suddenly disappeared. Everything was still and silent, aside from your shallow breaths, but it was quiet enough for you to hear the rustle of something in the tree line. You lifted your head weakly, scanning the darkness, but your vision was blurry, so you couldn’t discern anything in the shadows.

If death was coming for you, you were beginning to wish it would hurry up.

Something moved again, and this time, you saw the shadows move. They extended out from the trees until they weren’t a shadow anymore, and you felt fear run down your spine when it stepped out. It was at least seven feet tall, broad shouldered, covered in black fur, and though it walked on two legs, it looked more like a wolf than a man. Startling blue eyes fixed on you, and the creature sniffed the air, prowling a little closer. Sharp teeth and claws gleamed in the moonlight, and as it grew closer, you didn’t make a sound, watching with a dreadful understanding that the tales you’d been told from so young may not have been so made up.

The beast was close enough that you could smell the scent of wet dog clinging to it. It stepped up to the wooden frame, casting its gaze over the bindings and the crusted blood on your arms, then it met your gaze with… pity?

You must have been imagining it. It got closer, sniffing at you curiously, and you held your breath, closing your eyes when his muzzle dragged down the front of your ruined dress. “Please,” you prayed in a barely audible whisper, “kill me quickly.”

It reared back. “Kill you?” it repeated in a throaty yet masculine growl.

Surprise made your eyes snap open again. “You - you can speak?”

He blinked at you. “Yes,” he replied gruffly, before reaching for your bindings. You flinched, still uncertain of his desire, even as he used his claws to break the restraints and caught you before you could hit the floor. He lowered you gently in his arms, checking you over. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

His behavior was confusing. “I don’t understand,” you managed, despite your raw throat. “You - you aren’t going to kill me?”

“No,” he chuckled, though the sound was odd.

“But you’re… you’re the Beast, aren’t you? The one who protects the village.”

He growled lightly. “I do not protect the village,” he rumbled unhappily. “I protect the forest from the village.” With a sigh, he inspected your wrists. “You are not the first I have freed from this place.”

“You freed all the others?”

If he had an answer to your question, he didn’t give it, scooping you up off of the ground again. You were too weak to fight him if you wanted to, and he was so warm you couldn’t resist curling into him, resting against his broad chest as he walked away from the village. “I will help you,” he murmured, “as I helped the others. When you are safe, I will return, and make it look like you were killed in the night.”

You didn’t particularly want to think about what he would do to imitate a death; you’d heard the stories of the bloodied pieces left behind of others sentenced to the same fate. If this creature had deceived the village elders, you only felt amusement that they were so easily convinced, and some relief that previous innocent parties had escaped their intended punishment.

Wherever he was taking you was deeper in the woods than you imagined anyone from the village had been. There was no path, only vague indents in the undergrowth through the thick trunks, so when you came to a small clearing with a hut, it looked out of place.

“Did you bring the others here?” you asked quietly, curious about your savior.

He kept his gaze focused on the hut, trudging through the leaves with a steady gait. “No,” he admitted after a few seconds. “But the others were not like you.”

“Like me?”

It was hard to tell if he was smiling or not when he didn’t give an answer. He carried you up the unmarked path to the front door of the small building, pushing it open and stooping to step inside. You looked around once he had set you down on the bed in the only room, realizing that he must live there alone.

Suddenly, he turned, twisting and grunting as the fur on his body disappeared, and his whole form began to shrink, though not by much. The man left standing there was just as broad as the beast had been, and he quickly grabbed a pair of pants hanging in the corner to pull on over his nudity before he gave you an indecent view.

“You’re a man,” you whispered in surprise, watching as he lit a lamp, filling the room with a dim light.

“Not quite,” he replied in a much less monstrous voice. Picking up a jug and a glass, he brought them to you, filling the glass with water once you’d taken it. You sipped it gratefully, not stopping until the glass was empty. “My name is James,” he said softly as he pulled a small basin close and poured water into it. “Though most people call me Bucky.”

You gave your name in return, watching as he snatched up a washcloth, dipping it in the water before taking hold of one of your damaged wrists. “What are you, if not a man?”

“Both man and wolf,” he muttered, cleaning the cuts left behind by the bindings. “I can choose to live in this form or the other. The other is stronger, but the man… the man is more rational.”

“You seemed plenty rational to me,” you observed cautiously. “At least, compared to those bastards in the village.”

He chuckled at your coarse language. “Yes,” he agreed. “I do not get involved, but I’m aware of what you were charged with. It was how I knew to come to the altar tonight.”

You’re surprised at that, realizing he must have visited your former home to know the charges brought against you. “You’ve been in the village?” He nodded, finishing with one wrist and moving to the other. “How have I never seen you?”

“I am very good at hiding myself,” he muttered, cleaning away the dried blood. You didn’t push any further questions on him, watching him work until he was done. “There is food and more water over there.” He gestures to the table. “I will not be gone long.”

The door closed softly as he departed, and you were left alone in the dim light from the lamp on the table. You shivered, looking around to find a blanket behind you, dragging it over your shoulders and huddling on the bed to try and get warm. Exhaustion pulled you down within minutes, and when Bucky returned near dawn, you were out cold.

You stirred when the smell of food aroused your hunger. Sitting up, you saw Bucky, dressed now, huddled over a fire and stirring a pot, bathed in sunlight from the only window in the hut. It smelled like oatmeal, and your stomach growled, reminding you of your last pitiful meal. “That smells good,” you whispered, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

Bucky gave you a sideways look, smiling. Now that you could see his face properly in decent light, you realized just how handsome he was, like some sort of fairytale knight come to life, if you disregarded the beast he could become. His hair was long and thick, dark strands tied loosely at the back, obviously to keep it out of his eyes. “I assumed you would be hungry,” he murmured, reaching for a bowl.

“What about you?” you asked as he filled the bowl.

“I already ate,” he replied, and you knew better than to ask what. Probably whatever he had used to fake your death at the altar. He handed the bowl to you, along with a spoon, and you hugged it close to yourself, inhaling the aroma as the heat warmed your hands. “I should have some clothing for you,” he muttered absently as his gaze dragged over you in a way that made your thighs almost as warm as your hands. He froze as his eyes landed on your exposed thigh and the birthmark there, and you moved the blanket to cover it, suddenly self-conscious of the stain.

“It’s just a birthmark,” you mumbled. “It’s always been there.”

He hummed, getting to his feet. “You should eat before it gets cold.”

You looked down at the oatmeal, stirring it for a second, and when you looked up again, the door was swinging shut, and Bucky was gone. A lead weight dropped into your stomach, and you wondered if you’d done something wrong, not that you could think what. Was he offended by the mark on your skin? Did he believe what the villagers had called it?

When he didn’t come back, you sighed to yourself and began to eat, small mouthfuls at first, then larger ones when your hunger overrode your better manners. You resorted to licking the bowl clean when you were done, feeling relief for the first time in days. He still hadn’t returned by then, so you got to your feet, placing the bowl on the table before approaching the door, keeping the blanket wrapped around you as you exited the hut.

His retreat hadn’t taken him far. He was only a few meters from the door, digging in the dirt with his bare hands, and you realized he was pulling weeds out of a neat row of growing vegetables. You wandered closer, and he paused, glancing up at you before returning to his task.

“You live here all alone?” you asked curiously.

“No,” he replied gruffly, pulling another weed from the soil to toss it into a pile beside him. “This is only a watchpost. My real home is much deeper in the forest, where the rest of my people live.”

You didn’t know much about the world around your village. It was an insulated existence; your life required no travel when everything you needed was in one place, and merchants often passed through with new goods. Nathaniel had been to the city once or twice, but it was a long journey you had never felt the desire to make. “It must be lonely out here.”

“I like the quiet,” he shrugged, fishing out the last weed before brushing his hands off. He got to his feet, turning to face you. The wind picked up a little, and you shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. Bucky’s eyes widened and he grunted, moving towards you. “I forgot the clothes.”

Even though he didn’t request it of you, you followed him back inside, lingering by the door as he went to a chest in the corner behind the table, rifling through it. He pulled out a simple cotton shift, turning to thrust it at you.

“This will cover you better,” he instructed, and you took it meekly, moving towards the bed and shedding the blanket. He cleared his throat and turned away, tucking his chin into his chest. “The mark on your thigh -”

“It’s a birthmark,” you repeated, pulling your tattered dress over your head, “despite what the elders claimed.”

“It’s not a birthmark,” he said softly as you dragged the shift on, and his statement made you turn your head to him, tilting it in confusion.

“I’m decent.”

Huffing lightly, he turned, raking his eyes over you, and the hunger in them startled you. You drew back an inch or so, feeling the bed connect with your calves. He stared at you, twitching like he was trying to control himself.

“What is it, if not a birthmark?” you asked breathlessly. “It’s not actually a Devil’s mark, is it?” Werewolves were apparently real, as you’d obviously found out, so you didn’t see why other things wouldn’t be too at that point.

“No,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “The mark of the crescent moon means that you are a wolf maiden.” You frowned at him, uncertain of the truth behind his words. He sighed, letting his shoulders drop as he moved a little close, speaking hesitantly. “It means… you are strong enough to be mated to a lycan, to carry his children.”

You pursed your lips, unable to stop the wry smile twisting them. “I’m not so sure about that,” you laughed dryly. “I’ve never been able to conceive.” Sadness weighed on you, and you let it take you down until you were sitting on the edge of the bed. “That’s why Nathaniel betrayed me, because I couldn’t give him children.”

A low rumble of amusement made you look up at him. “Only because he is human.” His voice lowered, humor turning to anger as he spoke of your husband. “Weak. His seed could not hope to take root in your womb. You weren’t meant for him.”

The words were roughly spoken, and the same warmth his ravenous looks had inspired returned tenfold, making you squirm on the thin mattress. Bucky loomed over you, breathing heavily, and you licked your lips, gripping the edge of the bed tightly as you posed your next question.

“Then… do you think I am meant for you?”

His eyes were almost glowing. “No,” he whispered. “I know you are.”

The breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding came out in a shudder, but he didn’t move, pinning you with his gaze. “H-how could you know that?” you asked, ignoring the instinct in your heart that agreed with him. “People don’t just know, it doesn’t - it doesn’t work like that.”

He laughed, breaking the spell as he looked away. “I’m not a person,” he reminded you gently, moving backwards to the table. You followed him with your eyes, trying to force your tense muscles to relax. Everything about him had you on edge, in a good way, which was somehow more terrifying than if he frightened the hell out of you. “I do not expect anything of you, Y/N,” he murmured, keeping his back to you, “but do not expect me to conceal my desire for you. I knew the moment I scented your blood that you were mine. Perhaps that was why I knew to come.”

“I’m still technically married,” you said, as if your vows meant anything to you with the betrayal from your spouse.

Another low peal of amusement; his shoulders shook with his mirth. He turned to smile at you, one eyebrow lifting above the other. “Do you really think such a human bond as marriage means anything to something like me?”

“I guess not,” you answered prudishly, folding your hands in your lap.

He watched you for a moment as you stared at the floor. You didn’t say a word, worried you’d insulted him in some way, and when he moved, you flinched out of habit, a reaction that made him freeze. “You are safe here,” he murmured with a sigh, moving towards the door. “I will be back after dark. Do not go past the trees.”

The door closed behind him. You looked up, biting your lip as you mulled over his instruction. When you got up and went to the door, you opened it to an empty garden; he had disappeared. You closed the door again, scanning the hut for anything to occupy yourself, spotting a small pile of books by the chest. Moving to inspect them closer, you realized they were fiction, and seized upon them with glee.

Books had always been a comfort, somewhere to escape the brutish hand of your husband and his family. You had read everything the village offered three times over, so the unfamiliar stories you had found were enthralling, easily passing the time while Bucky was gone. When your stomach rumbled, you ate some more oatmeal from the still warm pot, finding fresh logs stacked outside to refresh the flames when they dimmed. By the time night fell, the fire was the only light, but there was plenty to read by.

Eventually, you grew tired again, deciding to let the fire die as you curled underneath the blanket on the bed, wondering if your host would return before you dozed off. He hadn’t, though you thought you heard howls outside as your eyes fluttered shut.

When you woke, you were much warmer, and you quickly realized it was because you were laying against something very warm and very furry. Bucky had returned at some point and now lay next to you, still the wolf, offering the comfort you couldn’t find in the thin blanket. You remained still, comfortable in his loose hold, uncertain whether you should have been upset at his presence or questioning the undeniable feeling that you belonged there.

After a few minutes, you felt the beginning of a more desperate need. You wriggled carefully out of his hold, sliding off of the bed onto bare feet. As you stood, Bucky shifted onto his front, and the monstrous bipedal wolf became a man again, bare-assed on the bed. Your face heated up, and you grabbed the blanket, tossing it over his behind in an attempt to silence your lustful thoughts.

The woods outside were silent, lit pink with the growing dawn. You found a spot to relieve your need, then wandered over to the other side of the hut, staring through the trees in the direction you thought the village was based on where the sun was rising.

Would there be any kind of funeral for you? Did anyone miss you? You hadn’t had what anyone would describe as friends, despite living there your whole life. Other women had spurned you for your love of reading, of knowledge, and of course, your other perceived feminine failures.

And what were you to do now? You couldn’t go home. You knew nothing of the world beyond books and what others had told you. The thought made you feel helpless, more than you’d ever felt before, and the tears begin falling before you recognize them.

The sun rose higher, and you sat in the grass, arms wrapped around your knees as you stared into the forest, tears leaving tracks on your cheeks. You heard the hut door open but didn’t turn, not even when Bucky approached from behind and sat down beside you. He was silent, though he let his shoulder brush against you in an offer of comfort.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” you admitted softly, fresh tears trickling down the paths previous ones had made. “My whole life I’ve been told what to do, and I did it, for the most part. But I’ve never been anywhere. Nowhere real.”

He listened, giving you a few seconds before he spoke. “What does your heart tell you?”

You sniffed, rubbing your cheek against your shoulder. “I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I don’t understand what I’m feeling. I should be heartbroken, not just by Nathaniel’s betrayal but by… by everyone's!” Your voice rose with your frustration. “Yet I don’t. I feel… I feel…” Words became an irritated noise and you threw your hands up. “You confuse me,” you finally said quietly, glaring at him.

His low chuckle infuriated you more. “I have already told you what I feel,” he shrugged. “My choice is simple. But your choice is not mine to make.”

“You’re not helping this be less confusing,” you grumbled, elbowing him as he laughed again. “How can you be so sure?”

He smiled at you, an affectionate expression that shouldn’t have warmed your insides like it did. “Because we know,” he whispered. “Every wolf knows when they have found their mate.” The look in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine. “I had begun to believe that I would never find mine. It’s why I came here, away from my people, because I did not believe my mate was there.” His smile grew. “Apparently, I was right.”

“So you want me to stay,” you deduced, and he nodded. “What if I decide not to?”

His smile faded. “Then I will remain here,” he murmured, finally looking away. “And hope that you would one day return to me.”

The sudden sadness in his tone made your heart ache. You didn’t say another word, but you leaned into him, and he accepted the small token, both of you sitting in peaceful companionship. Clouds began to gather in the sky, and leaves danced on the ground with the breeze, gathering underneath the trees when they were blown too far. Eventually, there were enough clouds to threaten rain, and Bucky got to his feet, extending a hand to help you up. You didn’t let go once you were standing, giving him a tiny smile when he looked at your joined fingers.

It began to rain not long after you had gone inside, and he immediately started to prepare a meal. Putting all of the weirdness to one side, you struck up conversation, trying to get to know him just a little before allowing yourself to admit there was more than simple attraction between you. He answered most of your questions, telling you about his home and his family, his friends, asking you questions in return, and you began to feel like his life was idyllic compared to yours when your answers were much shorter and less enthused. In truth, your father had only kept you around long enough to marry you off to the first man who proposed a large enough dowry, and then both of your parents had succumbed to the bitter winters several years before. You had only Nathaniel’s family, who treated you with disdain at best, and as an indentured servant at worst.

When the rain didn’t ease up by nightfall, Bucky decided not to hunt that night, joining you when you retired to the bed with a book. You didn’t protest when he curled in behind you, offering further warmth that you happily accepted. The book grew too heavy for your tired limbs not long after, and you hovered between awake and asleep, barely catching his murmured words against your hair as the latter became stronger.

“You’re mine.”

You awoke with his arm around your waist, and something poking into the small of your back. The sleepiness faded as you realized what it was, and warmth filled you from head to toe. He was out cold, and didn’t react when you peeled his arm off and slipped outside into the morning light. Your thoughts were already racing, mulling over your situation with no clear answer to any of it. Bucky seemed so sure of something you didn’t feel you could possibly understand, and if you were honest, while you had devoured romance tales with a fierce desire to feel something like it, the real thing terrified you. In less than two days, you felt more of a connection to this stranger than you had to anyone in your entire life.

Needing to clear your head, you began to walk along the treeline, pausing when you heard the rush of water through the trees. There was a worn path through the bushes, so you followed it, putting the hut behind you as you searched for wherever the sound of water was coming from.

It was only a stream, maybe the width of a person laying across it, maybe deep enough to submerge your ankles. You moved closer, dipping a toe in, and the deliciously cool, fresh water enticed you further, until you were standing in the middle, enjoying the clean feeling. Letting your arms hang free, you tilted your head back, wondering if it would be uncouth to undress and bathe right there.

You hadn’t been able to wash yourself in nearly a week, so you took the opportunity, removing your dress and tossing it onto a nearby rock away from the water. Crouching down, you cupped your hands, washing as thoroughly as you could, lamenting the lack of soap. Still, it was better than nothing, and the sun was rising high enough to bathe your skin in late summer warmth, helping you dry off.

A low growl from the trees made you turn, spotting Bucky lurking in his wolf form, breathing heavily as he watched you bathe. You rushed for your dress, pulling it on as he prowled closer, scenting the air around you. “I told you not to go beyond the trees,” he snarled, baring sharp fangs.

Your indignation at being held there overrode everything else. “You cannot keep me here against my will,” you snapped, attempting to storm off away from him, but he was faster, blocking your escape.

“And where will you go?” he replied with a curl to his upper lip. “Back to the village so that they may hang you?”

“Maybe I should go and warn them that there is an actual beast,” you shot back. He lunged, and you squealed as he hauled you close. “Let go of me!” you shrieked, pounding your fist against his shoulder only for him to laugh mockingly. “I do not belong to you!”

His grip loosened and you slipped free, landing on the ground with a thud. “Then go,” he said wearily, turning his back. “See how far you get.”

Your steps were hesitant when you rose, and you half expected him to follow you. After walking a few paces, you broke into a run, wincing when your bare feet caught on the uneven ground, and you were certain he wouldn’t let you get far, even if when you glanced behind, there was no sign of him. You kept going, unable to believe he had just allowed you to run; maybe he believed you would only get lost, that it would teach you a lesson, and the further you got, the more you thought that getting lost was the least of your worries.

Coming to a stop, you looked around, wondering how far from the village you actually were. You weren’t sure you even wanted to go back there - actually, you were certain you didn't - but at the same time, you were terrified of whatever otherworldly magic was taking hold of you when you were with Bucky. It was too easy to be with him, to give in, and you needed to know it was your own heart, your own soul making you feel this way and not something else.

You had been walking unsteadily for hours, stopping every so often to try and find something familiar to follow. There was no sign of a road, no sign of anything, and when it began to rain softly, you started to feel a little hopeful that Bucky might have followed you after all. If he had, he didn’t show himself, so you continued on, slowly growing wetter and more exhausted.

The bushes suddenly rustled, and something jumped out, making you scream in surprise. It was only a deer, wide-eyed and instantly sprinting away from whatever had spooked it. You spun when you heard a voice, dismay making your heart sink when you realized it was a familiar one.

You must have been closer to the village than you knew. There was no time to hide before they came rushing through the bushes, chasing after the deer they had missed. Both of them froze when they saw you, and your husband’s eyes widened in shock. He whispered your name as his brother scowled at you, and you remained motionless, eyes dropping to the weapons they were carrying.

“You’re alive?” Nathaniel sounded bewildered. “But… the elders.”

“She escaped,” Simon scoffed, pulling a knife free from its sheath. “Little witch bitch probably killed a rabbit for all that blood.”

You backed up, tripping on a root. The men moved closer as you hit the ground, looming over you. “You should be dead,” your husband ground out.

“Everyone thinks she is,” Simon chuckled, crouching down to press the tip of his knife to your chin, and you swallowed hard, wishing you hadn’t tried to escape the safe haven you’d been in. “I say we take what she owes us. Or me. Never did get to feel that sweet little cunny you always talked about.”

Revulsion propelled your hand, knocking the knife out of his grasp. “Get the hell away from me,” you yelped, attempting to scrabble away from them, but they were larger, stronger. Nathaniel grabbed hold of you, wrapping an arm around your neck as you struggled against him.

“Now, now, my pretty little wife,” he cooed in your ear. Simon approached from in front of you, rubbing the crotch of his pants lewdly. “You’ll do at least one thing right before you die.”

You weren’t about to let it happen, striking out with your foot, managing to catch Simon right in the balls. He went down, clutching at his groin, moaning as Nathaniel shoved you onto the floor, pulling out his knife. “Fucking kill her!” Simon wailed, tears running down his cheeks as he tried to stand, and though you felt a deep satisfaction at wounding his pride, you were more concerned about the sharp knife your husband was approaching with.

“I’ll just slit your throat,” he growled. “You won’t be a problem anymore.”

He reached down but his fingers never made contact. Something large and black flew over your head, and as lightning cracked the sky from one side to the other, you saw Bucky tearing your husband apart. Simon screamed for his brother, only to draw the wolf’s attention to him; later, you’d mull over how the sight of two grown men being shredded should have been more upsetting to you, but in the moment, you were more concerned with the huge werewolf now stalking you. The rain got heavier, and blood ran off of his fur as he moved, coming closer to you as you watched, rooted to the spot.

Nathaniel’s blade was in his shoulder. You took a step towards him, reaching for it, and he flinched away at first, relaxing when you pressed a hand to his fur, using the other to pull the knife free and toss it away. He didn’t make a sound, and the wound closed in front of your eyes. A clawed hand cradled your face, and you leaned into him, relieved he’d come for you after all.

“You’re mine,” he growled low in his throat, sounding more like the animal than the man. His other hand curled around your hip, clawed thumb inadvertently tearing through the fabric of your dress. “I can’t let you go.”

You gasped as his long rough fingers pressed between your thighs. “Bucky -”

In all the time you’d seen him in that form, you hadn’t really thought of him as naked, even if he had been when he changed back to human. Now, his arousal was evident as his thick red cock emerged from its sheath, poking insistently into your belly. You had never considered the possibility that he might take you like this, if it would even work, but now, the thought wouldn’t stop, building into a desire that had you panting in his hold.

Your back hit the ground when he pushed you down, shredding the material that covered your wet skin. His muzzle nudged between your legs, long tongue rolling out to drag over your cunt, and you whimpered, reaching down to slide your finger through the thick fur near his pointed canine ears. He grunted when you grasped at them, nuzzling closer to you as his eyes closed, flicking his tongue against your entrance before sinking it inside.

His clawed hands pushed your knees up and apart, and he delved deeper, filling you with his tongue over and over. You almost couldn’t breathe, gasping as he feasted on you. The sounds he made were obscene, showcasing his obvious enjoyment of the task, tightening his grip on you when you began to squirm, frightened of the intense pressure he was creating. It grew stronger and you felt tears in your eyes as it seemed to explode inside you with a gush of warmth that he lapped up eagerly, slowly releasing you as you covered your face and sobbed.

Bucky stopped, lifting his head, crawling over your body until his nose could nudge at your hands, coaxing them away from your face. “Did I hurt you?” he asked in a rough voice edged with concern.

“No!” you cried, fixing wide eyes on him. “No, I -” Embarrassment made you want to cover your face again, and you looked away, guilty at your own inexperience. “I’ve never felt anything like that,” you whispered, shame making your eyes fill again. “No one’s ever -”

He chuckled, nuzzling into your face. You lifted your hands to frame his snout. “I will never leave you unsatisfied, my beloved,” he murmured, drawing your legs around his waist. “And I would never hesitate to taste you like that.”

Your breath caught in your throat when you felt his cock pressing against your bare slit. The anticipation made you quiver underneath him, though you didn’t voice your concern over his size, wondering how he could possibly fit. He sensed your apprehension, humming deeply as he grazed your shoulder with his fangs.

“Do not fret,” he soothed. “I will not hurt you.”

You clung to his thick fur, nodding as the tip breached your aching channel. He was warm, almost radiating heat, and though you expected pain from the penetration, there was none, only a heady rush of arousal as his thick cock split you open. Each inch filled you with a delicious thrill, and by the time he was seated deep inside, you were already back on the edge of the same pleasure he’d inspired before.

His breathing changed, becoming hard pants against your shoulder as he held steady and deep within you. You squeezed your eyes closed when his sharp teeth grazed your skin again, clenching around him, and he growled at the sensation, jutting his hips forward a little more. The movement made you aware of something unusual; the base of his cock was thicker, almost swollen, and when he pushed a little more, you realized it was a knot.

He started to move without warning, lifting his head to fix his blue eyes on you just as you fell apart at the drag of his thick shaft against your sensitive walls. You cried out, twisting your fingers in his fur, tormented by the unbearable ecstasy running through you.

“I - I can’t - it’s too - too much!”

With a low growl, Bucky dipped his head, tearing through the remnants of the dress covering your chest. His tongue circled around one nipple, teasing it to hardness, and your eyes rolled back, body twitching as euphoria picked you apart into a million pieces. You couldn’t think or speak, couldn’t manage more than a whimper as he took you and laid claim to every part of you.

An abrupt withdrawal allowed you to find some sort of control over your limbs, but you only had time to lift your head before he flipped you onto your stomach, dragging your hips up into a lewd position that exposed you to his hungry gaze. His claws dug into your skin, breaking through in places, leaving tiny smears of blood as he manhandled you, and it was only the damp moss that stopped your knees scraping against the rock. With one stroke, he entered you again, and this time you screamed, feeling him at a new depth and angle that made your eyes cross.

He howled as he filled you, launching into a punishing rhythm that sent you spiraling. The craving for him grew stronger than the fear of your body’s response to the overstimulation, and soon you were pushing back against his thrusts, seeking more of what he offered. Your cries echoed in the trees around you; you barely noticed that it had stopped raining.

The base of his cock began to swell, pressing more insistently against your bruised opening. You mewled, digging your fingers into the ground, suddenly desperate to feel it, but Bucky didn’t stop, keeping his pace steady until the desperate and high-pitched ‘please’ fell from your lips. He snarled and took hold of your shoulder, pulling your whole body down hard. The thick knot slipped inside and locked him there, and your wish was granted; he came with a throaty roar before his teeth sank into your shoulder, permanently branding you. It only hurt for a second, and then you came with him, drunk on the feeling of his spend filling your belly.

You went nearly limp in his hold, panting heavily. He dragged his tongue over the mark he’d left on your shoulder, cleaning it as he waited for his body to calm, allowing him to withdraw his knot from the grip of your cunt. In the few minutes you were locked together, you bathed in his touch, feeling nothing but the delicious buzz of your connection and the lingering echoes of the pleasure he’d given you. You weren’t sure how long it was before he could finally withdraw, and when he finally did, there was a brief moment of loss and cold, making you shiver.

He didn’t go far. Sliding his arms underneath your body, he cradled you against his chest, beginning the walk back to the hut, leaving the two bodies behind for someone else to find.

A further warning for the people who had been so unkind to you to keep away from where they did not belong.

“Tomorrow, we will leave,” he said as he carried you through the trees. You smiled, burrowing your face into his warm, if a little damp, fur. “Another will take my place here.”

“We’ll go to your village?” you asked sleepily, and he nodded, humming a confirmation. With one hand pressed against his chest, you let your eyes fall shut without saying anything else, without need to say anything. He kept walking, holding you close, secure against his body, the steady beat of his footsteps lulling you into a doze.

When he reached the hut, he carried you inside before shifting to his human form, slipping behind you on the bed to hold you close. You weren’t quite asleep, turning to face him and looking up as he smiled down at you. “I did not mean to be so… rough,” he whispered, running his finger over the wound on your shoulder.

“I wasn’t complaining at the time,” you reminded him, catching his hand with your own. “I’ve never felt that way before.”

His smile softened, and he leaned in to kiss you properly, dragging it out until you pulled back to gasp for breath. “Do not think I have had my fill of you,” he warned quietly, tugging you as close as he could get you. “But you should sleep. The journey home is long.”

You didn’t argue when your eyes were already drooping shut, despite the renewed throb of need in your core. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, almost sheltering you with his body, making you feel safer and more loved than you ever had before. It didn’t matter how this had come to be, only that it had, and nothing would change it. You belonged to man and beast alike.

And he belonged to you.

THANK YOU FOR READING, PLEASE CONSIDER REBLOGGING SO OTHERS CAN ENJOY IT 😁

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #reader insert #werewolf Bucky #monsterfucking #fanfic #fanfiction #monstober 2024

194 notes · View notes

brynn-lear · 2 months ago

Text

Paper Canes (Yandere!Capitano/Reader)

Chapter 3 overview: Some people bet on their lives, some bet on their death. Alice of the Hexenzirkel had to learn that in a rather unsettling way.

CW/Tags: slowburn/soft yandere themes, afab!reader, unrequited love/obsession. While this fic isn't "too dark", the reader isn't mentally stable. Please prioritize your health first, you matter.

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2

You're always unhappy around Alice.

Alice is, by every account there is to be counted for, a very whimsical woman and a non-traditional mother— someone who will certainly die unconquered. If there comes a time when there would be no naysayers to disparage her name, then it would be safe to assume you no longer reside in Teyvat. The Tsaritsa duly noted your fervent distaste for her. You've sent infertile insults on her way and turned malicious thoughts into plans once or twice, but that fiery woman is no different from a cockroach. Christening the formula, you were certain you'd molded your schedule perfectly to avoid her mischievous gaze. Alas, you were wrong, and being wrong makes you unhappy—

Unhappy to have yourself wholly examined.

"I'm glad I roped you into a tea party with me! Here I thought I was shooting in the dark when I guessed you'd take the long way back."

This encounter happened on October 20th three years ago.

The year you lost your youth.

"If you're so painfully aware of how much I do not want to be here, why go to such lengths?" You grumbled, less of a question and more of an attitude show.

Alice poured you a cup of tea. In a way, you envied her. The iridescent flecks in her crimson pupils, the silky cream hair that drapes on her shoulder… a woman of her description was worth making a monolith for. What a shame that this was not your flavor.

Capitano's honestly far more gorgeous. But the last time you told him that, he said you shouldn't tease him.

"Isn't it obvious?" She laughed awkwardly, thanking good fortune for crafting an environment wherein you'd stab her with words, not weapons. "I'm not about to let a cute lovelorn woman ruin her chances of romance, you know?"

"Romance?" You scoffed.

Before you were Granny (Y/n), you were that "attention whore" of a harbinger. Your strength lies in forming connections and throwing extravagant social events. Balls, tea parties— you name it. It's what caught the Hexenzirkel's attention in the first place. No discrimination between humble folk and high culture. You were THE woman people seek as a medium for self-expression.

Though, if you were frank to anyone who would be willing to listen, you have got to be the most secretly antisocial host that ever graced public spaces. Outside those play-pretends, you keep to yourself.

So what the hell is she talking about?

"If you were reading your life as a novel, you'd swoon!" Alice grinned. "You know, the most you'll lose is some time and energy, but the most you'll gain is a lifetime with the Captain!"

Unlikely. If you were leafing through the pages of that novel, you'd see clearly how you went from going through life with spontaneous survival tactics before diving headfirst to unplanned survivor's guilt. Not that misery was ever willingly placed in one's schedule, of course.

"Don't care." You glared. "Don't use my life as a basic framework of history to write a cheap and marketable romance. I'm not a damsel in distress."

Alice laughed behind her painted nails. "Can you even defend yourself if I chucked a glove at you?"

"Do you want a show of hands?" You raised an eyebrow, irritated. "If so, there's nothing for me to demonstrate, I'm not—"

"Strong as you used to be." Alice's smile faltered. "Because you're giving up on the greatsword, right?"

She hovered her hand above yours hesitantly, before tenderly circling your palm with her thumb.

"I see through your facade; I know that your strength is dwindling." She sighed. "You're worried that you're falling behind—"

"I am. Mine may have slowed down thanks to the boughkeeper's help and pity, but I'm still rotting. The honor of strength is one I can freely do without. I'm confident I can still obliterate you."

"Indeed." Alice's eyebrows furrowed. "But is that any excuse to allow Pulcinella to plot against your back? To let him sweep that title off your feet and give it to a child who shouldn't be in danger?"

Ah, so this is what this is about. Not your non-existent love life.

Alice wasn't harassing for the sake of shenanigans. She wanted your hold on the 11th seat to remain firm so that a child wouldn't be forced into a life of hardship.

Subjectively neglectful as she may be, she is still a mother.

"Who says I want to continue being a harbinger?"

Alice froze upon hearing that challenging remark.

"Ruffie—"

"Don't call me that." You slammed a hand on the table, making not only those resting on the top jump but Alice as well. The table cracked. "If a kid replaces me, then so be it. Why should I give a damn?!"

What kind of self-absorbed fool would grieve over an empire of dirt?

Alice didn't look at you. Instead, her unsteady gaze was on the pack of cards that nearly fell off the edge.

You picked it up and snapped.

"What? You wish to play?"

Alice cleared her throat. The smile resurfaced on her face, eager to return the momentum she once had. "S-Sure! Why don't we play a game?"

As she was about to reach for the pack, you pulled it back.

"Hmm. I don't want to," you droned. "Let's have a bet."

Alice paled slightly. "A bet?"

"Don't think I haven't heard of your tales. I know you have a penchant for making others' lives infinitely worse." You put the deck down. "So, why not strike a deal."

"I didn't invite you here to make an enemy out of you."

"It's a friendly competition." You remarked. "I believe you'll agree to my terms."

Alice shifted from her seat. "Oh, okay then, I'm listening."

"Since you so badly want me to remain as the 11th, if you win I'll do as you wish. When challenged by that child Ajax, I won't hold back and let him scamper back." You shook the box. "However, if I win…"

You paused.

After scavenging through the shelves of your mind, finding a desire for fulfillment was surprisingly a chore. That isn't to say you have the world in your palms. There was no grand wish to shock her. If anything, what you wished was simple…

"Rest assured, Tsaritsa will say yes to an upcoming babyface." You smiled outwardly. "And you have to create a potion for me in return, witch."

"A potion…?" Alice batted her eyes, and suddenly, her mood lightened. "Could it be… You want a love potion too?!"

…

The room dropped a few degrees.

"Get a grip."

"K-Kidding, kidding!!!"

"And what do you mean by too?" The words slipped past you without a second thought. As you were about to retract them, thinking yourself above mindless gossip, Alice answered:

"Capitano asked if true love potions are possible, but started chickening out because of his morals— or at least something to that effect." Alice giggled. "He was so flustered and oddly ashamed of himself, you should've seen him!"

…

No, you'd rather not. Ignorance is bliss when it comes to your old friend. Whatever excites him is his business, not yours.

…

After a few rounds of silence, you spoke up.

"Wow, Alice." You said. "You are terrible at this."

The woman was set on making Klee shine, but her grasp of Kaeya's card mechanics failed her. She forgot that his burst demands a character switch to trigger its effect— a misstep that voided her melt strategy. Kaeya's card is squandered under her shaky command. Alice was left clinging to a dying Klee and Jean, the game slipping further from her grasp.

But all is fair in love and war.

You're shit at the game too.

Sure, she might have fumbled by leaving her last Jean card unequipped, but at least she wasn't as cursed by bad luck as you were with dice rolls and card draws. Broken Rime's Echo was the only gem in a heap of trash. Simply put, you've lost Columbina and a Pyro agent card.

You're deadset on winning with a terrible hand— she's locked in on having her precious golden child as the claimer of spoils.

Alice has her daughter, while you have…

"Isn't this adorable? You have your knight in shining armor with you!"

"He's not." You rolled your eyes. He knows what he truly is, and it's certainly not "your" knight.

"I could use a couple of astrology readings to check your compatibility~"

"No. Your readings are usually not just comments, but an arm-chair doctor level diagnosis."

"Yet I'm helpful, aren't I? Perhaps I've garnered polarizing reviews, but I was still deemed a wonderful advisor."

You glared.

"I'd give you your flowers; I'm certain you have helped many sort out their… issues. But I don't need your help or perceived pity. I'm rowing life smooth sailing."

You used Capitano's burst.

Jean gracefully exited the battle with a soft murmur about Mondstadt.

"Oh no, Jean!..." Alice looked genuinely upset. "Well, you don't have to say it, I can tell you need friends. One that wouldn't inflict…what does your coworker call it? Ah, right— vicarious trauma."

Getting personal huh? What a sour loser.

You laughed a little too loud, bitter. "Vicarious trauma… That's an even bolder diagnosis."

Once people are done singing praises, anyone can see you've lost more friends to "drowning" than you have in wars.

Alice cooed. "Still, you didn't deny that you need a partner— a soulmate. So why not let the lovesick Captain in?"

…

You quietly took a sip.

It's chamomile tea. Your favorite.

Which so happens to also be Capitano's. That man has a habit of forming his own opinions only after hearing yours.

Does he think having a lot in common means you'd reciprocate his feelings too?

… Surely not, he's smarter than that.

"His goals do not align with mine. He's best suited for a woman who would settle down. If you care so much, why not recommend him to one of your lady friends?"

"Everyone in Teyvat knows who he has eyes for."

"Ugh. Stop boring me with your half-baked drivels."

"Don't you pity him, even just a little bit?" Alice's voice softened. "Considering what he's going through right now?"

You froze.

There was a time… There was a time when he almost had a family of his own. But "his" poor dau—

You shook your head.

"I don't." You insisted.

"You're adorable— and a terrible liar to boot. Did you know that you keep looking up like Celestia would strike you for lying?" Alice sighed.

Upon having that epiphany, you fixed your collar and made a loud mental note to fix that habit.

You drew a card.

…

Seelie and Fatui Conspiracy.

You held back a grin.

Columbina… was she to praise for this dumb luck?

After a few rounds, you've activated both while Alice placed Liben and healed with sweet madame.

Capitano's on the brink of death.

How typical of him. Almost nostalgic.

"You'll lose," Alice said bluntly. "You really should think Capitano over. You're just hurting him and yourself by pretending not to know his feelings…"

You droned out her ramblings. None of that matters. You'd sooner get dressed for this stupid card game than a love confession.

There it is.

The seelie had its 3rd stack.

It gave you Adeptus Temptation.

…

But you don't have enough dice so you had to tune for cryo for now.

Klee had close enough energy for a burst, but Alice decided to play safe and heal.

You laughed, smiling at her without breaking eye contact.

"I was supposed to protect her, Alice. But I chose to host parties. When she lay in the hospital for her first, second, third, the fourth surgery, waiting for me, I sent a letter instead. I made an oath to protect her but what did I do? I sent two lousy paragraphs for some agent to read. And you think I have the heart to play sweet dolly in your game of house?"

You let out a short chuckle, the type only visible when the body slightly moves. Your disbelief is palpable, and your voice cold.

"You're funny, Alice. I'll give you that." You glared. "But you're too distracted."

Neither of you mentioned her name.

Was it out of respect or shame?

Who knows.

You don't want to remember her either way.

You made the last move.

…

"I… lost?"

"Wow, really, wow I never would've guessed you'd lose." You replied dryly. "It was such a close match too, oh wow."

You shrugged. "It's honestly so disappointingly anticlimactic the way you lost. Aren't you supposed to be a master of all things immature?"

Capitano wouldn't have won if it weren't for the attack boost. The last support card buffed his damage by 3 points… You'd thank him and Columbina after this but they wouldn't understand TCG.

"You mean childlike— oh whatever, that's not the point!" Alice whined. "I demand a rematch!"

"Denied. It's time you honor our deal."

She sighed. Alice slowly knocked her forehead on the table, deflating like a pathetic balloon.

"Fine… What do you want?" Alice pouted. "Is there anything in life you could want anyway?"

Yes.

Yes, there is.

There is something intangible that you wish to grasp for yourself but slips through your fingers.

You loosened up, your harsh stare replaced with a lazy smile.

Before uttering words like a prayer before the crusade.

"From here on out, I'll officially give up on both my title as a harbinger and my greatsword."

Victory was claimed. And maybe it was wishful thinking, but someday you hoped…

"Might as well replace it with a cane."

That this tragedy will be bested by another.

With what else, but Death itself?

Today is October 20th.

It's been a full year since you've taken this conventionally unappealing form. Conventional to Dottore's goals, at least.

"You must be Granny (Y/n)!" A floating fairy approached you, both hands on her back with a curious expression. "You asked the traveler to help you shop right?"

"That's right," you feigned a weak smile. "Would you all be cute little darlings and accompany a grandma for lunch?"

They both saw an elderly woman, covered in small bandages to hide the disgusting rot. You wore a humble peach blouson dress and sandals. Picture the perfect image of an old money retired widow squandering her resources for life's simple joys.

Hook, line, sinker.

"Of course! Leave it to the Traveler and Paimon to help you!" Paimon cheered, tugging Lumine, who smiled in response.

Lumine is a sweet little lady.

Not that she's young, mind you. The lass' lifespan can't be belittled. But just as you'd let her believe you're a grandmother, you'd wrongly treat her like a granddaughter. Conventional wisdom, as Dottore would say. And convenience doesn't mean right.

Watching Lumine's eyes, though dim, feign cheerfulness made you chuckle. You have to admire the girl; her mud-splattered legs and worn-out cape surely signify adventure. She reminds you of her brother. The prince had a knack for finding trouble, too— even though you'd argue Dainsleif is worse than him.

"So, what do you want to eat?"

You smiled and pulled out a ridiculously long list. "My pearl companions just couldn't stop raving about these delightful flavors ever since they got their dentures sorted, so of course, I simply had to try them myself!"

The rest of the conversation flowed smoothly, much to your chagrin. Being a conversationalist has its perks, but you seriously wish aiding Dottore was not one of them. You admitted you don't have enough knowledge to dispense good judgment on what to spend— and Paimon dominated the recommendations with food.

To be honest, sweets no longer excite you. You're used to war rations. Desserts as a pleasure are characteristically superficial in value.

But here you are, licking Natlan's rock candy desserts like a child…

"I was wary about trekking here in Natlan. I've never seen travelers who came from this nation— thought this was a fantasy land when I was a young lass!" You feigned worry. "I've only heard that they enjoy gladiator matches."

"Yeah, kinda!" Paimon spoke. "Paimon thinks they really like to grow strong. It might just be their love language!"

Is that right?… That reminds you of someone.

Someone with an imposingly tall figure and soft ocean gaze.

"The locals might have mythologized tough love as useful trauma." You hummed, amused. "Then again, their archon is a human, not the Tsaritsa. Natlan's ingrained belief to die and be reborn so patriotically is worthy of close inspection. Perhaps I assumed we shared the same values since those are what the nation I hailed from taught."

You rarely explore, so it's not in your best interest to push your own uninformed beliefs onto another's culture when yours also has its flaws. The masses will always be influenced by dogmatic forms of traditions. This is just Natlan's vibrant flavor.

Though Lumine teetered on musing about how Lady Furina is human herself, a witness must remain a witness. Not that Arlecchino didn't report about this months ago.

"Where are you from, Granny?"

You chuckled. "Where else but Snezhnaya, dear?"

"Ooooh that makes sense!" The fairy buzzed excitedly.

Not Snezhnaya. Khaenri'ah. But they don't need to know that yet.

Lumine stared at you. You're certain she's already figured out the truth. With those eyes of yours, you'll have to push that you're a 'descendant'. Only a matter of time before she'd act on her curiosity.

"Oh, how does it make sense, pray tell?" You closed your eyes as you sipped your soda. Too sweet for your aged tastes, but manageable.

"P-Paimon didn't mean anything bad by it!"

"Well, I wasn't assuming that you were going to say a bad thing about my homeland, Paimon. That is, unless, that's what your darling head was mulling over?" You teased.

You're no stranger to the two's estranged relationship with the Fatui. It's all Tartaglia ever talked about in letters addressed to you.

The flustered guide turned to Lumine frantically. "T-Traveler, a little help please!"

Before the traveler could come up with a lousy excuse, the souring dragons had snatched your attention swiftly. The rhythm of their flight made you stare up in awe—

And bittersweet nostalgia.

"Ruffie…" You muttered.

Lumine tilted her head curiously, which snapped you out of your trance.

"W-Where was I? Ah, yes." You cleared your throat. "Natlan's views are so needlessly breathtaking. Each generous ray is no different from the golden strokes of a weathered paintbrush. Even with my poor eyesight, I can still spot the river below us, glittering like powdered azure. The nation moves and rests at once."

You sighed, feigning your happiness enough that it became the truth. "Fascinating, is it not?"

"Huh, Paimon didn't know you can be so poetic."

"One can be poetic when they describe something worth seeing. Though I wouldn't dare say it beats my homeland when I know Snezhnaya is my home." You forced a smile.

"Only a fool would swiftly divorce knowledge; you'd do well to remember that, young ones."

'You are mine in this life, and if there is another life beyond Teyvat, then you are mine in there as well.'

'Yours? Is this yet another vow of loyalty? You shouldn't utter such words carelessly, lest you'll be misunderstood. Do not chain yourself to these ruined bones.'

'… I'm afraid you are the one who misunderstands.'

'Either way, you must learn not to sacrifice so much. A bleeding heart like yours must steel his resolve to be a true Captain.'

Capitano will never forget those bold words he uttered directly in your stunned face one passionate evening. He remembers, now fondly, how hard his grip on his sword was and how white his knuckles were. You, three years ago, stood as the 11th to the 1st— yet the distance in your strength was far from outmatched. Divided only by a mere fraction.

Yet here he was, back on the scenic cliff where you and he had that conversation. Admittedly, that exchange would not have happened if the locals hadn't lent liquid courage. He'd long forgotten what the collaboration mission was, but he'd be damned if he forgot the celebration. When his expedition team grew rowdy with their shenanigans, Capitano groggily asked you to accompany him for a walk. Since you kept mostly to yourself at the time, you gladly took his hand and saw unfitting yourself out of the lively scene.

Today is October 20th.

What a day to reminisce.

Just by standing here on Tetipac Peak, he could almost hear what was from five years past. Sense it, even. Once, you brushed strands of his hair out of his eyes and gazed softly. It was as if it was only you and him- the village and his men nearby ceased existing. Just you, him, and Natlan's gorgeous views.

That simple gesture alone fattened the greedy beast inside him. One that would hastily discard morality for a mere taste.

That simple gesture alone repurposed the prison in his mind into a sanctuary.

'Gorgeous.'

'G… Gorgeous? With this tiring visage?'

That was the first and last time someone called him that.

'You've no idea how much that makes you even more enchanting. Hmm, hmm. You have beautiful blue eyes, Captain. A gaze that pierces through one's soul is a powerful asset. If I were born in your body, I'd certainly elevate my status in one way or another.'

'… A face as scarred as mine? An asset?'

'I adore your scars. Those are marks that tell a hundred tales. I'm jealous of your men who all have the privilege of seeing that face every day.'

'… Then perhaps this is a face I'd only let you see.'

'Haha! And then what? Do you intend to wear a mask or helmet often?'

'... Perhaps. I'm aware that I'm beyond repair—'

"Lord Capitano."

He blinked, turning around. Capitano shouldn't have daydreamed so deeply. It's been a while since he had failed to sense another's presence. One of his people knelt before him, despite her cool demeanor, a good captain could tell that matters plagued her mind.

"Elena. Is there something to report?"

It is far from uncommon for Elena to appear when Capitano is in his lonesome. He has specifically instructed the fatuus for this discreet duty. A trained eye may be misguided in speculating the nature of Elena's loyalty— but the truth is there's nothing beyond the usual master and servant. If masters normally instruct their servants to spy on the object of their desire, that is.

"Yes, sir," Elena spoke. "Granny (Y/– Lady Ruffiana has departed to the restaurant at the People Of The Springs, sir. She is with company."

He hummed. Before, Elena would much rather work on paperwork taller than her stature than assist a grandmother's spine. However, as his blue eyes assessed her sharply, the lines on her forehead tallied more genuine concern than before.

…

"Come… Come again?"

"She has decided to hire someone from the Adventurer's Guild to accompany her to lunch, Lord Capitano."

…

Capitano, ranked first of the Fatui Harbingers, was rendered mute.

Maybe he didn't hear that right.

"A restaurant in the People of the Springs? I believe I have heard about it... Golden Dusk, yes?" Capitano looked away.

...

"Is there something on your mind, my Lord?"

"Golden Dusk... is that not a… place for young adults to court? As a lunch... date... of sorts?" He tensed up slightly. "Why would she? And with who, Elena? I believe you are wise enough to investigate their name."

Elena blinked.

The word date in this context sounds foreign when born out of the strapping Captain's battle-weary lips. Futile as it was, she bit her tongue and made certain no comment about how weak he came across. Worse, he was completely unaware of this. Just replaying the dry despairing sound in her head felt wicked.

Besides, a date is what he first thought of? This is (Y/n) they're talking about. She could just be sizing someone up.

How whipped is he? It's a famous tourist destination. Elena swears it's as if everyone but Capitano knows that his affections for (Y/n) have been broadcast to Teyvat several times. The art of subtlety is lost to him.

… It shouldn't surprise her. Capitano is also rotting, so much worse than your case.

Capitano isn't your knight in shining armor.

He feels his bones erode, mixing with his blood like a sickening fruit juice. The vile dark and metallic liquid that frequently visits his tastebuds reminds him how little time he has.

Capitano's obsession over you is no doubt a public spectacle.

Maybe to him, he's just a loser in a tin foil.

And yet, Elena knows that no matter how much his eyes dim, those piercing blue stares still reflect your visage. Ex-eleventh to everyone but reigns as one in his heart. It's cheesy, it's cliché, it's sickeningly sweet- it's Capitano, a man desperately in love.

Elena was wrong about one thing, though. Capitano suspects you know about his feelings.

She very kindly answered. "She's with the traveler, my Lord. Ruffiana had told us that should you ask, the money you had lent her last night was for commissioning Miss Lumine."

Quickly, the tension disappeared from his shoulders. He pinched his temple. Ah, of course. Befriending Persons of Interests has always been La Ruffiana's modus operandi—

He stilled, eyebrows furrowed.

As much as Capitano loathes to acknowledge this, you are no longer a Fatui Harbinger and therefore have been stripped of that duty.

"...What for?"

Truth be told, he's unsure if he wants the answer. Receiving the straightforward assumption might be akin to seeking his ruin.

Elena looked at him with a face that asked why he was troubled by this. He shot a furtive glance over Elena's shoulder. That shy motion confirmed her suspicion.

Here he goes again. For a split second, Elena hoped his curiosity stemmed from a work-related issue rather than whatever this was.

"... To… spend time with her, sir. That's what she said when Felix asked."

Elena didn't know either; she was running on vague inferences. Before you left, you said you wished to get to know the traveler more. You've even asked Capitano's informant, Ashe, for her preferences, attitude, what she would like to eat, and more…

Shit.

In a sense, it does sound disastrously like a date, doesn't it…

"Elena."

"Yes, Lord Harbinger?"

"Move my plans for a later date, report to the Archon that I have another urgent matter at hand."

"P-Pardon?!" Elena's eyes widened. Is he serious?!

She then saw that glint in his eyes. Though only for a brief moment and an inopportune angle— there was a melancholic and faraway stare from the man who towered over her. He had his lips pursed, distraught like an abandoned puppy.

Grieving for a woman who never wanted him.

'You're the bane of my duties. But without you, my purpose seemingly lacks meaning. You make me whole, (Y/n).'

'Haha, I'm your bane huh? Drunken words sure let out sobering confessions.'

'… Is that crude joke all you've concluded from my loving words?'

'What's that?'

'… It is nothing. Forget that I have wasted a smattering of your time.'

Elena cast her gaze downwards. Better not speak of it out loud.

"Of course. Would you like assistance in—"

"Yes, please, if you would." Capitano cleared his throat. "I assume you know what to do. Let us make haste."

"Understood, Captain."

Taglist: @macaronilovingracoon, @lucienbarkbark, @meimeimeirin, @notthefib987, @meowmeowakutagawa,

@peachymonkgeh, @definitely-asexual-volcano, @brainemptynothoughts, @aenishas, @kapitankarate,

@goldenglow149, @ionkknowhattonamethis, @futuristicprincesscrown, @average-scara-fan, @sleeplessskeleton,

@pix-stuff

A/n: i had to put the author's note at the very bottom because man, once this fic is complete yall will notice how much foreshadowing have already been sprinkled since chap 1 to 3 HAHAHAH-//shot

I had to cut a few more dialogue between Lumine and (Y/n) to the next chapter since it's exceeding the average word count I set up. anyways sneak peak

hehe okay now i'll adios again, I still have to code WhoDrankIt (HSR otome game) :'))

#Capitano's So-Called Liability #yandere capitano x reader #capitano x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere capitano #fatui harbingers #dottore #columbina #capitano #genshin #genshin impact #yanderecore #yandere imagines #soft yandere

170 notes · View notes