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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 5 months ago

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What is Broken IV (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader) FINALE

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: traumatic childbirth, blood, semi-suicidal thoughts, Aemond is fantasizing about murder again, all the angst

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: I don't understand why, but thanks so much for all the support I've gotten from this horribly angsty fic! This is my first go at angst so I really appreciate it. I'm gonna work on two happy-ish fic chapters before I get started on When It Breaks, but it's coming...

And a huge, enourmous thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @ripdragonbeans for being my betas for this! I was so anxious about getting this absolutely right and they were so kind and encouraging. Love yall forever 💜💜💜

Taglist is done via reblogs

Series Masterlist

What is Broken

She was so light, his ābrazȳrītsos.

Even while carrying their children – their sons – Aemond swore she was lighter than when he left. He held her close to his chest, her head resting on his shoulder and her legs draped over his forearm. With every step, he could feel more of the liquid that had spilled from her womb - now mixed with small, hateful tendrils of blood - dampening his sleeve.

Gods, how much blood had he seen in the past year? How much had he spilled himself? There had even been times when he reveled in its metallic tang. But the sight of her blood was nothing less than abhorrent.

He ran faster, until he could not make out the faces of those he passed, shouting for a Maester to be sent to their chambers immediately. One of them must be a servant. With luck, the Maester would already be there when they arrived.

She cried out as he began to ascend the stairs, wincing with each step, her weak grip on him tightening. “It hurts, Aemond.”

“I know, my love.” He slowed down, though his pounding heart urged him to do just the opposite. “I’m so sorry. The maester will be here soon, and he’ll help you feel better, hmm?”

“He has to stop it. It’s too early,” her voice cracked, and Aemond’s heart with it. “They’re not ready!”

But it couldn’t be stopped, not by man or gods. Their children would be born today. The only question was whether they would survive. If their mother would survive. Her poor body was so weak, and her heart… he had broken that, too.

If any of them died today, that blood would be on his hands, and he would gladly accept his damnation to the worst of the seven hells.

“Come now,” he chided gently as they reached the corridor to their chambers. “Our sons are dragons – they will be strong. And so will you, ābrazȳrītsos.”

“Sons?” She lifted her head, her entire body trembling with the effort it took. Her eyes – those beautiful eyes now gilded by the setting sun outside the windows – locked with his. “How… you sound so sure.”

Just one more lie. One more, and then he would never lie to her again.

Besides, this lie was small, nearly inconsequential. Many fathers insisted that their children would be sons until the child itself proved them wrong. It would be so easy for her to believe. The truth would hurt her – perhaps weaken her further. Aemond did not want her to hear Alys’ name. She should never have to even think of that witch ever again.

But he could not bring himself to do it. He could not sully the birth of his sons with yet another lie. He pushed their door open with a shoulder, never breaking her gaze. “Alys told me after you left. Before… she had a vision of us holding our sons. I’m so sorry, love.”

She slumped again, her face dropping into the curve of his neck. Once, she kissed him there, slept with her head tucked there. Now, it was simply where her head lolled. “I’m glad it’s sons. You’ll have two heirs…”

Her words were cut short by a gasp of pain, but Aemond heard it clearly. It echoed in his very bones. So if I live, you’ll have no more need of me. The gods had just crumbled the ground beneath him, his heart and soul with it. He was falling, falling, falling…

“I am glad, too.” He set her down gently in the bed, brushing away several tangles of hair stuck to her sweaty brow before arranging the pillows around her, hoping he was adequately managing to hide his devastation. For he could not bear to be without her, could not bear to love her only from a distance. He would go mad. Yet he would happily accept that horrible fate if it meant he would not lose her to the Stranger. “Mother will be, as well.”

“Mother!” She tried to rise, but he held her softly to the bed. “I can’t do this without Mother, Aemond. We must return home immediately!”

“I am afraid that is not an option, Princess.” Maester Artos stood just within the doorway, maids and Septas streaming in behind him. He was a mountain of a man, better suited to the battlefield than the birthing bed. But he was good at what he did – very good. Aemond had seen him work miracles on men who should have never survived their injuries.

The moment the women began attending to his wife, he approached the Maester, speaking quietly so as not to frighten her. “Something is wrong, Artos, she is bleeding. And she’s very weak.”

Artos hardly acknowledged him, looking only at the princess lying in the bed. “The blood is not the problem. She is distressed and too thin.” He stated, as cold and clinical as all other Maesters.

“Yes, I know that already.” Aemond took a shaky, calming breath. He did not like the way Artos observed her, as if she was a thing to be studied rather than a woman – a princess. Perhaps when it was all over, he’d kill the man for it. “I fear she is not strong enough to survive this.”

She cried out behind them. Two maids were pressing damp cloths to her forehead. Another was hastily braiding her hair back. A Septa had begun cutting away her dress, leaving her only in her chemise as two more maids removed her slippers and stockings. Two other Septas knelt by the windows, praying, while one woman who seemed to be neither maid nor Septa laid metal and wood instruments atop a tall, thin table.

It took every ounce of Aemond’s self-control not to go to her. To shove away each woman because it should be him – and him alone – to touch his wife while she was so vulnerable. He should be the one to protect her, but he couldn’t. He could only hurt her, it seemed.

“Artos!” Aemond hissed.

“Is her spirit weak as well?” There was suspicion in his dark eyes. The same he’d shown when he confirmed Alys was carrying a child. If he hadn’t been so proficient a healer, Aemond might have killed him then.

But for now, Aemond was glad Artos was alive. He swallowed, avoiding looking back at the bed as his wife continued to whimper and moan. “Yes.” The maester just hummed before approaching the bed. Aemond followed, kneeling at the bedside, the maids immediately clearing away.

“This is Maester Artos, ābrazȳrītsos.” She stared wide-eyed at the hulking mass of the man who now knelt between her legs. Aemond tugged on her hand, her gaze snapping back to him. “I know him well. He’s going to take very good care of you, I promise.”

She shuddered, her eyes closed tight as she squeezed Aemond’s hand so hard he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. He delighted in it. She was not as weak as he thought, thank the gods. If she needed to break every bone in his hand – in his body – to live through this, he would let her do so without complaint.

“Are you going to stay with me?” she asked, her voice already ravaged by screaming.

Aemond blinked. When they first learned they were to have a child, he swore he would. But now, it seemed impossible for her to want him there. Not after what he’d done. “Do you… want me to stay?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out but another moan of pain. Her eyes darted all over his face. The longer she stayed silent, the further Aemond’s stomach dropped, and his heart ached.

“I believe it wise to have the prince wait outside,” Artos said decisively.

Aemond felt her hand slide out of his, the sensation the same as if he were falling from Vhagar’s back—her answer.

He nodded, and though he knew he shouldn’t, he leaned over her and kissed her forehead, trailing a hand down her cheek. “I love you.”

As he walked to the door, he still held a little shred of hope in his heart, waiting to hear her say it back.

It never came.

The moment the door shut behind Aemond, she regretted sending him away. She wanted to call him back so she wouldn’t be alone with so many strangers. But panic began to set in as the maids pulled her gently down the bed, and her voice failed her.

“It won’t be long now, princess,” the maester said, but she found no comfort in it. She couldn’t even remember his name. Alton? Alyn? Amos? Aemond had said he trusted him, but…

But that meant he had been here when Aemond was with Alys. And that glint of pity in his eyes, not just for her conditions, but for what he knew. He knew. Seven Hells, he’d probably been the one to care for Alys and her pregnancy.

Alys. Alys, Alys, fucking Alys!

She did not know what to think of the woman who had stolen so much from her. Had she stolen it, or had Aemond given it? She could hardly make sense of what she’d learned in that dreary little room.

Alys was not the evil, scheming witch she had first imagined. But neither was she innocent in the affair, not wholly. She was not remorseful for her actions, but she apologized for hurting her. She had been kind.

Blinding pain shot through her, and she screamed. Wordless and desperate, her only outlet for release. She needed to scream, needed to roar, needed to breathe fire. Anything to distract from this. Gods, she even wished for a moment for Alys to be there, holding her hand. At least then, she could return some of that pain.

“Princess,” the maester said, though he sounded far away. Though it was more likely that her shouting was drowning him out. “Very soon, I will ask that you push. Do you know how, your highness?”

Push. That’s what the septas had instructed Helaena to do at the birth of her twins and for Maelor. She even had vague memories of the word from when she peeked through the open door to her mother’s chambers when Daeron was born. But what it meant and how to do it?

Her confusion must have been apparent, for the maester continued. His voice was frustratingly calm and steady. “It is fine if you do not, princess. You must simply follow your instincts. When you feel the urge, push the child outward with all your might.”

“I have no might.” She heard herself laughing through tears and only then realized she was crying. Someone took her hand – she didn’t know who. But the feeling of another’s skin on hers was heavenly.

“You have carried these babes for months,” the maester – Artos! that was his name – said gently, “while your husband and the realm were at war. In my estimation, you are the mightiest woman in Westeros.”

She felt nearly every muscle she had tense, turning her answering grateful smile into a grimace. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have weathered her pregnancy as well as a paper boat in a storm. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not still love her husband after he betrayed her. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have let her emotions weaken her or put her children’s lives in danger.

She was far from the mightiest woman in Westeros, and she could not do this. She wasn’t strong enough. She was only a weak and broken little girl.

A maid approached, a fresh cool, damp cloth in her hands. The princess had not looked at any of their faces, too absorbed in her pain and panic. But now, she caught the eyes of this girl—deep, rich brown, so similar to her own – to her mother’s.

“I want my mother,” she whispered to the maid, even knowing it was impossible. “I can’t do this without her.”

The maid gaped at her as if she could not fathom a princess ever speaking to her. She looked to her companions for guidance, but the princess only looked into the maid’s eyes and thought of her mother—the scent of the rosemary oil she used in her hair, the warmth of her embrace, and the soothing tones of her voice.

“Please, I want my mother,” she begged. A new surge of pain gripped her, radiating into her legs. They were coming faster now; she barely had time to breathe between each wave. “Please.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness.” The maid’s voice was high and breathy, nothing like her mother’s. “The queen is not here.”

She cried, turning away from those false eyes. She was alone – entirely and utterly alone.

“Princess, I need you to be strong now.” Artos’ sweaty brow was furrowed with half a dozen creases, his eyes wide and mouth a firm line. He looked more like a commander on a battlefield than a maester. The Grand Maester would have smiled at her, but he was not here, either. “Your labors are progressing quickly. It is nearly time to push.”

“I don’t know how,” she cried. She refused to open her eyes. If she kept them closed, she could almost imagine she was home.

Artos wrapped his hands around her ankles, pushing them upwards and further apart. “You do, princess. The Mother wove the knowledge into your body. Listen to it, and all will be well.”

“I – ”

Her next scream rattled the room, the keep, the entirety of the Riverlands.

Fire, ice, steel, and claw seemed to rake down her spine to her thighs. But Artos was right; her body reacted to the pain, her muscles moving near-unconsciously to force the babe out of her womb. She followed the instinct, pushing it harder, harder, harder.

“Very good, princess!” Was that Artos or Orwyle? She couldn’t tell anymore.

It was never-ending.

Pain, pushing, and a brief moment of reprieve.

Again.

It lasted hours, days, perhaps even years.

Was a child – a son – even worth this pain? How could she love someone who had tortured her so? Would she ever be able to look at him without remembering how she suffered?

Pain.

PAIN.

Then –

“Stop, princess!”

She went limp, vaguely beginning to feel other sensations creep in: the coolness of the water on her forehead, the slight scratching of the sheets beneath her, and the hushed whispers of the maids and midwives.

The pain was still there, but softer. Less insistent.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice nearly unrecognizable, even to her.

Artos emerged from between her legs, relief painted over his harsh face. “Nothing is wrong, princess. It is simply time to be gentle and allow your body to do its work.” He smiled, chuckling under his breath. “I can see your babe’s white hair – quite a bit of it.”

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. Deep, joyous laughter. Another slight wave of pain passed through her, but she didn’t care at all. She was thinking about her niece and nephew, how Jaehaerys was born with nearly a full mane of silver frizz while Jaehaera had not a single hair on her head until she was over a year old. “He has hair?”

“Yes, although I do not know yet whether it is a boy, princess.”

“It is. He is.”

There was one more brief surge of pain, and then she heard her son cry.

It was torture to wait outside while his ābrazȳrītsos screamed with pain. At first, Aemond stood leaning against the wall, as Aegon did when Helaena began her labors, but his knees failed him when he heard a scream that rattled the world.

He’d been on the floor since, resisting the urge to cover his ears. But he had caused her this pain, so he must listen.

He would be in that room with her if he hadn’t been a weak, damnable fool. He would have held her hand, letting her release her pain onto him. She had only squeezed his hand once, yet he still felt the ghost of her touch on his skin. He would savor that pain for the rest of his life.

It seemed to be never-ending, the torture his son was inflicting upon her. How could he ever forgive the child for doing this to his own mother?

Then, it stopped.

Aemond leaped to his feet, panic infecting his blood like a disease. Why had she gone quiet? What was wrong? Was she dead? He couldn’t face –

A babe cried—his first cry, with his first breath.

Their son.

He tried to push the door open, but it was locked.

“Let me in!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the door. “Artos, let me in!”

There was no answer, but he could hear soft voices inside. None sounded like hers. Oh gods, had she brought their son into the world at the cost of her own life?

Aemond slammed himself against the door again and again, not caring for the damage he was doing to his own body. “Open the door now, Artos!”

He threw himself against the wood again and again. At some point, it had to yield. Either it would, or his body would.

It opened just before he launched himself at it again—not all the way, but it was open. Then, Artos stared at him through the gap with his hateful, disapproving gaze.

“Let me in,” he growled. Trying to force the door open was useless, as the maester was practically a giant and, apparently, throwing all his strength into holding it closed. “If you don’t let me see my wife, I swear I’ll – ”

“Your wife has not finished her labors yet, my prince.” Damn him, the mountainous bastard. “But I am pleased to inform you that she has borne you a son.”

Though he knew it was to be a son, the words still shot through him. A son. His son. Their son.

“Is he healthy? Is she?” There was no more fight in his voice. The warrior prince had vanished, replaced only by the husband and father. By all the gods, he was a father.

Artos nodded. “The boy is small but healthy. Your maester may have miscalculated the date of conception. He is remarkably healthy for being born so early.”

“And my wife?”

“She is tired, but well. The second babe is not quite ready to emerge, so she is resting.”

The weight of all the world was lifted from his shoulders. He felt like the little boy he had once been on Driftmark, wanting nothing more than to see his zaldrīzītsos and take comfort in her embrace. “May I see her? Please.”

“I’m afraid not, my prince.” Artos at least had the decency to sound genuinely apologetic. “She needs this rest. With the first birth, she was wonderfully strong, more than I could have ever imagined. But I fear she has depleted her strength. She fell asleep the moment it was done.”

“Is… is it bad that she fell asleep?”

Artos sighed, his eyes turning to the floor. “Ordinarily, no, but with how thin she is, how weak… it worries me.”

No. No, no, no. “Is there anything you can do? To help strengthen her?”

“I am afraid not, my prince.”

“Well, do something. Do whatever you can.”

A soft moan came from behind the door. Ābrazȳrītsos. Aemond pushed against the door, opening it as far as he could to try and catch the barest glimpse of her.

Her eyes were nearly closed, her reddened cheeks making them appear as dark as night. Her chemise was soaked through with sweat and whatever other fluids came out with their child. But no blood beyond what he already knew to be there.

“Ābrazȳrītsos! I’m here!” He shouted. It took a moment for her to look his way. He could have sworn she smiled. “I’m with you! You must be strong, my love. I know you can be. I love you! I love you so much, ñuha zaldrīzītsos!”

Artos pushed against the door, forcing Aemond back. “That is enough, my prince. Upsetting her will only drain her strength.”

Aemond knew it was true, that his presence would likely upset her rather than comfort her. So, he stopped resisting and allowed the maester to close the door. Just before it closed, he whispered one final command, “Take care of her, Artos. She is my world.”

The pain returned, worse than before. The lightning crept down her spine again, but it was now accompanied by a great force set on tearing her body apart at the seams. Pushing brought no relief, nor did it seem to move her son any closer to the world.

Artos came to her bedside, resting the back of his hand against her brow.

“It’s worse this time,” she confided in the maester when it finally ebbed. “It’s so much worse. Why?”

He sighed and sat on the bedside, his massive hand nearly eclipsing her head as he stroked her hair. It made her feel remarkably like a kitten. “I cannot say, princess. There are many possibilities. This child could be larger, in a slightly different position, or…” He hesitated. “As I said, there are too many possibilities for me to be sure.”

His pause unsettled her, but it soon faded away when another wave went through her. “Is he nearly ready? I can’t do this much longer.” At least she knew what to do this time, so surely it would be better.

“Ah, another son, is it?” Artos stood from the bed to examine her spread legs. Several maids gently moved her to replace the sheets beneath her. “Not yet, but soon. Your motherly instincts will tell you when.”

Motherly instincts. Gods, she was a mother now. There was a child on the other side of the room that she had given birth to, that she had grown within her. A son who would depend on her for his entire life. Her, and his father.

Aemond would be a good father, she knew, even if he were decidedly lacking as a husband. But as a father, he would be attentive, kind, and loving. He would give their sons all the love he was denied by their own father.

They would not repeat the mistakes of the past. They would love their sons. They would not ignore them, speaking to them only to scold them. They would teach them the language of their ancestors themselves instead of relying on tutors. As soon as they were old enough, they would teach them how to be compassionate and fair rulers. They would not force them to marry for political advantage or the continuation of the bloodline but let them fall in love, as they had.

She could see them now. Both with white hair and unruly curls. Bright lilac eyes. The elder would take after her, but with Aemond’s determination. The younger would take after their father but with her gentle temperament.

As if the vision was summoning her second son, she felt her body constricting, muscles tightening. Without fear, she began to push.

“Princess, stop!”

Artos screamed as if someone was holding a sword to his throat, desperate and panicked. His eyes were wide and bulging as he looked from her face to where her second son should be emerging. “You mustn’t push now, princess. Not once. I…”

He stood, pulling one of the Septas aside. Others followed, and their frantic, poorly hushed whispers grew louder. She knew the sight should frighten her, but she forced herself to remain calm. Aemond said he trusted this man and had seen him work miracles. Whatever was wrong, Artos would fix it.

She was sure.

Artos burst out of the door without warning. Aemond pushed away from the wall. “Is it over?”

The maester sighed.

Shit. Seven Hells and all the Gods.

“Your wife is strong, my prince,” he began. Holy gods, he sounded as if he would cry. “Enough so that I would have little doubt that she could deliver your second child, but…”

“What’s wrong?” Aemond felt his heart race, his blood surge, his finger twitching for his sword. He was going into battle, but this was not a battle he could fight with steel or fire. This was not a battle he could fight at all. “Artos?”

“The babe is not in the right position.” He moved his hands as if it would somehow make Aemond understand what he was saying.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the babe cannot be born, your highness.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything she had suffered and survived.

“If she were to continue her labors, neither she nor the child would live.” Artos put a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at comfort. “I can save only one. Who survives… that is your decision, my prince.”

The gods were cruel to force this upon him – the very choice that had damned their family decades ago when Viserys chose to sacrifice his wife and queen for the chance at a son. That was where the seeds of destruction had been sown.

Aemond could not repeat the mistakes of the past. He would not be like his father. He had his son and heir. A second would be preferred, but not at the cost of his ābrazȳrītsos.

His ābrazȳrītsos, whose heart would break to lose her son. Who would never forgive him if he decided to –

He couldn’t choose. He couldn’t let her die, and he couldn’t let their son die.

He couldn't live without her, and he couldn’t take away her will to live.

He tore himself out of Artos’ grasp and stormed into the room.

Aemond threw open the door, his eyes wide and wet, and suddenly, she was not so sure that Maester Artos would fix whatever was wrong.

He ran to the bed, not sparing a glance at their new son. She burst into sobs the moment he took her in his arms. “Oh, ābrazȳrītsos,” he whispered into her hair as he kissed her temples. She entwined her fingers with his, desperately squeezing. “I’m here now. Everything is going to be fine.”

Liar. Sweet Liar. Beloved Liar.

“I want Mother. I want Helaena.” Her voice crackled with tears and exhaustion. Everything hurt. Someone – most likely her – was crying, though it sounded distant. And if Aemond was here, not waiting outside…

If Aemond was here, holding her hand and stroking her hair, it meant something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

“Mother is not here right now,” he said, squeezing her hand tighter. He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t meet her gaze. “And Helaena… she can’t be here. I’m so sorry.”

“She told me she would hold my hand like I did for her. She promised!”

“I know. I know, my love, but it is not possible.”

Because Helaena was dead. So were Daeron, and Jaehaerys, and Jaehaera, and Maelor, and Otto, and Ser Criston, and nearly every other person she loved. Aegon would be dead soon, too, then she would only have her mother and her husband.

Her mother, who had begged her to forgive the husband who betrayed her and broken her heart.

“I can’t do this alone, Aemond. I can’t.”

“You can, I know it. You are so strong, dearest.” Yet there was no confidence in his voice.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear his hair out just to make him hurt, too. “I can’t! I’ll die if you make me, Aemond, I know it. I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.”

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowed. “My love, I…” his voice faded, leaving them in total silence, save for that distant crying.

Then, he kissed her—not the soft kisses on the temple or head of the past fortnight, but the way he had kissed her when he said goodbye all those months ago. His lips slotted against hers perfectly, and she opened for him on instinct. She knew she should stop, push him away, and scold him, but she couldn’t.

Everything felt wrong—her entire body felt wrong. But this, kissing Aemond, felt right. Her desperation for comfort far overpowered her anger and resentment. Her trembling hand rested on his shoulder, her fingers bunching in his shirt. She pulled him closer, wanting more—more rightness, more connection, more feeling.

More Aemond.

But he pulled away, resting his brow against hers as she chased his lips again. He placed a hand on either side of her face, holding her still. “I’m going to fix this,” he rasped, his voice shredded by fear and desperation. “I will fix this, I swear.”

Then, he let go.

He stood from the bed and turned away from his wife.

He was leaving. He was fucking leaving her.

She screamed his name, cursed him, begged him to come back, hurled insults, and cried for him. He couldn’t do this to her, not after everything he’d already done.

This was not love. The heat that burned in her chest was not love.

It was hate.

For the first time in her life, she truly hated Aemond.

“Alys!” Aemond bellowed as he descended the stairs to the servant’s quarters, taking the steps two, three at a time. No one dared approach him. Not even Artos had tried to stop him as he ran away from his ābrazȳrītsos.

She may hate him forever for this, for leaving her when she was so weak and scared.

Fine. It would be worth it.

“ALYS!” The door snapped from its upper hinge as he tore it open. The witch was precisely where she’d been when Aemond left, her hand on her chin as she looked into the fire. What vile hell did she see in her visions now? “Alys!”

“I heard you, Aemond.” She did not look at him, only staring at the flames, those green eyes flitting around as if she were reading a book. “The entire continent heard you.” There was no humor in her voice, no hint of a smile on her face.

He swallowed, panting. He was crying – weeping like a little boy. That didn’t matter now. Very little mattered now.

Aemond fell to his knees before the witch with whom he had destroyed his life. He would do whatever she asked, destroy what little was left of his pride if necessary. “I need your help, Alys. Please.”

“She’s dying?”

“Yes. The maester said I had to… that I had to choose who to save.”

“And you can’t choose between her and the child.”

“No, I – ” he swallowed as his voice shattered. He was going to vomit. “I can’t, Alys. I can’t. Please.”

“What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?” She was colder than the Wall, than the entirety of the lands beyond it.

“Save them, both of them.”

Alys’ eyes narrowed. Her face was painted with an expression he had never seen. He had no clue what it meant. “What would you sacrifice,” she asked flatly, “to ensure your wife and her children – your true heirs – live?”

“Anything,” Aemond croaked, “Everything.”

One corner of her sinful mouth lifted in a way that did not bring him comfort. She sighed as if taking the time to thoroughly consider his plea. The wicked bitch was gleefully stalling when the lives of his wife and child could end at any moment.

“Please, Alys,” he begged again, desperation crawling through his veins like spreading ice. “I cannot live without her, and she will never recover from her grief if she loses the babe.”

Something passed over her face, and she smiled fully. “You have always been a man of loyalty and nobility, Aemond.” Her grin sharpened as she laid one delicate hand upon her belly. “Almost always, at least.”

“Alys,” he growled in warning.

“Oh, don’t be a beast about it,” she scoffed. “I will do it – save them. If only in memory of our time together.”

Aemond sagged as relief swept through him, but it did not last long. She was still dying. The babe was still dying. Whatever Alys would do, she needed to do it now. He opened his mouth to command her to start, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“I promise it will be done.” She flung her hand to the door in dismissal. “You should be there for her. She is still so very frightened.”

He needed nothing more to run back to his wife.

She was alone. Even with Maester Artos and the dozen women hovering around her, even with her son cooing softly from the cradle by the window, she had never felt so alone.

Aemond was gone.

He’d left her. Without even a goodbye, he’d left her. He had not even stopped to meet his son.

Artos murmured something to one of the Septas, who quickly gathered the other women on the far side of the room. He approached the bed, again seating himself upon the edge, and pressed the back of his fingers to her brow briefly before petting her hair. “How are you feeling, princess?”

“Am I going to die?”

He hesitated in answering. “I cannot say for certain…”

“I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.” Her heart constricted as his fingers brushed against a spot where Aemond had kissed her. “You told him, now tell me.”

“Very well,” he sighed. His harsh face fell, and she swore she could see his eyes glistening. “The babe is breech. It should emerge head-first, but it is not. It’s… the way it is attempting to come out is nearly impossible. Should I not intervene, one or both of you will die.”

No. No, no, no, it wasn’t fair. To suffer for this long, to endure what she endured, only for her child to enter the world wrong? In a way that would kill them? She had always been good and devout. She prayed and studied holy texts, listened to her Septas and the Maesters, and avoided sin at all costs. Then why was she being punished?

Unless… the gods had not sent this to punish her.

Aemond had abandoned her and their marriage – their holy union – when he slept with Alys. It would be fitting, and very like the gods, for him to lose that which he had forsaken. She and her second son were merely instruments of punishment. But it wasn’t fair.

“There is nothing you can do?” She felt hollow as Artos continued to look at her in pity.

The warrior-maester looked as if he were about to cry, as well. “In these situations, it is usually asked of the father whom he would rather save.”

So that was why Artos left the room – to ask Aemond whether to save her or the child.

“Who did he choose?” Either answer would devastate her. He would either prove the fragility of his love for her, or he would willingly break her heart by killing their son. Whatever he chose, he would become a kinslayer thrice over.

“He… he did not, your highness.”

“What?”

“I explained the situation, and he stormed in here – to you. When he left, he said nothing. He just ran. I presumed he had…” But he hadn’t. Had not said a word about the peril she and their son were now in.

A coward. Too frightened to maintain his vows of marriage. Too weak to admit his wrongdoing. Too cowardly to even make this most crucial of decisions. The gods damn him.

If they hadn’t already.

“So… what will you do?” If she had to be the one to make the decision, so be it.

“There are three options.” None of them were very good, she knew, simply by looking at his forlorn face. She had thought him a grave man when she first saw him. Now, he looked mournful – a reluctant harbinger of death. “I can forcibly remove the child, more than likely killing it in the process. I can attempt to save it and, in so doing, certainly kill you. Or we can proceed with the birth, risking killing both of you and pray that the gods may be merciful.”

Such a choice – a decision of life and death – should be difficult. It should tear away at the soul to condemn another. It should be far beyond the limits of the heart or mind.

But it was easy.

“Save him,” she whispered. “Let me die.”

Artos frowned deeply, shook his head, and said something in return, but she did not listen – she could not and would not hear his words. She only vaguely saw him move to the end bed, ripping away the sleeve of his robes as he barked orders at the maid and midwives. Perhaps the gods were merciful to dull her senses now so she could pass peacefully.

What did it matter if she died now?

She will have fulfilled her duty and given her husband his heirs. Finding a new wife would be easy – what woman would not want to marry him? Even if news of Alys spread beyond the walls of Harrenhal, surely it was nothing in exchange for a crown. Aemond would have everything he needed to be king.

If she lived, what sort of life would it be? To raise one son while constantly mourning the other. To be the wife of a man she could no longer trust. To remain empty, a shell of her former self. She would be alive, but she would still be a ghost.

“Save him,” she said again, her voice fading.

It was easier this way. Hadn’t she already learned that it was easier not to fight? Letting Aemond take care of her was easier than fighting him. Perhaps it would be easier to let him care for the children, too. He would love them enough that they would not feel her absence.

Distantly, she felt pressure between her legs, then heard her firstborn son cry out to echo her own screams.

Her son.

Oh, he had no name.

She couldn’t leave him motherless and without a name.

Months ago, she had decided on names, but they were hard to remember now. What was it? She could grant him this one last gift. She just needed to remember…

“Daeron.”

Yes. It had been her brother’s name. Her kind, brave, daring brother. He died some months ago. There had been a battle. Why was her little brother fighting? He was too young for that.

Tendrils of pale mist crept into the edges of her vision, playfully willing her to sleep.

Once she was gone, Daeron—her Daeron—would have a little brother, too. He would need a name as well—a strong name, a courageous name. When she was dead, he would need courage.

“Aenar.”

A strong name. With courage enough to forge a new beginning.

There. Names for her sons, the little princes.

With that last parting gift, she could close her eyes at last.

Goodbye, she tried to say.

I love you, my children.

Be kind to each other.

Love each other always.

Goodbye.

The mist filled her vision, illuminated by a distant light. It was cool, like a late spring morning. She did not hurt anymore. Did not feel anything but an overwhelming sense of peace.

The distant light faded.

The mist darkened.

Through it, she swore she could see grass-green eyes and hear the faraway cry of a babe.

She was still screaming. Good.

Screaming meant she was still alive. Screaming meant Alys was fulfilling her promise. Screaming meant that Aemond was racing back to his wife – his living, breathing, beloved wife – and not her corpse.

The door was still locked when he arrived—one final obstacle between him and his family.

No, not final. Far from it. The door was the only tangible thing keeping him from his wife and children, yes, but there was far more beyond it. The pain he caused her, the hatred his ābrazȳrītsos now surely felt for him, and the third child that would soon be born still kept them as far apart as the earth and stars.

They would get past it. They had to. They were siblings, husband and wife, now destined to become King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They were meant for each other. The gods or fate or whatever else had made her for him and him for her.

They were two parts of the same whole, cleaved.

“Prince Aemond.”

Cregan Stark, the man who humiliated him and his wife mere hours ago, stood behind him. Aemond snarled. “Leave. Now.”

Stark stood strong and still. “You have been my enemy. You may be still, I have not decided. I have no admiration nor respect for you, my prince. In short, I do not like you.”

“Do you want me to kill you?” Aemond asked. He did not wish to greet his sons with blood-soaked hands, but if Stark didn’t close his fucking mouth –

“To lose the woman you love so dearly in this way… it is a pain I know all too well and one I would not wish on anyone. I have instructed all my men to pray for the Princess and the child, and I will join them soon. Negotiations will be postponed indefinitely.”

“I…” Perhaps Aemond had underestimated the brute, if he was a brute at all. And though he knew the prayers were unnecessary, gratitude still dulled his rage. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

He simply inclined his head and walked away, leaving Aemond leaning against that godsdamned door, listening to nothing but the sound of his own panting breath.

Oh gods.

He froze.

The screaming was gone.

It was silent.

Was she dead?

Had Alys betrayed him?

He would kill her. He would tear her apart with his own hands and –

A child cried.

Then…

Oh, thank each and every god a thousand times over.

For then, Aemond heard his wife laughing.

“Princess?”

She always expected that the voice of the Father would be deep and smooth, but shouldn’t it be the Mother to greet her, given how she died? And shouldn’t the gods greet her by name, not her title?

“Princess, it is time to wake up,” the voice said again. “Open your eyes for me.”

Oh, her eyes were closed. She should open them.

The Heavens were not as bright as she imagined, nor as golden. They were dark and sparsely decorated and looked very much like –

“I am not dead?”

Maester Artos looked down at her and smiled. It reminded her of the few times she had seen her father smile at her, sparking a warmth in her chest she had not felt for years. She had not known she still remembered those smiles. “I am very happy to say you are not, your highness.”

“But, my son – ”

“He lives, too.”

It couldn’t be. After all the suffering of the past year, she could not believe it could be true. Loss had become a certainty, as sure as the sun rising each morning.

A babe cried, and she turned toward the sound. A young maid was wrapping an infant boy with a shock of white curls in a cobalt blue blanket. Daeron.

A different, softer cry came from the other end of the room. There, another boy with only a smattering of silver wisps atop his head was being gently cleaned by a Septa. Aenar.

Her sons – alive and well and here.

She threw her head back against the pillows and laughed.

She laughed with joy and relief, with eight months of eager waiting and sickness. She laughed with a body nearly dead, saved only by some miracle she did not understand. And she laughed with a heart that was both shattered and overflowing.

This was the moment she had dreamed of since she learned she was pregnant, since the moment she married Aemond. She had dreamed of this all her life. It was her destiny, even if it was vastly different from how she had dreamed it. For she was not at home in the Red Keep but within the cursed stones of Harrenhal. Her mother was not by her side but miles away. The family that was supposed to crowd around her and coo over the children were nearly all dead. And her husband…

“Let me in!” he shouted through the door, the wood pounding against stone as he threw himself against it. He had been doing that before, but she did not notice until now. It was so like him, the impatience and need to act, that she laughed again. “Ābrazȳrītsos! Is that you? Tell me you are safe!”

Taking her laughter as permission, Artos opened the door. It was mere heartbeats later that Aemond was upon the bed, his eye flitting over every inch of her, his hands roaming to try and locate something wrong, to stem blood that did not flow or relieve pain that did not exist.

“I’m fine,” she said, breathless. “I did it, lēkia, and I’m fine.”

“You did it?” He looked down at her in utter disbelief and joy before his eye drifted to the Maester. Tears slipped from his eye and caught the light of the setting sun. “She did it…”

Her gaze went to the maid that held her firstborn – the girl with eyes like her mother’s. Fitting, for her to be the one to hold him. But it was her turn. “Bring Daeron to me,” she ordered,” some strength at last returning to her voice. “I want to hold him.”

Aemond stared at her. “Daeron?”

Was he angry that she named their sons without him? She couldn’t quite tell. Her mind was still fuzzy, like the mist she had seen still lay over her, casting everything in a sweet, happy light. She shrugged. “There are already too many Aegons, so…”

He laughed. She had missed that sound – she loved it so dearly. He settled into the bed next to her, their bodies fitting together perfectly, like two halves of a broken plate. So many familiar feelings – the warmth of his arm around her, the rhythm of his heart, his lips kissing her temple in the gentle way that always sent shivers down her spine. Hadn’t her spine hurt not long ago? “Daeron is perfect.”

Indeed, he was absolutely perfect. So tiny and precious as he was put in her arms, looking up at his parents with wide lilac eyes. Neither she nor Aemond said anything as they beheld him, taking in each tiny, perfect detail. The wild curls of his silver hair. Each and every eyelash framing his bright eyes. The pink of his lips. Fingers and toes so wonderfully soft and small. A toothless smile that lit the world.

“He’s going to be king someday,” she realized aloud. How could someone so tiny rule an entire kingdom? He had a lot of growing to do before the Conqueror’s Crown would fit.

“A great king, I think,” Aemond mused. He held out a finger, and Daeron instinctively wrapped his hand around it. “Wise and strong. Daring, like his namesake.”

“He must be kind, too.”

“He will be,” Aemond assured, brushing out her damp, tangled hair with his fingers. The feeling was so familiar, but each touch had her flinching slightly. “We will raise him to be kind. His brother, too.”

“Aenar.”

Aemond stiffened. Had he forgotten they had another son, or did he not like the name she gave him? He pulled his finger back from his son’s fist to touch the babe’s hair. “The Exile?”

“I just thought…” Perhaps it had been a foolish name. But it had felt right when it came to her, when she was on the brink of death. “Our family needs a new beginning.”

“Yes… I suppose it does.” He kissed her again with slightly too much pressure. “Another fine name.”

She looked at the Septa that had been cleaning him. Maester Artos stood with her now, along with several other women, crowding so much she could not see the babe. “I want to hold him, too. Bring him to me.”

None of them moved. The room fell silent.

“Allow me just a moment longer, princess,” Artos said. His voice shook, and he would not look at her or Aemond. “I am still finishing my assessment of the boy.”

He’s dead, her mind insisted. They saved your life at the cost of his. He died because of you.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

Daeron began fussing in her arms, disturbed by how she began to tremble. She failed one son by killing him, and now she was already failing as a mother to the one who survived. Aemond tightened his arm on her shoulders, pulling her closer as his free arm gently lifted their son into his own grasp.

He hushed her, ducking his head to press his cheek to hers. “Lykirī, ābrazȳrītsos. Izūgō daor īlo bēvili gō.” Calm, little wife. Do not panic before we have reason to.

“Kostan daor,” she whimpered. If Aenar was dead…

“Is he alive?” Aemond’s hand moved to shelter Daeron’s head as if to shield him from whatever danger or heartbreak lurked. She turned to press herself into him – into the safety of his arms.

Brother. Husband. Protector.

Why did the feel and scent of him no longer make her feel safe?

“Yes, my prince,” Artos answered.

“Will he remain that way?”

“Yes…”

“You could tell me he’s green-skinned and winged for all I care.” His arm curled protectively around her, but it did not comfort her. Rather, she bristled against it, the possessiveness of it. He did not notice. “He’s alive, and that’s enough. Bring him.”

Artos hesitated but obeyed, hastily wrapping the babe in a dark blanket.

He looked whole – unbroken. Aenar’s eyes were closed as the Maester placed him in her arms, but she could feel his warmth, his little heart beating, and the faint rise and fall of his chest. He only woke when a tear fell from her cheek onto his.

Even then, he did not cry. He only looked at his mother with bright eyes – the same shade of violet as his father's and brother’s. “Ñuha trēso,” she whispered, and he smiled. My son.

“Taobosa sylvȳse,” Aemond added. “He already recognizes the language of his ancestors. He will serve his brother well. Dārys sepār Ondoso zȳhon.” Wise boy. The King and his Hand.

They had two perfect sons. So why did Artos still look like that?

The Maester’s frown deepened. “I am afraid…” he cleared his throat. “It appears that the younger prince was injured during the birth.”

She examined him again but could find nothing wrong. He was perfect. Surely, Artos was mistaken.

“May I?” His large hand hovered over the edge of the blanket.

Her instinct was to pull away, to not let this man touch her son. Yes, he had saved both their lives, but he must be wrong now. Why should she let him make a problem where there was none?

She suppressed that instinct and allowed him to uncover Aenar’s right arm. Artos’ demeanor had made it seem as though something was horribly wrong – that the arm would be missing or deformed. But it was just an arm, small and plump and pale, with a splotch of reddish-purple covering the shoulder like a pauldron.

“It… is it a birthmark?” She brushed a thumb over it, the skin smooth but slightly raised. A birthmark wasn’t an injury, nor was it exceedingly unusual. There were several families where such a mark appeared on nearly every child born.

“Explain yourself, Artos,” Aemond hissed. He looked ready to tear the man to pieces. If he did, he would likely do so without even setting Daeron down.

With a sigh, Artos ran a finger down the length of Aenar’s arm. “Note how he gives no reaction.”

“So he is calm,” Aemond spat. “I fail to see the injury.”

“Do the same to the elder.” He repeated the touch. “Gently, my prince.”

Aemond obeyed with a scowl. The moment he touched the babe, Daeron squirmed and flailed his arm.

“But he looks fine.” She looked down at her second son, her wise boy, and held out a finger, as Aemond had with Daeron. Aenar’s left arm squirmed within its wrappings, but the right was still. She touched the arm, silently pleading with the gods for it to move, for that tiny hand to reach for her.

It remained still. A desperate noise escaped her. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond and Artos said in unison. Her husband attempted to pull her into his chest, but she pushed him away. An embrace could not fix this. Nothing could. He did not pursue her again.

“It is not uncommon among children born breech.” the Maester explained. “I have seen many such injuries and many even worse.”

Artos offered no sympathy or apologies, and she was thankful for it. There was nothing he could say to ease the pain of knowing that her son would never be whole, just like his father. But unlike Aemond, he was never even given the chance, wounded from his first breath. What would the people call him? ‘Prince Aenar One-Arm, son of King Aemond One-Eye?’

“What do we do?” She asked her husband, the Maester, the gods. Anyone who may have an answer.

Aemond’s face was drawn with grief – for his son and for himself. “He will adapt, as I did. I will ensure it. He will be stronger for this. I promise.”

I cannot trust your promises.

The thought was a sudden gale of icy wind scattering the lovely mist coating her mind into oblivion, leaving her with only stark, wicked reality and the faint memory of green eyes.

“How did I survive?”

Too quickly, Aemond turned to her, taking hold of her chin and pulling her close to him. “It does not matter, ābrazȳrītsos. All that does is that you are still with me. You and Aenar.”

If he wasn’t holding her firstborn, she would have shoved him from the bed.Liar. Liar. Liar.

I will fix this. he’d said before he left her. The pure, unrelenting anger she felt as she watched him leave had prevented her from considering what those words meant. Now, she could think of nothing else. What could he do? He was no midwife nor Maester. He had no knowledge of childbirth, beyond the few questions he’d asked of Orwyle months ago. What could he have done for her and Aenar except beg the help of another?

Of Alys.

Alys, who had eyes the color of fresh grass and possessed a dark magic that allowed her visions of the future. Was she also able to influence that future?

How?

At what cost?

What had Aemond promised her in exchange for their lives?

“No Maester wants to admit to ignorance,” Artos smiled sadly as Aenar continued to try to wriggle his left arm free of his blanket, “but I cannot explain it. All I can think is that the gods are kind to you, princess, and for that, I am glad.”

She could not look at him or any of the others in the room who watched her as if they could see the Mother’s hand upon her shoulder.

The gods weren’t kind. They were cruel to allow her to now owe her very life, and that of her son’s, to the two people who had destroyed her. Would she ever be able to look upon Aenar and not remember? To not feel her soul torn between unyielding hatred and infinite gratitude?

Yet, she had her life – and her sons. Surely anything was worth that.

Wasn’t it?

“I’m tired,” she said. The day had seemed to last a year, and the sun had not even set. “I want to rest now.”

After what she endured, no one argued.

His ābrazȳrītsos fell asleep mere moments after Daeron and Aenar were settled into their cradles. She did not even wake when Aemond lifted her so the servants could replace the soiled bedding. Just as she had so many times before, she tucked her face into his neck as they sat in the window, sighing contentedly. Now, he lay beside her in the bed, trying to memorize how it felt to have her in his arms.

When she woke, he knew she would never allow him to hold her like this again.

She knew. Somehow, his wife knew what he had done to ensure she and Aenar survived, and she would never forgive him for it for as long as she lived.

But she would live.

Aenar would live. Though he would bear the wounds of his father’s sins forever.

After his wife had fallen asleep, Maester Artos had told him that it would likely be necessary to amputate Aenar’s arm. The purple mark on his shoulder had grown, apparently indicating further bleeding within the limb. If it grew much more before morning, the arm would be removed before midday.

It was his fault, Aemond knew.

Alys had told him that in her visions, both boys had been healthy. But that was before his ābrazȳrītsos knew that he betrayed her. Before he brought her to this cursed place. Before he failed to stop her from meeting Alys and learning the full extent of his sins.

He only hoped Aenar would not grow to hate him for it.

For now, the boy slept in his crib, limp arm hidden beneath the dark blanket he was swaddled in. Aemond rose from the bed, moving closer to his son.

How peaceful he looked now, with the redness of his skin finally faded. He did not have as much hair as his older brother, but his was wilder - more reminiscent of his mother’s curls than his father’s straight locks. At least he had that part of her, if not the warm brown eyes Aemond had hoped for.

In the other cradle, Daeron fussed slightly, though he did not wake. It seemed he resented being confined within the tight swaddle of his blanket. The thought made Aemond smile, remembering how his younger brother once did the same. It faded quickly.

He had to go to Alys. To thank her for giving him his family - a kindness he did not deserve. To say goodbye to the child he would never meet. Another cost he would force himself to pay.

He had to go now, while his ābrazȳrītsos slept.

“Before our wedding,” he whispered, careful not to wake her as he approached, “I promised to hold you every night I could, that I would do anything to return to you when I was away. I have failed to uphold that promise, and for that, I am so sorry.”

When he stroked her cheek, she turned into his touch, a small smile upon her lips. Seeing that some unconscious part of her still reacted to him with love warmed his heart, even as the knowledge that her conscious mind would never allow her to do so felt like a dagger buried in his gut.

Aemond knelt at her side, basking in her beauty, memorizing her peaceful face. “Now, I swear my devotion again. I know you no longer wish for me to hold you, and I promise I will not try to persuade you otherwise. But I swear I will always be with you, to love and protect you, even if I must do it from a distance. I will never fail you again.”

It did not matter that she could not hear his vow. Even if she did, she would not believe him. But he made it anyway, for his own sake, and so the gods, wherever they may be, would hear him. It was to them he spoke next.

“Should I ever harm you again, I pray that the gods will strike me down where I stand. And if they do not, I shall do so myself.” He kissed her brow - the sealing of a promise and a farewell - and left.

A maid shrunk away as she passed Aemond in a corridor deep beneath Harrenhal, cradling the bundle of cloth she carried closer to her chest. It was one of the same maids who had tended to his wife—the young girl with deep brown eyes. She did not wear the clothing of a midwife, but the colors of her linen dress were similar. Perhaps a midwife in training.

Strange, then, for her to be here. Stranger still for her to be seemingly performing the duties of a laundress.

He glanced down at the bundle of cloth she carried and froze.

There was blood. Too much blood.

A young midwife, carrying bedlinens soaked with blood.

What would you sacrifice? Alys had asked.

Aemond ran.

He knew what he would find. There was no other explanation. Yet he still hoped and prayed he was wrong. Loss had followed him like a loyal dog for so long, but today it was banished. It must be.

Alys stood in front of her fire. One hand rested on a stomach that was not as distended as it had been only hours ago.

His wife’s stomach now looked very much the same.

“What did you do?” His voice shook with fear and guilt and shame. Gods, he felt so weak.

Her eyes, cold and distant, slid to his. “What you asked.”

“I didn’t ask you to…” This blood was on his hands - the blood of his child.

The word that had haunted him for more than a year - the word that had nearly led to the death of every person he ever loved - echoed in his mind.

Kinslayer.

Killer of his nephew. His uncle. His child.

Aemond looked back into the corridor, hoping to see the young midwife again. Had he not looked closely enough? Had she been carrying the body of his child within those bloody linens?

“I only wanted you to save my wife and son.” His words were a justification, a plea. It fell on the deaf ears of the gods and the dead child’s mother.

“And you thought there would be no cost?” Alys laughed, cruel and cackling. “No god in the world is so generous as to save a life and ask for nothing in exchange, boy.”

“I didn’t think – ”

“You never do.”

Grief morphed into anger. Reckless, aimless, dangerous rage. “You should have told me!”

“What would you have done?” She faced him fully now, her hand falling to her side. There was no trace of the woman who had once comforted and reassured him - who had kept him sane amidst the insanity of war. There was only annoyance and derision. It reminded Aemond of his dead half-sister and her bastard sons. “If I had told you?”

“I –”

“Would you have left your wife to die? Let her son die?” Alys’ lip curled in a hateful sneer. “You could not choose between wife and son, yet you believe you could have chosen between two sons?”

The world stopped. Only Alys’ flickering fire and burning eyes remained.

“I… it was a boy?” Aemond leaned against the wall, sliding down to his knees, savoring the scrape of the rough stone against his back. He deserved every bit of pain. More.

Alys let a single hint of sorrow slip through her cold façade. “It was. Three sons within a year. What your father would have given to have had the same.”

The last thing Aemond wanted to do was to think about his father. The king who had nearly destroyed his throne by choosing one child over another.

Gods, was he any better?

Did his ignorance of his son’s sacrifice absolve him of blame? The guilt?

It certainly didn’t feel like it.

Alys sighed. “Better for his death to mean something than for his life to be spent destitute and fatherless.”

“I would not have allowed that to happen,” Aemond said. It was a reflex, a reassurance he’d grown used to giving since he learned he seeded a bastard.

“Wouldn’t you? Perhaps if my visions had not changed. But now…” She shook her head, more exasperated than sorrowful. Did she mourn the child at all? “No. You’d have wanted us as far away as possible and done anything you could to not think of us.”

“I would have ensured your comfort.” The words felt as hollow as his chest.

“Your wife would, yes.” Alys smiled fondly, just as she had when his ābrazȳrītsos sat across from her earlier that very day. She had never smiled that way for Aemond. Never truly cared for him. He should have known. “She is kind-hearted. But not you. Your resentment of me, of us, would have festered until you found some way to be rid of us.”

He wanted to deny it. To say that there was nothing that could drive him to do what she insinuated. Once, it would have been true. But now, with the man he’d become in the war and how close he’d come to losing his heart itself, it would be a lie.

If he had killed Alys along with the rest of her cursed family, would he have become this man? Would he have learned to cherish the metallic tang of blood and its warmth as it coated his hands? Would he have become so proficient a liar that false words rolled off his tongue like a Valyrian lullaby? Would he have grown so accustomed to violence that it now came as naturally to him as loving his wife?

Would he have broken his ābrazȳrītsos’s heart?

He’d trusted her visions. It had been a mistake.

One mistake that led to thousands more, and it was all her fault.

Alys was the one who lied, who deceived him. Who had pulled his strings as if he were no more than a puppet, knowing that he was married and his wife was lonely and infirm.

His failure as a husband. His wife’s pain. The death of his third son.

Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

Aemond’s heart slowed, his breathing becoming deep and steady. No longer the heart of a broken boy or a desperate husband. Now, it was the blackened heart that had carried him through countless battles and raging rivers of blood.

“I will be rid of you now,” he hissed as he stood. “And I will be rid of you forever.”

The bitch had enough sense to look scared.

“In memory of the son you killed, I will allow you to live. But no more than that.” She didn’t even deserve that, this woman who did not mourn her own child. Perhaps it was good that the babe was gone, for surely he would have suffered with a witch as his mother.

He approached Alys, sneering down at her and the false bravery on her wicked face. “As Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I banish you from these lands forever. You have ten days to leave Westeros. After that, if you are ever seen here again…” He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, holding just tight enough to steal a bit of her breath - just enough to make her fight for it.

“I will kill you myself,” he promised. “Without hesitation or remorse, I will kill you. Slowly. And I will savor every moment, for it will bring me far greater pleasure than that withered cunt of yours ever did.”

She fell to her knees when he released her, clutching at her throat as she coughed and gulped for air. He didn’t care. He only turned on his heel and left, not sparing a single glance at the woman who had only hours ago been carrying his bastard child.

Only one woman mattered now, had ever truly mattered to him.

His ābrazȳrītsos was still asleep when he returned to their chamber, as were their sons. They had no idea where he had gone - that he had even left at all. No inkling of the fact that a moment ago, he had again become the man who wiped an entire bloodline from the earth, slaughtered tens of thousands, and delighted in the suffering he had wrought.

Now, as he leaned down to gently kiss his sons’ brows and muss their soft hair, he was a mere man of twenty, his heart bursting with love and affection for his family. How could a heart overflow with such love at the same moment it was fracturing with grief and regret?

It was a question far beyond him at that moment. Perhaps forever beyond his reach.

He was so tired. Too tired to consider the heartbreak that would come when he woke in the morning and his wife pulled out of his grasp. He could face that pain when it came. But now, he needed to feel whole, if only for a few hours.

So, Aemond climbed into bed with his wife, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her into his chest. He remained awake only long enough to kiss the top of her head and whisper, “Jāla tetan, ābrazȳrītsos. Īlon lentot selagon kosti.” It is over, ābrazȳrītsos. We can go home.

She woke to the sound of Daeron fussing. Strange how quickly she was able to tell them apart, even just by their little noises of discontentment. Although, considering she had been with them every moment of the last seven - near eight - months, it may not be strange at all. Perhaps that was why she felt so sure that it had been Daeron who occupied the top of her belly, constantly pestering her with his tiny fists pounding against her at the most inopportune times.

“Hush, little prince,” a soft voice said. “You’ll wake up your mother, and after what you and your brother put her through, I dare say she needs her rest.” A maid was speaking to him, a slight, old woman leaning over his crib. She had not seen the maid before, and somehow, it comforted her.

Daeron continued to grumble. She moved to stand but found Aemond’s arms wrapped around her waist. Thankfully, he was still asleep. Quite deeply asleep, apparently, for when she untangled herself from him, he did not wake.

The maid curtsied when she saw the princess approaching and stepped away from Daeron’s cradle. His fussing had now roused Aenar, but the younger prince made no sound, only glaring at his brother in what seemed to be intense displeasure at his sleep being interrupted.

“Is something wrong with him?” she asked the old maid. Daeron quieted slightly upon seeing his mother but still fussed.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, princess.” The old maid had a kind, soothing voice - that of a wise grandmother. She looked at the babes with fondness and a hint of apology. “They are simply hungry.”

“Where is the wetnurse?” She immediately regretted asking. In her sleepy haze, she had forgotten that Alys was the wetnurse at Harrenhal. Why wasn’t she here? Did she even want Alys here? No, of course she didn’t. Had Aemond requested another be found so she would not have to see Alys again?

The old maid looked away, sighing. “I’m afraid she’s left us. No wonder why, poor thing lost her babe again. Such a shame. We all thought she’d had a miracle with this one. But not to worry, Maester Artos sent some men to find another girl from the closest village.” She shook her head and again leaned over Daeron’s crib. “You’ll be fed soon, darling prince, don’t you worry.”

Alys’ child - Aemond’s child - was dead?

It was a good thing, wasn’t it? There would be no bastard son of the new king, no living reminder of what he’d done. This was good news. She should be happy, shouldn’t she?

But she wanted to cry.

“Mother, forgive me,” the old maid looked horrified as she clutched her pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star. “I should not have said that, princess. Not when you’ve only just finished your own labors. Please, forgive me.”

She glanced at Aenar, now peacefully asleep once more. How close she had come to losing him. It had devastated her. Made her willing to forfeit her own life if only he could live. If she had lost him and had to live with that loss… it would have driven her mad.

“How…” she licked her lips. “How many children has she lost?”

The old maid dropped her pendant. “I do not know, exactly. Enough that we all stopped counting.”

Oh gods. She blinked to clear her eyes, wiping away an errant tear with her thumb. “You said she’s gone?”

“Yes, princess. She left in the night. Didn’t say where she was going, to my knowledge.”

It made no sense. If Aemond had struck a bargain with Alys to save her and Aenar’s lives, why would she leave? Had whatever he offered her not been enough to keep her in the place where she’d lost so many children?

Daeron cried again, his face reddened and wrinkled. He was so hungry, she could nearly feel it herself. She… she could feel it. When she looked down at herself, she saw two dark stains on her chemise right above her breasts. Her milk had finally come in, which meant -

“I can feed them.”

The old maid looked aghast. “Princess, there is no need - ”

“I want to do it.” She was their mother, why shouldn’t she be the one to feed them? It was her body that made them, that brought them into the world. It made sense that it would continue to care for them even now. “Can you show me how?”

It took a moment for the maid to close her mouth before she smiled gently. “I’ve raised nine children myself, princess. I think I know a few tricks.”

The maid had gone by the time Aemond woke.

Daeron was still suckling at her left breast while Aenar had fallen asleep using the right as his pillow. She had not realized how heavy and uncomfortable they had felt until the boys had drunk from her, easing the pressure that she’d become accustomed to.

“You should not be doing that yourself,” Aemond muttered as he raised himself on an elbow. His eye darted from son to son, only ever glancing over her exposed breasts. Once, he loved to worship them, quite similarly to how his sons fed from her now. “Where is the wetnurse?”

Did he not know that Alys had left? Had no one told him of the death of his child?

No. Those were the faint remnants of tear tracks lining his cheeks, and there was a deep sadness in his eye that was not there when he held his sons for the first time. He knew. He knew, and he was grieving, though he was fighting to hide it. She still saw it.

Perhaps that was the real reason he never returned to King’s Landing during the war - he knew she would be able to see the guilt on his face.

“There is no other wetnurse,” she explained gently. “Alys left. They’re looking for another woman now.”

Aemond froze, his gaze growing distant. She could not decipher his expression. Rage? Guilt? Sorrow? Grief?

“I’m sorry, Aemond.” He frowned and shook his head, but she continued. “Truly, I am.”

“It’s better this way,” he whispered. He didn’t believe it. Neither did she.

He reached out to her. No, not to her, but to Aenar, gently stroking his hair. She allowed him to take the babe and hold him against his own chest.

Aenar opened his eyes and looked up at his father. Then, he smiled.

Aemond took in a deep breath. “That boy should never have existed,” he said, letting Aenar take hold of his thumb and mouth at it. “I already had what I needed. And wanted.”

So it was a boy. Another son. A brother for her own. Would he have had his father’s nose, as Daeron did? Or his stern brow, like Aenar? Gods, why did she care?

“You are allowed to mourn him. He was innocent. I bear him no ill will.” Bastard or no, a babe was a babe, blameless of his parents’ sins. Deep in her heart, she mourned him, as well.

Again, Aemond shook his head. “I cannot mourn what never should have been.” He turned his head to face her, face open and pleading. “And I am mourning too much already.”

“I am alive. Aenar is alive. There is nothing to mourn.”

“You know that is not what I mean, ābrazȳrītsos.”

She did. He mourned not for the loss of a life, but for the loss of their life. The life they should have shared, and would have, had Aemond not strayed. In truth, she mourned for it, too.

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Daeron finally finished feeding, stretching his little arms to push her breast away. She pulled her robe closed again to combat the chill.

Aemond raised a hand to help her. She flinched away. He winced in response.

“Ābrazȳrītsos, please.” His voice was already breaking, his eye watering. The sight should have tugged at her heart. His begging should have fanned the flames of her anger. But looking at him, she felt very little of anything, save a small seed of pity. “Alys is gone. My… the bastard is gone. Can we not return to the way we were? Pretend none of this ever happened? Can’t you forgive me at last?”

The answer came without hesitation.

“No, Aemond.”

Within her, there was no longer a grassland, barren with loneliness and despair. The never-ending field of raging fire had also vanished. In its place was a small, lush garden, safely contained within tall stone walls draped with flowers and a polished iron gate – locked firmly, but perhaps not sealed forever.

“I shall always be your sister, your blood, and the mother of your children.” Daeron cooed, as if he knew she was talking about him, and she could not help but smile down at him. “I will remain your wife in the eyes of gods and men. And when Aegon dies, I will be your faithful queen.”

Aemond shook as his breath quickened, failing to keep the heartbreak. “You will be a wonderful queen, ābrazȳrītsos. I know it.”

She pulled away, taking Aenar from him and into her empty arm. “But I will never again be your ābrazȳrītsos.” She forced herself to ignore the whimpering, broken cry that escaped him, the breath that carried it echoing like a death rattle. “I will not share your bed. And I will no longer allow you to hold my heart.”

Between desperate sobs, Aemond raised his head to face her. Utter devastation lay in his eye, but so too did acceptance. Anguished surrender. “My heart is and always shall be yours.”

I don’t want it, her mind told her, even as her heart cried, I will cherish it forever.

But her decision was made. In all but name, their marriage – their once legendary romance – was finished. A few fragments of love remained but would never be repaired. Could never be.

Slowly, she rose from the bed, her sons still in her arms. Aemond began to reach for her, but when she did not even acknowledge him, he covered his face with his hands and wept. Though it tugged at her heart, it was the same she would feel for any man weeping so, no longer the instinctive pull of a wife. She did not comfort him.

The soft, pitiful sounds of Aemond’s grief faded as she walked toward the eastern window, settling herself in the cushioned seat just beneath it.

Daeron smiled, watching the trembling branches of an oak tree dotted with the first tight green buds of the season. Aenar angled his head just so, until the sun warmed every bit of his fat, pink face, then promptly fell asleep. She sighed, taking in the sweet scent of spring on the wind, and realized she had not breathed so easily in months.

It was a lovely morning in Harrenhal.

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rubycruzin4abruzin · 5 months ago

Text

Forbidden Crown - IV

Summary: Your dreaded twentieth birthday has finally arrived, and you and your parents set off to Tir Asleen for one final time to plan your wedding to Prince Airk. However, at the celebration dinner, Sorsha delivers some shocking news, sending Kit into a spiral and creating conflict within the castle.

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: angst, fighting, kissing, non-explicit mention of vomiting, forced marriage trope, mommy issues

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: this was supposed to be the smut chapter, but I decided to divide the two, since it seemed odd to add sexy time to such a dark chapter. Apologies in advance for all the angst, I promise it won’t last forever!

Ever since your mother’s announcement of your engagement, each birthday after your fifteenth seemed to creep up, startling you out of nowhere and filling your stomach with existential dread. The once joyous celebrations now felt like ticking time bombs, every well-wish serving as a countdown to a life you never wanted.

On the morning of your twentieth birthday, you woke up to nothing but nausea. When your handmaiden entered your room to get you ready for the day, she found you kneeled over your chamberpot, heaving up the shallow remains of your stomach's content. Needless to say, your twentieth birthday was spent hidden under your covers, drinking ginger tea and being waited on hand-and-foot.

Alas, it was only a matter of time before you began to feel better. After several days of sickness, your body had nothing more to heave. The moment some color started to return to your pale cheeks, your parents ushered you into the carriage and set off for Tir Asleen, where you would stay for two months while preparing for your wedding to Prince Airk Tanthalos.

As usual, the road to Tir Asleen was long and slow. You tried to numb yourself to your parents' endless chatter, but your mother decided to fuss over your appearance throughout the entire trip, as if you were a child again.

“This is the first time you’ve seen your fiancé in five years,” she would say. “You’ve grown into a lovely young woman since, it is important for Airk to notice!”

Your cheeks instinctually puffed out at the word ‘fiancé,’ but your stomach was so empty from the long illness that nothing could come up even if it wanted to. Instead, you opted for tucking your head in between your knees, closing your eyes and muffling all unwanted noise from the outside world.

Eventually, the gentle clip-clop of the carriage horse faded as you reached the front of the Tir Asleen castle. You uncovered your head and allowed your parents to exit first, using the extra seconds to let your blood flow redistribute itself.

After hearing the sound of your mother squealing pleasantries from outside, you decided to make your presence known. You stepped out of the carriage to see your mother engulfing Airk in a bear hug, showering him with words of flattery while he chuckled nervously and tried to mask his discomfort. Your father, who had been exchanging formalities with Queen Sorsha, was now gently patting his wife’s back, attempting to subtly pry her off the poor boy.

While you stood watching the amusing display from your family, you didn’t even notice Kit approaching you from behind, wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning into your ear.

“Good morrow, beautiful.” She whispered, her warm breath against your neck causing you to shudder involuntarily.

“Beautiful?” You giggled. “Be careful, our parents' eyes could be upon us.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, planting a soft kiss on your jawline. “They’re much too focused on my brother. It’s just one of the benefits of being the black sheep of the family.”

Sure enough, Kit was right. Your father had managed to successfully pry your mother away from Airk, and now both your parents were bombarding him with questions about his life the last five years while Sorsha stood proudly beside him.

With one final squeeze, Kit loosened her grasp until you could turn around to get a good look at her. She had always been pretty, at least in your eyes, but over the years had grown into a stunning young lady. Her hair was no longer a muddy indigo black, but rather restored back to her natural chocolate-brown, and styled akin to the tresses of woodland sprites. She had grown into herself, with her face defined by striking cheekbones and eyes that seemed to get bluer with every visit. The fabric of her tunic clung to her skin, accentuating every new curve as well as the definition on her upper arms, muscular from combat training.

Before you could even begin to speak, Kit placed her hands on either side of your head and ran them through your hair, gazing down at you lovingly. “Truly, beautiful.”

“I do apologize for her appearance, Prince Airk! She doesn’t usually look this dreadful! She’s been terribly ill!”

You turned around to see your mother leading Airk over to you, speaking loudly about your demeanor. Any confidence inspired by Kit vanished at her harsh remarks, and you drew into yourself.

“Good morrow, Princess,” Airk greeted you with an awkward bow and a tight-lipped smile. Ever since you audibly gagged and ran off after taking his first kiss, the two of you hadn’t necessarily spoken.

You cleared your throat, offering back a perfunctory curtsy. “And to you as well.”

“My, my! Someone has grown quite slender!” Sorsha’s voice called out, approaching the four of you with your father in tow.

You looked down at yourself. Sure enough, your ailment had withered you away, making your once perfectly-fitting gown now hang off you like the tendrils of a willow tree. Your mother noticed this too, because she immediately inserted herself between you and Airk to resume nitpicking your appearance.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Airk and Sorsha! My daughter has had an illness. She’s feeling well now, but she still looks absolutely dreadful! I’m sure her gowns will fit right in due time, but…” she turned her attention towards your face. “…darling! Your complexion! You resemble a ghostly wight! Couldn’t you have bothered to apply a touch of rouge?”

“You’ve raised a beautiful daughter, your highness.” Kit stepped to your side and snaked her arm around your waist. Your breath hitched at her touch, and you worried your parents may catch on to your secret with how bold she was being. Still, you tried to hide the blush that crept onto your cheeks after she stood up for you.

Your mother looked between you and Kit, and you could've sworn you saw her eyes flicker with a hint of suspicion. However, she simply grimaced in Kit’s direction, offering pleasantries purely for display. “Yes, well, much obliged, Kit.”

Kit responded with a grin that was polite, yet cocky. Your mother cleared her throat, quickly recomposing herself before taking your hand and joining it with Airk’s.

“I must say, you two, I am absolutely elated for this union! A royal wedding, why I don’t believe I’ve attended one since my own! The two of you make a very attractive pair.”

Airk forced a grin in your direction, looking down at your conjoined hands instead of at you. As your mother continued to ramble on about the party planning, you peered over Airk’s shoulder and noticed a blond girl standing in the distance, carrying a serving tray, and glaring daggers into your soul…

“That would be Muffin Girl,” Kit explained later that day when you asked about the mysterious blond. The two of you had managed to break away from the group long enough to take a leisurely stroll through the Tir Asleen gardens.

“Muffin Girl?” You inquired.

“That or Miss Muffin, whichever you’d prefer.”

You shot her a quizzical expression, causing her to chuckle heartily. “Well it’s not her real name, clearly. She’s one of the kitchen maids, and her signature dish are these buttered muffins she serves at breakfast.”

“She was glaring at me earlier while my mother discussed wedding plans,” you said. “I almost thought she would break her tray in half.”

Kit hummed in agreement. “Jealousy. It makes sense. She is my brother's latest lover.”

“Pardon?” You froze in your tracks, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Kit leaned back against a tree, crossing her arms and gazing at you with a pointed brow. “I hate to inform you, Princess, but my brother has become quite the ladies’ man since your ‘dalliance’ in the courtyard. Muffin Girl is just his latest conquest.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Sure, you didn’t love Airk, or were even remotely attracted to him, but he was still your betrothed.

Kit smirked at your stunned expression. “Surely you’re not jealous, are you?” She moved closer until her face was mere inches from yours. “I can’t imagine it would drive you mad. My brother, your fiancé, rolling around in the grass with a scullion? Cheeks flushed, legs intertwined, her leaving little bruises on his…”

You cut her off with a playful smack on the shoulder. “Hold your tongue, Tanthalos.” She giggled at her lighthearted taunts, causing a smile to spread across your face. “I’m not jealous, rather shocked. He’s engaged… to me… and Queen Sorsha is allowing this affair?”

With another chuckle, Kit teasingly ruffled your hair. “Oh Princess… you really assume my mother is at all aware?”

You gasped, leaning in closer to Kit to whisper. “She doesn’t know?”

“I’m sure she suspects something, what with the aforementioned bruises, but knowing my mother, she’d rather stay with the mindset that her son is still a moralistic virgin.”

Kit pulled you in closer, pressing your body against hers until your noses barely brushed together. “I suppose this is just one more secret between us, don’t you think Princess?”

You giggled, quickly making sure the coast was clear before wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for a sweet kiss.

That evening, the six of you gathered for a hearty supper to celebrate your reunion. Servants bustled about carrying various dishes, including the mysterious ‘muffin girl.’ You couldn’t help but observe the longing glances exchanged between her and Airk, lingering between each course like a seed caught between teeth.

Just as you and Kit were stifling a laugh over their latest lust-filled gaze, Queen Sorsha rose, tapping silverware against her raised glass. The table quieted, all eyes fixed on the regal woman as you awaited her speech.

“Friends, family,” she began. “I am pleased that we’ve all gathered here this evening to begin wedding plans for the Prince of Tir Asleen and the Princess of Azarenth.”

Your parents clapped excitedly. Airk stared down at his lap while you and Kit exchanged vexed glances.

“Even more pleased,” Sorsha continued. “That the forthcoming ceremony will feature an extra element, making it a profoundly rare occasion!”

Her words puzzled you, and a quick look around the table confirmed that the twins seemed just as confused. Your parents however, shared knowing grins, clearly in on the secret.

“The King and Queen of Azarenth have graciously agreed to turn their daughter’s wedding into a double wedding!” Sorsha turned to meet her daughter’s gaze. “Kit…”

You whipped around to face Kit, who stared at her mother, frozen, her expression a mixture of confusion and fear. “You remember when we discussed the Prince of Galladoorn, don’t you?”

Kit nodded. “Sure we discussed him, but then he fell out of a tree and died, right?”

“Kit!” Sorsha scolded before quickly recomposing herself. “It’s true, Dermot Hastur had an untimely death,” she held her glass to her heart solemnly. “However, it appears Galladoorn is still interested in an alliance, and King Hastur has a younger son, Graydon.”

Your heart dropped as you realized what Sorsha was saying. Glancing back at Kit, you saw her face now stricken with terror. “Mother… no…”

Ignoring her daughter, Sorsha simply raised her glass again. “It’s my pleasure to announce the engagement of Prince Graydon Hastur to my daughter, Princess Kit Tanthalos!”

“No!” Kit exclaimed.

“What?” The shriek came from a disembodied voice. Only after you received shocked expressions from each member of the table did you realize the voice was yours.

Your mother squinted at you, the corners of her mouth flickering sardonically. “My dear, I didn’t expect you to be upset at sharing the limelight! After all, you and Kit are such good… friends.”

You glared at your mother head-on, suppressing every urge to lunge at her from across the table. She said nothing more, instead turning away to innocently sip her wine.

Kit was in the midst of her own altercation, arguing her case with pleading eyes. “Mother, please… I cannot marry Prince Graydon!”

“And just why not?” Sorsha demanded. “Prince Graydon is an esteemed young man, his parents speak very highly of him.”

“I’ve never even met him!” Kit’s voice wavered in stifled sobs.

“You will before the wedding, now that is quite enough! It is your duty to your kingdom. I don’t want to hear another word about this until the alliance is signed, and that is final!”

Kit slammed her hands on the table, tears falling as she ran away. Sorsha screamed after her until the sound of her bedchamber door slamming reverberated across the room. The table fell silent, none of you knowing where to look. After a moment, Airk cleared his throat, breaking the tension as he rearranged the silverware on his plate.

“May I be excused, mother?” He muttered.

Sorsha sighed, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. He got up quietly, exiting the room and making a beeline for Kit’s door. The remaining four of you resumed picking at your food, the sound of silverware scratching against glass dishes only deepening the stillness of the room.

As you pushed your food around, you couldn’t help but steal glances in the direction of Kit’s door. You turned to your mother, wanting to speak.

“Let it be a passing thought,” she denied your unspoken request, not bothering to look up from her plate.

Fortunately, dinner didn't drag on much longer after the commotion subsided. Once everyone had hastily departed from the table, you made your way to Kit’s room and positioned yourself outside her door. Kit’s muffled sobs mingled with Airk’s whispered words from the other side of the wooden barrier, causing you to pause before entering, afraid of disrupting them.

Just when you were about to throw caution to the wind and grasp the handle, the door swung open, revealing Airk. He startled at your unexpected presence and closed Kit’s door behind him.

“Uh… hi…” he muttered lamely.

“Hello there,” you replied softly.

The two of you stood silently in front of Kit’s door, a multitude of unanswered questions hanging in the air that neither of you knew how to ask.

“She’s, uh…” Airk broke the silence, jerking his head towards Kit’s door. “…having a difficult time coming to terms… with everything.”

You nodded slowly. “Were you… able to get through to her? At all?”

“Inconsolable,” he admitted regretfully. “I haven’t seen her this distraught since… our father…”

You winced, recalling the initial heartbreak Kit faced when her father’s letters stopped arriving ten years ago.

“I understand…” he continued. “I also know what it’s like to be forced into a loveless marriage.”

His gaze bore into yours, carefully chosen words that riddled you with guilt. You knew you had no right to hurt feelings after that night in the courtyard, but you couldn’t help the sharp pang that hit your chest like a piercing arrow.

“Airk…” you sighed, overwhelmed with remorse. “Please let me apologize for that night…”

“No need,” he interrupted coolly. “It’s really quite alright…”

“It’s not,” you insisted. “My reaction… I assure you… had nothing to do with your character, or your appearance, or anything, really. It wasn’t about you, it was never about you, it…” you took a deep breath, your secret weighed on your shoulders as if it was carved from stone. “Airk… I’m in love with someone else.”

Airk looked taken aback. “Pardon?”

“My hand belongs to you…” your voice trembled. “…but my heart belongs to another.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek. You shut your eyes tightly, the burden of your secret lifting but replaced with overwhelming fear. Airk stood, silently, his expression cycling through shock, relief, confusion, and finally… sympathy.

“Likewise…” he whispered, causing you to look at him again. “There’s this… local maiden, a quiet beauty who carries herself with the gentle elegance of a dove. She may not have been born into privilege, but she’s captivated me. My heart belongs to her.”

He looked at you, expecting a reaction. You attempted to feign surprise, but ended up failing miserably. He smirked. “Was it that evident?”

You chuckled. “With all of your enticing stares at dinner, it almost felt as if I were intruding on something private!”

He laughed airily along with you, long-standing tension finally broken. You started to relax, feeling a weight lift as you and Airk came to an unspoken forgiveness. He smiled warmly, genuinely at you before his expression turned serious once again.

“I hope you know I would hate for my mother to receive word of this,” he said in a low voice.

You nodded in agreement. “You needn’t worry, my lips are sealed. I understand what it’s like… living with secrets.”

He waited for you to continue, but you simply folded your hands in front of you and smiled, silently refusing to speak further.

Airk departed soon after your conversation ended, leaving you once again face-to-face with Kit’s door. You raised your knuckle to the chestnut wood, giving it two gentle raps.

No response.

With a shaky hand, you turned the handle and opened the door with a slow, steady creak. Kit lay flat on her bed, motionless, staring at the ceiling. She made no indication of noticing your presence, so you stepped inside and carefully closed the door with a click.

No response.

Stars studded the now-blackened night sky through a small window in the corner. The room’s only light source was a flickering candle that cast shadows over Kit’s unmoving body and danced along the wrinkles of her garments. You stood near the entrance, watching the subtle rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

“Which is worse?”

The sudden sound of her voice startled you. “Pardon?”

“I’m wondering…” she sat up, dangling her legs over the edge of her bed. “…which is worse? Spending half a decade counting down the seconds until you’re forced into an unwanted marriage, or having it thrust upon you without warning?”

She met your gaze, expecting an answer. You had none. She continued.

“On the one hand, the first option reads torturously, like sitting on death row waiting for execution,” she contemplated, deep in thought. “But on the other hand, it allows for processing time, providing an opportunity to numb yourself to the situation.”

She looked back over to you, her expression stoic. “What do you think?”

“I think I won’t ever be numb to the situation,” you replied with a half-smile.

Kit gave a halfhearted chuckle, staring down at her feet. You moved to sit next to her on the bed, resting a soothing hand on her back. She sighed. “You don’t know how fortunate you are.”

You furrowed your brow. “How do you mean?”

“You’re betrothed to my brother,” she answered. “Someone you grew up with, someone you trust.”

You frowned. “Kit, Airk and I may have history, but I’m still being forced into a loveless marriage. You and I suffer the same plight.”

Kit’s eyes seemed to glaze over as she began to speak in a small voice. “You truly believe our situations are at all similar?”

You removed your hand from her back and leaned slightly away from her. “Kit…”

“Do you?” Her fingers clenched the bedsheets as she finally met your gaze. “I am marrying a man I’ve never met, so I can help form an alliance with a kingdom I’ve never visited! My entire life is conforming to the whims of my mother, do you have any idea what that’s like?”

“Have you observed my mother?” You shot back, standing up from the bed. “Sometimes I wonder whether or not she cares if I live or die, just as long as I marry Airk to keep up appearances like a performing minstrel!”

“Cry me a river, Princess!” Kit growled, also abandoning the bed. “My sincerest apologies that you have a mother that gave you fifteen years to become accustomed to her chosen spouse, and a father to give you away at the altar!”

You softened your gaze, realizing a large part of the reason for Kit’s distress. “Kit, I didn’t…”

“I’ll have to walk down the aisle with Airk!” She interrupted, angry tears now streaming down her face. “There was enough prattle when news of my father’s disappearance spread, and now all of Galladoorn and Tir Asleen combined is going to witness me being given away by my own brother. So don’t you dare stand there and claim that you and I ‘suffer the same plight!’”

“Kit!” Your voice wavered, a tightness in your chest threatened to unleash a flood of tears. “That was not my intent, and you know it. You're hurting, and you have my deepest sympathies…”

“I don’t need your sympathy…”

“Then don’t take it!” Your voice cut through the air, sharp and defensive. “All I said is that I share your pain in being forced into a marriage with someone you don’t love. I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me.”

Kit bit her lip, sniffling and wiping away tears. Her red, puffy eyes struggled to meet yours as she searched for more words to use as a line of defense.

“Because marriage isn’t about love, Princess,” she finally replied. “And frankly, your lack of realization is troubling.”

Her words brought a lump to your throat, like a boulder lodged within a narrow cave. Without another word, you spun on your heel and walked out of Kit’s room, making sure the wooden barrier slammed shut behind you before giving into the tears that had been threatening to fall.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @love4lyn @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sophi4v13 @detmarmalade

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jackiepackiee · 10 months ago

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“May I have this dance?”

Chuuya x reader

(ft. The Flags)

Warnings - none

Type - Fluff

Word Count - 798

A song for you by Donny Hathaway. The slow jazz filled every inch of the old world pool hall, seducing the ears of every resident that found themselves inside. There were only seven, but that's how it always was. Every other night, when no missions were to be had. Albatross, drinking some fruit-based cocktail while teasing Chuuya. The latter gritting his teeth at his friend, although any passersby would think he hates him. Iceman enjoyed the music, as well as Doc as he both sipped on some heavy whisky. Pianoman and Lippmann were in a very intense game of pool, tied the entire run. Then, you. Changing the record to some more up beat jazz.

“We should dance! Doesn’t that sound fun?” You had always been rather energetic with a bit of alcohol in your system. It’s not like this place had a limit or carded anyone.

Lippmann looked up at you, a bit surprised. “Dance? Since when did you dance?”

“Since forever! Come on~ I love dancing, it’s only natural.” She explained.

On the other end of the hall Albatross teased Chuuya’s hair, before whispering into his ear.

“Go dance with her, you know you wanna~”

You didn’t realize this teasing, thinking Chuuya’s red cheeks were only from some overly expensive wine. Little did you know he hadn’t had a sip all night.

“No way! Anyways she’s talking to Lippmann, I don’t wanna bother her.” Chuuya said, pushing away Albatross. Not enough to hurt him of course.

Lippmann was having the same idea, no way he’d pass the opportunity up to play matchmaker.

“Very well then. Hmm, I’m not sure… you shouldn’t dance with Doc, wouldn’t wanna knock over his IV.”

Pianoman joined in, putting his pool stick down.

“And not Iceman, he’s a whole lot bigger than you with all that muscle.”

Pianoman said, easily concealing his playfulness.

Doc leaned into the trio of you, Lippmann, and Pianoman.

“And not Albatross, I’d bet he has two left feet.”

You.. you were not understanding what this was leading to. But still giggled at Doc’s little joke. Luckily Albatross couldn’t hear.

“Well, then who? You, Lippmann?”

Did she have to be so dense?

“No! I mean uh- I’m not very good at dancing, and neither is Pianoman!” Lippmann tried to turn it on Chuuya.

“But Pianoman, I’ve seen you dance on a mission before?” She spoke, curious as to why it was said he couldn’t dance. He shook his head, lying for a good cause.

Albatross walked over before she could ask any more questions, Chuuya in tow.

“You know, Chuuya could dance with you! Isn’t that right?”

She perked up, happy someone would dance with her. She smiled, and he melted. How could he ever say no to her?

“Sure… will you dance with me?”

He asked, gentlemanly as he always was with her.

Iceman, quiet as he always was, was still listening. He picked a record, it was from New Orleans. Jazzy and fast pace, probably from the 1930’s. He knew she loved this style. Swing dancing… Chuuya was in for an absolute treat, as well as the rest of the flags. Since they knew damn well he’d be faking it till he made it.

“Of course I’ll dance with you! Let’s go!”

She took his gloved hand in hers. It was surprisingly soft leather, though the real hand would be much nicer to hold and feel. Even if neither would admit it.

“You ready, Chuu?” God, his heart would give out if she called him that nickname ever again. But, he wouldn’t complain. What a lovely way to die that would be. Damn it, he got distracted.

“Chuuya? Ready?”

She was so patient.

“Yeah, I’m ready. Umm.. what do I do?”

She laughed, not in a mean way. It was cute, that’s what he thought anyway.

“Sorry sorry.. we can start with the basics. Okay, hands in mine.”

He took her hands. Unbeknownst to her, the flags gave him grins and thumbs up. “Your nails… They are painted red. That’s my favorite color, they’re lovely.”

“It is? Well isn’t that perfect, and thank you.”

She started to sway to the music. He followed suit, thanking his past self for learning how to keep rhythm.

“Can I spin you?”

She agreed, spinning while holding his hand. She was smiling, eyes beaming while looking into his. Was she?… she had her doubts before, but she definitely loved him.

Iceman, with his knowledge of records, changed the music to play a slower song. Meaning Chuuya could hold her close. He did not need five wingmen.

He pulled her closer by the waist.

“The music slowed down, so we should too.”

“Since when did you know about dance?~”

He made a faux annoyed expression.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Part two?

#chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya stormbringer #bsd stormbringer #16!chuuya #albatrossxreader #iceman x reader #doc x reader #lippmannxreader #pianomanxreader #bungou stray dogs stormbringer

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waterloggedsoliloquy · 1 year ago

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mutual 1: sorry the update for my webcomic this week is a bit late! i really had to rush it so it prolly looks really sloppy lol [some of the most sophisticated comic art ive ever seen]

mutual 2: call me uterine lining the way astarions cervix got me bleeding profusely

mutual 3: do you think nanowrimo will give me a posthumous pity publishing deal if i mention it in my suicide note

mutual 4: okay fine i finally started revolutionary girl utena

mutual 5: does columbo know the service he did for butch lesbians. for all of us

mutual 6: wish you were here [blurry picture set of conifer woods in early autumn evening, taken as if frantically running down a winding trail]

mutual 4: im pretty hardy i dont need the trigger list but thanks for looking out for me guys

mutual 7: good morning lovelies another day the wizard tried to best me and another day i successfully locked him in the spare bathroom lol hope u like drinking shampoo fucker

mutual 8: here is a zip of every yuri manga scan i have and here is a backup in case i get dcma'd. the himejoshi lifestyle will never die

mutual 9: i wish i could go back in time to the shinzo abe assassination and ask to hold the doohickey

mutual 10: here's my essay on how wanting to be loved is the same as wanting to be eaten. three paragraphs in you'll find out that this is 100% tied to an obscure beauty and the beast manga i've been reading lately and how much i want to fuck the beast

mutual 4: oh thats why there was the trigger list.

mutual 11: YOU CAN'T LOCK ME IN THIS BATHROOM FOREVER

mutual 12: why do i have to defend my thesis to people i dont even respect. im not dickriding you just give me the degree

mutual 13: its just me and this scab ive picked into my scalp against the world

mutual 14: my little dragon got glazed and is ready to go into the kiln! everyone wish him good luck!

mutual 3: nvm i am a beautiful genius. perhaps the most beautiful genius of all

mutual 15: i think we should give david lynch rpgmaker and whatever happens happens

mutual 16: kpeyboaatrds brpokem gpuys

mutual 17: also heres my work in progress glossary of mixtec words! i still have a long way to go but i love being able to preserve my roots even in this small way

mutual 4: i just finished the black rose arc. question: what

mutual 18: i need emet-selch to be my wife

mutual 19: i need glados to be my husband

mutual 20: visited the ocean today!!! <3 beach pics!!! there is a darkness growing within me

mutual 21: the forms for my legal name change came in. pls vote in this poll of what my middle name should be: Dill Pickle (Dickle for short), Optimus Prime, Tumblr User Gorgonicteratologist, Smeve

mutual 22: just finished my 100th book of the year! this weeks read was the uses of enchantment by the psychologist bruno bettelheim,

mutual 23: reeses penis butter cups lol

mutual 4: i need to hunt akio for sport

mutual 24: oouugghhrgh. hot. dog.

mutual 25: your favorite character or fictional other would want you to brush your teeth and wash your face so you're well rested and wake up feeling refreshed! make them proud!

mutual 26: being a delivery driver isnt the worst job ive ever had but i do keep wondering what itd be like to drive off into the wild blue yonder one day and not come back

mutual 27: weird dog? [phone picture of critically endangered stork]

mutual 28: i think the two phone line polls in front of my house are having a lovers tryst. no way to prove it tho

mutual 4: WHAT

mutual 29: while you bitches are balduring your gates or finalling those fantasies im doing what a REAL gamer does. playing a b tier rpg that came out in 2004 for the 18th time

mutual 30: ^ real. hamtaro ham ham heartbreak is a masterpiece of interactive art. im not even going to call it a video game at this point

mutual 4: THAT'S HOW IT ENDS?! ANTHY?

mutual 31: can you help me pick which drawing looks better: 34% overlay or 36% soft light?

mutual 32: new video essay out. its called disability in video game narratives: final fantasy 14's most reliable fault. i churned the script out over an all-nighter and my mic crapped out halfway through but by god i did it

mutual 33: my new zine bundle is out! if you buy it you also get a discount on all my game jam games! i really cant wait for you to play them!

mutual 4: yall should watch revolutionary girl utena

#cecil drawls #long post #i love you guys

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her-satanic-wiles · 5 months ago

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Dawn Chorus - IV

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.1k.

Reading Time: 25min.

Warnings: blood extraction, body control, corruption kink,finger sucking, forced sexual activity,gaslighting,irrelevant character death,mentions of death by sun exposure, non-consensual sexual activity,objectification, religious disillusionment, religious trauma, sexual harassment, taking advantage of innocence, use of needles,use of the word “bitch” unkindly

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @whitepawfics @dolceterzo

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

“I feel as though thou hast drained all my blood and brought me to the brink of death.” You tried to stand but your body was too weak. “For how long hath I been in slumber?”

“Five days,” the Cardinal looked back to his book, “your recovery time is getting longer. We’re going to have to start rationing if this keeps up. Or get another angel. Say, do you think we could use you as bait?”

“I pray thee choke and perish upon my blood.”

The Cardinal laughed. “If that happens,” the door to his bedroom knocked, then opened, “you’ll be stuck in that cage forever - ah! Brother López. Come in, please!”

The Brother opened the door wider and stepped inside, looking polite as he watched the Cardinal stand to greet him.

“Angel,” the Cardinal addressed you, “this is my new cleaner, Brother Santiago López.”

You couldn’t help the wave of disappointment and fear take over you. But as you spoke, you tried to keep your voice level and nonchalant, “Oh. What befell thy previous caretaker?”

“I found out he was trying to help a certain prisoner escape, and so he needed to be punished.”

“If thou has slain him, I swear by the Almighty I shall smite thee!” Your anger bubbled up far too quickly for someone who was supposed to remain nonchalant.

“Oh relax, you crazy bitch. We sent him to an abbey in America to shovel pig shit.”

You exhaled a sigh of relief, feeling your muscles relax knowing that he was okay. “For what reason?”

The Cardinal tapped Brother López on the shoulder and gestured for him to leave, which he did promptly, fearing what he was going to see. “You know why.” The Cardinal said, simply. His voice quieter than usual.

Your voice was less sharp, but still loud. “I can assure thee, I do not.”

“You mean to tell me that you weren’t trying to escape? That you and Brother Hayward weren’t attempting to break you out of that little cage to get you to freedom, hm? Come on now, Angel. I’m more than happy for my pets to have pets, but when they start rebelling against me, lines must be drawn.”

“Thou wast aware he visited here?”

He took in a long breath through his nose, so sharp his nostrils retracted with the inhale. “Could smell him Every time I came home and his scent was stronger than usual - knew he was here a while. And then when he was under the bed, his heartbeat was so loud.” The Cardinal walked over to the cage and rested his hands on the bars, leaning his whole body on it. “His fear would have tasted so good.”

You spat in his face, hearing some of your spittle sizzle against the metal bars. The Cardinal sighed, and wiped it away before hitting the side of the cage.

“The next time you pull something like that, Angel,” he began, his voice loud and so enraged, “I will personally make sure your little pet dies in front of you, and I’ll make it slow and painful. Do you understand?”

When you didn’t answer, he hit the cage again. “Understand?”

“I understand.”

He stood up to his full height and straightened his hair, then began fiddling with his clothes. “I don’t like getting angry with you, Angel. But sometimes you leave me no choice.” He turned to walk away, but stopped at the door. “Oh, and angel?” He said, his voice soft and sweet like butter wouldn’t melt. He looked at you, mismatched eyes piercing into your soul. “Brother Hayward may be in a different country, but one word from me and all 6 litres of his blood gets delivered to my fridge, and his corpse will be buried beneath abbey soil. I’ll be back.”

The threat of his return felt even more sinister with the tone of voice he used, and for the first time since this whole ordeal started, you felt the sharp pang of fear that had the small amount of blood inside you run cold. Your safety didn’t matter. You were just you. But now Thomas’ life was in jeopardy and it was entirely your fault. Memories of Brother Thomas’ kind eyes and gentle words flooded your thoughts, each one a painful reminder of the danger he now faced because of you. Guilt gnawed at your insides like a ravenous beast, twisting and clawing at your conscience until it threatened to consume you whole. You had thought yourself strong, resilient in the face of the Cardinal’s torment. But now, faced with the consequences of your actions, you felt nothing but fear and despair creeping in, threatening to engulf you entirely.

As the Cardinal’s footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving behind an oppressive silence, you couldn’t shake the weight of his threats echoing in your mind. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. For though you may be trapped in this gilded cage, your spirit remained unbroken. And as long as there was breath in your body, you would fight tooth and nail to protect those you held dear, no matter the cost.

Your own body continued to repair itself, slower than it usually would. The five days it took you to regain consciousness turned into twenty more of total healing time. The Cardinal kept a monitor of your levels based on how you smelled, which meant every day, his long, rodent nose would poke through the bars as he inhaled your scent, making sure his tavern was restocking perfectly well. He didn’t try and pry any information from you in that time, which you hated to admit that you were grateful for. But he had developed a habit of sitting and staring at you, taking joy in watching you squirm uncomfortably. He’d brought in a red, velvet armchair from the living space to do just that. Every evening, he’d waltz into his room with a glass of your blood, now tainted red from your essence, and sit and observe you, like an animal in a cage. You never said anything: always believing he wanted you to start a conversation, but you’d never let him win.

At first, the Cardinal’s constant scrutiny had been unbearable, like a stifling weight pressing down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. His presence had been a constant reminder of your captivity, of just how at his mercy you truly were. But as the days stretched into weeks and the Cardinal’s routine became an unsettling rhythm in your life, something shifted within you. You found yourself growing accustomed to his gaze, almost welcoming it in a twisted sort of way. Not that you enjoyed it, by any means. Just that a routine was being established and the Cardinal became the only constant in your life. The only entertainment, too. And so, instead of shrinking away from his viewing, you began to meet his eyes head-on, a silent challenge in your gaze. You refused to cower under his oppressive stare, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. You found yourself seeing him in return, studying the lines of his face, the way his eyes glinted with a predatory gleam. There was a darkness lurking behind those mismatched orbs, a darkness that chilled you to the bone. But even as you studied him, a sense of defiance burned within you. You refused to let the Cardinal break you, refused to let him strip away your dignity and humanity. You were more than just a prisoner in a cage; you were a warrior, a survivor, and you would not be defeated so easily. Heaven couldn’t get you, neither could he.

So, you met the Cardinal’s gaze with steely determination, a silent reminder that despite his best efforts, you would not be broken. And as you stared back at him, you couldn’t help but wonder what secrets lay hidden behind those calculating eyes, what darkness lurked within the depths of his soul.

The Cardinal’s entrance into the room that night was accompanied by an air of smugness so thick you could practically taste it. His smirk was evident as he sauntered in, a book tucked under one arm and a glass of your blood held casually in the other, a smile so wide, you could see his fangs underneath the skin. You watched him with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, wondering what had put that self-satisfied gleam in his eyes. It was rare to see him so openly pleased with himself, and it set your nerves on edge.

As he approached your cage, he made no attempt to hide his triumphant grin, relishing in the power he held over you. He settled into the red velvet armchair with an air of satisfaction, taking a leisurely sip from the glass of blood as if it were the finest vintage wine, because, to him, it was. His eyes flicked over to you, and you met his gaze with a steely resolve, refusing to let him see any hint of fear or weakness. “So, Angel,” he began, his voice dripping with arrogance, but his words slurred slightly from the drink, “I’ve been doing some reading lately. Did you know there’s a whole chapter in this book dedicated to angels like you?”

Your stomach twisted uneasily at the implications of his words, but you kept your expression carefully neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“It seems there’s quite a lot I didn’t know about your kind,” he continued, his tone laced with malice. “But don’t worry, Angel. I plan on remedying that very soon.” With a chilling smile, he opened the book in his hands, his eyes gleaming with a dark intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “Do you know this book?”

You shook your head.

“It was written by Lorenzo Giovanni during the Renaissance, the last time an angel knowingly fell to Earth. A vampyre, like me. Spent most of his days studying the angel, finding out what makes you tick - turns out, he got pretty far. Unfortunately, his work was unfinished. A mob found out what he was and got to him in 1492, tied him up and let the Sun do all the work. But, do you know what he did find?” He didn’t wait for you to shake your head this time. He cleared his throat, and began to read aloud. As he began to read, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something far more sinister. “‘In celestial governance, once the manner is known, it is a simple matter. The heavenly messengers utilize the dread of the Almighty to manage their subordinates. However, those angels who have questioned the supremacy of the Lord are subject to the influences of their sacred radiance, the origin of which is their halo. Thus, one who attains an angel’s halo possesses the capability to command the entity, as well as the sacred radiance enveloping it.’ This we know, correct?”

You remained silent. So, the Cardinal continued, “‘This process assumes two guises: one to govern the physical form, the other to govern the intellect. To command the physical form, one must initially acquaint themselves with the name of the angel. As is observed with infernal entities, names possess a potency beyond human comprehension. Consequently, an angel bearing a name can readily relinquish control of their physical form merely by disclosing this fragment of information. Subduing the intellect, however, presents a greater challenge.’

“Basically,” he said, closing the book shut for dramatic affect, “I know your name, your body becomes mine.” He sighed, “Giovanni then goes onto say your mind is fully intact during this process, that you’ll feel your body moving but have no control over it.” He set his glass down on the dresser and walked towards your halo in its cage.

He grasped hold of it and you notice his hand was gloved, taking note of the care he was using to touch it. Your halo was just as dangerous to him as it was to you, but for different reasons. Without your halo, you were dead. Without your halo, you were controlled. For him, his skin would burn at the touch of it, like yours did with hellfire. For him, one wrong move and he would evaporate in the holy light. There was a part of you that wanted that to happen - wanted to see him perish in one of the most painful ways you had ever known. Yet there was an overpowering guilt that ate at you when you thought about it - knowing that the Almighty wanted you to love everyone, even at the detriment to yourself.

He took a step back and looked at you, smugness oozing from every pore. “I haven’t told Sister yet,” he mumbled, sitting back down on the chair. “I wanted to find out if it worked first. Tell me your name, Angel.”

“Thou must deem me a fool to willingly disclose such information.” You retorted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your mouth was dry.

He chuckled, a dark sound that shook you to your core. He nestled into the armchair, becoming comfortable in his throne of power. All of his movement was in his hips, lifting himself off the velvet to help him slide down it a little more, legs spread wide to exude his dominance. He was disgusting. “I thought you might say that,” he commented, his grin widening, “but you forget who I have.”

Thomas.

“You’ve experienced firsthand what I can do, Angel,” he continued, “except, I’ll make sure I’m much worse with him.”

“Thou would not.” You protested, trying to quell your panic. “The constabulary would be aware. Thou would be compelled to answer to the authorities.”

“I never said he’d survive.”

A chill ran down your spine. Your mind raced with fear and uncertainty as the Cardinal’s threat hung in the air like a dark cloud. Thomas was now in grave danger, and you were faced with an impossible choice. Would you sacrifice your own identity to save him, or would you stand firm and risk his life? You did know what the Cardinal could do - you’d been subjected to it since the moment you met him however long ago that was. You knew you could survive going through that again, especially if you had nothing to lose; but you couldn’t be sure about Thomas. He definitely didn’t deserve to feel the Cardinal’s wrath any more than he already may have. And could you live with yourself knowing you’d condemned a man to death just to save yourself, even if he did belong to the Satanic Church? By robbing him of his life, he’d never get the chance to return to God, to see the light and repent. You’d never get the chance to meet him again in Heaven. You’d rob him of his salvation, but you’d save yourself from the Cardinal’s damnation. Either way, you lost.

“If I divulge,” you began, puffing your chest to sound more confident and unafraid, “can thou ensure his well-being?”

The smugness faded from the Cardinal, if only for a moment. “Of course.” He responded, genuinely. “How else would I get you to do things I wanted?” He let the second sentence slip out, but paid it no mind once it had been released. He planned on using Thomas’ safety to continue to control you. You never should have let yourself get close to him - it allowed the Cardinal to win.

“And wilt thou demonstrate that he is unharmed? Wilt thou prove that thou speakest truthfully unto me?”

“I’ll get him to video chat you every week.”

You frowned, “I comprehend naught of thy words.”

“Video chat? FaceTime? Angels have no technology up there at all?” The Cardinal sighed at your blank expression and rummaged in his pocket to pull out the device you first saw him use. “This thing lets you have conversations with people that aren’t there with you. It shows you their face and hear their voice and, boom, conversation.”

“And thou wilt employ that contrivance to contact Tho- Brother Hayward?”

“Yes.”

You sighed. “___.”

“What?”

“My name. It is ___.”

“___.” The Cardinal nodded and set down the device next to his glass. He stood and unlocked your cage, before returning to his spot on the couch. He gently maneuvered your halo into the palm of his right hand, and brought it up to his mouth. “___, I command you to exit the cage.”

You laughed. You laughed at him. He lacked conviction which was why it failed, and it was so funny to watch him fumble. He cleared his throat, and now, with more confidence, repeated his order. Your body tingled in response, and despite you fighting it with great strength, your legs moved of their own accord. Your bare foot stepped out of the cage and onto the floor, barely feeling the textures beneath your feet. Your body ducked around the metal, wings tucked tightly to your body to stop any part of you from getting injured. Even under control, your body still did what it could to preserve itself. This was a new sensation to you, as you’d never been under someone else’s control before - you’d never needed to be because you were always a good soldier, even when you had your doubts. You’d never known anyone be subjected to this, either. Within seconds, you were out of the cage, standing in front of it with your wings outstretched. He hadn’t ordered you to stay still, to wait for the next instruction. But you did anyway, fearing that defiance would bring a painful end to Brother Thomas.

“___, I command you to spin on the spot.” The Cardinal ordered, a mischievous smile on his face and a glint in his eye.

When you did as he commanded, he laughed. It was a guttural laugh, hearty and jovial, clearly he was having fun with this. “Like a game of Capitan Giro. Capitan Giro dice stand on one leg.”

You did as commanded, and the Cardinal screamed in delight.

“Wait, I don’t need your name? I don’t need to be so formal? What if… put both feet to the floor.”

You did as commanded.

“Incredible. I wonder what else I could get you to do. How else I could humiliate you…” He stopped and thought for a moment, eyes darkening. “Come here.” This command was lower and deeper than the previous ones, quieter and somehow more intimate.

You fought against this command, but to no avail. Your feet, slowly, dragged you towards the Cardinal and only stopping when you were right in front of him, between his open legs. “On your knees.”

You obeyed. The whole time you made eye contact with him, staring daggers into his face and still hoping that the halo hurt him.

He held out his left hand, the one not holding the halo, and said, “Remove the glove.”

Your hands immediately sprung into action, grasping onto the hem of the leather and peeling it gently off of his hand, exposing the skin beneath.

“You know,” he grumbled as you pulled the final finger of his glove off him, “the Sister told me about you.”

He moved his hand to your face and tried to caress your cheek, but you moved away. “Come back, don’t fight me.” Slowly, you moved back to your original position, feeling your cheek meet his fingertips. His hand was large, taking up most of your face as he stroked it with such gentility, you weren’t entirely sure that this was the same man who had caused you great pain for so long. His thumb sat beside your nose, and gently stroked your skin.

“She told me about your purity,” he continued. “How you’re still the good angel Yhwh intended.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Open your mouth.”

You did. You opened it a small amount, but it was enough for him. He slotted his thumb inside and rubbed the pad over your tongue, as if he was studying your mouth. His knuckle, briefly, hit the tip of your small fangs - not enough to hurt him, but enough to have him fascinated by them.

“Suck on my finger.”

Your mouth closed around the digit in your mouth, lips stretching just a little over his skin, and you heard the Cardinal exhale a shaky breath. He watched the obscenity in front of him, how your cheeks hollowed around his thumb that he slowly began to move in and out of your mouth. His cheeks were flushed, partially because of your blood, but also because his own was rushing around his body, still pumping life into it despite his insides being almost dead. His pupils were blown, and his eyes were hooded, making him look a little crazy. His lips parted, and his breaths were laboured, chest rising and falling as though his lungs still worked - a force of habit, you thought.

You didn’t understand this - what he was doing. You’d never seen anyone do this before, but your mind was racing with possibilities. Perhaps he was testing your mouth, making sure your health was good. Or maybe it was some strange form of comfort for him, you pondered. Perhaps he found solace in this bizarre act, a fleeting moment of intimacy amidst the chaos of his life. As his thumb moved in and out of your mouth, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease mingled with curiosity.

You should bite down.

You couldn’t. Not that you weren’t trying, but you were under the influence of the halo. You just couldn’t get your teeth to clench around his thumb.

Despite your confusion, you continued to suck on his finger obediently, just as the Cardinal had ordered. You focused on the rhythm of his movements, trying to make sense of the strange sensation in your mouth.

“Cazzo.” He let out a whisper, barely audible but because of the quiet of the room, the humming of technology barely covered the sound.

As time passed, it couldn’t have been more than a minute, you couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort that gnawed at you. Yet, you dared not speak up, afraid to disrupt the fragile peace that enveloped the room. So you remained silent, your mind still racing with unanswered questions, as you obediently continued to suck on his finger.

Suddenly, the Cardinal’s eyes widened, a look of shock appearing on his face. He yanked his thumb from your mouth and physically pushed you away, grasping onto the halo a little tighter than he should have. “B-back in the cage.” He said quickly, standing up and walking over to your halo’s cage.

He didn’t need to use the halo to order you back behind bars, you were already scrambling to your feet and rushing to fit yourself in through the bars. He refused to make eye contact with you, noticing that he was feeling shame. Shame for what, you couldn’t say, but he spent most of the time staring at the floor as he locked you back inside. Your eyes wandered, too. From his face, over his body, until you saw the tent in his crotch every time he stood side-on. You weren’t completely foolish, you knew what that meant. You’d spent enough time with mortals, and saw a varying degree of sin that they would commit regularly. But you still couldn’t piece together the correlation between his finger in your mouth and the reason for his body’s reaction. He didn’t say a word, instead grabbing the glass and all but running out the door.

Perhaps you were feeling some of his shame now that you knew he’d used you to sin. He’d sinned with you before, every single time he caused you pain was sin enough, but this felt different somehow. Before, it was all the sins that were done to you; because of your implicitness due to the halo’s control, it felt like he was sinning with you. Shame, anger, and a deep sense of discomfort gnawed at your insides, making you feel vulnerable and exposed.

You had been subjected to a degrading and humiliating act, one that left you feeling powerless and violated. The Cardinal’s actions had stripped away your dignity and autonomy, reducing you to nothing more than a mere object for his pleasures.

Anger simmered within you, fueled by the injustice of being treated in such a deplorable manner. You resented the Cardinal for his blatant disregard for your dignity and for his abuse of power. How dare he manipulate and exploit you for his own perverse desires?

The deep sense of discomfort stemmed from the violation of your boundaries and the invasion of your personal space. His unwelcome advances had left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, as if your very essence had been laid bare for his scrutiny.

But then, the feeling dawned on you, was this not a similar way the Almighty had treated you? How He would get His subordinates to send you down to the mortal realm and commit atrocities on His behalf. In Egypt and Canaan, and even the shores of Italia, in His name you enacted awful things, bore witness to tragedies no person should ever see. While the Cardinal used you for some kind of sexual gratification, the Almighty used you for egotistical gratification, and either way, you were a pawn in someone else’s game, an object to be used at will regardless of your own opinions. You could never condone or justify the Cardinal’s behaviour towards you, but you’d also never had autonomy over your own person, so was it any different?

In some weird twist, you had come to realise that despite being trapped in a cage, your mind was freer than it ever had been in Heaven, your thoughts were your own, and your feelings went more-or-less unpunished. And in comparison, who was truly the Devil? Lucifer, or the Almighty?

The Cardinal didn’t come to visit you the next day, or the day after that, or the subsequent week that followed. He wouldn’t even come back to his chambers to rest, opting to spend his time elsewhere and avoiding you - an easy task, you were sure, given that he had kept you in the cage the whole time. You were unsure how to feel about this, whether this was something you should be grateful for, or if you should be afraid.

The longer you were around the vampyres, the more you’d begun to understand them and their ways; their thoughts and feelings, and what made them tick. Given that you’d not seen the Sister in so long, you could assume that the Cardinal hadn’t told her about his discovery. If he had, she’d have charged into his chambers, gripped hold of your halo, and practiced on you herself. Her insatiable thirst for power and control outweighed her thirst for your blood, and thus, if she knew your secret, you’d know too.

But then, why had the Cardinal kept that secret? Both he and the Sister wanted power, specifically power over you. They had been working together from the start to make sure they got what they wanted, your health and safety be damned. So why hadn’t the Cardinal told her everything? You pondered these questions in the silence of your cage, the only company being the dim glow of your halo, a sense of unease washing over you in more ways than one.

By the time you had healed completely, the Cardinal had returned with the empty bottles, but still found it difficult to look you in the eye. His gaze flickered with a mixture of guilt and apprehension, a silent acknowledgment of the unspeakable acts he had committed in his pursuit of power… or pleasure?

You watched him closely, noting the tension in his movements and the weariness etched into his features. Despite the disguise of indifference he attempted to show, you could sense the conflict raging within him, a storm of inconsistent emotions that threatened to consume him whole. He’d not rested well enough - you wondered if he’d even eaten properly. Then you wondered why you cared.

As he went about his task of arranging empty buckets around his bed, you remained silent, studying his every move with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Why buckets, this time? There was an obvious shift in the air, a tension that hung between you, heavily shrouding you both an an intense suffocation.

With each passing moment, the weight of his silence grew heavier, a burden that bore down upon you with unbearable force. You longed to break the oppressive stillness, to confront him with the questions that burned in the depths of your soul, but you held your tongue, wary of the consequences of speaking out.

In the end, it was the Cardinal who broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper as he addressed you. “I won’t bind you when I let you out… I’m trusting you to be on your best behaviour.”

You simply nodded in response.

“No funny business, no trying to escape… no attacking, got it?”

“I shall not undertake such actions today,” you told him, “yet I offer no assurances for the morrow.”

He laughed as though you were telling him a joke. His laughter echoed through the chamber, a hollow sound that reverberated off the walls. Despite the tension that lingered between you, there was a sense of relief in his amusement, a fleeting moment of levity amidst the heavy atmosphere that surrounded you. “Well, I suppose that’s better than nothing,” he replied, his tone lightening slightly. “Just remember, Angel, I’m not afraid to put you back in that cage if you step out of line.”

You met his gaze with a steady stare, your eyes alight with a quiet defiance. “I understand,” you said, your voice firm and unwavering. “But mark this, Cardinal - I shall not be imprisoned anew, not without resistance.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a spark of recognition that mirrored the fire that burned within your own soul. In that moment, you saw a glimmer of respect in his gaze, a grudging acknowledgment of your strength and determination.

“Very well,” he said, his voice tinged with resignation. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

He moved towards your cage, unlocked and opened the door, and took a step back, still holding it as though he were a gentleman holding the door for his wife. With apprehension, you climbed out, wings cocooning your body again until you were completely free of the metal. You chanced a glance at your halo, which was still locked up tight in the cage, and somehow you felt relieved. You stretched your entire body out, wings included, grateful for the feeling. All the while, you still watched the Cardinal potter around the room until he invited you onto his bed again.

You hesitated until you saw the plea in his eyes. “What dost thou withhold from me, Cardinal?”

He shook his head, “If you don’t let me drain you now, things will end up worse for us both. Just do as I ask this one time, please.”

You regarded him with a mix of wariness and resignation, knowing that you had little choice but to comply with his request. With a heavy sigh, you moved towards the bed, your movements slow and deliberate as you approached him.

As you settled onto the plush mattress, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled over you like a heavy cloak. The Cardinal’s intentions were clear, his desire for your blood palpable in the air, and yet you found yourself unable to resist his command. You felt the first needle prick into the crook of your arm, and watched as your blood began to pour into the bucket. Then you saw him prick the second needle in, and the cycle repeat. Usually, the Cardinal would stand back and watch menacingly. But this time, he gently crawled onto the bed, lifted you up, and slotted you on top of him, so you were using his body as a pillow instead.

As the Cardinal cradled you in his arms, using his body as a makeshift pillow, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of discomfort wash over you. The intimacy of the gesture was unsettling, a stark contrast to the usual brutality of your interactions with him.

With each drop of blood that left your body, you felt a sense of vulnerability creep in, the realization dawning on you that you were completely at his mercy. Despite your instinctive urge to resist, you found yourself unable to muster the strength to pull away, trapped in a state of submission that left you feeling powerless and exposed.

You passed out, despite your body fighting it.

You were barely conscious when you woke, the needles still in your arms and the Cardinal still behind you. This time, you could feel his hands running up and down your biceps and stroking your hair, as if he was trying to comfort you. You wanted to recoil from his touch, to push him away and reclaim the boundaries he had violated so mercilessly more than once. And yet, a part of you couldn’t help but crave the warmth of his embrace, the fleeting sense of connection that offered a brief respite from the cold reality of your captivity.

Your body lost consciousness again, the last thing you felt were his fingertips tracing light patterns into your skin.

You roused from your uneasy slumber, disoriented and groggy, the memory of the Cardinal’s touch haunting your exposed flesh. As your senses slowly returned, you realized that the needles were no longer piercing your skin, their absence bringing a faint sense of relief amidst the lingering discomfort.

You looked around the room, heart heavy, seeking any sign of the Cardinal’s whereabouts, but all you saw was the empty space of his bed and the stifling silence that enveloped the room like a blanket. Feelings of fear and panic started to seethe at the borders of your mind as you struggled with the disconcerting realisation that you were alone in the room, and not trapped up in your cage where you’d normally be after such an extraction.

You strained to get yourself upright, your muscles protesting with each movement as you forced yourself to look around more closely. However, no matter how hard you looked, there was no sign of the Cardinal, no clue of where he had gone or what he was plotting next.

The sound of voices coming from the living room sent shivers down your spine, breaking the strange calm that had encased the Cardinal’s quarters. You strained your ears, nervously attempting to figure out who was talking and who was there.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you listened closely, the murmur of voices becoming louder and clearer with each passing instant. Their tones conveyed a sense of urgency, a palpable tension that appeared to linger in the air like a building storm.

For a tiny moment, you cherished the hope that Brother Thomas would return to liberate you from your captivity and deliver you from the Cardinal’s tyranny. But deep down, you understood that such dreams were nothing more than desperate illusions created out of your own sorrow.

One of the voices belonged to the Cardinal… the other… the Sister.

You strained to catch every word of the furious discussion between the Sister and the Cardinal, their voices rising and falling in a chaotic symphony of wrath and frustration. From your position in the bedroom, you could feel the tension crackling in the air like electricity, heavy and stifling.

The words they exchanged formed a bleak picture, indicating a flaw in their carefully crafted relationship. It became clear that the Cardinal had acted with purposeful intent by draining you of your blood before the full moon night, undermining their plans to perform the second ritual.

Confusion blurred your mind as you tried to make sense of the Cardinal’s strange choice to sabotage the ceremony. It didn’t make sense; why would he go to such extent to foil plans that he had personally set up? You felt lost and confused, as if the puzzle pieces would not fit together in your brain.

You couldn’t shake the notion that the Cardinal’s acts were more than just what they appeared to be. His intentions remained a mystery, and you couldn’t help but wonder what underlying agenda drove his betrayal. Was he behaving in his own self-interest, or was he motivated by something else that you couldn’t figure out? Or was there a deeper, more nefarious motive at work?

Prev. / Next

Anon commissioned artwork by @taylaedraws - I believe the full version is on their Patreon! Please be sure to check it out when you can!

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xkaidaxxxx · 6 months ago

Text

Electric Future

Denki x Reader

Mentions: Virgin reader, Nsfw, angst, fluff AGED UP

reblogs are appreciated <3

As a Pro Hero you always considered eventually settling down by 24. You thought it's a good age. You want to do it with someone you’re in love with and someone who loves you just as much in return. The man you’re with is Denki. He’s your partner in crime. You’re best friend and someone you love unconditionally.

The pair of you worked so hard to become Pro Heroes. You both sacrificed so much. When you go on dates you’ve caught yourself looking at couples with babies or toddlers having fun. You’re 25 and ready, to be married, have a warm and beautiful home, and become a mother, however, you don’t want to ruin things with Denki if he disagrees. You’ve been dying to tell him, but you’re not even engaged. He never mentioned getting married let alone be a dad. You’ve been with him since the 2nd year of high school. 7yrs.

“ Can we talk? It’s serious. It’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.” You said sitting down with him on the couch. “ Yeah babe. What is it?” he replied, giving you his undivided attention. “ I-Ive been thinking abo- about redecorating my room!” you said. You turned into a fucking chicken. “ Babe, I'll definitely help. Don’t stress about it.” he replied, handing you a slice of pizza. It was movie night. Not a good time, then again life isn’t rainbows and butterflies. There won’t ever be a perfect time. The following morning it was girls day.

“You need to tell him Y/n, otherwise you’ll be wasting time.” Uraraka said drinking coffee. “ I agree with her. If you’re ready to settle down you need to let him know and see how he truly feels about it.” Mina said. “ Try to tell him again and keep in mind that no matter what happens everything will be okay.” Momo said. You love your girlfriends and they love you too. You nodded.

A month passed and you finally put yourself together. You ate dinner with him. “ Denki…I need to tell you something important.” you spoke up. He nodded as he took a bite of his chicken. “ I love being a Pro Hero but I’ve always wanted to settle down at 25. Be engaged or married, have a home and be a mother. I’m ready to do that. Before you say if i’m sure, I am 100% sure. I’m ready to settle down.” you said to him. You braced yourself for any type of reaction. He stood up. “ I can’t give you that Y/n. I’m not looking for that.” he replied. You gripped the ring box in your hand. “ Denki, we've been together for 8 years. What have we been doing then?” you asked, crying. “ 7years I get it. You don’t have to remind me!” he yelled. You felt sick to your stomach. “ I can’t do it. I love being a Hero. It’s always been my dream and I’ve achieved it! If I get married and have a child it will only hold me back. Being a boyfriend is what's best.” He said. “ I’d hold you back…being your girlfriend is alright though.” you said crying. “Yes. I’m sorry but if you’re ready to settle down, look for someone else but don’t forget I love you.” he said. His words hit you like bullets. You threw the box at him. He opened it and saw a great ring that it's meant for him. “ You told me we’d be together forever. Get out of my house.” You cried. He grabbed his things and left. You broke down.

It’s been 2 weeks since the breakup and you were a mess. You haven’t showered, your hair is a mess, all you ate was takeout food from Uber eats. You put your phone on DND. You went online to see if there’s any news on him. You checked his social media and even your friends to see if he was with them. You checked to see if he’d message you or called. Nothing. Your friends thought you were missing, so guess who showed up on your front door. You went to the door thinking your food was finally there. “What the hell!?” Mina yelled. “ We’re worried about you idiot!” Kirishima yelled. “ What smells?” Uraraka questioned as they entered. Yeah you had all the take out food and snacks on the ground. Not bothering to throw it away. You were rotting on that couch. “Jesus, you need help.” Momo commented ,making face masks and handing them out. Bakugou was judging you and HARD. “ I’m sorry for making you all worry and thanks for stopping by.” you said. “What happened to you?” Sero asked. “ I got dumped and rejected by Denki.” You said drinking apple juice. “ Rejected and Dumped? Denki is in love with you. He’s head over heels. He’d do anything for you.” Bakugou said. “ Well he didn’t love me enough to even say yes to my wishes. We could’ve come to an agreement.” You spoke, grabbing a bottle of wine. “ Again what the hell.” Kirishima said. “ Yeah so my wish of getting married, having a home with him and being a mom was a big no for him. If we were, I'd be holding him back.” You cried. Sero took the bottle out of your hand and set it down. “ Let’s get you cleaned up.” Momo said gently,helping you upstairs as you cried the pain away. The guys started to clean the nasty mess.

Uraraka turned on the bathtub to make sure the water was hot. She knows you like showering with hot water. Mina struggled to brush out the knots in your hair. “ C-Chop it off.” you said sniffling. Momo made a detangling spray and creme.She added it onto your hair. Mina brushed and it worked amazingly. Hair did fall off but it wasn’t anything crazy. “Alright y/n. It's just how you like it.” Uraraka said smiling. They helped you undress and get you into the tube. They let you take your bath. The water turned into a small shade of brown. After a bath you took a full on shower making sure you were 100% clean.

“God have mercy.” Izuku spoke as he helped pick up a pizza box that was spoiled. “This idiot is dead when I go to his place.” Bakugou spoke as he washed the dishes. “ She’s going through it…I can’t believe Kaminari would turn her down.”Kirishima said, wiping down the coffee table clean. “Maybe he was scared?” Sero suggested. “No. He’s serious about y/n.” Izuku replied. About 3 hours passed. Your house is all clean. “ We’ll talk to him.” Izuku said. “No. He’ll come to me if he wants to talk to me.” You said. “ We’re having a sleepover. You guys can leave.” Momo said. The boys left.

A year had gone by. You’re 25. During that year you balance your life as a hero and a teacher at a U.A high school. You’re still in love with Denki. You had faith and hope he’d come back, even though it didn’t seem that way. Denki was having what looked like his best life. In reality he was a mess. You never left his mind.

The day finally came. You were watering your plants. “ Excuse me… Y/n.” he spoke, trying to keep his voice from being shaky. You turned to him, setting down the watering can. “Hello Denki Kaminari.” You replied. He grabbed your hands. You missed his touch.“What are you doing here?” you asked. “I’ve never stopped loving you y/n. I need and want you. I can’t let you go. I’m sorry. I want eternity with you.” he said, begging god to give him a second chance of making the love of his life happy. “ That’s all I’ve been wanting, Denki.” you replied. He held you close. He had a tight grip and you didn’t mind it knowing you were holding him just as tight. “ I have something for you,if you want it.” You said walking inside with him. Your home was redecorated just like you’ve been wanting it to. You went into your closet and grabbed the special box. His eyes lit up as you showed him the ring. “ Sparky ma-” he cut you off. “Hell Yes!!!! Fuck Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.” He said aloud. You put the ring on his finger. He carried you and kissed you. Your heart melted. He was so happy and excited he released a spark shocking you.“Sorry about that.” he apologized. You smiled and kissed him. You didn’t mind it. In fact you love it. If let you know that he’s actually there with you. “ Y/n…are you still ready to settle down?” he asked, setting you down. He held your hand. “Yes I am.” you replied smiling. He placed the other hand on your cheek looking at your beautiful face. The face he wants to wake up to for the rest of his life. “ I’m in love with you y/n.” he confessed. “I’m in love with you, sparky.” you replied. You held onto each other like never before.

The wedding happened 5 months later. It was crazy how fast the wedding happened, especially since there's so many things involved. The honeymoon was so romantic and fun. Believe it or not you saved your 1st for when you’re married. Denki only had sex like 4 times during his 1st year of highschool. He was a perv. During the time you dated you guys did a few naughty things but never had your 1st time.

“Gentle please.” you pleaded. Denki pressed a peck on your forehead. “ I’ll try my best.” he replied as he rubbed your clit. You let out a breathy moan. He smirked. When he got down your cunt he spread your folds. “ s’pretty.” he said. You blushed up. You gripped the sheets as he sucked on your clit. He held your thighs sending a small shock wave. You yelped, enjoying the shock. He was devouring you. When you released all over his mouth,he licked you clean. He hovered over you. You looked at him shyly. “ I’ll wait for you to adjust. Okay my love.” he said as he penetrated you. It was a bit painful for you. He noticed your facial expressions and to distract you from the pain he rubbed you pretty clit. You moaned out. Denki started off slowly then gradually sped up. “ Feel s’good!” you yelped, scratching his back. He groaned, thrusting deeper. “ You're so tight, baby.” he grunted. He loved hearing your moans and whimpers. He loved the pain he felt when you scratched his back. “ more pl-ease.” you pleaded but it sounded more like an order. Denki decided to snap and made sure you’d cum so many times. He made sure to pump you full of his thick white cum. He made sure to fill you up very well so that you can eventually come to him with amazing news of you being pregnant later on in the future. That 1st night of your honeymoon was a crazy ride. You and Denki were at it until both of you passed out together.

You and Denki had agreed to things before getting married. You’d stay working as a U.A teacher and stay at home to which you agreed with. He’d still be a hero however he won’t take any night shifts and have weekends off. Let's be realistic, Denki will always make time for you. He’ll work faster to get home earlier than his normal time before getting engaged to you. If you guys did get pregnant he wants your pregnancy leave once you’re 5 months and he’ll take the leave from work with you. You guys came to an agreement. You talked things through.

Finally being married to Denki was a wish come true. You did get pregnant and you both must have overdone it during the honeymoon. The surprise was definitely huge. Twins. A boy and girl.

“ Double the fun, don't ya think?” Denki asked as he set up the cribs. You didn’t answer. He turned to look at you. He stood up and walked over to you. “Hey. It will be hard the 1st few months but we have each other. Better together, remember.” he said, pecking your forehead. You nodded, giving him a smile. You felt reassured. Your husband is wonderful. “ Better together.” you said rubbing your bump. “ Hopefully they like their nursery,” he said, finishing with the cribs. “They will after all their daddy decorated the nursery and built the furniture.” you said smiling. “ I’m a total badass.” he said. “ Hey, I was thinking we should name our baby girl, Hikari. You know, light like lightning..electric.” he said hoping you’d like it. “ Yes it's cute. I love it sparky. For our baby boy I want Kousuke.” you replied, whimpering as the twins kicked. He placed his hand on your bump feeling their kicks. “They like their names. Hey little ones be nice to mommy. That makes her uncomfy.” he said, speaking to them. They kicked hard one final time and then stopped.

You and Denki are so happy. This is all you’ve ever wanted and all Denki wished to have when he regretted leaving you.

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moonchildstyles · 5 months ago

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:((((

idk if anyone saw some of my posts from these last few weeks but I did get a new job! finishing up at my previous job and getting ready to move into my new one, I def did not think it would take up this much time or be this much of an adjustment but it definitely has been. because of that ive def not had nearly as much time as I thought I would have so im no where near where I want to be with my new series:( on top of that I'm also going out of town for a week soon and that is going to keep me from writing at all for a full week:(

I was really hoping id have more than a few parts done by now but im def not there and I don't feel like I have enough to be posting at the moment, esp on patreon:( so I'll be taking a quick break for this next next month and hopefully be back soon!!!!! for now all parts of bardot and the extra one shots I’ve posted are only going to be available on patreon until I'm back to posting regularly and feel it’s fair to move them on to tumblr

I'm really so sorry this is not at all what I saw for my summer and not what I wanted to do when I started writing and posting about bardot:( I hate leaving stories halfway finished like this but I really hope that I have a moment with it the way I did Prosecco and when I'm able to focus on it that it turns into something that I love and that people seem to enjoy.

So Bardot will be coming later than planned but hopefully soon! I really still enjoy the story I just don’t have the energy I thought I would😭

thank u always for every bit of support and patience that is offered to me and that you guys enjoy what I have to offer enough to be on here. love u forever!

if you have any questions, please lmk! you can message me here or send me an ask whatever ur comfortable w!

#other #mine.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months ago

Note

bare with me for a second here, it sounds confusing but i promise you i will explain it

slightly NSFW - ¿AITA for pretending i was asleep while my friends were having sex next to me then telling people about it?

i (19X) had three friends over for a game night and due to a thunderstorm i invited all four to crash at my place.

friend C (18X) had to leave, but before they did, they told me in secret about how they were feeling mildly uncomfortable due to friend A (20F) and friend B (18M)'s constant flirting. i told them i had also felt like a third wheel, but we wondered if we were actually getting mixed signals. C leaves and A, B and I have a good time chatting.

fast forward to when we were getting ready to sleep. i forgot to tell them i am a VERY light sleeper and take forever to fall asleep, so ive been lying in one mattress for 30 minutes in silence. A and B are clearly having intercourse in another mattress right next to mine and i cant sleep because of the noise, but instead of telling them i was awake or asking them to be quiet, i pretend i'm sleeping as not to bother them.

it felt awful to witness a moment that wasnt meant for me to witness, and i dont mind at all that they had sex in my house. it also messed up my sleep schedule by keeping me up for basically the entire night. maybe it would have been better for all three of us if i had somehow signaled to them that i was awake so they could take it somewhere else, maybe i should have moved. i feel like a creep for hanging on there for so long listening to their intimate moment since they didn't consent to me listening to it as they didn't know i was awake (i didn't let them know i was awake in any way). but at the same time it all sounds like miscommunication and i don't think it's 100% my fault.

i haven't told this story to anyone that knows them and never gave out their names. i only touched on the subject to select close friends that have no idea who they could be and did so due to out of immediate stress from the situation. when the time came for C to ask me if they had made me uncomfortable doing their stay, i didn't answer because i didn't think i should tell it to anyone that could interact with them face to face.

Thid begs the question: AITA for even telling anyone about it in the first place?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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sturniolo04 · 9 days ago

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The Confession 3 C.S.

Fwb!Mean!Chris x Fwb!Fem!Reader

A/N: I tried something different :)

A/N: If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you :)

*Really long you have been warned.

it has been a full week since madi and Matt have been together and since Jess's Mom visited Boston and jess has been extremely distant with Chris. Anytime her and madi come over to our house she always in Nick's room and its honestly kind of bugging chris because she's his best friend she can talk to him about anything... right

it's been a week and it is Sunday and Jess and Madi are at our house and Jess had routinely made her way to Nick's room but today was kind of different. Keep in mind Nick never talked to her about what they saw with her and chris a week ago because it is not his place but because today she seems a little off.

"you okay over there"

he states to the girl pacing back and forth in front of his bed

"yeah why wouldnt i be"

you reply stopping in your tracks to do so

"you seem weird you sure"

"yeah im okay"

"okay"

he trails off looking back at his phone but then building up the courage to ask you the question he didnt really want to ask

"hey so jess"

"hm"

"you and chris... do you.. you know like him"

"what why would you ask that no ew"

you exclaims already knowing youre is lying

"oh my god you little liar you totally do"

he exclaims as he notices her blushing at the mention of his name

"thats so bad i know"

you state covering your face

"does he know"

"no"

you trail off

"ive been being extremely weird about it ive been avoiding him since last week and i think he knows thats what i have been doing."

"oh so am i the first person to know"

"no i told madi and her mom first last week after mcdonalds and everything"

"what"

"yeah it just came out i wasnt trying to confess that at that moment it just happened."

you trail off looking at you phone to see a imessage from the one and only Christopher

"who is it"

"chris"

you sigh out setting your phone on the floor next to you where you were sitting

"what does he want"

"to talk"

"oh"

"yeah and im just not ready to say it yet at least not to him"

"so what are you going to do then"

"not talk to him"

"madi"

"what if i talk to him i freeze up his makes me nervous and i dont want to admit that to him yet"

"understandable but he's still your bestfriend and you cant avoid him forever"

"yeah i know"

you exclaim laying on the floor as Matt and madi walk into Nick's room

"jess.."

"yess madii"

"she doesnt want to talk to chris and is avoiding him"

"i think everyone noticed you were purposely avoiding him"

"its that obvious"

"uhh yes"

she states looking at jess

"ughh"

you exclaim covering your face

"come on"

she states reaching your hands out for jess to grab

"where are we going"

"to film a youtube video"

"noo im staying here"

you pouts sitting on nick's floor again knowing you would be sitting next to chris in the van

"J come on it will be fun"

"for me please"

she pouts as you gives in standing up and grabing your shoes

"ill get chris"

he states walking back downstairs to find him sitting on couch on his phone

"hey loser"

he shouts grabbing his attention

"we are leaving to go film come on"

"fine"

he sighs out as madi and jess and nick have finally made their way downstairs making eye contact with jess

"lets go already"

you state breaking eye contact grabbing madi's hand leading her out of the door

"why is she being like that"

he finally exclaims to his brothers looking at matt then nick who were standing in the same room

"i dont know she's.."

he trails off looking at nick

"jess'

"what the fuck did i do i have no fucking clue at all"

"ask her"

"i tried she completely ignored my text messages"

he confesses as nick and matt look at each other

"lets just get this video filmed and we will figure it out"

he states walking of the house with them

You were completely not paying attention to what we were even talking about you were just simply staring out the window ignoring everyone

"HELLO earth to jessica"

"what"

you reply bluntly looking at all the eyes on you

"did you hear the question i asked you"

"no"

"wow okay"

he states offended getting out of the van with Matt following

you heard the question clearly. he basically asked you to admit what your problem is with him and why you have and am ignoring him still.

"jess"

"what im sorry"

"youre breaking him"

"i dont mean to i just"

"okay you need to say something"

"no madi i cant"

"you have until the end of our Hawaii trip to do so"

"no nick come on thats like 2 weeks"

"exactly figure it out"

he states getting out of the van to find matt and chris

"what going on with you jess"

"I dont knoww madi i just have been so scared he wont like me back like that"

"thats why you wont say anything"

'yeah its not that i dont want to i just dont want to get hurt"

"yeah i know"

she trails off as the front van door opens to reveal matt

"hey can you sit back with jess chris is actually upset"

he states as madi nods her head as jess start silently sobbing as everyone switches spots

"matt drop us at our house please"

she states breaking the unbearing silence in the van from everyone

"okay"

he replys as he looks at jess trying to sob silently

taglist

@mintsturniolo @wh0resstuff @dirtylittleheart333 @emely9274

@stayingstromboli @spicymuffins03

#sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets smut #girlypopsquad🩵

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steifel · 4 months ago

Note

HERE TO ASK YOU ABOUT UR TRANS JOHNNY AND SODA HEADCANONS 🫡

I may have gone a little over bord with these

TW: self harm, suicidal thoughts, transphobia, gender dysphoria, talks of body parts. Everything is very minor but please protect your peace

Sodapop

-first off She cam out to Johnny first on accident Darry had taken Pony to the doctors so nobody was home Soda wanted to test a theory. She was dancing around the house in a mini skirt and a stuffed bra Johnny walked into the house and was like "you wanna talk about this? You don't have to"

-soda literally broke down telling Johnny everything

-poor Johnny has no idea how to comfort people but he just sat there listening and understanding

-she told Pony next they were laying in bed one night and the conversation went like this

S: hay Pone? You know how Johnny was born a girl but hes really a boy?

P: mhm

S: well sometimes i feel like i might be your sister even though ive always kind of been your brother

P: *pulling Soda into a big hug* ok

S: thats it just ok

P: um okay.... I love you?

S: love you too pony

-she told Darry next and he required a lot more information than ponyboy did.

-how long have you known

- she/her?

-who all knows

-is your name still Sodapop

-how do you feel

-do you want me to help you tell anyone

-is there anything i can do to help you?

-after Darry got all the information he needed he just hugged his sister and said "i always wanted a little sister"

-she told Steve next

-he was actually kind of excited

-after she told Steve she started living as a girl 100% of the time

-Twobit and Dally were super confused but they eventually figured it out

-Soda is a woman of extremes she is ether so eurphoric shes ontop of the world or so dysphoric that she can barely get out of bed

-her bad dysphoria days just about kill Steve

-he knows that she's the most beautiful girl in the world and it hurts him that she doesn't know that

-when she's dysphoric he always gives her one of his long shirts to wear and then holds her in bed as long as she needs just telling her shes beautiful and playing with her hair.

-when she's super euphoric you bet your ass Steve is gonna take her out and show her off (if anyone says anything bad they get jumped)

-if/when she goes on E she wears push up bras every day and that makes Steve go crazy

-if you think Soda was hot as a guy than you'll think shes a goddess as a girl

-Steve feels so lucky

-its not all fun and games though

-she gets jumped a lot

-the socs can be very vilont with her

-she tends to silently cry herself to sleep a lot

-her and Johnny get really close

-they actually trade pre transition cloths

-johnny teaches her all of the "girl" stuff he learned in childhood and she teaches him the "guy" stuff

-believe me when i tell you that Soda is a MASTER at tucking

-she wears super tight pants and skirts

-Soda is suuuuper fem

-she loves doing her hair and makeup

-this pisses pony off because she takes forever to get ready in the mornings

-the one bathroom thing starts to become a problem now that Soda takes an hour to get ready

Johnny

-was absolutely terrified to come out to the gang

- he put it off for a long time

-came out to Dall first

-and he only came out at this point because Dally could tell something was bothering his little buddy

"So you gonna tell me whats wrong or am i gonna have to guess?"

-dall was genuinely so mad. Not because he's trans but because Johnny had the gaul to ask if Dally hated him now

-when he told Pony he had a shit ton of questions

-this is mostly the reason Pony didn't have a lot of questions when Soda came out

-johnny is one of those lucky bastards that naturally looks masculine so he passes almost immediately

-he never gets out of his baggy clothes and flanels phase (me projecting)

-every single member of the gang makes him take his binder off after 8 hours

"Comon Dall just a little while longer? Please"

"Jonnycakes we can do this the easy way or the hard way now it dont matter to me but i gotta fealing you're not gonna like the hard way"

-eventually Johnny starts to feel more comfortable around the gang without it

-if he's in public though he doesn't give a fuck what dallys "hard way" is he will be wearing that binder

-while Soda usually experiences her transness through euphoria Johnny usually experiences his through disphoria

Another TW for SH and Suicidal thoughts ill let you know when it ends

-he has a tendency towards SH

-one time dally found him attempting to give himself top surgery and he had actually gotten pretty far

-Dally was horrified he's no stranger to blood and violence but it was really bad

-Johnnys gotten a lot better but there was one point where they hid all the knives and did there best to have somebody with him at all times

-Darry has had to grab his hands and hold him super tight before

-Dally had a really hard time sleeping during this time he made Johnny stay with him and he just watches Johnny sleep.

-Dally was just terrified he was gonna lose Johnny over something as stupid as how the world sees him

Major TW over

-on major dysphoria days he really just wants to be left alone.

-he mainly just sleeps on those days

-the whole gang tries to help but sometimes you just have to feel your feels you know

-he cries because of it sometimes and that just makes the dysphoria worse which makes him cry more (me too me too)

-Johnny absolutely loves it when the boys roughhouse with him cause it makes him feel like they really see him as a guy

Ok i feel like if i keep talking about Johnny im ether gonna start crying or just spill every bit of information about my transness. anyway i hope you enjoyed

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #dallas winston #johnny cade #dally winston #sodapop curtis #s.e. hinton #darry curtis #the outsiders musical #that was then this is now #trans masc #trans femme #trans #transgender #trans johnny cade #trans sodapop

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arlana-likes-to-write · 2 years ago

Text

A New Normal

Part 3 of Monet Issues and Reborn

Summary: It’s been 2 months since the Avengers saved you from HYDRA and you are trying to learn to use these new ability you’ve been given and trying to put on a brave face for those around you. But when a nightmare wakes you up everything becomes to much.

Warning: Nightmare, mention of past torture, injury, mention of a feeding tube.

Word Count: 3.0k

“We’ll call it there,” Wanda said. You fell to your back, staring up at the ceiling of the training room. The workout clothes you were wearing stuck to your skin from sweat. You heard footsteps walking over to you and Wanda sat down next to you handing you a water bottle. You took it, sat up, and downed it. The cool water provided temporary relief, you needed a shower. “You did well today. A few more sessions like this and you should be cleared to go home.” You smiled but you knew it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Thanks, Wands,” you stood up stretching your muscles. “I’m gonna hit the showers if anyone is looking for me.” You didn’t wait for her to respond as you headed toward your room.

As soon as the door shut behind you you released a breath you were holding. You shed off your workout clothes, set the shower to your desired temperature, and got it. The repetitive pounding of the water relaxed your muscles. You rested your head on the title and watched the water drip down the drain. Staying at the compound was your idea although the rest of the Avengers agreed. It’s been 2 months since HYDRA kidnapped you. On the outside, you were making insane progress. Your scars were healing and you were training to control your newfound ability. It was why you decided to stay. You couldn’t set a reporter on fire if they upset you with their question, that would be bad business. So you weren’t leaving until you had it under control.

On the inside, you were struggling. Every time you closed your eyes you were strapped to that chair with the doctor’s hands on you. You felt an insane amount of guilt for telling them what factory the Avengers were interested in. They were constantly telling you it was alright. You didn’t believe them.

You put your body on a towel and cleaned yourself. You were exhausted, right down to your bones. Your time was split between training, running your company, spending time with Natasha, and rebuilding your relationship with your father. “Miss. Stark,” the AI said. “Miss. Romanoff is asking if she could join you in the shower.” You sighed, looking up at the water as it fell down your face.

“Tell Miss. Romanoff that I’ll meet her in the kitchen. She can make me lunch.” That was the other thing, you barely had a moment to yourself. The others were afraid that HYDRA was going to snatch you up. You turned the water off and wrapped a towel around you. You didn’t recognize the person in the mirror as you stared at your reflection. Dark bags were underneath your eyes from lack of sleep. You traced the scars from the IV and the injection that gave you powers. Your eyes. Now a red instead of your birth color. You looked down at your hands, flicking your wrist and a flame grew in the palm of your hand. It danced along your palm and up and down your fingers.

“Miss. Stark, lunch is ready.” You put out the flame with a sigh. You just wanted it all to stop.

Natasha set a plate of leftovers in front of you along with a glass of water. She kissed your cheek. “How was training, malyshka (baby girl)?” You cut up the steak.

“Good, Wanda said I may be able to go back to the city soon,” you didn’t miss the flicker of worry in her eyes. “I can’t stay here forever.” You said. Natasha sighed, picking up a piece of steak from your plate and eating it.

“I know I just worry,” you nodded, taking a sip of your water. She cupped your face in her hands. “You look exhausted,” She said. “Why don’t we call it an early night and watch a movie?” That did sound nice.

“I can’t,” you said. “Well, maybe we can watch a movie after but it’s Wednesday Tony and I hang out.” It was an effort to rebuild your relationship. Tony set aside time on certain days of the week to hang out with you. A lot of the time was spent in his lab both working on individual projects but it was nice being in his presence. Your girl-no Natasha smiled. You weren’t sure what to label your relationship with the Black Widow.

“I’m proud of you,” you were sure she was but sometimes it was hard to read Natasha. Since you were released from med bay, you both have been dancing around what she wanted to talk about. You had a feeling you knew what she wanted to say but you weren’t ready for that.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” you said with a smile.

“Kid, are you listening to me?” Tony asked. You were staring blankly at your laptop, trying to look over last month's numbers. The numbers and words were blurring together. Your eyes burned.

“Mhm,” you said, looking at your father. He smiled.

“I asked if you could look at these blueprints. I want your opinion on the new design,” you set your laptop down on the side table and stood up. Your shoulders cracked as you stretched and walked over to the table he was standing at. The blueprints were a modification of the Widow Bites Yelena and Natasha used. You knew Tony was talking but the words weren’t reaching you. You stared at the table, not understanding a thing. “Hey,” Tony said softly. The change in his tone broke through the fog. “Go to bed. You can barely stand.”

“What? No. I’m fine. Just repeat what you said,” Tony smiled, shaking his head.

“It’s not important. What is important is your health and I know the signs of sleep deprivation. Go to bed.” You sighed.

“Are you sure?” You asked. He nodded. “Do you want to meet for breakfast in the morning?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan,” you picked up your laptop. “Night kid.” He kissed you on the side of your head.

“Night dad.” You said, leaving your lap and heading towards your room. When you got inside your room, you put your laptop down and climbed into bed. Sleep welcomed you in an instant.

Natasha opened your door quietly. She smiled at the sight. You were curled up under the blankets with your arms underneath your pillow. On quiet feet, Natasha walked over to the bed and slid underneath the covers. Your eyes opened slightly. “Tash,” you mumbled.

“Is this okay?” She asked. You nodded.

“Hold me,” you turned on your side so Natasha’s front could be pressed against your back. The Black Widow put her arm under your head and her other arm around your waist, pulling you closer to her. You hummed happily.

“Sleep,” Natasha whispered. It was moments like this that Natasha was going to miss when you returned to the city. You were safe in her arms. In her room or yours, it was your haven and away from the prying eyes of the team and your father. Natasha kissed your shoulder, where your sleep shirt was falling. She closed her eyes and allowed the steady beat of your heart to lure her to sleep.

A soft whimper woke the Black Widow up. She slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. You both shifted in your sleep. You were acing her, eyebrows pinched together, and frown on your face. You whimpered again and the sound broke Natasha’s heart. She knew nightmares were going to be part of your recovery process but this was the first time you allowed her to sleep with you besides small naps after training. “Malyshka (baby girl),” Natasha said. She didn’t want to touch you or startle you awake. “Wake up sweetheart. You're safe.”

“No,” you mumbled. Eyes were still closed.

“Yes, you’re safe. It’s just a nightmare. Come back to me.” Natasha felt the temperature of the room increase. She had to wake you up. “Y/n,” she said louder. You sat up with a gasp, a ball of fire formed in your hand and you grabbed onto Natasha’s arm. The Black Widow yelled in pain and clenched her arm to her chest. Her shout pulled you out of your nightmare-induced fog.

“Natasha I-” your eyes were glued to her burned skin. You scrambled off the bed and pressed your back against the wall.

“It’s fine,” Natasha winched. “You didn’t mean to.” She saw the panic and guilt running through your eyes. Your door swung open and Tony and Yelena came rushing into your room, armed with weapons. Yelena lowered her Widow Bite and rushed to Natasha’s side.

“What did you do?” She asked.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” you were gasping for air. Tony walked over to Natasha and used his gauntlet to spray a cooling spray on the burn. The commotion woke up the others.

“I’m fine,” Natasha said. “It was an accident.” She looked at you but your eyes were darting around the room.

You needed to get out of here. The sleep shirt was sticking to your skin. The temperature of the room was increasing. “Squirt,” Tony said, taking a few hesitant steps toward you. “I need you to breathe for me.”

“Stay away from me,” you said.

“Okay,” he stopped, walking. “But I still need you to breathe.” You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to focus on calming down the organ that was pounding in your chest. When you reopened your eyes, you were back in that cell. Your arms were locked down by metal cuffs and the doctor was standing in front of you with a syringe in her hands.

“No!” You yelled. “No! Get away from me!” You punched a fireball forward. You heard screams but you jumped to your feet and pushed past the guards. You ran. You ran and ran until your bare feet hit the grass. You slipped slightly on the dew but continued until you fit the woods. A fallen tree branch snagged your foot and set you tumbling to the ground. You groaned as your back hit a tree. But you didn’t bother to stand. You curled yourself up into a fetal position and squeezed your eyes shut. Natasha’s scream echoed in your ears. Yelena’s look of disgust and anger danced behind your eyes. It was becoming too much. You screamed. You screamed until your throat went raw and you felt the flames of your powers but you didn’t care. It was good to feel anything else besides fear.

Tony acted quickly to put out the fire that spread on your bedsheets. “Yelena, I’m fine.” Natasha pushed her sister away from her.

“She burned you!”

“And it was an accident,” she said. Tony knew Natasha was going to have to see Helen and surgery may be needed to fix the skin on her arm.

“We need to find her,” Wanda said. The billionaire wasn’t sure when the witch showed up. “Her powers are connected to her emotions. She’s unstable and she could hurt herself or someone else.”

“Boss,” FRIDAY said before Tony could ask the AI to find you. “There is a fire on the west side of the woods and it’s spreading.”

“Avengers,” Steve ordered. “Suit up.”

You woke up in med bay. The last thing you remembered was your father walking through the flames you created in his Iron Man suit and picking you up. “Squirt,” Tony whispered. You rolled onto your side and ignored him. “Come on kid. No one is upset with you.” You still didn’t answer him. “You don��t have to talk now but we are here for you. I’m here for you.”

It didn’t matter who entered your room. Natasha came to talk to you with her arm wrapped. Yelena tried to apologize and Wanda said that these things happened, but you didn’t talk to anyone. You didn’t even eat when they brought you food. Helen did threaten to put a feeding tube down your throat if you didn’t eat something, so you drank a protein shake. You were just so tired.

“Egghead,” you looked at the door and saw Taylor standing there. You’ve spent the past 3 days in med bay since your nightmare. “Are you done throwing yourself a pity party?” You rolled your eyes and lay down. “Oh no. You aren’t giving your best friend the silent treatment.” She sat in the chair next to you. “Come on, talk to me.” You slowly turned to face her, eyes burning with unshed tears. Not many people knew how you changed; Emily and Taylor were told as soon as you got back. The media were told that you were staying at the compound to recover. “Awe buddy,” she said. “It’s okay to cry.” You did. The dam snapped and you choked on a sob. Taylor ran her hand over your hair and whipped the tears. You grabbed onto her hand and held it like a lifeline.

“Why did this happen to me?” You asked. She sighed.

“I don’t know bud. Maybe the universe thought you were the strongest one to handle it.” Taylor squeezed her hand.

“I don’t want to be strong,” you whispered. “I wish this didn’t happen to me and everything went back to normal.” She stood up and laid down on the bed next to you, bringing you into her arms. You let a few more tears fall on her shirt. “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” you finally said. You didn’t even remember the nightmare that woke you up but you remember her screams.

“I know,” Taylor said. “It was an accident.”

“What if I hurt more people?” You asked. Taylor didn’t say anything right away. She ran her hand up and down her back.

“You won’t well you may be not intentionally,” she shifted on the bed and forced you to sit up. You crossed your legs to give her more room. She took your hands and put them in front of you, your palms facing up. She traced the lines on your hands. You were a bad person. Bad people hurt people. “You aren’t a bad person or a monster,” she whispered. It was like she knew what you were thinking. “There are many differences between you and the people who kidnapped you but one thing is that they hurt you with a purpose, with horrible intent to hurt you and those who love you.” She placed her hands on top of yours so her palms were on yours. “Because of them, you were given this new ability. You are still learning to live with it. So if you burn us or set us on fire,” she smiled. “We won’t blame you but those who hurt you.” You sniffled, whipping your eyes.

“I should have you do the speeches for our next gala,” you smiled. “That was good.” Taylor rolled her eyes and punched your shoulder. You laughed. It felt so good to laugh. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she said. “Now they’ve said you haven’t eaten. What do you want?” You bite your thumb as you thought.

“A burger and a milkshake,” Taylor smiled.

“Sit tight and I’ll go get it,” she got out of bed and stretched. “Your father is one the richest men in the world, why is this bed so uncomfortable?” You laughed, shaking your head.

“Thank you, Tay.”

“No problem. I can’t have you spiral down into a depressive episode for too long. I don’t want to run this company by myself.”

Once you ate the food Taylor brought you, you felt much better. She convinced you to get out of bed and go talk to everyone. You made your rounds, accepting Yelena’s apology and seeing your father in his lab. FRIDAY told you that Natasha was sitting by the pound on the compound’s property. On quiet feet, you walked up to her (ignoring the trees you destroyed) and watched her. She was sewing a ribbon on a new pair of pointe shoes. You knew she was lost in her thoughts because she didn’t know you were there. “Hi,” you finally said. She spun around to look at you. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course,” you sat down next to her. Her arm was still wrapped. Tony told you she had a small surgery to repair the skin on her arm. With careful hands, you traced the bandage. “I don’t blame,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But I am sorry.” Natasha kissed the top of your head. “Are we okay?”

“Yeah, malyshka (baby girl),” she made a few more stitches on her shoes then looked at you. “Our relationship didn’t start the conventional way and at the beginning, it was just sex,” you felt your anxiety spike. She grabbed your hand and interlocked her fingers with yours. “But rather quickly you became someone I cared about. I craved spending time with you, not just on a physical level.” Natasha faced you. You stared into her green eyes, a color you missed. “I love you. I have for a long time but never knew how to tell you.” The woman in front of you once believed that love was for children, a weakness but now she just confessed that she loved you. “It’s okay if-” you cut her off with a kiss. You put your hands on her face and moved to her neck, pulling her closer to you. You kissed her until the need for air became apparent and Natasha ended the kiss. She rested her forehead against yours.

“I love you too, Natasha Romanoff,” you said. You moved your hands down her arms, careful of her surgical spot. “I hate that this happened to me. That they used me to hurt you and my dad.” You sat back slightly so you could look at her. “Taylor said that maybe this happened because the universe knew I was strong enough to overcome it. I don’t think that’s true.”

“Sweetheart..”

“Sh, let me finish,” you smiled. “I think I’ll overcome this because the people next to me make me strong. They love me, support me, and stay by my side even when I burn them,” Natasha chuckled.

“You will always impress me, moya lyubov' (my love),” you smiled, grabbing Natasha’s hands and kissing them. “You’ll get through this.”

“Of course, I will,” you said. “I have you.”

Taglist: @ maria-403 @ tye-dyemango @ mymommawanda @ animealways

wifeofnatasharomanoff

This will probably be the last part unless you guys have more ideas for this AU. Just let me know!

#natasha romanoff x reader #Natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x stark!reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x y/n stark #tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x daughter!reader #yelena belova #Steve Rogers #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #stark reader #tony stark #Marvel AU #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction

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six-white-venus · 10 months ago

Text

i meet death for the first time when i’m ten and understand nothing about her except a few things-

she’s taking away grandpa

she made dad cry

and i didn’t care for either of that.

what is death for a child, anyway? what is loss for someone who never knew of it? a beginning of something from the end of everything.

ii.

the next time i see her, i’m thirteen.

i think there’s something that ties me and death together so tightly. i am not the same kid i was in ten; thirteen year old me wants to see death, wants her to take me home in her gangly arms. and i do see her, but she’s not here for me. she never is.

she wears a white saree this time and her skin is embroidered with flowers from my grandpa’s garden. i scream at her to leave, just this once. but death has always been cruel, ruthless. she rips him away from my fingers and tears away a good part of my grandma’s soul, too. cruel, ruthless.

but her head hangs low as she leaves the house without meeting my eyes. the sky is blue and filled with the sound of agony when i realize: death is a coward.

after that, she never leaves me, i think. i can never see her (refer: blue skies and cowards), but she presses her icy hands against my head every night when i’m asleep. i’d wake up sobbing, breathless, screaming, screaming for what i lost. i reach my hand out to the sky and try to grab hold of him. and distantly, i wonder if she was hanging her head to hide her smile all along.

iii.

i see him again sooner than i would have liked.

i am fifteen and sadder than i’ve ever been when another beloved of mine is stolen from my arms.

i’m screaming.

this time, he wears a cloak of billowing black and hides his face with a hood. he’s the hands that hold me back as i reach out to what was once mine, alive and breathing. he’s the black i wear throughout the funeral. his eyes (critical, empty, grey) meets mine (salt-filled, miserable, brown). i think i say something to him that day- a singular word collapsing into itself.

the sound of my screams and my lucky charm shattering follows him as he walks away.

iv.

the imprints of his hands remain on my skin. the grime of his fingers colours my arms and the ice of his touch still makes me shiver.

maybe, a mortal was never meant to know the touch of death and go on living. a mortal wasn’t suppoised to bleed at their own accord and wake up smiling with no rememberance of meeting him. i have been tainted by death and it has driven me insane, mother. will you sing me a lullaby and put me to sleep (forever)? would you shut out my smile with your tears every morning and wipe away all my sweet dreams from my eyelids and show me the nightmare that is my reality?

the next time i see death, i am getting ready for school. my eyes are swollen and lifeless and circled with darkness. my movements are controlled by a puppeteer inside my head and i look in the mirror and oh, i see death. i am death.

on my sixteenth birthday, death announces his presence with the sound of seashells and the smell of sanitizer filling the air.

death is a little boy standing at our door and our eyes meet (his- painted black; mine- smeared blue) and i remember what i asked him that day.

why?

and death, he cries. his ink black tears stain our floor. death and i, we are both so tired.

i’m sorry, he says but both of us know he’s not, not really. he’ll be back the next day, the next hour and every minute that follows to devour something of mine.

we’re both tired of this game of tigers and goats, death and i. but he can’t hunting and i can’t stop bleeding and please, i am so tired. can’t you find someone else to feast upon?

i wish i didn’t know the answer to that question.

#my writing #prose poetry #poetry #writeblr #grief #loss #tw death

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jqmalikhsgib · 3 months ago

Text

astrology

eight

note: this chapter is the only chapter im very specific on the reader being poc (a black woman) i even have photos of what reader hair looks like and a few other details. sorry if you’re uncomfortable reading :(

normally the sun bothered you. you loved rainy days and cold weather. it’s been that way since you were a child. your parents never understood why you hated the sun. during summer, whenever the family got ready for vacation, you complained about going anywhere in the heat.

today though, today was different! today you have your date with aaron. you’ve never been happier to see the sunlight. the first thing you did was giggle to yourself. you walk out of your bedroom. aaron must have heard your door open because he came out of his room right after. aaron walked over to you and wraps his arms around your waist.

“how’d you sleep, sweetheart?”

“i slept pretty great. had a dream about our date.”

“yeah?”

you simply nod your head.

“how did it go?”

“it went perfect! you were a gentleman.”

aaron hums as he kisses your neck. you wrap your arms behind his neck. you bit the bottom of your lips. you felt content in your life. aaron made you feel like a schoolgirl all over again. you haven’t felt this much love in such a long time. aaron made you feel special already. you couldn’t explain it but you knew he was going to last forever.

“can’t wait to turn your dream into an reality. until then, what do you have planned?”

“spence and i are gonna go out shopping a bit. he told me about this book signing! it starts in a few. i should actually get dressed.”

“make sure you’re both safe.”

“promise.” you state with a smile. aaron kissed you gently before you’re back in your room to get ready.

when spencer arrives you both head out quickly. you notice spencer has been looking at you the moment he picked you up.

you turned to look at him as you walk towards the bookstore where the signing was being held. you stop in front of him and playfully glare.

“why are you watching me like you’re profiling me, spence?”

spencer head tilts to the side. “you just seem different.”

“different?”

“yeah. you have this weird glow. what’s going on?”

you just shrug your shoulders before opening the door. he follows you questionably. now he’s really curious what’s going on with you. he’s glad that you’re doing better. you seem to feel so confident. more confident than he’s seen you in a while.

he missed seeing that smile. he missed seeing his best friend feeling free.

“what is it spencer?”

“im trying to figure out what it is.”

you run your fingers over a few books.

“and do you have an idea?”

“i have a guess.”

you knew he knew. you can simply tell by the way he’s smiling. plus he’s spencer. he’s smart! you knew he’d figure it out before anyone else. you expected him to.

“and what is it you guessed?”

“i haven’t seen you smile like that for a long time. ever since i saw you a few years back. if i recall you were seeing this guy. you told me you really liked him. but this, this is different. you’re glowing more, smiling more, laughing more. you have been for the last six months since you been here. ive even noticed an fbi agent. more specifically the unit chief has been quite happy too. he’s even left for lunch a few times. which is something he doesn’t do. he’s also tried to leave the office earlier. from that i can guess that you’re both seeing someone at the same time or you’re seeing each other.”

“okay genius! yes. yes we’re seeing each other. our first dates tonight!”

spencer smiles. “do you love him?”

you nod your head gently. spencer hugs you tightly. “im glad that you’re happy. haven’t seen you this happy in so long. i haven’t seen him happy either.”

you simply roll your eyes.

“don’t think i don’t know you! this was your plan all along! wasn’t it?”

“it wasn’t my plan exactly. i just felt like you both had things in common. i knew you could use someone else shoulder to cry on. and he could use someone else to vent to. you two falling in love was all on you.”

you shake your head. “lets go get this autograph, genius!”

later that night you got ready for your date. you wore a beautiful black dress that you thought showed off your curves. you thanked yourself for getting your hair done a week prior to aaron asking you out. you went for a glossy look with your make up. you absolutely loved what you did.

when you walked downstairs you were met with a knock on the door. your eyebrows furrowed confused. you opened the door and smiled. aaron was standing outside the porch with a bouquet of flowers. he hands them to you.

“thank you, sir!”

aaron looks at you in awe. you were the most beautiful woman he’d seen. he grabs a single braid and puts it behind your ear.

“you look beautiful, honey.”

you smiled hugely. hugging him before walking inside to grab a vase. you put water in it before setting the flowers inside.

“thank you. i—i didn’t know exactly what to wear. you haven’t given me a clue on where we’re headed.”

aaron puts his hands on your waist. he kissed you gently. “it’s perfect. are you ready my love?”

you simply nod your head.

when you arrived at the restaurant your eyes widened. you’ve seen places like this in movies. the most expensive restaurants celebrities go to.

you’ve never thought you’d be able to walk into a place like this.

“aaron,”

“what is it honey?” aaron stands over you with a frown.

“are you sure we’re in the right place?”

aaron smiles. “yes.”

“this place looks expensive!”

“nothing but the best for my girl. come on.” aaron takes your hand. you smile as you walk hand and hand into the restaurant. aaron gives them his name before you’ve been seated.

when you’re seated aaron pulls the chair out for you before going to the seat across from you. he orders you a bottle of wine. he waits patiently for your server to come back.

“you really do look lovely, darling.”

“you look amazing too, aar. like the bow tie. it’s sexy.”

aaron smirks. “sexy, huh?”

“mhm! gives me james bond vibes.”

aaron laughs.

“you got a fetish for men in power?”

you simply bite the bottom of your lip. confirming his suspicion.

“honey?”

“what? it’s just sexy. i can’t explain it. it’s something about a man that’s in control. on top of that you’re like close to a spy ill ever get. i—nevermind.”

“what?”

“this is more of a third date conversation. not a first date.”

“i hate to break it to you, darling. we’re already passed that. we confessed our love to one another.”

you knew he was right. you were just shy. you’ve never been the one to be open when it comes to sex. it’s why your past partners weren’t as good. you never really discussed what you’re into and what is a hard no.

“hey. look at me.”

you look into aaron’s eyes.

“you don’t need to be nervous, baby. tell me what’s going on in that big beautiful brain of yours.”

“ive always had a fantasy. i—past boyfriends never really took full control. i wanna be able to submit to my partner. i don’t know. it’s stupid.” you simply shake your head.

aaron grabs your hand. “hey! don’t do that. it’s nothing wrong with you feeling that way. i understand what you mean, baby. im assuming you feel like you’re always in control?”

“since i was little. i was different than my siblings. they got a little more attention than i did. my brother was more like my mom and sister was more like my father. i was—i wasn’t planned like my brother and sister. sometimes i felt like they only kept me because they felt like they had to. the older i got the more i took care of myself a lot. once i moved around, being a woman alone, i had to be on high alert. i guess i just want to feel less in control.”

aaron nods understandably.

“i get it. we can try that. as long as you let me know what’s too far, baby. i want you to feel pleasure in every way.”

“i understand. can we um—could we save this conversation when we’re in private?” you felt like people were staring. you knew it was all in your head but you couldn’t help how you felt.

aaron simply hums.

“how’s your project going?”

“this new client wants a family portrait. i have a photo of them but im always more comfortable with seeing someone right in front of me. makes the art work feel more natural.”

“have you discussed this with the family?”

you nod. “unfortunately the father is overseas. it sucks but i understand.”

aaron hums. “is that the only project you have thus far?”

“no. actually i have a fur client! aaron. the cat is so cute and fluffy! the owners gonna bring her around in two weeks. she’s a sister of one of the moms i met at jacks school. i haven’t drawn an animal so it’s gonna be new for me. not challenging but very new.”

“i can’t wait to see it. have you gotten anymore calls?”

“yes. i have my card out to plenty of people. especially the parents at school.”

“be careful though, honey. don’t just give your card away to anyone.”

you knew he was protecting you. with the things he’s seen you knew he just wanted you to be safe. you grab his hand and kiss the back of it.

“i will. promise.”

aaron smiles at you lovingly. the two of you continue conversation before you order and your food arrives. you talk about pretty much everything. aaron tells you about his childhood a little. he talks about when jack was born. you both discuss what you’re gonna do when for jacks birthday coming up.

once you finished dinner aaron payed the bill. he grabbed your hand and you both walked out of the building.

aaron opens the passenger door for you. you thanked him before getting in. he walks over to the driver seat. he drives off.

“where to now?”

“hmm? im thinking we should head home. got a little gift for you i left in my room.”

“really? could i get a hint?”

“lets just say you’ll love it.”

“aar?!” you moan dramatically.

“honey?!” he mimics you.

you roll your eyes at him. when you get home you try to beat aaron to the door. he’s quicker though.

he unlocks the door. you’re right behind him. you head upstairs. you let him know you’re going to change. he simply nods his head.

you close your bedroom door and sigh nervously. you get in the shower and clean your body nervously. when you get out you gently run your hands through the lingerie piece. you’ve never worn anything like this before. you never had the confidence to do so.

aaron made you feel confident. you weren’t exactly skinny. you were always on the thicker side. some guys you’ve dated had made it known. two of your ex’s never cared much. they had a bit of a fetish when it came to your weight but the last man you dated made you feel much more insecure.

he’d always comment on your weight gain or the the stretch marks or the cellulite on your thighs and ass. it’s what stopped you from dating for awhile. now you feel completed.

you knew aaron couldn’t have cared any less about your weight. you were still quite nervous. you sigh as you slip on the outfit and grab your robe. you wrap it around yourself as you walk towards aaron’s bedroom. you gently knock.

when he opens the door he was now wearing a simple white t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. he looked beautiful.

aaron smiles. he grabs your hand and walks you in his room. you smile.

“where’s my gift?”

aaron walks over and to his dresser and hands you a small red box. you look at his suspiciously before opening it. you gasped at the necklace.

you remembered telling aaron you’ve never dated in high school. you told him you felt like you missed the whole high school dating experience.

you’ve always wanted the cheesy boyfriend and girlfriend experience. one where you give each other gifts and jewelry. “ive always wanted a necklace with my boyfriends name on it. i know it’s corny but, its romantic.”

you look at the necklace that has his name. you smile hugely. “baby?”

“you like it?”

“i love it!”

aaron grabs the necklace. you move your hair out of the way. he puts the necklace on and clips it. aaron kisses the back of your neck.

“thought id be a little corny.” he states with a smirk. you turn around. giving him the most passionate kiss ever. he kisses you back with equal passion. aaron runs his hands down your back before untying your robe. you shrug it off your shoulders. he steps back and admired you.

you begin the wrap your arms around yourself shyly. aaron moves your hands.

“none of that. you’re beautiful. absolutely stunning.” he whispers.

he gently caress your face. he kisses you gently. he licks the bottom of your lip asking for access. you allow him. he lifts you. you wrap your legs around his waist. he gently sets you down on his bed. he continues to kiss you before he pulls away. he kisses the back your neck softly.

you sigh contently. aaron runs his hands on your body. he gently caress your left boob. he kisses your shoulder before slowly lifting your one piece off. he groans before sucking on your left nipple. you hold him closer. mouth open wide, you’ve never felt so comfortable with another man like this.

aaron finally shift to your other nipple. when he’s finished he lifts his hand and open your mouth. you gently suck on two of his fingers. he rubs his fingers against your cunt. gently getting the fill on you.

“god, you’re so wet. is this for me baby?”

“mhm.”

aaron gently rubs his fingers against your clit. you grunt.

“you want to give up control, sweetheart? want me to dominate you?”

“please?”

aaron slowly slips his his middle finger inside you. “gotta tell me it feels good, baby. let me know how good i make you feel.”

“one more. please?”

aaron obliged. he sticks another finger inside. he starts to fuck you slowly. he kisses you down your body until his face is right near your cunt. he sucks on the inside of your thigh.

“please?”

“please what, baby? tell me what you want exactly.”

“need your mouth, aar. please?”

he hums. aaron gives you a kitten lick. he groans before he dives right in. he sucks on your clit. your body moves side to side. aaron holds you down. he continues to eat you out as if it’s his last meal.

he pulls back slightly. “god, you taste so good. so fucking good, baby.” he dives right back in. you grip his hair. you run your fingers through it.

his tongue felt so good against you. you were so close. he starts to fuck you with his fingers once more. he felt you tighten around him.

“gonna cum?”

“yes.”

“come on then, baby.”

aaron fucks you harder before your legs start to shake. he starts to kiss you.

“aaron?”

“what is it, sweetheart? tell me?”

“want you.”

aaron lifts himself up. he discard his t-shirt and pull his sweatpants off. your eyes widened. you’ve never been with a man as big as aaron. his cock was red and angry. you could see his veins. he stood about eight inches and the girth was pretty thick. you were quite nervous.

aaron kisses you reassuringly. “it’s okay. we can stop right now if you’d like? just gotta let me know.”

you simply shake your head. “don’t wanna stop. just—you’re bigger than i could have imagine.”

aaron gives you a small smile. “i’ll go slow. won’t hurt you.”

he reaches for his bedside and grabs a condom. he opens the packet and slips the condom on.

“you ready for me, honey?”

you nod your head slowly. aaron teases you by rubbing the head of his cock against your slit. you moan softly. he slowly slips the head of his cock inside you. he pushes inch by inch. he kisses you softly as he fucks you gently.

you wrap your arms around him. he swallows your moans as he pulls out of you before pushing into him once more.

“oh, fuck.”

“yeah?”

“please, aar. harder?”

“you want me to fuck you harder baby? how bad do you need it?”

“need it so bad. you feel so good inside me.”

aaron fucks you deeper and rougher. he puts his hand around your neck. you grunt. your eyes rolls in the back of your head.

“god dammit. your pussy is so fucking tight and wet. just so perfect, baby. feels like it’s made for me.”

you’ve never been vocal during sex. but aaron just does something for you.

“was. made just for you, aar. i belong to you.”

“holy fuck! say that again honey.”

“my body and soul belong to you, baby. im yours.”

you swore you can feel him in your belly. you rest your hand down your stomach and your suspicions were confirmed.

“aar.”

“yes, honey?” he grunts into your neck. you grab his hand and place it on your belly. he grunts as he feels his cock.

“you’re so deep, baby. gonna come for you.”

“me too. so close. love your pussy so much. my pussy!”

“yours!”

“i won’t go so easy on you next time baby. right now im making love to your body. treating it like a princess. next time im gonna fuck you, yeah? fuck you like my pretty little slut, yeah? that’s what you want?”

“mhm! want that so bad.”

“good girl. my good little baby. god. wanna come in you next time. wanna go in you raw.”

“want that too! aaron, ‘m coming.”

aaron grunts. “shit! me too. fuck, baby.” aaron cums inside the condom as you cum around him.

he bury’s his head in your neck before slowly pulling out of you.

“i love you, honey.”

“i love you too, baby.”

he wraps his arms around your waist. he kisses your shoulder. aaron runs his fingers up and down your shoulders.

“goodnight, princess.”

“goodnight.”

you fall asleep in aaron’s arms. feeling a piece of happiness and calmness.

so this chapter literally took me all night. i started at like 8:30pm and just finished at 5:44am. yikes! to be fair though i am watching criminal minds at the same time as writing this.

i should head to bed though. i hope you guys enjoy this. next chapter will be the couple telling jack

night babies <3

#jqhotchner #jqhotchner masterlist #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x black!reader #aaron hotchner series #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x black fem!reader #astrology jqhotchner

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psycheetamore · 13 days ago

Text

Choosing to follow destiny

Chapter 1: Introducing Yaina, formerly known as Kalayn

Summary of the entire fic: PoV Feyd-Rautha: our lord has been enraptured by the fearless Fremen leader Yaina while fighting on Arrakis. After she decided not to kill him, he has managed to capture her as he decided to make her his. After some initial struggles on both sides (as he understands she will never truly become his if he forces her), she is starting to be more comfortable in his presence, and is rising in Giedi Prime ranks. He is set on unlocking parts of her she did not know existed, and showing her everything (... this is as suggestive as you can interpret it - heavy smut) his planet has to offer.

PoV lead lady: Yaina has chosen to pick up arms against the Harkonnen to liberate Arrakis. As she catches the eye of Paul Atreides and Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, she needs to find her own path and gain control, to achieve what she beliefs is her goal. The question is whether her being drawn to the na-Baron (with some convincing of our darling Feyd of course) will advance her or withhold her.

Pre notes with this chapter: Let's start with a bit of background, let's set the scene for a few of the main players and the dynamics in which they live. Bear with me; Feyd-Rautha deserves a grand entrance. First published on AO3

Tags for the entire fanfic: MDNI, the works, as Feyd-Rautha is his own trigger warning, the typical Feyd tags (smut, violence, non-con/rape etc), imaginary suicide - smut in different shapes and forms (pretty much all shapes and forms tbh; I could not help myself, so after some edging/power play/taunting/hunting in chapters 7, 8, 9, 10, 12 and 15, some prophetic smut in chapters 13 and 14, our lord finally gets what he wants - and then some - in chapters 15, 16, 17, 18, 19), violence (like really really graphic - I enjoyed myself just a bit too much writing chapter 20, so I am getting worried), non-con/rape (chapter 23 - we are dealing with a very hot but still psychotic man here) - the author regrets nothing

Word count: 1.6k

+++

There is an ongoing battle for Arrakis.

Yaina was squatting in a cave, surrounded by her squad, preparing for the launch of yet another strike on one of the Harkonnen spice harvesters. Yaina looked at the dozen or so men and women surrounding her while she laid out the plan. She could not help but notice that the clashes over the last few days had them grow tired.

Yaina asked: “do you feel comfortable going out in a few hours? I cannot have you die on me.”

One of her fighters, who goes by the name Bakyi, declared “Yaina, we are yours to command, in life and death. We will deliver whatever you ask from us. Don't worry about us. We know what we are fighting for.” And on that declaration the other warriors slapped the palms of their hands on their chests, resulting in a loud sound that went around in the cave to support the message.

Yaina responded: “I know I ask a lot from you. Your efforts are what will set us free.” And on that comment, she stood up and instructed the fighters to make themselves ready for the clash.

+++

Yaina did not know how old she exactly was. She did not know where she was born, who her parents were, what name they gave her. Her earliest memories dated from when she was still living in an orphanage ran by Harkonnen in the capital city of Arrakis, Arrakeen. As all the children in the orphanage, Yaina, or Kalayn as she was then called (which meant ‘little’), dreamt that she was the long-lost child of the emperor and the first empresses from the Great House of Ginaz. She would often hope that she would be rescued by her true parents or any case the still living emperor Shaddam Corrino IV. This could happen at any time. He would then have her returned to her rightful house in Kaitain where she would live in luxury forever and after.

But as with many dreams, this dream did not come out.

It was rumoured in the orphanage that once children hit a certain age, boys 12 years old and girls 10 years old, they would be sent off to Giedi Prime to work as slaves. Children would repeat the speculations they overheard from their minders: boys would end up working a few years in quarries until there was nothing left but to be sacrificed as game for entertainment in the arena or as practice targets. Girls would perhaps live longer, as domestic staff or forced in pleasure houses, but not happier. The children held these speculations to be true, if only because no children that reached such ages lived in the orphanage.

When she started to notice she was almost the tallest girl in the orphanage, Yaina knew her time was up. She needed to decide: would she take control over her life and make a run for it, or continue to have other people make decisions for her.

This was not a difficult decision. She chose to escape the orphanage during a stormy night. Yaina knew her minders would not find her missing for a couple of hours, and even if they did, they would not tread outside of building in the unforgiving conditions presented by this sand storm. That allowed her at least until the coming night, when the temperatures dropped again, to flee into Fremen territory.

Yaina, or Kalayn as she was then still called, did not bring anything with her when she fled one night, apart from a golden ring – her only and invaluable connection to her past, some food and water she managed to gather over the last few weeks, a worn stillsuit and some boys’ clothes. She decided it would be safest to travel disguised as a boy, so she chopped her hair. None of her friends were informed on her upcoming escape. She knew they would be interrogated. The Harkonnen had ways to force the truth out of anyone. This would only result in grave punishment for them and the risk that Yaina would be captured again. It was best to keep them in the unknown and cut the ties without goodbyes.

For two nights and a day the young girl travelled through worm territory. Despite the harsh conditions and lacking true dessert survival skills, she knew she did not have any other option than to persevere. It was that, or death. She would never lose her freedom again. Her resoluteness made her succeed.

Fremen found her, still a tiny little thing. They saw the determination in her eyes. They decided to take her on board.

+++

While Yaina was preparing herself for the upcoming strike, she looked at herself in the shiny reflection of her sword. She recalled that once she presented herself as a boy to the Fremen, about eight years ago, she never looked back and never corrected that white lie. Yaina saw how depreciatingly the Harkonnen treated women on Arrakis. She did not want to risk the same treatment in any other community. By the time she learned that men and women within the Fremen community were treated quite equally, she feared it was already too late to tell the truth. She did not want to be ousted, so she continued to live with her new identity. Following her dedication to the cause of the Fremen, she earned the name Yaina.

Over the years she did not manage to gain much more knowledge about her background, other than what came to her through dreams. In her dreams she saw lush greenery, beautiful architecture and four moons. Yaina never knew for certain whether these dreams held truths or not, but she chose to believe the dreams. Together with her ring, it was the only thing she could cling on to.

Fortunately, Yaina had an androgynous appearance. It was clear that Fremen blood did not run through her veins, although she was fully submerged and accepted within the Fremen. Her features allowed her to be well adapted to the harsh climate of Arrakis, but were clearly driven for adoption in colder climates. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, her nose was small, and her eyes were black while surrounded by bright blue from years of limited exposure to spice. Her curved eyes were almond shaped, complementing her jaw that was chiselled. Her hair was raven black and very slightly curled if kept loose.

However, she tended to braid her long hair, as what the other undefeated Fremen warriors did. The sun in Arrakis has kissed her skin golden, on which expressive lips rested. Despite all the fights she encountered, the scarring on her face was minimal. However, grooves that would not even leave her face during her sleep were proof of years of hardship.

Yaina was never questioned on why she did not have facial hair, even during weeks of hunting and fighting. Everybody knew that her dedication was to her battles: the masks of stillsuits had a slightly better fitting on clean shaven faces and her blade was always sharp enough. Her body was lean in a muscular way from years of fighting and deprivation, so any curves she had could be hidden in a stillsuit.

She was slightly shorter than most Fremen men, which was contributed to the hardships she endured under Harkonnen rule. If anything, this underlined her reputation.

All other tell-tails of being female could be hidden.

+++

The na-Baron Glossu Rabban had been given the rulership over Arrakis several years ago, after the house of Atreides was extinguished. His uncle, the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, tasked him with maintaining spice production. Initially, Rabban managed to improve the original production. This was not difficult.

The Atreides were only responsible for the planet for a short period of time. The Baron made sure of that. He removed all good materials and experienced workers, and left the Atreides to fend for themselves to create good production values. Under the ever-increasing pressure of the emperor to improve production, the Harkonnen came in, covertly supported by the emperor's private Sardaukar army. The Great House of Atreides was banished to live on in history books.

As gift for the steps taken by the Harkonnen, the emperor gave the Harkonnen their fief over Arrakis back.

The Baron decided to place Rabban in charge. A man in appearance and attitude a brute. There was nothing refined to him. His large head was bold, as were his brows, with grooves running across the back of his head. However large his head was, it seemed small compared to the size of his body. His shoulders were broad, his arms and legs rivalled the size of tree trunks and hands large enough to cover a grown man's head. He was a long man with dark brown eyes. The parts of his skin exposed to the star lighting Arrakis radiated redness.

Arrakis caused him to sweat continuously. Despite this, he wore his black armour continuously. He was always suspicious for attacks as he did not trust anyone; the result of the harsh upbringing he received from the Baron. He was known to have slaughtered his first wife, even before she could conceive, earning him the name the Beast. The reason still being unknown, but rumoured to be caused by his paranoic fear that she was planning to flee from him. He did not wed since. It was said he would frequent his slave quarters regularly, leaving a trail of despair.

The Baron returned the working materials and experienced workers to Arrakis. Before long Rabban could boast that he himself increased the spice production to pre-Atreides levels, and believed himself to be the saviour of the empire and the Harkonnen name.

The Baron knew this would never last.

+++

Link to next chapter

Post notes with this entire fanfic: Yes, Austin Butler as Feyd-Rautha, combined with this amazing online community, are to blame for this. You came into my head, found a comfy spot and are still to leave. I love you guys.

Since beginning of March, when I saw Dune 2 for the first time, I have been obsessed and you have catered to that obsession. You have also helped me through some challenging times – I love this community. I now want to present you with another take on Feyd-Rautha, inspired especially by an (amazing yet unfortunately deleted) fanfic presenting the lady Moroi as tantalising counter part of our darling Feyd (‘What need have we for honor’) and what is perhaps the best K-Drama of all times Empress Ki. You caused me to pick up fanfic since I stopped (read: paused) about ages ago (when I used to share a floppy disk with my co-fanfic authors aka friends). You caused me to acknowledge my love for moody enemy bastards turned (still moody) lovers, now to be expressed through my own fanfic.

As mentioned, I may be (am) a bit rusty. I am not working with a beta reader, as I am at an age where I have learned to ditch perfectionism (important cause of never feeling happy & procrastination), know about the two-cake rule and am a firm supporter of the 80/20 rule. Having said that: I would love to receive your feedback and points where you would like to me diverge, expand or downsize. I am still working on the upcoming chapters, so there is flexibility.

#feyd rautha harkonnen #feral for feyd #dune part 2 #ao3 fanfic #feyd rautha is physically imposing #feyd rautha smut

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snowdrop-ivy · 1 month ago

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The Light Within: IV - Safe and Sound

Summary: In a world where danger lurks at every corner, will Anna and Bucky find the strength to confront their pasts and embrace a future together, or will their scars keep them apart forever?

Pairing: Bucky x Stark!Reader, Bucky x Avenger!Reader

True to her word, Tony did buy the Avengers. However, they had to compromise: the government and the U.N. required a mission report plan before and after every operation. The final discussions about casualty protocols were still ongoing. As Tony made clear, he would oversee their missions but would not participate unless absolutely necessary. He admitted he wasn’t ready to meet with the team yet, a sentiment Anna understood all too well.

Anna took it upon herself to gather the remaining members of the team. Clint was the only exception; he opted to spend more time with his family, a choice everyone respected.

The group convened in the compound, where they each had separate rooms. Tony had poured a significant portion of the budget into making sure everyone was comfortable, particularly for Anna. The compound buzzed with a mix of anticipation and unease, the weight of their shared experiences hanging heavily in the air as they prepared to navigate this new chapter together.

“So?” Anna ended her statement, looking at everyone in the room. “Anybody have any questions?”

“I figured you’ll supervise the team?” Nat asked, looking at her.

“No,” she sighed, glancing at Steve seated beside Nat. “What’s the use of having Captain America here then?”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, a modest smile playing on his lips. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for that again,” he admitted. “Leadership comes with a lot of weight, especially now.”

“But you’re the one everyone looks up to,” she countered, her eyes searching his for assurance. “How’d you all feel if Mindweaver stands up to the podium and tell you that the world is fucked?”

She heard snickers around the room and felt the heat rising to her cheeks. Glancing around, her gaze finally landed on Bucky. His lips were pursed, holding back a grin, but the laughter dancing in his eyes was undeniable. It was a mixture of amusement and affection that made her heart flutter, even in the midst of the teasing.

“With your looks and body, I’d listen,” Nat answered, teasing her with a grin.

Wanda raised her hand. “Count me in on that. When’s the live stream?”

“Okay, ladies,” She held up her palms. “Calm your ovaries.”

Nat and Wanda looked at each other before snickering. Anna took a deep breath, settling her look back on Steve, a playful smirk dancing in her lips. “What’d you say, Cap?”

Steve looked up, momentarily caught off guard by her presence. “I—uh, nothing, I don’t know,” he stammered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. The earnestness of the moment was broken, if only slightly, by Anna’s teasing tone.

“Well,” she sighed, stepping further into the room, her smile fading slightly. “We’re all still adjusting to everything, Steve. It’s okay to feel a little lost.”

He met her gaze, his expression sobering. “Yeah, it’s just… I’ve always been the one to lead, to have a plan. Now it feels different.”

“You’re still a leader, Cap,” she reassured him, her voice steady. “We all just need time to find our footing again.”

“Thanks, Anna. That means a lot,” he said, a small smile breaking through the heaviness.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” she smirked, raising her brows at him.

Steve took a harsh breath, bobbing his head. “Yes.”

“Great! Then I expect a full briefing on your next brilliant strategy,” she teased, leaning against the doorframe with a mock seriousness that made him chuckle.

“I think we’re all done here, people. I’ll see you all in the morning, so you better sleep tight. Tony made sure you have comfortable beds, so take advantage of that,” she said, before leaving the room.

As she stepped out, a wave of warmth washed over her, knowing the team was finally together again. She paused in the hallway for a moment, taking a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past few months lift just a little. It wouldn’t be easy, but they were home. She quickly found her way to Tony’s office, knocking on it before entering.

“Hey kid,” Tony acknowledged her presence even though his back was turned at her.

Anna raised her brow, before sitting down on the chair in front of his table. “What are you doing?”

Tony turned to her, placing the stacks of folders on the table. “Looking over the recruits,” he said before placing a kiss on her head.

“Recruits?” She asked, her eyebrow arching in curiosity as she picked up a folder and flipped it open. “What are we? A boyband?”

Tony chuckled, shaking his head. “You just take after me.”

“Is that a bad thing?” she teased, her playful smirk growing.

“Definitely a good thing,” he answered, raising his glass at her, a corner of his mouth lifted in a proud smile. “But yes, those are recruits– Every enhanced individual HYDRA made, living across the world.”

“People like me, huh?” she snickered.

He sighed, running a hand over his hair. “Yes, people like you.”

She paused, looking at the photographs and profiles, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling in her chest. “So, what’s the plan? Are we recruiting them to join the Avengers?”

“No,” he answered, his tone more serious than before. “I mean, if they want to, but our main task is to protect them—and their families.”

“Huh?” Her expression hardened, sarcasm lacing her words. “Wish we had Avengers in my time.”

“Anna,” he softly called her, trying to reach her beyond the sarcasm. “We’ll find out who did this.”

“Like that’ll bring them back?” she shot back, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“Well,” Tony sighed, his expression softening as he watched his daughter toughen up. “Don’t you want answers?”

“I don’t see the point,” she said, crossing her arms defiantly. The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging heavily between them.

“Sometimes knowing is the only way to move forward,” he replied gently, searching her eyes for understanding. “It’s not just about closure; it’s about ensuring this doesn’t happen again.”

Anna’s resolve wavered as she absorbed his words. “But what if the answers hurt more than the questions?”

“Then we deal with it together,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “You’re not alone in this, Anna. We’ll face whatever comes, side by side.”

She looked away for a moment, grappling with her emotions. Finally, she turned back to him, her expression softening slightly. “I just… I don’t want to feel weak again.”

“You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have,” Tony insisted, leaning forward in his chair. “You’re a Stark. I promise you, we’ll find a way to protect those who need it most.”

She looked into his eyes, his gaze full of affection, before staring at the floor, the weight of unspoken feelings pressing down on her. “Don’t you just wish heaven had visiting hours?”

“All the damn time,” Tony replied, a slight smile playing on his lips, though the sadness lingered in his voice. “But you can always use BARF.”

“Ugh,” she faked, gagging dramatically. “That’s the worst! You’d think I’d want to visit my loved ones, not be subjected to your terrible inventions.”

“Hey, it’s either that or I build you an armor,” he teased, leaning back in his chair, trying to lighten the mood. “And I’m not sure how well that would go with the current funding situation.”

Anna rolled her eyes, but a small smile crept onto her face despite the heaviness of their conversation. “An armor, really? You think I can visit my family with that?”

“Maybe not for heaven, but it could be a great way to reach out to aliens,” he winked, trying to make her laugh.

She chuckled, the warmth of their bond momentarily brightening the somber atmosphere. “Right, because that’s exactly what I want—an alien visitation.”

“Hey, you never know. They might have some stellar advice,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

But as the laughter faded, the reality of their losses loomed large again. “It just feels so unfair,” she whispered, looking back down. “Not being able to talk to them, to know they’re okay.”

“I get it, kid,” he said softly, his expression turning serious again. “But we have to focus on what we can do now. Honor their memory by making sure no one else goes through what we did.”

“Yeah, I know.” She took a deep breath, feeling a mix of determination and sorrow. “I just wish there was an easier way.”

Tony reached across the table, placing his hand over hers. “We’ll find our way, I promise. We’re in this together, remember?”

She nodded, squeezing his hand back, comforted by his presence. “Sure, Dad.” And for a brief moment, the weight of their grief felt just a little lighter.

They decided to ditch their plans and spend their day together. It had been too long since Tony had taken Anna out for a father-daughter date, and to say he was glad would be an understatement. The two of them slipped into their usual banter with ease, as if no time had passed since the last time they’d done this.

They drove around the city, stopping by a little diner Tony claimed was one of the best-kept secrets of New York. Anna rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. Over burgers and fries, she told him about her current plans—her hopes, the challenges ahead, and the questions she didn’t have answers to yet. Tony listened more than he talked, his expression softening at the sight of his daughter all grown up, but still very much the kid he had raised.

As the day turned into night, they found themselves laughing over old stories, lost in the warmth of the memories they shared. Tony felt a rare sense of peace, one he hadn’t felt in a long time, just being there with Anna.

When they got back to the compound, the exhaustion of the day finally hit her. She stifled a yawn as they walked through the doors, and Tony smiled, ruffling her hair playfully.

“Get some rest, kid. Today was fun.”

She nodded, too tired to argue or throw back one of her witty comebacks. As soon as she reached her room, she changed into comfortable clothes, sinking into the bed with a sigh. The warmth of the day’s memories still lingered as she drifted off to sleep, her heart a little lighter after spending the day with her dad.

BUCKY felt uncomfortable, the weight of his thoughts heavier than the soft bed beneath him. He shifted restlessly, tossing and turning, trying in vain to find some relief. The bed was soft, plush even, but his mind was anything but. It was a warzone of memories and regrets, battles fought and scars unseen.

He stared at the ceiling, his breaths uneven, hoping that sleep would eventually come. But the silence of the night only magnified his unease, pulling him deeper into his own mind. Every time he closed his eyes, flashes of the past would creep in—faces, moments, regrets. It was like trying to fight a battle that he couldn’t win, one that never ended.

With a frustrated sigh, Bucky sat up, running a hand through his hair. No matter how hard he tried, peace continued to elude him.

Then came the knock.

Bucky’s brows furrowed in confusion, wondering who could possibly be at his door at this late hour. The sound cut through the silence, pulling him from his restless thoughts. His instincts kicked in immediately, his body tensing as he slowly got out of bed.

With cautious steps, he approached the door, his mind racing through possibilities. His heart pounded harder with each step, the weight of uncertainty settling heavily in his chest. He paused in front of the door, hand hovering over the handle. For a moment, he hesitated, taking a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever—or whoever—was on the other side. Then, with one swift motion, he opened the door.

His eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Anna standing on the other side of the door. She looked tired, her eyes holding a mixture of uncertainty and something he couldn't quite place. Even though Anna was slacked, she was still beautiful in his eyes; her hair disheveled with her eyes mask tangled. Her purple, fuzzy blanket wrapped around her. Her mix matched socks. She wore an oversized white shirt with a picture of a dog and pink striped pajamas.

"Anna?" Bucky said, his voice low, unsure of why she was there.

She shifted nervously, biting her lower lip. "I couldn't sleep," she admitted softly. "And… I thought maybe you couldn't either."

Bucky blinked, still processing her unexpected presence. His initial confusion slowly melted into understanding. Without a word, he stepped aside, silently inviting her in. He watched as Anna sat on his bed, leaning on the headboard, tucking her leg under herself, her presence filling the quiet room with a sense of calm he hadn’t felt all night. She gave him a small, tentative smile, and for a moment, he felt the tension in his chest ease slightly.

He closed the door quietly, leaning against it with his arms crossed, his mind racing to make sense of her sudden appearance. “Couldn’t sleep huh?” he asked, breaking the heavy silence hanging between them.

“Well, I was,” Anna admitted with a soft smile. “But then I felt you tossing and turning, so I came here. Figured you might need a night guard.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a smirk as he moved to sit down beside her on the bed. “A night guard, huh?”

Her eyes sparkled, a playful light dancing in them. “Yes, Sergeant. A night guard.”

“And what exactly does a night guard do?” he asked, curiosity growing as he glanced at her.

“A lot,” she replied through a yawn, her voice softening. “They guard you to sleep, or... if you’re not in the mood for that, they’ll watch movies with you.”

Bucky nodded, amusement flickering on his face. "Sounds like a useful position."

“Which one do you need, Sergeant?” she asked, her voice dipping to a whisper.

“I’ll take the latter,” he whispered back, his eyes lingering on her.

Bucky chuckled softly, shaking his head at the idea of a "night guard," but there was something oddly comforting about it. As the movie began, the familiar chaos of The Hangover filled the room, and for a moment, it eased the tension swirling in his mind.

He glanced over at Anna, watching her settle in with the pillow on her lap. The flicker of the TV illuminated her face, highlighting the relaxed curve of her smile as she immersed herself in the movie. He felt a sudden urge to close the gap between them, to fill that small, lingering inch of space. But instead, he just leaned back against the headboard, letting the movie distract them both.

Minutes passed, the room filled with soft laughter and the occasional joke from the screen. Bucky’s gaze kept drifting to Anna, his thoughts quieter now but still there. He couldn’t remember the last time someone sat beside him like this—someone who didn’t make him feel so…alone.

“You make a good night guard,” he said softly after a while, his voice barely audible over the movie.

She turned to him, her eyes soft and a bit drowsy. “Yeah? Well, that’s good, because I don’t plan on quitting anytime soon.”

They sat in comfortable silence, the movie’s opening scenes playing in the background, but neither of them seemed to pay much attention. The flicker of the TV screen illuminated their faces, but the real electricity was between them, in the charged silence that neither knew how to break. After a few minutes, Anna’s voice broke the silence. “You know, I don’t really think I’m that great of a night guard,” she said, yawning again. “I’m already half asleep.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his gaze moving from the screen to her. “Well, you’re doing a decent job just being here.”

Her eyes fluttered open at his words, and she turned to face him. The tension from earlier seemed to dissipate between them as her expression softened. “Good. Maybe I’ll clock in some overtime.”

He smiled, feeling a rare sense of peace wash over him. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

As the movie progressed, Anna’s eyelids began to droop. Bucky could see the struggle on her face to stay awake, her head bobbing slightly as she fought against the pull of sleep. Eventually, she surrendered, leaning against him, her head finding a comfortable spot on his shoulder. He felt a rush of warmth at the contact, and his heart swelled as he adjusted his position to support her. The soft rise and fall of her breathing and her light snore soothed him, and he turned his gaze back to the screen, though he found it difficult to concentrate on the movie.

Minutes passed, and Bucky felt himself relaxing into the moment, her presence a balm for his restless thoughts. As he shifted slightly, he could feel the warmth radiating from her, a soft weight that grounded him. The tension from earlier melted away, and the familiar worries about the world outside faded into the background. With Anna nestled against him, Bucky allowed his eyes to flutter closed, comforted by the gentle rhythm of her breathing. He sank deeper into the mattress, a rare sense of safety wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

The movie played on, but Bucky was no longer aware of the scenes flashing across the screen. Instead, he drifted off, lost in a comfortable sleep, the weight of the day slipping away as he finally found solace in the quiet of the night.

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