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novaursa · 1 month

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Where Dragons Dare (1/3)

- Summary: After you are left greatly injured by a dragon riding accident, the small council puts pressure on your father, King Viserys I, to have another male heir.

- Paring: (male!targ) reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+ (rating will go all the way up for the last two parts)

- Word count: 9 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: This was requested by @witch-of-letters. ❤️ I hope you enjoy the first part. I've tried to fit into this one most of the information you've given me. The rest will be in the next two parts.

- Next part: 2

The council chamber buzzes with tension, thick as smoke, as the lords gathered around the long table cast uneasy glances at King Viserys. The king, grey hairs creeping into his Targaryen silver, wears the weight of the realm across his brow. His gaze is distant, fixed on the empty chair at the end of the table where you, his only son, should be sitting, were it not for the incident that left you bed-ridden, your ribs shattered and your leg mangled. The air is tight, a storm brewing beneath the grand stone arches and tapestries that adorn the walls.

Viserys lets out a weary sigh as Grand Maester Mellos, hunched and robed in the dull grays of his order, speaks. “Your Grace, the Prince’s injuries are… severe. His recovery remains uncertain, particularly with the damage sustained to his leg. There is concern that even if he does survive this ordeal, he may never ride Dallax again.” Mellos’ tone is cautious, as if picking each word with tweezers.

At that, Otto Hightower, ever poised and calculated, leans forward with his usual practiced air of concern. “It is regrettable, Your Grace, but these events could have been avoided had the young prince exercised more restraint. Dragonriding is no sport to be taken lightly, yet Prince Y/N chose to put himself and others at risk with those… dangerous maneuvers during Maiden’s Day celebrations.”

The jab is subtle, but the intent is sharp. Otto’s words are always carefully weighted, his voice smooth as oil yet edged like a blade. There’s a flicker of something behind Viserys’ eyes at the mention of your name, but it’s Corlys Velaryon who rises to your defense before your father can respond.

“Dangerous, you say, Lord Hightower? A dragonrider’s bond with his mount is not something to be dictated by the whims of others,” Corlys counters, his voice deep and resonant. “The Prince, young as he is, shares a bond with Dallax that most dragonriders would envy. To stifle that connection for fear of injury would be to deny what it means to be Targaryen.”

Tyland Lannister, ever opportunistic and sharp-eyed, cuts in with a smooth smile, “While that may be true, Lord Corlys, we cannot ignore the situation at hand. The heir is gravely injured, and we do not yet know the extent of his recovery. The Crown’s stability must be maintained, especially with Queen Aemma carrying another child. We all pray for a healthy son this time, as it would ensure—”

Viserys’ eyes narrow, cutting off Tyland mid-sentence. “You would dare place my son’s potential death before the birth of another heir?” There’s a warning in the king’s tone, though it lacks the sharpness it might have once had. He looks tired, older somehow, as if the weight of his crown presses down harder with each passing year. “Y/N will recover. He is strong, like his mother.”

Otto’s voice slices through the tension again, softer but no less cutting. “No one doubts the Prince’s strength, Your Grace. However, we must be practical. The realm must always have a clear line of succession. Given the uncertainty surrounding Prince Y/N’s condition, ensuring that the Crown is secure with another male heir is not an option to be taken lightly.”

Corlys shoots Otto a disdainful glance, his irritation evident. “It seems some here are quick to forget that Prince Y/N is still very much alive. Would you so easily cast him aside, Hightower?”

Otto doesn’t flinch. “I speak only of the reality we must face. The Prince’s injuries are a reminder of the dangers inherent to our lineage. Daemon Targaryen was much the same in his youth, reckless and bold. Look where that has led him. The realm cannot afford another… unsteady Targaryen to destabilize it.”

Viserys’ face hardens at the mention of Daemon, but there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. It’s no secret that Otto sees you as another Daemon-in-the-making—bold, fiery, and likely to cause as much chaos as your uncle once did. But Corlys, undeterred, presses forward.

“The Prince is no Daemon, and it is folly to compare the two. Y/N is his father’s son, and he carries his mother’s heart in him as well. You speak of him as though he were already lost, yet he fights even now to return to us.”

Mellos interjects, his voice soft yet firm. “We must consider all possibilities. Should the worst happen, the realm would be thrown into disarray if another male heir is not secured. Queen Aemma’s pregnancy provides an opportunity to ensure stability. No one wishes harm upon Prince Y/N, but the Crown must prepare for all outcomes.”

The chamber falls silent as Viserys leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. His eyes flicker from one lord to the next, the weight of their words heavy upon him. It is clear that this is not just about your health, but about the fear that haunts every Targaryen king—the fragility of power, and the burden of legacy.

At last, Viserys speaks, his voice measured but lined with steel. “Y/N is my son, my heir. He will recover. We will not speak of replacing him while he yet breathes and fights. The Queen’s child—should it be a boy—will not supplant my son’s birthright.”

The lords exchange uneasy glances, but none dare press the matter further. Otto’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes calculating, already plotting his next move. Corlys gives a satisfied nod, as if some silent victory has been won in this battle of words.

“Let us end this meeting,” Viserys declares, standing abruptly. “My son needs me at his side, not in this chamber, bickering over shadows.” With that, the King strides from the room, leaving the lords in tense silence.

The echoes of that discussion linger, the council divided, the seeds of doubt planted. But in the end, it is your fate, your strength, that will determine the realm’s future. Whether you rise again or fall will shape the course of House Targaryen’s history, and those who doubt you now will soon see just how much fire runs in your veins.

Alicent Hightower’s fingers work restlessly, picking at the skin around her nails until they redden, a nervous habit she can never seem to fully break. Her eyes, tinged with worry, flicker toward Rhaenyra, who paces before the hearth, her face a storm of emotions. The princess is rarely still, her movements a reflection of her restless energy. But today, there’s an undercurrent of unease in her steps.

Rhaenyra finally pauses, catching Alicent’s gaze, her expression softening just slightly. “You’re worried about him too, aren’t you?” Rhaenyra’s voice carries a note of exasperation, though it’s more for her brother than for Alicent. “Everyone is,” she adds, her tone a mix of annoyance and affection.

Alicent nods, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress as she carefully forms her next words. “I heard the fall was… grave. My brother, Gwayne, he’s been beside himself with worry. He asked after Prince Y/N’s condition, but I haven’t had the heart to tell him much, as I didn’t know the truth of it myself.” Her eyes search Rhaenyra’s for any sign of reassurance.

Rhaenyra gives a small, mirthless laugh, though there’s fondness in her voice. “It was a bad fall, yes. Several broken ribs, a twisted leg… it was awful to see him like that, especially with all the blood. But you know my brother—his head’s still intact, and that’s all he seems to care about. He was already jesting the moment I rushed in to see him after it happened. Can you imagine?” She shakes her head, lips curving slightly. “The first thing he told me was that the dragon landing was all Dallax’s fault, as if the creature hadn’t been trying to save him mid-air.”

Alicent lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The tension in her shoulders eases just a fraction, and despite herself, a soft smile graces her lips at Rhaenyra’s words. “That does sound like him,” she says quietly, her voice warm with a touch of relief. “He’s always been kind to me, even when others were not. I thought I might visit him, to see how he fares. But I didn’t want to intrude… especially with everything happening.”

Rhaenyra’s sharp eyes catch the shift in Alicent’s tone, the nervous edge behind her request. Her smirk returns, a knowing look that dances in her violet eyes. “Is that all, Alicent? You simply wish to return a kindness?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, but it isn’t cruel—rather, it’s affectionate, as one might tease a younger sister.

Alicent’s cheeks flush a delicate shade of pink, and her fingers return to picking at the skin of her thumb. “I only thought it would be polite…” she trails off, clearly flustered under Rhaenyra’s knowing gaze.

“Polite,” Rhaenyra repeats, almost to herself, savoring the word like it’s some private joke. Then, with a mischievous glint, she steps closer and leans in as if sharing a secret. “Why don’t we visit him now, then?” she suggests, her voice both challenging and inviting. “I was planning to see him anyway, and I imagine he’s bored out of his mind. You’d be doing him a favor by distracting him from all the fussing Grand Maester Mellos has been doing.”

Alicent blinks, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion. “Now?” she echoes, her heart skipping a beat. She had been expecting to arrange a visit discreetly, perhaps later in the day, but to go now, with no time to compose herself or prepare… She hesitates, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly. But then, she straightens her spine, smoothing out the folds of her dress. “Yes,” she replies with quiet resolve, the flush still faint on her cheeks. “Let’s go now.”

Rhaenyra’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. “Good. He’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure of it.” She turns and leads the way, her stride confident and purposeful, and for a moment, Alicent is struck by how effortlessly her friend carries herself, a blend of grace and fire that draws everyone’s eyes.

Alicent hurries to match Rhaenyra’s pace, her thoughts racing as they walk down the long corridors of the Red Keep. She’s already imagining what she’ll say when she sees you, how she’ll carefully choose her words to avoid showing too much concern, or worse, revealing the affection she’s kept hidden for so long. It’s no secret that she and you share a certain awkwardness in each other’s presence, a tension that dances between propriety and something unspoken. But perhaps this visit will be different, she tells herself. Perhaps today she’ll find the courage to speak more freely, to let you see the care that lingers behind her usually composed exterior.

The clang of armor and the soft murmurs of passing courtiers fade into the background as the two young women make their way toward your chambers. The air seems heavier the closer they get, anticipation thickening with each step. Rhaenyra glances at Alicent from the corner of her eye, noting the way her friend’s hands twist together nervously. “You know,” Rhaenyra says casually, breaking the silence, “he’s probably expecting me to bring news of the council meeting. But I think he’ll be more interested in who I’ve brought along.”

Alicent’s breath hitches, but she quickly composes herself, offering a light, practiced smile. “I only hope I don’t disturb him.”

Rhaenyra chuckles softly. “Disturb him? You’re more likely to brighten his day, Alicent. He’s been locked away in that chamber long enough. I’d say he could use the company of someone with a gentle touch.”

As they near your chamber doors, the conversation fades, leaving only the echo of their footsteps in the dimly lit hallway. Alicent’s heart pounds in her chest, nerves battling with the quiet thrill of finally seeing you after days of anxious waiting. She takes a deep breath, her hand resting briefly over her stomach as if to steady herself, before glancing at Rhaenyra, who gives her an encouraging nod.

The heavy oak door creaks open, and the first thing Rhaenyra and Alicent see is Queen Aemma, heavily pregnant, perched on the edge of your bed, fussing over you with the care only a mother can give. Her hand smooths the unruly strands of silver hair from your forehead, her gaze filled with a mixture of sternness and deep worry.

“You should be resting more,” Aemma chides softly, adjusting the pillows behind you for the third time. “It’s a miracle you survived that fall. You push yourself too hard, my sweet boy.”

You chuckle, though the sound is edged with the discomfort you try to hide. “Mother, I’m hardly on death’s door,” you say, your voice light despite the tightness in your chest from the bruised ribs. “You’re embarrassing me, fussing like this in front of my guests. I’ve survived worse—remember the time Dallax nearly knocked me off during that storm over Dragonstone?”

Aemma gives you a look of mock disapproval, though her eyes glisten with affection. “That’s no reason for you to go risking your life every time you’re in the saddle. But I suppose I’ll leave you to your visitors. If you need anything, send for me at once.” She leans in, ignoring your protest, and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Behave yourself, and don’t be too stubborn,” she adds with a small smile, before gracefully rising from the bed.

As she turns, Aemma’s gaze softens when she sees Rhaenyra and Alicent by the door. “He’s in good hands now,” she says warmly, giving Rhaenyra a brief but knowing smile, before excusing herself from the room.

Once Aemma is gone, Rhaenyra moves closer, her usual air of confidence returning as she grins down at you. “So, how is my brave brother faring today? Still planning to be back in the saddle by week’s end, or has the council convinced you to take up a life of courtly entertainment with Mushroom?”

You chuckle again, though it comes out more like a wince. “Well, if I can’t fly, I suppose I can stand in the throne room and juggle while Mushroom tells his bawdy tales. It might be just what the court needs to liven things up.” Your eyes gleam with amusement, though there’s a hint of frustration beneath your humor, the kind only Rhaenyra would notice. You’ve never been one to take well to being bedridden.

Rhaenyra snorts in amusement, shaking her head. “I’d pay good coin to see that. Though I doubt our dear father would find it as amusing as the rest of us.”

Your gaze drifts then, catching sight of Alicent standing just a little behind Rhaenyra, her hands clasped together nervously. She gives you a small, polite curtsy, her cheeks tinged with a soft flush. “Prince Y/N,” she greets, her voice gentle, almost tentative. “I heard about your fall, and… I was worried. I hope I’m not intruding by coming here. I—”

“Alicent,” you interrupt, your tone softening as your expression shifts into one of genuine warmth. The playful banter fades, replaced by something quieter, more sincere. “You could never be a bother. I’m glad you’re here, truly.” Your words seem to ease some of the tension from her shoulders, and the corner of your mouth lifts into a reassuring smile.

Rhaenyra looks between the two of you, her smirk deepening, though she wisely stays silent for the moment, letting the exchange unfold.

Alicent takes a hesitant step closer, her eyes briefly meeting yours before she looks down at her hands. “I… I wanted to bring you something,” she says, her voice nearly a whisper as she reaches into the pocket of her gown and retrieves a small, delicately woven ribbon in shades of deep crimson and gold. “It’s just a token, to wish you a swift recovery. I know it’s nothing much, but I thought…” She trails off, the blush deepening on her cheeks as she holds it out to you.

You reach out to take it, your fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment—a touch so light it’s almost imperceptible, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through you. The contact lingers in both of your thoughts longer than it physically lasts, and you catch the way her breath hitches slightly, the same way yours does. “Thank you, Alicent,” you say, your voice softer than before. “It means more than you know. I’ll keep it close—perhaps it’ll speed along this recovery of mine.” Your thumb brushes against the fabric of the ribbon, savoring the thoughtfulness behind the gift.

Alicent’s lips curl into a shy smile, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of relief and something else—something tender that neither of you have the words for yet. “I’m glad… if it helps even a little,” she murmurs.

Rhaenyra, ever perceptive, clears her throat pointedly, though there’s a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Well, now that you have such a fine token to aid in your recovery, brother, you’ll be back on your feet in no time. And if you do decide to take up juggling, I’ll make sure it’s the talk of the court.”

You roll your eyes at Rhaenyra’s teasing, but there’s warmth in your gaze as you turn back to Alicent. “Next time, maybe you could bring Gwayne along. I’m sure he’s been worrying just as much as you have.”

Alicent nods, still holding that shy smile. “I’ll see if he can visit soon. He’s always asking after you.”

Rhaenyra steps back, giving Alicent a pointed look before quirking an eyebrow at you. “So, shall we sit and keep you company, or do you have other princely duties to attend to from your bed?”

You can’t help but laugh at that, wincing slightly as your ribs protest. “I think I’m due for a bit of entertainment. It’s been dreadfully dull in here with nothing but Mellos’ remedies and reports from the small council. Stay—both of you.”

With that invitation, Rhaenyra finally settles into a chair near your bed, while Alicent quietly takes the seat on your other side. For a moment, a comfortable silence settles in, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the quiet sounds of the Red Keep outside your window.

But beneath that surface calm, there’s a new feeling—not unpleasant, but charged with possibilities unspoken. You and Alicent exchange brief, sidelong glances, your minds both swirling with thoughts you’re not yet ready to give voice to. And though Rhaenyra pretends to be absorbed in adjusting her skirts, you know your twin far too well to miss the satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

The morning sun filters through the stone arches of the courtyard, casting crooked shadows as you make your way through the Red Keep. The steady thunk of your cane against the cobblestones marks each step, your gait still uneven from the injury. Though you’re no longer bedridden, the limp remains, a constant reminder of the fall that nearly cost you everything. Despite this, there’s a quiet determination in your stride—strength buried beneath the calm exterior. The deaths of your mother and brother cloak your soul and heart with grief, but you continue to go on as months drag on. Because your mother would wish for you to stay strong, you know this in your bones.

You’re just about to reach the library when you hear the low, familiar drawl of your uncle, Daemon Targaryen. “Another council meeting, and once again, your name was left unspoken,” he says, stepping out from the shadows of a nearby pillar. His silver hair gleams in the light, and there’s a sharp edge to his eyes that matches the curve of his smile—part amusement, part disdain.

You pause, turning to meet his gaze, though you remain composed, unbothered by the subtle provocation. “I’m used to it by now, uncle,” you reply, your voice even, almost indifferent. It’s not a complaint, merely a fact, a truth you’ve come to accept. The small council rarely considers your presence necessary these days, not when Otto Hightower holds sway over your father and lords like Tyland Lannister whisper about the need for more ‘stability’ in the line of succession.

Daemon’s expression darkens, his eyes narrowing. “Used to it?” he echoes, his voice dropping with barely contained irritation. “They push you aside as if you’re nothing more than an afterthought, a decoration. And you’ve grown comfortable with it?” He steps closer, the intensity in his gaze unmistakable. “You’re the king’s son, his heir, yet you let them treat you like some soft-spoken scribe, buried in books and songs while that leech Otto tightens his hold around your father’s neck.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the cane, though your expression remains calm. You meet his eyes steadily, unflinching in the face of his scorn. “I prefer to choose my battles, uncle,” you say quietly. “Like Dallax, I know when to show my teeth. There’s no sense in snapping them at shadows.”

Daemon scoffs, a mix of exasperation and grudging respect in his tone. “Spoken like a poet, not a dragon. You should be making them fear you, not waiting for the perfect moment that may never come. They should see fire in you, boy, not this... apathy.” His frustration is clear—he’s never had patience for subtleties or caution, preferring the boldness of action over waiting in the wings.

But you don’t flinch. You’ve long learned that the fire in your blood doesn’t need to be on display at every moment. “And where did being feared get you, uncle?” you ask with a hint of amusement in your voice. “You’ve been exiled twice, alienated half the court, and have more enemies than friends. If that’s the path you think I should follow, then perhaps I should throw more reckless tournaments and provoke the lords with tales of misrule.”

Daemon’s eyes flash, though there’s a hint of grudging admiration beneath the irritation. “Perhaps I’ve made mistakes, but at least I act. I don’t hide behind patience while others pull the strings. You speak of showing your teeth when the time is right, but when will that time come? When Otto’s scheming has woven its webs so thick that there’s no air left to breathe?”

You give a small, knowing smile. “You mistake stillness for inaction. Even a dragon rests before it strikes.” Then, with a touch of humor, you add, “And besides, Dallax may have thrown me, but I landed well enough.”

That draws a snort from Daemon. “Landed, yes. With a leg that’ll remind you of it every day.” Despite his harsh words, there’s a glimmer of reluctant approval in his eyes. “But you’ve got a point—Dallax hasn’t eaten you yet, so perhaps you’ve earned a measure of respect. Just don’t think that quiet strategy will protect you forever. Sooner or later, you’ll need to show them who you are, nephew. And when you do, make sure they remember it.”

You nod slightly, letting the words hang between you for a moment before you turn away, your pace deliberate as you resume your walk. “I’ll keep that in mind, uncle,” you call over your shoulder, a hint of dry humor lacing your tone. “Perhaps one day, we’ll both show them our teeth together—when it truly matters.”

Daemon watches you go, his eyes lingering on your form as you disappear into the corridors. Despite the tension, there’s an unspoken understanding between you. You both know that fire is not always meant to be unleashed at every provocation—it can burn hotter when contained, waiting for the moment to strike with devastating precision.

But for now, you choose patience, aware that when the time comes, it will be all the more powerful for having been held in check. As you leave your uncle behind, a small, satisfied smile touches your lips. You know your strength, and you’ll reveal it when it’s most needed—not before.

The fire crackles quietly in the small chamber as Alicent sits across from her father, Otto Hightower. The room is dimly lit by the glow of the hearth, and the air feels heavy with unspoken tension. Otto’s eyes are fixed on his daughter, sharp and calculating, as he recounts the events of the recent small council meeting.

“The council remains divided,” he begins, his tone measured. “The matter of succession is still a delicate topic, but it’s clear that the King will not remain unmarried for long. The realm demands stability, and he knows it.”

Alicent’s brow furrows, her head snapping up at the implication in her father’s words. “Father, you can’t possibly be suggesting—”

Otto’s gaze remains steady, unyielding. “I’m not suggesting, Alicent. I’m stating a reality. The King is vulnerable, grieving, and the pressure of the realm weighs heavily on him. It’s only a matter of time before he considers remarriage, and when he does, you must be ready.”

Alicent’s expression hardens, a rare defiance flickering in her eyes. “I won’t do it,” she says firmly, though there’s a tremor beneath her voice. “I won’t be used like this.”

Otto’s patience visibly thins, a tightness forming around his mouth. “Is this about the Prince?” he asks, his voice edged with irritation. “You’ve grown fond of him, haven’t you? You think that because he’s been kind to you, that he’s somehow different, somehow worthy of your loyalty?”

Alicent shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers twisting in her lap as she struggles to find the right words. “He is different,” she insists, though her voice is quieter now. “Y/N is the heir, Father. He’s kind, thoughtful, and gentle in ways that others aren’t. He doesn’t play these games like the rest of them do.”

Otto’s expression tightens, his frustration barely masked. “The boy is reckless,” he snaps, his tone cutting through her protest. “Too much like Daemon, whether you see it or not. He flies that dragon of his in dangerous stunts to impress the smallfolk, and he’s already alienated half the council with his indifference to their politics. You think kindness will make him a strong king? He’s more likely to lead the realm into chaos than rule it with a steady hand.”

Alicent’s chest tightens, anger flaring in her eyes. “He’s not Daemon!” she retorts, her voice stronger this time. “He’s nothing like him. Y/N has a heart that Daemon lacks, and he cares deeply for those close to him. You only see what you want to see because it fits your plans.”

Otto’s eyes narrow, his patience worn thin. “And you see him through the lens of a girl smitten by his gentle words and kind gestures. You think he’ll protect you from the harsh realities of court, but you’re wrong, Alicent. This isn’t about what you want—it’s about what the realm needs. The King’s decision must be guided carefully, and you will play your part.”

Alicent’s heart races, her throat tightening with a mixture of fear and resentment. She knows there’s little room for argument when her father takes this tone. “I won’t betray him,” she whispers, her resolve wavering under the weight of her father’s expectations.

Otto leans forward, his gaze intense. “You’re not betraying him, you’re securing your future—and the future of our house. You will do what’s necessary when the time comes. The King’s affections can be swayed, and when they are, you must be there. You’re a clever girl, Alicent. Don’t let emotions cloud your judgment. Remember, loyalty to your house comes first.”

She lowers her gaze, the firelight casting shadows across her face. The thought of maneuvering against someone she’s grown to care for—a young man who has only ever shown her kindness—makes her stomach twist with guilt. But Otto’s expectations press down like a vice, and she knows all too well the consequences of disobedience.

“Prepare yourself,” Otto says, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “When I give the word, you must be ready to act.”

Alicent swallows, her resolve crumbling beneath the weight of her father’s will. She nods, unable to muster more than that, her mind churning with conflicted thoughts as she tries to reconcile the path being laid out before her. Her heart aches with the burden of what she knows may come—sacrificing her desires for the sake of duty.

As the conversation falls into a tense silence, the crackling of the fire is the only sound that remains.

The Red Keep is quiet in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun casting shadows through the stone corridors. You walk with only a slight hitch in your step now, the limp almost entirely gone after months of healing. It’s a small victory, but one that fills you with a new sense of freedom, a reminder that you’ve come through the worst of it. Yet, as you round the corner into one of the smaller courtyards, the sight that meets you sends a jolt of concern straight through your chest.

Alicent is seated on a stone bench beneath a tall tree, her shoulders trembling with barely contained sobs. Her hands cover her face, and even from a distance, you can hear the quiet, heart-wrenching sounds of her crying. It’s a rare thing to see her like this; Alicent is usually so composed, so careful in maintaining the image of poise that’s expected of her. But here, alone—or so she thought—she’s unraveling.

Without a second thought, you approach her, the concern plain in your eyes. “Alicent,” you call softly, your voice gentle, almost hesitant as you close the distance between you. She startles slightly at the sound of your voice, quickly wiping at her tears in a futile attempt to regain her composure. But it’s clear that the floodgates have already opened, and there’s no hiding the raw emotion in her eyes.

“Y/N,” she manages, her voice catching as she forces a tremulous smile. “I didn’t think anyone would be here…”

You kneel down in front of her, ignoring the twinge of discomfort in your leg. “What’s happened?” you ask, your voice full of warmth and concern. “You’re crying, Alicent. Talk to me. What’s troubling you?”

For a moment, she can’t meet your eyes, her hands clenching in her lap as she struggles to hold back more tears. But when she finally looks at you, the anguish in her gaze cuts straight to your heart. “It’s my father,” she whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of her confession. “He’s… he’s been instructing me, pushing me to get close to the King. He… he wants me to…” Her words trail off as a fresh wave of tears spills down her cheeks. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to be a pawn in his games.”

Your expression softens even further as you take in the depth of her distress. Without hesitation, you reach out and gently cup her cheek, wiping away her tears with the pad of your thumb. “You’re not a pawn,” you murmur, your voice low and steady, infused with a tenderness that you reserve only for her. “You’re Alicent—kind, thoughtful, more than any of these schemes or plots.”

She closes her eyes at your touch, leaning into the comfort you offer, as if drawing strength from your presence. “But what choice do I have?” she whispers, her voice cracking. “He’s my father. If I don’t do as he asks, I’ll be seen as disobedient… or worse. I feel trapped, Y/N, and I hate it. I hate how helpless I feel.”

The fierce protectiveness that surges through you is almost overwhelming. You lean in closer, your other hand finding hers and holding it firmly, grounding her. “You’re not helpless,” you say with quiet determination. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You have my word, Alicent. No matter what schemes your father or anyone else tries to weave, I’ll be there. You’re not alone in this.”

Her eyes snap open at your words, searching your face for any hint of doubt, but all she finds is unwavering sincerity. There’s a softness in your gaze that she’s come to rely on, a steadiness that offers her a sense of safety she’s found nowhere else. “But how can you protect me from all of this?” she asks, her voice laced with desperation. “You can’t control what the King decides, or what my father pushes me to do.”

You smile, a gentle curve of your lips that holds both reassurance and quiet confidence. “Perhaps I can’t change everything,” you admit, your thumb still brushing away her tears. “But I can stand by you. I can make sure you don’t have to face any of this alone. And if they try to force your hand, they’ll have to deal with me first.”

Her breath catches at the intensity of your words, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the weight of courtly duties and schemes fading into the background. She clings to your hand, drawing strength from the way your fingers entwine with hers. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “You don’t know how much it means to hear that.”

You squeeze her hand gently, offering a small but genuine smile. “You deserve to be happy, Alicent, not burdened with all these games. Whatever happens, you have a choice—and I’ll be here, no matter what.”

There’s a long pause as she looks at you, her heart in her eyes. It’s a look that speaks of more than just gratitude; it’s a mixture of emotions that neither of you can quite name yet, a deepening connection that lingers just beneath the surface. “I believe you,” she says softly, her voice steadying at last.

For a moment longer, you stay there, kneeling in front of her, your presence a quiet but steadfast comfort. The world outside the courtyard feels distant, irrelevant. Here, in this quiet corner of the Red Keep, the schemes and pressures of power seem to hold no sway.

As you help her rise to her feet, your hand still holding hers, you can see a spark of resolve returning to her eyes. “You are not alone,” you tell her, a promise wrapped in those simple words.

And for the first time in what feels like ages, Alicent allows herself to hope that she won’t be swallowed by the games of court—that, with you by her side, she might find a way to reclaim her own path amidst the chaos.

The council chamber is as it always is—filled with tension and the murmur of hushed conversations as lords and advisors deliberate the future of the realm. The lords gathered around the table speak in low voices, with Otto Hightower presiding over the meeting with his usual composed authority. Viserys, looking more weary than ever, listens half-heartedly as discussions about trade routes and tax levies dominate the conversation. Rhaenyra stands off to the side, holding the wine jug as she fulfills her role as cupbearer, her expression one of faint boredom—until the door suddenly creaks open.

All heads turn as you stride into the chamber, unannounced, your cane in hand though you walk with almost no noticeable limp. The lords freeze in surprise, the very air growing still as you make your way directly to your seat at the council table. Your presence is commanding, purposeful, as if you’ve planned this moment down to the finest detail. Rhaenyra’s eyes gleam with amusement as she watches from the sidelines, a smirk curling her lips—she’s the only one in the room not taken aback by your unexpected arrival.

The council members shift uncomfortably in their seats, unsure how to respond. Otto Hightower is the first to speak, his voice laced with thinly veiled irritation. “Your Grace, this is most inappropriate. You were not summoned—”

You cut him off sharply, your gaze piercing as it sweeps across the table. “And it is most inappropriate that I have not been summoned to these talks,” you say coolly, your tone brooking no argument. “I am the heir to the throne, yet it seems my presence is no longer deemed necessary while decisions are made that affect my future and that of this realm.”

Viserys opens his mouth to intercede, but you raise a hand, your eyes never leaving Otto’s. “Save your apologies, Father,” you continue, your voice growing firmer. “This is not a matter of oversight or courtesy. It’s a matter of respect—respect that has been slowly eroding while certain parties here conspire to keep me in the dark.”

Beesbury and Tyland exchange nervous glances, both lords visibly shifting in their seats. The weight of your accusation hangs in the air like a blade, unspoken but understood by all. Otto, however, remains collected, though there’s a glimmer of annoyance in his eyes. “No one seeks to replace you, Prince Y/N,” Viserys says, attempting to smooth over the tension. “You are my son, and my heir. There is no question about that.”

You scoff, your gaze now locked onto Otto with unyielding intensity. “Is that so?” you reply, your voice laced with challenge. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe when whispers circulate through the court, and when my own seat at this table has been deliberately left empty.” Your gaze flickers briefly to Beesbury and Tyland, who both quickly avert their eyes, before returning to Otto. “I know about the talks. I know about the concerns for the continuation of the Targaryen bloodline. If that is what worries this council so deeply, then perhaps it is time I address it myself.”

The room goes utterly silent, every lord and advisor hanging onto your next words. Viserys looks puzzled, while Rhaenyra’s smirk widens, her eyes alight with curiosity and pride. “What are you saying?” Viserys asks, trying to understand where this is leading.

You straighten in your chair, your voice clear and decisive as you deliver your next statement. “I have decided that I will marry.”

The words drop like a stone into a still pond, sending ripples of shock through the room. Viserys’s eyes widen in surprise, while several of the lords exchange stunned looks. Even Rhaenyra, though aware of your intentions, seems momentarily caught off guard by how bluntly you’ve declared it. But the greatest reaction comes from Otto Hightower, who immediately tenses, his carefully constructed mask of composure slipping just slightly.

“Marry?” Otto repeats, disbelief tinging his voice. “Your Grace, this is a most sudden decision—”

“Sudden, perhaps,” you say, cutting him off again, “but necessary. If the continuation of the Targaryen line is such a concern, then I will see to it myself. And I already know who I intend to wed.”

The room waits with bated breath, every eye fixed on you as you pause for dramatic effect. Then, with absolute certainty, you deliver the bombshell: “I will marry Lady Alicent Hightower.”

A shocked silence follows, broken only by the sound of Otto’s breath catching in his throat. The lords gape, disbelief etched into their faces, and Viserys’s eyes widen in surprise, a mix of confusion and relief crossing his features. But it is Otto whose reaction is most striking—his face blanches, a rare display of genuine shock. “This is…” he begins, clearly scrambling for control, “This is not—”

You turn to him, your expression hardening, your voice cold and edged. “Are you offended, Lord Hand?” you ask pointedly. “That your daughter would one day be Queen? Is this not the very opportunity you’ve sought?”

Otto’s mouth opens, but no words come out as he searches for a response. You can see him weighing his options, assessing whether to push back or accept the twist of fate you’ve thrown at him. Before he can gather his wits, Corlys Velaryon’s deep voice rumbles through the chamber, breaking the silence.

“If Lord Hightower finds this match disagreeable, perhaps the Prince would consider my daughter, Laena, instead. The blood of Old Valyria would be preserved, and such a union would strengthen House Targaryen’s ties with the Velaryons.”

You hold back a smile at Corlys’s calculated offer, knowing full well that he’s taking advantage of Otto’s moment of hesitation. Otto’s eyes narrow at Corlys’s interjection, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he realizes he’s being cornered. Backing down would mean missing out on the very outcome he’s been subtly maneuvering toward, even if it wasn’t quite in the manner he’d intended.

After a long moment, Otto exhales slowly, carefully regaining his composure. “Of course, Your Grace,” he finally says, his tone clipped but respectful. “I… only wish for what is best for both you and the realm. If this is your decision, then I will see to it that the arrangements are made.”

You nod, satisfied, as you see the acceptance in his eyes. “Good,” you reply, your voice firm and unyielding. “Because I have no intention of letting anyone else dictate the future of this house. The realm needs strength, unity, and continuity, and I will see that it is achieved—on my terms.”

The council members exchange uneasy glances, realizing that they’ve just witnessed a pivotal shift in the dynamics of power within the Red Keep. Rhaenyra’s smirk remains, her eyes gleaming with admiration as she watches you assert your authority, while Viserys seems both relieved and unsettled by your newfound determination.

As the meeting continues, there’s no doubt left in anyone’s mind—you are no longer the sidelined prince. You are a force to be reckoned with, and the council now understands that you will not be ignored or underestimated.

The sun filters softly through the arched windows of the Red Keep, casting warm golden light over the ladies of the court as they gather in one of the sewing chambers. The room is filled with the gentle murmur of idle conversation, the sound of thread sliding through fabric, and the occasional soft laugh. Alicent sits among them, her focus on the delicate embroidery she’s working on. Her hands move with practiced grace, though her thoughts are distant, lingering on the conversation she had with her father and the weight of the expectations he’s placed on her.

She’s lost in her thoughts when a familiar figure bursts into the room with the energy of a brewing storm. Rhaenyra sweeps into the chamber, her eyes scanning the room until they land on Alicent. The princess’s expression is one of unbridled excitement, a grin wide and mischievous spreading across her face. “Alicent!” she calls out, her voice ringing with barely contained glee.

The ladies of the court look up from their work, startled by the princess’s sudden entrance. Alicent rises from her seat, her brow furrowing in confusion as she sets aside her embroidery. “Rhaenyra,” she says warmly, though with a hint of uncertainty. “What’s gotten into you? You look like a dragon who’s caught a sheep.”

Rhaenyra steps closer, her grin widening as she takes Alicent’s hands in her own. “I wanted to be the first to congratulate you,” she says, her eyes alight with barely restrained amusement.

Alicent blinks, bewilderment etched across her delicate features. “Congratulate me?” she repeats, glancing around at the other ladies, who are now watching the exchange with rapt attention. “I don’t understand—what are you talking about?”

Rhaenyra leans in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, though loud enough for the other ladies to hear and exchange curious glances. “You don’t know? Oh, Alicent, you’re going to be married.”

The world seems to tilt for Alicent, her breath catching in her throat as her heart pounds wildly in her chest. “Married?” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper. “What… what do you mean? To whom?”

Rhaenyra’s grin softens into something more sincere as she watches the realization dawn on Alicent’s face. “To my brother, of course. Y/N announced it himself in the council meeting not half an hour ago. He declared that he’s decided to marry you.”

For a moment, the room seems to spin, the words hitting Alicent like a physical blow. Her chest tightens, and she feels a flush rise up her neck as her mind races to catch up with what she’s just heard. “He… he said that?” she asks, her voice trembling with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something else—something that makes her heart skip a beat.

Rhaenyra nods, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she squeezes Alicent’s hands. “He did. Right there in front of everyone. You should have seen the look on Father’s face—he was stunned, and Otto nearly choked on his own breath. And you know what’s even better? He said it with such certainty, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He’s chosen you, Alicent. You’re going to be a queen one day.”

Alicent’s legs feel weak beneath her as the gravity of the situation sinks in. Her mind flashes back to the conversation with her father, to the pressure and expectations, to the fear that she would be forced into a match she had no say in. But this—this is something entirely different. Y/N chose her. Not because of Otto’s schemes or because it was expected, but because he decided it. The thought is overwhelming, both terrifying and thrilling all at once.

She struggles to find her voice, her emotions swirling in a chaotic mix of disbelief, gratitude, and apprehension. “I… I never imagined…” she stammers, unable to form a coherent sentence as she tries to process what this means for her.

Rhaenyra’s expression softens as she sees the turmoil in Alicent’s eyes. “You’re shaking,” she says gently, releasing one of Alicent’s hands to brush a stray tear from her friend’s cheek. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you should have seen the way he spoke about it. He was so resolute, so determined. And you—you deserve this happiness, Alicent. You deserve someone who sees you as more than just a tool in their schemes.”

Alicent’s breath shudders as she tries to regain control of her racing thoughts. “But what if… what if this is just another game? What if he’s being pushed into this?” she whispers, her voice laced with fear and doubt.

Rhaenyra shakes her head, her expression turning fierce. “No. This isn’t like that. My brother’s no fool, and he’s not one to be forced into anything he doesn’t want. This was his choice, and I think it’s about time someone reminded the court that he’s more than capable of making his own decisions.” Her grin returns, wry and full of pride. “And besides, I think you know him better than anyone else. You’ve seen how he looks at you.”

Alicent’s eyes widen, and a fresh flush colors her cheeks. She’s known for some time that there’s been an unspoken connection between her and Y/N, but she never dared to hope it would lead to something so monumental. The thought of being his wife, of standing beside him as queen—it’s as daunting as it is exhilarating.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she finally manages, her voice thick with emotion.

Rhaenyra’s smile softens into something more tender as she pulls Alicent into a warm embrace. “Then don’t say anything yet. Let it sink in. But know this—you’re not alone, Alicent. You have me, and you have him. And now, you have a future that’s yours to shape.”

As they part, the ladies of the court begin whispering excitedly among themselves, the news spreading like wildfire through the chamber. But Alicent barely notices, her mind still spinning as she tries to grasp the enormity of what’s just been revealed. For better or worse, everything has changed in the span of a single afternoon.

And somewhere deep in her heart, beneath the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of hope begins to bloom.

The sound of your boots echoes as you step into the Dragonpit, each footfall deliberate and heavy against the ancient stone floor. The cavernous space looms around you, darkened by shadows cast by the great arches above, yet the air hums with the presence of power—dragons and their keepers. You wear a deep, crimson coat embroidered with silver thread in the pattern of coiling dragons, the rich fabric tailored perfectly to your frame. Beneath it, your tunic is a dark charcoal, cinched at the waist by a wide leather belt, and black riding gloves encase your hands. Your hair, a cascade of silver, is tied back in a loose knot, allowing a few strands to catch the breeze. The light armor you wear, adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen, adds an edge of battle-readiness to your regal attire. Today is not merely for show—it’s a declaration of your return to the skies.

The Dragonkeepers, clad in leather armor and bearing the scars of long service to the dragons, bow slightly as you approach. Their deference is not out of fear, but out of respect for what is to come. With a silent nod from their leader, they move aside to reveal the imposing silhouette of your dragon.

Dallax emerges from the shadows, his massive form a study in sleek, predatory grace. His scales are a deep, inky black that gleams like polished obsidian under the faint light. Unlike most dragons, his eyes are not the usual shade of fire-yellow; they are a striking, luminescent green, gleaming with intelligence and an almost unsettling awareness. His pupils narrow to slits as he focuses on you, a low rumble vibrating through his chest. His body is built for agility and speed, lean but powerful, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. But it’s his teeth that make him most unique—when he’s calm, they are hidden away, retracting into his jaw, giving him a deceptively benign appearance. But you know better; when agitated or in the heat of battle, those teeth emerge like rows of daggers, sharp and menacing. It’s no wonder Rhaenyra affectionately calls him “Toothless” when she’s in a playful mood.

You take in the sight of him, a thrill running through your veins. It’s been months since you last mounted him, but the bond between you remains unshaken, as if it were a living thing forged in fire and blood. Dallax’s eyes meet yours, and in that moment, the unspoken understanding passes between dragon and rider. He has waited, patient but eager, for this moment as much as you have.

The Dragonkeepers pull back as you stride forward, your limp almost unnoticeable now, a testament to the months of recovery you’ve endured. With a firm hand, you reach up and grasp the saddle harness, your fingers gripping the familiar leather. In one smooth motion, you pull yourself up and swing your leg over Dallax’s back. You settle into the saddle, feeling the comforting weight of the straps as you secure yourself. Dallax shifts beneath you, his wings unfurling slightly, the dark membrane stretching wide, catching the breeze as if testing the air.

You take a deep breath, the scent of leather, smoke, and ancient stone filling your senses. “Fly,” you whisper in High Valyrian, a command and a plea all at once.

With a growl that vibrates through his entire frame, Dallax lowers himself briefly before launching into the air with a powerful surge of muscle. The ground falls away beneath you as his wings beat with precision, each stroke lifting you higher until the walls of the Dragonpit are a blur. The rush of wind tears at your hair, your coat billowing behind you like a banner as Dallax ascends into the open sky.

As you break free into the sunlight, the city of King’s Landing sprawls out below, the rooftops and winding streets glinting in the late afternoon light. Dallax roars—a sound both thrilling and terrifying—as he soars above the Red Keep, his shadow sweeping across the stone battlements like a predator stalking its prey.

From her chambers, Alicent stands by the window, her eyes fixed on the sky as she watches you fly. Her hands are clasped in front of her, a mixture of awe and fondness in her expression as she traces your flight path. You cut through the clouds with an effortless grace, Dallax responding to every shift of your body as if you are one being. For the first time in what feels like ages, there’s no tension in Alicent’s shoulders, only the quiet joy of seeing you in your element—free and commanding, a true Targaryen heir.

Behind her, Otto Hightower steps forward, his expression a mix of calculation and displeasure. He watches silently for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he observes the ease with which you handle your dragon, the majesty of it undeniable. “He’s just like his uncle,” Otto mutters, more to himself than to Alicent. “All fire and pride—reckless.”

Alicent doesn’t turn to face her father, but her smile lingers, soft and secret. “Perhaps,” she replies, her voice distant, her gaze still following your every move. “But there is more to him than you see, Father.”

Otto’s mouth tightens into a thin line, but he says nothing more, turning away from the window. To him, dragons are dangerous, unpredictable forces that must be controlled. But to you, they are freedom itself—a reminder that no matter how thick the walls of the Red Keep or how intricate the webs of intrigue, you are a dragonrider first and foremost, and no one can cage that fire.

As you guide Dallax into a steep dive, pulling up at the last moment to skim over the rooftops of the city, you feel a deep, exhilarating rush. The wind in your face, the roar of your dragon, and the vast sky stretched out before you—it’s a sensation unmatched by anything else, a reminder that the world is yours to claim, one way or another.

You circle back toward the Red Keep, allowing Dallax to level out and glide effortlessly. From below, you see Alicent at the window, her face turned upward, her smile radiant and full of something unspoken—pride, affection, and hope. For a brief moment, you dip your wings in her direction, a silent acknowledgment that she sees you for who you are, beyond the politics and the expectations.

#house of the dragon #hotd alicent #hotd #alicent x y/n #alicent x you #alicent x reader #alicent hightower #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x male reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #daemon targaryen #otto hightower

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artyandink · 2 months

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don’t get up

SUMMARY: You have a migraine, but not to worry. Dean’s always insistent on helping you, and making you feel better. Why not? He’s your boyfriend.

TW: migraines, mother hen Dean, mentions of stress and overwork, established relationship, mentions of sex

REQ FOR: @cinderellasmissingshoes

A/N: Sorry this took so long, lovely! But here we are, and enjoy this small drabble 😁

“No- sit your ass down.” Your boyfriend was no short of being a protective mother hen when it came to your health.

You looked up at Dean with raised eyebrow, trying to protest through the throbbing sensation that bordered on mind-numbingly painful on the right side of your head. “Come on, Dean-”

“Darlin’, I ain’t gotta tell you twice.” Dean retorted firmly, gripping your shoulders with a strong hand yet pushing you gently to lay down, bringing those same calloused fingers to comb through your hair, smoothing it back. “Don’t make me cuff you to this bed.”

“You kinky son of a bitch.” You murmured, seeing the Advil he placed on the table beside you before going to turn off the lights.

And your laptop. And any light sources.

He stumbled over a chair leg to sit down beside you, propping you up a little and holding water to your lips. “Drink, baby.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, cause - no, you’re not a kid - but you complied anyway, sipping the water he held to your lips, taking the Advil too and drinking the sweet, sweet relief that Dean gave you. “Thanks, Dean.” You smiled, taking his hand, and he squeezed yours like you were a piece of porcelain.

“No problem.” He gave you a soft kiss on the lips, holding your chin. “Look, s’ my job as your handsome boyfriend to make sure you’re comfy. Besides,” he winked suggestively, “when you’re better, I’ll give it to you. Real good, real hot.”

“I can get behind that.” You grinned, feeling the migraine now irritate the sides of your neck, which felt just- ugh.

Dean noticed, beginning to massage the areas which knew that there was pain brewing like a mini storm in your nervous system. “I gotcha.”

“Yeah, you got me.” You murmured breathlessly, the pressure lifting slightly and feeling good.

Dean was a master with his hands in more goddamn ways than one.

He hummed, his forefinger and middle finger rolling circles into your temple with a small frown on your face. “You’re workin’ yourself too hard, sweetheart. Gotta relax sometime, yeah?”

“But, Dean-”

“Not takin’ another answer, princess.” He cupped your cheek, pressing a sound kiss to your lips, letting his thumb trace the bow of it. “You’re my lady. M’gonna make sure you’re good, cause if you ain’t, I ain’t.”

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞��𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

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prythianpages · 9 months

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The Family Reunion | Azriel

Azriel x Green Witch Reader | summary: Azriel accidentally welcomes your dysfunctional family into your home.

warning: I can't really think of any at the moment besides violence from a witch fight, basically you being protective over Az

a/n: There's not very much known about the witches in the ACOTAR universe so I'm just taking creative control here (: This can be read as a stand alone fic.

As Azriel sits in your living room, the familiar weight of concern settles in his chest. The past few days have felt like a quiet storm and the bond between you, has fallen eerily silent far too many times to go unnoticed.

Of course, he’s already asked if you were alright but he sensed the lie as it brewed in your eyes before it slipped out of your lips. The shadows that remain at your side keep him updated on your whereabouts but besides a crow following you one day, there’s nothing else to report. He wonders if you’re upset with him.

Azriel tries to engross himself into the book–as it’s one you recommended to him– in his hand but his eyes keep drifting from the pages. He steals glances toward the closed door of your study. A vibrant green glow, your magic, spills from the edges of the door. He tries to pull on the bond but cannot find you on the other end. You shut him out. Again.

Three knocks pull him out of his thoughts. Ignoring the skittering dance of his shadows and the way Pearl–your pet spider–retreats back to her corner, he opens the door. There’s no one on the other side. A perplexed furrow forms on his brow as he peeks into the hallway, dispatching his shadows to investigate further. They return with no insights, leaving an unsettling silence in their wake.

“Hey Az?”

Azriel closes the door and locks it. He turns to see you stepping out from your study. You smile at him sheepishly, toying with your glowing hands. “Can I have some of your blood?” Your voice is surprisingly calm, despite the look in your eyes, and you must mistake his silence as apprehension because you’re adding: “Just a drop!”

He would’ve gladly granted your request but before he can even utter a word, a sudden shift in the air catches your attention. Your eyes widen, a touch of panic flickering within them. It’s a fleeting moment where control slips from your grasp, and in that heartbeat, your side of the bond bursts open.

His wings quiver as if struck by an invisible force. A torrent of emotions crashes over him like unrelenting waves on a storm sea, flooding and overwhelming his senses. Worry etches lines on his face at the raw intensity of your feelings.

“Toad’s blood!”

In the blink of an eye, he’s standing in front of you, his hands cradling your face. The hazel depths of his eyes burn with concern but you avoid his gaze, your frantic eyes darting around the room as if looking for something–someone.

“y/n, my love,” Azriel implores softly, his heart pounding in his chest as he desperately tries to navigate through the sea of your emotions. “What’s wrong?”

Your eyes land on the door and a palpable tension fills the air. “You opened the door.”

Azriel’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Someone knocked.”

You swallow thickly. “How many?”

“What?”

Your voice is firmer this time. “How many knocks?”

“Three.”

You’re pulling out of his grasp abruptly. You run back to your study and a trail of perplexed worry etches further across Azriel’s face as he follows after you. With a furrowed brow, he observes your hurried actions. Windows are slammed and shut and locked in quick succession. He blinks and you’re running to your room next. “y/n, please talk to me! Tell me what’s wrong!”

You pause, if only for a brief moment, your eyes finally meeting his. “You just opened the door to a gateway of evil.”

“Evil??” Azriel’s wings flinch, the word carrying an unexpected weight. “What evil?”

“My mother.”

A sense of impending danger guides your every move and you’re sprinting past him. Over your shoulder, you urgently command, “Quick! Lock all the windows!”

Azriel responds without hesitation. He races back to your living room, determined to secure the window he opened earlier. As he does so, he sees a crow flying toward him. It’s familiar to both him and his shadows. The dark tendrils hasten to close the window beside him and the crow, unable to halt its trajectory, collides with the glass.

“I think that's all of it,” you say with a sigh of relief. However, it’s short lived as an overlooked detail dawns on you. The window in your kitchen.

Azriel, his shadows and you are already racing toward the kitchen but despite your efforts, you’re too slow to close it. Your sock clad feet glide across the floor and Azriel wraps an arm around your waist from behind, preventing you from falling. It tightens around you, drawing you snugly against him in a protective embrace, just as the crow flutters its wings menacingly and tauntingly above you. His eyes narrow at the bird and his shadows poise like a snake ready to strike.

Shrouded in a swirling cloud of purple smoke, the crow undergoes a mystical transformation. Its plumage shifts and twists, feathers unraveling and converging as if guided by an unseen hand. A silhouette begins to take form amid the enchanting mist and as the last tendrils of purple dissipate, a beautiful older female stands before you.

“That is not the way to welcome your mother, Dearest.”

The last time you saw your mother was when Hybern became allies with Spring. She had asked you to join her coven, out of worry for you if you stayed in the court that was crumbling apart, but Feyre had already secured plans to bring you to Velaris. The City of Starlight was a safe haven for you…until the Hybern attack unveiled its secret. She’s been reaching out ever since–sending countless letters and when those did not work, she started sending ravens.

Though she delves in dark magic, you know your mother means well. She loves you and has been protective of you. Overly protective. Perhaps, you were being dramatic about it all but you weren’t ready for her to meet Azriel yet. You didn’t even get to finish the protective spell you were planning on casting upon him. All you needed was a drop of his blood to complete it…

“Mother,” you reluctantly greet.

She smirks at you. Every muscle of your body tenses and you place your hand over Azriel’s to let him know it's okay. Ever the perceptive one, your mother catches the subtle gesture. Her gaze falls upon the protective presence behind you. She narrows her eyes and points a perfectly manicured finger at him as if to say “I’ll deal with you later.”

With a wave of her other hand, a cage materializes out of thin air. You can barely make out the tiny green creature in it before your mother is thrusting it into your hands.

“Hold your father, will you? I need to go fetch your sisters.”

She says it so casually, it’s comical almost. You grimace as your gaze flickers to the small lizard. It nervously scurries within the small cage it is confined in and you’re tempted to drop it.

Your father, a former high noble fae from Spring, had been cursed into a feeble gecko at the powerful hands of your mother. She did it shortly after she caught him trying to take your life at the mere age of two. He had plans to kill your mother next and take her heart for his own so now your mother loves to torment him by carrying him with her so that each remaining day of his life is as miserable as can be.

Verena, your mother, walks over to your door as if she owns the place. With an air of confident authority, she swings it open, revealing two females on the other side—your sisters, each birthed from a different father. One, with dark, flowing hair and sinister eyes, wears a smirk that mirrors Verena’s. Maeve. The other, with lighter hair, possesses kinder eyes, and delicate white feathery wings. Thea. She looks at you apologetically.

You’re slipping out of Azriel’s grasps and joining your family in your living room. The cage falls from your grasp, rolling onto the ground. Binx dives out from the shadows, eyes alight as the cat spots the green creature within. A curious paw swats at it, its claws peeking through the thin gaps at the top of the cage but no one bats an eyelash at the terrified squeak.

A scowl settles onto your face. “Mother, Maeve, Thea. As quickly as you arrived, I want you all to leave,” you say, clapping your hands at them for emphasis. “I did not invite you here.”

“No,” your mother agrees with a nod but her eyes are fixed on something–rather someone behind you. “He did.”

Four pairs of eyes are on him and Azriel only cares about one. Yours. His knowledge over your family is limited. He knew your father was a piece of scum but he did not know he still lived. There’s a tightening in his chest and he knows it's coming from your side of the bond. He sends a wave of reassurance through it because if you’re okay, he’s okay. Even if your family is a little overwhelming.

Verena circles around him, her gaze sharp as the crow she morphs into. Azriel stands still, his shadows swirling defensively. When Verena extends toward the talon of his wings, the shadows snap at her, causing her to withdraw. A wicked grin appears on her face. “A Shadowsinger,” she observes. “What is your name?”

“Azriel.”

Verena hums, stepping back, her eyes scanning every inch of him. There’s a devilish gleam in them when they settle upon his large, membranous wings. He instinctively tucks them back.

“By The Mother, you look absolutely ravishing,” purrs your dark-haired sister.

The lighter haired sister beside her smiles. “He is quite beautiful.”

“Maeve,” the darker haired sister introduces herself. Her dark brown eyes sparkle in amusement. She holds her hand out to him. “We haven’t yet had the pleasure. y/n has been hiding you for far too long.”

Azriel does not take her hand. Instead, he watches her with wary eyes and she laughs. As her eyes deepen in hue, mirroring the unsettling darkness akin to yours, an ominous glow envelops her hands. It resembles a delicate yet foreboding cloud of gray smoke that dances around her fingers.

“Don’t touch him,” you growl, raising your own hand. A raging green fire roars from your fingertips as the darkness takes your eyes.

Maeve turns to hiss at you. Her cloud of smoke is steadfast as it continues its path to Azriel. Your mate. You hiss back but your mother rests a hand on your shoulders and out of the corner of your eye, you swear Thea sends a reassuring gesture your way.

“Oh, come on.” Maeve persists, her voice, both enchanting and seductive, beckons like a magnetic force. She steps closer to him, ignoring the heated glare you send her way. She places a hand on his arm and you're shaking with rage as you recognize the haze that clouds Azriel's eyes.

“You look hungry. Would you like a taste? What do you think, Shadowsinger?”

Smoke wraps around him, infiltrating his senses and charging the air around him with an alluring energy. It smells like chamomile and lavender–a scent intricately tied to you, the enchanting witch he calls his own. You’re shoving away from your mother and prancing on your sister, the two of you tumbling to the ground. “Let him go!”

The room becomes a radiant spectacle, bathed in the ethereal clash of gray and green magic. The air is charged with the tension of their coexistence and you’re pinning your sister to the floor beneath you. “Why do you always have the thirst to take everything I have?”

“Because it’s fun,” Maeve hisses at you, her dark eyes a reflection of yours. “Besides, our family is in need of a new pet, don’t you think?”

“Girls, stop it this instant!”

“Can it be something cute this time? Like a puppy!”

“Thea, shut up!” You say brusquely as you look up.

Thea winces at your tone. Maeve takes the sliver of your distraction to push you off of her. The two of you hastily get to your feet and you hold your hands out ready to unleash the vibrant, verdant rage coursing through your veins at her.

“I think y/n is ravishing this evening. Don’t you?”

Azriel’s voice is light, dreamy almost as he’s in a trance. He blinks and the tendrils of magic briefly cloud his vision before it clears. He steps away from Maeve’s cloud of smoke, repulsed by her magic and his eyes are searching for you.

His gaze, steady and filled with a profound warmth, captures yours and it feels like a gentle cascade of water extinguishing a flame. The vibrant green fire in your hands gracefully fades away, mirroring the softening of your eyes in the tender exchange.

“And he’s not even lying,” Maeve frowns with a huff, her voice and eyes returning to normal. Disappointment is written all over her face. No one has been able to escape from her power of seduction before. “How dull.”

Your hand finds solace in Azriel’s and he locks his fingers with yours. You smile at him and he smiles back. You are the only enchantment he desires and your heart swells. You're so happy you could kiss him--

Thea, always one step ahead of everyone, gasps. “He’s your mate.”

Your mother’s eyes undergo a shadowed transformation of her own, reminiscent of a crow’s ominous gaze. Azriel feels a subtle unease but you remain composed. Gracefully, she approaches, her movements mirroring the fluid elegance of a bird. With a discerning sniff, she assesses the air around you both. Her keen eyes flicker to Azriel’s chest–where the emerald, the greatest token of your affection, securely rests beneath his leathers. His siphons awaken in response, pulsing with a powerful and protective luminescence.

“Your heart. Your precious, precious heart,” she whispers, her voice on the brink of tears.

There’s a drastic shift in her voice when she speaks again. It darkens with a mother’s fierce intensity and echoes through the room like a hissing serpent. “You’ve given it to him.”

Your mother outstretches her hand, toward Azriel, her gesture laden with an unmistakable agony. With a resolute urgency, you press your hand against Azriel’s chest, your other hand still wrapped around his. You can feel the pulse of his heart beneath the gem. It’s fast and erratic but gradually soothes under your touch.

Given your family's history, you can't blame your mother for reacting this way. Maeve's father was a charming merchant, who enjoyed traveling through the sea, and was very aware of his heartthrob status. Your mother was not immune to his allure and though she did not love him, she was possessive over him. So when she caught him touching another female, she cut his hand off, forcing him to always think of her for the rest of his life. She keeps the hand she severed preserved in a jar at her house.

On the other hand, Thea's father was a peregryn warrior who loved studying the stars in his free time. He was probably the best male out of all three...if he hadn't picked his loyalty for his court over your mother. Surprisingly, your mother left him alone and unharmed but she made a good example of him to you all because even the kindest of men were not to be trusted.

But Azriel is different.

His sweetness, care and love create a warmth that gently embraces your heart. You’ve spent a lifetime shielding your heart as your mother taught you but with Azriel, it feels different. He is your mate. Your other half, crafted by The Mother and Cauldron itself. In his presence, you find a haven where vulnerability is not a weakness but a welcomed connection.

“I love him.”

Wheeling with a snarl, she fixes her sharp gaze back onto you. Her hand tenses midair and her talons peak out before dropping it back to her side. She leans so close you can feel her breath tickle yours. Her gaze travels down to the obsidian necklace you keep on at all times for protection and she feels her throat tighten when she sees the new charm attached to it. It’s an initial. A for Azriel.

“You stupid, foolish girl. What have you done? Have I taught you nothing?”

Azriel growls and his shadows tense as they await their master’s next order. Your hand tightens against him and you send a wave of reassurance through the bond. This was exactly what you had been hoping to avoid. The last male you introduced to your mother was turned into a frog and you hadn’t put up a fight as the male had fallen under Maeve’s spell. But this time, you were willing to fight and defend what was yours.

“I think it's quite brave,” a dreamy voice cuts in through the tension. “A true testament to love.”

“Shut up, Thea.” Maeve snaps. “No one asked for your opinion.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time you ask for a reading!”

“Azriel.” Your mother’s voice is sharp, demanding attention. “You hold something extremely dear to me now. If I find you to be careless with it–if you so much as hurt y/n in any shape or form…I will hunt you down, rip your heart out and eat it for breakfast.”

“She’s not joking,” Maeve decides to chime in. “She ate Thea’s lover for dinner once.”

“Must you always jump at the opportunity to remind me?” Thea retorts with a look of pained disgust on her face and you almost feel bad for her. She did love that male terribly, as undeserving as he was.

“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal, my dearest,” your mother says in a perplexed tone. She rolls her eyes at the scoff she received in response. “He was a human.”

“He was the love of my life!”

“And others too.” Maeve cuts in, lips curled into a lopsided smirk as she gazes at her nails. “Mother did you a favor there.”

“This,” you say to Azriel, lifting your chin toward your family. Your mother and sisters continue to bicker back and forth while Binx zooms after the rolling cage imprisoning your father. You sigh deeply and Azriel now understands why you were on edge all week, why you had shut him out.

“This is my family.”

As if on cue, your family turns to him. Binx rests a paw on the rolling cage, halting its movement. Even the green gecko inside seems to peer curiously at the Shadowsinger, its tiny eyes glinting in the dim light.

Your mother, a formidable figure with an air of ancient wisdom, focuses her attention to Azriel. The expression on her face is a complex blend of skepticism and concern. Her dark eyes narrow as if probing his very soul–a look that has sent many to mad chaos and the room seems to hold its breath as Azriel meets her gaze.

You step in between them both. “Mother, must you always do this?”

“It’s okay. I have nothing to hide,” Azriel reassures you as he holds your mother’s gaze, unwavering and resolute. “I would never dream of hurting y/n. I love her.”

“He speaks the truth, mother. He’d kill for her, I’ve seen–ow!”

Your mother’s keen eyes linger on him. Despite Thea’s words, she wants to see for herself. The room feels suspended in time as she carries on with probing into his very soul. She’s peering into the depths of his heart, seeping into its cracks and searching for any hint of insincerity. The tension in the room starts to dissipate as she must sense something she agrees with. Slowly, her lips gradually curve in a smile–a genuine one.

“I like this one,” your mother says as she turns to you. “I shall spare you the part of my visit where I ask you to come back home with me as I now know it will be pointless. So let’s have dinner, hmm? All this excitement has me famished.”

Your mother clasps her hands together, springing the room into action. Binx resumes messing around with your father and Maeve makes her way to your kitchen, your mother following after her.

“I did not agree to you staying for dinner!” You call after them, shooting Azriel an apologetic look.

“She was going to agree anyway.”

Azriel turns to your sister–the closest to a normal relative you seem to have. Her blue eyes, flecked with silver hold a spark of otherworldly wisdom as she regards him.

“You can see the future?”

She tilts her head, a cascade of blonde curls falling over her shoulder. Her lips curl into a knowing smile and her peregryn wings flutter. “Only what the stars tell me,” she replies cryptically. “Would you like me to read your cards?”

Azriel contemplates for a moment. He turns toward the kitchen and his eyes find you. You’re engaged in a lively debate about the perfect amount of herbs, claiming that only a pinch of thyme is needed while Maeve stubbornly shakes her head.

“Out of my kitchen! Go seduce a pig for all I care before I hex you with an angry nest of bees!”

His love for you deepens with every passing second and he nearly startles when he feels a flutter in his chest. It’s you. You echo the sentiment very loud and clear through your end of the bond.

“No.”

“Why not?” She teases, though she already knows the answer.

“Because right now, I have everything I could ever want.”

Once your family departs, relief washes over you, and you finally feel able to breathe freely. Leaning against the door, you release a sigh, allowing your eyes to flutter shut momentarily. When you reopen them, your gaze lands on Azriel in the living room. He's seated, head tilted back, eyes closed, weariness evident. Moving towards him, you saunter over, and without a word, he instinctively pulls you onto his lap, his eyes still shut in a shared moment of exhaustion and solace.

Your hands tenderly cradle his face, bathed in the soft glow of your green magic. You massage his temples, your fingertips tracing away the remnants of the headache your mother’s earlier probing had left behind. A contented sigh escapes him at your soothing touch.

“Thank you,” he breathes and his hands find their place at your hips.

You press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I should be the one thanking you.”

He opens his eyes and there’s a subtle perplexity among them. “How come?”

“Because they’re chaotic,” you answer and tipping your chin down sheepishly, you continue, “I’m sorry for shutting you out. I was doing my best to keep them from coming but I should’ve just told you instead. I was trying to protect you from all of this–”

A scarred finger props your chin up, urging you to look back up at him. The hand that remains at your hip tightens with a comforting reassurance. You find yourself lost in the depths of his beautiful hazel eyes and like always, they anchor you like a tranquil forest bathed in sunlight.

“You don’t have to protect me from this. I accept it–all of you. I love you,” he murmurs. The corner of his lips tug up into a small smile. “Though I do find you unbearingly adorable when you’re protective.”

“Adorable?” You can’t help but laugh. Others would beg to differ. You're sure your eyes have given Cassian nightmares.

“Especially when it’s all for me,” he nearly purrs, pressing kisses to the corner of your eyes. The very eyes he adores, even when they transform into inky pools of black.

He kisses the nape of your neck and your breath hitches. “Did you mean it?”

Azriel hums against your neck. “Mean what?”

“What you said to Thea earlier,” you say, mindlessly confessing that you had been listening to his short conversation with your sister.

You feel him smile against you. “Of course I did. Whatever the future may bring, as long as I have you, that's enough for me. You’re my everything.”

When he pulls away to look at you, you’re beaming at him. His nose brushes against yours and your hands cup his face again, eyes flickering to his lips before you guide them to yours in a slow yet passionate kiss. You slide your tongue along the softness of his bottom lip, reveling in his honeyed taste and he parts his mouth for you, a small sound of pleasure slipping between your lips.

You kiss him and kiss him until the future seems like a distant thought, overshadowed by the perfection of the present.

a/n: I was driving to an appointment when I randomly thought of how chaotic reader's family is and wanted to introduce them formally in case I want to incorporate them in future imagines. This takes place shortly before the one where you get kidnapped.

Also, I'm currently watching the Witcher and I couldn't help myself and use this scene to help me write the part where Maeve tries to seduce Az.

tagging: @fxckmiup

[series masterlist]

#azriel x reader #azriel x witch!reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfiction #azriel imagine #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar x y/n #acotar x you #azriel fluff #az!dandelions

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theostrophywife · 1 year

Text

kiss with a fist | chapter three.

masterlist 💋 chapters 💋 playlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: high enough by k. flay.

author's note: we're well on our way. this is a shorter(ish) chapter, but that just means that you might get the next one sooner rather than later. as always, please enjoy the banter and sarcasm.

Angel’s Trumpet was going to be the death of you.

You were convinced of it.

The multiple failed attempts to brew the wretched draught hung over you like a pall and followed you into your second week. When Wednesday night finally rolled around, you were in a proper foul mood. You couldn’t even bring yourself to take more than one bite of lasagne, which was usually your favorite.

Beside you, Luna set the latest copy of the Quibbler down and looked over at you with concern. “Still having trouble with potions?”

You nodded, sighing in frustration. “It’s this bloody Angel’s Trumpet. I’ve read over the recipe so many times that it’s practically ingrained into my subconscious, but I just can’t seem to get it right.”

Your roommate smiled faintly. “I know,” she said in her breathy voice. “You do come up with some rather creative curses when you’re studying.”

You smiled sheepishly. “Sorry Loons, have I kept you up with my late night ranting again?”

“No need to apologize. The wrackspurts are truly doing a number on everyone, not just you. They’re especially rampant during the start of term.” Her dreamy eyes sharpened into something that resembled mischief. “And how are your sessions with Theodore going?”

The faint smile on your friend’s face told you that she definitely knew more than she let on. Besides you and Theo, Luna was the only person in Hogwarts who knew about your secret little dalliances. She had figured it out rather early on last year when you and Theo kept mysteriously disappearing at the same time. It was a shame that everyone underestimated her. Luna Lovegood was the most astute person you knew.

You had absolutely no doubt that your secret was just one of many that Luna had uncovered by simply being observant. After all, teenagers weren’t exactly covert even if they were witches and wizards.

“Miserably,” you finally answered.

Much to your annoyance, Theo had not let up since the weekend. Day after day, he dragged you into the potions lab with varying disastrous results. Just the other night, the damned cauldron spewed magenta liquid like a geyser, effectively soaking you and Theo in pepto bismol pink like a demented water park ride. No amount of scourgify could wash away the shame.

Luna laughed. “Pansy said that Theo spent hours scrubbing potion off of his fancy leather shoes.”

“Pansy?” you asked incredulously. “As in, Pansy Parkinson? Since when are you two the best of friends?”

Your friend shrugged nonchalantly, but you clocked the slight flush in her cheeks. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to replace you. Pansy and I just have a few classes together, that’s all.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is she being nice to you? I swear to Godric if she even says one mean thing I’ll stick a broom up that witch’s ar—“

Luna held her palms up. “I appreciate the concern, but I assure you Pansy is very nice.”

That wasn’t entirely convincing, but you trusted Luna’s judgment. As protective as you were over your friend, you knew that she was perfectly capable of handling herself.

“I just worry,” you said, patting her shoulder. “Those little serpents have teeth.”

“Oh, I think you’re more familiar with the Slytherins and their teeth than I am.”

“Loons!”

She smiled unapologetically. “Speaking of which, here comes your serpent now and he does look poised to bite.”

You turned just in time to see Theo marching down the aisle with two of his housemates. The curly headed one, Mattheo Riddle, swaggered on his right and winked at you. Flanking Theo’s left side was Enzo Berkshire, who gave you a polite wave. He was by far the most tolerable out of the lot of them. You wholly ignored Mattheo, but acknowledged Enzo with a nod.

Theo, on the other hand, you openly glared at. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

Every head at the Ravenclaw table turned towards your direction. Though your housemates liked to think they were above the petty drama, Ravenclaws were some of the worst gossips in this school. Three Slytherins walking amongst their midst was as juicy as it got.

Completely unfazed by the attention, Theo slid in next to you on the bench. “Someone’s got their wand in a twist.”

You flashed him a saccharine smile. “I’ll twist more than just your wand if you don’t leave me the hell alone, Nott.”

Mattheo smirked. “Oh, I like her.”

The glare you shot his way was full of venom. “The feeling is not mutual.” Enzo fought a smile as Mattheo gaped. You ignored the both of them and turned back to Theo. “Who are they supposed to be? Your cronies?”

“Merlin, she never truly lets up, does she?” exclaimed Riddle.

Theo grinned. “You have no fucking idea, mate.” His expression faltered when he saw the ire dancing in your eyes. “Right, I know that look. Leave us before she decides to turn you two into toads.”

The boys reluctantly backed away. Beside you, Luna followed suit but winked behind her shoulder as she left the Great Hall. Luckily, Theo’s back was turned to her.

“What do you want?”

“Glory, riches, power. The usual,” he deadpanned. “What do you think I want? I've been waiting for you at the lab for half an hour.”

“I can’t,” you said dismissively. “Not tonight.”

“Oh, yes you can. I’m too invested to give up now. I am going to teach you how to brew Angel’s Trumpet even if it kills me.”

“I’d prefer to skip the brewing and get right to the fun part.” You didn’t even notice that your bantering had stopped every conversation at your table. Everyone watched as you menacingly twirled your wand. “Shall I buy a new dress for your funeral?”

Theo smirked, seizing your wrist. He lowered his voice and spoke quietly so only you could hear. “I’d rather see you wear my jumper again.”

“Let go of my hand and I’ll be sure to turn up to your wake donning your beloved jumper.”

He sighed in frustration. “I’m serious about the draught, diavolina. We’re trying again. Tonight.”

“Was my last try not humiliating enough?”

“There’s definitely room for improvement. Avoiding turning the lab into a slip and slide would be my first suggestion.” His mouth quirked in amusement. Prick. “Aside from that, I think I finally figured out the missing ingredient.”

“And that would be?”

“Relaxation,” Theo answered proudly. “You’re way too uptight and it’s feeding into your magic, hence all the explosions.”

You scoffed. “You want me to relax? I have literally never relaxed in my entire life. I came out of the womb stressed about taxes.”

Theo snorted. “That’s exactly why I’m here. Let the expert teach you, sweetheart. Being relaxed means being confident and being confident means success.”

“You do know that confidence and arrogance are two different things, right?”

“Do you want to brew the bloody potion or not?”

The fact that Theo was the one motivating you to do school work was only slightly despairing. “Fine,” you conceded. “Teach me how to relax, oh Great Master.”

“Tucking that away for names I’d like for you to call me in bed.”

“Pervert.”

“Don’t slut shame me, Y/N. We all have our kinks.”

“Great. Mine is committing acts of violence against snarky Slytherins.”

“This snarky Slytherin rather enjoys your acts of violence. Especially if it involves your smartass mouth on mine.” You flushed in response, which only made Theo smirk in satisfaction. “Now, come. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

The Astronomy Tower was the last place you expected Theo to take you to. He didn’t really strike you as a stargazing type of guy, but then again, you probably didn’t strike people as the type of girl who slept with her academic rival out of spite.

Maybe you both had layers. Layers upon fucked up layers.

The thought almost made you laugh hysterically as you silently watched Theo transfigure his robe into a blanket. He laid it gently across the wooden floor and beckoned you over. “Sit,” he said simply.

“This is awfully romantic of you. You take a lot of girls up here, Nott?”

“Only uptight little Ravenclaws who’d rather vex me to death than enjoy a stunning view of the stars.”

You snorted. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He rolled his eyes and patted the spot next to him. “Sit. I won’t ask again.”

To be fair to Theo (a statement you never thought you’d make), the stars were stunning tonight. You sat cross legged on the blanket and watched as constellations twinkled in the horizon. If you were up here with anyone other than the present company, you might’ve found it rather nice.

But alas, this was Theo you were talking about. It was only a matter of time before he ruined it somehow. Probably with a lascivious comment.

“Why are you sitting like you’ve got a stick up your arse?” Bingo. “Even more than usual, I mean.”

“Maybe you’re the stick up my arse.”

“Don’t joke, darling.” Theo quipped, placing a hand over his chest. “You know I’ve been asking for months.”

“Do not make me push you over that railing, Theodore.”

“Jokes on you, I find your threats incredibly arousing. I’m pitching a tent in my trousers just thinking about it.”

You rubbed your temples. “How is irritating the shit out of me supposed to be relaxing?”

Theo grinned, reaching into his pocket. “Because, I have this.”

With a proud smile, he produced a tightly rolled blunt.

“That’s your big idea?” you asked, wrinkling your nose at the joint. “Taking me to the highest tower in the castle and getting higher than a hippogriff so we can potentially fall down the stairs and break our necks?”

“It’ll help with your nerves.”

“The only thing wrong with my nerves is that you’re always on them.”

He smirked, sticking the joint between his lips. “You’re deflecting. What’s the matter, diavolina? Scared to partake in the devil’s lettuce?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake, give it here.” Theo’s eyes widened as you took the joint from his mouth and stuck it in yours. “Well? Are you going to light me up or not?”

He shook his head in mild disbelief before pulling a lighter out of his pocket. You squinted at the silver Zippo, which had initials engraved on the front. The writing was too faded for you to read.

“I got tired of Mattheo stealing my lighters,” he explained. “This way I don’t lose track of it.”

The initials weren’t what surprised you. It was the fact that Theo even had a lighter in the first place. Most wizards just used magic to conjure fire. They certainly didn’t go around carrying muggle inventions in their pockets. It almost made you feel like you were back home in London, bumming a cigarette off some drunk after a night out in the pubs.

“Why not use incendio?”

Theo shrugged. “An irritating know-it-all once told me that not everything has to involve magic.”

It was strange to hear him echo your words.

None of it made any sense. Theo would’ve had to venture into a muggle shop to buy that lighter, which was unheard of for a pureblood. Especially not one whose family was part of the now disbanded Sacred Twenty-Eight. The idea of Theo walking around Camden Market to purchase a Zippo was more disorienting than the drugs.

This little discovery did not line up with what you thought you knew about him. You squinted at him in the dim light, inhaling deeply. The smoke filled your lungs and clouded your senses. Yet one question remained even as you exhaled.

Who the hell are you, Theodore Nott?

Sensing your gaze, he watched with a small smirk as you passed the joint over to him. It seemed impossible for the drugs to be taking effect so soon, but you found yourself mesmerized as Theo took a long drag. Smoke curled around his mouth as he leaned back on his elbows, tipping his head back to gaze up at the moon.

“Why the Astronomy Tower?” you asked after a few moments.

Theo shrugged. “It’s nice up here. Quiet. It helps to get away from the noise.”

“Strange. I’d become convinced that you sometimes speak just to hear the sound of your own voice.”

A set of dimples appeared on Theo’s cheeks. On anyone else, it might’ve been endearing. “Close. There’s also the added bonus of annoying you.”

You didn’t try to stifle your laughter. “Yes, I suppose that sweetens the deal.”

The two of you sat in silence, passing the joint every so often and quietly contemplating the stars. The absence of noise was jarring. You couldn’t remember the last time that you weren't surrounded by noise. Ravenclaws were a chatty bunch. Whether you were exchanging the newest piece of gossip or bragging about academic achievements, there was always this constant exchange of information.

Your brain was hardwired to process input. Without it, you felt sort of like a toddler who had just gotten their comfort blanket ripped away from them.

“Stop fidgeting, Y/N,” Theo commanded with his eyes closed. “You’re supposed to be relaxing.”

You frowned, picking at your nails. “I don’t think it’s working. Either your drugs are rubbish or my neurosis is canceling it out.”

He opened one eye lazily. His body language was languid, like he was floating through air. You envied him for it. “Just take a deep breath and empty your mind.”

“I know that may be easy for someone whose thoughts are typically vacant, but I’m not wired that way. I can’t just turn off my thoughts.”

Theo sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. He stared at you for a second before his eyes lit up with realization. “Of course. I’m so stupid.”

“No argument there.”

He rolled his eyes in response. “I’m trying to get you to relax the Theo way when we should be doing it the Y/N way.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Think of the one place in the castle where you feel most at peace.”

You cocked your head, contemplating. The answer came to you in an instant. “Okay. I’ve got it. What now?”

Theo rose to his feet and offered you his hand. “Lead the way, diavolina. Show me how the chronically neurotic unwinds.”

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#what i would give to get high in the astronomy tower with this idiot #theo nott #theo nott fic #theo nott smut #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott smut

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bl00dlight · 3 months

Text

Ghostly Flame

Aemond Targaryen x OC sister x Alys Rivers {NSFW}

Warnings ● more carpet munching, graphic language, general smut and filth, implied homophobia, age gap, dubious consent, violence against female character, heterosexuality, Aemond being depraved as fuck and lowkey the worst, oedipus complex, full blown targcest, mentions of Madame Sylvie (sorry yall), Alys Rivers being a trick ass bitch, not proof read

Word count ● 4.7k

Author's Note • Long awaited. It's finally here. Holy fuck it's actually... like insane how long this took for me to dwell on. I'm not gonna spoil anything but this one is a bit gross. In a good way. Sick sick sick.

Masterlist / Ghostly Flame ● Part I

Part II

The sight on the Prince Regent's bed was indeed, not a mere dream. He stammered as a flood of emotions suddenly whipped against his skull.

As he entered, Aemond's face darkened and the breath in his lungs all but vanished. Hs let fist slowly curl, though his eye was transfixed on the two women, watching as his paramour's mouth moved against his sister's skin. Despite it all, the disgust and rage that was brewing; for a brief moment he enjoyed the sounds and sight before him.

And yet, Aemond knew it was but a vile sin, a betrayal of both his bedmate and beloved sister. Still, the sight stirred heat within him.

Alys continued in her ministrations, her tongue moving with precision, seeking to please and to tease the princess. The witch was so engrossed in the task before her that she hadn't noticed the door or the figure which loomed in the shadows.

The sounds of his sister's mewling was enough to drive him over the edge. The prince clenched his jaw, he stalked towards the women and spoke, his voice ringing in the quiet of the room. "Alys."

Just like that the sounds of their pleasure had come to a deadened stop. Slowly Alys pulled away, and turned towards Aemond. Daera opened her eyes with a flash, her body jolting with fear and suddenly the humiliation rang true.

Aemond's own heart was hammering in his chest, his mind racing with thoughts he had never dared admit aloud.

"Tell me," Aemond whispered, his voice rough and low. "Do the both of you take me for a fool?"

Alys bowed her head and spoke gently, "My Prince, I..."

"Silence." Aemond sneered, stalking towards Alys. His fist soon met with her raven hair, gripping at it as he forced her head up at him. "I have had my fill of your vile tongue."

A silence brewed before he suddenly shoved the woman back to the ground. Alys winced as he body hit the floor with a startling thud. Daera shook, her hands in her head as she had pulled the sheets upon her bare flesh out of modesty. It was comical, still she seemed to care of propriety, even though her own brother had seen her in such a state.

Aemond grunted, raising a hand up as though he was to strike the woman before him. Alys stayed deadly still upon the ground, gritting her teeth, awaiting his hand to make contact with her flesh. Though he felt his rage stir he swiftly pulled his hand away. He could not strike her, no, instead he launched and gripped her arm, forcing her upon her feet.

"You dare humiliate me? You dare bring such shame upon me? Defiling my own blood, my sister! Upon the very bed I let your treacherous head lay, no less!" Aemond's lonesome eye was narrowed in a maelstrom of emotions, anger, betrayal, jealously, humiliation.

Yet in truth, he felt one thing; weakness.

Alys glared at him, speaking oddly calmly, "Of course not, your grace..."

"Then speak, bastard! Speak on the sight before me... of you upon my sister and why my eye was witness to it! Speak to why you... why you dare go against me, after all I have done! I spared you, or do you forget?" The prince gripped her flesh sternly and his gaze faltered as he felt sorrow bloom.

Daera looked away, she couldn't bare the scene before her. Couldn't bare what she had done, she hadn't even known what led her to do it. She had no excuse, no reason. It seemed to have happened before she had any idea it was occurring.

The princess wiped her tears, her heart aching. "Brother..." she muttered weakly, sorrowfully.

Aemond turned his head sharply, "I SHALL HEAR NOTHING FROM YOU!" He snapped at Daera, forcing her back into submission.

His gaze came to Alys once more, whom at this point was holding back a low snicker. Her hands came to his chest, and a low hum was earnt from the prince at her soothing ministrations.

"You are not so tempting as to distract me. I see you for what you are... a snake in my own den." He lowered his tone, as his hand came to her raven locks and gripped them.

Alys gave him an incredulous look once more, "You... you do not mean such things, I have been nothing but faithful, my prince."

"Yet your mouth was upon my sister? You think that faithful?" Aemond retorted swiftly, fastening his grip.

"I... I do not deny how such may seem an act of betrayal. But it was in service to you, your grace." Alys flinched as his hands laced themselves in her hair forcefully. Her voice still measured.

"Do not dare speak such folly-" His temper flared as Alys spoke over the Prince.

"It is not folly... I have brought her, swayed her senses so they may receive what is so deeply suppressed within her. She had not come for me, my prince. She came for you." Alys' voice like a siren song, she let her hands run to his cheeks. Gently stroking at his sharp features.

Silence beckoned for a moment, as Aemond found himself lured by the witch's words. Her eyes gazing with reverence upon him, yet there was a glimmer of something else. Something she had seen.

Slowly, Aemond's grip upon her hair eased flattening to cup her head, "What do you see?" He muttered, his eye scanning her carefully.

Daera's sobbing had eased now, and she watched with baited breath as her brother and the witch spoke before her. She noticed the tilt of Alys' head the low chuckle as she leaned in to Aemond's ear, muttering something unknown.

There was a noticeable shift, the sharp line of his jaw hardening as he eased into her touch. Daera caught a low hum from him, an inquisitive one as Alys nodded.

The prince turned to his sister, her trembling form. No doubt her mind already a place of torment for her. His gaze scanned over her pale flesh, silver hair - so much like his own. Though she looked more like their mother in her features. Melancholic round eyes, full lips; a soft cherubic face. She was a woman grown and yet, still appeared so much like the docile girl she once was in their youth.

Aemond leaned down, his silver hair catching in the moonlight as he gazed upon his sister sternly. His hand gripped her wrist.

"I ought to punish you." He said firmly.

Daera instantly weakened at his words, her head tilting, tears streaming as she simpered, "Brother..."

His hand suddenly clasped her cheek, silencing her whining, "Do as I say."

The Princess's eyes searched his lonesome one, her gaze coiling in uncertainty. She shook her head, disturbed by his sudden change of demanour. Her heart thundering as she knew whatever was to occur, was something she ought to be fearful of. She felt the need to beg, to plead for forgiveness. Though she remained still.

"I do not blame you, for failing to resist my Alys' charm. You are but a woman... you stand little chance against her, for even I find my resolve wavering in her wake." He slowly rose to his feet, and Alys came to him, slowly unstrapping his leathers from his chest.

"You are not... mad with me?" The Princess whimpered, squeezing her nails into her palms. Allowing the pain to distract her from her shame.

"What Alys has seen.. changes the matter." Aemond spoke with a new found clarity, though there was a bitterness that lingered upon his tongue.

Daera shook her head in response, she looked at Alys, whose hands were upon his breeches, unlacing them. Before she could continue he pulled her hands away from him. "No." Aemond muttered, slowly turning to his sister.

Daera found herself trembling once more, her eyes watery, desperately searching for answers as she whispered, "Seen what?"

It was the uncertainty in her eyes which made Aemond look away, his gaze narrowed upon the ground as he mumbled to Alys, "I cannot..."

The witch let her hands cup his face once more, soothing the fear he felt within him, "You can... and you will, desire has sown it's seed long bef-"

Aemond swiftly gripped her wrists, interrupting her, "Do not presume to know of my desires! She is my sister..."

The raven hair of Alys fell upon her pale shoulder as she turned to face the princess before her. Aemond's eye wandering for a moment upon her bare flesh... her breasts.

Daera looked into the green landscape of her eyes, flashes of them lingering between her thighs caused a spark of shame within the princess and she looked away. Alys chuckled softly, turning back to Aemond.

The witch leaned in, her hands coming back to his jaw, one slowly trailing down his neck. She hummed, smiling softly as Alys whispered to Aemond, "You are the blood of old Valyria, your grace... fire courses through your very flesh. A fire I have felt lick at my womb and that shall lick upon hers..."

Aemond's gaze met his paramour's in an intense exchange of understanding and trepidation. Though he was soothed by her gentle touch upon him, soothed by the wisdom her foresight granted him. She was right, it was not as though he held no desire for his sister. He had merely suppressed it. Why long for something that shall never be his to keep?

Their mother never sought to the betroth them, so Aemond simply focused on matters of duty; of becoming a formidable force in battle. Though he could not embrace Targaryen tradition entirely, he sought to expand upon it in other ways. He would seek to become a fierce dragonrider. A man of skill, for his legacy would be his own.

As he gazed upon his sister, he felt the sudden urge to comfort her. The tears that rolled upon her cheek meant for a greater challenge. He would not force himself upon her, but he could not deny the fire set ablaze in his blood when his eye wandered her flesh.

She was to be his destiny it seemed... and if Alys' vision proved true, the mother to his true born heir.

He stalked towards her, and once again found himself reaching over. As he extended his hand to cup her cheek she flinched, and Aemond merely persisted.

Daera however, was not so much aware of what Alys and Aemond spoke of. If anything she was still mortified by the fact her brother had seen her indulge in such sin.

Her gaze widened at the feeling of his palm upon her fleshy cheek, "Please... forgive me...I know I have tainted myself in the eyes of the Gods, but you must let me seek absolution from you. My resolve has grown weak, I see it now... I..." The princess mumbled, fanatically searching her brother's stoney gaze as he watched the trembling of her lips.

Silence beckoned, and Aemond remained still. His eye scanning over her, his thumb rubbing against the plushness of her cheeks. Her eyes that wore sorrow so beautifully, just as their mother's does. Large, comforting eyes... for a moment he felt a sense of boyish peace dawn upon him. Remembering how once, Alicent would gaze upon him with concerned filled eyes.

Though he had not spoken to his mother in many moons now, could not bare the sight of her. It was in Daera's simpering expression he found a small sense of comfort. She was but a piece of home. Though his youth was not always a happy one, there was peace. There was... a familiarity which made him wish to crawl within his sister's arms and pretend nothing bad had befallen them.

"Brother..." She whimpered, begging for him to say something; pulling the Prince from his thoughts.

Daera's eyes were caught by the familiar saunter of Alys' bare frame. She came to Aemond, leaning down as her thin, pale fingers tucked his silver hair behind his ear. Gently she cooed, "Go on, my prince... take what is yours."

With that Aemond glanced briefly and Alys, and then slowly looked back upon his sister. He moved now, shifting his weight to crawl upon the bed. His hand still gripping at her cheek, and the other now finding her waist, pulling her from the sheet and forcing her before him.

Aemond gazed softly, tentatively, at her. His hand moving to her silver curls; her hair so similar to her mother's. His fingers twirled a strand delicately, as though it were made of glass. He suddenly brought his face near her, his cheek grazing hers as he buried his nose within her locks for a moment. He breathed in, closing his eye. The familiar sweet smell of honeysuckled flesh filling his senses.

The princess was in complete shock, she had never known such affections from her brother before. Her eyes widened, her gaze meeting Alys', who came to the bed, sitting at the end as she removed Aemond's boots. Soon, her pale hand reaching over to stroke Aemond's hair gently. The princess furrowed her brow, positively unfurled by the scene before her. Her tears had all but come to a halt, not for the fact shame had left her, but for the fact she was overwrought by the absurdity of it all.

Aemond pulled back slightly, and both he and his sister let out a sharp breath. Her eyes wide, watching him carefully as he gently grazed his nose upon her cheek. His hand coming to her lips. Lips which were too, like Alicent's; swollen and quivering.

His eye, narrowed upon her and he caught her discomforted demanour. His fingers moving from her lips to cup her cheek as he muttered, "If it is absolution you seek, then let us not allow what transpired to be in vain. So, do as I say."

Daera though confused, did not protest. She nodded and heard her breath catch within her throat as he hummed slightly. Aemond brought his other hand to her cheek. A look of determination filled his eye though he seemed conflicted.

His gaze locked upon her lips, he wanted to kiss her, wanted to touch her. Though he knew not how to. Aemond grunted again, unsure of himself. An awkward tension rose as he stammered like a boy. The Prince huffed, looked down as humiliation coiled in his belly. He felt weak, he felt the fool.

He had, in truth never been with a woman as young as Daera. Though she was but a year younger than he. She was unlike Alys... unlike Madame Sylvie. Both of which had known the ways of initiating pleasure. He had never had to worry of such things, for both women brimmed with the confidence only within a mature woman, to take charge. Neither were coy, nor demure. Neither stuttered nor flinched when presented with his desire. Neither seemed so... shocked by his forwardness, nor hid behind maidenly virtue, nor looked upon him with judgement. They were women whom he felt safe with, secure with. He did not have to wear the mask he had crafted so precisely for himself. Did not have to act with the hard faced confidence of a man. Aemond could be unsure, with Alys and Madame Sylvie. He could let go of his masculine fortitude and be a boy once more.

But this was not the case with Daera. He could not help but find the judgement in her eyes, enraging. Already he thought of the million ways she may be laughing or repulsed by him. Already he thought of how she would reject him if he were not willing to do as had been taught men are to do. Take charge.

He could not falter with her, could not be seen as weak.

"Alys..." He muttered lowly, his head turning slightly as to call his paramour to guide him.

The witch continued stroking his hair, cooing softly as she gave him a knowing look, "As you would me..." Her voice soft, knowing he would understand her implication.

Aemond gave a small nod, his gaze then returning to his sister. A look of determination yet also... fear in his eye.

Daera had watched the interaction transpire as though she were but a mere spectator in her body. It hadn't felt real at all, it all seemed like an elaborate dream, and betwixt the moonlight and shadows of Harrenhal, he wasn't fully convinced it wasn't.

The princess found herself sharply returned back to reality as the feeling of her brother's breath upon her neck made her flinch. His fingers gently moving the strands of her silver curls away, before the soft and warm sensation of his lips met her neck.

Daera went to protest, but was met with the cold palm of Alys upon her other cheek, her fingers lacing in her hair as she pulled the princess' head to one side. Exposing more of her neck for Aemond to place his lips upon.

Alys smiled softly and gently stroked the coil of worry lines upon Daera's face.

"That's it." The witch lulled gently, slowly encouraging Daera to lean into her brother's touch. To which the princess slowly raised her hand to Aemond's silver strands, her fingers coiling into his scalp, earning a low groan.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of his lips moving up her neck, his hands now moving upon her bare body, falling between her plush breasts, down onto the soft planes of her belly.

It was not long before she felt Alys' lips press into her own, a small whimper leaving the princess.

It was that sound which egged Aemond further, he kissed up Daera's jaw, hoping to siphon more of those sweet sounds from his sister. He felt the familiar touch of Alys upon the band of his breeches, already unlaced. Her cool hand shuffling them down, before reaching in, palming his stiffened length. The sudden feeling of his paramour's hand upon him made him groan. Though he swiftly pulled away from the soft flesh of his sister, his head turning to Alys' sharp face.

"I shall do it myself." His words a quiet yet sharp command.

Alys conceded and resumed her position behind him, gently she stroked his silver tresses. Slightly annoyed by his barking at her tonight. Though she supposed he probably still seethes over her seducing Daera so easily.

The princess was terribly lost in the moment. She had eased to her brother's advances and slowly, his hand came to move her head towards his and pressed into hers gently. Daera whimpered and he pulled away, catching a breath. It was with that kiss that her blood had been set ablaze by him. Suddenly, her hands reached up, catching his cheeks in her palms and attempting to force her lips back into his.

Aemond, pulled away slightly, if not only to tease her for her eagerness, but also to remind him he must remember she had not ever been touched by a man. She was unwed, a mere maiden and similarly to him, probably starved for affection.

A dark desire bloomed as he noted her pleading gaze, a sense of control he did not get with his older lovers. It felt good to be the one whom was bestowing another with affection. Filling a lovelorn void with her that he himself shared. He found her stammering endearing, familiar in a way.

He pulled back again, if not to see how her pretty face coiled in desperation. Just as his would. His hand moved to the back of her hair, gripping her strands roughly, her head tilting back before he spoke lowly, "Tell me you desire it."

Daera's eyes beamed with a sudden awakening desire. Her cunt growing warm, as she whispered, "I desire it."

Aemond's jaw clenched, his voice soft, "Do you want me?" His eye wide, expectant.

Slowly, the Princess let her hands move into his hair as she furrowed her brow, as if he had to ask, she thought. Her voice equally soft, needy, "Yes, brother."

It was those very words which set his lips to hers again. He forced his breeches from him, Alys aiding. Aemond let his knee pry Daera's legs apart, his hand moving to finally touch what he knew would already be ready for him. His fingers grazing her wet core, just as their lips upon each other grew far more intensive in their ministrations. Daera was again, shocked by how wet everything felt, and his fingers sliding between her cunt made her mouth open slightly as a moan left her.

He pushed her down, and his head turned to guesture for Alys to get behind Daera. The witch did so, moving so that her legs were parted where Daera's head lay between. Aemond looked down upon his sister then up at his paramour. His eye narrowed as he let himself slip a finger into Daera's entrance.

A sudden moan left the princess and her hands gripped at his upper arms, she found her head tilting back as a simpering gasp left her. His other hand guiding her knee upwards as he pushed two fingers within her. Slowly stretching her. His eye caught Alys again, who herself had seemed to find the ordeal so pleasing, her own hand worked upon her. He watched as she circled her cunt, then slowly fucking herself with her fingers. Though Daera hadn't noticed, she was too busy writhing beneath Aemond as his fingers had grown terribly fast.

Suddenly he stopped, pulling his fingers from her, his gaze still harsh upon Alys as she pleased herself. His jaw clenched as he had remembered the sight he had walked in upon.

Daera found herself letting out a small whine as he had stopped, she looked up at him, when she was met with his hand clasping her cheeks. Aemond spoke with a swift determination in his tone, "You will tend to Alys as I ready you."

Daera had opened her mouth to speak before Aemond interrupted, "Turn around."

With that, Daera had found herself most shocked, though slowly, hesitantly she turned to her belly and moved towards Alys.

Aemonds voice rang in the thick silence of the chamber, "Tell her what she might do." He said lowly to Alys, his gaze too busy scanning the vast expanse of Daera's pale back, her plump rear and fleshy thighs.

Alys hummed, titling her head, her hands coming to Daera's cheeks to pull her forward, "I shall take the girl's mouth." The witch spoke smugly, her hand pulling at Daera's hair as she lowered the princess' lips to her cunt. "Slowly, my pet..." Alys cooed. "With your tongue."

Daera all but whimpered as her mouth met the soft, delicate folds of Alys. She was not sure how to go about it, but she started with slow, languid licks, hoping she might gauge where Alys was brought pleasure. The witch hummed and chuckled with pleasure, her hips slowly circling as she pressed Daera's mouth upon her cunt further. She instructed the princess lowly, and soon Daera was using her tongue to circle Alys clit, winning groans from the older woman.

Aemond had found himself oddly transfixed by the sight, his paramour instructing his sister. It was as though he was watching himself in a way. Though the sight of the two woman before him, was far more thrilling than he had anticipated. Alys' head tilted back, forcing Daera to move quicker, and Aemond slowly pryed apart her thighs. His fingers finding Daera's soaked core.

He grazed her clit, winning gentle moans from her as his other hand kneaded her rear. Alys, moaned again, her peak dawning as she cried, "The prince watches us... sweet girl. He watches with reverence."

Her words sparked a quick hum from Aemond as he found himself focused on Daera again. He leaned down, his chest pressed upon her back as lewd sounds of the two women filled the chamber. He moved his sister's hair to the side, exposing her neck and back. Aemond pressed gentle kisses into her, his hands trailing her soft flesh.

As he went to kiss her again, Alys had pulled Daera's hair harshly, forcing Aemond to lose his grip slightly. He looked up at his paramour, watching as she rolled her hips on his sister mouth, chasing her endless peak.

She was indeed a woman of great fortitude, but this was not about her pleasure. This was about legacy, this was about himself and his sister... and their duty to House Targaryen. Aemond's hands wrapped around Daera's waist, suddenly pulling her away from Alys' cunt.

The witch's eyes opened swiftly, and she gasped. "Your grace?!" She barked, almost like a mother would towards her child.

Though Aemond paid little attention to Alys as he laid Daera down upon her back again. "You've had your fill." He muttered.

The raven haired woman scoffed, "So I get nothing then? I brought you the girl-"

Aemond raised his hand, his tone aloof as he gazed down upon Daera. "Leave us." Aemond spoke lowly to Alys, he was too transfixed on the way Daera had brought her hands to his cheeks.

"My Prince..." The witch begged. Alys let her gaze grow wide and discontented.

"Hm.." Aemond looked up to the older woman, his gaze unwavering, stern, "You may go."

It only took one disgruntled look from Alys before she gave a nod, biting her tongue as she moved away from the bed. She dressed herself once more and left without any protest. After all, she was but under his mercy.

The silence in the room was startling, Daera's eyes widened, and her hand came to Aemond's eye patch, though he forced her hand away. He did not say another word as he settled between her legs. Aemond moved her hand to clasp his length, guiding her hand up and down to ready himself.

His lips met hers as he moved her legs to wrapped around his hips, and slowly, Aemond let his cock graze her folds. Both of them moaning at the sensation. He felt his resolve weaken, and with that, he pushed into her entrance ever so slowly. Giving her time to adjust to him.

Her core tight, so tight he felt himself wince as he tried to push further. Daera squeezed his arm making him force her hands to his cheeks. "Calm yourself." He said lowly.

Daera obliged, she closed her eyes, trusting the sensation that currently stung with pain would soon dissolve and it did. He eased himself into her, and Daera marvelled at the sound he made when he had finally pushed within her. All that could be heard from her was a deep gasp, her head tilting back. As he rocked his hips, fucking her slowly, her hands laced into his hair and his face buried into her neck. Daera suddenly began to moan softly, wantonly as the sensation became more and more pleasurable as her core loosened. She began to feel herself relax, and he slid in and out of her with ease. Aemond at this point was all but lost, he kept moving into her, his hands cupping her face as he moved between his face in the crook of her neck or kissing her harshly. His moans growing more intense, their names flying from the other's mouth. Panting and cursing filled his chamber, alongside low growls as he relished the feeling of her warm cunt upon him.

"Sweet sister..." He grumbled, nodding as his peak was soon to come. "Have me." He said, almost sweetly against her flesh. He wanted to bury himself in her, hold her tight. And that he did, their bodies flushed firmly against each other and Daera had instinctively began to rock her hips against his.

She moaned, grappling at his hair as she whispered, "Aemond... my brother..."

It was her soft coos which triggered him to come fiercely within her. His seed causing an odd warmth to spread within her. As the moment diffused, the heat between them had caused both of them to become flushed, panting gently as they lay entwined upon the bed. The shadows enclasping them both, yet in their arms both found a sense of peace. Daera coiled into him, her head resting upon the top of his.

Aemond laid upon her, letting her arms wrap around him, her soft flesh against his taut frame felt like bliss. He breathed out, speaking softly against her skin, "Alys... she.." Aemond stammered breathlessly against her neck, leaving small kisses.

Daera raised her brow, her hands coming to his hair, gently grazing his silver tresses. The moment felt beyond intimate, she felt a strange tie to him. One that had been all but lost to their distant youths.

He let his hands gently carress her face, his cheek nuzzling against her own as he whispered softly, cooingly into her ear,"She see's a silver haired boy upon the throne... a boy who comes from the flesh of two dragons. The mother... a great beauty, the father... a feared warrior. Of darkness and light, joined by a ghostly flame of longing. Separated by time, brought together by blood. It is us... sweet sister. Alys sees us."

#hotd #aemond targaryen #targaryen #house of the dragon #got #aemond one eye #daemon targaryen #rhaneyra targaryen #daenerys targaryen #helaemond #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond targaryen #alys rivers x oc targ #aemond targaryen x sister #aemond targaryen x alys river #aegon ii targaryen #alicent hightower

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yanxidarlings · 11 months

Text

honestly idk what this is but i was in a tad of an angsty mood and this was supposed to be for an ask but it kinda sucks and i didn't like how it fit into the ask but i didn't want to not publish it if that makes sense? so here's a lil oneshot of reader meeting his yandere's

THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS: YANDERE! MATTHEO RIDDLE X MALE! READER X YANDERE! THEODORE NOTT

starting at hogwarts was a moment of excitement for many young witches and wizards. coming of age to learn how to execute spells and brew potions was a formative moment in a wizards life. from a long line of pureblood ravenclaws, m/n l/n was escorted across the platform by the familys house elf. the sight of countless figures bustling around was overwhelming. instinctively, m/n l/n covered his lower face with his hand "young master" the house elf called out, but the boy was zoned out. tugging the mittened hand of the boy, the house elf repeated "young master, you must board the train now"

the attention of the boy was finally earned, "okay" was all he said as he shook off the house elf's hold. the two boarded the hogwarts express, shuffling through the crowds of students searching for a free compartment. m/n l/n was quiet as the house elf guided him to an empty compartment, barely looking up as he followed the elf's lea-

bump "'m sorry" was all he muttered before run-walking off, not looking up at the individuals face or waiting for a response.

"that was rude, young master" the house elf chimed as they came to a stop, the smaller creature opening a compartment door and handing the boy his bags. his mouth opened to speak, but no words came out. with a bow, the house elf left m/n to his own devices.

e/c eyes stared blankly out the window, hands clutched, mind swirling. now that he was alone the panic would settle in. 7 years, leaning his head on the glass, i can't keep this up for 7 years, the train took off, the reality of everything setting in.

abrubtly, rudely disturbing the male's panic session, the compartment door opened "there's that son of a bitch!" "who the hell do you think you are" "you filthy mudblood" a voice rung. snapping his head to the door, with wide, disturbed eyes. the other boy dragged m/n out of his seat by the collar "'m sorry" the dark haired boy mocked, "do you know who i am?" m/n remained quiet "oh and now your going to stay quiet like a fucking baby" nothing "a mudblood like you better learn to respect his superiors" m/n surpressed a giggle at the others words.

the boy looked like he was about to explode with fury. his fist bundled up and his grip on m/n's shirt tightened, just as he was about to give the other a black eye, another voice spoke "calm down riddle, he bumped into you he didn't curse you"

the bo- riddle's fist only became redder as he turned towards the other, also dark haired, male "don't fucking tell me what to do not-" riddle was unable to finish his sentance as m/n's fist collided with his face.

nott had an agape expression as riddle cradled his nose, turning to stare at m/n with wide eyes.

riddle looked as if he was about to say something, trying to figure out how to respond. m/n had already sat back down again "are you done" he spoke, doing his best to stare directly into riddle's eyes. "yes he is" nott answered for the other as he pushed pass riddle and sat down "theodore nott" he extended his hand, an unreadable expression on his face. riddle eventually spoke "mattheo riddle".

m/n did not say anything for a while, eyes studying the two- mattheo and theodore, before finally replying "ok. please leave now"

they did not leave.

mattheo scoffed "you've got a lot of nerve for a mudblood" m/n was staring out the window again. he sighed lightly, standing up and grabbing his luggage, without a word, he left. that was enough socialization for one train ride.

leaving the two intruding males behind. "why wouldn't he reveal his identity if he wasn't muggleborn" mattheo didn't know if he was talking to theodore, or himself "you look disappointed, riddle, got a crush already?" mattheo began to lunge towards theodore, but stopped himself half-way, sitting back, and folding his arms. mattheo riddle did indeed have a crush.

the rest of the train ride passed by quickly, the first years were guided off the train by a tall man that introduced himself as hagrid, who ushered them towards these small rowboats. mattheo found himself rushing to the same boat as the boy who had punched him earlier, missing by just a second. he stared at the other from a distance as they travelled towards the castle, and as they were led towards the great hall, ignoring the chattering of his 'friends'.

"lorenzo berkshire" professor mcgonagall called name after name "slytherin!", "susan bones" "hufflepuff" "draco malfoy" "slytherin" "michael corner" "ravenclaw", m/n fiddled his fingers as he awaited his name being called, the feeling of an intense stare didn't help his nerves either, he glanced up for a moment to see mattheo riddle glaring? at him from the slytherin table. at least ill be in ravenclaw, away from him m/n soothed to himself.

"m/n l/n" professor ... mcgonagan? called out. carefully walking up to the stool, he sat gently. the hat was placed upon his head, mumbling to itself, before letting out a gasp "that is strange" it muttered. dread filled m/n's stomach, it knows, he could've cried right then and there, but he knows better, he knows what would happen.

"slytherin!" the sorting hat finally yelled out. for a moment, he didn't move, "are- are you sure" he quietly asked the hat, "positive, that's where you belong".

and with that, mcgonagan ushered m/n towards the slytherin table, the only free spot next to a blonde first year, that's gotta be a malfoy, m/n thought to himself as he approached the table. "im malfoy, draco malfoy, i think we'll make good friends, l/n" the blonde had already outstretched his hand. if he weren't now sharing a house with the boy, m/n would have ignored him, but his grandmother would kill him if he insulted a malfoy, so he just nodded "sure we will".

the whole feast, malfoy wouldn't shut up, my father this, my family that, not to mention the kid on his left, lorenzo berkshire, kept trying to strike up a conversation. theodore nor mattheo didn't say anything, but didn't stop staring, m/n could see a cut on his nose from the impact, and the outlines of a forming bruise. i should probably apologise for that.

#yandere harry potter #yandere mattheo riddle #yandere theodore nott #theodore nott #mattheo riddle #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #x male reader #yandere hp #hp fanfiction #hp fandom #hp writings

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cognacdelights · 5 months

Text

play wicked games, win wicked prizes [2]

gif by @spacedean.

my supernatural masterlist

play wicked games, win wicked prizes [1]

summary: she craves male validation. he's the best high she's ever gotten. now they're both stuck in a sick and twisted game of foreplay that neither are willing to lose.

warnings: a whole fuck tonne of daddy issues. self-esteem issues. abandonment issues. i am well aware that this is not a healthy relationship and is for entertainment purposes only. sexual content and themes. praise kink. mentions of death and grief. swearing. alcohol use. religious undertones. small age gap romance.

author's note: sorry that it took so long to post. i had a few issues. but we're here. also, i got carried away. it's now going to be in three parts, but i promise that the final part will be worth the wait. minors have been warned. do not interact.

Dean drummed his fingers against the steering wheel out of boredom. His heavy metal mixtape filled the background as he watched carefully out the windscreen, observing the world before him. He was always watching. Scrutinising. That’s how he managed to stay ten steps ahead — by knowing his environment, noticing when the tiniest of details were off. His eyes scoured every inch of the scene that unfolded in front of him, followed people and their every movement, and noticed every little detail.

The faint smell of chlorine hung in the late-spring air and smoke-like clouds loomed in the distance; there was a flash thunderstorm brewing nearby. The bearded barista’s apron pocket was stuffed full of dollar bills, yet in the six hours that he had been parked there he’d only seen six or seven customers wander inside the upmarket coffee house — and one of them was Sam; he was most likely stealing from the cash register. Short-changing customers and pocketing the difference. And the cops were clearly rattled by the deaths at the boarding school; three patrol cars had cruised past in the last thirty minutes, and there were extra patrols on foot. They were on high alert.

The door to the Impala opened, and Dean instinctively whipped his head towards the passenger side. His malachite eyes found Maggie — dressed in a modest, high-neck blouse and a long, flowing skirt that grazed her ankles. Her dark locks were neatly braided into a sensible bun at the nape of her neck, and a natural layer of make-up cleverly hid the garish welt that stained her cheek. She looked positively prudent. Respectable, even. He almost didn’t recognise her.

“Nice get up,” he teased, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards into a half-smirk as he turned the music down.

Maggie responded with a tight-lipped, sardonic smile — then flipped him her middle finger — as she climbed into the passenger side. She reached into the depths of her leather purse and retrieved two matching pieces of cloth; they were tied neatly into parcels and wreaked of flower-like herbs. She threw them carelessly towards Dean as the door slammed shut behind her.

“Hex bags?” Dean raised an untamed eyebrow. He curiously untied the leather string that held the cloth together and peered inside at the contents. Rabbit’s teeth, bird bones, and lavender.

“Hex bags,” the feisty brunette confirmed. Her fingers found the clear buttons of her blouse and swiftly began unbuttoning — the high-necked garment uncomfortable and suffocating around her throat. “Matching, best friend hex bags. I found them in both their dorm rooms.” Oh, the irony of a witch in a Catholic boarding school.

Dragging his tongue along the dry ridges of his bottom lip as his gaze followed her quick-moving fingers, he watched in anticipation as she exposed her chest to him once again without any hint of hesitation. As the black, lace fringes of her bralette were exposed he cleared his throat and diverted his attention back to the contents of the hex bags. “So, uh—” he twiddled with the bird bones, fighting the urge to take her half-naked body in once again, “—that’s great. We just find the jealous third wheel and case closed.”

“If only it was that easy.” Maggie ridded herself of the god-awful, itchy blouse. She clumsily kicked off the kitten heels that had rubbed her heels to glory and pushed the waistband of the skirt down her thighs. “Missy Braun was a resident Regina George, and Imogan was her Gretchen Weiners.”

Dean peered towards her out of the corner of his eyes and simply blinked; Maggie may as well have been speaking a foreign language.

Rolling her umber eyes at his lack of pop culture knowledge, she explained, “Missy and Imogen terrorised the school.” Her long, pleated skirt fell into a crumpled pile in the footwell and was soon joined by her tan-coloured tights. “There are about three-hundred potential Sabrina the Teenage Witch’s on roll that those girls have humiliated in some kind of way, and we only have two days to find her. They’re shipping them all back to Mommy and Daddy for an early summer vacation come Friday.”

“Looks like we got some work to do,” he mused in his usual, sarcastic tone. It was then that he caught sight of her in the rear-view mirror — round ass shamelessly in the air and covered only by the thin string of her thong as she leant over the seat, reaching for her clothes in the backseat. Jesus Christ, she really was going to be the death of him. He adjusted himself in his seat, finding a more comfortable position that kept his semi-erection a secret.

“Where’s Sam?” she questioned casually. Maggie had noticed the empty coffee cup that had his name and order scrawled across the side, discarded in the cup holder, and the noticeable lack of his presence. There was an unmentioned tension that hung in the air between them; it surrounded them, holding them in a tight coil and squeezing until the pressure overflowed in way of a petty sibling squabble. Even though Maggie had grown up with the Winchester Brothers, their bickering still drove her to the point of insanity.

“Gone for a walk.”

“Okay—” she twisted her half-naked body back around and slid into a sitting position, t-shirt and shorts in hand, and asked directly, “—what the hell is going on with you two?”

“Nothing,” Dean deflected, folding his arms across his muscular chest in an obvious display of defence, “we’re fine.”

Maggie sent him an unrelenting glare. One that Dean was no match for. He broke instantly with a long exhale and threw his head back against the leather seat.

He was quiet for a second longer, formulating the words in his mind. “He shacked up with Amelia when I was in purgatory,” Dean admitted with a careful choice of words — cleverly calculated to keep his deepest and darkest emotions from surfacing.

“I know.” That was all she said. I know. It was tactical really. She knew Dean Winchester far too well. In fact, she knew the man better than he knew himself, and this was one of his best self-defence tactics. Give just about enough to satisfy them without giving anything away at all. Keep everybody at a distance so when you give an inch, they’ll think it’s a mile. But that didn’t wash with Maggie. Maggie knew better. Maggie used the same damn tactics herself.

She merely shimmied a pair of ripped, denim shorts up her thighs.

It took several moments of an awkward silence before Dean broke once more. “So—” he reluctantly delved further, “—instead of looking for me, he was holed up in a motel room doing the horizontal line dance with Florence Nightingale.”

“First of all—” Maggie pulled a t-shirt that he distinctly recognised as being one of his own over her head, “—Florence Nightingale was a human nurse, not a dog nurse. You’re thinking of Dr Doolittle.” She tied the hem at her abdomen into a crop. “And secondly, I know.”

“If you know all of this, then why are you asking me what’s going on?” His head swivelled to face her abruptly in frustration.

“Because you’re being an asshole, and you’re fobbing me off with some bullshit excuse to shut me up,” she answered, casually shrugging her shoulders. Tugging at the elastic in her hair, she released the braided bun and combed her fingers through her long, sleek locks. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Dean.”

He threw his head back against the seat once more, rubbing the palms of his hands over his face. A loud, defeated groan echoed throughout the Impala; this was the last conversation he wanted to have with a half-mast hard on. “Can we just drop this already?”

Of course, in true Maggie May fashion, she ignored his very obvious pleas to leave this subject well alone. “You’re hurt that he didn’t come looking for you, aren’t you?” she spit-balled her thoughts on the situation, “you’re upset that he moved on without you.”

Dean sent her a look. It was one that she couldn’t quite interpret. A cocktail of emotions swirled around his tired eyes as they glazed over ever so subtly. His stubble-lined lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke, voice considerably timid. “I wouldn’t have stopped until I’d gotten Sam back if he was the one stuck in purgatory.”

“Dean—” her whole demeanour shifted, softened, as she scooted closer to him. Her arm rested atop the back of the seat and her body twisted towards him, her legs haphazardly hanging over his. “There’s a few things that you need to remember here. Sam isn’t you. Your childhood was a lot different to Sam’s. You were raised to protect him at all costs — hell, you raised him yourself. You weren’t just his brother. You were Mom and Dad too. Yeah, Sam was taught family above everything, but he didn’t have the responsibility of someone else’s life in his hands.”

He watched cautiously as she leant forwards, the gentle palm of her hand resting on his shoulder. It was such a simple gesture, but the warmth of her touch comforted him immensely. “It just—” he really did struggle with emotions, even if it was easier with Maggie, “—feels like a punch in the gut.”

“You know, deep down, that Sam never wanted this life. He went to Stanford. He applied to law school. He wanted to be a lawyer, and get married, and buy a house with a white picket fence, and have two point five kids. The whole shebang. He wanted a normal life. And Sam grieved in the same way that a normal person would. He put you to rest and built a new life for himself, and he just so happened to find someone that he really cares about in the process. I might not like her, or agree with what he did, but I understand why he did it. He made a normal life for himself.”

Gradually, he melted into her delicate touch; he found solace in her words and the strokes of her fingers against his skin. He knew that what she was saying made sense, and he knew that she was right, but it didn’t curb the anguish that consumed the very pit of his stomach.

“Sam loves you very much Dean, and he idolises you. Hell, that’s probably why he left this woman that he loves to jump back into a life that he doesn’t want. To be with his big brother. And yeah, he probably feels guilty for not looking for you. For being happy with Amelia whilst you were fighting for your life in purgatory. But you can’t blame him, or even hate him, for going after what he really wanted. He thought you were dead. We all did. You just disappeared. How was he supposed to know where you were, or what happened to you?”

Dean simply exhaled in response. Words were too difficult in that moment. Mostly because everything that Maggie was saying was right. She had rationalised everything for him, plain and simple for him to understand. Now he just had to come to terms with it.

“I’m not taking his side—” Maggie reaffirmed with a tender tone, “—I’m actually on your side.” She dragged her finger carefully down the length of his neck and traced the glimmering metal chain of his cross necklace, toying with it. “I’m on the side of you not holding onto all this resentment and hatred for your brother, that I know you love very deeply. I’m on the side of letting whatever this right now is go and moving on with your own life. You’ll regret it.”

“And what about you?” his eyes flicked up to meet her own.

A reticent laugh spilled from her throat, “that’s a lot to unpack and we’ve had enough chick flick moments for today.” She couldn’t ignore the obviously elephant in the room any longer that she herself was harbouring a stubborn grudge against the youngest Winchester, too. But she was going to give it her damned best effort. She chose to ignore the disapproving shake of his head that she’d earned.

The fox-eyed brunette reached upwards and placed a loving peck against his cheek before he could respond, signifying the end of their conversation. Her gentle lips lingered against his skin, replaced only with a fervent burning sensation. She untangled her bruised legs from his body and shuffled back into the passenger side.

Dean gave her thigh an appreciative squeeze. A silent thank you, and a hopeful reminder that he was there to listen whenever she was ready.

Maggie’s lips twitched ever so slightly into a smile as she peered out the window. Suddenly, she was one with the clouds. That familiar jolt of electric that she felt every time he touched her.

Maggie and The Winchesters had committed numerous crimes over the years. Breaking and Entering. Impersonating a Federal Agent. Grand Theft Auto. There had to be a case for kidnapping in there somewhere with all the times they’d shoved a demon into their trunk and hit gas. However, stealing confidential information about private school girls and proceeding to stalk them in every area of their sordid lives might just take the biscuit. If anything, this was the one that was going to get them caught. This was the one that was going to stick. It didn’t look good from any angle, and there wasn’t a single explanation that was going to make it any less creepy.

Maggie sat in the leather armchair — her bare leg pulled up in front of her and her spine arched at an unhealthy angle as she scrolled through the social media site. An open, room-temperature beer stood beside her laptop, always within touching distance, with a crumpled-up register of all three hundred and sixteen students beside it. Condensation from her thawing beer had dribbled onto the paper, staining and blurring the ink of her rambling notes. They would only make sense to her anyway.

Sam perched opposite her, fixated on his own laptop. His long hair was dishevelled and tucked behind his ears, and his pin-strip shirt had been unbuttoned to reveal the navy t-shirt beneath. His own beer had gone relatively untouched, now flat and bordering on stale.

“Well, it looks like the field hockey team were out of town during both murders,” his smooth voice filled the room, airing out his findings. His bloodshot eyes peeled away from his brightly lit screen long enough to meet with hers and capture her attention. “We can rule out an Emmy Palladino, Victoria Harding, Shannon Brackenridge, Kayleigh Dougherty, and a Fallon Carpenter. There’s others but they’re not tagged.”

In one swift motion, she placed the pen between her teeth and pulled the ball point free. She searched through the seemingly endless list of suspect names and crossed them off as they appeared.

The harsh taps of Sam’s fingers hitting against the keys sounded through the motel room. Then, he spoke again, reeling off another list of names at an unhelpful speed, “—ah. Verity Montrose, Daphne Alcott, Annaleise—”

“Slow the fuck down,” Maggie grumbled as she tried to keep up with him. Her pen scratching against the thin paper, and the hard wood of the table, filled the awkward silence between.

Until it didn’t. And Sam was left uncomfortably waiting for permission to continue. He looked anywhere but the laptop screen before him as an icky feeling swirled in his stomach; there was just something about digitally stalking teenaged schoolgirls that made him feel dirty. Even though it was rationalised as being a part of the job, it still wasn’t his favourite thing to do.

“You know—” she piped up, popping the cap back on her pen with a purpose, “— you really hurt him, right?”

“Him, or you?” Sam questioned. His dark, thick eyebrows furrowed together, almost accusingly as he stared towards the petite brunette.

“Both,” Maggie admitted candidly. Her posture straightened as her shoulders fell backwards in a defensive move and a blazing glare bounced back towards him. “But this is about Dean.”

“Yeah—” he let out a breath, unfamiliar with the vicious heat of Maggie’s anger being directed towards him, “—I sorta gathered that. He’s giving me the cold shoulder and benching me on cases like he’s Dad.” He sat back, his back falling against the stiffness of the chair. “He won’t talk to me.”

“It’s Dean, he isn’t going to.”

Sam shrugged his broad shoulders out of exasperation, a look of helplessness etched into his fuzzy features. “I don’t know what he wants from me anymore,” he admitted solemnly, “I left Amelia for him. I jumped back on the road at the drop of his hat. I gave up my job, and the first place that I’ve called home in… forever. I don’t know what else he wants me to do.”

“He’s a stubborn asshole sometimes—” Maggie agreed, “—but it only ever comes from a good place.”

“You’re telling me?” he let out an indignant scoff, his voice raising to a pitch he never thought he’d take with her, “—if he’s not digging me out for stupid things, he’s giving me the silent treatment. He won’t listen to anything that I say. Everything is done Dean’s way, in Dean’s time, exactly how Dean wants it. Whether it’s right or not. I’m almost thirty and still being treated like a child. He’s no better than Dad at this point.” His boot-clad foot propped against the wooden leg of the table as he leaned backwards in his chair. “I should have known you would take his side. You always do.”

“This isn’t about taking sides. This is about you two not killing each other so we can get this job done and move on with our damn lives.” She was surprisingly calm in her response, despite her defensive flags being up. The very tips of her ears tinged an angry shade of rouge and her pruned brows dipped inwards. Her tone wasn’t it’s usual melody by any means — and her tongue dripped with poison — but she refrained from raising her voice. “Dean raised you. Dean dragged your ass up and did a damn good job of it given the circumstances. So, excuse him if the lines between brother and father are a little blurred here.”

Sam ran his fingers through his long locks, frustration evident in the way his face contorted into a frown. He opened his mouth to reply but was abruptly silenced when she continued; she wasn’t afraid to speak over him and make sure that her opinion was heard.

“You know, Dean told me that he wouldn’t have stopped until he found you. He would die for you — hell, he has died for you. He sold his soul for you. He went to Hell for you. And you just gave up on him at the first hurdle.” Maggie grabbed her beer and took a long sip, allowing the rage that was slowly building in the pit of her stomach to subside before proceeding. “Dean has a right to be upset that the brother that he loves, that he gave his life for, didn’t even bother to go looking for him. He has a right to be upset that the same sentiment wasn’t returned.”

“Maggie, that’s not what happ—”

“I’m not finished,” she cut him off curtly. Her dark, cinnamon eyes bore into his as she spoke soberly. “And he’s right to bench you from the job. You’ve been out of the game for a year. You’re out of practice and your head isn’t in the game. You’re still caught up on Amelia and that’s going to get somebody killed. The best place for you right now is doing research. And it’s just tough shit that you don’t like that.”

He was left in a pensive silence; she left him to soak up her words, to digest them fully. And he did. Sam saw things a little clearer, but that didn’t mean he liked what he saw. He often liked to live in a world where Dean, his father, and the lifestyle that he had been born into were the root cause of everything that had gone wrong in his life. And, most times, one or the other were to blame. However, Sam often failed to accept his own responsibility in things. After all, it was easier to blame Dean and his father.

Although, after several, drawn-out seconds, she couldn’t resist spilling the words that flooded her brain once more. “Maybe I am taking his side—” she contemplated aloud, “—but, this time, he deserves it.”

“So, what does he want?” he asked genuinely, “an apology?”

Maggie merely shrugged her petite shoulders. “An apology wouldn’t be the worst place to start.”

He raised an untamed eyebrow as he questioned cautiously, “and what about you?”

She stared at her beer on the table. The label was soggy and peeling off the side of the bottle. Small, carbonated bubbles rose from the very bottom of the bottle to the quarter line, where the liquid stopped. “I want the last year of my life back,” she told him. The viper had retreated and had left a door mouse in it’s place.

“Mags—” Sam breathed out unsteadily, still feeling the heat of their exchange, “—I’m sorry.”

“You turfed me out on my ass and told me to git,” Maggie recounted with a detached tone. Her cold gaze peeked above the rim of the bottle and pierced through him. “Dean was gone and you just left me. Alone. You, of all freaking people, left me alone. It took me weeks to catch up with you in Texas. Weeks. And when I finally did, you tossed me out like I was some piece of trash. I had no one, and I needed you. But you were too busy cosying up with Amelia. You didn’t give a shit about me anymore.”

“You ever thought that, maybe, I didn’t want to be found?” he spat back with sharp words, each syllable lacerating her diminished defence. He dragged his tongue along the upper row of his teeth. “I was grieving for my brother in my own way, and that didn’t involve you, Maggie.”

She was overcome with emotion. A fuck tonne of heavy, painful emotions. All of the grief that had consumed her — strangled her, choked her, suffocated her — over the past year had finally come to a head. It had churned her stomach sick for twelve long months; it had burned the inside of her throat; and it had decayed her insides until she was nothing but a walking meat sack of anguish and despair. Not anymore. She was about to expel that demon.

“So was I,” she screeched, her bottom lip rippling ever so slightly as her eyes burned with salt-laden tears, “I was grieving Dean, too.” Her chest heaved up and down as she took deep breaths; exhaustion poured out of her from every angle as all of the pent-up emotions from the past year began to creep to the surface and seep out.

“That’s enough—” Dean’s gravel-like tone filled the motel room as he appeared in the doorway, a take-out bag full of waffle fries and chicken tenders clutched against his chest, “—the both of you.”

The palms of her hands pressed against the table as she pushed herself to standing. Maggie made for the motel room door, a well of tears fighting to escape against the barricade of her waterline. Her heart thudded tenfold against her chest when she felt his ring-cladded fingers wrap around her wrist as she attempted to slip past him, and a high-pitched ringing blared through her ears. She simply shook her head at him, and slid herself from his grip, before disappearing out the door.

Maggie had vowed to sleep in her truck that night. The stubborn, defiant side of her had reared its ugly head and was seemingly there to stay. A permanent scowl had etched itself into her fair features — her full, rose lips pulled into a downturned pout and deep-rooted frown lines crinkled her forehead. Her umber eyes were reddened from the sting of tears, and her flushed cheeks were stained with streaks of strays that slipped past her reinforced defences. An empty cone of waffle fries and a half-used barbecue dip occupied her passenger side seat, as an empty beer bottle sat, in pride of place, in the cup holder.

However, as the clock ticked over into the am and the temperatures ran cruelly bitter, Maggie begrudgingly relinquished. She tip-toed back into the dark motel room and slipped into bed, beside Dean. She was careful with her movements, slow and steady, as she lifted the quilted blanket and nestled herself inside.

Dean stirred when he felt the spring-filled mattress dip, yet his eyes remained closed. A shiver danced along his spine in an elegant ballet sequence as she burrowed her ice-like toes between his legs, pressing them against his calves. His sweltering skin burned at the contact and felt her feet thawing against him. God, he hated with an undying passion when she did that.

“Maggie May—” he let out a low grumble, “—get them goddamn feet off me.”

“It’s just until they warm up,” she whispered back, her voice dainty and quiet. It was never just until they warmed up.

His burly arm casually stretched across the flattened pillows in an open invitation to the petite brunette. She currently resided on the opposite side of the bed, clinging onto the edge of the mattress. He knew that she would come to him in her own time — when she was good and ready. She always did. However, for the sake of an extra half an hour of much-needed shut-eye, there was no harm in hurrying that along. “Get here,” he rasped deeply.

Maggie shuffled closer, nestling into his side. As she laid her cheek against the bare skin of his chest, it burned. Dean emanated heat, from everywhere. Her arm lay casually across his stomach as she burrowed her feet further between his legs. She felt the gravelly vibrations of his disapproving grunts as a small smile curled the corners of her lips upwards.

The palm of his hand found her back — his thumb gently caressing the bumps of her spine. Slow, tender movements eventually faded into nothing as he fell back asleep. The sound of his soft breaths eventually turned to gruff snores.

When Maggie woke in the morning, it was abrupt. She turned herself over, eyes remained closed as she desperately grasped onto the frayed strings of a peaceful slumber. She poised her bare leg, ready for her thigh to fall over Dean’s thick, muscular ones. But it didn’t. All she felt was the cool crumples of the bed sheet, where he once laid. There were no chainsaw-like snores reverberating around the room. There were no cadenced breaths that fanned against her forehead, tippling down to the very tip of her nose. There were no calloused palms caressing the lengths of her half-naked body. There was no feverish heat radiating from his side of the bed.

Her sleep-filled eyes peeled open instantly and she propped herself up by her elbows. Her heartbeat pounded with rapid thuds and her stomach churned with bile — forcing it up into the crevices of her throat. Static coated her exposed skin, making the hairs stand on end. In a bleary haze, she scanned the room and her gaze fell on the nightstand. Car keys. Phone. Gun. All still laying, haphazardly discarded, exactly where Dean had left them. A long exhale deflated her lungs as she allowed her eyes to wander the motel room further, feeling the trepidation slowly leaving her body; it seeped out through her pores, evaporated off her skin into the musty motel air. His boots lay at the foot of the leather armchair and his jacket lay in a rumpled heap over the arm.

She let out another deep breath and let the relief overcome her. It gave her more clarity as she spied the harsh, white lighting emerging from the cracks in the doorway to the bathroom. The sound of the running shower soon filled the room, alongside the grating echoes of Sam’s snores.

There was something that that just drew Maggie to him. It was an ever-present presence, a sensation, a feeling. The invisible string. The slightest of tugs had her gravitating towards him, and vice versa. And that moment wasn’t any different. She felt the ever-familiar tug in the very pit of her stomach, and she answered to it. There was no use in fighting with it.

Climbing out of bed, she made her way across the motel room. Her feet were bare and padded lightly against the dull carpet until she reached the bathroom door. Carefully, she turned it and slipped inside. Sam remained sleeping not so peacefully, and none the wiser.

It was considerably warmer than outside in the main living space; the room fogged over with tepid steam as condensation laced the mirror. Maggie stepped onto the apricot bathmat and slinked out of her sleepwear. The old, logo-printed t-shirt and her plaid shorts ended up in a crumpled pile on the floor. Her lemon-coloured thong skimmed her bruised thighs as it dropped to the floor, and she stepped out, embracing the nakedness.

Maggie slowly peeled back the curtain and stepped inside the tub.

Dean turned to face her — his eyebrow arched questioningly, and his body draped with glistening water droplets, “can I help you?” His voice was low and scratchy; just how Maggie liked it. He’d caught the soft click of the door as it opened, and the blurry outline of her silhouette as she undressed herself out of the corner of his eye.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” she answered with a reticent tone. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she felt a wave of nervousness; Maggie was in a newfound state of rawness. She was riding the wave of raw, untouched emotions and with that came a raw sense of vulnerability. She spoke her truth, even if hesitant. It was as though a dam had been broken the night prior, and all the pent-up emotions had been released.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he told her, stepping aside, “I thought you could use the sleep.”

Her slender figure slipped past him, under the water stream. Immediately, she was overcome with a warm and comforting feeling. Her dark lashes fluttered closed, and her muscles relaxed, her shoulders dropping backwards. She took a moment to relish the peacefulness of it all; the water pattered against her back at a heavenly pressure, and the warmth of the water felt like a loving embrace.

Dean took the opportunity to admire her naked self. Her breasts were full and pert — her taut nipples a glorious rose colour as the silver bars reflected under the harsh lights. Her curves were spectacular as an hourglass figure carved out her waistline. Her thighs were thick and juicy, and her pussy was freshly shaven. She truly was a sight to behold; full lips parted ever so slightly, dark locks slicked back, and a hint of a flush rouging her cheeks. He would savour this moment for the duration of his lifetime with several mental polaroids. Mentally framed and displayed in his Hall of Fame. He’d waited years for this moment, and it suddenly all became worth it.

Feeling the sear of his lust-filled eyes tearing her naked body apart, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I thought you’d left me,” she admitted quietly, chewing involuntarily on her bottom lip.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured. She needed that.

Dean reached his thumb upwards and, with one gentle motion, pulled her bottom lip from between her teeth. He then, ever so tenderly, placed a finger against her shoulder — guiding her to face away from him. She complied without question in her fragile state. His ring-clad finger meandered slowly down the length of her spine, until he reached her rounded ass. He wanted to give it a rough and playful squeeze — digging the crescent-shaped tips of his nails onto her fair skin and leaving his mark. But now wasn’t the time for rough; now was the time for tenderness. Maggie was delicate in more ways than one, and she needed soft. She needed comfort. She needed to feel his presence.

“You know—” he began, running his fingers through the lengths of her wet hair, “—you should take your own advice every once in a while.” He combed her chestnut wisps until they were sopping wet beneath the warm streams of water.

“What do you mean?” Maggie asked in response. She allowed herself to indulge in the feeling of the tepid water running along her body; it was calming — restorative even. It was as though she was washing away the memories of her emotional outburst from the previous night.

“You should let this thing with Sam go. Not for him, but for you.” Dean squeezed a generous dollop of her fruity-smelling shampoo onto the palm of his hand before massaging it through her hair. The tips of his nails grazed against her scalp in a gentle massage, working the product into a lather. “You told me to do it for me because it’s bad to hold onto so much anger and resentment. That same sentiment goes for you. It’ll eat you alive in the same way it would me, Mags.”

Her long lashes fluttered closed as she melted under his touch; the way in which his fingers worked her scalp scratched at her soul. “I can’t—” she deflated with a saddened exhale, “—I just can’t.” Her head tipped backwards as his masterful fingers found the sweet spot, a soft purring noise slipping from between her parted lips. “He was all I had left, and he still chose to leave me. I’ve spent the last year alone because of him. I needed him. I needed you.”

“Hey—” his palm carefully covered her forehead as he rinsed the shampoo from her roots, “—I’m here now.”

“But nobody was here this past year—” her voice cracked, making way for the heartache that she had held so deep inside of her, “—nobody was here when I needed them the most. Nobody was here when I bumped into my father on a hunt. Nobody was here when I was stabbed by a demon and was laying in the hospital as a Jane Doe for weeks. Nobody was here on the anniversary of Bobby’s death. Nobody was here on my freaking birthday. But Sam should have been. He promised me he would always be here.”

He continued rinsing down to the ends of her sopping locks, ensuring that he had gotten all the suds. “I agree. He should have been.” Placing the showerhead back in the holder, he picked up the bottle of conditioner. He squeezed out another generous blob and started running it through the ends of her hair. “Just think about it, yeah?”

Maggie stayed silent. She didn’t want to make any promises that she couldn’t keep — and if there was one thing about Maggie, the girl could hold a damn grudge.

Dean didn’t push her; he knew that would only push her in the opposite direction. Maggie did as Maggie pleased — or Maggie did as what made Maggie feel the least shitty about herself. She may know him better than he knows himself, but he knew her just as well. He knew her like the back of his hand; he knew the games that she played and exactly why she played them. Sometimes it was just a case of playing into them games. Sometimes it was anything to put a smile back on her face, and pull her out of the gloomy funk that she’d gotten herself in.

He simply rinsed the condition from her long, luscious strands. He took extra care to ensure that he’d got it all before reaching for her loofah. He lathered it with a sweet-smelling body wash and began scrubbing down her skin. He ghosted over her petite shoulders and arms, caressing each breast with an acute attention before continuing down to her stomach. He could feel the scald of her attentive eyes as she watched his every move. He continued down her body — seizing the opportunity to fondle her pert ass and exploring every inch of her juicy thighs. He reached her lilac-painted toes before trailing the loofah all the way back up. He skimmed the inside of her leg, grazed the mound of her pussy and past her naval, and brushed across her rigid nipple. She was enjoying that.

Once more, he detached the showerhead from the tiled wall and aimed it at her body. The pressure was just right as the stream hit against her shoulders, washing the suds away. He moved down to her ample breasts. A haughty smirk quirked the corners of his lips upwards as a low hum vibrated through her chest — the water hitting perfectly against her pierced buds. He took a half step closer to her as he slowly swirled the jet around her nipple, her back pressing against his sculpted chest. His hand snaked slowly around the concave of her waistline and settled against her hipbone as he continued downwards. He gently rinsed down her thighs.

Then, with one soft but commanding movement, he nudged her bruised thighs apart.

Maggie, consumed by the drips of dopamine coursing through her, obliged immediately. She spread her thighs apart, just enough to give him access to her aching cunt.

“Atta girl,” Dean praised with his usual, gravel-like tone. He aimed the water jet between her legs, letting the stream hit against her.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden contact. A familiar tingle crept along her spine and down into the very tips of her fingers. Her skin tinged with the fire that she had been keeping at bay — locked within the dark, dingy caverns of her soul. Her eyes fluttered shut as heavy breaths slipped from between her chewed-up lips. The jet circled around her clit in lazy ministrations, forcing a strangled whine to claw it’s way out of her throat. She caught it with her hand, pressing her dainty fingers against her lips in a knee-jerk reaction.

Arching her back at an unholy angle, she threw her head back against the robust muscles of her shoulder. Her mahogany tresses splayed across his tattooed chest as her hand reached up to grip onto his collar bone. She needed an anchor as the tension began to build up inside her. Her fingernails sunk into his wet skin, scraping and scratching until she broke the barrier. Heavy, sordid pants spilled from her mouth as the metaphorical rope began to coil around itself in the very pit of her stomach. It knotted once, twice, three times as her hips bucked candidly against the water stream — hitting her most sensitive of nerves.

“Dean,” his name rolled so effortlessly off her tongue with a salacious whine, her voice barley above a whisper. Her breath-like pants grew faster, and the metaphorical rope pulled tighter and tighter. Until her hand found her mouth once again, capturing the sinful moans that carelessly spewed from between her lips. Her curvaceous hips rocked back and forth in frantic motions, her back leveraged against his solid body, as she rode out her orgasmic high.

Dean eventually placed the showerhead back against the wall when she let out an overwhelmed whimper. His calloused palm still gripped her waist, keeping her naked body pressed against his own. His jade eyes peered downwards at the beauty before him, brimming with pride at the mess he had created; her cheeks were stained a fervent rose and her chest rose and fell in a rapid cadence as her lungs desperately pleaded for air.

Maggie nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck, her eyes still closed. She felt the warmth of his lips as he placed a soft kiss into her hairline. Oxytocin and dopamine drowned everything surrounding her out. Everything but him. For several moments, the only sound she could hear was the gentle thuds of his heartbeat; the only thing that she could feel was the delicate traces of his fingertips against her hipbone; the only thing to exist was him.

Then, she felt a surge of adrenaline and her natural instincts took over. No thoughts or considerations of the consequences — just pure desire. She pulled herself from his tight embrace and turned on the tips of her toes. Her fix-like eyes gazed upwards into his as her arms wrapped around his neck, her bare silhouette pressing against his own. Her full lips ghosted against his, caressed them with a sweet embrace. It was nothing like either of them had anticipated; it was loving, and tender, and fragile. She continued with her soft touch as his hands clung onto her waistline — securing her in place. Their tongues moved together as one. Exploring. Tasting. Embracing.

After what felt like a hundred lifetimes, Dean retreated slowly. He brushed the pad of his thumb over her jawline. “We better get you back to Mary Magdalene’s, Sister Maggie. We’ve got a witch to find.”

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #jensen ackles

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deadmandead10845 · 12 days

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Brady - Fat2Fit2Fat

(243lbs) Brady works at an insurance agency in Kansas City. He’s far away from everything, and hates his job. He hates commuting and has two acquaintances and no real friends. He’s let himself go pretty badly, but he doesn’t have the will power to hit the gym or change any part of his life. Thankfully, he’s been at his company for 10 years and earns a 3 month sabbatical with full pay to use.

(243lbs) Brady took the first part of his sabbatical to hike in the mountains solo. He stumbled upon what looked like an abandoned shack with smoke coming out of the chimney. He knew nightfall would be soon so he wanted to ask the local if he could crash at their place for the night. He knocked on the door and it opened itself. He let himself in and called.

BRADY: Hello!!!

(243lbs) A mysterious figure appeared around the corner. The woman introduced herself as Cora.

CORA: I’ve been practicing witchcraft in the mountains since I was little and now I am the only one left. Some witch will reveal too much about herself and then she’s hunted by the locals. I chose to reveal my house and myself to you because I can tell you’re not from here and you have an open mind.

BRADY: I definitely have an open mind. I came here to the mountains to find myself. I am on a sabbatical trying to find some sort of motivation.

CORA: What is one thing you don’t have control over that you wish to have infinite control of?

BRADY: *looks down at his soft out of shape body and looks up*

His body has always been a sense of insecurity that made him feel inadequate and less than because he wishes he was fit.

CORA: Nothing with power, career, money?

BRADY: I just want to like how I look and control what I look like.

CORA: *rummages through the cabinet and throws some leaves into what looks like a brewing potion. Once all the ingredients were stirred in, the liquid began to glow a pale orange color.*

BRADY: Is this legit going to help me?

CORA: You drink and find out. Or you can go beg your doctor for Ozempic and forget you came here. At least this is free!

BRADY: I’m not being drugged right now?

CORA: You are, just not a bad kind.

BRADY: *takes the vial of orange liquid and drinks it*

CORA: How do you wish to look?

BRADY: I just want to lose like 75 pounds.

(165lbs) Brady’s pants fell down immediately and his blue polo shirt wore him like a dress.

BRADY: Holy shit I must be hallucinating.

CORA: You’re not but I figured you’d have this reaction. Sleep it off.

Cora snapped her fingers and Brady’s vision blacked out.

—

Brady woke up in his hotel room down at the base of the mountain. He walked to the bathroom and sure enough he was completely thin. He went to put on an outfit and quickly realized nothing in his suitcase would fit him. Everything he had was a 40” waist and all his shirts were XL. He ran through the closest Walmart holding his shorts bunched up in his hand hoping he wouldn’t drop them and bought a new pair of 30” waist shorts. He was so happy.

After his 3 months concluded, he returned to Missouri and submitted his 2 week notice. He wanted a fresh start where he could show off his new skinny body and get laid for once. He was a gay man living in the Midwest with approximately 5 blank Grindr profiles within a 25 mile radius.

(149lbs) Brady packed up all his belongings and moved to Miami. He looked in the mirror and audibly said “I wish I was a twink.” And in the blink of an eye another 15 pounds disappeared off his body. He met Javi at Twist, the local gay club near his apartment. After almost 2 years, the two fell in love and became inseparable and lived together. Javi told Brady he should start going to the gym and getting big arms and a six pack because he wasn’t super into twinks. Brady quietly looked at himself in the bathroom mirror once or twice a week asking for just 1 pound more trying to subtly get larger for Javi without alerting him to his powers given to him by the witch.

(195lbs) Brady had gotten extremely fit and did no work for it. The potion he took two years ago was unbelievable. Javi loved Brady’s new extremely fit body and Brady loved the attention. Brady however, wasn’t sure he loved how he looked. Javi was going away on business to Houston for a month, so Brady booked himself a trip to Hawaii by himself to hopefully ground himself.

(210lbs) Brady wished another 15 pounds of muscle onto his body before he left for Hawaii. He wanted to look his best for the beach so he could post photos of his body online for attention. He wasn’t the happiest, so the online attention helped. Once he landed in Hawaii he took the private boat to the small isolated island resort he had booked.

(175lbs) Brady hated how he looked so he wished 30 pounds off his body because he thought a leaner look would suit him and he tried to walk around the beach and feel comfortable but he really wasn’t sure why he wasn’t comfortable with himself. Brady had an idea, he went to the surf shop in the lobby and bought himself a pair of 2XL swim trunks and went up to his room. He bought himself a case of beers and drank away. He got in the mirror looked at himself and asked for a dad bod.

(280lbs) Brady, still very much in shape but much larger (100lbs larger to be exact) walked down the beach with his beer gut and massive arms. He was happy. He actually liked how he looked. No one recognized him from earlier and all the other guests just thought he was a new arrival to the resort. Brady went back to the surf shop and bought a 2XL Hawaiian shirt before returning home to Florida.

(305lbs) Brady was a huge guy. He wished himself even bigger and squeezed himself into the premium economy seat he booked on points and flew home to Florida. He spent nearly 12 hours total on the plane and when he walked in the door felt like everything was all wrong. He was skinny Brady in Florida, not big and beefy. Javi was due to arrive at any minute. When Brady heard the lock turning, he ran to the bathroom and wished his body back to his 195lb self.

Javi found the 2XL shirts and asked and Brady told him he was trying oversized fashion and didn’t like it, so he threw the shirt away. Brady couldn’t stop thinking about his little escape he had in Hawaii and after a few months went back to the bathroom and wished to be a bit bigger. Javi hated it so much. Javi kept telling Brady to hit the treadmill and to eat less.

(243lbs) Brady was back at the same weight he was before he met Cora the witch. However, he had so much muscle on his body he was a lot smaller than Javi still hated it. Brady loved his small belly and missed playing with the belly he once had when he was an insurance agent back in Missouri. The two attended couple’s therapy to no avail. Ultimately, it let to Brady and Javi breaking up. Javi kicked Brady out of the apartment. Just to get back at Javi, Brady lost all the weight before coming to the apartment to collect his belongings.

Brady needed a new start so he called one of his buddies in New York who was starting a boutique insurance agency and cofounded it with him.

(327lbs) Brady wanted a fresh start in New York so he bought a 3XL hoodie and sweat at the last Walmart before the Holland tunnel, and sat in traffic looking in the mirror and wished to be fat. He’d never been as big as he was now. He watched his body tighten the dress of a hoodie he had put on and fill it out. Compared to last week in Miami, he was completely unrecognizable. He was truly starting over. Once he showered in his apartment he got a look at his new fat body covered in stretch marks and rolls. Brady was generally happy with his size. The only drawback and he couldn’t find much clothing in the city stores that fit him well so he was barely able to dress well.

(327lbs) Four years went by and Brady’s joint venture had taken off. He was able to buy an apartment and afford more than ever. He seemed very content. He was overworked. One fateful day on the train he dozed off. In his dream he was even fatter than he is now. The dream was so vivid he could feel his body sloshing with every step.. when in reality the jerky subway train was sloshing him around. He missed his stop and rode the train to the end asleep. In the dream, Brady said he wanted to get fatter and…

(415lbs) He woke up. His shirt had ridden up his entire belly and his pants completely ripped. He was huge. Brady embarrassed walked to the next departing train that would get him home attracting the stares of everyone for the lack of clothing he had one, especially for his size. Brady decided to take several months remote from work after that, to give his business partner a believable timeline for his nearly 100lb weight gain.

(415lbs) Brady went to Industry, a New York gay bar and opened up his shirt in hopes he would find a chub chaser. Unfortunately he just got stares.

(451lbs) Brady had to get an entire new suit made for him because of his sheer girth. His seamstress couldn’t believe the size of him. She had made him his suit four years ago when he weighed more than a hundred pounds less. Brady knew it wasn’t going to last long because he planned to put a little more weight on. His business partner couldn’t believe the size of him either. Brady needed to remove the armrests on his desk chair so he could fit.

(485lbs) By the summer, Brady had willed another 35lbs onto his body. He attended a big party on Fire Island having fun with his friends. All of the sudden he saw a familiar face.

Javi.

BRADY: Javi???

JAVI: Hiiii…. Have we met?

BRADY: Javi it’s me

JAVI: Where have we met you look so familiar??

BRADY: It’s me, Brady

JAVI: Brady who?

BRADY: Your ex boyfriend.

JAVI: There is just no way. I thought you lost all the weight you put on.

BRADY: Then I gained it back, and then some

JAVI: Holy shit Brady you look awful, do you need me to get you a nutritionist? I am worried.

BRADY: No not at all. I am super happy the way I look.

JAVI: Weren’t you happy when half of Miami wanted to f*ck you?

BRADY: No, but I am happy now.

JAVI: Can I ask how much…

BRADY: How much I weigh?

JAVI: ….

BRADY: Four Hundred Eighty Five pounds last I checked. I don’t really fluctuate.

JAVI: God, this is just insane to me..

Javi walked away.

About 10 minutes later, Javi’s friend Andres walked by and…

ANDRES: Brady?

BRADY: Andres long time no see

ANDRES: I’m sorry Javi said all that… he’s just insecure and projecting on you.

BRADY: Yeah that’s why we broke up all those years ago.

ANDRES: Well, let me tell you. I like the change

Andres grabbed Brady’s belly from underneath and leaned in and kissed Brady on the cheek. He began to walk away.

BRADY: Wait a second, Andres!

Brady grabbed Andres’s hand and pulled him back for a real kiss. Andres’s hand found its way back to under Brady’s belly jiggling it while the pair made out.

Javi watched from a distance fuming with anger.

BRADY: Does a guy like me get to ask you for your number?

ANDRES: Definitely.

Javi walked over

JAVI: Wow Andres making out with my fat ex in front of me is really classy.

ANDRES: Sorry you’re too superficial to understand what a big guy can give you.

(508lbs) After texting for weeks, Andres invited Brady to go golfing with his friend.

ANDRES: Hey big fella.

BRADY: Hey handsome, ready to play?

ANDRES: Yes it’s been a while.

BRADY: It’s been too long for me too.

ANDRES: Shirt’s a bit small Brady…

Brady, embarrassed tried to pull the shirt down over his belly. He knew it was way too small but wanted to test Andres.

BRADY: Wow, I seem to have grown out of it…

ANDRES: Been a while since you wore it?

BRADY: I think this fit me when we met a few weeks ago.

ANDRES: Are you going to try to tell me it shrunk in the wash then?

BRADY: No, I just have put on about 25 pounds since that pool party and haven’t bothered to go shopping.

ANDRES: Wha— … how?

BRADY: Guess I’ve been hungry

Andres knew that Brady was the man for him in that moment. The two began dating.

(528lbs) Brady had gotten into the bad habit of putting 15lbs on every time he was going to be seen at an event to show that he was a growing man. He attended one of his friend’s backyard weddings and knocked over one of the displays with his huge belly.

Everyone who saw him at this point was asked if he was doing ok or if he needed anything. Some of the attendees even offering to give him a doctor referral for weight loss drugs. He assured them he was perfectly ok.

(600lbs) Brady admittedly took it too far. Brady had weighed in at 551lbs this morning. He had some room in his suit and had a big event for his company. He and his business partner were announcing the sale of their company to a big insurance company. He stood on the scale and watched the number go up until he hit 600lbs on the dot.

He was now basically 75lbs heavier than he was 4 months ago. After the sale of his company, Brady was to retire with enough money for him and his grandchildren (if he ever had any) to live comfortably.

When he got home, he totally forgot he would be facing Andres.

ANDRES: Brady…

BRADY: Hey honey.

ANDRES: Something is different

BRADY: What happened.

ANDRES: You look different. Something is just off.

BRADY: I am not sure what you are talking about.

ANDRES: Wait. Is that the suit you had made last week?

BRADY: Yes

ANDRES: Then why does it look like it’s about to pop.

BRADY: Oh yes something is different.

ANDRES: What.

BRADY: I got fatter.

ANDRES: Since this morning?

BRADY: Babe I think it’s time I tell you something.

Brady explained to Andres the whole story about his past life in Missouri. His sabbatical, meeting Cora the witch. He explained how he lost all the weight for Javi. Went to Hawaii and experimented with his body in different sizes.

ANDRES: What do you expect me to believe you have powers or something?

BRADY: Watch this

Brady walked into the bathroom, and willed himself to be a twink again. He walked out weighing 150lbs adorned with abs.

Andres walked to the kitchen and splashed cold water in his face. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

BRADY: I would never tell anyone about this.

ANDRES: You chose to be fat?

BRADY: If I didn’t I wouldn’t be living with the man of my dreams so let’s not.

ANDRES: Ok you’re scaring me you look emaciated.

BRADY: Oh yeah.

The two started to make out while Brady’s body slowly inflated back to 600lbs. Brady’s face filled out and his abs disappeared. Slowly a belly started to form along with soft supple moobs. His love handles expanded outward and his body started to widen. His thighs began to push against each other as they filled with fat.

Andres was so horny watching his boyfriend blow up to such a massive size and came hands free when he watched the fat pad swallow up Brady’s dick.

ANDRES: So how much do you weigh now?

BRADY: Let’s go see

The scale read 600 pounds.

Brady maintained 600 pounds for a while and about a year and a half into dating Andres, knew it was time. He popped the question getting down on one knee.

He couldn’t get back up after getting down which was very hot to Andres, who eagerly said yes.

(705lbs) Brady returned to the mountains. He bought three aur plane seats and filled them up with his girth. He struggled but he hiked his way all the way up to Cora’s hut wearing a suit to thank her for her potion that changed his life.

Brady knocked on the door which immediately opened. His belly knocked over a beaker off the table which led to Cora running into the room.

CORA: How did you get in here??

BRADY: I opened the door.

CORA: How did you find my house?

BRADY: I’ve been here before.

CORA: Who are you??

BRADY: Do you not remember me?

CORA: No, and I would.

She looked down at Brady’s belly.

BRADY: Oh right would this help?

Brady pulled out his phone and showed her a photo of him from about 10 years before. A photo of him and Javi together where he was less than 200lbs.

CORA: What was your name.. Bradley?

BRADY: Brady, close enough.

CORA: Did I do something wrong with the potion, brew it wrong?? I am so sorry!! Let me help you slim down.

BRADY: No, I am this big by choice. I could get down to this weight again any time.

CORA: Why?

BRADY: I was skinny for a while and I just didn’t like it. I was constantly making adjustments to my body so other men would see me as hot. My boyfriend left me when I decided to try out a *very slight* dad bod.

CORA: So you did this? You could’ve been half the size and still been fat.

BRADY: Well some days it just doesn’t feel like enough.

CORA: I never expected you to look like this. I expected you to have gotten massively jacked and been narcissistic.

BRADY: You were wrong

CORA: Very.

BRADY: I came here to thank you. It took me a long time to get up the mountain, but I knew that before long it would not be possible with my size.

CORA: You could’ve shrunken down to climb up here…

BRADY: But that isn’t me

CORA: Well I am happy.

BRADY: Being confident with my size and my body found me the best fiance ever.

CORA: You mean a chub chaser?

BRADY: —

CORA: Right.

BRADY: Well I mean you would have to be to like me at this size anyways. People stare.

CORA: I am staring.

BRADY: Well thank you for doing this for me.

CORA: Any time. Here, let me get you something.

Cora made a green cocktail of ingredients. She bottled them up.

CORA: You two are getting married?

She said looking at the Lock Screen on Brady’s phone.

BRADY: Yes

CORA: Wait until your wedding night to drink this. You both need to drink it for it to work.

BRADY: What is it?

CORA: You two will never break up or fight.

BRADY: This is perfect.

CORA: You also will never get health issues from your weight because you look like a heart attack waiting to happen.

BRADY: Hey!

CORA: So don’t have one before your wedding!

(750lbs) Brady and Andres had a lovely wedding.

The two got married and after the reception concluded, drank the potions together.

(785lbs) Brady loved going out and seeing the reactions on everyone’s faces seeing his size. He would eat for hours just for show and go home stuffed.

(830lbs) Brady was walking through Central Park. Let’s be real, he was barely moving and barely waddling. Suddenly he saw a familiar face again.

BRADY: Javi!!

JAVI: Holy fuck Brady you are huge.

BRADY: I know. Why are you here?

JAVI: I moved here for work. I got a job at an insurance company.

BRADY: You mean the one named after my last name that I just sold?

JAVI: Oh my god..

BRADY: Yup!

JAVI: What's new with you. I haven't seen you since you hooked up with my best friend at a pool party. I haven't seen him either that was so messy and rude of you.

BRADY: We got married.

JAVI: What…

BRADY: Yes we've been married for just about a year.

JAVI: Bet he didn't expect you to get fatter than you already were.

BRADY: He probably didn't but he loves it. He takes care of me and all the things I can't do anymore.

JAVI: I am so glad I left you before this happened.

BRADY: Me too. Next time you see me, I'm sure I'll be even bigger.

Andres walked up between the two of them.

ANDRES: Javi?

JAVI: This is insane. You married him??

ANDRES: Yes.. of course

JAVI: Why did you let him get this big

BRADY: I’ll answer that. He likes his men big, and I wanted to get big.

JAVI: Is that why you tried to get a dad bod all those years ago?

BRADY: Yes, and now I weigh more than eight hundred pounds.

ANDRES: 830 to be exact.

Javi stormed away.

The end.

#ai chub #bhm #exjock #gainerart #gay belly #gainer stories #weight gain stories #weight gain story #male weight gain #gainer story #ssbhm belly #gay moobs #beer belly #belly worship #male feedee

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suugarbabe · 1 year

Text

Saint-Like

Here we are my darlings, the long awaited George one shot based off of this ask.

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Word Count: 3k (told ya it'd be a bit long)

Warning: mention of blood, angst, kissing

Professor Moody stalked about the living room giving a speech that did not make anyone feel any less uneasy about what was about to transpire. “Potter, you’re underage, which means you still have the trace on you.” Harry looked up confused, “What’s the trace?” Moody placed both hands on his walking stick for support, “It means that if ya sneeze the ministry is goin’ to know who wiped yer nose. The point is we have to use those means of transport that the trace can’t detect, brooms, thestrals, the like. We go in pairs. That way if there’s anyone out there waiting for us, and I reckon there will be, they won’t know which Harry Potter is the real one.”

Harry looked confused, “The real one?” Moody’s face turned up slightly, a grin forming as he grabbed his infamous flask from his jacket pocket. He stirred the flask with a swirl of his wrist, “I believe you’re familiar with this particular brew.” Harry immediately shook his head, “No, absolutely not.” Hermione rolled her eyes behind him, “Told you he’d take it well.” Harry continued, voice strained, “No, if you think I’m gonna let everyone risk their lives for me-” Ron cut him off abruptly with a sarcastic tone, “Never done that ‘ave we?” Harry turned to face his friend, “No! No, this is different! Taking that, becoming me? No.”

“Well none of us really fancy it, mate,” Fred piped up, smug grin across his face. “Yeah imagine something went wrong and we end up a screwy, specky git forever,” George teased, smiling alongside his twin. “Everyone is of age here, Potter,” Moody spoke up again, “They’ve all agreed to take the risk.” A short man in the back spoke up just then, “Technically, I’ve been coerced.” He turned to Harry, “Mundungus Fletcher, Mista Potta, always been a ‘uge admirer.”

“Nip it, Mundungus!” Moody scolded. The small man’s head went down, turning back to his spot in the back of the room and staying quiet. “Alright, Granger, as discussed,” Moody nodded toward the witch. Hermione walked past Harry, gripping a patch of hair at the back of his head and pulling harshly, pulling out several hairs. “Blimey, Hermione,” Harry rubbed the back of his head. Moody instructed Hermione to drop the hairs in the polyjuice potion in his flask. The potion began to bubble as Moody stirred it around with another twirl of his wrist.

“For those of you who are not familiar with the polyjuice potion, fair warning, taste like goblin piss,” Moody stated comfortingly as he handed the flask to Fred. Fred took the flask from him, “Have lots of experiences with that, do ya Mad-Eye?” Moody continued to stare at Fred, face blank and unchanging. Fred let out a sigh, “Just trying to diffuse the tension…” Those in the line all took a large swig, first Fred, then George, followed by Mundungus, Fluer, Ron and lastly Hermione. You stood next to Hermione and watched in amazement as the row of people all slowly started changing, skin bubbling to transform into Harry.

You watched your George shrink several inches and he transformed. His clothes became far too large for his frame. “Is this how you feel when you borrow a shirt from me, love?” he looked over at you, a smile on his - well Harry’s - face. You shook your head, cheeks becoming a shade darker than before, “You know it’s really hard to take you seriously when you look like that.” He shrugged as he started to get dressed in the same exact attire as Harry. The goal was simple, pairs would travel with a Harry look-a-like towards the Burrow. Mad-Eye said he anticipated an attack by death eaters and that the risk was high. You and George agreed to be involved immediately, no questions asked.

Once everyone was changed you all filed outside, you grabbed your broom. You hopped on, George floating next to you on a copy of Harry’s broom. Moody stood at the end of the drive, announcing it was time to leave. You both took off together, staying close by one another. As you got deeper into the clouds, it looked like a lightning storm. Moody went further ahead of the others. In an instant you were seemingly surrounded by black cloaks swishing by spells being thrown on either side of you. You turned to find George, you had to assume he was still the Harry closest to you.

You knew you were close to the Burrow. You looked over to check on George once more just in time to see a death eater point their want towards him. You panicked, not knowing the spell they would speak and instantly flicked your wand toward George, “Depulso!” George’s body slid farther away from you, narrowly missing the spell, or at least almost. You noticed his body go slightly limp, his broom altitude dropping quickly. You dove after him, grabbing him in your arms and speeding toward the barrier around the burrow.

As soon as you were through the barrier you headed to land, nearly crashing into the cornfields. He still looked like Harry as you fervently started checking his body for damage, “C’mon Georgie, wake up. You’re okay, right? You’re okay.” His head was bleeding, you turned it to the side, noticing his left ear nearly missing, “Oh, Georgie.” He turned his head back and forth, mumbling something. You put your ear next to his mouth and he mumbled again, “Y/n/n, yer…kneeling on my hand.” You jumped up, and he attempted to roll over to his side. Thankfully he was still mostly Harry, you threw one of his arms over your shoulder, your arm around his waist, doing your best to take hold of most of the weight.

You stumbled out of the cornfields, seeing a few of the others that made it before you two. Harry, the real Harry, was quick to come to the other side of George, helping you take him inside the Burrow. Molly turned from the sink as soon as she heard commotion, eyes glued on the now changing boy back into George. “Oh my boy,” Molly rushed over as you and Harry laid George on the family sofa. Remus walked in with another Harry that slowly turned into their normal self, challenging each one making sure they weren’t an imposter.

You ignored the background noise, focusing solely on the red head in front of you. You got a washing cloth from the kitchen, dowsing it in cool water to begin to clean his wound. As you approached the sofa again Molly snatched the rag from your hands, a glare upon her face as she pushed in front of you to tend to her son. Fred entered the Burrow, rushing to his twin’s side. It was silent for a long moment before Fred spoke, “How’re you feelin’ Georgie?” George’s eyes were still closed, taking slow deep breaths as he responded, “Saint-like.”

Fred shook his head, “Come again?” George smiled softly, “Saint-like. I’m holy. I’m holy, Fred. Ya get it?” He then pointed to his ear. Fred just shook his head again, smiling, “The whole wide world of ear related humor, and you go for ‘I’m holy’. It’s pathetic.” George winked at you before responding to his twin once more, “Reckon I’m still better looking than you.” You laughed softly at his ability to ease a room in even the most stressful of times. Molly turned at the sound of your laughter, glaring at you once more. You could understand her feeling protective, but you were unsure why she was taking her anger out at you.

You attempted once more to get closer to George now that he was talking to others more, but Molly was quick to step in front of you. “I think you’ve done enough for tonight dear,” Her voice was low but stern. You were sure confusion was written across your features, “What do you mean, Molly?” She gestured toward the other room, “Maybe it would be best if you kept your distance for the night.” Her face told you not to argue with her. While she was usually the soft and comforting one, she could instill fear when needed.

You took the hint and went into the other room, pacing back and forth. You kept playing with the rings on your fingers, one in particular George had gifted you last Christmas. You wished you could talk to him, it pained you being pushed away like this. Pained you so deeply you swear you could feel it on your side. Your right side. You placed your hand onto your torso, wincing as you touched just below your rib cage. You lifted your shirt slowly, peering down to see a deep gash. “Bloody hell, that’s not good,” with the realization of your wound you felt more light headed. You assumed the lack of adrenaline also played a part in this. You turned back towards the main living area, intentions of calling out for someone when everything started to fade around you.

—------------

George moved to sit up, laughing slightly at the several members of his family fawning over him. He looked around searching for the face of the one person who’s voice he hadn’t heard since he landed at the burrow. “Where’s Y/n?” George went to stand up, albeit a little shaky. “She’s just in the other room, I asked her to give you some space,” Molly rubbed his arm in comfort. He started walking towards the room, “Why would you do that mum?” He walked a little quicker towards the next room. He turned the corner to see you laying facedown on the floor.

George rushed over, shouting for someone, anyone to come and help him. He turned you over, noticing how slow and shallow your breathing had become. He did the same inspection you had done just an hour prior, checking your face, your neck, down your arms. He ran his hands down your sides, your body involuntarily twitching as he reached your wound. He lifted your shirt as Remus and his father came to kneel next to him. George gasped as he saw the deep gash on your side, the edges burned black clearly from a dark spell. “What do I- how do we fix her dad, you have to fix her…” George’s eyes brimmed with tears, pleading to his father. Kingsley came to join the older two men, encouraging George to stand back.

George stood there, tears streaming down his face as Remus, Arthur and Kingsly worked over your body. George was still recovering himself, swaying back and forth as his anxiety and blood pressure got higher. “C’mon, Georgie, let’s go sit you back down before you’re the next to pass out.” George reluctantly followed his twin. As soon as he was sat on the couch, Molly came rushing to his side again. George’s face was in his hands, making his words come out muffled, “Mum, please, I love you, but please give me some space right now.”

“Oh, darling, wha-why?” Molly stood up confused. George shook his head, “Mum you told her to go over there, to leave everyone else, to leave me. Why? Why did you do that? She was in there alone! Who knows how long she was passed out for!” George’s voice got higher and higher with each word. Molly took a step back in shock. “George, she- she was supposed to protect you. She was paired with you to keep you safe and look how you turned out, you could have died George!” He stood up instantly, face screwed in anger, “Well now she might die, mum.” And with that, he stomped up the stairs, two at a time until he reached his room.

—-----

What felt like hours later there was a knock on George’s door. He kept his face in his pillow, shouting back, “Go away.” He heard the door open regardless of his wishes. He remaining in his position even though he heard footsteps approaching him. He felt a dip in his bed before he heard your voice teasing him, “Don’t want to see me, is that it George? I heard I was all you could talk about.”

He turned over so quickly he nearly knocked you off the bed. He grabbed you onto his lap and embracing you tightly. You hissed slightly, causing him to pull your body away from his and he glanced down at your side, “Oh, y/n/n, I’m sorry, how’re you-how does it look?” You leaned back slightly, lifting your shirt to show him your waist wrapped in bandages, “Looks about as good as your head.” You touched the side of his face gently, fingers dancing over his damaged ear. His eyes closed at your touch. He relished in your presence, brain mulling over him almost losing you just hours earlier.

He hadn’t noticed himself become emotional until he felt your thumb wipe a tear off his cheek. “Why are you crying, Georgie?” Your voice was so soft, always a comfort to him. He shook his head, realizing how daft he’s been, “I’m just so stupid.” You laughed lightly, another mesmerizing sound to him, “What are you talking about?” He opened his eyes, though they were still downcast, “Y/n, I haven't been honest with you. Erm, honest with myself either, really.” He felt your fingers lift his chin, making him look into your eyes.

“You know you can tell me anything, no matter what you can tell me,” you wore a soft smile on your lips, doing your best to encourage him to continue. He just stared at you for a moment, taking in how gentle your eyes looked at him, the bit of dirt still on your cheek from earlier in the night, how soft your lips looked right now. George was so lost in thought he almost didn’t notice you getting closer to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck now, still waiting for him to respond to you.

“It’s just…I…,” he trailed off, eyes shooting to your lips, back to your eyes and down again. You just nodded, closing the gap further, “I know, Georgie, me too.” And then it happened, your lips were on his and he was in heaven. One of his hands cupped your face as his other steadied on your hip, your lips slotting against one another fervently and with purpose. You felt his tongue glide against your bottom lip and granted him entrance without hesitation, allowing him to explore your mouth and deepen the kiss.

He attempted to pull you even closer, hands grabbing at your waist. You pulled back with a hiss, both forgetting about your injury. “Oh Merlin, I’m-” You shook your head, smiling, “It’s okay Georgie, I’m okay.” You cupped his cheek, rubbing your thumb across his skin, “You scared me tonight. You can’t scare me like that, I thought I was gonna lose you.” He chuckled at this, “Yeah well I could say the same to you.” You shook your head, smiling at the red head, “You know I realized something tonight.” He looked at you curiously, “Oh? And what’s that.”

“I love you Georgie,” you bit your lip, waiting on how he would respond. He reached up, his thumb lightly pulling your lip from your teeth, “I love you too, Y/n, so much.” He leaned in to kiss you once more, your lips just barely grazing each other when you heard someone clear their throat in the doorway. You both turned to see Fred, leaning against the door frame with a smirk plastered on his lips.

“As adorable as that was to witness, there’s someone downstairs wanting to talk to you both,” Fred pushed himself off the frame, turning to leave. He grabbed ahold of the frame quickly, popping his head back into the room, “If I wasn’t clear, I was talking about mum.” You climbed off of George’s lap, allowing him to also stand up from the bed, “Thanks genius, didn’t quite get that one.”

You walked with George down the stairs, fingers intertwined while doing so. Molly’s eyes clocked the connection immediately, her face becoming more apologetic than before, if that were even possible. She met you both at the bottom of the steps, wrapping you in her embrace immediately, “Darling, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for how I acted, what I said to you, it was rubbish, truly.” She pulled back, tears brimming her eyes. You shook your head, “Molly, no. He’s your son. You just love him so much, I understand the feeling.”

You looked up at George who gave you a small smile and a wink in return. Molly, missing nothing, quickly wrapped her arms around both your necks, planting kisses on each of your cheeks, whispering in your ears, “We’ve been waiting for this, your father and I. Probably another reason I was so emotional earlier.” George leaned back, “What dya mean you’ve been waiting?” Molly simply smiled, “I know the look dear, you’ve had it with her for, gosh, how long now Arthur?”

“Since year 5 for them both, Moll.” Arthur yelled from the other side of the room. You felt your cheeks burn, surely visibly red for everyone to see. George was also blushing, not realizing how blatantly obvious he had been over the years. Fred came up behind you both, slinging an arm over each of your shoulders, “Thank Merlin for that though, yeah? He wouldn’t nearly have been as passionate about where you were if he wasn’t always looking for you in a room. Probably would’ve been longer before we realized you were passed out.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah, he really was a Saint for me tonight, wasn’t he?” Fred looked at you puzzled, “Come again?” You pointed at George’s bandaged ear, “He’s holy Fred, Saint-like.” Fred just groaned, rolling his eyes as he pushed through the both of you. George however smiled, grabbing your chin and planting another kiss on your lips with a smile.

Taglist:

@luv4kani ; @somekidinacoma ; @huahuali ; @ell0ra-br3kk3r ; @wollymalfoy ;

#harry potter #golden era #fred weasley #george weasley #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x reader

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loggiepj · 16 days

Text

To Love A Lannister

chapter 11 | chapter 12

"We shouldn't be out here alone," a girl, about twelve or thirteen years old, with black hair and yellow dress insisted in an exasperated voice. "Cersei!"

A younger version Cersei with golden hair and flowing red dress, the ends splattered with mud by the way she was running across the drenched pathway leading to the woods, only giggled as she went on. The girl was Cersei's friend from a certain noble house, who was only recently assigned to be her handmaiden.

"Why not?" Cersei asked as she climbed over a massive root of a tree until she could see the tiny wooden house with a smoking chimney from a distance. The witch's house.

"If your father-"

"He'll never know we're gone," Cersei interrupted, pulling her friend up with her from the ground.

"But if he finds out-"

"You don't need to be afraid of my father," the Lannister girl said as she shook the dirt off from her dress and observed the surroundings. She then walked closer towards the house, her curiosity at its peak.

The townspeople had warned the young girl about the infamous witch living deep in the woods near Casterly Rock, but Cersei didn't seem faze about the rumors. She had to know if the witch was a fraud or not, if the effort gossiping about her was all worth it.

The famed witch's house seemed alive from the outside, with endless smokes protruding from the chimney. She carefully approached the threshold, surrounded by herbs and plants she didn't know existed. Her hand pushed the wooden door open as she let herself in with a cautious step. Thankfully, there was no sign of any witch.

"Are you sure?" Cersei's friend whispered behind her back, hesitant on following the young Lioness.

"Yes," Cersei answered, her eyes quickly darting around the room until they landed on one large cauldron at the center, with liquids brewing inside, contents unknown of.

"We shouldn't go in," her friend warned, her eyes settling on some sharp knives laying around the table and dismembered parts of animals inside jars.

"Of course we should," Cersei replied, her fingers brushing over dusty books on the shelves. And when her eyes darted towards the dark corner, squinting at the shadowy figure she could tell looked real, she stopped walking. That shadow slowly turned into a person as it approached them closer. The light from the candles illuminated over her. The witch.

Cersei took a step back, swallowing a nervous lump in her throat. She could clearly see the witch's greasy face and sunken eyes. For any girl, they would be terrified. But Cersei wasn't just like any girl.

"Get out," the witch ordered. When the girls stayed frozen, she went on, "Get out!"

"Let's go," Cersei's friend said as she ran towards the door.

"No," Cersei refused as she stood in the center of the room facing the witch. She didn't show any fear on her face.

"Listen to your friend," the witch said as she moved towards the Lannister girl.

"They said that you were terrifying with cat's teeth and three eyes," Cersei said. "You're not terrifying. You're boring."

"You don't know what I am."

Cersei smirked. "I know you're a witch and you can see the future. Tell me mine."

The witch laughed, eyeing the girls curiously. "Everyone wants to know their future until they know their future."

"This is my father's land," Cersei threatened. "My land."

"Cersei!" her friend went on, tugging her elbow. But Cersei stood her ground.

"Tell me my future," Cersei continued, "or I'll have your two boring eyes gouged out of your head."

The witch could only sneer back as she took a small dagger from a nearby table, making both the girls flinch. "Your blood. Give me a taste."

There was a moment of hesitation on Cersei's face, before she took the knife from the witch and cut her own thumb, tiny blood painting the blade. The witch immediately grabbed ahold of her hand and tasted the substance. Terrified, Cersei pulled away from her.

"Three questions you get," the witch then said. "You won't like the answers."

"I've been promised to the Prince," Cersei began, massaging her wound. "When will we marry?"

"You will never wed the Prince."

Cersei's frown grew deeper, as she felt anger rising inside her. "You will wed the King," the witch went on, making the girl calm down.

"But I will be Queen?"

"Oh, yes." The witch laughed. "You'll be Queen. For a time. Then comes another, younger, more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear."

"W-will the King and I have children?"

"No." The girl's brow furrowed deeper.

"The King will have twenty children and you will have three."

"That doesn't make sense," Cersei spat.

"Gold will be their crowns. Gold their shrouds."

"You're only saying these awful things because I threatened you," Cersei said. "Tell me the truth."

The witch stared at her for a moment. "You will fall madly in love with someone."

The baby hair behind Cersei's neck stood as she listened.

"You'll kill for them. You'll burn bridges and castles for them." The witch then laughed as she threw dusts into the cauldron, making the contents burst into flames. "Dragons."

"Dragons?"

"You will never love anyone else," the witch went on as she began stirring the contents of the pot. "It will be the most amazing thing you'll ever feel in your lifetime. But it will also be your greatest heartbreak."

The sound of the horn from a distance brought her out of trance, the horn from the girls' guards from Casterly Rock, looking for them.

"Come on, we have to go," Cersei's friend pulled her. "We have to go! Cersei!"

~~~

"You need to sleep," Jaime said behind Cersei. "And eat."

"I've already eaten," Cersei answered, nodding towards the empty food tray on the table, before she looked back at you, laying on the bed unconscious. Your shoulders were bandaged to your chest and your face was so bruised, the skin had turned blueish green. Her hand was playing with your fingers as she waited for you to wake up.

Cersei had never felt this way towards anyone before. She had always thought her love for Jaime was what couples would define love was. But with you, it was different.

When she first met you, it had been envy. Eventually, through the days watching your cocky yet awfully kind behavior towards her and others, it then turned into infatuation. And obsession. Now, she wasn't sure what she felt towards you. It was a mixture of emotions. Fear. Wariness. Longing. Love.

She had never thought love could be like this.

Even sex before you had never been that exhilarating to Cersei. She had never reached orgasm the way she did with you, pulling multiples in one night. You had exceeded her expectations based on the rumors circulating about you, making her crave for you more.

Of course, her father would find out. There wasn't a thing her father couldn't see.

He warned Cersei, even threatened her, that involving herself with such affairs would bring downfall to their house. What would others think?

The hell what others think, Cersei thought. Out of fear, she could only nod and obey her father as she went to ignore you with difficulty. Even when all she wanted to do was be with you and in your presence. And when her son died, she thought it would be the end of the world.

Until she let herself be comforted by you. It never occurred to her how much she needed you until that day. It didn't help the fact that whatever awful thing she had said to you, her insides in turmoil watching your face accept her insults, and yet you stayed being you. You never said anything awful back to her. You never argued with her. And she wanted you even more.

When you chose yourself as Tyrion's champion, Cersei immediately went to order the Mountain to back down. However, her father Tywin had already gained Gregor's favors and Cersei couldn't do anything about it. Cersei hadn't slept well that night before the combat. And she almost went to your chambers to tell you to back out, run back to Dorne, where you would be safe.

She couldn't lose you. She couldn't bear the thought of losing you too. Aside from her children, you were the only wonderful thing that had ever happened to her.

If you were sensible enough, you would have doubts whether it was worth it, whether her brother was worth your life. Maybe she had been harsh immediately blaming Tyrion as the one who killed her son, knowing her son had made more enemies than her in his lifetime.

She thought she would lose you during the fight when Gregor had managed to pull you to the ground with him. You both knew you couldn't win The Mountain without any weapon. She regretted not kissing you before it happened. She regretted not telling you she loves you too.

She had loved you with all of her heart. And she wished it wasn't too late.

Luckily, she thanked the heavens for saving you that day, even if it would also include her own brother. You had fallen unconscious after the fight. Alive but unconscious.

She hadn't left your side since when you were being tended and healed by all the Great Maesters she could find in the Capital led by Maester Qyburn.

There was one time when she returned to your chambers and you were being tended by a handmaiden, your arm being brushed by a wet washcloth, it made Cersei's insides growl with envy.

"Leave us!" Cersei yelled.

And the handmaiden quickly left, terrified as if she did something wrong.

Cersei then grabbed the washcloth from the basin and continued wiping your body free from blood, mesmerized by how perfect your skin looked. She'd sworn not a person besides her could enter the room without her permission.

The moments she had only left you were the times she had to attend her father's council meetings. She even pretended to care Tyrion won the trial. If it would cost your life, she knew there was no way she'd ever forgive him.

She had never been kind. She had always been cruel, it was the way she was, making her think if she deserves this kindness from you. If she truly deserved you.

Jaime called, his hand on her shoulder, bringing Cersei back to the present, "Cersei. Stop this nonsense."

And when she didn't bother answering, Jaime went to touch the bruise on your face, perplexed.

Cersei immediately stood, her hand shot up to push Jaime away from you. "Don't touch her!"

She was seething. And Jaime eventually chuckled at the sight.

"Don't tell me you've fallen in love with her?" He snickered, grabbing her wrist to pull her closer to him. "Do you even know how to love someone?"

Cersei tugged away from his touch. How dare he judge her love for you?

But she couldn't help but think about how right Jaime was. She had never loved anyone before she met you. How was she sure her feelings for you were even close to love.

~~~

"The Martell house will be leaving in a fortnight once Y/n has fully recovered," Tywin said, making Cersei look at him. The lioness was in her father's small council room, discussing about recent affairs involving the new King's marriage to Margaery.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Are you planning to hold the marriage in Dorne? I never knew you wanted to visit such place you're being despised of."

"Oh, I completely forgot to mention it to you."

Confusion was etched on Cersei's face.

"You no longer need to marry Y/n," Tywin went on.

"What?" Cersei never knew she had ever been this devastated before.

"Or anyone at all," he said, smirking.

"Is this a trick?"

"No," Tywin said. "Y/n has offered Yronwood castle to set you free. Our Lannister soldiers can set a camp there given fresh resources. It's a perfect place to have a better view of both the Stormlands and Dorne. I think it's a wrong move on their part, giving up a part of the South just like that, no matter how small the area is."

Cersei licked her lips, trying to force a smile but she couldn't. She wasn't happy. "Why would she do that?"

"Does it matter?" Tywin asked, before looking at his daughter. "I thought you'd be happy. You won't be married to anyone against your liking anymore."

Cersei hated it. She hated how you'd decide it without her. And she'd wake you up just to scold you, she'd tell you it wasn't a wise decision, that you were always a fool and a weak person for thinking about other's wellbeing first.

But when she looked at your sleeping form still laying on your bed some time later after the meeting, she couldn't get her mouth to open. Her hand ended up caressing your cheek, as she brushed a strand of hair covering the side of your face over your ear. She understood why you had to do what you did.

She didn't deserve you. And she had been nothing but awful to you. Yet you still thought of her own happiness.

"I love you," Cersei murmured, before placing a kiss on top of your head.

Someone coughed behind her. The Queen Mother looked cautiously and realized Oberyn was standing idly, leaning against the doorway. "Your Grace."

"Prince Oberyn." Cersei's cheeks reddened as she avoided the Dornishman's eyes.

"Has she waken up?"

Cersei shook her head as she glanced back at you.

"We will be leaving for Dorne once Y/n recovers," he went on. "She is needed by her father and it has been a long time coming."

Cersei could only grit her teeth. No. Not now. Not ever, Cersei thought. Not when she almost had you.

She didn't end up saying that. Instead, she said, "Will she be safe there?"

"She is safe there in Dorne. Obviously not here in the Capital. And I believe your late son, the late King's murderer is still out there. And I'm sorry for that."

Cersei nodded as she held your hand tight, while fingers intertwined with yours. Then she looked at Oberyn. "Promise me you'll always look out for her."

Oberyn could only stare, not believing that those words came out from Cersei's mouth. The ever vicious and evil Cersei. "I will, as always."

Cersei then turned back to you as she watched you sleep, hoping you'd finally wake up.

#cersei lannister #cersei lannister x reader #game of thrones #song of ice and fire #angst #g!p reader

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