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lokisgoodgirl · 6 months ago

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A Royal Audience: The Rite

Chapter 1 Masterlist for The Rite is here A link to my full Masterlist is here Summary: (1) You, an Asgardian court nobody, fall asleep in the palace baths and have an unconventional introduction to the elusive Loki Odinson. (w/c 3.7k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Loki x female reader. Smut. Language. Voyeurism.

Water splashes and your legs fly up, floating out into the murk of torchlit water. Bracing against the stone edge, you glance over your shoulder with a blossoming horror. The curved arch reveals the glittering lights of Asgard below; mountains which had glowed with low-afternoon light when you’d settled in the palace baths now cloaked in darkness. Why did no one wake me? It's forbidden for anyone but the Royal family to be in the baths after sundown. And the penalties are severe.

Surely more of a guideline than a rule, you think optimistically as you get your bearings. Panic twists in your chest. Surely Odin can’t imprison every member of the court who dozes off in the hot springs.

Heaving yourself onto the side, you shiver in the immediate chill. The loss of warmth is like the absence of a lover’s touch; leaving their bed on a winter night. You’re surprised you can remember what that feels like. A breeze blows through the atrium as you grasp for the robe you discarded earlier. It sticks to clammy skin, thick droplets seeping though the fabric as you gaze longingly at the towels lined up at the side. No time. But as you flick soggy tendrils of hair from beneath the collar, your ears prick. No. Footsteps. There’s only one doorway to the baths. A security thing. One hallway – in and out. Your eyes dart frantically at limited options. Tall, imposing pillars encircle the room. One of them will have to do. All you can do is pray the guards just take a quick peek around the door. The squeak of your bare feet on the floor fades just as your wet skin meets marble. You cover your mouth, eyes screwing shut. The door swings open, creaking on ancient hinges. “Prepare the oils,” someone commands. A dark, enunciated order which seems to settle in the steam.

A shudder runs down your spine. That voice. Another one replies in hushed reverence, flopping sandals scooting over the marble floor while bottles rattle. “Haste,” the first growls.

You clutch the flimsy robe tighter to your chest. The first time, you might have been mistaken. But as the irritated syllables of that solitary word settle, there’s no mistaking it. Prince Loki. If you were asked to swear in front of the Norns that you’d never envisioned the dark prince as you touched yourself in the dead of night, thought of his forbidden curls twisting through your hair as you rode him, the timbre of his moans as you choked on his cock – you’d be a fucking liar. I mean, who hasn't? But this? This is beyond the pale. Even conjured from your sickest fantasies. This is wrong. This is...a death sentence.

And yet, you find yourself edging closer to the side of the pillar.

Should you announce yourself? Grovel? Retreat out the door with garbled apologies, bowing with your face lowered and begging for your life? Probably.

But it’s too late now. Far too late. And if you’re going to end up in the dungeons, as on some level you always suspected you would, at least this image will sustain you.

Loki Odinson stands all limbs and and length at the edge of the baths. From emerald-encrusted slippers to the crown of dark waves spilling over his shoulders – he’s perfect; unmistakeably royalty even in his lounge-wear. What little there is of it.

White steam rolls above the water, as sheer and flawless as the chiffon robe that moulds to his body. The faint hue of his skin shows through the forest-green material, fingers toying with the tie circling his hips as he casts a scathing glance to the servant whirling a phial of oil between his fingers. “Tis’ ready, my lord” the servant says. The prince grunts, letting the sash fall open.

You hold a breath as the garb falls down the sinewy bulge of his shoulders, deep carves of tricep muscle illuminated in torchlight. You’ve never seen him so close; never had time to admire the stark beauty emanating from every angled inch of him. Without the distracting glint of his armour it’s almost enough to make your eyes water. Glimpses of him had been in passing, a stolen gawk before you bowed you head and he moved quickly through the great hall past the other courtly nobodies.

The luxuriously weaved material slides over his skin, folding and rippling as it drips from his fingertips. It shimmers in low flamelight and he rolls his shoulders back as it drops, abdominals clenching. You clench along with them as the robe pools around his ankles. Your palms sweat against the pillar, fingers beginning to claw as Loki steps into the water. He rakes his hair back, tilting his chin to the ceiling as he puts one foot ceremonially in front of the other. Making an entrance, even without an audience. Or so he thinks.

The servant stands obediently by the bath’s edge, staring ahead as the prince’s thighs flex with each effortless step, liquid lapping around his knees.

As much as you try not to look, sort of, to preserve some sliver of dignity for the god, saliva wells under your tongue. His perfect cock bobs between his legs. It’s true what they say, you think in a daze. His pubic hair is an immaculate shadow. Even his balls are perfect.

Loki sinks down, dipping long hair back in the water before seating himself in the opposite spot you’d occupied minutes ago. Jet hair plasters to his skin like tar, droplets of water clinging to his torso. “Begin,” he mutters with an air of annoyance. The servant complies, pouring the rose-tinted phial into his hand and beginning to massage the god’s scalp.

You watch in utter beguilement as Loki’s head is nudged from side to side, indecent moans of pleasure snaking from his throat as the favoured servant carries out his work. Thin drips of oil roll down the prince’s brow, catching the light. He tips his head back, jawline pointed to the ceiling like the blade of an axe. He lets out a whimper of pleasure.

You press your lips together so hard it hurts as a crease appears in the god’s brow, his eyes shut as the man kneeling behind turns the attention to his shoulders. The oil spreads down the thick of his neck, to the crevices of his collarbone; glistening. “Oh-h, yes…there-” the god growls, a gnawing groan shaking the air. For the first time, you notice the unmistakable heat of arousal sliding between your thighs. Squirming, you think briefly about looking away. You decide against it. In the blink of an eye, Loki’s mood changes like a winter wind. He leans forward, an abrupt tsk punctuated by the wave of a hand. “Leave me,” he demands. The servant looks visibly confused, fingers poised in the air above tense muscle. Loki turns expectantly over his shoulder. “Need I say it again?” he purrs menacingly. It was quietly brutal. You smirk in spite of yourself. Classic Prince Loki, you muse. You never dreamed you’d get to see it in person.

The man shakes his head, shuffling to his feet. He shuffles out the room with little bows and letting the ancient latch clunk into place. Your breaths quicken and the sudden gravity of the situation settles like a boulder in your throat. Frozen, you watch Loki eye the door a moment longer before resting back against the stone with a lazy sigh.

Long fingers run through the slick of his hair while water slops around his nipples. Gods, how you want to pull one between your teeth as you pump his- “Aren’t you cold?” His voice was an arrow. Sharp, targeted, tipped with venom. It’s hit spreads through your body, white noise filling your brain, blood thundering in your ears.

“Aren’t you cold?” he repeats, sterner this time. You realise with horrifying clarity that Prince Loki of Asgard, as eusive and unknowable as faraway galaxies to a mouse, is talking to you. And he’s naked. And you’re definitely spending the next decade in the dungeons. If you’re lucky.

With shaking hands, you step out from behind the pillar. The game is up. But to your credit, you have closed your eyes, one palm shielding them in a last ditch attempt at salvation. “Your Majesty I apologise I...fell asleep in the water, and woke up after sundown- the laws, and you came in...I didn’t know where to go- what to do-please have mercy...” You squint between parted fingers to gauge his reaction, hoping that the last threads of your long-gone innocence are believable. The prince curls a finger to his lips, covering a smirk. “I did not look upon your majesty...” you lie. The god’s eyes run from your ankles to your face, a devious smile playing at one side of his mouth. His lips part, chin tilting upwards, tongue resting behind his upper teeth before the perfect enunciation of, “Liar.”

“I did not look upon-” you stammer, lowering your hand and staring at the floor.

“-Oh, stop it.” Loki says. It’s followed by a melodic chuckle ricocheting around the marble walls. You glance up. One elbow rests on the stone behind him, water rippling against his chest. He tilts his head, raising the other arm out the water. “Never let it be said the God of Mischief is not merciful,” he rumbles coyly. A solitary finger beckons. “You must be cold,” he repeats for the third time, softer. “I assure you the baths are warmer than the dungeon, if that was your intent for the remainder of the evening.”

Each step feels like an eternity as you let yourself be drawn forward by weak flesh. You can’t take your eyes off his, thundering silently into your soul like a sexual storm. “I am not to the dungeons, then?” you ask cautiously. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He winks, a perfectly timed droplet of oil falling from his chin to the water below with a thick plop. It makes your stomach flip. He stiffens suddenly, raising his palm in a ‘stop’.

“You may leave now...if you wish,” he says. An aura of stiff formality settles on his expression.

This is the Loki you recognise from feast days and speeches which ring around the towering cloisters of the great hall. The palm held upright softens to gesture to the other side of the pool. “Or you may stay, if you wish. Either way, sending such a flower to the dungeons to wilt and wither would surely be a greater crime than the one you have committed.”

He pauses. There’s a flash of pink as his tongue runs over his lips. His gaze drops to your fingers fidgeting nervously with the sash of your robe, still stained with watermarks from its hasty assembly. “Curiosity is only natural, one supposes,” he says.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” you reply quietly.

Loki’s eyes meet yours, one eyebrow rising. “Ah, but you did.” His voice is deeper, wisps of intrigue catching in every syllable. “In my experience, the path paved with mistakes leads to better stories. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You bite your lip. “Your Majesty are you...sure? I’m-” you glance towards the door, hesitating before you met the prince’s waiting stare, “-naked, under this.” Loki’s long index finger dips teasingly into the water, feigned surprise making his brows rise as he watches it sink beneath the surface. The lip twitches again as his digit skims, slow ripples pulsing out from his body. “Egalitarian, wouldn’t you say? Considering your recent education on my own state of undress.” Heat rises in your cheeks, matching the inexplicable confidence beginning to blossom in your belly. Loki smiles expectantly, resting both elbows casually on the ledge.

His lips form a soft o as your robe falls around your feet. You feel his stare roaming your body as keenly as though its his hands. Can he see the translucent sheen of arousal smeared down your inner thighs as you step into the pool? Possibly. Probably.

It’s true what they say about his body, about his temper, about his cock, after all. Why not his powers of perception?

The water licks against your skin, the thrill of this forbidden meeting making every hair on your body stand to attention. Pores tingle against the embrace of heat as you sink beneath the surface, perching on the flat stone seat beneath. The curve of your mounds bob above gently lapping water.

The same spot you’d been in earlier. But now, the view is entirely different.

You imagine that the archway behind you is a beautiful scene. Asgard’s moons would be shining, their light halo’ing your wetted hair against a blanket of stars. And yet, Prince Loki’s eyes never leave yours.

Although ten meters stretch between you, the whisper of his breath seemed to curl against your ear. You widen your legs beneath the water, immediately squeezing them closed again. Your lips purse, stifling a whine. “Your first royal audience, I gather?” Loki asks politely. You nod. This is madness.

Slowly, he shifts. One arm slips beneath the water, then two. His chin dips, observing you seductively from half-lidded eyes. “Why have I never seen you before?” The question hangs amidst the steam rolling over soft ripples.

“I find myself new at court, your Majesty” you hear yourself answer. It isn’t true. But it's better than the embarrassing reality. You're an invisible cog. “Liar,” he murmurs seductively. The corners of his eyes crease with mirth, a wet curl falling down to the side of his cheek. Somehow, your fingers find their way to your clit; hidden beneath the sweet-smelling veil of the baths.

“How can I have overlooked such a jewel in the midst of this grey wasteland?” “Wasteland?!” you scoff. It's bold, a peal of laughter escaping in spite of yourself. “Hardly.” The god cocks an eyebrow. “Despite my hyperbole, the sentiment remains. How did I miss you?”

There’s a moment of silence; anticipation choking the air. A suspicious disturbance begins to swell at the water by Loki’s mid-section and a chill of desire makes you shiver despite the temperate water; imagining those long, elegant fingers wrapping around that long, elegant cock. You began to toy with yourself, sparks of pleasure thrumming through your veins. Your shoulders began to roll in time with the pressure of your fingers. Unmistakeable. Breaths rise and fall in your chest, breasts bouncing lightly at the surface.

He grits, throat working as the straight lower line of his perfectly white teeth flash into view. The swell of water above his groin crests to a flurry; his deep, filthy exhales wrapping around your inhibitions and choking them. All pretence gone, you release the moan you’ve been holding.

Loki breaths out hard, a low ragged breath that seemed to part the steam caressing the water’s surface. “Mmm,” he grunts, neck stiffening. A vein at his throat stands hard and thick, straining as water began to splash against him from his abuse beneath. This is a scandal. You are a scandal. If anyone finds out, you’re finished...and yet. As the prince’s chin points to his glistening chest, wet from the splashback from fucking himself beneath the surface, you find you care not one jot.

His eyes darken, long lashes curled up to knitted brows. Loki’s lips are parted, tongue hovering and forming senseless words between laboured breaths. His cheekbones flash in the low light, soaking hair strewn over his milky skin. And always, his gaze is on you. The lofty, untouchable, inscrutable god that you’ve fantasised about is looking at you as he pleasures himself. Thinking about you as he sits across the water tugging his flawless cock. And if this is the shining, glorious moment which would burn out in a blaze of reputation-ruining glory to ash then so be it. Worth it. His dulcet moans of onanism grow louder, timing with your own. Only once do you tip your head back as you feel climax rear, a growled command of ‘look at me,’ through gritted teeth snapping you forward again.

If you’re ever deigned worthy to feel the prince inside you, have his marble body flush to your own in the throes of passion, feel his lustful praise hot in your ear– just once – you would die happy. But this? This could be enough. “S-so dutiful,” the prince moans, his shoulders juddering as he strangled the words. “B-brave,” he gasps. His brow furrows deeper with one last longing stare at your glistening neck and shoulders as you cum hard, a quiet mewl of his name echoing around the baths. It’s all you can do not to scream. “G-gods,” Loki chokes. Every muscle you can see in his body seems to tense, a thundering roar like ripping leather cascading from his throat. His mouth hangs open, grimacing to the atrium above. In the death of his cry, there’s silence but for the splash of water as the two of you compose yourself. Still flushed from orgasm, you push your hair back. The prince raises the hand that had been pleasuring himself out the water, inspecting a thick, white string that clings to his fingertips. He turns his gaze to you as he sucks the cum from his digits. God he’s fucking filthy, you think. I knew it. It takes every piece of willpower not to wade across the baths and lick it from his mouth. You bite your lip, matching his sultry demeanour and the prince’s eyebrow twitches. Your reaction is clearly to his satisfaction. “This has been amusing.”

He stands abruptly, breath stealing from your lungs as his entire body comes into view again. You aren’t prepared. The god’s cock is still hard. Long and perfectly formed, it’s earlier fairness now replaced with the blush of his work. Above, his abdomen glistens; pearled droplets of oily water running leisurely over muscled ridges. You open your mouth and close it again. Loki smiles. He turns and the toned meat of his ass shifts on his ascent up the short steps out the baths. With a click of his fingers, the robe and slippers he’d discarded are upon him once more. Your stomach drops.

“I didn’t tell you my name,” you blurt as he approaches the door. Prince Loki’s profile slices into view, the perfect arc of his bone structure lined over one broad shoulder in dancing torchlight. His eyes cast down and move to yours with theatrical precision.

“Your name?!” he purrs incredulously. “We must keep some mystery, surely.” And with the swirl of his robe and a thud of the ancient latch, he’s gone.

Loki’s stomach churns, emerald slippers feeling heavier with every step. He feels along the wall, blinking away the dizziness growing behind his eyes. Risky. Even for me. He pauses at the end of the corridor, steadying his breaths. There was something about her. Something which shattered any semblance of decorum he usually clung to in the presence of the court, however strange the situation. Her audacity. Gods, the look in her eyes as she brought herself to climax; pinning him under her gaze like a starving wretch at a feast. He stares at his feet, jewels throwing prisms from torchlight. “Brother?” Loki looks up, immediately rolling his eyes. “Spying on me? Truly you need to find something more wholesome to occupy your time, brother.” “Of course not. I intended to join you.” Loki’s stomach lurches as he notes the robe hanging off his brother’s shoulders, the plush red towels stacked in his glowering manservant’s arms. “No,” he snaps as Thor attempts to pass. The hand pressing against his brother’s chest is still wet, and he has a sudden hope it’s only water. “The temperature is not pleasing tonight. Tepid, at best. Trust me, brother.” “Is that so?” Thor asks, eyebrow rising. If he finds her in there, she’ll be punished. He won’t think twice before running to father like a dog. The thought wouldn’t usually cause him alarm but there it was again, that niggling feeling that greater fates were at play. He studies Thor’s face. "Trust me," Loki says. His brother sighs. “I trust you with very few things, Loki, but the temperature of bathwater is verily one of them.” He waves a hand and the servant scuttles away into the gloom. “In truth, brother, I hoped to speak to you about the Rite.” A hiss blows between Loki’s teeth, eyes darting to the side. “In my own time.” “Your own time?!” Thor stomps forward, making the torches rattle. “You’ve had five hundred years to find someone, Loki. Nine moons; that’s all you have until you must wait another five centuries for the alignment. Don’t you want to secure yourself in the succession? What if something were to happen to father? To me? The people of Asgard must be assured of your suitability.” “The entire thing is a farce. The fact that you succeeded, proves it.” Thor’s face darkens. “Don't speak of our sacred traditions that way. You know they’re in place for a reason.” A snort steals from Loki’s nostrils. “I have no doubts of my skill, I know I could rule Asgard’s people selflessly and with great enthusiasm; why must it be paraded in an inane peacocking which will make the high-lords wilt with inferiority?”

Silence hangs thick in the narrow corridor.

“A fact which makes your refusal to participate even more perplexing," Thor says, narrowing his eyes and yanking the sash at his waist in a way Loki assumes he thinks to be dramatic. "Nine moons, brother.”

As Thor's footsteps die away; he listens for splashing, for movement, for sneaking. But there’s nothing. He steps out the emerald slippers and pads back to the door, turning the handle with a final, furtive glance behind him.

He expects to see you draped nude over the chaise in the corner, or perhaps spread for him at the edge of the baths with hungry longing in your sharp eyes...but you’re gone. Loki frowns and stalks to the pillar which concealed you before. “Borr’s blood,” he hisses under his breath, scanning the room.

And then he sees it; something silken and knotted loops around the balcony pillars, glimmering in moonlight. He realises suddenly that the draping which normally billows in the evening breeze is gone. Loki smirks as he paces to the balcony and casts a cursory look over the edge. The makeshift ladder hangs to the level below. The royal laundry, if he’s not mistaken; the same hot spring source. “Nine moons,” he repeats quietly to the silence, rapping his knuckles against the marble twice before turning away with a smile.

💖Thanks for joining me for this lil journey! 🕯️Tags in comments x Read Chapter Two, Successional Pleasure HERE

#loki x reader #loki smut #the rite #loki fanfiction #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki odinson #loki odinson x reader #lokismut #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki x yn #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki imagine

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thought--bubble · 9 months ago

Text

Things We Cannot Change

Dark Aemond X (Strong Niece Reader)

Warnings Below

Word Count: 1,938

Aemond (Canon Era) Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners & Dividers by @arcielee

Based on THIS request

Warnings:: Reader's hair is brown. That's the only descriptor due to the request received, Breeding kink, Targcest, Virginity Loss. Mental abuse, mentions of character deaths.

On your knees.

A place you thought you would never be, but alas here you are. On your knees looking up at the cold, cruel face of your uncle.

Once a boy you played with, read with, considered a friend. Now, he holds the life of your youngest brother in his hands. The only member of your family you have left.

"I ask you, Aemond-" He interrupts you with a cruel chuckle.

"King Aemond, my dear"

You cringe at the title. The war that ravaged both of your families put him on that throne. The thought of all you had lost made you sick.

"I ask you, your grace, to please spare my brother and I. There are so few of valyrian blood left." You keep your head bowed, your knees aching against the cold stone beneath them.

The both of you go quiet, you could still smell your mothers burning flesh, hear her screams as she was scorched and eaten alive in front of your very eyes. All for nothing, you thought. Your entire family is dead for Aemond to be the one to ascend the throne.

Your mother had been executed immediately, no court, no trial, just a woman and a dragon. Aegon II had demanded that you be executed as well, but luckily for you, he did not survive the trip back to the capital. Thus, your younger brother and you had been delivered to Aemond as traitors.

Followers of the false queen is what Aegon II had called you. Worthy of a public execution.

"On that front, we can agree bastard" He places his fingers delicately under your chin and tilts your face up towards him.

"I fear that dragon riders may become a thing that history boasts about if we are not careful in our decisions." He rubs his thumb gently across your bottom lip.

"So you and I shall marry, to preserve the bloodline," you audibly gasp at the absurd statement. You were now a mere strong bastard not fit to be queen.

"B-but your grace, I have been stripped of all royal titles. Surely I am not worthy to marry the King"

"You are not." he says curtly."But, preserving our dragon blood is of higher importance than that of courtly titles." He removes his hand from your chin and steps back, clasping his hands behind his back.

"The choice is yours, dear niece. Marry me or face the blade. If not to breed you, I have no further use of you."

You gulp audibly as your eyes begin to well. "I shall serve my duty to the realm your grace."

The betrothal was announced to the realm with mixed reactions. Some houses understand the reasoning others are very upset that a bastard would be queen and not one of their highborn daughters.

All concerns fell upon deaf ears because Aemond knew what he wanted, and he wanted you. As king, he would have exactly what he wanted.

Your life changed very little after the announcement of the betrothal. You were given chambers instead of being in the dungeons, but you were not trusted.

You were escorted everywhere you went, and the incoming title of Queen did little to garner you any respect.

Everyone knew what you were. A vessel to breed valyrian blooded babies and nothing more.

What was worse was the embarrassment.

Aemond made sure to embarrass you at any opportunity. He would have you serve him at meal times instead of servants. Pull his bath for him. Even perform his ridiculous hair care routine. All of it meant to demean you.

You had hoped that after the wedding, he would stop this disgusting showcase and allow you at least a modicum of comfort, but even in that thought, you were mistaken.

After the two of you had been escorted to your marriage chambers and left alone, Aemond ordered you to pour his wine and stand in the corner. Once again, as if you were a servant and the treatment had finally become too much for you to bare.

"I'll take the sword," you say after moments of silence have fallen between you.

"Pardon?" Aemond lifts an eyebrow and looks up at you.

"I will take the sword, i do not wish to live this way for years and years." You stand with conviction. "I ask only that you spare Aegon so that he might have children in the future."

Aemond chuckles and sips his wine. "The offer has expired, dear wife. You are mine now, to toy with as I please."

"I was kind to you!" The words almost echo throughout the room. The connotation is clear.

"You were." He simply nods and continues to look into your eyes, no clear expression on his face.

"Then why do you treat me like this? Like a-" You search your mind for the words but come up empty.

"Like a traitor? Because you are a traitor. You knew the laws of the world in which you live. You did not at any time attempt to talk my dear sister out of war, did you?" He stands up from his chair and stalks towards you.

"My sister Helaena took her own life, my nephews murdered in the cruelest of fashions." His breath is heavy as he glares at you with his one eye. "You were complicit in their deaths. How should i treat you?"

"As if I lost nothing? You killed Luke. You weren't complicit in it. You did it with your own hand!" You can feel your rage bubbling up in your chest and try to suppress it to no avail.

"You killed Rhaenys and Daemon. There is far more dragon blood on your hands than mine. " You regret the words as soon as you say them, expecting his wrath to be swift and harsh.

He clicks his tongue and looks away from you. "That may be true, but there will not be anymore dragon blood spilled by me. Least of all yours."

He walks toward you but stops when he sees you backing away from him and sighs. "There are things we can not change. The war. The losses we suffered." He continues to advance on you but moves much more slowly.

"Although I believe I can change this, your fear of me."

"I am not afraid." You attempt to sound convincing, yet the shake to your voice gives you away.

"Let me try," He says gently as he gets close enough to cup your face. "This needn't be a marriage filled with fear and hate. We are all that is left of the house of the dragon. Let us rebuild, together"

Your heart cramps in your chest at his words and soft demeanor. This is the Aemond you remember. The boy who was always gentle with you, kind. Not the monster who murdered your brother and countless others in a ruthless pursuit for the throne.

"I have known fear. I do not wish to spend the remainder of my days being the cause of yours." He presses his forehead to yours and kisses the tip of your nose.

"Will you stop? The public shaming?" A tear trickles down your cheek at the thought of continuing to live in this manner. The abuses mounting, the shame unbearable.

"Yes. twill not happen again." He takes your face in his hands and lifts until your eyes meet. "This i swear."

He gently kisses your cheek where the tears have started to fall.

"We have all shed enough tears for a thousand lifetimes." He wipes a tear from your other cheek with his thumbs. "No more."

He pulls you close to his chest, gently swaying from side to side. "Shhh." He tries to comfort you as he strokes your hair.

He very softly brings his lips to yours and whispers. "Let me be more than the monster, I implore you."

You press your lips to him in desperation. Do you love him? No.

Will you ever truly trust or forgive him? Most likely not, but you want to feel something. Anything other than the dull ache that you have carried in your chest since the day Luke died.

If Aemond was aware of your true feelings, he did not let on. He reciprocated your neediness with hungry kisses of his own before lifting you and carrying you over to the bed chamber.

"I always wanted you to be my wife," He admits between kisses. "Always"

You choose not to respond, instead pulling at his clothes. He drops you down onto the bed and rucks up your skirts. Pulling your small clothes down quickly.

"Close your eyes," He whispers huskily, kissing up your inner thigh. You comply with his demands, closing your eyes and turning your mind off. Surrendering entirely to the physical sensations you are experiencing.

He brings his hand to your heat, pushing you open before bringing his tongue down upon you. The feeling is overwhelming at first, and you can't help but cry out.

He tightly grips your thigh as he nudges his nose against your clit, running his tongue along your tight entrance. Never before have you felt something like this and as if your body is controlled by an invisible force your hips buck up towards his face.

He chuckles and grips your hips, holding you in place. "Patience my love, patience" He circles your clit with his tongue, the gentle flicking driving you to near madness.

"Oh gods," you bite your bottom lip as an unfamiliar pressure builds up in your lower stomach. "Aemond!" You clench at the bedsheets beneath you, the breath tight in your lungs as a searing fire moves throughout your entire being.

"Gods!" You arch your back as the feeling hits a peak before dropping back on the bed, your breath coming out in short huffs.

Aemond chuckles as he removes his breeches his hard cock slapping against his stomach. "Im going to fill you with my babes and everything will be better."

He moves on top of you prodding your entrance with the tip of his cock. "Hold onto me, this may hurt for just a moment" He warns, gentleness in his voice.

You head his warning, wrapping your hands around his back, as he begins to push into you, the stretch painful, not excruciatingly so but shocking nonetheless.

"eeeek," you can't help the slight screech that escapes your throat.

"Shhhh, it is alright." He comforts while he continues pushing into you until his hips meet yours.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his breathing labored.

You are ok. The pain, the fullness. It is something, and after so long of feeling nothing, the something, even if it is pain, is relieving.

He thrusts his hips against you, steadily increasing his pace. "You will be with child soon. We will be happy then, " He huffs.

You close your eyes and hold his head to you as he buries his face in your neck gently kissing at the sensitive skin there, and for the first time since the war began you feel calm.

His grip on you tightens as he buries himself to the hilt in you again. "We will be happy. we will" he grunts into your ear as the pressure once again builds up in your lower stomach.

As the two of you reach your peaks together, trembling and smiling you allow yourself to believe.

Even if just for a moment. That he is right. He is telling the truth.

That even after so much death and loss, the house of the dragon can stand tall and be happy once again.

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blues824 · 2 years ago

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Diasomnia Wakes Reader Up From a Sleeping Curse

Gender-neutral reader, Hurt/comfort. Poll Winner.

Malleus Draconia

When he saw his beloved Y/N lying in their bed, he could feel both sadness and anger bubbling up in him. Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade had made a mistake in Potionology, and you were still paying the consequences of their own actions. The dragon fae gently took off his gloves and placed his hand delicately on your cheek, flinching at how cold your skin was.

If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought you were dead. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. Your name and death did not belong in the same sentence, let alone together at all. No, you were merely asleep, and of that he was glad.

He knew the cure for the curse, and he was a bit happy that he knew of your feelings for him, but that didn’t particularly mean he was your true love. The fact that you two were courting didn’t mean anything in matters like this. However, there was no harm in trying to wake you up. So, the Crowned Prince of Briar Valley held your face gently as he leaned forward.

His lips gently brushed up against yours, staying there for a few seconds. He pulled back, and upon seeing that you hadn’t moved, his heart became very heavy. He turned away and started pulling his gloves on, when…

“Tsunotarou?”

Malleus had never turned around so quickly as he rushed back to your bedside. He helped you sit up, and his chest was pounding as you looked into his eyes. You reached your hand out and held the side of his face, and the fae prince moved his face to press a kiss to your palm. Oh, he had never been so relieved.

He quickly leaned forward and placed another kiss upon your lips, and he was so glad to feel you reciprocate the affection. The Diasomnia crew was waiting in the living room, and they all stood up when they saw their leader carrying you in a bridal carry, silently announcing that you were alright.

Don’t get him mistaken, though. He is definitely going to bring pain and suffering to Ace and Deuce for inflicting such a curse upon his beloved. If he could, they would probably be burnt to a crisp. But, he will inform the Headmage so that the troublesome duo can be punished properly.

Lilia Vanrouge

He was very amused to hear that his Y/N was put under a sleeping curse by the ADeuce duo. Oh, you could never stay away from those two, and it always led to you getting in trouble. No matter, as he loves playing the part of your knight in shining armor. However, as he gazed upon your sleeping figure, a grim atmosphere took place.

Your skin was cold to the touch, very unnatural for someone as lively as you usually were. It was a chill that he had known before, one that not even the coldest of winters could compare to. The freeze of death. It brought him only a little comfort to know that you were just asleep, a mock of death.

The two idiots who had put you under the curse had informed him of the cure, not that he needed it anyways because he already knew. What he didn’t know was if he was your true love, since he was certain that you were his. Lilia brushed some hair out of your face as he leaned forward.

As he held your face, he tried to feel if you went warm. However, when he pulled away from the kiss, there was no change. The fae’s heart was broken, and he worried that you would never wake up. As he walked to the door, he heard something.

“Darling?”

Mans just about ran back to your side, pressing kisses all over your face. Your skin had become warm, and the light in your eyes was back (albeit a bit dimmed). You took a bit of time to admire his mature form, as he didn’t have the energy to go back to the younger version of himself. His long hair was beautiful, and you ran your hand through it.

He urged you to stay in bed to recover some of your strength as he went down to the rest of the Diasomnia quartet to inform them that you were alright. Silver was glad that his ‘other parent’ (not official… yet) was alright, and even Sebek was relieved. Malleus was glad to hear that you would be recovering soon.

Oh, but what you or anyone else did not know was that as they were leaving you and Lilia behind at Ramshackle, the other three were going to fight Ace and Deuce in the most disrespectful way possible. I hope the boys like dirt, because they’re gonna be eating it soon.

Silver

He was just in a complete state of shock when Sebek informed him that Ace and Deuce had accidentally put you under a sleeping curse. As his fellow knight, the half-fae felt obligated to be the one to share the news. He promised to cover the young Vanrouge’s guard shift as he went to go see you and help with the cure.

The moment he entered your bedroom, he could feel the atmosphere was completely off. Where was your voice? Where was his hug as he entered the door? He placed the back of his hand upon your forehead, only to retract his arm after discovering you were cold.

One thing that Sebek made sure not to forget to tell Silver was that the only thing that could get you to wake up was a kiss of true love, and that scared him. One’s True Love is similar to a soulmate; one’s heart could not beat without the other. How was anyone sure that he was your true love?

Silver placed a gentle but fleeting kiss upon your lips, quickly pulling back to see if your eyes had opened, but nothing changed. The knight let two tears fall as he got up to leave. The moment where he placed his hand on the door handle, he heard you gasp.

“Love?”

Oh, the sweet sound of your voice was the one that he needed to hear at that moment. He was immediately back at your side as he grabbed your hand in his to place a kiss on your knuckle. Upon touching you, you were warm. He could physically feel his heart beating again in pure relief that 1) he was your confirmed true love and 2) you would be okay.

Unfortunately, all of this really took a lot out of him, so he laid next to you in the bed and held you close. This caused you to laugh, brushing some hair out of his face as you cuddled into him and placed a kiss on his lips this time.

You made sure to text Lilia that you were okay and awake, and that Silver was exhausted, so he would be staying at Ramshackle overnight. He finally looked at peace in his sleep, and you quickly took a picture as a keepsake. However, you weren’t going back to sleep yet. You just woke up, after all.

Sebek Zigvolt

He was in the Potionology class where you were put under the curse, and he was the one who lifted you up in a bridal carry and brought you back to Ramshackle so that you would be comfortable. The two imbeciles who caused this told him in the living room of the run-down dorm that the only known curse was a kiss of true love.

This caused a million thoughts to run through the half-fae’s head as he gazed upon your sleeping figure. Sure, the two of you were courting, but that didn’t mean he was your true love. He knew that you were his, because he placed you above Malleus in importance. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here.

Sebek took his glove off as he walked over to your bed side. He grabbed the side of your face, and he didn’t like how cold you were. He took a deep breath, before committing. He leaned towards your face to place his lips onto yours. A stray tear he didn’t know was coming fell upon your cheek, making it look like it was you who was crying.

He felt as though you had every right. For everything you suffered through at the hands of Ace, Deuce, Grim, and Crowley, along with everyone else, he honestly wishes you would cry. Especially now, as there was no sign of you waking up. All his hope vanished as he got up to leave, when he heard you shift around in your bed.

“Sebek?”

The knight turned around to see that your eyes were open and looking at him as you tried to sit up. He rushed over to assist you, relieved that you were awake and alright. However, this made him realize something: he was your true love. He quickly placed a kiss upon your forehead, relishing in the warmth finally emitting from your skin.

As he helped you out of bed and with walking (a curse could leave you disoriented) downstairs, he made sure that at the bottom he gave the two idiots a piece of his mind. How dare they be so incompetent and not even apologize for making you go through that?

If you were being honest, the utmost care that the usually brash First Year was showing you as he gently sat you down at a nearby chair so that he could continue the argument made your heart melt. He was genuinely worried about you, and it definitely showed. You would think you were made of glass, but you were aware that it was his way of conveying his love for you.

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platinumshawnn · 4 months ago

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Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood x OC!Tully — pt iii

masterlist | playlist | backward | forward

A/N: hi, this post comes to you from queue while i'm at a festival. i'm back with another chapter and some attempted proof reading <33

Synopsis: news of Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen's murder rocks the Seven Kingdoms, intensifying tensions at Raventree Hall. Benjicot urges immediate action against House Bracken, while Samwell advises caution. Serra seeks solace in the godswood amidst growing unease. With the wedding approaching, diplomatic tensions rise as troop movements near their borders escalate, casting a shadow over Benjicot and Serra's impending union

Content Warning(s): adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 6.2k

There was no taming the crowd after Samwell’s announcement.

Samwell Blackwood had always been known as a fierce leader who could bring order to any room — stern and formidable in nature, he embodied the traditional values of House Blackwood and its members; a man of thin, slender stature with a quiet voice, he could have been mistaken for being a mild, non-threatening man. If not for his reputation that preceded him his entire life, he might not have appeared as much more than a middle-aged man with tired, sunken eyes that were dark in contrast to his fair complexion, raven-haired with a slight limp that had been acquired from his years of training and small battles that left him permanently scarred — however, quiet as he was, he had a fierce stare that often shifted, like he was constantly analysing his surroundings and a stoic expression most often than not. It was no secret that he was a gifted warrior who was skilled with a sword. At most, the few smiles that he offered were small, ghost-like and never quite reaching his eyes, though reserved for only special occasions.

Serra had witnessed it for the first time in years on the night of her arrival. That little bit of warmth he had in his marrow still, pouring out in small gestures; a squeeze to her hand and reassuring her that her comfort was his utmost priority.

He had been silent the rest of the feast — or whatever it had spiralled into, with his fist pressed to his mouth and expression pinched into one of concentration as the shouting continued; several questions arising amidst the news, “Prince Jaehaerys has been murdered.” It was unsettling to say the least, how calm and collected he was as the words had rolled off his tongue with such nonchalance as though he was only announcing something small such as a shift in the weather; his silence that followed spoke volumes however. His gaze watched the table, the chaos unfolding as men and their own children, and their wives were suddenly in uproar, panic ensuing. Serra vaguely made out the questions, the cries, the slamming of fists on the table that would cause the wood to shudder under her hands; her plate and utensils shaking with the sheer force and clattering against one another. Her gaze had kept down, pinned to the table and unmoving as she eyed the roast goose that had long-since gone cold on her plate, her hands folding in her lap and picking at her nails as she attempted to drown out the noise by the task of ripping at skin until she was near bloody.

“I told you this union would bring nothing but death,” A voice called out, elderly and male, gruff as a clatter of a cup followed. Her head briefly lifted to turn in the direction it came from, finding as an elderly Lord Perryn stood from his seat, “An ill-omen, forged in haste and shadowed by distrust— and what now, Lord Blackwood? You would have my sons die for your own need for more power? Have we not sacrificed enough for your cause, are you not yet satisfied?”

Serra’s head turned to look towards Lord Blackwood, who remained silent and otherwise unbothered by the older Lord’s words, aside from a twitch of his eye as his gaze shifted to her father. She admired the restraint he possessed, unlike his son, and the ability that even when he did not speak, he still oozed self-assured confidence that wasn’t arrogant or reckless but that of maturity and years of experience. She made note for the first time since arrival, that while his son was immature and had yet to grow into himself and his role, she could still see a glimmer of similarity between the two men — both physically and in personality.

She was, however, suddenly startled by the slam of her father’s hand against the table, watching as he stood to his feet with his glare cast down the table. “You would do best to mind your tongue, Lord Perryn,” He loudly warned, a finger jabbing in his direction. “Do not dare curse my daughter’s marriage for the bloodshed.” He continued, his voice shaking with anger.

Serra had never known her father to be a cruel, or angry man. Hell, she had only even heard him shout on a small handful of occasions, thus his reaction left her stunned; staring up at him with wide eyes, watching as he seemed to flip a switch and become a different man right in front of her. Though his outburst did not silence the table entirely, met once again by another voice that shouted from down the table, “Does it not seem strange that coincidentally while you announce your daughter’s betrothal and we are here feasting, children are being murdered in their beds like cattle? Don’t be foolish, Elmo, surely that is some sort of sign—!”

The young Lord who had spoken up second was met with shouts of support, heads nodding in agreement, the anger and tension in the air palpable. She watched then as her father reached quickly for his left hip and withdrew the dagger he kept sheathed there, his hand once again slamming into the table with such force, she visibly jumped in her seat and brought her hands over her ears to cover them from the harsh sound of dishes clattering to the floor; the dagger’s blade lodged into the table as he looked towards the second voice that spoke up, “That is enough, SIT DOWN!”

Serra’s eyes had squeezed shut, head down as the room erupted into further pandemonium, attempting to make herself as small as she physically could in her own seat, wanting nothing but to flee; her feet attempting to push the chair back and away from the table, but unsuccessful. The chair was stuck — she was stuck, and suffocating, drowning as her hands clenched into fists against her ears as she attempted again to shove her chair back, but meeting resistance again. Her chest felt tight with fear and anxiety as her heart pounded in her ears, praying that if this was the moment she died, she would go fast — prayed that the Gods would at least have mercy and that the ground would open up and swallow her whole right then and there.

Her chair was yanked back suddenly, a hand grabbing her left elbow and dragging her upwards and away from the table, like some sort of saviour that had come to answer all her prayers. She gasped in relief, stumbling back and turning to come face-to-face with Kermit, who held her elbow with such a tight grip, she would be sure to have marks in the days to come; but she did not care. She reached out for him, struggling to breathe as he lowered his head to find her gaze, a look of worry on his face as he grabbed her other elbow and gently shook her, his mouth opening with words that she could not quite make out. His head rose to look around, before looking back at his sister and shouting, “Let’s go- now, let’s go!”

She looked at him wide eyed, stumbling over her own feet and thighs bumping into her chair as he turned and began to drag her towards the door, her right elbow in his grasp. A second pair of hands appeared, much larger as one came up and underneath her left bicep, forcing her upright with a sharp jerk that radiated pain throughout the joint as she was rushed out of the great hall. Her head turned to glance behind her and towards where her father remained at the table, along with Oscar who craned his head to look for her from beside their father amidst the havoc. It was only once the doors slammed shut behind them and she was being hurried up the stairs towards her room did she finally breathe, gasping for air as she all but ran to keep up with the longer strides of her brother and the second male who had yet to say anything.

The run back to her rooms felt longer than it ever had, her lungs screaming for oxygen and joints aching as the three approached her door. Kermit reached to open the door as she was then shoved inside, nearly tripping over her dress but steadied by the second’s hand. It was only once she was safe in the confines of her room did she turn to look at him — truly, look at him — finding Benjicot already reaching for the door handle to pull the door closed. He seemed to hesitate, his eyes catching hers and pausing. Even in the dim lighting that the moon provided, streaming in through the window, she saw his eyes narrow and mouth open as if he wanted to say something to her but interrupted by Kermit’s voice.

“Stay here.” He instructed, his defeated expression over Benjicot’s shoulder.

Kermit spun and turned on his heel before Serra could muster a reply, leaving the Blackwood heir standing there, his eyes still on her.

“What-” She began to ask but stopped as he blinked a couple of times, snapping out of whatever daze kept him at her door; his mouth snapping shut abruptly and giving her a small nod before he shut the door in her face.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was a sleepless night for the Blackwood and Tully men. After Benjicot and Kermit had returned to the great hall, the leftover contents of what had once been a celebration now torn apart and ruined at the hands of angry men, Benjicot had spent the remainder of the evening playing at damage control. Naturally, on their own, men and their families had started to trickle out the door, muttering and scoffing as guards nearly shoved them out of Raventree’s looming halls. It had taken several hours to clear everyone out and even get the hall close to presentable, but it had been done — however, the pressing issue at hand had yet to be resolved.

War was coming — Benjicot was no fool. He was also not foolish enough to believe his betrothal had any hand in the matter, either.

Amidst overseeing that everything was cleaned and put back together as best the hall could be, he had found himself wandering, pacing around the table and trying to offer a hand in cleaning up chalices and dishes that had been strewn about in the madness; stacking them in his arms as he circled. His pace was slow, gaze lingering as his eyelids grew heavier with exhaustion -- soon enough an hour passed into two, and by the time the hall looked even close to what it had previously been, the sun was already rising; Kermit having since retreated to his chambers at his insistence. He hadn’t been much company in his tired state, silent and lurking as he tried to help, but instead getting in the way more often than not — he knew his friend hadn’t slept much the night prior either, having been riddled with anxiety over the arrival of his father and worried about whether he had been successful in his duty, and Benjicot would not have asked him to stay up again.

The glow of sunrise was streaming in through the windows by the time the last of the chairs had been returned to their place and the last dish brought to the kitchen, servants beginning to make their way back to their own quarters, leaving him sat alone in the great hall; his tired gaze out the window as he perched himself in the window’s ledge that overlooked the gardens. His hands were preoccupied by a cup that had been thrown among the fighting earlier that night, him entering the hall just as it missed Oscar’s head, slamming into the wall behind him and splattering wine against the cool, marble walls; Elmo having dragged him out of the way just in time. The cup had been thrown by a young Bigglestone boy after Oscar had made a snide remark in his direction after an insult had been muttered about his sister — the soon-to-be-bride — a comment that had labelled the poor girl as his ‘Blackwood bitch’. Benjicot had simply chosen to tune him out and ignore him as he attempted to taunt the heir, muttering a lewd comment at him as he brushed past the youth who implied he’d defiled her in his short leave from the room because there was no use fighting with him and making things worse than they already were in the given climate of things.

He slid from his spot in the window, his gaze dropping to the cup in his hand as he slowly dragged himself towards the table that was spotless; a ghost of last night’s events as he approached the head. The cup was set down, his eyes being drawn to the chip in the wood where Lord Elmo’s dagger had pierced itself; having left a visible mark in the dark wood, splintered in the process of yanking it from its depths. Benjicot could still see his father’s roll of eyes when his peer had yanked the dagger out, noticing the new mark — before landing on him again, giving him a raised eyebrow. He had given him a nod as if to answer that ‘she was alright’, tucked away in the safety of her room — Elmo wouldn’t have ever forgiven him if anything had come to her, if he broke his word.

“Have you slept at all?”

His head whipped around towards where his father stood in the doorway, his expression plain and still as he eyed his son, his hands at the hilt of his sword at his waist.

“No.” Benjicot admitted, his gaze turning back to the table towards where Serra had sat prior.

He heard his father hum as his hand reached out to brush over the chipped wood, fingers memorising the imperfection, “Any particular reason?” Samwell asked.

His tone was flat and held no particular emotion — but Benjicot had never really known his father to be an expressive man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He had always been reserved and stoic, and the type of man you had to read between the lines with — he cared, somewhere deep down, Benjicot knew he cared, but he didn’t show it the way other parents did. It had been a confusing trait as a child, but as he grew, he’d come to terms with it and understood it better; not perfected, but just enough to communicate. Even if he recalled his childhood and thought of his parents, and the relationship they shared, Benjicot never knew them to be warm and affectionate in the way other parents were — not in the way he had witnessed between the Tully’s; with Elmo and his wife, with their open affection and adoration for one another, their loyalty to each other possessing a depth that Benjicot wasn’t sure he could understand. He’d envied it, even as a boy.

His head tilted, eyes still downcast on the table as his shoulders rose and fell with a breath, unsure why he had stayed up all night. Surely, he wasn’t obligated to stay awake and watch over the staff as they cleaned up — they would have done well on their own. He shrugged, while dragging his thumb across the splintered wood, noting the sharp ridges that just pricked his finger, but not enough for the wood to pierce his skin and embed itself into his finger, “Figured…I would stay here, oversee that everything was fixed. Made presentable again.” He mumbled, his voice quiet as it carried across the room to where his father watched him.

“They would have been fine.” He stated, sharing his exact thoughts. He didn’t answer, his gaze lifting and looking at Serra’s chair, his eyes falling on a handkerchief that had fallen into her seat sometime in the scuffle to get her out of there, “How is Serra?” Samwell asked.

“Shaken. Terrified…seems like everything scares her though.” He admitted.

The image of her face, screwed up in fear, with her hands over her ears like a frightened child was still ingrained in his mind, helpless to flee from the conflict. He had only noticed her terror upon seeing Kermit’s face, across the table and waving Benjicot up as her chair crashed into his knee when he turned to stand; he had tried to grab the chair, stop her and move the chair with more grace, but was again slammed by the chair as it jammed into his chest. In that very moment, he felt sorry for her — his shoulders relaxing and truly feeling sorry for the girl who had not a single violent, angry bone in her body.

“She’s a sensitive girl,” His father stated, falling into a silent pause before speaking again. “She always has been, if you remember.” He quickly added, trying to gauge his son’s reaction on the matter.

He sighed under his breath, “Yeah, I’m aware.”

Benjicot finally looked over at his father, their eyes meeting, sensing that his father wanted to say more. But he was silent, his own dark eyes settling on the handkerchief embroidered with flowers in the Tully’s house colours.

His father had always had a soft spot for Serra, even as children. He couldn’t count anymore how many times he and his father had quarrelled over the subject of being kinder to her -- maybe it was in part because Samwell had only ever had the one child, a son, and he felt the paternal instinct to protect her. Maybe he considered her like a daughter in those moments, and it made him wonder if the idea to betroth them had always been there, somewhere in the background and Benjicot had just failed to see it.

“I realise you would probably prefer to rest but we have a meeting. I advise you to go, clean up and change before the council gathers to discuss last night’s news.” Samwell said, eyeing his son’s appearance, his expression softening just the smallest bit — the only way that Benjicot had come to recognize it, by the way the tension in his brow eased.

Benjicot nodded, feeling worse than he probably appeared, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair a tousled mess. His clothes from the night prior were probably covered in wine and food, caked somewhere to the fabric if he looked, but he knew he probably smelled even worse; with yesterday’s events still on his skin like a layer of grime that only he could feel. He waited, however, until his father turned to leave before he moved, circling the table towards the chair that had once seated the Tully girl. His fingers snapped up the fabric that had been abandoned, balling it into his fist as he then strode out of the hall, following in tow of his father’s prior movements.

And even as he returned to his room, dressed and splashed some water onto his face from the basin, he still did not feel any better. He did not feel any less hollow and heavy, limbs pinned at his side with exhaustion as he returned a mere few moments later to the familiar private solar that belonged to his father. His feet dragged as he walked, trudging his way through the castle, and even before the doors had opened, he could hear the voices of the men inside; already in debate.

There was a pause when he entered, their eyes turning to greet him as he forced himself to walk across the room and take his place by his father’s right. Benjicot noted that while the group was smaller than usual, he recognized the lords from the night prior; much calmer than the last time they had been in the same room as his father had hesitated, voice faltering mid-sentence at his arrival, “I understand the concern over what happens next following the death of the prince, but we do not have any reason to suspect that the Brackens will use this as an opportunity to move in.” Samwell resumed, his gaze briefly flickering to his son before it cast down to Lord Charlton.

“They already have begun, I hear— there are whispers that your men patrolling the borders say they spotted a camp of Bracken men close to the boundaries in the early hours of the morning.” He stated, his eyes expectant and waiting for an answer.

Samwell’s gaze was unflinching, hands planted on the table in front of him as a hushed series of mutters broke out in response, the young Lord Edric Charlton who Benjicot recognized — not quite the head of his house yet, rather, he was the heir apparent to his father, Lord Jon Charlton. He was barely ten-and-seven, tall and thin with a boyish face despite his efforts to appear older underneath an unruly beard and knight uniform that was too big, making him resemble a boy playing pretend with his father’s clothes. The sight of him brought Benjicot a sense of relief that while he had never been as strong and sturdy as a Northernman, he had at least grown into his height and filled out enough that at least his clothes flattered him, fitting just right and not hanging from his limbs like some sort of sack.

“They know better than to set camp on Blackwood land,” Samwell asserted, his tone dismissive. “They are not of any concern at this point in time.”

“And then what, when they do decide to make their move?” The voice this time comes from Lord Jason Mallister, his voice a low timbre that cut through the mutters among the men who quietly debated in between questions.

“Then rest assured, we will be prepared.” Elmo spoke, the confidence in his voice unwavering, stepping forward from his previous position close to the wall.

“I will not have any unnecessary bloodshed without a suitable cause.” Samwell continued, standing upright from his leaned position.

“So, we sit and wait and allow the Brackens to have the upper hand, by growing stronger every day in the meantime?” Benjicot suddenly interrupted, his voice quiet as he looked at his father. It was a bold decision for him to defy his father’s orders, even just challenging them, but his exhaustion and distaste for the Brackens lessened his inhibitions in speaking. The room turned to stare at the heir, who had otherwise been silent up to that point — his own father turned, too, looking at him. In a moment of bravery, he cared little for trying to hold back and restrain himself, restless as he let out a breath and rolled his shoulders, “The news from King's Landing is a clear sign that we must act. The Targaryens are vulnerable, and the Brackens are undoubtedly planning to exploit this chaos. This is only a warning. We need to take decisive action before they do. We cannot delay it any longer.” He slowly explained, the room hanging on his every word, earning a couple of low hums in agreement from the room.

His father, however, remained silent and stared at him; Benjicot held his eye for a moment, “Benjicot, your passion is commendable,” he said, emphasis on his last word, “but we must temper it with wisdom. Rushing into conflict without a clear strategy could lead to our ruin. We need to gather more information and strengthen our alliances before making any move.”

“Your father is right. We cannot afford to act rashly, especially with the news from King's Landing still uncertain. A misstep now could shatter our alliances.” Elmo interjected, cutting through the palpable tension between the Blackwood father and son.

He was grateful for Elmo’s interruption, giving him reason to drop his father’s gaze and shifting his eyes to look towards Lord Elmo, “Forgive me, I only mean to suggest we should pressure the Bracken cunts into remembering their place.” He explained. “They encroach on our lands, in an effort to test our defences. We need to show them that House Blackwood and its allies will not be intimidated. Send me, I will take a small fleet of men to confront them at the borders—”

“Absolutely not. I will not have you running so freely, making messes while there are more pressing matters at hand—no.” Samwell stated, rambling, his annoyance to the idea clear. “I understand your frustration, son, but impulsiveness will not serve us well. We must consider the wider implications of our actions. The Brackens are not our only concern; the realm is in turmoil. A poorly timed strike could isolate us from other potential allies and make us vulnerable to our enemies.”

Benjicot stepped forward, approaching the table and facing his father who shot him a warning look, “You would truly rather risk giving them the opportunity to make the first move on us? In these times?” He questioned, dumbfounded. “And then what? Would you truly rather sit and wait for them to advance and burn Raventree to the ground?”

“No— no, Gods be good, Benjicot!” Lord Samwell snapped, slamming a hand into the table, “we prepare. We fortify our positions, gather intelligence, and reach out to other houses who share our concerns. We build a coalition that can stand against the Brackens and any other threats that may arise. This is a time for careful planning, not reckless aggression.”

Ben saw reason in his father’s words — he didn’t lack intelligence and was a reasonable man when it came to matters of battle and of council. Reckless, sure, but he was smart enough to see the value in his words and approach, and had always admired his father’s wisdom and experience. But the suggestion of inaction while Brackens taunted them by camping right there, right in their fucking faces — it spurred a deep rage in him, his jaw clenched so hard he felt it would break any moment. He was restless, and anxious these days, to say the least.

“Our people look to us for protection. If we hesitate, we risk appearing weak. The Brackens and any others that stand against us and the rightful queen must know that any aggression will be met with force.” Benjicot countered, his tone persistent and pushing like a child testing their parent’s patience -- a battle that Samwell was used to after twenty-one years. Slowly, Ben dragged his eyes around the room as the sound of mutters rose up once again, met with a few mutters that agreed -- it seemed as though the older, experienced Lords sided one way, in favour of restraint while the younger lords muttered in agreement. The sight emboldened him, squaring his shoulders.

“Benjicot raises a valid point. The Brackens have been testing our boundaries. A show of strength might deter them from further provocations.” A gruff sounding Lord Roose Rivers agreed, an older man that only made an appearance when it mattered most.

Benjicot turned to look at his father, catching the twitch up a scowl on his lip as he sighed, “A show of strength, yes, but not without a plan.” He said. “We need to gather more intelligence, understand their movements, and ensure our own defences are impenetrable.”

Elmo nodded from his father’s left, his gaze scanning the scrolls that littered the table, “Indeed. The wedding is set for a fortnight, and with it, the eyes of many houses will be upon us. Any action we take must be measured and precise.”

For the first time in days, the mention of the wedding returned, and any confidence that Benjicot had briefly experienced was fleeting; his heart pounding suddenly as his head turned to look at his father at the mention of the wedding date. Samwell did not even bother to look at him, though he could see the way he blinked and looked down, his mouth twisting into a subtle frown and avoiding his gaze. There had not even been any consultation that involved him in the decision -- he assumed Elmo and his father had met before they all gathered and made the unanimous decision before he’d even had a chance to protest. He felt sick, swallowing thickly and looking away, remembering to respond before the silence dragged out too long.

“I understand the need for caution, but we cannot wait forever. We…must send a message that we are ready to defend our lands.” He stuttered, his voice quieter now.

He watched as councilman Merrett Rivers leaned forward in his chair,”Perhaps a compromise. We could strengthen our patrols along the border, make it clear we are vigilant. This would show our resolve without committing to open conflict.”

His father spoke, gaze turning to look at Elmo who shrugged, nodding, “That could work. Increased patrols will demonstrate our readiness and buy us time to devise a more comprehensive strategy.” His body turned to face the heir who still felt as though his head was underwater, a sharp pain throbbing behind his right eye and squeezing the hilt of his dagger, “Does that please you, Benjicot?” He asked, his tone sharp.

He reluctantly found his father’s eye, pinning him to his very spot as he slowly offered a nod, “Very well. We will increase the patrols. That way we are ready for them, should they come.”

For the first time in years, Samwell smiled -- though it was not a genuine smile, holding no warmth or sincerity as his mouth pressed into a fine line, tight and visibly forced; it was unsettling, cold, and caused him to swallow again and want to shrink back into his corner. His hand suddenly lifted quickly to his shoulder, coming down heavy enough to jostle him, gripping his shoulder with an almost painfully tight squeeze that feigned an affectionate gesture, ”We will, my son. Trust in the wisdom of caution, and we might navigate these turbulent times together.”

Samwell’s hand slid from his shoulder after a moment, turning his head to look away, though Benjicot remained unmoving and feeling the seething anger that radiated from the older man, knowing he had overstepped. He had overstepped and he wouldn’t hear the end of it, he would be lectured in private for undermining him -- in the heat of the moment, bold and stupid, he had gotten too carried away and felt invincible and brave for a moment.

“Now…onto the next order. We’ve received word of a troop movement from the Swyft household.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

For yet another sleepless night, Serra was plagued by dreams that were hardly more than smears of colour and images of Benjicot’s face.

It seemed as though, the moment she stepped foot into Raventree three days prior, she had not been able to escape him -- both in sleep and awake. He seemed to be at every turn and there was no avoiding him, despite her best efforts. He was the only clear thing that her dreams held on to, her eyelids fluttering with sleep as the night seemed to drag into years for her, waking every hour just to briefly scan her room, only for eyes to close again.

Though, unlike the boy who skulked the halls of Raventree Hall, the boy in her dreams was all soft smiles, pleased and content with gentle eyes and reaching out to touch her cheeks. He was careful and kind, his tone low and sweet as honey -- she couldn’t grasp just what it was he was saying, his mouth moving with words, but her dream prevented her from making sense of it. He was speaking to her but her brain could not comprehend what it was he was saying.

And then there was a boy…dimpled, sweet, and with raven hair.

He reached for her, bouncing on his heels excitedly as he summoned her forward. He was familiar in the way that you remember your first friend, all but three and beautiful. Serra assumed it was Benjicot too, however, the boy in front of her lacked the scar above his lip, and the smile was different. She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but there was something about him at the tip of her finger that was different.

She vaguely recalled the boy coming towards her, hand outstretched and planting to her abdomen and shouting something. She had tried to ask him to repeat it but the words still did not reach her ears. Planted against a swollen belly, filled by babe. His face had melted into something of terror then, bloodied and distraught, her gaze drifting behind him where the bodies lay stacked, stiffened with death and the waft of burning flesh -- her skin burned, the heat of the field behind him that was ablaze as he shouted up at her.

And then there he was again -- Benjicot, knelt in front of her as his hand reached out to her smeared in blood as fingers splayed out across her belly. His expression this time, however, pleading to her, begging and sobbing in fear. He looked small for the first time, like a frightened child and it caused her heart to genuinely ache for the boy.

Since dawn, she had found herself in the godswoods behind Raventree, sitting at the foot of the dead weirwood tree looming over her as she observed its trunk. She had heard years ago about the rumours -- the story of Brackens poisoning the once lively, beautiful tree, though the latter vehemently denied the accusations. The source of a long standing feud that more often than not ended bloody.

She had woken to her hand at her belly that morning, right over where Benjicot’s had placed itself, tugging at the fabric of her skirt like a young boy trying to get his mother’s attention. The image of his face haunted her, scared and wide eyed as he pleaded. For what? She did not know. The words had long since faded, slipping from her despite how hard she concentrated on retelling its details.

Her fingers were plucking at the grass, some spots dried and dead around the tree, with its face faded with time. By noon, she had missed breakfast, refusing to leave her spot at its foot and listening to the distant sounds of ravens that hung over the hall and the distant shout from men when Ser Alistair approached her and notified her. It seemed noon would soon too pass and she would miss lunch when a voice cleared their throat from behind her, her gaze not lifting from the grass underneath her fingers, “Yes?”

“Do you plan to join us for dinner?” Kermit asked, his hands folded behind him as he expectantly looked at his sister. He watched as she lifted her gaze briefly, eyes closed and inhaling deeply.

She looked down again, “I don’t think so.”

Her brother hummed in response, nodding slightly behind her. He reluctantly approached her side, kneeling beside her and looking up at the tree in front of them — she glanced towards him from the corner of her eye, “It would have been beautiful to see in its glory.” He suddenly announced, her gaze flickering up towards the tree that held his attention. “I always preferred the godswood here.” Kermit continued.

They were silent for a moment as he just sat and observed the tree, his sister silent and plucking and collecting grass in her fist that she sprinkled down every so often, “You’re getting thin and wasting.” He said, his head turning to look at her.

“It’s only been three days.” She replied, voice soft. “I have eaten.”

“Next to naught.” He quickly countered. “Father worries about you, you know. As do I.”

Her head lifted, squinting as the sun momentarily managed to peek through the clouds that hung over the land, bright in her eyes as she sighed, “Do not patronise me, Kermit. I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

She could see him frown from where he sat, “I do not patronise you. I sincerely mean it. You know I care about your wellbeing.”

She scoffed a bitter laugh, “You’ve a funny way of showing that.”

He looked down to his lap, silent once again in quiet contemplation. He remembered what he had done, in his drunken stupor, “I do not find your suffering funny, you know that, Serra.” He said, looking up. “There is no need for theatrics.”

She stared at him then, stunned that he did not seem remorseful, “Theatrics?” She echoed, hurt by the choice of word. “You laughed, brother. He humiliated me and you laughed. After you tried to convince me that he would be an honourable husband to take. You laughed.”

“I did not mean it.” He sincerely said, his voice softening as he deflated with a sigh, looking back to find her eyes. “I would never do that to you. Never in my sober mind.”

“You are supposed to be on my side— you are supposed to defend and protect me.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t do that.”

He quietly spoke above a whisper, “I know.”

She looked away and up at the tree, unsure what else there was to say to him, “if I could undo it, redo everything, I would.” He said. “I wish I could. But do not starve yourself for that— I made a mistake, and I’m sorry.” Kermit said.

She looked at him, right in his face as he glanced over at her. He pushed himself up from the ground, standing over her and leaning to rest a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Please eat.” He encouraged, before he withdrew his hand and returned to the house.

backward | forward

TAGLIST: @username199945 , @cxcilla, @thethiccestdaddy, @deltamoon666 @drwho-ess @callsigncrushx @clarityisnofun @jhepolie @juhdoche @majoso12 @roseheart5 @nixtape-foryou @poppyflower-22 @accidentpronedork @tannyfairy @maximizedrhythms

#davos blackwood #benjicot blackwood #house of the dragon #house blackwood #kieran burton #benjicot blackwood x reader #davos blackwood x reader #hotd #benjicot blackwood fic #hotd 2 #benjicot blackwood imagine #davos blackwood fic #benjicot blackwood x oc #benjicot blackwood masterlist

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mingus-archives · 1 year ago

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"The Tell-Tale Heart"

Okay so I want to preface this that I have not read much Edgar Allen Poe so I will be missing those layers in my perspective, but anyways something that really struck me in "The Tell-Tale Heart" episode of The Fall of The House of Usher was the moments after Victorine throws the book end at Ali.

Before this, we're presented with this version of Victorine who may be stressed and pressured but ultimately does not actively appear to be amoral. She's just being put in a bad position by her shit father; she wants to do good and develop a life-saving medical device, and she just has to cut corners to stay afloat. It's only Camille who seems convinced Victorine is some awful person.

Then, the bookend. Another cut corner. Instead of talking things out with Ali or being patient, she acts impulsively and immediately to stop the problem. It's just like the first time she dosed the chimpanzee with epinephrine during surgery in a panic when she realized the device wasn't working. She hits Ali in the head and, on realizing the severity of her actions, runs over to her.

Ali is bleeding out on the floor, her body writhing horribly and she lets out these awful choked noises. Victorine goes to her and seems immediately horrified and brokenhearted. Then, the security guard checks in through the door. The guard is concerned over the scuffling noises overheard.

And Victorine fucking says to him, "Have you never heard a woman getting eaten out before?"

Her girlfriend is dying by her hand, and she pretends the sounds of her dying are the noises of sexual pleasure. This to me is the reveal, this is when the audience truly sees that Victorine does not have and never had a heart. The love she's shown, for her passion, her girlfriend, her device, is nothing more than mistaken greed. It's a mechanical heartbeat, it sounds almost like a heartbeat, but it's a pale imitation to anyone who pays attention. And like with Ali's corpse, the mechanical heart of Victorine is just keeping a soulless body alive.

The Fall of the House of Usher structurally represents the family itself: it begins with the announcement of the deaths of all the children. The children are dead from the beginning of the show. And as Annabel points out, the children in the story were dead from the start, killed by greed and wealth. And then we learn that they were literally dead, as Roderick and Madeline had already sold their lives for wealth before they were even born. We're not seeing the family die, we're seeing the final moments of corpses decomposing. We're seeing the dilapidated house finally collapse. The Fall of the House of Usher is not about death, it's about the walking dead, like the visions of Roderick. A family kept alive with a mechanical device just going through the motions.

#the fall of the house of usher #fall of the house of usher #the fall of the house of usher spoilers #the fall of the house of usher meta #tfothou #tfothou spoilers #alessandra ruiz #camille l'espanaye #victorine usher #victorine #the tell tale heart #syds thoughts #my thoughts #syds analysis #my analysis

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wistfulnightingale · 4 days ago

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Aziraphale's Jubilant Smile (NOT the crazy elevator grin)

Part 8 of 8 in The Chess Moves Theory Set by @wistfulnightingale

The rare times we see Aziraphale smile like this, it makes me want to smile too! The happiness is contagious. It's a genuine smile, the special smile our angel usually reserves for Crowley.

Remember seeing it? Just before Aziraphale gets on the elevator?

Neither did I.

No, it's not a special edit or cut scene. It goes by in a millisecond, just after the Metatron announces The Second Coming, and steps out of our sightline. This is the expression on Aziraphale's face, for the tiniest instant, before he registers what the Metatron just said. Our Angel is looking in the direction of Crowley and the Bentley. He was safe for a moment, literally behind the Metatron's back, unseen and unsupervised for a few moments, as that wonderful smile was happening.

As the Metatron steps aside, the camara cuts and moves in closer. The Angel's happy grin immediately disappears, and Aziraphale's remaining small smile slowly fades and changes to alarm as he turns his head to look after the Metatron.

Then, he slowly and cautiously turns his head back towards Crowley. It has to be a guarded and cautious look because now the Metatron is in the elevator facing Aziraphale, frowning expectantly...

But the Jubilant, Happy Smile that was first there suggests to us a new understanding of what might have been happening in that cautious look across the street, and why Crowley was still waiting.

If nothing else from the other 7 parts of my 8-Part Chess Moves Theory made you reconsider the Final 15, this singular photo might.

We see so much anxiety and stiff smiles and mixed messages from Aziraphale in his contact with the Metatron, from the time the so-called Voice of God walks into the bookshop uninvited and seemingly without permission (See Nothing Lasts Forever), to the time Aziraphale gets on the elevator. We know he is not Happily trotting away, excited about his new promotion. And it appears that he just broke up with Crowley and is leaving him behind...

Until we see this exuberant smile -- aimed in Crowley's direction.

It's not an anxious smile or a fake smile or one of the hundred variations of Aziaphale putting on an act for someone. It's a pure, happy, genuine smile.

Folks, something happened.

Something we didn't get to easily see.

Something hidden in Misdirection, and in chaotic confusion, and in loss and grief and frantic scrambling to figure out how to cope and what to do...

I think it happened during the Kiss (See The Circle Kiss Theory), but, even if I'm mistaken.... some Good thing must have happened to make Azi smile at Crowley like that!

..........

Tumblr is fun and Tumblr is wonderful weird chaos. You might be seeing this final post of mine before seeing any of the rest of my 8-part Chess Moves Theory Set. If you're interested or curious about the rest of the interconnected ideas I have about all this, you might enjoy checking out the rest of them at @wistfulnightingale!

Thanks for coming along on this crazy ride!!!

The 8 Chess Moves MetaTheory Set:

1 - The Metatron Misdirection

2 - The Metatron's Second Coming

3 - Ineffables in Check

4 - A Hefty Jigger of Death

5 - Nothing Lasts Forever

6 - The Circle Kiss Theory

7 - The Nightingale DID Sing

8 - Aziraphale's Jubilant Smile (Not the crazy elevator grin)

Also: The Chess Moves Theory Set, Why Chess & Magic?

#good omens #good omens theories #chess moves theory #good omens meta #final fifteen #the metatron #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #aziraphale loves crowley #always and always and forever #aziracrow #wistfulnightingale #to our world #thank you rob and rhianna #rescued 90

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toskarin · 10 months ago

Note

You seen the gacha game global launch announcement in the same tweet as the end of service announcement?

that leaves out the craziest part, which is that it's not just a gacha game, but the fucking sequel/successor/replacement to Love Live! School Idol Festival

SIF ran from 2013 to 2023. SIF2 opened 2023 in japan and had its end of service announced the same day that the international version's release date was confirmed (and of course, its own end of service was announced)

it's hard to read this any other way than love live completely obliterating its presence in gaming, possibly under the mistaken assumption that players would readily start over and pay to replace 10 years of progress

I imagine that at this point they're going to be pivoting towards their (still very popular) idol focus, but any way you look at it, this is some kind of death knell for something, whether or not this was a complete accident stemming from an incompetent read of the playerbase

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wangxianficfinder · 9 months ago

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In the mood for...

Feb 17th

~*~

1. I may have asked for this already at some point, but I do love it so... ITMF fics where an outsider misconstrues Wangxian's relationship. A great example would be "Happy Not Knowing", in which LXC thinks they're just friends with benefits. Another great one is "Every Mother's Son," where Madam Lan sets out to rescue WWX from suffering the same fate as her. Any misconception will do, I just want to see characters' baffled realizations that wow, these two really are disgustingly in love after all. @invisible-mirror

The F-Word by raspberrymocha (M, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, Family Dynamics, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Humor, Fluff, Light Angst, Weddings, Engagement, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Sex, 5+1 Things, Heteronormativity) might count, where everyone believes Wangxian are just friends, when the two have been trying to announce their engagement

Marital Claims by yeolinski (M, 5k, wangxian, Lawyers, Established Relationship, Marriage, Married Life, Accidental Marriage, the juniors are interns, nobody believes they're married basically)

~*~

2. Hi (^▽^) this is for ITMF! I would really like to read something where the juniors find out about the past™/ what happened to WWX, and get angry for WWX(not at him!!), kinda like they are taking his side? I guess?? something like that, thanks, have great day (^▽^)/

🧡 the stone-filled sea by yukla (T, 9k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, Post-Canon, senior wei defense squad, a study of the way prejudice and injustice and anger trickle down from generation to generation)

❤️ Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, wangxian, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Yunmeng sibling bonding, good dad wwx, good dad lwj, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, Junior Quartet Dynamics)

Trust by FlyingMachine1 (G, 8k, WWX & Juniors, wangxian, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Junior Ensemble Shenanigans, BAMF WWX, Humor, junior quartet is the wwx fan club)

❤️ grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon) A demon turns WWX into a child with only the memories of his childhood on the streets; the juniors take care of him while trying to break the curse, draw parallels to his adult behaviour patterns and we all cry; even Lan Qiren sniffs.

~*~

3. For the next IMTF: nephew reveal fics! Anything where JC finds out about Lan Sizhui, either as the primary focus of the fic or as a more-or-less significant plot point. Preferably ones where they end up with a familial relationship, or on the road to one. @linderel

Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics)

and autumn comes when you're not yet done by tired (M, 36k, JC & WWX, wangxian, JC & LSZ, Angst, Family Issues, JC's crumbling mental health, Death Wishes, Regrets, defence mechanisms, Projection, Post-Canon, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Angst with a Happy Ending, References to Depression, Feelings, Canon-Typical Violence) I haven't read this, not nephew reveal but sounds like it could fit

when the sun goes out by travelingneuritis (E, 176k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, tech cultivation, Necromancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, insecurity around adoption, Dad!WWX, dad!lwj, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Mood Whiplash, Body Swap, sex tears!, Falling In Love, Consensual Somnophilia, apocalypse (localized), Smut, unrealistic sexual stamina, Flashbacks, Time Skips, Illustrations) it's not the focus (only like three paragraphs) but it's my favourite JC reaction to the Sizhui reveal

~*~

4. For itmf. I asking for fics where LWJ groveling a little after WWX, doesn't matter the setting or if just a few scene.

Thank you.

Honesty is the Best Policy (Except if You're an Asshole) by piecrust (E, 22k, WangXian, Porn with feelings, College/University) is a good one! It’s a modern fic roughly 20k

我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 84k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan)

~*~

5. Hiyaa. A) Can I have some books where it's of the Yin Hu Fu being turned into a child or children? Similar to The Unquiet Grave

B) ITMF some fics that are mostly wwx being a nie or just being besties with nhs while NMJ is a whole big brother to him :) @thatperson0-0

5B)

shades of grey spill from my veins (bleeding ink all over the page) by Reverie (cl410) (M, 58k, NMJ/LXC, wangxian, NHS/WN, POV NMJ, Canon Divergence, Joining the “Wei Wuxian raised by the Nie Sect” Club, Mentions of WWX’s life on the streets, Hurt/Comfort, Accidental Sibling Acquisition, Single Dad NMJ, NHS & WWX Friendship, Fluff, Humor, Happy Ending, Everyone Lives AU, Protective NMJ, Sunshot Campaign, Some angst, Blood and Injury, Kidnapping, Protective Siblings, Found Family)

Heart of the Beast by WaitForTheSnitch (E, 417k, WIP, WangXian, 3Zun, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Oblivious WWX, WWX Deserves Better, WWX Deserves Happiness, WWX, Deserves Love, Protective NMJ, Scheming NHS, Protective NHS, Soft NMJ, is So Done, NHS Is A Little Shit, Pining LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings)

The Light That Fails to Dim by glowingreverie (T, 310k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mild Gore)

Come Around and Stay by trippednfell (M, 160k, wangxian, modern, slow burn, kid fic, found family, it gets worse before it gets better, PTSD, blood and injury, dissociation, trauma, angst w happy ending, musicals, alternating pov, JC & WWX reconciliation, hurt/comfort, panic attacks)

~*~

6. hi!! i hope you guys are doing well <3 I had a request for itmf, I was hoping you could rec some darkji fics? I don't mind any genre as long as there is no mpreg!!! thank you for all your hard work 💗

Like stones on an unseen board by Vir_Abelasan (Not rated, 11k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Dark LWJ, Older LWJ, Teacher LWJ, dark twin jades, Age Difference, Manipulation, Protective LWJ, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Relatively canon-typical abusive Jiangs, WWX Get a Happy Ending, wangxian Get a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Not Jiang Clan Friendly)

~*~

7. Thanks for all your hard work ❤️

I have a request for the next itmf.

Are there any crossover fics with only wangxian and hualian from tgcf? I searched and they had bingqiu but i haven't read svsss yet or any other ship. I would really like to only read crossovers between mdzs and tgcf.

Thank you ♥️

~*~

8. Can you direct me to some wangxian fics that are beautifully written and have plot but also with smut?

build me no shrines by occultings (microcomets) (M, 54k, wangxian, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, First Time, Getting Together, Confessions, Sharing a Bed, Hair Washing, Sentient Burial Mounds, Case Fic, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Light Angst, Flashbacks, mild body horror, foot washing, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy..., then sexual intimacy, playing fast and loose with mdzs lore, WWX learning to accept intimacy without deflection, occasional LWJ humor agenda, [Podfic] build me no shrines by flamingwell)

爱不释手; never let me go by yiqie (E, 68k, wangxian, Case Fic, Blood and Injury, Demons, Body Horror, Mystery, The intrinsic horniness of wound tending, Yearning 2: The Electric Boogaloo, [Podfic] 爱不释手; never let me go by argentumlupine)

🔒 Due Process by Kytrin, ShotsOfSunshine (E, 279k, wangxian, JC/LXC/NHS, JL/LSZ/LJY/OYZZ, Modern, Canon-Typical Violence, Foxxian, dragonji, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid WWX, Wwx identifies as male, Organized Crime, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, mentions of child abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Found Family, Reincarnation)

curse of the dragon emperor by lulu_kitty (E, 96k, wangxian, Dragon AU, Canon Divergence, Mythology References, Identity Porn, Cursed WWX, Trans LWJ, Trans Male Character, Misgendering, Canon-Typical Violence, Gender Dysphoria, gender euphoria, Phoenixes, Curse as a Metaphor, Dragon WWX, Fox WWX, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Bottom LWJ, Dirty Talk, WWX Running His Mouth, LWJ Getting Bullied in Bed, Submissive LWJ, Trauma, WWX Has PTSD Minor Character Death, Prince WWX, Emperor WWX, Soulmates, Arranged Marriage, Weirdo4weirdo wangxian, Mpreg, Trans Male Pregnancy, Size Difference, Dragonxian has two dicks, YLLZ WWX)

🔒 the past drifts away with the waves by thelastdboy (E, 46k, wangxian, WWX & Wen remnants, LSZ & LWJ & WWX, WIP, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Canon Divergence, Fall of Lotus Pier, Major Character Undeath, YZY Being an Asshole, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Character Death, Major Character Injury, Amputation, Loss of Limbs, Transformation, Merpeople, Fierce Corpse WWX, Merperson WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, No Sunshot Campaign, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cultivation Sect Politics, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Resentful Creature WWX, Undead Merperson WWX, Slow Burn, Getting Together, Revenge, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Resentment, Demonic Cultivation, POV WWX, River Spirit WWX, Non-Human Genitalia, Dark WWX, Monsterfucker LWJ, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, Wēn Remnants Live, Wangxian Get a Happy Ending, Sect Leader WQ)

~*~

9. I was watching a YouTube video where the tuber was talking about how all men in ancient China had facial hair like Teacher Lan did. I know that MDZS takes place in a fantasy China setting. Hopefully there are plenty of fics out there about Wangian growing facial hair and they both think the other is absolutely gorgeous. I would love to read about them. ☺️ @lizzybgood

~*~

10. Question for the next Mood For, dear Mods. Do you know fics set in the canon verse or similar where lwj goes (stays) violent / dangerous and maybe mad with grief after wwx's death, a menace to the cultivation world? Bonus points if he is still like that when wwx comes back. @tehanu1979

Only death awaits the ones who disobey by Siera_Knightwalker (Not Rated, 8k, WangXian, Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Temporary Character Death, Dark LWJ, Angry LWJ, Minor Character Death, Adopted LSZ, BAMF LWJ, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Immortality, No noncon, The world only survives 7 years before Wei wuxian is emergencied back into it, Protective LWJ, Sad LWJ, LWJ Loves WWX)

~*~

11. not exactly sure how to phrase this itmf, but could you please rec me some fics of the BM fam hustling toward a better life? as a community, they farmed and built and made wine and clothes etc, so id love to see them interact with the people of yiling/similar (could be any other jobs, including entertainment or anything else)

thank you!

Grave dirt by esama (T, 92k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Necromancy, Demonic Cultivation, farming, Found Family, Pre-Slash, canon-typical corpse desecration, Questionable approach to cutivation, Making Shit Up As I Go, Cultivation Sect Politics, Fix-It of Sorts, canon typical genocide mention, Burial Mounds, Yílíng Wèi Sect AU)

🔒the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break by RoseThorne (E, 88k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Fix-It, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Handfasting, Panic Attacks, Getting Together, First Time, Aftercare, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Chronic Pain, Golden Core Reveal, First Time, Switching, sex-related injury, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, LSZ is a Wèi, Good Sibling JC, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days)

~*~

12. Itmf wangxian fics where jgy is a good person and supportive

what builds a home by Stratisphyre (T, 46k, JGY & WWX, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Adopted WWX, POV Multiple, warning for JGS behaving exactly as expected, child endangerment, Brother Feels, Minor Character Death)

Debts of a Child Part 2 by Hauntcats (M, 111k, JC & WWX & JYL, wangxian, JC & JYL & JFM & YZY, not YZY friendly, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Angst and Feels, lots of anger, not JC Friendly, not Jiang friendly, Angst with a Happy Ending, Content warning for icky spiders in later chapters, hurt no comfort for Jiang siblings)

The Wild Geese's Tomb by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (T, 66k, wangxian, LXC/JGY, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, all women live no women die, LWJ’s canonically intense feelings about everything all the time, WWX’s clinical depression gets treated and blamed on resentful energy, navigating gay marriage in ancient china by utiliizing class snobbery for your own ends, if you’re not sure whose fault anything going on in here is then blaming NHS is probably a good bet, WWX plays ‘summon LWJ’ it’s super effective!, the ‘unexploded cow’ approach to dealing with your enemies)

walk away from the sun by KouriArashi (M, 107k, LXC/JGY, LXC & LWJ, wangxian, LWJ & JGY, LXC & NMJ, Canon Divergence, Angst, Family, Hurt/Comfort,vEmotional Hurt/Comfort,vDeveloping Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Politics, supportive brothers, supportive husbands, Canon-Typical Violence, Lan Family Feels, Everybody Lives, Eventual Happy Ending)

The Misadventures of Wei Wuxian in Cultivation Realm by makkurokuro93 (E, 77k, wangxian, Transmigrator WWX, Inspired by Studio Ghibli, Courtesan LWJ, Courtesan LXC, Parallel Universes, Slow Burn, Good Person WX, Good Person JGY, BAMF CSSR, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content)

🔒 omegaverse murder gremlins series by ShippersList (E, 203k, wangxian, LXC/JGY, rape/non-con, underage, A/B/O, nontraditional A/B/O dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Misunderstandings, Canon-Typical Violence, Spies & Secret Agents, Fake Character Death, Slow Burn, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, BAMF WWX, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canonical Character Death, Mutual Pining, Good JGY, Introspection, Self-Sacrificing WWX, Love Confessions, Protective LWJ, past child sexual abuse)

Peony to Lotus Series by Deriliarch (T, 72k, WIP, YaoLi, WangXian, ChengQing, Soft AU, Canon Divergence, POV JYL, JYL Lives, JYL-centric, Demisexual Character, Demiromantic Character, Slight pining, Arranged Marriage, Fix-It, Light Angst, Hopeful Ending, Marriage of Convenience, POV Alternating, Trigger warnings at the beginning of chapters--nothing huge, Trauma, Pregnancy, Parenthood, Fluff and Angst, Family Bonding, Anxiety, Courtship, Asexuality, Internalized Acephobia, Slice of Life, Flirting, Discussions on consent/relationship boundaries, Fluff, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Past XiYao, Internalized Misogyny) Wangxian is pretty background here, the focus is JGY/JYL

Reluctant partner by sacrificial_fawn (G, 31k, WangXian, XiYao, Modern AU, Mpreg, Family Reunions, bonding over your shared trauma, Reluctant Bonding, Married Life, Supportive LQR, Past Miscarriage, Male Lactation, non-graphic birth, Intersex WWX, Slight OOC) this one is hilarious

~*~

13. Hi! First of all, I’m really thankful for you guys’ work! I’ve found some of my favourite fics through your account!

Do you guys happen to know any fics where teenage or war era wangxian meet adult (and married) wangxian? It can be time travel or anything honestly! I’m not particular about the details.

I’ve been trying to search for something like this but was unable to come across anything.

花无百日红; the flower that withers by yiqie (M, 29k, wangxian, Time Travel, Fix-It of Sorts, Case Fic, Spells & Enchantments, Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, It's about the emotional catharsis, If you have ever laughed at WWX clowning himself for the 'no one will marry you' scene, This fic is: for you)

River Stones by littlesystems (M, 18k, wangxian, Time Travel, Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Junior Quartet, Oblivious WWX, Suffering LWJ, LJY having the time of his life, Voyeurism)

🔒 ripples spread out when a single pebble is dropped into water by RoseThorne (G, 1k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, JC & WWX, JYL & WWX, WQ & WWX, LQR & LWJ, LQR & WWX, Major character death, Time Travel Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Past Character Death, Future Character Death, Timey-Wimey, Truth, Honesty, Guilt, Crack and Angst, POV Third Person, POV WWX, Cloud Recesses Study Arc)

~*~

14. Itmf wangxian fics with

A) exhausted WWX and doting lwj

And B) your favorite most feet-kicking fluff

14A)

🔒we made space by MajorEnglishEsquire (E, 19k, WangXian, Getting Together, Sleep, Sleeping Together, Lap Sitting, Marriage Proposal, Fluff, First Kiss, Sharing a Bed, Adopted Children, Exhaustion, Happy Ending, Sex)

hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (E, 23k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, discussion of canon character death, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Getting Together, Yearning, Literal Sleeping Together, Really Excessive Amounts of Hurt/Comfort)

Red Flower With One Hundred Petals; Smoke Carried on the Blue Dusk Air by carolyncaves (T, 32k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Alcohol, Mental Health Issues, Angst, Tenderness, Golden Core Reveal, Hurt/Comfort, thoughts of death/dying, Rabbits, Caretaking, Marriage Proposal, Wedding Fluff, Family Feels, Literal Sleeping Together, Shotgun Wedding, angry wedding planner JC, Yunmeng sibling drama and fluff, physical affection, Terrible Parties, Happy Ending, for WangXian, i'd call it a 'significantly more optimistic' ending for the larger plot)

14B)

Hand in hand is the only way to land by so_shhy (T, 4k, WangXian, Modern AU, Meet-Cute, Fluff)

The Late Great Custody Debate by stiltonbasket (G, 9k, WangXian, NieLan , XuanLi, Modern AU, Domestic Fluff, baby a-yuan, Single Parent WWX, Confused WWX, Happy Ending)

i’ll have you and you’ll have me by sundiscus (T, 4k, WangXian, Modern AU, Established Relationship, Marriage Proposal, fluff with a sprinkling of angst (for flavor), i’ll have you and you’ll have me [Podfic] by Fleur Rochard (fleurrochard))

Setting in a Honeymoon by harriet_vane (G, 1k, WangXian, Fluff)

Some of You by tangerinechar (M, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, Social Media, Actor AU, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Love Confessions, Matchmaking, Light Angst)

looking through a window by glitteringmoonlight (T, 5k, wangxian, modern, college/universtity au, outsider pov, fluff, humor)

🧡 A Study in Fluff by WeaverOfTheNight (T, 29k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ghost bunnies, Vet LWJ, Architect WWX, Kid LSZ, Domestic fluff, Modern with Magic)

~*~

15. heyyy admins, any suggestions on sick wwx and lwj takes care of him? thanks for your hard work lovelies! :)

between two lungs by fruitys (M, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, but also. Sexual Intimacy, Sharing a Bed, Literal Sleeping Together, but also! A Different Kind of Sleeping Together, First Kiss, Love Confessions)

I'm For You Now by phnelt (T, 5k, WangXian, Sickfic, Caretaking, Bathing/Washing, Comfort Food, Good Uncle LQR, it's a mild cold, low stakes softness, Domestic Fluff)

🔒 may your sunlit soul find its way home by puddingcatbeans (G, 10k, wangxian, JC & LWJ, Post-Canon, PTSD, sort of a case fic, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Tenderness)

🔒 Love in all forms, something tender by Vrishchika (T, 4k, wangxian, WWX & LSZ, WWX & LXC, WWX & LQR, Post-Canon, married wangxian, Established Relationship, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Family Feels, Sickfic, Sick Character)

Sick Bed Reserved In Gusu Lan by scifigeek14 (T, 14k, wangxian, Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, sick/comfort, Healing, Illnesses, Fever, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Reveal, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Happy Ending)

Talismans by brooklinegirl (E, 10k, wangxian)

~*~

16. Hiiii for the next itmf I want fics with wwx wearing the lan forehead ribbon (like properly wearing it yk not in the ‘inappropriate use of the lan forehead ribbon’ way lol although I don’t mind if that’s part of it too), signaling he’s part of the sect cause he married in

Thank youuuu :D

~*~

17. I’m in the mood for fics that are long(ish) (about less 100k more than 30k) with plot but with not too much angst and that still prominently features wangxian relationship. Thank you for your hard work 💕

golden when the day met the night by glitteringmoonlight (Not rated, 95k, slow burn, sugar daddy LWJ, light, angst, fluff, developing relationship, eventual smut, WIP)

Linger in the Sun by etymologyplayground (T, 39k, wangxian, JC & WWX, Case Fic, Intimacy, Curses, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Romance, Sexual Tension, Scent Kink, WWX Loves To Teach, wangxian are married, Fluff, nonsexual intimacy, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Nonverbal Communication, this is HEAVY on the symbolism, Translation in Russian)

❤️ kick at the darkness ‘til it bleeds daylight by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 75k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Kid Fic, teen shenanigans, two a-yuans, Fluff and Angst)

what builds a home by Stratisphyre (T, 46k, JGY & WWX, wangxian, canon divergence, child endangerment, JGS being JGS)

wide enough and wild by impossibletruths (E, 64k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Canonical Accidental Baby Acquisition, Families of Choice, References to Depression, Happy Ending, I Swear To God I’m Giving Them A Happy Ending, Overzealous Use Of Imagery, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Well Except WN But He Was Already Dead So, Fix-It of Sorts, [Podfic] Wide Enough and Wild by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona)) this isn't super plot heavy, but there's some plot

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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futuremrscameron · 4 days ago

Text

ready set go!!! (rafe x biker!pogue reader)

content warnings: threats of violence (not between reader and rafe), mentions of grief, classism, blood, use of c word (c*nt), unresolved sexual tension, past relationships, emotional cheating, reader is not a good person, slut shaming, arguing as flirting, horniness is a disease and rafe is terminally ill

a/n: not beta read (just me and my google doc pointing out grammatical errors against the world)

he should’ve known you'd be there; racing was always your first love; there was no way you'd pass up the opportunity even if to. you two were not on speaking terms, but that’s no excuse.

the announcer’s grating voice stops him from spiraling further: “ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a special guest racing with us today!”

“that’s right, a local who made it big on the mainland!"

"everyone put your hands together for lady death!”

the familiar revving sends chills down his spine, but everyone else cheers the crowd as you drift into view. he watches you slowly remove your helmet, brushing back stray hairs. your back-lengthed box braids tied up in a ponytail safe for two strands tucked behind your ears. you’re rocking a white leather jacket with pink stripes. you unzip your jacket, revealing a white bikini top that hugs your breasts. his hand tightens into a fist as he looks down and sees pink cowboy boots with red hearts on the side—it’s the pair he got for your birthday.

“fuck.” rafe whips his head to the right at the sound of his best friend’s awestruck voice. topper remains entranced by the beauty of his friend’s ex, leering, blissfully ignorant of the glare his friend levels at him.

rafe looks around, finally noticing that you've caught the attention of most of the men there. their salacious stares make him sick; he wants nothing more than to gouge their eyes out and drag you back to his place. before he can spiral further, he’s brought back to reality by a familiar, bright, infectious laugh.

he doesn’t even have to look to know it’s you, but the clawing in his chest urges him to find you and the thing that made you laugh.

it’s a guy. he should’ve known; of course, it’s a guy. you’re twirling your hair and smiling at him the way you used to smile at him. he tells himself that the guy’s probably not even that funny, and you’re just giving him a pity laugh ‘cause he’s a total fucking loser or a pervert. there’s no way you actually like him; you would never entertain a guy like him, not even to make him jealous.

“hey!” his voice breaks you out of your pre-race zone.

"fucking hell," you mumble under your breath as he shoves his way through the crowd of spectators, not paying their shouts of anger and annoyance any mind. he looks like a man on a mission. it’s kind of hot. you disembark from your bike and begin your stretches, hoping to any god that is listening that you're mistaken and that his attention is pointed elsewhere.

he stops in front of you, gripping the straps of his vest so hard he can feel them through his gloves. he looks down at you with furrowed eyebrows and his mouth downturned in a frown. "we need to talk."

you continue stretching your leg before switching to the other one. “if it's not about strategy, no, we don’t.”

he scoffs, "strategy? you mean slutting yourself out?” his cold tone would hurt if not for the heat in his gaze as he looks you up and down, letting you know how he really feels.

you look at the racers and spectators leering and shrug. "i'd say it's working, wouldn't you?” you smirk as you rise from your stretch.

the vein in his neck looks just about ready to pop; he swallows down a retort. “i’m trying to look out for you. you wanna be taken seriously; don’t dress like a flag girl.”

you chuckle at his heated state, veins bulging from his neck and everything. you don’t try to hide your smirk and raise an eyebrow at his boldness. “wow, you talk to sofia like that?”

he glares at the mention of his new girlfriend; his face burns with frustration and embarrassment. “don’t.”

“line up racers!” the announcer's voice pops the former lovers out of their bubble. topper runs up next to rafe obviously not reading the tension between the two. “hey!”

“hey top.” you mimic his surfer bro voice and smirk, “how’s ruthie?”

he frowns and opens his mouth to answer, but your focus is already turned back on rafe. “see you at the finish line, cameron.” you wink before steering past him and taking your spot near the back on the sand.

topper is taken aback by your not so subtle hostility. he turns to rafe; a questioning look adorning his face. “what was that about?”

rafe watches her walk over to jj, ignoring his friend’s question to avoid lashing out at him. “do me a favor, man, shut the fuck up.”

you walk over to jj, your interaction with rafe still fresh on your mind. the hold he has on you seems to have never left. your met with a knowing look from jj, you groan. “what?”

he scoffs,“what? what was that? you’re fraternizing with the enemy now?” jj’s mischievous smirk betrays the cold glint in his eye; he’s upset about something, and your interaction with rafe made it worse.

you don’t have time for his judgment; you roll your eyes as you bend down to inspect his bike. “spell ‘fraternizing’ jj.” he flicks you off, and you return the gesture.

he chuckles and scratches the back of his head, a telltale sign that something else is weighing on his consciousness. you frown as you inspect the chain on his bike; it’s rusty and barely moves when you tug it. “god, you and last minute shit. why didn’t you bring this to me sooner? i would’ve fixed this up, you know? but now? jj, you know you can’t fucking race on this.”

jj throws his head back and groans dramatically, "oh, come on, i’ve raced on worse.”

“yeah, and how did all those times go?” you tighten one final screw on his bike before standing up and meeting his eye, hands on your hips, head tilted, waiting for his answer. he opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out; he frowns.

you chuckle, "exactly." you turn and make your way back to your bike. he grabs his bike’s handles and follows closely behind. “i didn't say shit!”

you shake your head, “‘cause you know i’m right!”

“are not!”

you stop suddenly and turn around to face him, one eyebrow arched. “jj, you got a tricycle because you wanted to be like me.”

he blushes, embarrassed at the memory, and mutters something under his breath about liking tricycles before you came along. he nods and looks around the beach; he’s avoiding eye contact. “yeah, but this time is different.”

something’s up. you cross your arms, “okay, jj, what’s up?” a serious expression, “is it luke? did he bet on you?”

he frowns at the word ‘bet’ but as quick as it’s there, it’s gone, replaced by a smirk. “no! god no, it's nothing really. i don’t know why you would think something’s up; nothing’s wrong; just wanna win, you know." he chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “shove it in those kooks' faces.”

he’s trying to change the subject; you tilt your head in disappointment. "jj."

he pats your shoulder, “hey, i’m fine. really.” he gives you a smile, but it lacks it’s usual warmth. you want to stay and get to the bottom of whatever’s going on with him.

“racers, get in position!”

of course.

jj nods to himself; he’s noticeably anxious but swallows it down with another smile. “we’ll talk later, okay?” he’s skipping away before you can reply.

“jj-”

“i’ll see you at the finish line!” and with that, he’s on his bike, getting into position.

you sigh defeatedly but make your way back to your bike. you’ve already mapped out your strategy, having raced long enough to predict how this race will go. the positioning is always as follows: the cocky bastards, rookies, and amateurs always position themselves in the front, which leads to stumbling, falling, and knocking into each other as soon as they hear the word 'go,’ which gives you a chance to speed past them. those in the back are either like you, professionals, or knowledgeable enough about racing to know not to start at the front or lack confidence.

“bikers, start your engines!” you rev your engine, staring ahead at the wide open space in front of you.

“on your mark!” in your mind, a highlighted track that lays out every twist, turn, speed bump, and shortcut appears on the sand.

“get set!” you lower your helmet’s visor and drown out the sound of the cries and focus on the head of your bike.

“goooooooo!”

you zoom past ruthie and some other kook girl you recognize from rafe’s parties. you take sharp turns and land jump over hills and trees like it’s nothing; you ease past topper and jj, glancing back at the duo engaged in some conversation before focusing on your real opponent.

rafe is somehow still in the lead; you know you won’t beat him this way, so you take a shortcut to get ahead of him.

“cheating now, huh?” you can hear the smile in his voice without looking at him.

“nothing in the rules says we can’t take shortcuts as long as they’re on the track rafey.” you wink at him as you speed up. the finish line is within view as you race across the sandy beach. everything seems to come to a halt when a shadow appears above you. you look up; it’s jj.

“and the runt of the litter, jj maybank takes the lead with that amazing leap of faith!” the announcers, now back in hearing range, seem just as stunned as the racers and crowd at jj’s bold feat.

“i can’t believe my eyes, can you?”

“no!”

you can’t help but laugh at his death-defying stunt. “woohoo! let’s go jj!" you speed up, feeling a burst of energy at his literal leap of faith.

“fuck that.” that voice sends chills down your spine. you turn to find rafe behind you, but you don’t even have to turn completely. he’s next to you. he speeds past you and bumps jj’s hind wheels.

he’s gonna get them both killed him if he keeps this up. “hey!”

“ladies and gentlemen, it looks like this just got personal.”

jj kicks out at rafe, causing the older blonde to tilt every so often. your breath catches in your throat every time his bike leans over. “jj!”

“that’s right, jj and rafe are neck and neck.”

rafe and jj bump into each other like they’re in go-karts.

“pogue vs. kook.”

in your head, you curse the announcers for feeding into this, “stop it, rafe!”

all it takes is one more bump for the duo to go flying in the air, and you feel your heart drop.

“jj!” you slam on the breaks and jump off your bike when it comes to a complete halt. you run over to jj, not caring as the other racers speed past you for the finish line. you rip off your helmet and throw it aside before turning to him and frantically checking him for injuries. “hey, hey, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

jj angrily brushes you off, “i’m fine.” he’s not fine; he winces when he rolls his shoulder and cracks his neck. you're taken aback and hurt, but you’ve known him long enough to know that it’s nothing personal. he doesn’t want to lash out at you, so he’s trying his best to keep his distance.

he gives you a once-over, "you okay?” his mouth is downturned in a frown; it takes you back to the days when he’d knock on your door asking to stay the night because luke was passed out on the couch and moved the second key.

you give him a soft, reassuring smile and rub his arm, “i’m okay.”

he opens his mouth to say something else; he wants to tell you the truth, you know it. but nothing comes out; instead, he slowly backs away before turning around completely. you watch as he ignores his friends’ concerning gazes and desperate questions and stops at the far end of the beach, kicking at sand and throwing his helmet down. yeah, something’s definitely up.

“hey!”

great. rafe shrugs off sofia’s arm, helping him up, and wobbles over to you. you feel bad for her truly, but you can’t deny that it feels good that he seems to only have eyes for you, even when next to his girlfriend. you finally see him up close, and goddamn, he looks like shit. he has a scartch on his cheek, a noticable limp, and rolls his shoulder every other step. he stops in front of you and looks you up and down. “you okay?”

the audacity of this man, “are you trying to ask if i’m injured, you piece of shit?”

he throws his hand up in surrender and offense, “the fuck did i do?”

you’ve never wanted to strangle someone so bad. how could he be so selfish? so reckless? so stupid? “are you fucking kidding me? the fuck did you do?” you shove him, “you could’ve killed each other; do you even fucking care!? i don’t care how much you hate each other; you don’t fucking do that!” your voice cracks from the strain yelling has put on you; tears form in your eyes from anger and the fear of almost losing them both.

he reaches down and wipes your tear. you push his hand away. “i’m sorry.”

“are you?”

“i-”

“aww, rafe, your puppy pogue came back for seconds.” the memorable grating voice comes from one kook only, topper’s new girlfriend, ruthie; she mockingly pouts, not even trying to conceal her smirk. she looks proud to have topper’s arm around her waist, like she’s not playing second fiddle to his ex.

your anger is now fully redirected at her. you take some steps towards her. “the fuck did you just call me!?”

she chuckless. “you heard me, pogue.”

the way she spits out the word ‘pogue’ does not sit right in your spirit. you take a step towards her, but rafe holds you back.

you look up and meet his eyes; you hate the way he looks at you. he shakes his head, “don’t let her get to you.”

you scoff, “oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“it is; trust me, i know, but she is not worth your time.”

you frown at his newfound maturity, not knowing if it’s genuine or not or if it’s just to keep you out of trouble. “fine.”

he looks back at the couple with a cold stare that you’ve thankfully never been on the receiving end of. “yo top, get your bitch under control.”

she removes herself from topper’s side and steps up to you two. “excuse me?” topper tries to pull her back, but she shrugs him off. "you know, rafe, you used to be cool before you started slumming it.”

you stomp over to her and get in her face. the height difference has her literally looking down at you, which makes your blood boil; the shit eating smirk doesn’t help. “up yours, cunt! you’re just a sarah reject.” topper chokes on his water and rafe smirks, barely able to stifle a laugh.

her smirk is gone now, replaced by a nasty glare, and her face is beat red with embarrassment and rage. “excuse me!? what the fuck did you just say!?”

“you heard me.” you smirk at her reaction. she pushes you; you punch her square in the jaw, causing a ripple of commotion. you lunge at her, but rafe holds you back. you spit at her before she’s out of reach, but it falls short. the act still enrages her.

rafe mean mugs ruthie as he drags the smaller girl away from the couple. you kick and scream as rafe drags you away, gaining the attention of pogues and kooks alike. jj shouts at him and runs toward them when you push rafe away. “get the fuck off of me!”

rafe finally lets you go, and you take a few steps away before turning and getting in his face. “what the hell is your problem!?”

his eyes widen, unable to comprehend your lack of thanks. “my problem!? i just stopped you from spending the rest of your twentys in an orange jumpsuit!”

you shove him, “i don’t need your help!” your anger takes him by surprise. you roughly wipe the blood from your nose on your jacket. “i’m not your problem anymore, rafe.”

jj catches up to them and puts himself between you two before checking your for injuries. he puffs his chest out and stares down rafe. “you didn’t hear her telling you to fuck off? all that coke’s fucked with your hearing?”

you touch his back, trying to reassure him that all is well. “i’m fine, jj. i can handle this.”

jj looks back at you; you nod; he nods and slowly retreats.

“yeah, fuck off." you curse rafe and his annoying need to get the last word in as jj stomps back over.

“hey!” you put your arms out, stopping their chests from touching. “jj!” he looks at you, tears building from anger and sorrow over losing the race. “just go. it’s okay, i’m fine.”

rafe notes your voice softening and frowns. jj gives him one last glare and once over, warning the kook king not to mess with you. you turn back to him once jj is out of earshot, “what the fuck is wrong with you? do you get off on pissing me off or something?”

“that’s rich coming from you. all that talk about being there for me in my time of need, and where were you?”

“i was giving you space like you wanted!”

“you abandoned me!” he roars, making you recoil. “you abandoned me when i needed you the most. you knew what that would do to me. you knew!"

you can hear the heartbreak in his voice; it shines through the way his finger shakes when he points at you. or the tears falling freely and his face red from the fury he must have been pushing down. “i just lost my dad, and i needed you, and you weren’t there. too busy doing fuck knows what with goldilocks and his friends.”

“he just came back from south america, where he was hunted down by trained killers, and watched someone die—he needed me!”

“i needed you!”

“i’m sorry, okay! how many times do i have to say it until you believe me?”

“i don’t believe you, rafe!” you sigh and rub the bridge of your nose. you look at rafe, and he finally sees the exhaustion in every movement. “i'm done playing games.”

“i’m not playing games; i love you. i know i was wrong and i was sad and angry, and i know i took it out on you, but i’m-”

“sorry?”

he frowns.

you shake your head in defeat, “i know.”

you get on your bike and put your helmet on. you peel off, leaving him in the dust watching your fading figure.

______________________________________________________________

as always let me know your thoughts, criticism is always welcome (just keep it classy) <3

#⊹₊ ⋆🏍₊˚⊹♡biker!pogue reader #rafe cameron x black reader #outer banks fic #biker pogue!reader #rafe cameron x black oc #outer banks s4 #biker!pogue #rafe cameron x black!reader #obx fic #biker!pogue reader #rafe x oc #obx s4 #⊹₊ ⋆🏍₊˚⊹♡biker!pogue #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron x you

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rey-jake-therapist · 26 days ago

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I really need to know what happened to Elrond at the end of season 2. He spent almost the entirety of season 2 pestering about the rings of power being corrupted by Sauron. He jumped off a cliff at the risk of killing himself, just so the Elves wouldn't have them. This scene was even paralleled in the finals, with Galadriel doing the exact same thing but to escape no other than Sauron !

This should raise some eyebrows regarding his sudden change of heart, at the very least.

This was Elrond's stance at the beginning of season 2, and for most of the season, really. For him, there were no doubts that Sauron had corrupted the Elven rings in a way or another, and guess what ? He was right. Sauron had not only touched the mithril, but he had also touched Galadriel's dagger, which was used by Celebrimbor. His imprint was all over the Elven rings, which is the reason why the Elves took off their rings after Sauron forged the One Ring :

"But the Elves were not so lightly to be caught. As soon as Sauron set the One Ring upon his finger they were aware of him; and they knew him, and perceived that he would be master of them, and of all that they wrought. Then in anger and fear they took off their rings." [The Silmarillion].

Elrond was so sure that the rings were no good news, that he would have rather see the Elves abandon Middle-Earth forever, than them wearing these rings. And it wasn't because he wanted to leave, far from it ! he's actually the one who pushed Gil-Galad into giving Celebrimbor a delay, so he could find a way to save the Great Tree. He wanted the Elves to stay in Middle-Earth as much as Gil-Galad did.

While they were travelling to Eregion, Elrond refused to follow any direction that would come "from this trinket". It turned out he was wrong, because they indeed fell into a trap.*

But it didn't change Elrond's mind, nor did the healing of Camnir's wound; it is proven by his resentment towards Galadriel, as Camnir says that she sacrificed herself to save them all.

"No, you are mistaken, Camnir. She didnt do it to save us. She did it to save the ring."

He was impressed by Nenya's power of healing (and the fact that it heals doesn't indicate that it's free of Sauron's influence, mind you, as his purpose is to heal Middle-Earth), but it didn't change his heart at all. When he pronounced these words, he seemed disgusted, as if for him his friend was already a slave to the ring, which to her (in his opinion) mattered more than her friends.

So, "tell it to me like I'm a six year-year-old" : what happened between this scene, and the finals of season 2 where he's all of a sudden all giddy when he announces Galadriel that they're "in a sanctuary, protected by the Elven rings" ? We know that in the future, Elrond will become a ring-bearer himself as he will get Viliya from Gil-Galad. So he's converted for good.

He even puts the ring on Galadriel's finger, a knee on the ground, as if he was asking her in marriage. I mean, wot ?

I can understand that faced with the imminent death of Galadriel, he realized ("told" by Nenya, probably) that the only way to save her was to put on the ring. He didn't look especially happy to do it, if you notice.

His face said, "fu*ing hell, I have to do this" to me. Did he have a sort of epiphany while wearing it, like it happened to Adar when he put on Nenya and healed himself ? It would be my guess : as soon as he put on the ring, his opinion about the rings drastically changed.

But is it necessarily a good sign ? Are the Elves deceived by Sauron through these rings, or are these rings really good for them ? And if they are good, then why all it took of Sauron was to forge the One Ring to master the Elves, forcing them to take the rings off to be free of his influence ?

Food for thought.

*Sauron wanted Galadriel in Eregion, as Elrond predicted. And he probably wanted her safe and sound, since he still wanted her to be his queen (Charlie said so). So I don't think that Sauron wanted the company to take the bad path Elrond chose.

#trop meta #elrond #trop elrond #lotr #rings of power #the rings of power #trop #trop season 2 #Haladriel

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propertyofwicked · 1 year ago

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people watching | spencer reid

spencer reid x bau!reader

inspo - people watching by conan gray

2.3k words

warnings: none really - canon character death, angst to comfort :)

they're counting months they've been together, almost 49

“y/n - how long have you worked with the BAU?” morgan asked, shooting you a smirk as you threw your head backwards with a load groan.

“i don’t know? like, 4 years?”

“4 years, and 34 days, 2 hours and based on when we got called out for your first case, 34 minutes,” reid interjects the conversation without looking up from his file.

“for someone who has worked here for 4 years, wouldn’t one assume that you would know we never get a whole week without a case?” morgan continued, ignoring reid’s comment, chuckling slightly at the face you pulled. you knew he was right, but something about garcia announcing there’s a new case made you grumpy. as a result you simply whined in response and pushed yourself up to walk to the round table room. morgan and jj walked ahead, but spencer stayed back to walk by your side.

“hey, that made me realise we’ve been friends for 4 years - we should celebrate!” he said, not looking at you but carrying a smile on his face.

“depending on the case, maybe we could do movie night when we get back?” you responded, but unlike him, you turned your head to respond to him.

“that sounds good, did you know research has shown that spending time with loved ones, even doing something as mundane as watching a film, can increase your mental wellbeing?” this time he looked at you to respond, the smile still present on his face.

“so spending time with me is mundane?” you quipped, chuckling at the end of your sentence, so he’d know you were only messing.

“reid, y/n, thanks for finally joining us,” hotch’s voice sounded across the room.

“sorry dad,” spencer joked, taking his seat next to alex.

they met in class for metaphysical philosophy

he tells his friends, "i like her 'cause she's so much smarter than me"

they're having talks about their futures until 4:00 a.m

“hey spence?” you asked, filling the silence. the film you had been watching ending a while ago, but the two of you stayed sat on his sofa. at some point you had turned to face him, stretching across the chair with your legs over his. he didn’t mind - he compared it to the calming effects of a weighted blanket, rattling off the statistical benefits on anxiety.

“yeah?” he looked up from his book, with a soft gaze in his eyes.

“if you weren’t in the bau, what would you be doing right now?”

he paused for a moment, as if to think about his answer.

“i honestly don’t know. i don’t think i knew before i joined the bau either. had i not joined the fbi when i did, i think i’d still be in college just collecting degrees until i’d done them all,” he laughed to himself, “maybe a professor, i have taught a few classes.”

“i know - that’s how we met. you told that god awful joke about a horse who became hyper aware of his own reality.”

“hey! it wasn’t that bad.”

“spence - no one laughed.”

“you did.”

“and i regret that decision almost daily,” you respond, earning a light smack to the shin that was still thrown other his lap.

“what about you? what would you be doing?”

“i used to think id be married by now but we both know how that ended,” you mention, referencing the ex boyfriend you and spencer both hated, “honestly though, i think id still be in the FBI but with counter intelligence like i had originally planned.”

“im glad you’re not,” he said with a smile. did he mean married or in a different department? you felt safer assuming the latter - it was safer to than getting your hopes up that some feelings might be reciprocated. so for now, you simply hummed in response and allowed the room to fall back into a comfortable silence.

im only looking just to live through you vicariously ive never really been in love, not seriously

it was clear you had been mistaken, and in the most cruel and soul destroying way - through no fault but your own. he was happy, you could see. the way he no longer had bags living permanently under his eyes - he was sleeping. he’d sneak away to the payphone, assuming no one noticed. it started off serious, like he was only asking the other person direct questions. it didn’t stay that way. soon enough you found yourself sitting in the SUV, staring at him as he laughed into the phone, basically twirling the wire around his finger like a giddy teenage girl. spencer wasn’t yours anymore. you know he never was yours really, but still you held out hope that the lasting glances, the jokes, the comfort and the spontaneous movies nights meant something more to him. it was clear you had been mistaken.

“you know if you keep staring at him like that your eyes might dry up,” JJ spoke from besides you one day. it made you jump - you hadn’t realised she was stood next to you and you certainly didn’t know how long she’d witnessed you staring at the side of spencer’s faces as he laughed and smiled over the phone.

“i wasn’t staring,” you defended, but she gave you a look that said she knew you were lying, so you moved on, “who’s he talking to anyway?”

“we don’t know, but morgan and i think spencies got a girlfriend,” she taunted. you didn’t react, this wasn’t news to you - it didn’t take a profiler to work that out. jj didn’t say anything else, she just adjusted the strap of her bag and walked off to find hotch. eventually spencer put the phone down and walked over to you.

“hey you guys find anything?” he asked, it was a general question but it was clearly aimed at you.

“nothing yet from me, garcia’s still digging stuff up on the victim though. it’s clear the unsub is organised, he’s been disposing these bodies for years, concealing their identities and he’s never been caught.” concealing their identities, you should know all about that reid, you thought to yourself but didn’t allow your face to waver.

“did you know that despite the rich history in the town, only 2,000 visit the area per year on average?”

“i didn’t, no.” it was a blunt response but you hoped he wouldn’t notice. but of course he did, mr 187 who couldn’t gauge most social cues but could tell when you were off with him. it wasn’t fair. how he could act like he loved you still, even though he clearly had someone worth keeping secret in his life.

his hand reached up to rest on your shoulder, his tall frame towering over you, giving you an intense stare as he did.

“what’s up?” damn you and your profiling skills. you contemplated saying nothing, but that would only lead to more intense questioning, so you deflected, saying you were thinking about the profile. he seemed satisfied and left you to find hotch, just as jj had.

cut people out like tags on my clothing i end up all alone but i still keep hoping

maeve was gone. that was her name, that was the woman that had made spencer happy in a way you couldn’t. she was gone, and emotionally, so was spencer. for weeks he moped, refusing to leave his apartment. but he was still your best friend. everyday, you sent him a message asking if he was ok, or needed anything, and everyday, it was left on read. whilst he needed his space, it wasn’t in your good conscience to leave him without support.

walking up to his door was terrifying. why? you had been here thousands of times, spent hundreds of hours watching films on his sofa and yet your heart was beating so fast you felt as though it would tear through your ribcage and fall out on the floor in front of you. if spencer was here, he’d tell you that wasn’t physically possible and you’d more likely have a heart attack. he’d then reassure you by noting the statistical unlikeliness of having you having a heart attack. but he wasn’t, emotionally anyways. you knocked twice.

“go away garcia, i really appreciate everything you’ve done but please leave,” you heard him shout through the door. it was his voice alright, but deep and strained as if he had been crying for weeks - on second thought, he probably had.

“it’s me spence, not penelope. can you let me in?” you called back.

“no. please, i need some space.” ok, if that’s how he wanted to play it, tough love it was.

“spencer reid if you do not open this door within the next ten seconds i will have morgan kick it down.” it seemed to work, you could hear a muffled sound of him standing up, shuffling across the floor and undoing the latch. you were not expecting the sight you saw when the door opened - it made your heart shred into tiny little pieces that you wanted to sew together and give to him. his hair was greasy, his facial hair had grown more than you’d ever seen it but worst of all, his skin was pale and his face seemed almost a hollow shell of the spencer you knew and loved.

“what do you want y/n?” he grumbled.

“i wanted to check in on you?” suddenly any tough love had gone out the window, and you doubted every word you said to him.

“ok, well im alive. you can go now.”

“spence ple-”

“i said i’m fine. y/n, i know you want me to sort myself out but im not ready to. please leave.”

“i don’t want you to ‘sort yourself out’ spence,” you paused to breathe, “you need to grieve, i understand that but i need you to look after yourself. however, you clearly don’t need me, you’re clearly coping so well on your own.” sarcasm was a defence mechanism - seeing him like that hurt you down to your very core, but they way he was treating you wasn’t fair. you turned on your heal, intending to leave with your dignity mostly intact, but as you go to take your first step a hand grabs you wrist, stopping you from moving.

“y/n, im sorry, please come in.” you offered him a restricted smile and stepped into this apartment, he followed close behind. you were expecting the worst, but this took it to another level. the curtains were drawn closed, takeout containers littered the counter, the floor and the coffee table - at least he was eating. spencer moved to the sofa, shoving books to the floor and offering you a seat.

“talk to me spence, tell me everything going on in that big brain of yours.” and he did, you must’ve sat there for 2 hours as he told you about maeve, how he first contacted her, how she understood him, the way she laughed. he spoke about guilt, he believed it was his fault and that he’d never be able to forgive himself. only towards the end did he begin to cry, so you wrapped you arms around his torso and pulled him down to rest on your shoulder. to your surprise, his arms snaked around your waist and held you tight. the room fell into silence, as it had hundreds of time, but this one was not one of comfort as it usually was.

after some time he sat up, “you know, IQ has no effect on the size of your brain. it may be cause a change in external appearance but the size itself will not change.” you couldn’t help but laugh - it wasn’t condescending, just the mere fact that he had spent two hours talking but still remembered to correct your original statement.

i wanna feel all that love and emotion be that attached to the person i'm holding

years passed since that day at spencer’s apartment. it took him a few more weeks, but he returned to work and returned to his normal self. he no longer thought of maeve, he thought of the future, he moved on in life whilst still holding a spot in his heart for her. soon, he became your best friend again - movie nights and take out were reinstated. sometimes he had to beg you to come round after a case to watch a movie. he remembered what life was like.

that night was a night like many others. the credits rolled and the room became dark with no light blaring from the screen. silence. a comfortable one. tonight, you found yourself with your head laying on his lap, facing the tv, his arm rested on your hip and his fingers played with a hair tie absentmindedly. you said it was comfortable, he didn’t argue - spencer liked your presence. he appreciated you being in his life and never giving up on him. he admired your work ethic, and your friendship. you provided him an outlet, an escape from the stress and constant work.

“hey y/n,” he whispered, and you hummed in response, “i love you.”

“i love you too spencer.” your heart skipped a beat, but you knew he meant as friends, that’s all you were and all you’d ever be - you had grown to accept that.

“no, y/n, i love you.” this made your head turn and you rolled onto your back to look up at him. “i mean it. i think i always knew deep down, but i couldn’t establish that that was what i was thinking. did you know studies show that some people have to feel love in order to love?”

“i love you too spencer.” you smiled up at him, squinting through your tired eyes, and his hand came down to stroke your cheek softly.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x bau!reader #criminal minds #cm #jj jareau #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #alex blake #emily prentiss #david rossi

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itsohh · 2 years ago

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The Morning After

A/N: G/N reader, so I've been playing as Soap for a bit (I normally play as Farah) and ho boy Soap kinda got me fucked up fr. Like that voice of his? Shiiitt before I was like lowkey down for him but now I'm like HO BOY down bad

Summary: After confessing to Soap how you feel he spends the night showing you exactly how he feels. Now he continues that the morning after.

Word count: 2094

Warnings: Smut

AO3 Masterlist

Waking up felt like one of the hardest things you had ever done. Your eyes had been practically sealed shut and you could feel the dehydration start to set in. Throat completely dry, your body attempted to make up saliva as you groaned about. The blankets on top of your body were barely in place. Rather straw all over the bed exposing bits of flesh to the morning sun.

After you pushed off a rather particularly heavy blanket you stretched your toes out and started to get out. "Oh no you don't." A thick accented voice gave you little warning before his arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back in. His warm bare chest met with your equally naked back and he pressed a kiss against your shoulder. "If you think I'm letting you get away after that you're sorely mistaken." Johnny's voice was huskier than usual due to him waking up.

Memories of the previous night played before your eyes. Bumping into him just outside of his bedroom. The wide eyes he gave you when you told him you needed to tell him something in private. Soap hadn't hesitated for a moment to bring you back into his room, concern in his eyes.

Concern that had relaxed and wiped from his body when you spoke those words. "I want you." Not the most graceful confession you had to admit but he took it in stride.

"How much of me?" His need for clarification came without hesitation. Was it just sexually? A casual thing, did you just want his body. It wasn't the first time he had heard that. He had jumped up from the bed, impossibly close to you, his chest pressed against yours as a hand brushed your check.

"All of you." You could remember the way he didn't hesitate after your whisper, lips on yours practically tearing your clothes off.

Back down in reality, he lightly bit down on the shoulder that he had been kissing moments earlier. "Ah!" You whined out, much to his amusement.

"Had to bring you out of your daydream somehow." He chuckled and pressed a kiss just under your ear. "What's got your head all up in the clouds?" Soap knew. Without a doubt, he knew exactly where your head was.

"Thinking of last night."

"Good thoughts I hope."

"You could say something like that."

"Mmm, was not what I expected when I left my room. Certainly not complaining though." He placed a few more wet kisses against your neck. "What was your favourite part hmm?" John whispered and pushed his body flush against yours. His cock announced itself, hard and firm against your ass.

"I think mine was when those pretty eyes of yours were screwed shut and you were just blabbering out my name. Fuck you looked good bouncing on my cock."

"Johnny." You whimpered out his name.

"Mmm yeah it sounded just like that."

"Fuck, I need some water. You're going to be the death of me." You gasped and he chuckled but let you go.

"Suppose I did drain you dry of liquids last night didn't I?" With a stretch, he got out of the bed and made his way over to his shelf. Behind a book he exposed a few glasses and what looked to be a bottle of liquor. His eye caught yours and his face turned into a grin. "Don't worry, it's a bit early to be drinking this. Just borrowing the glasses."

You followed him into a bathroom where he filled it up with water and passed it to you. The cool water was insane. It hydrated the desert of a throat you had and you finally felt like you weren't going to die from dehydration.

"Does anyone else know you keep hard liquor in your room? Isn't that like contraband or something?"

"What are we? In basic training or something? No one gives a shit. Besides, I actually got the idea from the LT."

"Ghost keeps liquor in his room?" You stood in front of the sink and poured yourself another glass of water, this time sipping on it like Johnny was compared to your chugging of the previous glass.

"Yup. Price keeps his in his office. Feeling better?" He put down his glass.

"You have no idea. How good is your shower McTavish?"

"Unless you secretly got a special shower installed, as good as yours." He winked over your shoulder through the mirror and walked over to the shower to turn it on. In the reflection you could really see how he did a number on you. Little bruises around your hips had started to form. Similar to the bite marks on your thighs. Soap really hadn't held back yesterday.

"Little surprised you can still walk." He hummed and stood next to the shower door for you.

"I think my legs are a little numb at this point." You admitted and headed over to the shower where he chuckled. You stuck a hand under the water and ripped it away impossible fast. Soaps eyes widened and you hissed at him.

"Why the fuck is it so hot?"

"What do you mean? That's how I normally have it?"

"Your fucking crazy, that's boiling water Soap." You leaned in and increased the cold water.

"I like my showers hot." He shrugged.

"How the fuck do you have any skin left?"

"Not my fault your skins so thin." You slapped him on the chest in response and he laughed.

"Ow you wound me, yah bastard." He continued to laugh and you tested the water. This time it was at a far more reasonable temperature and you slipped in. A loud moan left your lips as the water kissed your body.

"Better?" He grinned and stepped into the shower behind you. "Fuck that's cold." He grinned when you turned and gave him a good. He laughed out, a meaty laugh that had his entire body shake. "Relax, relax." He continued to laugh and wrapped his arms around your body. His lips pressed against your neck. "You're adorable when you're mad you know that?"

"Har har Mctavish."

"Mmm like it when you say my name." His hands ran down your shoulders and arms. "Fucking loved it when you were screaming it last night." His cock pressed against your ass and with a step he pressed you against the tilted wall of the shower.

"Johnny."

"You know how hot that is? Only you can make my name sound so perfect." His teeth nipped at the crook of your neck and one hand got a thorough grab of your ass. "Think you can handle some more?"

"Soap." You moaned, your hand found his hair on your shoulder and gave it a decent tug. A throaty groan rumbled from him and a wet slap of your ass echoed out. A light sting that had you pressing yourself against his hand.

"Fucked this tight hole of yours nice and good last night but do you think you can handle some more?" He pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss on your shoulder. "It's okay if you can't. I know I can be a bit much."

"You're gonna have to try harder than that." You managed to groan out.

"Oh, you're in for it now." He slapped your ass again and leaned for a bottle on a rather high shelf. You frowned for a second and gasped slightly when his slick two fingers started to press into your entrance. It felt like they were lubricated but you could have sworn that he left that in his bedroom. Did it smell… of strawberries?

"You better not have used conditioner to lubricate those fingers." He laughed at your growl but continued to scissor you open.

"Nah it's lube. Silicone base to be exact, this is the flavored one. You already got a taste of my normal stuff last night."

"Who the fuck keeps their lube in the shower?" You hissed out when he pulled out his fingers.

"I do, look no one thinks twice when you see a million bottles in the shower now do they?"

"And if someone asks why you have lube in the shower?" He pressed the head of his cock at your entrance.

"Then I say 'why the fuck you rummaging through my shower?'" He slotted himself into you with one long push. Your walls hugging him tight but still remembering your previous nights activities.

Your hand balled into a fist against the shower and you rolled your hips back against his. "Shit, ohh fuck, you were made for me huh?" He pulled out almost completely before he thrust back into you. That curved cock of his hitting that sweet spot so perfectly.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this?" He started a steady pace of fucking you against the wall.

"Uhhh? How long?" You managed to slur out.

"The second I saw you walk into that meeting room."

"When the pair of us got teamed up on that mission in Nepal?"

"That's the one, fuck." He groaned as he buried himself into you.

"We had just met!"

"Oh so you couldn't tell I was undressing you with my eyes, thank god."

"You were?- Shittt right there." He lifted up your leg to emphasize the angle.

"Right here?" He grunted and you let out a long blabbed moan in affirmation.

"You were undressing me with your eyes?" You breathed out.

"God yes, unprofessional of me I know. Liked to imagine that you had a nice lacy set on under all that gear. Maybe something dark green. Sometimes something black."

"Sometimes? This happen a lot?" You whimpered out which didn't do great things for your voice when you were trying to sound outraged.

"Surprised you didn't notice it. Ghost certainly did."

"Ghost- what?"

"Keep it in your pants Johnny." He gave you a shitty fake over the top British accent which had you laugh out and clench around him.

"Fuck." He drew out the moan and slapped a hand on the tile next to you. "Feel like I'm a wee lad again when I'm with you."

"What?" Your laugh turned into a moan and a grin spread across your face.

"Been inside you what? Five, ten minutes? Won't be much longer with the way you squeeze around me, fuck." He buried his face into your neck. The hand on the tiles slipped down in front of you and started to touch you. "But I'll be damned if I'm cuming before you are. Want to feel you squeeze down around me. Like you did last night, fuck!"

You let out a long moan as he continued to pleasure you, not stopping with his hard pace. "Can you do that for me? Can you cum for me?" He panted in your ear and you let out a small whine. "Yes or no, pretty thing."

"Fuck, yes, John. I can- oh fuck I'm so close." You whined out all at once and you could feel his lips grin against your neck.

"Yeah? Then do it for me. Please, cum for me. Cum down on this cock, fucking give me everything you have left. I wanna feel you- I want-"

"Fuck! Soap!" In a spasm of gaspy moans you clenched down around him.

"Thank you, oh fuck, shit you don't know how good that feels. Fuck." Soap slammed himself into you and came with you. His cock pumped as much cum as it possibly could inside of you as he let out long low groans in your ear. "So fucking perfect aren't you? Shit." His cock throbbed inside of you to the point you swore you could feel his heartbeat. It raced in time with your own heartbeat that thrummed in your ear.

Slowly he lowered your shaky leg back onto the ground and made sure you didn't collapse under your own weight. "So fucking glad we have today off." He let out through pants and allowed you to slowly turn around and face him. His dick slipped from you and the pair of you both let out a sound in unison.

Soaps eyes widened for a moment and he let out a breath. Satisfaction and a slight amount of disbelief in his face. "Shit I just… still can't believe you here huh."

"Really?"

"You have no idea, this is like some really good wet dream I'm having." You wrapped your arms around his neck as he spoke and pulled him in for a kiss.

"Well, we better hope you don't wake up then."

#soap x reader #johnny mctavish #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #cod

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miaajaade · 5 months ago

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The Line Between Love and Hate-

Aemond Targaryen X Targaryen!F!OC (Rhaenyra and Daemon’s Daughter)

Previous: Prologue I Next: III

A/N: This is going to be a really short chapter I just wanted to get a little Aemond point of view out. The juicy stuff is coming I promise, i don't 100% know where this is going so bear with me.

Summary: When Daemon Targaryen asked his older brother the King for his niece, Rhaenyra’s, hand in return for defeating the crab feeder King Viserys I surprised the realm when he agreed. Years later, when Alicent Hightower puts her son on the throne usurping the rightful heir Rhaenyra Targaryen, two childhood companions Aemond Targaryen and Visenya Targaryen reunite through hatred.

Series warnings: Age gap (both characters are of age), incest (Targaryen), death, future smut, slow-ish burn.

No minors under cut:

Aemond Targaryen knew that the peace felt during King Viserys's name day celebration would not last. In fact, it was quite laughable how quickly the tranquility of it all vanished. A mere day after the departure of the Targaryens' of Dragonstone, the king passed in his sleep. Aemond's mother called a meeting of the small council to announce that the last will of the King, albeit only heard by Alicent, was that Aegon, Aemond's brother, would sit the throne as the next king of Westeros. there wasn't a single doubt in his mind that Aegon would make a terrible king.

The day of the coronation, Aemond and his family made their way to the dragonpit to crown Aegon in front of the masses. He would be Aegon II. The roar of the crowd had instilled a sense of confidence in Aegon. The event was cut short however. Rhaenys Valaryon, the late kings cousin, who was still residing in Kings Landing after the celebration rode through the floorboards of the Dragonpit atop of Meleys. Alicent Hightower truly believed that, that was the moment she and her family were going to die. Rhaenys however showed them mercy. She flew away on Meleys, to Dragonstone Aemond assumed.

The first hours of Aegon's rule was spent preparing for the reaction of Rhaenyra Targaryen. It was meant to be her throne, King Viserys had made the lords of the realm kneel before her to state their loyalty to her and her claim. Aemond wondered if Rhaenyra would have shown them mercy had she received the crown.

Aemond that night let his mind wander back to his interaction days before with Visenya. He had not forgiven the young Viserys for taking his eye, but even in his broken mind he knew that Visenya was not the one to blame. He had taken Vhagar, she had told him in confidence what she had planned to do and he knew he betrayed that trust. He had thought 15 years apart would have softened the blow but he was mistaken. In her eyes he saw nothing but disdain where he used to see compassion and love. He was her companion, someone who understood what it felt like to be left out by the other boys. He had ruined that all because of his own anger at what Aegon had told him that night. He did not regret gaining a dragon, but he regretted losing her in the process. It was no matter to Aemond, he would carry on, if Visenya decided to hate him he would do the same. He only hoped that if Rhaenyra decided to take action against the new king and start a war for the throne, that he would not have to face his young niece in battle. He was not sure if he would show mercy, unsure even of himself of how far gone he was.

#aemond x oc #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #prince aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #dark!smut #dark romance #romance #enemies to lovers #alicent hightower

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mariacallous · 8 months ago

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The Israeli attack on a humanitarian convoy in Gaza in early April that killed seven aid workers with the U.S.-based aid group World Central Kitchen has ignited a fierce global backlash against Israel’s policies of engagement in the territory. The attack involved the successive firing of three missiles at three vehicles, driven by suspicions of a Hamas combatant’s presence within the convoy, according to reports.

In Israel, the event is being portrayed as an accident, “a grave mistake stemming from a serious failure due to a mistaken identification, errors in decision-making, and an attack contrary to the Standard Operating Procedures,” as the Israeli military’s investigation team concluded. In humanitarian circles, it is seen as evidence of a culture that “treats Gaza as a free-fire zone with total impunity for gross attacks on civilians,” as Jeremy Konyndyk, the president of Refugees International who served in both the Obama and Biden administrations, has suggested.

But for the discussion to be useful, it should progress beyond these immediate interpretations to examine the deeper cultural patterns underlying such incidents. Most crucially, it must scrutinize the shift in military policy and ethos that can be traced back to the Elor Azaria affair of 2016-17. Azaria was an Israeli conscript who was captured on video executing a wounded and immobilized Palestinian assailant in Hebron. The Israeli military prosecuted Azaria for manslaughter and sentenced him to 18 months in prison.

While the case demonstrated the military’s commitment to its own ethical codes, it also sparked widespread protests from right-wing factions and a general backlash against military procedures. The army was accused of failing to support Azaria and creating a culture in which soldiers would hesitate to use force against Palestinian militants. To counter this claim, and from that point forward, the military began to announce the number of Palestinian fighters killed in its operations, demonstrating that its forces did not hesitate to engage.

Under the leadership of the military’s chief of staff, Aviv Kochavi, from 2019 to 2023, the killing-based criteria were reinforced. Kochavi’s goal was to remake the army into a “lethal, efficient, and innovative” fighting force—in other words, a death-generating army. He promoted this vision by enhancing the precision of weapon systems, improving the coordination between forces and intelligence, and increasing the rate of fire.

Kochavi’s directive for field commanders to assess, at the end of each combat phase, the number of enemy forces killed and objectives destroyed—rather than solely focusing on territorial conquest—signified a shift toward necrotactics, where the primary goal of military engagement is killing the enemy. Killing becomes not just an outcome of warfare but its principal aim.

The approach of using body counts as a metric of success has notably intensified during the current war. Soon after the Oct. 7 attack, the Israeli military began consistently reporting the number of Hamas fighters killed, echoing the way U.S. generals announced enemy fatalities during the Vietnam War—a scenario where traditional metrics for evaluating combat success are elusive, thus making the body count, rather than the strategic objectives achieved, the primary indicator of success. This was particularly evident as the Israeli death toll ticked up and the stated objective of dismantling Hamas appeared increasingly unattainable.

In fact, the military appears to have established a quantitative goal from the outset. According to the journalist Yuval Abraham in +972 Magazine, the Israeli army developed an artificial intelligence-based program named Lavender, designed to identify targets for assassination. This system tagged approximately 37,000 Palestinians in Gaza as suspected militants, marking their residences (and therefore their families as well) for potential airstrikes. The deployment of Lavender contributed to the deaths of around 15,000 Palestinians in the war’s first six weeks, according to the report.

By setting a numerical target, the Israeli military shifted from viewing outcomes as a measure of progress—like neutralizing the threat posed to Israel from Gaza—to making body counts the main standard. The trend has been reinforced by a pervasive adoption of the language of killing among military commanders. “Now we will go forward and kill them all,” Brig. Gen. Roman Goffman was quoted as saying just before the ground operation in Gaza began, in just one prominent example.

As Israel faces an impasse in Gaza, lacking a politically articulated exit strategy, the reliance on killing and its quantification as a metric for success becomes increasingly pronounced, leading to the erosion of operational constraints. This shift was evident in the recent raid at Shifa Hospital in Gaza City, which inflicted extensive damage to Gaza’s most crucial health care infrastructure. The hunt for Hamas members has, to a significant degree, become an end in itself, complicating the dynamics of the conflict and placing military objectives above political resolutions.

This shift provides some context for the tragic killing of the aid convoy team—though it makes it no less disturbing. Once one or two armed individuals were spotted in the convoy, their neutralization became a top priority, apparently eclipsing overarching strategic considerations—factors that should have been incorporated at the tactical level. Fundamentally, such a situation warranted an approach aimed at preventing civilian casualties, especially along a deconflicted route designated for humanitarian aid delivery and when no direct threat was posed to Israeli troops. Moreover, the overarching political rationale should have prioritized safeguarding humanitarian missions, given the potential repercussions for Israel’s global standing amid the crisis in Gaza.

Yet the events unfolded with a seeming obsession for lethal action, as vividly illustrated by reporting in the Israeli newspaper Haaretz: Upon spotting a gunman or two, Israeli forces targeted three successive vehicles from the air. After the first one was hit, passengers moved to a second vehicle, which was then struck by a missile. And when the wounded were transferred to a third vehicle, it too was fired on. This appears to be a case of obsessive kill confirmation, overshadowing the principles of necessity, proportionality, and the sanctity of civilian life.

Hence, the fundamental issue extends beyond merely revising the rules of engagement or monitoring their application more closely, as such measures alone would prove inadequate to prevent future incidents. The problem also transcends the flawed assumption that every part of Gaza can be considered a free-fire zone where engaging Palestinian militants indiscriminately is justified. What is crucial is dismantling the prevailing culture that equates killing with military success.

Yagil Levy is a professor of political sociology and public policy at the Open University of Israel. His most recent book in English is: Whose Life Is Worth More? Hierarchies of Risk and Death in Contemporary Wars.

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feyhunter78 · 2 years ago

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The Despair of a Dragon's Wife

Description: After the birth of you and Aemond's son, you fall into a deep despair and rumors begin to fly regarding your son's parentage.

This was requested on my AO3 and I wanted to post it here as well! TW: Postpartum depression, suicidal thoughts and actions, but no death or injury

You loved your son, you truly did, but the sight of him reminded you of the pain you suffered, and his cries were like nails driven into your brain, reminding you of how much of a failure you were. His hair was (y/h/c) not silver and his eyes were a shade of purple that could easily be mistaken for blue, worst of all his dragon egg had yet to hatch.

You knew your sweet Rhagar simply wished to be with you, to feel your love, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hold him for more than a few minutes. Your mind constantly reminding you that he was not as Targaryen as the others, he would suffer the mistreatment bastards do, even though he is his father’s son. You have failed him, failed your family, and failed Aemond.

Aemond had been so excited for your child, speaking constantly of them, making you promise after promise of what he would provide for you both. Then, once the midwives announced you had birthed a son, he broke into joyous laughter, surprising even his own mother.

But then you were handed your son and saw the tuft of (y/h/c) hair, the muddled color of his eyes, and you knew you had failed. You had wept, and refused to be consoled, claiming they were tears of joy.

Breastfeeding was a struggle and after many attempts and gritted teeth you surrendered Rhagar to a wetnurse, tears in your eyes as you watched him calm so quickly for her. Nothing you did was ever enough for your son, he cried constantly, pulled at your hair, squirmed nonstop and refused to sleep through the night.

Your mother had stressed the importance of keeping your babe with you at night, especially since you had now birthed a potential heir to the throne. She worried someone would harm him, and you worried that perhaps that person would be you.

Sleep had fled from you, your appetite as well, music was dull and lifeless, sewing and reading no longer brought you joy. Weeks went by of you lying awake as Rhagar tossed and turned. Then it turned into months of you staring listlessly at the wall as you bounced him in your arms, silently begging him to cease his crying.

Oddly enough, it was your sworn sword, Ser Halbret, who was able to dry the tears of your son.

After hours of trying to calm your son, on the verge of tears yourself, you handed the screaming child off to him, and drifted back to your chambers. You curled up into a ball under the covers of your bed, crying silently, heart weighed down with endless misery.

You’d finally been able to drift off to sleep when the door to your chamber opened and the sound of giggling was followed by your husband’s voice.

“My sweet wife, I have found our little dragon.” Aemond called, voice light as he stepped closer to the bed.

You quickly wiped your tears, and tried to force a smile, but the sound of Rhagar calling out to you made another wave surface. You threw off the covers and rushed into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

Aemond knocked on the door. “Y/N, are you alright? Rhagar wishes to see you.”

You slumped against the door; head buried in your arms. “Give me a moment, my stomach is a bit unsettled.”

Rhaegar began to cry, and you heard Aemond gently reassure him that you would be out soon.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your eyes searched the room for something, anything to end your agony, but you found nothing. “If you cannot get him to stop, give him to Ser Halbret, he loves him.” You called through the door.

“Surely not more than he loves his mother.” Aemond said, trying the doorknob once more, concern tainting his voice.

“He does not love me.” You mumbled, tears streaming down your face as you dug your nails into your palms, searching for relief from the aching in your head and chest.

“Y/N, my sweet, open the door.” He insisted, as Rhagar’s cries grew in volume.

“Go away.” You cried, slamming your hand against the door, red streaks coloring the wood. You’d pressed too hard and punctured the skin.

You stared at the smeared crimson blood and prayed Aemond would leave.

Aemond carried his son to his mother’s quarters, mind clouded with worry. You had been distant as of late, and your figure had begun to decrease a worrying amount.

At first, he thought you were too wrapped up in your son to eat properly. Then he noticed how you flinched when Rhagar cried, or how you were so quick to hand him off to your sworn sword, and flee the room.

His mother looked up, a bright smile on her face. “Aemond, and little Rhaegar, what a wonderful surprise. I was just speaking with your grandsire about our worries for y/n.”

Aemond sat across from his grandsire, keeping Rhagar firmly in his arms. “I have come to see you for the same reason, I fear she is ill.”

“The only thing she is sick with, is guilt.” His grandsire said, casting a disgusted look at Rhagar.

“Guilt?” He echoed, searching his mind for anything you might feel guilty over. You had borne him a beautiful and sweet-tempered son, were a devoted and wonderful wife, and a dedicated mother. There was no reason for you to feel guilty.

Alicent took his hand in hers, her expression sorrowful. “Your grandsire believes that…” She trailed off, her lips pressed into a hard line. “I cannot say it.”

“That boy is a bastard. Look at him, that is no Targaryen.” Otto said harshly.

His mother flinched and Aemond held his son closer.

“That is not possible. I took her maidenhood, I have been the only one in her bed, and she is a faithful wife. Rhagar is mine.”

“Perhaps you were the only one in her bed, but that does not mean she was not warming the beds of others.”

Aemond stared down at his son. True, his coloring was not that of a typical Targaryen, but they shared a nose, a smile, even the way Rhagar looked at dragons was the way he himself looked at them.

“I do not wish to believe it either, but many have seen the way she thrusts the child into the arms of Ser Halbret, and his coloring matches the boy’s.” His mother said, a sympathetic look in her eyes.

“It matches y/n’s as well.” He argued, furious that they would even suggest such a betrayal coming from you.

His grandsire laid his hands flat on the table. “Ask her then, ask her why she does not seem to care for the child, why she pushes him onto everyone else.”

His mother’s eyes flickered to the tabletop, and Aemond nodded stiffly.

He held Rhagar close as he stormed back to your shared quarters, throwing the door open to find you standing on the windowsill, one hand loosely gripping the frame, the wind whipping through your hair.

Aemond called out to you in shock, and you turned, eyes wide and brimming with tears. “I cannot bear this any longer.” You sobbed, your head dropping to your chest.

Aemond quickly but carefully set your son down on the floor and rushed over to you, pulling you away from the window. “Y/N what are you doing? Have you gone mad?”

You shook your head, sobs ripping from your throat. “I hate him, I hate him, and I hate myself for it.”

Aemond pulled you into his embrace, crushing you to his chest. “I do not understand, where does this hatred come from?”

“I am a horrible wife; he is living proof of my failure.” You sobbed, hiding your face in Aemond’s chest.

“So, it is true, then? He is not mine.” Aemond said coldly.

You looked up at him in confusion. “What? How could you say that?”

“You said he is proof of your failures, your failure to stay faithful.”

You shook your head, crying harder. “No, no, he is my failure to give you a child that bears your coloring, he looks as if he belongs in the Riverlands.”

Aemond’s racing heart slowed, and he cupped your face. “I care not if he looks true to my blood, neither I nor my siblings look like my mother, yet no one doubts we are hers.”

“But the Strongs…” You argued weakly. The treatment they received was one you feared your son would receive as well.

Aemond brushed away your tears. “Everyone knew they were bastards, but Rhagar shares my nose, my smile, and soon he will have a dragon. No one will doubt him.”

“How can you be sure?” You asked, eyes darting over to your son, who was sitting on the rug near the fireplace.

“Because I will cut down any who do. I know he is my son, I know you have been faithful, as have I.” He gently swayed you back and forth, drawing your eyes back to him. “I did not break off my betrothal and anger my entire family to marry a woman I do not trust.”

You sniffled and laid your head back on his chest. “I have failed you; I know it, you need not spare my feelings.”

“You have not failed me. You have given me a perfect child, a son, an heir.” He said firmly, wishing he could make you understand how highly he held you in his heart.

Your shoulders were still shaking, but you’d begun to calm. “He hates me Aemond, I can never cease his crying.”

He kissed your forehead gently, and held you tighter. “He is a babe, and he can sense your unhappiness, he has been crying for you, and it is I who have failed you both. I should have recognized your suffering long before today. It should not have fallen to our son to alert me to your despair.”

A cracking sound filled the room and both your heads whipped towards the fireplace.

Your son sat giggling happily with a tiny dragon in his lap.

Aemond left your side and scooped them both up, carrying them over to you. “Look at what you have created, what you have given me.”

Rhagar reached out for you, babbling “mama, mama” as the small green dragon curled up on his shoulders.

You let Rhagar take as much of your hand as he could hold and smiled.

He smiled back at you, and clumsily kissed your hand, as he had seen his father do countless times. It was more of him bumping your hand with his nose, but it made you laugh, and the tightness in your chest eased.

Perhaps you could do this.

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#aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #wife!reader #meg's writing #hotd #hotd fanfics #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #prince aemond x reader #aemond angst

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