#my deepest apologies that these chapters take so long ;_;

[formalmess]

here we are, yet again! we’ve got some familiar and brand new faces this chapter. what shenanigans will luigi get himself into this time? read and find out... mwahaha... >:3c

[taexual]

When are you coming back with sleepwalking? 🥺

hoping to post it tomorrow, my love!! 🤍🤍🤍

[stunie]

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁ “DID YOU JUST FAKE THAT, PRINCESS?”

WINDBREAKER BOYS + FAKING AN ORGASM. ft. yamato endo, kiryuu mitsuki, & kaji ren x f!reader

content: explicit smut (18+), fem! reader, overstimulation, squirting, praise (genuine & mocking), degradation, teasing, dumbification, mild humiliation + corruption + dacryphilia + choking, fingering, cunninglingus, muffled (panties), doggy, mating press, wall sex, endo is mean, usage of pet names

mdni - 2.9K wc ; whew it ended up super long ! i had sm fun writing this one <3 as always, individual warnings are below

YAMATO ENDO.

note: ooc, written before newer chapters were out, sorry >:

taking you like this has always been endo’s favorite way to ruin you. your pretty noises are muffled by the mattress, ass high and back arched in a futile attempt to ease the stretch of his cock. it’s so good, and he grabs your hips roughly, pulling you back to slam against his own. his pace is unrelenting, length able to reach the deepest parts inside your cunt as you squeal and tug at the sheets beneath you.

“promise i w-won’t do it again,” you crane your neck to gasp for air, apology coming out frantic and slurred, and your face burns when he laughs— laughs at your sincerity and at the way that your jaw falls slack at the slightest change in his angle. “you’re sorry?” his words come out mocking, relishing in the way your teary eyes clench shut as you try to fight the tension building up in your core— because you know good and well that you’re not allowed to cum until he says the word.

“yea, ‘m sor—”

“sorry’s not gonna cut it,” he spits, “gonna have to make up for it, pretty girl. try again.”

his hands come to push your back further down into the mattress, angling your ass higher for him to let him bully his cock into you harder. it’s so cute how endearing you are, teary eyes trying to focus and think despite the way his heavy cock is hitting so deep inside you, his pace as rough as ever and your head foggy and dizzy.

“i will,” you blurt, the knot in your stomach threatening to snap with each roll of his hips— “i will! i’ll make it up, please endo, ‘m gonna cum, i think ‘m gonna cum—”

“aw,” his tone is low and mocking, pace slowing down ever so slightly as his fingers come to wrap around your throat and apply pressure, “since you’re so cute, i’ll be nice today.”

“cum with me and i’ll let it go, yeah?” he pulls out, until just the tip is inside before he slams back into you. “gonna have to use your brain and match my pace.”

and you’re nodding as soon as the words leave his lips, not a trace of hesitation in the way your shaky hands come to spread your ass wider for him, just the way he likes it. endo feels his dick throb at just how cute you are, holding yourself wide open for him to ravage you as you blabber about how good he feels— how close you are to cumming.

“alrightt,” he lulls, “ready, doll?” his tone comes out amused, but you can’t tell, nodding so desperately as your hips start to jerk. in an instant, he’s picking up his pace, hitting so deep inside you that it makes your eyes roll back in your skull, endo fucking you completely senseless with each snap of his hips.

“e-endo—” you gasp when the hand around your neck moves to push your head down, allowing him to better leverage himself as he buries his cock into the spot that has you screaming. your eyes widen when he finally growls out the word, the word that lets the knot inside you snap as you gush around his cock, thighs reduced to a violent tremor.

“f-fuuck,” he groans when your walls squeeze and flutter wildly against him, his jaw clenching shut to grunt a “just like that.”

“that’s my fucking girl,” he slurs lazily, slowly dragging his cock in and out of you as your walls continue to flutter around the thickness, your chest heaving up and down from the intensity.

the praise makes your heart swoon even with your current state, eyes half lidded and heavy and your mind barely able to register the lewd noises coming from your dripping cunt.

“feel good now? making a mess all over me?”

“mmhm,” you nod mindlessly, tired arms reaching back to swipe at your cunt like clockwork. it was something endo had taught you the very first time he took you, and you’ve never failed to do it since. it’s usually about now when you collect the load that seeps out of your hole, and he’ll pull you onto his lap next, urging you to stick those fingers in your mouth and swirl your tongue around it.

he’s addicted to how good the sight of you swallowing his cum makes him feel, cock throbbing and aching— picturing those pretty lips wrapped around his length again. it’s always enough to rile him up again and again.

your tired fingers rub between your folds, collecting the slick, but something’s different. “h-huh?” you stutter, head craning back to look at your hand. it takes you a moment, innocent eyes squinting as you inspect your fingers— there’s nothing besides your own slick.

“oh, fuck,” endo laughs loudly, “i can’t believe it.”

he grabs your arm roughly, earning a surprised yelp from you as he flips you onto your back, pressing your thighs flush against your own chest, his body hovering over you with a hunger that sends a shiver straight down your spine.

“still so fucking innocent, huh? thought you knew me better than that.”

“i-i don’t understand..” your voice trails off, face burning with embarrassment because he’s always being so mean to you. it takes you by surprise when you feel it slap against your clit, your gaze finally shifting downwards to see his cock— throbbing and slick with your juices, thick precum collecting at the tip.

he really didn’t cum.

“oh, dumb girl,” he coos, “did you forget our agreement?”

he wishes he had whipped out his phone to record the sight of you. it’s adorable, your pretty body folded into a mating press, teary eyes desperately looking up at him as you whine and complain that he tricked you, that’s he’s not being fair, but all he can think about is how he wants to ruin that pussy that you have so clearly on display for him.

he pushes his length inside you all at once, tip kissing your cervix as your head falls back, sobbing that’s it’s too much for you. “aww,” endo feigns sympathy, leaning forward until his face hovers right over the side of your neck, “it’s just too bad you didn’t do a very good job matching my timing.”

he licks a slow, deliberate stripe down your neck and sucks— sucks hard before releasing the skin with a pop to admire the mark he’s planted on you. “since you couldn’t do that for me,” he starts, fingers running along your waist, “you don’t have any other choice but to let me use this pretty body of yours, don’t you?”

“gonna fuck you so stupid— ‘till your brain’s too mushy to think up any more little tricks.”

KIRYUU MITSUKI.

“hey,” kiryuu slaps your cunt lightly, “i don’t remember teaching you to do that.”

his voice is gentle, almost unnervingly so as he pulls your back flush against his chest, hand coming to spread you open for him. “let’s try again.”

“j-just wanted more…kiryuu,” you whine when he’s slow to sink the first finger deep inside, pumping it in and out as his thumb comes to circle at your clit, the precision making your hips jerk and push against him.

“more?” his voice comes out directly besides your ear and it sends a strong shiver down your back, “you’re getting real greedy with me, princess.”

he obliges regardless, eyes gauging your reaction as he slips a second finger inside, pumping them a little faster into your cunt. “f-fuck…” you sigh, walls fluttering eagerly around his fingers when he begins to curl them against your walls.

“look— at the mess you’re making all over us.” your eyes shift downwards, face burning at the sight of his fingers, pretty hands coated in thick layers of your slick, the muscles of his forearms flexing with each curl of his fingers. “see?”

“that’s why i’m gonna take my time with you,” he coos, fingers curling against that spongy spot inside you that dots your vision with stars, “n watch your pretty pussy swallow my fingers like this.”

the lewd noises of his fingers fucking your cunt has you approaching your high, but you’re greedy for more— and knows that painfully well. he’s not any different, cock bulging tight under his pants and desperate to bury itself deep inside you, but not yet.

kiryuu fights back the smile that threatens to creep onto his lips when you gasp loudly at the stretch from a third finger slipping inside you, the thickness making your thighs tremble against his touch. “so pretty for me,” he lulls, “feeling good, huh?”

he loves watching your reactions, eyes intent on watching the way your expression contorts with pleasure, mouth slightly ajar to let out little pants and huffs, your own attention focused on how good his fingers feel inside you. he can tell you’re getting close with the way your thigh has started to tremble harder against his, hips occasionally jerking from the stimulation.

“you’re so good,” he coos, letting out a lazy grunt as his other hand comes to hold your face, “but no more looking. okay?”

his hand clasps over your mouth, your head tilting back to face the ceiling— and that’s when he switches. your head falls back on his shoulder when he’s suddenly he’s suddenly fucking you faster, fingers slamming into the most sensitive spots inside you. his thumb comes to rub roughly at your clit, drawing lewd moans from you as your thighs try and clamp together to fight the stimulation.

“i know, baby, i know—” his voice comes out calm, and he knows what you need. he knows how to work his fingers to make your head spin, knows this pace will have you whining that it’s too much, but he wants to see you cum. so he aims to pummel his fingers against that deep spot inside you, relishing in the way your thighs tremble violently in response.

“mmmp—!” your moans come out muffled against his hand, but he understands. “you’ll cum for me this time, won’t you?”

his hand leaves your mouth, a thick string of saliva connecting the two before he’s holding your thigh open for him, spreading you so he can thumb at your clit harder. “y-yes! ‘m gonna cum, f-fuck— kiryuu” you babble, eyes clenching shut and hands coming to squeeze at his forearms.

it’s too much. you find yourself right along the edge, eyes clenched shut because it’s just too much, but your cunt is eagerly swallowing his fingers whole, juices dripping down your thighs and his arms— “that’s right, you’re so good for me.” his voice comes out a little rushed, a little more breathless as he fucks his fingers into you.

“you can take this.”

all it takes is one more curl of fingers and his thumb to swipe over your clit to have you crying his name loudly, cunt spasming around his fingers as you gush all over him. you whine when he takes his fingers out, dragging them along your folds to watch the way your hips jerk at the overstimulation.

“that was better. see?”

he brings his fingers to your face, and you open your mouth in a daze, swirling your tongue lazily around each finger as he sighs contently, cock throbbing at the thought of your lips wrapped around his dick instead. “ahh… that’s so good.”

“you’re doing so good,” he whispers, “you can take another one. turn around for me, sweet thing.”

KAJI REN.

“thought i told you to be quiet,” kaji growls against your cunt, “not to fake it.”

“‘m trying—” you stammer, thighs trembling as your hands lay flat on the surface, your body bent over his desk as he eats you out from behind.

“what?” his voice ghosts against your clit, making you suck in a sharp breath, “needa be muffled?”

your face burns when he takes out your panties, wet from the way he was grinding his cock against your clothed cunt earlier. you got him so riled up— his mind still stuck on how irresistible you looked folded over his desk, his bulge nestled so nicely between the globes of your ass. he should have tossed you onto his bed next, get a good look at how his cock sits between your thighs when you’re in prone bone, then get you arching your back and pulling at the sheets for him because he always fucks you that good.

but you had to test his patience today.

“open.” he stuffs the fabric into your mouth, fingers subtly ghosting over your lips before his hands are back around your thighs, tugging on them to urge you to come closer.

"gonna teach you a lesson," he spits, and his mouth is back on your cunt in an instant, tongue coming to roughly lap at the slick that’s started dripping. your face contorts, thighs pressing together- but his rough hands are moving to keep you wide open for him.

kaji has always been messy, groaning directly into your cunt as he licks and sucks, eating you out with fervor until he knows your eyes are rolling back into your skull, lewd noises barely muffled by the tiny wad of fabric in your mouth.

he’s slurping loudly, licking and sucking on your clit, and he brings his tongue down to prod at your hole, eyes narrowing into a glare when you try and clench your thighs together. his hands come to hook around the front of your hips, yanking you roughly back until you’re flush against his face, his tongue deep inside your hole as he licks in every direction, fucking you on his tongue while you make those sinful noises for him.

“k-kaji,” your words come out slurred from the muffle, your saliva dribbling onto his table, “‘m close!”

“oh f-fuck,” you cry when two fingers are shoved deep inside you, lewd noises echoing in his room when he fucks them in and out of your cunt, his mouth coming to flick at your clit. it’s becoming too much, and you try to escape by going higher onto your toes— but he doesn’t let you.

“don’t you dare,” he warns with a low growl against your cunt, hand squeezing your thigh to keep you firmly planted against his face. “quit squirming and take it.”

the knot in your stomach is tightening, pushing you closer and closer as his fingers seem to reach impossibly further inside your cunt with each movement, beating against that sweet spot inside that has you moaning so loudly against your panties.

“a-ah—” your eyes widen when his tongue flicks over your clit perfectly, and the coil inside your stomach snaps in an instant, screaming into the fabric as your walls flutter over his fingers, gushing into his mouth as he groans and laps at your cunt messily.

your jaw goes slack even he begins to slows down, fingers leaving your walls empty and needy so he can bring them to his lips and suck on them, get a last taste of you before he’s sloppily wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. your panties fall onto his desk, body reduced to a trembling mess.

and it’s everywhere. dripping down your thighs, coated over his entire hand— his face. if he was even trying to get it off of his mouth in the first place, it didn’t work.

“you’re fucking messy,” his voice is raspy when he leans over you, heavy cock pressing against your ass. “and we’re not done yet.”

there’s a deep, shaky groan from him when he first pushes his cock between your thighs, using your slick to get his dick wet. he’s throbbing by now, so desperate to be inside you, and it’s rubbing against your folds so nicely, tip nudging against your swollen clit each time he pushes forward.

“k-kaji,” you whine, “i wanna see you.”

his eyes widen a bit at the innocent request, your pretty face peering back at him with that fucked out look in your eyes— it’s cute. he’s gentle when his arms come to wrap around you, picking you up and pressing your back against the walls of his room.

“gonna make you cum over n over,” he grunts, sinking you slowly down onto his thickness. he’s always been harder to take in this position, cock practically splitting you open— and your sinful moans are going straight into his ear with the way you’ve latched onto his shoulders.

“you’re so big, kaji,” you gasp, “feels so good.”

“yeah?” his voice is low, breathless as he starts to slam his hips up into yours, tip prodding against your cervix each time he bottoms out. “you like that?”

“mhm,” your lips come to messily suck at his neck, and he groans loudly. “want more, kaji. please—”

"more?" he snarls, audible slaps echoing throughout the room from the way he's bouncing you even harder against his hips. "squirting all over my face wasn’t enough for you, huh?”

you grab at him to avoid falling from the roughness, arms tangled tightly around his neck to let him fuck you with pure strength, thickness spreading you so good as your slick dribbles down his balls.

"i better not hear you whining later that it’s too much.”

pt 2: suo, sakura, togame, & umemiya x f!reader

[eratosmusings]

Stolen Destiny (II)

Feyd Rautha x fem!reader

summary: the na-baron takes an interest in you

warnings: adults only, all characters are over 18, smut in future chapters, misogyny, dark themes, canon typical violence

word count: 1.8k

previous chapter / dividers / masterlist

“...humiliating…disgusting…barbaric…”

You flinch as your father’s anger roars. Nothing you do will ever please him. 

“What do you think will be said of me? Of how I raised you?”

“You didn’t,” you want to say. Instead you apologize. Harkonnens are animals you rationalize. They were testing to see if you were prey and you had to show them you aren’t. 

“And in doing so you’ve tainted yourself.”

It’s like a slap. The cut on your hand still stings from the solution they’d scrubbed on it. It had only been a handshake. It was a show of strength. He’d understand that sentiment if there was a cock swinging between your legs. He doesn’t stay to say more, leaving you to nurse the wounds alone. 

A feast is held that night. A welcome to your guests. You're squeezed into a new outfit, one you've been told your father deems more appropriate than the one you’d had chosen. It’s the first time he’s ever taken the initiative to dress you. It gives you no pleasure to recognize the dress as one of his courtesan’s.

“Your dress is lovely,” says the Princess Irulan when she sees you again after the food had been taken away and the party mills about in the Hall. She takes your arm and strolls with you between the bodies. The familiarity between you is striking. She speaks of her sisters, the planet she calls home. You tell her of your studies. It seems you share a fondness for the same authors.

It’s odd to feel her warm smile. There were few women in your life. Maids mostly, though they rotated frequently. A few of the castle’s regular entertainers when allowed. You don’t count the courtesans who keep your father company. 

“Princess,” Paul greets her with a bow, intruding on your talks of taking an excursion around the palace grounds. Those green eyes turn on you and sweep across your form. “My lady, you look stunning.” He takes your hand again and bends to kiss it while you try not to flinch. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” Irulan says with more kindness than deserved. “We were just making plans to visit the lake the day after tomorrow.”

The way his face lights up has your excitement plummeting. He’s eager to join. You stay as long as you can stand his conversation. It’s not long. You excuse yourself, claiming the need to check on the rest of your guests, and extract your arm from the princess’. You accept a kiss on your cheek from her before disappearing into the crowd.

You have no desire to mingle more. Whatever consequences you’ll face when your father finds out about you slipping out don’t worry you. His anger would have found something to punish you for anyways. Cool air greets you as you step into the gardens. It’s not your favorite place, but the training yard is too far in this getup. 

“It’s rude to leave your own party.”

Hair raises on your arms, but you don’t turn to the voice. “You have my apologies for my rudeness then.”

“And it is unwise to keep your back to an armed man.”

“What fun is life without a little risk, na-Baron?”

He chuckles at that. There’s quiet footsteps as he paces behind you like a panther appraising a potential meal. You keep your eyes forward. “You and the princess seem to have bonded quite quickly.” He’s been watching you.

“She is easy to be fond of.” 

Shadow swallows you as he steps behind you. Breath ruffling your hair he asks, “But Paul Atriedes is not?” He’s been watching you closely. A fingernail scraps down your bare arm. “Do you resent him for what he’s stolen from you?”

You spin.

The black void that is his smile is wide on his face. Humiliation sears your throat. How many people know of your father’s deepest shame? Feyd-Rautha seems to revel in that silent moment. Your pain brings him pleasure. 

“I must return to my guests,” you say and step around him. His hand shoots out to grab your arm, but you're prepared. You evade, pull your arms taut to your chest, and dart down the hall as his laugh taunts. The respect you built with the Harkonnens was nothing more than delusion. It doesn’t matter what teeth you bare or claws you present, any show of weakness will be exploited. 

You round a corner and nearly crash into a guard. The same one from earlier. He questions if you’re hurt, eyes darting the corridor behind you. He seems to find nothing. You agree with his warnings now. It’s best you don’t wander alone.

You wake unrested. Images of blackened teeth, slicing blades, and hoarse laughter haunt you into the morning hours. You’ve made the decision to retain a personal guard. The choice in who is easy. 

You spend the day reviewing everything for your coming of age in a couple of days. Your father is supposed to do it, but he’s nowhere to be found. It’s tedious but the hours of distraction are welcome. And it gives you reason to decline Paul’s lunch invitation. It’s only when the sun is past its peak that you’re forced to hand over the remaining duties to your grumbling father. The swordmaster demands your time to refine a performance you still can’t rationalize. Who is it for?

Your father? A man who despises any display of femininity from you? The princess? In some attempt at an apology for a marriage that can now no longer be? Or House Atreides? The ones who’d stolen your destiny before you’d been a seed in your mother’s womb? This artistry certainly isn’t for the brutes of House Harkonnen.

The music halts half way through the fourth run. “Your timing is wrong,” the swordmaster says and has you begin again. 

By time he’s satisfied, your legs burn and your patience is worn thin. You can only glower at your guard, Fandral you’ve learned is his name, as he compliments the dance. “I like the story it tells,” he defends. 

“There’s not a story.” You massage the shoulder of your sword arm. The ache isn’t unwelcome, but the cause is frustrating. The time would have been better spent actually training.

“All art tells a story,” he says.

You scoff. “And what’s the story? I go crazy and start fighting air?”

“You can see it that way, but I think there’s more nuance.” He eyes the girls as you hand off the swords as if expecting one of them to run you through. “It’s the story of a girl turning into a woman.”

A laugh erupts from you. It’s a fitting story for your coming of age, at least. He tries to explain his reasoning. The symbolism of the first sword as the first menstruation, the second as the final years of youthful rebellion, and the end is the acceptance of the new role as a woman. You don’t quite believe it.

There’s no dreams of black teeth or the bite of blades that night. This nightmare is of your mother. Her face unmoving. Silent as you scream. She never moves, but she’s forever out of reach. Then she’s gone and you’re left gasping in the dark alone. 

“This is beautiful,” Paul says in awe as he stares out over the lake.

It’s difficult to not let every word out of his mouth annoy you. You remind yourself he didn’t steal anything from you. His mother did. “You should see it at sunrise.”

He tears his gaze off the water. “I’d like that.” He says it so earnestly you feel you’re missing something. 

“As would I,” Irulan says. You turn your head to look at her on your otherside, but her eyes remain focused on the scenery. 

“And I,” the Harkonnen rasps in your ear.

His addition to the excursion had been as unexpected as it was unwanted. He didn’t seem the type to enjoy a day by the water. Even now, he’s at odds with the world around him. His stark white skin and ghastly black clothes unsettling out amongst the colors. You doubt he truly wants to see the beauty of first light. 

“Another day,” you say. It’s not a promise. 

You only plan to stay for an hour at most, enjoying a light lunch under your favorite tree, but Paul asks about going out on the lake. There’s only a small canoe available on such short notice, but it’s enough. Irulan has no desire to get on the water and says she’d prefer to ask Feyd-Rautha about the Spice harvesting on Arrakis. You aren’t keen on leaving her with him, but she insists and there’s guards to keep her safe.

Paul tries to play the gentleman and offers you his hand once he’s in the canoe, but he’s unsteady and nearly tips it over. You return his apologetic smile as you hear hoarse, barking laughter from the tree.

He’s inquisitive as you row out of sight. About your studies, arts you partake in, foods you enjoy. He even asks about your favorite color. You try to respond in kind, but he doesn’t leave you much time to catch your breath between answers let alone ask your own questions. It’s frustrating but you smile and bear it.

“What’s that?” 

Blinking at him confused, you follow his gaze. A few meters from the shoreline was a small marble pavilion. It’s overgrown with vines, graying from the accumulation of dirt and grime. You’ve forgotten it was here. It feels like there’s cotton in your mouth when you speak. “Just an old pavilion.”

You let him take the canoe further for a while longer, before turning it back. You don’t look at the pavilion when you pass it again. It’s a relief to come back into view of the others. The canoe floats to stop beside the small dock. Fandral is there waiting, his arm extended. But Paul stands too quickly and the canoe sways. Your hand brushes Fandral’s outstretched one for a moment, but you tilt the other way and spill into the frigid water. 

It's not deep. Once you have bearings you’re able to stand and your head breaks through the surface. You take in a deep, shuddering breath. There’s a commotion beside you. Paul’s head pops out and sprays more water in your face.

Someone’s speaking, but there's a river flowing in your ears that makes it impossible to understand. It's a difficult walk to the dock. Your dress is heavy and the water slows your steps. An arm reaches out to you and you take it to help pull yourself up. 

Feyd-Rautha stares down at you. Not with a smile. There’s no amusement on his face. There's something new in his eyes you don’t recognize. It takes Fandral’s interference to release you from the intensity of his gaze. The guard shrugs off the jacket of his uniform and drapes it around your shoulders.

Irulan frets despite your multiple assurances you’re fine. It wasn’t deep. There was no danger. You’re wet, that’s all. Paul apologizes over and over and over again. “It was an accident,” you say in hopes of appeasing his guilt. You want Paul Atreides to leave you alone.

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next chapter

[rushtoprove]

our little secret

part two: revenge

pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader chapter: 2 rating: teen and up word count: 5k+ summary: aemond promised to take you as his wife when the time was right and you had no reason to doubt him. but when news of his engagement to cassandra baratheon is announced, and your name is left ruined by his nightly visits to your chamber, you have no choice but to flee from the shame you have brought upon your family and to run from the man you love. but not all is as it seems chapter summary: three years pass you by and you remain exiled from everyone you once held dear. when news reaches dorne that aemond is to visit the city, you must quickly find a way to seek the revenge you think you deserve. warnings: sexual references and nsfw scenes. period typical misogyny and course language. chapters: 1 / 2 notes: there has got to be an easier way to do taglists oh my lord. there has been such an insane reaction to this fic and i'm on cloud nine. i also got lots of requests on how this was going to play out and i'm very sorry if it's not how you imagined but hopefully you can still enjoy. I will definitely be posting another chapter after this but i THINK that will be it :P

It had been a long three years for you. Overwhelmed by heartbreak and despair, and barely breathing from bitterness and rage, this time had passed in a tidal wave of emotion. You had spent many nights weeping for Aemond Targaryen while crying out for you family and your home. You missed the gentleness of his touch, and the grip he held on to you in your long nights of passion. You craved how low his voice was when he whispered his poetic words, and the laugh he swore he only shared with you. Desperate for the feeling of your mother’s embrace and missing the way your brother would walk you around the grounds every morning, you thought you might die from your depression. You missed it all.

You sent letter upon letter to your family, imploring them to allow you home, and to see reason. You begged them to accept your deepest apologies, but not one was returned. You found yourself alone and abandoned in Dorne, a city you grew up to believe it was nothing more than debauchery and sin wherever you turned. For the first four months of your banishment, you refused to leave your room. You hardly ate the food that was delivered by your handmaiden, and your curtains were never pulled back. The days passed you by, but you did not know, for you were curled up beneath your blankets, praying to wake up from this nightmare. You were lucky, your banishment ended with you being a guest in Sunspear, the castle that home the noble House Martell. You could have been banished to the streets of silk or left to rot in the gutters of the Stormlands, but instead you were homed with the ruling lords of Dorne.

After a year of wondering around in a cloud of misery and despair, something inside you broke. Quickly you found yourself cursing the cruel prince for the way he had led you to believe his lies. How could you have been so foolish to believe a prince would consider taking you as a wife. You allowed him to keep you in a daze, submissive to his needs in a desperate belief that you would have your fairy tale ending. Suddenly you found yourself enraged by the memory of your controlling family who never once seemed to care for your needs. You do not remember a day in your whole life that your father had ever asked how you fair. Nor do you recall your mother ever standing up for you when your father would push you into the sights of old, savage and vulgar men for courting. Your brother was still young enough to be kind when needed but give a few years and he would be sure to follow in his father’s shadow.

Slowly your overwhelming desire to be with those you loved, turned into a desperate need for revenge. It kept you up at night. Your mind conjured up different ways to take the vengeance you so desperately craved but nothing seemed to hit the way you wanted. You knew it was not as serious as to murder, nor was it something you would even be able to stomach. You thought of sending more letter’s, declaring your hatred and resentment for all those who wronged you, but it was not enough. You didn’t know what you would do, but you were sure it would be something magnificent.

It was Prince Maron Martell, that came to you with a solution.

It was he, who ventured to your rooms every day, willing you to leave your darkened chambers, and it was he who succeeded in bringing you out into his father’s court. The way he spoke so freely, and acted so carelessly, brought you nothing but jealousy. You despised that it be so easy for a man to act immoral, to drink and fuck and sleep, and there be no consequence. No banishment. You were shamed for enjoying even the simplest of pleasures.

After one-to-many wine’s you allowed yourself to confess this.

“You are in Dorne little lady. We do not care for that judgement here. Pleasure and satisfaction are natural for the human body. Who are we to stop anyone from reaching true euphoria? If I do not care, and that woman under the arch over there does not care, nor does that boy behind the fountain care, why do you care so much?” You didn’t understand at first. The idea that pleasure was not to be hidden. You had spent so long hiding behind the closed doors of Aemond’s chamber, both trying to hide the sounds that your bodies desperately wished to make. You could not be seen making any advances in the eye of the court, nor could you allow the risk of anyone catching glimpses of small touches even in the darkest of corners. You had spent so long on edge, ashamed and frightened of what would happen if you were ever caught in the prince’s arms. It was immoral for a woman to partake in such activities for her own enjoyment, worst yet an unmarried one.

“I do not get the same freedom you do Maron. Women in this world are born to be caged. I am caged by my father. I shall be caged by my brother. My husband will likely close me up in the smallest cage of all. I shall never know freedom and I was a reckless whore for allowing myself to succumb to such depravity. Look where it got me.” You huffed at his care-free attitude as you swung a deeper gulp from your wine. You were already flushed from the scorching heat of the Dornish sun but sitting beneath it for a picnic with jugs upon jugs of wine was a terrible idea and you thought your face would melt then and there.

“Such harsh words from my favourite little lady. You are much too hard on yourself. Also I have sent many Dornish dresses to your room girl. You need to wear them. Your Westeros dresses are much too thick, I fear you shall pass out any second.”

“I cannot. It would be improper.” You let out a nervous laugh as you thought of the sheer dresses hanging in your cupboard. The way it felt as if you hardly wore anything. The materiel was too light, and you felt more exposed than you ever felt. Even if it did allow the wind to cool your temperature and the air allowed your skin to breathe, you could not think of the scandal it would create if your father found out.

Then one day, you did not care.

You found yourself gliding through the palace in the dresses with such ease you could not understand the trepidation you had to start with. Soon you became a frequent guest at the scandalous parties Prince Maron would hold every full moon and you finally allowed yourself to succumb to the pleasure and freedom that Dorne offered. You concerned yourself less and less for your appearance, your family name and instead you found yourself liberated. You had never felt so light and blissful. Without the watchful eyes of the courtiers and family members, and without the overwhelming need to please Aemond Targaryen, you were released from your misery.

Your awakening had been almost two years of uninterrupted freedom. But one day, it was ruined.

“Your past lover and his prudish family are coming to visit.” The words fell from Prince Maron’s lips so casually you could have almost missed it. But the strawberry you were about to draw to yours was quickly tossed down in shock.

“Pray tell… what do you mean?” Your heart raced as you felt your body still. As if a single move could destroy everything that you had built up. Memory upon memory of your once true love flashed through your mind making your heart ache punishingly hard. For a second you thought you might be experiencing a heart attack.

"The Targaryen's.” His hand quickly shot out and he brought your abandoned fruit to his lips with a smirk. He loved to frustrate you during your friendship, and it irritated you to no ends. With a deep breath and some calming words in your mind, you felt yourself recline in your seat and stare. You would not allow your past to disrupt everything you had built for yourself.

“Why do they come? Kings Landing hates Dorne. The Targaryen’s hate Dorne. Dorne hates Kings Landing. The Martell’s hate Kings Landing.” Maron hissed out in agreement before laughing at your declaration.

“Ah yes, I do hate those fucking Targaryen’s and Kings Landing, and you want to know something? I hate Aemond Targaryen most of all. Have I ever told you that?” You frowned at his confession. He had not mentioned this even after you had spent months weeping in his arms over everything Aemond had put you through. Although it still morning, you found yourself reaching for the wine to continue this conversation.

“I did not know you were acquainted.”

“Not long before you arrived here, our family welcomed Prince Aemond for a week. He was on some diplomatic mission or some fuckery. He was a miserable cunt, and everyone believed him to be arrogant and rude, but my sister Nymeria…” Taking in a deep breath, Marion flattened his hands and looked sadly down to his plate with the familiar distance in his eyes that always flooded him when he mentioned Nymeria. “Nymeria became besotted. In only a week she declared he was the love of her life. Begged us to let her wed him.” It was as if Marion had reached his fingers inside her chest, just to clutch your heart and squeeze it with a formidable force.

“Aemond seems to have that affect.” You looked away, desperately trying to fight the jealousy that coursed through your veins. It should be no surprise that Aemond was courting yet another woman during your time with him. You tried hard not to think about how many more there could have been.

“Yes. My little sister, my sweet little sister, was absolutely infatuated. So much so that she declared it for him. I remember how nervous she was, how hard she paced as she planned what she would say. They walked around the gardens for hours, and everyone thought it must have worked and that Nymeria would come back Princess of Westeros. But the miserable cunt turned her down. Flew away on his dragon and left her heart broken. Just like you, I spent my days bundling her up in my arms trying to soothe her cries. Aemond had told her he could not marry her for he was promised to another and not two months later, the news of his engagement to Cassandra Baratheon was announced.” You flinched at the name while pursing your lips to try and hide the way you were willing yourself not to cry. The thought of Aemond with his wife was already something you battled before sleep every night, you did not need the image during the day.

“Did he…” You don’t know why you asked because you were sure the answer would bring you nothing but more pain, and gods, you were over pain.

“Did he have her? She said no. You know those men like to keep their wife until marriage. I shall never know the truth.” He had not waited to have you. He did not plan to wed you.

“Perhaps he has a need, a pride, to break young girls' hearts. Perhaps it darkens his already black heart.” You twirled your finger upon the rim of the goblet you drank from while Prince Marion pondered upon your words.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he is so careless he simply does not think of what is at stake to those around him. Only a few days after the news of his betrothal Nymeria was taken by a fever. I do not blame him for her sickness. But I will not have him parading around with his family proudly within our walls while my sister spent her dying moments wasting her tears on him. I wish to seek revenge for my sister… and I know you want your own form of retribution from the young prince.” Meeting his eye, you noticed the gleam of excitement. You could not lie; you were interested in what he had in mind.

“Hmmm.” You leaned on your elbow upon the table and allowed your chin to rest upon your palm as your amusement overtook your heartache.

“Wed me.” You could not contain the laugh the passed through your smirking lips.

“Wed you?”

“Yes. Wed me.”

“It may have escaped you, but I'm not your usual type.” He cackled at your words, knowing full well that he was attracted to his squires and court men and could not imagine being intimate with a woman. As dear as you were to him.

“Obviously my little lady. But just while he is here. We announce our engagement and partake in activities with a united front. Your ghosts need not know the truth. Let them think you are to wed me. Your family is within the royal party and shall be attending as well. Let your family think you are to marry into the greatest house in Westeros. And let the fickle little prince think his lover has been taken by a much prettier, stronger prince.” You were both laughing, but you knew the fatal flaw in his grand plan.

“Aemond cares not for me. I was just another body to warm his bed, and he left me discarded without a second thought. He will not care that you have me. Hells, he will likely not remember me at all.” The truth left you disheartened, but Marion only laughed harder.

“Those bastards from your little city are all the same. A man like Aemond will always consider you, his property. He has you once and in his mind no one else can have you again. I will never understand the greed and selfishness of your people. The ownership you all feel over your pleasure. Aemond shall know you, and he shall definitely care when he sees you by my side. Trust me.” You let your mind take over as you pondered on his proposition. If Aemond and your family were to arrive, you would have no choice but to see them during the dinners and banquets and the gloom that lingered over you at the mere thought sent a shiver racing down your spine. But the idea of your family having to bow as you took your position beside Prince Marion, and the thought of Aemond’s shocked gaze as you wrap a loving arm around your betrothed made the dark future a little brighter.

It was not murder. Nor was it letters. But you considered this the perfect revenge for those who wronged you.

+++

You did not go and greet the royal party upon their arrival. The Martell’s simply apologised that Prince Marion’s future wife could not make it. No one spared a second thought. Tonight, however, Marion was holding a masked ball in honour of the honoured guests. You knew now that it was the time to creep out from the shadows you had been banished to. Embarrassingly enough, however, a small part of you still found yourself waiting for a knock at your door as you readied yourself for the grand banquet. You don’t know if you wanted Aemond or your family to be behind it and you would never know, for they never came.

The nerves got the better of you, and you ended up an hour late to the festivities. Sneaking through a side door, you managed to enter without being seen and quickly blended into the hall full of masked figures. Fire twirlers and dancers hanging from silk upon the roof entertained the already drunken crowd, leaving no one to pay attention to your late arrival. The hall was deafeningly loud, with the music and the laughter battling one another. The atmosphere reeked of wine and food and the hall was humid from the fire and the dancing bodies. A banquet in Kings Landing would never be this exciting.

“Hello beautiful.” You felt an arm wrap tightly around you, drawing you in and leaving you facing a drunken fool. His breath was hot, and the smell of mead was bitter to your senses, leaving you nauseated.

“Get the fuck off.” You grunted, shoving him away in anger. The cunt swore under his breath before stumbling away, off to hunt down another victim, you were sure. The moment he moved; however, your vision was cleared, and you could see who sat upon the royal table. Gods, you wished you hadn’t.

“Handsome. Aren’t they?” Someone laughed as you were caught staring up at the silver haired figures. The entire Targaryen family were shoulder to shoulder as they put on a united front against the Dornish gaze. Your glare was stuck on Aemond, who stood proudly as he gazed down at those who he probably considered beneath him. He was still as handsome as ever, with his sharp jawline and glorious Targaryen hair. His posture was still flawless, and his black leather still fit his slender body perfectly. His eye was still covered by his eye patch, and you thought back to the last time you had seen him. The way he had bowed himself to you while you slid it from his face. The lies he told you when he said he only allowed you to gaze upon what was hidden beneath. Everything he ever promised you was now nothing but lies in your mind. You hated how handsome he looked, and you hated the way your heart raced the way it used to all those years ago. You wanted to scream right then and there, but you breath was caught in your throat.

Impossible as you thought it could be, you swore that when he looked into the crowd, he found you. But it was impossible. You had imagined the way his eye had widened, and the small step forward he had taken. He could not have known it you beneath the mask you wore. There were too many people around you for him to even spot your figure in the horde. Yet, for that very moment, your world stopped. The entire hall faded, and everything went quiet as you stood, staring at your lost love. The few seconds in your mind where it was just you and him, was bliss.

You thought back to the first time you met Aemond Targaryen. Your first-time meeting happened to be your first time alone with him. Your family had been invited to live in the Red Keep alongside your father as he made his way up the hierarchy of power. You cared little for his scheming, but the idea of living in a castle was exciting enough. The idea of living in a place with such ancient libraries was even more. You spent your days huddling in different corners, sprawling lazily in the window’s light or simply sitting by the empty fireplace in the corner, devouring every book you could get your hands on.

“It’s beginning to irritate me that you are stealing all the interesting books.” He had been watching you quietly from the balcony above every time you had wondered into his spot. It was his only place he could have peace and quiet, until you came along. For some unknown reason, he did not seem to mind.

“Prince Aemond. Apologies for interrupting.” You had gasped out, reddened in shock at the sight of him. He had slowly descended towards you, like a hunter to its prey. You felt something shift inside you that very moment.

“No matter. I see you hiding around here almost all hours of the day. What is your name?”

And for two months you had spent your days hiding within the library with your prince. It started innocently enough, sharing book suggestions and discussing his philosophy studies. Sometimes you think, you can’t remember what led to you spending your night squirming beneath his devilish touch.

You cursed yourself for reliving the memories of your past and for falling back to your foolish ways so easily. Turning to the idiot who asked the question in the first place, you grunted out your reply.

“I’ve seen better.” Marching away in frustration, you practically ran to the table that held the jugs of wine. One of the servants tried to slowly pour a glass, but you simply snatched the jug and filled your goblet to the very top. Downing it quickly, you poured another. It was beyond frustrating that after everything Aemond Targaryen had done, and after all the healing you had been through, you were still reduced to a love struck fool the moment you saw him again.

No. You would not allow this.

Turning quickly on your heel, your eyes darted between the courtiers and lords, trying to find the perfect one. Even with masks, you recognised familiar faces. Jason Lannister stood happily beside some poor young girl who only barely looked of age. The young Baratheon lord who once sent a poem a day to your rooms once upon a time was standing amongst some Dornish men trying to see who could gulp down a barrel of spiced wine the quickest. The Tyrell first-born who had promised to sail you around the world way back when, lay passed out beneath one of the fire dancers' stages. It was Aemond, and the thought of what could be, that had led you to reject the advances of all these men, but looking around now, it was obvious you had made the right decision.

“My wife… please listen…” You were shoved harshly from the left, leaving you stumbling to gain composure, while a light-footed woman darted past in anger. Your body recovered, but your heart began crumbling as you watched your brother try and chase the woman who was shoving her way through the crowd.

“Go back to that flexible dancer you bastard. I can tell you were enjoying watching!” Without a second glance, your brother pushed himself further, and swept you to the side so he could chase after his wife, leaving you trying to fight the ache in your heart. Your brother, whom you had adored from the moment you were born, had been wed without anyone giving you any information. Perhaps he had children, and now you were an aunt? What else had you missed out on?

“Excuse me, my lady?” Finally tearing your eyes from the sight of your brother, you turned to see a Lord bowed before you. His brown curls tumbled down his toned shoulders and sat pretty against his white undershirt that he had taken to only wearing in this heat.

“Yes?” You frowned at him, but taking in his muscular body, and his towering height, you knew you had found the right one. You did not need to do anything for it seemed he had come to act out your desire on his own accord.

“I am Lord Cregan Stark. I was hoping I may steal you away for this dance.” His hand extended out to you, and you happily grasped on to it with a seductive laugh.

“Oh, you may.” You had taken a liking to the toned man already, and you melted as everyone brushed to the side quickly to let through his towering form. But he was too gentle. You could barely feel his touch as he guided you to the starting position of the dance, and when you began moving, he did not pull you any closer than need be.

“A Stark in Dorne? I did not think your house left the snow for anything.” You let your fingernail drag over his bicep as you spun and felt a sense of pride in the way he clenched at the sensation.

“My younger sister Sara wished to visit the court of King Viserys. I am simply her humble guard. We did not realise a visit to Kings Landing would end up being a trip to Dorne.”

“And do you like Dorne?” He pondered on your question for a moment, before sadly shaking his head.

“No. And I don’t like Kings Landing either. It is much too hot for my Winterfell raised body.” You smiled at his bluntness; happy he was truthful in your conversation. But you were given no time to reply. A brawl broke out in the centre of the hall, and you felt yourself swept back in the horde of people moving away from the violence. Screams began ringing out and soon everyone began pushing harshly against one another to escape or join in on the savagery.

“Sara!” Cregan cried out as he craned his neck to look around the hall. You pushed him arm away from your shoulder as he tried to keep you away from the commotion.

“Go and find her! I will be alright.” He looked at you for a split second, before giving you a grateful nod and pushing his way in to the centre of the circle. It seemed the brutality was only gaining more force and you found yourself being shoved around harshly, rattling your brain and leaving you breathless and dizzy.

“Marion!?” You cried out, trying your best to push your way out of the stampede of feet and arms failing around you. Just when you thought you had reached the outer circle of the fight, the crowd surged in your direction, and you felt yourself fly towards the stone floor beneath you. You cried out in fear and threw your hands forward, bracing yourself from an impact that never came.

“There you are sweetheart. Sorry I’m late, I was looking everywhere for you.”

You could have cried. The familiar safety of his arms wrapping around your body almost broke you then and there. The voice that haunted your dreams was so smooth, you forgot everything. When he pulled you tightly into his chest and moved you forwards, carrying you from the danger, you couldn’t help uttering his name from your lips.

“Aemond…” You whispered, your eyes closing in relief as you found yourself able to breathe again. You felt him brush the hair that had been stuck by sweat to your forehead and began caressing the side of your face as you relaxed into his arms. You were still overcome with dizziness from the ordeal.

“My love, this is where you’ve been hiding from me, I see.” You don’t recall if you imagined the crack in his voice or not. You struggled to breath properly leaving Aemond to run his hand along your back in worry, and he pressed a firm kiss to your temple. He did not see the tear the escaped your closed eyes.

“You…” You croaked out, before quickly shaking your head. Pushing against him, Aemond tumbled back with a start and stood staring at you in shock. You kept shaking your head as you stumbled backwards, trying to rid yourself from the warmth that had taken over you by his touch.

“Stop. Come back I… I must look upon you longer. I must convince myself that you are real and that you will not fade before my eye.” He stalked forward to grasp your hands, but you quickly ripped them away and shook harder. You thought it might be pain that flashed across his face, but it was surely not.

“NO! You do not get to look upon me! You do not get to touch me! I will not let you whisper your words any longer!” You tried to steady yourself on a tree, and only just realised Aemond had pulled you into the gardens for safety and fresh air. You heard him move behind you, and without thinking you quickly began walking forward. You don’t know where you were going but you just wanted to be away from him. You remembered the way he would chase you around his bedchamber when you would deny him a kiss unless he caught you. You pictured the memory of him finally wrapping you up and shoving you against the wall while clutching your hair and kissing you with unimaginable passion. The memories were too much to bare and you ran you fingers vigorously through your hair, as if trying to peel them away.

“Stop! No, I won’t let you run away again!” You heard Aemond quickly move to follow you, making your walk turn into a run. Dashing forward without a second thought, you ran straight into the entrance of the maze at the centre of the garden, running faster as you heard Aemond’s heavy foot falls behind you. You weaved around corners and took sharp turns in different directions, hoping to lose the prince who was desperately trying to follow. He was muttering and growling in frustration every time your body slipped away from his reach.

“Leave me Aemond! I do not wish to see you!” You cried out as you stormed around another corner. Aemond called out your name while ignoring your plea and chasing after you even faster.

“Well, that is too bad! You owe me this do you not think!?” His voice was weaved with anger, and you could hear the way he was shoving away the branches and trying to rip his way through to you.

“I owe you nothing!” You were shocked by his nerve, but you thought him just trying to provoke you. Marion was right. Men like Aemond would always think himself an owner over those he takes to bed, but you would not allow him to have that control over you. How dare he think you owe him anything after he played you a fool?

“Just come to me so we can…. please just let me talk to you once more.” You shivered at the desperation in his voice. He was a brilliant actor. Perhaps if he wasn’t born a prince, he would be in plays.

“We have nothing to discuss Prince Aemond. You should find your way back to the ball, it is in your honour.” You found yourself back at the very start of the maze, so you bundled up your skirts and took off in the direction of the feast. You heard Aemond cry out your name in protest, begging for you to return to him, but you paid no mind. You did not imagine you would hear your name on his lips once more. Tumbling into the open doors, you were quickly swept up in Marion’s arms.

“Where the fuck did you end up?” He laughed in relief, bundling you up and pressing a firm kiss on your forehead.

“Don’t ask.” You moaned into his neck. You held him tightly, desperate for some relief to the pain you were feeling.

“Aemond!” You heard the cry of Queen Alicent, and could only assume that the prince had followed you in. The hall was emptied of its guests and all that was left was a small handful of noblemen who seemed to have been waiting for the safe arrival of Aemond after such vicious fighting.

You thought you would feel a small satisfaction that he would be greeted with the sight of you wrapped up in Marion’s arms, but instead you felt cold and empty. Once more Aemond whispered your name, but you did not turn and instead focused your attention on Marion. With a small squeeze on your elbow, Marion placed a kiss upon your forehead and wrapped a loving arm around your waist.

“Ah Prince Aemond! A thousand thank-you’s for returning my betrothed to me so safe and sound. I was overwhelmed with worry.” Aemond’s intake of breath was sharp and loud as Marion declared you his future wife. You hid yourself behind so that no one saw the tears well in your eyes.

“My son… come.” Alicent ordered sadly, almost pitifully.

“Is this true?” Aemond snapped.

“Yes! I have found myself quite fond of my little lady.” In fact, I…” Marion was cut off by Aemond raising his voice.

“Will you not at least have the decency to fucking face me?” He seethed out. You could stand it no longer. Stumbling forward once more, you walked briskly towards the exit. Your brother and father stood to the side, jaws slack as they took you in, but you cared not. All you wanted was to be alone inside your bedchamber to wallow in your despair. You just wanted to be alone.

You did not see the way Aemond stared at your shrinking figure in despair.

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i don't know why some names don't link sorry

[aayakashii]

tastes like mint – ch.2

Pairing: Ishibashi Tohma x MC

Warnings: suggestive content and angst

Chapter 1 can be read here

“Don’t move. Put your hands up slowly without turning around.”

Tohma couldn't keep the smirk that lifted the corner of his mouth while he observed the “stranger” in front of him raise their arms carefully.

He already knew very well who that was. He had, much to his own dismay, memorized every detail of their curves and now could pinpoint them even if they were in a distant crowd.

“Very sensible. Now slowly turn this way.”

Tohma licked his lips as he watched you slowly turn towards him, doe eyes widened in surprise, with a twinge of fear that could break his heart if he looked at it for too long.

“I-it's just me, Tohma…” you said, quietly, as if he was an angry monster that shouldn't be messed with. He did feel like one, whenever he teased you (It felt so good, though).

“... Oh? Well, if it isn't the honor student.” he said, faking surprise “My deepest apologies. I'm rather security-conscious, you see.” he said with a slight shrug.

“But I've been here so many times to help you… I thought you already recognized me…” you pouted and Tohma was torn between never wanting to tease you again so you'd feel safe with him, and teasing you relentlessly just to see you puckering your lips like that.

“I have been entrusted with the management of Darkwick's vaults, so I am always on the alert for intruders, you see” he smiled politely, hand going up to fix his monocle. “Please refrain from any suspicious activity, if possible.”

“I… I see… I mean, I know. I'm sorry. I just came to bring you a document that needs to be signed so I can take it to the staffroom” you let out a small, tired sigh.

Poor you. Always being dragged up and down by staff and students alike. If only he could carry all of your burdens and let you fully depend on him. That would probably multiply his work load by a million, but if it meant having you indebted to him, it would all make it worth it. He knows a few ways he could have you pay your due.

“Oh? Is that so. Well, let's go to the vault then, I will brew some tea for us.” he said, quickly leading the way towards the ice cold room where he (slaved away) did his duties.

‘Us’.

Tohma pursed his lips, as if he didn't want the taste of the word leaving his mouth like the smoke from his cigarettes.

It sounded so perfect, like the last piece of a puzzle finally being set in place. He wondered, bitterly, if there is a world in which this ‘Us’ existed and how could he possibly teleport himself there.

Tohma opened the thick doors of the vault and led you to your usual seat.

“Please sit, I will make the tea and we can discuss the document matters soon”

“Okay” you said, voice quiet as you tried not to disturb the constant silence of the room. Your hands quickly moved to embrace yourself in order to fight off the cold. 

Tohma glared at your right hand. 

As long as you wore that ring, though, he knows not even dying and being reborn could lead you to him.

He knew oh so well how Jin had very serious plans for his future, all of which involved you. You were the key to his powers, after all. He had to hold your hand, quite literally, if he wanted the world to bend its knee for him.

And who is Tohma before the grand schemes of the Kamurai Empire?

Tohma tried to focus on the clink clink of porcelain as he carefully picked the herbs and boiled water. His eyes drooped, like wilted flowers, as he organized the tea set. He had grabbed the cups he had recently bought – the pattern and colors reminded him of you, so he kept it tucked away, so no one besides him could use it.

He felt pathetic, pining for you like a sad and doomed protagonist in a romance movie, but he knew that, in his life, he was pretty much given the script of a mere supporting character.

He breathed deeply, shoulders tensing up like he needed to prepare himself to meet your eyes again, much like a fighter getting ready to be punched. When he turned, however, the scene was not what he expected.

Surrounding you, his chess guards clinked and jumped in joy, each piece trying to get closer to your dumbfounded figure that didn't know what to do to appease them.

Tohma's face flushed at how clearly they were reflecting his own thoughts about you. It was preposterous. So he had to hide his own feelings deep inside himself, but his stupid guards couldn't contain their little ice bodies just by having you around them? Well, not on his watch.

With a snap of his fingers, he turned the pieces into icy dust. A tight lipped smile broke into his face.

“My apologies for the inconvenience.” he said, graciously carrying the tray to the table “They were being rather pushy, weren't they?”

You shook your head, laughing.

“They were kinda cute, actually. I don't mind.” you held the teacup, bringing it close to your face so you could feel the warmth of the steam.

“Oh, is that so? Well, I think some anomalies can be rather… unpredictable at times. And that is surely inconvenient.”

You shrugged.

“Guess I'm already kinda used to it.”

Tohma hummed as he fixed his own tea in front of you, his hands properly pouring the liquid without a single spill. Through his peripheral vision, he observed how you took a sip of his tea, letting out a little moan of delight at the taste of the expertly brewed drink.

He briefly closed his eyes, while a shiver ran through his spine at the sound. 

Oh god, how he would love to hear you sound like that again. He could destroy buildings upon buildings over and over again, until he had no power left, until it made him nothing but the husk of a once powerful ghoul, if it meant having you moan softly against his ear every single day of his life. He could exchange all that he has if it meant he could have you at the end.

Tohma breathed deeply. That stupid and depraved dream had thrown him for a loop. It wasn't like him to act like a horny teen and think about sex so constantly, much less act so lovesick for someone who, in all honesty, didn't even deserve that level of obsession.

but oh how he wished he could just fuck your brains out on that table and have you moan for him over and over again

His grip unconsciously tightened and the teapot clinked lightly against the cup.

A drop fell on the white cotton tablecloth.

“Um, Tohma.” you called him, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Yes?” he croaked, voice a little bit louder than he expected while he grabbed a napkin to hide the stain.

“After you sign the document…” you fidgeted on your seat “There was something I have to ask you. If you have time, that is.”

Tohma raised an eyebrow.

“Of course. Let me take a look at the document now.”

You looked restless during his whole time reading the document. 

It was actually a bit distracting, especially when you leaned over the paper while he signed his name to attest that the document had been fully evaluated.

“So? What did you want to ask?”

Tohma placed the pen on the file and folded his hands, looking at you inquisitively. Doing his utmost best not to let his own uneasiness spread onto his features.

Your head snapped towards him. You looked to the side and quickly opened and closed your mouth, apparently not knowing how to bring up whatever it was that you wanted to tell him.

Tohma braced himself for impact, expecting the absolute worst. Something like you breaking the news of your marriage to Jin, or maybe you saying you fell for someone else, or maybe you revealing that you found a cure for you curse and how you would inevitably forget him, or–

“Um… So... You're always busy, right?”

He blinked slowly, the silly question taking him off guard.

“Yes…? Yes. Most of the time, I am very busy.”

“Um, I see. Well, is there a day in which I could help you tackle most of your work?”

He tilted his head towards you, confused, holding inside the need to say a loud "Huh?" – that was delinquent behavior, and he left his delinquent days in Vagastrom.

“… I believe so? But why? Do you need something?”

“Um, kinda? I just wanted to help you get some free time because I–”

Right when you were going to explain yourself, your phone began to ring. 

“Oh, shit.” you murmured and stood up, quickly packing your things after you saw the caller ID.

“What's wrong?”

“It's the Chancellor.” you frowned, looking at the incoming call that you seemed extremely hesitant to take “I hope nothing happened… The last time I saw him, we didn't have the most pleasant and easy conversation. I'm so sorry Tohma, can we continue our conversation later? I still want to talk to you.”

The smile that slowly spread on Tohma's lips didn't fully reach his eyes, but he nodded politely.

“No problem. You know where to find me.”

“Don't spook me next time, though!” you mouthed as you walked through the vault's door and answered the dreaded phone call.

As he saw your figure walk away from him way too soon, Tohma was hit by a bitter sensation of déja vu.

Full masterlist

[scenteddelusion5]

A Daring Creature - Part 4

Zestial x fem reader angel

Note: I at first wanted it to ba a longer chapter but I like the way it ended right here. I felt adding to it would make the sweet moment, like, POP less. If that makes sense?

Word count: 1462

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Two months went by, every other day did Zestial take Y/n out to explore the pride ring. The two grew closer and closer, he got enamoured by her antics and she started to appreciate his calm and stoic personality, even though she also liked to rile the demon up sometimes.

The new cloaked stranger that was always with Zestial did not go unnoticed by the masses. Demons either were too afraid to get involved or wanted to know everything about the girl, the latter of which were mostly fellow overlords.

It started to become more and more difficult to keep Y/n away from people like Alastor and Vox, avoiding them became a daily struggle. Zestial almost wanted to keep Y/n inside for a few weeks so the fuss would die out but after seeing how her face immediately lost her shine and became saddened, he scratched that idea. And thus they continued the hide-and-seek game.

And Zestial had to admit, he was pretty good at it. That was until one day the two were walking down the street and saw Alastor walking around the corner. Without a second to think, Zestial turned to two around to walk the other way, only to see Vox and Valentino on the other side.

He quickly grabbed Y/n by the arm and dug into an alleyway. If he remembered it correctly, he was pretty sure there was a backway entrance to Carmine's home there. Finding the door, they swiftly made their way inside without the overlords seeing them.

"I'm getting sick of having the hide every time we see one of them," Y/n complained, "I wish they would just leave me alone."

"I understand, however, we can not afford one of those finding out thy secret." Zestial straightened his own cloak.

"Zestial?" Carmilla walked into the little hallway. "It isn't like you to visit unannounced."

"Mine own deepest apologies Carmilla," Zestial greeted his old friend, "it was an emergency."

"I see." She looked Y/n up and down again, a hint of disapproval could be found in her stare. "Come in, now that you're here I would like to discuss something with you."

Y/n was about to follow the two overlords into another room, when Carmilla stopped her.

"I would like to discuss this alone." Her tone changed from disapproving to downright hostile. "Sit still and stay here, do you think you can accomplish it this time or should I call in someone to watch you like a pet?"

"I'll be fine," Y/n answered while gritting her teeth.

As soon as the two overlords made it to the office, Zestial gave the woman a glare. "Yond wast uncalled for Carmilla."

"It is true. You've been prancing this girl around town like a pet, showing everyone one of your weak links and for what?" She questioned, "we both know there would be easier and safer ways to go about holding up your end of the deal."

"I hast mine own reasons for doing this," he argued back.

"What reasons? Because of your deal you can ask anything of this girl, there is no need to butter up to her so she'll agree to spy on the heavens for you. She'll HAVE to agree!" She took a few breaths to calm down. "As long as you haven't decided why you are doing all this, I can't support you. I won't do anything against you but I can't risk my people's and my safety for a plan you yourself may sabotage."

"Carmilla, I greatly appreciateth thy concern and opinion, however, this is the way I hath chosen to handle mine own planeth." Zestial stood up and made his way to the door. "So thee and I shall not beest meeting eachoth'r for a some timeth."

"Unfortunately yes," the other overlord agreed.

Y/n had been sitting on a small chair in the hallway, brooding. How dare that bitchy overlord woman call her a pet? Who does she think she is? It's true that Carmilla was smart, strong, powerful and a badass business woman... But still, she couldn't just talk to others that way! ....Or maybe she could? Y/n was in hell after all, things like equality and basic respect for others didn't exist here, something Zestial had shielded her from.

Such thoughts plagued the angel's mind

If he had been walking through the streets with Carmilla, all if this wouldn't be happening... Imagining Zestial and the other overlord walking around, laughing, going on outings, it twisted Y/n's stomach. It was the unfamiliar, sickening feeling of jealousy.

That's when Zestial appeared back in the hallway with a scowl on his face, one Y/n had been able to draw out many times with her stunts. However, unlike before, she felt something heavy on her heart.

"Alloweth us wend." Zestial didn't give her glance as left the building, assuming the angel would follow him, which she did.

The two walked the streets in silence. Before Y/n had wanted to propose going to that lovely park with the flowers again but she was afraid their moods would just sour the good memories she had there. Instead she just looked down at the pavement and wandered behind Zestial aimlessly.

The overlord was barely paying attention to where he was going. All he could focus on were Carmilla's words ringing in his ears. It's true that all of this could be done easier but going around town with y/n was a good way to build up trust and a relationship with her. That he needed because, well because...

He needed it. He decided, not letting himself ponder further on the subject, too afraid of what he would find. Instead he noticed the unusual lack of disruption from the angel.

Looking back, he noticed Y/n. She was looking sad, hiding under the cloak and big hood. Zestial could barely see the girl's face. Had Carmilla's comment really bothered her so?

"Doth not beest bothered, Y/N," he spoke up, "I doth not bethink of thee as a pet. Carmilla was simply trying to behold out for me and becameth a did bite too hostile towards thee in the processeth."

"So, you aren't mad at me?" She asked in almost a whisper.

"I couldst never be angry with thee."

Y/n's face lightened up after hearing that. "Really? That's a very dangerous statement you just made there," she taunted.

"I am sure." Zestial had a small but sincere smile on his face. "I doth not maketh false statements."

"Alright then mister tall, dark and spidery, I'm taking your hat!" She jumped up and tried to grab his hat but was unable to reach it.

"Absolutely not." Zestial commented as Y/n made several more attempts to reach it, all of which the overlord was able to avoid.

"What's with the stern tone? I thought you just said you would never get mad at me?" She smirked.

It was truly a sight to behold, first the two were almost dancing around each other as the anger was trying to steal his hat and now she was on her tippy toes staring up at him. The sight made Zestial's heart beat faster.

"No one hast did dare to challenge me in such ways thee doth." Zestial blushed slightly. "Thou art a truly daring creature, Y/n."

"It's called banter." Y/n was swiftly able to snatch the hat off as the overlord had put his guard down.

"Banter?"

"Yes, banter." The angel was adjusting the hat, fiddling with the hem and turning it slightly. "Maybe you should buy a dictionary."

Zestial chuckled at the way his hat was clearly too big for her. "I owneth enough dictionaries."

"A modern one, I mean."

"Anon, thou art very much pushing it."

Having noticed how tired Y/n was, the overlord decided to bring her back home. They had a long day and he had to work on a few of his papers again. Zestial had to admit, he had been neglecting his duties a bit.

Zestial was sitting in his office. The old clock on the wall read 3 am. It had been a while since he had to work this late but it was the price he had to pay for his daytime outings. It did give him time to reflect on the eventful day.

"Edward." The overlord called upon his contractee.

The small demon appeared immediately. "Yes, sir?"

"How is Y/n faring?"

"She ate well and is now sound asleep," he reported, "would you like me to wake her up?"

"Alloweth her to sleep" Zestial sighed, "prithee wend out and buyeth a dictionary for me."

"A dictionary?" Edward mumbled to himself. "A particular preference? I heard the Store for Old Books and Testaments has acquired an old dictionary."

"No, I wanteth a modern one."

"A mode-"

"Yes."

"I'll see to it sir."

Part 5 - unfinished

I was finally able to work in the title!!!

Masterlist/Request guidelines

Taglist: @sirenetheblogger

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Fifteen

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hey, besties! Guess who passed their State Board Exams…? ME! I DID! Now, all I gotta do is fill out some paperwork, and I'll be licensed. I've started working already, but it's only three days a week right now, so pretty good! Don't hesitate to comment or ask me questions. I love hearing them and seeing others discuss them. Happy reading, everyone, and let the celebrations commence!

Chapter Warnings: Violence

The celebrations of Aegon's birth had finally arrived. All the Great Houses were expected to come—all but one. The Velaryons and part of the Targaryen faction were not extended an invitation. Rhaenys had taken this as a political slight by Queen Alicent. She was collateral damage in the cold war between Rhaenyra and her old friend. Guilty by association.

Lord Corlys was still fighting for control of the Stepstones and had put his loyal Lady Wife on the Driftwood throne to rule in his stead. The alliance of the Triarchy and House Martell of Dorne was of much concern, and without the aid of the King's fleet, the battle was all but lost. Yet, through it all, the Sea Snake remained on the collection of islands, fighting tooth and nail against those who wished control of his rightful territory.

Princess Rhaenys did not know of your efforts inside the Keep, slowly but surely attempting to send help to the losing battles. The day she was crowned the "Queen Who Never Was" came to mind. She felt abandoned by her cousins, Daemon and Viserys, for refusing to take a stance on the insurgents. Baela was her only solace, her heart missing the pieces her children used to occupy. She would never forgive them if her husband died.

You sat at the exponentially smaller desk in your room, the maids you had yet to become familiar with brushing your silky hair as you read two pieces of parchment.

Jace and your father had sent you letters. Daemons were curt, mentioning nothing about how he missed or thought of you while away. It was as if he was speaking to a fellow warrior, not his daughter. Only ensuring you were still on track with your efforts, wanting to know how far the influence of the Hightowers reached and when to expect words regarding the Stepstones. You ignored him for now, folding it in threes and placing it in the side drawer of your desk as you read your brother's.

"Dear Sister,

Jealousy became me when I bid you farewell a few days ago. I knew what I said was wrong as the words lept from my tongue. I am not proud, and regret has haunted me since. I express my sincerest and deepest apologies.

You have always been open and honest with your emotions, and I wish to do the same. I love you, sissy, despite what my words may have alluded to. You have experienced hardships that no child of that age should witness, and you did not grow to resent your family for it. I cannot say the same for me if something similar happened.

I wish the Queen did not invite you to Kings Landing, not because I am jealous, but because I haven't a clue what I mean to do without you. Father wants me to be strong, like you. He wants me to practice swords like you. He wants me to listen to Mother's audiences like you, but I am not you. I am a boy whose lineage is clouded with stolen kisses and an accidental fire.

I wish you were still here so I could feel your embrace. I do not believe I can handle Daemon for much longer. How have you done it for so long?

The days cannot go fast enough as I await your return. I intend to give you a proper apology once you are home. Perhaps we can spend some time in Aegon the Conqueror's Garden as I grovel? I will arrange a picnic for when I do. I don't want to beg on an empty stomach.

Missing you,

Jacaerys Velaryon, your wretched little brother."

His endearing letter did not help the ache for Dragonstone. A smile burned your cheeks as you rubbed the dry paper between your fingers. You could smell the brimstone on the fibers, the sulfuric scent taking you home.

"My Lady," a servant gained your attention, taking your focus off the sweet words. "The men should be returning from their hunts in the Kingswood soon. I would suggest we start readying you for the tourney later today."

You nodded wordlessly, giving them a tight-lipped smile as you put Jace's letter next to Daemon's. You will be sure to write them both later.

You were confident Jace would love to hear how the tourney went. He had always gravitated toward stories of knights in shining armor valiantly jousting for a lady's favor. He had spoken several times about wanting to participate in the events. That was the only thing that pushed him to pursue the sword, other than your mother's and father's orders.

You could picture your little brother atop a white steed, armor resembling a dragon with a lance in his hand, asking for the favor of one special noble girl. The image brought a genuine grin to your face. Jace was always the gentleman his Mother taught him to be.

You wanted to stand out amongst the crowd of green royals you were sure to be seated with. It was to be your first public appearance since your legitimization, and you had to make an impression. You allowed your ladies to bathe you, and upon your exit from the tub, you requested one to show you the variety of gowns you had brought. Black was always the most innovative option, representing the colors of your House, and there were plenty to choose from, thankfully. It was only a matter of which one.

You decide to help your decision by considering the weather and environment. Most of the gowns you had were thick for the constant chill of Dragonstone and would indeed have you draped over a chair with a fan to cool off despite the changing seasons. That had only left you with a few options, which immensely helped. It had revealed a dress you once deemed too scandalous to wear in your family's presence.

It was not typical Westerosi fashion. Rhaenyra had commissioned a tailor in Dorne to create a gown when you officially became of bedding age.

You could tell it was something she had longed to wear as a girl, a freeing and rebellious design, but etiquette and her position would not allow her to wear such exotic clothing. You did agree with her that it was stunning. The deep plunging 'v' of the neckline certainly accentuated your breasts and made them much more pleasing to the eye as your maids tightened the strings in the back.

The fabric was a combination of red with an overlay of black lace. Golden thread held the seams together, and a matching cape to your shoulders, leaving your arms bare. Pieces of Aurelian were sewn on the shoulder pads of it, looking like crumpled yellow leaves that cascaded down your biceps. A circled belt of silver was delicately snitched around your waist, the excess of the metal resting between your legs.

After you were dressed, the servants ushered you to the vanity, holding the draping fabric so it did not catch as they began to fix your ebony hair. They elected not to put it in its usual braided style, instead rolling and twisting the long strands onto themselves until they reached the base of your head, pinning it to your head. It was simple, and you immensely enjoyed the freedom it gave to your range of motion.

Next, they adorned you with matching jewelry and a delicate headpiece that arched over the crown of your head. A necklace of a curled golden dragon wrapped around the hollow of your throat, a long needlelike chain attached to it as a polished metal fang hung at the end. They then slid a hammered bronze cuff on your wrist and rings of the same color, dragonglass, and rubies for its gems. The ladies applied the final touch of makeup to your skin, a fine powder to rid the shine from your nose, a dusting of rouge, and a hint of rose-colored balm to your lips.

You felt like the Targaryen princesses of centuries past, the blood of old Valeryia pumping your heart.

You would give anything for your Mother to see you now, dressed in the traditional colors of her House. Though you couldn't hide your relief in Daemon not being here, you were sure he would've made you change or barred your door to stop you from escaping in such scandalous garb. You stood, finding the dagger Daemon had gifted you and the belt it was connected with. You hooked it around your waist, adjusting it to be just out of view.

Your servants stared at you in awe, more amazed by their work than you as you grabbed the wreath of black charm lilies and black crystal pansies you requested to give your favor to the knights who asked. You didn't believe any of them would but knew it was proper to have one nonetheless. You smiled at your ladies, conveying your gratefulness through your unusual eyes. You turned, facing the three women, your cape resembling a waterfall.

"I believe I haven't inquired of your names yet," you prompted, looking them over. The youngest of three fiddled with the hem of her white apron, avoiding your gaze. "I do apologize for that. You all have been very kind to me."

"I am Jeyne," the oldest spoke first, giving you a curtsy. Grey hair poked from under her servant cap, wrinkles creasing the corners of her eyes.

"I am Fiora," the next one spoke, bowing. She appeared not much older than you, with bright green eyes and a splash of tan freckles on her nose and cheekbones.

You would guess the youngest girl, around Jace's age, continued playing with her clothes, muttering a meek "Dyana" and quickly bending her legs. You frowned at her response, sensing her anxiety, and reached for her tiny fingers, rough and dry with callouses.

"You need not be frightened, Dyana. I am not as wicked as the whispers claim me to be," you jested with a grin. She returned it, but it did not reach her eyes. A pang of sadness struck your chest as your gaze flicked over her as if you could understand the reason for her apprehension at a glance.

"My Ladies," you said, standing and clasping your hands in front of you as you bowed your head. "It is a pleasure to become acquainted finally. I am sure we will become close during my stay here." You smiled at all of them once more, your attention resting briefly on the meek fair skinned girl. "If any of you need something from me in the meantime, no matter how small or trivial, I will be at your service as you are to me."

The three shared bewildered expressions, Fiora's mouth agape as all muttered their thanks.

You supposed their reaction was understandable. They had never been treated like people before, almost making you feel bad for your motives.

Your plan would not hurt them in the long run. If anything, they would most likely be grateful to have a princess as an ally. Most nobles did not realize how much of their life depended upon the people serving them, not considering that they saw and heard everything within their homes. You would be a fool not to take advantage of that during such tumultuous times.

"Well," you clapped your palms together, giddy to finally have that out of the way, "I have grown rather famished and wish for some snacks before I watch men get rammed with sticks." Jeyne grinned, and Fiora bit her pink lips at your crude words. "I know that this is not proper, but I truly am in the dark. If you would not mind, could you lead me to the kitchens? I frequented them much at Dragonstone, as midnight snacking is a vice of mine, and wish to know where they are when the cravings emerge."

Knowing your next moves hinged on their response, you had planned those words carefully. You needed to tell them something that they believed was a secret. Daemon had told you once that revealing something one would deem embarrassing, that displaying vulnerability to a fellow human would have them drop their defenses, but if they were smart enough to realize this, it would ruin everything.

Fiora gave a toothy grin, nodding vigorously before looking at her companions. The other two shared the same smile. Through those actions, you could quickly tell what her personality was. She was a giddy and sweet girl, albeit a bit more susceptible than someone of her age should be. The other women followed along. Her joy was contagious as they approached the kitchens with you on their heels.

A self-satisfied smirk replaced the kind smile you wore for your servants.

Everything was going according to how you imagined it. Your maids took kindly to you, and as you traversed the long hallways and steps of the Keep, each passing nobleman and servant noticed your presence. One Lady gasped as you rounded a corner and met face-to-face, quickly scurrying away like a scared field mouse. A man who stood over a full head taller than you raked his eyes over your form, his attention staying on your breasts long enough for Jeyne to notice. She silently stepped before you could truly capture his face, only noting his long black hair and eyes.

Servants bustled throughout the kitchens, some throwing large pieces of dough on a floured table, others running with plates of food and ingredients in their hands. None of them paid attention as you entered, hidden behind the uniformed girls, having to duck beneath a misplaced stone in the stairwell ceiling.

Jeyne, Dyana, and Fiora led you through an archway into a room filled with even more people who still did not notice you, peeling carrots, potatoes, and other vegetables. You felt your chest deflate in defeat at your seemingly unimportant presence, not anticipating them to continue their tasks and not spare you a glance. It was not every day a member of the royal family graced them with their appearance.

It almost felt like the servants of the Keep did not see you as a Targaryen but as just another one of them. Your mouth soured at the thought, digging your nails into your palms until they left imprints. It would be best if you were happy to see them collectively agree you were not like the rest of your kin, but still, not receiving the recognition you tried so hard for was gutting. You could feel your body deflating, curling in on itself as your previous confidence dwindled.

No matter, you told yourself. This can work to my advantage.

They saw you as not someone to be feared, and perhaps you could extend those same opinions toward your Mother. Rhaenyra needed everyone who resided in the Red Keep to be on her side when she ascended the throne, the nobles who lived at court, and the knights who protected and defended the Targaryen name. Everyone was needed.

Jeyne handed you a peach from off the wooden table a male servant used to cut some vegetables, smiling as your thumb stroked the fuzzy skin. You could still remember when fruits such as that were unavailable to you, though these memories were faint and grew more difficult to recall as time passed. Dyana then found a jug of cider, filling a small goblet up to wash down the sweet taste that danced on your tongue, and Fiora used the corner of her apron to wipe the stray juices that dribbled out of the corner of your mouth. You smiled at them both gratefully, fighting on the inside not to swat their doting hands away, feeling like a child again.

You sucked the last bit of the pulp from the large seed before removing it from your lips and throwing it in the bucket they used for scraps. You continued to sip on the brass goblet Dyana had given you, following them from out of the kitchens and into a courtyard you had never seen before. It was lined with pens filled with livestock. Sheep, pigs, goats, and chickens belting, chirping, and snorting as you passed.

You were still determining exactly where the tourney would be held but had yet to hear of the vast and spacious arena it was. You knew you would be sitting inside the royal box next to the other noble members of your family, and you couldn't hide how less than joyful that made you feel. You did wonder if the King would be there, knowing that what the Maester and Otto said were complete lies about his health. Some of you still held onto hope that there was some truth in their deceitfulness. Indeed, they couldn't be so bold as to say something that could easily be disproven with one's eyes. The next Council meeting would undoubtedly be an eventful one.

Your ladies led you back inside an entrance of the castle you had never seen before, urging you to follow their steps and assuring you were close. Soon, the low rumbling of voices could be heard. Different pitches and accents all melted into one continuous barrage of sound as you ascended the stairs to your seat.

The first leg of the tourney was set to begin in a short while, and most of the royal family had already made their appearance. Even the eldest prince sat in a high back chair, practically falling asleep with a cup of wine in his hand. A slight grin formed on your face at the endearing sight, appearing as if you were looking at a babe rather than a man grown. His perfectly pink lips stuck out in a pout, a sigh escaping as he adjusted in his seat.

You were standing above him diagonally on the top riser and could see every huff, and every scoff he made as his Mother spoke to him, but Aegon could not see you. Queen Alicent said straight ahead, not looking at him as you saw her permanent scowl. It was her firstborn's name day, which should be celebrated with nothing but smiles and laughs. One would think she would be happy for such an occasion.

Aegon said something to his Mother that made her snap her head in his direction, ready to offer him some choice words as she saw you.

You could hear the gasp leaving Alicent clutching the pointed star of the Seven glued to her neck. You swore by the sound she made she had not seen you but the Stranger himself as her face paled. The Queen whispered something as she quickly looked away. Aegon was just as shocked as you regarding his Mother's reaction. He thought she might faint as he swiftly turned to see what it was all about.

Your gazes looked at one another, and your cheeks reddened under his stare. You felt your heart flutter in your chest, offering him a quick curtsey as you walked to an open seat at the lowest riser, crossing your legs as you adjusted the dagger at your hip.

Aegon had died. Well, it certainly felt like it when he laid his eyes on you. For once, his vision was clear and not yet clouded by the drink, and he could see your perfectly crafted body. He immediately went to the plunging neckline of your dress; how could he not? Your breasts were right there where he could see, noticing how much bigger they were than he initially imagined. He then noticed the curled golden dragon around your neck, reminding him of his own, Sunfyre. Had you chosen that for him? Did you purposefully put that on with him in mind? Aegon could feel his cock harden at the thought.

He watched you descend the giant stone steps, holding your skirts up so you did not trip as he saw your bare ankles. He could hardly contain the twitch of his hips at the sight. Aegon had been with many women in his life, too many to count, and yet seeing just a peak of your hidden skin had him nearly spilling in his breeches.

He thought back to your moment in the Godswood. Underneath the Heart Tree, the fragments of the sunrise peeking through the leaves dotted your skin with beautiful rays of yellow. One had been over your eyes, and Aegon had seen your pupils shrink and reveal more of the purple that bathed there. He never wanted to leave that moment with you. He wanted to stay forever underneath that tree, trace the scars on your skin, and kiss every part of you until he had you squirm underneath him.

Aegon remembered how your breathing hastened as your jaw trembled at his touch, your face contorted into a gorgeous pout as he pulled your lip with his thumb. He noticed how you were clenching your thighs together even though you had no idea. Nothing had changed between the two of you, he realized. Aegon knew you desired him as much as he desired you. You just did not know it yet.

Gods. He wanted to take the empty seat next to you so badly but knew what his Mother would say if he did-- what she would do if he did. So, instead, he signaled for a serving girl to fill his chalice to the brim, drowning his sorrows in Arbor Red.

***

You felt rather pathetic as you shifted in your seat, the wood creaking with your weight as you still held your wreath of flowers. You could sense everyone's eyes on you and the empty chairs positioned at your sides. No one wanted to sit next to the bastard, you mocked in your head, feeling as if your eyes would pop out of your skull if you rolled them any harder.

It was the fifth round of the tourney, and five men had been knocked off their horses, but no fighting had ensued. Bracken, Tully, Arryn, Tyrell, and Blackwood boys had to skulk back to the stables knowing they had lost.

The King had still yet to show if he was ever going to, and you had given a fierce glare at Otto Hightower a few rows up when he announced the tournament had officially started. You had caught the stare of Princess Helaena in the process and immediately softened, returning her kind smile before the One-Eyed Prince stole her. You made a mental note to see her at the feast the following evening, perhaps share a dance or two.

With the end of the fifth round started the sixth, and the vibrant lion banners of House Lannister were prominently displayed as Ser Tyland entered the arena. He sat atop his chestnut horse, trotting over to the squire that held his lance. He approached the royal box, and you thought for a moment he might ask you for your favor. You couldn't hide the distance as he smiled up at you but turned his face away, looking at someone behind you.

"I am Ser Tyland of House Lannister," he announced.

Yes, you twat, you said internally, we know who you are. You live here.

"Princess Helaena," he called, and she looked up from her fingers to the man below her. His voice nearly made you vomit. "Would you do me the honor of bestowing your favor for the next round, Princess?" he asked chivalrously.

She glanced at her grandsire beside her, and he nodded in approval as she stood, her pale yellow dress shining in the autumn sun.

"Of course," she smiled, walking to the steps to place her ring of white and blue flowers on the pole of his lance.

"I thank you, your Grace," he replied and then trotted back to the waiting young squire.

Helaena stood there momentarily, her eyes glassy as she looked at you. It didn't feel like her gaze was on you, but more looking through you as she whispered. "Heed the beast within the deep. Rock runs red, and rocks bleed."

You looked at her confused, brows furrowing, and reached for her hand, asking her to speak louder. She quickly smacked it away, her eyes widening in fear as if she was suddenly woken from a dream, and she hurried up the steps.

You didn't have time to dwell on Helaena's outburst as Ser Tyland Lannister's opponent entered the wring. His armor was an impenetrable crepuscule steel and as shiny as the scales that covered your dragon's flesh, a helmet the same color with a mane of yellow hairs spanning from his crown to the base of his neck. His banners were ones you had only seen on paper. Most of the fabric was black, just like his thick armor, but the sigil was a deep golden kraken with ten long tentacles, nearly spanning the entire flag. The squid-like beasts of House Greyjoy were said to terrorize the depths of the oceans and sink the ships of those unsuspecting.

You were unsure of which Greyjoy it was. Dalton or Veron or maybe a cousin or some distant kin that shared the name. You didn't care who it was. They were just another lord or knight seeking fame inside a wood and dirt stadium.

You signaled for a servant, and he gave you a chalice of wine as you slumped in your seat. You didn't want to cloud your mind with alcohol, always the one to be alert and observe things other people may not notice, but this was getting rather irksome, and you needed something to do other than sit and look pretty.

"Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy," the knight said, his horse a dusty grey color as he lifted his helmet off his head. You ignored him with confidence that it was not you he was speaking to, taking another gulp of wine as you swirled the drink.

Dalton was a fierce and ruthless man. You had heard his stories of his youth sailing the Basilisk Isles with his late uncle, pillaging the towns there. He had somehow claimed a Valyrian steel sword named Nightfall during those plunders. At one point, he had aided in the battle of the Stepstones as a sellsail, where his uncle was murdered. It had been rumored in a fit of vengeance, he killed every enemy within his sight and emerged from the battle victorious and drenched in blood. Since then, he bore the title of the Red Kraken.

"I come seeking the favor of the bastard girl the court speaks so much of." A collective gasp sounded in the royal box, shocked at his words.

You barked out a laugh at Ser Dalton, attempting not to choke on the liquid you just swallowed. You should have been insulted at him for calling you such a name. In the eyes of the law and the Seven, you were no longer a bastard, but clearly, that did not stop people from claiming you as such.

"You have found her, Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy," you mocked, crossing your legs as you began to play with a small leaf. You smiled as you noticed the maroon outline of his House sigil on his breastplate.

Everything thing about him was dark and menacing. He radiated an aura of malevolence from the inside as if you would cut him open; he would not bleed the same red. "Though, I do not think you deserve my favor after calling me such a name." Men and women released more gasps, and you could hear someone muttering a soft "Gods be good" under their breath.

You waited for the following apology, but it did not come, leaving you sitting there like a fool. You hummed in disapproval, pushing yourself upright.

"I am no longer a bastard girl," you stood, holding the flower wreath between your fingers, "but that of a woman born from a night of sinful heat and passion. I am skilled with the blade and well-read. I study history, philosophy, and the politics of the realm." Ser Dalton's onyx gaze crept from your leather slippers to the white streak in your hair. He watched you step closer and lean over the railing so only he could hear you. "I am not just a simple fucking bastard girl."

He watched the words roll off your tongue, gripping his lance tighter with parted lips as you placed the circle of black and wine-colored flowers on it.

You fixed your spine, staring down your nose at the bannerman before you. "Win this joust Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy, and I will forgive the slight you have made upon me. For I am afraid if you do not, the sand of the Iron Islands shall turn to glass, and your Salt Wives will finally be free. You have my favor and my luck." You flicked your wrist as you walked back to your seat. "Off with you."

"Thank you, Princess. You honor me deeply." He lifted the fist that carried his helmet and crossed it over his chest, bowing his head with an amused smirk.

You sat down, grabbed the cup you had been working on, and asked the servant to fill it again, unbothered with his courtly manners. Ser Dalton placed his helmet back on and readied his horse for the first bout.

You almost chuckled at the sight, drink to your lips. Sitting on his horse, he looked like a nasty black pony with a yellow mane, ready to bite and kick anyone nearby. His whole get-up was quite ridiculous as you continued to watch.

Ser Tyland's armor was so very much... Lannister. There was no other word to describe the style. He wore a long red flowing cape, his dense silver breastplate trimmed with gold in the shape of a lion.

An announcer with a sizeable brass horn stepped onto a wooden platform a few meters before the royal box. He wore a plum-colored hat with a dyed feather and an off-white tunic dampened with sweat and stained with dust as he shouted the outlining phrases for the beginning of this round. He introduced each House and their respective ranks within them.

"Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, conqueror of thirteen Salt Wives, Lord of the Iron Islands," he boomed into the sky, swaying his hand to the right side of the arena to where the man was. He paused to let the crowd shout their praises.

Screams and hollers of people echoed loudly, drowning out the announcer as he introduced Tyland next. You could see the proud Lannister boy's ego was hurt at the apparent favoritism, and you feigned a pout at the sight.

Finally, he blew his horn, signaling they could begin. Ser Dalton did not waste a breath in fear as he charged at Ser Tyland, his yellow-striped lance already bent and ready to take his opponent off his horse. You scoffed, taking another sip of the sickly sweet wine.

If he planned to knock Tyland down on his first try, he clearly did not comprehend the point of a joust. You did not understand why the audience would love him if he intended to get this over swiftly. This was supposed to be entertainment and not battle. It was meant to be a spectacle for the crowd, a break from the mundane life of the court.

At the last second, as Dalton and Tyland were about to collide stick to the chest, Ser Dalton lifted his lance straight. Ser Tyland's breezed past his rival, completely missing his goal with a cheer from the crowd. You mirrored their sentiments but did not show it on the outside, only adjusting in your seat with a soft sigh. You saw Dalton to the left now, and if you did not know any better, smirked at you. Arrogant, just like the Lannisters.

They went at it again, the hooves of their steeds thundering on the packed earth. This time neither of them started with their poles down, only for Ser Tyland to raise it at the last moment and knock Ser Dalton in the shoulder. Sadly, he did not fall off his horse and only lost his grip on the lance, dragging a line in the dirt. You laughed, pleased to have witnessed at least some bruising to the man's pride.

You tried your best to ignore the stares of those behind you. They had been on you since you sat. No doubt, if you looked, you would only be met with aversion and disgust. You steeled yourself, moving from your slouched position to rest your hands on the arms of the chair.

Aegon was part of the stares, though his expression differed significantly from the others. His Mother had cast him a sidelong glance at his reaction, and only then did he outwardly calm. He had been inside his mind until the squid boy approached you, asking for your favor. He even had the gull to call you a bastard! In front of nearly the entire court of the Red Keep! Oh, how Aegon wanted to call his dragon and burn the fish to pieces.

It also did nothing to soothe him when he saw you lean over the box fence, telling the squid boy only something he could hear. He knew your breasts were on display for the man judging by his hungry gaze. At one point, Aegon swore he saw him adjust his stance in the saddle.

Aegon was furious. His nails dug into his seat's material, feeling splinters wedge underneath them. He stole a pitcher of wine from a servant, keeping it on his lap so he could have continued access to it.

He was so, so furious as he watched your sudden interest in the tournament. He knew you were only mesmerized by the men in front of you because Ser Dalton gave you attention. Aegon wasn't upset over that; no, he was upset over the fact that the Lord of Pyke had won the round by hitting Tyland Lannister straight into the chest, sending him flying into the dust. He noticed how your shoulders lifted with barely contained excitement as he watched Ser Dalton send a bow your way.

He groaned, not filtering his discontent for the rest of the rounds that unfolded, which, sadly, each one Ser Dalton was the victor of. Eventually, the final bout started. His opponent was a Glover boy from the north, unsure of which one, but it didn't matter as he witnessed the Red Kraken get thrown from his horse. Aegon couldn't help but cheer theatrically at the sound of the lance splintering when colliding with his stomach.

He had caught your sudden gaze then, brown eyes flitting over how he stood and clapped his hands. You didn't smile but gave him a look of confusion, your thick brows furrowing. He had felt his jubilance subside, but only slightly.

Suddenly, Ser Dalton shouted, yanking a sword and shield from his squire and challenging the victor to a duel. Aegon felt his stomach sink into his chair as a strand of his blonde mane obscured his vision. Oh, splendid, he mused; the squid has pride.

The Glover had taken up the challenge without strife, still proudly wearing the banner of his House on his back. Aegon wondered if you had ever witnessed a duel before. He knew you had taken a life, but it was not the same as watching someone do it. Selfishly, he dreamed you would turn away at the sight and seek comfort from him, but that was all it was... a dream.

You watched with surprise as the Glover's and Dalton's swords clashed, the clang ringing in your ears. Each slash and thud of their metal longswords sent a jolt through your bones, curling your toes and squeezing your drink in a vice-like grip. You hated to admit that you felt nervous, your heart beating just a little too fast to be considered normal.

Ser Dalton's swings were wild but held a skillful precision, connecting with the Glover's side. It knocked the wind out of the poor boy's lungs and had him raising his shield as Dalton kicked it, sending him stumbling further.

He was so savage, so bloodthirsty that it made you shiver. You finally understood why he was called the Red Kraken, and you feared for the Glover's life. Surely, he wouldn't kill the boy; you hoped he wouldn't. The poor lad looked like he had just become a man. He was much shorter than Dalton but still taller than you, and he looked like this was his first tourney. You wished he would yield.

Ser Dalton swung at the boy, his armored fist connecting to his jaw with a nauseating crunch of bone and metal. Confidently, he kicked to disoriented teen in the stomach, knocking him to the ground, his sword falling just out of reach. He went to pull his shield to defend himself, but Dalton stomped on the arm that carried it. You could see how the Kraken stood over the Armored Glove, unable to hear what he said to him. You didn't need to. You knew what came next, and it did not frighten you. The Glover lost the duel as the Greyjoy raised his sword, cutting off the words that attempted to leave his tongue with a blade to the throat.

It was bloody. So very bloody. The essence of the Glovers' life force spurted from his body onto the face of Ser Dalton Greyjoy, dripping from his chin. You heard the gasps of those around you, a platter dropping at the horrific show as the ground became saturated with red. You didn't feel sad as you watched two people drag his body away, the crowd bursting into cheers and applause. In fact, you felt hardly anything, sitting as if nothing had happened as the announcer raised Ser Dalton's hand in triumph. You were used to death by now.

To the outside person, you looked alright, but Aegon knew you were anything but. Your knuckles blanched around your drink, resting it in your lap. He felt foolish to think you would shy away from such things. He knew you were much more robust than that, but still, he hoped you would run to him.

Everything next seemed to happen in slow motion. Aegon watched the crown of roses intended for the Queen of Love and Beauty be placed into Dalton's bloodied palms, strutting over to the royal box as he called out the most beautiful name he had ever heard... Yours.

His little one. His love.

Aegon went to jump out of his seat, but the firm hand of his Mother yanked his arm, abruptly pulling him back down before he could mock the royal family with his outburst. He wanted to rip his Mother off him and run to you. He wished to hide you from the hundreds of eyes staring at you. This wasn't right. He panicked. This cannot be right. You were his, and he was yours until the end of days.

He pictured what Ser Dalton's head would look like on a spike as you walked down the stairs and onto the small platform below. He watched the Salt Lord's eyes rake across your body as he placed the crown on your head, whispering something that made you clench your fists.

Everyone knew what this meant grandiose display meant. The Lord Reaper of Pyke intended to court his pretty girl and make a Salt Wife out of her. No, Aegon thought. That will never do.

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I hope y'all liked this chapter. It's an exciting one! We've met a new character, Dalton Greyjoy. He plays a big part in The Dance of Dragons. I won't spoil it for anyone, but let's say his heart runs black… The next chapter is the feast for our baby boy's 20th birthday! Let's hope Aegon gets everything he wishes for.

Tagged Peeps:  @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @fatalewomen, @somemydayy, @ariana-dumbledore8, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @sunny-boy-06 

Bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason :(

[tsotf-fic]

♚ chapter 1 - when stars collide ♛

iii. the ward

As they approached the party, Y/N gasped. The palace itself matched the over-extravagance of the partygoers: hundred-foot-long velvet tapestries depicting the glory of the Empire decorated the front of the former Jedi Temple in a way seemingly designed to mock its ancient history. The statues of ancient Jedi sages had long been torn down, replaced by a single statue of the Emperor looming over the center of the stairway. Stormtroopers flanked the sides of the building, stony and unmoving, threatening any onlookers who would dare to step a toe out of line.

"Are there normally this many stormtroopers stationed outside of the Imperial Palace?" Leia asked, careful to sound as innocent as possible. It wasn't entirely fake; stormtroopers were nonexistent on Alderaan, so any eavesdropper would assume she was purely unaccustomed to their presence.

"It is standard protocol," Her father responded, and then he lowered his voice. "Although... something about this doesn't feel quite right to me, either."

Y/N shivered. Without saying anything, Leia intertwined their fingers, not quite grasping her hand but still holding on to her as they ascended the palace steps.

A crimson-plated protocol droid stood off to the side of the massive doors at the palace entrance. The palace guards had their staffs crossed, blocking entry to anyone who dared to enter uninvited. Not that anyone would–palace security had a reputation for being both impenetrable and merciless, and although there hadn’t been any incidents as of late, no one dared to find out just what the repercussions would be. There were rumors, however. It was best not to think of them. 

The droid straightened up as they approached, greeting them in a posh, mellifluous voice. “Greetings, loyal citizens of the Empire. I am L-3PO, official Imperial liaison between organics and robotics, tasked tonight with welcoming guests to this most wonderful event. I’ll have to check to see that you’re on the guest list and verify your identities–this will only take a moment!” 

Datapad in hand, the droid scrolled through with their stylus, and Y/N could only begin to imagine how long the list was; just how many planets, and people…

"Presenting the Alderaanian Delegation,” L-3PO said, reading from the illuminated screen. “Her Majesty, Queen Breha Organa, and His Highness, Viceroy Bail Organa.” 

The royal couple bowed and made their way through the doors, pausing just behind the entrance to wait for the girls.

L-3PO spoke again. “Her Highness, Princess Leia Organa, and…?” The droid looked over at Y/N skeptically, mechanical eyes glinting, and she froze. Leia’s eyes flicked between Y/N and her parents nervously, silently begging for their help as Y/N stood unresponsive.

Breha looked over at the frightened girl and stepped in. "Lady Y/N Alde, our ward."

"Oh–my deepest apologies, Your Highness, it took a moment for my database to recognize her face! Forgive my slight malfunction," L-3PO apologized, and the guards backed away, lowering their staffs. "Her Grace, Lady Y/N Alde."

A flame rose to Y/N’s cheeks as she stepped forward, praying her makeup would hide her humiliation as she went to join her party. A few sympathetic glances were thrown her way, but she chose to ignore them, save for the eyes of the princess–eyes that held no patronizing pity. Only anger.

fanfiction by @kaleidoscope1967eyes

[call-sign-jinx]

Endless Love (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw) - Chapter 6

summary - Y/N Y/L/N and Bradley Bradshaw have had a rivalry ever since they both attended the same academy. Every chance they took, they always tried to one up each other. One day, Bradley takes the rivalry too far and Y/N ends up in the hospital with serious injuries. Will it make Y/N want to get him back twice as worse? Or will it make her realise that this rivalry between them is childish?

warnings - swearing, enemies to lovers, mention of serious injury, traumatic episodes, reader traumatised from what happened, smut, slowburn, seizures, flashbacks

a/n - hey girlies! it's been a loooooong time since i posted the last chapter. i tried to edit this and add to it but i jus couldn't. long story short i went thru a fat breakup and i jus needed to take a break. and deepest apologies cos this one is so short! hope u enjoy regardless! xx

When I woke up, my head was pounding. I rubbed the sleep off of my eyes then looked around the room. This wasn't my room. This was too tidy to be my room. I got up and opened the door to peer out of it. Yeah this definitely was not my house. Maybe I had a one night stand? Or... I don't know I woke up in an alternate universe?

I walked out of the room and began to smell something. It was fucking gorgeous. Haven't smelt something like it since I moved to the US. I followed the smell and there I saw Bradshaw, shirtless cooking what looked to be a Full English. Wait... why the fuck and where did Bradshaw manage to get the stuff you need to make a Full English?

My focus quickly changed to his figure, damn he looked god without a shirt. Yeah, I have seen him before with no shirt but that was when we were always arguing so I never paid it any mind. But dayum, he looked good as hell. I couldn't stop staring in all honesty, his golden skin tone mixed with how well he'd been working out just pulled me into a trance. I shook my head and quickly walked up to the kitchen island.

"Good morning Bradshaw. Please could you tell me how the actual fuck I woke up in your house?" I placed my chin on my hand as I stared up at him. He chuckled and shook his eggs and he flipped over the bacon, I quickly glanced at it and it was British bacon. Wow...

"So you're telling me you remember nothing from last night?" My brows furrowed and my lips pouted.

"I remember going out to the Hard Deck with Phoenix, getting wankered and then fuck knows what else. Why?" I raised a brow in suspicion and confusion.

"Let me give you the run down. You and Phoenix showed up to the bar with pretty skimpy dresses, you had too many double whiskies for anyone's liking, Phoenix went home so you joined the rest of the Dagger Squad. Then an hour later your 'friend,' can't remember his name, said he'd take you home and then basically asked if you wanna help cheat on his girlfriend. You also said that you're moving out and I offered for you to stay here until you find a new place to live. And you said yes." My jaw dropped. Wait... Thomas wanted to cheat on his girlfriend?... With me?!

"I know, wild night you had sweetheart." He chuckled as he finished cooking the breakfast and plated it all up. He passed me one plate as he sat down next to me and began to eat his.

"Wait wait wait, pause for a second there Bradshaw. Thomas wanted to cheat on his girlfriend with me?" I couldn't believe it, we'd stay up all night so he could talk about how in love with her he was. He even talked about fucking proposing to her. Bradshaw nodded in response.

"Nah what the fuck? That can't be true. He literally took me ring shopping for her the other day." Bradshaw didn't reply, all he did was take his phone out. He tapped it a few times and then placed it on the worktop. It was an audio. It had a few voices in it that stuck out to me. But the one that stuck out the most was Thomas'. The things he said my top lip curl up in disgust. I furrowed my brows as I looked at Bradshaw.

"We've been friends since I was 6. Why and how the fuck has he turned into this? He used to be so fucking sweet and caring." Bradshaw gave me a sympathetic look.

"Some people just change. It sucks, doesn't it?" I let out a scoff with a smile.

"It really fucking does." I stare into space for a few seconds until I look back to the Full English that Bradshaw has been cooking. "When and where did you find out how to make a Full English breakfast Bradshaw?" Bradshaw gave me a smirk as he sat down across from me.

"The joys of google." He jabbed the bacon and sausage before shoving it into his mouth.

------------------------------------------------------

Today was a slow day at Top Gun. Nothing was really getting done because Maverick and Cyclone were having a 6 hour long argument somehow. I can't even hold a 10 minute conversation let alone a fucking 6 hour long argument. What are they even arguing about?

Phoenix jabbed me on my shoulder to get my attention.

"You wanna go to the beach after this? Maverick said it's some team building technique. Everyone has to go apparently." I rolled my eyes with a slight smirk.

"How is going to the beach going to help us all get along? Also, could I come to your house before so I can get ready? I'm staying at Bradshaw's for a bit til I can find somewhere to live." Phoenix immediately said yes and told me some other girls from the squad are coming as well.

Thinking about the beach and team building brought an idea into my head. Although me and Bradshaw are civil now, doesn't mean I can't mess with him.

[jujumin-translates]

★ Main Story | Act 13 - Budding Spring | Chapter 27 - Papa Crisis

Banri: You guys can take a twenty-minute break here. Good work.

Masumi: The KniRoun Stage video is up.

Sakuya: Waah, it is!

Chikage: Lancelot’s pretty eye-catching.

Tsuzuru: He was even working on his sword fighting for KniRoun in between rehearsals. Must’ve been rough.

Banri: Nah, he was havin’ the time of his life, trust me.

Citron: Itaru looks like he is having fun~.

Rento: Ooh~, his overseas debut, huh? Looks like he’s doin’ great.

Rento: Still, absolutely insane as hell that he’s comin’ back here right on openin’ day.

Izumi: It really, truly is…

Izumi: In the past, it would’ve been unthinkable to try and to this, but with the current Spring Troupe, I think we’ll be able to pull this plan, even with it cutting it so close.

Banri: Well, it’d be pretty nice to keep this kinda energy goin’ through openin’ day.

Tsumugi: I hope Itaru-kun was able to get to the airport safely.

Sakuya: It’s about time for his flight, right?

Chikage: Let’s check the chat.

*Phone notification*

Izumi: Ah, I just got a LIME from…

Itaru: “problem, can’t get on my flight, airport’s shut down bc of a strike.”

Tsuzuru: WHAT!?

Sakuya: A strike!? That won’t end any time soon…!

Tsumugi: Sometimes the end soon, but sometimes they go on for days. There’s no telling what will happen…

Banri: What’re we gonna do? I mean, we could get through openin’ day with an understudy, or delay it entirely, but…

Masumi: We considered a lot of factors when we picked the date of opening day. It’s the day that’ll give us the most views with the least competition from other troupes, so moving it should really be our last resort.

Izumi: Right… And refunding tickets would have a huge impact on our votes…

Izumi: We’ll still have to deal with refunds if we go for having an understudy, but the damage with that should be minimal.

Banri: Guess we gotta go with an understudy.

Sakuya: Um, can we at least wait until the very last minute?

Tsuzuru: We want to wait for Itaru-san’s return for as long as we can. Can we at least do that, please?

Izumi: …

Tsumugi: I can be ready to sub in at any time, so don’t worry about it.

Sakuya: Thank you so much!

Chikage: I’m arranging a flight for him at another airport as we speak. With this one, he’ll be able to just barely make it in time for the start of the performance.

Chikage: Someone get into contact with Chigasaki and tell him to hurry to catch the bus.

Tsuzuru: On it!

Tsuzuru: “Itaru-san, please hurry to the nearby airport ASAP!”

Chikage: The next bus is leaving at--.

Citron: “I will give you a lucky chant so you will make it in time!”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Announcement: “The plane has arrived at Narita Aiport two hours later than scheduled.”

Announcement: “We sincerely apologize for the delay in its arrival due to weather conditions. We offer our deepest condolences to those affected by the delay.”

Itaru: (CITRON used Lucky Chant! The Lucky Chant shielded me from a critical hit…!)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

UC: Run, Chigasaki.

Itaru: (I am running!)

Saku: You can do it, Itaru-san!

Curry: director said she’s coming to pick you up

taruchi: dw abt it, it’ll be faster if i take a taxi

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Passerby A: Huh, is the line for getting a taxi really this long?

Passerby B: Probably because of a group of tourists~. Let’s just take the train.

Itaru: (Wait, the line for taxis is THIS long? Oh, I’m so screwed…)

Itaru: (Should I ask Director-san to pick me up now?)

Itaru: (But I’m sure she’s busy getting everything ready for the start of the show. Not to mention, even if she comes now, we probably wouldn’t make it back in time for the start of the show anyway--.)

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

[c0rrupt4]

𝗣𝗿𝗲𝘆 •︎ Il Dottore x Male Reader

This is Chapter 2. You can read the prologue here. Chapter 1 here. Or the book on Wattpad here.

"Yes, sorry to interrupt, but who is 'he'?" Dottore, questioned as he was taking notes.

"Ah, sorry my deepest apologies I forgot I'm not speaking to someone from my own planet. He is (Y/N) (L/N). This man is awful enough that some people can't even bear to utter his name only referring to him as he." Feno said with an awkward chuckle.

"I see, what despicable acts did this man commit to earn such a reputation for himself?"

"Ah, for starters he was the sole reason for 3 World wars, there were other wars and battles he had a hand in too, mass genocide, annihilating clans, sending races and creatures into and near extinction and the list goes on. For example, the parasites you see were actually a butterfly beetle hybrid. They are called Hendra. They are quite passive creatures and will curiously follow humans just because they find you interesting. They are extinct except for the modified, dark magic-imbued versions he cross-bred, and the crossbred ones are ANYTHING but friendly."

"I see, tell me more," Dottore said as he motioned for Viva to follow along as the three entered the portal, stepping into a new world.

"Ah, my Henda is gone... no worries. I'll make sure to send more than one next time." I said with a heavy sigh, moving away from my desk, dragging the heavy chain that was around my neck.

"200 years..." I paused to add another tick to the brick tower wall. "200 years since that cursed woman imprisoned me with her pathetic little spell. If it wasn't for the fact that I was drunk at a feast... hah... I would have had her head on a silver platter."

200 years without seeing the sun, moon, and stars. 200 years without being able to enjoy a decent fight. 200 years without any contact with the outside world, other than through my Controlled Hendra. And where are my good-for-nothing followers? GONE. It was infuriating! Me, an esteemed powerful wizard, reduced to nothing but a children's bedtime story or to be blamed whenever famine came upon these pathetic creatures. While Ruka... Ruka was deemed a god?

"If it weren't for me Ruka wouldn't even know what power is! Why.. why that blasted Elven woman would be still busy doing her foolish latern dances!" I ranted on as I trudged over to my bed. Weighed down by the heavy enchanted chain that bound me to this tower.

"It's alright. Today the tides have changed in my favor, Dottore... from the brief viewing of his memories, he seems like my kind of guy... Maybe, just maybe, I can use this fool to not only conquer Lumar but Teyvat too!"

"Ah, yes, welcome to Lumar travelers from Teyvat!"

"Lumar is so beautiful..." Viva said in awe as she walked around the garden.

Dottore moved to walk around the garden too. "Feno, where are we in Lumar exactly?"

"This is the garden of the temple, located in the Rosokha Empire it's kept in pristine shape as Lady Ruka adores floral."

"Who is this 'Lady Ruka?' Is she that woman in the statue of the underground temple? And is she the same woman in the state of the fountain? She seems like she's an important part of your history." Dottore said as he sat down on a beautiful fountain. It was the same statue of the Elven women, but this time her pose was simply holding a candle, but the difference is she was wearing a long robe and was decorated from head to toe with jewels.

"She must be a hero, or maybe the wife of a King!" Viva piped in only to receive a glare from Dottore.

"Ah, but Lady Ruka is far more than just that! She is our beautiful Goddess! As I recall telling you about (Y/N) (L/N) earlier... 200 years ago, she fought against him, and many hours later she came out triumphant. Imprisoning the fiend so he could no longer continue his reign of terror! Not only that, she's so modest that she requests we don't refer to her as Goddess but just 'Lady'." Feno had told the tale with such passion that it reminded Dottore of how Pierro speaks of the Tsaritsa at times.

"She sounds like Archons back in Teyvat! Right, Feno?" Viva smiled as she said this.

"Yes, a lot like your archons."

"Hey Feno, how do you know so much about Teyvat yet the portal was closed for so long?"

"Yes, how do you know? I'm curious myself, and thank you for finally making a comment that's worth listening to Viva." Dottore said causing Viva to look towards the ground to avoid his annoyed gaze.

"Now, now, all comments are worth listening to! But, we have archives dating back 400 years to when the portal was open. It was sealed a little over 150 years ago as we used it as a way to banish His... underlings. I would be happy to give you copies of it all to take back to Teyvat after showing you around Lumar. I at least want to show you around the Rosokha Empire, the Kingdom our fair Lady Ruka rebuilt."

"I see. Why not," Dottore said. "I planned on taking notes along the way, so this will be good. Although, are there other Empires or Kingdoms? Are they ruled similarly to how Archons rule Teyvat?" Dottore questioned eagerly.

"I see you are excited my dear, Dottore. You'll learn everything you wish to know about Lumar in due time. But, yes, Lumar is ruled similarly like that with Gods having their own nation. But we don't have Visions, Gnosis, or Celestia, and Gods are nowhere near abundant enough for there to be wars among gods. At least we believe so."

"I see." Dottore said as he took a moment to jot this all down.

"Can we meet Lady Ruka?"

【︎ᴜᴘ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪɪɪ...】︎

ルカと帝国 ❀

║▌│█║▌│ █║▌│█│║▌║║▌│█║▌│ █║▌│█│║▌║║▌│█║▌│ █║▌│█│║▌║║▌│█║▌│ █

[guilty-pleasures21]

Chapter 4 - the picnic

Part A

Part B

Part C

Warnings: none.

----------------------------------------------------------

     She cleared her throat, trying to come up with a topic of conversation that would get rid of the terse silence surrounding them.

     “So, um, I've finished Snow's cholera pamphlet. What are your thoughts on it?” Brilliant! Their first conversation since their unnecessarily tension-filled end to the ball last night and she chose to bring up talk of excrement?! She was definitely going to find a husband next Season. 

     He pressed his lips together, trying to stop them from stretching at the ends as she repeatedly tightened and loosened her grip on his arm. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but she was clearly nervous to be alone with him. “I thought it was wonderfully written. He lays out his case studies in great detail and has clearly conducted extensive research into the history of the matter. Did you enjoy it?”

     He’d lent the pamphlet to her after he’d finished it, knowing she would have been intrigued by the scientific theories proposed in the document. And he was glad to find that hadn’t been wrong. 

     “Yes! Most definitely!” X agreed, lighting up as they delved into the topic. “I see now how big of a role detailed evidence can play in convincing your reader of a theory. His thoughts might turn out to be absolute garbage one day, but the manner in which he threaded together all his different pieces of proof? It was magnificent!” 

     Miguel let the smile take over his face completely at the sight of her excitement. She was so cute he could have eaten her up! He frowned, confused as to where the sudden thought had come from, but he was interrupted before he could even attempt to figure it out. 

     “Harry! Stop! Harry! Come here!” Miguel looked around, trying to pinpoint the source of the panicked voice. Then he noticed a fluffy little dog zooming in his direction. He grabbed the leash as it ran past, trying to stop it before it caused any more havoc, but the dog simply redirected its route around him. X stumbled against him as the leash wrapped around her and Miguel wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her against him. 

     “Harry!” a young woman called, racing towards them with a look of relief on her face. “Harry, sit!” 

     The dog sat down finally and gave his owner a pleased expression as he displayed his handiwork. 

     “My deepest apologies, my lord,” the lady apologised as she took the leash from Miguel, “he can be … quite a little fighter despite his small size.”

     “Oh, it is quite all right, really,” Miguel assured her, his other hand coming around X as the lady helped untangle them. His hand brushed her back gently and X’s heart thudded in her chest at their proximity to one another; at his warm hands gliding along her back, his broad chest so firm beneath her palms. She held her breath as the scent of him invaded her senses, then she counted to three before sneaking a peek at him from beneath her lashes. 

     She had the prettiest eyes, he thought to himself as he gazed down at her, wide and dark and framed so perfectly by those exceptionally long lashes of hers. And she was so soft … so … Her eyelids grew heavy and her lips parted in anticipation and he realised that he’d been leaning towards her, bending over as his hands tugged her waist closer to his. He tilted his head to align his mouth with hers, but he paused just in front of her, letting his gaze fall to the luscious curve of her lips. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, then-

     “Oh, I am so sorry about that, darlings!” Miguel’s eyes flew open again as an elderly woman came up to them, a cheeky smile on her face. “Harry can get a little too excited sometimes. Perhaps he sensed the ‘excited energy’ around you too, hmm?”

     X glanced back up at Miguel and the two of them sprang apart quickly, the both of them horrified by the thought of what they’d been about to do. 

     “Oh, no, my lady, you are mistaken,” Miguel argued, forcing out an awkward chuckle. “We … I … That is …”

     Dios, what was wrong with him?! Why could he not shake off the feeling of her pressed so tightly against him, so … deliciously … He clenched his fists, trying to get rid of the thoughts - to ignore all the parts of him that still burned at her touch. But his core continued to burn with excitement as the sweet and fruity scent of her floated through the air towards him. 

     She slid her gaze over to him, confused by his incomprehensible stuttering: Miguel O’Hara was never at a loss of words! His eyes flickered over to her, an uncharacteristic look of uneasiness on his sharp features, and she turned to the older woman with a warm smile. “It is quite all right, my lady. We are all well, as you can see. No harm, no foul!”

     Miguel nodded in agreement, unconsciously inching his way over to X as his chest flooded with relief at her response.  But the older lady kept the knowing smirk on her face, unconvinced. 

     “All right, well, I shan't disturb you two any longer,” she relented finally. “Have a wonderful day! And an even better night.”

     She shot them a wink as she walked off and Miguel's entire body froze at her suggestive comment. His core began heating up again and he staunchly avoided looking at X, not wanting to get any ideas about her small little form, all wrapped up in the soft fabric of her dress, her luscious curves fitting so perfectly against his-

     “Miguel?” X looked up at him in confusion, oblivious as to what the woman was referring to. She placed a hand on Miguel’s forearm and furrowed her brow at the feeling of his clenched muscles. Had he been that startled by the fluffy little dog? He'd never shown a fear of animals before, so she didn’t think that was what had set him so at unease. She rubbed his arm reassuringly, automatically wanting to soothe him. “Shall we return to the picnic area?”

     He swallowed hard at the feeling of her slender fingers brushing against his arm, then he forced himself to look down at her. The tension left his body as his gaze landed on her wide almond eyes and he held his elbow out for her to properly grasp onto. “So, as you were saying?”

     Frederick fixed the two of them with the stink eye as they smiled and laughed together, completely at ease with one another as they strolled through the gardens. He leaned over to Felice, finally finished with his flirtations with yet another pretty young lady who had caught his eye. 

     “They seem rather comfortable with one another, do they not?” he pointed out thoughtfully. His head snapped to Felice suddenly, a look of horrified realisation crossing his features. “Do you think he intends to propose to her at the end of the Season?!”

     Felice patted Frederick’s shoulder reassuringly. “Why worry yourself over their business? You should focus on finding your own eligible young bella. Surely it should not be such a difficult task for a young earl such as yourself?”     

He offered a pair of young women passing by a charming smile and they tittered to each other quietly, proving his point. But Frederick simply rubbed his chin, ignoring Felice’s words. Yes, the young man was an old friend of his, but he was an idiot. He was always harping on about the independence of his native Italy and constantly getting himself in trouble because of it. But that didn’t matter: what mattered was that his half-brother seemed to have decided to pursue the daughter of one of the richest families in London. If he succeeded at the task, then it didn’t matter if Frederick received half his father’s assets and his title: Miguel would be able to buy him out of all of it. And that was something that he couldn’t - he wouldn’t - allow to happen. No matter the cost.

Next chapter

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 48

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 48: The Stag that Rages

AO3 - Masterlist

TW: Domestic Violence, Threat of Rape, Threat of loss of Freedom, Threat of forced Pregnancy.

The resonant snores suddenly ceased, indicating that her husband had roused from slumber. Daenera was perched at the table, partaking in her morning meal. Delicate morsels of cheese and bread graced her plate as she engrossed herself in the letter that had arrived from Storm’s End, while her long tresses were brushed through by Jelissa. 

Daenera Velaryon, 

I trust this missive finds you in good health and of a forgiving heart.

I must offer my deepest apologies for the actions of my brother. His grievous     misdeeds have tarnished the honor and reputation of House Baratheon, and I will not have it so. His affair and the subsequent birth of his bastard son with a baseborn whore are not only a dishonor to himself but also a stain on the legacy of House Baratheon. 

Rest assured, dear sister-in-law, I hold steadfastly to the belief that the title of Lord of Storm’s End must never be passed to a bastard. Our house has stood strong for generations, and I shall not see it weakened by such a foolish mistake. I am fully committed to ensuring that the only legitimate heirs of House Baratheon shall inherit our ancestral seat. 

I implore you to understand that my intention is to maintain the unwavering alliance between our two great houses. The strength of our bond must not waver, and for that reason, I expect my brother, my heir, to rectify his errors swiftly and unequivocally. The future of House Baratheon depends on it, as does the continued solidarity between our families.

Only the son born of you and my brother shall inherit Storm’s End and for that reason, I ask your forgiveness for my brother. I will ensure that he understands his position, and that he will fulfill his duty as your husband. 

With utmost respect and sincere regrets, Lord Borros Baratheon of Storm’s End

The letter bore the unmistakable mark of Storm’s End’s Maester. Lord Borros Baratheon was, after all, not known for his literacy, and she doubted that he would have been able to construct such an eloquent letter without his Maester’s interference. Daenera let the letter drop to the table and picked up her book.

In the hustle and bustle of the chamber, Patrick scurried across the room, intent on aiding Boris in his morning rituals. His partially completed smock was left behind, a silent testament to the urgency of his duties.

Boris emerged from the bedchambers, clad in a loosely-fitting shirt and trousers. His eyes were burdened with heavy bags, their usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion. Patrick hurried to assist him, offering his lord his belt. Boris accepted with a gruff nod, swatting the young boy away without a word.  

“When I returned you weren’t in bed.” As Boris gruffly settled into his seat, the room seemed to hold its breath for a moment, the tension rising to a palpable level. The single boot Boris slipped onto his foot bore the marks of wear and tear, a testament to the rugged life he often led. Patrick, ever the diligent servant, scurried back with the other boot, holding it out for Boris to take. 

“I had trouble sleeping,” Daenera replied, her voice casual and unconcerned. She set her book aside, her fingers gently closing the pages. Her blue eyes held a hint of something unreadable as they studied her husband. 

“A walk…” Boris repeated, an accusation in his tone. 

Daenera’s gaze remained locked on Boris, her eyes steady and unflinching. The room seemed to shrink, its walls pressing closer as the tension between them thickened. 

“Yes, I took a walk,” she reiterated, her voice firm. “My husband wasn’t home to keep me company, so I took a walk in the gardens.”

Boris’s skepticism hung in the air like a storm cloud, dark and foreboding. His next words crackled with accusation, thundering almost. “You walked the gardens alone at night?”

A subtle shiver passed down her spine as she sensed the brewing tempest, like the surge of the time before a tidal wave crashed ashore. 

“Fenrick was with me,” she replied, ehr tone laced with a deliberate calmness, as if daring Boris to question her further. 

The room held its breath, every object frozen in place, as if waiting for the impending storm. Boris’s clenched fist came down upon the table with a resounding thud, a stark punctuation to the charged atmosphere. The clatter of cutlery and Jelissa’s surprised squeak added discordant notes to the chaotic symphony that had suddenly erupted. 

Fear clung to the air as Boris’s gaze bore into her, a tempestuous sea of emotion threatening to drown her. Daenera could taste the bitterness of dread at the back of her throat as she faced the storm she had inadvertently seemed to provoke. 

“Out,” Boris ordered, his voice low and menacing. “Out. All of you.”

Patrick’s gaze darted between Boris and Daenera, and Jelissa paused in her brushing, a disquiet frown on her face. 

“Do not look at her!” Boris' voice rumbled with anger, a storm within a storm, as he barked his command. His clenched fist struck the table once more, the sound echoing through the room like thunder. The flush of indignation colored his cheeks a deep shade of red, so close to turning purple. “Get out!”

Daenera made a subtle nod, silently granting permission for the servants to retreat from the chamber. They exchanged anxious glances, then withdrew, closing the door behind them. The room suddenly felt much more intimate, the downpour of the storm beginning to crash around them in the silence. 

Unease began to fester within her as Daenera watched the door close, leaving her alone with Boris.

“What’s bothering you so?” Daenera tried to maintain her composure, her voice steady despite the tension building between her shoulder blades. “You’re not usually in a sour mood when you’re going hunting.”

Boris shot her a venomous glare. “Where were you last night?”

“I already told you, I took a walk–”

“Do not lie to me! I am not as stupid as you might think,” Boris’s voice crackled like a whip, his anger violent in its presence. He swept his plate from the table, sending it crashing to the floor. The room reverberated with the clatter of metal against stone, and the food scattered across the floor. The ambiance of their chambers turned hostile, as the storm broke into thunder and lightning, unleashing its fury within the stone walls of their chambers. 

Daenera’s eyes widened in exasperation as she watched his tantrum unfold, her attempt to defuse the situation met with resistance. “I don’t believe you’re–”

“Did you truly believe I wouldn’t notice?” Boris interrupted, his voice laced with seething anger. He abruptly rose from the table, advancing towards her like a charging bull. Towering over her, his eyes bulged with fury, spittle clinging to his beard. Daenera had no time to flinch as he seized her by the face, fingers digging into her cheeks with a painful force that made her mouth purse. The skin of her cheek grated against her teeth, threatening to split open from the pressure. Her heart raced within her chest as fear coursed through her veins. 

“I don’t know–what–you’re talking–about,” Daenera managed to force out through her mouth, each word making her teeth scrape against the fragile flesh of her cheeks.

“You’ve been having an affair! You’ve been spreading your legs!” Boris accused, his finger pointing at Daenera with such force that his hand quivered. His eyes blazed with a violent rage, and every gesture he made appeared exaggerated and pent-up, as though he teetered on the edge of an explosive eruption–as if he hadn’t already exploded. It was evident he struggled to contain his anger, his teeth grinding as he glared at her menacingly, the wild expression in his eyes deeply disconcerting. “Did you believe I wouldn’t question the marks on your body?”

With a roughness that almost sent her tumbling from her chair, Boris released her. Daenera’s tongue traced the contours of the inside of her cheek, exploring the gloves where her teeth might have left marks. Her voice, now steady and cold, sliced through the charged atmosphere. “You have the audacity to accuse me of infidelity when you’ve sired a bastard with a whore.”

Boris charged towards her, his furious steps echoing through the room, but Daenera’s palm slammed down on the table with a resounding bang, the impact emphasizing her anger. Her hand grabbed onto the prongs on the table, holding it up threateningly as a sneer curled her lips, and her voice dripped with venom. “You will not strike me again!” 

She released an unamused breath as her fingers tightened around the prongs. She had grown tired of portraying the submissive wife, enduring her husband’s humiliation in silence, keeping up the appearance of a happy marriage. 

Daenera continued, “And you have the boldness to threaten me with legitimizing that bastard, making him your heir. Do you truly believe your brother would accept soiling your house with the blood of a whore?”

Boris ground his teeth, the veins in his throat bulging with rage as his eyes darted toward the prongs in her hand, seizing her up. 

With a half-hearted shrug, her mouth twisted into an upside-down smile that spoke volumes of her defiance, she flicked her hand dismissively towards the letter, the parchment laying unfolded on the surface of the table, displaying the black stag at the corner. “I can assure you he wouldn’t be pleased. Perhaps he’d allow you to legitimize the child, but he’d never risk incurring my family’s wrath by favoring a baseborn heir over a trueborn one.”

Boris looked at her in utter disbelief, his sneer revealing his shock. “You wrote to my brother?” 

His tone was filled with incredulity, carrying with it a hint of petulance that seemed more suited to a child. He made it sound as if Daenera had tattled on him, revealing a grievous secret to someone he knew would bring him to account. It was almost an inadvertent admission of wrongdoing. 

Daenera’s eyes narrowed angrily as she responded, her tone firm, “Of course I did. You risk the wrath of House Targaryen–”

“I don’t bloody care about the wrath of House Targaryen!” Boris roared, his fury echoing through the chamber. “You are my wife. You belong to me . I am your lord husband, and I demand the respect I deserve!”

“Respect is earned, not given in demand.”

His voice took a cold, malicious tone as he continued, “You shouldn’t hold my son’s status as a bastard against him, I have not held it against you.”

Daenera stared at him, her anger blazing incandescently in her eyes. “Are you calling me a bastard?”

“Do you believe the whole realm is blind to your true nature?” Boris sneered, gesturing dramatically as if to encompass the entire world beyond their chamber walls. “If the King weren’t so willfully blind, he would recognize that his daughter is a whore. A trait that his granddaughter appears to have inherited.”

“The King will have your tongue for that,” Daenera responded with a dark undertone, wishing for nothing more than to see it true.

“What do you suppose they would say once they discover you’ve been spreading your legs like some common whore?” Boris harshly yanked open a drawer in a nearby side table, retrieving something which he then thrust into her face. “I stumbled upon this in our own bed .”

Boris extended his hand, his forefinger and thumb pinched together. It took a moment for Daenera to recognize the long, fine strand of hair, distinctively Valyrian in hue. She swallowed thickly, forcing her face to remain still as she glared at her husband, letting a furrow crease her brow. 

“You’ve been fucking one of your uncles,” Boris hissed at her, his words dripping with venom. “And judging by the length of the hair I found, I’d wager it’s Aemond.”

Daenera shot a sharp, incredulous glare at her husband. “You’re accusing me of adultery based on a single strand of hair in our bed? We reside in a castle filled with silver-haired individuals! Did it not occur to you that you’d find their hairs scattered everywhere?”

Boris closed the distance between them, his face almost purple with rage, his eyes wide and thunderous. “In. Our. Bed.”

“Helaena–” The sharp crack of his hand against her cheek sent her and the chair tumbling to the floor. 

“Do not dare lie to my face,” Boris snarled, looming over her. “Do you think this is the only thing that’s aroused my suspicion? The hair, the damning evidence on your body–did you truly believe I wouldn’t notice? I initially dismissed the warnings about you, the whispers of your true nature–no longer.”

He violently seized her by the hair, wrenching her from the floor with such force she wondered whether he’d tear the hair from her scalp. Daenera struggled desperately to keep up, the nails of her free hand dug into his hand, attempting to pry it off.

With a surge of desperation, she thrust the prongs of the fork forward, sinking them into Boris’s arm. A primal howl of pain and rage erupted from him as he reeled from shock. The room seemed to spin as her vision blurred from the strike across her face, but she clung to the fork, twisting it ruthlessly.  

Boris, seething with fury, propelled her towards the bed, his grip unrelenting. He tossed her onto its edge with merciless force. The impact expelled the air from her lungs, leaving her gasping for precious breath. As her vision swam, she struggled to regain her bearings. She felt nauseous with fear, her hands gripping the blanket as she attempted to crawl away. 

With an annoyed roar, Boris yanked the prongs from his flesh, creating a gruesome wound that immediately began to seep blood. The crimson stain spread across the sleeve of his arm, dark and foreboding. His curses reverberated through the room as he tossed the prongs, the steel clattering over the floor. 

“I’ve granted you far too many liberties. I should have imposed discipline right from the beginning and molded you into a proper, obedient wife,” Boris seethed with anger, the unmistakable sound of his belt being undone filling the room like an ominous warning. True fear pierced Daenera’s heart like a cruel blade, and she clutched the mattress desperately, scrambling across it in a frantic bid to escape the advancing man. 

“You are my wife. Above all else, you are MINE,” he growled, his voice dripping with possessiveness. 

The bed creaked as he knelt upon it, his powerful hand closing around her angle and ruthlessly pulling her away from the mattress’s edge, back onto the bed. Daenera could taste bile at the back of her throat, tears clinging to her eyelashes as she kicked and pleaded. “No! No! No!”

“You have forsaken your duty,” Boris growled, mounting her with a brutal force that left her gasping for breath. He seized her wrists in an iron grip, and she struggled against his overwhelming strength, clawing and writhing beneath him in an attempt to fend him off. “You’ve forsaken your honor, you have shamed me, you have ruined yourself and your dignity, by spreading your legs for other men. You have not given me a son, and I cannot trust you to do so when you’re whoring yourself around. I will not tolerate it.”

His weight pressed down on her, threatening to shatter her hips and smother the life from her. She felt her hands bound with his belt, the leather biting cruelly into her wrists as he fastened it around the canopy bedpost, leaving her helpless and immobilized. 

Boris dismounted from her, leaving the bed entirely as he strode towards his wardrobe. Daenera wisted in the bed, her wrists straining against the leather bindings as she knelt on the mattress, anxiously watching for Boris’s movements. Her body quivered, her hair clung to the nape of her neck, damp with cold sweat. 

“Please,” she implored, her voice quivering with fear. She swallowed hard, struggling to inject some semblance of composure into her words. “I have been a faithful wife to you. I haven’t committed the act you accuse me of. I have not bedded anyone but you.”

Boris emerged from the wardrobe, a fresh belt gripped firmly in his hand. The sight sent Daenera’s heart plummeting into her stomach as the full weight of the situation dawned on her. She vigorously shook her head from side to side as he advanced towards her. “No, no, no. I am your wife! I have remained loyal to you. You can't do this.”

Her desperate pleas fell on deaf ears as she climbed onto the bed, causing the mattress to dip under his considerable weight. “You may be my wife, but that also makes you my possession. I can do whatever I please with you, discipline you however I see fit. 

Daenera kicked out in a surge of rage, her fury bubbling to the surface as she sneered. “I am Daenera Velaryon! I am a princess. Lay a hand on me, and I’ll have you fed to my mother’s dragon.”

“There’s that fire I’ve heard about,” Boris jeered darkly. 

As her eyes locked onto the belt again, a chilling wave washed over her, prompting her to pull even harder against the restraints. Her heart raced, pounding painfully against her ribs, threatening to shatter them entirely. Fear gripped her, her body betraying it by trembling. Desperately, she tried to evade his grip, kicking at him. His fingers once more closed around her ankle, tugging her roughly until she sprawled facedown on the mattress. Boris climbed over her flailing legs, settling on her thighs, pinning limbs down. “I won’t tolerate your disgraceful behavior any longer.”

“You bring dishonor upon yourself!” Daenera spat at him, defiantly craning her head to meet her enraged husband’s eyes, her fury matching his. 

His fingers clenched around her dress, ripping the fabric apart and exposing her back to the cool air. The sudden tearing of cloth elicited a sharp cry from her, her legs flailing wildly, heels connecting with his back. 

“I’ll instruct you on the ways of a loyal, honorable wife,” Boris sneered, dragging his palm down the curve of her bare spine. 

Daenera felt a nauseating blend of revolt and fear coiling within her, churning her stomach and pushing bile to the back of her throat. She instinctively arched her back, desperately trying to escape his touch, but there was no escape. The leather restraints around her wrist bit into her flesh, causing her hands to throb and turn a deep shade of crimson. 

Her head was yanked back mercilessly by her hair, forcing her to look up at him as he leaned closer, his breath hot and unpleasant in her ear.

“I’m simply doing what any responsible husband should do – discipline you,” he murmured, before releasing her head and shifting his weight back onto her legs again.

The initial strike of the belt lashed down across her bare back, stealing her breath and searing pain into her skin. The second followed swiftly, the pain merging with the first, making them almost indistinguishable though no less painful. But it was the third strike that finally forced a cry from her lips, tears streaming down her cheeks as her back throbbed and burned. It felt as if her skin was on fire, as if flames licked at it, relishing in the agony that made her head swim. 

As the leather bit into the tender flesh, her vision blurred with pain, and she could feel the welts already forming. Her body trembled under each punishing blow, and her fingers clenched into fists, pulling at the leather restraints that bound her to the bedpost. 

Boris’s voice, dripping with anger, echoed in her ears as he continued the brutal chastisement. 

“When we first met,” he snarled, the belt biting into her skin with each strike, “I made it clear what I expected from you. I expected you to understand your duties as a wife. To be obedient and pliant.”

Another fierce strike, and another cry escaped from her lips. Boris roughly pushed her head down into the mattress, muffling her cries. “To show respect to your husband.”

Daenera could hardly make out his words amid the deafening throb of her own pulse within her head. The pounding of her blood resonated loudly in her ears, drowning out all else. Each word he spoke was like a distant echo, distorted and surreal, as if they came from another world entirely.

Lightheadedness enveloped her, tears blurring her vision. Each breath felt like a struggle, drawn in with ragged, labored pants. It was as if the air itself had thickened around her, making it difficult to breathe–as if she was breathing in water. Drowning was such a slow death , she thought. Her face was pressed into the unforgiving fabric of the blanket beneath her, soaking it with her tears. The sensation of the rough, coarse fabric against her cheek added to the disorientation. 

Every strike of the belt against her bare back sent shockwaves of searing pain through her body, but her cries were muffled by the fabric beneath her, betraying her to keep silent. 

Boris’s grip on her hair intensified, pulling her head back with a cruel force. She hardly felt the sting in her scalp. “You belong to me, do you understand?”

A spark of insolence, seemingly woven into her very essence, flared up within her with a defiant intensity. It emerged as a mirthless, almost maniacal laughter. “You’re absolutely right, husband. I have fucked another. But you mustn’t lay all the blame on me. The fault is not all mine. You see, you just couldn’t satisfy my needs.”

As he released her, a cry erupted from her, but was quickly smothered by the blanket. The belt cracked down onto her, its leather teeth gnawing at her skin and leaving it throbbing and inflamed. Another cry burst forward. Blow after brutal blow rained down upon her, and it felt as if her spine and ribs were being painted with bruised hues. 

Boris exerted himself, grunting with the effort. The buckle of the belt chimed, and a sudden, searing pain exploded at the side of her head, causing her ear to ring. Warmth flowed, and blood began to drip onto the pristine white bedding, the fabric eagerly drinking in the crimson stain. 

Daenera’s gaze fixated on her numb hands, which were gradually taking on a purplish hue. In her mind, she conjured a vivid image of her husband’s demise. Blood trickled from her ear, tracing a crimson path along her cheek as she envisioned him lying broken and battered, struggling to breathe as he choked on his own blood, his face contorted in anguish, eyes widening with horror at his own mortality. She imagined him writhing in excruciating pain, rendering him black, blue and bleeding. Dead. Dead. Dead. 

She cursed him with her breath, cursed him with her blood, cursed him with her rage.

“I will show you,” Boris hissed through clenched teeth, casting the belt aside with disdain as it thudded onto the floor. His rough hand traced down her battered spine, causing her to grit her teeth against the searing pain on her already abused skin. “I will have you with my child. MY child. You will know no other.”

Daenera’s head hung limply to the side, her breath reduced to shallow, labored pants. The faint rustle of fabric filled her ears as Boris unfastened the laces of his trousers. Her heavy eyelids fluttered, and she summoned the strength to pry them open, turning her head to observe him. There, he knelt behind her with his flaccid member in hand, attempting in vain to coax it into readiness. Frustration etched his brow as his cock remained unresponsive, and an irrepressible laugh bubbled from Daenera’s lips.

Her laughter ran out, echoing in the room. In response, Boris forced her face down into the mattress, holding her head there as her body convulsed, deprived of the precious air it so desperately craved. 

With a growl of frustration, Boris finally released her, rising from the bed. But Daenera scarcely noticed as she gulped down lungfuls of air, her body trembling from the near-suffocation she had endured. 

The room stirred with movement, and then his voice sliced through the air. “I demand that you send word for your ship and prepare for our departure once I return from this hunt. You will accompany me back to Storm’s End, where you shall become a proper wife and fulfill your duty of bearing sons. Your misguided time in King’s Landing has come to an end.”

Once he had left, Daenera carefully wiggled off the bed, her knees making contact with the cold stone floor. The jolt sent a shockwave through her body, which helped to clear some of the fog in her head. With every movement, her aching back protested, her muscles frayed and bones bruised. The side of her head felt warm and sticky, though she hardly felt the throb of pain on her ear.

Remaining tethered to the canopy bed, she found herself half-leaning against the side of the mattress, balanced on both knees, her forehead falling to her arm. Her teeth clattered together as her entire body shook and trembled with the force of shock, as if she had been caught in the icy winds of the North and was slowly freezing to death. She hardly heard Jelissa enter the room. 

Jelissa, her hand flying to her mouth in shock, rushed into the room, tears already welling in her eyes at the sight of the injured princess. 

“Princess,” Jelissa gasped, her voice quivering, as she reached for the restraints that tied the princess to the bed. 

As the leather loosened around her wrists, her arms fell heavily to her lap. The joints of her shoulders protested painfully as they settled back into position. Her hands had been blissfully numb, but now, as the blood rushed into her limbs once more, they began to throb and prickle. It felt as if a thousand needles were puncturing the skin, sinking into the flesh repeatedly. She gritted her teeth and looked up into the young maid’s face.

“Robe,” Daenera muttered, her voice raw with exhaustion.

“What?” Jelissa asked, concerned. 

“The robe,” Daenera gestured painfully towards the silk robe lying across a chair. 

Jelissa crawled over the floor and stretched out, gripping the robe quickly. She carefully wrapped it loosely around Daenera’s shoulders, helping her guide her arms through the sleeves. Every once in a while, she stopped to wipe the tears from her face, sniffing loudly as she tried not to burst into loud sobs. 

Daenera rested weakly against the bed, her cheek pressed against the soft mattress. “Get Aemond.”

With a nervous swallow, Jelissa nodded and hurried off the carry out her princess’s command. 

Her eyes fluttered closed, her breath labored and shallow as she tried not to exacerbate the pain on her back by breathing too roughly. The skin felt tightly drawn over her bones, searing with pain as if she’d been branded. A chill began to set in, nibbling at her toes and fingertips, running coolly down her spine and seeping into her bones. At the creak of the door, she pried her eyes open again, looking up as Aemond came into view. Upon seeing his face, she felt a weak sob rise in her throat.

[mavspeed]

cloaked, laptop (and life) update as I promised!

numero uno- I do not yet have a laptop. I do have a hunk of junk I refuse to call a laptop, bestowed on me by my dad because why get a working, fine laptop when you can use a barely working, in-its-deathbed one. joy. I will probably buy one the week after next anyway but in the meantime that’s the sitch. unfortunately.

this brings me to my second point- I am surprisingly almost done with the next chapter of cloaked (its gonna take me like 2 more days to finish this last bit off and a quick edit then I’ll be done) sooo if the schedule proceeds as per I might try to see if I can publish it on my phone or iPad lol. wish me luck ig (also hereforth saying you people have 1-2 weeks to catch up on cloaked and comment before I post the new chapter)

third point: life update! as fast as this next chapter has been the next one unfortunately will not be as fast. the reason why this one was so fast was bc I was essentially jobless for these past few days. with basically nothing to do except wait for my masters prog to start I just decided to write and write lol. my school starts next week so its gonna be hard to write after that. plus we’re hitting the climax of cloaked and I wanna do my icemavved version of the movie (bc cloaked is a tgm au in case anybody forgot lmao) justice. so I’m gonna properly take my time with it to make sure people get what they deserve with it.

fourth point: I am officially starting to write outtakes for the fic for scenes that didn’t make it into the story but I feel like i wanna share them with the class. don’t have a fixed timeline for them so I’m writing them concurrently and will post after the fic is done. hit me w asks if you have requests for any scenes you wanna read about!

that is… it I think. god this post turned out to be so so long lmao my deepest sincerest apologies and thanks if you made it to the end of this author’s note. Top gun summer has been over for ages and yet cloaked has a pretty loyal base of readers which is so so incredible to me. we’re reaching the last bit of this wild ride so please hang in there with me, we’re gonna see it through! 🫶

[janeofcakes]

One Night in Palermo: Chapter 2

Hi Ho! Your friendly neighborhood Jane here. My apologies for the delay in getting out this chapter. The story is all written, so don't worry about it just ending 4 chapters in and without any resolution. Life just got in the way of editing, which I regret, but WE BOUGHT A HOUSE! Woo hoo!! Anyway, please enjoy the next installment.

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Sherlock had been observing Antonio Costa, a fairly prominent man in the Sicilian mafia who had oft worked with Moriarty, for two days. He was the man who provided killers for Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson on the day Sherlock had jumped. The detective had waited a long time to end this man and his organization. He had watched Costa’s movements and habits so as to catch the man when he least expected it. It would not be a difficult assignment. Sherlock planned to neutralize some of Costa’s men along with him, which posed some risk, but he intended to have the element of surprise on his side. The real question in Sherlock’s mind was: did the assassin have Costa in his sights as well or was the man already following the final target: Sebastian Moran?

Sherlock waited quietly in the darkness of an opulent office belonging to a man whose taste in decor rivaled that of Mycroft Holmes with its historic trinkets and mahogany furniture. Across Palermo, Antonio Costa would enjoy dinner with his wife and two children before he returned to the office. The information Sherlock had gathered since arriving in Palermo revealed that the night’s discussion would focus on the murder of twenty innocent people. 

Costa’s aim was to turn the city against local government officials, forcing them to resign so he could fill their seats with his own candidates. Public opinion would dictate that if the government couldn’t protect twenty children on a school bus, they could not protect anyone. It was a particularly heartless endeavor. One of the children who rode the bus was his own daughter’s best friend. Collateral damage, he had said with a crass chuckle when first revealing the plan a mere twenty-four hours ago as Sherlock had spied. The detective’s lip curled in disgust as he thought of it. Costa was not a man he would waste any guilt on.

The detective looked to the ornate grandfather clock when it chimed nine o’clock. Costa would be back within the hour. Five men would be seated around the table with him, his most trusted and most likely to take over his affairs upon his death. With all of them neutralized as well, Costa’s influence would die with him. Not only would the children riding the bus to school in the morning be safe, but countless others the man would use as pawns in the future.

As Sherlock waited, his eyes scanned the dimly lit room, resting here and there on objects of interest. A carved, wooden box displayed on a wall shelf depicted the Eye of Ra. Several gold coins from Mesopotamia were mounted in a frame on the opposite wall. A small table held an 18th century chess set with pieces carved from ivory. As he continued to take in his surroundings, an antique magnifying glass on Costa’s desk caught his attention and he vowed to find one for himself once at Baker Street again. His eyes next fell on a leather-bound journal carefully placed on the bookcase behind the desk. It was at the end of a row of well-worn books, all propped against one another at an angle rather than held in place with a bookend. It was meant to look nonchalant, tossed on the shelf carelessly, but had clearly been placed there with reverence. It was the keeper of Costa’s secrets, the place he turned to when he could tell no other of his deepest feelings. Sherlock had seen the man write in it more than once while he tracked Costa’s movements over the last two days. Leaving the book in plain sight really was the best hiding place, despite what one might think. Costa’s enemies were more likely to sweep all of the books to the floor while looking for something secreted away than study any of the books themselves.

Both the appearance of the book; its soft, warm leather cover tied with a narrow strap to match, and its contents made Sherlock’s mind turn to John Watson. All warm and soft jumpers, tea and toast and cinnamon. Sherlock had not seen John since that first day he stood at the freshly placed grave marker, the name Sherlock Holmes etched elegantly across its surface. John’s shoulders were hunched and his whole body seemed to fold in on itself. Tears stained his face, dripping from his chin to land on coat sleeves or to coalesce with the dew upon every blade of grass. I was so alone and you gave me so much, John’s words had floated sadly through the still air, filling Sherlock’s heart with so much grief he thought it would burst. Please stop being dead. God, how Sherlock had wanted to step away from the cover of trees and take John in his arms and never let go.

Sherlock quietly eased back to lean against the wall behind his back, ensconcing himself further in the shadows. He was nearly in the same time zone as John, only an hour ahead. Was John having a late dinner? Was he in his dressing gown or talking with Mrs. Hudson? Maybe he and Lestrade were having a pint. Sherlock could see John’s face clearly in his mind’s eye; that lopsided grin or his tender smile. He closed his eyes and silently inhaled. The memories were so strong, he could swear the scent of his friend lingered around the edges of the breath he took. God, how he longed to be in his armchair across from John in 221B. Sherlock would tell him his secrets. All of them, keep nothing hidden, especially his most well-kept secret. It was time that John knew.

Sherlock’s eyes flew open and he forced his mind to banish the thought. He must not fall prey to distraction, even in the more boring moments. He scanned the room again in search of something interesting, which he found near the three windows along the north wall of the room. Each one was dark and left open to cool the room with night air. They had tall panes of glass and long, sheer curtains that moved slowly in the light breeze. The closest window, however, had something the other two did not: a movement ever so guarded that no one else would have seen it. To the most observant man in England, it was a neon sign.

Eyes fixed on the spot, Sherlock waited for them to pick out the lines and shapes in the dark alcove. He pieced them together as each new one emerged until he could see the full picture. It was a man. Sherlock could tell that easily. The man was crouching, waiting, steady and patient. He was wearing dark colors with his face and head covered. Sherlock caught a faint glint of metal on the man’s person. A gun. The assassin.

Sherlock quickly determined the best route to the man and began moving silently closer. Though they seemed to have the same goal, that did not guarantee he would not put a bullet in Sherlock’s head just as easily as Costa’s. The detective kept his eyes on the crouched man as he approached, his own gun gripped in both hands at the ready. He waited until he stood in the darkness only a few feet from the man, leveling his weapon at the assassin’s head.

“Put the gun on the floor and stand up,” Sherlock growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

The other man’s body was tense and motionless. Sherlock waited a few seconds, every sense on high alert. His mind processed every outcome and his fingers tightened around the gun in his hands. This man was not going to make it easy.

“Put it down,” Sherlock repeated.

The man moved his head to turn his face toward Sherlock. It was the slightest movement, not even an inch, but enough to tell the detective all he needed to know. This man was a mercenary.

“Did you really think I hadn’t heard you?” a gravelly voice replied and Sherlock could hear the cruel grin in the tone.

Fast as lightning, Sherlock moved, but not soon enough. The man spun on his heel, still crouching, and launched a footstool at Sherlock. He had just enough time to dodge, but could not avoid the man’s lunge as he plowed headlong into Sherlock’s legs. He hit the floor with a crash that knocked the wind from his lungs and the other man was on top of him. Sherlock did not know where his attacker’s weapon was as the man scrabbled for his hands, intent clear.

Sherlock cuffed the man and rolled their bodies so his full weight rested on him. Their arms stretched out overhead, reaching and hands grasping. Sherlock still held the gun in his right hand; both of the man’s were wrapped around his wrist. Sherlock’s left hand pulled at the man’s right wrist, attempting to pull it away from his own. Without warning, the man bent his right elbow and thrust it neatly in between their combined arms to crack Sherlock’s chin with bone. He twisted beneath the detective and flipped their bodies again, crashing Sherlock’s hand onto the floor and forcing him to release the gun. Suddenly, the man’s forearm pressed against Sherlock’s throat, supported at the wrist by his other arm and drastically decreasing the detective’s air supply. He gasped and grappled with the man’s arms, trying to gain purchase, but the man’s arms would not budge.

As he struggled, Sherlock ran through option after option and immediately discounted every one until he settled on the right approach. He twisted his hips and threw his long legs from side to side. The man was straddling his belly as opposed to his hips, supporting a position conducive to strangulation, but leaving Sherlock with the ability to use his own lower body to his advantage.

Sherlock’s thrashing legs and twisting hips took the man by surprise and, despite his valiant efforts, the arm against Sherlock’s throat began to give way. One more thrash and a shove with his arms rewarded Sherlock with a gasping breath as the man crashed to the floor next to him. He was free! Still, the detective could not rest on his laurels. He kicked the man’s knee, knocking it from beneath him as he began to rise. Using the delay to his advantage, Sherlock picked up his own gun from the floor and leveled it at the man once more. Unfortunately, his attacker had the same idea. So there they stood, each on his knees, a scant few feet apart with a gun pointed at the other’s head.

Both men were breathing hard, chests heaving with the effort to catch their breath. Suddenly, the assassin’s hitched in his throat in what could only be surprise. With the combined cap and mask pulled over his head and face, Sherlock could see nothing but the man’s eyes. Meanwhile, the skull cap Sherlock had used to hide his own distinctive curls had fallen off somewhere near the end of the struggle. Mycroft had encouraged him to cut his hair and dye it at the onset of his first assignment, which he did. It made sense to hide his identity so completely. After a few months though, Sherlock began to lose himself and feel further from John than ever. Within three months, his dark curls were back and he wore the skull cap anytime he was not in a safe house. To his credit, Mycroft said nothing.

Now, the curls were out and he was fully exposed. The man before him clearly knew who he was, but it did not concern Sherlock in the slightest. He knew the deep, ocean blue eyes well. They were the same eyes he saw in every dream every night since he leapt off St. Bart’s.

“Sherlock?” an all too familiar voice breathed into the air between them, full of disbelief and hope.

“Che cazzo!” a gruff voice called from across the room before shots rang out.

Sherlock fired back and then took cover as John fired his own shot, hitting Costa expertly between the eyes before diving for cover. Unfortunately, one of the shots from Costa’s men proved accurate and hit the doctor, changing his trajectory as he fell and making him run headlong into the curio cabinet he meant to duck behind. Stunned, Sherlock stared at John’s still body as bullets continued to whiz through the room. No no no! He just got John back. He could not lose him again!

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A shorter chap, I know, but WTF?!? JOHN???!!! Jane, what are you playing at, you say? Nyeh nyeh nyeh, you'll see. Alright, alright. I know John being the assassin isn't really earth-shatteringly shocking, but it certainly raises a lot of questions, eh? Will there be answers? Join me in the next nerve-tingling episode. 😱 Jane