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remembrancer-of-heresy · 2 months

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The desire to possess (Part 3)

Summary: You realize that you are locked in the claws of a monster and pray that your beloved will save you. But will he come?

Perturabo/fem!Reader, Rogal Dorn/fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, yandere, possesive behavior, obsession, kidnapping, dubcon, branding

Word count: 3009

Song: Rammstein - Amour

I had inspiration as you can see.

You have always loved creating small sculptures, carving tiny scenes on marble. Because it was beautiful and elegant. To fit entire worlds and plots in such a tiny space. Yes, you were a small grain of sand in a huge ocean. Insignificant. And yet your sculptures have won the hearts of many people. Including the master who proudly showed your work to the primarchs.

They liked it. The primarchs themselves liked your creations! It has to say that you didn’t like war and prefer to study outposts and structures from books. You were not eager to get involved in the Crusade. But when you saw Perturabo, your feet carried you to him. He was your hero, your idol. While still a student, you wondered whether it was worth it for you to continue working as a sculptor. Will you find your place in this Galaxy?

But when you saw the images of the Iron Lord's structures, you were amazed. And inspired. As then in the Palace, albeit with fear, but still sincerely telling Perturabo about your hope to capture his campaign. A tiny hope of stepping onto the Iron Blood glimmered within you.

But destiny gave you another path. You had to work under Dorn on the Phalanx. Rival of Perturabo in siege and architecture. Life can be unpredictable.

As are your feelings for the primarch. Surprisingly, you did not feel the same awe of him as other mortals. He was your lord, an incredibly tall, strong and influential man. But you didn’t want to cry when you saw his demigod shade.

Quite the contrary. While creating a bust in Rogal's image, you couldn't help but notice his humanity. And when you started talking, you couldn’t help but fall in love with him. He was kind. He fought and killed and subjugated systems. And yet Dorn was against genocide and always wanted to bring the world to harmony. And always leaving behind buildings - a symbol of a new future. And you wanted to share it with him.

***

“I have feelings for you. It’s been quite some time now and I intend to connect my life with you.” - the primarch with a stoic face looks into your eyes, almost without blinking. - “This is a serious proposal and I ask you to treat it accordingly.”

To be honest, it was a little scary. How you were unexpectedly called into the primarch’s chambers and you saw a man dressed in golden armor. His eyes did not glow with rage, but the determination in them was visible from afar. For a second you thought you were going to be executed.

You are silent, not knowing what to say until you notice one detail. Rogal also didn't say a word after his speech. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, his posture doesn’t change, patiently waiting for your answer. Answer. He didn’t intimidate, he didn’t confront you with your new role. He confessed his feelings and hoped that you would answer them...

Surprisingly, you feel... calm. You don’t tremble or cry with emotion, you don’t burst into laughter, but you smile softly. The Primarch blinks in surprise before his face takes on a peaceful expression. The answer is clear without words.

Rogal kneels and you approach him. Your hands touch. His are gigantic and clad in golden armor. And yours are small and covered with dust from work. Your first kiss did not happen soon, as did your first intimacy and conversations about the future.

Everything was truly innocent and beautiful that day.

***

It was a moment of true happiness. It seems like it's been so long since this happened. And now you are sitting in the corner of the room (judging by the details and drawings, this is a workshop) and trembling with fear of the unknown. These were not the chambers of the Praetorian, but the chambers of a primarch, whom you so desperately wanted to serve to in the distant past.

“My brother is cruel and merciless. He looks more like a war machine than a man.”

You remember how Rogal admitted to you that his rivalry with Perturabo was personal, almost childish. They were similar in some ways, but still different. The primarch did not try to turn you against his brother. And yet you were afraid of Perturabo when you met him at one of the events. The anger with which he looked at Rogal. And the worst thing was the contempt with which he looked at you... it was then that you realized how lucky you were to receive his refusal to become a remembrancer of the Iron Blood.

But the worst thing happened after Horus' betrayal. Then you learned the details about the burning of Olympia and other planets. How the Iron Warriors committed genocide, and the survivors were taken into slavery. This was not the hero you read about with such enthusiasm. He was a monster.

And now you were in his clutches. Despite all the protection of Dorn, Perturabo still captured you. The Iron Lord wanted so badly to humiliate his brother. Destroying Greystone won't be enough for him, no. Surely he will think about building his own masterpiece. And at this hour you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to you.

You will probably be tortured. Maybe he'll display your corpse at the main gate as a trophy, a sign for the Praetorian. Or he will turn you into a servitor or a diabolical machine. It was not for nothing that the primarch left you alive.

The iron door opens with a creak and you can’t help but turn towards the sound. Perturabo, as if nothing had happened, goes inside and locks the door. He wears no armor, only Olympic-style clothing. The man twists his neck until it cracks before turning to look at you. You just look at him like a hunted animal. Even when he approaches you, leaving very little space between you.

“I see you better now. You pretty much ruined my plans with your hysterics. But I shouldn’t demand too much from a fragile mortal girl.” - the man firmly pronounces each word, clenching his fists. You can’t understand whether he’s angry with you, or just talking condescendingly. - “Get up.”

You barely obey. You get up on weak legs and hug yourself by the shoulders. His presence is terrifying. And at the same time, you feel that he doesn’t want to hurt you. But this is just ridiculous, he is a primarch, a traitor, and you are a mortal, a remembrancer of Dorn, you are nothing to him.

“I want you to repeat it.”

"What?" - you look at him in confusion.

“Repeat what you told me back in the Palace. Why do you want to serve me? I want to hear it again.” - the man frowns at what he thinks is your ridiculous question. - “On all the worlds, I have always given only one chance to surrender. Either they used it or accepted the consequences. It's the same system here. Either you talk or I use your mouth differently.”

You sob loudly, not wanting to know what he plans to do if you refuse. Tears are streaming down your cheeks and you are trying to say anything other than sounds of despair. You feel Perturabo looking at you carefully. He waits until you test his patience and do not follow a direct order. Finally you speak, trying to remember that very request. The time when you were naive and happy.

“I-I studied all the strongholds you b-built on the conquered worlds. All, uh, all outposts were created with perfect precision to torment the enemy. No living creature can compare to your s-siege prowess.” - you babble, feeling like you can’t hold back your tears. Salty drops randomly flow down your cheeks and you hastily wipe them away.

“I-I-I, ah, I was delighted when I learned about your exploits in the vastness of the G-galaxy. Siege of Incaladion, Bernean and Morningstar Campaign. I read everything about you, all your campaigns.” - you gasp, tears blur your eyes and you see almost nothing. Your voice constantly breaks and you almost howl. - “It was because of you that I decided to become a s-sculptor. When I saw how functional and at the same time beautiful your buildings were. And... I want to serve you. P-please, uh, let me be your l-personal remembrancer. Please."

With the last word, you begin to cry uncontrollably. Feeling weak in your body, you try with all your strength to stay on your feet. Throat hurts from emotions. After some time, you calm down and realize that all this time the Iron Lord was silent. Waited patiently for your hysteria. Or he was thinking about it. Or trying to hold back your emotions.

"Yes." - a tense male voice sweeps across the room with a breath and you shudder from the surge of unrest. - “Yes, you will serve me. My remembrancer, my consort, my slave, my treasure. Only for me and no one else.”

With slow steps, the primarch approaches you until he kneels. You continue to look at the floor until the man lifts your face by the chin. You have no choice but to look into his eyes.

When a man attacked the fortress of Dorn and killed your bodyguard. When he grinned at the sight of you. You thought you imagined what you saw. You desperately didn’t want to see WHAT the primarch had turned into, so you avoided looking at him. Rogal did not scare you, he did not deceive you.

Perturabo's yellowed eyes burn with hellish fire. Extremely pale skin appears with black bruises under the eyes. The primarch was always harsh and cruel. But now it smells of death. More than ever, he now looks less like a primarch and less like a man. But the worst thing was the terrible desire with which he looked at you.

“I'll drown worlds in blood for you.”

Before you even had time to scream, you felt his mouth on your lips. His giant arms wrapped possessively around your waist. You grunt in pain. The way he squeezed you, the way he invaded your mouth with his tongue. Dorn was too gentle, too careful with you. The Iron Lord wanted to take you whole.

You barely free your hands from under the primarch’s mass so that he doesn’t crush them. Palms instinctively rest on the man’s shoulders. You want to push him away, you want to take a breath of air and run away, but you don’t have the strength. Perturabo either misinterpreted your gesture. Or it provoked him.

He pulls away and you take a deep breath before yelping in surprise when he suddenly lifts you up and lays you down on the table. At the same time, throwing things off the cold surface so as not to interfere. The man tore your top dress and you close your eyes.

“Look at me,” a menacing voice rings out with such cruelty that you cringe. But you still follow the order and look straight into the primarch’s eyes. - “I want you to watch."

Rogal was not your master. He was a primarch, but he didn't look down on you, he tried to understand you. But even if you shout it at the top of your lungs, it will not give any result. It is not the Praetorian who is obsessed with conquering you, but the Iron Lord. And you have nothing left to do but watch.

Perturabo squeezes your sides and you whimper from the rolling pain. You know the primarch is gentle with you in his own way. There will be bruises on your skin, but anything is better than broken bones. The man’s mouth greedily kisses and licks your collarbone until it moves to your breast. The Iron Lord bites and leaves hickeys on the tender flesh. His marks are large and painful due to the size difference.

You start crying again in pain. From the shameful pleasure that your body experiences to relieve discomfort. From longing for a loved one who is sure that you are safe. And from uncontrollable almost animal fear. Because you were forced to watch. Because while Perturabo is using you as he pleases, he continues to look straight into your eyes.

The Iron Lord enjoyed your whimpers, your body, your submission. Enjoyed the power and enslavement of a mortal girl. Enjoyed the victory over his sworn enemy, planning new atrocities.

This torture continues for a long time before Perturabo leaves your stomach with a pop. Thumbs stroke your womb while yellow eyes glow with hellfire from terrible anticipation. You shrink all over from a frightening premonition and unconsciously try to move away from the primarch. But the man’s grip is too strong, even though he didn’t even put in a little effort.

The Iron Lord looks at your lower body for a moment before raising his head. His face is absolutely stone, there is not a hint of anger or smirk. Humanity is lost and an iron monster emerges. His cold and loud voice makes your blood run cold.

"You belong to me."

***

Your collarbone still hurts. The Black Mark of the Iron Legion is ugly and you're grateful you can't see it. Perturabo branded you like a slave. Although, given your situation, you were. He kissed you tenderly, somehow imitating Dorn's touch as if he had seen you alone. After which he took you to new chambers so that you could rest.

He turned off the light so you could sleep. And, it would seem, after the pain, mental and physical, you should have fallen into a serene sleep. But you couldn't. Thoughts rushed about like animals in a cage, concentrating on one ray of hope. Rogal. Soon he will know that you are missing. And even if not, he will still follow in the footsteps of his enemies, you know him.

You sob again, curling into the fetal position. The bed is gigantic, you seem so small on it. But it was not made for a Primarch or a Space Marine, no. You managed to look at it before the Iron Lord left you alone in the darkness (alas, the portholes with a view of space were not provided for on the Iron Blood due to their impracticality). And besides, as a true sculptor, you only had to touch the furniture to feel all the subtlety of the work.

Perturabo carved every detail. Birds and flowers, scenes with battles and dates. Images of the sun and moon and stars. Not to mention the fact that the bed was shaped like a shell. It was practical so that you could easily get off or climb on it. But the size could fit an entire primarch there.

He made it especially for you. And judging by what was going on in his workshop... for the two of you. No no no. You no longer had the strength to cry and you wanted to be persistent for the sake of Dorn. Still, the knowledge that the Iron Lord had been planning to steal you away for a long time, not only to mock his brother, but also for his own pleasure, made you sick.

Perturabo regretted turning you away at the Imperial Palace. He regretted that he had alienated a woman who sincerely admired him. He was jealous that his brother got you. The one who always received everyone's admiration and wore the mark of the Emperor with honor. Who not only fought, but also created something beautiful. He didn't truly love you, he wanted to have you as his favorite property. For eternity.

The last thought gave you chills. You were an ordinary girl. A fragile mortal. A remembrancer who never took up sword. No wonder you were easily wounded when an assassin from a recently conquered planet snuck into Dorn's chambers. He easily cut your throat. And you died. And didn't.

Rogal saw how life left you and how it returned to you. It was a miracle. Which, alas, could not be ignored. Malcador the Sigillite told you two that you were one of the Eternals. You were cursed to live forever. And blessed. After all, this meant that you could spend your whole life next to Dorn. Rogal promised the Emperor that you would not distract him. He will continue to serve the Imperium with all his zeal. And he will be able to love you. But now you are in the hands of the Iron Lord. And the thought that you could not leave his Eternal Fortress even in death was terrifying.

You mentally rejoice that even though Perturabo tore your top dress, he still left you with a skirt. Your hands reach into your pocket and you pull out a tiny marble tile. You press your lips to Rogal's face carved into it and inhale the scent of the mineral.

Before the primarch's departure, you specially made this tile. To preserve his image and hope that everything will be fine with him. That he will survive on Terra and will definitely return to you. This was your best work. Rogal did not pose. He slept while you carved his peaceful face.

“Please come to me.” - you whisper quietly, putting all your hope and love into the words. Fingers gently trace Dorn's perfect features. The marble is pleasant to the touch, but when you close your eyes, you imagine Rogal’s warm skin. - "Come to me. My love, I'm so scared. So lonely. Save me. Protect me. Come to me."

You say your personal prayer with sentiment until the sound of footsteps is heard. The door opens slightly and light enters the dark room. The heat of hellfire scorches the coolness of your chambers, enveloping the dark figure of your tormentor. You forcefully press the marble to your chest, hoping to hide the last piece of the home from the Iron Lord. His eyes are filled with a sense of awe out of self-deception and exaltation.

“You called me.”

#primarch x reader #primarch x oc #perturabo x reader #rogal dorn x reader #tw: yandere #tw: obsession #tw: branding #tw: dubcon #tw: kidnapping

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flowerandblood · 11 months

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The Prince and The Fox

[ modern! • Aemond x friend! • female ]

[ warnings: sexual abuse, violence, trauma, panic attack ]

[ description: After the events of her childhood, despite her best efforts, her neighbor and the younger brother of her friend Helaena, Aemond, does not want to know her. This state lasts until a house party organized by his older brother, Aegon, during which an incident occurs that will change their relationship forever. Slow burn, angst, toxic ex-Alys, rough Aemond. This is several anon requests combined into one fic. ]

WARNING: The main plot between the characters takes place in high school. Yes, in high school. The belief that teenagers wait with an intimacy when they are in love in high school is ridiculous to me. Aemond and the character here are the same age. Don't ask me how old they are, in my country you are of the age of consent in your first year of high school and an adult in the last year of high school, so if it is more convenient for you, think about it that way and decide for yourself. In this story, I am not following the trail that they are magically friends right away, but how they become friends and what that even means. I'm writing this fic to give the perspective of young, lost people, not adult women who want to see exactly themselves in everything they read. If that's all you expect, this isn't the fic for you.

I don't want whining about this in my comments or asks. I will delete these and block you. You have been warned.

Aemond + Evans Series Moodboard

This is my first story that has its own playlist, but yes! Get in the mood! Story Music Playlist. Song used in this chapter: Feuer Frei! (Rammstein)

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She wasn't sure how they became friends. Before she met him she played often with Helaena, they lived in the neighbourhood, and there wasn't much of an age difference between them. They often visited each other to play with their dolls, while her brothers existed for her somewhere in the back, busy with their serious, boyish affairs unavailable to girls.

One day when their mother called Helaena home she was sitting on a blanket on the grass in their garden, pretending that her teddy rabbit had just been drinking tea from her pink plastic cup, when their whole elaborately choreographed scene was destroyed by a dog bumping into her and licking her.

"Vhagar! No! Bad dog!" She heard the growl of a young boy, running up to them and grabbing his happy, shiny labrador with big eyes, who just licked her face, panting loudly, pulling her by the collar, trying to drag her away.

She giggled, wiping her face, and it was only when she looked at him that she noticed a large white bandage on the left side of his face, covering his entire eye and part of his cheek, taped up with plasters. She blinked, curious, and cocked her head.

"What happened to you?" She asked lightly, and he threw her an angry, murderous look, tightening his lips and furrowing his brow.

"Fuck off." He hissed, and she turned all red, close to tears, devastated that he had used such ugly, vulgar words towards her that her parents had forbidden her to use, shouting at him that he wasn't allowed to talk like that, that she didn't like him and for him to go away.

This is exactly what he did, dragging his dog behind him with difficulty, and she took her rabbit and ran to her house across the street, no longer waiting for Helaena to return, distraught.

Her father tried hard to get anything out of her, but he understood little of her loud sobbing and babbling, she could see nothing through her tears, she stood and stammered out mere fragments of sentences from which her parent had by some miracle put together a whole. Her father sighed heavily, running his hand over his face.

"Listen. Helaena's brother, I think his name is Aemond, had a very serious accident. I was told about it by his mother when I met her in the supermarket recently, the whole family is going through a lot. He will have to wear an artificial eye and will be left with a big scar. He feels very bad about it and that is why he is behaving like this. Your question was very tactless." He said finally.

She felt a squeeze in her heart and burst out sobbing even louder, this time because she had offended him, that surely this boy now hated her when she wanted everyone to like her.

"− I didn't − after all − uh − I didn't mean to − I just −" She mumbled in despair, not knowing herself what she wanted to say, breathing hard, almost choking from her sobs, her face all red, she was hot with emotion.

"Come here." Her father said to her, so she walked towards him. He embraced her and stroked her head, saying that she should ask her mother to help her bake cakes for him and bring them to him, wishing him a speedy recovery and apologising so they would both feel better.

She decided that this was indeed a good idea and did exactly that.

The next day she knocked on their front door standing with a box of cakes and was opened by their mother, a beautiful, long-haired woman with a warm smile, she was wearing a thick green jumper.

"Good morning, dear, Helaena is just in ballet class." She said to her in a soft, calm voice, and she shook her head.

"No, ma'am, I've come to see Aemond, I've baked cakes for him and I want to wish him quick recovery." She recited with difficulty what her mother had told her to say, hoping she hadn't forgotten anything, waiting with a pounding heart for a response.

The woman smiled broadly with some kind of gratitude and called out loudly to her son asking him to come downstairs, saying he had a visitor.

Her son came down reluctantly, furrowing his brow, having no idea who might want to see him and when he spotted her he immediately pressed his lips together, furious.

He approached his mother, looking at her distrustfully, and she swallowed loudly feeling a tightening in her throat and tears of shame gathering in her eyes again.

"I'm so sorry for asking you about it at the time, in the sense of what happened to you and that I upset you and that you were sad and that I yelled at you afterwards because I was sad too and − and −" She mused, forgetting for a moment what she was getting at in that sentence, swallowing her saliva loudly and suddenly remembering. "− and − and I brought you cakes that I baked with the help of my mother to wish you a speedy recovery."

She said quickly and held out a cardboard box tied with a ribbon in front of her. Aemond looked uncertainly at his mother, who nodded at him to accept the gift. He did not look at her as he reached out for the package and murmured under his breath, nodding. His mother sighed quietly.

"What should you say now?" She asked him expectantly, and he pressed his lower lip together, looking somewhere sideways, discouraged.

"Thank you." He muttered, turned and headed up the stairs.

"Goodbye." She said quickly, turning and running towards her house, feeling relieved that now she had put things right and now he would surely like her a lot.

She was wrong.

When she came to their house to see Helaena, he immediately locked himself in his room. When they passed each other at primary school he did not respond to her greeting by pretending not to see her even though they were neighbours.

When their parents met each other in the supermarket and started talking to each other, he would approach the shelves and pretend to look at some products, doing everything he could not to talk to her.

He never spoke to her in a bad way again, never shouted at her again, but simply pretended that she didn't exist.

Everything changed when they went to high school and it turned out they would be in the same class. They would then get on and off at the same bus stop, but instead of talking to her he preferred to put his earphones in his ears and browse through the apps on his phone, pretending not to see her.

She tried to talk to him, but he shunned her, treating her like air. She had the painful feeling that from that moment, from the day she asked him the wrong question, she was already crossed out as a person in his eyes.

And then their literary history teacher gave them a homework exercise to do in pairs. Assigning a person to each, when he looked at her he waved his hand as if realising something.

"Ah, Evans, you and Targaryen live nearby, it will be easier for you to work. Next couple −" He said, and she froze, looking at him over her shoulder, his eye wide open, pointed in her direction, he was playing with his pen between his fingers, his lips clenched into a thin line.

He was furious.

She swallowed loudly feeling a tightness in her throat and turned back towards the board, feeling only the loud pounding of her heart.

She ran after him off the bus, seeing him walking towards his house with his backpack thrown over one shoulder, the hood of his dark sweatshirt pulled over his head, earphones in his ears. She grabbed his sleeve to make him stop, and he flinched and looked back, surprised.

"Wait, can we talk?" She asked, breathing fast, and he furrowed his brow, taking the earpiece out of his ear, she could hear some loud heavy metal music coming from it and recognized the song Feuer Frei! by Rammstein.

"What?"

She blinked, understanding that he hadn't heard completely what she'd said. She grunted quietly, letting him go, looking at him expectantly.

"I asked if we could talk."

He looked ahead, letting the air out loudly through his nose with impatience, pulling the other earpiece from his ear, looking everywhere but at her. She guessed he wouldn't say anything, so she started quickly, not wanting to irritate him unnecessarily.

"I know you don't like me and I promise not to annoy you with anything. Let's just go to your place or mine, do this homework and get it over with. Okay?" She asked in a trembling voice and he licked his lips, indecision and frustration in his eyes, something was going on in his mind that she didn't understand completely.

He snorted, shrugging his shoulders and nodded at her.

"Come."

They entered his house greeted by the smell of dinner just being cooked. Their mother welcomed her presence in the company of her son with joy and surprise.

"Will you eat something? The meatballs in sauce are warm and ready." She said warmly, hoping they would stay down, guessing that they were both hungry after many hours of lessons.

She wished he would agree, feeling a burbling in her stomach.

"No. We're going to go do our homework." He said in a low, slightly hoarse voice. He pulled off his shoes, slipped the hood off his head and walked up the stairs without looking at her.

He walked into his room, throwing the clothes and books lying on the floor into the wardrobe, clearly wanting to do a quick tidy up, his whole walls covered with posters of various bands, Rammstein, Electric Light Orchestra, Deep Purple, Guns N' Roses, Led Zeppelin, his bookshelves heaving with books.

"Sit." He said lowly, pointing to the chair he'd set up by his desk, himself sitting down in a comfortable high-backed leather player's chair, spreading out on it comfortably.

She walked over to him, pulling her pastel soft backpack off her back, pulling out her notebook and the book they had just reviewed.

The Little Prince.

She felt that he was looking at her expectantly, so she opened her notebook in which she had written down the exact assignment the teacher had given them. She decided to read it aloud so they could reflect on it together.

"The Little Prince is a metaphorical story. Talk together about a few scenes from the book that moved you most and compare your thoughts, writing down similarities and differences. Analyse at least two scenes in this way."

She glanced at him, tightening her lips, feeling her heart pounding hard. For some reason she was terrified, he was sitting next to her, resting his elbows on his desk, leaning forward, seeming even bigger and taller to her than usual.

She felt strange thinking that he smelled nice, that he used some ordinary, cheap men's perfume.

He sniffed with his nose, not even looking at her, taking a pen in his hand.

"Have you read this book?" She asked, wanting to make sure he knew what they were going to talk about. He threw her a look like he thought she was an idiot.

"Do you have any more stupid questions, or can we get started?" He asked lowly, and she pressed her lips together, humiliated, feeling for some reason that she wanted to cry.

She felt like asking why he couldn't forgive her at last, but decided it was pointless, that he obviously didn't like her because he had such a whim.

She shook her head and he hummed, taking her copy of The Little Prince in his hand and began looking through it.

"Which scene do you want to talk about?" He asked coldly, dispassionately, and she swallowed loudly.

"About the Little Prince and the Fox." She said quietly, feeling him give her a brief glance.

He grunted under his breath, apparently agreeing with her choice, waiting for her elaboration on the matter. She swallowed with difficulty, licking her lips.

"What moved me most was how true this scene is. That the greatest enemy of friendship, or any close relationship, is haste. That only by respecting someone's barriers, only by approaching someone slowly and with understanding, can you really look at them from a distance.

By taming someone, by making that person grow attached to you, you take partial responsibility for that person's feelings, for making them trust you enough to believe that you won't intentionally hurt them with your behaviour. Until we really get to know someone we are just a crowd of people passing each other on the street."

She said in a trembling voice, feeling for some reason tears under her eyelids and a tightness in her throat, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lower lip began to tremble, she played with the material of her white daisy dress in a nervous gesture.

She felt him watching her, an awkward silence fell between them.

She couldn't look at him.

She thought he was going to say something cruel, that he was going to tell her to stop wailing, but he said nothing. After a while he spoke up.

"I see this scene differently. They're both moving towards each other because they're determined to do so. They are both going their separate ways. There is a balance. The Little Prince doesn't force the Fox to approach him, just as the Fox doesn't force the Little Prince to approach him. They do it of their own free will. They tame themselves because that's the decision they made. You can't tame someone who doesn't want it." He said lowly, and she looked up at him feeling tears begin to run down her face.

Was he talking about himself?

Was she the Fox who wanted to tame him even though he didn't want it?

"I'm sorry." It burst out of her chest before she had time to think about what she was doing.

He pressed his lips together and swallowed loudly, clenching his hands lying on the desk into fists, his nostrils moving restlessly in accelerated breathing.

She covered her face with her hand, embarrassed that she just couldn't stop crying, feeling pain in her heart and feeling sorry for herself that she just wasn't able to give him a break, that she kept seeking his attention and interest when he just clearly wanted her to leave him alone.

She couldn't bear the thought that she wasn't liked by every man she knew.

She felt ashamed at the thought that she had been so selfish.

"I can't stand that you don't want to talk to me. That you don't like me, that you pretend not to see me. I think it's driving me crazy and you're right to think that I'm an attention-seeking girl. I'm ashamed and I apologise to you for that because it's not your problem. I promise I'll stop." She said between laboured breaths, shrugging her shoulders, lowering her gaze.

He just looked at her.

"You exaggerate everything too much. You care too much." He said finally, his voice calmer as was his gaze.

She saw him fidgeting involuntarily with his fingers in a nervous gesture, the cuticles around his fingernails peeled and red, they must have caused him pain, but he plucked them nonetheless.

"Stop." She whispered and placed her hand over his, his fingers froze in mid-motion. She heard him swallow loudly, completely taken aback, his healthy eye open wide, his whole body concentrated. She stroked his palms with her thumb, and he didn't push her away.

"I'll leave you alone." She said softly and took her hand away, not believing she had dared to do so, and he just nodded and grunted, looking in her book for the quote he wanted to talk about.

They wrote down silently next to each other what they had talked about, and when they had finished she took her books, packed up and left without saying goodbye to him.

She no longer sought his gaze when he stood next to her at the bus stop, when he sat behind her in class, when she passed him in the school corridor. She realised that she had been conceited and vain in thinking that she would make him like her. She thought there was nothing wrong with someone not fancying her, not wanting to talk to her.

She had to get over it.

She attended extra volleyball classes, loved this sport and had good results at inter-school competitions. The captain of the men's team was Cregan Stark, a tall, well-built, funny black-haired boy who caught her eye from the start.

He would occasionally wink at her from afar seeing her gaze, and she would blush, lowering her eyes.

They were good mates, chatting sometimes during breaks and laughing. Cregan often approached her between classes, throwing in any topic, sometimes accompanied by his colleagues who were also fond of her. She felt butterflies in her stomach when he invited her to a house party that Aegon was organising.

She knew that Aemond would certainly be home at that time, but she figured that he would lock himself in his room and not go downstairs to them anyway, so she readily agreed, glad to see Helaena there as well.

She dressed in her favourite suede black dress reaching mid-thigh with a boat neckline, not revealing her breasts but showing her shoulders, and she wore her favourite shiny black boots. She let her hair down, deciding that she looked the prettiest this way, and literally ran out of the house when she heard a knock on the door.

She and Cregan hugged each other as if they were friends and moved arm-in-arm across the street hearing the loud music in the distance. When they entered she saw a crowd of people, most were her friends from the estate, so she greeted everyone around her, one of the guests handed her a cup with probably the cheapest wine possible.

She took a sip, glancing at Cregan and he winked at her as he always did, this time embracing her, pulling her close.

She felt the heat in her lower abdomen and the flush in her cheeks.

For most of the time they sat together on the couch, talking about everything and nothing, she saw no one around him but him, looking into his big dark eyes as if enchanted. She swallowed loudly when she felt his hand on her thigh, trailing up and down, and pressed her lips together, unsure if she liked it or not.

However, she didn't reject his hand, not wanting to offend him, some part of her happy that he reciprocated her interest, that he liked her too, that he found her attractive too.

"Shall we go to the garden?" He asked loud enough for her to hear him, and she nodded with a smile, feeling her own heart beating fast, happy that he wanted to be alone with her.

They walked out into the garden through the kitchen, through a back entrance she knew very well, on the way she felt him grasp her hand in his, she had a feeling her heart would leap out of her chest. They sat down on the terrace bench, he embraced her and hugged her close, and she snuggled into his chest.

She wondered with a blush on her cheeks if he would want to kiss her.

She swallowed loudly and a shudder went through her as, from her shoulder, his hand slowly began to move up to her neck, slipped under the material of her dress and touched her bare breast. She squeezed his wrist, terrified.

"N-no." She mumbled, but instead of stopping, he tightened his fingers on her flesh.

"No, stop." She said terrified, aggressively pulling at his hand, feeling tears in her eyes, cold sweat on the back of her neck, her whole body screaming for him to let her go, wanting to run away, but he wouldn't release her.

"Didn't you hear?" She heard a firm, low voice beside her, and Cregan jumped away from her suddenly, rising from the bench.

Aemond stared at him with his lips tightened, an expression of disgust on his face, his healthy eye wide open, his hands clenched into fists.

"Don't you fucking understand what 'no' means?" He asked him again, louder this time, furious.

She was just sitting and shaking, breathing hard, looking down at her shoes, tear after tear running down her cheeks, she was unable to move or get anything out.

Cregan grunted back.

"Fuck off." He growled, wanting to get past him, but Aemond grabbed him by his shirt and pressed him against the door frame with all his strength.

She stood up quickly, terrified, and covered her mouth when Cregan hit him on the forehead with his head and he took a few steps backwards, Aemond's fist hit his face in return, Cregan half-curled and coughed. They moved away from each other, panting heavily.

"Fucking bastard." He hissed, holding his red cheek with his hand and walked back out into his house, loud music, screams, laughter and conversations of people inside around them.

She sat down on the ground, feeling her whole body shaking, clenching her eyes shut, a strange, high-pitched sound and a sob came from her throat as it finally dawned on her mind what had actually happened.

That he touched her in a way that made her uncomfortable and made her unable to breathe, that she had asked him to stop and he hadn't, how bad it made her feel, how frightening and humiliating it was.

She felt so dirty.

She wasn't sure if what came out of her mouth could be called crying, she felt like she was whimpering and howling, holding her hand to her mouth as if trying to shield herself from what was happening, to no avail.

She heard the rustling of the grass beneath his feet, she felt the gentle touch of his large, warm hand on her back, casual, tender, friendly, comforting.

She snuggled into his black sweatshirt and cried out loud, disappointed, distraught and devastated that she had trusted him, that she had believed him and he did something like this to her.

Why?

Was it because she didn't push him away when he touched her thigh, that she went out with him alone?

Did he think that was what she wanted?

"Shall I go and find Helaena?" He asked in a trembling voice clearly not knowing what to do, how to help her, horrified by what he had seen and her condition. She shook her head quickly, feeling ashamed, she didn't want anyone to know.

She heard him swallow loudly.

"If you want I'll go with you to his parents tomorrow. I'll tell them what I saw. He's been groping you all evening." He said low with some kind of tension, and she froze, drawing in the air loudly at the thought that he must have come downstairs, that he must have seen them as they sat on the sofa, watched them.

Follow them out.

She wondered if he had done it to make sure he wouldn't do anything to her against her will.

It was her fault.

She did not push him away when he touched her thigh.

She went off with him herself.

"No. They won't believe me. He'll say I wanted it myself." She mumbled in a trembling, weak voice between one shattered breath and another.

She could feel his heart pounding hard, that he was nervous too, that he didn't know what he should do. He put his arm around her in a friendly manner, feeling subconsciously that she needed it, that she was terrified.

They both stood up quickly when they heard some girls come out for a cigarette. They raised their eyebrows, looking at them with amusement, one of them waved at them.

"Hey, Cyclops, do you have a girlfriend now?" She asked, the second girl laughed out loud, the third looked at the others disapprovingly, lowering her gaze, pretending she hadn't heard this.

"Fuck off, you stupid bitch!" She growled at her so loudly and with such fury that the girl froze, it seemed to her that she had never called anyone that out loud before in her life.

In a frenzy of desperation, anger and humiliation, she pulled her boots off her feet and, one by one, started throwing them at them until all three of them fled inside the house screaming that she was insane.

"Fuck, calm down! Jesus." He called out to her in shock, grabbing her by her arm. She raised her eyes at him, breathing loudly, his gaze softening a bit.

"Do you want to go home?" He asked lowly, almost indifferently, and she nodded, feeling that she wanted to cry again at the thought of Cregan's touch on her chest.

His hand tightened on her bare breast, refusing to let her go.

An unpleasant shiver ran through her, she felt like she was going to vomit.

First, though, she had to find her shoes, one of which had ended up in the bushes, the other behind their barbecue, all dirty from the coals. She put them on anyway, she was already indifferent to everything.

He didn't even ask if she wanted him to walk her away.

He just followed her.

On the way out they came across Cregan and his mates smoking a cigarette on the road, some of his friends whistling at them, laughing out loud.

"Are you guys going to fuck?" He called from a distance in amusement, she felt that her whole body was shaking, that she was afraid of them and she thanked God that he had gone with her, that he had not left her alone.

She wondered if this was what he experienced all the time at school.

Humiliation.

He stood with her in front of her door with his hands tucked into his black trousers, his face turned in profile.

She knew she shouldn't do this, but she needed it.

She walked up to him and hugged her face to his sweatshirt, standing in front of him like that. She could feel his warm breath on the top of her head, she knew he was looking at her.

She swallowed loudly as she felt his forehead pressed against her hair, he let out a loud breath, something in his voice that she could call sympathy.

"Try not to think about it. If you change your mind and want to go to his parents, I'll go with you. Hm?" He asked lowly, and she nodded.

"Are you going to keep seeing him?" He asked coolly after a moment, and she shook her head, feeling that it made her sick at the thought.

"Good." He muttered, raising his head. She pulled away from him and looked at him, swallowing loudly.

"Gonna give you my phone number. In case you decide to do it." He added quickly, wanting to make sure she didn't understand his proposal ambiguously. She nodded her head.

He dictated a string of numbers to her, which she typed into her phone and added him to her contacts under the name 'Prince'. He saw this and lifted his gaze to her, but made no comment.

They looked at each other for a moment in silence.

"I'm sorry." He said finally. She nodded her head in understanding.

"Thank you for everything. That you… you know. Have a good night." She said softly, without looking at him anymore, and disappeared behind the front door of her house.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy

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