#she commits. she certainly does that

[mihotose]

jesus christ agupon

[loderlied]

mmm essay about sally and kid gort in the tags (cw for child abuse, mentions of suicide, animal cruelty and a murder attempt. i always hope i don’t have to say this but just in case: i don’t excuse or condone any of her or gort’s behaviour at all.) this is literally not even touching upon everything i have to say because i hit the fucking tag limit lmao. NOBODY READ IT’S BAD BRAINSTORMING I JUST NEEDED TO GET IT OUT SOMEHOW

[wonder-worker]

J.L. Laynesmith taking the 'Buckingham Did It™' route for the murder of the Princes in the Tower AND the rumors of Edward IV's bastardy ... I have to laugh

[sheila--e]

the way Sheila's described as both being covered in scars and also being a very self destructive person with little care for herself and a desire to die for a good cause (or a very long way of saying she's got suicidal tendencies yet masks it as a form of courage) makes me think she self harms. it wouldn't be out of this world tbh. coping mechanism adopted from her self hatred and a need of punishing herself for being a horrible person. she doesn't know where to put all of those chaotic feelings, and the only way she can redirect it is to herself. not out of character frankly.

[hyperlexichypatia]

As I keep shouting into the void, pathologizers love shifting discussion about material conditions into discussion about emotional states.

I rant approximately once a week about how the brain maturity myth transmuted “Young adults are too poor to move out of their parents’ homes or have children of their own” into “Young adults are too emotionally and neurologically immature to move out of their parents’ homes or have children of their own.”

I’ve also talked about the misuse of “enabling” and “trauma” and “dopamine” .

And this is a pattern – people coin terms and concepts to describe material problems, and pathologization culture shifts them to be about problems in the brain or psyche of the person experiencing them. Now we’re talking about neurochemicals, frontal lobes, and self-esteem instead of talking about wages, wealth distribution, and civil rights. Now we can say that poor, oppressed, and exploited people are suffering from a neurological/emotional defect that makes them not know what’s best for themselves, so they don’t need or deserve rights or money.

Here are some terms that have been so horribly misused by mental health culture that we’ve almost entirely forgotten that they were originally materialist critiques.

Codependency What it originally referred to: A non-addicted person being overly “helpful” to an addicted partner or relative, often out of financial desperation. For example: Making sure your alcoholic husband gets to work in the morning (even though he’s an adult who should be responsible for himself) because if he loses his job, you’ll lose your home. https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/08/opinion/codependency-addiction-recovery.html What it’s been distorted into: Being “clingy,” being “too emotionally needy,” wanting things like affection and quality time from a partner. A way of pathologizing people, especially young women, for wanting things like love and commitment in a romantic relationship.

Compulsory Heterosexuality What it originally referred to: In the 1980 in essay "Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence," https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/doi/abs/10.1086/493756 Adrienne Rich described compulsory heterosexuality as a set of social conditions that coerce women into heterosexual relationships and prioritize those relationships over relationships between women (both romantic and platonic). She also defines “lesbian” much more broadly than current discourse does, encompassing a wide variety of romantic and platonic relationships between women. While she does suggest that women who identify as heterosexual might be doing so out of unquestioned social norms, this is not the primary point she’s making. What it’s been distorted into: The patronizing, biphobic idea that lesbians somehow falsely believe themselves to be attracted to men. Part of the overall “Women don’t really know what they want or what’s good for them” theme of contemporary discourse.

Emotional Labor What it originally referred to: The implicit or explicit requirement that workers (especially women workers, especially workers in female-dominated “pink collar” jobs, especially tipped workers) perform emotional intimacy with customers, coworkers, and bosses above and beyond the actual job being done. Having to smile, be “friendly,” flirt, give the impression of genuine caring, politely accept harassment, etc. https://weld.la.psu.edu/what-is-emotional-labor/ What it’s been distorted into: Everything under the sun. Everything from housework (which we already had a term for), to tolerating the existence of disabled people, to just caring about friends the way friends do. The original intent of the concept was “It’s unreasonable to expect your waitress to care about your problems, because she’s not really your friend,” not “It’s unreasonable to expect your actual friends to care about your problems unless you pay them, because that’s emotional labor,” and certainly not “Disabled people shouldn’t be allowed to be visibly disabled in public, because witnessing a disabled person is emotional labor.” Anything that causes a person emotional distress, even if that emotional distress is rooted in the distress-haver’s bigotry (Many nominally progressive people who would rightfully reject the bigoted logic of “Seeing gay or interracial couples upsets me, which is emotional labor, so they shouldn’t be allowed to exist in public” fully accept the bigoted logic of “Seeing disabled or poor people upsets me, which is emotional labor, so they shouldn’t be allowed to exist in public”).

Battered Wife Syndrome What it originally referred to: The all-encompassing trauma and fear of escalating violence experienced by people suffering ongoing domestic abuse, sometimes resulting in the abuse victim using necessary violence in self-defense. Because domestic abuse often escalates, often to murder, this fear is entirely rational and justified. This is the reasonable, justified belief that someone who beats you, stalks you, and threatens to kill you may actually kill you.

What it’s been distorted into: Like so many of these other items, the idea that women (in this case, women who are victims of domestic violence) don’t know what’s best for themselves. I debated including this one, because “syndrome” was a wrongful framing from the beginning – a justified and rational fear of escalating violence in a situation in which escalating violence is occurring is not a “syndrome.” But the original meaning at least partially acknowledged the material conditions of escalating violence.

I’m not saying the original meanings of these terms are ones I necessarily agree with – as a cognitive liberty absolutist, I’m unsurprisingly not that enamored of either second-wave feminism or 1970s addiction discourse. And as much as I dislike what “emotional labor” has become, I accept that “Women are unfairly expected to care about other people’s feelings more than men are” is a true statement.

What I am saying is that all of these terms originally, at least partly, took material conditions into account in their usage. Subsequent usage has entirely stripped the materialist critique and fully replaced it with emotional pathologization, specifically of women. Acknowledgement that women have their choices constrained by poverty, violence, and oppression has been replaced with the idea that women don’t know what’s best for themselves and need to be coercively “helped” for their own good. Acknowledgement that working-class women experience a gender-and-class-specific form of economic exploitation has been rebranded as yet another variation of “Disabled people are burdensome for wanting to exist.”

Over and over, materialist critiques are reframed as emotional or cognitive defects of marginalized people. The next time you hear a superficially sympathetic (but actually pathologizing) argument for “Marginalized people make bad choices because…” consider stopping and asking: “Wait, who are we to assume that this person’s choices are ‘bad’? And if they are, is there something about their material conditions that constrains their options or makes the ‘bad’ choice the best available option?”

[simpjaes]

desecration. (s.j)

the one where no gods exist when you’re alone with jake sim.

minors dni !! | if you read it, reblog it. 

WORDCOUNT ― 6.4k

PAIRING ― jake sim x afab reader

GENRE ― top/dom jake sim, characters are in their twenties, sub/bratty reader, religious kink/fetish

WARNINGS― mild dub con, desecration of holy a relic, inaccurate descriptions of whatever religion this is– im not doing research for a 5k fic that’s mostly smut, sorry. 

NOTE― if you’ve read this before, it’s because I wrote it for mark lee over on my other blog [ncteez]. we wanted to make it jake, and by we i mean me. i wanted to read this as jake. sorry to religious ppl, don’t read this if you don’t wanna be railed by a hot guy wielding a cross. 

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― DUB CON.  use of the words: whore, slut, for the record, the cross is not raw wood and has a smooth finish,  reader is first attempting to seduce the priest through confession lmao, she’s also just a massive whore just like me :), jake is the priest’s son, jerking off, penetration using a wooden cross, unprotected sex, spitting, choking on and/or sucking off a cross, degradation, and name-calling, he’s a godfearing man but also he likes sexual perversions, humiliation, explicitly getting fucked in a church, kind of fingering? 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake wonders why you’re always making confessions, time and time again, once a week, every single week….eagerly. Like you’re excited for your sin or something. 

Huh.

Then again, once a week his father is expected to listen to confessions from the other churchgoers, even Jake himself is expected to confess. Often he will make up sins that he has committed just to seem as though he has been learning from some sort of mistake. Never would Jake actually tell his father through a confession booth what he has done or is willing to do. He’s an adult, he can confess whatever he wants. 

You, on the other hand, you’re working his father to the bone in terms of forgiveness. 

Jake’s interest piques at the very idea of a young woman, around his age, wanting to confess so much. Did you  hurt someone? Does you hurt yourself? Did you kill someone? Or maybe you’re just caught up in a situation that makes you commit atrocities? He can’t even imagine what one person could be doing to elicit such an eager need of forgiveness so consistently. 

Always the first in the box, always with those inappropriate outfits too. 

 Jake makes his way to the back of the church to complete his duties and, of course, he isn’t surprised to see you enter the confession booth. After all, it is the start of a new week. 

Hushed whispers were echoing through the large space and only now does he realize that you almost always confess when the church is nearly empty. You must not be unaware of his presence at all, unaware that he is the son of the priest that you spill your sins to, and unaware that he can absolutely hear you when he walks closer.

He isn’t entirely sure why he is listening. The walls of this church echo any and every sound, and to be fair, the only reason his interest is piqued is because his father was silent from the moment you had entered the booth. All he heard was you. You didn’t seem to start the confession off in a proper manner either, so yeah, maybe it caught him off guard too.

His ears make attempts to adjust to the words coming from the booth, but your voice is coming out in a tone that he has never used himself when seeking salvation. Minutes pass and he still hasn’t heard his father speak a word back to you, not to encourage you, not to stop you. It’s just you, addressing dreams, visions, wants, and needs. 

Certainly not confession. In fact, you’re actively sinning, attempting to seduce. 

“I woke up shaking, Father. What should I do?” 

Jake notes how quiet his father is still, despite you asking him what to do about the dream. His face sours when you continue to speak, this time in a slightly louder tone. 

“I just can’t help myself sometimes, I–”

It’s not that it’s intentional, really, it isn’t. If anything at all, Jake is incredibly disgusted by your attempts to dirty talk during a confession. Disgusted that you’d do such a thing, and…maybe intrigued by what you may have said that he wasn’t quite able to catch before. He quietly moves to the other side of the booth, the side where you seem to be spouting off all sorts of things, and he raises his head to listen a bit more. 

“You were big, you know? I can’t get thoughts of you out of my head. Have you ever touched a woman, Father?”

Jake leans in further, his body reacting more than his disgust. Unfortunately, his length growing in his pants ceases the moment his father cuts you off. 

“Enough.” His father finally stops you from abusing the booth, from abusing him.

Not another word is spoken and Jake does his best to back away quickly and quietly as you exit the booth. Of course, he’s acting as though he is sweeping a corner when he turns to look at you. Eye contact is made and he can feel an intense rush of heat spread across his cheeks.

Ah, so you’re a whore.

His father stays inside of the booth for a long, drawn out, three or so minutes before exiting and all Jake can think about is if you walked out of the church soaked and warm between your legs. It’s not even that Jake is into sinning. He isn’t. His entire life was built around this church, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a man. He has needs just like you do, apparently.

Never would he get what he needs from a woman as dirty as yourself, though, it doesn’t stop him from thinking about it and how your voice sounds when you were actively trying to fuck his dad.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You’re disgusting.” Jake narrows his eyes at you when you pass by, spitting the words at you with a grimace. 

“Excuse me?” You ask, stopping in your tracks and looking back at him just as harshly. You didn’t provoke him to speak to you at all, let alone fucking insult you? 

“You think I can’t hear the way you speak to my dad during your little “confessions”?” He takes a step forward as he whispers at you, air quoting the word confession with a roll of his eyes.. “You really think he’s just going to take you up on the offer?” 

Narrowing your own eyes, you step closer to Jake to stop anyone else from hearing his little tantrum. 

“Wanna tell me why he always listens to my “confessions” then?” You question back, mimicking the air quotes and smirking as you walk away from him, not even letting him answer.

Jake watches as you leave, upset that he didn’t get a rise out of you at all and instead was offered a genuine question that sits in his mind. Why does his father allow you to make a confession after confession if all it is, is an attempt to seduce him? You’re even ashamed of it, it seems, and it pisses him off to no end. 

Rushing after you, he is quick to grab at your dress and pull you back.

“Might as well just show up naked with the way you act around here,” He starts with a bite in his tone, dragging you off, down the hall and into a side room that usually remains empty. 

He intends to put a stop to this because he’s heard several more of your confessions by his own will and learns that, apparently, your only sin is being a fucking slut. 

“You have no place here.” He adds as he closes the door behind the two of you. Unintentionally locking you into a space that he’s directly saying you don’t belong in.

“Acting like you don’t think about fucking. Hah. We both know I’m not the only one,” You laugh, walking across the room with a shrug. It’s not the first time you’ve been reprimanded in a church, and it probably won’t be the last. “Besides, your dad probably thinks about me late at night after tucking your grown ass into bed like a child.” 

Jake narrows his eyes even more at you.

“Bet that pisses you off.”

“You’re ridiculous to think he would even want someone like you.” Jake scoffs harshly at you, gut bubbling with annoyance. “To think about sex this often too? I can’t imagine anyone would want to touch such a slut.”

You watch him walk towards you, with his perfectly tucked shirt and his darkened and angry eyes. Being alone with him doesn’t help his argument though because, in all fairness, he’s just as hot, if not hotter than his father. 

“What about you then?” You ask, leaning against one of the shelves in the room, running your hand up your legs, and hiking your dress up a couple of inches. 

“Your dad with his lingering eyes won’t admit to having ever touched a woman. Yet here you are.” You call out the priest’s lie with a snide chuckle before continuing. Fingers massaging your own fleshy thighs, watching the way Jake struggles with his own lingering eyes. “What about you? You ever fuck anyone?”

Jake grimaces, wrinkling his nose as he watches you. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He questions, stomping over to you and pushing your dress back down below your knees.

“Oh!” You laugh, ticking your tongue at him and tilting your head. “You said a bad word. Aren’t you going to ask for forgiveness?”

He stares at you for a few seconds, being face to face with a woman that seems so desperate for any touch has his heart racing. He’s trying to call you out, not turn you on.

“Can’t you act decent? I barely know you and you’re flaunting yourself at me.” Jake bellows, stumbling back from you and examining the way your body is relaxed.

 You really seem to be enjoying this. 

“You’re the one who pulled me in here. Was it really to argue with me, or were you trying to get to me before Father does?”

Thinking for a moment, Jake realizes he’s the reason this is happening. He could have just let you leave like everyone else, after all, you were attempting to go home. Here he is though, and there you are. 

“He would never.” Jake laughs, mocking your attempts to pretend his father would be interested in you. 

“And again, what about you?” You shoot back instantaneously, watching the way his words get caught in his throat. 

He’s a weak man, truly, because the very thought of what’s under your dress, the very idea that you’re so willing, fogs his brain to the point of almost malfunctioning. It would be so fucking easy if he wanted to. 

No one would even know. 

Before you even know it, you can feel the air in the room change as he storms closer to you and rips your dress upwards to your waist. Instantly, he’s shoving his hand straight between your legs. 

A small yelp leaves your throat followed by a laugh. Perfect. 

“I knew it.” You giggle,  bumping your head a bit against the shelf at the force of his movement. You can feel the way his palm cups your core and presses in harshly through his silent breaths. “I fucking knew you were dirty.”

“Stop,” Jake demands, bringing his other hand to cover your mouth. “Stop talking.” He continues, already pulling his hand from your core and second-guessing himself. 

“If you want it so bad, I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up.” 

You nod with a smile against his palm, breathing in when he pulls it back and trusts your ability to stay quiet. He’s staring directly into your eyes as if he’s threatening you. As if he will stop if you make a single peep. A promise that he will probably get you banned from the church if anyone were to find out what’s happening in this room right now.  At his darkened gaze, you poke your tongue out, licking his palm and watching him pull back in aroused shock at how unashamed you are regarding your arousal. But, you do stay true to your work and remain quiet once his eyes trail down. 

He looks at you as if you’re some sort of monstrous entity, and for him at this moment, you probably are. But even with that, you see what’s growing in his pants before he lowers himself onto the floor. Positioning his face right in front of your clothed pussy. 

What a dirty, dirty boy.

Jake can see the wet stain of your panties and all he can do is roll his eyes. 

“You’re insane.” He laughs, eyes darting up to your face, looking at you like he wants to shame you. “Getting so messy in such a place, all for men who don’t fucking want you?” 

You nod, wiggling your hips at him in an attempt to entice his lips to attach there. But he doesn’t. He just stands right back up to his feet and takes a step backwards. 

“I bet if I left you here, you’d chase after me.” He mocks. “I bet you think I’m gonna stick it in you, don’t you?”

Proudly, you smile with a nod. Of course he's going to stick it in. You can see how hard he’s gotten. Sin or not, you know when a man wants to fuck you. Jake won’t be able to resist sooner or later, son of the priest or not. 

“Wow,” He laughs quietly, shaking his head at you as he reaches behind a podium and pulls out a large, lacquered wooden cross. “You really are stupid.”

Great, you think as your face falls. He’s definitely about to start preaching to you with that stupid fucking cross. Maybe he will even attempt to perform an exorcism to expel the horny demons out of you.

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes, standing yourself up straight from against the shelf and patting your dress back down into position. “Don’t start this shit.” You’re already preparing to walk out without looking twice at him, but he laughs right back at you.

“You think you know everything.” He chuckles, walking towards the door and locking it. He stands in front of it now, crossing his arms and staring at you. 

“Don’t I?” You ask, eyeing the way he presents himself to you right now. 

“Did I not just imply that I wouldn’t use my cock on you?” He questions, twitching in his pants at the way you stand before him, much smaller in energy now. 

He can tell you’re still trying to act brave, and it delights him to see the realization spread across that pretty, silent mouth. 

Oh. Oh. 

“You’re going to–?” You swallow hard, realizing that of all the sins you could commit, the implication of being penetrated with a cross, solely so this man doesn’t have to fuck a whore isn’t one you ever thought of. 

This room doesn’t even feel like part of a church now as he holds the cross with more reason than praying. 

“Yeah,” He assures you. “I am.” Stepping forward toward you and looming down at your face. “Now get on the desk.” 

You don’t know why, but your body acts on instinct for him. Immediately walking to the desk and propping yourself onto it. 

“Take off your clothes.” He demands again, watching you intently as he stays in place, rubbing the long end of the cross much like he’d like to do for himself right now. 

God, watching such a stubborn woman do everything he says is…well, it’s new for him and it ignites a new type of arousal within him. 

And you watch him back as you begin to slip your dress from your shoulders, lifting your ass so that you can push it down and onto the floor. 

“Oh, now you wanna act shy?” He mocks, walking towards you as you attempt to tug at your panties. “And keep those on. No one wants to see that.”

Goddamn, you don’t even have the decency to wear a bra to service? Lucky for him though, your breasts are enough to drive him past the point of return. There’s no thought, fear, or prayer in his head right now as you reveal yourself to him. Going as far as trying to flash your pussy? Oh, he could laugh. 

You stay quiet, doing as you’re told and watching the way he examines you. He must feel so in control right now and you’re happy to let him, but you can see him falling apart behind his eyes. 

His cock is incredibly obvious beneath his nice dress pants, but you wouldn’t dare reach out to touch him, not yet at least. You’ll let him have his fun, despite the slight nervousness within you regarding that cross.

“Open your mouth.” He says, dragging the cross against your nipples and onto your chin. “Suck it.”

You almost shake your head at him. Such a hard wood sliding down your throat would surely hurt. It’ll bruise, it’ll fucking suffocate you.

Jake doesn’t seem to care about any of that though, because all he does in response to your widened and fear-stricken eyes is press the wood against your lips with a face of concentration. 

You purse your lips, muffling a displeased grunt at his acts.

“You scared?” He smiles first, pulling the cross away and now tracing his fingers along your lips before prying them inside and hooking your mouth open. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t know how to suck.”

You relent this time, feeling the cold and smooth tip of the cross enter past your lips when he resumes his previous assault. It’s not that you are against doing it, you just…haven’t done it before.

 You’re not exactly sure of how to respect a holy relic such as this one when you’re expected to choke on it. 

“That’s it.” Jake coos, pressing the cross further into your mouth. “Open up real wide.” 

You close your eyes at his voice, licking the smoothed object with an intensity you didn’t know you had. After all, it’s been so long since you’ve been intimate with a person, hence the constant wet dreams about your priest. This is somehow, incredibly hot to you. To have his son fucking your mouth, regardless of what object he’s using to do it. 

Still, it does hurt. The intricate edges of the cross bruises each time it hits the clenching walls of your throat and mouth, but Jake seems to like the sound of you choking and sobbing around it. After all, he just continues to press the cross further and further in. Probably relishing in the way you try to swallow around it and relax your throat. 

His eyes are so focused, seeing how much of it you can take and only imagining how good it would feel if it were his cock choking you right now. Despite your sputtering and crying eyes, you’re taking it so well. 

Yeah, you’ve definitely done this before. Probably swallowed up some guy’s cum and begged for more despite still having a cock wedged in your throat. How lucky for them to have someone so desperate to be gagged. 

“You’re filthy for doing this, you know that?” He laughs at your pain and how you don’t try to pull at his pushing hand, tipping the cross just a bit so that its hardened wood hits your throat in a way that hurts a bit too much.

You cough around it, only now pushing his hand back in protest. The tears are pouring from your eyes when the cross slides out of your mouth, and all you can do is blink up at him as you try to regain your breath. 

Half expecting him to immediately hold your head in place just to shove the cross back in, Jake pulls back instead, tilting his head down to look at your panties. 

Your legs instinctively cross to hide your arousal, but he prys your legs open regardless, forcing you to act as the whore you so wanted to be. For his father, for him, for anyone who would be willing, honestly. 

You’ve gotten wetter. 

“You’re so gross, I can’t believe you get off to this–” He laughs, feeling his cock begin to fucking ache. “You can take more, then.” 

No, no. You don’t want to keep sucking it, but your mouth opens anyway. Too turned on by the idea of seeing Jake’s reaction to watching you be so dirty, so blasphemous. 

The way he moans when you open your mouth willingly this time is…well, he looks fucking good. He sounds even better. 

You take it into your mouth without so much as a second thought this time, allowing him to slide the cross back and forth against your tongue and into your throat. You willingly swallow around the harsh edges, tears falling all the while, of course.  

You’re gagging so softly around it, he’s almost jealous over how you wanted his dad before you wanted him. Surely no one would do this for you, right? His father would never be with such a horny, needy, and dirty woman. 

Jake though….shamefully, is very into it. 

Into you, rather.

When he pulls it out this time, your saliva coats the cross in a way that nearly breaks his brain. Intensely, he stares at your lips, slack and waiting for him to continue his abuse. God, he’s so jealous. To think you would do this with someone else? With anyone? Anything? 

It turns him on beyond belief, but feeling jealous of the fucking cross isn’t exactly something Jake wants to admit. His father? Sure, whatever. But a relic he’s prayed to his whole life? Growing resentful of it just because you take it down your pretty and bruised throat? 

No. 

Jake shifts now, unable to satiate the arousal within him without grabbing your hand and forcing you to grope his hidden cock. So hard, so fucking hard, he nearly lets out his own sob at the euphoric touch when he actually does it. 

You’re a bit shocked that he’s letting you touch him, but you take the opportunity and run with it. You press your palm against him without any amount of shame, and all you can do is watch as he hangs his head, the saliva coated cross still gripped in his other hand. 

“Bet you wanted to fuck my mouth.” You croak out, your voice sounding just as raw at your throat. “Bet you wanted me to take all of it and beg for your cum.” 

His head shoots up in response to that as he grabs your face harshly, bucking against your hand at the same time. “Stop talking.” He seethes, releasing your face and inserting his fingers into your mouth instead. “Stick your tongue out.”

You do as he says, feeling his heavy cock twitching against your palm with each press. 

Jake seems like an expert at this, you aren’t sure, but when he presses your tongue down with his fingers to open your throat up, he spits into your mouth so easily that you have no choice but to swallow it.

Well, okay. He could probably get away with doing that a few more times if he wanted to.

You moan when you swallow, lending him a dopey smile that shocks him. You weren’t supposed to like that in his eyes, but when you grab his cock in response rather than just palm at it, he can’t help but moan back at you. 

His fingers continue to hold your tongue down as you jerk him off over his pants, and his hips stutter all the while until he loses all composure. Within a second, he stalks even closer, slamming both hands against the desk on either side of you and leaning forward to pin you there.

And then he grinds forward against your weak hand, pinned between him and the edge of the desk. 

Yet still, he’s gripping that fucking cross as he pins you here.

“You want me to fuck you so bad, I can see it.” He croaks, not even allowing you to offer him a nod before he’s got his lips attached to yours and he’s licking into your mouth. It feels impossibly better than that cross pressing against the back of your throat but you swallow his kiss just as easily. 

His hips continue to grind as he licks into your mouth like a man who doesn’t know how to kiss at all. So rough and messy with it, groaning more and more before he’s nearly a panting mess before you. He pulls back from the kiss only for a moment to stare at you, eye contact more fierce than it was before. 

“I think you’re the one who wants to fuck me.” You manage to slip out before he can silence you again, and his eyes narrow instantly. 

More than anything, that’s what he wants to do to you. He wants to shut you up in as many ways possible right now, and he definitely wants fucking you to be one of those ways. But he can’t, and he won't. 

“Hah–you’d love that.” He laughs, reaching his empty hand between the two of you to press his pants down enough to let his cock spring free. 

You can’t even get a good look at it, because he’s instantly grabbing himself and fucking his fist before looking back up at you. 

“Go on, look.” He says, leaning a bit so that you can watch him jerk off in full view now. “Bet you’d beg for it if I told you to.”

“Please?” You instantly let out, eyes staring at the angry head of his cock leaking and pulsing.

“I didn’t say to actually beg–” He groans, halting his hand and instead, thrusting his hips into the tightly formed hole he’s created. “I’m not going to fuck you.” He laughs again, now pulling the cross back and into your view with a wicked smirk. 

Of course. The cross. Well, at least you’re going to be fucked with something right?

 You eye the piece of wood and then go back to watching him. You’re not sure what it is about this situation but it feels like your body is on fire. Maybe it’s because hell is right beneath you, just a floorboard away from what the two of you have gotten yourselves into behind this locked door.

“Oh?” He halts his hips and licks his lips. “You actually want me to fuck you with this?”

You nod frantically, spreading your legs in front of him and showing off how large the spot on your panties has grown since he last inspected it. You watch as his eyes practically burn a hole through your pussy.

Only then does he release his own cock and look back into your eyes. More seriously this time when reality and guilt clicks in his head. 

“You are aware of what we are about to do, right?” His confidence falters blatantly as he glances at the cross. “Like, if you ever tell my dad about this, I will be disowned.” 

“You think I’d snitch on you?” You roll your eyes, body nearly shaking to get fucked. God, why does he have to stop now?

“Well, since you’re so inclined to confess every fucking day–”

“Jake, you literally just fucked my throat with it.” You deadpan, hooking your legs around him to pull him close enough to feel his cock hit your wet panties. “You’re the dirtiest one here, I’m not going to give that up just to see you get disowned.” 

He laughs at you for that. Because yeah, maybe he is. Maybe he’s the one who shouldn’t be in church, and maybe he’s the one who should have been confessing this whole time. Never in his life has he ever done this, or so much as imagined doing it, it’s so perverse. So, wrong. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what’s attractive about it. 

For some reason, his cock jumps when you say you’re not giving him up because he’s dirty. 

“And–” You soften your voice, trying to lure him. “You don’t have to use the cross, you know.” 

“No.” He barks out, pulling his hips back and pressing the cross against you instead. “Now, keep your legs open.” 

He gets right back into it without a second thought. He doesn’t care what he’s doing or what the repercussions of doing this will be. It’s not like he wasn’t going to hell before any of this, not based on the fantasies he’s had anyway.

Jake hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down your legs harshly, to the point that they’re stretching so far that it feels like they could cut through your skin. He backs away for a moment upon seeing you grimace at that, allowing you to slip them down your legs before positioning himself back between them.

“I’m dirty?” He says, looking at your pussy and the way it clenches around absolutely nothing. He sees the slick seeping out of you already, and it’s not only pathetic but so fucking desperate of you. “Fucking look at that.”

You smile at it, knowing that he’s degrading you but absolutely loving the view if his focused eyes are anything to go by.

Before the cross, he experimentally traces his fingers along your folds until he gets to your hole, and without hesitation, he slips one of them in. The grip of your walls alone could probably send him over the edge if he were to make a last-minute change and shove his cock into you, but he holds back. Instead, he traces the cross against you in the same way he did with his fingers, slowly inserting it alongside his digit. 

Pulling back, Jake watches your face as the cross opens you up, probably dragging against your walls uncomfortably as a reminder of the ultimate sin you’re committing with him right now. 

When your face doesn’t contort into that of pain, he pulls his finger out of you and places his hand back on his cock. Still staring at your face, he fucks the cross in and out of you. Relishing in the sound of how wet you are for this, and for him to give it to you.

 He does this until, finally, you moan.

Upon that little whimper of a moan, Jake is sent into a different headspace. One that quickens his pace with the object inside of you, one that tightens the grip on himself. 

Now, oh now, he’s playing for fun. He presses it in and then pulls it all the way out just to see your pussy beg for more. Holding back a moan over how fucking hot it is to see, he opts to coo out at you.

“Bet it would feel so good.” He breathes, trying to ignore the shiver that shoots through his body at the way you yearn for it. “Could shove my cock right in, you’d just take it, wouldn’t you?” 

Before you can answer, he’s thrusting the relic right back into you. In, out, in, out. Deeper, harder, fucking faster. And he offers the same for himself, tightening his fist, nearly abusing his own cock at the sight of your swollen hole swallow up the wood. Really, he makes a point to fuck himself just to imagine it’s you that’s squeezing him.  

If he thinks hard enough, it really is almost like he’s the one fucking you. 

He keeps this up for a few minutes, up until your legs are shaking around him and you begin to reach out with your hands. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s incredibly fucking horny right now, he’d probably be rushing for the altar to save you from whatever demon is possessing you.

 But, he knows that this is no demon, this is all his own doing. He’s loving it. Every single bit of this situation is being burned into his memory, and when your legs shake, it only urges him to fuck the object into you harder.

You whimper out strings of nonsense, almost begging for a release from this grasp he is holding over you both physically and mentally, but he doesn’t relent. Your pathetic cunt is being pounded by an object that should have you crying in fear, but instead, you’re so close to release you can only beg for more, more, fucking more. 

And god, he keeps giving it to you.

In an attempt to open your eyes, you feel dizzy with lust. Your hips buck up against the object with intent, and you can’t stop watching him. 

“Goddamn.” Jake stutters a sin, watching you fuck yourself against the holy relic. Thankful to rest his arm and be able to just…watch.

And oh, he’s watching and intensely imagining that it’s you on him. He can’t stop thinking about how fucking warm you must be, how tight, how sinfully delicious your pussy must be for you to be acting like this. And that thought is what forces him to lose it.

You were so focused, on the verge of your orgasm when you feel him practically tear the cross out of you, dropping it to the floor before – oh fuck.

You feel him. Something bigger, something thicker ramming into you. He’s prying you open more than he did previously, already pumping in and out at a frantic speed. Instantly, you cling onto him with a bruising grip, listening to his shameless moans as he realizes the lack of control he has over his own body or thoughts. 

Jake practically falls over you in euphoria as you cling, forcing you to fall back against the desk as he relentlessly plunges his hips. His breath is heavy against your neck as he loses himself, and all you can do is thank the same god you just disrespected for this cock that’s abusing your hole in all of the right ways.

“I can’t–” He groans out against your ear, his hips not stopping their relentless assault. “You’re so fucking dirty.” He insults, pushing you up the desk with each thrust. “So good.”

You can barely make a sound from the force behind his hips, only small yelps leaving your throat each time he slams in. And fuck, you want nothing more than to rub your clit right now. You could cum all over him, you could really make him feel good. 

And as if your prayers are answered, Jake apparently knows exactly how to pleasure a woman. Hm, curious. He knows how to do it fucking well too, as you feel his fingers rub against the swollen nub in the exact same way you would right now. Painful, intense.

The fact that he wants you to cum is delicious.

Your orgasm hits you almost instantly, pussy sucking in him each time he goes to thrust, and the sounds coming from your throat could be considered demonic by some, but he swallows them up with ease when he notes that you’re cumming all over him. 

Jake licks into your mouth, soothing you with dirty words when he pulls back to breathe. 

“You should see yourself–” He pants out, sticking his tongue out to lick against your lip. “Getting me all messy too?” He says again through a moan. “You’re beautiful.” He adds like a period at the end of a sentence. 

That alone makes you feel…different. In fact, it prolongs your orgasm far past sensitivity when he continues to thrust into you. You can’t tell if he said that because he’s close, or if it’s because he meant it. 

Quite frankly, you could give less of a fuck if he meant it. 

Jake stutters his hips when you lift your head just slightly, gripping his hair and skewing his head to the side so that you can whisper into his ear. 

“Want me to beg for your cum?” You whisper with a shaking voice. “You’d love that too, wouldn’t you? I know I would.”

His eyes squeeze shut as he aggressively turns his head and, once again, pries your mouth open with his tongue. A bruising kiss follows as he fucks his last few thrusts into you, doing just as you implied he should.

He pumps his cum into you relentlessly, thankful that it’s not all over his pants and entirely milked into that sinful cunt of yours. Thankful that you also got off around him instead of that forgotten cross on the floor. 

He wants nothing more than to remind you time and time again who got to you first. It was him, not his father. 

You smile at him when he pulls back out of breath, examining his pants before stuffing his sensitive cock back into them and reaching down for the cross.

“If you ever fucking tell my dad about this–” He seethes out of breath, trying to pretend that he can regain composure so soon after fucking you the way he just did. Still, he narrows his eyes at you much as he had done before. 

“Go on.” You say, voice shaking as you try to grasp back onto reality from whatever world his cock had sent you into. 

Jake is at a loss for words, because, what could he possibly do about it if you were to tell? He looks at you, still spread out against the desk, dress crumpled, his cum seeping out of you in a messy show of how much of an absolute whore he forced you to be.

“Just, don’t tell him.” He finally says, averting his eyes from you and looking at the cross in his hand. 

“Do you feel bad already?” You ask out, finally lifting to get off of the desk.

“Don’t you?” 

You shake your head, struggling to stand as the seething pain of having a wooden cross stuck into you shoots through your body. “Not really.” You try to laugh, but you wince instead.

“Yeah, I figured you’d probably be hurting after all of that.” He finally says in a somewhat apologetic tone, walking up to you with a soothing hand.

You’re a little shocked by his kindness. 

“Yeah, a little.” You laugh it off though because, at the moment, it felt good. You wouldn’t have wanted it any other way despite how blasphemous the act was.  

“Oh.” Jake seems sorrowful in his tone, but his gaze doesn't leave you. “I- um, I don’t know how to make it like, not hurt?” He scratches the back of his head.

In your attempt to put your dress back on, you do note that the pain inside of you isn’t unfamiliar. You’d been fucked hard before, but that was a long time ago. You missed this feeling, realizing that it was exactly what you think you needed. 

“It’ll pass.” You assure him, taking a deep breath and trying to stumble your way to the door. “I guess I’ll see you later, then?” 

Jake dips his head with a small nod, feeling guilty for what he’s done. Not because of the cross, not because of the sin, but because he’s unsure of how to pretend like he wouldn’t want to do it again.

[absolutedestinyapocalypsse]

hot sauce got manic pixie dream girled by nona into learning empathy for the people who she once fought in a war against and NOW she's either 1) never going to see her ever again, or somehow worse 2) run into Harrow, who certainly hates children, has gotten hypothermia from the many planet genocides she's committed, and DOES NOT KNOW OR REMEMBER HER AT ALL. this kid's shit is already so deeply fucked up, imagine how much WORSE its gonna get. GOD 14 really is the worst age

[reidgenius]

Low Pain Tolerance | S.R. x Reader

image by reidgif <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Word Count: 1.4k Category: angst, hurt/comfort? Warnings: commitment issues, wildly insecure!reader (it's really just me) A/N: I haven't written for Spencer before, so please excuse any OOC inaccuracies and be nice okay! I am a long-time lurker/admirer of the lovely @pathologicalreid and am writing this for her cutesy margovember event :) Song Inspo: Low Pain Tolerance by Abby Holliday

You never enjoyed running.

Still, that didn't stop you from doing it often. Whether it be on the job or in a relationship, you ran.

To catch a bad guy. To catch yourself before you fall. To stop something terrible before it happens... You ran.

In this instance, you found yourself running from Spencer Reid.

"Would you look at me? Please?" he pleaded.

You knew if you were to turn around that you'd see his glassy doe eyes and be drawn right back in. You knew your weaknesses, and he was certainly one of them. The biggest one. That's why you stayed put, staring at his bedroom wall.

"I can't, Spence." You meant to say it with finality, but it came out more as a whimper.

"You can't look at me, or you can't-"

"Neither. Both."

As the holidays approached, Spencer had mentioned the idea of the two of you making a trip out to Vegas. "Just for a day or two," he'd promised. Though there wasn't much he treasured about home, you knew that his mother was there, and that was more than reason enough.

This evening, he'd brought it up again after letting you avoid the topic for weeks.

"It's only a matter of time before you figure it out," you admit.

"Figure what out?"

"God, Spence, that I'm only bringing you down!" you nearly shouted, though you hadn't meant to. The anxiety took over. "I'm like... gahhh! I don't know how to do any of this, I-"

To your dismay, he let out a laugh as you finally turned to face him. A real, genuine laugh.

"Bringing me down?" He looked at you with an earnest amusement. "Honey, I don't think you realize what you-"

"I'm scared. Okay? Is that what you wanted me to admit? That I'm scared of meeting her?" A single tear gushed down your cheek.

His brows knit in concern as he quickly thought of ways to disprove the common fears surrounding schizophrenia and it's manifestations.

"Baby, schizophrenia doesn't ma-"

"Dammit Spencer, it's not about that! It's- I..."

You found yourself stumbling over your words.

"I don't care about her diagnoses!" you laughed. (Of course, you did care, but that wasn't what was scaring you.) "I'm scared of this!" you said, waving your hands between the two of you. "I don't want to rush it. I don't want to get her hopes up..."

You let your legs give way to sit on the floor against the wall, your head in your hands, mumbling to the cold hardwood.

"I don't want to get my hopes up."

There was it. That was the truth.

You weren't used to it. You weren't used to someone asking you how your day was and really caring. You weren't used to the notion that a man would want to wrap himself around you at night and keep you close. You'd never been one to draw much attention from men. Or women. Or anyone, really.

Naturally, you figured that there must be something deeply and inherently flawed in you. Something Spencer had yet to discover.

So, being with him was... terrifying. You were constantly waiting and wondering when he'd conclude that you weren't as pretty as he initially thought, or as witty, or as intelligent, or kind, or...

And it would only be cruel to drag Diana into this. To have her think that perhaps her son had found his person. To have her thinking that she might be meeting her future daughter-in-law. It felt cruel to yourself, in some twisted way, to pretend that this was all going to last.

Spencer was typically a fast thinker, but your admission had the cogs in his brain working overtime. You were afraid of him? Of your relationship?

He padded over to join you on the floor, keeping a little distance so as not to scare you.

"Get your hopes up? You don't-" he gulped, "I mean... you don't think we're gonna- that this is gonna work out?"

Still speaking to the floor, you sigh, "I don't know, Spence."

You were exhausted. Incessantly feeling like you're on the brink of being "found out" can do that to a person. It's not that Spencer hadn't done all the right things. No, he was the perfect partner. But therein lied the issue. He was perfect. And, in your opinion, you were far, far from it.

You took a deep breath through your tears.

"I don't think I can keep doing this."

Confusion. Utter shock. Things had been going so well with you the past 8 months. Spencer immediately began to wrack his brain combing through all the possible mistakes he could've made. Did he raise his voice with you? Had he forgotten some big milestone? Was he not giving you enough?

"Honey I-" he gathered himself, placing a hand on your thigh, "I'm so sorry. Can I ask... what makes you say all this?"

Though you were reluctant, you figured that now was as good a time as any.

"Spencer. I am not good for you! Good enough for you!" With each point, you illustrated by raising a finger, "I am impulsive and I complain and I get weird sometimes when you touch me and I can be a massive bitch and I never know how to-"

"Woah, woah, woah-" He snuck up closer to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and placing his head atop yours, all while you kept rambling. "Why in the world do you say that? Not good enough for me? If anything it's me who isn't deserving of you..."

"No, you-"

He stopped you in your tracks just by saying your name in that beautiful way he does. Like its covered in honey and dripping with admiration.

"You are everything. You may think those things about yourself but I certainly don't." His thumb caressed your bare skin so carefully as he continued, speaking slowly so as to allow the words to really sink in. "You are the most generous person I've ever encountered. You care so deeply about people you love. You are courageous and willing to try all the weird foods I suggest even though you really don't want to." He smirked a bit at that one. "You have taken everything that life has thrown at you and navigated it with grace. You really are just... you're it. You're her. You're the girl - the woman - I've always hoped would come my way but never dreamed actually would. Honey, I've figured out everything I need to know when it comes to how I feel about you."

You sat there, warm under his embrace, pondering his words as he spoke. It's nothing he hasn't said before, granted, in much less grand and emotionally charged ways. But it was like you were really hearing it for the first time. You wanted so badly to believe him.

"I love you," he continued. "I love you so much that sometimes I am afraid of myself. Of what I'd do for you. You, god, you make me so much better."

"I love you, too. Too much," you squeaked out.

"No. Not too much." He leaned back to encourage you to look up at him. "You know I really mean all that right? Just the way you are. Quirks included?"

"I guess. And now I'm just self-conscious that I am so self-conscious..."

"You say that as if I'm not the exact same way!" he chuckles, trying to make light of what is clearly a shared wound. You'll deal with that later. Together, preferably. "Please, trust me. Do you trust me?"

And you did. You trusted Spencer with every cell in your body and hair on your head. There was nobody else you'd ever been so confident in. So, you nod against his chest as your tears begin to subside.

"Good. Now why don't we move this party up into the bed?"

"No offense, Spencer, but the last thing I want right now is to f-"

"No no no nooope! Not that, babe," he laughed. "Just wanna lay with you 'til this feeling passes. Is that okay?"

"Please."

And so, the rest of the evening consisted of cuddles under your massive comforter. Sweet admissions whispered in your ear. The tiniest kisses to your hairline and your shoulder and your nose and your wrists.

By the time you dozed into a worry-free slumber, you believed him a little more.

Perhaps you could let Spencer love you, forever.

[yaymiyas]

THE TALK

warning: yandere!isekai!crown prince, he is very mean in this, female reader

a/n: this is TECHNICALLY not a part two to the introduction but it sort of is….. it jumps from the conversation to the breakfast……..enjoy! ALSO ALSO ALSOOOOOOOO technically its female reader bc you got reincarnated blah blah

looking at the fragments of bacon he didnt want to eat, he let his fingers drum against the edge of the white plate. the fact that you, the daughter of a whore, lover to none, and nuisance to all, was right beside him made his food hard to swallow. the two of you sat in the dining room, and while he sat at the very end of the table with his back facing the door to the kitchen, your usual spot would be that of the opposite side. right across from him, back facing the entering door, but it seems after the poison didn’t hit quite deep enough in your veins, it did affect your brain because, for some reason, you thought it was brilliant to sit directly next to him. you weren’t as talkative as he would have thought of you, ever since you have learned of the activities he had decided to partake in, you started to demand his attention. at first, it didnt bother him much, since he himself started to believe that he was focusing solely on gracie that your suspicions were bound to grow, and grow they did.

for weeks, months, up until the poisoning you were all up on him. he was certain that you were attempting to skin him alive and wear him as a coat it was all mildly unpleasant but more irritating. saer never had a taste for you; rather, he actually hated you. to no one’s fault but his own fathers, he was forced to marry you out of pregnant promises. your father, sir tudor, wasn’t the poorest dope saer’s father has ever seen, but he was the loyalist. he worked on the gwynn estate, doing a multitude of things for the family, automatically gaining the trust of the duke and then the king himself. at the time, king gwynn was more fascinated with how a man with such little knowledge could become his most loyalist man, but that he did. following the pregnancy of both the queen and your mother, he decided that the best course of action was to marry his second unborn son off to the unborn daughter of a freeloader.

an icy shiver runs down saer’s back, forcing him to shake his shoulders and head. looking up from your half eaten plate, raising your head to the sudden movement. he was quiet the whole time, poking at the small slivers of bacon like they were the nastiest things on earth. you werent surprised that he wasnt talking; no, you were actually relieved. it wasn’t because he wasnt attractive or anything, he certainly does look like the main lead; its just the talk you had prior to the breakfast that was replaying in your head. cynthia and amanda didn’t give you much information, since, from the looks of it, they didn’t want to say too much. either their heads were on the line or yours were. you never thought about asking tily, even though she was the one that brought you down here. it just felt too weird knowing she was the one who weirdly had something against you. from your fading memories of ‘obsession falls’, you remember reading online forums and tweets about the whole thing. it seemed like the only real crime edina committed throughout the whole book was wanting her husband to love her. she did everything he had asked of her, from the way she talked to her style of clothing, even to what letters she can reply to. in olden standards, she seemed like the perfect obedient wife. this might have been your first mistake, but you didn’t read too much on saer or his backstory, so you never really understood the reasoning for his hatred of his wife, but you knew it was deep and it was boiling.

clearing your throat, you believed it was a better time than ever to clear the air and get to your point. you never understood why edina allowed things to get as deep as they were, but she was made just to be killed. it sucks that no matter what you do or say, saer will always hate you because you are edina.

“saer,”

“ae.”

that stupid nickname. shutting your eyes tightly and fighting back against any light to seep through, you sighed heavily. the whole time, saer had been watching you carefully. even though it was from the corner of his eyes, he was indeed trying to calculate your next moves. it was kind of silly that your sudden change in physical response is making him antsy, but how can anyone fault him? the last time the air-headed cunt decided to change the way she was reacting, gracie was suddenly engaged to alastair and smiling in his face about it. it was enraging. other than the fact that you were in his life to begin with, knowing that the reason he couldn’t slit the throat of his ex best friend was all because you decided to breathe. those two minutes were the longest two minutes of his life. he watched as your head dropped down on the table, making a very sudden and loud noise with it. saer had sternly told any and all servants to leave the two of you be if any loud, disruptive noises were heard. he even double checked that he sent your nosey maids, cynthia and amanda, home around that time. he knew that if they were present in the building, you weren’t going to eat that poison.

it was infuriating to watch them care about someone as lowly as you. not just them, anyone. reading gracie’s letters, asking how you’ve been and to see you before she even utters a word about him, was beyond hurtful. it felt as if his whole world was falling apart, all because you decided to have superpowers and not die. this was the only way to get back at you. he has tried strangling you. he has tried slaying you. each attempt was caught by either maid, cynthia, or amanda. it made him sick to see you get dotted on. seeing the frilly outfits they were making you wear, as if you were a porcelain doll not worth anybody’s touch. you were disgusting. a disgusting being that deserved to die. so why. why were you here? why were you looking at him like he had done something wrong. 

“enough with the causalities, i would like a divorce saer.”

[sunderwight]

SV scenario where Shen Jiu is also Shen Yuan's Meimei.

Trans egg SJ never got to examine her gender identity very much in her first life. What with all the enslavement, abuse (given as well as received), misunderstandings, betrayals, dismemberment, and death, there was far too much for her to ever come to terms with a set of concepts she'd never really had the luxury to entertain. By the time Shen Jiu was a peak lord, the Shen Qingqiu persona was locked in, and any dreams of a different life or inclinations to the contrary of her role were ruthlessly quashed by SJ herself.

But when SJ finally dies and her soul is free to reincarnate (taking a few more memories than usual along for the ride), she has mixed feelings about being born as the youngest daughter of a wealthy family.

The mixed feelings don't actually last long, though after a while she starts to wonder why the fates would grant her a reprieve? Maybe remembering her past life is her punishment, because it's certainly the worst part of her new situation. Her parents are indulgent, her older brothers all dote on her and spoil her, and when she tests limits she's only gently rebuked if she gets rebuked at all. Not only is she allowed to wear fine dresses and look pretty, she's expected to (actually the expectation does chafe, a bit). But even when she uses foul language, skips classes, reads controversial books, and commits myriad other tiny rebellions, no real retribution ever comes of it.

Even despite everything, after some years Shen Jiu starts to become... not complacent, but perhaps calmer would be a better description. She has a stable future handed to her on a silver platter. Very few things remind her of her past, either. She can read books about snotty highborn lords getting railed by werewolves as readily as classics of literature or academic papers on science, business, culture, politics, or whatever else takes her fancy. Her family doesn't even put demands on her to marry, despite some of her mother's hints in that direction. For the first time, Shen Jiu has a life where it seems like she can't fail, she can only succeed however much she wants to. It's like having nowhere to go but up, except without the part about hitting rock bottom.

A foolish set of assumptions, in the end. There's always something to lose.

When Shen Yuan suddenly dies, Shen Jiu recognizes the sinister hand of the same entity which oversaw her own reincarnation. One which had visited her dreams quite recently, trying to tempt her back to her first life with offers of being able to change the past. It wasn't even difficult to deny it. Shen Jiu doesn't believe she could change what happened, and she doesn't really want to try. Her one regret is what happened to that person, the one who died so horribly while rushing to her rescue, and even that, she doesn't know how she would change (because she still doesn't know why he bothered in the first place).

But how dare the System God take the silliest and softest of her brothers to try and fix her accursed first life?! Luo Binghe will eat him alive! Cang Qiong will mistake him for a demon or a madman or worse, and throw him into some cell somewhere, if they don't just kill him outright!

Shen Meimei tries to negotiate with the System, but it tells her the window of opportunity for her to go back instead has passed. Smarmy piece of shit. There's nothing she can do without supernatural help, however, except bide her time and wait for another "window of opportunity". It's in the midst of this that she discovers PIDW, and its (terrible) account not only of the broad strokes of her first life and death, but of what came afterwards. That little beast really wrecked the world, huh? And all those women, too. She's never been more grateful to have not figured herself out in her first life. But at least with access to this information, she can try and prepare more. (She's suspicious of who actually wrote this account as well -- is Luo Binghe himself in this world? Better to leave it now, in that case, before he inevitably makes another bid for power and destroys everything in his wake all over again!)

When the System finally gives her an opportunity to go back (as herself, or rather "Bonus Epilogue Side Character -- Shen Qingqiu's Mysterious Little Sister!") she is braced for any number of outcomes. Shen Yuan could be dead. He could be imprisoned. He could have had his limbs all cut off. He could be stuffed into a pickle jar. He could be hiding or on the run somewhere. Hopefully, he'll be hiding behind that person, confused and distraught but still intact thanks to the sect leader's guilt-driven sense of obligation. Most likely if the same number of years have passed since Shen Yuan "left", he's already been destroyed by Luo Binghe and all Shen Jiu will be able to do is avenge him. But she has some ideas of how to kill the beast, so, she will.

Of course, what she finds is nothing she expected, and almost even worse.

Luo Binghe married her brother?!

Death is too good for him! Shen Jiu's going to skin him alive!!!

[adragonprinceswhore]

The Commune

Cult Leader!Aemond x Niece!Reader

Summary: A modern AU where Aemond, power-hungry and high on hubris, is the leader of a commune with a peculiar affection for the Seven.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), AFAB reader, depictions of depression, manipulation, coercion, dubcon/noncon, targcest (no description of appearance), fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving), facefucking, humiliation, (noncon) spanking, semi-public sex, P in V, breeding kink

Word Count: 19k

A/N: I've wanted to edit this for a while and finally got around to it! It took all week 🫠 I definitely feel like the fic got a face-lift! Enjoy ✨

Leaving

Your heart is beating fast and hard when you wake up.

The shrill sound of your alarm clock does little to ease your tense state, abruptly ruining the quiet calm that had previously occupied your bedroom. Without fully opening your eyes, you reach for its usual spot on the nightstand and press snooze, hoping for a little more serenity before you have to get up and face yet another insufferable day at work.

How could such a dull job cause you so much stress?

Why did it make you wake up each night with a heavy swirl of dread and anxiety tightening in your chest, rendering you unable to fall back asleep?

You’ve never been this tired before, yet you’ve never found sleep harder to obtain.

With a sigh you push yourself out of the warm comfort of your bed. It is so soft and smells like home; laundry detergent and the scented candle you keep on the nightstand.

The forced separation almost makes you cry as your body shivers in your chill bedroom.

Each day as heavy to bear as the next.

You grab the robe you have hanging on the back of the bedroom door and head for the kitchen with slow, heavy steps; dragging your feet behind you.

When had life turned so monotone?

When was the last time you truly enjoyed yourself without thinking about work?

Why did you find yourself in an existential crisis before you’d even had your morning coffee?

You load the small coffee maker, pull out a carton of yoghurt and dump some into a bowl before reaching for the packet of granola standing on top of your fridge.

You grab a mug, pour some coffee into it, and shake up your oat milk before adding a splash.

Same fucking breakfast each day.

Moving to the living room, you curl into yourself on your sofa, turning on the same morning show you always watch as you sip your coffee and feel a tiny bit of relief at the comfort that the warm liquid offers as it slides down your throat.

The unnaturally cheery hosts on TV are in the middle of some segment about reusing egg cartons when your phone vibrates. You already know who it is, tapping on the screen to see “mum” and her usual morning text, asking you how you're feeling and what you have planned for the day.

It's harder to pretend like everything's fine when it's her asking. She can always tell that you're faking it; that whatever you say is just an empty, repetitive attempt at assuring her that you are fine.

You don't really mean any of it.

And she knows.

You shoot her a quick reply, trying to ease her worries but not really having the energy to fully commit,

“I’m good, going to work and meeting up with Sara after”

A small lie, though you are planning on sending a text to see if Sara's available later. Regrettably, your weekly dinners had been reduced to monthly ones, but still.

Do it for mum.

“Have you finished checking the reports I asked you to look over?”

Gwayne does not even spare you a glance as he comes up to your desk in the office, eyes glued to his phone and thumbs violently tapping the screen. He wasn’t the worst boss to have, but he certainly wasn’t nice or understanding either, promptly ignoring any signs of distress you were showing. You know you have been looking worse and worse as the stress of the job has settled in; skin going duller and bags under your eyes becoming more prominent. Yet, he stubbornly says nothing, relying on you to finish work swiftly without ever talking back or asking for some guidance.

“Yes, I just have to glance them over one last time before I forward them to you”, you answer, noticing how tedious your voice has become.

He hums, eyes still on his phone,

“And then I’ll need you to double-check that you’ve replied to any urgent emails before going home today. Would really fuck up my schedule next week if I’d have to keep track of your inbox as well”

“Yes, sure”, you reply before even taking in what Gwayne had told you,

“Wait, what do you mean? Next week?”, you question, seeing him briefly scrunch his eyebrows together before finally looking up from his phone, locking eyes with you,

“Yes, you have next week off, remember? Last chance to use up those paid days off you’ve accumulated, and the union has made it quite clear that we cannot give you a bonus instead”, he rolls his eyes at the last part.

“Week off? But I have meetings lined up next week, deadlines closing in”

Despite knowing that you probably need the break, you feel the familiar tightening in your chest as you consider all tasks you were planning on doing next week.

Gwayne, seeming to be done with the conversation, turns and walks away from your desk, eyes again locked on his phone as he replies, “Then you’ll just have to get it sorted today”

“Well that’s lovely, sweetheart!”

Rhaenyra’s voice sounds relieved when you tell her the news of your unplanned week off. You had been forced to stay at the office for two additional hours just to make sure that you finished up any urgent business, resulting in you cancelling the dinner plans you'd made with Sara and consequently spending another evening by yourself at home.

“Why don’t you get away for a bit? You might enjoy a change of scenery?”, she asks.

You were too exhausted to even think about planning and booking a trip, replying “Yeah, sure” dispassionately as you stir the pot of pasta cooking on the stove.

All you want to do is lay in bed, listen to music and try as best as you can to turn your brain off; to not think about anything.

Contently brainless.

You don't want to think about how you’d gotten your dream job, just to realise that you despise it.

You don't want to think about how every day felt like a repetition of the one before, nothing exciting ever happening.

You don't want to think about the strong suspicion you have that every fucking choice you’ve ever made has lead you to a life that you detest.

“Why don’t you go visit Helaena? I know she’s misses you”, your mothers voice pulls you away from the negative thoughts spiralling in your head,

“I think the place is about two hours by train from Oldtown, out in the country. Maybe some fresh air would do you good?”

You knew Helaena had moved out to the country about a year ago, exhausted and overstimulated from the suffocating drain of the fast-paced city that King’s Landing is. She’d sent you a letter, not a text or a call, some time ago to let you know that she was okay and she’d love it if you came by to visit her.

“Mm, I do miss her…”, you mumble into your phone, thinking of the last time you’d seen her. It was Aegon’s birthday almost one and a half years ago. She’d seemed lost and sad. Like she often did.

Like you often did, nowadays.

“Yeah, maybe that’d do me some good”, you finally agree, hearing Rhaenyra let out a sigh of relief at your words. You know she's worried you’d stay home all week, doing nothing but dwelling in sadness.

“That’s lovely, dear! I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic to see you. You know Aemond lives there too, right?"

You’d heard that Aemond had left King’s Landing shortly after finishing his PhD as well. You’d been with your mum when Alicent called her, filled to the brim with worry over her overachieving son turning down a position at Oldtown University in order to move out to the middle of nowhere, claiming that he’d be "conducting private research".

You had actually been excited for him to move to Oldtown. Having some family close by would’ve been a nice escape from the loneliness of the city.

Besides, you and Aemond had drifted apart as you both grew older, despite being thick as thieves in your childhood.

Maybe it’d be nice to see him too.

You lean your head against the train window, watching the city landscape make way for the lush greenery of the Reach in late summer.

Being trapped in the city you’d almost forgotten how beautiful it was here; a stark difference from Dragonstone, where you’d spent most of your upbringing.

It's not that you don't miss the sea. As a child, you'd loved the way the harsh, salty winds whipped at your face, leaving you wet and impossibly refreshed as you stared out towards the horizon, thinking of everything awaiting you there.

The potential of what your life could've become felt a lot more comforting than the reality of it.

You hadn't been able to call Helaena to inform her that you’d like to visit. Apparently, she didn’t have a mobile phone anymore, but after sending a text to Alicent you’d gotten a hold of her new number; a landline.

You didn’t know how she managed without a smartphone, but figured that the stress of constant notifications might have made her decide to ditch it.

Grabbing your bag from between your legs, your hand rummages through it in blind search for your pocket mirror.

You pull it out, open it and check your reflection.

Still the same tired face, with dark bags permanently residing under your eyes. You hadn’t slept well last night either, despite having some much needed rest from work.

Why was your body seemingly incapable of relaxing?

You feel around for some concealer, dotting a bit on your finger and patting it under your eye; a useless attempt at hiding the fatigue prevalent on your face.

Defeated, you lean back in your seat.

The train ride's nice. You spend the entire 2 hours and 12 minutes listening to music, watching the scenery flash by.

Thoroughly zoned out, you nearly miss the conductor announcing your station.

You hastily grab your bag and rush out of the door. The station, if you could even call it that, is small; just two tracks going opposite directions.

It's closer to a bus stop, a place where people get off and quickly make way to their final destination.

You spot Helaena immediately. She's standing on the platform in a lilac summer dress, her silver hair shining in the sunlight.

Although you can only really make out her silhouette, she seems different. As you come closer, the wide smile that she sports comes into view.

Gosh, she looks radiant!

So different from her gloomy, distant self back in King’s Landing.

“I’m so happy you’re here!”, she squeals, wrapping you in her arms.

She hugs you tightly, and you hug her back, burying your nose in her hair. It feels good to hug someone you care for.

When was the last time you did that?

“Thank you for having me”, you respond as Helaena pulls away, still holding you in her arms, eyes flickering over your face.

Her smile falters for a second before it returns and she starts talking excitedly about her new home, telling you that it’s only a 20 minute walk from the station and you could catch up on the way.

You follow her down the steps from the platform, answering a few questions about work and your life in Oldtown.

She leads you away from the small station, down a path where a few houses lay scattered sporadically.

You can hardly call this a town; far too minuscule. Still, you notice what seems to be a little supermarket, a pharmacy, a gas station and what looks like an elementary school, facing the tiny town square.

“I’ve been hoping you’d come visit ever since I sent you that letter”, Helaena gushes, taking your hand in hers as she led you down a small path going off the main road,

“I just know you’ll love our commune. Aemond thinks so too!”, she continues while squeezing your hand in hers.

“Commune?”, you ask and turn to face her.

She met your eyes and nods, face breaking out into a wide grin once again,

“Yes, Aemond’s research project! You know he specialised in philosophy when he did his PhD in Political Science, right? Well, he got really into the idea of having people live in smaller communities instead of the impersonal and detached lifestyles people pursue in modern cities”, she explains, eyes once again inspecting your face, only to land on the bags under your eyes.

You hum in response, seeing if she’ll continue.

“So, he used some of the money he had stored away in funds and created our commune; a small community where everyone knows each other and we get away from the stresses of city life. We grow our own crops, spend time outside and work together to keep the place running”, she explains, eyes gleaming with adoration,

“He said he did it for me, since he saw how bad my depression had gotten back in King’s Landing”, she adds, and you squeeze her hand affectionately. Aemond had always cared for Helaena, no one else seemed to truly understand her like he did.

“So, you feeling better now? Out here?”, you inquire, gesturing towards the green field you walk through, hand in hand.

You're not really paying attention to where you're going as Helaena guides you. Looking up, you find yourself surrounded by nature; not a building in sight.

The sun shines brightly, illuminating the beech trees towering over you, creating a roof of light green luminance.

“Yes, much better”, she replies with a smile. She seems so at peace here, encapsulating a kind of beauty that comes from within and hypnotises anyone laying eyes on her.

“And this, ehm, commune. How many people live there now?”, you ask, not knowing you’d be spending your time with a bunch of strangers.

Truth be told, you really didn’t feel up for it.

You barely have energy to hang out with Helaena and Aemond. Entertaining and getting to know new people would be especially draining.

“We’re already about 50 people. Most of them met Aemond when he was still in school”, she replies.

As if she could sense your uneasiness, her eyes search yours as she adds, “You’ll love them, I swear! Everyone’s super nice”

Together, you continue your path, walking up a small hill. As you look down, the commune comes into view.

You see small, cottage-looking houses, with large flowerbeds between them, filled with everything from herbs to vegetables.

There's a large building the middle of the field with walls much taller than the cottages. The building's made out of wood; a dark tone that contrasts against the light trees and green fields you’d passed on the way over.

Above the large entrance of the building is a large carving, resembling the seven-pointed star of the Faith.

Helaena, still excitedly chatting next to you about how lovely life is out in the country, pulls you towards the large building in quick steps,

“Aemond's dying to meet you! It’s been so long. I bet he’s in the Sept”, she explains, leading you through the tall, open door.

Your parents aren't particularly religious, which means you hadn’t spent much time in Septs and the like. Alicent’s family, however, were rather devoted; an integral part of the many faith's many fractions in Oldtown.

When you were younger, both Helaena and Aemond had spent a lot of time studying The Seven-Pointed Star. Still, the fact that they'd chosen to construct a Sept in such a small community shocks you.

Maybe they're more dedicated than you’d thought?

Entering the Sept, you recognise the back of a tall man with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long, silvery hair, tied in a low bun.

Helaena calls his name and he turns around, finding your gaze in an instant. His lone, purple eye crinkles slightly as he smiles at you, calling out your name in greeting.

Just like Helaena, he looks radiant; pale skin glowing, dress shirt and dark slacks perfectly ironed, and not a hair out of place.

As a child he was always so moody; volatile and sensitive.

Now, he seems so calm.

Too calm.

Like he was faking it.

“Welcome to our home. I hope the trip here wasn’t too draining?”, he asks, inspecting your fatigued face.

Seven hells, did everyone think you looked like the walking dead?

“It was a lovely ride out here. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful the country is” you answer, trying your best to sound cheerier than you look.

He hums at your answer, placing a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. You can't make out if it's supposed to be an attempt at a greeting, or a way to comfort you.

His eye bores into yours,

“We’re so happy to finally have you here. Helaena will help you get sorted in one of our rooms and then I’ll introduce you to everyone”

His hand swiftly leaves your shoulder before he turns around, striding out of the large wooden doors of the Sept.

Reconnecting

After a few hasty greetings, you retreat to the room Helaena and Aemond have assigned to you.

You're exhausted from being bombarded with impressions, and collapse on your bed, finding uninterrupted sleep for the first time in months.

Hours later, you wake up to the sun illuminating your room, a low knocking sound by your door.

As your groggy mind slowly realises where you are, you hear Helaena call you from the outside, informing you that breakfast will be served in a few minutes.

You get up and move to the basin placed in the corner of your room, splashing some water on your face, checking your sleepy reflection.

You instantly notice that the heavy bags that had seemed to be a permanent feature under your eyes have faded slightly, and you look better and brighter than you had in a long time.

Mood elevated, you move to throw on a flowy, knee-length skirt and a linen blouse, reasoning that something loose-fitting would match the sunny, late-summer climate.

Stepping outside, the air is crisp.

The sun provides warmth as it makes contact with your skin, a welcomed relief to the slight chill still lingering.

You notice that the residents of the small community have gathered by a long, wooden table placed in the middle of a field not far away from where you stand. You quickly make your way there, spotting Helaena. Her eyes light up as she sees you approach, greeting you with a wide smile,

“We always have breakfast together”, she explains as people move around you swiftly, placing plates of bread, yoghurt, pastries, fresh fruit and vegetables on the massive table.

You spot Aemond, hands behind his back and posture straigh as he observes the people scurrying around him. He glances at you, giving you a small smile and a nod before he returns to his previously stoic state, observing the residents while they prepare for breakfast.

Helaena reappears next to you, arms wrapped around 5 glass vases filled with wildflowers. You help her place them on the table, admiring how utterly beautiful the set up looks.

The commune, as you'd heard one resident call it, has a simplistic aesthetic. Most rooms are only occupied by whatever furniture’s necessary to maximise functionality; tables, chairs and beds made out of wood, decorated with nature-toned linens.

Yet, there is a beauty to it you’d hardly seen before; an appreciation for a simple charm that's often lost in the hectic mess of cities like Oldtown or King’s Landing.

You take a seat next to Helaena, eager to devour the delicious-looking food in front of you.

Though most residents are seated by now, no one moves to touch the various plates filled to the brim with mouth-watering food.

You look over at the end of the long table and notice Aemond standing, hands still clasped behind his back. He softly clears his throat, and the cheery chatter dissolves in an instance, all eyes shifting to watch the tall, silver-haired man standing before them,

“Good morning. I hope you all slept well and feel ready for a day of prosperity”, Aemond starts, eye moving across the table to acknowledge everyone present.

Most of the residents are older than both you and Aemond. You even heard that a handful of them used to be his professors back in King’s Landing.

You're still not sure how he’d managed to get them all to move out here, but as he speaks, you notice how intensely everyone observes him, taking in every word that leaves his lips,

“Let us pray”, he orders, and each one of your tablemates bring their hands up to clasp over their empty plates before closing their eyes.

Aemond sends you a look you can’t really decipher. You assume he wants you to partake in the prayer, so you lower your head and clasp your hands together as well.

Aemond pays tribute to all seven faces of the new God before thanking all residents for attending, voice calm and steady.

As the prayers end, everyone shifts their focus to the food. You feel unsure of what to try; everything looks so good.

Helaena makes the decision for you, grabbing your plate, loading it with bread and various spreads and toppings for you to try.

“You’ll love this”, she urges as she places the plate in front of you, lilac eyes eagerly awaiting your reaction.

She's right. Everything tastes divine and you eat until you feel like your stomach is about to burst.

Meanwhile, you try to engage in some small-talk with the people sitting closest to you around the massive table.

To your right sits Jayne, a woman you’d guess to be in her early fifties, with sun-kissed skin and kind, brown eyes. She tells you about her tasks at here, mainly growing herbs and flowers.

She shoots a quick glance at a dark-haired woman sitting by Aemond further down the table, explaining that she grows and tends to various plants which are grown at the request of the woman she’s observing; Alys.

After breakfast you offer to help collect and wash up the dishes, feeling a strong need to be useful as you see all residents retreat to their respective tasks for the day.

As you circle the outside table with an already overfilled tray in your hands, you spot a tall figure appear beside you.

“Would you like to go for a walk?”

You look to the side and see Aemond standing there. He's wearing a dress shirt and dark slacks today as well, though his hair is left untied, cascading down his shoulders and reflecting the light of the sun.

He offers you a timid smile as he asks, mimicking the way he used to look when he was younger. It's a stark contrast to how he appeared during breakfast; authoritative and intimidating.

You return his smile and nod. Perhaps a walk would do you good.

He instructs one of the residents to take over your work and they do so without protest. You send them an apologetic look and mumble a "thank you" as you follow Aemond, who’s already set sight on the small path leading away from the settlement and towards the compact trees of the surrounding forest.

The two of you walk in silence, basking in the lovely scenery surrounding you. The light green trees seem to shimmer in the sun, and as you make your way into the forest, you spot a small river; surface reflecting the lush greenery of the leaves.

“How is life in Oldtown? Has my uncle been giving you a hard time?”, Aemond asks, eye looking forward as he breaks the silence.

You swallow and mentally prepare yourself before answering, not wanting to let him in on how miserable you’ve been.

“Yeah it’s been interesting. A lot of new challenges but I’m hanging in there”, you answer, and despite your attempt at sounding casual, the sadness residing within you drips through and stains your voice.

Aemond abruptly halts and turns to you, eye boring into yours as he contemplatively licks his lips.

“There's no need for that here”, he states, voice suddenly sterner than before.

“What do you mean?”

Your cheeks grow hot and your palms feel clammy as you grow embarrassed over how easily he sees through your fake cheeriness.

“You don’t need to lie to me. It’s only us here, I won’t judge you”, he replies, maintaining the intense eye contact between the two of you.

It feels like a dam bursts within you; a force so strong you're helpless to it, and your sight turns blurry.

Any attempts you’ve made to appear strong have failed and all that is left is the truth; that you'r stuck in a permanent state of misery.

Broken.

You feel your throat close up and you desperately try to swallow before answering,

“I ha-, have been feeling a bit, ehm, lost”, you admit, and as you finally utter the words, admitting to yourself and confiding in him that you feel disoriented, tears spill out of the corners of your eyes.

You try to take deep breaths to soothe yourself and regain some control over your emotions, but it's too hard.

Why can’t you pull yourself together?

Aemond regards you for a moment, allowing you time to process the sudden crash of emotions overcoming you, before he places a hand on your upper arm, gently dragging his fingers over the fabric of your blouse.

“You’re allowed to feel lost”, he looks into your eyes and there is something there; a tenderness you haven’t seen since you were both much younger.

You can’t stop the tears from flowing anymore as you weakly nod at his words, the lump in your throat leaving you unable to properly answer him. His seeing eye is so gentle as it gazes into yours,

“Many of us here felt lost, hopeless even. But the community we’ve built allowed us to reconnect with our inner selves; helped us feel happier”

He moves the hand that had been on your arm to your face, experimentally stroking your cheek. You lean into his touch by reflex, relishing in the feeling of his warm hand on your wet cheek.

“You don’t have to pretend here, not with me”

As he speaks you move closer to him, pressing your body against his and wrapping your arms around his torso, hugging him tightly, just like you did so many times in your childhood.

He understands what you need and hugs you back, holding you against his chest, softly stroking your hair. And despite the agony in your chest and the lump in your throat, you feel okay; escaping into his warm embrace to momentarily forget all your sorrows.

You stay like that for a while, bodies interlocked with each other as Aemond lets you cry. He doesn't say anything, continuously stroking your hair. It feels emancipating; crying your heart out in the arms of your uncle.

As your tears dry, you gently push yourself away from Aemond’s embrace and run the back of your hand over your cheeks in an attempt to remove some of the wetness. Aemond’s eye still looks gentle as he regards you,

“I know that life's not always what you thought it’d be, and leaving home is scary. But you’re with family now. Me and Hel are so pleased that you’re here with us”

You smile at him, saying a quiet "thank you" as he motions for you to carry on with your walk.

You continue to talk and catch up on what’s been going on in your lives since you last met.

Aemond tells you about his research project; how he believes that modern capitalism renders people mere objects utilised for profit by companies, consequently leaving them lacking agency and without a belief in higher powers, generating a generation of depressed, lost souls.

You take in everything he says. He speaks with such confidence that you feel yourself agreeing instantaneously.

In truth, you also felt like an object at work; a machine there to execute tasks, without any possibility to change your condition.

You listen to him talk so intensively you don't even realise you’re back at the residence.

What sounds like a fight in hushed voices pulls you away from your conversation with Aemond as you look up to search for where the voices are coming from.

You see one of the residents you had breakfast with, Jayne, kneel down in front of Alys, grasping at her apron and pleading to her in a quiet, desperate voice,

“I didn't mean to, please believe me!”

Shocked, you look over at Aemond who suddenly looks stern, wrinkles forming between his eyebrows. His eye's set on the scene in front of you, yet he does not intervene.

As you open your mouth to ask him what's going on, he grabs your arm and promptly leads you into the Sept, closing the door behind you.

“Helaena will meet you here, she wanted to show you her insect farm. Do not leave until she collects you”, he commands, voice stoic but intimidating, leaving no room for argument.

Before you have a chance to reply he quickly opens the door, and leaves.

You spend the afternoon with Helaena, exploring her insect farm and listening to her tell you of all the benefits the farm provides.

Afterwards, you still feel the unease from earlier vibrate within you, causing you to feel restless. In an attempt to be useful, you offer to help some of the residents as they prepare the large outdoor dining space for supper.

You chat with one of the younger people there, a man who appears to be in his early 20’s called Jon.

He tells you about how he met Aemond. As part of his PhD programme, Aemond held some lectures for first-year students, and Jon had attended his class on international conflict and crisis.

They’d started talking outside of Aemond’s lectures and found that they had much in common, especially in regards to their view of the world, and what was wrong with it. Aemond had mentioned his wish to move out of the city with his sister, and Jon was intrigued in an instance.

You continue your conversation with Jon, finding him easy to chat with. He's surprisingly funny too, joking and making you laugh, easing your anxiety. Feeling yourself relax and grow more comfortable, you decide to pry a bit, confiding in Jon,

“I wasn’t brought up with the faith, so I have to ask. Why did you decide to build a large Sept in a small settlement like this?”, you ask as you help Jon place cutlery by the plates on the table.

His relaxed and cheerful demeanour stiffens at your question. His eyes leave the silverware on the table to meet yours,

“You don’t know?”

His face appears genuinely surprised, and his eyes are wide in question. Before you get a chance to answer, a raspy voice interrupts your conversation,

“Jon! How lovely of you to entertain our guest”

The woman who you’ve learned goes by Alys appears, emerald eyes locking with yours as you turn to meet her.

“I’m Alys, it is so nice to meet you”

She stretches out a hand and gives you a practised smile. Her features looks pleasant; far from how harsh they'd appeared when Jayne had been kneeling before her.

You try to smile back at her and tell her your name, though you suspect she already knows exactly who you are. You look over at Jon who appears nervous, hands fidgeting with a fork.

“I believe Aemond wants to see you, in his office”, Alys sight does not leave Jon, eyes boring into him, but you both know she is addressing you.

You can’t come up with anything to say or do; anxious to find out what it is that Aemond wants from you and desperate to get away from the intense, silent fight between Jon and Alys taking place before your eyes.

You shoot Jon a quick apologetic glance before moving toward the Sept, leaving him with Alys.

Aemonds office is located behind the large altar in the Sept. As you approach, you feel yourself grow tenser; stiffer.

You quickly try to run your sweaty palms over your skirt before raising one hand and softly tapping your knuckles against the heavy wood.

Aemond calls for you to come in and you enter, standing awkwardly by the door.

What does he want with you?

Had you overstepped when you spoke with Jon?

Or will he let you in on what had happened between Alys and Jayne when you came back from your walk?

Something about this place and Aemond makes you unexplainably uneasy, but you're unable to pin-point what it is that reduces you to a mess of nerves.

Your eyes keep flicking up at Aemond and down at the floor. You can't maintain eye contact with him, his stare too intense.

Fiery.

“I heard you offered to help Jon prepare supper?”, he inquires. His voice is completely devoid of any emotions, making your uneasiness grow.

He had an eerie calmness to him that did little to soothe you; rather, it made you grow even more restless.

“Y-, yes, well, I only helped him with bringing out plates and such”, you rushedly explain, words pouring out of your mouth, “I'm so sorry if I overstepped or made a mistake, that wasn’t my intention”

Aemond beckons you over, pushing his chair from where it’s placed by the desk, holding out his hand. You grab it without a second thought and he begins stroking his thumb over the back of your palm, looking up at you, a sliver of sympathy evident in his dark gaze,

“Why did you assist him?”, he asks softly and you answer that you just wanted to be helpful; that it feels strange seeing everyone else work hard and not contribute.

Aemond hums and leans back in his chair, hand still holding yours.

“You shouldn’t do other peoples chores for them. Everyone here has responsibilities that they should conduct in solitude”, he explains and you nod, though you can’t understand the harm in helping someone with a menial task like setting the table for supper.

“Don’t worry, no one is upset with you”, he adds to reassure you that you haven’t wronged anyone. You feel yourself relax somewhat, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding.

Aemond looks you over and his gaze stops at your shoulders, noticing the strain there,

“You are still so tense”, he notes and you hum.

Stress, working at a desk for over 40 hours per week and lack of sleep had left your body in a constant, rigid state.

“Come here”, he commands and tugs at your arm unexpectedly, making you stumble forward. His other hand comes up to wrap around your waist, placing you on his thigh.

He looks into your eyes and the close proximity makes you slightly uncomfortable.

“You’ve always been so nervous; anxious since we were young”, he says as the hand that had been holding yours travels down to rest on your clothed thigh. The arm he has around you midriff tightens as if he’s expecting you to move away,

“Let me help you relax”, he offers, voice soft.

With gentle fingers, he slowly traces patterns on your leg. You do not know what he means by helping you, but you trust him.

He managed to makes you feel better before.

You stay put on his lap and he takes that as permission to continue, letting his hand travel down to where your skirt ends, fingers caressing your knee.

A breath gets caught in your throat as his hand moves upwards, slinking in under the fabric of your skirt; warm palm softly touching the smooth skin of your thigh. Aemond lets out a sigh at the contact and you suddenly feel uneasy, squirming in his grip.

“Aemond, what are you doing?”, you ask, voice slightly panicked.

His arm tightens around your waist as you try to move, hand continuing its path up your skirt.

“Didn’t it feel liberating to ease the pressure within when you cried in my arms earlier?”, he inquires and you look at him puzzled.

He still appears stoic but the pupil of his eye is blown wide; enveloping his iris.

“Let me take care of you. Just relax”, he commands as his hand reaches the apex of your thighs, index finger coming up to touch your bundle of nerves over your underwear experimentally.

You gasp and try to squirm out of his hold again, but he is much stronger; body rigid as he holds you.

He moves his head down to rest in the crock of your neck, shushing your protests. His fingers continue their slow massage over your underwear, and you feel yourself grow wetter from his attention.

Both your mind and your body have frozen.

Although you know it’s wrong, you let yourself lean into the pleasure Aemond is providing you, feeling yourself drift away; mind letting go of your senses as Aemond's touch consumes you.

When his fingers travel to the edge of your underwear, sliding inside, it’s like a bucket of cold water is poured over you.

You regain consciousness, bringing your hand up to try and push his away,

“Aemond we can’t do this, don’t-”, you plea, embarrassed by the fact that you can feel the evidential stickiness of your arousal between your legs.

Aemond tuts at you and pushes his fingers to make contact with the skin of your cunt, delighted at the wetness that greets him,

“You want this", he speaks quietly into your neck, "You need this. Be a good girl for me and let it happen”

You sit in his lap stiffly and as you're about to protest once more, his fingers circle your clit, causing a startled moan to slip out of your disobliging mouth.

Aemond chuckles against your skin and presses a light kiss to your neck,

“I knew you’d like it”

His words feel taunting, and your cheeks sear with shame.

The conflicting feelings storming inside you do little to hinder the arousal you're experiencing.

As his fingers travel down to your entrance, you again feel your common sense slip away and pleasure overtaking you.

He gathers some of the wetness from your entrance and brings it back up to your clit, making you sigh in involuntary pleasure again.

He positions his hand so that the heel of his palm is right by your bundle of nerves, leaving his fingers free to tease your entrance. He stays like that for a while, teasing you while pressing his palm against your clit.

The pleasure builds inside of you at a rapid pace.

He slowly sinks two fingers inside and you cannot contain the loud moan that escapes you, grabbing his arm with both hands. You grip him tightly, but cannot bring yourself to pry his hand away like you’d tried before, the pleasure too overpowering.

He sets a steady pace, palm pushing against your clit and fingers continuously finding that spot within you that causes your thighs to shake.

Your breath grows heavy, pleasure tightening inside you rapidly, and suddenly you don't want him to stop.

You hear Aemond’s breath growing laboured against your neck as well, giving it his all as he holds you in place and pleasures you.

You bite your lip to not let more moans slip out as pleasure begins to consume you.

Why did it feel so good?

Your walls began to contract against Aemond’s fingers as your peak approaches, and distantly, you hear him encourage you to let go.

As you do, you let out a pleasured cry, soaking his fingers. Your body stiffens while pleasure shoots through you; traveling from your lower stomach to your chest and down your limbs.

Your body slumps against Aemond, who moves his face out from the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he whispers,

“Good girl”

Assimilating

You can’t take in anything Helaena is saying.

You watch her lips move, try your hardest to take in her words, but nothing sticks. You hum and nod in reply, but haven’t got a clue to what you just agreed.

Should you tell her about what happened in Aemond’s office?

What if she tells him?

What if she tells mum?

Bile rises in the back of your throat at the thought.

What if your mum found out what her brother had done with her daughter?

What if she found out how good he’d made you feel?

That you liked it.

The only consolation to your misery is the fact that Aemond is sitting where he’d sat before, at the end of the long, beautifully decorated wooden table, looking out at everyone as if nothing was wrong. Like this was any other supper.

Maybe nothing was wrong?

Maybe you'd just imagined the entire thing?

Still, you can't bear to meet his gaze. You continue to channel all of your energy into the conversation you were having with Helaena. Or rather, that she was having with you.

“So when the queen bee dies, her workers will select a new queen from the larva and feed her this special thing called ‘royal jelly’ to make her fertile”, she cheerily says, smiling from ear to ear,

“Everyone here in our community gets to focus their attention on their chosen topic of interest, mine being insects and biology. I’ve learned so much, nature is truly fascinating”

Again, you notice how elated Helaena seems to be here. Her eyes shine as she continues to tell you about her life in the country, tending to insect farms.

It's hard to imagine that this is the same girl who’d been a shell of a person before.

As children, she had developed a tendency to pull away from others, choosing to fold into herself and push the world around her away.

Seeing her this animated and filled with life should make you happy for her.

But it feels off.

The following days go by quickly.

Sensing your need to feel useful, the members of Aemond's commune assign you daily tasks, like helping out with harvesting plants, preparing meals and cleaning up the Sept.

The building doesn’t seem to be used for ceremonies or communal prayer. Instead, the residents utilise it privately throughout the day; though you're not let in on their purpose.

Although not being too familiar with the Seven, you swear you could remember Aemond and Helaena attending services at the Sept when you were younger, not merely going there in solitude. Maybe they prayed together as well sometimes?

Another benefit of focusing on productivity was the distraction it gave you from thinking about what had occurred between you and your uncle three days prior.

Despite the initial disgust you'd felt, you had now decided that if you acted like it never happened, maybe it never did.

You’d sworn to never bring it up with Aemond, or ever tell anyone else for that matter.

He was still the Aemond you’d grown up with; the sensitive boy with a strong will, always on a mission to prove himself.

He’d always been a bit too ‘by the book’. Maybe he sincerely thought that you would enjoy it?

He might've read something about Freud’s theory on female hysteria and the power of orgasmic release, seeing the act as more of a medical procedure than a sexual encounter?

A weak theory, but still.

---

Despite helping out at every corner of the residence, you hadn’t seen Alys since leaving her with Jon.

But this morning, after Aemond had asked you to help the residents clean up the leftovers from breakfast, you spot her standing next to your uncle, talking about something in hushed voices while watching the residents tidy up.

Although you'd only spent a few days here, Aemond and Alys' position at the top of the hierarchy of the small community was evident.

They both had an air of authority about them that was hard to overlook, making the pair appear intimidating in a way that only a strict superior could.

Yet, they both choose to be soft spoken whenever they address the residents, often complimenting them on their diligent work.

Observing the duo, you notice Aemond nod towards you, which prompts Alys to approach, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder,

“I’d like for you to help me today”, she states, and although her voice is soft, as if asking a question, there seems to be no room for disagreement.

She ushers you to follow her as she makes way towards one of the almost overflowing flower beds; copious plants fighting for space.

Like every day since your arrival, the weather is practically perfect; sunny but with a comforting breeze passing through the fields. Alys reaches for two weaved baskets resting against the small cottage wall close by and hands you one before kneeling down by the flower bed. You follow her, admiring the abundance of herbs in front of you.

You’d never witnessed such a variety of plants grow so vigorously together. You’d hardly thought it to be possible. Maybe the weather and temperature conditions here were optimal? Or maybe they’d genetically modified the crops?

Alys' gentle, low voice breaks the silence,

“How has the stay here been for you so far?”

Even though you’d told yourself; decided that you’d never think about what had happened between you and Aemond in his office again, her questions forces your mind back there.

Sitting on his lap. His fingers inside you; stretching you out.

You shake your head slightly in an attempt to erase the thought.

You’re never going to think about that again.

You can’t.

“It’s been great. Everyone’s so welcoming and I’ve been able to spend a lot of time with Helaena”, you reply, focusing on the positive aspects of your visit.

It was all true; during your time here you’d felt welcomed and comforted. Cared for, even.

“That’s lovely”, Alys replies with a smile as she begins to pick basil leaves off the thin stem of the plant. “We’ve worked hard to create an environment where our residents can thrive, just like you seem to be doing”, she explains and your forehead wrinkles in contemplative confusion.

Are you thriving here?

You certainly look a lot better.

Your skin has almost started to glow. You wake up in the mornings feeling refreshed and rested.

But that could just be down to the fact that you’d found uninterrupted sleep. Plus, the appetising food served here seems healthy, consisting of ingredients the residents grew and prepared themselves.

“Well, the fresh air and delicious meals certainly help one thrive”, you reply with an unconvinced chuckle.

Alys’ eyes light up as they sweep over your face,

“You enjoy the food? I’m happy to hear that. I’ve put all of the past year's energy into curating the plants, grains and menu here”, she tells you, pride causing her to straighten up, sitting a bit taller.

“You truly have a gift, Alys. Any tips for an amateur like me?”, you inquire, relaxing a bit now that the conversation has taken a lighter turn.

She smiles at you and pulls out a small, green tin from the large pocket in the middle of the apron she’s wearing. She opens the lid and pulls out brass spoon. It’s filled with what looks like dirt, or clay, and smells similar to a compost.

Your nose wrinkles as she scoops some of the brown mush inside the tin onto her spoon, placing it by the plant's roots before firmly patting it down with the back of the utensil.

“I was doing my PhD at King’s Landing University before moving here. I was researching phytotherapy”, she explains as she scoops out another spoonful of brown mush from the tin and moves to add it to the next plant's roots.

“I was in my final year, fully consumed by my dissertation. Despite loving the topic, I was so stressed by my academic career that I seriously considered dropping everything and moving back to Harrentown. Then, I heard my professor tell me about this brilliant young man in the Political Science department”

Speaking about Aemond, her eyes almost look dreamy,

“His ideas were so radical, yet so natural, you know? He wanted to create a community where people were allowed to pursue their passions without the stressors of modern society. Where the Seven provide enough guidance”

You feel uneasiness creep up your spine. Her facial expression is almost trance-like as she talks about Aemond; as if he's a deity, ready to be worshipped.

“Well, modern society provides us with plenty of comforts as well, don’t you think?”, you counter with a strained laugh, trying to ease the mood a bit,

“What would you do if, like, one of the members got sick?”

Alys huffs a laugh as well and smiles to herself as she eyes the tin in her hand,

“We always get by”

After a quick lunch break, you continue to help Alys with various tasks around the residence; picking flowers, vegetables and herbs for her, plucking out weeds and organising seeds for future harvests.

You’d never seen seeds like the ones she showed you before; pitch-black in colour and almost supernaturally round.

When she saw your expression, she snorted a laugh and explained that they were from Yi Ti, used by herbalists for centuries.

She did not, however, answer you when you asked what they were going to be used for.

Although her presence had felt intimidating at first, you'd now grown calm around Alys. Something about her was almost bewitching.

Like the way her emerald eyes would lock with yours whenever you spoke, or how graciously she moved about the commune, greeting each resident in a gentle voice.

You also noticed that they never met her gaze, eyes cast down as she approached, only uttering a few polite phrases before rushing away.

Feeling more at ease spurred your confidence, and so you ask her what you’ve been aching to know for the past days,

“The other day…-", you begin with a wavering voice,

"-What happened between you and Jayne?”

You try to sound as casual as possible, but it only makes you sound strange.

Alys, who’s been picking some wildflowers from one of the fields close to the residence, doesn’t slow her pace for even the briefest of moments as she answers you, eyes still on the stem of the flower in front of her,

“Nothing for you to worry about”

She plucks the flower and gently places it in her weaved basket before moving to the next one.

“Okay”, you reply with uncertainty, “She seemed very upset though”

Alys finally looks up from the flowers she’s plucking and meets your gaze,

“Actions have consequences. I’m sure you know that. But with the justice of the father and the grace of the mother, mistakes can be forgiven”

Her face is much sterner than before. The comfort of familiarity that had blossomed between the two of you disappears in an instance, and you feel uneasy as her eyes narrow.

“Jayne has been forgiven and we will move forward. Just like how Aemond forgave you”

Alys turns around and quickly makes way towards the Sept, disappearing inside and closing the door behind her.

Forgave you for what?

For what happened in Aemond's office?

Did she know about that?

As the members of the commune prepare for supper, you go back to your room to have some time to yourself, mindlessly scrolling your phone while lying in bed.

The reception out here's not great, and now that you think about it, you hadn't seen any mobile phones during your stay, only a land-line hanging on the wall in Aemond's office.

After what happened with him, your mind had been too preoccupied to put any focus on replying to messages. You see a few from your mum and send her a quick reply to let her know that you’re doing well.

Seeing her name appear, you feel uneasy; like she knows of the secret you harbour. You feel guilty. And disgusted.

A sudden commotion outside throws you back into reality; back into the commune.

You hear raised voices, some sounding familiar, and you swiftly place your phone in your pocket before heading out.

You see Jon, eyes wide and face pale, on his knees in front of Aemond, mimicking how Jayne and Alys had looked a few days ago.

Aemond’s face is hard to read.

He looks stoic, yet his eye is furious; dark gaze glaring down at Jon.

Unlike Jayne, Jon doesn’t say anything. He raises his hands in surrender and locks eyes with Aemond; wordlessly pleading.

But for what?

By now, many of the residents have gathered around the two young men. Some look scared, others intrigued.

“Do you believe the Father to be just?”, Aemond’s soft voice asks, contrasting his utterly frightening appearance. Jon nods eagerly, eyes wide in panic.

“Then you’ll accept a punishment befitting the sin you’ve committed?”

Jon stiffens slightly, but eventually lowers his head in a slow nod. His eyes cast down to the ground; head hanging in surrender.

Aemond hums and pulls out a knife from the inside of the jacket he’s wearing over his usual white shirt and dark slacks.

It’s one you recognise. It had been gifted to Aemond on his 12th birthday by your grandfather, who’d declared that he was now a young man; a young Targaryen man, and therefore needed his own reminder of his Valyrian heritage.

Aemond flips the dagger in his hand as he regards the man before him, holding his hand out in an invitation to Jon. He wordlessly places his hand in Aemond’s, and you can now clearly see that he is shaking.

Aemond turns his hand so that he’s holding the back of it, Jon’s palm turned upwards,

“Mistakes can be forgiven, but justice must prevail”, Aemond speaks. His voice is louder than before to address the crowd gathering around him and Jon. It reminds you of a lecture.

Perhaps this is how he'd conduct classes at university?

The residents around you murmur in agreement. Aemond raises the dagger in his hand, eye cast down to make contact with Jon’s. He’s trembling out of fright and Aemond almost looks pleased at the display in front of him,

“We all need reminders of our wrongdoings, to prevent us from repeating them. Whenever you lose sight of the light, Jon, this will remind you to seek out the guidance of the Seven”, Aemond’s calm voice rings out as he suddenly presses the dagger into Jon’s palm.

He grunts in pain as the blade breaks his skin and blood flows freely from his hand. Aemond’s knuckles are white from the force in which he’s holding onto Jon’s hand, refusing to let the younger man go, staring into his eyes with a look so intimidating it demands submission.

You can’t take in the scene in front of you; can’t comprehend what’s happening.

As reality slowly comes back to you, you try to speak up, try to tell Aemond to stop, but your body doesn’t obey you; frozen in shock.

The other residents watch quietly, not making a sound as Aemond and Jon stay still, blade still penetrating Jon’s palm as his mouth winces in pain.

Your uncle finally pulls away from Jon, gesturing for Alys to move forward. She quickly pulls out some gauze from one of the pockets of her apron and kneels down next to Jon, gently wrapping it around his palm; blood pulsing out furiously.

Aemond’s stoic facade seems to falter slightly as his breathing turn laboured; jaw shut tight. He appears agitated, giving Jon and Alys one final look before stalking away towards the nearby path leading to the forest where he’d taken you for a walk a few days prior.

Your body finally obeys you as you call out his name in an urgent voice,

"Aemond!"

What the fuck had you just witness?

Aemond doesn’t turn around. He walk away in quick, angry steps, silhouette growing smaller and smaller. You throw a quick glance at Jon, whose face is even whiter than before, gauze around his palm already dark red with blood seeping through it.

You cannot bear to take in the gory sight, a thousand questions going through your head. You need answers, so you make your way towards where Aemond had disappeared.

The path into the forest grows blurrier as a thick fog settles over the commune. Still, you make your way towards where Aemond had disappeared, determined to confront him about what you’d just witnessed.

You spot a form in the white mist, sitting on a stump with his head in his hands. You approach quickly, thoughts still spinning in your head.

What was that all about?

Why did you cut Jon?

Why did he agree?

If he did agree, that is.

The fear that was etched on Jon’s face as he knelt before Aemond made you shiver. He’d seemed so scared of him; scared of what he might do to him.

Still, no one had interfered as your uncle cut the hand of one of the members of their community.

Is this the norm?

Aemond looks up as he hears your footsteps approach, face as unreadable as always.

“What the fuck was that, Aemond?!”

Your voice is shrill and accusing. Your eyes seek out his as you stop before him; expression furious and chest heaving.

“You need to call a medic or something, Jon’s bleeding heavily!”

Your cheeks feel hot as fury rolls through your body, setting it alight.

It’s amplified by the seemingly unrepentant state of the man before you.

“Don’t question how we do things here”, he warns, eye just as furious as it had been before,

“Jon knew the consequences of stepping out of line. We all do”.

“What could he have done to make you mutilate his hand?!”, you counter. You still can’t fully comprehend what had happened mere moments ago.

Had you just witnessed bodily mutilation in the name of religion?

Aemond clicks his tongue, displeased with your accusations. He tries to school his face into a calmer demeanour as he looks you over,

“Sit down and I’ll explain”, he offers, gesturing for you to take a seat on the damp grass in front of him.

Despite your initial desire to defy him, purely out of spite, your curiosity wins as you take a seat in front of the stump where he sits.

“Everyone living here has consented to our communal agreement”, he begins. You can’t help the scoff that slips out. He continues,

“One of the reasons why people feel so depressed and out of place is due to the secularisation of the modern world. They’ve lost their connection to the Seven; lost sight of the light. A belief in the divine brings us closer together. Closer to the seven faces of the God”

“You all need help if you believe that physical violence will bring you closer to the gods”

It's hard to hide the disgust in your voice. Aemond’s jaw shuts tightly and the calmness on his face looks forced,

“Help me then”, he bites back, irritation penetrating his serene facade. “Pray with me”.

He grabs both your hands suddenly and traps them in his, lowering his head as he recites a prayer you haven’t heard before.

You try to pull your hands away but his grip is iron-like as he continues to mumble the prayer under his breath.

After a while, he grows quiet, yet keeps the grip around your hands. You look up at him. He's already awaiting your gaze.

Aemond looks like he’s contemplating something; different from his usual, determined state.

“Maybe you should help me like I help you; easing the pressure from within”

His hands pull yours towards the zipper of his slacks. Your body freezes in shock for a brief moment, then quickly pull away from him in reflex.

His grip on your hands is tight. He'd anticipated you'd fight back.

He brings your hands towards his crotch, now in such a tight grasp that your fingers ache. There's a hardness there, and your mouth goes dry, a rush of anxiety go through your body,

"Aemond, no, not aga-", you begin but he cuts you off.

“Would you prefer it if I told Helaena what you let me do to you in my office?"

His voice is foreign; cold and uncaring.

This is not the Aemond you know. The one who let you cry out in his embrace.

This is the Aemond they know.

"Or should I tell my other sister?”

You feel cold all over, shivering at his words.

A threat.

He lets one of his hands leave yours and undoes his zipper. He pulls out his length; already hard and furiously red.

You’re once again consumed by feelings of unreality.

This can’t actually be happening, right?

Aemond grips one of your hands, grasping it painfully hard as he pulls it towards his cock.

He presses into the sides and bends your fingers so they circle around him; much larger hand enveloping yours as he forces you to cool his desire.

He sets a fast pace; letting you know exactly how he likes it. His other hand moves towards your mouth, stunning you yet again as he pushes two fingers into your mouth.

Before you have a chance to pull your head away, he brings his spit-covered fingers down to your hand - the one he's using to pleasure himself with - and smears your saliva over the palm before guiding it back to his length again.

As your slick hand makes contact with his burning flesh once more, he grunts and closes his eyes; brows knit together in bliss. He lets you continue the motion by yourself, hands falling to the sides of his lap.

In the middle of this surreal experience, you can’t help but look up at him, admiring his beauty.

Such an intimidating man, instilling fear in so many around him, currently at your mercy.

You almost feel a headrush at the thought; having Aemond in the palm of your hand. Literally.

The continuous friction of your hand against his flesh removes some of the stickiness, and you hear him let out something similar to a whine as your hand grows drier.

His previously intimidating features suddenly look pleading as he gazes down at you, asking you to just comply.

Just give him this.

Without much thought of the consequences, instead of licking your palm, you move your head toward his length, darting your tongue out and licking a stripe over his tip. He lets out a surprise moan, and the unexpected feeling of pride rushing through your body makes your stomach turn.

You are not enjoying this!

Still, the praise travels down and settles in your core, causing a dull throb to pound between your thighs.

Then why does it feel so good to be praised by him?

You continue to pleasure him with your hand, though Aemond’s eye has traveled down to observe your mouth. His gaze occasionally flickers down to your clothed chest, peeking at the sliver of cleavage visible from above. One of his hands grasp your chin,

“Do that again”, he commands, and the disgust you'd felt towards yourself swirls in your belly again.

You shake your head, “No”

He lets out a grunt, hand still on your jaw as he slowly and firmly brings your head closer to his manhood.

Like before, you try to push away from him, to gain some sense of control, but he is far stronger than you,

“You do as I say”, he counters, and in one swift motion, he pulls your head towards his cock with such force that you nearly knock your forehead against his stomach.

As you part your lips to protest, he pushes himself inside of your hot, wet mouth, sighing in relief.

You feel panic come over you as you try to pull away, but he quickly places both hands on your head; keeping you in place.

“Breath through your nose. Be the good girl I know you are”

He grunts and begins to buck into your mouth.

You place your hands on his thighs in another feeble attempt at escaping his assault on your mouth, but to no avail. He drags your face over his length, palms moving to grab each side of your head as his movements grow quicker. You gag slightly.

“You feel so fucking good”, he breaths out, voice drunk on lust,

“You look so fucking good with my cock in your mouth, you know that?”

It feels like he's mocking you. It sounds like he adores you.

His thumb gently brushes away some of the strands that has fallen over your face.

The want in between your legs throb. The disgust in your stomach rumbles. You know that his words of praise shouldn’t make your underwear sticky.

But they do.

Your eyes water as he continues to fuck your mouth, not giving you any rest. You try to whine against him to make him stop; to at least let you come up for air, but he takes your sounds as moans and groans, moving in your mouth faster and harsher.

Finally sensing your need for a break, he manoeuvres your head off of his cock. You pant heavily as you gulp for air; lungs hurting from the sudden, sharp inhale.

A string of saliva connects your lips to his length, and his eye seems to be even more lust-filled as he moves his hand to caress your flushed cheek.

Even in this selfish, pleasure-driven madness, he regard you with fondness.

“Aemond, please, we can’t do this”, you plea.

His gaze flickers from your spit-soaked, swollen lips to your cleavage, and then back.

He doesn’t grant you a reply as he stands up abruptly, taking advantage of your startled state and shoves his length back into your mouth.

Your hands instinctively come up to his legs to have something to hold onto as he fucks your face with even more vigour than before, swearing under his breath.

You feel disgusted at the vicious arousal pooling in your stomach, seeping out of your core.

How could something so degrading feel so sensual?

How could you feel aroused by your uncle using you like this?

Aemond moves his hands to the back of your head, pushing you so that your nose makes contact with the hairs at the bottom of his stomach. He pushes his hips against you harshly and lets out a prolonged grunt.

You gag and stifle a cough, feeling his hot liquid fill your throat, then your mouth.

He slowly pulls away, hands still gripping your head as his eyes return to their wholly intimidating appearance,

“Swallow”, he demands, placing a large palm over your mouth, blocking your nose as well.

You know that you have no choice but to oblige him and force the sticky, salty fluid down your throat with a wince.

Aemond gives your kneeling form one last once-over before letting out a hum, swiftly putting his cock back into his trousers.

Without another word, he leaves, and you're left on your knees by the stump, fog now so thick that you can hardly see the path leading back to the residence.

You wipe away the spit trailing from the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand before standing on shaky legs.

Could you pretend like this never happen either?

As if in a trance, you make your way back to the commune; head filled with thoughts, yet too exhausted to comprehend anything.

You move to the basin placed in the corner of your room, reaching for your toothbrush without looking up at your reflection in the mirror.

You brush your teeth three times, reapplying tooth paste as the lather in your mouth disappears.

You want to get the taste of him out of your mouth.

It doesn’t go away.

Realising that you’ve been carrying your phone in your pocket this whole time, you tap the screen. A few new message from your mother and brother.

You hadn't even noticed.

Without checking, you turn your phone off, tossing it in your bag as you make your way to the bed.

You feel exhausted. Disgusted. Aroused.

This can’t be real.

Forgiving

The sheets of the bed are soft against your skin.

The rays of the morning sun shine through your window, and in the glow of the day’s early hours, you feel rested; comforted by the cosiness of your bed.

As you turn to the side, snuggling into the duvet, you wonder why this comforting place ever caused you to feel unease.

And then you're reminded of last night.

The memory makes a shiver go down your spine and your body trembles; trying to shake the chill away. Still, the feeling crawling under your skin doesn’t quite disappear.

Usually, you wouldn’t be able to sleep in the anxious state you’d been in last night.

Yet, for some reason, as soon as your head touched the cool pillow, you’d fallen into uninterrupted slumber.

Though your mind was spinning from all the conflicting thoughts you were having, your body was surprisingly relaxed; well-rested and freed from tension.

You’re hungry too, you notice. The rumble in your stomach vibrates, prompted by the clatter of the residents preparing for breakfast outside.

Without much thought, you get up, get ready and head outside. The warm rays of the sun greet you and you have to squint in order to see who’s already seated at the long table.

To your surprise, you’re met by the same scene as the last couple of days.

Aemond is standing by the edge of the wooden table, speaking with Alys. Jon is carrying bread in a large basket, carefully placing a few buns in each empty bowl placed on the table. Helaena is fussing over the wildflowers adorning the table, laughing as Jayne tells her something you can’t make out.

The scenery is still perfect, despite what had occurred the day before between Aemond and Jon.

Between Aemond and you.

You walk towards the table and take your usual spot next to Helaena, offering her a strained smile as she greets you. You’d thought keeping up appearance would prove to be a true challenge, but right now you feel oddly at peace; calm even. And hungry.

As soon as Aemond finishes thanking the Seven in his morning prayer, you begin to pile food on your plate.

Everything looks mouthwatering, the freshly baked bread still warm in your hand as you tear it apart and smother it in butter. You usually weren’t the type to have an appetite when you feel anxious or stressed, but today your uneasy state only works to amplify your hunger.

As you eat, the stress that had been causing nervous waves to ebb through your body stills, and you feel more at ease. Your mind is calmer, less crowded with thoughts.

Numb.

As you finish your meal, you look up from your plate to watch the scenery surrounding you, appreciating the lush greenery of the commune that had been lost on you before.

The rays of the sun shine through the gaps between the leaves of the bright green beech trees encircling you, casting a gorgeous glow over the residence.

Gods, it's beautiful here.

You look over at Helaena, whose hair seems to shimmer in the sun. Her smile only highlights her beauty; lilac eyes kind with a glint of something playful.

“Do you want to help me with my insect farm today? I’m going to go check on the crickets now after breakfast”, she asks, tone as pleasant and upbeat as it always is here.

“Sure”, you reply, standing up to follow her.

She walks behind one of the small cottages, and an array of insect farms come into view.

They resemble little houses made of wood, and even standing a good few metres away, you can see insects crawling all over the wood.

Helaena moves between them swiftly, peeking inside to see how her favourite creatures are faring. You’d never understand her obsession with such creepy beings, but watching her now, you feel warmth in your chest. She looks so happy; so at peace.

This really is the perfect place for her.

She beckons you over to one of the miniature houses and you approach her wearily, unable to hide the aversion you felt for the bugs.

Helaena giggles as she sits down on the ground to gain better access to the farm, nodding her head in a silent instruction for you to do the same. You join her, though you sit down slightly behind where she is, hoping she can provide you some distance from the insects littering each piece of wood of the farm.

“Are you sure you have to leave by the end of the week? I’d love for you to stay here longer”, she sighs, eyes fixed on the insects in front of her. She’s brought a small pouch with her which she opens, fingers digging inside for some seeds to feed her six-legged friends.

“I have to get back to work”, you answer, already dreading the inevitable.

The constant stress, the sleepless nights, Gwayne's endless nagging.

Would you be able to sleep as well as you did out here back home?

Would sleep feel as serene?

Despite all the uneasy situations you’d found yourself in, an unfamiliar sense of calm settles on your chest, pushing down your anxiety.

Maybe things would be easier if you stayed out here? Just for a while longer?

You're pulled out of your thoughts as Helaena speaks up again, eyes still on the farm, hand now buried deep within its walls, placing seeds inside for the insects to fight over.

“I think you’d be better off here. I saw you in a dream, you know. You were smiling, wearing a beautiful crown of flowers, holding hands with Aemond”

You feel yourself stiffen.

“He told me you’d come when he invited me to live with him here”, she continues, eyes finally straying away from the crickets; meeting yours.

You want to tell her about what happened, but the words seem stuck in your throat.

Would she believe you?

Would she be disgusted with you?

“Hel, I-”, you begin, choking as tears well up in your eyes. You try to clear your throat so that the lump of sadness suffocating you goes away,

“I-, I don’t think Aemond likes me”, is all you are able to get out as unexpected tears spill out from the corners of your eyes.

You wish you could tell her more, but your body doesn’t obey you; mind feeling foggy and throat closing up.

You can't sort your thoughts, or feelings, out.

“Oh, don’t cry, love”, she says as she wipes away a fat tear sliding down your cheek,

“There's no reason to feel bad. Aemond likes you. He would never do anything to harm you. He cares for you so much”

Though her voice sounds genuine, her gaze seems to drift away as she talks about her brother.

“He’s cared for you ever since we were small, you know. Do you remember that summer when we were all together on Driftmark? Before Aemond lost his eye?”

You swallow thickly at the memory.

“You remember when you two asked me to wed you out on the beach because you wanted to stay together forever?”, she asks, voice gentle and a knowing smile playing on her lips.

The memory causes you to spill more tears. Everything was so much easier back then.

“Don’t you miss how close you two used to be?”, she asks, compassionate and caring.

Yes, you do.

“Yeah”, you let out, voice thick from sadness. “But everything changed after Aemond lost his eye. He-, he didn’t want to spend time with me anymore”

You sound so small; your own words make you feel like a child again, abandoned by your best friend.

“Well, we’re here now, together. So that we can all reconnect. We’ve missed you”

Helaena moves closer to you, throwing her arms around you and hugs you tightly.

You slump against her, burying your face in the crook of her neck. Despite all the weird interactions with Aemond during your visit, Helaena had been a constant; brightening your days and making you feel seen.

She was always so happy to see you.

She was always so genuine.

You pull away once your sobbing ceases, giving Helaena one last squeeze before mumbling a quiet “thank you”.

She smiles, wipes her thumbs over your wet cheeks and locks eyes with you,

“You’ll feel better once you’ve settled in properly”, she says with a smile.

You don’t really understand what she means but nod anyway.

Agreeing feels good.

Agreeing feels comforting.

As you make your way back to your cottage, you spot Jon by one of the flower beds, watering the abundant plants fighting for space in their wooden confinement.

He doesn’t look much different from a few days ago, but when he spots you approaching, his slouching shoulders go rigid.

“Hi”, you say, trying to keep your voice light as you draw near him.

“Hey”, he replies, smiling in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Your eyes instantly move to inspect his hand.

The gauze has been changed recently, clinically white and neatly wrapped around his palm,

“How’s your hand?”, you ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

“Fine”, is all he replies as he walks towards the next flower bed, away from you.

He tilts the watering can, letting the water rains down on the flourishing plants.

“What Aemond did to you-, I-, it’s completely unacceptable”, you say as you trail after him,

“You could press charges you know”

Not that you actually think Jon would, for some unexplainable reason he had seemingly agreed to getting his hand slashed. But you wanted him to understand that this kind of behaviour was inexcusable, even if he'd consented.

Jon’s eyes darken as he turns his head from watching the droplets fall on the flowers to observe you.

“Aemond knows what’s best. No point in me going against him”, he says in resignation, eyes shifting again, looking out at the endless fields surrounding the commune.

“Aemond acted like a fucking psycho yesterday, you don’t have to excuse his behaviour”, you try to assure Jon, shifting your body to move a little closer to where he’s standing.

His eyes go wide in panic, quickly looking around to make sure no one is nearby.

“Do not say things like that”, he warns, voice barely above a whisper.

“Aemond and Alys hear everything. They have eyes and ears everywhere, especially Alys. She sees much and more”

His eyes have grown impossibly large, resembling those of an animal pestered by a predator,

“They say the Father is all-seeing; knowledgeable on all topics. Almighty. There are people here who-”, he pauses as his eyes again dart around in a stressed frenzy, making sure no one is listening in on your conversation,

“- who believe Aemond is the human embodiment of the Father”

Jon’s confession catches you off guard and you let out a snort at his utterance. His panicked eyes narrow in anger at you.

“You haven’t been here long enough to have seen what I have”, he tells you with a sneer,

“You do not understand the power that he holds”.

Though you'd initially thought Jon was someone you could become friendly with, you now find yourself backing away from him and his evident madness.

Aemond might be smart, but he is no deity.

You’re slouching in the rocking chair in the corner of your room, trying to read the book Helaena had lent you.

This is the third time you feel like giving up; mind too fuzzy to fully take in anything you're reading.

Why is it so hard to concentrate?

To distract yourself?

You’d planned on giving your mum a call when you retreated to your cottage, but couldn’t even bear to pick up your phone.

She had a way of knowing what you were thinking, without you even telling her. She knows you so well.

Too well.

She would sense that something's off.

That there's something you're not telling her.

What if she figures out what you and Aemond had done?

You’re startled by a sudden knock on your door.

Quickly standing, you rush to the door, nerves on high alert.

Aemond’s ducks his tall frame as you pull the door open, face level with yours. You feel that familiar shiver run down your spine, making your body shudder slightly.

He looks as impeccable as always; hair half up so that the silver strands stay out of his face, button-down shirt and slacks perfectly form-fitted and ironed to eliminate any trace of a wrinkle; any indication of a flaw. His eyepatch is securely placed over his damaged eye, long scar poking through the sides.

“Can we talk?”, he asks, voice low and gentle.

You’re not sure what to say, and move to the side to allow him inside. For some reason denying him feels out of the question.

You go back to the wooden rocking chair, sitting down and pulling one leg up to wrap your arms around yourself, a meek attempt at shield yourself from whatever Aemond has in mind.

He sits down on the bed, back stiff and gaze darting around the room before settling on you.

“I wanted to thank you for yesterday”, he starts, face stoic.

“Thank me?”, you reply by reflex, not entirely sure of what he’s referring to.

He can’t be referring to what happened in the forest?

“Yes. I really appreciate you helping me out”, he continues matter-of-factly. You’re stunned, mouth half-open in disbelief.

“And I wanted to apologise for leaving you after. That won’t happen again”

His eye never leave yours. He sounds so sincere it is hard not to take his gratitude and apology to heart.

Still, the memory of what you’d done causes bile to rise in the back of your throat.

Forgiving him and moving on would be so simple.

“It’s okay, Aemond, we don’t have to talk about it anymore”, you mumble, eyes looking down to pick at the sleeve of the linen blouse you’re wearing.

You’d rather just forget.

Move on.

Never speak or think about it again.

It never happened.

“Alright”

He’s silent for a moment before he speaks up again,

“I also wanted to thank you for coming out here to visit us. It’s been so nice to reconnect over these past few days”

There he is again.

The boy who’d been your best friend all those years ago.

Fierce and attentive at once; contradicting in every way. His timid smile is still the same, just as inviting to mischief as it had been when you were little.

You still can’t quite find the words to engage in conversation with him. Half of you wants to run away from his unpredictability, yet the other half wants to stay and bask in it.

“I’ve missed you”, he continues. You know he is genuine when you look up to meet his gaze.

You’ve missed him too.

“I’ve missed you too”, you confess quietly. You can’t seem to look away from his eye. It's almost hypnotising.

“Wouldn’t you like to stay here for a while longer? I can talk to Gwayne”, he offers.

“Oh that’s not necessary, I have to go back. I already know I have a full mailbox waiting for me”, you quip, trying to sound witty. Aemond’s face remains impassive.

“I always wondered why you decided to work with my uncle. Such a waste of potential”, he muses as he regards you,

“I think you could achieve much more if you chose another path in life”

His expression is serious, still his voice is gentle.

Like he’s telling you, not advising you.

Before you have a chance to reply he speaks up again,

“I’d like you to join a sermon we’re having tonight. You could benefit from some guidance”

You can’t come up with a reason to decline his invitation fast enough, and Aemond lets out a pleased hum at your silence.

“Six o’clock in the Sept”

He stands and reaches his hand towards you, squeezing it in goodbye.

He leaves your cottage and you watch him retreat to the Sept through your window.

The tall building truly holds an imposing aura; the seven pointed star sinister in its daunting simplicity.

Unsettling.

You enter the Sept right before six.

To your surprise, all residents of the commune are already seated, sitting in rows leading up to the unadorned wooden altar; carvings of the Seven decorating all sides of it.

The only one standing is Aemond, right next to the altar.

Next to him is a chair, and as you walk towards where the residents are seated, Aemond clears his throat and gestures for you to take a seat on the chair next to him, facing everyone.

“Please, join me”, he says and beckons you over.

Everyone present is watching you expectantly, leaving you no choice but to join Aemond and take a seat next to where he’s standing.

“Our guest of honour, everyone”

His voice is soft, yet you notice a hint of amusement hiding behind his stoic façade.

He says a short prayer, welcoming everyone to the sermon and expressing gratitude to all faces of the Seven.

“Today, I’d like to talk about forgiveness”, Aemond explains, and you watch as all residents observe him diligently, eyes rarely blinking.

He seems to hold such power within these seven walls.

Such authority.

“Granting someone forgiveness takes strength, given to us by the Warrior”

The residents are silent, but you see a few of them nodding along to Aemond’s words.

Helaena and Alys sit closest to where you and Aemond are, watching you attentively.

“All actions have consequences, and we must be reminded of this to prevent us from repeatedly committing wrongdoings. When I was 10, I was taught the consequences of my actions as my nephew brought a knife to my face, taking my eye”

His tone grows colder as he speaks, and you feel that all too familiar shiver run down your spine.

Only this time, you cannot shudder to make it go away. It stays at the base of your back; taking hold of you and keeping you in a state of acute uneasiness.

“Though I was consumed by hatred after being robbed of my sight, the Seven provided me with guidance, showing me the light in the darkest of times”

Aemond moves to stand in front of you, one hand coming up to pull the eyepatch that seemed to be a permanent feature on his face away.

You hadn’t seen him without it since the accident, and you have to stifle a gasp as you take in the entirety of his face.

The scar that your brother had branded him with is still red, still angry as you follow it with your eyes; starting at his forehead and ending on his cheek.

The socket where his eye had previously been is surrounded by scarred tissue; healed but still furious.

In the empty socket lays a sparkling sapphire, almost appearing alive as the light from the candles in the Sept reflects upon its surface.

The contrast of the beautiful gem nuzzled in the red, vexed scar reminds you of Aemond himself; full of rage and beauty.

“I’ll tell you the story behind this scar”

He moves to stand behind you as his hands rest on the backrest of the wooden chair,

“I was enjoying a day at the beach with my dearest childhood companion-”

His voice is borderline mocking. In your peripheral vision you see his knuckles go white from to the tight grip he has on the backrest of your chair,

“- though she adored me as well, she never defended me against the nasty remarks her brothers would throw my way”

His icy voice heats with anger,

“Having had enough of their torment, I defended myself, much like the Warrior would have. Like the Father, I demanded justice for their unbecoming behaviour. Yet, when I gained the strength to defend myself against my tormentors, the one who was supposed to be by my side abandoned me”

Although you can’t see him standing behind you, you can feel the infuriated energy radiating from his body. You desperately seek the resident's eyes for some sympathy, yet find none.

“That-, That’s not what happened Aemond”, you try to protest, but your voice comes out too weak to truly make an impact.

“Is it not? Then enlighten me. Did you not leave me to defend myself?”

One of the hands he has placed on the back of the chair moves to rest on your shoulder, squeezing it harshly.

“I didn’t-, you were fighting and I didn’t-, I was going to get an adult!”

You sound as desperate as you feel. The gazes of the residents feels burning as they regard you with disapproval.

You still remember how an innocent fight between children had escalated as soon as Aemond picked up a rock, refusing to take in your pleas to just let it go. Not knowing what to do, you’d sprinted towards the family’s summer house to get your mum or Alicent; anyone who could help you de-escalate the madness on the beach.

When you came back, Aemond was on the ground, screaming as he clutched his blood-covered face.

The memory makes you grow cold all over. That had been the worst day of your childhood; amplified by the fact that Aemond had refused to speak to you afterwards. Though your families had managed to mend the broken bond somewhat, Aemond had never looked at you the same.

“The Seven tell us that sins can be forgiven, and though I have forgiven you for this”, he gestures towards his eye, “you were never made to apologise for your transgression. I’d like to offer you forgiveness”

“Apologise to me”

He pushes at your shoulder, gesturing for you to stand in front of the onlooking residents. You heed his instruction, turning so that you're facing him.

"Kneel"

You get down on your knees, looking up at Aemond’s imposing stature. He is frightening, the clearly satisfied state of his face haunting you.

“I’m sorry”, you say meekly; low and defeated.

“Come on, you can do better than that”, he encourages.

His voice is loud and with a hint of poorly concealed amusement.

“I’m sorry”, you repeat, this time louder.

“You’re not going to address me when you’re on your knees, asking for my forgiveness?”, he asks, tilting his head.

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your face grow hot from the feelings rumbling in your chest; rage, sadness, betrayal.

Why is he so intent on humiliating you?

“I’m sorry, Aemond”, you bite out.

He approaches you, hand stretched out to touch your head, gently stroking your hair. He brings his hand down to cup your chin, tilting your head so that you look up at him; meeting his purple and blue gaze.

“I forgive you”, he says, and despite sincerity being evident in his voice, you cannot help but feel like this is all just a farce.

The onlooking residents stay silent, but you feel their eyes observe you like flames against your skin.

The only sound coming from the audience is from Helaena, who lets out a quiet “lovely” as her smiles at you and Aemond. You eye her in disbelief.

Does she not see how fucked up this is?

As soon as the sermon finishes you dart out the door, speedily walking the short distance to the cottage you’re staying at.

You cannot bear to stay in this madness for even a second longer.

You slam the door open, grab your belongings and stuff them down your bag with force.

The sun is setting and you know that there are no streetlights out here, only open fields and forest. You'll need to find your way back to the station alone, Helaena’s clearly as mad as the rest of them.

You peek out through the door. No one seems to be nearby and you know this is your chance to sneak away without being forced to face Aemond, Alys or Helaena.

The sun is hanging low on the horizon as you quickly move towards where you and Helaena had emerged a few days prior.

You walk briskly, the commune growing smaller as you move further away.

The forest that had mesmerised you with its beauty slowly turns terrifyingly imposing as darkness chases the comforts of daylight away.

Though you're sure you’ve been following the way you and Helena came, you soon find yourself at a crossroads in the middle of two paths, not knowing which will lead you back to the small village where the train station was.

As you briefly stop to contemplate your options, a dark figure appear on your side.

Jayne’s eyes are kind as she offers you a curt smile, reaching out to take your hand.

“Come with me”, is all she says before moving in quick steps, pulling you along the path to the right. You follow without protests; you wouldn’t know the way without guidance anyway.

You spot what looks like a street light ahead and you feel your body relax at the thought of being close to the train station, soon on the way back home.

Finally you’ll be able to leave this week behind.

As you come closer however, you start to recognise the small, wooden houses. In the middle stands a large, looming building with lights illuminating the seven pointed star in the middle.

You try to jerk your hand away from Jayne, but her hold on you is iron-like as she pulls you towards the Sept.

“Don’t worry”, she tries to reassure you.

“Soon you’ll realise that this is where you’re meant to be”

Prospering

Jayne forcefully drags you into Aemond's office, quickly exiting to lock the door from the outside. You’re still in shock, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself enough to assess the situation.

Everyone here’s deranged.

You’re outnumbered.

You could fight as hard as you like, and you’d still lose.

You start to nervously pace back and forth in front of Aemond’s large wooden desk, attempting to expel some of the nervous energy within you.

They wouldn't hurt you, right?

That’d be mad.

You think back to the true crime documentaries you used to be obsessed with. The best thing to do was play along with the madness and strike when they least expect it.

Make them believe you’re not a threat so they’ll trust you.

You just needed to keep your head cool and play along a little while longer. Then they’d take you back to the train station and you could go back home.

A sharp rap on the door pulls you away from your thoughts.

You hear someone fiddle with the lock before the door opens slightly and Alys slips through the small crack. You can hear voices outside, but they quickly fade away as Alys shuts the door promptly.

She gives you a nod, expression as calculated as it always is. She’s carrying two wine glasses in one hand and holding an opened bottle of wine in the other.

“Oh relax”, she tells you with a smile,

“Have some wine, it’ll calm your nerves”

She places the glasses on the desk, pouring you both a serving each before putting down the bottle and handing you one of the glasses.

“Here’s to a prosperous future”, she says, raising her glass and giving you a nod. You match her gesture, bringing the glass to your lips as you watch her take a sip.

The wine tastes like the ones your mum usually orders when you go out to eat; rich and with some lingering spiciness.

“Dornish red. Aemond’s favourite”, Alys states. Her delicate fingers are wrapped around the stem as she holds the glass elegantly.

She seems to do everything with grace, never faltering. Never appearing clumsy or out of place.

It's hard not to admire her.

“You know he’s only trying to help you, right?”, she asks.

"I-", you’re quiet for a while as you rack your brain for something to say that won’t upset her, “I appreciate that, but I need to get back home and-“

“Just let him help you, okay?”

Though her voice rises slightly at the end, it doesn’t feel like a question.

You know that there is no room for argument. Alys has maintained her calm appearance, yet her eyes are so expressive; the only part of her face that she can’t force into submission.

Their intensity make the hairs at the back of your neck rise, demanding you obey her.

She downs her glass before placing it on the desk, leaving you alone yet again in Aemond’s office.

It’s gotten dark now, the sole window in the room not providing much light anymore.

You continue to sip the wine in your glass as you lean against the desk next to you. The alcohol might provide you with some comfort; sooth your anxiety.

A soft knock on the door announces the presence of your next visitor.

Helaenas’ silver hair brightens up the dark room as she enters. She’s holding a flower crown in one hand, beautifully crafted with wildflowers you recognise from the bouquets always adorning the table outside.

“Hi”, she greets with a smile.

You nod back at her, still not quite sure how to appraise her.

She’s been one of the people you’ve felt closest to your entire life, yet she seems to approve of the mad things happening here.

How can she not see how humiliating Aemond’s actions during the sermon had been?

“I made this for you”, she says and hands you the flower crown.

As your hands touch, her fingers linger on yours, tips dragging over your knuckles with a feather-light touch.

“Thanks”, you reply curtly, not sure of what to say.

You want to ask Helaena for the way back to the train station.

Ask her to come back with you to Oldtown.

But she’s so different here. She overlooks so much, agrees to so much.

Always with a smile.

“Put it on”, she urges, hands moving to the flower crown to help you place it on your head. You want to protest but you’re so tired of it.

Tired of asking questions.

Tired of going against everyone.

“There”, she says with a smile as she regards you, face even brighter than before,

“You look so beautiful”

“Hel..”, you try, tongue coming out to lick your lips as you choose your words carefully.

She’s still your dear aunt; still Helaena.

“I want to go back home, Hel. We could go together, if you like?”

Despite trying to keep your voice even, you sound a little frantic.

“No you can’t leave now”, is all she replies, dismissing you. She doesn’t appear to be upset by your words though, lips still forming a warm smile.

“Hel, listen. What you’re doing here is not okay. Aemond maimed a man! And he humiliated me in front of everyone. Something’s wrong with him”

Your eyes dart all over her face and stature to assess her reaction to your words. You’re astonished by her indifference, almost like she’s not taking your words in.

She places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly as her eyes lock with yours,

“All actions have consequences. We’re all made aware of that here. Aemond only wants what’s best for us. He’s worked so hard to provide us with this. You should be thankful”

She leaves you alone in the room once more, and as she exits, you hear her secure the lock on the door from the outside.

By the time you hear someone unlock the door next, you’ve finished the glass of wine Alys gave you.

The room is now illuminated by nothing but the light of the moon shining through the window, casting a silver glow over the office.

Matching the man entering.

Aemond’s tall silhouette appears, instantly making you straighten up, dread washing over you.

He has been so volatile during your stay here, making you feel unease by the mere sight of him.

You can still hear chatter and what sounds like furniture being shuffled around outside as the door is left ajar by Aemond, who moves towards you.

He stands so close to you that his feet are touching yours.

His face is stern, looking at you down his nose. Fighting the fright within you, you meet his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of backing down too easily.

Still, you know that you’ll need to play your cards right, go along with the madness here momentarily, so that they’ll eventually let you go home.

“Why did you leave?”, he asks, eyes never leaving yours.

His voice is that unique mixture of being gentle and stern, demanding you obey him and tell him the truth.

“I tried to leave because of what you did to me during the sermon. What you did to Jon!”

You’re unable to hide the fear-laced irritation you feel at his audacity.

How could he expect you to stay? Wasn’t it obvious why you left?

“I might have been selfish for needing that apology, but it was necessary. Now we can move forward together”

He moves one of the hands he’s had clasped behind his back towards you, gently placing his it in yours.

Your gaze flickers down to where he’s holding you. Your hand looks so small and delicate in his large one. His touch is warm.

You scoff at his attempt to reconcile,

“Who said I’ve forgiven you for what you did?”

“You know you owed me an apology after leaving me alone with your vicious brothers that night”, Aemond says and he shuffles even closer to you,

“Do you think that what happened during the sermon can match the pain I felt when your brother took my eye?”

“N- no, but Aemond-"

“No. You’ll never understand the pain I’ve been through. But I’ve chosen to forgive you, and now we can move forward together”

His voice is slightly strained as he lectures you. His purple eye is piercing, and though you’d wanted to match his strength, you can’t help it when your eyes look down in shame.

“However”, he speaks in a lower tone, thumb moving to stroke the back of your hand,

“I am disappointed in your attempt to leave me and Helaena here without even granting us a proper goodbye”

“You’ll prosper here with us, but you’ll have to follow our rules. Dishonesty is not allowed, and your actions show that you attempted to act deceitfully".

His hand drops yours as he grabs your arms on both sides, swiftly turning you around and pushing on you back with a firm hand so that you're bent over his desk.

You’re too startled to fight back, letting out a yelp as you feel him tower over you from behind. He leans down over your body, hand still firmly on your back, pushing down,

“You have probably heard stories of whipping those who refuse to see the light. But I am no monster, so I will spare you from the whip”, he murmurs next to your ear, hand on your back trailing downwards,

“My hand will serve”

Before you’re able to reply, or even fully take in what he’s telling you, you feel his large palm make swift contact with your backside, the gesture causing a loud smack to echo through the quiet room.

You let out a startled cry in pain as you turn your head to face Aemond, confused betrayal reflected in how your mouth fall open and eyebrows rise.

His hand smooths over the material of your skirt where he’s just slapped you, somewhat soothing the painful sting on your skin.

“For being deceitful, I’ll give you five smacks. That’ll teach you to behave”,

The stoic gentleness of his voice borders on sounding amused as he takes in your shocked face.

Can you still play along?

What will happen if you resist?

While you’re trying to calculate your next move, Aemond’s hand land another harsh hit on your ass.

You sqeel from the pain, but quickly try to stifle the sounds coming out of your mouth.

Your painfully aware of the fact that he left the door ajar.

The residents outside might hear what’s happening. You feel tears well up in your eyes from the humiliation; from the stinging pain on your backside.

Aemond shushes you as he once again smooths his hand over your abused flesh in a comforting manner,

“You’re doing so well, my love” he tells you, eyes meeting yours once again.

You don’t understand why his words stifle the anxiety you feel, but they do.

“Only three more”, he states as he lands another stinging hit on your ass, even harsher then before.

You can’t hinder the tears that escape down your cheeks anymore.

“Good girl”, Aemond coos as he soothes your pain with his palm. Though the fabric of your skirt separates your skin from his, you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

Hearing him praise you shouldn’t sooth your pain, or make you feel better in the slightest, but it does.

You notice the soft look of satisfaction in his eye and you feel proud.

His hand lands on you quickly and you bite your lip desperately to not cry out. More tears slide down your cheek as you give Aemond a pleading look.

“Just one more, and then you’ve served your punishment”, he reassures you as he caresses your stinging flesh.

You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the last smack to land and when it does, you flinch before letting out a sigh of relief because you’d done it, you’d taken the punishment and now Aemond would be pleased with you.

The thought makes a warm sensation spread in your chest and when you open your tear-filled eyes, Aemond is already watching you with an expression that feels nothing less than loving.

While one hand stays on your backside to gently caress you, the other travels to you face, cupping your cheek. His thumb runs over your cheek, wiping away some of the wetness.

“You took your punishment so well. You make me proud”, he tells you, and his soft voice sounds so sincere. You lean into his touch on instinct, his palm providing comforting warmth to your cheek.

Being praised by him makes you feel happier than you’ve been in a long time.

It feels so good to be appreciated; to know you did something well. You can’t help but smile as your eyes lock with his. He smiles back at you.

“Now, I’ve got a surprise for you”, he tells you as he straightens up, grabbing your arm to link it with his. You know that there is more you need to talk about; more that’s unsaid. Yet, your mind feels fuzzy and you’re finding it hard to properly sort your thoughts out.

Aemond snakes his hand around your waist, pulling you closer to him and you lean into his warmth; it’s so comforting.

“Aemond, I-, I still need to know…”, your voice dies as you mentally search for a question.

What was it that made you leave?

Oh! Jon!

“Why did you cut Jons hand?”, you ask, hoping that the softness of your voice will prevent his impending irritation. You don’t think you could handle another punishment.

Aemond is quiet for some time, possibly pondering his response, before he speaks,

“Jon spoke out of turn, questioning my roles as the leader of this community. He now understands that everything I do is for the good of the commune and its residents”, he explains, arm still holding you by the side as his palm rests out on your stomach.

“Here in the commune, we know that scars tell a story; they remind us of our wrongdoings and guide us when we stray from the light of the Seven”

He stops in front of the door, turning slightly to look at you,

“You should be grateful I didn’t scar you, like I’ve done to others. Soon you’ll appreciate all that I've done for you”

He pushes the door to his office open, revealing the large hall where you’d been humiliated during Aemond’s sermon.

The residents of the commune are all facing you, watching you expectantly as you emerge from the office.

They’re all sitting on the exact same seats as before. The Sept is dark, illuminated only by the scarce moonlight shining through the seven-pointed star carved in the upper part of the buildings large walls, and by the candles lit across the room.

You see one of the residents standing by the altar where Aemond had stood during the sermon.

You recognise him as one of Aemond’s former professors in King’s Landing. The man is probably in his early to mid-sixties with grey specks clear in his brown locks. He offers you a smile as you approach with Aemond, his brown eyes warm and inviting,

“Welcome”

Aemond leads you to stand in front of the altar, arm still anchoring you to him.

“Is everything ready?”, your uncle inquires as his grip around you tightens.

“Yes. Let’s begin with the seven vows”, the elderly man says before reciting what sounds like a long prayer.

Having Aemond hold you makes you feel secure, and it takes you a while to really comprehend what is going on.

Why are the two of you standing here, instead of sitting with the other residents?

“Do you accept the seven vows, the seven blessings and the seven promises?”, he asks, warm eyes meeting yours.

“I do”, Aemond replies next to you, squeezing your waist in a silent command for you to do the same.

You turn to face him, brows furrowed in confusion.

What is it you’re agreeing to?

Aemond’s patience seems to run thin as you remain silent.

You notice his jaw twitch as he gives the resident in front of you a pointed look, prompting the man to respond in a quick nod before moving to join the onlookers.

Aemond turns to fully face you, yet he doesn’t move his arm, tugging you towards him so that your soft chest knocks against his.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my wife”, he says before he surges forward, crashing his lips against yours.

You stiffen in his grip, trying to back away from him but unable to move in his hold. You hear applause echo through the hall as Aemond retreats, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

You open your mouth to protest, but your voice is drowned out by the loud chanting of the onlooking residents,

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever”

They abruptly stand, chanting over and over as they move towards the large wooden doors of the entrance, going outside to leave you and Aemond alone in the Sept.

Even after the last person has left and closed the door, you can hear them chanting outside.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever”

The slight tranquillity you’d previously found comfort in vanishes as you search Aemond’s face for an explanation; an answer as to what is going on.

His hand cups your cheek again, the loving look he’d offered you before you left his office still present,

“Your decision to leave tells me that you are lost. I’ll help you. I’ll help you see the light again”

You’re lost for words.

“I’m doing this for you. I know how much you crave to be loved. I’ll give you that. Just trust me”

His reassurance does little to calm your nerves as you feel dread pool in your gut.

“But Aemond, not like this, we can’t-”, you protest weakly. Despite the uneasiness taking root inside of you, your body betrays you as it still leans into the touch of his hand.

“I know how to fix you, just like I fixed Helaena”, he comforts you. His seeing eye seeks yours, silently inciting you to trust him,

“You were made for me, and I for you. I know you’ve been feeling lost for a long time. My uncle told me how depressed you were in Oldtown”

“The mother blessed women with wombs to heal their inner sadness. Becoming a mother will heal you”,

He pushes your body against the altar,

“We need to consummate our marriage, or it won’t be recognised by the Seven”

You feel dread settle in your bones as you take in his word.

“No, Aemond, please-, this is wrong! What would our mothers say?”, you desperately try to reason, panic making your breath quicker as he places his hands on either side of you on the altar; caging you in.

He lowers his head so closely that your noses touch, eye never straying away from yours,

“They’ll understand”

His lips find yours again. You know kissing him is wrong, yet your body melts into his touch as his soft lips press against yours.

Maybe they would understand?

Aemond’s tongue gently swipes over your lower lip, pushing to gain access. As he deepens the kiss, his hands travel down to your skirt, gathering the fabric in his grip before breaking away from you.

You’re both breathing heavily as you stay frozen, taking in each other's expressions. A thin line of translucent spit connects your lips and you notice Aemond’s eye flicker down to watch your kiss-swollen lips.

The conflicting emotions within you rage like the worst of storms, making your head spin. Aemond’s gentle prodding had successfully made you into putty in his hands, yet the uneasy feeling from before remains, steering you away from his control.

“No, no. We can’t, this has already gone too fa-”, you’re abruptly startled to silence as Aemond swiftly sinks down to his knees, pushing up the fabric of your skirt to expose your underwear.

You try to push your legs together but one of his hands quickly dart out to pull down the small piece of fabric separating your skin from his.

You place your hands on both sides of his head in an attempt to push him away, but his face moves towards your exposed centre with determination.

He grabs ahold of the outside of your thighs as he pushes your body towards his face, tongue immediately finding your bundle of nerves, swiping over it in rhythmic circles. Your grip on his head tightens as you push with all your strength for him to back away, but to no avail. He buries his face further into the apex of your thighs as he grips your tights painfully, fingertips leaving colourful marks of ownership.

You whine from the pain; from the pleasure building inside of you as Aemond forces your body into submission. He manhandles your right leg so that it rests on his shoulder, giving him further access to assault you with his mouth.

He sucks on your clit as he brings two fingers up to slide through your folds; the ease of which they glide lets him know the effect his touch has on you.

His fingers find your entrance, pushing inside to instantaneously curl forward, finding that spot inside you that always brings you waves of pleasure. You let out a startled moan as your hands go limp around Aemond’s head, simply resting there.

You close your eyes, violent pleasure making it hard for you to think clearly, just like how you’d felt in his office a few days ago.

Why does he have this effect on you? Why is he so good at this?

Why does it feel so good?

Another pathetic moan leaves your lips as he picks up the speed of his actions, purple and sapphire gaze watching you intently. You close your eyes once again, internally surrendering to his touch.

You want it. You need it.

You feel something ignite within you just as your peak crashes over you. The intensity makes your walls clench around Aemond’s fingers as you gasp in pleasure. Your legs shake from the force and you grab onto his hair for some stability.

He withdraws from you, slightly out of breath, and stands, large frame looming over you.

“No one else makes you feel as good as I do, no one else sees you like I do. We have found each other through the guidance of the seven, can’t you see that? We were meant to be”, he says and grabs your waist to hoists your slack body up on the altar.

He pushes your thighs apart, reaching down to undo his slacks and pulls them down just enough to free his length. It is just as intimidating as it had been yesterday; thick, veiny and ragingly red.

“You want this, I know you do”, he says before pushing inside you, causing you to whine at the stretch. You feel so full, and the impact of your orgasm makes your head feel fuzzy; like you’re floating away. Your walls contract around Aemond and he moans as he lowers his head to rest in the crook of your neck.

“You feel just as perfect as I knew you would”, he whispers in your ear. He draws his hips back, pushing them into yours with such force that your body jolts on the altar. You try to hold on to him with every harsh thrust, but your limbs feel too weak. It all feels so overwhelming, so good, that you can’t bite your lip hard enough to hinder the moans that bounce around the seven walls of the Sept.

One of Aemonds hands come down to draw circles on your clit once more. He pulls back slightly to watch you; to take in your pleasure-drunk expression.

“Let them hear you”, He presses down on your bundle of nerves harsher, still dragging his cock in strong, calculated movements along your walls.

The precision of his touch pushes you towards another peak, but when you feel it nearing, he withdraws completely, eyes flickering down to briefly admire the coat of your slickness adorning his manhood.

He grabs your hips, pulls you down from the altar and turns you around so that you’re facing away from him. Like in his office mere moments ago, he pushes on your back so that your chest makes contact with the wooden surface. He lets his cock glide through your folds before he leans down to mumble in your ear,

“Tell me what you want”

Robbing you of release has left you confused. Resigned and desperate, you let the throbbing between your thighs guide you,

“You, Aemond. I want you”

He pushes inside you again with a pleased grunt, picking up the pace quickly as he fucks you against the holy pedestal. Your hands grab both sides as it rocks in tandem with Aemond’s thrusts. His hand finds you clit again and this time you peak within seconds, pleasure washing over you as your legs turn into jelly.

You feel your legs give in, causing you to slide down on the floor. Aemond doesn’t let you go as he keeps fucking you, following you down to the floor. Your upper body jolts from the force of his movements, slowly slipping down to make contact with the cold stone floor.

He leans over you, pounding into you with force. One of his hands comes to rest above you on the altar, allowing him to fuck you harder, and you whine on the floor beneath him,

“Fucking take it”, he grunts as he goes harder, the contact of his hip bone against your abused backside sending stings of pain through your body.

His fingers find your clit again and you moan in pain-filled pleasure at the overstimulation, one hand reaching for his to push it away.

Aemond tuts behind you, “One more. Be good and give me one more”

You try to turn your head so that you can face him, but you’re unable to move, trapped under his body as he takes his pleasure from you. All you can do is take it; give in.

You cry out as you cum for the third time. Your walls clench down on Aemond’s length vigorously as they coax his release from him. You hear him sigh in pleasure as he fills you.

After a few moments, he pulls away from you, fingers moving to stuff whatever spend has trickled down your thigh back inside. You hiss at the pain. He whispers a gentle apology in your ear, helping you pull your underwear back up.

He stands and reaches down under the altar, picking up the flower crown that had fallen from your head sometime during the consummation. His fingers grasp it gently, placing it back on your head.

He looks so beautiful standing in front of you, the soft light from the candles and the silvery glimmer from the moonlight illuminating his features. He gives you another quick kiss before leading you out of the Sept to greet the residents still gathered outside.

As the two of you emerge from the building, beaming smiles, loud congratulations and well wishes for a prosperous future greet you and your husband.

Aemond never lets go of you, keeping you close to him as he chats with the residents; explaining his vision for the commune moving forward and the new role you’ll play as a permanent resident.

Somewhere inside, you know that you should feel ashamed over what just occurred; over the fact that the residents probably heard the entire ordeal as they patiently waited for you outside.

But all you can feel is bliss; a pleasant calm spreading from your chest. Heating up your insides.

Your life before now had been a long struggle, where you were forced to suffer. Forced to part from your closest childhood friend, forced to pursue a career to feel adequate, forced to live a mundane life in isolation.

Aemond pulls you away from the crowd, leaning down to whisper in your ear,

“Look up”

You see bright, green streaks of light decorate the dark night sky, accompanied by thousands of stars. It is the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

Aemond tugs you even closer to his side, resting his chin on your head as you silently admire the northern lights together. All you can feel is his warmth, the safety of being in someone’s embrace. Of being in Aemond’s embrace.

It’s warm.

Comforting.

Freeing.

Thank you for reading! 🩵

[ceoofglytchell]

Butterfly

| Prequel |

Summary: That fateful night on Driftmark Aegon has made a promise to you, one that he has even once never forgotten, while you were gone. However now six years later you return to him and- gods be good- he is going to make that promise a reality and he most certainly won't let you leave him another time.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Strong!Niece!Reader

Word count: 4214 words

Warnings: incest, Reader is described of having Strong like features, Reader is Rhaenyra's and Harwin's second child, fluff, angst, longing, thoughts of major dubcon (it’s only a thought and does not really happen), kinda miscommunication, hurt/comfort, allusions to smut, aegon being miserable, no mention of Y/N

Notes: I was not feeling good last week, but I am back now with this piece here, but I’m not sure if it’s good. But, as always, feedback and criticism is always appreciated and please remember that english is not my native language. Enjoy 💛

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"I promise that one day I will marry you."

Never once in your life have you forgotten the promise that your uncle Aegon had given you six years ago on the shores of Driftmark. Yes, he was drunk, and yes, he knew that your families would never let a union between the two of you come to be, but a boy could dream. At least that was how he had justified the vow later on when you had to separate the following morning.

You have always wished that your beloved uncle would fulfill his very promise one day, but unfortunately the chance got slimmer and slimmer the more years passed and the more protective your mother has gotten over you, because as Rhaenyra's first and only daughter nothing was easy.

You were born with brown curls and hazel eyes like your brothers, making the sin your mother had committed all the more obvious to anyone else, a walking reminder of her carelessness. However you were born much smaller in comparison to your brothers and even as you grew you remained petite and delicately looking, which caused Rhaenyra to fuss over you like a mother hen constantly, as if she feared you to be a porcelain doll that could shatter into a million pieces with just a touch. She certainly treated you this way.

Aegon however has always seen the watchful eyes and silent warning glances of his half-sister to be more of a challenge than an actual prohibition.

The prince had always been enamored with you, his little niece, but he has always bottled up all his hidden feelings for you within himself so it was only natural that one time where he had swallowed down cup after cup of dornish wine and you sat by him and held his hand after he had been scolded by his grandsire, the words spilled out of his mouth like a river.

He had barely been able to remember it the next morning, but as he saw the flush on your cheeks when he stood before you to say his goodbyes, he knew that you knew. It was either a curse or a blessing, but even as he had watched you leave with your mother, brothers, and a few of the servants, he had known that he would see you again one day and if he did, he would take you as his wife.

You were not sure what you had imagined when you and your family returned to King’s Landing after so many years to assure yourselves that Lucery's claim to the island of Driftmark was defined and would not be contested, but no matter how easy this task seemed to be on the first look, you quickly learned that this was not the case. Vaemond Velaryon and your great-aunt Rhaenys had also come.

However, their presence brought you less out of the concept than to see Aemond beating Ser Criston during sparring on the courtyard as if the man was nothing but a normal knight and not a loyal and trusted member of the King’s Guard. His cold look, when he had seen you and your brothers, made a shiver run down your back and a spark of fear set its roots within yourself, even if you had nothing to do with the tragic loss of his eye.

On that dark night you were with Aegon when it had happened. The older prince had drunken too many cups of wine and stumbled down the stairs that led down to the beach and hit his head. You had sat with him afterwards and watched over him, while he had clung to you as if you were the very last thing that kept him rooted to this world and that kept him from loosing himself to the darkness within his heart.

And then he had given you that promise. That one terrible promise that has been on your mind every single day, which had taken a special place in the depths of your heart. He had promised to marry you and you knew that he would do it, if you would get permission, which you doubted, however, because your mother wanted nothing to do with her half-siblings whatsoever.

You were reminded of said promise when you faced him again in the throne room after six long years; He and his family dressed in Hightower green and gold and you with yours in Targaryen red and black. The difference could not be greater and the tension that lay in the hall could be felt by everyone.

You tried to stick to your mother's words, you really did, but over and over again your warm gaze found his and every time you caught him staring right back at you, an unknown glimmer in his amethyst colored eyes, which you neither could nor wanted to explain.

However, things escalated quickly and your mother quickly pulled you out of the throne room by the arm, leaving the headless body of Vaemond Velaryon behind on the cold stone floor, for which your stepfather was responsible, the word 'bastards' echoing in your ears. It was not easy to be confronted with the truth after all these years, which your mother tried to hide so convulsively, although it was obviously in everyone's eyes and the entire realm knew the truth of your parentage.

Your shocked eyes found those from Aegon before you vanished behind the doors and you immediately knew that this was not the last time you would see him that evening- and you were right.

Your maids, who were also some of your closest friends at the same time, were currently dressing you for dinner when it suddenly knocked on the heavy wooden doors to your chambers, which still looked exactly the same before you had been forced to leave back then. Without having allowed him to come inside, Aegon stepped into the privacy of your old chambers, which were illuminated with flickering candles, whereupon the servants stopped tugging uncomfortably on your hair and stepped away from you, bowing their heads as was custom.

"You may leave us," you told the other women, whereupon they all looked at you with a questioning frown.

"But princess-" "Please, I can do it."

Neither you nor the maids knew really whether you meant your hair or the prince who stared at you without having lost a word so far, which was extremely untypical for your uncle. However, the cup of wine in his right hand was familiar and you immediately became painfully aware of how much you had missed him.

The moment the doors fell shut again and you both were alone in the room and actually stood in front of each other for the first time again in six years, a bright grin broke out on his face and he slowly took a few steps to get closer to you. "Welcome home, little butterfly."

You didn't know exactly what it was; the nickname, his voice, which had matured, or the fact that you finally looked at him again after such a long time, but you couldn't help but close the distance between you two and jump right into his arms.

Aegon was surprised for a brief moment, but he immediately returned your gesture and wrapped his arms around you as well and pressed your slender body tightly against his, burying his nose into your long brown curls, which were half put together into a braid, which was not finished, because you had sent your handmaidens out of the room as soon as you had laid your eyes on him.

He could hear how a quiet, content sigh escaped your lips, whereupon he felt himself relax in your embrace and he felt his grip around his golden cup of wine loosen slightly as if you were the sole cure for the addiction he had developed. After all these years and although you both have grown and changed, you still fit perfectly against him like the last piece of a puzzle that had finally found its rightful place.

"You cut your hair," you noticed with an audible smile in your gentle voice and you immediately snuggled closer to him as if the sole thought of being parted from him for a second time was unthinkable for you.

"And you have grown- if only a little."

You hit him playfully against his shoulder and leaned back a little so that you could look him into his lilac eyes, which you noticed no longer held the same glint as they had back then. In addition, deep dark circles under his eyes adorned his handsome face and he had become even paler, which was why you feared that you needed to worry about his health. He also looked very much tired. However, these little details did not change the fact that the man in front of you was as beautiful as he had been back then if not more.

"Still feisty, I see, butterfly."

"You did not forget it," you noticed with an almost melancholic smile on your rosy lips. Ever since you were children and a small white butterfly had landed on your head in the Godswood, which would happen two or three times more over time, he called you by the name of the animal, since you were probably just as fragile and delicate, you mused. At the beginning you did not really enjoy it, but over time you wanted to hear him say it over and over again- now too.

"Of course not. I would never forget you, my darling."

"Stop it." You looked down onto the ground so that he would not see the obvious blush on your cheeks, but he did regardless. As for you, he paid attention to everything, every little detail.

"I did not forget my promise to you either." The prince said and stroked with one hand over the length of your arm, which was covered by a silken red sleeve. Actually, you did not want to wear a red dress to dinner, as it would only illustrate the fronts between the two sides of your families, but your mother insisted on it. You personally have always preferred lighter colors.

"Really? You appeared to be very much... drunk when you gave it to me, Aegon." You carefully replied while you hesitantly grabbed his hand, the contact igniting a feeling of warmth in you, which you had been longing for as well.

"I was drunk, that much is true. However, I always am and I remember very well that I said that I would marry you."

"This was so long ago-" you said with a quick shake of the head, because you knew that time did not change anything about what he felt for you and what you felt for him. A marriage between the two of you would never be agreed to, even if you could not imagine marrying someone other than him. The hatred between the two sides of your family was just too big and your love would not mend the crack again.

"No, I am serious. Be my wife, please. There is no day that I did not think of you and wanted you to be by my side." He reached for your hands and held them firmly in his own as if that alone could convince you to marry him without further ado and preferably that evening right after having had dinner. He would not allow you to get betrothed, because then he would lose the opportunity to have the only person who has ever taken care of him and who has actually listened to what he had to say. If you were not there, he was miserable- the last few years have been proof of it.

On the other hand, you were completely perplexed and overwhelmed with the situation. You wanted him. He was the only one who had never treated you like a fragile doll or a mindless duckling, but just like a girl like any other and you liked that. You did not want to be considered weak by everyone- of all the dragons you rode Silverwing, by the gods, you were not weak. It was bad enough that you were a dragon rider and your mother did not allow you to ride as much as you would have liked.

Unfortunately, the truth was that Rhaenyra and Alicent would never agree to a union between him and you. They would rather die or burn in the seven hells and you wanted to save yourself the pain that would follow if you asked and the two older women would vehemently forbid it even if nothing spoke against it and it would actually serve to strengthen House Targaryen for future generations. Unfortunately, it was more likely that at some point he would marry one of the daughters of Lord Baratheon or his own sister Helaena and that you would have to marry Lord Cregan Stark eventually.

"You don't know me anymore. If you excuse me, my prince, I have to continue preparing myself for dinner now.”

With a jerk you pulled your hands out of his and sat down at your dressing table, trying to ignore him and push him away from you, because you would not be able to allow your feelings for him to bloom now and in the end you would have to spend your life with another. You would not be able to bear it. The prince looked at you with an expression of utter disbelief on his features, until then a flicker of anger crossed his gaze and he stormed out of your chambers without hesitation, the door falling shut so loudly that it made you flinch.

You just wanted to protect him as well as yourself.

Later at dinner you watched Aegon drowning himself in alcohol and staring at his plate without touching the food at all. Aemond, who sat on the other side of the table, stared at your siblings and you at all times, not letting you out of his sight, until it suddenly escalated and a single toast made everyone become aware of how fragile the bond that held your family together actually was.

Shortly afterwards, your mother informed you that you would return to dragonstone the very next morning and you felt right in your decision to have pushed away the man for whom you had deeper feelings for. It was better for both of you. At least that was what you kept telling yourself.

You told that to yourself when you came back to your rooms and found them empty and dark, you told yourself when you sat alone in front of the fireplace and loosened your braids, when you undressed, put on a light nightgown, and you kept repeating it to yourself when you climbed in bed at last and slowly began to fall into a peaceful sleep. You would not be able to bear the pain that would follow if you allowed yourself to actually be with him.

Aegon still felt the taste of dornish wine on his tongue and its effects clouding his senses when he stood in the middle of the night in the darkness of your bedchambers and stared down at your sleeping form in your bed, the moonlight that fell through the windows illuminating your soft features like you were the very image of the Maiden. He was slightly shaky on his feet and he was well aware that he should not be here, but he just could not control himself. Your rejection before dinner and the way you refused to speak a single word to him while you had sat beside each other had robbed him of his last bit of sanity and he just had to know what you felt.

He had a simple plan; slipping inside your rooms unnoticed, tainting your honor and showing his mother the proof of it in the morning, because then she would have to agree to a union just like his half-sister, since you would ruined for any other man. His plan had been so simple, he would just have to tear the blanket right of you, push your nightgown up to your hips and take his pleasure, but when he approached the edge of your bed and saw how peaceful you looked like sleeping, he could not bring himself to do it.

The prince felt a lump forming in his throat, his heart becoming heavy and he could not help but kneel on the floor next to the bed, while he buried his face next to yours in the pillow in the hope that you would not notice the tears of shame burning in his eyes. You should just sleep on and never find out that he was even here. He was a monster for even thinking of ruining you.

He sobbed into your plush pillows, his hands fisting the silken bed sheets tightly when he suddenly felt something stirring beside him on the mattress, but he did not raise his head just yet. He did not want to look you in the eye after what he had originally come for.

"Uncle? What happened?"

Your gentle voice was like a balm for his soul, but he still continued to quietly sob into your pillows. You did not even ask why he was here, but what had happened. Even now you took care of him, although you had wanted to distance yourself from him a few hours ago for a reason that he simply could and would not understand.

"What have I done? Why are you pushing me away from you? What has changed?”

You quickly rubbed the remnants of sleep out of your eyes and you began to caress his back with your small hands, which made a shiver run down his spine and the tears on his wet cheeks slowly started to dry because no new ones fell, at least not right now. Like always, your touch calmed him.

"Why are you here?" You asked him instead of giving him an answer to his previous questions, because you could not tell him the truth. To see how the man you loved cried on the edge of your bed because of something that you had done when you had actually just wished to protect him from that very pain was making your heart shatter into a thousand pieces. You did not want to feel this pain nor did you want him to experience it. What have you done?

"Don't go," he murmured and finally raised his head slightly again to look at you with his reddened, swollen eyes, even if the room was dark and both of you could barely make each other out in the dark.

"Don't leave me a second time, please. Not again... don’t do this to me."

You sighed and sat up in bed, because this was exactly what you had not wanted to happen. His sensitivity was no secret to you and you knew how much you meant to him and how much he meant to you. Your mother had decided that you would return to dragonstone and you could not argue against her decision after what had happened today at dinner. Your house was more fragile than ever and if the others were to find out what you felt for each other, it would be the stone that would set a giant chaos into motion. It would be the end of Haus Targaryen as you knew it.

"Go away, Aegon," you murmured and sat down in such a way that your knees were pressed against your chest and your arms were wrapped around your legs as if you wanted to give yourself a hug to comfort yourself.

“No, please ... darling, don’t," whimpered the older prince and climbed next to you on the soft mattress, desperately searching for your gaze and your closeness. He wanted to pull you into him, love you and never let you go again even for a small second, because you were the only thing in this world that gave him something akin to a glimmer of hope, a light in the deepest darkness of his broken soul.

"Butterfly…"

"Don't call me that!" You suddenly spat at him loudly, which immediately made him wince and made hot tears burn in his eyes once more, threatening to spill over his pale cheeks.

You have never been angry with him before. Never.

"I love you! Don't you see that? I love you so much, but I cannot live with the pain of loving a man that I cannot call my own.”

That was it. The words and the truth were out and he had heard them. His suffering broke your heart, but he deserved to hear these three words from you at least once. You loved him, you truly did, but a miracle would need to happen so that you would be able to live out your love. It was not his fault, nor was it yours, as it was the hatred that has been burning between your mothers for years- a hatred that would probably never vanish.

Aegon was speechless. For a moment he just shook his head in disbelief, which made his white curls fall over his forehead, but it did not prevent him from looking into your beautiful face and seeing in the desperate look in your dark eyes that you were serious. "But I already am yours, am I not?"

"Aegon..." Your shoulders sagged even further down and you pushed your legs even further against your upper body, the sight of it making him miserable, because he did not want to imagine what would have happened had he actually went through with his plan and he would have taken you without your consent and made you his without warning. You would probably have shouted and fought back and he could never have forgiven himself for it and you would never have forgiven him either. No, he was glad that he had not done it.

He carefully approached your trembling shape on the bed and he tenderly wrapped his arms around you and pressed you against him as firmly as he could. Now you started to sob into his shoulder bitterly and he started to slowly rock you back and forth, while he buried his nose into your brown hair like he had done earlier, because your scent always seemed to calm him down, but your hair was also a sign for everyone else that you should not exist and that you, being a bastard, would be monstrous by nature, but he could not care about that in the slightest. You were beautiful on the inside and outside and one day he would prove it to you- perhaps even tonight.

"Marry me?" Back then it was a promise, now it was a serious question and he meant it with every fiber of his body. You were meant to be his wife, even if your love would be a scandal in the eyes of the gods, but he has never been a religious man anyways.

"I can't, uncle, I can't."

Aegon started to place soft and slow kisses on the top of your head. He began his exploration on your hair, then wandered down to your forehead, brushing his lips over your eyebrows, over your cheeks, which were wet from the tears that you shed for him until he reached your own lips, which looked so soft and inviting that he could hardly hold back.

"Marry me." He whispered against your lips and he looked for your gaze to see what was going through your head. Your eyes had always been the mirror to your soul.

His voice, his pleading tone, his warm breath that stroked your face, and the sudden closeness to him was just too much for you.

You do not dare to say it, but a simple, barely noticeable nod on your part was enough and the prince kissed you as if his life depends on it, his hands wandering over every centimeter of your body while he gently pushed you to lay on your back and he hovered over you, not separating his mouth from you for even a split second.

The rest of the night you both drowned in a sea of desire and pleasure, years of wanting and yearning coming to its climax. At some point, his hands had sneaked under the fabric of your nightgown, undressed you, while you had returned the favor at the same time, whereupon he had not lost any time to show you what it would mean to be his wife and you enjoyed every single second of it.

Neither Aegon nor you really listened to the argument that followed the next morning after your maid had told Rhaenyra who she had found laying next to you in your bed and what had to have happened at night based on the red stain on your sheets. Insults got thrown around, voices became louder, but you merely snuggled closer to your lover, who protectively wrapped an arm around your waist and leaned his head to yours while a feeling of happiness flooded him.

You were his now and neither his mother nor yours could ever take you away from him ever again. It was too late for that now.

Love was often said to be the death of duty and Aegon Targaryen would not give a single shit about duty for the rest of his life if it meant he got to forever hold you in his arms like this and love you like you deserved.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

[evidence-based-activism]

Individual men aren't equally predisposed to committing rape. men are approximately 49% of the population and commit 80% of violent crime. The correlation to testosterone to physical aggression is indisputable -- this correlation between masculinization and aggression exists even in women.

These antisocial behaviors are the subverted, shadow aspect to the more predominant masculine (even in masculine women) urge to provide and protect, which entails necessary and selective objectification and aggression.

“There is no female Mozart because there is no female Jack the Ripper.” is what Camille Paglia said. Genius, she argues, takes obsession, which produces good and bad talents and skills. Women fall in the middle of the IQ spectrum and men on the ends.

Social forces are certainly at play, but I want to stay focused. trauma or other external factors may serve to explain, but not excuse behavior. Feminine crime is more likely to be focused on family -- children, partners, elders, and others in the immediate family.

https://time.com/2921491/hope-solo-women-violence/

Women are at least equally as likely as men to initiate DV. 40% of victims in a DV study in America were men. Women are at least as likely as men to abuse their children and are the perpetrators in at least half of child maltreatment cases. Lesbian couples also have the highest rate of DV -- 44%, compared to 35% of straight women and 26% of gay men.

Anecdotally speaking, I was abused physically and psychologically by my mother, who was abused physically and psychologically by both her parents. I was also SA'd by a man. Both sexes have their share of degenerates who harm others. Whether their personalities or social experiences are masculine, feminine, or somewhere in between likely has an effect on how they express their violence. Everyone who commits a crime against another should be held accountable, I just disagree with the dichotomy that men are assumed to be perps and women are assumed to be victims.

I'm going to respond to this in parts.

"Individual men aren't equally predisposed to committing rape."

No, no one is ever equally predisposed to anything since that would require the confluence of innumerable, mostly unknown, factors. I have never made this claim; I don't of anyone who has ever made this claim.

"Men are approximately 49% of the population and commit 80% of violent crime."

This technically true in the USA [1]. However, it also leaves out the fact that men account for closer to 90% of homicide offenders in the USA and closer to 95% of homicides worldwide [2]. And those statistics don't even consider the fact that many female homicide offenders were acting in self defense. Men also account for closer to 90-95% of all sex offenders [3].

That is to say, a greater proportion of women's offenses are "simple assault" than men's [4]. (Simple assault is generally defined as either a threat of physical harm without any actual harm or minor acts of assault without resulting injury like slapping someone, grabbing their arm, or spitting on them.)

All in all, men commit the vast majority of violent crime and an even larger proportion of serious violent crime.

"The correlation to testosterone to physical aggression is indisputable -- this correlation between masculinization and aggression exists even in women."

No, no it is not, and no it does not.

This meta-analysis [5] found a correlation of 0.08 between testosterone and aggression. To be clear, a correlation score can range from -1 to +1, with -1 indicating a perfect negative correlation, +1 indicating a perfect positive correlation, and 0 indicating no correlation. A correlation of 0.08 is an extremely weak correlation.

Another, more recent, meta-analysis [6] found a 0.05 correlation between aggression and testosterone and no statistically significant causal effect of testosterone on aggression. Changes in testosterone were weakly correlated with aggression (0.16) and this was only in men. Importantly, this result may have been influenced by publication bias (see the study for details). Again, to be clear, they found no evidence of a causal connection between testosterone and aggression.

The lack causal connection is important, as some research as presented in this review [7] and meta-analysis [8], suggests that behavior/external events (like winning a competition) can increase testosterone. This raises an important question: can acting/being aggressive independently raise testosterone? If so, (and it does appear likely) then men who choose to act aggressive may be raising their testosterone levels; when recorded in a correlational format this results in the positive (albeit weak) correlation discussed above.

Here's some other, single study results:

In women, performing (acting out) a performance of power, whether in a traditionally masculine or feminine way, increased their level of testosterone [9]

In men, testosterone increases both pro-social and anti-social "status enhancing" behaviors [10]

Testosterone is associated with both "socially dominant [note: not necessarily aggressive] behavior among high-status persons, but strategic submission to seniority among lower-status persons" in men [11]

Testosterone is associated with greater pro-social behavior in women [12]

In an animal (male gerbil) model, testosterone caused prosocial behavior depending on "current social context" [13]

All in all, the correlation between testosterone and aggression is (1) not indisputable, (2) extremely weak, and (3) doesn't appear to apply to women.

"These antisocial behaviors are the subverted, shadow aspect to the more predominant masculine (even in masculine women) urge to provide and protect, which entails necessary and selective objectification and aggression."

Anon ... no. First of all, you appear to be treating "masculine" behavior as if it is biologically innate - for which there is no evidence - rather than socially determined.

You act as if women have not been "providing" since women existed. As if women haven't been involved in growing and domesticating plants and animals, haven't been taking care of children, haven't been growing and giving birth to all the children in history. Even the traditional "feminine" role emphasizes "providing" and "nurturing" the family.

I have the exact same comments for "protect", but more importantly: protect from what anon? From the weather? Bears? Disease? No. It's men. Men protect women from other men and then expect us to be grateful, as if it isn't men who have created the need for protection.

Beyond all that: even if the "masculine urge to provide and protect" were a real thing (and not something women have always been involved in), it still would not necessitate the "selective objectification and aggression". This argument isn't even logical ... why would "providing" need objectification? If there were no aggression what would be left to protect?

"There is no female Mozart ... "

Absolutely hilarious example to choose, anon. Meet, the female Mozart: Maria Anna “Nannerl” Mozart (his sister) [14].

And here's some other female contemporaries of Mozart [15]. I suggest Google as a resource to find more.

"...because there is no female Jack the Ripper."

While it is true that the number of male serial killers does outnumber female serial killers (and the disparity is even wider for those who kill specifically for sadism), there have, in fact, been some.

"Genius, she argues, takes obsession, which produces good and bad talents and skills. Women fall in the middle of the IQ spectrum and men on the ends."

I find the argument that obsession -> genius to be very concerning, and don't expect there are any sources on that. In particular, serial killer IQs tend to follow the same range as non-serial killers (source in last linked post).

And no, the idea that women fall in the middle of the IQ spectrum is not supported by high quality evidence.

This extensive multi-country review [16] on math performance found that the "variance ratio" (the measure for what you're describing) varies widely between countries and is related to social inequality. This suggests the differences in variance are a result of environmental not innate differences.

This longitudinal study [17] claims to find differences in girl's and boy's IQ scores, but the differences found are within the margin of error of the test. This means that a sex difference is unlikely to exist, and is, at the very least, not reliably measurable. It also suggests that any difference in the variance of IQ scores, is very small. (And see above for possible alternative explanations of this difference.)

"Social forces are certainly at play"

Yes, as indicated above.

"but I want to stay focused."

Focused on what??

"trauma or other external factors may serve to explain, but not excuse behavior."

Agreed (mostly). They may serve as a partial explanation yes, but people can experience trauma or other hardships without engaging in violence.

"Feminine crime is more likely to be focused on family -- children, partners, elders, and others in the immediate family." + [The link]

Correct, most crime by women is aimed at people they know. See above posts (when I spoke about homicide) for further discussion on this.

The link is an anecdotal source on this topic, again, refer to my earlier discussions.

"Women are at least equally as likely as men to initiate DV. 40% of victims in a DV study in America were men. Women are at least as likely as men to abuse their children and are the perpetrators in at least half of child maltreatment cases."

This is completely false. The idea that women perpetrate domestic violence or child abuse at similar rates as men, is a misogynistic myth.

See this post for an explanation. Also, this source [18] discusses the topic of women and domestic violence perpetration; I plan to eventually make a post on this topic, but in the meantime that source is an excellent place to start.

"Lesbian couples also have the highest rate of DV -- 44%, compared to 35% of straight women and 26% of gay men."

This is also a myth. A misogynistic and homophobic myth.

I'm not sure where you got those specific numbers, but I believe the origin of the myth started in the one of the CDC's reports on "Victimization by Sexual Identity" [19]. See this post for an explanation on why you shouldn't use this data to try and estimate perpetration. (Short version: it isn't weighted to be representative of the perpetrator population.) For the intimate partner violence portion in particular, it shares the same issues I describe in my post debunking the last two myths (i.e., reliance on the CTS and issues there within.)

More importantly, they don't report on the sex of the perpetrator for domestic violence, so we also have no idea if the lifetime prevalence rate of domestic violence is a result of prior relationships with a man. Data on other forms of victimization support the possibility, with 73% of lesbian victims reporting only male perpetrators of any contact sexual violence and 90% of lesbian victims reporting only male perpetrators of rape. In addition, 52% of lesbian victims report only male perpetrators of stalking.

This BJS report "Violent Victimization by Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity, 2017–2020" [20] shows a similar rate of intimate partner violence for homosexual and heterosexual individuals. Importantly, however, this combines male and female homosexual individuals into one category, so we don't know the specific rate for female homosexuals.

"Anecdotally speaking, I was abused physically and psychologically by my mother, who was abused physically and psychologically by both her parents. I was also SA'd by a man."

This is terrible, and I hope you are safe and able to heal.

"Both sexes have their share of degenerates who harm others."

Sure, I mentioned the female serial killers. Notably, however, if you take a random sample of "degenerates who harm others" the vast majority are men.

"Whether their personalities or social experiences are masculine, feminine, or somewhere in between likely has an effect on how they express their violence."

I do not know what you mean by this. Socialization definitely plays a significant role in why men are so much more violent than women, but "feminine" men can and have been as violent as "masculine" men and "masculine" women have been as non-violent as "feminine" women.

"Everyone who commits a crime against another should be held accountable"

Yes.

"I just disagree with the dichotomy that men are assumed to be perps and women are assumed to be victims."

Anon, you started this ask by acknowledging that men commit 80% of violent crime (and I clarified that men commit 90+% of serious violent crime). This disparity is significant enough that it is perfectly reasonable to treat violent crime as a gendered phenomenon.

There are always exceptions and outliers. The existence of these cases does not invalidate the trend, nor should they deter the generalizations needed for meaningful class analysis.

Now, if you want to advocate against violence in general, draw attention to "male-on-male" violence and work to reduce it, that's also reasonable, and I wish you luck with your endeavor. (In all likelihood, feminist activism will - and already has - reduced male-on-male violence, even when it wasn't a specific target.)

But you still need to acknowledge that violence is primarily the domain of men. You also need to recognize that feminism is a movement by and for women. Our focus will always be male violence against women.

References below the cut:

Alexandra Thompson & Susannah N. Tapp. (2023). Criminal victimization, 2022 (307089; Criminal Victimization). Bureau of Justice Statistics. https://bjs.ojp.gov/library/publications/criminal-victimization-2022

Homicide and Gender. (2015). UNODC United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime.

McCartan, K. (Ed.). (2014). Responding to Sexual Offending. Palgrave Macmillan UK. https://doi.org/10.1057/9781137358134

Lawrence A. Greenfeld & Tracy L. Snell. (2000). Women Offenders. Bureau of Justice Statistics. https://bjs.ojp.gov/library/publications/women-offenders

Archer, John, et al. “Testosterone and Aggression: A Reanalysis of Book, Starzyk, and Quinsey’s (2001) Study.” Aggression and Violent Behavior, vol. 10, no. 2, Jan. 2005, pp. 241–61. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1016/j.avb.2004.01.001.

Geniole, S. N., et al. “Is Testosterone Linked to Human Aggression? A Meta-Analytic Examination of the Relationship between Baseline, Dynamic, and Manipulated Testosterone on Human Aggression.” Hormones and Behavior, vol. 123, July 2020, p. 104644. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1016/j.yhbeh.2019.104644.

van Anders, Sari M., and Neil V. Watson. “Social Neuroendocrinology.” Human Nature, vol. 17, no. 2, June 2006, pp. 212–37. Springer Link, https://doi.org/10.1007/s12110-006-1018-7.

Geniole, Shawn N., et al. “Effects of Competition Outcome on Testosterone Concentrations in Humans: An Updated Meta-Analysis.” Hormones and Behavior, vol. 92, June 2017, pp. 37–50. ScienceDirect, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.yhbeh.2016.10.002.

Van Anders, Sari M., et al. “Effects of Gendered Behavior on Testosterone in Women and Men.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, vol. 112, no. 45, Nov. 2015, pp. 13805–10. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1509591112.

Dreher, Jean-Claude, et al. “Testosterone Causes Both Prosocial and Antisocial Status-Enhancing Behaviors in Human Males.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America, vol. 113, no. 41, Oct. 2016, pp. 11633–38. PubMed Central, https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1608085113.

Inoue, Yukako, et al. “Testosterone Promotes Either Dominance or Submissiveness in the Ultimatum Game Depending on Players’ Social Rank.” Scientific Reports, vol. 7, no. 1, July 2017, p. 5335. www.nature.com, https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-017-05603-7.

Casto, Kathleen V., and David A. Edwards. “Testosterone and Reconciliation Among Women: After-Competition Testosterone Predicts Prosocial Attitudes Towards Opponents.” Adaptive Human Behavior and Physiology, vol. 2, no. 3, Sept. 2016, pp. 220–33. Springer Link, https://doi.org/10.1007/s40750-015-0037-1.

Kelly, Aubrey M., et al. “Beyond Sex and Aggression: Testosterone Rapidly Matches Behavioural Responses to Social Context and Tries to Predict the Future.” Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, vol. 289, no. 1976, June 2022, p. 20220453. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1098/rspb.2022.0453.

Walker ·, Karla. “Who Was the Female Mozart?” Colorado Public Radio, 18 May 2022, https://www.cpr.org/2022/05/18/who-was-the-female-mozart/.

Hidden Herstory: Mozart and His Female Contemporaries - Women’s Philharmonic Advocacy. 22 July 2022, https://wophil.org/hidden-herstory-mozart-and/.

Kane, Jonathan M., and Janet E. Mertz. “Debunking Myths about Gender and Mathematics Performance.” Notices of the American Mathematical Society, vol. 59, no. 01, Jan. 2012, p. 10. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1090/noti790.

Lynn, Richard, and Satoshi Kanazawa. “A Longitudinal Study of Sex Differences in Intelligence at Ages 7, 11 and 16 Years.” Personality and Individual Differences, vol. 51, no. 3, Aug. 2011, pp. 321–24. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1016/j.paid.2011.02.028.

Michael S. Kimmel. (2001). Male Victims of Domestic Violence: A Substantive and Methodological Research Review. The Equality Committee of the Department of Education and Science. https://vawnet.org/material/male-victims-domestic-violence-substantive-and-methodological-research-review

Chen, J., Khatiwada, S., Chen, M. S., Smith, S. G., Leemis, R. W., Friar, N., Basile, K. C., and Kresnow, M. (2023). TheNational Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey (NISVS) 2016/2017: Report on Victimization by Sexual Identity.Atlanta, GA: National Center for Injury Prevention and Control, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

Truman, Jennifer L., and Rachel E. Morgan. Violent Victimization by Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity, 2017–2020. Bureau of Justice Statistics, June 2022, https://bjs.ojp.gov/library/publications/violent-victimization-sexual-orientation-and-gender-identity-2017-2020.

[theroyalyandere]

request: Hello can I request yandere Emperor with a foreign dancer reader??? Like reader is runaway princess of a kingdom because she didn't wanted to marry an old noble man whom her parents choose for her to gain political support. Thank you!!

yandere!emperor x dancer!reader

you escaped your kingdom in the disguise of a dancer and it worked well with how skilled you are at dancing.

you ran away because your wish to marry for love was disregarded by the king and queen, your parents. they instead arranged you to a wealthy old nobel who's obviously does not have the best intentions.

you travelled along with your crew to various kingdoms to perform.

until you stopped to perform at the yandere!emperor's empire.

he was well known to be a benevolent emperor he already had a harem of his own occupied by the most beautiful women in the empire.

however he has not taken any empress yet, despite the Court's determination to marry one of their daughters to their beloved emperor.

when the day of the feast came, you were the star of the performance. eyes were on you, dazzling as you dance with grace.

with your beauty, everyone has fallen for you including the emperor himself.

he felt his heart beating out of his chest the moment his eyes landed on you, he couldn't take his eyes of you looking like a fever dream.

at that very moment he was determined to make you his.

he immediately asked his right hand to know about you and offered your crew to stay at the palace for a while in return for the performance you had given.

he started to subtly court you by asking for your presence to join in him for tea and a chat.

he then started to take you out on dates, which you don't mind assuming it was only the emperor's kindness and hospitality.

he also gave you gifts such as clothes and jewelery or anything your heart desires he will have it granted to you.

it took a while to make you fall for him but you did.

the emperor couldn't be even happier than having you.

he started to spoil you more and more which made his affections to you even obvious to the eyes of others.

he only requested you to his chambers to spend the night with him leaving the harem confused by his actions.

his courtship towards you spread out like fire within the empire.

because of this the court still continued to pursue the emperor to marry their daughters and it led to the jealousy of his consorts and concubines

you were subjected to various humiliation whenever the emperor was not around but you kept quiet to not cause a fuss

until you were fed up with the mistreatment

you packed your things and talked to the crew to leave the empire and embark on another adventure

when you went to see the emperor, he was happy to see you and even offered to spend time with you

however, his happiness was shattered the moment you said you needed to leave

he went to you and pulled you closer to him asking why are you leaving him and was begging not to leave him because you are his life

you hesitated to tell him but decided not to so you kept silent and went away.

that day the emperor became harsh and cold towards the servants and everyone who crosses his way.

he couldn't let you go, so he ordered his loyal servant to find out the cause of you suddenly leaving him.

it enraged him when he found out how you were treated by the nobles and his harem during your stay.

so he ordered his knights to murder all of the concubines and nobles who participated to make you miserable.

he also investigated your background and found out you were a runaway princess

he immediately went to negotiate with your parents to cut your engagement to whoever noble that it was in exchange for a greater benefit in exchange for your hand

they agree to his offer and he left, but not without a chaos at the kingdom

this action sparked a fear towards everyone among the empire.

they certainly did not expect him to commit a mass murder just because of a foreign dancer.

the news reached to you and you couldn't deny how it made you afraid soon enough he will be out to get you.

guess what, the next morning you open the door and see him staring at you with craziness and love behind those eyes of his.

behind him is his knights conquering the village you are staying at.

he grins down at you "hello my love, I'm glad to see you again."

I hope you like this! :)

[pargolettasworld]

So, because I am incurably, morbidly curious, I watched Jessie Gender's four-hour-and-seventeen-minute-long video on . . . well, the title suggests "Zionism, Antisemitism, and the Left." To her credit, Gender does touch on all three of these topics, though not with the same degree of skill, graciousness, or understanding of the topics at hand. I've just had a very nice dinner, and I'm feeling generous, so let's see how this video stacks up. Strap in. This is going to get long.

I should admit right off the bat that I'm only a casual, occasional watcher of Jessie Gender. I'm not a deep fan, and I'm sure there is Jessie Gender Lore™ out there that I'm not aware of, but I think I've seen enough of her videos to get a general sense of her house style. This video hits a lot of the hallmarks of her style. She speaks very fast and very passionately, occasionally trips over her own words (something that I've done many a time, so I really do feel that), and is inordinately fond of nominalizations. She's especially fond of the word "ostracization," for some reason, which drives me nuts because "ostracism" is right there. So, in style, it appears to hew to the Jessie Gender House Style pretty well.

On to the video itself. The first thing I will observe about it is that it is in every possible way a meeting that could have been an email. There was no need for this to be the same length as the Extended Edition of The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003). There's a lot of padding, significant digressions, and a certain degree of repetition. It's easy to forget the beginning of the video by the time you're an hour into the thing.

The major question that hangs over this opus is: Why, and for whom, was it made? I'm honestly not sure who the intended audience for this thing is, nor why Gender felt that she had to make it. She alludes in the first half hour to feeling like she's lost the trust and support of some of her Jewish fans/friends/acquaintances/Patreon patrons, and she chalks it up to a previous video that she made (which I have not seen, and which I am not inclined to seek out). But neither the structure nor the thesis nor the conclusion of the video seem like they would win back any of these folks.

I don't think that Jewish viewers are her intended audience -- certainly not with the way she talks about Jews throughout the video. I'm also having a hard time believing that really committed leftists are her audience, either, since I don't think she's really saying much that leftists haven't already heard, or offering new perspectives on her topic(s). And anyone who has made it this far into the year of 5784 and is still undecided about the contemporary iteration of The Jewish Question is probably not going to be interested in sitting through nearly four and a half hours of relentless lecture. So I'm still left wondering why, and for whom, did Jessie Gender make this video?

Gender assures us, her viewers, of several things that are meant to be reassuring. She's done lots and lots of research, for one thing. And she's asked some-of-her-best-friends-who-are-Jewish to be sensitivity readers. We're given to understand that we are hearing the nitpicked, edited, and polished version of the script. I'd hate to see what the first draft looked like . . .

She also tells us that there are going to be lots of Foreign Words And Names, and that she and her mouth-hole have A Hard Time pronouncing Foreign Words And Names. Her loyal staff have made her a pronunciation guide -- which appears to have been used perhaps as a drinks coaster, since there are some howlers here. The Jews originating from the MENA regions are the "Misrai" (Mizrahi) Jews, the first Prime Minister of Israel was "David Ben-Gron" (David Ben-Gurion), the Revisionist Zionist leader was "Zeeeeeeeeev Zarbinsky" (Ze'ev Jabotinsky), and the Palestinian uprisings of 1987 - 1993 and 2000 - 2005 go by the name "Infitada" (Intifada).

You know that phrase "If white people can learn to say Tchaikovsky and Schwarzenegger, they can learn to say [your name from an African or Asian language]?" I agree completely with the conclusion, but I question the premise. Jessie Gender makes me question the premise harder. If she had any real interest in the topic, she would have practiced those names, but I don't think she does, so she didn't.

Moving on to the actual content of the video. It's . . . weird. Jessie Gender begins the video believing that Zionism is an evil force for colonialism, White supremacy, oppression, and genocide. She ends the video believing that Zionism is an evil force for colonialism, White supremacy, oppression, and genocide. But along the way, she's confronted with quite a lot of inconvenient facts that threaten to complicate this perspective.

Gender devotes roughly two hours and fifteen minutes of her video, a smidge over half of the runtime, on three segments that offer a history of Zionism, the iterations of Zionism as a political ideology, and what she calls "Zionism as emotion," which is a condescending way to refer to the importance of Zionism to Jews. I'd guess that her research for these segments might have surprised her. It turns out, per Jessie Gender, that there is both a reason behind and a context for nineteenth-century Zionism, quite a lot of logic behind why the Jews wanted to go to Israel, and ample evidence that a majority of Jews have some kind of stake in both Israel and some variation of Zionism.

The reason I think that this research might have surprised her is that she ends each of these segments with a small diatribe about the evil colonialist, capitalist, oppressive, genocidal force that is Zionism, even as the segments suggest nuance, logic, and reason behind the philosophy. We can't have that on a good lefty video, though, can we? The more Gender confronts evidence that there is more to Zionism than meets her eyes, the more she doubles down, digs in her heels, and refuses to accept even the barest shreds of non-negativity about Zionism. Every now and then, she comes up with a lovely sentence or two that shows some understanding of a Jewish perspective on the world, but then furiously backpedals -- we mustn't forget that this Jewish perspective of oppression, mass murder, and international blame has only led to the Evil Of Zionism, after all.

What's really fascinating is how hard she works to avoid blaming actual Jews for all of this evil. I think she's doing this with the best of intentions. A for effort. C for effect. She wants to make a distinction between "Zionism" and "Judaism," in the sense of "Zionism does not equate to Judaism, so being antisemitic to Judaism because you hate Zionism is bad." She tries so hard that she loses sight of the actual people involved. There are a lot of places where she talks about "Judaism" where what she actually means is "the Jews." Or, as she calls us, "Jewish people." Which isn't bad, and it isn't really wrong, but it doesn't quite communicate the sense of Am Yisrael that is at the heart of Zionism.

In fact, she's so desperate to separate Zionism from Jewish people that she starts to talk about it almost as an individual character in the story, with agency, desires, wishes, and goals of its own, totally disconnected from the people who created it. Zionism demands the genocide of Palestinians, Zionism needs colonialism, Zionism has a nice lunch date with neoliberalism and spends the afternoon browsing department stores with capitalism. In effect, Zionism becomes the dragon, and Gender really wishes that the passive, easily-led Jewish people would unite behind some White Knight and slay the dragon so everyone could be happy and free and leftist. Despite the two hours she spent on her deep dive into the history and meaning of Zionism, she cannot fathom why the Jewish people don't just do this.

I said earlier that quite a lot of this video consists of padding. Gender identifies herself as a lefty anarchist, opposed to nation-states, capitalism, neoliberalism, the United States, the British Empire, Israel, Joe Biden, "Ka-MAH-la" Harris, transphobia in Western societies . . . the usual suspects. Frequently, especially in the back half of the video, she'll wander off into long fantasias about the crimes against liberty perpetrated by the West at large, as well as their character Capitalism, and then remember that this is supposed to be a video about Zionism, and then finish with the equivalent of "Peter Rabbit did sort of that kind of thing, too."

One of the alleged purposes of this video is to discuss Antisemitism On The Left, but Gender . . . pretty much elides doing that. She gets close a couple of times, and she does grudgingly admit that some leftists coming from some branches of leftism might sometimes say things that might be antisemitic, and that's Bad, and it makes Jewish people feel Unsafe and Not Inclined To Agree With Leftists that The Dragon Known As Zionism Must Be Slain Heroically. But don't stress about it. The important thing is that Israel Must Stop Its Genocide and Palestinians Should Have Self-Determination (which is only withheld from them by Israel -- excuse me, by Zionism -- and certainly not by those eminently-justified-if-a-little-uncouth plucky fighters, Hamas.

There are quite a lot of lengthy quotes from Sources, read by guest stars, which is a nice touch to break up the video. The vast majority of these Sources -- especially the ones in the "history of Zionism" segment -- are not actually written by Zionists. You get a lot of academic pontificating about the failures, shortcomings, and nefarious activities of Zionism, but you hear almost nothing from actual Zionists, especially contemporary Zionists. This does not look nearly as good or as well-researched as it's meant to look.

So what do we get in the end, after four hours and seventeen minutes of watching this? Honestly . . . not much. Gender gives enough background on the history of Zionism, antisemitism, and Jewish attitudes toward Israel that hardcore leftists watching will be more annoyed than convinced. She condescends to both Jews and Arabs, mentioning repeatedly that she, as a White Gentile, really doesn't have any business butting in on these complex questions -- but that's not going to stop her from butting in like the lefty shiksa she is! She's too mealy-mouthed to come right out and say anything blatantly antisemitic, but disdain for Jewish concepts of homeland, belonging, origin, and self-determination pervade the whole thing.

I don't think that Jessie Gender is an idiot -- she seems to be pretty smart, and has both a firm sense of her own political philosophy and the stick-to-it-ive-ness to do far more research into things like the development of Zionism and the history of antisemitism than one might expect. But the video really is, to bring up a playwright from the hated West, "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

[togenabi]

things I won't tell you

vinsmoke sanji (opla) x princess!reader

♡—the new royal chef doesn't seem to recognize you without your crown. who's going to tell him? . . . certainly not you.

word count♡— 7.3k (cries)

genre♡— fluff, royal chef x princess au

content notes♡— opla sanji, afab!reader is a princess, reader wears dresses, reader has siblings (oc's), sanji made me google fancy food, mentions of zeff, sanji gets jealous if you squint, no use of y/n, proofread (but only a little)

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is detached from any canon, its basically just a big chunk of sanji fluff. please enjoy!

You've never really dreamed for yourself. You had always just let life fall into place around you.

The kingdom is prospering, entering a new age of commerce. Artists, craftsmen, and inventors sail seas just to be part of it.

Your sister Chrysanth is a wise queen, as you always knew she would be. She’s fair and just, always knowing what’s best for her people.

On the other hand, your brother August is Captain of the Royal Guard. He’s an excellent swordsman, who has yet to be beaten ever since he took command.

As for you, the youngest of the three, you have no idea what you’re doing.

The most likely outcome would be for you to be married off to settle some political arrangement. Unpleasant as it sounds, you would have agreed to it for the sake of the kingdom.

But the moment you said so, Chrysanth gave you a look unbecoming of a queen and immediately shut it down.

“Look,” She gestured to the view outside. “Does that seem like a kingdom who needs help to you? I work my butt off precisely so that we won’t have to depend on anyone else.”

“Besides,” She adds, “if anyone wants your hand, they should fight to the death for it.”

And so, for now, you work for your sister. Helping manage general affairs and the kingdom’s business agreements—even though she could easily hire someone else.

“I love that you insist on working,” Your brother told you once. “You could have been a socialite, but you’re here with us, serving the people.”

Of course you are. Because even though you didn’t necessarily plan it, you are proud and committed to your work. You’re happy with your own, mundane accomplishments.

Or at least that’s what you try to remember when you glance at the tall pile of documents on your desk. You’ll relish the satisfaction that will come when it’s gone.

The candle beside you burns low, flame becoming dimmer and dimmer as the hour grows late. You should probably replace that. Pulling open your drawer, your eyes scan its contents for a candle.

You’re fresh out of the tall ones that fit in the candleholder, but you have one sculpted like a cinnamon bun—a gift from August a few birthdays ago. It’s not exactly the best for illuminating your work, but something makes you strike a match and light it still.

It smells like freshly baked cinnamon rolls, you can’t help but inhale the decadent scent deeply.

The aroma triggers an embarrassing grumble from your stomach. You feel your ears burn despite the fact that no one else is around to have heard it. Perhaps a midnight snack is in order.

Unexpectedly, light seeps through the gap beneath the large wooden double doors to the kitchen. In all your years, you’ve never encountered anyone in the kitchen at two in the morning.

Normally, you wouldn’t want to disturb them. Knowing the chefs, they would likely fuss over you and put whatever they were doing on hold.

But you fear that your stomach will disagree with that, so you decide to knock and enter the kitchen anyway.

There’s only one chef inside—a tall, blond man with his back to you. You don’t think you recognize him. He must be one of the new hires.

When he hears your footsteps on the stone tiles, he turns around.

His expression, at first, is curious. But after a beat, his mouth curves into a charming grin that catches you completely off guard.

“Hello there, miss.” He nods in greeting, eyes alight with a look that no one usually dares when it comes to you.

“I’d be happy to fix up something for you if there’s anything you’re… craving.”

When you expected the chef to fuss over you, this isn’t what you meant.

Your first instinct is to look at his surroundings for alcohol. Perhaps he’s intoxicated and not in his right mind?

But the (sober) chef seems to have mistaken your silence for bashfulness, because he presses you further, “Trust me. I may be new around here, but I know my stuff.”

Unsure how to respond to his blatant (or insolent, your sister would say) behavior, you try to gently decline his offer.

“It’s alright,” You say, still uncertain about him. “I was only going to make a sandwich and be on my way.”

“Nonsense!” He insists. “If you’re hungry at this hour, it means you’ve been busy working too hard.”

He approaches the pantry, retrieving one too many things for a mere sandwich. Your concern grows when he grabs garlic, several leafy vegetables, and a lemon.

“You, my dear,” He points at you with, is that a cucumber? “—deserve a proper treat.”

You sigh, it looks like he doesn’t intend to back down. Maybe you should just let him do what he wants and see if he can back up all the talk. Pulling one of the chairs from beneath the kitchen island, you take a seat as you observe the flirtatious chef.

At least he seems to be enjoying himself. His hands work with the kind of precision that only comes from years of experience; and he smiles proudly when he sees you watching.

“I meant what I said, I’m a damn good cook.” He’s begun chopping the vegetables. “My name’s Sanji, by the way.”

The question now is whether or not you properly introduce yourself. It's difficult to deny that you enjoy his attention. The casual and relaxed manner he addresses you with is… a nice kind of different. When else are you going to experience that if you let this go?

Alright. For tonight, you're not a princess. You're someone who stumbled upon a chef—a handsome one, it dawns on you. This is a chance encounter in the palace kitchens. And, you glance over at the dressing and ingredients he prepared, why should you turn down good food?

You decide to only give him your name. It feels strange introducing yourself without your title, but you don't tell him that.

“It makes sense that your name is as captivating as you are.” Sanji's voice is smooth, easygoing as he moves around the kitchen.

Nothing about his demeanor changes. Either he really doesn't know anything about this country's royalty, or he's skillfully controlled his reaction and is hiding that he knows.

There's also a third possibility: that you look so haggard and tired that you simply do not appear royal anymore.

Subconsciously, you look at your typical office clothes… Maybe you should go on that fitting the royal stylist has been pestering you about.

On the topic of style, however, your companion has unusual attire for a chef. He’s wearing a buttoned shirt with a necktie. His black slacks match the suit jacket draped over one of the chairs.

Your attention is diverted when Sanji begins rolling up his sleeves. He juices the lemon he had sliced in half, arms flexing as he twists the fruit.

Clearing your throat, you ask him a question to distract yourself. “What are you making?”

He smiles as if he’s glad you asked. “A dish that suits a beauty like you, of course.”

Several minutes later, he presents you with a sandwich. The slices of bread are whole wheat; the layers of ingredients between them are all in varying shades of green.

“A green goddess sandwich, made with care for the goddess in front of me.” Sanji pushes the plate towards you. 

It's easy to stay composed despite the flattery because your hunger makes you focus on the food. “It really does look excellent.” You compliment earnestly.

He gestures to the plate before placing his hands in his pockets. “Tastes excellent too, try it.” Shaking your head at how confident he’s being, you pick up the sandwich.

It might just be the best sandwich you’ve ever had in your life. The flavors are fresh, and you catch the hints of lemon blending with the dressing. The bread is soft, contrasting with the crunch of the cucumbers and sprouts.

You're completely surprised, and it must be obvious based on how Sanji reacts. He lets out an adorable, pleased laugh that makes you want to hear it again.

“I knew you’d like it, ma chèrie.” Sanji reaches a hand towards your face. Your heart just about stops when he brushes his thumb to wipe at the corner of your mouth. His eyes look so intense, like you'll drown in them if you stare too much. 

It feels as if your face could burst into flames at any second, so you turn away to hide your flush.

As Sanji grabs you a glass of water, you ask him if he’s eaten. “I did, but it’s nice that you’re worried about me.” He answers. You almost choke on your drink.

Once you've finished your meal, you stand then grab your empty plate and glass. But Sanji mirrors you, blocking the way to the sink. Why must a chef have such broad shoulders?

He shakes his head, trying to get the dishes from you. “Can’t let you do that, love.”

“Why not?” You frown, pulling your arms back so he doesn’t reach them.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be working any more—”

“But you’re allowed to?” You look up at him defiantly.

Sanji stares at you. You stare back. There's a few seconds of silence before you sprint the other way, running around the kitchen island to get to a different sink.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Sanji yells after you.

You’re almost there, but Sanji catches up to you easily. Before you know it, he’s blocking the way again and you curse, remembering his long legs.

“Sanji, let me do the dishes.” You plead, but he’s as stubborn as it gets.

“The knives I used need to be washed anyway, and I’m not about to let your pretty hands do that.” Sanji winks, and you give up. He pries the dishes from your hands.

Seeing your shoulders slump disappointedly, he offers you a compromise. “If you really want, you could throw the rubbish in the bin and wipe down the counters.” Okay, you can do that.

“Are you sure this is the only way I can repay you?” You ask, grabbing a washcloth to begin cleaning up.

“That’s plenty of help, my dear.” Sanji answers.

But after a moment, he seems to have gotten an idea. Your brows raise in curiosity as you question him, “What?”

“...I was just wondering,” He begins, looking at you with that flirtatious glint in his eye. “Since we had such a wonderful time tonight, would you be willing to join me again?”

“That depends,” You press your lips together to suppress the smile blooming on your lips. “Will you cook for me again?”

Sanji laughs, throwing his head back. “Darling, that’s a given.”

He gazes at you while he dries his hands. There’s a grin on his face as he asks, like he already knows your answer. He probably does. He’s probably right.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Even though you got back to your chambers at an ungodly hour in the morning, you woke up feeling the most refreshed you’ve ever been. There’s a spring in your step as you get ready for the day, and you pick clothes that are slightly more dressy than your usual attire. Sanji shouldn’t be able to notice that you dressed up for him, right?

But your sister does. 

Seated at the head of the table, Chrysanth stops eating to analyze your clothes the instant you show up to the dining hall for breakfast.

You could practically hear the gears in her head turning. Avoiding her gaze, you bow to greet her before taking your seat, “Good morning.”

The queen only smiles at you knowingly, eyes still flickering over you with enraptured excitement. Very much unlike a queen, however, she kicks your shin underneath the table.

“Ow!” You yelp.

“So…” She lets the syllable drag on. “Who’s the guy?”

You focus on piling food onto your plate, choosing to ignore her. “What guy?”

“Your guy.” She says, giddy. “Is he your guy yet?”

“Hm?” Is your only response. Breakfast looks lovely. Should you ask for coffee or tea today?

Chrysanth kicks you again.

“Hey!” You rub the skin to dull the pain. “Stop that!”

“Stop avoiding the question!” She persists, waving a hand to gesture at your clothes. “You only wear that skirt when you want to impress someone.”

Mentally cursing her for knowing you too well, you continue to act nonchalant.

“Really, it’s nothing.” You try to clarify. “I just thought that it would be a nice change.”

She doesn't believe it. Not one bit of it. Thankfully though, she drops the topic. Your shoulders relax as the discussion switches to work-related ones. She’s telling you about her plans to approve a restaurant in the museum when your brother joins you for breakfast.

Once he’s seated, August takes one look at you before tilting his head. “Who’s the guy?”

Chrysanth looks far too smug and triumphant than you’d like. You bury your face in your hands. Would Sanji also tease you if he knew?

The rest of the day is uneventful, the only change to your typical work day being that you avoid your siblings like the plague. You have lunch brought to your office and skip on dinner.

Sanji had already started cooking by the time you got to the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind,” He says. Of course you don’t, whatever it is smells amazing. “I thought I’d start early so you wouldn’t have to wait too long.”

“Thank you for going through the trouble.” You say, glancing at the ingredients he had laid out: there are crushed tomatoes on the counter. Pasta simmers in a pot on the stove. You recognize the tubed shapes with ridges surrounding them.

“Rigatoni?” You ask, turning to the chef.

Sanji nods, “With a simple, creamy tomato sauce. Nothing too extravagant, but still specially made for you.” 

He puts the pasta into two bowls, grating parmesan cheese on top. Your mouth waters.

“Here you are, darling.” It pleases you more than you thought it would when Sanji sits across from you to eat as well.

There’s something homey and yet luscious about the taste. He really outdid himself. “It’s delicious, Sanji.”

“I live to please.” Sanji says before standing to retrieve two wine glasses and a bottle of red. “Zweigelt.” He says as he pours for you both. “Juicy and fresh, with just the right amount of acidity.”

You almost swoon at the rasp in his voice. You never realized someone could be so attractive when talking about wine.

As he clinks his glass with yours, you think to yourself that this might be your favorite dish from him. However, true to his word, he surpasses your expectations every time.

After a few weeks, on your sixth (or is it seventh?) time meeting Sanji past midnight, you've reached the point where you're able to open up to each other beyond the pleasantries that come with the food.

He tells you about his dream of traveling the seas in search for the best ingredients the world has to offer. You admit how you sometimes feel like life is just taking you along with the current—that you’ve never had a burning, passionate dream to aspire to.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Sanji hums contemplatively. “There aren’t any deadlines when it comes to finding dreams.”

“I do worry that you’re working yourself to the bone, though.” He adds, and for once, his smile looks different somehow. It’s a fond, gentle smile that’s sweeter than the macarons he made for you.

“What do you mean?” You take a sip of water.

“While I'm flattered you enjoy my food so well, do you eat properly? Shouldn't the palace be treating you better?” This time, you actually choke on your drink.

Could it get more embarrassing than this? Your ears burn as you cough, trying to clear your throat and settle your heart.

“Breathe, love." Sanji, ever the gentleman, is next to you in a flash of a second. He pats your back gently and supportively. “I'm sorry if I startled you.”

“It's alright—and, I do eat,” Your voice comes out raspy. “It's just that I don't usually have an appetite for dinner.”

“But that leaves you hungry for a midnight snack?” Sanji asks, a knowing expression on his face as he refills your glass.

“Exactly.” You smile. Thankfully, your throat has calmed down. Picking up a vanilla-flavored macaron, you savor the taste that melts sweetly on your tongue. Returning to his chair across from you, Sanji watches you eat happily. 

“I take pride in my desserts, but that chocolatier in Belltower street… The sweets are just—out of this world, I tell you.” He looks so excited as he talks, eyes aglow and gestures animated. “The chocolates are handmade and everything. I'm sure you've heard of it?”

“Um…” Hesitating, you certainly remember issuing a business permit for a chocolatier; but you can’t say you’ve gone there yourself.

Sanji’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Surely you’re pulling my leg. You haven’t been?”

“...”

He observes you quietly, like he's considering what to do next. There have been instances when Sanji stays quiet, doesn't eat, and only watches you chew. The times where he insists that he's content with seeing you eating well. Those were awkward at first, but you learned that was just part of spending time with him. Your reaction was a reward on its own.

But this isn't like that. Something feels oddly different in the way he seems to be gathering his composure. The silence almost worries you, but thankfully he breaks it first.

“You’ve saved me the trouble of thinking of a place to take you to.” Laughing, Sanji practically glows in elation. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

You had a peculiar sense that you would’ve loved going anywhere, as long as you were with him. 

Feeling bold, you suggest, “I’m free this Saturday if that’s good for you?”

He gives you that soft, enamoured look again. Something makes you hold your breath, your fingers tingle and the entire rest of the world slows down. You’re almost certain you’re giving him the same look.

“Even if I wasn’t, love, I would have gone to you anyway.”

The next day, a Thursday, your brother unexpectedly knocks on your office door.

“Hey,” You smile. “Is something wrong?” 

It’s rare for August to look for you in the middle of the day. If either of you need to speak, it’s usually you who heads into the training grounds to talk to him. The other way around occurring is curious.

“I wanted to invite you to watch the knights train this Saturday.” He says coolly. “It would boost their morale if you spoke a few words.”

The commander goes on to speak, not catching that you’ve short circuited somewhat, trying to rack your brain for a valid excuse to decline him.

“And maybe, you could pick out a personal knight like I’ve been telling you.” August prompts. “You really should—”

When he pauses, squinting his eyes at you suspiciously, you suddenly recall why you stopped trying to hide anything from him. 

“You already have plans.” He says, face carefully blank.

“Yes.” Thank goodness he understood. But wait, his eyes are widening. Why is he making that face? Why is he looking at you like he just figured out—

“You have a date.” Darn it all.

August is bewildered, not knowing what to do with the information he put together. He awkwardly brushes his fingers through his hair.

“...Is he a good guy, at least?” He settles with, asking carefully in that concerned way he does when he looks out for you.

Biting your lip, you nod. “He seems to be, so far.”

“Okay.” August responds. “Does Chrysanth know?”

“It’s nothing serious.” Yet. Yet? Do you want it to be? “You’re the first I’ve told.”

A worrying thought suddenly pops in your mind. Your turn to him, distressed. “Please don’t tell her yet, August.”

“Why?” His frown deepens, like he’s about to ask more questions. Unfortunately for him, you decide you’ve had enough talking about Sanji to your brother for today.

“Aren’t you busy?” You grab his arm, guiding him out of your office. “Don’t you have training to get to?”

“I do, but—why can't Chrysanth know?” You open the door for him and try to push him out, but August plants his feet; still trying to figure you out. He doesn’t budge an inch.

But then he makes that face again. That annoying ‘aha!’ face.

“You really need to go, good luck with training! Tell the knights I said hi—” You manage to shove him out with all your strength, but at the last second before you close the door, August turns around again.

“He’s a commoner, isn’t he?” You slam the door at his face. 

It doesn't matter. Sanji's status will never matter to you. Not when he's holding your hand so sweetly while he guides you through the winding streets of the city. You recognize some shops by name, knowing who owns what and when they established their business. But Sanji knows these streets, and he's more than happy to show you.

“Ah, one moment, my dear.” Sanji pulls you towards a quaint little cart overflowing with flowers. He flicks a coin to the vendor, eyes scanning all the vibrant colors and bursting petals. 

Somehow, without you needing to tell him, he picks one in your favorite color. You're starting to feel like that's just part of being with Sanji—that he knows what you want, and knows what you need before you do.

The flower is soon tucked into your hair, behind your ear. His fingers linger on the side of your face—and normally, you'd break eye contact and shy away. Maybe let out a halfhearted excuse that you should continue on your way. But you don't.

You smile back at him, not bothering to hide the genuine happiness you feel. And when Sanji pulls back, you're already holding out your hand before he reaches for it. There’s something in his eyes. Something that makes you feel like you're walking on air when he tugs you along again.

As planned, Sanji takes you to the chocolatier he told you about. The building is small, tucked between larger shops in the middle of a busy street, but there’s no doubting the quality of their confections.

The elderly chef behind the counter greets Sanji like a grandson she hasn’t seen in forever. She ushers him in, enthusiastically pointing to this and that, saying she moved some furniture around as he suggested.

“It looks perfect, grand-mère.” Sanji smiles, taking in the beautiful glass display. Chocolates of every flavor cover the shelves from end to end.

Grand-mère’s eyes light up when she sees you. She casts an approving look at Sanji, “I like this one. She might even be too good for you.”

“That’s because she is.” Sanji laughs, and you pretend to browse the menu while they talk.

“No need for that, ma chèrie.” The menu is plucked from your hands. Sanji sets it aside, pointing instead to where grand-mère is behind the counter. She's wrapping up a box of chocolates that she hands to you.

“No need to pay, dear.” She smiles, patting your hand. “If he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”

Sanji whisks you away through the streets again. You've never been this far into the city before. Looking back at the path you've taken and not recognizing any of it, you know you’d be absolutely lost without Sanji by your side.

“Almost there.” He tells you, pointing to a cobbled path that inclines upwards. 

What meets you at the top of the path is a small clearing. A stunning tree with blossoms on its branches stands at the center. Flowers and petals flutter away and fall onto the iron bench beneath it.

“Sanji, this is lovely...” You trail off, letting go of his hand to catch a flower into your palms. The flower twirls delicately between your fingers before you turn back to Sanji, tucking the blossom into the pocket of his suit.

Sanji takes your hand before you can pull away, bending down to press a kiss to your knuckles. 

“Not nearly as lovely as you.”

The two of you spent hours under that tree, sharing chocolates and stories—feeling like this is how things are supposed to be. Not necessarily the flowers, or the chocolates, or even the sun setting beautifully in so many warm colors.

Just Sanji. With you, next to you. 

All at once, it sinks in that he could be the dream you've been waiting for. But you don't tell him that.

Being enlightened on your feelings for Sanji becomes a second thought, however, when you’re swamped with work the following week.

“Don’t these people ever get tired?” Chrysanth groans, leaning back on her chair. “Why is planning a festival so hard?”

You approach her desk and place another stack of documents onto it. The numerous piles are getting concerning.

She scowls at the papers, then scowls at you. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Of course I do.” You tap a stack of documents to her left. “The guest list for the ball needs to be approved by tonight so we can send invitations out.” She groans again, but picks up the list anyway.

You’re unable to see Sanji as often as you’d like, but you both promised to meet once a week. Even if it’s only for a few short heartbeats together.

You dearly miss him. You think about him as you hand Chrysanth menu plans for the ball. If he saw it, he’d say that he could come up with something better.

She glances at the menu, studying it. Or at least, that’s what you thought she was doing—until her next words proved you wrong.

“So, how are you and that chef doing?”

Your heart isn’t in your chest anymore. It sank down, deep into the depths of the earth. It also must have taken all the air in the room along with it. How did she—

“August?” You blurt out.

Chrysanth shakes her head, “Zeff.” Oh no. Sanji’s boss knows? Does Sanji know that you’re—

“According to Zeff,” She proceeds, cutting off your thoughts. “One of his subordinates has been cooking a lot of personal meals over the last few weeks.”

“I can explain—” But your sister holds up a hand. Your mouth snaps shut.

She calls your name, and then you realize how serious her tone is. “Are you familiar with the kitchen’s rules when it comes to using ingredients and supplies for personal use?”

“...I’m afraid I'm not.” You didn’t know the kitchen had any such rules… but surely Sanji does. Your voice stutters, “I, did—is he in trouble?”

“He isn’t.” She answers, though her expression is still grave. “But I think that you should be aware of how much he’s doing for you.”

Chrysanth opens a drawer to retrieve a list of kitchen rules. Reading it over, everything is standard and straight to the point. You find the answer to your confusion towards the end, a small, nondescript bullet that reads:

All staff must reimburse the cost of all ingredients used for any reason outside of official duties.

“He must know who I am, then.” You say, feeling relieved that he didn’t break some sort of impossible rule. “He wouldn’t have done so much for me if he didn’t.”

Your sister purses her lips, letting the silence linger for a second before responding, “He doesn’t know, love.” She hands you another document. “He’s been paying back every cent out of pocket.”

Tracing over the timestamps and the different ingredients listed, you stare at an outline of your time with Sanji. It’s nice to reminisce, but you can’t help but wince whenever you spot something particularly pricey. What on earth are you to do with this man?

“Zeff recognized your name when he asked Sanji who he was cooking for.” Chrysanth explains. “He didn’t tell him, but he came to me and requested for Sanji to be repaid.”

“Since anything served to me counts as official duties of a royal chef.” You piece together. 

“Exactly.” Chrysanth nods. “However, doing that would expose your title to him. Which is why I wanted to speak to you about this first… You should tell him.”

“I know.” Letting out a deep sigh, you agree. Sanji deserves to know more than anything. Nevertheless, the thought of him changing how he treats you—or worse, leaving—because of your status, frightens you to your core. 

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” You say, but your sister’s expression slowly changes. What did she plan this time?

“Or maybe, you could put the kitchen dates on pause and tell him in a few weeks.” Surprisingly, she hands you an invitation to the ball.

“I can’t bring Sanji as my date.” No matter how much you wish you could.

“Are you sure about that?” Chrysanth is unable to contain her grin. “Open it!”

‘…you are cordially invited to the spring masquerade ball.’

You gasp, “You turned it into a masquerade?”

“Yes, I did. You won’t believe how much convincing it took for the ministers to agree.” She rolls her eyes, but then her smile returns. “Don’t waste my hard work and have fun with your man, littlest sister.”

You laugh, not expecting this outcome after all that. “I love you, even if you made me go through so much emotional turmoil for fun.” She cackles.

“Of course I had to make you sweat after what you put me through.” Chrysanth scoffs, “I can’t believe I had to hear about your love life from Zeff, of all people.”

“Ah,” She says, remembering something. “Speaking of, why’d you guess August first earlier?”

“...”

“...Did you tell him before me?” She gasps. “How could you! Give that invite back!”

“I didn’t think you’d approve.” You admit shyly. “He’s a commoner.”

“If he treats you well—which, he obviously does—I could care less about all that.” Chrysanth reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Only those stuck up ministers will react negatively, I’m sure. We can deal with them easily enough.”

When she lets you go, she abruptly adds, “He better be cute though.”

That sends you laughing again. “Oh, Chrysanth, he’s the cutest!”

He certainly is. Especially when he sees you and grins, opening his arms wide in expectation. You fall into his embrace when you’re near enough.

Sanji takes your hand and places it on his arm, leading you away from the kitchens.

“Some of the others are still in there planning for the ball.” He explains. “It seems preparations are keeping us both busy.”

Sanji takes you to the greenhouse, which you’ve never seen at night before. Various patches of vegetables and shrubs line the space. There are trees and flowers towards the back too. It feels like a secret hideout, being here with Sanji. 

“I miss spending more time with you, love.” He whispers.

“Me too.” Your heart melts thinking about how much he gave for you. You wish you had the courage to tell him the truth now, while he’s looking at you like you put up the stars in the sky, but you can’t. You’re not ready yet.

Reaching your hands up, you caress his face gently, brushing your thumb across his cheek. He places his hands over yours, keeping them there. 

Sanji closes his eyes to savor the moment, and you let him. You two stay like that, your hands becoming enveloped in so much of Sanji you feel like you could recognize him with your eyes closed, with a single touch.

There’s a certain familiarity to him at this point. You would probably have some difficulty adjusting back to life without him in it. He’s so familiar that you could probably draw him. He makes you want to try.

“...I was just wondering,” You say with a knowing glint in your eye. Does he remember those words when he said them to you that first night? “We’ve been working hard for this ball, wouldn’t it be a shame not to enjoy it together?”

You give him the invitation, and he throws his head back laughing. You send him a confused look, but it all becomes clear when he pulls out an identical invitation from his jacket.

“Ah, how brilliant you are, mamour.” Sanji embraces you again, and you bask in how perfect it feels to tuck your head into the curve of his neck.

“It will be easy to find you even with a mask.” You murmur into his skin. He shivers. “You’re so goddamn tall it’s not fair.”

“I’m not too worried about you finding you, either.” Sanji begins to sway slowly with you still in his arms. It makes your heart skip a beat. You can’t wait to dance with him.

“Are you confident you’ll find me first, then?” You ask, adjusting your hold around his middle to snuggle in better.

“I’m not sure about being first,” He ponders. “But I’ll be sure it’s you when I find you.”

The greenhouse became your new meeting place while the palace was buzzing to prepare for the ball. You could only meet for a few minutes, but you treasured the time you shared just the same. 

Once, Sanji tried to feed you one of the expensive fruits growing there, but you declined, making up an excuse that you were allergic. He had looked at you strangely, but didn’t press you further.

You couldn’t find the time to see Sanji the week of the ball at all. Your time was spent welcoming foreign dignitaries, discussing business and trade. You and your sister had a marvelous time shutting down a marriage proposal from some duke from the north.

It amazes you how much you’ve changed since meeting Sanji. Had the duke asked before you met him, you probably would have considered it seriously. Whereas now, your standard is far too high. The man you choose must be able to get to your heart by cooking you the best food in the kingdom and all the seas. 

You’re glowing by the time you finish getting ready for the masquerade. The dress you chose is in your favorite color, with the skirt twirling dreamily when you turn. 

Chrysanth permitted you to enter the ballroom a few minutes late to avoid a royal entrance. You use the time to compose what you want to say to Sanji when you tell him the truth.

‘I’m a princess, and I think I might love you’, is that a lot to say? You sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress.

The clock on the wall chimes. It’s been fifteen minutes since the ball officially started. You put on your mask, tying the ribbon behind your head to secure it.

After one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you head to the ballroom—looking much more collected than you actually feel.

Maybe you shouldn’t have bragged to Sanji that you would find him easily, because you don’t.

You were mistaken when you thought all you’d had to do was look for a tall, blond man with a blue mask. (Sanji’s mask is surely going to be blue. He wouldn’t consider any other color. You bet your foot on it.) It’s unnerving how many people fit that description tonight.

You even find your brother before you find Sanji. August is dressed in surprisingly simple, all black attire. He looks more like a gentleman than a commander, lacking all those sparkly medals he’s usually required to wear at events.

“Where’s your date?” August asks, ducking his head slightly so that you can hear him over the crowd. “Chrysanth bragged about setting you two up.”

“I haven’t found him yet.” You answer dispiritedly. “I thought it would be easy.” 

August looks around, and you know that if he knew what Sanji looked like, he would be able to track him down in a flash. You’re about to ask what you should do when August suddenly bows, extending a hand to you.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” He asks in a fake pretentious accent that instantly makes you laugh.

It would be nice to say yes, but you desperately want Sanji to be your first dance. August would understand. 

But you aren’t able to decline, someone else beats you to it.

“I’m afraid her first dance is spoken for.” Sanji’s voice reaches your ears and suddenly the room is brighter than it was.

You almost gasp, elated that he found you. Were it not for that frown on his face, you would have voiced out your joy.

August and Sanji stare each other down. Neither of them say anything, but it’s clear that their first impressions of each other aren’t the most pleasant. Not liking the hostility you’re sensing is building, you tug at Sanji’s hand. 

Your brother’s eyes soften at that, and he bows again, this time to say goodbye. “I’ll see you later then.”

You watch August go, and Sanji grumbles something you don’t catch under his breath. You'll have to properly introduce them at some point, but worrying about their relationship can wait. You really must cheer up this grump who thought he was going to miss your first dance.

“Dance with me, stranger?” Intertwining your fingers together, you smile and take in how handsome he looks. His suit is still black, but there are several accents in dark blue—the same color as his mask.

The deep navy color makes his eyes look almost crystalline, and you recognize why you love him so immensely when he smiles.

“I would be honored.”

Sanji is more graceful than you expected. His movements are controlled and precise, never moving too fast and always making sure you’re falling into step beside him.

He’s proven, once again, that he can surpass your every expectation. Sanji spins you around, catching you by your waist and grinning before sweeping you off your feet again.

By the end of it, you’re left breathless due to far too many reasons, and they all involve him.

You had tried bringing Sanji to a romantic spot; maybe a balcony, or somewhere by a fountain in the gardens—but it seems that a lot of other people had the same idea.

Everywhere was crowded, but you suppose where you ended up is romantic in its own way. With the sky being cloudless tonight, you could see every star twinkling away through the greenhouse’s glass roof. 

Let the stars bear witness to you pouring out your heart to this man.

“Sanji…” You start, mentally preparing yourself.

“Yes, ma chèrie?” Sanji tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, you have his complete attention.

“There are things I must tell you.” You swallow the lump in your throat, not brave enough to look him in the eye yet; though you grip his hands tightly in yours.

Sanji waits. He doesn’t complain that you might be holding onto him too tightly, or nag at you for taking too long to put your words together.

When you finally look up to meet his eyes, you find the strength to breathe it out, “...I’m a princess.”

There’s this moment again, when you hold your breath and wait for his reaction; like when you first told him your name. Suddenly, it feels like you’re in the kitchen eating sandwiches with him again.

And, just as it did back then, his reaction surprises you.

His expression barely changes, the only difference being the barely-there furrow of his brows in concern. 

“I know, love.” He says.

“What?!” You drop his hands in shock. “Since when?”

Sanji blinks. “Since the moment we met.”

“But, I—why did you pay everything back? Why didn’t you ever mention it?”

His eyes widen, “Ah, is that why you wouldn’t eat anything from me these past few weeks? I knew you couldn’t be allergic to pineberries.” 

“Sanji, answer the question.” You pout, and he rubs your arms in an attempt to soothe you.

It’s Sanji’s turn to compose himself, you notice. He looks like he wants for your time together to stay lighthearted, when the thoughts in his mind are far from it.

“You didn’t want to talk about your duties, so I never asked.” Sanji shrugs, but you can see him getting nervous. 

“As for reimbursing the ingredients, I suppose I was worried that… you wouldn’t think of our time together dearly if I was just another chef on your staff.” 

Your heart shudders when he lets out a shaky breath. Oh Sanji.

“But that’s the truth isn’t it? I am, and yet I—” He pauses, eyes searching yours desperately. “If I didn’t pay for it, I would be admitting that a chef was all I’d ever be to you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “I don’t regret it. I would make the same choice if I had to.” Through the mask, you can see his resolve, but his hands shake as he holds you.

“I didn’t expect to feel this strongly about you.” Sanji continues, “You’re just so lovely, making me feel like I could take on the world for you.”

With your hands quivering the slightest bit, you pull at the ribbon behind your head. Your mask clatters to the floor. Raising your hands towards him, you push his mask up until it’s off, revealing the face of the man who has completely enamoured you; body and soul and all.

You think back to how the colors lit him up beautifully, that one sunset you shared under that blossoming tree. And now, he’s still just as beautiful, in this greenhouse under the moon and the stars. 

You love him all the same as you did then and every moment before. With the weight from keeping secrets gone from your chest, you finally let yourself admit it out loud.

“I love you, Sanji.” You confess. “I’ll go with you, if you’ll take on the world.” You try to say it calmly, but tears build up in your eyes. “You mean so much to me. You’re my dream.”

Sanji inches you closer, wrapping one arm around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head. “I love you too. More than you could possibly imagine.”

You quip back at him while wrapping your arms around his neck, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Sanji leans in the same moment you do, lips meeting in a passionate kiss that sends sparks running through every inch of your being. He pulls you impossibly tighter against him, strong hands caressing your back and holding firm at your waist. Your fingers rake through his hair, touching him to make sure he’s real. He’s here. He loves you. He knew. He always knew.

That night, you realized that your favorite taste from Sanji is his lips on yours. But, once again, he won’t hear you tell him that.

…

Sanji first saw you when a ceremony was held to welcome the new palace staff.

Everyone’s attention had been on your sister, the queen. Understandably so, but his eyes always strayed back to you. You looked gorgeous, wearing a stunning dress perfect for a princess as yourself. A cape draped tastefully down your back. And your crown sparkled brightly under the sun; but try as it might, it couldn’t be as dazzling as you.

Sanji was drawn to you instantly, and he thought he would go on with his life never understanding why.

That is, until you walked into the kitchen at two in the morning to make a sandwich.

It would have been impossible for him to not recognize you. Regular office clothes or not, something was different in the way you carried yourself. It was difficult to miss.

Other people would have thought you appeared mundane. And yet, Sanji found you the most beautiful then.

Because you let yourself smile more when you don't wear your crown. 

But he won’t tell you that.

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡

tags: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @ay0nha @watercolorskyy @holymusicalmothman @appalost

author's note (yes, again)♡— sooo, what do we think about sworn knight!zoro x princess!reader ? 👀